"There are more things which need to be addressed since Lord Green-Kettle has been taken care of. It seems that the people do not know what direction we are going in, and the uncertainty is starting to create waves among the population." Lord Timberwood, the new head of Windhelm's council, states. While he is relatively young compared to the rest of the members, thus far he has done a more than decent job keeping the others in check.
He stands as he steps forward to address Ulfric directly. "More than ever, it is important that we show solidarity or be forced to lose the fragile support you have gained."
The Jarl leans back in Ysgramor's throne, his posture tall and head held high despite his otherwise relaxed positioning. He has been making a great deal of effort this morning to keep his anger under lock and key, mostly under Dahlia's encouragement. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't even try to make the effort.
Sky above, voice within, he remembers.
But instead of peace he finds the sky above him threatens an ill-boding downpour, and his voice within pounds like thunder against his temples.
This back and forth has been going on all morning with veiled words and vague posturing. Can't anyone here speak plainly? The Jarl sighs as one of his hands reaches out to drum over the stone armrest of his seat. "What do you mean by that?" He asks.
Timothy wipes the sweat from his palms on his trousers and takes another tentative step forward. "What I mean is that the people are anxious, and that creates doubt. The unknown is a powerful thing, even against a well-known Jarl and his Dragonborn wife." The head councilman nods his head towards Dahlia in acknowledgement.
While she is in attendance of the session today, she hasn't said much of anything, instead watching the proceedings unfold with apt attention and biding her time carefully.
"And what would you have me do?" Ulfric's fingers suddenly stop their calculated rhythm against the stone. "It is not as if I have been sitting around idle. There is only so much that one man can fix at once."
"None here would dream of accusing you of being unproductive, my Jarl."
"Then what is the problem?"
Timothy looks back at the other members seated at the Great Hall's large table, but none of them meet his eye. Milk-drinking cowards. "That's just the thing. There is no problem, per se..."
Ulfric raises a brow and leans forward in his throne.
"...what I think he means to say is that your presence needs to be felt." Dahlia speaks up from beside him.
It's about time she said something.
Ulfric turns his head to look at her, "But isn't it always?"
Her lips quirk slightly, but the rest of her face remains a placid neutral despite her current thoughts. "Of course, but other than the recent execution," she pauses with a sigh, "what else have you done since returning? Get married?"
Dahlia is quite possibly the only one who could speak so boldly to him without repercussion, especially in such a public arena. While he frowns at her prodding at him, he supposes that she is right.
"I see. What would you have of me then?" He waves an arm through the empty air in frustration.
"Don't be cross with me, Ulfric. It doesn't suit you, and you know I am only trying to help." She reaches out her hand to him.
Ever since speaking with Rikke, he has been moody, not only with her, but with just about everyone in the Palace. Not to mention he has spent entirely too much time locked in his office. For a man of action, he certainly spends a lot of time alone reading.
"Might I suggest something, Jarl Ulfric?" Torsten Cruel-Sea ventures. "How about a trip down to the docks? I think many of your problems could be solved if you take the measure of things down there and what resources we have at our disposal."
Ulfric leans forward to rest his chin on his hands as he ponders the suggestion. Perhaps this is the opportunity he needs. He could check on the viability of the new plan which has been burning in the back of his brain the last two days, and it wouldn't hurt to know how trade has been fairing. It has not escaped his attention that the state of their finances is not in the best shape since starting the war.
He looks over at Dahlia. While she might think that she is clever, he also knows that she has been subtly sneaking more money into their coffers over the past couple of weeks. He and Jorleif had been checking the numbers on the account books for the Palace and have noticed that they have been steadily making more money despite their spending.
"I'll go if you'll agree to come with me." Ulfric casts a casual glance Dahlia's way. It is a genuine an invitation, but the motivations behind it are more than that.
"I think I can agree to that." She nods her head in concession of his idea. After all, the fresh air would do both of them some good.
