"She's had herself locked in there for days, and I haven't been able to see her since you all have returned." Lydia crosses her arms over her chest in a defensive position. "I demand that you let me pass!"
Galmar looks her up and down with a hardened expression darkens his face. While he knows that she means well, the old general is knows that Dahlia isn't quite up for visitors as of yet, and he doesn't blame her. He wouldn't want to see anyone he were in her condition either.
"I can't do that, Lydia. Please come back another day, or better yet, I will send Jorleif for you personally when thei Jarl is up for taking visitors."
"Jarl?!" She blinks in confusion. "What do you mean, Jarl? I asked to see Dahlia, not-" Her voice trails off as the information Galmar is trying to convey to her finally processes, and her eyes widen.
"You don't mean..."
He shakes his head, unwilling to say anything more about the current situation.
"But surely you don't mean to say...by Talos, Galmar, if that is the case, you have to let me through. Dahlia must be beside herself with grief and-" She tries to push herself past the Stone-Fist more urgently, but he continues to block the door, refusing to move even an inch.
"Lydia, just go home to Narile, please. I promise that I have things taken care of here."
"But, I-"
"I said go home." Galmar's gruff voice cuts with an unnaturally sharp edge to it, and he slings his battle axe to his front threateningly. His message is abundantly clear, and she'd be a fool to try him again.
The housecarl sighs, deeply frustrated with the situation, but seeing that she isn't going to win this battle. However, as she walks away, she secretly promises to herself that she will come back again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next after that. She will come back every single day until either she can see Dahlia, or she gets word from her friend personally.
Once Lydia has left the floor, Galmar's body slumps against the door behind him. He knew that dealing with her would be difficult, but he never expected that it would drain him so much. Normally, he'd be up to the challenge, but as he tries to deal with the aftermath of the war, he finds his fuse is cut even shorter than what is normal. While he doesn't admit it to anyone else, he too is taking what has transpired since their victory particularly hard.
The General braces himself against the door, gathering himself and his nerves again, and knocks softly on the door behind him.
"Dahlia..." He calls quietly.
No answer.
However, this is usual for her as of late.
After they had returned to Windhelm, she did not leave Ulfric's room for three days straight, and things have not much improved since then. It has been up to him and Hilde to make sure she has company and eats something, even if it isn't much. While Dahlia puts on the bravest face she can as she goes through the barest motions of living, he knows deep down how much she still bleeds. He can hear her crying herself to sleep every night. The whole Palace can.
Instead of waiting for a response he knows will never come, Galmar carefully opens the door behind him and slips into the room.
Darkness envelopes him as he crosses the threshold. The curtains are drawn over all of the frosted windows as if Dahlia rejects the sunshine outside, not allowing it to touch any part of her. He knows that she is the one who closed them because he is the one who opens them every time he checks on her. Instead, the only light which can be seen there is a single, low-burning candle on one of the nightstands, and even then, its light is rather dim as it flickers ominously, threatening to put itself out at any moment.
As his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, he can see two figures in the bed on the raised dais in the middle of the Jarl's chambers. They are the same two figures he sees in the same exact positions every time he walks into the space: Dahlia, gripping Ulfric tightly as if her very soul were tethered to his body, and Ulfric himself, eyes closed and refusing to open as he lies on his back motionless.
It is still hard for Galmar to understand what exactly happened immediately after he made his way back into Castle Dour's war room after defeating Rikke. The flashbacks only come to him in bits and pieces. More than once he has tried to put it all back together, but the exact explanation is something that Dahlia will need to explain to him, and she is not in any condition to do so. At least not for now.
Slowly, Galmar walks towards Dahlia and Ulfric and sits at the edge of the bed. Neither of them flinch. Dahlia because she probably hasn't noticed his entrance, and Ulfric because he has been unconscious and unresponsive since they moved him from Solitude.
"He will wake, Galmar." He hears Dahlia's voice tell him quietly.
"I know. I haven't lost faith. If anyone is stubborn, it is Ulfric." He answer her.
