There are two more chapters until the end of this fic! :O I will be writing a sequel. ;) Thank you so much for following along with me and reading. I appreciate it so much, and it really does mean the world to me. 3 I hope you all will follow along for the next installment. Enjoy!

The next week passes with a flurry of movement as the camp prepares to set the subsequent parts of their new plan into motion. The Stormcloak soldiers are doing their damnedest to move equipment and materials quickly against the heat of mid-summer despite their exhaustion. Time is of the essence, and rather than the Empire itself, they are battling more against the elements than anything else. The heavy, overbearing humidity of the air sticks to their skin, clinging to them stubbornly as it tries to weigh them down. It feels as though the gods themselves are punishing them with the unbearable conditions as sweat trickles down their backs and soaks their underclothes.

But, there is one thing that the gods do not account for-that they cannot take from them-together, their hearts push harder against their adversaries than the sun which beats down on them. They have triumphed thus far against harder and more oppressive foes than this, and there is important work to do. If they wish to tear them down, they will have to try harder than this.

Day in and day out, the Stormcloaks work from sun up to sun down. And when they wake every morning , it feels as if they hadn't gone to sleep at all; however, no one complains. Not one word. Despite the uncomfortable conditions, there is a buzzing of hope, even louder than the incessant whine of the cicadas around them. Word has spread that the report Dahlia brought back from the Imperial courier has valuable information. Apparently, Fort Snowhawk is in need of some reinforcements, ones that Galmar is going to make sure they're not going to get.

After making some strategic adjustments to the Empire's plans, the General reseals the document and sends Dahlia off again to hand in the report at Morthal: his argument being that she already has the armor for the job, so she might as well finish it.

And when she returns a few days later, sweaty and tired from crawling around the putrid swamps of Hjaalmarch, she tells Galmar and Ulfric that the job is done, and proudly informs them that she was even tipped a whole 5 septims by the Legate for her service. As proof, Dahlia immediately digs the tainted coins out of her pocket and hands them to Ulfric, who only looks at her in bewilderment.

"For our cause, of course. We have a new benefactor in the Empire." She laughs and presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

With that, she passes him by with a wink and goes directly to the small lake nearby to wash up and cool off. After all, with things seemingly moving ever more quickly to their inevitable conclusion, who knows when she will be able to do so again.

The eventuality that they will march on Solitude, and the taste of victory coats their tongues like a sweet, viscous honey. However, there is a bitter aftertaste cannot be washed away no matter how many times Dahlia tries to spit it out. While she knows that everything should go according to plan, she cannot help but think about Uflric and the fact that he is here now with them. Just by him being here, it has done wonders for the troop's morale, but at the same time, it has moved their future King closer into harm's way. This is one thing that both her and Galmar agree on: He should stay firmly at camp until they are ready for the final assault, even if he insists on accompanying them to Fort Snowhawk. There is no reason to expose him to more potential danger.

When they finally make their way to Fort Snowhawk, it falls, just like all the other dominos which have fallen into place in order to get them here. As Dahlia stands next to Galmar in the aftermath of the battle, she briefly wonders if this had been too easy and when the other boot is going to drop. Almost everything up until this point in time has gone in their favor.

"What's on your mind, Snowhammer?" The General asks. He's gotten to know her well enough now to know that her silence means she's chewing on some thought or another. Otherwise, she is pretty good at speaking her mind.

"Is it just me, or has this been," she touches a hand on her temple, "too easy, almost? I can't shake the feeling that something is coming."

He looks out over the battlements to the foggy marshes of Morthal, as if looking for another enemy to materialize suddenly from the mist. "Perhaps, it might seem easy to you," he looks back at her, "but I will remind you of two things. One, the absolute slaughter in the Reach despite the fact that we came out victorious. And two, you were not always with us, and things were not always this way. Before you joined, things were a lot harder for us, and we had more losses than wins."

The admission makes her turn her gaze towards him. This is not something the General would say lightly, especially because of their recent rough patch after her disappearance. Dahlia knows he is still somewhat sore about that, and she hasn't forgotten it either.

"I know that, but-I just-it seems that it should not make such a difference."

He has had enough of her humbling self-doubt. It might be endearing to others, but she needs to learn something very valuable if she is going to marry Ulfric. "I'm going to speak plainly to you because you need to hear it, and I suppose this is part of my job now. You need to cut the horseshit."

She blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, or do you have wax in your ears? You have a powerful position, and you are god-blessed. So, for Talos' sake, you need to start acting like it. I know that you're trying to play humble, but we all know what you're capable of, and you need to start acting like you know it too. There is a difference between arrogance and being self-assured. If you are to sit on that throne and be High Queen, you need to learn to act like you belong there. I would have though Ulfric would have taught you that by now."

She opens her mouth and closes it, unsure of what to say.

Galmar sighs and runs a hand down his tired face. "Listen, I know you're smart, or at least you appear to be, but you're still a little naïve when it comes to the games of court politics. While being humble might win you favor and make people like you when you are Thane, being a ruler isn't always about if people like you or not. You need to show that you aren't a push over, or the wolves will come biting at your heels, and they won't stop."

Quietly, she considers her general's advice and thinks back to what she experienced in the time she spent with Ulfric in Windhelm as his Thane. While she knows there is more to ruling than smiling and nodding, Galmar's advice reminds her of the sobering reality of what it is to be responsible for an entire population. She thinks back to remember Ulfric's late nights of paperwork, the many hours he spent in appearances before the court, and the meetings with advisors and counsel members. And that isn't even everything. There is a reason that Ulfric was always steely and tired, not bending to give an inch. The people cannot have a weak ruler. That would easily open the doors to instability.

The realization makes her appreciate the fact that Ulfric has allowed her into his life even more. Dahlia cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for him, and how he did this all alone for so many years.

"I appreciate the advice, Galmar, and I will take it to heart."

"Be sure that you do." He nods respectfully to her before taking his leave, and perhaps, she thinks, there is hope for them to be friends yet. Especially if he is offering her advice.

The walls of Fort Hraggstad loom ominously over them even from their new military camp a mile away. As Dahlia sits outside her tent to look at the well-kept and polished grey stone of the Empire's last remaining hold of troops, aside from Solitude that is, she can't help but wonder how they're going to take the fort down. It will not be easy. After their victory at Fort Snowhawk, it is certain that the Empire will have sent the last of their spare soldiers here and pulled the rest of the essential ones into the city proper.

It is just as Ulfric told her before she left: They're knocking on the gates of Solitude, and now there is nowhere to run, and nowhere for them to hide. It will make the Empire more dangerous than ever. Like a saber cat cornered in a cave, it will fight back with claws and teeth.

But Ulfric will fight harder. This is what he has thrown away his reputation for, and now it is so close that he can almost taste it. In the days leading up to her leaving, Dahlia could note the change in him, the slight, sharp glint in his eyes. If there is one thing that is more vicious than a saber cat, it is a bear with its cubs, and he will fight for victory and justice to liberate them all.

This was three weeks ago, and she started missing him not three minutes after they set off for their new location.

Since then, all she has been doing is running herself ragged all over the northwestern side of Haafingar for reconnaissance, attending meetings beside Galmar, and sleeping fitfully as she worries about what is happening back in their new base camp hidden in the forests outside of Dragon Bridge. She and a good handful of soldiers went ahead to a makeshift military camp closer to Fort Hraggstad in order to make operations easier for them.

However, despite the fact that she is bone tired, there is one thing she is sure of: she's more than happy to be out of the swamps. It was starting to make her sick. Although, if she is honest with herself, the not knowing of what is going to happen next makes her stomach churn just as much as the scenery of Hjaalmarch did.

Standing and stretching, Dahlia decides to get up and take another walk because if she sits here a moment longer, she feels like she is going to vomit. Perhaps she will see what Lyssa is up to. She could use the help, and Dahlia can work off some of her restless energy and distract her overactive imagination. From what she knows, Galmar isn't going to send any of them out until he has a more solid plan for the seemingly-impenetrable fortress, and there is no point sitting around and doing nothing. Idle hands lead to idle thoughts, after all.

However, when she arrives at the medical tent, the moment Lyssa takes one look at her, she tells her to go lay down in her bedroll.

"You're as pale as a newly-bleached sheet, Dahlia. I don't know what Galmar has you doing, but you need to take a rest. I can handle things well enough from here."

"But-"

"No, no. As the official camp matron, I am sending you straight to bed. You can't fight if you can't lift a sword properly." She admonishes her.

"That's the thing. I haven't been able to sleep."

That makes Lyssa turn her complete attention to her.

"What's the matter?"

Dahlia sighs and rubs the back of her neck. She isn't sure she wants to admit her weakness, even if it is to a friend. "I-I'm nervous is all. I just want this damn war to be over so we can all go back home and-"

"And you can go marry a certain Jarl?" Lyssa smiles knowingly.

