This is the last chapter of this fic. The next time I post, it will be as another fic. Thank you all very much to those of you who have been reading. 3 I hope you enjoy it. You might want to bring a snack to this chapter...it's 9253 words long. :O
"I told you both that it was of no use." Ulfric pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "But the audacity of the Empire to request we simply just roll over is a new type of desperation which not even I expected from them."
"If they think they're going to put Elisif on the throne, they're going to have to go through us first." Galmar pours three cups of mead and gestures to his companions to sit with him. Ulfric is stubbornly pacing the floor of the general's tent all the while Dahlia's eyes follow him warily from her seat on one of the many weapon's chests.
"Yes, but I must admit that it is smart to marry her off to Balgruuf. The people like him and will back him. She now has an even stronger position as a candidate for the Moot. I wonder who's idea that was." Ulfric crosses the room to finally take a seat.
The Dragonborn follows suit, taking the empty chair to the left of her lover. "You don't mean to execute her then?"
"No." Ulfric responds almost automatically. He has turned this very same question over in his mind many times. "As much as it might make things more convenient for us, we cannot do that, especially with her new marriage. It would cause a riot. She will be spared after our victory, and she and Balgruuf will be made to pledge their loyalty and backing of our cause."
"Do you really think they'll follow through with that?" Dahlia asks.
"Absolutely not." Galmar answers. "I don't trust either one of them as far as I can throw them. But we will have eyes on them. We won't full withdraw from the Solitude after the war is over. If they try something, we'll be ready, and then we will put them down."
"So, the only question which remains is: when do we take Solitude?" Ulfric steeples his hands in front of his face as he muses aloud. "On one hand, I'd like to strike as soon as possible to try to catch them off guard, but on the other, more time would mean a better organized plan and more troops."
Dahlia thinks about the question, her hands fiddling with the base of her cup of mead but not drinking it. Her stomach has been roiling in anger since her departure from Clearpine Pond; however, she hasn't been sick since she left the Stormcloak camp. Perhaps, her nerves are finally starting to settle, but she doesn't want to tempt fate.
"What if we settle for a middle ground." The General states. "We've already been gathering as many troops as possible since we took Fort Hraggstad. The bulk of them should already be here, and most of the stragglers will have arrived in two day's time. Sure, it would be nice to have every soldier at our disposal, but I think hitting them fast is a better plan."
"Hit them before they hit us, you mean?" Dahlia chimes in. "It could work. And I think Odahviing is still around. He's a stubborn thing and won't leave me alone even though I told him I am just fine. I didn't want to get him involved, but he insists. According to him, he goes where I go, and the other dragons will will follow."
Ulfric strokes his beard in thought. "They would certainly be helpful if any are willing. Who am I to refuse the help of dragons?"
"Dragon. Singular. I don't want to abuse any power I might over them." Dahlia states matter-of-factly. "Perhaps we might call on more later, but for now, Odahviing should be enough. We don't want to flatten the entire city and kill innocents. I thought perhaps he might be helpful in smashing one of the city walls to make our entry. It will save us time and a lot of people since we won't have to use a battering ram."
"Aye. That would do nicely." Galmar nods in approval. "You're starting to think like a seasoned strategist. I like that, Stormblade."
"I'd like to think I have picked up a thing or two from the both of you. Surprisingly, you both seem to have pretty solid brains rattling around in those thick skulls of yours." Dahlia laughs, but it quickly turns into a yawn.
"I believe it's time for us to retire for the night, friend." Ulfric picks up his cup and drains his mead. "We will start the final assault in two days' time then. We are ready."
"Victory or Sovngarde." The General answers after draining his own cup.
However, before Dahlia follow Ulfric out of the tent, she turns at the last moment, having made a split second decision. "General?"
He looks up at her as he continues pouring himself another goblet to mead. "I think you've earned the right to drop the honorifics, girl. Just Galmar is fine in private company, at least until the war is over."
She nods, a warm feeling washing over her. They've gone a long way to repairing their relationship in the past weeks, and it's good to know that she can count him among her friends. "Well then, Galmar, I spoke to Rikke, privately, after the meeting with Elisif and Tullius."
This gets his attention. He stops what he is doing, a steely glint appearing in his eyes. "You didn't mention this to Ulfric."
Dahlia shakes her head. "I did not. Didn't think it was worth mentioning as it doesn't pertain to him or the war, but…"
"But what?"
"Rikke asked about you before I left. She ran all the way after Silje and myself after I stomped my way out of the camp. I don't mean to pry…"
Galmar sighs. "Now is not the time to talk about it, Dahlia. It's…" He shakes his head, unable to finish his sentence.
"Complicated. I understand. If you ever do want to talk about it, you know where to find me. I don't mean to stir old wounds, but I just thought that maybe you should know. And for what it's worth, I didn't tell her a damn thing."
"Thank you for telling me."
With nothing else to say, she simply nods her farewell and makes her way to where she knows Ulfric will be: his tent. She doesn't want to miss a night with him especially with the Civil War finally coming to a conclusion.
