A/N: I will be slowing down on my fic postings because I am well into the Spring Semester at college, and I have a lot of work to do every week. I still plan to keep updating, the story will not be shelved, so don't worry. :)

Be warned. This is...a fairly graphic chapter. It's skippable, but I'd prefer that you'd read at least the last few paragraphs. :)

Also, as my friend noted: "...Ulfric don't give a damn about distance! He bangs who he wants! Ulfric has been know to just pelvic thrust in a random direction. and someone miles away gets sexified *nod* Trufax, it's in the lore." That is because he is secretly...honey badger. 3 So...anyone interested in drawing High King Honey Badger and his second in command, Angry Ewok?

Close your eyes,
Let me touch you now...
Let me give you something that is real.
Close the door,
Leave your fears behind.

Let me give you what you're giving me.

When I am with you
There's no reason to pretend
And when I am with you,

I feel flames again...

"Flames", Vast

"We've taken Whiterun."

Her king turned his eyes upon her, and she met his eyes steadily. Try as she might to hide it, she was incredibly proud of the victory; she knew it showed in her stance and posture. She broke out into a grin upon delivering the news.

"Indeed," Ulfric rumbled in that deep voice of his, stepping forward and closer to her. He looked down to the Breton and smiled happily. "You look like you escaped without much injury."

"I healed what I could, but I'm no expert in restoration. I have scars."

"Scars are beautiful."

"I think so, too."

Gaella felt herself blush softly under that smile, the intense gaze of those eyes.

"With such a strategic position, we are in wonderful shape. What of Balgruuf?"

"He left. Gray-Mane is on the throne now."

"Indeed. I believe you've more than earned a reward."

"The only reward I need is the knowledge that more people are safe because of us."

He put his hand on her head, and she tried not to make a face, taking the gesture as patronizing. Then she realized that he was not patronizing her, but inspecting her wild hair, feeling the texture of it, and musing about something. About what reward to give her? That made her uncomfortable. "You don't need to give me anything, Ulfric. Really."

"There are plenty of things I want to give you, Firemane."

She wondered if that...belied an ulterior motive. Did it? She was instantly nervous. Was that what he meant? How do you refuse a king?

...Did she want to refuse him?

No, she realized. And that was the scariest part of all.

"You're silent." He moved his hand, then looked back into her face. "Does praise make you uncomfortable?"

She sighed, in both relief and disappointment.

"Such an interesting woman," He murmured. "Will you tell me of the battle?"

"I'm sure Galmar will fill you in with all the details..."

"As am I. But I want to see how my newest and most promising soldier thinks."

She hesitated. She didn't know what to tell him. Unintentionally, she pouted slightly. He probably wanted to hear about how she was happy, how she killed x number of imperials, how their blood ran like a river down the sidewalk. How they suffered. But this wasn't what she thought about, when she recalled the battle. She was a soldier now, and gods, she loved the fight, but...she hated killing. She tried to leave the enemy alone after she wounded them beyond the point of combat recovery, but any soldiers behind her quickly killed those she left behind. She gave up after a while and took to ending the enemy as mercifully as she could. She had not looked into their eyes as she did so; she could not stand to. She would see their families left behind. Their children. Their wasted potential.

And, as always, she felt uncomfortable and exposed under that steady gaze. His presence drew her in and disarmed her. That look made her want to give him anything and everything. It was...dangerous. He was a dangerous man. And yet, she served him. Trusted him.

"...The truth?" She asked warily.

"Aye." He brought up a finger and traced the pout of her bottom lip, causing her to blush feverently and look away. "...The truth." He sounded amused, and his eyes wrinkled in silent laughter as she averted her gaze.

"Too many men were killed. I wish Balgruuf had surrendered sooner, or sided with us in the first place."

"Do you speak of our men, or the Imperials?"

"Both."

She expected some sort of rebuke for sympathizing with the enemy, but surprisingly, he agreed with her. "We would not be human if we did not grieve for our enemies, as well as our friends. The men I've killed still haunt me to this day, Gaella. But we do what we must for Skyrim, and for all of Tamriel. I must say you are remarkably loyal to the cause for one not born here."

"Skyrim is my home now. I care what happens to it."

"Indeed." He mused. "I don't believe a sword is enough to convey my thanks, however..."

