The milk of the poppy made Ulfric weary and somewhat delusional. He spent more time than anticipated in bed, sweating and rambling about spriggans or something. He'd make a full recovery, the healers promised, but they'd have to make due without him for a while. Thorunn took over in his stead, and to her surprise, she absolutely loved holding all the cards.

Eriswe made a dutiful servant. She waded on Thorunn's every need, despite Thorunn rarely asking for it, and was kind and polite to all the nobles that passed through the castle with their noses turned up at her. Once her face was cleared of dirt and grime, it revealed surprisingly beautiful features; sharp and angular, typical of an Altmer but softer somehow, with thin arched eyebrows and long blonde eyelashes shadowing fiercely golden orbs. The plain cloth dresses she wore didn't quite fit her right, having been tailored for Nordic bodies. Their lengths were much too short and the sleeves as well. Thorunn promised to see to it that more appropriate dresses were made for her, and Eriswe bowed her head with a gracious smile like someone had never done something so kind for her.

With Altair's new freedom, he, too, spent a good amount of time at Thorunn's side. He was opening up to her more, as one did when they weren't locked in a prison cell, smiled easier and didn't stand so rigid. Reluctantly, he spoke with his father, seeming to have made amends but refusing to go into detail of the meeting with Thorunn. "You can ask me about anything and I'll tell you," he'd told her, "but not my father. Anything but my father." She'd respected his wishes and refrained from prying.

Against their predictions, Altair even began participating in war strategies. Not officially, of course; he was never present during war table meetings, but Thorunn found herself regaling him with what went on during these meetings. Altair would offer his input, which Thorunn would pass on to the official attendees as her own ideas. More often than not, his ideas would be a grave assistance. He'd point out whatever Thorunn looked over ("You forget the Forsworn. Perhaps you can work something out with them to convince them to help fight the Dominion, a portion of the Reach or something," as a start), remind her of obstacles she needed to be reminded of, solve equations she proposed.

They made a rather good team. She sensed something amiss in Altair, though. He felt like he'd abandoned his family, she knew, yet he was too prideful to admit it. She wished she could reach out to him, but there were still boundaries between them that she dared not cross. There were parts of Altair's mind that she had no right to unlock, and the same applied to him with her. Such as how it goes.

Two weeks passed. Ulfric was slowly attending more and more council meetings and spending less and less time bedridden. He didn't speak much during the meetings, watching over it with a critical gaze and only allowing his input when he saw something wrong. He'd nod approvingly at the upbringing of clever plans and shake his head in dismay in response to bad ideas, which sometimes seemed to outweigh the clever ones.

On the days his wound was particularly gnarly and he spent the whole day in bed, Thorunn would return to him in the evening and tell him all about the day's events and discussions. Her stomach was growing, graciously but steadily. Her dresses became tight and her armor snug. It wouldn't be long before her entire wardrobe would need to be refitted.

"I've called the Companions to arms," Thorunn told him one evening he'd spent resting. She was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, her fingers entwined with his. "They say they will remain in Whiterun, ever vigilant at the side of the Jarl. I've convinced Vignar Gray-Mane to appeal to the Battle-Borns," That had actually been Altair's persuasive writing, not Thorunn's. "and he's agreed to give them a talk. I suspect that means forcibly telling them that if they don't fight, they'll be hanged by their balls, but whatever raises their swords. They say they will fight for Skyrim and Whiterun, but not the Stormcloaks. Whatever, same difference.

"I've also recruited several mercenary bands. The Vaulting Drakes have fallen under our banner as well as the Pale Pommels, the Siren's Pillagers, Calder Lanes, and Fitmans, and they're inviting friends. Together, they make up a good three-thousand men, but they don't come cheap. We need to find a way to bring in more gold and quickly. Velerys Dothri has some ideas on that, but it's not my responsibility to get the gold, only to use it, so I tuned out the moment he mentioned fiscal responsibility.

"Markarth is holding against the Dominion, but barely. I dispatched three more units and I fear I may have to man my own journey there soon, before I become too big to fit my armor. There, I can negotiate with the Forsworn and perhaps come to an agreement with them. I know what you're thinking, love, but we need every sword we can get.

