Dawn's rays steam through Breezehome's lofted bedroom, scattering its light over Dahlia and Ulfric, but they are already awake. A heavy silence permeates the room with whispers of fabric and soft glances at the other being the only form of communication. Velvets, furs, and wools litter Dahlia's wooden floors as she pulls on one garment after the next, not happy with any of the options she has.

How it is that a week has passed them by already?

Dahlia jumps as she feels a rough hand grasp her bare shoulder, stilling her frantic movements.

"You have nothing to fear, my heart." Ulfric murmurs in her ear, his beard scratching lightly over the side of her neck. With his other hand, he offers her a deep blue dress of heavy silk. "Wear this. It brings out the color of your eyes." He then places a lingering kiss to her neck before continuing to get ready himself.

Nerves and a wave of seemingly-endless nausea toss her stomach like a ship at sea threatening to capsize at any moment. Truth be told, despite the talk they had last week, over the past few days, Dahlia hasn't been able to shake the uneasy feeling lurking within. It is a testament to how well her husband knows her that he has surmised them- even through her outward façade of placid neutrality.

She takes the gown in her hands and begins to dress herself. There is nothing else she can do at this point other than move forward.

Ulfric, on the other hand, has been a cool calm-a great evergreen standing tall in mid-winter as he is assailed on all sides by the wicked winds. For once, his thoughts and worries have left him, and he has prepared himself to brace against whatever may come. He has to; the woman beside him is counting on that. He will not bow, and he will not break.

Today is important, and he has prepared everything down to the last detail.

Slowly, he pulls on a stark-white undershirt which he tucks into dark trousers, followed by the same blue overcoat he wore to their wedding. It is properly formal for such an occasion yet also brings pleasanter memories to mind. He then tucks an embroidered handkerchief into one of the pockets and smooths down everything into place before checking himself over. As he looks down, the polished silver buttons of his coat gleam in the light as the bear of Windhelm matches his gaze.

Suddenly, he pulls one of them from the underside of his cuffs and hands it to Dahlia. "I will always be with you in this moment and in all moments."

She takes the button from him, a slight wavering of her lips the only indication of her feelings, and threads the it through a loose ribbon to tie to her own attire. "Thank you. I mean that sincerely."

"There is nothing to thank me for. It is my vow and what I have promised ever since the day we were wed, if not even before. Did you think me not a man of my word?" He pulls her closer to him, holding her tightly to him before kissing her swiftly on the lips, and then resuming his preparations for the Moot.

Steady fingers comb through his hair before separating out a few strands and then dividing those into three smaller sections to braid. However, a gentle hand interrupts his motions and replaces his own.

"Allow me to do this for you." Dahlia smiles and inclines her head indicating that he should sit on the bed.

She inhales deeply before taking another lock of hair to make a four stranded braid. Her fingers move in a quick, methodical pattern as she weaves blonde with grey together with deft hands despite their slight shaking.

"You're rather good at this."

"I would hope so. I used to do this most days even if as of late I haven't done much of anything at all with my mess of hair."

Dahlia can hear the smile in his voice as he answers.

"I think it's beautiful."

"You have to because you're stuck with me." She shakes her head at him, but smiles despite her rejection of his compliment.

"I'll tell you as many times as needed until you believe me."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you thought when I ended up with dirt and blood caked in my hair on the top of your Palace."

Ulfric laughs at her stubbornness, but he has achieved his objective-distracting her. He can no longer feel her fingers shaking. "I'll remind you that it's also your Palace now."

"You never lose, do you?" Her laugh comes out as more of a snort as she ties off the end of his second braid.

He turns to her, taking her hands in his. "No, not when I have you."

"Too smooth for your own good." She clicks her tongue at him. "You're making me wonder if that tongue of yours is more trouble than it's worth."

"That isn't what you said last night."

Dahlia's face turns red from the apples of cheeks to the tips of her ears as she walks away from him and down the stairs to busy herself with something else. She's allowed him to fluster her enough for one morning. At least, that is without any promise of being able to stay in bed. "Trouble is your middle name, and you don't know how to stay away from it, dear."

The banter between them soon dissolves between the two of them as time gives way to a new tempo. What little morning they have ticks away and quickly.

Water boils over in the kettle. A couple of spare eggs splatter and scramble in a cast iron pan. Crumbs of bread spread on the table are carelessly wiped onto the floor for the skeevers. And with each action, the beats of their hearts frantically pump blood to a faster rhythm.

Sooner than both of them realize, it is time for them to leave and gather up their friends in at The Bannered Mare before making their way to Dragonsreach.

"It certainly took both of you long enough to get there." Lydia taps a foot on the ground impatiently when they arrive; however, despite her grumpy attitude, there is a slight smirk pulling at her cheeks.

"You're just testy because you had to get up early. We're here in Whiterun for a historic event. Lighten up." Galmar needles her with a smile.

"Oh, should I comment on your overly-cheery disposition then, Bear-Helm?" Her smirk widens. "Or perhaps the reason behind that?" She raises a brow.

"Yeah, Bear Helm." Rikke quickly picks up on the new nickname for Galmar as she joins in on teasing him. "Whatever are you so happy about this morning?" Despite the fact that she is intimately involved in this change in disposition, she cannot resist an opportunity to rib him. Old habits die hard.

Galmar crosses his arms over his chest as he narrows his eyes at both women while Ulfric secretly passes a 10 septim coin to his wife.

