Hi guys! I hope you're doing well. I am here to tell you that the next chapter is the last one for this fic. :O However, do not worry as I am currently working on a sequel! :) Thank you for reading and for sticking through this story with me. I appreciate each and every one of you. 3
Guilt settles like a stone in her stomach as Dahlia feels that she is directly responsible for Ralof's injury. She spends the next few days attending to him as best as possible to atone for her perceived fault. Even if Ralof assures her that she is not the one to blame, Dahlia isn't the one who pulled the sword on him, she still believes that she was the one who gave Hadvar the opportunity to do so.
This brings her to the next thought she has been trying to avoid: Hadvar.
He is someone else weighing heavily on her conscious. Dahlia carries the guilt of his death along with the load of others who are her burden. When she first told her brother-in-arms of his friend's fate, he had asked to be alone. However, Dahlia could still see the tears shining in his eyes and hear his wailing cries of lament even before she even left the tent. She cannot imagine the emotional agony he must be feeling.
She doesn't know what she would do if Ulfric were to be taken from her, and she doesn't want to dwell on it. The idea already haunts her relentlessly in her dreams. Wakefulness is the one place where she can at least try to escape it.
Although she doesn't feel like she deserves it, Dahlia finally finds some relief when Ulfric arrives to their camp three days later. Galmar had sent the fastest courier they had to inform them of their victory. Normally, Dahlia would have been sent herself, but the General took one look at her upon her return from battle and said that she should lie down for a well-deserved rest. That is where Ulfric finds her after his debriefing with the Stone-Fist.
When he opens the flap to her tent to find her sleeping, he observes her form for several moments before sitting down next to her and gently moving a piece of hair from her face. She always looks so peaceful as she sleeps, and he doesn't want to disturb her just yet. Briefly, he wonders if she had suffered as much as he did from her absence. His heart bled like a stab to the chest every single moment that he was without her presence.
A few moments later, she stirs and turns to face him. The second he looks upon her face it becomes evident from the pallor of her skin that she has not been feeling well. What could cause her to be in this state? If she has been unwell, she shouldn't be out on the battlefield. Ulfric frowns and leans forward to kiss her on the forehead, and Dahlia's eyes flutter open.
"Ulfric..." She mutters quietly, voice thick with sleep. "When did you get here?" She tries to prop herself up on her elbows so she can see him better, but he lightly puts a hand on Dahlia's chest to stop her.
"You look tired, love. You should rest more." He tells her with concern.
She sighs in complaint. "I have done nothing but rest over the last few days. I assure you that I am just fine."
She is just as stubborn as ever.
He gives her a look which tells her that he knows better and that he does not believe her, but he lets it slide for the time being.
"I just arrived a few hours ago. I would have come to see you earlier, but I was with Galmar. He told me that you have been a great asset to him and have been taking charge like a real queen." He smiles at her.
"Oh, has he now? He also should have told you how he has been busting my metaphorical balls the whole entire time."
At this, Ulfric chuckles, a deep, rich sound which she missed dearly. "Oh, I know." He reaches out a hand to cup her chin. "He also told me that you deserve a formal promotion as an officer. And from what I heard, I am inclined to agree."
"Titles don't mean anything-" She begins to protest, but he doesn't listen.
"Titles do mean something, my heart." He admonishes her lightly as it turns to pick up a custom set of Stormcloak officer's armor for her. "I hereby name you Stormblade, as I count you among my kin. The love of the land and her people flows from your heart, even as death to her enemies flows from your hands."
"Thank you, Ulfric, but it isn't nece-"
Ulfric doesn't allow her to finish. "This is only temporary, at least until I can give you a more fitting name and title. One which claims you as my own and matches how precious you are to me, reflecting your true status." He leans forward to whisper in her hear. "You are my Stormcloak queen"
He presses a soft kiss to her lips which she is quick to return.
"You are too soft, my bear." She jokes with him as he pulls away.
"Only for you."
