Hello! We are back with another chapter. Sorry it took me a little longer to post this one. As I think you should all know by now, I cross post here from AO3. Sometimes things get updated a little faster here than it does there. I also post the smutty bits there, as FFN is free from E rated content. If you are ever interested in that, you'll have to go find me there as. (A simple Google search of "Queen_of_the_Winter AO3" will turn up some results for you). The stories are the same, just sometimes you get some extra special bonus sexy content. As a matter of fact, there is a small bit of smut which I removed from this chapter. That being said, the sexy bits are not required to follow along and enjoy the story. Sorry for the ramble. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. :)
Ulfric paces the floor of the the war room as he listens to the councilmen of the city speak. Ever since they had caught word that he was up and about, they have been incessantly asking to see him. While he knows that dull meetings are necessary, especially considering the current events, he still wishes he did not have to go back to doing them just yet. He has been spoiled in the last days by sleeping in and spending quiet mornings with Dahlia. However, he knows that all good things must come to an end, and eventually, everything had to go back to normal. Unfortunately, daily tedium waits for no Jarl.
"And do you think is best, my Lord?" One of the council members asks; however, Ulfric pays him no mind. He has been watching Dahlia, who is currently seated upon the table on the opposite side of the room from him. She has been carefully observing the proceedings, but she has yet to say a word which is unusual for her. Normally, she is not afraid of sharing her opinions.
He clears his throat as he takes a seat at the war room table. "Perhaps, we might ask the Lady Dragonborn what her thoughts are."
"Do you think that wise, sir?" The leader of the council, Edmund Hearthspire, asks.
Ulfric looks to Dahlia, as if asking her if she will speak. However, all she does is shift on the desk slightly, only leaning back against the wall as she opts to say nothing. Apparently, she doesn't want to get involved and will leave it for him to take care of.
"And why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, she isn't part of the council, nor is she a proper governor of Eastmarch any longer. Not with you back on the throne, that is."
"But yet, she ruled for the last month with no problems. I see no reason why she should not be here now, especially considering that we are to be wed. Were you dissatisfied with her judgement?"
The council members all look nervously between each other as if afraid to speak. It appears that there is something that the council members are dancing around and will not say.
"She is no noble…" Lord Hearthspire finally answers.
There it is. The first indication that the Green-Kettles have not given up their fight yet. Ulfric knows that it had to be them who said something to the council. While their house doesn't have a seat in the inner circle, they do come to larger assemblies.
Unfortunately, he knew that would not be the last he would hear from them. They have started their silent war with him and have made their opening move.
"And why should that matter?" Ulfric asks testily as he crosses his arms over his chest. He knows what game they are playing, and he will have them speak the words aloud. He will not let the influence of the Green-Kettles spread in his city nor his Hold. It must be stopped before it goes any further. After all, one drop of poison ruins the well.
The resounding silence which meets Ulfric's question carries an air of danger as none of them dare to answer.
"Well?" The Jarl prompts as his fingers drum impatiently over the table, "I don't like to be kept waiting."
"It's just that." Edmund finally looks to the Dragonborn and addresses her directly, "Begging your pardon, but you are not of noble blood, and the laws of Skyrim state that Jarls must marry only those of noble bloodlines."
Ulfric's fingers abruptly stop their dance over the hardwood of the table. "You mean to tell me, your Jarl and future High King of Skyrim, what I can and cannot do?"
"Well, of course not, my Lord, but it has been brought to our attention recently that—" Lord Edmund answers with hesitation.
Ulfric's hands curls into fists in anger. "I can do whatever I damned well please. She's the Dragonborn, and her status supersedes any pitiful noble blood. She is gods-chosen. I'd like to see someone try to stop me, laws or no."
Despite the even tone with which he speaks, Dahlia knows that on the inside, he must be seething. She knows that she is; however, she has also learned recently that there is a time to speak and a time to listen. At the moment, she chooses to exercise that lesson in restraint. It will earn her no favors here.
