Hello lovely readers! I am sorry for taking so long to put this one up here. Sometimes I forget. If you ever want to make sure you're the most updated, I update on AO3 (Archive of our Own first). I also post the full chapters here, like in this case...this chapter has smut which I have taken out due to FFN's policies. If you're interested in that, please make sure you check me out there. I'm "Queen_of_the_Winter. Anyway! We have a wedding! I hope you enjoy! 3

The execution takes place at dawn the next morning.

It is a grey affair where not even the sun comes out to stretch its fingers to meet the day. Instead, the sky is blanketed by many thick clouds, and an unseasonably warm rain splashes down around the gallows placed in the main square of the Stone Quarter. It paints the snow in murky, ashy tones as swelling numbers of outraged feet trample their way through the slosh on the streets to see Windhelm's traitor suffer firsthand.

Ulfric stands there in the middle of it, his stoic figure cutting starkly against the dismal sky as if daring the fates themselves to stop him-to stop this. Water droplets slide down his face in slow rivulets, soaking through his great bear cloak all the while he silently watches the scene before him with narrowed eyes. He is unbothered by the weather, the crowds, or even the early hour. What needs to be done will be seen through to the very bitter end even if they will whisper about his callousness later. After all, they are no better than he is. Are they not also here waiting for the spectacle to unfold before them?

Throughout all the movement and bodies around him, there is only one thing which he allows to hold some small part of his attention through this sordid demonstration: Dahlia's trembling hand in his.

Ulfric told her that he would understand if she stayed in bed to wait for him instead of coming with him. Most people would. But she stubbornly refused, saying that she would rather stand next to him and support him in this decision so that the people know she is there, and she is with him in every sense and meaning of the word.

And so there Dahlia stands, holding her head as high as she can while on the inside she is secretly shaking. Never in her life has she ever attended an execution as it is something which never held any interest for her. This is especially the case now after seeing so much carnage and death in the war. Why anyone would elect to watch this morbid event is beyond her. If she could choose to be anywhere else, she would. Ideally, this would be back under the covers with Ulfric holding her tightly as she shuts her eyes in willing ignorance of what is occurring outside. Instead, she is here, eyes wide open and forced to watch because that is what being a responsible ruler and a loyal partner is all about: sacrifice.

The next few minutes blur together for her. The noose placed around Raffi Green-Kettle's neck, and executioner checks and rechecks that it has been tired appropriately-there are to be no mistakes here. The platform drops out from under him with a sicking creak, and it is followed by a tell-tale thump. Finally, it is finished. The only thing left is for them to cut him down. As Dahlia stands under the rain, she feels it trying to wash down her body and cleanse the guilt welling up in her, but it sticks stubbornly like the mud dried to the bottoms of her boots.

Ulfric looks down to her in worry, squeezing her hand in his and pulling her gently along through the crowd. There is no longer any need for either of them to be there, so he will return her to where she belongs: in his arms, to shower her with his affections. For all that she has done for him, it is nothing less than what she deserves.

The rest of the morning is relatively quiet for them with both of Dahlia and Ulfric refusing to leave their room and only keeping to the company of the each other. The only reason at all that Ulfric leaves the bed is to ask one of the guards to send Jorleif for a hot bath. When it arrives, he carries her to the large basin the servants have brought up for them and helps her peel off the light shift she is wearing. His hands skim over her sides lightly, taking in the softness of her shape before he carefully picks her up and dips her into the waiting steamy waters.

Once settled, she leans back to look up at him with a warm, lazy smile and pulls on his hand in an invitation for him to join her. Of course he would never say no to her, so he begins to shed what little clothing he is wearing, as he had left most of it in a sopping pile at the door. When he is free of his tunic and underclothes, he sinks down into the water with her, a deep groan of contentment escaping his lips as he pulls Dahlia onto his lap and leans her back against his chest. Could there be anything more perfect in this world?

They spend the rest of the morning there with each of them indulging in the presence and touch of the other. Perhaps, there is another thing which Ulfric would like to do with her there; however, he knows that this is not the appropriate time for it, even if her skin calls to him temptingly. Instead, he focuses on her as he lathers various scented soaps into her hair and over her curves, the roughness of his finger pads contrasting beautifully with the softness of his actions. It is enough to make Dahlia wish to turn around and shower him in more intimate attentions, she can feel him poking at her back; however, before she can do so, an urgent knock sounds at the door.

She groans in frustration as Ulfric kisses the top of her head, carefully moves her from his lap, and reluctantly leaves their bath. Water drips out onto the cold stone floors of their room while Ulfric grabs for a towel to wrap around his waist before walks to the door to crack it open.

"I'm sorry to bother you, my Jarl." Ralof blushes red as he looks at Ulfric's precarious state of dress-or rather lack thereof. "However, it's of utmost importance that I speak to you immediately. I bring news from Solitude."