Their moment is broken shortly thereafter, however, because there is more work to do. While Ulfric did want to visit her and giver her the promotion she deserves in person, there is another matter which needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. He fills Dahlia in on what he had talked about with Galmar. Not long before he arrived, a Stormcloak prisoner bearing a message from Solitude made their way back to camp.
"It's a delicate matter from what I can gather. I wasn't able to read it before I went to find you, but from what I could gage from Galmar's reaction, he is not pleased."
Dahlia sighs. Of course there is always someone or something in the way of their being together. She longs for the day when they can just be. "Okay, in that case, I had better get dressed in this new armor you so kindly brought me."
He smirks as she stands, and she has to hold in her own amusement at his reaction.
"What are you smiling about, my Jarl?" She asks with a coy lit to her tone.
She knows exactly what he is expecting.
His eyes sparkle with mischief. "I am only admiring the view of my future wife. Please proceed."
Dahlia snorts. "You know very well what will happen if you stay here, Ulfric, and neither of us have time for that."
"You can allow a man to dream."
"I could, or I could toss him out. I am sure Galmar probably wants you back in the officer's tent as soon as possible anyway. I'll be along in a few minutes."
"You're no fun." He sulks as he leaves.
"And you're the one who decided to marry me anyway."
His soft chuckles follow him out of her tent as she quickly changes into her new armor which seems to be a mix of regular light armor and mage's robes. She also finds that there is a magicka regeneration enchantment laced through the threads. Wherever did he get the time to have this made for her? She shakes her head baffled at his thoughtfulness as she is sure this is all Ulfric's doing. If it were up to Galmar, she'd be wearing the standard armor because there is no budget for it.
Dahlia starts to leave her tent when a wave to nausea hits her, and she is forced to double over and vomit into the side of the canvas. She has found recently that these bouts have become more frequent in the last days but has decided to ignore it entirely. After all, her nerves have been fried since the Battle for Hraggstad and witnessing what happened to Ralof. For the most part, it isn't that much of a bother to her, mostly just a minor inconvenience of her emotional state, but it leaves her tired.
Once she has finished, she stands only to find someone there to give her a hand. Ulfric was waiting for her, and he looks at her in concern as if waiting for her to tell him what is wrong with her. Dahlia only waves him off with a smile and a vague explanation of "nerves" as she takes his arm in escort to the Officer's tent. However, the Jarl is not fooled and promises mentally to keep a watchful eye on her. He was already suspicious of her not feeling well, and now, he is even more so.
Upon entering Galmar's tent, they find him in a testy state and fussing with the pieces on his map table. This is not a good sign, and both of them know it.
"They want a meeting." The general calls out to them, not even looking up from his table.
Dahlia and Ulfric both look to each other in confusion before the Dragonborn asks, "Who are they? What meeting?"
"The puppet figurehead of the Empire, Elisif, and their noble defender, General Tullius." He responds.
Ulfric frowns and moves to take the seat across from Galmar. "What could they possibly want?"
Galmar holds out the letter for Ulfric to take. "See for yourself, but you will be none too pleased. It's actually a good thing that you did not read it before bringing the girl."
Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak,
It doesn't pass his notice that they are still calling him by his title, and that they address him directly. A bold move.
By rights of the Empire and the great Emperor Titus Mead IV, we hereby request a meeting with a liaison from your party in order to negotiate a truce. It is in the best interest for all of us in order to avoid more bloodshed and to keep our prosperous country in the same pristine condition it was in prior to all this inconvenience.
He scowls at the page. Best interest? Prosperous country? Inconvenience. Where have these two had their heads buried for the last decade? More like they're afraid to lose their pristine Empire-loving city.
In order to meet these ends more amenably, we humbly request that the Lady Dahlia Wintersnow, Dragonborn and member of your army, meet us in three days time at Clearpine Pond. If she should fail to appear...
Ulfric fists the letter in his hand, crumbling the remaining words into a ball. He has seen more than enough. In an attempt to keep his calm, he inhales sharply through his nose and out steadily in the repeating pattern he learned all those years ago with the Greybeards. Closing his eyes, he mouths the mantra, "sky above, voice within".