"I refuse to believe anything else. All of this is temporary. A brief nightmare which will soon pass and become a horrible distant memory." She continues, and turns to him; however, one of her hands still holds onto Ulfric, refusing to let him go. "He is alive. That much I know. I can feel his pulse still racing through his body, which means his heart is still beating. So, he will wake. It's just a matter of when...and then finding out what will happen next."
"He will understand, and I have told you that it isn't your-"
She cuts him off. "But I was the one who decided to go after him. He asked me to stay in the camp. He knew, and I kind of knew as well, but I just refused-"
"And if you hadn't followed him into battle, who knows where we would be right now?" Galmar protests. They have had this same discussion multiple times, ever since their return, he knew something more was wrong with her.
After he sent Hilde to check on her the first time, and the handmaid asked for him to to send in Lyssa, he has had his suspicions. They were confirmed as both of them left the Jarl's chambers with a bucket of suspiciously red-tinged liquid. He knows for a fact that she wasn't injured in battle, and any injuries she may have had disappeared after that strange white light engulfed them in the oddest healing spell he has ever seen.
"I know, Galmar, but I just can't help blaming myself and feeling responsible. How could Ulfric ever forgive me for-for something of this magnitude." Tears begin to leak down her cheeks, but she doesn't feel them anymore-never feels them anymore. They have been a near-constant presence in her life since she woke up next to Ulfric in this bed.
There is a lot which the General can tolerate, but not this. "Dahlia, I will tell you once more: ithis is not your fault. I will not accept that you constantly beat yourself up over this. Ulfric wouldn't want it."
She looks down at her hands, falling suddenly silent, and he knows that she hasn't heard him. She won't believe it until she hears the words from Ulfric himself. Despite this, he has to try anyway.
Galmar sighs, running a tired hand down his face. "Lydia came to visit you today."
That catches Dahlia's attention. "How did she seem?"
"Good, but worried about you." He pauses for a moment and places a hand on one of her shoulders. "We are all worried about you. Do you want me to keep sending her away? I think the company could be good for you."
She shakes her head. "No, I don't think I can handle her and her questions about what happened and talk of weddings at the moment. Everything is still too...raw."
"I understand." He gets up from his position beside her, squeezing her shoulders as he does so. "Why don't you come down to the Great Hall for dinner. I am sure that everyone would like to see you."
Dahlia appreciates that he is trying, but she is needed here. If something were to happen to Ulfric in her absence and he would need her...no. For now, the best thing for her is to stay by his side and help in the only ways she can from afar. She'll bury herself in paperwork until she drowns out all her sorrows and can remember nothing else. "Could you send Jorleif with the next batch of books and documents, please?"
Frowning, Galmar tries to protest, but finds he doesn't have the strength in himself to continue doing so. After all, he is tired as well. If she wants to lock herself away with paperwork, he cannot blame her for wanting to keep her mind occupied. When he is alone at nights in the quiet of his room with nothing else to occupy himself, he oftentimes finds himself crying with her.
"If that is what you wish, my Jarl."
That is where he leaves her for the night.
Hours later, she sits on the bed next to Ulfric reading one of the many books from his study about the Hold laws, as she slowly runs one of her hands down his bare chest, a healing spell laced through her fingers. Briefly, she looks up from her book about property taxes and over to him and sighs before giving up and shutting her book entirely.
Dahlia pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes, bright stars crossing the black of her vision. What she wouldn't give for Ulfric to open his eyes and look at her or to move or to give some indication that he will awaken any time soon. She checks on him vigilantly, almost never leaving his side, and makes sure that his vitals are good. Every time she does so, she finds his heart beating steadily, his pulse thrumming with life, and his chest rising and falling with quiet breaths, yet there no signs beyond that. Not even the barest flutter of an eyelash.
"When will you wake up? I know that you're in there." Dahlia removes her hands from her eyes and sinks back into bed with him. "You're the most stubborn man I have ever met. If anyone can beat through this by sheer force of will, it's you. I believe in you, I'm here, and I need you."