Ulfric looks down to Ralof, a hardened gaze in his eyes at the interruption. Despite this, he knows that his officer would not have bothered if it truly wasn't important which means that his bath-and Dahlia's-has effectively been ruined. "I take it that this is something that cannot wait then? We have had a rather eventful morning."

Ralof shakes his head. "It would be best if I told you as soon as possible. What I have to say is also a bit delicate in nature."

"What do you mean 'delicate'?" The Jarl asks testily. He has never been a fan of guessing games and has little patience for them. From his perspective, it is best to just get things out in the open so that they can be tackled head on.

Ralof shuffles his feet nervously as he knows that Ulfric will not take this well. "It is perhaps best if you are properly dressed and sitting down for this-maybe over dinner or with a bottle or two of mead...if you catch my drift."

Ulfric sighs as he turns back to look at Dahlia who is still lazing in the warm water of the bath. "Should she be here for this?"

Ralof nods. "Eventually she will hear what I have to say one way or another, and I believe she would rather hear it from a friend."

The admission makes Ulfric frown further. What in Nirn could Ralof have to say which would be this sensitive. "I'll meet you down in the War Room shortly. On your way there, make sure to find Galmar."

"Understood, sir."

Ulfric turns away from him, shutting the door a with a bit too much force as he does so. He knows that it is not Ralof's fault that he brings bad news, but he also doesn't have to like it.

"Who was that, love?" Dahlia asks as she lazily tips her head back to look at him.

When he doesn't answer her immediately, she removes herself from the bath, grabs a towel, and walks over to him. One of her hands reaches out to his exposed shoulders, effectively distracting him from his current task: getting dressed. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Ulfric takes her hand and places a soft kiss to the palm before letting it drop.
"You worry too much about me, my heart. I am fine. That was Ralof at the door. Apparently, he has something he needs to report from his trip to Solitude and has requested to see both of us."

"Both?" Dahlia moves from his side and begins gathering clothes and putting them on so she can accompany him.

He only hums in response and throws a new bear cloak over his shoulders before giving a brief, lingering kiss to Dahlia. "I'll see you downstairs as soon as you are properly dressed." His eyes linger on her for a moment longer, one last glance as if her image would steel him for their upcoming conversation, and then leaves the room.

Dahlia doesn't waste any time in getting herself ready, hastily throwing on the rest of her clothes and pulling her hair back into a quick messy bun. She then follows him not ten minutes later down into the War Room where she can see that everyone is already sitting, including Galmar.

"So, what was so important that you dragged me away from wiping the floor with Thrice-Pierced in cards?" Galmar asks as he leans back in his chair almost petulantly.

"That is what we are about to find out. Ralof?" Ulfric gestures to him as he pours a glass of mead and passes it to Dahlia.

Ralof scans his eyes over the three other people in the room before nodding as if to encourage himself to get this conversation over with. "Well, for the most part my trip to Solidude went off without a hitch. I was successful in delivering Adonato's book."

Dahlia smiles at him in thanks.

"And I was also successful in dropping off the bag of septims you gave me for the Hold."

"Then, what is the problem, Ralof?" Ulfric leans his head into the palm of his hand as his eyes focus sharply on his officer in a silent message that his patience is waning.

Ralof's eyes close, and he sends a small prayer to the Divines before telling him the real news he has for them.

"Elisif is with child."

For several moments, no one says another word as they let the news hang heavily in the air while the meaning of this information sinks in for each of them. The words fill the space entirely, expanding until they are pressing against Dahlia's lungs.

She cannot breathe.

Abruptly, she pushes her chair back from the table, its legs scraping with an ugly sound against the floors, as she makes a half-hearted excuse for her to leave. It's all Dahlia can do to pick herself up and move her limbs out of the room. She doesn't look back. She doesn't see Ralof's looks of sympathy, or Ulfric's concern follow her out the door. She doesn't know where she is going-doesn't make any plans beyond seeing air and sky.

The words Ralof said echo in her brain just like the ugly sound of her chair against stone.

Elisif is with child.
Elisif is with child.
Elisif is with child.

And she should be too.

Dark skies and cold rain pelt across her skin, but she is numb. Clean air fills her lungs, and she is breathing, but it still feels like she is suffocating. Right. Left. Right. Left. She makes her way through the streets of Windhelm, pushing her legs forcefully through the mud trying to stick her boots to the ground. She must keep pushing forward. If she keeps running, then she doesn't have to think about it.

While she and Ulfric have been mostly fine and have even gotten back to their normal routine, she doesn't forget the child she lost. And for Elisif of all people to be blessed with this miracle, it makes her insides churn as she clutches her stomach. If she stopped for a moment, she is certain that she would vomit in the middle of the street. But she doesn't think about that. She doesn't have a direction in mind or a place to go, but eventually, she crashes right into someone, and as she is forced to stop, look up, and apologize to Lydia.

"Dahlia, what are you doing out here and without a cloak? Are you trying to make yourself sick?"

Her housecarl must be on her way to pick up Narile from work.

"I-" She doesn't speak-doesn't have the words. What can she tell Lydia? If she admits it,-says it out loud-then it will be true.

