When Dahlia wakes up the next morning, she is warm, content, and trapped underneath one of Ulfric's large arms. He must have gotten cold during the night and shifted so that she is pressed even closer to him, her half-naked body laying flush against his own. However, she's not complaining.

As her eyes wander over to look at her husband's sleeping face, she can see that the wrinkles lining his it have smoothed out slightly into a completely relaxed expression, and the normally ever-present purplish bags under his eyes have diminished. What wonders actually getting a good night's sleep does for this man! Although, if she thinks about it, she at least partially attributes this to their recent shared happiness...and perhaps a little to their activities last night.

Dahlia smiles as memories from yesterday flood her mind: Getting ready, the ceremony, the party, and the events after. She has to fight the urge to reach out and run a finger down Ulfric's face. She doesn't want to wake him, but the urge to reach out and make sure this is real-he is real-is very strong.

As if sensing her dilemma, Ulfric rolls over, and Dahlia takes this as her sign to remove herself from temptation. So as not to disturb him, she carefully gets up from the bed and begins gathering up their clothes. First, she hangs her wedding dress, but when she goes to pick up Ulfric's tunic, an idea strikes her.

What if she made breakfast for them both? Sure, there are more than enough servants who could do so, but there is nothing like a home cooked meal given to you with love.

Instead of hanging Ulfric's tunic, she decides to slip it over her head and pull on some soft leather trousers. Things will be much quicker this way.

While she is quickly combing her hair out with her fingers, she spots the tiara Ulfric gifted her, and she is hit with a surge of emotions. It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing anyone has or ever will give her, and more than that, she knows that he must have designed it himself and a great deal of thought was put into it. It's that exact realization which makes her eyes sting slightly: him sitting at his desk and hunched over a piece of parchment while trying to bring this idea to life just for her. Maybe it doesn't fit with her current attire, but before leaving their room, she places the ornate circle carefully onto her head.

On her way down to the kitchens, she tries not to look at the current state of the Great Hall. The lack of light at the still early hour helps to shadow herself in ignorance just a little while longer. However, despite the lack of movement outside of the kitchen, inside it is an entirely different story. Various batches of dough rest in small piles over a floured countertop, and a kettle of dark red liquid is bubbling merrily over the stove while Sifnar stirs its contents-probably homemade snowberry jam. To his left is Narilem who is chopping fresh fruits, hums an unrecognizable tune with one of the other scullery maids.

"Good morning," Dahlia calls as she walks over to Narile and stops briefly to pluck one of the fruits she is cutting.

Her friend swats her hand away playfully as she greets her.

"Good morning to you as well, Lady Stormcloak." The elderly head chef turns from what he is doing to bow to her slightly. "Whatever are you doing here and this early in the morning? Shouldn't you still be in bed with Lord Ulfric?"

It should come as no surprise to her that the staff is to quick on the uptake of her new status, but it still causes her eyes to widen with surprise and momentarily choke on the fruit she stole from Narile.

"Please, just Dahlia is fine. I haven't changed at all from yesterday to today." She tells Sifnar.

Narile notes the red tinge to her cheeks and cannot resist trying to fluster her further. After all, her wife would approve. "Any particularly reason you don't wish to be addressed by your husband's name, Lady Stormcloak?"

If possible, she turns even more red, and she narrows her eyes at the Dark Elf. "It is not that I don't wish to be addressed by his name, Narile, but rather it feels so formal and stiff."

"But that is your new title, my lady. We would be remiss if we did not use it." Sifnar adds with a kind smile.

Her pleas fall on deaf ears, and from the smirk she can see on Narile's face, she's going to tell Lydia, and her housecarl is only going to rub it in harder. She tries not to let it bother her that much. On one hand, it genuinely does make her blush and on the other, all she ever wanted was to be a normal human being. Apparently, she was not ever destined for that, so she will live the rest of her life with her face permanently being stained a deep shade of snowberry.

Long may she live until Lydia makes her die of embarrassment.

"I suppose you are right, Sifnar."