Whispers of fabric follow Dahlia as she walks through the otherwise hauntingly quiet floors of the Palace of the Kings. They are the only sound which dares to accompany, and the only indication which she comes and goes from room to room in her phantom state. No one approaches her, and no one sees her, as she herself makes no sound. Not even her footsteps echo off the old stones as if they too are afraid of disturbing her fragile peace.
When she enters the Great Hall, she appears out of nowhere as if she were a sudden grey mist rolling in over the western moorlands of Whiterun. One by one, the servants take notice of her and stop to stare, unsure of what to do or how to act. They are all surprised by her spectral presence in the Great Hall as she slowly makes her way towards the Throne of Ysgramor to sit on its seat, her dull hazel eyes looking blankly out over the scene before her.
It is a complete change, a metamorphosis, as everyone watches her finally emerge from the safety of Ulfric's room, her mourning cocoon. Now, dressed decadently in silks, velvets, and furs, Dahlia looks to them to be every bit a noblewoman, the queen she is to become at a later date. She glitters and glistens from head to toe, shimmering in the bright sunlight with all of the necklaces, rings, and other trinkets which adorn her, and it's all topped with an eerily familiar piece of clothing: Ulfric's bear cloak. She has taken it as her own so that a piece of him goes wherever she does. This is her new armor, even if it's only a costume meant to distract them from staring at her for too long and seeing what inner turmoil is brewing underneath her stormy surface.
Only she knows that she is an apparition, the barest wisp of her previous self.
Maybe she is not ready to be in public just yet, but she has to be. What is left of her must be enough to persevere. She has left Windhelm to take care of itself for far too long, two weeks to be exact. How she was conducting herself previously is not the fashion in which a sovereign should rule their holdings, and Ulfric would agree if he had been awake to see her. But she is here now, and she is ready ro rule.
Long live Eastmarch and long live its Jarl.
Over the three weeks follow this, she does her duty when Jorleif comes to collect her to see to the court. Most people are happy or at least satisfied temporarily with her rule over Windhelm. It has not been easy for her to untangle the mess of politics and running an entire Hold by herself; however, she has always been a quick study, and her early days of watching Ulfric in his study have paid off. The Steward is also a great help to her in these times when she turns to him for advice or simply to ask, "what would Ulfric do?"
The waves of papers and and requests which pass over her makeshift desk while she spends time with Ulfric in their room is almost overwhelming, but she handles it all as best she can. But, what is most surprising to her is that as she sees people at court, even more begin to flock to see her, particularly the Dunmer and Argonians. While it is impossible for her to make everyone happy and work administrative miracles, she does the best she can to see that things are done fairly and to fix what problems have been festering both in terms of not just physical repairs but also emotional wounds. If they are to take the fight to the Thalmor later, it will take a united Skyrim. And that starts a home.
However, every time Dahlia holds opens the Palace for petitioners, there is always one single most unwelcome presence in the room: Raffi Green-Kettle.
Now more than ever she understands Ulfric's headaches and irritability after having to deal with the man.
"Lord Green-Kettle, I would thank you very much if you would sede the floor to the others who are here if you would be so kind." Dahlia tells the man flatly after listening to his complaints on the recent raise in noble's taxes for the fifth time this week.
"It just doesn't seem right to me is all, and I cannot understand it, especially after all the support we have provided to the Jarl and the Hold. If anything, this is an insult to those of us who have been loyal to Eastmarch. Ulfric would never have repaid us in this way." He protests.
As if he had any idea what Ulfric would or would not do.
"Ulfric would have asked you to do what is good for Eastmarch and for all of your brothers and sisters in Skyrim."
"...and would that also include helping those who are outsiders?"
She resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. She is at the very limits of her patience with this man, and while he tries to mask exactly what is means with the term outsiders, she knows more than well enough he does not approve of her recent help of some of the non-Nord residents of Windhelm. But she doesn't care what he thinks. This is her court, and Ulfric entrusted it to her when he made her Thane. It is her duty to see things through until he is capable of sitting on the throne again, and Eastmarch will be better for it.
