A/N: Well, as January exams are long gone, thought I'd just throw this out there (urgh, A2 exams are only made bearable by the prospect of getting into uni, no?), and there's just a few things I'd like to note:
1. This chapter will make the story go up to an M. Sorry if that's not for you, but I felt it was where I wanted to take the story. If that's not your thing but you want to read on, the last section being entirely missed will make it a safe T (or even just a K+, I suppose).
2. Liberties were taken. That kinda goes without saying though. :p
3. This is completely un-beta'd and I'm guessing there are a lot of mistakes to skip over. Feel free to point them out (nicely) in a review, if you like.
4. There will be another chapter of this. And I'm gonna be writing other stuff for other fandoms as well! :p
5. Ooh, and a big massive humongous shout-out to my favourtiest ever, TreeWithoutWood, for reasons that she has probably guessed from the chapter title.
6. I've also put a Burnt Circlet playlist on Spotify of songs that either inspired me in writing this or that I listened to whilst writing. You'll find it on my very sparse tumblr, which is atenderdistance dot tumblr dot com, if you're interested!

"Sottë-"

The figures above her were very blurred.

"Don't try to sit yourself up, milady," another voice came. She obeyed, utterly exhausted. Her head was spinning, and the elbows she had attempted to prop herself up on relented, wobbling as they made her remain on her back.

"Sottë."

Her leaden eyes stayed upturned, a wan smile pulling at her lips.

"Alda- what's happening?" Ulfric held a cold palm to his wife's face.

"My jarl, here-"the woman was frantically motioning for him to join her at the foot of the bench. He cast a look at Sottë, whose glazed-over eyes had drawn shut with a look of peace on her face, before moving towards Alda.

"I…a boy, sir," the midwife was nervously casting her eyes towards Sottë, who appeared in a fitful sleep.

Sottë knew there was something wrong. She needed help. No, she needed Heddvild. She needed to stay awake and be conscious. Her train of thought quickly shifted as she pushed out the last of her strength. No, she needed sleep.

The otherwise talkative midwife was unusually quiet, her lips a tight line and eyes moving quickly as she unceremoniously and almost hastily handed the jarl his child. Ulfric gazed down at the small face, dazed. He tried to say the midwife's name to get her to explain to him what was happening, but was caught between the thick emotion and fear for his wife. All this had been so fast.

Alda was on her knees next to Sottë's apparently-sleeping form.
"She's cold," the midwife stated it more, dazed.
"How…she's not…is she-?" Ulfric stammered, very much unlike himself, he would have otherwise noted. There was a painful length of silence as Alda frowned forlornly. Her fingers brushed Sottë's neck.
"No, but she's lost a lot of blood. The child arrived almost three weeks early, and the events of the past few months must have packed the strain quite damaging to a pregnant woman. We're not out of the woods yet I fear, milord."

Ulfric cast his eyes down to his son for the first full time, properly soaking in his features. He hoped that it would not be a bittersweet reunion.

Sottë blinked awake groggily and achingly. She felt horrible: her fingers and toes felt completely numb, her whole lower body pulsed with pain and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. She let out a low moan; someone had let her fall asleep on a bench, of all things.

She felt a warm hand seize her wrist, preventing her from moving from the uncomfortable bench.
"Stay right there." A voice commanded, low and almost dangerous.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, her dry mouth indicating that it had been a while.
"About thirteen hours."

The hand still held her in place, and someone was stroking her hair soothingly. Sottë's eyes adjusted to the bright light and she lifted her head from the wood of the bench.
"Thirteen hours?" she shuddered, panicked, "Ulfric- what about-"
Ulfric let out a low chuckle, relief hitting him as he helped her sit up tentatively, "Relax, Sottë."

She hissed a breath of pain out as she sat upright, sitting awkwardly even as she did so.
"We have a somewhat early yet perfectly healthy son."
Sottë's grimace shifted into a grin as she beamed down at her husband kneeling at her feet, the hand that had restrained her wrist now held in her own.

