The wedding was held on the Winter Solstice.
The Temple of the Nine Divines in Solitude was dressed in white flowers forced into bloom by magic. For a people who distrusted magic as the Nords did, they were quick to take advantage of it when it suited them.
Bellona used it to set them free.
She used it when she defeated Alduin.
They never once talked about it.
It was autumn when they held the moot, when they gave Ulfric the crown of the High King of Skyrim. It was a hollow gesture, as the Thalmor threat loomed over them and the Empire both. But they lived in happy ignorance.
Bellona wanted to go back. She wanted to go back to the days when she lived with bandits in Cyrodill and had no idea what was happening in the rest of the world. She wanted to go back to when Sovengarde was a myth the northmen blathered on about when they were drunk, or naked or dying.
But it was real, just as Oblivion was real and just as dragons were real.
Alduin might have been Akatosh's child. She didn't know. She knew he was defeated, even if she wasn't sure if he could ever really be dead.
Bellona was dressed now in gleaming steel armor, a fur cloak of fine fox fur over her shoulders and braids and flowers in her hair. It was long now, long enough that it brushed over the fur. On her belt, her ebony Stormblade and a dragonbone dagger made of the shield of bone over Alduin's heart. She bought the finest clothes in the latest styles for Lucia and Sorex, dressed them with matching collars of fur to show they were her family and they walked behind her into the Temple like the honored guests they were.
She brought her entire family to Ulfric's wedding to Elisif; her husband and both her children, Lucia and and the one still slumbering, hidden in her belly.
Bellona felt sick.
She didn't know who fathered her child. Sorex? Ulfric? Ralof? She had no way to know until the child came. She hadn't known the child yet existed, not when she went to fight the dragon, not when she spoke to Paarthurnax and came face to face with her blood. But the dragon knew.
drem yol lok blood of Talos, blood of the north, heart of ebony, dragonbone and despair
hin kiir lost dez, the one that sleeps in your belly will be more
sos los pah; who's have you given her?
He didn't know the answer, or if he did, he would not tell. The dragon was cryptic and wise and she knew in her marrow that he had his reasons.
He still lived, at any rate.
And the dragon was the only one who knew now. Soon, she wouldn't be able to hide it, but for now, it looked only that two months at home had agreed with her and her husband's fine cooking put fat back on to her lean bones.
Bellona looked lovely, even as she fell apart but tt was impossible to compare to the High Queen. She was born to this; she came to the altar of Talos in white and gold. Elisif was young and bright and the crowd made appreciative noises as Ulfric kissed her, claiming his territory like a beast.
The Winter Solstice. More night for drinking and feasting and lovemaking. The perfect time for a wedding in Skyrim. Bellona married Sorex in summer but they were Imperials, even if Bellona's blood ran back to Talos himself. No matter. She didn't look Nord, and that was enough.
Nord or no, they sang and toasted the Dragonborn right along with the new King and Queen she made possible. Bellona smiled and sipped watered mead and tried to look happy. She was relieved when Lucia began to yawn and Sorex folded the little girl into his arms to carry her home.
He was a good father. He was a good husband. His dark eyes pleaded with her to come home even as his mouth told her to stay.
Bellona stayed.
Sorex left heartbroken again, not even knowing why, but still he cradled Lucia like the precious thing she was and took her home to sleep. It felt like an armored hand gripped her heart when she watched him go.
Bellona turned back to the wedding party to find Elisif surrounded by courtiers, hangers on, Thanes from each hold trying to curry the favor of the new queen. The Dragonborn hung back in the shadows, far more able to disappear than anyone expected as she watched Elisif simper and smile and sparkle and glow. A pit of jealousy burned in Bellona's belly.
Tonight Elisif would make love with Ulfric, even as his child might lay inside her womb. Her heart ached. She wondered where Ulfric was, suspiciously missing from his own wedding. She felt his voice before she heard it, hot honey-scented breath on the nape of her neck.