"How did you-"

"I didn't. You just told me."

Dahlia stands there speechless, but lets out a slight chuckle. Lyssa is very sneaky. Perhaps Galmar should recruit her for some of their spy missions.

"Yes, that is true, but please keep it between us?"

"Of course, dear. Who else am I going to tell? The sleeping and unconscious soldiers around us?" She lifts a teasing brow.

"You never know." Dahlia smiles back.

She has always liked Lyssa. The woman has always had a way about her to make her smile. And if she is honest with herself, she feels a lot calmer having come here even if it is just to talk. It is possible that all she needed was a friend.

Lyssa moves from her charges to one of the small cabinets at the side of the medical tent. "Here," she hands a small purple bottle to her, "take this if you're having trouble sleeping. You'll be out like a candle in no time and sleeping like you're in Sovngarde."

Dahlia shakes her head. "I didn't come to you for this."

"I know, but it's my job. No matter what ails the Stormcloaks, it is my job to make sure we are all in top shape. Now run off and dream of your Jarl." Lyssa shoos her away.

Dahlia knows when she has been beaten, and in this case, she has no ammunition with which to argue, so she takes the bottle and makes her way back to her tent.

As she is walking through the camp, she notes that several of the soldiers stop and nod respectfully to her. She straightens her posture, throwing back her shoulders hastily, and salutes each and every one of them. Dahlia is beginning to learn and put into practice what Ulfric has taught her, as well as taken the advice Galmar gave her to heart, just as she said she would. The old bastard was right after all. At least this time. Not that she will tell him. Knowing him, it will go to his head.

She snorts at her own joke as she goes to open the flap of her tent; however, she notices that there is a letter pinned to the outside. Dahlia sits quickly on her bedroll as she rips off the seal on the outside envelope. She can recognize the handwriting immediately.

Of all of the stupid, selfish, foolish things that you could have done...

Not even a greeting. Typical Lydia. She just goes straight to the point: yelling at her for disappearing. Dahlia had expected this much.

What on Nirn would have possessed you and also Ulfric to do something so incredibly idiotic? When you get back here to Windhelm I am going to clock you myself for how much you have left us all worried.

But don't worry about me, as I am fine, but very angry at you. Narile and I are happy living in Hjerim and have taken up your duties as Thane in your absence. Someone has to help poor Jorleif. Poor man doesn't know what to do with himself...

I am assuming by now that you've delt with the dragon and moved onto some plan or another with the Civil War. I haven't heard anything since your last letter, but I know that you had better still be alive, or I will call Odahviing and get him to take me to Sovngarde to bring you back, so I can kill you again myself.

You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you were trying to find ways to get yourself killed, and you can't do that. You still have to attend my wedding. Which, by the way, Narile and I have been holding off on specifically for you to get back here and attend, or we would have done it already. However, I told her that I could not imagine getting married without my closest friend-my sister in arms-being there. So you need to get back here, and you need to do so in one piece. Not to mention you need to go marry that Jarl of yours and have so many children that neither of you know what to do with them. Speaking of which, has he finally grown the balls to give you a damned Amulet of Mara yet? I have half the mind to go and knock some sense into him if he hasn't...

Come home soon. We all miss you, and I feel lost without you.

Your angry but loving friend and housecarl,
Lydia

Dahlia frowns at the piece of correspondence, not because she is angry with Lydia, not because she is displeased with the contents, but because she did not expect a letter from home to hit her this hard emotionally.

Before she knows it or can even stop it, hot, wet tears slip down her face and splash onto the paper in front of her as she involuntarily crumples it in her hands. However, as soon as she notices, her stomach lurches uncomfortably, and her hands scramble to flatten out the paper once again. It has been a hard couple of weeks for her between the increasingly uneasy feeling in her stomach, her unceasing worry over Ulfric, and the cold emptyiness of her bedroll every night.

Despite its fortuitous timing, the letter pushes her mentally and physically tired body over the edge, the brim of her cup finally overflowing its borders with emotions she cannot contain any longer. Dahlia tries to shelter herself from the oncoming flood by wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if that would force them all back to where they belong-to the safety of the furthest reaches of her mind where not even she can find them, but ultimately, she is unsuccessful in trying to hold in her own sobs.

After all, where is there to go when there is no more space inside oneself? The only way is out.

She tries to find solace in the fact that she is alone. Perhaps, this is actually a blessing in disguise. At least that is the lie she tries to tell herself. No one else can see her bend like a sapling in the wind before she breaks.