Fighting with either of them right now will just dig herself farther into her own grave, so instead she moves to the counter to inspect the dough. From what she can see, it's regular pastry dough which can be used for either sweet or savory baked goods. She takes a lump of it in her hands and begins kneading it. Perhaps, she will make herself and Ulfric a ham, potato, and egg quiche.

As Dahlia begins rummaging around for the ingredients to make their breakfast, Sifnar tries several times to take the knife she found from her, insisting that he can make it for them. However, she is equally, if not more stubborn than he is, and she tells him firmly yet kindly that she would like to do this for Ulfric as a wedding present. That seems to appease him momentarily, but she can still feel his eyes on her while her back is turned. Dahlia does the best she can to ignore him as well as Narile, who has stopped what she is doing entirely to cover her mouth in a fit of giggles.

Dahlia sniffs. At least someone is entertained by this.

She goes to work quickly. Having already rolled out the dough, she cleans and chops the vegetables she will need for the quiche as well as begins to brown some ham in a large skillet by the fire. Soon, the scent of smoked meat fills the room as Dahlia inhales deeply. Ulfric will be so pleased when he wakes up. Cubed potatoes, leeks, and garlic follow into the pan, and once those are softened, she places her rolled dough into the bottom of a cast iron pie plate along with the meat, vegetables, and eggs. It then goes into the wood oven to cook. There is flour all over her face and Ulfric's tunic, but she is content with what she has accomplished.

While she waits for her breakfast to be ready, she chats amiably with Sifnar and Narile, who seem to be delighted to have her company. Although Narile was ribbing her earlier, Dahlia feels the same way. It is nice for her to do normal things for once instead of slaying dragons, winning wars, or marrying Jarls.

Time gets away from her, and when she remembers her quiche, it is slightly burnt at the ends. Everything was going to well for her and she was so content in the kitchen, but now what she has made is ruined. She frowns at her hard work.

Narile notices that Dahlia hasn't moved and walks over to her. "You forgot about it, didn't you?"

"Yes," she huffs. "I got distracted, and this-"

"I'm sure it tastes just as good as it smells. You shouldn't worry about it too much."

"I don't think I can give this to Ulfric. It's-"

"It is beautiful, and it was made with love which is the most important thing. You can pick the burnt pieces off, and no one will be any wiser for it." Narile smiles at Dahlia as she can sympathize with her. After she and Lydia were married, she made her wife a kwama egg custard, and she remembers wanting it to come out perfect.

"I suppose..."

"You can be mad at yourself all you want, but that won't get your beloved husband his breakfast, now will it?"

Dahlia knows exactly what Narile is doing, and as much as she hates it, she knows that she is right. She begins picking the more burnt bits off of the cooked dough and serves two glasses of snowberry wine before taking a tray up to her and Ulfric's room.

When she opens the door, she can see that Ulfric is now awake and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Where did you go? I missed waking up to you in my arms." He sits up from the bed, and the covers slide down his bare torso.

She smiles at him as her eyes roll down his chest before flicking up to his eyes. "I made us breakfast while you were sleeping."

"Oh? And what did you bring for us, my Lady Stormcloak?" He inspects her flour-stained clothes with a smirk. "And did you need to use my shirt to get it?"

Her cheeks flame anew at the use of the title again. "It was more convenient than putting on my dress." Dahlia walks over to the bed and sets the tray carefully on Ulfric's lap. "I'll also have you know that I made this for you. I didn't bring you just anything."

"If you had stayed in bed, I could have eaten something just as sweet," he leans over to kiss her cheek, "but knowing this came from your hands makes it all the better." His voice drops into a low rumble by her ear as he whispers one last thing. "And while I do like to see you wearing my shirt, I'd much prefer to see you wearing nothing at all."

She leans into him as one of his hands makes its way down her trousers to stroke her though the cloth of her underclothes. She bites her lip as she tries to hold back a moan.

He smirks at her, pleased with her response; however, his victory is short lived.

"Maybe more of this can be arranged later, but, if we don't eat now, our breakfast will get cold."

He sighs in frustration as his stomach growls, and he reluctantly removes his hand. He knows she has won.