"So, which one of you will be accompanying us to the Moot?" He asks, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"What do you mean which one?" Lydia asks. "I thought we were all going."

Ulfric shakes his head no. "Unfortunately, per Jarl we are only allowed one housecarl. Those are the rules since the Companions will be in attendance."

"That's bullshit, and if you think I'm staying behind-" Lydia begins.

Galmar turns on her, good mood completely forgotten, "And if you think I'm staying behind, then-"

"Fine." Dahlia interrupts and places a hand on each of their shoulders. "We'll be taking Rikke then as she seems like the only one who will be able to keep her head cool through this whole event. Thanks for helping us make this decision easier."

"Rikke?" Both housecarls protest in disbelief and confusion.

Dahlia looks back to Ulfric, lifting a brow as she tries not to laugh.

"While Rikke is certainly an asset and could give us important insight related to what Elisif and Balgruuf are thinking, perhaps the more prudent choice would be Galmar. It's what everyone will expect and perhaps we should not ripple the waters too much."

Galmar throws a self-satisfied look Lydia's way; however, it is short-lived.

"Well then, I guess it's just up to me to show your girlfriend a good time. Come on, Rikke. I know all the best places where we can get into trouble, and you can tell me how useless Galmar is in bed."

Galmar stares at both women, mouth agape, as they walk away to do who-knows-what. Briefly, he regrets his current position- but only a little. He'd rather be with Ulfric and Dahlia to see what will happen and to protect them from whatever backhanded schemes Elisif is sure to have put into place. His future wife will have to fend for herself against whatever mischief Lydia has planned for her. He nods his head towards her, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire, before he turns to follow Ulfric and Dahlia.

With each step closer to Dragonsreach, Dahlia's hand tightens around her husband's with steadily increasing pressure. The unease from this morning has returned to her with full force-her feelings a jumble of nerves which sink like a stone to the pit of her stomach to root themselves there. What if she isn't enough? What will happen to Skyrim if Elisif is in charge? Will they still be able to live here, or will they have to run? What if there is some threat to Ulfric? She wouldn't put it past Elisif to have some type of contingency plan for herself and Balgruuf or to do something so underhanded as to-

"You need to stop thinking, love." Ulfric's quiet voice interrupts her tangling web of sinister thoughts.

"But what if-"

He squeezes her hand back, and she suddenly realizes exactly how tight her grip has been on him. It's a wonder he still had feeling in his appendages at all. "We will cross that bridge together. Remember that."

She sighs heavily, releasing some of the weight from her self-inflicted anxiety. "I know, but I cannot help but worry for you." Her eyes turn to him, the expression watery.

"You have nothing to fear." He kisses the top of her head. "After all, I have the legendary Dragonborn and great General Bear Helm to defend me. I couldn't be in better hands, and I have every faith in their abilities, especially my wife's."

As he turns to the doors of Dragonsreach, none have never loomed so heavily over Ulfric in all of his life. Not even the dark wood of Windhelm's gates upon his return from the farthest depths of Markarth's prison. As he looks down at his wife, a clearly distressed expression on her face despite his reassurances, he spares one last smile for her before steeling his lips into a hardened, neutral expression-a mask which is unfortunately necessitated by their current situation.

In this arena, you either stand tall, or they push you over to pave way for the next. They have no feelings, and there is no remorse in the cutthroat game of politics at these heights. And he learned long ago that he will not be moved for anything less that what would shift the very tallest of mountains.

Throwing his shoulders back to draw himself up to his full formidable height, Ulfric places a hand on the small of Dahlia's back, adjusting her subtly, before pushing them open to enter Dragonsreach.

If last week the residence was a flurry of chaos and movement, today it is a completely different story. Two of the Companions greet them at the entrance, Farkas and another Nordic woman with the most perplexing red eyes either of them has ever seen. However, neither Ulfric nor Dahlia has much time to think about it further as the Companions step forward to check them for any extra weapons: as a part of the agreement for the event to take place, each person is only allowed one.

Satisfied with their inspection, the they step back, their hands finding the hilts of they respective weapons as they incline their heads cordially in respect. However, their focus does not leave them even for one second. It is the Companions' duty to make sure that the Moot be carried out in a way that is peaceful and fair to all in attendance.

Soon thereafter, Brill comes forward to escort Ulfric and Dahlia to the main hall where today's festivities will take place, but the Dragonborn looses sight of them both as more familiar faces pass through her vision: Aela and Vilkas are stationed closer to the banquet table where the other Jarls are already seated.

Apparently, Ulfric and Dahlia are the last ones there, but despite this, it doesn't appear that they are quite ready to start the event.

A tall, blonde High Elf stands next to Elisif and Balgruuf while Vignar and Dreki are speaking to them in harsh tones.

"Elisindir is harmless. He's just a scholar from the Bard's College and here to take an account of what happens. It is history after all. Look at him!" Elisif gestures to skinny man. "He's harmless, and he doesn't even have any weapons! What could he possibly do?"

"I'm sorry, Elisif," Vignar tells her sternly, "but the rules were made very clear to everyone weeks in advance. We cannot allow anyone in attendance other than the Jarls, their spouses, a housecarl, and the decision is final. He will have to interview those who were in attendance afterwards."

Dreki takes a step forward to put an arm on Elisindir's elbow to escort him out of the building, but he pulls back quickly.

"Brute force will not be necessary. I can see that scholars are not valued here, and I will not stay where I am not wanted. I'll be taking my leave now." He sneers at her as he wipes at his robes.