"Excellent." Torsten claps his hands together. "I'll see to the tour myself, and while we are down there, we can talk."
"We will see what my wife and I have time for, and I thank you for your offer, Torsten. Your support is always appreciated." He lifts his gaze to the entire council. "All of your support is appreciated."
Taking that as their dismissal, the members start to stand from their seats and shuffle their way out of the Great Hall. A few of them glance back at the Jarl and his wife to tip their heads in respect, but none of them stay. It is just business as usual. While the council serves its purpose and Ulfric is cordial enough with them, none of them are truly friends.
At these heights, it is oftentimes difficult to know whom you can trust and whom you can confide in, an unfortunate side effect of the position they find themselves in. If Dahlia was somewhat set apart for her status as the Dragonborn, it is even more so the case now. Power comes with consequences, and this is one of them. The higher she goes, the thinner and more isolated the air becomes.
She sighs heavily from her temporary seating arrangement, an ornate chair moved next to Ulfric on the dais, as she looks toward her husband. "Do they never stay?"
"Would you want them to?" He asks. "They are stuffy old men who would only have your ear in attempts to get what they want. For example, Lord Cruel-Sea might make it seem like he wants to be genuinely helpful, but at the same time, I guarantee that once we get to the docks, there will be some type of catch."
Oh.
Her face falls further, corners sinking from impassive neutral into a slight frown.
Ulfric looks at her sadly, as he knows intimately what she is feeling at the moment. It is the same way he felt when he became Jarl too many years ago. On one hand, he laments that he has chained her to this fate, but on the other, he is a selfish man and glad for her being there. It means that he does not have to spend his time alone anymore. She is the rare spot of brightness on his otherwise miserable days, even if she does make him slightly cross with her at times.
"Come," Ulfric holds out a hand for her to take, "we can have breakfast in our room, and then we can go down to the docks and pretend to listen politely to Torsten's plea before turning it down."
She looks at his hand for a moment too long, and he steps forwards to pull her to her feet. "I know exactly what you're feeling, and I know that it can be lonely." He places a finger under her chin to tilt her head up to him. "But you're not alone. Not now and not ever."
Dahlia cracks a small smile for him at his words as she leans into his touch. "I know, and I thank you for that. I also don't want to make it seem that your attentions are not enough, but-"
"If you would prefer, you could eat breakfast with Lydia. I don't mind. I have some things I need to speak with Galmar about anyway." Ulfric tips his head towards her housecarl who is standing opposite from his own. Ever since their wedding, she has been stationed here just as he had asked.
"If you're sure..."
Ulfric leans down to her, stubble grazing her cheek as he gives her a quick kiss. "Yes, now go before I change my mind and take you to our room." He teases. "I will see you after so we can go to the docks."
"Thank you, Ulfric. That means more to me than you know."
"Anything for you."
"So, how have things been since becoming the high and mighty Lady Stormcloak?" Lydia asks as she leans back causally in her chair and bites into a boiled crême treat.
Of course, she would start with that. She knows her housecarl well enough to know that she cannot resist teasing her relentlessly. Dahlia will make sure to pay it forward to Narile later. "Fine, fine."
Crumbs scatter all over Lydia's armor, but she wipes them off unbothered before throwing her friend a pointed look. "I know you better than that."
Suddenly, the golden crust of Dahlia's danish has become more interesting, and she looks down at it as if it would help her to avoid answering Lydia's question. Her fingers pick at it insistently, leaving tiny flakes of the baked confection over the front of her dress. They fall over the fabric in random patterns until it begins to make her anxious about staining the front of the fabric, and she wipes them away quickly.
When she finally finds her voice, it is small and uncertain. "I don't even know where to start."
Lydia leaves her own breakfast unfinished on her place and moves her chair closer to Dahlia. "Start wherever you feel comfortable."
So much has passed, hitting her from all sides in the past months, she isn't sure she knows the meaning of the word comfortable anymore.