"Yes, he would, and I am tired of you challenging my authority. I will ask one more time that you step aside if you have no other business here."
"Actually, there is one more matter I would like to discuss." He motions behind him to a blond woman, who Dahlia notices has facial features somewhat similar to Lord Green-Kettle, and she steps forward.
"I don't know about all of you," the unfamiliar woman gestures around the room, "but I would still like to know where exactly Ulfric is. It has been weeks since your return, and yet, there has been no sign of him."
"And you would be?" Dahlia asks snappishly despite the fact that she is fairly certain she already knows the answer to this question. She has grown tired of this show, and there are other people here more deserving of her time and patience.
"Ingrid Green-Kettle," she curtsies with a small grin on her face, "I am the Jarl's betrothed."
The silence which fills the room after her announcement is suffocating.
If this is some sort of joke, she is very much unamused.
"Excuse me?" She blinks as she looks the young woman up and down. She is the very picture of Nord beauty, her golden hair flowing gracefully in an intricate braid over her shoulders. Despite this, there is a malicious look behind her sparkling blue eyes, as if she would eat her alive if she had the opportunity. Dahlia doesn't like it. Not one bit.
Ingrid smirks as her father steps forward to speak. "It is true. A few years ago, the Jarl was engaged to be wed to my daughter, and he never complied with the arrangement. We'd like to know when he will be ready to fulfill his end of the our agreement."
Agreement? What-?
She tries to collect her thoughts and organize them into something coherent, but they all pass through her brain like a sieve. She has been through so much in the past weeks that she is not sure if she can take anymore of this foolishness.
All the while Ingrid looks up to her with a satisfied smirk, as if she thinks she has won what she believes to be a simple battle. She holds herself with the air of someone who is privileged and used to getting everything she wants with the mere bat of her pretty eyelashes. However, she has not ever met the stubbornness of Dahlia Wintersnow, the Dragonborn of Legend, the most loyal Stormblade of the Rebellion, the fair Thane of Windhelm, and the rightful future High Queen of Skyrim. She does not bow easily, and she does not sede what is hers.
Now that she has had some time to think, she remembers Ulfric mentioning his previous lover...and how she betrayed him and left the Palace in disgrace. Her name was also Ingrid. This cannot be a coincidence. Do these people have no shame? And to ask when they clearly must know by now that she is to marry Ulfric-the nerve.
Dahlia's fingers dig painfully into the stone of Ysgramor's throne as she fights the urge to get up. In the back of her mind, she knows this situation must be treated delicately. As much as she would like to put the Green-Kettles in their place, she knows that would not be a diplomatic course of action. However, she isn't sure if she has a diplomatic bone in her body anymore.
She looks beside her to Galmar for help. Surely, he must also be aware of the circumstances in which Ulfric's previous relationship ended.
He jumps at the chance. While she might not be able to give them the true tongue-lashing they deserve, he is not bound by such rules. "You more than anyone else should know that this previous arrangement is null. That viper forfeited any claim she had to Ulfric when she-"
"There is no proof of that. All of that is hearsay." Raffi Green-Kettle insists. "My daughter would never soil our good name, and you're lucky I do not ask for further action to be taken upon this situation."
"And who exactly would you take it up with?" Dahlia finally rises from the throne, unable to stay seated for any longer. "Me? Don't insult my intelligence or waste my time. Out." She points to the door.
"You cannot simply order us to leave like this. We are a family of good standing, and you cannot afford to affront us, especially while you are not truly the Jarl. You have no real authority!" Raffi takes a step closer to Dahlia and pushes his cloak to the side to reveal a knife.
He dare to threaten her in her own home.
Galmar begins to step forward, his battle axe drawn and a murderous look in his eyes, but Dahlia stops him as she moves forward from the throne to move boldly into the lord's personal space. She is within easy stabbing distance, and if he truly wants to harm her, now is the chance for him to do so.