When Dahlia pushes the tent flap open and enters the space, she finds Ulfric sitting on his bed, his head in his hands. If she didn't know any better, she would say that he looked like a man defeated. But she does know him, and she can just imagine all of the thoughts whirling through his head.
"Ulfric…" She calls out to him as she crosses the room to sit next to him.
"Is it stupid that I had also hoped that there might be some other solution to this?" He asks her, not bothering to look up at her.
"No, love, it is not." One of her hands makes its way around his shoulders and begins to rub calming circles on his back. "You know the price of freedom, and you know the price of war. You always told me they go hand in hand. However, there is nothing wrong with hoping things could have perhaps been a little more peaceful."
He finally looks up to her and takes one of her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "You indulge me too much. What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"You have been nothing more and nothing less than the man I deserve."
Ulfric looks at her for a few moments, an unreadable expression crossing his features as if he were studying every last detail of her face to commit it to memory.
"Ulfric, what are you doing?" She leans closer to him and cups one of his stubbly cheeks. He could use a shave.
"I know I am not always a sentimental man, but if you would allow me a moment to indulge myself for a bit." He takes a deep breath. "Don't go with me. I want you to stay here. If something should happen…"
"No." She pushes herself to stand. "Don't you dare do this to me, Ulfric. You of all people and now of all times."
"At least one of us should be here for when the Aldmeri Dominion finally makes their way to Skyrim. And you know they eventually will. It should be you. If there is anyone who could defeat them, it is the Dragonborn."
"And you forget yourself!" She huffs in exasperation. "You are just important to Skyrim, just as important to this cause, and just as important to me. You know this. What is wrong with you?"
He looks at her, eyes glowing with quiet anger. He did not mean to upset her nor fight with her.
"And you forget that I am simply a man in love." He whispers as he rises from the bed and takes both of her hands in his. "I cannot fathom, cannot imagine, cannot bear to think about losing you. Especially with you being sick as of late. I have my suspicions, and I know that you should too…"
"I don't want to talk about it, Ulfric." She shakes his head, stopping him as her eyes snap up to his own.
As he searches the murky green depths, they shine dully. He can see she is afraid. "Dahlia, it's not safe…"
"You cannot tell me not to come with you." Her voice cracks as she tries to push back the emotions welling up within herself. This is the real fear that she has felt ever since she started having those horrible nightmares weeks ago. The memories of watching him falling to the ground over and over again flood her vision. And where would she be? Laying about camp and doing nothing. No. That is not in her nature. The idea upsets her too much.
Dahlia knew he would try to send her away. She knew he would try to protect her and to protect…
No. She can't even think about it. She won't allow herself. Thinking about it will make it real, and she is in denial of herself. While she still has her own plausible deniability, that little shred of doubt, she will take it.
Ulfric threads his fingers through his hair to comfort her, and Dahlia leans her head back into his touch. He opens his mouth to say something, but isn't sure what exactly he could say to convince her. None of the words will come.
Instead he does the only thing he knows will adequately express his feelings at the moment. He leans down to press his mouth to hers softly as he tries to convey the deep affection he feels for her and how much she means to him. His tongue swipes over her lips carefully as his hands encircle her waist to bring her flush to him, bring her closer, bring her into the safety of his embrace. She sighs into the kiss, tears slipping down her cheeks, and once they start, they fall like rain. They tinge the kiss with hints of salt, but it is still the sweetest flavor she has ever tasted. She would take all of him and give him anything…except this. She will follow him everywhere, even if it is to Sovngarde itself.
"You have just admitted to yourself that it is not safe." Her voice has quieted to barely above a whisper, and as Ulfric looks down at her, he can see desperate, frustrated tears trail down her face. "If I am not there to protect you, who will? Galmar?" She laughs, an awkward sound to be mixed with her crying, but it leaves her lips nonetheless. While they understand the gravity of their situation, it is necessary to seize the bright spots, and hold onto their humor, and each other, while they can.
The Jarls' lips tilt up slightly into a smile as he holds her closer. She has always known exactly how to play him. And ultimately, he knows that it is her decision to make. As much as he might prefer it otherwise, he can understand it. If he were in her position, he would want to do the same thing and there would be no words and no pleas which would change his mind either.
"Shall we go to bed then, love?" He asks her, a finger stroking its way down her cheek to wipe away her remaining tears.
"I suppose we should." Dahlia swallows thickly as she looks up at him, eyes shining brightly with determination. "A new day will soon dawn for Skyrim, and I want to see the sunrise with you."
"Then that is what you will have, my Queen. Anything and everything you want. I shall give it all to you if only you ask."
It is mostly dark when the soldiers make their way to the stage of their final battle two days later.
Ulfric stands quietly at the front of his army, the very people who call themselves Stormcloaks for love of their country and belief in his cause. It is a moving display, and he can scarcely believe it, but they are here. They are ready.
