"Are you sure I can't convince you to leave in the morning? Dragonborn or not, the night is no time for a woman to travel alone."

A brunette head shakes in the negative as Gisele picks her sack up from the bench beside her. "I'm afraid not, Jarl Ulfric. I've been long from my Guild, and I have to make sure that it and the members are still in one piece and not twiddling their thumbs in a jail cell somewhere. Besides, I took up enough of your time as it is and I've got someone waiting for me at home." Concerned topazes look around the still crowded hall as a frown breaks out on the mage's face. "Hmm, I know Commander Strong-Heart was here earlier- I wanted to extend her an invitation to the woods of the Rift as well as the plains of Whiterun. Plenty of places for good hunting, and I'm not just talking about animals."

Before Ulfric could ask what the Breton was going on about, she had turned and gestured his Housecarl over, who was seemingly in an animated discussion with Ysarald and a few of the other soldiers.

"Heading home Dragonborn?"

"Don't sound so happy to see me go, General."

"My ears will be happier than the rest of me, believe me," Galmar goes, tugging at one of his earlobes. "Now, what did you and Ulfric need, hmm?"

"I was wondering where Commander Strong-Heart went to, as I saw the two of you speaking earlier. Wanted to extend her an invitation for some sport down in the Rift and Whiterun- plenty of things for her to try her skill on if they catch her interest."

A thick brow raises at the comment as the Second in Command goes "Sport in regards to things of the four legged variety? Or are you also including those that walk on two in that offer as well?"

"Excuse me?" Jade eyes, that once were looking around the room for the officer in question, snap back into focus and on the two standing next to him.

"Come now, Jarl Ulfric. Commander Strong-Heart is only a few years younger than you. Most women in Skyrim would have been married and had at least one child, maybe two by now- personally I think it odd, but I'll blame that on my being born in High Rock. From what I can gather from some of the other soldiers, all she's known is war, whether it's fighting against the elves or fighting against those she once called brother. I know a set of Nord twins in Jorrvaskr who would gladly call her wife just based on the scars she carries alone, and I'm sure there would be at least one member of my own Guild that would not mind keeping her warm on a long winter's night. I overheard her one night cursing those scars, calling them a burden she wasn't sure she was willing to bear anymore, but... I envy her for those, you know?"

"Why is that?"

"General, this is Skyrim, where your mettle is shown either by how many meads you can drink in one go or by the stories you can tell of battles you fought in, not by the number of summons you can conjure or your ability to cast spells under duress. I'm a mage by training- we're never on the front lines ever if possible. Prior to my joining up to help Jarl Ulfric, I was just a newcomer to these lands trying to make her way as a thief. I have less than ten scars to my name. What tales will I have to tell when I have my own children? Granted, I defeated the World Eater in Sovngarde, but what do I have to show for it?" The Dragonborn gives her superiors a small smile. "No Sir, the Commander is the lucky one, for she will have much to talk about with those who went before her in the Hall of Valor. And with that, Riften and her denizens await me. Jarl Ulfric, I wish you luck in dealing with the Moot, whenever it convenes. General Stone-Fist, let the Commander know of my intentions to have her down in my area of Skyrim as soon as he's willing to let her go."

As the two men watch the mage head towards the doors and out into the cold Windhelm night, verdant orbs narrow as Ulfric ponders what Gisele had said. "Galmar."

"My Lord."

"Where is she?"

Damn you Freyja for putting me in this situation. The Housecarl pinches the bridge of his nose and goes "Walk with me, Ulfric." Thankfully, whether it was from curiosity or anger- Or perhaps a combination of the two, the man thinks to himself- his friend nods and the pair move in silence down the Valunstrad and into the Temple of Talos, which was thankfully empty at this time of night.

Cerulean eyes look up at the statue of the man who not only changed Skyrim, but all of Tamriel, silently asking for guidance as he proceeded to verbally beat sense into his friend. "She left, Ulfric."

"What?" Disheveled locks move haphazardly as the Jarl shakes his head. "I must have heard you wrong. Did you say Freyja left? Left the Palace? Left Windhelm? Left Eastmarch?"

"I don't know. I think she aimed to leave Skyrim for a period of time, but that she would be back in time for your coronation."

"You're joking, right?"