However, Raffi appears too cowardly to take his words into action. He does not make any further move towards Dahlia, instead calling on others to take up his battle for him, a milk-drinker through and through. "I know I am not the only one who thinks this way, Dragonborn." He gestures around the room. "It has been a month or more since we have had any news of our beloved Jarl. Where is he? The people demand answers." He looks around the room. "Who else is with me?"
Vaguely, Dahlia is aware of the occupants in the room muttering between themselves and that there is some movement around her, but her focus is only on Green-Kettle as she takes her measure of him. She knows that Galmar and Jorleif will take proper head counts of anyone who backs this pitiful showing of defiance.
"You all will get out of my Palace right now." Her voice is a low roar, laced dangerously with the Thu'um. It shakes the floors slightly, putting Raffi out of balance as he stumbles. "I can tolerate a lot of things, but this, I will not. Not after everything I have been though, not after everything I have sacrificed, and not while-"
"That is enough!" A voice booms from the doorway to the War Room, and Dahlia's breath leaves her lungs.
She would know that voice anywhere even in a crowded room.
Ulfric.
He has awoken at last.
He strides slowly across the room to stand beside Dahlia, and a sneer appears on Lord Green-Kettle's lips, an interesting contrast to the new pallor of his daughter's face.
"Jarl Ulfric, if you please, I am here to discuss important business, and this woman has not permitted any of us to see you. It's almost like she was hiding-"
"I said enough. What part of that do you not understand? This means the both of you." He rubs his temples and braces himself on the arm of the throne.
Dahlia turns to him and places a hand on his arm to help steady him, but he shakes her off. "You should not be out of bed, love."
His eyes turn on her as he takes in her appearance, the dark bags under her eyes and the almost sickly complexion which has taken over her, probably due to the weight he also notes she has lost. While she is trying to hide it from under his cloak, he knows her body well enough to be able to see something isn't right. She is much too thin. "And you should be resting as well. I can see you are tired."
"I would, but-"
Raffi interrupts her, his tone indignant. "She is too busy ruling Windhelm with an iron fist and angering important supporters of your cause."
Ulfric looks to her. "Perhaps Lady Dahlia could use some lessons in court diplomacy and manner; however, from what I could hear, it seems like she was doing a fine job." His eyes narrow as they turn to Ingrid, having finally noticed her presence. "And you should not be here. I threw you out of here for the last time years ago and told you not to come back."
"Jarl Ulfric, I am certain that you do not mean what you say and that there is some type of misunderstanding-"
"No. There is none. Now, I am tired, and I would ask you all to leave."
"I am sorry, Lord Ulfric." Ingrid curtsies deeply, her skirts pooling onto the floor."If I have done something to upset you, it was not my intention. I was young and-"
"There is nothing that you could ever say which would make up for what you have done." Ulfric tells her, voice a low growl. "However, I do have to thank you." He turns and looks at Dahlia who is seething quietly at his side. "If it were not for your cruelty, I'd be trapped in a loveless union, and I would have not ever found my true match."
"Surely, you can't mean that, my Jarl. That hagraven?" Raffi scoffs.
Between the effort it took for him to drag himself down here and the confusion at what is happening, Ulfric's head is pounding. He is done. "You've tested my patience and hospitality enough tfor today. If you do not leave the Palace now and if you continue to insult my future wife, I will strip you of your title and ban you from ever returning here."
The threat of losing his status makes Lord Kettle-Green's mouth close promptly with a snap; however, his eyes still burn quietly with defiance. Ulfric know sthis is not the last that he will see of the lowly lord, but at least for now, he can retire to his chambers with Dahlia and figure out what in Oblivion is going on.
"As you wish, my Jarl." Raffi bows stiffly before motioning to his daughter and turning to leave.
Once he is certain they are no longer inside of the Palace, the Jarl sighs and turns to Dahlia. "Have I ever told you that man is my biggest headache?" One of the corners of his lips raises into a small smile.