"I'm not that great with a sword, my Jarl, but it would still be an honor to wield it." She didn't usually address him by his title, but she felt...increasingly uncomfortable, and she always escaped into the comfort of formality when that happened.

"Loyal," He murmured, and then, in an instant, things changed.

She was up against the wall, with no memory of moving. In fact, it happened so suddenly she was dazed, and it took a moment to gather her surroundings.

"How loyal, I wonder." He rumbled, his lips against her throat.

Then things became clear. They became clear very quickly.

"Uh...w-what are you doing?" She looked to either side of her and saw that he had pressed his arms to either side of her body. She was trapped, and he was uncomfortably close, and she couldn't help but think this was familiar, even though it hadn't happened before. She was incredibly intimidated by the sneaky smile he wore.

"Rewarding you, Lucinda."

"How do you know my-"

She was cut off by his mouth on hers, and his kiss was rough and passionate, and it brought a blush to her cheeks, and her head was in a fog, and she couldn't speak, only whimper.

"I know a lot of things about you, Lucinda," He murmured, trailing his kisses down her chin, down her throat, down her collarbone, "Maybe things you don't even know about yourself..."

"L..like what?" It was hard to breathe, and the room was hot, too hot. She didn't understand what was happening to her. "Gods..." She pushed against him, trying to get him off, trying to get him away, trying to just take a deep breath and figure out what was going on and...

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. She trembled, but he was calm and nonchalant. He was able to hold her slender wrists against the wall with one hand and no effort. His hands were huge and powerful. She may be a soldier, but she was no Nord man. And she was certainly no Ulfric Stormcloak. "Such as," He said casually, using his other hand to tilt her chin up. To make her look at him. "What you desire."

If she wasn't frightened before, she certainly was then. "I don't want that," She whimpered, forced to meet his eyes.

"But don't you?" He asked smugly, "If you didn't want this, you would fight me. You would be angry. Screaming insults, just like that day at Helgen..."

She pushed against his hold, now desperate to prove him wrong. She didn't want this. She didn't!

"Ah, yes. Now you are angry. Good. Be angry with me."

He didn't let her wrists go. Instead, he caught her lips again, and pressed his hips into hers.

She groaned into his mouth, closing her eyes. She...didn't want this. She didn't. That didn't feel good. It didn't relieve the strange pressure she was feeling slightly.

He took the opportunity of her parted mouth to suck on her bottom lip, running his tongue along it. His beard scraped against her skin in a marvelous way. She didn't know if she liked it or she didn't- but she what she did know was that if this continued, she would have plenty of opportunity to find out. She tried once more to free her hands, but he held her firm. His free hand traveled up her thigh and she wriggled beneath him.

"Yes...fight me, Lucinda. Show me that fire. It makes me want you all the more."

"Not here," She wheezed, "Anyone can walk in. Any...aahh.."

He wasn't paying attention to her protests. He had cupped her breast in his hand and was massaging it. It shouldn't feel as exquisite as it did. It made no sense. Breasts were just...breasts. It should have felt strange. But it didn't. It felt wonderful and started a strange flame within her. "Why..." She felt a deep...want. It was increasingly becoming a need. "What is this...?"

"Desire, Lucinda. Haven't you ever felt it before?"

"No," She breathed, and finally stopped struggling against him. It was fruitless. She wanted this. She wanted him to keep touching her. She didn't ever want him to stop. She felt his mouth- hot and wet- against her bare skin, and she began to grow dizzy. "I..." She was frightened. If she gave into this...then...

"Mm..."

He pulled away from her, and she felt her body call out to be touched again. She immediately covered herself with her hands, as though she were already nude, and looked at him, not knowing what to expect. His face, constantly stoic, gave nothing away.

"I suppose we can't very well continue in here, can we?"

"Good," She insisted, though she didn't really feel that way. "I'll just head back to the camp, then, and wait for-"
"No," He said firmly. "That is not what I meant. I have a perfectly good bedroom at the end of those stairs. There is no reason not to make use of it."

"Can't I just take the sword you were offering before?" She whined.

He regarded her steadily, and she felt his gaze press down on her like a thousand weights. She looked away, blushing heavily. Did she have a choice?

"If that is what you wish, you are free to go. But I doubt that what's you truly want."