She had no words to give him. It was one of the very rare times in which Sottë Andrel was speechless.
"A son." She said the word as if she were testing forming it and saying it. "But, where is he?" She asked, shifting her legs as if to get up.
"The midwife Alda is just feeding him at the Palace. She said that it was unwise to move you until you woke up naturally. She said she had never seen a woman fall asleep so soon after giving birth." He left the part out about her being dangerously weakened by it all for now, not wishing to distress her further.

Sottë nodded for a while, laughing a sheepish laugh. "I…I can't believe it."
Ulfric returned her smile presently, "It would appear I found my way back just in time."
To his surprise, she eased herself out of the bench to sit next to him on the floor. He helped her downwards slowly.

"Everyone thought you were dead."
Ulfric's eyebrows quirked in mixed emotion. "I can understand that. Did you?"
"I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. I told everyone that you couldn't be, but I may have just been in denial for…certain reasons."
"Oh?" She saw the unusually sad smile that had flashed momentarily across his face.
She nodded, eyes trailing up and down the face and features she couldn't tell if she had forgotten. Sottë paused before beginning again.
"Listen, Ulfric, while you were away-"

She stopped herself as the door opened, allowing the priest Lortheim in. Ulfric had to react quickly as she went to stand up, aiding her as she went. Relenting, she half-leant her back against his side. Ulfric could easily become readjusted to the brown hair unexpectedly thrust under his nose.

That return to the Palace, the first time in almost two days for her and months for him, was slow. It had been night, so there hadn't been many around to see the sight of them both.

She had been shaking with anticipation and excitement as soon as they'd crossed the threshold of the Palace. She went to speak, but Ulfric seemed to already know what she was about to ask.
"Upstairs."
When they entered the room in question, Alda nodded politely and quickly left them to their son.

"Is this-?" She asked, sounding detached to her own ears. Ulfric nodded.
She neared the plain crib, placing her hands on it as if it may suddenly flare up and burn her. He studied her as she gazed down at the child. Her brow furrowed as if she were studying him deeply.

Startling him, she burst into inelegant tears.
"What's wrong?" he stifled a laugh at the sudden burst of emotion, remembering the words of one his father's men he had heard when he had been a young man, something about his wife and her excessive giggle fits in the weeks following giving birth to their daughter. Brushing aside the thought, he caught her shoulders, bringing her to him in a comforting embrace.
"Just a bit…overwhelmed. Didn't think so much could happen in such a small amount of time."
"If you like we could come back later and-?"
"No! No, of course not!" she lifted her newly-warm and reddened face from his shoulder. "I'm not crying like that. I'm happy."

She grinned up at him, elbowing him playfully as she turned back to the crib. He followed, and they both maintained a silence as they watched the child.
"Would it be wrong of me to say he looks like…a baby?" Sottë murmured.
"What would you have him look like?" Ulfric laughed. Sottë felt her stomach lurch pleasantly. She had missed that laugh.
"I dunno. I would bet that anyone else would expect the Jarl of Windhelm's son by the Dragonborn to be more…dramatic."
Ulfric turned his head, chuckling lowly again. "To be especially heralded by the dawn chorus?"

Sottë shakingly breathed a laugh at that. "Yep. But he's just a child. Simply that."
"I wouldn't say just. That's a sign of victory for the war just past. That's perfect for us."
"I suppose you're right."

She held out the index finger of her right hand, stroking the tiny length of the boy's soft cheek.
"I didn't begin to think of names without you, by the way." Ulfric half lied. He had thought of it, but wouldn't have been able to decide without her.
"Good." Sottë was still seemingly entranced by the boy.
"You can hold him, if you like." Ulfric said, watching her mouth fall open before it was quickly closed again.
"I would like that."

He guided her in the proper way to lift and hold the child, having been shown himself by Alda mere hours beforehand. Moving to stand more behind her to help, Ulfric still held a hand to the back of the child's head from showing her how to support it.