The Harbinger follows him closely all the way to the door until it shuts firmly behind him.

No sooner than it closes, voices begin to swell in the background as the room buzzes with the sounds of gossip. It would seem that not even Jarls are immune to the draw of a good scandal, even if they would want to avoid being the subject of it themselves. If nothing else, this is certainly an interesting way to commence today's events.

"If you would all quiet down and take your seats, I'd like to begin. We have a long day ahead of us." Vignar makes his way to the head of the long table.

Quickly, Ulfric and Dahlia find the last available chairs which happen to be next to Idgrod Ravencrone. They both incline their heads in respect towards the older Jarl despite her prior affiliations-and despite the strange visions she claims to have.

Idgrod returns the gesture, first nodding to Ulfric and then extending a hand to Dahlia which she reluctantly takes. It is not that she doesn't wish to shake it, but rather that she is afraid of what Idgrod will see. While some do not believe in her power, the Dragonborn has had enough brushes with the fantastical and surreal to know that one does not make such claims lightly.

Deep grey eyes narrow as Idgrod grips Dahlia's hand tightly before turning it over and running wrinkled fingers over the lines of her palm. Soft noises, hums, and mumbled words fall from her her mouth as she makes a thorough inspection of her palm-all with no explanation or further elaboration.

All the while Ulfric is the only one who pays her any mind, watching carefully with sharp eyes as it appears that Idgrod has lost herself to her cloudy-eyed visions. After all, why should the other Jarls give her a second glance? At one time or another, they all have fallen victim to her parlor trick, and none of them have found anything extraordinary in her cheap magics. Besides, they all have far more important things to attend to: who will hold the title of High King and Queen. Their eyes are all trained with apt attention to the welcoming words Vignar offers them.

Despite this, Ulfric is ready should anything give him cause for alarm in Idgrod's inspection. One of his hands has already made its way down to the head of his war axe. Should she make one wrong movement-

"Jarl Ulfric, I mean your wife no harm." Idgrod snaps his attention from his blade up to her as she gives him a cryptic smile. "I bid you and your family good tidings." She pats the back of Dahlia's hand before letting it drop suddenly.

Dahlia blinks back at the aging Jarl, not sure what to make of her words to Ulfric and frowning sightly.

"Don't frown at me, child. The expression doesn't suit you," she tells her yet it is not unkindly. "Besides, we are going to have an interesting next few hours, don't you think? And you are going to have some very interesting days in the days to come. You'll need all the smiles you can manage. We all will."

Dahlia's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

Idgrod only shakes her head, indicating that she is done speaking with her and will say no more, as she points to Vignar who is speaking.

"As is the tradition of our people since Ysgramor brought the first 500 Companions from Atmora, we have come here together for the selection of a new leader just as our fathers and forefathers." The Jarl of Whiterun scans the room, eyes finding each and every participant in the room. "Today is no different. We will fulfill our duty to our people, our nation, and to our ancestors in choosing our next High King and Queen with dignity and honor."

Polite clapping erupts from the room, and Vignar raises his arms to indicate quiet.

"First, we will hear opening arguments from both Jarl Ulfric and Jarl Elisif as to why they are the best choice for Skyrim's future. Following this, lunch will be served, and there will be an opportunity for all of you to converse with and ask questions to the candidates and mingle with the other Jarls. This will bring the day to a close, and you will be asked to go home and make careful considerations as to whom you will cast your vote for.

The following day we will make our decisions known, and votes will be cast aloud by each of the Jarls, saving Jarl Ulfric and Jarl Elisif, as they are our candidates." He nods to each of them in turn. "It is very important to note that as dictated by the rules for the Moot, all votes are final, and cannot be changed once a name is spoken."

Vignar then motions to the warriors around the room. "By now, all should have noted our guests. The Companions have been invited here as neutral participants for the security and safety of all here in attendance. That is to say that violence will not be tolerated in any form. Respect and fairness are prized above all in order to bring about a new era for Skyrim."

"That's rich."

All eyes turn to the voice which has cut into Vignar's speech.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Jarl Elisif?"

"We once put our trust in one of the Jarls here today thinking that he would be fair and accepting of this tradition, yet he took it upon himself to answer it with violence. How do we know that he or his wife will respect anything we decide here?" Elisif's eyes burn with bitter grief as they find Dahlia's, and for one singular moment, the Dragonborn is taken aback by the raw emotion she sees there. Never before has she seen her show more than cool indifference or frivolous selfishness.

"This whole thing is a farce, anyway," she continues, her eyes still holding Dahlia's. "Why hold a Moot at all when they just take what they want by force? They care not for those they ravage in their wake. Their path is one of lies and deceit and their only concern for what power they can grab. So tell me, Vignar, how am I supposed to feel safe here with my young child when-let's face it-none of us are any match for either of them?"

"We are all bound by the sacred tradition of the Moot and the Divines' eyes are upon us as we carry out their will. Surely, Jarl Ulfric and the Lady Stormcloak have no intention of spitting in their faces and incurring their disfavor, especially since Dahlia is Akatosh's chosen." Vignar waves an imploring hand towards Elisif. "I should also remind you that the challenging of Kings is also a long accepted tradition. All who take the position implicitly accept that risk."

"It's barbaric, and he's a murderer." Elisif points an accusatory finger across the table towards Ulfric. "As far as I am concerned, he is not fit to rule and neither is the Dragonborn. She is apologetic of his war crimes and therefore complicit in them."

