Hullo, everybody! I added a bit more to the last chapter, so you might want to read the tail end before starting this one. Please Read and Review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR

He slams me down onto the pavement, knocking the wind from my lungs as I cry out in pain. I struggle back up, but before I can get to my knees, his armored foot rams into my chest, throwing me back against the ground.

As he raises his broadsword with a horrible yell, I grab his boot in my hands, relieving its pressure on my sternum so that I can get my second wind. As soon as his foot is off my chest, I draw in a deep breath and holler,

"FUS! ROH-DAH!"

The Imperial soldier launches up and away, spinning madly before he smashes into the stone path that leads up to Castle Dour. I know by the broken way his body drops, that he's dead.

Grasping the hilt of my stolen Ebony war axe, I sway to my feet, wildly surveying the carnage around me.

Two Imperial court wizards lay down a suppressing fire of ice spikes from the top of the stone path. Three Stormcloaks holding banded iron shields are crouched and slowly making their approach with a handful of friends behind them. A group of slummers with pitchforks and torches plunges furiously into battle with Imperials while another group saves a young girl from her burning home.

For all the calm of the starry night sky above, the world below is flaming chaos.

Supported by the slummers of Solitude, Ulfric led his attack in the small hours of the morning. Upper class merchants barricaded themselves in the Castle Dour keep while scores of Imperial soldiers ran to protect the city gates.

They were outnumbered, four to one. Never stood a chance.

By the time I emerged from the spiral stair, Adjin had gone, leaving me to wonder whether he was ever there. Shazaa had stumbled off in another direction, slippery fuck that he is.

I made a dash across the court, determined to put as much space between myself and that cell as possible. I knew I'd never be there again.

The people made their choice.

I scoured the guardhouse impound for my weapons and my effects. I couldn't find the Terrible Twins- Widowmaker and Homewrecker- before I met conflict, in Elisif's throne room. So, I've had to make do with a borrowed Ebony war axe, hacking my way through the courtyard of the Blue Palace and out into the streets.

Part of me consistently scans the faces of everyone I come past, unconsciously seeking out those white eyes and that reddish-brown hair. Keeps scanning, even when I know that there's no way she could possibly be here; she made it very clear the last time we spoke, that it was the last time we'd speak.

I will never see her again.

I shake my head, clearing it of this thought, and just in time. Another Imperial soldier is charging at me, his steel sword drawn.

I lunge away from the wall and meet him, squaring up his blow with the hook of my axe, flinging the weapon uselessly away. I curve my other axe up and into his chest with all my might, the impact lifting him off his feet and putting him on his back.

I frenzy I haven't felt in years boils my blood, consuming me.

Another man approaches and I back-step a slash for my head that makes his blade sing in the air. To return the favor, I circled to his right and hooked both my axes round both sides of his neck, ripping his own from his shoulders.

The left axe somehow stuck into his flesh in the process, and before I can draw it out, another soldier comes charging in from my left, swinging. I abandon the weapon to jerk out of reach, jumping back and away as I toss the Ebony axe from my right hand to my left.

Mid-jump, I throw a cross with my right, mailed fist, the blow jolting back his head. He stumbles back and I twirl the axe in my left hand, driving it forward and catching him on the upswing.

When I dip down to finally pluck my lost axe out of the headless neck, my leg suddenly gives, and I realize it's been struck with an arrow.

Whipping my head around, I quickly locate the enemy archer, who's angling up to take another shot.

Before I can even think to look for cover, he's dropped by an arrow, deftly shot into his neck.

My head snaps, tracing back the arrow's path.

And then, just like that, I see her again.

The firelight both demonizes and glorifies her, casting her as both Aedra and Daedra. A hunting bow gripped tightly in her left hand and her scimitar in its scabbard, she stands on the parapets of the fort, adorned in the armor of a Stormcloak captain.

A bear pelt cowl hangs about her shoulders, the bear's head- her hood- thrown back from her face. Her red-brown hair was tamed back into a braid, but battle has loosened it, leaving it with strands escaped from the long plait. A necklace of needle-like teeth rests against her collarbone and an iron shield defends her back.

Warpaint is streaked across her face, with a thick, black line drawn from eartip to eartip, pale eyes blazing out from the blackness. Long, twin lines of paint are drawn from their connection to the stripe across her eyes, all the way down her neck, disappearing into her armor. Black paint covers her lips, a third long line drawn from them, down her chin.