"And who exactly brought this idiotic law to your attention?" Galmar chimes in. Until until now, he had been spectating just as Dahlia has and biding his time for an opportunity to answer. "Anyone with eyes and ears can see that the people like her. They flock to her, and she is the only one who has been able to make any progress with the Dark Elves."
"Yes, we are also aware of that, but perhaps Lord Green-Kettle was right." Edmund dodges the first question, only opting to comment on the former portion of Galmar's statement. "We are spending our valuable resources and time on people who are not even Nords! These are valuable materials which should be used to rebuild Skyrim."
"Do you see Lord Green-Kettle here?" Ulfric asks, voice low, a pitch laced with a challenge.
"No, sir."
"And was he the one sitting on the throne when the Jarl was unable to do so?" Dahlia asks as she stands from her position and walks over to the council table to sit at the empty chair to the right of Ulfric. "Do you also believe it best to leave those who have made Skyrim their home to fend for themselves and let the unrest fester? A happy house starts at home. If we cannot keep our own affairs in order, how do you think that will look to the rest of the Holds? And what about the other provinces?"
Her questions all go unanswered as the members of the council look anywhere but at her, the Jarl, or Lord Edmund.
"Is Lord Green-Kettle also the one who brought this law of noble blood to your attention? And what did he offer you all in exchange?" Ulfric tries again. Perhaps, they can dodge answering the question when Galmar asks, but they would not dare to ignore a direct question from their Jarl.
Silence. Then, slowly, a few of the council members nod their heads in the affirmative.
"We have better things to draw our attention to than to argue trivially over who I will or will not marry and who's blood is noble or not. Has the council changed their objective to that of being a group of gossiping hens in my absence?" His eyes scan the group before him, meeting each one of them directly before moving on to the next. "Know your place. You are all dismissed."
As if waiting for an excuse to leave, the council members all move from their seats with a hurried bow. Dahlia does not blame them. She, too, would not enjoy being on the receiving end of one of Ulfric's notorious bear-like moods. However, when the head of the council goes to take his leave, he looks to Dahlia with a strange gaze. It is almost as if he is trying to study her, and it sends a shiver down her spine.
"That was quite the informative meeting." Dahlia states as she gathers herself from the awkward encounter.
"I cannot argue with that sentiment." Ulfric answers thoughtfully. "I had expected something like this or similar from Raffi, but to try to test me so much by bringing that archaic law to my attention is low even for them." He blows out a long breath.
"They've been brokering for power and status as long as I can remember." Galmar adds. "Ever since I was a child, his father before him had been a milk-drinking bootlicker. It did not get any better when we got back from the Great War either. And then things worsened when Ingrid came along."
Ulfric doesn't flinch at the woman's name; however, his nostrils flare slightly in displeasure. It's that tell-tale sign which lets Dahlia know that he is not as calm as he appears to be. She moves closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder, which earns her a kiss to the top of her head.
The General only sighs as he rolls his eyes at them. He doesn't begrudge them their small public displays of affection, but he can't help but feel slightly bitter about the situation he finds himself in at the moment. Ever since the war was won, they have had Rikke in the Bloodworks, and there has been no solution as to what they will do with her as of yet.
"And what of Rikke?" Galmar asks carefully.
Both Dahlia's eyes and Ulfric's look to the other before turning their over towards the General. Truth be told, both of them had forgotten that the Legate was in their custody.
"That is a fair question." The Jarl rubs his beard, and Dahlia removes her head from his shoulders. "Is there anything to report there? Have you spoken with her?"
For once in his life, Galmar Stone-Fist has no idea what to say to his best friend. In all of the years that they have known each other, there has been little to nothing which one has hidden from the other. Yet, at the same time, he does not want to admit that after all these years that he has been played and has not been able to get over his greatest weakness: her.
Several times Galmar has tried to go down there himself and talk to the woman, but he hasn't been able to go through with it. Fear is not the problem here, as he is not afraid of no one and nothing; however, he cannot help but guard himself from the woman and their history together. As much as he hates to admit it, he wants to keep that tiny piece of him to himself.