Blood roars in and out of his ears drowning out all conversation around him.
In for four.
He tries to focus, but he can feel his anger, a molten hot ball of deep red, churning angrily all the way from his chest to the pit of his stomach.
Hold for seven.
His muscles tense and teeth grind together at the effort of pushing it down.
Out for-
Ulfric's fist slams abruptly into the table, temper flaring to life to make itself known. It is too great to be tamed and to deep to be quashed by simple meditations. His very soul burns at the thought the Empire would try to take her from him. There are no ends he would not go to in order to keep her safe, bringing down the planes of their very existence if necessary: Mundus, Aetherius, and Oblivion. It does not matter to him; he will go crashing through them all.
"The damned fucking audacity of the Imperials knows no ends and to even think that I-" His voice steadily rises in pitch and timber until it trails off as he tries to express himself through the veil of his anger. Collecting coherent thoughts through the static of his current state of mind is difficult.
He tries again. "As if I would allow you to walk right into an Imperial trap. Do they think that we are that stupid? If so, they are clearly more delusional than I had thought."
Ulfric raises a hand to massage his temples in a feeble attempt to dull the ache raging in his head. This is the very last thing he needs right now. He has enough stress on his plate with only the Civil War on his mind and whatever is ailing Dahlia, let alone worrying about what game the Empire is trying to play here.
Sensing his conflict, Dahlia takes his hand which hit the table in hers, sending out a faint glow of healing energy as she tries to calm him. "Would it really be so bad to see what they want?"
Ulfric looks at her and blinks in confusion. "Why ever would we want to do that? And to put yourself in harm's way on top of that?"
Galmar only watches the discussion, knowing better than to insert himself into the conversation at the moment. He'll see how this plays out.
The answer is simple for her. "To see if there is a way to save more people."
The statement takes Ulfric aback, a muscle twitching involuntarily in his cheek. He looks at Dahlia seriously, as his face closes off to her. He has become the unreadable Jarl of their first days of meeting once again, and it pains her. "Save the Empire and those who would support it?"
She squeezes his hand, hoping he will understand her point of view. "Not the Empire, Ulfric. You know that I feel the very same way as you do. I mean to save our people. Skyrim."
The steel of his gaze falls slightly, and he sighs heavily. "My heart, you cannot save them all. I know you mean well, and one of the things I admire most about you is your compassionate heart. It is in the right place. You are a better person than I am, but they will not hear reason. I assure you."
"I have to try." She whispers. "Please, let me try."
Galmar scratches his head in thought and leans over the table. He has listened long enough. "Ulfric, perhaps it is not such a bad idea."
"So, you will side with her?"
"It is not that I side with her, but I can see the logic and practicality of it. Think of it this way. If we do not have to destroy Solitude, and by extension destroy more lives, there is less cleanup later."
He seems to consider the idea momentarily through this perspective as he looks at Dahlia as if analyzing her from the outside in. "Well-put, friend. I had not thought about it this way."
The General smiles slightly at the Dragonborn as he speaks his next statement. "I know, you were only thinking of the girl."
Dahlia snorts. "As if I need protection. You both know I can take care of myself."
"We do," Ulfric admits, "but if you are to go, I would like for you to take someone with you. I do not want you walking into that viper's nest alone."
She starts to protest, but he holds up a hand. "It would put my mind at ease."
"If that will help you sleep better at night, then how could I deny you?"
"I'd like to accompany you." He offers her; however, he is immediately shut down by Galmar.
"Are you daft? No. Absolutely not. You being there will only fan the fire more."
"I agree with Galmar, Ulfric. While I appreciate the offer, if something were to happen to you..." She shakes her head. "No. I refuse to think about it, and that is final."
He looks between the two of them. Never did he think the day would come that both of the people closest to him in his life would be double teaming against him. "Fine. But if I will not go with you, neither can Galmar for the same reason. Who would go with you then?"