"All of this is very new to me," she starts and finally looks Lydia in the eyes. "I mean, I had dealt with the whole Dragonborn hero-worship, fate of the world in my hands before and that was hard, but this feels..."
"Different?" Lydia finishes for her.
"Yes," she nods, "because despite the fact that the marriage is recent, in the few days which have passed, I feel like I have been thrown into the middle of a fight, yet I have no sword. Or I don't know which way the enemy is coming or how to best deal with them."
"I don't think you're as useless as you feel you are. You've always been good with words and trying to make sure the best interests of others come first. However, perhaps it is time you focused on yourself."
However, Dahlia ignores her. It seems that now that she has started, she cannot stop herself.
"Ulfric was born for this, and Talos-bless him for navigating all of this. You should see him Lydia. It's-" she thinks about the exact word she wants before continuing, "moving and powerful. And it's no wonder that others would think him selfish for it because he is unbending." She shakes her head. "But that's not it. It's raw passion. He cares! And I love him for it-I do, but-"
Lydia sits back as she waits for Dahlia's thought process to sort itself out. She knows better than anyone that what her friend needs is to vent uninterrupted, and the words will come on their own time.
"I worry about him, and I worry about us and what's going to happen next and if I am dead weight. All I am is just the Dragonborn, and I don't have the skills to help him-"
"I am going to stop you right there, Dahlia, because you and I-and Ulfric-know that is not true."
Dahlia looks away from Lydia with a frown, but her friend won't stand for it.
"You're more capable than you know. When we were out slaying dragons and digging through Dwemer ruins, did you not negotiate and speak with many people throughout Skyrim? Do you not care just as much about the well-being of the country? Is that not what moved you to join the Civil War in the first place? Caring is the first step, and you do care. Too much if you ask me, but that's one of the reasons you're likable."
"That does not translate into being a good ruler, Lydia." Dahlia tells her, voice straining with frustration. "Elisif and Balgruuf have this all figured out. They're so good at playing this game. Every move from them in the past few weeks has been calculated, and they appear to be least two steps forward from us. At this rate, we'll lose the Moot."
"Do you really want to compare yourself to Elisif?" Lydia reaches a hand forward to rest on Dahlia's shoulder. "You don't have to play their game. Actually, you shouldn't. You and Ulfric know that, and you'll figure it out."
"You don't know what it's like Lydia. This is all Ulfric has ever wanted-to pull Skyrim out from the ashes and to save her people. It's a heavy weight because I feel responsible for making sure that happens, and I feel like I can be doing more. I should be doing more. And it's not only games that Elisif is playing, but she also has-" she pauses for a deep breath before letting go the last reservations about telling her housecarl exactly what happened in the aftermath of the Civil War. "Elisif is with child, Lydia, and after the war in that last battle, I was-I was with child and between what happened to Ulfric and what I gave to help him, that child was lost."
While the news is no surprise to Lydia, this is the first time Dahlia has opened up to her personally. It is only logical for gossip like this to spread quickly, especially with Dahlia and Ulfric's frequent visits to a small grave which bears no name-only a sad inscription. Loose tongues and morbid curiosity did the rest of the work to assure that it has been publicized across the population. How else would Elisif been able to hit Dahlia where it hurts the most?
Both Dahlia and Ulfric had expected it to catch up to them at some point in time; however, at least on her part, Dahlia did not expect the cruelty which came with it-the speculations, the rumors, and the pointed digging. For the most part, she has tried to ignore it as best she can while finding solace in Ulfric's arms. But, no matter how much she runs and tries and ignore it, it always come back to her, haunting her like the hazy nightmares which leave mentally and physically tired, even if she refuses to show it.
Slowly, Dahlia is learning better than to expect kindness from any but those who are closest to her. She'll shut herself away and patch up all the exposed holes on her leaking ship if she must to preserve herself.