Outraged yelling erupts from all seated at the table, as any previous control Vignar held of the event is lost. One voice yells over the other as insults are thrown every which way across the room and many limbs point furiously in various directions-a descent into chaos, pure and simple.

All the while, Elisif remains seated primly in her chair across from Dahlia, her arms folded over her chest daintily as one of her lips quirks into a smug smirk.

Slowly, the realization sinks in as Dahlia's teeth work their way into her tongue, biting down hard to keep the look of disbelief off of her face: She did all of this on purpose, and no one can dare to accuse her of it, least of all them.

Stinging anger prickles under Dahlia's skin as heat blooms through her face-almost as if Elisif had reached across the table and slapped her herself. Her hands curl on themselves, fingernails digging deep into the palms of her hands as she struggles to keep a hold on rational thoughts. Any previous sympathy she felt for the woman is squashed therein, dispersing like smoke between her fingers. She was a fool to feel anything for her at all.

She'll not make that mistake twice.

As Dahlia looks at the scene unfolding around her, she is not sure where to turn her gaze first. Korir is engaged in an arguing with Skald. Laila pointedly ignores Throngvor as he tries to whisper in her ear while Dengir looks on in contempt. And poor Vignar sits openmouthed and beside himself at the head of the table, speaking heatedly with the Companions.

The more Dahlia sees, the less it appears that she is sitting at a table of Jarls and the more the current scene frightens her. For a moment, she forgets her anger as her mood shifts to shock and then steadily to self-doubt. It was so easy for Elisif to send the leaders of Skyrim down his path. Perhaps the wounds running through their Holds are deeper and more complicated than she had thought. How will she ever be able to unite them? She has no experience as a ruler, and she does not know how to play these games. For that matter, nor does she know anything of politics! And worst of all, she dredges up her most well-guarded insecurity: She is just an ordinary woman made exceptional only through some mythical, gods-given title.

So, what is she playing at here?

Her wide eyes glance to her right to sneak a glance at Idgrod, only to note that she is looking at her already. How right she was about her vision. Is this part of what she saw earlier? And what must she think of her with her young, naïve expression as she only watches the chaos taking place around them in horror?

Suddenly, a hand grasps hers from under the table, shaking her from her thoughts and seeking her attention.

Ulfric has had enough of this derailment at his own expense. While he knew it was inevitable that Elisif would bring this up eventually, he had hoped that it would have been done in a more productive manner. He was a fool to think anything coming from her could ever be considered productive in the slightest. And now here he is trying to tamp down the burning embers of his temper while trying to calm his obviously distressed wife.

He grinds his teeth as he fights to keep himself from saying something he will regret. When he does eventually speak, the calm with which he does so is a surprise even to him. "Was it my mistake to think we could hold some modicum of decorum today?"

His words find no response, and he squeezes Dahlia's hand tighter. "Look around you and see the state the Empire has left us in. We are fighting with each other and for what? More proof of which I already knew to be true and can be seen with your own eyes now. We find ourselves in a sad and wretched condition-weakened by so many years under the Imperial yoke that when we are given our freedom to stand for ourselves, this is what happens." He pauses as he stands from his seat. If he is going to give his speech, implore these people to see reason, it may as well be now.

"Are we really going to argue and rehash this same incident again and again? Yes, it is true that I killed Torygg, and perhaps that does make me criminal, especially in Elisif's eyes, but I would invite you to ask each one of yourselves: whose hands here are truly clean? Who among you have the moral ground to stand up and tell me that you are completely innocent?"

Not one of them sitting around the tables dares to make a move, and he continues.

"That's what I thought. You are all guilty of sitting back and turning a blind eye to our country and your home while it burns to the ground; as sons, daughters, wives and husbands-your very own brothers and sisters disappear and are taken away by the Thalmor. It is time to open your eyes and see the real criminals here." He presses his eyelids tightly together as a hand raises to pinch his nose. "Perhaps you would pretend that they are going off to a better place: on a trip to see relatives or out adventuring to see the world as they have always wanted, but we all know that is not true. We need to stop lying to ourselves, and we should all be ashamed for allowing it to go on this long."

Perhaps you do not like my methods," he looks at each of them openly and without fear, "but they have been grounded in what I believe to be right and have been guided with one purpose: to free Skyrim and save her from the awful fate which awaits her if we should fall to the Thalmor. I have been there. I have seen it with my own eyes. I have lived it. I know what happens to the ending of that story, and you are considered lucky if you are left to die."

Ulfric's voice trails off, voice straining as he shakes his head. "I have only had Skyrim's best interests at heart, and I know that Dahlia has too. I should thank her actually. She's the one who helped open my eyes to help restore order back to my own city, and she's the inspiration for all that I have done since putting the Civil War to rest." He smiles at her. "We have been very busy with making improvements to the infamous Snow Quarter, improving relationships between the Dunmer and the Argonians, and even allowing the Khajiit into the city limits, but that isn't the only thing. We have also been busy with helping our neighbors," he nods to Jarl Laila, "and rebuilding Helgen to establish new trade routes for the betterment of our people and to give a home to those who have lost theirs. There is a lot we have been doing, and still more that we can do for you. Can you say that Elisif will do the same for you? What has she done other than sow the seeds of dissidence as she has tried to give herself a more comfortable life?"

No one speaks a word in answer to his question. Not even Elisif. She did not expect for Ulfric to stand up and face his crimes directly much less accuse everyone seated here of their own separate crimes. A bold move indeed, but he has always been a bold person, never shying away from speaking his mind.

