She had been gone for weeks. Ulfric sent word to Galmar whenever possible, asking if he had seen her at the Falkreath camp, but the answer remained the same- Ice-Veins had never turned up.

Ulfric was torn between fury and anxiety. He did not want to believe that she would just disappear on him (no, his cause), without so even a word. Something dire must've happened to her; had she been captured? Injured? Killed? The possibilities kept him up at night.

Unfortunately, the Dragonborn's sudden disappearance wasn't the only thing about her keeping Ulfric awake. Whenever he tried to sleep, he was assaulted with the image of her pert breasts through her robes, her mischievous green eyes sparkling as she invited him into her bed. Had she been merely joking, or was there any truth to her proposition? What if he had accepted? Thrown her on her back, climbed atop of her, removed her wet robes, placed his mouth-

Ulfric groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. He could feel his cock throbbing once more. No matter how many times he took himself in hand, it was never enough. The brief flash of his satisfaction would only be replaced with a longing he had no right to possess; Svala wasn't his. For Talos' sake, he didn't even know the woman that well, not to mention the fact that she was the Dragonborn of legend! Her allegiance to his cause was too valuable to jeopardize over the lust he had for her. He had sworn to himself that going forward he would treat her as any other soldier and keep his distance. Although he was slightly stung by the cold demeanor she possessed the last time he had seen her, when he had dubbed her Ice-Veins (how fitting), Ulfric was optimistic that it would only make it easier for him to purge her from his mind.

He had been wrong.

Following her departure, a slew of whores had found their way into the Jarl's bed. Ulfric was not so blind as to not recognize that he could easily have any woman he wanted (save one, perhaps), but given how the war was progressing he did not want to entertain any notions about making a woman his queen. A whore served one purpose and one purpose only, and that was all Ulfric required.

Release.

The woman he had chosen that night (was her name Hillyea? Kirshe? Ulfric couldn't recall) was currently riding him like a stallion, moaning gratuitously and pressing her generous breasts in his face. He sucked on her nipples dutifully, running his thumb along her clit and listening to her shriek in pleasure. The sound went straight to his cock, and his mind once more drifted to Svala. He imaged her in the whore's place, her intense green gaze fixed upon him as she ground upon his cock to find her pleasure. He wondered if her thu'um would be triggered by her orgasm- he ached to make her cum that hard. His cock throbbed at the thought.

"My Jarl, my Jarl...!" The whore was chanting breathlessly, and Ulfric had had enough. "Quiet," he rasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and flipping her onto her back before driving into her mercilessly. She screamed into his palm. Svala would call him by his name, or nothing at all- that he was sure of. She wouldn't submit to him easily, and oh, wasn't that half the fun? He would have to make her. He could tie her to the posts of his bed, force his cock in her smart mouth until she drooled, bring her to the edge countless times until she sobbed for him-

Ulfric came with a groan. When he returned to his senses, he pulled out of the spent whore and turned onto his side. "Your payment is on the dresser. I trust on your discretion in this matter," he muttered to her. He didn't want to look at her, he didn't want to shatter the illusion he had carefully crafted around himself.

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Brynjolf the same as Svala remembered him. Even the tell tale signs of age only enhanced his rugged masculinity and made him more attractive, if it were possible. There were more lines around his eyes now, and some grey mingled amongst the red of his hair, but he still heartbreakingly handsome. He still managed to stop her heart with just a smile. Perhaps no amount of time would change that.

Brynjolf. Her first love.

"Lala, you're alive." He choked out before stumbling forward and wrapping her in a tight embrace. He smelled like ale and leather and mist and home. Tears sprung to her eyes as she buried her face in his hair. "I thought I'd never see you again, lass."

"Thought?" Svala asked thickly, pulling away so that she could look him in the eye. "Or hoped?"

"No," Brynjolf's own blue eyes glimmered overly bright with tears as he roughly grabbed her by the chin. "I would never betray you, Svala. I'd rather die. You are family, lass."

"You didn't look for me either," she couldn't help it, she could feel the tears slide down her face. "I needed you, Bryn. I needed all of you! Do you know what they did to me? What I had to endure??" She could feel Trearil's hands running over her, the kiss of his blade, the burn as he-

"Lass, you don't understand," his hands were on her shoulders, gripping her tightly, bringing her back. "Mercer...divines, Svala, Mercer killed Gallus. He blamed Karliah for it all, she spent years on the run from us. If anyone handed you over to them, anyone, it would've been him."

"Would have? Is he dead?"

"Aye," Brynjolf gazed at his feet, and for a moment all was silent except for the steady drip of sewage on the cobble stones. "I'm the Guildmaster now, Lala. Karliah is my second. And you have to believe me, I did look for you. Every second I could spare, and when I couldn't, Karliah was. She's in Cyrodiil now even."

Svala couldn't speak, her throat was constricting too tightly with the need to sob. She had carried the weight of Brynjolf's betrayal for years. She had given everything she possessed to that man- her heart and her innocence included. The day he had taken her maidenhead she had worn an amulet of Mara, something she had bought specifically for the occasion. He had laughed and told her that he "wasn't the marrying type". Heartbroken, she spent the night in the Bee and Bard, not wanting to face him in the cistern, and the following morn found herself within Thalmor custody. She had always thought that it was some kind of deal he made with them, in order to protect himself or the Guild. She had never imagined anything like this. "I can't do this right now. I'm here on business."

"Business?" Brynjolf chuckled at her, his fingers brushing away a lock of her hair loose from its single braid down her back. "You've been gone for three years and you only come back on business?"

Svala shoved him, hard. "Yes. Business. I'm looking for an old man. He's supposed to be living in the Rataway. Goes by Esbern. Ever heard of him?"

"Aye," Brynjolf's shit eating grin was only growing. She wanted to punch him. "I may have heard of him. But nothing comes for free, does it Lala?"

Svala groaned- she was afraid it would come to this. It was Brynjolf, after all. "Name your price, you bastard."

"Spend the night with me," Brynjolf's lips graced her ear as she felt his hot breath ghost over her. "Nothing naughty, I'm a gentleman after all, just a night to reconnect between friends." She bit back a whimper, feeling her body erupt into goosebumps, arousal coiling low in her belly. Ever since Ulfric had been in her room she had found herself...frustrated. Being so close to Brynjolf, the possibility of his touch...it took all of her self control to pull herself away once more.

"After I find Esbern," she agreed sternly. "And nothing naughty. I still have questions."