Those white eyes set themselves on me and I feel my gut lurch.

Divines, do I love this fucking woman.

I blink several times, and rub my eyes, but she doesn't disappear, not even once. She's really here, right now. She's here fighting alongside Ulfric, but she's fighting for me.

She's here for me, and that is her first mistake.

There is no longer anything she can say, that could make me think she doesn't love me. It's as impossible for her to leave my side as it is for me to leave hers. And, this time around, not one of the Divines could keep me from making her understand that.

Rontu swings herself down to hang from the wall's ledge and neatly slides to the ground level before she springs toward me. I open my mouth to speak, and her right hand jabs down against her thigh and I automatically know to duck as her hand streamlines forward, flinging a dagger from its sheath.

I flip over to see an Imperial soldier, clutching the dagger's hilt. His mouth opens and shuts without any words before his eyes roll back and he drops to the ground.

I turn back to face her and start to say something, but she tucks her hands under my arms and drags me back until we're concealed between a stack of crates and someone's house.

"Rontu-"

"Are you alright?" she asks, cutting me off. Without asking or waiting for my answer, she jerks the arrow clean out of my leg, making me howl out. "Fuck," she mutters. "Okay. Hold this."

As I take her bow, she rubs her palms together and sucks in a deep breath before placing them both on my thigh. A soft, golden light starts to grow beneath her palms, and as amazing as her healing Magicka is, I can't tear my gaze away from her face.

Suddenly, a large man appears at her side, and she snatches her kukri from its sheath at the small of her back and whips around on him with a snarl, her body clearly shielding mine.

"Bjorn!" he barks, impatiently and she takes a moment to process that he's a friend before sticking the knife away. "Have you seen Ulfric?"

She shakes her head, panting ever so slightly, "Not since the gate."

"Ralof; what of Ralof?"

"Not since the gate," she says again, and wipes her mouth, smudging the paint there. "We've taken the Districts; the Dragonborn is secure. I'd bet anything they're in Castle Dour."

"Aye. You're likely right, lass. Fuck," he growls out, frustration etched into his face. His eyes light on me and seem to brighten. "Hallo again, friend. It's been many years, en't it?"

I don't remember his name, but I nod anyway and offer him a slight smile.

"I remember you, aye. Well met."

His face opens up wide with his grin.

"Ye've gotten a good deal bigger, I'm glad to see," he thunders laughingly. "That's good. You were tall before, but much too slender, and she'll be needing a big man, this one."

He rises up from leaning against the his giant Dwarven warhammer and then, swinging it like a play toy, lunges into battle, bellowing with glee.

I turn to look at Rontu, but she's already stood up. Not quickly enough, however, for me not to see her eyes widen and cheeks redden, right before her brows are drawn in and her jaw sets, her whole posture determined. Almost like she's steeling herself.

I don't want her to steel herself. I want her steel to shatter.

Wordlessly, I reach out and touch her elbow. She flinches, but doesn't move away. I slide my fingers around the curve of her arm and still, she doesn't move. My heart's doing flips inside my chest and somehow, I find the courage to close my hand around her elbow and gently draw her towards me.

"Rontu…"

At the sound of her name, her back goes ramrod straight and her muscles tense under my hand right before she jerks out of my grasp.

"No!" she says, and I know that she meant it to sound a lot firmer than it actually does. "I'm not double-speaking! I don't self-contradict; I mean things when I say them!"

"Rontu," I echo reaching for her. She leaps away from me, wrapping her arms around herself and looking at the ground rather than at me.

"No!" she barks again, shaking her head. She's trembling. She's almost frantic. "I'm serious, Marrick! I mean things when I say them!" Her eyes finally snap up to meet mine. "This is the last time."

I drop my hands and tip up my chin, brows raised.

"You said that six days ago." Her eyes tear away from mine again. A slow smile starts to spread across my face. "You said that last time, Rontu."

Her eyes snap back up, which is what I was looking for.

"It's still true."

"Oh, really?" I raise my brows and gesture all around us. Her mouth opens the tiniest bit so she can tuck in her lower lip and chew on it. I zero in on the action, transfixed. "So, maybe I should just wait another six days until the next 'last time I see you again'? And, another six after that?"

"It's still true!"

Her words are almost an order.

I cross my arms and wet my lips to hide how wide my brief grin is.

In the back of my mind, I remember Hulda's own words.