Many Jarls at the table avoid his gaze as Ulfric still stands before them. What is there to say to what uncomfortable truths he has spoken?

Finally, a tentative voice joins his as Dahlia ventures to stand next to him. "We have been sitting around and ignoring what is going on around us, hoping that the problems will resolve themselves. Exactly as it was before I appeared as the Dragonborn to fix them for you. What were each of you doing before this?

You were all content to sit on your hands on your thrones and allow someone else to throw away their resources and potentially their life in order to save you or worse: resigned yourselves to your seemingly-inevitable fate. Perhaps you did not want to die, and I do not blame you. No one does. I certainly did not. When I stepped into Sovngarde, I did not expect to come back, but yet here I am. So, maybe that is what you all need to ask yourselves now-who is willing to get their hands dirty and who is willing to move to save you?"

"It is admirable what you did, and no one would argue with that, but does that make you a politician and does that mean you have the skills to lead?" Balgruuf stands, a hand perched on his wife's shoulder. "Just because you know how to swing a sword around," he turns his head to Ulfric, "and you have won a few battles, does not make you fit to lead. Perhaps what my wife said earlier was a bit harsh, but it holds true. What have we seen from you that will set you apart as leaders? And what is your main goal? Windhelm sat forgotten by your own admission for so long. How do we know that the moment someone puts you on the throne that you will not throw the rest of us to the dogs in pursuit of your 'bigger picture'?

At least when I was Jarl of this Hold, I did all that was possible in order to make sure my people were cared for, and that is what Elisif and I are doing now in Haafingar. We are looking out for our own. You might call that selfish, but I call that honorable. That is the foundation on which a kingdom is built upon, and that is what Elisif will promise you: honor as well as stability. Ulfric is too volatile and thinks with his heart and not his head. While that makes for someone who is undoubtably charismatic, it will not guarantee strong leadership nor a moral compass."

"And what would you propose for those outside your care? If this is the context in which you will carry out your rule," Ulfric waves a hand towards the pair, "we should only focus on what is immediately in front of us and only worry about ourselves. You'd leave everyone else to rot. While you poke at me for seeing the forest yet not the trees, you would to the exact opposite." He sighs heavily as he rests his arms on the table. "You cannot have it both ways. No matter what, someone is going to lose. It is the nature of our current state of affairs, and it is the nature of war. Or perhaps you have forgotten that. While it is infinitely unfortunate that few should suffer for the many, that is how things are because we have allowed it to be so."

Balgruuf draws one of his hands tightly into a fist as he tries to keep his calm. It is as if Ulfric forgot that he too fought in the Great War and that he knows the complexities of being at war. "While that is true, Ulfric, at least I did not plunge my country into further troubles by igniting a Civil War and exacerbating the problems we already had."

"Oh, you mean that we would do what you did? Sit on our hands and do naught at all as we remain neutral and hope that our enemies do not come knocking on our gates? I hate to ruin the ending of your story, but it seems you need reminding of what happened not more than a year ago. I did come knocking, and the threat of my armies moved you. Now look where you are."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Elisif asks sharply.

Ulfric leans back in his chair, a cool expression on his face. "It means whatever you'd like it to mean."

"At least he will not be known by his children as a heartless-"

"Enough! This is quite enough for now." Vignar stands, his chair falling to the floor behind him in his haste to get to his feet. "This line of argument will get us nowhere and is not productive for any of us. I believe that you both have made your points, hm?" He looks from Ulfric to Elisif, daring them to say anything further. "I believe we all have a lot to think of on both sides and perhaps many questions for our candidates after things calm down after lunch." He turns to Brill, indicating for him to have the platters of food brought in from the kitchen.

Soon, many dishes are brought forth, as if the servants also heard the arguments from the other room-and it would not surprise any of them if they had been trying to listen from afar. It is the Moot, after all.

Lunch, in and of itself, is a mostly peaceful affair with food and wine aplenty. Even if a strained tension blankets everyone in the room, most are able to ignore it, speaking with their companions quietly and tucking into the meal before them. However, Elisif does not touch her food the entire time despite Balgruuf's insistent whispers in her ear. Instead, she spends the entirety of dinner glaring at Dahlia . While the Dragonborn on the other hand devotes her time to eating anything she can stomach as Ulfric's fingers rub soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"You've been doing great through this entire ordeal." He whispers into her ear gently. "This whole meeting has been difficult, yet you've kept your calm and poise."

She looks at him, attempting a smile, yet it is not entirely successful. "Thank you, but I just feel so..." She sighs as she thinks on the word she is looking for. "...out of my depth and like I have no idea what I am doing here at all."

He squeezes her fingers lightly. "But you're learning and listening as you speak your truth-what is best for Skyrim. That is what matters at the moment. Everything else will come in time."

"And if it doesn't?" She asks, her voice barely audible even to him.

"Patience. It all comes with time, and you're certainly doing better than they are." Ulfric throws a cursory glance towards Balgruuf and Elisif, and at seeing the former glaring at his wife, narrows his own gaze.

Not long after that, Elisif's eyes return to her own full plate, boring holes into the roast placed there.

The rest of the meal is largely uneventful as the clatter of silverware and chatter of the Jarls around them swell and surge around the room, the events from earlier seemingly forgotten. While to some it would seem fickle, it is a requirement of those occupying any seat of power. The ability to move from one topic to the next, leaving previous theatrics in the past, is a valuable skill. Otherwise, what would ever get done?