Dahlia only looks back at him solemnly, her expression a mystery to him for once. So many emotions cross through her gaze that he is not quite sure even she knows how she feels: Relief, conflict, anger, disbelief, and finally sadness all pass quickly through her. They all battle for dominance, and he has no idea which of them will win out, or even why this particular bouquet is so distressing to him.
"You should be in bed, Ulfric." She repeats the first thing she said to him again, more urgently this time. "I need to check you over."
He contemplates fighting her on this because while uncomfortable, he doesn't feel like he deserves the amount of concern he can sense radiating off of her. However, between the look in her eyes and what he has noted previously about her appearance, he will not dare to protest her wishes.
"Let us retire to our room, then." Ulfric takes her hand and starts to lead her back to their chambers.
When they reach their room, Dahlia strips him out of his clothing, passing various healing spells over the length of his body. His pale skin shimmers in the glow of the magelight she cast overhead and throws the many scars he holds over his body into sharp relief. Particularly there is one new scar over the left side of his chest that he notices which immediately draws both his and Dahlia's attention. She spends most of her time checking into this particular mark, the color and shape of it is quite different from all of the others that litter his body; however, it appears to her that as she presses and pokes at the mark, that is it doesn't worry her. Instead, she continues with her examination.
After the third time Dahlia's gaze makes its way up the length of him, she finally drags her eyes up to his own, her gaze intense. The entire time she has been oddly silent. It's enough to make him want to squirm impatiently under her attentions as he itches from the need for her to say something-anything.
"Dahlia...you need to talk to me. What is going on here?" Ulfric tries to remove her hands from him, but she refuses to be moved from him.
Her movements, her gaze, her demeanor are all desperate to be nearer to him, as if...
"Dahlia," he tries again to get her to speak to him, and places a hand on her cheek, "love, please. Did something happen?"
She holds in a breath and her eyes quickly darting from his own as if afraid that if she speaks to him, he will disappear like smoke.
He tries one more time. "Are you okay?"
This question is the one that breaks her. Is she okay?
Tears spill again from her eyes as she collapses over his chest, clutching to him tightly, almost painfully.
That's all the answer he needs.
Ulfric allows her to cry herself out on his chest, stoking a hand down her hair as he peppers kisses over anywhere and everywhere he can reach.
"Hey, look at me." Ulfric tells her quietly, and she moves her head off his chest to look at him. "I'm right here."
Dahlia wipes some of the last remaining tears from her eyes as she sighs deeply as if removing a weight from her chest. "Yes," she finally speaks to him, "but you have no idea how close you were to Sovngarde."
He shifts her until she is sitting up in front of him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, exactly what I say, Ulfric. I almost lost you." She whispers. "You've been unconscious for almost the entirety of the last month."
He seems to think on what she has told to him before speaking carefully. "The last thing I remember is that Tullius came up behind you, and I pushed him out of the way."
"He pierced you through the heart with his sword. You were in and out..." She stops, eyes squeezing together painfully at the memory.
"What of Tullius? And if I had been wounded so, there should be no way..." He trails off at the realization, eyes widening.
"I took his head, and then I healed you." Dahlia states mechanically, not bothering to go into any more detail. She isn't even sure she understands what happened. All she knows is that it was a miracle. She swallows thickly and continues. "After cleaning up Solitude, we went back to Windhelm with you and-and..." She stops at the last admission as her stomach twists painfully at the memory of what happened.
"And..?" He prompts her gently.
She shakes her head, unable to go on to tell him what happened to her upon her waking. Instead, she gets up off of the bed, grabbing his clothes and handing them to him. It would be better to show him. She isn't sure she has the courage to say the words out loud. As soon as he is dressed, she takes him by the hand and leads him out of the Palace.
Quietly, they make their way out into the cold drizzle falling onto Windhelm's streets today. It is accompanied by a biting wind swirling in the air, promising a cold, hard Fall. She ignores it, along with Ulfric's questioning gaze. All she can do is keep moving forward. If she stops, she will not be able to continue. They make their way down the steps to the right of the Palace and through the nicer section of the Valunstrad to stand at the edge of the city's graveyard.