If that five years of absolute hell was all just you mourning, then that means it was all real, what you had. She gave me a wide grin, shaking her head. And when something is that real, Keller, it is never over.

"I don't believe you," I say. "I don't think you believe yourself."

"This time was different. I had to be here."

"This time is the same, Rontu; why don't you see it?" I take a step towards her, but she doesn't seem to notice. "They're all the same. There's no goodbye. There never was."

She shakes her head pressing her lips together.

"I can do this; I'm not a weak woman!" she bellows. "I'm strong. I don't need you."

"I told myself the same thing, for five years; I know how you feel."

"How can you?" she snaps viciously, closing her arms more tightly around herself. "How can you possibly know?"

"Because, I know what it means to be in denial about needing someone." I take another step. "About fearing that you're becoming too dependent on someone who isn't you. Especially when you've been living on only your strength for so long."

I smile as gently as I can, for how I want to just snatch her to me and not ever let go.

"You always want to be with that person, even when you argue most of the time. Even when you've lied and they've lied, and you think there's nothing left to save. I know." I nod for her. "I know what it is to be afraid that wanting to live for someone might just mean not being able to live without them. And, Rontu," I half-laugh, "I cannot live without you. And deep, down, you know you can't live without me." Her chest is heaving with quiet breaths as I slowly corner her, physically and verbally. "Deep down, you know you're mine."

"No!" she exclaims again. It stills sounds like more of a plea, and she knows it. Her brow and mouth twist in frustration. "I don't belong to you, Marrick!"

I take that final step, closing the distance between us as she sucks in a gasp of surprise. I grasp both of her wrists and pull, drawing her flush up against me.

"Well, I belong to you!"

For once her whole life, she's speechless and I revel in the feel of her in my arms. It's been ages since I last had her in my arms. I wonder briefly, as I gaze down on her face, if this is how we started.

If we began in the midst of chaos, in lifetimes past, always managing to find each other. Flames blaze on either side of me. The sounds of dying men fills my eardrums, and the smell of blood and burning stone thickens in my nose.

All the pestilence of war around us, and the one thing I can think to do is crush her to me. Her chin trembles, though she'd likely deny it, and I realize the fight in her is giving way. I brush loose hair strands away from her face, tucking them behind her ear so she can see me clearly when I say it again:

"I belong to you."

My hands glide from her wrists, to her waist, to the small of her back and they set her body firmly against mine. I dip my face, and she's hesitant in tipping hers.

But, she does.

Ours lips meet for the first time in years.

She's careful at first. When I coax her bottom lip between my teeth, she comes alive. I feel my blood rushing through my veins as my heart starts pounding. I sink my the fingers of my left hand through the coils of hair at the base of her braid, coaching her head as I stroke her tongue with my own.

When she wraps her arms around my back and pulls me into her, I could almost cry.

At that moment, a great roar suddenly wet up from all over the city, growing louder and louder as others added their voices. As it thundered around us, Rontu broke our kiss, and mirrored in her face the same question on mine. That's when I realized it.

"We've won," I half-laughed. "The Stormcloaks and the slummers- we've won." Her brow is still creased. When I dip my head to kiss her again, she backs away. My heart sinks to my stomach. "Rontu," I shrug helplessly. "What are you doing?"

"We can't do this," she tells me. Her chin is trembling. "We can't… do this."

I take a step close.

"Rontu… I don't think we have a choice."

She opens her mouth to say something, but she stops and considers my words before giving a small, sad smile.

"You're right," she shrugs, and shakes her head. "We don't have a choice."

"Well, what does that-"

"Adjin became Magistrate-Elect of Hegathe," she continues, watching a group of Stormcloaks troop past. "Once it's a Free City again, it will be official." She turns back to me. "Did you know that?"

"Something about it, aye."

Her jaw clenches and unclenches a few times before she laughs once, mirthlessly.

"Hammerfell's Council of Magistrates has discovered that I'm alive and that I have a child." Her grin grows wry and tight. "Family is important to Redguards, be they Crowns or Forebears."

"What do you mean, Crowns or Forebears?"

She sighs.

"They're the two sides of the rift between Redguards. Crowns remain loyal to the idea that Hammerfell ought to have its own High King once again, and they shirk all things foreign to our lands. Yokudan tradition is everything for them." She wets her lips. "Forebears, on the other hand, seek out modernity and cultural diffusion. And, though we were raised to be Forebears, my father was a Crown, and ultimately, the Council of Magistrates is Crown. Without its support, your Moot is lost."