At least for now.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Of that, I have no doubt." She teases before giving him a quick kiss.

They eat in comfortable silence, all the while stealing glances at the other as well as the occasional bite of food from the other's plate-all of it under the pretense, of course, that theirs tastes better. Despite the fact that the edges were slightly burnt, the taste is actually rather good, and Ulfric compliments her cooking skills. The salty meat pairs well with the tartness of the snowberry wine.

"Can't we stay here all day?" Ulfric laces his fingers through her own and brings them to his mouth for a kiss. "I think that there are perhaps more important things we could be doing in this bed."

Dahlia blushes at the implication of his request and at remembering the heat from his hands earlier. While she would love nothing more than to be wrapped up in him all day, at least one of them has to be responsible today. It may as well be her. "As I told you before, I'd be more than happy to take you up on that offer later, but-"

"Mmm, but nothing." He interrupts her and begins kissing her fingertips one by one. "I'm certain I can make you feel better than anything you might find downstairs."

He is laying it on thick this morning, and she doesn't blame him. There is no telling what disaster they will both find downstairs.

Dahlia sighs. "Prolonging the inevitable will only make things worse."

"I had a feeling you would say that." He kisses her on the lips, his beard scratching lightly against the side of her face, before getting up out of bed. "You're much more responsible than I am. Maybe that's why I married you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear." She smiles at him as she stretches out on their bed.

"Can it get me my shirt back?"

Laughter rings out through the room as Dahlia reluctantly moves and begins taking off his shirt as if she were going to give it back to him. However, she deposits it directly into one of the drawers in her closet before selecting a dress to wear for the day.

Ulfric stares at her open-mouthed while he tries to keep the amusement from his face as he shakes his head. Unfortunately for her, she will have to learn about Windhelm's laws against thievery later, and he is looking forward to dealing out the punishment himself.

Once both of them are dressed, they both make their way down to the Great Hall. Now that it is light outside, Dahlia can see servants moving about to clean the mess of broken plates and trash littering the floor. She can also spot Jorleif and Galmar arguing over what appears to be a piece of parchment-probably important-and finally, Ralof is sitting at the Great Hall's table, his face obscured as he stuffs his face full of leftovers.

She decides responsibility can wait for a moment more and leaves Ulfric to handle whatever is going on while she walks over to the big wooden table.

"Did you ever even go home, Ralof?" Dahlia asks her brother-in-arms as she sits down next to him.

He stops mid-bite and turns to her, a large grin on his face, despite the hangover he is sure to feel.

"Ralof!" She shouts as soon as an angry purple bruise becomes visible to her. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

The mark has become more pronounced since yesterday. What was barely a discolored stain is now much more pronounced. Dahlia doesn't waste any time as she reaches out gently with her healing magic to fade the mark until not a trace of it is left.

Ralof shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he steals a glance back to Galmar to see if he is paying attention to their conversation. However, nothing needs to be said as Dahlia understands that look well enough. The Lady of Windhelm gets up from her seat and marches over to where Ulfric, Jorleif, and Galmar are standing.

"What possible reason could you have had for punching Ralof?" She demands, her foot tapping impatiently on the stone floor.

"He told you then, did he?" The General frowns as he looks over his shoulder to the man in question.

"No, he didn't have to. You just did, and I am still waiting for an answer."

Jorleif and Ulfric look back and forth awkwardly between each other as they contemplate if they should make a strategic exit from the conversation, or if doing so would make matters worse.

"I wasn't intentional. I didn't exactly do it on purpose-"

"But you did do it, did you not? Come on, Galmar, confess. Where is our brave general?" She places her hands on her hips. "Tell me how on Nirn would you have gotten into a situation where you would have 'accidentally' hit Ralof in the face."

Galmar sighs. He knows that prolonging the explanation will only make things worse. "He tried to take my helm."

Dahlia blinks. "Excuse me?" Her nostrils flare as she tries to be patient with him. "You mean to tell me that you assaulted Ralof all over your stupidbear helm?"