The same principle is applied here as the Jarls begin to move from their seats with their purpose in mind. None of them particularly enjoy the intricacies of wading through the murky waters of the political quagmire in front of them, but many of them will benefit from its safe navigation.

Even Elisif has made her way from the table instead of sitting like a stone statue in her seat. In a quiet corner of Dragonsreach away from prying eyes, she speaks in hushed tones with Thronvgor Silver-Blood.

"You do remember what we have corresponded about, correct?" The Jarl of Markarth asks, his eyes narrowed with skepticism. "After that bit earlier, it would seem that you have forgotten your end of the bargain."

"Everything is still in order." Elisif looks him squarely in the eyes. She will not back down from this, and she will not be intimidated. Not after all that she has invested over the last few months. The coffers in Solitude are practically empty at this point. "At any rate, at least my plan was more effective than whatever it was you were trying to accomplish with putting her in Cidhna mine."

"It would have worked if-"

"I don't care what would have worked. All I care about now is your vote and being rid of Ulfric permanently. You can do whatever you want with Dahlia afterwards." She sniffs. "Not sure why anyone would want her after he's had her, but you do what you like."

"You leave that to me." Throngvor grins salaciously, all of his teeth glinting a pale white-almost silver-at Elisif as she begins to slowly back away from him. If she cannot see the value in taking the Dragonborn as his wife, then let her be none the wiser.

"I have to go see Korir. That shipment of silver you gave me should have reached him before his leaving for the Moot, and I have a marriage to promise." She frowns. The last thing she wants is to promise her child and so young, but if it will help their cause, she would do anything. "If you'd like, you can speak with Dengir. I believe he's on board too, but Skald is a lost cause."

"He doesn't know a good thing when he sees it," Throngvor spits on the floor. "And neither does Vignar, but it's no matter. As long as Dengeir is on board, we have the majority."

Elisif's lips curl further downwards in disgust, and she subtly pulls at the hem of her dress . Not all business dealings are so refined, and sometimes it is necessary to get one's hands dirty in order to achieve results. Later, when she is High Queen, then she will worry more about the refinement of those closest to her in court, and Throngvor certainly will not be one of them.

She doesn't look back when she leaves him behind. Forward is the only way for her to go because if she looks backwards...

Her eyes follow her thoughts, drifting to Ulfric and Dahlia of their own accord despite the fact that she cannot stand to look at either of them. The sharp bitter taste of jealousy coats her tongue as she notices the way he holds her hand in hers or the way she smiles at him-as if there is nowhere else Dahlia would rather be. Happiness is much too good a fate for either them.

That should be her. Both her and Torygg. And she should be the one who is happy with them wallowing in misery every day. Sure, she may have chosen Balgruuf as her new partner, and certainly, she has a new baby; but neither of them makes her happy. That ability was stolen from her long ago, and if there is anything in her power which will give her some semblance of that and make her life easier, she will do it. Better be it for her if she can drive a knife into that which is the cause for her pain at the same time.

Ulfric moves one of his hands up to the side of Dahlia's face, gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as if it were second nature. As if he didn't have to think about it. As if it were as easy as breathing.

Why can't that be her?

The question echoes hollowly in her head even after she finds Korir and long after she circles back to Throngvor and Dengeir.

What did she ever do to deserve this?

All the while Elisif circles about the room, Galmar watches her carefully, not missing for one second that she makes her way to talk to several of the Stormcloak-backed Jarls. What could she possibly have to say to them? A frown pulls at his lips as he scratches at his beard. He ponders the question as he stands at Ulfric and Dahlia's back.

They have both been involved in a conversation with Skald which seems to be going nowhere; however, neither of them have been able to gracefully extricate themselves from the situation else they risk offending one of their most staunch supporters. Even if there is no added benefit for them.

If it were up to Galmar, he would have sent Skald packing a good 20 minutes ago and told him to get lost. Maybe that is why he is not Jarl and Ulfric is. His lips twitch at the thought-delivering swift and hard judgement with the blunt decisiveness of the end of his battleaxe. Patience is not one of his virtues, and he does not dance to the tune of the delicate intricacies of politics.

On one hand, he has to respect Dahlia for having kept her composure during this whole disaster thus far. It tells him a lot about her character. Over the years, he has seen more than enough people try to dip their toes into the snake pit of Skyrim's politics only to have them come out significantly changed on the other side. Maintaining some pretense of cool-headedness while still standing your ground is a hard line to follow.

But were it his decision, he would have ended this time sink long ago-with one well-placed strike to the skull-and left it at that. Perhaps, it would have been a touch messier, but the job would have been done all the same and in less time.

Especially now that he can see that Elisif is clearly up to something.

Galmar sighs tiredly, shifting the weight on his feet as his gaze follows Elisif across the room yet again. What business could she possibly have with so many Jarls, and especially those backed by Ulfric? His foot taps on the floor as his skin itches with the temptation to follow her and see exactly what it is that she is planning; however, he knows he cannot. Instead, he is trapped here with Dahlia and Ulfric as they listen to Skald recount the old "glory days."

Glory days his ass. More like he wants to lick the bottoms of Ulfric's boots for a better position than Dawnstar.

"Jarls and esteemed guests." A voice booms from the front of the room as Vignar draws their attention.

Finally, and not a moment too soon for Galmar's taste.

"Your cooperative discussion and thoughtful words in today's events will ensure a brighter future for Skyrim."

Galmar scoffs, a bitter taste coating his tongue. Cooperative and thoughtful? That's certainly one way to put it.