Galmar rubs his beard as he thinks about who could be an appropriate escort for their future High Queen. "Ralof is out of commission, but perhaps, I have an idea. There is a another soldier who has been making a name for herself. Tough as nails. Came with Ralof and I through the back to Fort Hraggstad. She should do nicely."
"Then bring her in and brief her right away. If Dahlia is to arrive on time, she should leave soon. As long as you are feeling up to it..." Ulfric's voice trails off.
"Why wouldn't I be? As I told you, I have been resting for days. I am ready to go as soon as you say the word."
As Dahlia and her new companion, Silje, approach the location specified in the letter, they can see the Imperials are already set up with all the pomp and circumstance one would expect from those with too much money with nothing better to do with it. Bight-red banners with gold-gilded edges fly the Empire's dragon emblem proudly over every surface, and the tents are set in perfect rows, their lavish canvas with not a single thread out of place. If she were to inspect them even further, Dahlia suspects she would not find a single stain on them either.
And the soldiers match.
Impeccable down to the last detail. Systematically posed and gleaming bright in immaculately polished steel, almost as if they've been leached of color despite the saturated crimson they wear. It extends even so far as the heavy blanket of quiet surrounding them. No buzzing of excitement, no fervor of battle, no chatter, nor banter, nor cries of hope, or pain, or any other indication they want to be there. Just quiet, devoid of any personality or soul. It is a sharp contrast to what she just came from. The only indication of what they stand for is a cloth image of a dragon. And based on how the soldiers react to it, it could be anything-may as well be anything-an empty icon.
They are greeted by two banner men and lead through the emptiness of the camp to a big tent. She assumes that is where her hosts are located.
When she enters, the first thing she notices is the bustling movement of servants shifting about. Servants. Dahlia gives Silje an incredulous look, raising a brow and trying to hold back a rolling of her eyes, which her new friend returns. They've gotten along perfectly from the first second they met. She quite frequently finds they're thinking the same thing, just like now.
How much comfort does one woman need? It appears that Elisif is more on a glamorous camping trip than in an important political meeting. The scene in front of Dahlia is baffling.
"I told you already that I don't want fresh fruit on the platter. I'd much prefer that tea cakes are presented. It's more fitting for the occasion." The woman sniffs as she lifts a derisive eyebrow at the woman serving her.
"It's just so hard to get them out here from the Palace without them being smashed..." The servant tries to reason with her but Jarl Elisif will have none of it.
"Then you had better carry them carefully. Isn't that what we pay you for?"
The Dragonborn can stand to watch no more of this affair and clears her throat to announce her entrance. The Jarl has been too busy with refreshments to deign notice of her as of yet.
When Elisif turns her honey eyes on her, Dahlia looks her up and down with a critical eye. She cannot deny it. The Jarl appears just as beautiful as her namesake suggests she should. That is perhaps the one façade the ruler does not claim as her own. Her pale skin is creamy and unblemished and her red hair smooth, plaited back elegantly under a heavy-looking jeweled circlet. However, there is not one ounce of jealousy in Dahlia's entire body for the Lady Elisif, rather she only feels disdain.
While she might have beauty, she knows that underneath it all is just an empty shell of self-preservation and concern only for her best interests. If Solitude is a flourishing city, it is only because she makes it so to keep herself comfortable. Dahlia had seen enough from the one visit she paid when she was in the city to drop off some supplies with Delphine's "friend" Malborn. She took a turn around the place to see how "the other half" lives for herself and to offer her services. The display she witnessed at court was at best an interesting educational experience for her and at worst a worrying show of complete disinterest from Haafingar's Jarl.
The very same face sits plainly in front of her here and now. Smooth features sit under delicate, unmoving brows as the Jarl looks up at her. The only indication of feeling shown is the slightest crinkling of her nose in disgust. If there is one thing that Dahlia can admire about her, it is that the Lady Elisif is certainly very good at maintaining a blank face of disinterest. Perhaps that is her armor or her weapon of choice, as there is no guessing what she might be thinking. It must be exhausting to be her, as well as lonely having to live like that. Dahlia cannot imagine it for herself. She'd rather be stabbed in the back and bleed than be a marble statue, cold and immobile.