The longer Lydia takes to actually look at Dahlia, the less she likes what she sees. Pale skin, shaking limbs, a look of desperate panic. Of course her Thane wouldn't be out in this weather for no reason. "Why don't you come back with me to Hjerim, and I will make you some tea?"

She doesn't answer her but does allow Lydia pull her through the streets.

Warmth and a crackling fire meet her in her previous home, but it doesn't reach her-not truly. She only goes through the motions of putting one foot in front of another as Lydia sits her at the living room table before leaving Dahlia for the tea she promised.

How is it that she could be so betrayed by her body, by herself, and by the Gods? She silently curses them all. Akatosh who wrongly put his trust in her, choose her as worthy of his gift. Diabella for her foolish, carnal desires. And finally, Mara who cursed her with these feelings-this love which has blessed her so much, brought her so much happiness, yet has led her to this all-consuming pain.

Why does her destiny feel like it is the heaviest on all of Nirn, and why does she have to carry it all?

Dahlia rests her face in her hands as she hears a knock at the door, and someone enters without even waiting for a response. She doesn't bother looking up. If it is another assassin sent for her, she will happily go to the Void where she belongs.

Footsteps make their way closer to where she is sitting while she continues to try to hold back the tears freely flowing down her face. The stranger sits down next to her and draws her in, big arms wrapping around her like rays of sun after the rain to chase away the gloom. She can actually feel this warmth, and as she lifts her head slowly, she sees Ulfric.

He followed her here.

Dahlia cries harder as she crumbles into him, letting go of the flood of tears she had been stubbornly trying to hold back.

"I'm here, and it hurts me just as much as it does you." He whispers into her ear as he holds her tighter.

"Why does it have to be her, and why now?" She chokes out through her sobs.

He tilts her head up to him and wipes the tears from her eyes, his own glassy and almost mirroring hers. "That will be us one day. I promise you."

It occurs to her at this moment how selfish she has been as she is not the only one who is in pain and not the only one who has lost something. Her arms grip around him tighter as she tries to offer him back the same comfort that he has given to her.

When Lydia returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand, she sees that Ulfric has somehow made his way there and decides to leave them be despite the invasion of privacy. It is clear to her that something has happened, and they need a moment of privacy. Maybe even several. Quietly, she sets the two steaming mugs of tea on the end of the table and makes her way upstairs. Narile will understand if she doesn't come for her today.

"Are you-" She shakes her head as she already knows the answer to that.

It almost breaks him to hear the shaking in her voice as much as it does for him to see her tears. At the same time, he also appreciates her showing concern for him more than she can know.

"I'm sorry I ran out on you in the Palace." She reaches up to cup his face and then pushes back some of his loose hair behind his ear. "I was only thinking of myself and my own pain, and I do know you feel it too."

He shakes his head at her as he thinks about what he could possibly say. "Maybe we are not okay today, and maybe it will not be any better tomorrow, but it will be someday as long as we are together."

"What are we going to do?"

"We turn our eyes to the future. It's all we can do."

He's right. Of course he is. Ulfric always seems to have a way about him which helps ground her and reminds her of the present. The past is done, and Elisif is her own person with her own path. How can she begrudge her of happiness if that is also all she wants? It's exactly like she told Rikke. They're all bodies making their way through life, trying to do the best they can.

"Thank you, Ulfric. I could not have been blessed more in this life than the day I came back to Windhelm." She finally manages to smile at him.

"I have waited for a long time, but it has all been worth it. Every moment. I would not change any of it."

The dawn of their wedding arrives with the morning sun greeting both of them, bright rays of light streaming in through every corner of their room as if the Divines themselves blessed the day. Despite the good weather, snow falls softly and covers the previous grey, effectively erasing any trace of what had occurred in the week before.

When Dahlia and Ulfric wake up, they find themselves warm and tangled up in one another. Instead of getting up out of bed, they cling to one another as they both stubbornly refuse to be the first to move.

It is a good day to be alive and an even better day to be married.

Their time together is interrupted by a knock on the door when Lydia and Hilde come to collect her so that they can get ready in separate rooms as is tradition. However, as Dahlia gets up from their bed, Ulfric cannot resist the urge to kiss her one last time before she leaves.

The next time they will be together in this bed, they will be husband and wife. The thought makes clouds of butterflies erupt in Ulfric's stomach as he calls to her. "I'll meet you at the altar."

"I'll be the one wearing the blue and white dress." She cannot resist teasing him just a little. It helps her deflect from her own nerves.

He laughs at her poor attempt at a joke and appreciates that she is trying her best to help dispel his own unease, but truthfully, it only makes the fluttering in his stomach worse.

Although he has been looking forward to this very day for what feels like all of his life, he cannot help the nervous bubbling of emotions in his stomach as Dahlia closes the door, leaving him alone.

