Svala dreamed and woke up in a memory.

She remembered how much she hated watching Brynjolf visit Haelga's Bunkhouse each Fredas. He'd smile as he'd leave the cistern, ruffle her red hair, and bid her goodnight. Svala always wanted to follow, to see what Haelga offered that the Guild didn't...that she didn't. She tried to ask Brynjolf about it once but he only laughed and said, "When you're older, little Lala, I'll tell you."

Svala had never been patient. One Fredas, as she watched Brynjolf leave the cistern (he thought her already asleep) she snuck after him. It didn't take her long to spot him at Haelga's bunkhouse- the door to the place was left ajar so she didn't have to pick it. When she crept inside, she could already hear the wet sound of skin slapping against skin and harsh panting.

While Svala was no stranger to sex in concept, after having lived with bandits for most of her childhood, it was completely different to see someone she desired in the act. Brynjolf's hair looked like liquid fire as it shook in time to his thrusts. His thighs and ass were not perfectly toned, but lean and strong nonetheless. The sight and sounds he was making were more than enough to entice her, but apparently whatever he was doing to Haelga was so good it was making her scream shrilly as though she were being mauled by a saber cat.

It was a curious feeling, both her heart breaking so distinctly into pieces at the same time her smalls flooded with heat and an unfamiliar stickiness. She stood, transfixed, in the doorway, watching as Brynjolf sped his hips and began moaning, "Oh fuck, yes, take it, fuuuck-"

"Oh!" There was a surprised squeak from the staircase and Svala's eyes immediately snapped to the intruder, her hand flying to her dagger. However, the girl ignored her completely until she had firmly shut the doors to Haelga's room, swallowing both the sights and sounds of the couple inside. "They never notice," she said with an eye roll. Svala released her weapon. "Can I get you something?"

"Do you work here?" Svala asked.

"If you can call it that," the girl snorted back, uncorking two bottles of mead anyway and passing her one. "Slavery is more like it. Ever since my parents died and she took me in it's been a nightmare. Honestly I was surprised to find out she's such a wretched woman," she sighed, drinking deeply. Svala followed suit, feeling incredibly awkward. She had only asked if the lass worked for Haelga, not her damn life story. Still, her clear distaste for her mistress could prove to be very useful... "So now I'm stuck living here while those pigs she calls customers grope me and say the most awful things."

"Sounds like she needs to be taught a lesson in humility," Svala mused to her hostess.

Undeterred, the girl continued, nodding vigorously. "You know what I want? I want to see her squirm for once. If you ask me, I think she's disgusting and takes her worship of Dibella way too seriously," she jerked a thumb in the direction of Haelga's room, where the moaning had increased and was now accompanied by the thumping of the bed posts against the wall. "Do you know in the last month alone, she's slept with three different men?" A wicked grin spread along the blonde's face. "I happen to know that after she makes love, she gives her lover a token of affection called a mark of Dibella. If you could collect some and confront her with them, she'd be so embarrassed I don't know what she'd do!"

"Well then let's find out," Svala grinned, and before her new friend could respond, Haelga bellowed, "Svana! Bring some ale for me and my guest!" and just as silently as she appeared, Svala made her exit.

It didn't take long for her to pick the pockets of Haelga's conquests- what was more difficult was to meet Brynjolf's eye in the Flagon. Every time he stared at her she blushed crimson, remembering the rough tone of his voice as he moaned out his pleasure. She had tried (and failed) in getting herself off (perhaps due to the fact the cistern severely lacked in privacy) but it seemed that there was no remedy for the sheer desire she held for her mentor. Svala decided to channel this frustration into revenge- even if Haelga hadn't done anything wrong, she still wanted her to hurt.

So when she made her way to Haelga's Bunkhouse one evening and found it closed, Svala picked the lock and let herself inside once more. This time, however, the titular owner was counting coin when she frowned upon seeing an intruder. "If you're looking for a bed, the Bee and Barb is an Inn. Trust me, the Bunkhouse is not for you. Besides, we're closed."

"I believe these are yours," Svala said coolly, placing the glimmering trinkets in front of her. She smirked, watching the color drain from Haelga's face.

"What...how did you get these?" She stared at Svala closely before shaking her head. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Listen, you can't tell anyone about this, especially Svana. If word gets out I'm practicing my Dibellan arts here in Riften, they'll run me out of town."

Svala sighed, crossing her arms. "Sad story. I feel for you, I really do...but what's in it for me?"

Haelga narrowed her eyes at her. "Name your price."

"I want you to stop seeing Brynjolf. You don't touch him again, you don't look at him again, you don't even contact him again." Confusion overtook Haelga's face but she nodded. "Good. And if you do, I'll know."

"Of course you will," the older woman laughed at her. "You think you're so slick? You're that little gutter rat from the Guild, Brynjolf's latest project. You follow him around like a lovesick puppy," she laughed at her again, her eyes shining with cruelty. "You should be asking me for pointers instead of threatening me. I know everything he likes, and trust me, it isn't you."