Elisif beckons her forward as she sits primly on an exotic, dark-wood throne which Dahlia is certain must have cost a literal fortune. Where did all the money for this come from? Certainly, the Empire would not agree to buy her such a thing. They might have larger coffers than the Stormcloaks do, but they wouldn't waste their money on something so superfluous.
And the more Dahlia looks, the more she dislikes what she sees.
There are tables spilling with fine cuts of imported meats, rare cheeses, candied dates, and elaborate desserts. Their soldiers are half-starved, and here the Empire is with a feast fit for an entire palace, and half of it will probably end up being thrown out. If Elisif or Tullius think this will impress her, they are sorely mistaken.
The General himself sits to the left of the Jarl with an unreadable look on his face, and next to him is a rather uncomfortable-looking Legate, who if Dahlia's memory serves her correctly thinks is named Rikke. Both of their eyes follow her and her escort as they make their way to the empty space in the middle of the tent. No doubt it was left this way on purpose and that fact does not escape the Dragonborn's notice. No chairs for them means they are forced to stand.
If this is how it will be, then let the games begin.
Dahlia pulls her shoulders back, fixing her posture to adopt what she has observed from Ulfric when he addresses his court. Position is power, and she will not roll over so easily no matter how uncomfortable they try to make her. "An audience was requested, and I have been so kind as to travel all the way to grant it," she states in her most regal tone, eyes slowly trailing from Elisif to fix on Tullius. "So, shall we get things started so that neither of us wastes the other's valuable time?"
Dahlia isn't stupid, and she knows that this whole affair was most-certainly organized by the Imperial General. He's the one running this show, and she isn't afraid to show she knows that.
As if waiting for any excuse to attack, Elisif perceives this as a slight against her and takes the opportunity to jump. "Is that how you would treat others who offer you their hospitality?"
Dahlia doesn't miss a beat. "It is how I treat those whom I do not trust. You say you are so hospitable, but why is there no chair for me if you had expected us? Surely, it is not because you are playing some invisible power game. While I might be new to the sphere of politics, you will find that I will not suffer fools, and I will not play pretend with you."
The Jarl sniffs, affronted by being called out on the very thing she was trying to do; however, she still tries to save what little face remains. "I would never-"
General Tullius interrupts, a tight-lipped smile on his face. "Perhaps, it would be better if we do as the Dragonborn asks and get down to business. That way we can all retire to Solitude as soon as possible, my Jarl."
Dahlia doesn't give Elisif the opportunity to speak. "I find that agreeable. Thank you." She tips her head in respect to him. While she may not agree with what the Empire stands for, she can appreciate that he at least has a solid head on his shoulders.
"Good." He clears his throat. "We have asked you here today to try to negotiate a truce."
"Then, why ask for me instead of Ulfric?" She questions. "I am not the leader of the rebellion."
At the mention of his name, the first cracks in Elisif's façade begin to show themselves. She snorts in amusement, but Tullius ignores the small outburst. Perhaps, her mask is not as perfect as Dahlia had thought.
"A good question. While you are not, you do have influence. People seem to think you're important for being this so-called Dragonborn. I had hoped you would be reasonable and could talk some sense into the Jarl of Windhelm."
"And what would make you think that Ulfric would listen to me?"
His deeb brown eyes bore into her own, showing his that he is clearly unamused. "Let's not dance around the issue, so do not to play coy with me. We all know that you and that traitor are involved, which by my counts makes you just as much as one as he is, but I am still hoping you'll be more willing to listen than he will be."
At this, Elisif openly laughs, not even bothering to cover her mouth, her court decorum falling completely away. She finally shows exactly what she must have been thinking the moment Dahlia walked into the tent: her relationship is ridiculous to her and she holds no esteem for the Lady Dragonborn.
Dahlia casts a cursory glance at Elisif, narrowing her eyes at her before addressing the General again. "I assure you that is not my intention. I would simply remind you that despite the fact he is my partner, that still does not mean that he will listen to me or my council."