"Am I laughing? Even yet, would I joke about something like that when she was concerned?" Now the man laughs, the barking like sound echoing around the moonlit room. "I think for you to ask that comment you must have had a bit too much mead in celebration tonight, my Lord."

"Did Freyja say at why she was leaving?"

The General sighs, taking a seat on the front pew. "Unrequited love," he goes simply to his friend, hoping that Ulfric would make the connection in his mead addled brain.

"I...see," the Jarl goes, sitting down next to Galmar, a pensive expression crossing his face. "That's surprising, I mean, that someone wouldn't want her. Why does she think her feelings aren't returned? Who hurt her this way, to make her feel that she had to flee her own home?"

Before he could stop himself, Stone-Fist's left arm was up and moving, his bare palm smacking his Lord on the back of the head rather hard. On second thought... For good measure, he slaps him again. "No, you're not drunk. You really are an idiot. How in the name of bloody Oblivion are you going to be High King of Skyrim and tend to the needs of her residents if you can't see what is going on right in front of you?" Shaking his hand out to regain the feeling back in it, the officer growls out "You're the one who hurt her Ulfric. You're the reason Freyja felt she had to leave."

As Ulfric rubs the back of his head, his brain catches up and processes what his clearly angry friend just said. "Freyja...why didn't she say anything?"

"Didn't you say once 'Men who understand each other often have no need for words'? She said plenty over the years without saying it- you just didn't hear it...or chose not to. Tell me, Ulfric, how many women, let alone people, would go into battle with you, refuse to let anyone else heal you, shielded your body with theirs, break you out of a Thalmor Prison and knowingly commit supposed treason against the Empire, knowing it could lead to their death? At every crossroad, at every low point, at every hurdle Freyja was there. Do you seriously think you would have survived if she wasn't there? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if it was reported she fell in battle you would take it the same way you'd take anyone else's?"

"What changed?"

"Your infatuation with your pet dragon in mage robes," the Housecarl tells his Jarl bluntly. "It was like no one else mattered. You know how she feels about her scars- the fact that Gisele is decent looking by Nord standards didn't make matters any easier for her. Add on the fact that the Breton is the Dragonborn and with that goes the ability to use the Voice, you'd be unstoppable if she were by your side." Here Galmar shrugs, as if everything was self-explanatory. "Freyja feels that come your coronation as High King there will be a wedding to go along with it, and it won't be to her. But she thought you wanted the Last Dragonborn, and if that made you happy, she was more than willing to put what she wanted aside."

"How could it not be? There's only ever been her!" Sage eyes, which were originally looking down at the stone floor, dart upwards in a panic. "There's no one more worthy than Freyja. I can't lose her Galmar, not after all this, not after we've all been through."

"You and I both know that. Everyone who fought for your cause knows that. But she doesn't believe so, and that's the only thing that matters. The question now is what you plan on doing about it, idiot?"

The Stormcloak leader said nothing for a few minutes, his mind putting together and discarding various plans just as quickly. "If I knew you would allow it, I would scour all of Skyrim and then Tamriel for her. We also can't have the soldiers helping rebuild and protecting the Holds stop what they're doing to look for her either- she knows most of them and could easily out-think and outmaneuver them. I certainly can't send you, because she'll expect that. What we need is..."

A strange light briefly appears in the Jarl's eyes, though Galmar can only wonder if he imagined it in the torch-lit temple. "Need what, Ulfric? Start makin' some sense, won't you?"

"I need you to find me someone trusted to bring a message for me south. I don't want it going through the usual channels of couriers- and I don't want them in a uniform. Talos knows some of the Legion's staunchest men have organized themselves and are operating out of hidden camps in the wilderness. Last we need is to lose a good man on what might be a fool's errand. As for me, I have to get back to the Palace- I've got a letter to write."

A/N: Here we are, another chapter. For some reason, I feel that the relationship between Galmar and Ulfric is strong enough that Ulfric will accept not only being called an idiot to his face by his Housecarl, but also being Gibbs Slapped. More than once.

And I finally write a story where the Dragonborn is not my main focus. Gisele will play a part in the madness, as will her motley crew of thieves, will have a part to play, a rather strange one, but I hope it makes sense.

Onward and upward! To Skyrim and the North!