"Ulfric?" Sottë breathed, eyes still on the child.
"Yes?"
"What was your father's name?"
"My father's name? That would be Ásketill."

Immediately, Sottë burst out laughing, her grip on the baby tightening instinctively.
"What? What's wrong with Ásketill?"
"Nothing!" She looked up to meet Ulfric's eyes with mischievous humour in every feature. She would definitely be the death of him. "Well, it's a bit old fashioned, isn't it? I mean…"ass" and "kettle"?"
"Hey! I remember him saying it meant "divine kettle" at some point. That's a nice meaning."

She burst into full, unrestrained chortling now. "Oh, Talos, I have to stop."
Sottë winced in pain, consciously exhaling and inhaling for a few moments to calm herself, eyes never leaving his.
"But I seem to remember that everyone had called him Bjorn since he was old enough to walk."
"Hmm," Sottë issued. "Bjorn. What do you think?"
"I like it. I like it a lot."
"So we're agreed?"
"We are."
"Bjorn." Sottë near-cooed down at their son. Ulfric allowed himself to grinned, relinquishing the stoic manner he had upheld these past few hours. He joined her in peering down at the newly-named Bjorn. His only discernible feature at this age was his blue-to-grey eyes, peering up at them innocently.

"Our very own lucky charm." Ulfric laughed, nudging his wife with his elbow playfully.
"Hopefully more lucky than a rabbit's foot." Sottë smiled.

There were very particular traditions within a Nordic court, and, strangely enough to most outsiders, there were many unwritten laws about relationships and their conduct. One of these happened to be very similar to the one Sottë had both dreaded and thanked Talos for only weeks prior, in which it was dictated that a widow of the court was expected to have at least a three month mourning period before remarrying. That, she had been thankful for, preventing her from being forced into a remarriage. However, this particular tradition, the tradition that dictated it improper for a married couple of the court to be seen entering the same bedroom (almost to the point of near scandal), was driving her crazy. It did nothing to assuage her post-pregnancy feelings.

Sottë had just finished a particularly light training session to ease herself into dusk as Ulfric cared for Bjorn in the library. She could see the man attempting to read some dusty old tome to the one-month-old.

Ulfric had, being ever the unexpected gentleman, taken the room along the hall, the room she had been holed up in when she had damaged her left arm. The arm had never reset properly at the wrist, and it was with great sadness that her trademark double swords had declined to one sole and lonely sword in her right hand. She had even reassumed combat training (if light to begin with), it being well past a month since she had given birth. She finished a particularly short session and ascended the stairs to rest for the night. If Ulfric seemingly took court norms so seriously, then she supposed that she would have to appear to, as well.

Sottë quickly changed from her new light armour to a loose white nightgown. She cast her eyes around the room, sighing as she settled herself alone in her bed to return to her page in Of Fjori and Holgeir. Despite it being a relatively short read, she had felt herself drifting into sleep halfway through the book, still sat upright in her bed.

She was awoken by the bedroom door being opened an hour later.
"I thought you might like to see Bjorn again before the end of the night," Ulfric said, sitting himself near Sottë's feet, her knees still being a suitable shelf for her book.
"That would be lovely." Sottë smiled slightly groggily, slipping the book to the bedside table and taking the youngster as he offered him to her.

"Drem yol lok, youngster," she smiled down at him, watching the expressionless eyes move about in his unblemished face.
Ulfric laughed at that, "Don't confuse the child."
Sottë gaped at him in mock offense. "Says the one who practically was reared by the Greybeards."

She had muttered that as an afterthought, and Ulfric quirked an eyebrow at that.
"I don't remember ever telling you that."
Sottë looked sheepish at that, snapping her head up from Bjorn.
"Er, wha-? I…you must have." She trailed up, hiding the blush that was setting in.
"Unless you read up on me when you went to the Greybeards?"
Sottë raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, yet the blush setting in across her cheeks made it obvious that he was right.