He craves her more than breath, than water, or than anything else he could find on Nirn, and the urge to drink her in every sense of the word overwhelms every fiber in his being. However, there is one thing he doesn't understand: If there is nothing more he wants in this world than to marry her, why does he feel like he could vomit onto the floor at any second?

For a moment, he sorely wishes they had eloped to Riften instead.

The door opens again, interrupting Ulfric's thoughts, as Galmar appears there with Ralof in tow.

"Are you ready, brother?" The General asks as both of them walk into the room, not bothering to ask for permission. But then again, when has Galmar ever done so?

They both pull Ulfric up into a sitting position on the bed, and as they do so, that is when he notices that Ralof has the beginnings of what appears to be a black eye.

"What happened to you?" He asks.

Ralof begins to answer, but the General clears his throat in warning, and he stops abruptly.

It is then that it registers to the Jarl that for once Galmar is not wearing his ever-present bear helm. Nothing more needs to be said as Ulfric now has a pretty good idea of what happened. He will have to thank Ralof later. While he appreciates Galmar's loyalty, the helm is not exactly proper wedding attire.

With a sigh, Ulfric stands from his bed and walks over to the closet to stare at the clothes he had made for the wedding: a cream-colored dress shirt decorated shiny silver buttons bearing the sigil of his house. On the cuffs there are ruffled frills which peek out through the ends, and at the collar there is a cravat tie with a metallic bolo pin to match his buttons-a touch of dramatic flair. It is slightly extravagant for normal Nordic tastes, being a blend of traditional with Imperial, but it fits him nonetheless. Over the shirt he will wear a traditional overcoat in navy blue to contrast with the dark grey of his tailored pants.

Once he is dressed, and he has slicked back his hair with a bit of spare soap, Galmar adjusts his cravat, places a simple crown of blue mountain flowers on his head, and gives him his blessing. "You know I am not the sentimental sort, but I hope the Nine will bless you wherever you go. Oblivion knows that you deserve it after the shit you've been through."

"Thank you, Galmar. I mean it when I tell you that you have been like a brother to me after all these years." The Jarl musters a small smile for him, and they exchange a nod before he walks out the door and makes his way down towards the Temple of Talos. Ulfric doesn't bother with breakfast. His stomach wouldn't be able to tolerate it even if he felt hungry.

And Dahlia's stomach feels much the same, a fluttering of movement which mirrors the three women bustling around and tittering around her.

Lydia and Narile crash into each other more often than not as they fuss with Dahlia's dress-the base of it being a creamy silk shift with a deep blue overlay which features delicate embroidery work at the seams. The overdress itself is relatively simple, but the lines of it are dramatic: swooping belled sleeves and a scooped neckline which exposes the upper parts of her collarbone. It is all cinched at waist with a braided cord of silver threads featuring a pendant with a familiar bear shape to match the ones Ulfric wears.

As for Hilde, she does the best she can to keep her hands steady as her fingers weave their way through Dahlia's hair in an attempt to twist it into a braided crown around her head. The rest of her dark tresses hang loosely over her shoulders in soft waves.

The whole thing would have Dahlia nervous on a normal day, but today it is pushing her to her limits. She is unused to anyone fussing over her, let alone three different people all in such close proximity to her.

"Don't you think her hair should go all the way up?" Narile asks Hilde with a tilt of her head.

"No, I think it's better for it to be half up and half down. The flower crown will sit atop of that, and it makes room for-"

Lydia elbows Hilde sharply, effectively quieting her.

"Why did you-"

Lydia gives her a look, and Hilde instantly looks embarrassed for herself. Of course Dahlia has no idea. It's supposed to be a surprise.

The Dragonborn doesn't even try to ask them what they're prattling on about. They wouldn't tell her anyway. Instead, she tries to focus on keeping the butterfly wings in her stomach to a manageable level. Breathe in; breathe out.

"Is your dad in the city yet to walk you down the aisle?"

It takes a moment for Dahlia to register Lydia's question, but when she does, the corners of her lips pull into an instant frown. "I received a letter from him yesterday expressing his regrets at not being able to attend. I will be walking myself, and I will be giving Ulfric my sword-the one I used to defeat Alduin- instead of one of his. I don't need anyone else." The last part comes out in a barely-audible mumble.

"What a piece of shit! The next time I am in Riften-" Lydia begins to threaten, but Hilde interrupts her.

"Oh, but that won't do at all. Isn't there someone else you could ask?"

The Dragonborn pauses in thought for a few moments. It's not absolutely necessary but rather more of a symbolic gesture, and who would she trust to give her away? An idea floats through her thought, but she isn't sure if he'd accept, but it can't hurt to try. "Could you go and get Galmar for me, Narile? He should either be in Ulfric's room or hanging about in the hallway twiddling his thumbs."

The Dark Elf smiles at her and leaves the room only to return a few minutes later with a confused Galmar in tow.

"I don't know how in Oblivion I could be of any help here-"

Dahlia turns to him, and the General stops, letting out a low whistle. "You clean up nicely, Stormblade. Ulfric isn't going to know what to do with himself when he sees you."