"How can you claim to know what I want?"

"I felt your body beneath my hands, Lucinda. Young, soft, inexperienced. And wanting."

Oh, gods. That voice. To be spoken to in such a way, especially by this man... "Is it your practice to seduce young women that sign up for your army?" She tried to push this 'desire' down, tried to remember that this was a bad idea.

"I can't say it is. I've never seduced one of my soldiers before."

"Then why this? Why me?"

"Because I desire you. Do I need any other reason?"

"I'd...prefer a better one," She said bitterly.

"What you want is a complicated explanation, like the ones in your tomes of 'magic.' It is very simple, Lucinda. You desire to complicate it because the simplicity of the truth scares you. If you come with me, you will feel something you've never felt before, and you will enjoy it. If you truly wish to deny me, it is your right, and you may leave. Make your choice."

She didn't know what to do. She looked down at the ground, shivering. This was so much to take in, so much all at once. He said it was simple, but it wasn't really, it...

A thousand- no, a million thoughts ran through her head. She felt like he stood there for years, waiting for her to either run away or come.

"Or," He finally offered, "I can take your choice away from you, and order you to come with me and enjoy yourself." He laughed softly.

She glared at him. "You're an ass. I'm leaving."

He caught her arm on the way out, and the look in his eyes- is that really what you want? - stopped her, and made her part her lips, it stole her breath, it made her world stop.

And that was how she ended up in his bedroom...

She had entered first, as bidden, and looked around the room in wonder. It was simple, true. But there was a beauty in that simpleness; a stark masculinity.

Though she did think the fact that the bed was up on a platform underneath light spilling in from a clerestory was a little much. "Really?" She asked sarcastically, "A clerestory?"

"Why not?"

She almost subconsciously strode forward when she heard his approaching footsteps, as if to avoid him. She covered it up by pretending to look up at the windows. "...It doesn't bother you that you literally sleep in a pool of light? I mean, by the Nine. Your bed is on a freaking platform. Could you get any more pompous?"

He chuckled. "It wasn't my idea."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he came up behind her and silenced her most effectively. He grabbed her breasts, pulled her body into his, and held her there. He kissed the gentle curve of her neck and she shivered, trying to pull out of his grasp as she felt that fire - that burning. How many fires must he light within her before he was satisfied? But he held her there and ran his thumbs in circles over her nipples, and she let out a soft gasp as she felt them harden beneath his calloused fingertips and make an appearance even through her robe. She wriggled vainly, grabbed his wrists, tried to pull his hands off of her- why had she come up here? She didn't want this. She wasn't ready.

But it was like trying to fight against a wall. He relented on her breasts, but instead snaked an arm around her waist and held her there as he untied her robes. How did he even know where the laces were? They were hidden beneath folds of cloth. She felt the fear inside of her, battling against that fire, telling her to run, filling her with adrenaline. She didn't want this. She didn't.

Oh, but she did.

It was with both trepidation and anticipation that she stood there in nothing but her underclothes. Exposed, deliciously. Exposed, fearfully. She wanted everything and nothing from him all at once. And he turned her around to take in the sight of her, deliberately drawing out the moment as his eyes roamed her body.

"You did, indeed, get a few scars."

"Oh, is that all you wanted to see? Great! I'll just be-"

"Be quiet, Lucinda."

She shut her mouth.

He strode forward, tracing her scars with his fingertips. "These are the marks of a warrior. They are something to be proud of. And yet, beneath the damage, your skin is so pale. So soft. I had always suspected you were pale beneath these robes."

"...and how long have you been picturing me without robes?"

"Since you first called me an ass."

"You're an ass," She was furious at his remark.

"Thank you, but unnecessary. I don't need to imagine you naked any longer. Now...now I can see for myself." He shrugged off his own coat, though he kept the rest of his clothes on for now, and took his time tracing up and down her body with his hands.

It was as though everywhere he touched, he lit on fire- a fire of maddening, confusing "desire" that ate her skin with wicked carress. Her back arched involuntarily- she couldn't breathe- and oh, that wet mouth, the tickle of his beard against her collarbone, her stomach, her thighs. It was too much to take and still stand. He was psychic, he was enveloping, he was unstoppable- he knew, and caught her before she melted into a puddle before him. He laid her upon the bed, and started to disrobe.