"In my defense, as I told you, I did not mean to punch the lad! He wouldn't let go, and my hand slipped when he ripped it from me."

"You two are impossible."

"So, you agree that it was wrong for Ralof to take it from me?"

"Yes and no. That thing is perfectly fine for on the battlefield, but has no place as formal attire at a wedding. How you could have thought-" She shakes her head and turns back to Ralof. "And you cannot just go taking things from people! You wouldn't be in this mess now if you had asked or had gone to get me."

Both of them look down at the ground thoroughly admonished. How she manages to make both of them feel guilty, neither of them know.

As she opens her mouth to say more, Ulfric places a hand over his wife's shoulder and squeezes. "If we are done yelling at the children, Jorleif has something important which needs to be addressed."

Dahlia knows he means it as a jab at Galmar and Ralof, but she narrows her eyes playfully at him anyway. "Of course, my Jarl. Your lady is ready to listen."

To the esteemed Ulfric Stormcloak and his new wife,

It is our understanding that you have recently been married to the Dragonborn, and while we are saddened that we could not be in attendance, we send our congratulations on your recent nuptials. Both of us personally know the joys of love and the fruit it can bear. May Lady Mara bless you both.

While we are grateful for the support which you have shown Solitude in the funds you have generously donated to Haafingar, it is not nearly enough to heal the wounds she has sustained from the destruction your army brought to our doors. Although it has been difficult, Solitude and her people persist, and we have rebuilt with confidence. Currently, the city is flourishing under our leadership despite our hardships, which brings us to the reason we have sent this correspondence.

Jarl Elisif and I are officially submitting our names forward for the hope that we can bring prosperity to the rest of Skyrim in her time of need in the same way we have brought Solitude out from the ashes of war.

The other Jarls have already received a letter requesting their assistance in organizing the Moot and asking for their loyalty. There are currently talks of holding such an event in Whiterun.

We hope we can count on your valuable support.

Lord Balgruuf and Jarl Elisif of Solitude

The audacity for them to think-

Ulfric's eyes swim in the ink, deep red scrolling painfully across his vision. Quickly, he shoves the letter back into his steward's waiting hands before he loses the tenuous grip he has on his self-control. There is nothing more he'd love than to crush that damned letter between his hands until it is nothing but dust.

When Jorleif had told him that there was something which required his immediate attention related to the Moot, he did not expect this. However, if he is entirely honest with himself, this shouldn't have surprised him. At least not from Elisif. It is entirely in character for what he knows of her, even if it does hurt him that Balgruuf is going along with this tactic. This is a new low for him.

The parchment and words contained therein were very carefully chosen and put there specifically to draw his ire. He is absolutely certain that everything, down to it being delivered on this very morning, was carefully calculated and arranged to be a part of their little game.

He won't fucking play. At least, not in the way they want him to.

A hand touches his arm, and he realizes that he is shaking. He breathes in from his nose and out slowly before he turns to Dahlia.

"I'm fine, love."

Despite his words, she frowns and turns her gaze to Jorleif. "I'd like to see that letter."

"Are you sure, my lady?"

Galmar and the Steward exchange a look.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" She frowns.

"Give her the letter, Jorleif." Ulfric demands as he motions for them to follow him into the War Room.

Dahlia's eyes hungrily make their way across the paper like fire slowly licking away at a piece of kindling. Her expression turns rapidly from friendly concern, to anger, and then finally to smoldering outrage.

When she looks up from the letter, Ulfric's eyes are already on hers. No words are needed between the two of them. They understand the other completely. For a moment, she allows the bitter hatred she feels to consume her. If this is how they want to do things, she will happily burn their house to the ground and leave nothing but ash.

"I see that I have been reduced to only being your wife now instead of just 'the Dragonborn'." She says dryly. "Not that I am unhappy to be your wife, mind you."

"No offense taken." Ulfric quips with a twitch of his lips.

"If Elisif thinks that we will bow and accept her as any type of ruler of anything, it will be over my dead body. She doesn't even care about Skyrim! Any person who glances at this letter can see it is a thinly-veiled attempt to provoke both Ulfric and myself!"