She blushes, embarrassed from all the compliment, as well as thinking about the implication of Galmar's words. "Ah-thank you, Galmar." Dahlia smiles shyly at him. "I actually wanted you here because I have a bit of an odd request."

"Go on. I'm listening."

Dahlia swallows. "Would you mind walking me into the Temple? My own father," she shakes her head to dispel her anger with him, "will not be able to attend. But if you don't want to, I can completely understand, and-"

"I would be honored, Dahlia."

"Excellent." Lydia claps her hands together. "In that case, you two had better hurry up. There will be plenty of time to have a moment later." The housecarl then reaches behind her to grab a crown of dragon's tongue, blue mountain flower, and snowberries, and places it on Dahlia's head.

The three women smile proudly at their work; she looks perfect.

Lydia then kisses Dahlia on the cheek before pulling her into a quick hug. "You're the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. Now, go and get your man."

A thin layer of snow crunches underneath Dahlia and Galmar's feet as they make their way from the Palace of the Kings to the Temple of Talos. All the way there, well-wishers line the streets, bowing and waving to the soon-to-be Lady of Windhelm. How long have they been waiting outside? Did they stay here just to see her?

It surprises her, yet touches her deeply to see the citizens of Windhelm standing in support of Ulfric and of her. She raises the hand not holding her glass sword and waves at them with a smile to which many of them return the gesture wildly. In the crowd she can pick out Silda the Unseen, Viola, and even Helgrid, as well as Ambarys with a few of the merchants from the Snow Quarter. Unfortunately, there were only so many people who would fit inside the Temple and good handful of them are there for political reasons which she understands even if it annoys her.

Don't worry about them. They're here by choice and would leave if they didn't want to be here.

It's as if Ulfric is speaking into her ear, yet she knows he is waiting for her in the Temple.

However, she still can't help but wonder if there is something that she could do.

Galmar squeezes her arm, snapping her attention to the heavy door in front of them. They have arrived.

The butterflies in Dahlia's stomach explode into a flurry of what feels like thousands of much tinier versions of themselves, tossing her stomach contents in tumultuous, surging tides. Is she ready for this?

Despite what her stomach would tell her, the answer is yes. She always has been ready. It is if there has been some golden thread of fate slowly pulling them together. If she thinks back, she can remember seeing Ulfric from a distance in her teenage years. He had always been a mysterious figure who drew her curiosity, but it wasn't until she was put directly in his path on the cart that she felt the insistent tugging. When she emerged from the dark of her unconsciousness, the first thing she could feel were rippling waves of power calling to her. And when she looked right, she immediately identified him. Her stomach dipped much like it is doing now as something unnameable reached out her. In hindsight, she can identify this as his Thu'um washing over her. Even now she can still feel it as it flows over her in familiar, ebbing swells.

But at the same time, she does not discount it as simply being their fate. Destiny works in mysterious ways, after all. Perhaps that is what was truly washing over them. Should it be fate, destiny, or love, it doesn't matter to her anymore. There is no place she would rather be.

The door opens, flooding the Temple with light as many turn their heads and shield their eyes; however, Ulfric's are wide open and straining to look upon the face of his soon-to-be wife.

If he could, he would etch this exact moment in his memory down to the very last detail. He is certain that even in the most painstakingly done paintings, retellings, or stories which could be created, there is no art which could possibly accurately portray the ethereal beauty of Dahlia when she emerges from the blinding cocoon of light and steps forth in the warm candlelight of the Temple.

Ulfric's eyes focus intently on her as he watches her walk down the aisle to him. He doesn't even notice Ralof, Lydia, or Narile sneaking in after her or Galmar walking at her side. He only has eyes for her. Ulfric takes in her form, the way her dress flows seamless off of her-the look of unbridled happiness in her sparkling eyes as her lips rise for him with a smile. He drinks it all in greedily from his position next to Maramal near the makeshift shine of Mara he has brought here. Wetness leaks steadily down his cheeks as he wonders at his life and how he could possibly be so lucky to be here with her. He doesn't even realize he is crying until Maramal reaches out a hand to offer him a handkerchief.

Reluctantly, he takes it from the priest and dabs it at his eyes gently. It is not usual for Ulfric to wear his emotions on his sleeve in public like this, but he will not be embarrassed for showing it. He nods to Maramal in thanks before returning the handkerchief to him awkwardly.

When Ulfric turns his attention to the front of the room again, he finds that Dahlia is already in next of him. He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment, and now she is here. He suddenly forgets how to breathe.

At that moment, Dahlia's eyes find their way to the rest of her life: Ulfric, who is somehow more handsome than she could have imagined even in the sweetest of her daydreams. For a moment, she cannot believe that it is real-that she can finally have everything that she has ever wanted. How is she to believe that it will not all suddenly dissolve like an elaborate, ephemeral fantasy at any moment? Especially when she finally notices that Ulfric smiles faintly at her, the corners of his mouth carefully upturning at her, almost fragilely as if they could break into a full grin at any moment-a secret just for her.

