Hi guys! Another chapter here! I hope you're all doing well. You're going to notice that at the middle/end of the chapter there is a break where there appears to be some text missing. That is because I have taken the smut out of this chapter due to the TOS of FFN. If you would like to see the full version, that can be found on AO3 along with some fan art of Dahlia wearing an Imperial uniform. User name over there is: Queen_of_the_Winter. And the story has the same name there.

When Dahlia wakes up the next morning, the first light of dawn is just starting to filter through the copse of trees the camp is settled into. While the early hour doesn't bother her, she does regret that she doesn't see Ulfric before she leaves. When she pokes her head into his tent to see him, he's still sleeping, and she allows him to continue slumbering. The number of hours he gets is few and far between, so he needs all the rest he can get. However, she does slip a note under his tent flap before she goes. Knowing him, he'll hold it against her later that she left without saying goodbye if she doesn't. With any luck, that won't matter much as she'll be back in a few days, hopefully with good news for everyone. Surely, he'll be able to keep himself entertained with Galmar until she returns.

From what she understood from talking to Ulfric last night, there is no time to waste, and so the sooner she can get this task accomplished, the better for them all. She takes one last look back at his tent and leaves without much ceremony.

Hurtling over fallen, decomposing dead logs and bounding over stinking stagnant pools of water, Dahlia uses Whirlwind Sprint in order to get her to her destination sooner rather than later. Normally, she enjoys the scenery of her native land, but in this case in particular, she makes an exception. There is nothing worth note in the area surrounding Morthal other than decay, vampires, and frostbite spiders.

Everything looks the same out in the swamps, and after she passes the same fallen log twice, she suddenly stops. It seems that she has apparently gotten herself turned around in the wrong direction. She rubs her eyes in frustration. How she hates Hjaalmarch! She isn't sure which place she hates more: her current location or the Blue Palace of Solitude. She sincerely hopes that Ulfric has no intention of staying there.

Dahlia decides to slow down and pick her way carefully through this stretch of the nightmarish swamps of Morthal until she gets her bearings again. There is no use in getting herself even more hopelessly lost and wasting more valuable time. However, as she makes her way through the swamp, curiously enough, she hears the voices to two women. What on Nirn would anyone be doing out in this mess? She sighs as she tries to follow the voices of the two women in the hopes that one of them will be able to reorient her.

"I don't see why it's necessary to stay at an inn when we have perfectly good camping gear." A fiery redhead with unruly curls snarls at her companion.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll.

"I know that Vigdis, but if you look up at the sky, there is every indication that this is not a natural storm. If we don't get into proper shelter with walls and a roof, we'll drown in the rains. Then, we won't be able to stop my father at all." A brunette argues back, clearly exasperated with her traveling partner.

Dahlia wonders for a moment why they're even traveling together or rather, how the brunette has kept herself alive with the hatred she hears in the redhead's—Vigdis'—voice. Although, as she observes them, it could also perhaps be the exact opposite scenario: they're trying too hard to keep the other at arm's length.

A few seconds later, Dahlia's foot steps on a twig, and it break with a loud snap. It pierces the silence, and both the women look to Dahlia quickly. Vigdis in particular gazes at her sharply, cool eyes like daggers, as she begins to unsheathe the sword at her hip.

"I'm not here to give either of you any trouble." Dahlia calls out awkwardly. She feels quite like she stepped into something she shouldn't have.

Vigdis does not re-sheathe her sword; however, she doesn't continue pulling it out further. "That's close enough." She growls.

Well, at least she doesn't just treat her companion with disdain. It appears that she is non-discriminate in that sense.

"Is there something we can help you with?" The brunette asks cordially.

This one apparently at least knows some manners. As Dahlia turns her look at her, she discovers that she has startling persimmon-colored eyes. They're quite startling and like nothing she has ever seen before.

"I seem to have gotten turned around in the Talos-forsaken swamp." She gestures around herself in frustration. "Do either of you know which way Dragon Bridge is?"

"Do I look like a guide do you?" Vigdis snaps, and Dahlia bristles as she blinks in confusion.

The brunette sighs and points northeast of herself. "If you go in this direction, I think you should be able to find your way back to the road."

"Uh, thank you." She nods politely before she starts walking off towards where she has indicated.

What an odd couple! And that Vigdis—Dahlia looks over her shoulder to make sure she isn't going to get stabbed in the back-is certainly a different kind of character. She would think twice about agreeing to travel anywhere with her.

"I don't know why you have to be such a do-gooder, Serana." Dahlia hears the redhead say as she walks away.