"As the hour stretches into late afternoon, I would invite you all now to go back to your lodgings and think carefully about your choices for tomorrow." He speaks as he gestures a wrinkled hand vaguely in the direction of the door. "Know that what we have discussed here today is private and therefore must be kept discreet."

Slowly, the Jarls filter out of the room, all save for Elisif and Balgruuf, as they make their way back to their respective temporary lodgings. As the group moves forward, many of the Jarls turn down the slowly meandering paths of the Wind District to disappear into various residences. They have friends or family members whose hospitality they have taken advantage of-and surely whom they will recount the day's events to-but some, such as Korir, have opted to stay in the Inn as Galmar and Rikke are doing.

The way back to the tavern is surprisingly silent as they quietly contemplate the events of the day and imagine what will become of tomorrow. Each of them has an obligation-to Skyrim and to her people, but also for some, more importantly there is a duty to themselves. What will bring them the greatest happiness as well as move them forward on the board of politics? Are there more advantageous strategies to guarantee their success and those of the lineage?

Some would call it selfish, but for others, that's just the game. Only the strongest move forward, and if you're not taking pawns, then how are you going to win?

Soon, the tavern looms before them, and Korir, the last Jarl with them, makes his way into the establishment. Seemingly having no connections in Whiterun, he must have paid for a room to stay in over the course of his time there.

This is also where Galmar suspects that Rikke and Lydia are as they probably causing some mischief or other. However, he shakes his head slowly to Ulfric, carefully indicating that he would prefer to follow them back to Breezehome.

Ulfric frowns and turns his head to look at Dahlia, who nods at him slightly and starts walking off in the direction of their temporary home. While his feet follow her across the orderly streets, his brain is a buzz and flutter, sifting meticulously through what said and categorizing every piece the information, movement, and position of every person in the room.

He familiar enough his closest friend's mannerisms to know that he wouldn't want to impose on them and would not insist on coming unless there was something urgent-something which would be better said in private. But what could that possibly be? Was it something he missed? Something he didn't account for? And is there anything he can do now or is it too late?

Ulfric has lifted the weight of his responsibly so far, and with it nearly reaching its end goal, to come back with bare hands now-fists full of nothing but vanishing sand,-would be such a shame.

Upon reaching the residence, Dahlia pulls the door open, and immediately Galmar pushes his way into the small living area, scanning the space with a cautious eye.

"Galmar, I really don't think that's necessary." Dahlia says as she lights some candles from a simple flames spell dancing playfully on her fingertips.

"Did neither of you see Throngvor or Korir speaking with Elisif? And then Throngvor speaking with Dengeir? Or am I the only one with eyes anymore?"

"What do you mean?" Dahlia furrows his brow as she turns to him.

"Perhaps you were both too occupied with Skald to notice, but it would appear that Elisif was making moves to poach votes from you."

A heavy stone sinks suddenly into the pit of Ulfric's stomach, upsetting its contents and displacing the bile therein as it threatens to claw a scalding path up his throat to spill onto the floor. Quickly, he swallows, shoving it back down from whence it came; however, the acrid taste of burning remains. "I put those Jarls there myself. They're indebted to me." Ulfric answers carefully, slowly annunciating each word.

"Are you so sure about that?" Galmar crosses his arms over his chest and steps closer to him.

"Besides what could she offer them which I have not?"

The question lingers in the room, none of them having the answer, and knowing that it is useless to try to pull answers from thin air.

That is how they spend the rest of the night with questions, answers, speculation, and conjecture floating through their thoughts and sinking into their dreams. Several times during the middle of the night, Dahlia awakes, only to find Ulfric already up and gazing at the light pouring in from the full moons. Did he sleep at all? Did he even try?

The first time she sees it, Dahlia turns to him, lifting her head from her pillow, but he only gently tells her go to back to sleep and reassures her that he is more than fine, just thinking. However, upon the second she refuses to be sent away. Instead, she makes her way to sitting next to him and gently wraps an arm around his torso.

"You should be sleeping, my heart." Ulfric's voice is gruff, laden with sleep even if none will come to him.

"And I could say the same thing to you." She frowns at him worried before taking one of his hands in hers. "Ulfric, you do enough of this at home-the not sleeping and..."

Suddenly, he stands from the bed, and her hands unravel themselves from him, as he paces the small space between the bed and the single window steaming moonlight into the room. "What else am I supposed to do?" He speaks, his words harsh as the strained frustration he has felt since the afternoon comes to a head. While he has tried to push it down, there is only so far it will go, and eventually, it all has to come back up. "I am terrified for what's to come, and do you think any of them have the slightest idea of what this will mean or any care beyond what's in front of them?"

Dahlia stares at him, silent and not knowing what to say to his outburst, but he continues.

"Who would choose this? And so lightly at that." He sighs as he stares out the window, light from the moons illuminating him and bouncing almost playfully off his pale hair.

Dahlia shields her eyes from the glare as she tries to keep her eyes open despite the late hour. When he turns back to her, if possible, he looks even more tired, his expression twisted into pained grief.

"They call me selfish, but they don't know. I can guarantee it. None of them can see past their noses, cutting them off to spite their face."

"Perhaps they have been stuck in the machine for so long that they don't see it-the way out." Dahlia rises from the bed, placing a hand on one of Ulfric's shoulders and gently and coaxing him back to bed. "There is no use worrying about them or the future or any of it at all. Come to bed and put your worries to rest. You know that I share them with you." She looks at him with empathy shining in her eyes as she knows this feeling all too well. "One of the things that I learned in my days since Alduin is that the Divines will do what they want and time will continue ticking forward. We can only do what we can and push against their currents ase best we can. Akatosh is stubborn, and I would know."