"The Altmer girl I picked up says the Dominion plans to head East, undoubtedly towards Windhelm. We'll want to get there long before they do. For now, I should think the Reach keeps them plenty occupied. Our borders are secured and no matter which angle they come from, they'll have to go through a battalion of ten thousand men before breaching. That ten thousand may become five thousand if they're needed elsewhere and we can't make the proper negotiations. Let's try to avoid that.

"Lastly, I plan to send a raven to Hammerfell. They seem to be the only ones viable for an alliance. They were able to push back the Dominion once, so we'd be unstoppable with the Redguards at our back. What do you say?"

She searched his face. There was no judgement to be had within. Something different she'd never quite caught mixed with his expression before was there now, clear as day: Pride. He was proud of her, an affectionate fondness laced into his genuine smile. For a brief while, he said nothing, savoring the moment and idly rubbing his thumb along her hand.

"You are a queen," he told her. "You do not need a crown to tell you that."

Thorunn smiled. She didn't need to be told. "So you approve, then?"

"I do," he declared, taking a deep breath. "When I am recovered, I will take that journey to Windhelm alongside Galmar. I will need you to remain here to keep the peace and govern."

Her appreciation twisted to angry confusion. "What? Why? You are more a politician than I am."

"You forget yourself, my love," Ulfric said, eyes passing to her swollen stomach. "You have another life to think of, one whose life depends on yours and your well-being."

"It is not so late in my pregnancy that we need worry about harming the babe," she insisted. "I will go to Markarth. Your place is here." She had plenty of skilled combatants to keep her safe that she could take with her. She'd take Rayya and Altair, perhaps Isha and Kemaan and Vunthar if he still lived. Her Companions back in Whiterun, too, if Ulfric's fears were truly so grave.

He sighed heavily. "You are stubborn, to your credit. Very well. Bring back results, will you?"

"I won't be returning without them," she assured him.

He smiled, closing his eyes briefly. "I will be ready to take up my full duties again by tomorrow. If things are as dire in Markarth as my scouts make it seem, you should be quick on your way. Take another unit with you to ensure your safe arrival and see to it that Thongvor Silver-Blood returns with you. He lingers for his son when he should not.

"Another matter entirely, I fear we must delay our wedding due to this unfortunate turn of events. The moment this war is put down, we will be together under Mara's gaze, I promise you."

"I'll hold you to it." She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his forehead, then stood. "I will leave on the morrow, then. I'll inform Commander Istar and give a heads up to the men, then I will return to you."

He nodded understandingly. "I look forward to the day you are by my side permanently."

X X X

As it turned out, Vunthar was alive and as angry as ever. He had a fresh scar going from his jaw to his ear, which he loved to boast about. Isha and Kemaan agreed to ride with Thorunn and Commander Istar Cairn-Breaker promised her the unit she requested. Rayya, naturally, told Thorunn that she needn't even ask, and Altair was pleasantly surprised when Thorunn announced her desire for his sword at her side.

Thongvor Silver-Blood agreed to return to Markarth, stating that he was eager to return home. Thorunn refrained from pointing out that nothing had been holding him here in Solitude. She also refrained from telling him of her plans to negotiate with the Forsworn, deciding against arguing with him on this night. He'd undoubtedly argue when the matter inevitably reared its head, but not now.

She returned to Ulfric's quarters roughly an hour later. Ulfric was sound asleep, his features illuminated by the light an orange candle cast. He stirred at her arrival but did not wake. Tiid amvit los ved, the times ahead are black. Black they were indeed, and this blackness weighed heavy on her heart.

She removed her mail plate carefully, setting the armor gently on the dresser beside her. When she stood in nothing but a tunic that reached her thighs, she climbed into bed, melting into the comfortable cushions and savoring the feeling. She would likely not feel it again for some time.

There was another thing she would not feel again for some time. Ulfric's back was facing her when she rolled onto her side and she curled into his backside, wrapping her arm around his waist and burying her face into the comfort of his linens. She breathed a quiet contended sigh, appreciating the warmth he offered and taking not a single moment for granted.

She laid awake for some time, thinking of the coming battle and war and of what she was going to say to these allies she was supposed to be seeking. War was in her bones, as it was in every soldier's body. But now she was part of something more than a war. She was no longer just a soldier. She was commanding an army, leading it, inspiring it and being its rock. Few things scared Thorunn more than being depended on.

I'm not alone, she reminded herself as she opened her eyes to Ulfric's back. She brought a hand to her Talos amulet and squeezed it tight. I'm not alone.