The Stone-fist blinks once before answering their gaze with a hardened one of his own. Ulfric is not the only one who can hide behind a mask of emotions. "I had not had the time with helping Dahlia with what she needed and keeping an eye out on you. But, I have heard that some of the other soldiers have been down to see her. Their reports say that she has not said a word since coming here." Galmar holds his hands over his chest for good measure, putting another layer between his vulnerability and the world outside.
Ulfric seems to think over his friend's response before nodding to Dahlia, who then kisses him on the cheek as she gets up to leave the room.
Once she is gone, the Jarl leans forward in his chair and puts one elbow on the table to relax.
"You don't think I know?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"I think you do."
Galmar sniffs and leans back in his chair, a hand dangling lazily from one of the armrests. "And pray tell, what are you talking about? Enlighten me."
Of course, he would do this. Hide himself away so that no one can pick at his old wounds. However, he doesn't blame him. He'd do the same thing in his situation. "You know I don't have time for games like this, and I know you better than your own brother—"
"Thank Talos for that." Galmar grumbles.
"I know you don't like to talk about what happened between the two of you, and I won't pry, but you should know that you don't have to hide from me. We all have scars and things that we would rather forget."
Galmar looks to his oldest friend for a moment before nodding his head and taking his leave without another word. He's done talking for now.
Ulfric sighs as he watches Galmar's retreating form. While he wishes that he'd open up to him, at least the nod is better than nothing.
The day of Lydia and Narile's wedding comes on a crisp Fall afternoon so still that not even a gentle breeze blows though the empty streets in the Snow Quarter in Windhelm. It would appear that the normally vivacious hive of activity normally found therein has come to a full stop. Everything is quiet. Nothing moves. At least on the outside.
Inside the New Gnisis Corner Club is another story entirely, and it would seem that the daily hustle and bustle of activity has moved itself into the establishment. Well-wishers and merriment makers abound as the newly-refurbished floorboards of the tavern vibrate from too many feet dancing upon its varnished boards in celebration.
Lydia and Narile's ceremony is simplistic, yet heartfelt with what would seem the entire Dunmer population in attendance to see them wed in a typical ritual invoking the Daedric prince Azura.
May Azura's light iluminate our path as you are my dawn and dusk, the only light shining in my twilight until the end of my days.
It is a beautiful ceremony if different from any others Dahlia has seen before. Her best friend tying herself to the one she loves causes her eyes to sting with tears, but she quickly wipes them away before they can fall.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she turns to look at Ulfric to see if he is as moved as she is, only to find that he is already looking at her.
He leans closer to her, brushing back a piece of hair behind her ear as he whispers, "That will be us soon."
Dahlia flushes a dusty pink color, and a slow smile spreads its way across her face as she turns her head towards him. She can only hope that their own wedding will be as lovely as this.
After all, what could be better than binding yourself in love to the one you'd want to spend eternity with?
The priestess of Azura says a few more words, and there is an exchange of the typical matrimonial garments, each of the fabrics embroidered with the sigil of the brides' respective house.
Then, it is over.
It is short, sweet, and to the point. There are no bells, no frills, and no unnecessary ceremony. It is not loud nor is not flashy, and more than anything, it suits them.
When the two girls turn to the boisterous crowd to be presented as one house, Lydia swiftly pulls Narile towards her and dips her to kiss her. The invitees eat it up as they hoot, holler, and stomp their feet on the floors of the tavern, signaling it is time for the real party to begin.
The Dunmer, despite the Nords assuming they cold-hearted and stand-offish, are actually a warm and jovial people when they have something to celebrate. Soon, the chairs in the middle of the Gnisis floor are pushed to the side to make room for wild dancing and overflowing tankards of mead or sujamma.
Dahlia and Ulfric push their way through the merry sea of bodies to make their way towards the two blushing newly-weds to congratulate them.
As they do so, several of the guests recognize them and either pull them into a tight hug (in the case of Dahlia) or give them wary stares (in the case of Ulfric). While it might seem that their Jarl is tolerated there at best, it is better than the accusatory stares he received the last time when she brought him here for dinner all those moons ago. One step at a time.