Svala swallowed the growing lump in her throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. Instead, in her fury, she made her way to the statue of Dibella Haelga kept by the door. Brynjolf had once told her to use it as collateral (if needed) to get Haelga to pay back her debt. With a triumphant smirk, she hurled the statue at the floor, sprinting away as Haelga screamed curses after her.

She awoke still expecting to be in Riften. A quick check of her surroundings found that to be incorrect- she was in a field surrounded by spriggan corpses. Svala tried to rise to her feet and groaned at the stiffness in her limbs; she knew for a fact that the Thalmor poisoned their arrows with frostbite venom and knew that it would take several hours for her body to purge the poison from its system without aid. Uneasily, she managed to make her way to a small pond nearby her campsite and was about to climb in when she heard a male's voice behind her. "Well, at first I thought you were a goddess, or maybe a Daedra. But I suppose neither of those bleed."

Her eyes drifted down to her bare legs (she had only a tunic on when she awoke) and widened at the sight of blood dripping steadily down her thigh. "Maybe not, but I promise I can kill you just the same," she growled, turning her attention to Thorald Gray-Mane. "If you even thought about-"

"Peace, sister!" He cried, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I would never, honestly! You had arrowheads stuck in your legs, you needed tending. Dragonbridge wasn't safe, there were too many Thalmor crawling about, so I had to take us off course. We've been in the woods on and off, I don't feel safe on the roads. I made camp here for the night since you were asleep and I couldn't wake you and," he finally paused to take a breath, accompanied by a nervous chuckle. "Quite honestly, I was afraid to do so."

"Good," Svala sagged, the fight leaving her. "Help me into this pond. If the spriggans were guarding it, it might have healing properties," Thorald's silver brows rose at her in curiosity. "What? Spriggans only attack because they feel their territory is threatened, and they're guardians of the forest. They wouldn't just defend any old rock or spring."

"You are wise," Thorald commented, helping her sink into the turquoise water. The instant she was submerged she let out a deep sigh; the water was warm, like her baths back at the palace, and she could instantly feel her muscles begin to unknot. "As much as you are powerful."

"Dragonborn, at your service," she smiled cheekily at him, winking. "So, what's a Gray-Mane doing locked up with the Thalmor?"

"They want to get to my family," Gray-Mane sighed. "My uncle is the finest smith in Skyrim and has the weight of Jorvaskr behind him. Imagine what those damned elves could do with that much support in Skyrim."

Svala hummed nervously to herself. It would be catastrophic. Still, from her brief time in Whiterun before joining the war, she knew one of the clans were Stormcloak supporters...she just always confused which one. And while Thorald honestly seemed quite flustered in her presence, she would still rather remain aloof until she felt he was trustworthy. She had learned the hard way that even flustered men could be dangerous. "So where will you go now? I imagine they know where you live."

"Aye," Thorald answered her darkly. "I can never return home, as much as it pains me. My only hope now is to lose myself in the Stormcloak ranks and hope my brother will join me."

Ah ha. That must've made the Battle-Borns the milk drinkers. Svala grinned broadly at him, rising from the tepid waters and raising an eyebrow at the blush coloring Thorald's face. She looked down: the thin tunic she wore stuck to her breasts and hips, leaving little to the imagination. What could it hurt to give him a taste? Sanguine purred in her head. You've been so...tense lately. Indulge. Ride him like a stallion. She frowned to herself, doing her best to ignore the Daedric Prince in her mind. "I might be able to help with that. Are you headed for Windhelm?"

"That's where the Stormcloak is, aye," Thorald chuckled nervously at her. His eyes were flittering between her nipples and her face. "If your business is there also I would be honored to escort you. I am already in your debt."

Was she headed to Windhelm? She needed to go to the college to find the damn scroll...but that was before she knew that Wuunferth was dead. Ulfric needed to know. She could go with Thorald to Windhelm and then go right to Winterhold.

And somewhere, along the way, she would write to Brynjolf and accept his proposal (granted she survived long enough to honor it). Besides, seeing Ulfric one last time would purge him from her system, once and for all. She didn't love him (of course) and she knew he didn't love her, so it must have been lust that drew her back to him time and time again. Self control was all she needed. One last time, and she would marry the man she loved, the man she had always loved...Brynjolf. "I have business there," she nodded. "But you won't need to follow me the whole way...there's a camp not too far from here. I'll bring you there and you can enlist and...well...disappear."

"Your generosity is humbling," Thorald told her, placing a fist over his own heart. "But you saved my life...so now it is in your debt. I will ensure you safely return to Windhelm, and if you need my services beyond them, I am yours to do with as you please...Dragonborn."

