Disclaimer: Skyrim's characters, locales, and mythology are still not mine. They belong to Bethesda.

An ache formed behind her eyes as she sat motionless, staring blankly into the elegantly framed looking glass that sat upon her vanity table. Her attendant, Jora, had come calling at the day's first light, almost catching her as she had slunk back to her room from the King's. The normally cantankerous old biddy had seemed unusually cheery on this morning, and she knew it had much to do with the bridal gown and various other adornments that Jora had staged all around them. Up until that point, she had managed to keep her nerves at bay, treating the day as if it were any other. But now, with her seemingly innocuous wardrobe surrounding her, she was beginning to feel the strain.

Shaking it off, she heard the woman sigh in defeat, "Your hair is in need of attention. At least the bath got it clean."

Groaning, she squared her shoulders as her "helper" began tugging on her locks, whistling as she weaved the dark, unruly tresses into braids of submission that were strung with tiny pearls and glittering stones. Jora delicately swirled the plaits around her head, allowing the ends to unravel into waves that blended with the hair that remained down and around her shoulders.

Swallowing slowly, she recognized that the negative space created upon her head by the elaborate style would soon serve a purpose, and she tried to settle her stomach at the rush of anxiety. Jora came around in front of her, using a comb and her fingers to blend the smaller flyaways around her face into the rest. The tip of the maid's tongue poked through at the corner of her mouth, a look she knew of deep thought and concentration. "Talos help me. This mess is almost as stubborn as you…"

Her determined attendant picked up another pin, sticking it between her lips, applying them liberally here and there, as deft fingers worked and secured the few twists that attempted to escape, until finally, she announced, "There! Now, when the High King sets the crown upon your head, it will sit as snug as a torchbug in a rug."

Satisfied with her work, Jora carried on with her next task, lifting the gown from its resting place, while carefully laying it out on the floor. With her maid's assistance, she tiptoed over the piles of fabric, standing in the clearing made in the center. For her age, the woman sure could move quickly, and before she blinked, the skirt was up around her waist, fastened into position by several drawstrings. The sleeves were next, narrow and delicate, and the bodice followed into place as Jora began to close the multitude of tiny pearl buttons that ran along her spine.

A bride's reflection met her in the floor-length mirror that stood before her, and to her eyes, she looked ethereally strange, so rather unlike herself. Her original gown had been beautiful in its own way and her choice, but it had been far from typical, and yet, it had seemed right for her. The "cream behemoth," which she had somewhat affectionately dubbed this dress, was much more the traditional garb, with lace inlays and soft fur accents that luckily, with its excessive and extravagant fabric, hid well the tiny swell of her abdomen. "I think this monstrosity may finally be growing on me…"

She heard the grunt of disapproval from Jora, and, finished with her last-minute alterations, the maid took a step back to get a look, "I believe the King will be pleased…"

She smirked, appreciating her attendant's knack for teasing with the obvious. "If he knows what's best for him…."

"He definitely knows what is best for him. A splendid job, Jora."

That timbre, oh she would know it anywhere, knew it better than the frantic beating of her own heart at its hearing. Her already jittery nerves soared at the sound, and she tried to keep her voice steady, "Speaking of…"

Jora beat feet, quickly pulling the privacy curtain between her dressing area and the "intruder" into place. She held her laughter as the elder servant scolded, "You ought not be here, my King. You know better..."

She couldn't actually see him, but she could easily picture the scene, his sky-blue irises rolling in their orbits. "You have been in my service for as long as I can remember! You know I care not one bit about some silly superstition. Besides, I have a reason for this visit..."

The maid started to speak, but she cut her off. "It's okay, Jora. Neither of us are very fond of tradition."

A tsk of disapproval left the old woman's lips, but she smiled as she spoke, "You two really are a wicked set. A few minutes is all you get, while I go throw myself together."

Jora stepped around the curtain, moving out of her sight, but not out of earshot. "Remember to control yourself, lad. I know exactly where every hair sits on her head."

The sputtered laughter of her husband made her smile, and she heard the door close. His footsteps echoed off the walls, and she saw in the looking glass' reflection the curtain as he pulled it back. She turned to meet him, her train swishing behind her, and she recognized the barely contained lust pooling in the sky-blue depths. Wearing his finery, he exuded confidence and control, every bit the High King of Skyrim with the Jagged Crown perched upon his head. Raspy, his voice was full of fire, "Now, I think I understand the tradition, the reason behind why I should not see you before the ceremony…"

"Come now, Ulfric. We are not a pair of wet-behind-the-ears youngsters, and this is not our first go-round. You know me…" she hesitated, letting her voice convey mutual hunger mixed with innuendo, "...very well."

"It matters not. You bring me to heel time and time again. You were breathtaking on that autumn day almost three years past, and now…"

He stepped into her space, his hands on her shoulders through delicate lace, as his mouth hovered dangerously over hers, "Now...you are carrying our child...and it is only the most threadbare restraint that keeps me from trying to give him a sibling."

Laughing, she couldn't contain her joy any longer. "Not even you could pull that off, my love." She found herself unable to resist teasing his choice of gender, "You think it a boy? I believe we will have a daughter…"

"As long as you both are healthy, I care not."

She smiled, basking in the love of her husband. He kissed her forehead, and then her cheek, so tenderly, that she almost wept at the sensation. "But, believe it or not...I came here with more noble intentions."

He reached into his belt satchel, bringing forth a pendant gilded in gold and made of ivory so white that the mammoth's tusk used to fashion it had to have been a thousand years old. She immediately recognized the ursine emblem, his family crest delicately carved in relief. He took her hand, placing it in her palm, the adornment shining stunningly against her darker skin.