"Kindness. It would do you some good if you tried it." Her companion replies.

Vigdis huffs, and then she hears no more from them.

If nothing else, this has been an eventful and interesting morning for Dahlia.

Several hours later, Dahlia eventually spots the great dragon bridge which indicates she has reached her destination. It looms over the small Empire-controlled hamlet as a reminder of the past and what the people can do when they join together to defeat their oppressors. Perhaps, in another context, Dahlia would think that it is inspiring, but in this case, it only serves as an emblem, a symbol to her of the great Imperial beast who turns a blind eye to the cruel persecution of her brothers and sisters. This is why she fights, and she'll happily take the consequences and receive the venom of those who sympathize with the Imperial cause if that means they can be free.

As she stares stonily out at her objective, Dahlia shields her eyes from the blinding sun as she tries to think of a plan for how exactly she will enter the town without being recognized. By now her face is both well-known and her alignment with the Stormcloaks no secret. The way she sees it there is only one way to go about this mission: a clever disguise. If she can get her hands on an Imperial uniform, then she will be able to hide herself and her face well enough that she should be able to walk into Dragon Bridge without any problems. At least, as long as no one stares at her face for too long.

But how will she acquire a uniform?

There also seems to be only one answer to that question as well: stealing from the Empire itself, which she will gladly do. While she might not be a trained thief, she should be able to make her way in around the back of soldiers' barracks to nab a uniform.

However, no matter how stealthy Dahlia believes she can be, she definitely cannot walk into the town wearing her Stormcloak armor, and it would be dangerous for someone else to find it. Reluctantly, she pulls off her light armor to put on her one spare change of plain clothes, a simple tunic and pants, and then sets fire to her own armor, burying any still-recognizable bits under the base of a great pine tree. Hopefully, Ulfric will give her a new set when she returns.

Having checked herself over and smeared some dirt on her face to make herself less-recognizable in case she is caught, she makes her way the long way around the town until she spots the tell-tale banners which indicate she is near the barracks. She makes short work of breaking into the building, Shouting Zul Mey Gut to empty the sleeping quarters of any soldiers before climbing her way in through the window.

Dahlia wastes no time in searching the space and quickly grabbing a spare set of faded red armor from a shelf before disappearing just as quickly as she appeared. Briefly, she struggles with the new armor, which she finds overly-complicated with more snaps and buckles than necessary, but eventually gets the monstrosity successfully on her body. For the finishing touches, Dahlia places the helmet on her head and gives her plain clothes the same treatment as her Stormcloak armor before making her way back into the town. This is perhaps the easiest part of her mission, as the next will require quite a bit of acting on her end. While she might have considered joining the Bards College in order to sing, she isn't sure that acting is her strong suit.

The streets of the town are mostly quiet, almost sleepy in a way. It's clear to her that the people of this town believe they have nothing to fear and nothing to worry about. They're well taken care of by the Empire due to the amount of money running through it and the close proximity to Solitude. This is in stark contrast to what she has seen in other regions of Skyrim, such as Riften and the Pale. Eastmarch only holds its own because Ulfric makes it so, and even then, they need some help. Dahlia's blood boils at the injustice, but what makes her even angrier is that there is not a single Thalmor agent or emissary in sight, unlike in several of the other Holds she has been to. The Elven bastards walk the roads and stay in several of the towns without question because they have no protection. The Empire should care for all of its citizens, and not those which they see as having more economic or cultural wealth.

When she opens the door to the Four Shields Inn, the sounds of laughter, clinking of mugs, and soft music reach her ears. Her eyes dart around the bar, partly to survey her options and partly due to her own anxiety. Now she is truly in the belly of the Dragon. Every which way she looks there are seas of red-clad soldiers in the tavern. One false move will give herself away, and she isn't sure if even her dragon Shouts could save her in this case. She swallows the nervous lump in her throat and makes her way to one table which isn't quite full yet.

"Mind if I join you boys?" Dahlia asks politely in what she hopes is proper character.

A few of them run their glassy eyes down her body, as if looking over a piece of meat they are about to enjoy. It is abundantly clear to her that her "companions" are deep into their cups, and as she sits down, bile rises to her throat as one man grips her arm and pulls her closer to him to sit in his lap.

"Are you looking for a good time, sweetheart"?

How dare they touch her, and how dare they assume that she—?

It takes everything in her willpower not to shake him off in disgust. If she wants information about the courier, she's going to have to play along. However, that doesn't mean that it doesn't make her sick to her stomach.