"And at the moment, they are succeeding." Galmar responds, his own eyes scanning the document over Dahlia's shoulder.

"Am I not right to be angry, Galmar?" She turns to him. "Would you dare to say the same thing to Ulfric?"

"I'm on your side. Lay down your arms." The General crosses his arms over his chest. "This makes me just as angry as anyone here should expect, but we need to tackle this with cold heads, not hot hearts."

Dahlia grumbles under her breath. While she knows Galmar is right, at the same time, she cannot help what she feels. She has always been an emotional soul, just as Akatosh made her.

However, if she stops to think about it, it isn't necessarily anger she feels but rather hurt. How could anyone be so cruel and calloused? Perhaps, that is just the game of politics, and Dahlia was not built for this. For people like Ulfric, it is what they are born for; it is their natural environment. But that is not her. Very quickly, she is realizing that there is no room for bleeding hearts in court politics. Everything here is sharp edges when her natural state is soft emotion. It will leave her rubbed raw and entirely unrecognizable-changed and not in a way for the better-if she does not do something and fast.

"We will need to respond to that letter quickly and with tact." Ulfric scratches his beard in thought as he leans over the table in the middle of the room. "It cannot go unanswered for long or they'll take it as implicit acceptance."

"Wouldn't this be the ideal time to propose yourself as a candidate? It stands to reason that you will put in your own bid. Everyone already thinks that's the reason you started the Civil War to begin with." Galmar argues.

"I want to be active, not reactive. With them making their announcement first, it will only look like I am following their lead should I put my own name forth now. And while it is no secret that I will not be backing their campaign, the way in which it is refused will also require a certain finesse."

"But it is a foregone conclusion! It was always going to come down to this."

"While that might be true, Galmar, that doesn't mean that we don't have to play their game anyway." Ulfric sighs tiredly. He had hoped he could live in ignorant bliss and his spare himself from reality for just a bit longer.

"But the people are behind you! Skyrim is behind you!"

Dahlia shakes her head. "Unfortunately, that is not the case."

Her response draws the eyes of everyone in the room. For a moment, no one says anything, the tension building in unsteady waves. Despite this, she stands firm. Dahlia knows, and so should they, that this will not be as easy as they think. This is the same argument she has asserted and maintained ever since meeting Ulfric: Skyrim must be united, and he must demonstrate to her people-all of them-that he is fit to rule. Pretty words and dramatic actions can only go so far.

Galmar is the one who regains his voice first. "And what do you mean by that, Stormblade?"

"I mean exactly as I say, and it would be naïve to think otherwise. Action needs to be taken, and the people need to be shown exactly what they are backing by choosing the Stormcloaks and by choosing Ulfric in terms of the greater good. Empire sympathizers are not just going to disappear, and many citizen's spirits will be enflamed by the destruction this war has caused. In addition to this, there is also the doubt which has always cycled around related to what the purpose of this war was in the first place. Many still wrongly think it was all to place a crown on Ulfric's head."

There. She said it.

"And you were just questioning my loyalty earlier, but what you're saying now sounds more like treason than anything I had said earlier." Galmar observes with harsh tones.

Dahlia chooses to ignore the remark, instead looking to Ulfric, who is wearing a slight frown. "You know that I have always supported you and that I always will. The best way I can do this is by being realistic. I would be a bad wife otherwise." She reaches out a hand to him. "It is just as you said earlier. We have to address the current situation we find ourselves in with tact. To that end, I believe the Rikke should be here for this discussion."

Instead of getting an answer from her husband, the general questions her suggestion, "Rikke? Why her?"

"Because she has an outsider's perspective." Dahlia retorts. "After all, she was with the Imperial army, and we could benefit from hearing what she has to say."

Ulfric rubs the back of her hand with his thumb, a silent request for her to stop being hostile towards Galmar. While she might be irritated with the general, they won't get anywhere if they're bickering.