Lydia smiles at her sadly as Dahlia looks at her with uncertainty in her gaze. She isn't sure what hurts her more: the fact that her friends has been suffering with this information and the weight of it for weeks or that she thinks that she would judge her for it.
"It's okay, Dahlia." Her housecarl sighs, "I mean-no, it isn't okay. That isn't what I meant. What I mean is that you're safe here, and I know you wouldn't ever intentionally do anything to hurt anyone, and it's not your fault and-"
Tears make their way down Dahlia's face. How long had it been since she had spoken to Lydia? And how long has she been holding this in and putting on a brave face for the rest of the world?
"I-if we are talking about technical blame, it is my fault. I was the one who-"
Lydia stops her yet again. She has heard so many versions of what had happened: Dahlia sacrificed their child to Sithis to bring Ulfric back, she dabbles in necromancy, she speaks to Talos directly-that she can make a pretty good guess at what actually happened, but with better results. "You didn't know, and you had a choice. One that is unspeakable, impossible, and one that no one should ever have to make. They don't understand you, and they are not you. Only Akatosh can judge you, and it seems to me he has deemed you worthy, so you should forgive yourself."
For a moment, all she does is blink. Dahlia isn't sure what she expected, but it should not have been anything less than this. Lydia's own thoughts echo Ulfric's.
I cannot pretend to know what you felt, and I was not the one in your shoes. I cannot tell you what was right and wrong, and while it hurts me just as much as it hurts you, I would have made the exact same choice if I had been in your situation. We can try again when you're ready.
And isn't that what life is all about? There is pain, but there is joy. Darkness and light. Winter and Summer. You cannot have balance without both. Fus ro dah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back. Now is when she should push because after the rain is when the plants start their new growth.
In what feels like the first time in a long time, Dahlia takes a breath, and the future doesn't feel as unbearably heavy as it did before. Maybe she will not be able to forgive herself all at once, but it certainly feels like she is on the way there.
"Thank you, Lydia."
"I will be here with you every step of the way, and you shouldn't forget Ulfric. Did you know he came to me, and after my wedding no less, to talk to me about being your personal housecarl for when you are Queen?"
She was not aware of that, but it doesn't surprise her. The corners of her mouth war with each other as they fight with this knowledge. Half of her is touched that he would seek Lydia out on his own with her well-being in mind, but the other half is annoyed that he would do so without consulting her first. Eventually, the thoughtfulness wins out, and she smiles faintly. "I wouldn't want anyone else by my side. Between you and Ulfric-and perhaps Galmar if he ever stops being so hard-headed-I will be in good hands."
In the afternoon, Ulfric and Dahlia trudge through the snowy streets of Windhelm to make their way down to the docks. Surprisingly for this time of year, the sun is shining, and it filters lazily through the branches of the sparse evergreen trees growing throughout the city. There is even a pleasant buzz of activity around them with the market vendors and late shoppers bustling about. Despite the silence between Dahlia and Ulfric, it feels comfortable-normal for the first time in a long while.
As they walk through the lower section of the Snow Quarter, Dahlia squeezes Ulfric's hand in her own, and he looks down at her, a smile tugging its way onto his lips.
"We should do this more often." He tells her as he nods to a few of the citizens who make a quick bow to greet them.
Dahlia follows his lead as best she can while still keeping an amiable air about her. Although this role is new to her, she has quickly picked up many things about court behavior from observing Ulfric over the past year and especially in the last months. In some ways, it feels that nothing has changed, but in others, she can feel her days shifting. In the past, she might have gone to some of the people who call out to greet them in order to talk; however, this is not acceptable anymore. She settles for a wave and a bright smile. Perhaps later she can talk Ulfric into socializing. For now, they have a schedule to keep.
Once they make it down to the docks, they see Torsten is already waiting for them. The old sea captain practically bounces on his toes as he waits next to what appears to be a brand new ship flying sails in Stormcloak blue, their bear sigil emblazoned proudly in the middle.
Ulfric has to hand it to him. Torsten is certainly going to great lengths in order to try to convince him of his plan.