Once they reach the brides, Lydia immediately grabs Dahlia, bringing her into the biggest hug she has ever received from her best friend. It warms her insides to know that she is happy and has found the person with whom she will spend the rest of her life.
"I've never known you to be so affectionate, Lydia. Do you treat Narile this way too?" Dahlia jokes as Lydia punches her playfully in the arm.
"All that and more." The housecarl wiggles her eyebrows as she casts a wink her wife's way.
"Behave." Narile admonishes before a sly smile makes its way onto her face. "There will be plenty of time for that later."
"I'll hold you to that."
Narile blushes a deep purple and clears her throat as she turns to Dahlia and Ulfric. "I'd like to thank both of you for coming. It means a lot to us that you are here."
"Neither one of us would have missed it for the world." Dahlia answers as she extricates herself from Lydia's near death hold on her to give Narile a hug as well.
"Congratulations to both of you." Ulfric offers as he extends a hand towards both women.
"Thank you, Jarl Ulfric." Narile bows slightly. "We appreciate the sentiment and your presence here. We know that both of you have quite a lot to deal with at the moment."
"Yes, and speaking of that. I know it is your wedding, but would you mind lending me your wife for a moment in private?"
"Not at all."
"Excellent." He nods his head in a small thanks. "Lydia, if you will follow me to somewhere a little quieter, I'd like to have a quick word with you."
She follows him as Dahlia and Narile shrug their shoulders and make their way to the bar for a drink.
Whatever matter Ulfric wants to talk to Lydia about, it must be either so important that it could not wait until another time, or he had forgotten about it altogether until he saw her. If the housecarl had to guess, she'd say it was probably a combination of both.
When they reach a tiny back room, Ulfric takes a seat on a rickety chair, and Lydia leans against the back wall.
"No doubt you've probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you and in private no less. Especially on a day like today."
Lydia only nods her head, not saying a word. Truth be told, she is rather curious, but she'll let him do the talking for the moment.
He sighs. "As you know, the war is over and I—or rather we, Dahlia and I, have a lot of things which we have to sort out until the Moot. However, the Moot had been something on my mind for some time, and particularly, what happens after."
Lydia watches him, the permanent dark circles under his eyes more prominent in the shadowy light of the squalid backroom they're in. While he has a penchant for over explanation and for perhaps giving too many speeches, she can see that what he is about to ask is important to him. She will indulge him a bit longer.
"…and you also know that Dahlia and I will be married soon. Probably some time in the next month or so, and along with that will come many responsibilities. Especially if we get our way at the Moot." He shakes his head with a sigh. "I'm not making any sense, am I? What I mean to ask is: what are your plans now with Dahlia here at home and you married? Do you plan on staying here in Windhelm, or will you take Narile back to Whiterun?"
The question takes her by surprise. Not only because she can now see where he is going with this mysterious request, but also because she honestly had not thought about what she and Narile were going to do or where they were going to go. Lydia thinks about the question for a moment. Does she plan on taking her wife to Whiterun? There really isn't anything there for her anymore. Sure, her family is there, but she also has one here. One which she feels a stronger bond and obligation to. And would she really make Narile pack up her bags and leave all the friends and family she made here?
She has her answer. There was only ever one.
"There are too many important people here and we have too many ties now to pick ourselves up and go anywhere else." Lydia tells him seriously. "Besides, who else is going to keep Dahlia out of trouble?"
Ulfric lets out a small chuckle. "Well, I would hope that I would be doing a heavy dose of that, but also that you would split the burden with me. I would like to ask you if once we are married, if you'd consider continuing to be the Lady of Windhelm's housecarl? I would also offer Narile a space in the Palace if she would want it. Sifnar is getting up in age and requires assistance. I have it on good authority that Narile is the finest barmaid in all of Eastmarch."
Lydia smiles at the thoughtfulness behind Ulfric's request, both because it is evident how much he loves her best friend and also how he considered her and Narile at the same time.