"Bellona." He whispered her name and she felt it to the soles of her feet. "I need you."
She shivered. His hand was under her cloak, the tips of his fingers in the seams in her armor. There were gaps now, as her body changed.
"Please, before they miss us," he said and tugged once on the steel plate. Bellona turned to see the sweep of his ermine cloak disappear down the stairs to the Undercroft of the Temple.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Elisif had everyone's attention. Bellona followed.
Her boots were silent down the stone stairs, dark shadows dancing in the flickering torchlight. There were doors at the bottom of the stairs and one was ajar, gold firelight leaking between the wood and the stone. She slipped inside and latched the door behind her.
Ulfric stood between the door and the fire, his bulky body rimmed in gold. His eyes were bright with drink, his face flushed, but his mouth was downturned. Not in anger, but sadness. The lines at the corners of his mouth seemed deeper. He looked older.
It was like Elisif had taken all his remaining youth for herself.
"Stormbl-," he began and changed his mind. "Bellona." He made a supplicating sound. "Love."
Bellona closed her eyes and let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding.
"Please Ulfric," she said, her voice almost inaudible over the softly cracking fire. "Why now?"
He took a step forward, took her hand.
"You asked what was different, you asked what changed," he said. He ran a finger over her knuckles. "Nothing. Nothing changed."
Everything.
"But Ulfric-"
"No, nothing." He sighed. "Everything."
For once, they agreed. She looked at the floor. She wasn't going to tell him. She couldn't.
He squeezed her fingers, too hard. "Please, Bellona." Like always, she complied, looking up and meeting his eyes. Green in the sunlight, they were dark and grey in the shadows. "For Ulfric."
Her expression crumpled. "But its your wedding."
"It's only politics." He shook his head. "The High King, the Bear of Eastmarch." He swallowed hard enough that she saw his throat move. "Me. I don't." He straightened his shoulders. "The Jagged Crown." He gestured to the ancient crown, one she'd recovered for him. "Rules are mine to make, my Stormblade, my sword."
He'd never called her that before.
Bellona took a step back. The gentle man disappeared, replaced by a rigid figure. She loved Ulfric. She only served the King.
"Ulfric." Instead of letting go, he gripped her fingers tighter. Her knuckles cracked. "Please."
He seemed to consider for a moment and then he dropped her hand, threw it down like garbage. He almost sneered at her. He lifted one of her flower decorated braids, inspecting it before letting it drop back on to her shoulder.
She considered his face, tried to read it, but his expressions changed like the weather. Finally, his face was neutral and he looked back at her.
Ulfric blinked a few times, sleepy languid eyelids. Her heart raced suddenly. That face she knew. He reached out and put his sword calloused palm against her cheek.
"I only want to kiss you," he said. "To keep me."
She couldn't say no to him. Not to Ulfric.
Bellona let his take her into his arms and he pressed his mouth against hers. His wiry beard smelled of mead and wedding flowers. She felt her body try to bloom and in reply, the child in her belly fluttered like a bird in a cage.
It was a the first time she'd felt the child move. She wanted to put his hand there, ask him if he wanted to feel his child live under her heart.
But she didn't know if it was his child.
In truth, it was only hers.
Ulfric whispered some intelligible against her mouth. It didn't matter what he said. Bellona clung to him and wanted to run away at the same time.
"Tomorrow," he said, understandable at last. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow." He sighed. "We are moving the seat of the King to Windhelm, to the Palace of the Kings where it belongs. Come with me."
She tried to meet his eyes but he was holding her too tightly.
"Hjerim is yours if you wish it. And suite at the Palace. Whatever you wish. Then we can be together, whenever we desire and no one will be able to stop us." It was almost out of character, these grand promises.
"Ulfric," she said suddenly, unable to contain herself. She hadn't told Sorex. She would never tell Ralof, gone home to Riverwood to see if he could find himself again, far away from Ulfric. "I'm with child."