"Good afternoon, my Jarl," he takes his hand in his own in a firm shake, "and to you Lady Dahlia." He tilts his head politely towards her, a gesture which she returns.
"What do you have for us, Torsten?" Ulfric asks as he moves closer to the ship so as not to be in the way of the dockworkers.
"If you'll follow me this way, I'd love to show you what this beauty has to offer you." The councilman waves a hand to him enthusiastically in indication that Ulfric is to follow him over the gangplank.
For a moment, Dahlia is torn as to what she is to do. Surely, Torsten isn't interested in her opinion, and perhaps she could have a turn about the docks and see how the Argonians are doing. However, at the same time, she doesn't want to make it seem like she is abandoning Ulfric or that she is bored. Instead of doing either of those things, which would be reasonable, she stands awkwardly in her position as she looks about the docks.
Even at this time in the afternoon when most have stopped working for the day, there is still activity happening there. A few Argonians with brightly-colored scales move cargo boxes bearing the Shatter-Shield insignia onto one of the many trade ships, and Shahvee is sitting at the end of the docks as usual repairing one of her husband's fishing nets. It is a well-kept secret for most, but they sell the freshest fish in all of Eastmarch.
As Dahlia's eyes continue to wander, she even spots a Khajiit from one of the caravans, Ma'dran, speaking with one of the Dark Elf dockworkers before handing over a box of goods. She wasn't aware that they had been invited to trade even if it is only on the outskirts of the city. When did Ulfric do this? He was so adamant about keeping them out before due to their poor reputation.
"Dahlia," Ulfric calls out to her, a curious look on his face, "are you coming?"
Startled out of her people-watching, her head snaps to meet her husband's gaze as she hurriedly picks up her skirts and makes her way onto the ship.
"What were you doing?" He whispers in her ear once she reaches him.
Her cheeks color slightly. "I-uh, wasn't sure if I was invited onto the boat or-"
"Of course, you are. You're welcome anywhere I am, and I brought you along for a reason. I want you to see what Torsten is up to."
He starts taking her below deck where the councilman must have gone.
"And what is he up to?" She asks.
"You'll see very soon." He smiles at her conspiratorially.
Below, Torsten continues giving Ulfric and Dahlia a tour of the ship, pointing out all of the new features it has: fire-resistant coating over the planks, spaces for archers to strike with arrows from below, and the most impressive detail-some sort of weapon which is mixture between a harpoon and a battering ram.
Dahlia's eyes dart around curiously as she half-listens to what Torsten says. She doesn't know the first thing about ships despite growing up in the city. This is actually the first time she has ever even been on one.
"These new harpoons are made of refined malachite and will easily splinter the hulls of even the biggest army vessels. I had them commissioned from an Orc camp."
Ulfric nods his head politely. "All of this is very well and good, Torsten, but-"
He shakes his head excitedly as he talks over the Jarl. "You haven't even seen the galley, yet. This ship was designed unlike any other before it. It's built for war and long days out at sea..."
Before the Jarl can get another word in edgewise, Torsten walks away in the other direction, and Ulfric lets out an exasperated sigh.
"I wasn't even aware that Orcs would take commissions from outsiders. When would he have become bloodkin?" Dahlia mutters under her breath in confusion.
"Then, you see what I do." Ulfric lifts one of his brows and gives her a knowing look. "How much do you think this ship costs? ...and who do you think he thinks is going to fund all of this?"
Suddenly, she understands why they have been asked there. This is the catch that Ulfric was talking about earlier during the council meeting. "He wants us to turn out our pockets."
"Yes," Ulfric nods, "and he's been trying to do this for years. I already knew exactly what he wanted: a Navy which will be lead by his ships and will line his pockets with septims."
Dahlia furrows her brow in confusion. "Then why come here at all?"