As much as Ulfric doesn't want to admit it, Dahlia is right, and it frustrates him to no end. His whole life has been an almost never-ending struggle of constantly trying to prove himself over and over again, and it never being enough. He has never been enough. Ever since he was a child with the Greybeards, Arngeir had always told him he was too hot-headed and his passions ran too deep for him to properly meditate. It was what ultimately led him off the mountain and into the Great War, and then to Markarth, and finally, to the Civil War.

In all this time, the perspectives of him haven't changed much. He is too bold, too brash, and therefore seen as selfish. That's how he's been painted for so many years-a villain and a power-hungry monster, and they cannot see past their visions of what they have built him up to be. At times, it is enough to make him want to give up altogether, but then he remembers why he did it-he remembers the struggles and the battles he has fought. It cannot all be for nothing. After all this time, he still believes-he must.

"Have them bring her in." He states, a tone of boredom hiding how tired he suddenly feels.

"You can't be serious, Ulfric!" Galmar protests.

"And why wouldn't I be? Can you not put your grievances with her aside long enough to realize that she might hold something valuable for us?"

"I know that, but-"

"But what? Please enlighten us if you know some other ex-Imperial Legate we might get some insight from." Ulfric crosses his arms over his chest and takes a seat at the table. He has had enough of Galmar's foolishness and avoidance of Rikke. Despite him knowing his the situation intimately, he won't stand for it any longer, especially when there is information to be gained from her. At some point in time, he'll have to get over it, and that day is today. "I'd like you to go fetch her since it seems that you are so concerned."

The general doesn't dare to question Ulfric's direct order; however, he does glare at him bitterly before leaving to do as he asked.

When he eventually returns with the Legate in tow, the tension between both of them can be felt through the room. However, Dahlia decides that digging into the situation is better than allowing whatever is happening between those two to fester.

"Good morning, Rikke-"

"Why am I here?"

Dahlia doesn't even get to finish her greeting. Rikke, as always, does not waste any time and does not mince words. While she has made some progress in her visits to see the Legate, things are still a bit frigid between them, and even more so with Ulfric.

To his credit, the Jarl ignores Rikke's sour mood and indicates with one of his hands that she should sit which she does reluctantly with Galmar following her. "We have asked you here to speak about the Moot."

"Ah, of course, only pull me out when I can be useful to you. Is that it?" The Legate sniffs while Galmar glares at her.

"I told you that brining her here would be useless."

"I'm useless now, am I? I can't seem to remember you thinking that when-"

"Galmar, don't antagonize our guest." Ulfric rubs his temples.

"Guest? Pft, that's rich. Makes it sound like I could get up and leave here anytime I like."

"Enough!" Dahlia shouts. "Stop!" She stands, her hands shaking as she places them on the table. Apparently, the theme of the morning is high tensions and endless bickering.

"Ulfric and I have asked Rikke here as a favor." Dahlia's eyes turn to meet hers and she takes one of her hands and points a finger to the door. "If you would like to leave, there is the door. Go ahead and leave if you would like. See how far that will get you."

The Legate makes no move to get up.

"That's what I thought." Dahlia takes in a deep breath before changing her tone. "Thank you. I know that being here cannot be easy for you, but as we have talked about before, if we want the best for Skyrim, we must work together."

"Well said," Ulfric smiles at his wife and then directs his attention back to Rikke. "I hope you are more comfortable in your new room. Would you like something to eat?"

She sniffs, but her stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a loud growl. "Yes, that would be nice. Thank you."

Ulfric waves Jorleif off to fetch some assorted breads, hard cheeses, and cured meat for their discussion while Dahlia retakes the conversation.

"With that end in mind-working together-we wanted to ask your opinion on something." She hands Balgruuf and Elisif's letter over to Rikke who begins to scan it. "As you already know, yes, of course, Ulfric was always going to put his name forth for the Moot. None here will deny it. However, what he and I truly want what is best for Skyrim. I promise that we have nothing but the best intentions at heart."

The Legate finishes reading the letter, and she blinks with annoyance. "This sounds exactly like Elisif. In some ways she is still very much a child. I can see where this letter would be a bit problematic for you."

"We need to convince Skyrim that I am not who they think I am and that all I want is what is best for her and to bring her together for the greater good."