Ulfric looks to her tiredly, his dulled eyes and purple bags more evident in the moonlight, before lifting a hand to her chin and pulling her lightly forward to him. "Whatever would I do without you stubbornly forcing me out of my own head?"

"Drown in your own brooding thoughts, of course." She smiles at him teasingly as she pulls him back to bed.

Tomorrow will come whether they like it or not.


"I, Throngvor Silver-Blood, Jarl of the Reach, will cast my vote for Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude as High Queen of Skyrim."

While it is expected after what Galmar had told them yesterday about Elisif's machinations, it is still a blow to Ulfric at hearing that his own Jarls are betraying him. His hands are gripped tightly to Dahlia's under the table as he tries to keep a hold of the roiling rage bubbling in his stomach.

Just what did he sell himself out for?

Certainly, it cannot be anything tgood, and if Ulfric should make it out of the Moot with a title in hand, his first order of business will be to promptly remove him from his seat and conduct a more thorough investigation into Throngvor and the goings-on at Cidhna Mine. More than anything, placing him there was an act of convenience, and admittedly, short-sighted. Silver was needed in order to help buy resources for the Civil War, and Throngvor was more than happy to supply it to him in exchange for being named Jarl along with a few favors being thrown his way. At the time it seemed like such a small thing, but now, this combined with the more recent reports coming out of the Reach, things are decidedly not looking favorable for the Silver-Bloods, especially after what happened with Dahlia.

Thus, the morning has gone, still deeply-engrained into a tangled web of intrigue with Elisif smugly sitting on the other side of the table from them, a pleased smile plastered onto her face.

So far, three votes have been cast: Vignar having gone first as the host, voted for Ulfric with Jarl Laila following in the same suit, but Throngvor has been swayed the other way.

"I would ask for the next in line to stand and proclaim their vote for all to hear." Vignar's voice booms over the polite clapping for Throngvor's vote.

Korir then stands, his reddish-brown hair falling into his face as he looks to Ulfric with an almost apologetic look in his eyes before hardening his gaze as he focuses on Dahlia.

Magic never did sit well with him and even less so when he found out the Dragonborn was a mage, spitting into his perfectly cultivated image of what they should be-a strong Nordic hero who rejects the dangerous construct and delivers justice with sword and axe .

If Ulfric wants to drag himself down with that nonsense, then so be it.

"I, Jarl Korir of Winterhold, do cast my vote on the side of fair Elisif and the court of Solitude. May the Wolves rise and prosper!"

As he retakes his seat, Korir refuses to look directly at Ulfric-his neighbor and once great friend, taking the coward's way out and opting to stare into his dinner plate as if it were suddenly interesting.

One by one, the stones fall and create more rippling waves which Ulfric is unable to stop, only able stare on at them in horror as his allies are turned so easily on him.

What exactly did Elisif do?

Ulfric misses Skald cast his vote, but he is faithful in his support of him as ever. Perhaps, Galmar should now be glad for the time he spent catering to the old codger.

Then, Dengeir stands with a subdued expression on his face, and before he even opens his mouth to say anything, Ulfric already knows what is going to happen.

"...I cast my vote for Jarl Elisif the Fair." The Jarl of Falkreath then sits heavily in his chair with it creaking ominously in the silence of the room.

Is it all over then? Has he truly lost?

From one moment to the next, all of his hard work has been dismantled. Hope had flared in his chest only for it to slowly slide away like the sand in high tide.

All that is left is Idgrod.

Blood rushes and pounds in his ears as it pushes its way through his veins.

Ulfric already knows what her affiliation were and what her vote will be. With the votes currently split evenly three to three, this will surely give Elisif the win she is looking for.

He cannot stand to listen and he cannot bare to watch, yet he keeps his face blank and smoothed into delicately balanced disinterest. Even despite Elisif's wicked smirk of self-satisfaction. Even though Dahlia's panicked squeezing of his hands. Even if he feels that he might shatter and break at any moment.

Time slows as Idgrod stands, and all eyes turn to her.

Who would have thought that she would have the deciding vote in all of this? It is what everyone least expected-that the half-batty crone would be so integral in deciding what happens next for all of them.

Ulfric's eyes stare forward, unseeing as they do not register anything at all, but yet Dahlia's seek out Idgrod's.

Blank and clouded, they tell her nothing. She can only hope.

"I, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal, do cast my vote for..."

Ulfric's brain whirls with questions as it tries to frantically plan through the panic he is trying to swallow. Where will they go? Should they start running as soon as the vote is cast? If nothing else, he needs to make sure Dahlia makes it out of here alive. He will accept no less of himself and at least she will see another dawn and be allowed to live out the rest of her days-even if it is in hiding.

"...Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and the Lady Dragonborn."

The pounding in his ears suddenly stops, giving way to a high-pitched whining as his blood pressure spikes and throws him over the edge. By the Gods...

For several moments, no one moves as it appears that no one has yet registered what Idgrod has said.

"Congratulations, Jarl Ulfric." Idgrod nods curtly and reclaims her seat as the white noise of clapping begins to surround them. "You and your wife will be High King and Queen. I hope you will wear the mantle well and not disappoint us. The future is uncertain, but perhaps you can make something out of it."