As his eyes scan the men and women in front of him, he takes extra care to look each and everyone of them in the eyes to acknowledge them with respect. All of them have come here today prepared to lay down their lives. More than ever, he is acutely aware of the fact that not all of these soldiers will return home. Not all of them will go back to their families. And he holds all the more esteem for them because of it. He will see, now more than ever, that their sacrifice, their blood, their sweat, and their tears will not have been for nothing. His passion and his purpose burn more keenly in his veins than ever. The righteous indignation he feels, the outrage, the injustice of this farce will all end either one way or the other very soon.
And if he is called to Sovngarde himself, he will go with a sword in his hand and a smile on his lips knowing that he did the best he could for his home. That he did his best to bring a new day to dawn upon her and see her liberation until the bitter end. The only regret he could possibly have is leaving what he loves most behind.
Ulfric sucks in a deep breath to calm his nerves as he looks to his left where Galmar stands proudly next to him. He would never have expected anything else as the General has always been his most loyal supporter, at least until Dahlia's arrival. She is only other thing which could complete this picture.
A black pit of dread opens in his stomach, making it flip uncomfortably as he thinks about her as she has been left by herself; however, if there ever was a woman who could take care of herself, it is her. He knows she will persevere.
The General claps a hand on his shoulder. "It's time, Ulfric. If you're waiting for the right dramatic moment for a speech, it's now. Don't keep the soldiers waiting any longer."
He turns his eyes towards his oldest friend as the ghost of a smile makes its way to his lips. Even in the most serious of times, he can count on Galmar to crack a joke at his own expense and relieve the tension he feels. "Well, I cannot disappoint the people then, can I?"
"No, you cannot."
The only further response Galmar receives is a solemn nod as Ulfric turns to address the group in front of them.
"This is it, men! It's time to make this city ours!" Ulfric yells into the stillness of the approaching dawn, and his call is answered by a roar of cheers rolling up and down the lines of blue-clad soldiers.
He takes the very same war axe he had offered Jarl Balgruuf from its sheath and lifts it to the sky. Its sharp edge catches the scarce morning light of the early hour and glints off its cold steel.
"We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our fellows. Those who have fallen. And those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will know the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger, and the exalted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring. And the men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness. For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts. We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the legion itself! And in that moment, the gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be. Full of Nords who are mighty, powerful, and free!"
Another roar sounds through the soldiers, shaking the ground beneath them; however, this time its origins are not within their ranks. They all turn, trying to search for the source, and that is when several of them spot a black speck on the horizon and begin to point to it. Uneasy whispers of speculation quickly begin to spread like wildfire through the ranks as they wonder if they should hold their ground or scatter. Only one thing could leave a shadow this large on the horizon. The soldiers squint their eyes against the oncoming brightness of dawn. The closer the dark figure becomes the more clearly they can see that their assumption was correct: it is a dragon.
"Hold your positions." Ulfric yells over the din.
As the bright orange body of a dragon begins to swoop down closer to the ground, Dahlia can finally be seen riding on Odahviing's back and proudly sporting the bright blue of her new officer's armor.
The sight of her sends a chill down Ulfric's spine. If there is anything which could inspire him, it is her, and he is certain that the soldiers feel the same way. "Make way for your future High Queen, the truest daughter of Skyrim."
Although she cannot hear it, she can see the waves of blue below her on the ground, and she knows her people are with her. It causes a shiver to run up her spine as she tries to control the semi-nauseous feeling in her stomach. This will determine everything, and there is no room for error now.
"Odahviing, drop lower." She calls out to her companion.
The dragon doesn't bother answering, only following her command, and Dahlia feels them gradually drop in elevation from the skies to skim over the heads of her soldiers. Automatically, they part the way for her like a vast, blue sea of bodies, so she can pass through unhindered.
As Odahviing approaches the head of the soldiers where Ulfric and Galmar should be she pats her friend on the back. He knows what to do now.
FEIM, she Shouts as she slips from the dragon's back to land safely on the ground below.
Despite the impressive nature of the act, it is a practiced motion, and mostly graceful in its execution, as this is not the first time she has jumped from Odahviing's back. Once Dahlia is certain she has her balance, she makes her way towards Ulfric and Galmar.
"That's certainly one way to make an entrance." Galmar comments when she is finally within earshot.
Dahlia only shrugs, and a sharp glint of determination lights her eyes as she shouts over the wind Odahviing is kicking up around them. "Victory will be ours, and Skyrim will finally be free. All hail our bear king." Her eyes find Ulfric's as she kneels to him. The action is followed with another round of cheers from the men and women behind her.
Apparently, Ulfric is not the only one with a flair for the dramatic. Galmar shakes his head at the pair of them. He is certain that neither of them could have found a better match than the other.
However, soon thereafter, the sounds of Odahviing's roar of FUS RO DAH can be heard along with splintering wood as the gates of Solitude are broken. The time for dramatics and the time for jokes are over.
The time for Skyrim's liberation is upon them.
"Ready now! Everyone, with me!" Ulfric shouts, as he takes Dahlia's hand. "For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"
The sun has fully risen with its rays of red and gold reaching out to paint the skies signaling a new day has dawned not only for them, but also for their homeland.