"This belonged to my mother. It was one of the few pieces of jewelry that she truly cherished. She wore it the day she married my father, and the day she lit his funeral pyre."

The necklace was heavy, and not just in weight. She whispered, "It's beautiful."

"Beautiful, yes, and sadly tragic, a symbol to me of what potential 'love' had, but could never actually meet. It is yours now, Feren, and I swear to you, that unlike its previous owner, you will have an actual partner. I know that we are already wed, and our arrangement has been anything but typical; but not a single day shall pass where you question my devotion to you."

"I have never doubted, not even when we were apart," she murmured, the fingers of her free hand caressing his cheek.

Pensive, his face betrayed the disappointment that ran deep, "It was the one fault that I could find in him. The Bear of Eastmarch was a formidable warrior and a just jarl, but he was a terrible husband."

"No one is perfect, Ulfric; and it doesn't make him any less your father, or you his son. You saw his mistake for what it was, and you chose a different path."

He broke into a small smile, one that lit a fire deep in her gut, and he pulled her closer, his hands snaking around her body. Giving in, she looped her arms around his neck as he claimed, "I have, and finally, on this day, everyone in all of Skyrim and throughout Thedas, can and will know that."

Groaning, she exhaled, "Don't remind me. All this hubbub and todo exhausts me. But, the result…" she ran her fingers up into his hair, gently raking her nails along the edge of the Jagged Crown, "...is worth the effort, I suppose."

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against hers. Barely a whisper, he asked, "Will you wear your necklace today, for me?"

She barely choked the words, "I'd be honored to…"

He took the jewelry from her, undoing the clasp, and she spun slowly, using a hand to corral her hair at the nape. Ulfric maneuvered the pendant around her neck, placing it gently against her collarbone while securing its chain. She felt him lean closer, his chest moving against her back as his hands encircled her hips, the left coming to rest on the tiny lump of her abdomen, his gentle fingers softly kneading the flesh that contained their growing child.

Their combined joyous visage filled the mirror, his slight grin blooming into a shining display, and she felt her knees weaken in response. This was the man that could rally thousands to his cause, that could bring an empire to its knees in defeat. "Deep in my heart, I know that if my mother were here, she would give us her blessing. No matter her situation, she always believed that I would find someone to share my life with, even when I mocked her for it. Our love, it speaks to her wisdom, and I wish to pay her spirit homage today."

They stood together, enjoying the quiet moment, words unneeded and insufficient, when she heard the door open as Jora called out, "It's time."

Ulfric kissed her temple, whispering a promise, "I'll see you at the altar…"

ᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃᛃ

Shoulders stiff, quill hovering, the scholar waited for her, but she had spent all that she had. "There is no more, Lokir. I have given you the entire tale."

The scholar was quiet, clearly mulling everything over. Finally, she spoke, "Support…the blessing of those around us and their acceptance of our choice," the scholar's eyes were sparkling, like she had finally deciphered a long muddled riddle, "It sounds like the King was certain that he had it, and is that not something that we all wish for…"

"Some of us more than others."

Smirking, Lokir continued, "You know...I have avidly read every account that I can get my hands on of your coronation. But, I could not find any mention of riots or tomato throwing…"

Her belly hurt from laughing, before she managed to control herself. "It was quite tame, actually, but of course, there were naysayers. It's easy to be slanderous in the dark, but few of the cowards would have dared to utter the words in public. The ones who did I at least respected for having the nerve to stick to their opinions, no matter how backwards. It is impossible to please everyone, Lokir, and you of all people should understand that."

The girl looked uncomfortable, squirming slightly in her chair, the feather of her quill tapping nervously against the parchment. "We are not writing a story on my life…"

"True, but when we started this journey together, you asked me why I picked you. Now, you have another answer."

Lokir countered, "There is a huge difference between being a scholar and Skyrim royalty."

"Yes, there is, and I won't pretend otherwise. But, there is a truth that is universal in both circumstances, and almost all circumstances, really—no one can make decisions based on the reactions of others. Ulfric and I believed that our commitment to one another was worth the risk, consequences, both major and minor, be damned. Your commitment to your craft has put you at odds with your kin…"

"Leave my family out of this, please."

The demand, even softened, was clearly a warning, and she realized that she was broaching a sore subject. Silence moved in between them, and she gave the girl a few moments to settle down, before speaking, "I'm sorry, Lokir. I did not intend…"

"It's fine," she dismissed, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have done your research on me, my Queen."

"Of course I have. In the right hands, a little knowledge of the enemy can be more deadly than the finest blade."

"You consider me an enemy? I'm flattered, knowing the mile-long list of company that I join."

"I considered you an enemy, but no longer. Now, I just think you're hostile to almost everyone."

Lokir shook her head, chuckling as she continued, "Speaking of knowledge, I think I may have discovered something about you…"

Nodding, "Then tell me."

"When we started, I asked you why you chose to tell your story now, and you told me it was in tribute to Ulfric."

"I did and it is."

"But, there's another reason, isn't there? One that is just as close to your heart. The moot is just a few short weeks away, and Eliven is a strong candidate, but he's not the clear favorite."

"Impressive, Lokir. Trust me, my timing is not coincidental."

Eyebrow raised, the scholar inquired, "You truly do not wish to be High Queen? It could so easily be your throne…"

"I've seen the game of politics played long enough, Lokir, and I have no desire to wear the Jagged Crown. But, I know of at least two well-intended but misguided Jarls who believed that I should put in a claim at the moot. I managed to convince them to back Eliven, but it never hurts to have a failsafe. This story, finally coming to light, will serve many purposes. I will no longer be a viable option, and that means that there will be all the more reason to support my son."

"And Eliven knows nothing about your time in Valenwood?"

"No. No one has heard the whole truth, Lokir, until you; and now, it's time we remedy that."