This is how she falls asleep, body curled into itself, arms reaching around her, and tears staining her cheeks. However, even there, she finds no respite from her anguish, as her waking nightmares stubbornly follow her to plague her in dreams.

When Galmar wakes her not two hours later, Dahlia almost wishes she had never fallen asleep. All throughout her fitful sleeping, she dreamed of the many ways her fragile love could be stolen from her, seeing Ulfric dying in her arms over and over again.

Over the next few days, Galmar continues to work her to the bone. Perhaps the only good thing about his renewed reliance on her is that it seems like things have finally gone back to normal between the two of them. That and it has kept her brain occupied since her breakdown. Dahlia finds if she keeps herself occupied that she can keep her body and mind moving and not dwell on how tired she has been feeling or her near-constant nightmares.

Everything else has been absolute torture. The Stone-Fist drags her to meetings here and meetings there. He asks her opinion on even the most minute details of their preparations to take Fort Hraggstad. Battle strategy, supply lines, logistical movements. It's enough to make her head spin, and she finds she can barely keep up with it all. How is Galmar doing all of this? On top of this, soon thereafter, he even gives her an entire batalion to command. While she has taken on smaller groups, this is the largest one yet. She just hopes she doesn't fuck it up and that her general's newly found faith in her isn't misplaced.

"What do you think if we move these supply lines down further?" He asks her, watching her carefully as he moves a blue flag towards the town of Morthal.

Dahlia scrunches her forehead in concentration. "But wouldn't it make more sense to completely avoid the marshes in favor of Dawnstar? There's a port there, and trying to take things through the swamps will slow us down just as much, if not more than taking the long way around to the Pale."

The General nods his head in approval and slides the blue piece back to Dawnstar. "And what do you think of this fort and your troops?"

She feels as if she were back in school and trying to pass some ridiculous test. But what is he testing her for?

Losing her patience, she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I don't know, Galmar. Isn't that your job to figure out?"

A gauntleted fist slams into the table, scattering the pieces on the table.

"Do you really think that matters? What if something were to happen to me? Do you think any of these idiots could keep the war running?" He snaps.

"Is this what this is all about? I am not going to let anything happen to you Galmar. You're the toughest old bear there is. Sovngarde doesn't call for you yet." She leans over the table and rests an elbow on the table.

"You don't get to make those decisions."

"Perhaps that might be, but you've been running me ragged into the ground the past three weeks, and I am tired."

His pale grey eyes snap to hers, a shard of ice ready to pierce her through. "You are tired? You're what? 20 years younger than I am, and you're tired? Well, if you're that tired," he gestures to the flap of his tent, "then there is the door."

She straightens up instantly at the implication of what he is saying. "That's not what I meant Galmar, and you know it. You've been riding me hard ever since Fort Snowhawk. Where are the other officers? Ralof should be here too."

"Ralof is not going to be High Queen."

There it is. Now she knows what all this testing is about. She pauses for a moment, watching Galmar, his chest rising and falling sharply with barely-contained patience. He looks as though he is going to toss her out on her ass at any moment.

"I'm sorry, General." She tries to go back and fix the damage of what she has done. "What should we do with the fort, you asked?"

Dahlia breathes out steadily as her brain sifts through all the military strategies she has seen either from him or Ulfric in the last months and tries to pair it with what she has observed in her frequent trips to scan the perimeter of the fort. It's enough to bring on another headache, but she tries for Galmar because she knows deep down that this is his way to helping her. "...the walls are impenetrable and if we try to go in through he front, even with all of our troops, we'll get slaughtered..."

Galmar leans back, eyes fixed on her as she tires to work out something they can do. They cannot just sit here gathering resources forever. Eventually, someone will find their camp and attack them first.

"...what if we cause a distraction? Give them a reason to make them come to us?" She chews on her bottom lip as she tries to work out the details. "Obviously, they won't be dumb enough to completely vacate the premises. But what if we gave them something to really worry about?"

A wicked grin starts to make its way onto her face. She knows exactly what they can do.

"Like what, Dragonborn?" He asks, eyes glinting dangerously as if he had expected her to come to this conclusion all along.

"A dragon."

"'Atta girl. I knew you'd get there eventually."

They spend the next three days planning exactly how the assault will play out, down to the very last detail. At these heights, there is no room for error, no matter how insignificant. Between her battalion, Ralof's, and the dragon, they should have enough man power in order to take out a decent chunk of the Empire's soldiers and take the fort.