It is with this glory of the new morning that blue begins to pour into the city as a flood of soldiers forces their way through the gates. However, the Empire is more than ready to meet them. The full force of what remains of their ranks greets them in clean, organized rows of well-disciplined troops. The image would be one to intimidate and scare even the most seasoned of soldiers, but the Stormcloaks have trained for this. They are ready, and they will not be defeated so easily. The might of their cause, and the belief they hold to so tightly cannot be ripped from their hearts. It is written on their very flesh. It is the blood which brings them to life and which has moved them into action. Every single one of them would happily show their colors, bleeding blue over their homeland to show how deeply their love runs.
When the two forces finally meet, the Stormcloaks crash over the Imperials altogether as one great wave beating against the red shores of their opposition as they try to gain purchase on their battleground. Their swords clash, as the two conflicting forces savagely fight against the other, steel meeting steel while brother meets sister.
At first, the tide is very disorienting for Dahlia while she tries to keep track of and hold onto Ulfric's hand, but eventually she is forced to let it drop as they are separated in an ocean of red. It sends Dahlia into a panic as she looks around wildly to see where Ulfric has gone, but she is soon too preoccupied with weapons assailing her in every direction to continue her search.
The Dragonborn keeps up as best as she can with the many soldiers attacking her from every which direction. While she is careful, small cuts and scrapes start piling up on her armor as well as what little exposed skin she has, and soon she knows she is bleeding from several places but is left with no time to heal. How is it that they are to make any progress when there are so many bodies? It makes her desperate as she hacks and slashes her way through every soldier she sees; however, for every body she takes down, another replaces it. And another. And another. She soon loses count of how many deaths she is responsible for, and it is not something she actively wants to think about.
Where on Nirn are they all coming from? Something has to be done soon or they're going to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers before they can make their way into the heart of the city.
ZUN HAAL VIIK, she Shouts, and while she doesn't like fighting against unarmed soldiers, she is quickly realizing this no time for her soft heart. She can almost hear Ulfric in the back of her mind telling her, "your opponents would not hesitate to use their advantages and neither should you."
So, she doesn't.
The Imperial soldiers look around in confusion as their weapons drop from their hands, and none of them even have time to process when Dahlia's sword pierces their stomachs. She moves mechanically through everyone around her as she uses Shouts she didn't even know that she had one after the other:
MID VUR SHAAN
SU GRAH DUN.
Her body carries her faster than she knew possible as her fellow Stormcloaks catch a second wind. While their muscles are the ones carrying their bodies, their hearts will continue to carry their souls, even when physical strength gives out. That is stronger than any weapon; something which can never be taken from them. Little by little, their spirit wins them ground as they advance past the shops at the entrance of the city only to be stopped by a barricade into the residential part of Solitude. It is also where the Blue Palace is located as well as the main entrance to Castle Dour. They will need to pass through here in order to claim their victory.
Taking advantage of their small victory, Dahlia looks around to get her bearings and catch her breath as she leans against one of the broken stalls of the Solitude market. While her eyes survey the scene, the only thing she sees is destruction closing in all around as if the very gates of Oblivion have opened up and Mehrunes Dagon made his way into Mundus after all. Hot embers from burning buildings blow across the skies, turning what was once a bright blue day into a nightmarish landscape of red and grey. Dahlia can even taste it on the wind, blood mixed with the bitter taste of ash in her mouth. Why did it have to come to this?
Dahlia vomits onto the ground. She has felt the need to do so ever since she lost grip on Ulfric's hand, but there had not been a moment for her to take to herself since the beginning of this mess. Never in her life has she seen so much death around her. Not even in Whiterun.
While she has somewhat desensitized herself to it, she is careful not to forget that these are people whose lives she is taking and sending to Sovngarde. They have families and loved ones who will miss them. There have been so many bodies around her, so many she could and should have saved according to Mara's teachings, but war is no place for such compassion. It is cold, bitter, and raw. It is unflinching and unbendable and that is how she must conduct herself: with nerves of steel. She was born with the blood of dragons running through her veins, forged in the fires of her anger and sorrow, and was tempered through her love for Skyrim and especially that which she feels for Ulfric. She'll not falter now; her burdens are heavy enough already.
She straightens herself up, wiping her mouth on the back of her gauntlets as she runs off to soldier on. She cannot stop now; time is of the essence.
Quickly, she loses herself through the streets of the city's merchant district while she searches for any hint or any clue of where Ulfric or Galmar could be. However, through her search, all she sees are dead bodies dressed in both red and blue as well as screaming citizens.
As she gets closer to the residential areas of Solitude, she sees more civilians out and about. Why were they all not warned to stay indoors? The answer comes to her easily: arrogance and lack of care. The nerve makes her blood boil anew, and it spills over when she hears a clearly recognizable sound in the distance:
ZUN. A Shout in the near distance.