He opens his mouth to answer; however, Elisif chooses this moment to speak up at Dahlia's open acknowledgment of her and Ulfric's relationship.
"How anyone could want to be with that disgusting murderer is beyond me even if you are looking for power or money. How is it possible you can sleep with that?"
Tullius tries to stop her from continuing, turning to her and holding out a hand for her to stop, but he is unsuccessful.
"He's old, so much older than you are at least, and while you're not that pretty, you can certainly do better than that. I mean-"
Dahlia closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath to gather what remains of her patience. "I'd appreciate if we could keep my personal relationship out of the professional setting of a political meeting. I do not see how this is relevant to whatever negotiation we are trying to make."
At this point, Rikke decides to speak, bluntly cutting into the conversation despite her previous silence. "What we mean to offer you is something which will make all parties happy so we can put this war to bed."
"And what exactly might that be?" Dahlia asks.
Tullius takes over for his colleague. "An arrangement, where perhaps we can all win. You cannot be blind to the death and destruction this war is causing in Skyrim. If you are truly a legendary savior of the people, shouldn't you want to save more people instead of having more deaths on your and Ulfric's heads? That's my definition of a hero."
How dare they use her status as Dragonborn to blame her and guilt her into giving up? Even for them, this is a low blow, and one which doesn't sit well with her.
Dahlia rolls her tongue around in her mouth, tasting the bitter words rising from her throat before swallowing them forcefully in an effort to keep her anger in check. They burn all the way down to the pit of her stomach in a trail of indignant fire. They don't know her, and she is most certain that they don't care to know her either. First, Elisif's open ridicule of her and now a questioning of her honor and morals.
"War requires two parties, General. You'd do best to remember that, and you are trying my patience." She can still feel her pulse pounding uncomfortably in her ears as her foot taps in time to the beat. "Get to your point, or I walk."
"Perhaps if that isn't enough to entice you, then what would you do to save Ulfric? Along with a ceasefire, we want to offer you and Ulfric clemency. Go off and be happy if that's what you really want." Tullius continues with his previous tactic but trying a new angle.
Dahlia blinks, taken by surprise at the audacity of this offering. He really believes that they'd just drop the war and what they've been fighting for so ardently just to save their own skins? "You want us to just give up? Now?"
Not wanting to be left out of the conversation, Elisif chooses this moment to speak up and throw further fuel onto the fire. "I don't see what is so hard about this proposition to understand. Leave Solitude alone, and allow me and my new husband to be High Queen and King, and we will grant both of you a pardon. It's simple."
As soon as the words leave the Jarl's month, Dahlia's brain scrambles to piece together the new information Elisif has let slip. However, Dahlia does not doubt it was done on purpose. She doesn't know what game she's playing here, but she will not be strung along any longer.
"New husband? I'm sorry. I don't follow."
Elisif smiles wide. She is a spider, and she has caught someone in the web she is spinning. "Haven't you heard? I married Jarl Balgruuf two days ago. Your spy network must be severely lacking."
Balgruuf with Elisif? The implications make her head spin as she tries to put all the pieces together. The Empire know they can't win, and so they're trying to complete their objective through this thinly-veiled "peace offering", hoping to take advantage of her status by appealing to her bleeding heart. Well, she will not allow it. She has had quite enough.
"Congratulations on your new husband. I hope you will be happy together. However, I find these terms unacceptable and quite frankly, insulting. You expect us to just roll over? Everything we have been fighting for will be for naught. No."
"Think about it, Lady Dahlia." Tullius responds. "No one else has to die, and you can live in peace. Do you really think you would like or even be good at being High Queen? It requires a noble touch, and you were raised common."
"I-," Dahlia hesitates, unsure of what to say to all of this. It's hard to keep her thoughts straight when she's so angry. If she stays her any longer, she will do something she'll regret. "I don't know, but what I do know is that I would do my damnedest to do what is best for my people which is more than what I can say for what I have seen from either the Empire or from Jarl Elisif herself."