"Sometimes, in the game of politics, pandering into what plans others have and crafting the illusion of interest is just as important as actual interest. Perhaps, we cannot pay for a fleet of these ships, but there is something else we can gain from this and a way we can turn it to our advantage."
Her mouth opens with surprise as the realization dawns on her, "You're going to ask Torsten for something, aren't you?"
A wide smile breaks onto Ulfric's face. "Maybe we are."
She doesn't miss the emphasis on the word and his inclusion of her. "But what is it? I don't remember us talking about any plans."
"All will be revealed later, my heart. For now, trust me and follow my lead." He winks at her before strolling casually after Torsten.
Not for the first time, Dahlia wonders at her husband and how he gets any sleep at night for all of the thinking he does: Ulfric Stormcloak, ever the strategist, is always one step ahead, and now is not an exception.
"...and how much can these ships move?"
Torsten turns around to see them entering the room and stops mid-sentence in of his explanation of the extra storage in the galley. Apparently, he hadn't noticed that they weren't behind him. "Cargo? This is built to be a war ship, sir."
"I am well aware of that fact. Thank you, Lord Cruel-Sea." The Jarl states in measured tones. "How long does it take to build a ship like this?"
Taken aback at the sudden change of topic, Torsten scrambles to reorient himself in the conversation. "Well, this particular ship was built in the course of around 9 months...but if you're in the market for some cargo ships, I happen to have two that you might borrow."
Ulfric scratches his beard thoughtfully, as he feigns disinterest in Torsten's offer. This is exactly the reason why he came here, and he won't appear over-eager and reveal his hand. "That is a very generous offer, Torsten. I suppose I might be able to find some use for them. But, I also thought I might commission some of these war ships. However, I would need crews to man them, and not only that, but I would also need someone to command them. You see, all of that will get pretty expensive quickly. I am not sure that is in Windhelm's budget at the moment."
Torsten's eyes light up, and he jumps at the opportunity just as Ulfric had assumed. "Sir, if a Navy is what you want, I would be glad to gather able-bodied men and women and lead them myself." He stops and bows slightly to the Jarl. "Of course, if you would allow it."
Ulfric pushes back his shoulders and places his hands behind his back as he paces to one of the ship's windows. "Hmm, that is a tempting offer. I am concerned about the funding for these ships, however." He turns his head towards Dahlia, a serious look in his eyes-Follow my lead. "I would be remiss if I did not ask my wife of her opinion. What do you think?"
She inhales deeply, "Well, we have the other Holds to think of and their requests for assistance, as well as making sure Eastmarch has plenty of resources." Dahlia looks down to inspect her fingernails as if uninterested in the conversation. "I suppose we might be able to find some money for a few ships..."
"...but nothing big enough for a full Navy." Ulfric finishes for her. "Just as I thought."
They do not have to wait for long for Lord Cruel-Sea to take the bait. "Oh, but of course, my lord and lady. One could not expect so much after what Skyrim has been through and your valiant efforts to lead our country into freedom. Perhaps, just a few ships to lead the ones we already have if you'd be willing to donate to the efforts to build them."
Ulfric walks over to Torsten and claps a hand on his back enthusiastically. "Excellent. Then it is settled. You will lend me a few cargo ships, then?"
"Yes, yes. Absolutely. Anything that you need, my Jarl."
"In that case, I could think of no better man to lead a Stormcloak Navy than you, Lord Cruel-Sea. We will need a bit of time to move some septims around, but then I will make sure that funds are allocated for a few of these war ships." He nods to Dahlia, and his hand drops from the new Navy general's back. "If you'll excuse us, we have a few other things to attend to before retiring to the Palace."
"I understand completely. Both of you must be very busy." He bows hastily. "Thank you, Lord Ulfric. I will make sure your faith in me is not misplaced."
"I am sure it will not be." Ulfric gives him a stormy look, the barest hints of a threat therein, before offering his arm to Dahlia so they can make their way off the ship.