Throughout the whole planning stage, Dahlia makes sure that Odahviing will not come into any real harm during the process. Having him fly too close to the fort would put him in the way of the Empire's catapults and mounted crossbow turrets, and she insists she stays firmly away from the brunt force of the action.

Galmar protests at first, his argument being that if he could fly closer to the fort, the dragon could devastate the outer curtain walls and exposed archers with fire. However, she will not budge one inch on this matter. While she had always thought about possibly calling him or others in to help her, she doesn't want to abuse her power or put her dragon friends in danger. This isn't their fight after all; it is theirs to win or lose by their own hands.

When it comes time to begin the assault, Dahlia calls Odahviing to her and explains what she needs from him, and he agrees without much convincing. It's surprising to her that with so little detail he agrees to be their distraction, but he informs her that she is his queen, and what she needs he will be happy to provide for her. The title still causes her some pause, but as Galmar has told her over the last few weeks, she will have to get used to it.

Soon thereafter, marching lines of blue-clad troops make their way in orderly rows as they follow their commanding officer without question. Their faces reflect their belief, their determination, and their will to do whatever it takes to liberate their home, no matter the consequence: Victory or Sovngarde. It's an awe-inspiring sight to behold as Dahlia turns back to check on her charges. She is at the front of the assault this time and taking full command, Galmar having decided to go with Ralof to meet the Imperial soldiers who will be drawn out by the dragon.

They make their way to their destination, the forest in front to the fort, to wait for the Imperials to leave the safety of their perfect-maintained walls. If Dahlia has her way, she will soon see them crumble to nothing but dust.

As she stands stoically at the very front to her soldiers, her stomach tangles itself nervously in knots. This is not the time for her to doubt herself or the plans and preparations they have made. She closes her eyes to ground herself, pushing the bubbling sensation of nausea back down. She already vomited twice this morning.

Several minutes pass as she waits impatiently to hear the tell-tale roars of Odahviing, but eventually, she does hear, him and he becomes visible as a dark speck against the blindingly blue skies. It isn't long after that chaos and disorder ensue.

The warning bells sound, ringing out over the din of the dragon's Shouts. Red-dressed soldiers scramble around like ants in complete disarray. And finally, they begin to spill like red rivers from their fort.

It is time.

Dahlia holds up her left hand, motioning to her soldiers to follow, as she slips silently through the ends of the forest to meet the open plains in front of their objective. They will be able to be spotted easily from this position by the remaining Imperial soldiers, but they are ready for them. She is ready for them. Dahlia charges up a chain lightning spell in both hands. It will be her job to incapacitate any mages who have remained and later join the fray of fighting with her sword.

When they break the tree line, they begin their calculated strike and rush to meet their enemies. Soon, the sharp clang of metal on metal, the thundering sound of their footfalls, and rallying shouts of her brothers and sisters in arms are the only things she hears. Images flit disjointedly from her vision in every which way she looks as she tries to interpret what is happening and where she needs to go next.

Red.
Blue.
Red.
Blue.
Red.

Whirling colors and rivers of blood are all that she sees-all that she can make sense of. Even amongst her own Stormcloak soldiers, it all becomes red in the end. Every single one of them bleeds the same color when they're stripped of their armor. But she forges on as the acrid, metallic scent of soldier's blood spills onto the field, onto the stone, onto her armor. It permeates the air, making her wretch as it coats her skin in dark, sticky layers. But she continues all the same to push forward, white blue streams of white-hot lightning leaving her fingertips as her Destruction spells hit mage after mage, and she finishes them off with her blade.

One by one, they all fall down, and she tries not to look at them, but they are everywhere: felled by her blade at her feet, held in her own lap as she heals who she can, and dropped into piles unceremoniously in front of her eyes. This is what needs to be done, and she will do it-must do it. It is the price she pays for Skyrim's freedom and for her own liberation, but she doesn't have to like it.

So, she just presses on, unsure of where her enemies' blood ends and hers begins.

At least until she sees a familiar face: Hadvar.

Dahlia remembers his face from Helgen. After all, how could she forget it? She can also gather from the way he is speaking to her, he recognizes her as well. She must have had the same impact on him as he did her.

He stands in front of her much in the same state that she is in: covered in the carnage of their battle, tired chest heaving, and a tired look in his eyes.

"Of course, it would all come to this. Does Ulfric's greed meet no bounds?" He spits with disdain. "And more importantly, are you happy with yourself and your decisions?"