"Are you even capable of doing that?"

Dahlia throws Rikke a look, and she amends her statement.

"I don't mean it that way. What I mean is that you don't exactly have the best record in that aspect with what is happening in the Grey Quarter."

"Something which we have worked to fix. You'll find if you talk a walk through the Snow Quarter, that the conditions have greatly improved, and the Argonians have been permitted into the city." Ulfric answers.

"What about the Khajiit?"

"One step at a time."

"You can't have it both ways, Ulfric. You have many speeches for everything and are easy to move to action-you always have been-but you must to put your septims where you mouth is at some point or know when you need to let go." Rikke leans back in her chair. "Dahlia is an asset to your cause. You made a good choice in marrying her-congratulation on that, by the way-the people like her and it seems like she has made a positive impact in your life. You're not nearly as hot-headed as I remember you to be."

"Oh no, he still has a temper." Dahlia quips with a smile.

"Good to know that some things never change." She smiles back, but it fades quickly. "If you really want to do this and if you really have Skyrim's best intentions in mind, you're going to need to convince the people. And while your speeches are good for moving hearts, actions speak louder. Perhaps, you should go out and see your people. Do some good deeds." She shrugs her shoulders.

"I have been-"

Rikke shakes her head. "Going out for dinner or a leisurely stroll with your wife doesn't count. I mean you have to get your hands dirty and not just laze around on your throne."

"How do you avoid nominating yourself? Get someone else to put your name forward." Uflfric muses aloud.

"Exactly. I spent enough time around Tullius and more than my fair share around Elisif to get a feel for how this game works. If you're going to do this, you need to really show the people that you are a changed man. It's a delicate process, and some will see through the gestures anyway-skeptics like me.

Galmar opens his mouth to speak, but Rikke doesn't give him the time.

"As I said before, you have something valuable at your side: Dahlia. She's actually most of the reason I am sitting at this table and speaking with you now, and I think many people in Skyrim will gravitate towards her. Use her."

"Use my wife? What kind of man do you think I am?"

"One who thinks with his heart before his head." Dahlia answers for him. "She's right. If my status affords something to you, then it is yours."

"While I appreciate that, I didn't marry you for political reasons." He protests.

"Good." Rikke interrupts while Jorleif sits a plate of food before her. "Then she'll give you good council, and you'll actually listen to her." Rikke smiles. "From what little I have talked to her, it seems like she's has a good head on her shoulders." Rikke seems to think before adding, "You could also benefit from some alliances, especially since the elves are coming."

"We had already thought of that." Galmar inserts himself into the conversation reluctantly; however, he wants her to know that they're no slouches, and they aren't as dumb as she thinks they are. "We had sent out a letter to feel out the situation with High Rock but have not heard anything from them. Stuffy Bretons." He sniffs.

"Before taking Solitude, we had discussed reaching out to them again or perhaps sending an envoy to Hammerfell." Ulfric states.

"Both are good options," Rikke reaches out to take a piece of bread and cheese while she thinks. "However, if High Rock hasn't answered you, perhaps it is best to leave them. They already know that you've tried to reach out to them so perhaps that door will be open later. Hammerfell has already fought off the Thalmor once. Making an alliance with them would be an asset."

Dahlia sighs. "We were hoping for more magic users as in Skyrim we are a bit lacking in that department. Although, I have had an offer from the College of Winterhold and my friends there. Faralda, the Destruction master, has offered to come and help train some mages."

"Yes, I can see where that would be a deep concern. Even with help from the College, it still won't be enough."

"What was the Empire planning on doing?" Galmar asks.

Rikke hesitates, picking at her food.

As if sensing the reason for her hesitation, Ulfric looks to her, a hard glint in his eyes as he echos his housecarl's question. "What were they planning, Rikke?"

"Well, not much of anything for now. From what I had heard from the Imperial City, the orders were not to engage with the Thalmor at all."

In other words, they were told to sit and wait.

One moment, and then two tick by slowly as they all process what Rikke has said. It is one thing for them to see the results of this decision happening with their own eyes, but another to have it confirmed with words.