I'm almost afraid to ask.

"Why would the Moot be lost, Rontu?" I whisper hoarsely. "What has this got to do with Segen?"

The crease in her brow deepens and she casts her eyes down.

"They've made a match for me," she says, under her breath. "They want for me to marry Shazaa, a year or so from now. They want him to adopt our son."

I grab her by the shoulders before the words are barely out of her mouth.

"They can't," I hiss. "He can't. I won't fucking let him."

"It's the only way," she insists. White eyes gaze up at me, resolved. "Your becoming High King in the midst of a new age of dragons? It leaves you vulnerable, Marrick. Hammerfell is your closest ally. If you don't have them to watch your back, the Aldmeri Dominion and whatever remains of the Imperials will catch you off your guard. With the reunification of Skyrim and Alduin on your hands, you'll be too weak to fight back."

She's absolutely right. To transition rule will leave Skyrim weak. No matter how you slice it, I will need close allies to keep this country alive. But, at the same time, I can't just give in.

I can't just give her up.

"Then, I just won't be High King," I stammer. "Ulfric can have it."

Her fist thuds against my chest and remains there, as she bows her head.

"Don't be stupid, Marrick."

"Why would Adjin tell them about you and Segen, knowing full-well what they would do?" I ask her. "It doesn't make any fucking sense."

She shakes her head.

"I don't think it was Adjin who told them."

It takes me a few moments, but suddenly, it all clicks.

"Fucking Shazaa," I murmur. Her eyes lower and I jerk away from her, like she's burned me. "Fucking Shazaa."

"I'm sorry, Marrick," she calls from behind me, her voice stony. "But, there's nothing to be done. I-" Her voice chokes off and I turn around to see her squatting down, her head bowed and her fingers linked behind it, squeezing tight. "I don't have a choice."

I don't know what to say. I've never seen her like this; like there's no way out.

"Rontu..." I whisper hoarsely. But, there are no words.

She shakes her head and rises to her feet. She squares her shoulders and finally turns her eyes to me. She gives a helpless smile.

"Ours would have been a great family," she tells me. "We would have had a few more, after Segen."

I nod absently, "Three more."

She shuts her eyes, smiling.

"Three more would be nice. You know, I've always wanted a daughter. A daughter named-"

"Pidal," I finish for her, gazing into the flames. I suddenly feel her touch on my arm and I turn to look at her. She's got a quizzical smile, her brows drawn in. "What?"

"Nothing," she laughs. "No. It's just... I don't think I ever told you that. I don't think I ever told anyone that."

I shake my head and smile back at her.

"You didn't have to, Princess." I take hold of her wrist and slide my fingers between hers. "You don't have to, Princess."

She presses her lips together in a tight grin, "Yes, I do. I thought I'd be at least a little stronger. But, it looks like I'm not. I had to see you; as soon as Adjin told me, I had to see you. I knew this battle would be the only way I could say goodbye, the right way." She takes my other hand and faces me, looking me in the eyes. "I love you," she says, "and this is the last time."

My jaw clenches, and my brow pulls in, but I manage a smile anyway.

"You don't believe that."

She shakes her head, grinning.

"Do I believe that everything putrid about that country I was sure I left behind is catching up to me, with all speed? No, I can't believe it. That doesn't mean it isn't real."

I remember her uncles and the stories she had, about them and about how alienated she was growing up. I remember how she'd had to fight to make her bones in the Ebon Chain, and how she'd had to fight to escape the ghost of Shazaa Ibn Rahaim's touch.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and draw her to my side.

"We have a year to figure things out."

She shakes her head, "Shazaa is still under my roof. If you show up-"

"When I show up."

"Marrick, you can't." Her palms rise to slam against my chest, but instead grasp fistfuls of my shirt. "Don't give the people reason to doubt you. You're their servant now. Be the servant you always wanted them to know. Think of Elisif and Torygg and of the people of Whiterun. Think of the legacy you could leave and the world you could create." Elsewhere in the city, the horn of Windhelm bellows, and a thunderous cry rises up from Solitude's conquerors. "I will do what I can to keep Segen here. But, the Council will expect one of us. I will try and make his case, just be ready to get him when he crosses back into Skyrim."

"Rontu, I can't let you-"

"You don't have to let me," she says, and smiles. "It's not your choice."

