[A/N] Well, the hurricane had a silver lining after all: no school, no work, and best of all, time to write a chapter! :D (I listened to some Gregory Alan Isakov as I wrote this; his song "Raising Cain" goes really well with this chapter if you're able to give it a listen.)

[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). However, Kajsa Red-Blade is my original character and she belongs to me.

CHAPTER XXIV – Disquiet

With no further news or orders from Galmar, the following weeks passed by quietly enough. Now that the mild season that passed for summer in Skyrim had finally drawn to a close, the autumn frosts were beginning to creep over the farmlands on the outskirts of the city, as well as slicking the cobblestones of the streets inside of Windhelm's walls. The howling winds and snowstorms that always battered the stone shops and houses at night only grew in intensity. It wasn't yet winter, but it was getting close.

The unceremoniously abrupt changing of the seasons only served to make Kajsa grateful that she had a house – not a cramped inn room, or even a slightly more spacious one in the Palace of the Kings – all to herself. In the stolid emptiness of Hjerim, she could do what she liked without having to endure the censure of others. Glorying in the warmth of a freshly-kindled fire in the kitchen hearth while she prepared her meager meals, idly experimenting at her new alchemy laboratory or the enchanting worktable, wandering through the narrow hallways lined with empty weapon plaques and planning which one of her collected greatswords would go where... the solitude was liberating. After the madness of the outside world, she enjoyed being alone again.

During her brief respite from her duties as a Stormcloak, the Dragonborn found herself slipping into a daily routine. After waking up and gulping down a hasty breakfast, she wrapped herself in furs to stave off the cold and walked down to the marketplace. There, she'd usually stock up on alchemical ingredients from the White Phial or food from Hillevi Cruel-Sea's stall if she was running low, but she always found time to receive letters from Niranye and engage her fence in some superficial chatter. Back at Hjerim, the young woman perused the letters and job notices from the Thieves Guild over a bottle of mead, responding accordingly. She dropped them off at Niranye's stall later in the day, when she emerged from the warmth and comfort of her house to spend her afternoons in and around Windhelm. Sometimes, she'd stroll around the docks, or practice archery alongside the troops garrisoned in the palace barracks, or even take Shadowmere out for a ride if she was feeling particularly restless.

When she returned to Hjerim once night fell, Kajsa would quickly freshen up and join Ulfric for dinner at the Palace of the Kings. Unlike the last time she had habitually dined with him, when she was collecting bounties for him all those months ago, the Dragonborn was beginning to look forward to the nights spent with the jarl: talking about nothing in particular over venison or pheasant, laughing over post-dinner drinks, kissing good-night at the close of the evening...

I could get used to this, she thought to herself one night as she remained in Ulfric's embrace a little longer than she normally would have. Having a home to return to, a city to belong to, someone to be with...

Yes, her days were becoming comfortably predictable – not something she was entirely familiar with. In fact, it was positively foreign. The young woman was used to living life on the edge, never knowing what new and exciting opportunities that tomorrow would bring; this domesticity that she'd grown accustomed to equally repulsed her and comforted her.

But much to her dismay, the lingering after-effects of losing the beastblood kept cropping up: nothing as catastrophic as her violent, unpredictable mood swings, but just as unsettling. Silver still burned her, as she unpleasantly discovered when rearranging some goblets in her kitchen cupboard. Her moon's blood returned after not surfacing at all during the months she had the beastblood, bringing with it her customary cramps and fatigue. Even though she'd always loved her meat rare – both before and after her time as a werewolf – her taste for it was lessening. And of course, her unceasing restlessness: her need to move, to run, to somehow expend the volatile energy within her. Sometimes, she even found herself waking up in the middle of the night simply to stare at the moonbeams snaking across the floor of her bedroom with a sort of longing.