She looks back to the soldier whose lap she is currently perched on and bats her eyelashes at him.

"I am rather tired and admittedly could use something to help me relax. Would one of you gentlemen mind buying me a drink?"

"With pleasure." Her current companion whispers in her ear as he squeezes her hips.

She closes her eyes in frustration. Is this how they treat all women?

"Thanks, big man." She gives him what she hopes is a flirtatious smile as he places a bottle of mead in front of her. "Say, I've been out on the road for quiet a long time—"

"Oh, where did you just come from?" Another soldier asks.

Her brain quickly runs over all of the Imperial forts she knows they haven't captured yet. "Uh, Fort Snowhawk."

"Huh, one of my buddies is second in charge there, and last I heard they're locked down tight. No one should be leaving." He looks at her suspiciously.

Shit.

She buries her face in her mead to give herself a moment to think. "Oh, well, I was sent in order to give a report about the current status of the fort's supplies. Nothing special. I'll be going back early tomorrow morning."

"Ah, well that makes a little more sense then. We should be sending more supplies there soon because we have reason to believe the Stormcloaks are preparing an assault in Hjaalmarch."

Another soldier scoffs. "Even if they do attack the fort, those backwoods, second-rate Empire drop-outs wouldn't be able to take it. Some of our best troops are there. Galmar and Ulfric are washed up and blowing smoke out of their asses. It's just a matter of time until they give up."

"Yeah, but what of the Dragonborn? Since she has joined up with them, we've been having more trouble."

"Her?" He snorts. "Don't make me laugh. She's probably just there for Ulfric's dick and will turn tail at the sight of a real man. I bet she's quite the lay."

They all laugh except for Dahlia herself. She can feel that underneath her helmet her face is burning hot, and if it weren't for the vital information she is after, she would have clocked these bastards in the face to show them how well she can lay them out.

"How about you sweet cheeks?" The soldier who she is sitting on leans into her ear to ask. "Are you a good lay?" His hand starts snaking its way down to her thighs.

Between what she is hearing from these soldiers and the treatment she is receiving, she can't process what to do fast enough, except that she does not want them to touch her. She jerks harshly in her seat.

"Something wrong, honey?" He looks at her with a sneer. "You not enjoying your time with me?"

"Uh—I—I just am a little shy is all." Dahlia covers for herself. She needs to get out of here and fast.

It takes the last of her resolve to get this done. She leans back into the soldier behind her so that her back is flush against his chest. "So, you must be quite the big deal if you know all of this information, eh?"
He smiles lasciviously and adjusts her on his lap. She is honey, and he is caught in her trap. "You could say that. I know just about everything of the operations here between Dragon Bridge to Rorikstead."

Dragon Bridge to Rorikstead? Isn't that where Ulfric said the Imperial courier they are tracking is running from? She is going to have to lay it on thick and put on her best performance yet. This is exactly the information she is looking for.

She turns herself around to straddle the soldier. "Oh yes, I think I have heard of him." She runs a finger down his chest. "He does run right past our fort."

"Does he now?" He wraps a hand around her back to press her closer to him. She can feel his dick underneath her, and she wants to puke. "That's funny because he isn't scheduled to be at Fort Snowhawk until Fredas."

That's it. This is what she needs.

She bats her eyelashes at him with a smile. "Well, you can't blame a girl from trying to impress a higher-ranking soldier than her."

He chuckles and tries to lean forward to kiss her. However, with her job being complete, she moves to get up from her companion's lap.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks her as a hand reaches out to grab her roughly to pull her back down onto his lap. That will certainly bruise, but she doesn't care about that at the moment. She needs to get away.

"I—uh—I was—I was going to go get a room and-," she lowers her voice into a purr, "slip you the key to visit me later."

He lets go of her. "Make sure you do."

Dahlia winks at him as she walks up to the bar to get a room, putting the customary 10 septim price on the counter. The innkeeper slides her a key with a smirk.

"Enjoy your stay."

All she does is nod and walk away; however, she makes sure to slide the key to her "friend" before making a quick exit out the back door. He might try to visit her later, but all he will find is an empty bed. She doesn't lay with little Empire boys, only real men.

It takes her two days to finally pin down the courier, and she is only rewarded for her efforts with more violence and carnage. Everything is exactly as Ulfric had said it would be: a single courier guarded by a small group of agile mercenaries dressed in Imperial Red which causes her to cut swaths through them quickly before they overwhelm her. Either way, it doesn't matter much. Their deaths come swiftly yet softly. The soldiers all fall like sheaves of wheat during the autumn harvest: she has reaped what they have sown, their own deaths symbolic in a way. She cutting down the discontent which has grown between brother and sister in hopes that someday Skyrim can be closer, can heal.