The horns blast again and soldiers come whooping and romping through the courtyard. Rontu unlaces her fingers from mine and starts back-stepping away, into the crowd of roaring Stormcloaks.

I hold her gaze until the last moment, and she turns to fall in with them, drawing the bear hood over her head.

The soldiers fade from sight. Then, from sound.

I drop down in the corner of the crate and the shambles of the house, and put my head in his hands.

This can't be happening.

I rub my face a few times and drum my fingers on my knees before addressing him.

"You're a bastard. You know that?"

Adjin steps out from the alleyway, his arms crossed, his mouth a straight, grim line. He rubs his first finger and thumb along the halves of his mustache.

"It wasn't my decision, Marrick." He shrugs. "You can believe what you'd like. You can believe that my sole purpose is to torment you, even though we both know it isn't true. But, you must know I'd never let harm come to my sister. And, also that if I say there was no way for me to save her from this fate, then there was not."

I wrench up from my squat and lean in close to his face.

"You should've tried harder."

"You'd be a fool to think you love her as much as I do," he says patiently.

I shake my head with a half-laugh.

"You'd be a fool, Adjin, to think I don't." He's quiet as he considers this; he knows it to be true. "She's not going to marry him," I say, and I'd say it again, because I know it's true. "I know that a year from now, we'll be thinking back on this and laugh about it. I just don't know how we'll get there." I look to my closest friend. "I love her," I tell him, "and, I love our son, and I love you. I won't lose my family. I'll tell you that shit right now."

Adjin studies me, quietly before sighing.

"Shazaa sent a report, subtly disclosing hers and Segen's names," he shrugs, "Jarsha's as well. The Council knows they're alive and well. Seeing as they're my next of kin, they are expected to come as Hegathe's First Family, and help the city rebuild."

"I understand that part," I admit. "But-"

"They know she's unwed and has a son," he continues, and I nod.

"They mean to give her a husband and him a father," I surmise. "But, they won't. He can't have what's already had." I shake my head. "What I can't understand, is how she's going along with this- with the very rules of society she fought so long and hard to escape."

Adjin chuckles to himself.

"My dear friend," he smiles. "Can't you see?" He opens his folded arms, like he's presenting me with something. "She's doing it for you. This is her sacrifice. This is the way she intends to make it up to you, Marrick. Appeasing Shazaa and the Council can only be to your benefit. She would cast them off in a heartbeat, if it meant her independence. And, she's giving that up. For you." I have no words and can only shake my head. His hand claps my shoulder. "Don't cast it aside, Marrick. It is the only way."

I start to nod, in agreement, but it only turns into shaking my head.

"I wonder if that's what King Istold told Prince Torryg, way back when." I fold my arms, gazing up at the Blue Palace. "Right here. In any number of these rooms and halls. Don't cast Elisif aside, Torryg. It is the only way. The only way to preserve Skyrim, of course. Because, who wants a High King with a tavern girl as Queen, and his bastard to boot?" I clench my jaw. "You know, he still ended up suffering, even after making the 'right' choice. And, for what? He wasn't with the woman he loved. And, he only put Skyrim in more turmoil."

We both grow silent, and the silence stretches.

"Marrick," he says finally.

"What?"

"You're wanted in the courtyard," he says, and gives me a helpless smile. "That's what I came to say."

He leads me through the hall where I'd spent nearly two weeks, facing Elisif's court, before we emerge out into the courtyard behind Ulfric Stormcloak, Galmar Stone-Fist and a host of many soldiers.

"I am indeed Ulfric Stormcloak," the Jarl announces to the, They roar in reply. He glances behind him to see us, and nods briefly to Adjin. "At my side is the man we all know as Marrick Nine-Stripes. Marrick Dragonsbane. Marrick Stray-King." He glances at me with a nod of acknowledgment. "Marrick Torrygson. The world knows him as the Dragonborn. From tonight on, he will also be called Stormblade. And, when our efforts come to fruition, he will be your High King."

I was expecting silence.

But, the moment those to words leave the Bear's mouth, a great and thunderous cry rises up from the people, sending shivers down my spine and chills raising my skin.

I turn to look to Adjin for his reaction and, as ever, he is gone.

"Indeed," Ulfric continues in his booming voice, "there are many that call us heroes. But it is all of you who are the true heroes! It was you who fought a dying Empire who sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it. It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage. It was you who fought your kin who didn't understand our cause, who weren't willing to pay the price of our freedom. But more than that, it was you who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles." He takes me by the shoulder. "To choose our own Kings. To return to our glory and traditions and to determine our own future!"