"You mean to tell me that the Empire was planning on doing nothing?" Ulfric's words slide off his tongue like an avalanche, each one building on the next until his voice is rumble indicating a very real danger to come.

And none of them can stop it.

"Then we were always truly alone, and I was right all along. Titus Mede II holds no love for Skyrim." He chuckles, but there is no humor in it.

Unthinkingly, Ulfric's hands begin clench painfully onto hers which is more telling about his state of mind than anything he might say. While her husband is physically here, mentally, she knows he is elsewhere. She only wishes she could save him from himself.

"The Emperor would sit behind his walled city in his Ivory Tower with comfort, luxury, and safety and leave us to fend for ourselves then?" He smashes a fist into the table, making Rikke's plate clatter ominously. "Did he ever care about Skyrim at all? And how could you have sided with this with all of the love you claim to have for Skyrim?"

Rikke has no answer for him. She only looks down at the table and continues to pick at her meal, her appetite forgotten long ago.

"Answer me!" His chair clatters to the ground as he suddenly gets up from his seat to round on her.

However, he is stopped.

Dahlia's hand is still in his. She has not let go of him despite the near-death grip he had held on her.

"Ulfric," she calls to him quietly as her hand squeezes his.

When he looks to her, instead of their normal clear blue, all she sees are violent seas churning angrily in his stormy irises. Hurt, pain, and indignation clash in a tempest against one another with each one battling the other to claim him and toss him asunder.

He would drown in them with ease, letting go and sinking into their familiar depths if not for the lifeline tethering him to the here and now.

"Ulfric," Dahlia tries again as she sees that she now has his attention. "I understand that you are angry, and everyone here knows that you have every right to be. No one would ever dare to argue against that. But, are you really angry at Rikke? Do not lose yourself in your anger. Swim with it, and let the currents take you to where it truly belongs."

He lets go of her hand, and blood rushes back into her fingers.

"He had no right." He shakes his head, and his gaze flicks down to her fingers before looking to her in desperation-begging her to understand.

It breaks her heart to see the sadness and fear in his features, and she knows exactly what has put it there.

"I know, dear. We all know. Come sit back down at the table." She extends her hand to him lending him the assurance he needs.

Once he is sitting beside her again, he takes her hand in his own and massages her fingers in an apology for earlier. He would never intentionally hurt her, and she knows that. Her fingers wrap around his warmly as she holds them carefully them in the palm of her hand. She promised that she would take him as he is in every way and with all the baggage which comes with it. Abandoning him, especially in his time of need, is never an option.

Dahlia continues the conversation, picking up where they left off. "So, they really were just going to let the Thalmor operate openly in Skyrim?

"It was...never an ideal situation, and for the record, it never sat well with me." Rikke admits. "What the Empire was hoping for was that another clash with Summerset wouldn't come for a while. However, with Skyrim torn apart, they'll move sooner. It's anyone's guess as to when, but instead of getting decades to prepare, it will be less."

"And this is the true problem and what we will need to deal with in the coming year, along with the Moot. Elisif isn't a valid option." Ulfric observes somberly.

"We will need to turn the tides in our favor and quickly." Galmar adds. "I have already started recruiting more soldiers from the Holds, and others will come once we've solidified our position for the Moot."

Ulfric nods his head in approval. "In the meantime, our goals are straightforward. We must secure a nomination for the Moot, and we will need a plan of action for that. Perhaps, we can make a visit to some of the closer Holds." Ulfric trails off as he thinks, and then looks to Dahlia. "We will also need to contact the mages."

She nods at him in agreement. "I can send off a letter to Arch-Mage Tolfdir today."

"Good." He nods to her with a smile. "The final piece will be sending an envoy to Hammerfell and also hoping the Bretons will answer us. Either way, we will have to be prepared for what comes next-whatever that may be. I'll call a meeting with the council."

"Well, then it appears that we have a lot of work to do, and we will do it together." Dahlia looks between all of the people at the table until her eyes lock with Rikke's. "We will need all the help we can get for the future of Skyrim."