She blinked, staring up at those windows. She wondered if that was why the clerestory was there...to expose her completely, to make it impossible to hide. He didn't need that. He could expose her with only a single look of those stormy ocean eyes, so grey, green, and blue all at once.

When he all but ripped off her underclothes, she felt naked not only in body but in soul. She wondered if, in her nudity, he would see past the physicality of her body to the ugly, weighty pain in her soul. She wondered if he would stop after all this upon seeing it, after he'd pushed her desire to the point of no return.

She was his. She was caught. She was exposed. She was completely at his mercy.

And yet...

She could have been mistaken, but she would have sworn he was gentle when he crawled on top of her. She would have sworn that he kissed her so passionately that it suggested this...this was more than sex. She might have thought that he loved it when she explored him back, feeling his rugged scars, the curve of his spine, the expert lines of his muscle. And surely she was wrong, but she heard him warn her before he entered, asking a tenuous question that hung in the air like a tightly drawn thread about to be broken.

"Are you ready?"

"After all this," She whispered, her hands in his hair, and met his eyes, "All this buildup and you bother asking? I don't understand..."

He brought his hand up and cupped her face, drawing his thumb over her lip so tenderly that she sighed, closing her eyes, and relaxed. "I meant it when I said I've never seduced one of my own soldiers before, Lucinda. You are precious to me. You are special. You are...different."

And with that, he slid into her and she felt herself widen to accommodate him- she let out a small cry at the sensation: good and bad, painful and pleasurable all at once. She did not understand. She understood perfectly. This was a world where opposites coexisted at the same time. This was a world where fire consumed her but did not burn her. She gripped his back for support, for strength, for something to anchor her to this world, feeling as though she might float away without him to keep her here.

He thrust into her like his personality: powerful and strong. Even in his gentility he was a large man, and while he was gentle, he did not spare her strength or the firmness of his thrusts. He kissed her passionately and she gripped his hair, whimpering beneath her lips as she kissed him back. Slowly, he increased his speed. Slowly, he increased his pressure. Slowly, he increased his force. And then she was all but screaming beneath him, head thrust back, body completely seized with a divine pleasure, something she had heard rumors of but never experienced, seized with the beauty of this union and the thought that this wasn't wrong, it was perfect, it was exactly as it should be.

It was like a song erupted in her, spreading from the object of his passions all the way through her toes and she sang with it, curling her toes as it took her prisoner and held her there. She had to shut her eyes as she felt her muscles seize- she was powerless, and it was divine, and she wanted more of it. She wanted it to last forever.

But it didn't, and it released her far too soon- any time was far too soon- and she trembled in recovery. She wheezed as she felt him collapse on top of her, but it was okay. His weight, though he was dense with muscle, did not harm her. He must have done it too- orgasmed. She ran her fingers through his hair and breathed heavily, watching how beautiful he was lying there: completely exhausted, coated with sweat. She memorized the wrinkles on his face, the shape of his brow, the exact slope of his nose. She felt buzzed. She felt high, a much better high than drinking too much, and twice as intoxicated.

"You were right," She admitted, tracing his eyelashes with a fingertip- watching his head bob up and down on her breast. "I want you."

"I miss you, Lucinda."

The reply didn't make any sense. She was right there with him. She had become his lover. She had...

And then consciousness stole her from perfection, honesty, and love, and thrust her into black.

She groaned.

"Ah...waking up, finally, are you, lass? You must have been having a great dream. I don't think I've ever seen you smile, much less that much."

She grunted and turned on her stomach, wanting to call the dream back to her. She had never wanted a dream to be so real in her life.

"Hey, now. You've been sleeping for an entire day. How am I supposed to teach you if you sleep all the time?"

"Is it the morning?" She grumbled into the pillow.

"Aye."

"Then fuck off. I hate mornings."

Brynjolf laughed, ruffling her hair, and she growled. "Ah, lass. With dreams like those, I don't blame you. If you can manage more sleep, be my guest. If not, come have breakfast with me at the Bee."

She heard his footsteps as he left her.

Damn, she thought, fighting tears. Damn it. I miss you, too, Ulfric. I miss your smile and your eyes. I miss your light.

And she hated herself for it.