He is the brightest of all stars, the most beautiful of all the northern lights, and the familiar saccharine-sweet taste of all her dreams for the rest of her days.

How is it that she is to be so lucky?

"Now that the blushing bride is here, the ceremony can now commence." Maramal speaks, his voice booming through the crowded space of the Temple of Talos.

Taking that as his cue, Galmar leaves Dahlia's hand in Ulfric's and moves to an empty seat at the first pew.

As Ulfric looks down on her, he can see that she is a bit pale. Apparently, he is not the only one who is a bit nervous about the ceremony. He squeezes her hand in his own, letting her know that he is here, and he is ready to spend the rest of his life with her.

"At the beginning, it was from Mara's love of all creatures on Nirn that we first learned to love one another-her gift to us as mortals. It is from this same love that we learned that a life lived alone is no life at all. Love is essential for all beings as it brings light into our lives and saves us from the emptiness of solitude." The priest begins the rite of marriage with the typical speech, and then turns to Dahlia. "It is a declaration of protection in all things, acceptance and understanding in all things, and most importantly a vow that you will face all things in life together without fear with your partner. Dahlia Wintersnow, do you vow to protect Ulfric Stormcloak in all that you do in love now and forever?"

Her eyes find Ulfric's burning into her own as she picks up her sword with both hands and holds it out for him to take. "This is the very sword I used to defeat Alduin in Sovngarde and protect all of Nirn from his world-eating tyranny. I swear on my life from this day until the end of my days and beyond to protect you with the same fervor that I used to then and there. There is nowhere I would not go, no limit to what I would do, and nothing that would stop me, in this I swear."

Ulfric's eyes widen at his hand reaches out and takes the sword by the hilt. It is typical that the bride offers her father's sword, but instead she has offered up her own blade for him. It is a gesture he does not miss and one which means more to him than any ancestral blade she could have offered him. "I accept this blade and will use it as my own, a symbol that you are an extension of my own hand. In turn I promise that no matter what enemies shall befall us that I will give my own blood and breath I can give neither any longer in return of that protection. I will never abandon nor desert you. I will follow you in darkness and in light; and I will follow you into Sovngarde, in this I swear."

Maramal nods at them both, his eyes shining with approval of them creating their own vows. It is not every couple who does so. He then turns to the table behind him and finds the silver chain which he will use to tie their hands together. The priest then clasps Ulfric and Dahlia's hands together and begins binding them together.

"We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship-a binding of souls with the promise that they will cherish and honor each other faithfully each and every day. This cord is a physical symbol of this. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship." The priest finishes the loose knot and steps away.

In this moment, Ulfric interrupts Maramal before he continues with the last part of the ceremony. "If you would allow, I have something which I would like to give Dahlia."

The priest smiles, "Yes, of course! Any displays of love and affection are acceptable and encouraged here. By all means, please feel free to continue."

Ulfric turns slightly to look back at the guests. "Lydia, would you please bring me the item I asked you to hold for safe-keeping?"

Dahlia's eyes widen with shock as they look with open curiosity towards the small cloth-covered parcel which Lydia brings to the front of the room. What on Nirn could it be? Is this what they were referring to earlier-the surprise?

With his unbound hand, Ulfric removes the cloth revealing an intricately designed tiara-its polished silver surface detailed with a scrolling filigree of dragon's tongue and small sapphires glittering throughout.

Never before has she seen anything of it's like in Skyrim. The normal circlets-even the one she wears when in battle-are rather simple in nature. Twisted metal with precious stones set throughout. Where would Ulfric even get something like this? This must have sent away from this to be custom made by a master jeweler.

Dahlia opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out.

No words are needed from her at this moment, and Ulfric shakes his head at her with a smile.

As he leans forward to place the tiara over her head, he notices that tears have started falling down her face in steady streams and stops to kiss them away softly-first going to one cheek and then the other. The taste of salt coats his tongue, yet the feeling of sweetness fills him to the brim at the display of her emotions.

Before pulling away, he whispers in her ear, only for her to hear. "You are all I have been waiting for my entire life, and you are the only queen of my heart."

If possible, she only cries harder while gripping his hand tightly.

"And you are all I ever wanted. Despite the difficult hand the Gods have dealt me, I am thankful for my fate every day because it sent you to me. I would not change a single thing." She wipes carefully at her eyes, trying not to smudge the liner on her lids, and smiles at him.

"Nor would I."

Maramal claps his hands together with a contented sigh suddenly grateful that he gave in to their request to have the wedding take place here. He praises Mara every day to have been blessed with a duty gifts him moments like this regularly.

"A marriage is a promise-one which can never be broken. Just as Mara is devoted in her love to us, so should you be devoted to your spouse each and every single day." The priest turns to Ulfric, a serious look on his face. "Do you Ulfric Stormcloak agree to be bound together, in love, with Dahlia Wintersnow now and forever?"

"I do. Now and forever no matter where that should lead us." Ulfric answers as he rubs the back of Dahlia's hand with his thumb.