"By Talos." His exclamation was breathy. He took a hard step back. "Is it my child?"
Bellona looked at the floor, suddenly cold without his arms around her. "I don't know," she admitted. "It could be."
She heard Ulfric take a breath. "Then you need to stay here, or the Pale until the child comes. Then, we will see."
Her head snapped up to look at him. "What would it matter? The child is mine, either way."
He leaned against the wall. The King spoke. "Until Elisif gives me an heir, it matters. Whatever the moot claims about deeds and votes, blood matters."
sos los pah. blood is all.
The dragon knew what would happen all along. Fuck him. He knew.
Bellona swallowed and nodded. "Yes, my King. It does."
If only he knew the whole truth.
Bellona left without saying goodbye. She couldn't bear to see Ulfric, to see his cold indifferent public face, the face that said her child might be a threat or a gift. He had yet to decide.
ulfric stormcloak and the dragonborn would have fine children, even if there is imperial blood. (no one would have ever allowed a marriage, but a child is different, is blood, isn't politics) but what's that you say? the dragonborns that came before, septims all. nearly to a one?
she has blue eyes, just like the portraits of the last septim emperor. doesn't her face remind you of the statues of talos?
There'd be Thalmor blade for them all. Dragonborn was one thing but a Septim heir, illegitimate or not with the blood of the High King of Skyrim? The mer could never let that stand. They would tear the world apart before that child lived.
As winter waned, her belly grew. Sorex watched carefully, touching her belly with his fingers. He didn't care who's seed put the child there, or so he said. But he wasn't a fool. He cared. He was biding his time; Bellona could feel it.
It was the first throws of spring when her belly began to grip. She'd been in a strange sort of dream, a spell of calm woven through her brain until everything was a foggy and out of focus. It was as if she was living in the half tangible world of Sovengarde and she was dead, but didn't know it yet. She let the world happen around her. She was pale from not seeing the sun.
The pain woke her. She screamed and bled and tore open and the child rushed forth into the Breton midwife's arms in a tide of fluid. The woman patted at the tiny squirming bundle before lusty cries split the silence.
No dragon shouts, at least.
She set the child on Bellona's bare belly, immediately latching on to her breast. Even now, the tiny face was unmistakable.
"It's a girl," the Breton said, but Bellona hardly heard her.
The child's skin was dark and her wisps of hair were curled around tiny ears; her little perfect precious face looked exactly like Sorex. Bellona wept with relief.
She handed Sorex his daughter and he cradled her, even as he dropped to his knees. Tears ran down his face and disappeared into the thick hair of his beard.
"Mine?"
"Yours."
The sun moved in the sky. The Thalmor would not come. Elisif's child would be Ulfric's heir.
Sorex cradled their daughter and he named her Aris, Dragon-root. He loved her.
Bellona tried not to think about Ulfric as Sorex climbed into the bed beside her and they cradled their daughter together. She tried not to feel the pang of disappointment that followed her elation. This was the best outcome. This was the best.
This was for the best.
Sorex hummed a lullaby under his breath. She adored him; he loved her. He was so good and kind and even when he was gruff and self centered, he loved her with the heat of the sun.
She tried to love him. She did love him. It was a slow, gentle love, like waves lapping at the sand; the sun shining gentle warmth from above.
Far away, Ulfric was in Windhelm, waiting for news and wondering whether he would have to decide to elevate or kill his own child. He was gruff and self centered; he was not kind. He was not good even when he was strong and wild as the sea.
The sea battered the shore and tore it to pieces. Bellona loved Ulfric like the blazing sun, the burning sun, even if she could only circle behind him like one of the moons.
Her heart broke carefully in two.
drem yol lok - peace, fire, sky; a dragon greeting
hin kiir lost dez - your child has fate
sos los pah - blood is all
Dovazhul Dragon Language translated here: .