They break into a great din once more, and this time, I quiet them myself.

"And it is for these reasons that I cannot accept the mantle of 'High King'," I call out. Ulfric's fingers tighten on my shoulder. "At least, not yet. Not until the Moot declares that title should adorn my shoulders will I accept it."

"Aye! And, what of Elisif?" one soldier cries out.

"Aye! What of the false queen?"

My eyes travel through the moonlight court and find her, surrounded by Stormcloak guards. She's terrified.

"Yes, what about the Lady Elisif? Will she put aside her personal hatred for me and the Dragonborn, and her misplaced love for the Emperor and his coin, so that the suffering of our people will end?" Ulfric muses. "Will she acknowledge that it is we, the people, who will determine Skyrim's future? Will she swear fealty to our King, so all may know that we are at peace, and a new day has dawned?"

Elisif meets my gaze and time seems to stop.

I remember dark nights, in a pit my mother dug, fearing the woman who now stood just there, fearing me. I remember the triumph in her eyes as I stood before her in chains as she threatened my life.

Her blue eyes aren't begging for mercy. They are full of pride.

If Ulfric kills her, she will die with grace.

"I do," she grounds out. My brows raise. "I swear!"

The Stormcloak army bursts out into cheers and laughter.

"Then it is settled," Ulfric call out, his hands raised. "Elisif will remain under guard in the Blue Palace. Jarl Torrygson will rule Solitude, as dictated by his birthright. I will garrison armies here to ward off Imperial attempts to reclaim the city. And in due time, the Moot will meet, and settle the claim to High King once and for all." His hand returns to my shoulder. "There is much to do, and I need every able bodied man and woman committed to rebuilding Skyrim. A great darkness is growing, and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores or abroad. The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but it has not defeated Skyrim!"

The cheers of the army rise up once more, and I scan the crowd over and over again.

Ulfric's hand on my shoulder draws me back, out of the earshot of the soldiers.

"Relax," he says shortly, "she's not here."

As we walk the halls, Galmar Stone-Fist catches up with us.

"How'd I do?"

"Eh, not so bad. Nice touch about the High King."

"Thank you," Ulfric smiles, "I thought so, too."

"It's a foregone conclusion, you know," Galmar adds, turning to me.

I ignore him, looking to the Jarl of Windhelm.

"You kept him?"

"He has his uses," Ulfric chuckles.

"I'm sorry about the whipping," Galmar says, sheepishly. "I was wrong to condemn her that way."

"Hn."

"I'm also sorry about her and your boy," he sighs, shaking his head. I look to Ulfric sharply as Ulfric looks quickly back at me. "I never imagined that she would make such a sacrifice to see you crowned-"

"Enough, Galmar," Ulfric barks. "That's enough."

"Right," he nods. "On to matters of business. The Imperials aren't going to leave us alone. They still have camps in the hills. They'll continue to strike out at us, whenever and wherever they can.

"I'm not afraid of the remnants of the Legion," Ulfric assures him, "in time they'll all give up and go home. What I fear, is that the Thalmor will see our victory here and turn greater attention to our shores." He shakes his head, shuddering at the thought. "We must be prepared to face them."

"Aye."

Ulfric turns to me next.

"And of course, we couldn't have done it without you. May the gods preserve you, Marrick."

"May the gods preserve us all," I say quietly.

Ulfric leads me to Elisif's- well, my war room, now, I suppose, and stops me outside the door.

"This is as far as we go, my King. Come, Galmar. We've still much work to do." The older warrior nods, fist over his chest, and disappears back down the hall. Once he's far enough away, Ulfric turns back to me. "I'm going to lead a sortie, to check on the outstanding Imperial camps," he says. "What lies beyond this door, will alter everything for this country. Please keep your passions in check. We've made it this far. Don't let her gift be in vain." I nod and reach for the door, but he stops me again. "Wait," he sighs. "There is much for us to discuss, regarding your father and my decision to not be High King, and also regarding Rontu. But, please first know, man-to-man that I am very sorry for what had to transpire to get us this win." He eyes the door up and down and shakes his head. "Try not to hit him. It's very hard, I know. But try."

He turns away, following after Galmar.

I reach for the door handle again, but stop.

"Ulfric," I call after him. "Wait." He stops and turns back to me. I offer him a half smile. "Thank you."