Her head whips in the direction of the call, and her feet automatically carry her off to where she now knows Ulfric to be. If he is using Shouts, that means they are close enough to touch him, and if they are close enough to touch him, then…
Time pulses in her veins yet again as it flows ever onward. She tires to buy herself more with her own Shouts: WULD NAH KEST. Her legs are lighter, and her steps are certain.
When she turns a corner, Ulfric finally comes into view along with Galmar, but the scene is are both surrounded by several Empire soldiers who press closer to them, threatening them with their blades.
Not when she is here.
ZUN HAAL VIIK. She finishes the Jarl's earlier Shout, making all of the soldiers drop their weapons along with Ulfric and Galmar. Quickly, they scramble to collect their weapons. However, by that time, it is too late.
Dahlia is already on them, slashing at the exposed neck of the soldier closest to Ulfric. His blood spatters messily in every direction and coats not only herself, but everyone around her in a surprisingly vicious display. But she doesn't stop. She cannot. Not now. Dahlia lifts her blade again and brings it down on the next soldier as she spins to meet him. Hers is a bloody, disordered dance with no time to make any mistakes nor second guess herself.
So, she doesn't.
The Dragonborn only continues on, as her muscles burn from the efforts of her desperate attacks. She'll cut them down until there are none left.
Pulling another weapon from her side, a dagger, she forces it through the leathers of her next unfortunate victim while her sword pierces another. One by one, they all fall, their bleeding corpses face down in the ashes of their own city after meeting her blade.
When she relieves her weapon of the last soldier, her chest heaves from the strain of taking on so many men at once. However, adrenaline continues to push through her system as her eyes are alight with violence and alert for anyone else who would try to take Uflric from her. She dares them to try. She will cut off the hands of any that does.
"Dahlia," she can hear Ulfric call to her through the blood rushing in her ears, "are you okay?"
She blinks, looking at him with wide, wild eyes, while she thinks about his question. Is she okay?
She shakes her head and crosses the distance remaining between them to take his hand. "A better question. Are you okay? And what about you Stone-Fist?"
Dahlia looks to her general and also takes in his current state of well-being.
"That was, quite the display, Stormblade. I can see the new honorific is apt in more ways than one." The General answers, awe in his tone. "I thank you."
Dahlia shakes her head. "Do either of you need healing?" She asks the question, but she doesn't wait for an answer as she holds up two glowing hands and passes them over both men. Their bruises and cuts knit up slowly, and she can even hear Galmar groan slightly. When she moves her hand over his chest, she suspects he caught the wrong end of a warhammer and cracked some ribs.
"Are you both still good to continue?" Ulfric asks, as he looks up at the darkened sky with a grim expression. "I believe there is someone we should call on despite the late hour."
The Dragonborn didn't even realize that the sun had already gone down due to the ash-coated skies.
"Do we have a clear path to Castle Dour then?" Dahlia asks.
"Aye," Stone-Fist answers as he throws his battleaxe over his shoulder, "that's what we were trying to secure just now."
"And what of the other soldiers?"
"Taking the fight to the remaining Imperial soldiers." Galmar announces with pride. "We're still holding strong despite it only being us two here. The Stormcloaks are the toughest sons-of-bitches Skyrim has ever seen."
"Then, we will go to Castle Dour ourselves. It is time to accept Tullius's surrender." Ulfric looks between the two of them solemnly. "All three of us together. I could not imagine anyone else being by my side. You have both done Skyrim proud."
When Ulfric, Dahlia, and Galmar finally make their way to the gates of Castle Dour, they are faced with little resistance from the Imperials as there is not much of their army left. It is likely that they sent the remainder of their troops forward into the city proper, never having expected for the Stormcloaks to get this far, much less the three most important members of their army. This mistake is a cocky one and will cost the Empire dearly. If they can cut the head off the dragon, then there will be no reason for the remaining soldiers to fight.
As they approach the door, it dawns on Dahlia that they have won. The battle is over, and Skyrim is free. The only remaining question now is: What will the new day bring for both her and Ulfric? Will they rise to the challenge together, or will they fail spectacularly?
She is soon shaken from her thoughts when Galmar pushes the door open for Ulfric to enter the fortress. However, she follows quickly on his heels, not wanting to lose track of him and be left behind again. As they move through he hallways of the building, they are surprisingly empty, and their boots click on the polished stone floors ominously. It's as if someone left the entrance purposefully unguarded. Dahlia grasps Ulfric's hand tightly. This time she is determined not to let it go.
"I had wondered when you would all make your way here." General Tullius' voice calls out to them. It does not surprise her, their footsteps are not exactly quiet as they echo through the mostly-abandoned space.
When they finally catch sight of the man, he is standing behind his map table and dressed in all of his Imperial finery. The breastplate of his armor shines brightly with the image of a great golden dragon and he wears a fine, red, velvet cloak over his shoulders. Rikke stands to his right, body turned to face all of them and watching them carefully.
"Don't come one step closer." She threatens as her eyes scan them before settling on Galmar, a conflicted look in her gaze. "Of course, you are here with him." There is a bitter tone laced in her voice as if she is not surprised at his, yet she is still disappointed, almost as if she had hoped he would not be here. Or she had dared to hope he would be anywhere else.