"How dare you! This is a direct insult to my character. You should be happy I do not ask for your head." Elisif fumes as she stands.
"Good! It is! When I walked into this Talos-forsaken meeting, you were yelling about cakes!" Her thoughts come spilling out uncontrollably, speaking what is really on her mind. "And have you seen how the other Holds live? I very much doubt it. You don't look any farther than what is in front of your very nose. I-" She breathes in. "I cannot stand to be here in your presence for another second. And as for having my head, I'd like to see you try."
Dahlia motions to Silje and turns to leave the tent.
Tullius calls after her. "Don't be unreasonable. This might be your only chance-"
Dahlia turns, face showing all the anger she feels. "Me? Unreasonable? I came here in good faith, and this is what you offer. Nothing. I had thought you might actually want to negotiate." She chuckles darkly, without humor. "Why did I expect anything more from the Empire? Ulfric was right, and I was naïve to think otherwise."
If it were up to her, she'd Shout Elisif to pieces where she stands here and now. It would be a poetic end for her. She could follow her ex-husband to Sovngarde. The Jarl continues to speak to her as Dahlia walks away, but she ignores her, more for her own sake than for the Jarl's. It would not reflect well on her, and she is a better than that.
When she clears the tent, Dahlia does not stop. She does not look at anyone. She does not even see where she is going as she marches out of the Imperial camp. The temptation to burn it all to the ground is too strong. If she thinks about it too long, she knows she will do just that, and she is not so cowardly to do such a thing. This was a peaceful meeting after all. She has gained better control of herself or at least she'd like to think so.
Dahlia has no idea for long they have been walking or even how they got there when she and Silje finally make it to their horses. However, that is the least of her worries. As she is packing her horse, she can hear a voice calling out for her, and a few moments later, she spots Rikke running after her.
Once the Legate finally catches up with Dahlia, she extends a hand to her shoulder to stop her. "Dragonborn, please reconsider. This might be the only chance we have. You know the true threat is the Thalmor."
For a moment, she says absolutely nothing, only looking at the uninvited hand placed on her body before moving her eyes slowly to meet Rikke's. Her eyes, while emotionally cool, glint with plain hostility. Touching her was a mistake.
"How dare you speak to me of such things! Do you have any idea? Any firsthand experience?" The Dragonborn pauses to wait for an answer which she knows will never come. "I'll take that as a no then. Well, I do, and so does Ulfric. But you knew that already, didn't you, and yet, you still felt the need to come here and say this to my face."
Her words hit Rikke like the spitting ash of an wildfire, taking her aback. Mere minutes ago in the tent, she had assumed her quarrel was only with Elisif. Before provoked, she was the picture of diplomacy. However, she can see clearly now that she was wrong, and the Dragonborn has quite the temper. One that could rival Ulfric's own. She should have expected at much.
The Legate sighs and tries another angle. "This isn't how things were supposed to be. I know you're more reasonable than this. If you take what we are offering, our brothers and sisters will not have to die in vain any longer."
Dahlia looks at her blankly. Is Rikke really so willfully ignorant?
"They were already dying before this, Rikke. Tell me. Where are all the Talos-worshippers going? If you are too blind to know the answer to this question, then there is no hope for you." She shakes her head and begins to turn away.
Rikke grabs her hands. "At least tell me how Galmar is doing."
Galmar? Why would she...
Dahlia narrows her eyes and pulls her hands out of hers, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Why do you want to know anyway? If you had your way, you'd see him and everyone like him dead. "C'mon Silje. We have entertained this farce for long enough."
After Dahlia mounts her horse, she does not look back. Does not regret the outcome of what has come to pass. Does not regret the anger she feels or demonstrating it in the face of her enemies. She stands firm in her beliefs and knows that Ulfric would have done the very same thing if he had been in her shoes. He would be proud of her.
However, as the Dragonborn rides away, Rikke looks after her sadly as she answers her last question. "I want to know because I still care after all this time. And because I do not actually want him dead. I do not want any of them dead."