"I don't care, I'm not embarrassed. We're married with a child, it was an age ago."
"Oh don't back out of it now! I think it's sweet." Ulfric chuckled, edging subconsciously towards her along the bed. They were dangerously close. He could see the movement of her throat as she breathed. Her lips were ever so slightly parted.

"I'd better put Bjorn to bed." Sottë stated, Ulfric clearing his throat.
"I'll do it." Ulfric offered, taking the child and rising to his feet. He was interrupted as he went to bid goodnight to her.

"Ulfric? Would you please stay? I mean, after you've put Bjorn to bed, of course." Sottë asked, her voice small in the dim light.
Ulfric looked down as he thought.
"I-I don't mean in that…way. Just stay. I don't want to sleep apart from you anymore if I don't need to."
"I will."
"Thank you. If anyone mentions, we can always say you have a hysterical wife, or something?" Sottë nervously laughed.
"Of course." He laughed, firm this time.

When he returned, he placed himself next to her on the bed, removing his boots and getting into the bed, sitting up as she was. Sottë immediately rested herself against him agonisingly, him subconsciously placing a chin on the head she rested against his shoulder. She smelled faintly of the purple mountain flowers she kept in her wardrobe (the smell brought Helgen to his mind; he remembered them growing along that road), with an undertone of sweat from training earlier on in the evening. He swept an arm around her hip, realising how dangerously close they grew. One of her small hands fell to rest against his chest.

"Ulfric, I must ask you, I can no longer remain silent about the events of the past few months…I have too many questions for you, you know." Sottë murmured.
"I know. Well, I don't know what happened exactly beforehand, but the camp was an ambush. They had the high ground, and they outnumbered us massively. I don't know how many archers they had, but it was a lot. I was a fool to not suspect it in the first place. I don't know why they kept me a prisoner for so long, much longer than they had after the Battle of Fort Hraggstad."
"And Heddvild? How did she…?"
"Heddvild…she had been pursued by one of their cavalry a good length through the battle. He caught up to her eventually. She was gone instantly, love."

Sottë nodded solemnly, turning her face into his shoulder yet not crying.
"That's alright," she lied. "That's okay."

Tears threatened at her eyes. Ulfric hooked his index finger under her chin to turn her face to his.
"No, it isn't. I'm so sorry."
Sottë grimaced, her tears relenting.
"You know, she was the only one who knew I was pregnant? I suspected that was why she went with you, to tell you in case you didn't return." Sottë let out a small muffled sound of pain. "And it's her who dies on the battlefield."

Ulfric threaded his other arm around his wife's head to stroke her hair.
"It's all my fault for allowing her to join the Stormcloaks," Sottë sobbed lightly, "I should've demanded she return to her husband and home."
"It is not your fault at all, Sottë." Ulfric soothed. "The girl was stubborn, like her sister."

Sottë smiled briefly at that, returning to crying silently in heartbreakingly quiet grief against his shoulder.

Unsure if they had fallen asleep like that, he nudged her to test if she slept. The candle had burned out, so he assumed that they had.
"Mmh?"
"Are you okay?" Ulfric asked, voice low and rumbling. It was a very strange question, given their circumstances.
"Mmh." Sottë assured, snuggling into the man's chest. He had wrapped both arms around her firmly in his sleep as she had turned onto her side to face him, both hands on his chest. "Definitely. Much better now."

She smiled (he could have sworn) almost coquettishly up at him for a brief moment before lapsing back into fitful sleep.

"Good morning," he gasped, surprised to be awoken by the weight of her body sliding atop his.
"Hrmm, is it?" Sottë smiled crookedly down at him. Her hair was completely unbound from their trademark half-braids, and he realised how long the brown locks had gotten in his absence. Her hair swept over her left shoulder, reaching a good way down the length of her upper arm. Her form above his felt even better after the months apart, with court tradition being far from his mind with it all. She was a different in how childbirth had changed her previously skinny frame; her breasts were more full and rounded.

Sottë had placed her hands either side of him, her palms flat on the bed as she held herself above him, yet still tantalisingly close. Just by bending her arms at the elbows, she brought herself to rest her forehead against his.
"I have a confession to make."
"What's that?" Ulfric breathed.