Once they are back on the dock, Dahlia trips, and it is a good thing that her husband has taken her hand, or she would have went sailing into the White River. She had grown accustomed to the rocking of the ship, and the sudden stillness of solid land caused her to lose her footing.
"Careful." Ulfric holds onto her tightly as he helps to right her.
"Talos," she breathes in a relieved sigh. "I didn't expect that."
"Most don't." He smiles. "It's something that you have to get used to."
Dahlia shakes her head. "I am not sure I want to."
"Then, I don't have to worry about you running after a Navy man?" He jokes as they slowly start their walk down the docks.
"No, that is not even remotely tempting to me." She laughs and as soon as she is certain they are out of earshot, Dahlia playfully slaps Ulfric on the arm. "You were always planning on doing that, weren't you?"
"A good politician knows when to leverage something to their advantage in a negotiation. I gain the cargo ships I want, and we also get a few war vessels as well as someone to command them." A sly smile crosses his lips. "Best of all, Lord Cruel-Sea is none the wiser of my intentions. The key is to make it look like you're doing them a favor."
"Remind me to never get on your bad side." Dahlia chuckles.
"You could never." He brings one of her hands up to his lips to place a kiss to the back of it.
With the remaining light left in the day, Ulfric and Dahlia spend the rest of the evening walking through the lower section of the city and talking with the ship owners, merchants, and workers there to survey how trade has been flowing, and to take stock of what supplies they have and what they may need. There is a lack of funding all around, and what they have, they will need to spend wisely.
However, Ulfric does not regret telling Torsten that he will build him his ships. It will serve for his plan eventually. Over the last couple of days, he has spent most of his nights wide awake or up late in his office trying to think of how he will beat Elisif and Balgruuf at their own game...and he thinks he has a plan. One he is sure Dahlia will like, and that he will be letting her know the details of shortly. Perhaps over dinner. She had mentioned earlier that she wanted to talk to him about something as well.
Ulfric's eyes wander over to his wife of their own accord, just as they always do: as if she were somehow the moon commanding his tides and pulling him up to safer shores. Warm softness, much like candlelight, shines through his stormy irises, and when Dahlia looks just in time to catch it, a pleasant heat rushes through her.
There is only one possible interpretation for the expression; it is unmistakable.
"What?" She asks.
"How would you like to get dinner, and we can talk?"
A smile slowly slides its way onto her lips. "I had thought you would never ask, and perhaps you can stay in our bed instead of sneaking off to your office afterwards."
"I had an idea a few days after our talk with Rikke." Ulfric tells Dahlia as he serves her a piece of roasted goose from the platter in front of them. "She actually had some good ideas for once."
While he had suggested that they dine at the Gnisis like old times, she suggested their rooms for more privacy. Perhaps they can go back to make an appearance another day.
Dahlia leans forward on her elbow and reaches out for her goblet of wine. "And what exactly is this master plan of yours, Ulfric."
The corner of his lips twitch up into slight smile as he cuts into his dinner. "Well, you saw that I wanted some ships..."
"So, naturally you want to move something, no?"
"Mmhmm," he nods as he chews on a piece of the roasted bird. He'll have to give Narile a raise. The meat is tender and not burnt for once. Sifnar has been a loyal cook, but his age is starting to show.
"But what are we going to move?" Dahlia muses out loud as she pushes her own food around her plate. Tiny butterflies dance around in her stomach tying it in knots, and if she were to eat anything, she is half certain it would make a reappearance. While she is happy to be here for their talk, she is nervous about what he will say once it becomes her turn. "Supplies?"
"But to where?" He prompts her further as he leans closer to her. "Where could we benefit from this the most?"
Her brain whirs as she thinks about the possibilities. "There is still a lot of damage to repair in some of the Holds. From what I have seen of the reports, Whiterun and Solitude are mostly back to normal, but Hjaalmarch and Morthal are struggling..."
"But we have already sent them funds." Ulfric says as he drains the wine from his cup.