But even with those disturbances, there was little to keep her asleep for very long as it was. Every night, sometimes every other if she was lucky, Kajsa was seized with her terrible nightmares that caused her to suddenly wake: clutching the blankets so tight that her nails could have torn holes in them, sweating, trying in vain to muffle her screams. Every time she attempted to steel herself against the onslaught, they only seemed to worsen – and every time she let her eyelids fall, that pair of coolly disinterested, malevolent golden eyes loomed in the darkness.

People were starting to notice her agitation and her sleeplessness, of that much, she was sure. Hillevi Cruel-Sea had begun to ask if she was ill, and Quintus Navale kept trying to sell her Potions of Cure Disease, as well as a slew of hawks' feathers and mudcrab chitin. Niranye would only mention it in passing, seemingly casual, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Ulfric was another story. One night after dinner, brow furrowed in concern, he'd asked her if she was feeling all right.

"You look tired," he had murmured, brushing some stray locks of hair away from her face. "If you're ill, you should go down to the Temple of Talos and have Jora or Lortheim take a look at you."

The Dragonborn had given him a wane, strained smile. "I'm fine. I – I'm just having some trouble sleeping."

"Nightmares?"

She'd hesitated long enough that it was probably clear what her answer was without even saying a word. Finally nodding sharply, reluctantly, the young woman had hastily kissed him and bade him good-night, leaving the Palace of the Kings before he could question her any further.

Like with Karliah and Brynjolf and the rest of the Thieves Guild, she was loathe to get Ulfric involved. It wasn't his fight – it was hers, her mess, her problem. No one was going to be able to help her except herself.

And unless I act soon, she realized on her walk back to Hjerim that night, throat tightening, they'll step in... and people will... get hurt. Die.

Slowly, but surely, it became clear to her what she had to do.

Ulfric planted both of his hands on the table and leaned over the map of Skyrim, examining it with a critical eye. The parchment's surface was dotted with single and double blue flags, easily outnumbering those in red. However, there were still clumps of scarlet in the upper left corner – Haafingar and Hjaalmarch – and one in the lower right corner – the Rift. But those can be taken care of easily enough.

The jarl glanced over at the weather-stained note beside him, scanning over its contents again:

Ulfric,
It's colder than a troll's nether regions up here in these gods-damned marshes and just as damp. Unfortunately, it's the only place we can remain without fear of discovery by Morthal's residents or an Imperial patrol. The only thing worse is the whining of the soldiers amassed in the camp – and believe me, there's plenty of that.
But I didn't write to plague you with an old man's complaining. I'm writing to tell you to get the Dragonborn off her ass and send her up to Hjaalmarch. I've got a job with her name written all over it.
Galmar

Ulfric briefly chuckled at the letter's exasperated, mordant tone. That's Galmar for you. Straightening, he folded the parchment up and set it aside. As soon as Irmin had brought him the letter, he'd sent the courier out to summon Kajsa to the Palace of the Kings; now, he was just waiting for her to arrive.

The jarl smiled to himself at the thought of her. He'd begun to notice the slight changes in her demeanor and her behavior towards him: a frequently civil tone, smiling and laughing, and of course, the kisses and embraces they shared. It was a far cry from what she'd been like the first time he'd truly met her a little under a year ago: prideful and arrogant, frustratingly impudent, independent. These qualities were still present, but they were overshadowed by – by – a feeling that he couldn't quite place.

Sometimes, he thought it was her usual mercurial attitude, fueled by a desire to outplay and outmaneuver him in any way possible. Other times, he thought it was affection, one that was on its way to deepening into love. But one feeling that Ulfric kept sensing was nothing like either of those: a quietly grim tenseness, like that of a predator turned prey.

The latter was becoming more and more apparent in the shadows under her dark eyes and the languidness of her motions and the labored quality of her words. She was weary and gaunt, with a haunted look about her, and she'd admitted that she'd had trouble sleeping due to nightmares, but the Dragonborn refused to discuss them.

The jarl didn't want to press her about them, but he feared that if her condition worsened, he'd have to confront her. If I have to force a confession from her, it will lessen whatever trust that she has in me. I've worked too hard towards this for it to fall apart now.