"I really-"she stopped to kiss him, "-don't care what anyone in the court thinks about us sleeping together-"
She could feel him smiling against her.
"-or in Windhelm," she took a pause from kissing each time before quickly reassuming, "-or Skyrim."

The next kiss was lengthier, more passionate. His hands shot up to either side of her face.
"-or Tamriel, or Nirn, for that matter."
"Thank the Nine, then," he breathed.

Sottë giggled, threading her hands through his hair. He gave one last thought toward decency and stature, but, as he felt her hips clamp to him, he was verily disinterested in rumour and gossip.

Ulfric allowed his hands and arms to encircle her, trailing up the expanse of her white-clad form to rest over her fuller breasts. He feels her breath hitch in her throat and the contact, and she moved on her arms to straddle the man below her, claiming a minor victory inwardly as he follows her, as desperate as she is not to break the kiss.

To regain some power, Ulfric slipped his right hand under jaw to press fervent kisses along her jawline and down the length of her throat. Sottë feels herself elicit a gasp of pleasure. The words dirty tactics fly through her mind.
"It would appear you may have missed me more than you previously indicated, my jarl." She laughed shakily, the kisses he laid on her only serving to make her legs tremble either side of him, clamping to him tighter.
"I could say the same for you."

Reclaiming his mouth, Sottë feels Ulfric's hands start on the buttons of her nightgown, and she seizes one of the hands as she does so.
"What about keeping a good impression with courtiers?" Sottë chuckled inbetween kisses.
"They-"he relented to kiss her lengthily, "-are not going to know that I have had a good ten or so months with only thoughts of bedding my wife to keep me warm at night."

His words sent warm threads of pleasure through her as she released his hands, smiling into his kiss once more.
"Thoughts, eh?" Sottë breathed, just as the last button falls undone and two warm hands slide to push the garment off her shoulders.
"Oh, yes. Thoughts."

She swiftly slips him out of his own clothing with less-warm hands, tracing one of the familiar scars on his chest.
"Think I might have a word or two about such thoughts, Ulfric."

The low, sultry way she had said his name went straight to his head, and he responds by running calloused fingers up and down the soft expanse of her back and rear, resting now on the mounds of her bare breasts.
"Show me what you mean." She laughed into him.

He's unaware of how long they carry on that way.

"Ulfric, I need-"

She hooked a leg around his waist to indicate exactly what she could not articulate, and she felt him react even more to her. Ulfric shifted her to be below him, readmitting every curve and line of Sottë's form, every little sound and gasp and each quirk of the mouth to his memory. Sottë nips at his bottom lip, hooking the leg around his waist once more. He took note of the lust-filled eyes staring up at him from under the eyelashes.

She gave a little sound of pleasure as he enters her for the first time in almost a year. It's a familiar sensation, yet one so easily ebbed away by the past months. Ulfric's hands rove to her hips, seizing them towards him, slowly at first.

"Ulfric," she breathed his name in that way that she knows has an unparalleled effect on him. Gods, he had been with more experienced women before, but this particular woman was something else entirely. He reached up to sweep some of her long tresses behind her ear. Ulfric feels her smaller yet equally calloused hands go to either side of his face.

He relished the feel of her around him, and their rhythm increased until she elicits a string of low moans, carrying them both over the edge.

It is a good few moments before either of them speak, and Ulfric closes the gap between the two to have her skin on his.
"I have said it before and I'll say it again," Ulfric laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "you will be the death of me."
Sottë responded by pouting overdramatically, "Well, if you play your cards right, I shall make sure it is a very slow and painless death."

"I am a lucky man." He raised his eyebrows expectantly as he said the words. "And, until then."
Sottë planted a chaste kiss on him.
"I do love you, you know." Ulfric said.
"I know, it's just nice to hear it, that's all." Sottë breathed out a laugh, snuggling into her husband closer for warmth under the blankets.
"I really could get used to this," she sighed contentedly.