"Where else would I be?" Stone-Fist responds sharply. "I am loyal to Skyrim, so this is the only place for me."
"You mean you are loyal to an vague fantasy, an illusion. I never knew you to be one to believe in the fantastic."
"Maybe it is nothing but a dream, yet, here I am. I still standing and still believing." He answers.
"You do know what is going to happen now in order to achieve this dream of yours, right?"
He pulls his battleaxe from off his back. "Now, you will step aside, and we will take Tullius' head."
Rikke shakes her head sadly. "You know I cannot do that."
"There is no place left in Skyrim for the Empire." Ulfric states levelly, holding his hands out in a placating manner. "And there is no reason for you to have to lay down your life, Rikke. We know you, and you know us. We fought together, and were were shield siblings in the Great War. You out of anyone should know that we would not do this without reason or cause."
"Please, you all can still leave. We don't have to do this! No more blood needs to be shed in vain! Things can go back to as they were. All you have to do is end this foolish stupidity." Rikke pleads.
"They cannot, and you know that. The wounds are too deep. If you will not come with us, then you are a traitor to us and a traitor to Skyrim. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you will not stand in our way either, friend." Ulfric points an accusing finger at Rikke, and her face visibly falls. She had hoped that seeing both of her old friends in person would make the difference, but now she understands that it is hopeless.
"You know that I am no traitor! I only want what is best for Skyrim and for all of us. What is all of this even for anyway?" Rikke takes a step forward towards the trio as she loses what remains of her patience. "You are tearing Skyrim apart, killing her people and destroying her cities, and for what? For love?" She laughs, but there is no humor in it. "Don't make me laugh. We all know the real reason is that you want to be High King. I had thought I had known you, but perhaps I do not any longer. We have nothing left to talk about."
"Have you been too blinded by our years apart that you cannot find room in your heart to talk and to listen to reason?"
Rikke starts moving forward; however, General Tullius holds out a hand to stop her, and she turns to him. "Rikke..."
"You know how this is going to end, General. You know they will stop at nothing."
The Imperial General ignores her, instead addressing Ulfric. "You know that this is what they wanted, right?"
"What do you mean?" The Jarl answers.
"Not what, but rather who. The Thalmor. The more infighting there is between Skyrim and the Empire and the more we kill each other, the less soldiers and force there is for us to oppose them. You're playing like a puppet right into their hands."
"I am no puppet." Ulfric yells. "And how can I stand back and watch the Thalmor kill my people without lifting a finger? At least I am doing something and at least I show that I care. That's more than I can say for the Empire."
"You know we cannot be in all places at once."
"You are nowhere. The Thalmor are already here, and you've allowed them to run rampant from inside and do whatever they like! As long as they leave Cyrodiil alone along with its precious Emperor, you don't care. We are tired of it. Skyrim will not just roll over and accept the status quo."
"Is nothing we can do to make you stop this? If you are really so determined to continue down this path of destruction, what if I surrender?" Tullius asks defeatedly. "I never wanted to be here before, and I especially do not want to be here now. This whole war is pointless and has been an utter waste of time and resources. I am tired, Ulfric."
"Then, you are a coward." Ulfric states dryly. Any esteem he once held for his adversary has rapidly dissolved with this paltry admission. "The General I knew wouldn't have given up so easily, and I am not so gullible as to allow you to go back to your Emperor and return with more soldiers." He draws his axe, its metal still warm from the Imperial blood it spilt not minutes ago. "No, you will die here along with your traitorous Empire."
"And what about you, Dragonborn?" The Imperial General finally speaks to her. "Will you stop this madness? Did you even bring our offer to Ulfric?"
Dahlia blinks in confusion. She has been watching Rikke and did not expect to be addressed in this conversation. "So, you ask for me by name for a negotiation to deliver a message, but then question my ability to do just that? Why even bother negotiating at all?" The temperature rises in the room as she can feel her blood pressure rise, her pulse now pounding in her ears. The rhythm makes her head ache as the room spins around her. She raises a head to her temples to massage the discomfort away. "You insulted my honor and pulled on my love of Skyrim, and for what? We all know you didn't really have anything to offer us in the first place. It was always going to end this way." She flings her arms wide, her sword pulled in one of them as she takes a step forward.
Rikke immediately responds by pulling her own weapon and brandishing it threateningly in Dahlia's direction. "Take another step closer, and I'll not hesitate to run you through."
"You don't understand. I had to—" Tullius sighs.
"There has been more than enough talking, and we all know that neither of our sides will drop their fight. It's time to end this war once and for all." Galmar growls. He was never one for talking and never one to be very patient.
"So be it." Tullius answers as he pulls the sword from his hip.
From there, things happen in rapid succession. Galmar rushes to meet Rikke, Ulfric surges forward to meet Tullius, and predictably, Dahlia follows Ulfric to help him.
However, that is when five more soldiers enter the room unexpectedly.