"Why are we here?" Ulfric asks her, but he doesn't get an answer. Dahlia only keeps a painful hold on his hand as she tugs him through the labyrinth of marble, granite, and overgrown brush.
They stop at a tiny grave at a long-forgotten place in the back of the graveyard, secluded and far away from prying eyes. In contrast to the other stones around it, this one is fairly new, yet to be touched by signs of the elements to weather its smooth surface. The polished marble must have cost a fortune, and it is clearly well taken care of, fresh baby's breath flowers and dragon's tongue are set out in front of the marker, and there is not a spot of moss to be seen.
"Whose grave is this, Dahlia?" Ulfric asks again, gentle concern in his tone, as he squeezes one of her cold, clammy hands.
The silence which meets this question feels damning. Her mind is an empty room, and her thoughts are left to echo alone in the darkness of its Void.
He must not have looked at the inscription on the headstone yet, or he would know the answer to this question; this is the reason she dragged him out here. She did not know any other way to tell him.
The last remaining strength she held onto to get him here leaves her as she falls to her knees and cries. Concerned about Dahlia's well-being, Ulfric kneels with her, retaking her hands in his own. However, now that he is near eye level with the headstone, the inscription reveals itself to him:
iThe bravest and strongest of all Stormcloaks. Someday, we will meet again in Sovngarde to tell you how much you are loved.
Guilt gnaws at her insides as Dahlia turns her tear-glazed eyes to look at him. "You knew, you asked...and I didn't-"
Everything suddenly makes sense to him as the pieces fit together to form a picture brought from the depths of his worst nightmares.
No wonder Dahlia is so tired. No wonder it appears she has near-constant purple-tinged bags under her eyes. No wonder she appears to be much too thin. And no wonder she has held herself as if the very wind would break her with the slightest breeze.
For a moment, she just looks at him, tears streaming down her face, as he tries to process this information and also tries to comfort her in any meaningful way. "I was-we were-" He stops.
"I am so sorry, Ulfric. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't think of the consequences. All I could think of was-" She chokes on her words unable to force any more from her strained voice.
He isn't sure how he feels about this news yet. He'll let himself feel and figure that out later. For now, Dahlia needs him. She has been dealing with this, the aftermath of the Civil War, running Windhelm, and keeping watch by his side almost all by herself.
"This is not your fault." Ulfric looks at her earnestly, eyes threatening their own tears, yet he holds them back as best he can. "How could you think this ever was your fault or that I could ever blame you?" He speaks the last words in the quietest whisper, his voice taking on a watery tone as he loses the battle against his own emotions.
Neither of them say anything more, instead opting to hold each other tightly as they cry quietly over the the little patch of ground in front of them.
While Dahlia still feels guilty, at least now the hardest part is done: she has told him what happened, letting out her beastly grief -that thing clawing and scratching at her insides, leaving her raw down to the depths of her soul. It is the thing which she ached to tell him during those long weeks he was unconscious but also hide from him-if only to protect him from feeling the heart-wrenching emptiness they both feel now.
However, while she still feels barren, raw, and devastated, at the same time, she feels just a bit lighter, the burden of this weight having lifted at last from her shoulders to be shared between them both. It still hurts, but at least now it doesn't feel like it will swallow her whole. Now she is no longer alone in this, and rather than blaming her, as is what she was most afraid of, he has joined with her to share his grief and sorrow.
She is not sure how long they spend there, only that by the time they move, it is nearing dark. Quietly, Dahlia gets up from her place on the ground and takes Ulfric's hand in her own and pulls him up.
"Would you like to go to the Temple of Talos with me?" Dahlia asks him uncertainly, still afraid that he will blame and reject her yet.
He does not answer her with words, instead squeezing Dahlia's hand as he walks with her in the direction of their house of worship.
It will be a long journey, but they have made the first steps towards healing together.