"How could I say anything other than yes to such an offer? It would be an honor to continue to serve my Thane—or rather, my future queen."
"I was hoping that you would say that." Ulfric gets up from the chair and crosses the room to stand in front of Lydia. "Please just keep this between the two of us until later. I have a feeling that Dahlia would not take too kindly on me finding her a 'babysitter', even if it is her own housecarl."
"No, I would think not." Lydia holds out her hand for the Jarl to shake, and he grips it firmly before they walk out of the room and back to the party.
The scene they return to at the bar is quite something to behold. Narile is chugging a sujamma as Dahlia tries to down a tankard of mead before the Dunmer woman finishes.
In addition to this, sometime since they both left, Ralof also showed up at the party. He currently seems to be having a good time while he sits next to Dahlia and eggs both of women on. It warms his heart a little to see that the former officer did make an appearance. The last time Ralof ventured into the Palace, Ulfric wasn't sure if he was going to attend at all. With Hadvar's passing, he had taken on a melancholy disposition, something that would be better suited for him rather than his sunny friend.
Ulfric approaches the stool where Dahlia sits as Lydia rejoins Narile to cheer her on.
"You have to keep our reputation as Nords strong, Dahlia. You're the godsdamned Dragonborn for Talossake. Are you going to let Narile beat you?" Ralof cheers as he slings one arm over her shoulders.
Dahlia coughs, sputtering a little. "I'd be able to drink faster if you weren't jostling me around so."
"That's just an excuse." Narile comments before going right back to sucking down the rest of her jar of liquor.
"Are you going to let her talk to you that way?" Ralof shouts.
"You act as though the fate of Nirn is on my shoulders if I do not beat her in this drinking contest. Besides, if I drink too much, I won't be able to find my way back to the Palace, and are you going to carry me there?"
"He won't, but I certainly would." Ulfric slides his way in-between the two dueling women to lean against the bar.
"Would you now? And who might you be?" Dahlia lifts a brow as she leans an elbow on the bar top, drinking game with Narile forgotten.
"I guess this is my cue to leave." Ralof drains his own tankard and walks over to Lydia and Narile to tease them.
Ulfric gestures to the now unoccupied stool next to Dahlia. "Is this seat taken?"
She bites her lip to try to keep the smile from her face as she answers, "Yes."
Ulfric blinks in confusion, and his face scrunches up in a frown. "And who might be sitting there?"
"My future husband, and I don't think he would take too kindly to some other man sitting there." She tells him cooly with a wink.
"You're most certainly right." He answers as he places himself on the seat and takes the rest of her mead.
"And who said you could sit there?"
"You just did."
"I'm going to have to be a lot drunker for your poor attempts at flirtation to work on me." Dahlia teases him.
"But you do admit, it is starting to work, isn't it?" Ulfric gives her a smirk before reaching his hand across the bar, brushing it slowly against her own in the process.
"Perhaps." The smile she had been fighting creeps up onto her face at his poor attempt at flirting with her. She appreciates the gesture. They deserve a bit of fun after all they've been through recently.
They are interrupted by a hurried Ambarys making his way down the bar and sliding two more tankards of alcohol to Ulfric and Dahlia. It would seem that the tavern owner has his work cut out for him as he is the only one in sight making sure that the drinks are flowing. Narile certainly isn't going to serve drinks at her own wedding.
Dahlia tips her head kindly to Ambarys as both she and Ulfric take long pulls from their beverages only to make a face soon after. Sujamma. She never quite acquired a taste for the Dunmer beverage, and it would appear that Ulfric doesn't quite care for it either. The flavor of the beverage is fine, but the higher alcohol content is what makes the drink harder for her to stomach. Ambarys must have given it to them because the mead has run out, which is not surprising to her with the number of Nords who are at the celebration.
"Have you never had sujamma before? It's better if you just finish it all at once." Dahlia tells Ulfric.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" He continues to tease her as he picks up his cup and does as she suggests.
Dahlia laughs. "I will neither confirm or deny your suspicions, only reiterate that it's much easier to drink if you down it in one go."