While she doesn't know him very well, in her talks with Ralof, she knows that he and Hadvar were at one time very close. How close? That she is unsure of, but she suspects that they may have been more than brothers at one point in time. Either way, she knows that although they are on different sides of this war, Ralof still holds him in high esteem. And now here she is standing in front of him, sword drawn. Fate has decided to throw them together just one more time.

She smiles at him grimly. "It is not your place to question my motives as they are my own."

"Even when it ends like this?" He gestures around to the bloody battlefield.

"Especially when things end like this. We both know that the only thing we want is what is best for Skyrim in the end."

"Is that what this is? Brothers and sisters coming together and killing each other? And all so Ulfric can have a crown? He is nothing but a petulant child." He looks at her in disappointment. "From what I had heard of the Dragonborn, it had seemed you had morals, respect, and dignity. But then you joined Ulfric. Have you been so corrupted by power?"

His accusation sets her teeth on edge. How many times has she been asked this same question or seen it in the eyes of those who look at her with disdain? Quite frankly, she's tired of it.

"I am my own person. This is what I believe in," she flings her arms wide, "-a free Skyrim where we can worship what we please and where we are not carried away in the middle of the night and burned at the stake like we are criminals. In this belief, I am unshakable, unswerving, unmovable. You do not know of what you speak, and you are just as ignorant if you turn a blind eye to what is happening. So, if I am guilty, you are just as much as so."

They stand there for a beat, catching their breaths, as they stare the other down. However, eventually, Hadvar speaks. "Then we are at an empasse."

"Indeed, we are." Dahlia hears a different familiar voice respond, and her eyes snap behind Hadvar to notice who is standing behind him, sword pointed into his chest.

She was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn't notice at what moment the second band of troops joined them, and she definitely didn't notice that Ralof had made his way to find her.

"Ralof-" She calls out to him.

"Why are you even bothering wasting your breath in speaking to these Empire dogs. They're lost." Ralof's eyes burn into her own, reflecting the betrayal he feels for his oldest friend.

"You don't have to do this Ralof."

She knows how much his friend means to him, and she doesn't want him to do this. No one should have to do this.

But her weakness for speech, her belief that perhaps Hadvar can be reasoned with, her wish for Ralof not to experience the emotional agony that is killing one you love, turns itself on its head. Her understanding and kindness is rewarded by Hadvar turning to slice at Ralof's chest, her brother in arms falling to the ground with a thud from the impact.

Hadvar only stares on in disbelief at what he has done as Dahlia makes her way towards him, drawing her sword and pushing it into his chest with a sickening squelch. He doesn't even bother defending himself, and it would not have done him any good either way. Dahlia sees nothing but red. He too falls to the ground, next to his childhood friend, blue bleeding into red while Dahlia kneels over Ralof with healing hands to see what can be done.

"You're going to be just fine, Ralof. I'm here." She tells him quietly.

His light blue eyes roll over to look up at her as he clutches his chest to try to staunch the bleeding.

"You should have seen this coming. Once a traitor, always a traitor. These Empire bastards have no sympathy, and there is no reasoning with them." He coughs, a bit of blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Shhh, save your strength." She tells him. On the outside she is calm, but on the inside she feels nothing but panic for her friend. She pushes more magicka into her healing hands spell, the warmth trickling too slowly from her to heal her friend.

Ralof's eyes flutter closed briefly before she shakes him back awake.

"Let me go to Sovngarde. Maybe I will meet Hadvar there...and maybe there..." He trails off again.

She presses her hands into his chest more firmly to help with the blood loss while continuing her spell. "Don't you dare give up on me now. It's not that bad, and I have healed worse. I assure you that you are not going anywhere."

He smiles up at her and grabs onto one of her hands to hold it tightly as he allows her to work.

True to her word, after a few moments, the spell takes hold and stitches up the slash on Ralof's chest, and the bleeding finally stops. It is a relief to her because she felt her magicka pools draining. Her stores had gotten too low from the Destruction spells she was casting and other soldiers she had healed. She will have to make a mental note to carry around more bottles of blue magicka potions in the future.

Who knows when she will really need them?

Dahlia helps pull Ralof up to his feet as he cannot stay there with the battle still raging on around them. She allows him to leans against her as she walks him to Lyssa at the medical tent to look over.

However, as she walks away, she can't help but take one last moment to turn and look back at Hadvar. His glassy eyes point unseeingly up to the sky, and she sighs heavily.

This was never what she wanted.