And while she doesn't lament the loss of Empire soldiers, at the same time, she sometimes wishes there was less blood and less unnecessary loss. Dahlia knows it's kill or be killed, and she will not hesitate to do what she needs to, but do kinsmen really have to rip each other apart? Do they really have to die? It's perhaps the one thing she cannot reconcile nor rationalize in her brain.

After grabbing the courier's documents, Dahlia drags the bodies off of the path and then wipes the sweat gathering on her brow. The mid-summer in these parts of Skyrim is less mild than what she is used to, and she finds that she hates it and longs for the more temperate conditions of home: Windhelm.

She looks up to the sky to gage the time, as the bright sun shines from high down upon her. The long, lazy rays glint off the metal on her "borrowed" uniform, another reminder that the Empire does not know the meaning of subtle. If she were still wearing her Stormcloak uniform, it would do nothing of the sort. The dull metal would absorb the light hitting it instead of reflecting it.

She sighs as she laments its loss.

There is something vulnerable about wearing this armor, something foreign which doesn't quite feel right. Briefly, she wonders if Ulfric felt the same way when he was wearing the same red-colored armor. After all, he was an Empire soldier. She can almost picture it in her mind: shiny metal and polished red leather over his broad shoulders, a look of what at one time must have been pride burning brightly in his eyes. Ulfric would have worn his armor proudly into battle with youthful fervor along with his hot temper. He'd still be holding tightly to his previous naïve idealism, and his expression would be yet untainted by the jaded disenchantment which was placed there by the childhood hero who had failed him time and again.

Now, Ulfric is someone else, forged new in the embers of the destruction the Thalmor have created; however, sometimes when they are together, she can still spot the vestiges of the man he was in his youth: the man full of virulent passion and slow, easy smiles. She is slowly coaxing him forward again, and it is all possible because he has finally found someone to believe in him and whom in return he can trust with his life.

Briefly, a question flutters through her mind as she makes her way back to the camp: what he will think of her returning to camp in the wrong armor? As much as wearing it still makes her uncomfortable, it brings a smirk to her face. If she is lucky, she'll be able to make it back as the sun is setting and before Ulfric has turned in for the night. She just might get the answer to that question.

A few hours later, she does, indeed make it back within proximity of the camp before nightfall; however, she stops just short of entering. If she waltzes in there dressed like this, she is likely to get herself killed, no questions asked.

She takes off the helmet she is wearing, and shakes out her hair. It annoys her now more than before that she did not think to at least take the plain clothes with her to change into. It was stupid to destroy it, but she didn't want to carry anything else. Now she'll have to see if she can make it into the camp without getting herself shot full of arrows. Perhaps, the obvious answer would be to take off the armor and go in wearing her undershirt, but the overly-complicated straps were hard enough to buckle to get her into it. It will probably take her an hour or more to get herself out of it, and she is tired. Not to mention that she also wouldn't really be wearing any clothes if she did that.

Carefully, she crunches her way through fallen needles and dead undergrowth, the normally green vibrant color of the conifers here has changed to dull brown due to the lack of rain and the heat. As she makes her way closer to where she knows their camp is placed, her eyes scan quickly in every direction to be on the lookout for any of her Stormcloak brethren.

Despite the fact that faint orange light is still filtering through the trees, which should mean animals and soldiers alike should be out and about, the forest is mostly silent. This tells her one thing: someone or something is out here. If she had to guess, she'd say it's one of her comrades stalking herself: the woman stupidly dressed in Imperial armor who had the "misfortune" of walking too close to their camp. It would be best for her to play along with anyone she comes across. She doesn't want to accidentally hurt one of her own.

She stops, leaving them a clear opportunity to come after her.

A twig snaps. Hands reach out to grab her, shoving her face down into the ground. A sword makes its way to her throat.

"Don't make any sudden movements, Imperial bitch. How in Oblivion did you make it this close to our camp?"

When she hears the voice, she actually relaxes. At least this will be easy to talk herself out of.

"Ralof, it's me."

For several seconds there is silence. He's no doubt calculating the discrepancy between the red armor and the familiar voice he hears.

Then, Ralof quickly removes the sword from the back of her neck and extends a hand to help her up. "Dahlia? What—why in Talos' name are you wearing that?"