Maramal then turns to Dahlia. "And do you Dahlia Wintersnow agree to be bound together, in love, with Ulfric Stormcloak now and forever?"

"I do." A bright smile graces her face through her tears. "Now and forever until the day our souls should cease to exist."

The priest extends his hands over both of them, marking them on the forehead with the sacred ashes of Mara's candles, blessing them finally as man and wife. "Then, by the grace of Mara, Divine of Love, I pronounce you to be wed. Allow me to introduce the new couple as Ulfric and Dahlia Stormcloak, your Jarl and your new Lady of Windhelm."

Ulfric doesn't wait for Maramal to say another word. While he can still hear him speaking in the background, Ulfric only has one thing on his mind. He reaches out to Dahlia, bringing her closer so that he can kiss his new wife. His hands go up to her face, cupping it gently with their bound hands as he slips his tongue into her mouth gently. She is all pliable sweetness under his attentions, melting into him effortlessly as they tangle as one. Could there be another feeling in this existence which could possibly be better than this? He will guard his new privilege-his new life jealously with the same hands he uses to cradle Dahlia in his arms right now. Nothing on Nirn could tear her away from him, and nothing could pull them asunder. He won't allow it.

The clapping of hands echoes over the stone of the temple walls as the worship bells are rang, letting the people outside know that their Jarl has been wed.

When Dahlia and Ulfric finally pull away from each other, Maramal holds out two matching rings for them to wear and each one of them slips the band on their ring fingers as they thank him.

Soon thereafter, they are flooded by seas of guests eagerly coming to offer their congratulations and well wishes to both of them. Dahlia's mother, Dagny is one of the first. She brings them into a solid hug and kisses each of them on the cheek thoroughly embarrassing Dahlia. It doesn't take long, but she is pushed to the side to make room for Galmar, Ralof, Lydia, Narile, and then streams of nobles Dahlia has never spoken to in her life. Shamelessly, they already begin to try to vie for favor with them. Do they see that this is no time for these silly political games? It wears her patience thin, and even more so because she knows that there are still more people outside-people who are waiting and people who she cares for, and she wants to greet them.

"Ulfric," she pulls on his sleeve, "I would like to go outside and into the street with this. We should greet the people too; they are just as much ours as anyone here."

"Your wish is my command." He takes her hand and tugs her through the crowds of people who try to get their attention, but they only smile and nod at them. There is somewhere more important for them to be at the moment.

Once they finally push themselves to the other side of temple door, Dahlia and Ulfric immediately see the masses of people who are lined up to greet them. Some of them are even sitting on the roof of the Candlehearth in an attempt to catch a glimpse of them, and as they walk to the middle of the main square, they can see many hands dropping something to the ground.

Dahlia reaches down to inspect what it is, and she realizes they are being showered in blue mountain flower petals which have now joined the snow still steadily falling to the ground.

Her sudden stop gets Ulfric's attention, and he looks down to what she has held in her hand.

"I guess you should say something then, shouldn't you?" He smiles at her. "Go ahead. Address our people."

She catches the emphasis on "our" which sends a tingle down her spine. They really are their people now.

Dahlia sucks in a breath and projects her voice into the din and chaos of the square. "Citizens of Windhelm! It is out great pleasure to announce that we have been married." She turns to smile to Ulfric. "We elate in the joy of finally being joined as one and deeply appreciate your tokens of affection. We share our joy together with the hope that together we can create a better Windhelm, Eastmarch, and Skyrim for all. Thank you all for welcoming and accepting me back here in my childhood home, the city I love most, and with the man I love above all others. I promise to do the best I can along with Ulfric to rule justly and fairly with him."

No sooner than she finishes her speech, the square erupts in cheers anew. Any further words or communication will be impossible over the noise. Dahlia is certain that she wouldn't even be able to hear Ulfric, who is standing next to her, at this point. Instead, she takes his hand and raises them both for everyone to see and gives a wave before turning their feet towards the Palace. The guests will be making their way there for the celebratory feast, and they are the guests of honor.

The dinner is just as joyous as the wedding itself. They are surrounded by the people closest to them, along with the most prominent nobles, as they dine on succulent roasted beef in a savory-sweet snowberry sauce, baked potatoes, and roasted leeks. There are pastries, Ilse's danishes among them, as well as a special honey cake which Jorleif had ordered for them-his own special gesture for his Jarl and the Dragonborn.

The conversation ranges from topics of recounting their most cherished memories together to what they plan on doing next, and finally to politics. Overall, it doesn't bother Dahlia as much at the dinner table, and she is able to observe just how skilled Ulfric is in navigating the intricacies of playing the game of politics. However, throughout the entirety of the dinner, he never forgets her-always involving her in the conversation.

After what feels like hours, Ralof yells out from across the table, "And the cake? And the wine? When is this party going to truly start?"

Ulfric and Dahlia both chuckle at his enthusiasm, and Lydia lifts her mug of mead in agreement.