"You thought we were the only ones here, did you?" Tullius asks as he smiles coldly. "We brought insurance because we were expecting you. I may be tired, and you may think that I am some washed-up general, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."
Dahlia looks quickly back and forth between Ulfric, Galmar, and the newcomers to the battle. There isn't much time to think, but the path she needs to take is clear even if she doesn't like it. Her job is to take care of the extras, and they shouldn't be a problem. After all, not too long ago she took on about as many men by herself before entering the castle.
It is confusing, messy, and painful, but this must be done in order to clean the festering wound which has been growing in Skyrim. In order to heal, sometimes the pain gets worse before it gets better.
Between the whirling of weapons and cries in the room, it is hard to keep track of the exact positions of each person in the room. Vaguely, she is aware of Ulfric and Tullius behind her, Galmar and Rikke having moved into an adjacent room, and the five soldiers in front of her. In addition to this, it's slowly becoming harder to focus with the headache throbbing in her ears. The Dragonborn doesn't know who to attack first. She needs a moment.
FUS RO, she Shouts in order to push her assailants away and gain a second to breathe; however, she doesn't dare to finish the Shout for fear of bringing the whole fort down around them.
Having gained some time, she casts a light healing spell over herself to beat back the pain in her head, and it works, if temporarily. She's now free to think and to attack the extra soldiers in the room with her full force. She makes short work of them, as they are all dazed from being pushed to the wall. If they wanted to accuse anyone of being able to murder with a Shout, Dahlia is the one who could make it happen. Only three of the five survive the impact into the wall and the remainder soon follow their fallen brethren as they meet the tip of her sword. They stood no chance against her and wasn't so hard for her to take care of. She could do this all day.
Or at least that's what she thinks when she turns to see General Tullius on her back as Ulfric pushes her out of the way.
Time moves both quickly and comes to a full stop for Dahlia. There is no time for her to react as she processes what she sees, and so the only thing she can do is look on in absolute horror.
She hits the floor.
Ulfric takes the place where she was previously standing.
Tullius' sword buries itself in Ulfric's armor, lodging itself in the space between where his breastplate and pauldrons should join.
Ulfric meets her on the floor, and he does not get back up.
This is her own personal Oblivion, her nightmare come to life. Perhaps this is what her dreams were trying to warn her about, and she didn't listen until it was too late.
Days, weeks, and even years later, when they ask Dahlia how she ended Tullius' life, she still will not be able to give a proper answer. Through the daze of her confusion, all she knows is that somehow she rises to her feet, draws her sword and swings it up into Tullius' neck to sever his head from his body, cutting the head off of the Empire once and for all. Everything else around her is a blur. She doesn't bother to stop to check where Rikke and Galmar are; she doesn't check herself for injuries even though she can vaguely feel the pain in her head has returned along with a slowly rising discomfort in her stomach. All she can see is Ulfric on the floor, the red ichor of his blood pooling too quickly around his body.
Dahlia doesn't waste a moment more as she runs to him and picks his head up to lay it in her lap.
Groaning at the motion, Ulfric's eyes scrunch up in pain as he speaks to her. "Don't worry about me, love. I'll be fine as long as you are here by my side."
However, she quiets him as she begins to check him over. She can see that Tullius's sword is still inside of him, angled in such a way that she knows it must be close to his heart or maybe even piercing the organ itself.
"Save your strength." She strokes a hand down his face, and his expression softens, his tired blue eyes looking up at her. "You are going to need it."
Only one thing is certain to her: She knows cannot heal this. It is beyond her knowledge and capabilities. No one on Nirn could heal something like this. Perhaps the Gods, but—
Her mind scrambles around as she tries to think of something she can do. She cannot just sit here in a pool of Ulfric's blood and pray for the Divines to answer. She has to try, even if—
Painfully, the bottom of her stomach drops out from under itself as she chokes back a sob. The thought dies in her mind before she can even finish it. It is unbearable for her.
With a healing spell in each hand pressed firmly on his chest, she does what she can, which in her eyes is everything. There is not anything she would not do and no length she would not go to for him.
As she works on him with her healing hands, it appears that she makes some progress, and the blood flow seems to stop. However, it starts again immediately the moment she takes her healing hands away from him. Damn Tullius to Oblivion. She knew exactly where to hit Ulfric to do the most damage.
Her stomach lurches again as she sees Ulfric's eyes flutter closed.
"You need to keep your eyes open, love. You know this, and you know what happens if they stay closed." She tells him in a panic.
"You should not waste your strength and energy." He mumbles quietly.
"It is not a waste if I can spend another moment with you."
If she can just get the blood flow under control, she might be able to take the sword from the wound, but Dahlia doesn't dare to touch it now. Not at least until she is sure she can close the wound it will leave behind.