He smiles faintly and gives me a nod before continuing down the hall.

I turn back to the door and suck in a deep breath, before opening it.

"Ah. Marrick." Shazaa nods congenially, from his seat at the foremost chair. "Nice of you to join me."

He pours himself a glass of Firebrand as I shut the door behind me.

"You can take her as far away from here as you like. She'll never love you. I hope you know that, you fucking piece of shit."

"'Fucking piece of shit'," he snorts, taking a sip of wine. "How very like you."

"Did you even mean all the shit you said in the dungeon?"

"What shit?" he asks. "The shit about you fighting for your 'dream family' and to never give up on Rontu? You're right," he shrugs. "That was shit. Honestly, I just needed you to get through the battle for Solitude without letting yourself get killed. I knew that thinking she'd be waiting for you would give you some inspiration not to die." I shake my head in disbelief, my mind reeling. "Wait." He starts to grin. "You didn't really think I'd ever support you and her?" He chuckles, shaking his head as I dig my nails into my palms. "Kematu was right. Of all the foolish blizzard boys, you are the most foolish."

"That might be true. But, I'd rather be the biggest of all of Skyrim's fools than the man who thinks he can force a woman to love him, after all the wrongs he's done her."

"Could it be- you think you're better than me?" He laughs tuttingly, a gleam entering those molten gold eyes as he rises from his seat. "I wonder, how long did it take for you to accept yourself, after what you'd put her through?"

"Let me think; subtract two, carry the one- aye, I'd say a long fucking time."

Shazaa chuckles to himself.

"Aye," he echoes mockingly. "And, in spite of your sins; in spite of knowing part of her could never forgive you, you would never give her up. Would you?"

I shake my head.

"Not even if you buried me so deep, my own ghost couldn't find me."

He cocks his head to the side.

"And so, how can you conceive it that you and I are so different? I lost that woman once," he expresses, lifting a single finger. "Just once. Have been in love with her since before I knew what love was. I swore, as you have, that I would get her back, by any means. I will. In fact, I have. Becoming High King. Buggering Iman Suda. Abandoning she and Segen during her pregnancy." I grit my teeth as Shazaa merely shrugs. "You've given me everything I need to get what I want. She's no need of you anymore, Bastard King."

"She's never needed me," I tell him. "She chose me. All you've done is postpone the inevitable."

"I'm going to adopt her son and give him my name. We will leave this vile, cold place. We'll return to Hammerfell, cutting all ties with it. And, no. Maybe she won't forget you. But, she won't remember you, either. See, we'll have sons of our own." My heart stops cold, as Shazaa nods his confirmation. "Sons she'll love just as much as she loves Segen. Your final tie to her will be severed." Shazaa smiles coolly. "It might take a few years. Several bad nights and arguments. It'll be a while before we'll ever share the same bed, but what does that matter? I'm a patient man," he smiles. "I can wait."

"Wear a coat," I hiss through gritted teeth. "'Cause it'll be quite the cold day in hell. Don't hold your breath."

"Like I said, it makes no matter, the wait. I'll find something to do," he shrugs lightly. "I'll think up children's names. For example," his golden eyes turn on me, "how do you like 'Pidal', for a girl?"

My skin is trembling and my blood is boiling in my veins. Ulfric's last words to me, not to hit the Ambassador of my biggest ally, ring through my mind, and I instead slam my fist into the table, glowering at him as my nostrils flare with every breath.

"Get out of my fucking face, you fucking shitstain," I seethe. He laughs shortly and sips his drink. "If you value your life, get out of my fucking sight!"

He snorts, "Who do you think you are, talking to me that way?"

I'm a killer, I could tell him. I'm Dragonborn. I could say any number of things. But, at that moment, a knock sounds against the door, and two armed Stormcloaks stepped into the room.

One is a shorter, stockier man with short, shaggy brown hair, close-cropped beard and kindly, dark blue eyes. The other is a younger man, though taller and slender, with green-brown eyes and light brown hair, the color of chestnuts.

"Majesty," says the first. "My name is Wendell Giantsbane. This is Erik Youngblood. We were once garrisoned under the command of Captain Ralof, the Reaper. We now are assigned to your detail, as your personal Honor Guard. Do with us as you will."

Shazaa looks from them to me, and I look from them to Shazaa.

"Well, from where I'm standing," I shrug, "kinda looks like I'm High King of Skyrim."