"Jorleif, bring out the good wine and knife for the cake." Ulfric requests with a smile. "It would seem that the guests have become tired of talk."

Soon thereafter, the cake is brought out, and the new couple cuts it together before each of them picks up a small slice and feeds it the other. The taste of it is decadent and sweet, even more so in Dahlia's opinion because it is given from her husband's hand. However, when she places a piece in Ulfric's mouth, he cannot help but swipe his tongue over her fingers to lick the last remnants of honey from them. It causes her to blush furiously, and she gives him an admonishing look. She knows exactly what he is doing, yet at the same time she can't help but understand his hunger. She finds that she feels much the same way.

From there, it doesn't take long for Luaffyn to arrive with a few musicians in tow, and for the guests to get up from the table to dance. While Nords aren't often known to hold many feasts with dancing, when the occasion permits, they are some of the first ones out on the floor to let loose.

The rest of the night passes by in a blur of wine, cake, dancing, and conversation. It's enough to make Dahlia's head swim, especially as the nobles still continue to try to get Ulfric's or her ear. All she wants is to enjoy her husband's company, yet they insist on securing their positions now. On one hand, she cannot blame them. They just want what is best for their families. Still, she cannot help but wish they would simply wait until tomorrow.

Eventually, Dahlia disappears from the party, having had enough of the guests trying to curry favor and hang from her coattails. That is perhaps one thing that she will never get used to in this game of politics. How Ulfric continues to do this day in and day out is beyond her comprehension. It takes all of her good will to shake them off with as much grace as she can on any given day, let alone after the couple of glasses of wine she had at dinner.

As she makes her way to the door of the War Room, her mind wanders casually back to Ulfric, and she briefly toys with the idea of taking him-her husband-back to their room. But as she turns back to look at him, she can see he is still speaking to Torbjorn Shatter-Shield and doesn't want to disturb him. Instead, she sighs wistfully and makes her way into the room and up the stairs.

The hallway is cool which contrasts with the heat she feels from the alcohol rushing through her system. She's not drunk by any means, but between the events of the day and the little she has consumed, it is enough to make her feel as if she were walking on air. Lightly, she brushes her hand against the rough stone of the corridors as she makes her way to her and Ulfric's bedroom until a hand suddenly catches her own.

"I see you didn't want to wait for me. Did you honestly think that I wouldn't notice that you left?" Ulfric tells her as he pushes her gently against the wall until her back meets it.

Dahlia looks up at him with a coy smile, her eyes hooded and unfocused. Her insides tingle-burn-just like the liquor she consumed earlier. "Who said that I didn't want you to notice? Or that I didn't intend for you to follow me?"

"So, you mean to tell me that my wife, intended to tempt me? Well, then," he steps closer to her, invading her personal space as his mouth comes within a breath of her own, "it has worked. Tell me what you want, my heart, and you shall have it."

"I believe you already know the answer to that, Ulfric." She answers him teasingly, making sure to elongate the syllables of his name for emphasis. "You. It's always been you, and it always will be."

He does not bother arguing with her, instead pressing his lips hurriedly against her own as if he couldn't wait one more second to have her. As he does so, he can feel her inviting warmth against his body as he coxes her lips to open for him. She is summer sunshine and everything he has ever dreamed of made flesh. On his tongue can taste the lingering sweetness of the honeyed cake they shared and the wine she had drunk earlier. It is enough to make his own head spin delightfully. She is perfect. Maybe not in the classic sense of the word, but in that she is everything that he has ever needed. Her flaws compliment his own-complete him in every way, he realizes-and as his tongue dances slowly over her own, he lets out a low groan and grinds his body into her own.

"Who is impatient now?" Dahlia breaks their kiss to ask as she catches her breath.

"And who would blame me now that I have you as my own?" He leans closer to her, and she can smell the aged whiskey on his breath as he tells her, "I bet if I reached up into your undergarments that you would be wet for me. So, would you dare to tell me that you are not just as impatient as I am, Lady Stormcloak?"

The use of her new name causes her to roll her hips against his own, further proving his point, but she doesn't care. She had put up with more than enough political games for the last few hours, and she deserves a reward. "Take me back to our room now."

"As you wish, my heart." He carefully places a hand under her legs and around her back to carry her bridal style over the threshold of their room.

As soon as Ulfric lays her down on their bed, they both start gripping at each other's clothing impatiently in attempts to remove it as quickly as possible; however, somehow they only end up more tangled in them and more tangled up in each other. Limbs poke out at awkward angles as their bodies lay flush against one another in their desperate attempts to get closer to skin on skin contact with the other.

As Dahlia looks at him, all she can see is admiration and love, and she is sure the same emotions are shining through her own expressive eyes. She pushes back some of the hair sticking to Ulfric's face and presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you very much, Ulfric. This is-" She sighs in contentment. There are no words left to describe the feeling inside of her.

"I know exactly what you mean." He smiles at her. "I love you too, and I will continue to do so until the last of my days."