But even Ulfric was unsure about the extent of his feelings for the young woman. Infatuation he'd experienced many times in his more youthful days and lust even more, but love... it was still unfamiliar to him. With her, he was never certain about which of these three feelings reflected his true attitude towards her.

Was it infatuation – his amusement at her fiery little outbursts, being unable to breathe when she smiled at him or laughed? Was it lust – feeling the contours of her body under her clothing, finding excuses to touch her somehow? Or was it love – thinking about her constantly, fearing for her safety, only feeling truly at ease when she was in his arms?

The sound of a throat being cleared from by the doorway of the war room jerked him out of his thoughts. Glancing up, the jarl saw Kajsa leaning against the stone wall: clad in her usual garb of a belted tunic and leggings with her robe draped over her shoulders, seemingly without a care in the world.

"You summoned me?" she drawled with a smirk.

Ulfric smiled. "Actually, Galmar has. It's my understanding that he has need of you in Hjaalmarch."

The Dragonborn frowned, coming over to the table in the center of the room. "What for?"

"I don't know, but whatever, you should probably leave as soon as possible. Judging from the tone of his letter, Galmar's patience is fast nearing its end." He offered the parchment to her.

She waved it away. "Isn't it always?"

"With you, perhaps, but rarely with me. This 'job' that he mentioned must be something of great importance."

"I'll leave tonight, then." She turned around and made to leave.

Dodging around the corner of the table, the jarl caught the young woman by the wrist, more to stop her from leaving than any show of force. "I didn't mean that you couldn't stay for dinner tonight."

She glanced back at him with something akin to irritation in her eyes. "If Galmar wants me tromping through the marshes on some secret mission, then it's probably for the best if I get out there as soon as possible," Kajsa said with a stubborn edge to her voice.

Ulfric sighed. "At least try to get some sleep before leaving. You look as though you're ready to collapse with exhaustion."

"I'll try." She smiled tightly. "No guarantees that I'll get any real rest."

Letting go of her wrist, the jarl brought his hand up to cup her cheek: cold and wind-burned from the storm that raged around Windhelm that evening. "Your nightmares keep you from any sort of sleep?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"What are they about?" he asked softly, drawing her into his arms. He was beginning to get a sense of how she liked to be held, with one arm wrapped around her shoulder and his other hand on her waist; he always relished the slight shiver of delight that ran through her body as he placed it there, but this time, it never came.

Tucking her head partially underneath his chin, the Dragonborn remained silent for a few moments before finally confessing: "Events from – from my past."

Ulfric knew better than to ask for details now. He knew all too well the feeling of being pressed for answers that he was unwilling to give and being grilled about his past mistakes. "If you wish to talk about them... you know I am always here."

"I know," she answered, her voice half-muffled from her face being buried in his chest. "That's what I'm worried about."

The jarl frowned; that, he hadn't been expecting. "Why?"

"Because this is something that I have to face alone," the young woman said quietly.

Lifting his hand from her waist, Ulfric tilted her head up so he could meet her eyes. "You don't always have to be alone. Not anymore." You have me. I would gladly defend you, or fight anyone who would harm you...

"Perhaps," she concurred, as though she had heard his thoughts. "But this time, it's just me again – just as it was before."

"Before?" Before what? "Promise me this one thing," he finally said, leaning in.

"What?" she asked warily.

The jarl kissed her, long and soft and slow. "If you need help with whatever you're setting out to do... do not hesitate to come to me."

After a torturous pause, Kajsa pulled away, shaking her head as her eyes darkened in remembered pain. "I can't promise you that, Ulfric."

With that, she turned away and left him standing there: still as a statue, unable to say or do something that would make her stay, feeling the frustration he'd denied for so long over this affair slipping through the cracks of his calm, understanding façade.

[A/N] Stay tuned for the next chapter, 'cause it's going to be an exciting one (and possibly a long one...) In the meantime, review!