"That's an interesting story, and I'd very much like to get out of this armor and make it back to camp without being attacked again. Would you mind escorting a lady home, and I'll tell you all about it?" She rubs the back of her neck, and charges a weak healing spell. She'll have to give it to him; his blade is sharp.

He snorts. "I don't know about lady, but I can certainly help you make it back in one piece.

They two joke companionably as they walk back, and because Ralof is with her, no one gives her any trouble, even if they all stare at her. He marches with her straight back to the officer's tent where she can spy Ulfric and Galmar talking outside of the entrance. They must have just finished a meeting, or an afternoon of drinking mead. It's hard to know which with those two.

They both narrow their eyes when they catch sight of her, not quite able to distinguish her features quite yet.

"Don't either of you recognize me?" She calls out to them.

Confusion crosses both of their expressions. This is almost fun.

"You're wearing the wrong armor, soldier. Did you get tired of ours so quickly?" Galmar asks as she gets closer to them.

However, all Ulfric does is stare, eyes focused and running down her body with an enigmatic look. A shiver runs its way up her spine, and she chooses to ignore him for the moment; his stare is unnerving her.

"Oh, am I now? I hadn't noticed." She spins for effect. "Did you expect me to march into Dragon Bridge in Stormcloak blue? I ditched my uniform. So, unless you expected me to walk into camp practically naked, this is all I have to wear."

"I take it you were successful then?"

"Would I be back if I weren't?" She raises a challenging brow at her General and takes the papers out from the pouch at her side, handing them to him.

Finally, she decides to address Ulfric with a smirk. "Had I joined the Empire, this is what your demise would have looked like."

His deep blue irises meet hers, flashing dangerously in the low light of the dusky twilight quickly setting in on them.

"Indeed." He states mildly, but follows it with an unexpected question. "And what makes you so sure that you haven't already brought my own demise upon me?"

"The fact that you're still standing in front of me."

"Woman, one of these days, you'll be the death of me. Mark my words."

"Or perhaps I will be your salvation?"

Galmar makes a choking noise. "If you don't have anything else to report for the moment, I'm leaving. You two are enough to cause a man to drink. Come on, Ralof. You can help me with these papers."

Reluctantly, Ralof follows Galmar into the tent, who knows what the Stone-Fist will have him do, and Ulfric takes Dahlia by the hand and starts leading her through the camp.

"Would you mind walking me back to the women's tent?" She asks him, but he doesn't answer her.

Ulfric only keeps walking, his eyes facing forward the whole time as he leads her through the paths winding their way through the many makeshift tents of the military camp. Eventually, he pulls her down a smaller alley, backing her into one of the canvas sides of a tent.

"Ulfric what are you..."

He runs his hands up and down her sides, and when his eyes meet hers, she can see exactly what's he's thinking.

"I don't like your armor very much." He continues his exploration, inspecting the straps as he starts unbuckling some of them.

"Everyone will see us here and—" She protests weakly.

He places a rough kiss to her mouth.

She is so beautiful to him, and he will have her in every way he can from now until the end of his days. He is the luckiest man on all of Nirn. Who else could say that they have the most perfect woman in bed with him?

Dahlia places a kiss to Ulfric sweaty temple. "You know that there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you?"

He looks at her, noting her half-lidded eyes contented smile on her face. "As there is nothing that I would not do for you."

Once he has caught his breath, her gets out of bed and moves to the other side of his tent. Dahlia's eyes follow him curiously as he grabs a cloth and small bowl from his washbasin returns to her.

He kneels down to her level and begins cleaning her up, starting with wiping the sweat from her brow. However, when he reaches her hips, he can see the beginnings of faint bruises forming at her hips, and he kisses them softly.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, love. I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't." She smiles tiredly at him and puts his mind at easy. "And if I hadn't liked what you were doing, I would have told you, or I would have moved you by force."

While she could heal the bruises easily, she decides to let them go. They'll serve as reminders of him in the days or weeks to come.

Ulfric dips the cloth into the small bowl he is holding and continues to clean her, focusing now on her legs.

"You know you don't have to do this. I am perfectly capable of it myself." She tells him.

"Yes, but I want to do it. I made a promise that I would take care of you when I gave you that Amulet of Mara, and I intend to keep it."

Then, having finished with his task, he gets up and goes back to his washbasin to run a clean rag slightly over himself before walking back to get into bed with her."Now, go to sleep and dream of me."

"I couldn't imagine doing anything else."

With that, he pulls her closer to him to rest her head on his chest and both of them fall into a dreamless sleep.