She bit her lower lip, images of the silver haired Nord on his knees in front of her, his lips attacking her clit flashed through her mind as Sanguine laughed along. Why deny yourself pleasure, my uptight little Champion? He is strong and handsome...and you could command him to do anything. Sanguine let out a dark moan that made her smalls flood. Take him now before I am tempted to do so myself.

"Right," Svala coughed, ignoring Sanguine. "We'll head to the camp, restock, and go to Windhelm." She glanced down at the tunic she wore; she at least wanted to have pants on before seeing Ulfric again.

"My Jarl!" Jorleif was breathless as he called to Ulfric outside his chamber door. "There's word of Lady Svala from Hjaalmarch!"

Ulfric was lounging in the tub and all at once the blood in his veins went to ice. So often he had dreamed of a similar scenario but the endings always differed; in one reality she was dying and she was too far away for him to reach her in time, in another she was seconds away from his doorstep and he was ready to claim her until the sun set and rose again. "Yes?" He called, damning the slight waver in his hoarse voice. "How does she fare?"

"She is coming, my Jarl!" Ulfric could sense the smile in his steward's voice. "She will be here within the day. Shall I prepare a feast to receive her?"

He was laughing to himself then, big bellowing laughs that threatened to wake his thu'um. He was giddy with relief. "Aye, Jorleif," Ulfric answered, rising from the tepid water and feeling his blood run hot, hotter than it ever had since she had been gone. "Send word to Calder to have Sofie brought here tonight. Make sure he has her looking presentable." He didn't want Svala to think the girl hadn't been cared for in her absence.

After Jorleif had scurried off to make the necessary preparations, he dressed and groomed himself with a purpose he had not expressed in months. She was coming back to him...perhaps that was a good sign. He brought her forgotten Amulet of Mara to his own neck, toying with the idea of wearing it for her. To be damned with what others would think, it would not matter if she was the savior of Tamriel and he was the rightful High King of Skyrim...but what would she think?

There was a frantic drumming in his veins that could only be sated by blood or sex. Since he had met her, there had only been her in both his mind and deed, so pleasures of the flesh would have to wait. He decided then to practice his sword work in the yard, the idea of marching upon Solitude, arm in arm with his warrior bride Shouting their way to victory playing in his mind. Ulfric found himself outside like that for hours, slashing away at the straw men like they were phantoms come to steal him away. They all had pointed ears and smug, angular faces...

"Jarl Ulfric?"

He spun around to find Sofie in front of him, her hair plaited intricately atop her head and a clean, silk dress of Stormcloak blue hugging to her slight frame. Still, she didn't look starved and there was a brightness to her eyes that he hoped wasn't solely due to the reappearance of her guardian. "She's coming back, isn't she?"

"Aye," he confirmed, dropping his sword onto the stone. "And Wuunferth has returned as well, I meant to send word but I've been, well, occupied with the war." Divines he sounded like a shit.

Sofie nodded, unsheathing the dragon bone dagger from her belt. "Can you show me how to use this?" She asked him in a rush.

Ulfric frowned. "If Calder is harming you in any way, I shall have his head."

"No!" Sofie cried shrilly and the ferocity on her face made her appear like a pint-sized Dragonborn. "Nothing like that. I just want to know...in case. The dragons and the war..." her cheeks had turned a bright shade of pink as she shuffled from one foot to the other anxiously. "If I'm left alone again, I want to be able to protect myself. Like her."

He wanted to tell her that it was an impossibility, that she would always be safe in Windhelm. But yet, she had wandered the streets for so long, and he hadn't known...and what if Tullius had his head? Calder would be sent to the axe as well, and if Svala never returned... "Aye," Ulfric nodded, swallowing the emotion trapped in his throat. "I'll teach you some moves. Come here."

He lost track of time watching the girl jab and dodge, whirling around with her little blade. She was a quick study, which Wuunferth had often told him, but it was still surprising to see. It was only when Wuunferth cleared his throat from behind him that he took notice of the man, placing a hand on Sofie's shoulder to stop her as well. "I thought you were a mage, child," his friend tutted at her.

Sofie froze very suddenly, Ulfric could feel the way her small body tensed under his palm. She raised her dagger at Wuunferth accusingly, shaking slightly. "You're not real."

"What?" Ulfric and his old friend questioned at the same time. "Sofie, what are you talking about?"

"It's me, child," Wuunferth stepped towards her slowly, his palms raised in surrender. "I mean you no harm-"

"You're lying!" Sofie screamed and with her unarmed hand shot a fist full of flames directly at him. The older mage deflected the blast expertly, but Ulfric was still left shaken. This wasn't like the child, not at all... "You taught me how to sense another mage's magica and yours feels different!"

"I don't possibly know what you're-"

"She's right." Svala's stony voice came from the opening of the courtyard as she strolled towards the three, her swords pointed ahead and a sliver haired warrior in tow. Murder dripped from every syllable. "So who the hell are you?"