For the time being, they both continue to swallow as much of the drink as they can while they watch the events of the evening unfold from their respective bar stools. Both Nord and Dunmer partygoers dance and spin with awkward steps which are not quite of one culture nor the other in a beautiful visual representation of brining both of the cultures together. Just as Lydia and Narile were brought together.
Under other circumstances, Ulfric would have taken Dahlia out onto the floor, but something about the way their people are letting lose and enjoying themselves holds him back. The Nords and Dunmer need this more than he or even Dahlia does. There will be plenty of time for them to dance later.
Instead he turns his head to look at Dahlia, who is not paying him any mind, rather she is looking dreamily out at her friend slow dancing with her new wife. A warmth blooms up in his chest as he watches her and thinks of the day when they will have their turn.
"Let's get married now." Ulfric leans towards her, the smell of alcohol on his breath; however, the sudden sobering seriousness in his tone and heat of his gaze surprises her. He isn't playing around anymore.
"Do you really mean that?" Dahlia blinks as she, too, moves closer to him. "But, can we do that? I have a feeling that the council and the other nobles will not approve of that."
He is a flame, and she is a moth enchanted by his light. She'd happily burn with him for all eternity if given the chance no matter when and under what circumstances.
"Damn what they approve of, and damn what they think. I don't care much for the pomp and circumstance that most royal weddings entail." He runs a finger teasingly up her thigh. "All I care about is you."
Dahlia leans into him, placing a kiss to his stubbly cheek before whispering, "Yes, but I am right, and you know it."
His fingers continue to trace a line up and down her thighs as he teases her. "And you should know that is something I both love and hate about you."
"You'll have to get used to it eventually." She smirks at him. "You're the one who asked me to marry you."
"Indeed." His fingers ghost their way higher up her thighs almost reaching up to the seams of her underclothing. However, before they can get that far, she takes his hand, stopping it.
"Ulfric," she looks around scandalized, "there are people here."
"None them are paying any attention to us. They're too busy dancing and drinking. But, if you want to continue this, we could go back to the Palace," he leans forward to kiss her neck as his next words rumble lowly in her ear, "We can pretend you are already my wife if you like. You might as well be because I'm not letting you go."
"Nor will I you." She takes his hand and pulls him from from his stool.
"Does that mean you will take me up on my offer? And that all my hard work is finally paying dividends?"
"Don't push your luck."
When she opens the door to the tavern, a cold breeze hits them and blows Dahlia's heavy woolen dress back. If it were snowing, it would almost remind her of that night several months ago when Ulfric walked her back to his Palace on her birthday. She throws a smile over her shoulder as she continues to lead him by the hand into the streets of Windhelm.
As they make their way back to the Palace, Dahlia takes the opportunity to pull Ulfric into one of the many dark alleys, reaching up to grab the edges of his cloak and then pushing him back against one of the rough stone walls.
"And just what do you think you're going to do with me here?" His breath escapes from his lips in whipy puffs as he looks down at her.
"Whatever I so choose. It's not like you're going to arrest me."
"And how is this any better than the tavern?"
"For once in your life, just stop talking, Ulfric."
Her fingers reach up to tangle in his hair, and she pulls him down to meet her lips. He doesn't even have to ask her to deepen the kiss for him, rather she takes what she wants as her tongue pushes against his lips to make its way into his mouth.
For the first time since his waking, she feels a familiar spark of electricity lighting up her insides telling her that she needs him, and he reciprocates gladly. Hands explore greedily as they make their way underneath clothing to touch every patch of skin they can reach, and warmth blooms through them both, especially when Ulfric gets frustrated with his current position and switches places with her. With her back is up against the wall, one of his knees forces her legs apart as a hand makes its way up her skirt to its earlier desired destination, her underclothing.
However, it would seem neither of them are in any rush back home, the wind nor the cold bothering either of them as they hold each other closely.
It almost feels perfect to Dahlia.
Almost.
Perhaps, she will finish mending after they get back to the Palace and pick up where they left off.