The next few minutes whirl by her as she cannot keep track of them, or really hold her focus on anything other than Ulfric. While she knows that she needs to keep herself calm, it is increasingly difficult for her to hold back her hysteria at the current situation. All she can do is keep moving and keep trying more things in hopes that something will work. The extensive use and draining of her magicka is taking a toll on her, and despite the fact that she brought plenty of potions with her, there are only so many that one human is meant to consume at once before dangerous after effects set in. And she lost track of how many she drank a long time ago because her limbs have been moving automatically on their own accord, shakily yet mechanically as she repeats the process: drain all her magicka, uncork a blue bottle, down its contents. She can feel fatigue setting into her bones and an insistent stabbing in the pits of her stomach, but she pushes that all aside. It doesn't matter to her because she must do this. All that matters is him.
Dahlia doesn't even notice when Galmar enters the room again, dragging a bound, gagged, and unconscious Rikke behind him. It doesn't register that he is hovering over her and yelling for her to do more and giving her suggestions as to what to do. Nothing can tear her eyes away from what is happening in front of her.
Over and over again, she heals Ulfric's wound in every conceivable way Colette has taught her. In every way all the books on magical healing theory have told her. In every way she knows how, yet it all comes to naught.
Divines, what will she do if she cannot get it to stop? It has to stop. There is only so much blood he can lose and that she can replenish.
Suddenly, Dahlia is aware of just how out of her depth she is. She is a drop in the ocean, holding onto Ulfric's life by a thread because nothing she does is working. Nothing at all seems to make any difference. If she was not able to close the wound, she at least thought she'd be able to stop the blood loss and buy herself some more time.
This is when the realization comes crashing into her like the echoing waves of a far-off storm. They overwhelm her completely with the inevitability of their message:
She can't do anything. It's no use.
Her whole world is dying in her arms, and she is left absolutely powerless.
Soon, any semblance of calm she previously held is stripped away from her as the fabric of her life is coming unraveled thread by thread, and she comes undone all over Ulfric, her tears falling onto his hair, his clothes, and his skin to soak him through. Time is now her worst enemy as his blood runs in thick rivers all over the impeccable bright-white of the Empire's marble floors, the color being replaced with deep crimson.
Sobs wrack through her body and shake her to the very core as she leans her head over to touch her forehead to Ulfric's. From this distance, the smell of iron and metal in the air hits her nose with full force, making her feel even sicker, and her stomach lurches in a threat to spill its contents yet again. She swallows the feeling to force her body into submission because her heart refuses to yield. Not while Ulfric's warm blood sticks to every part that she touches, clinging to her with everything it has as if refusing to let go and telling her: "Here I am. Save me."
So, she pushes back harder, even as she grips onto one of Ulfric's hands, finding it much too cold to offer her any comfort. Even as he has lost the battle to keep his eyes open. Even as she can barely hear the gentle thudding and sputtering of his heart as he slips through her fingers, soul spilling from him like a tipped goblet of water. He's steadily seeping right through her hands, bleeding out as she feels the thrumming of his heart slow, yet she will not let go.
But what can she do? She is soon going to be out of time. What could possibly fix a wound of this magnitude. She would need a miracle.
She remembers telling Ulfric of the story about the Miracle of Mara months ago. However, she doesn't know how it works, and at this point, she is so tired that she can scarcely keep her own eyes open. Even if she did know how to do it, she doesn't have the confidence that she could pull it off. But what more can she do? This is her last resort.
It all feels hopeless until she feels Ulfric squeeze her hand faintly, reminding her that he is still in there, and he is fighting.
So, should she.
That's when Dahlia has the answer.
It's dangerous, and Tolfdir warned her about it several times before, but she doesn't care. She'll try anything.
Equilibrium: The trading of her lifeforce for more magicka. Surely, if she had more in her pool, she could heal something like this.
Dahlia exchanges one of her healing hands spells for that of equilibrium, and instantaneously, she can feel the effects take hold. The pain in her head and stomach double and quickly triple in magnitude until she is unsure of where it begins and she ends.
Tolfdir was right to warn them all off of this spell. Certainly, the Divines made this as a punishment to any and all who would try to gain more power than what is within their means. She is sure there is no pain like what she is experiencing anywhere else on Nirn.
Vaguely, she knows that Galmar is still yelling at her and trying to pull her away from Ulfric, but she will not be moved. She will see this through to the end.
By this point, she knows she is bleeding from her nose and possibly other places, but she doesn't have the strength to care. Her senses have completely dulled, and all she can hear is the faint pounding of blood in her ears as she tries to keep her eyes open. While she fights to hold onto consciousness, a cloudy black ring invades her vision and fire courses through her veins. She feels so tired, and she knows her body is shutting down. Yet she still keeps the spell going as she leans down to whisper her last words to Ulfric.
"We will meet again either in this life or the next, and I will love you in any and all of them with all of my heart, all of my soul, and all of my being. You are everything to me, the greatest treasure I could have ever asked for, the very breath in my lungs, and my reason for believing. I will never give up on you, and I will never let you go."
She feels her own heart stutter against her ribs, and she knows it is time.
Tired tears run down her cheeks as she kisses Ulfric softly on the lips to say goodbye as she grips the sword from his chest and uses the last of her energy to throw up the grandest healing spell her body can muster.
It has to be enough, and even if it is not, she will go with him to Sovngarde.