If it isn't one of the minor Holds, where could Ulfric possible see an opportunity to move anything?
"Then, it would have to be somewhere else...somewhere new, perhaps? Somewhere..."
It hits her, and her eyes widen as Ulfric smiles at her. He knew she'd get there eventually.
"You're thinking about building something or other re-building something: Helgen. That's it, isn't it?"
"That's exactly what we are going to do."
"But that's going to require more supplies and work than we have! If it was difficult to send funds to some of the smaller Holds, how are we going to manage this?"
Ulfric pours them both another class of wine and leans back into his chair. "We're going to get sponsors from other Holds, like Riften. Actually, I was thinking we might make a trip to visit Jarl Laila. We're going to need Lake Honrich for this plan to work. We can send supplies like stone from the quarries here up the White River and into the Darkwater. From there we can pick up timber from Riften and from Lake Honrich travel up the Treva into Ivarstead. That will get the supplies closer to Helgen so that we require less time and man power."
Never in a million years would Dahlia have ever thought of such a plan.
"But how are we going to convince Jarl Laila to help us?"
"I think I can be pretty persuasive, don't you think?" He smiles teasingly at her as he draws back his shoulders proudly, and she can't help but laugh.
"Of course, dear. You're the most persuasive man I know. You could talk a saber cat out of its pelt." Having decided to give up the charade of trying to eat, she pushes her plate back entirely. "The idea is sure to be popular. While Helgen was in a sorry state when we left, I know that at least some of the structures are still standing. And I am sure there are people who lost their homes to the war or to the dragons who would be happy to repopulate the city along with what remains of the survivors. It's a very smart move."
"I think it will be enough to sway many of the citizens and bring a couple of the Jarls into our favor, especially since Jarl Idgrod on in Mortal decided to stay. And I am also certain that we can get a vote from Vignar, but he won't put our name forth if Whiterun is to be the site of the Moot. The host is supposed to remain neutral until the time of the vote." Ulfric sighs. "That's also probably why Elisif and Balgruuf pushed to have it there instead of Solitude. Vignar is our strongest supporter."
"Still no word about the Moot then?" Dahlia asks.
"No," he shakes his head, "although I do not expect to hear anything more about that for at least another couple of weeks, but we'll need to prepare accordingly. Maybe we can also talk to Jarl Laila about that when we make the trip South." His brows furrow in thought, and he frowns. "Enough of that, you told me that you had something that you wanted to talk about? What is it, love?"
Dahlia's foot begins to bounce with nervousness. She had hoped to keep him talking about other things for a while longer, at least until she gathered a bit more strength. It isn't that what she wants to talk about is bad news-perhaps even quite the contrary. However, breaching such a delicate subject puts her on edge. Instead of immediately telling him about what she has been thinking about, she takes a piece of bread from the middle of the table and starts to chew on it. It is ash in her mouth and without any sort of flavor whatsoever, but it serves its purpose in buying her some more time to think about how she wants to start.
Ulfric is not fooled so easily. Sensing her nerves, he gets up from the table and motions for Dahlia to follow him to the two chairs sitting in front of the hearth where a fire is crackling warmly in the grate.
Once they are both settled in their chairs, Dahlia stares pointedly into the fire, avoiding Ulfric's gaze-which she can feel like tongues of flame on the side of her face. She knows he won't push her, but that doesn't mean he won't try to coax it out of her. She sighs.
What is she so afraid of? Rejection?
"I have been thinking lately..."
He reaches a hand out to hers, lacing his fingers through her own in an attempt to encourage her. "What have you been thinking about?"
She looks from the fire to his face, watching the light and shadow play across it. It brings the sharp scars on his left side into relief as well as the wrinkles beginning to line his face. She shakes her head at herself. It isn't fair to make him wait. Not for what she has to say, and not for...
"I had a nice conversation with Lydia earlier which made me come to a few realizations."
"I'm glad to hear that. I know you had missed her." He rubs the back of her hand with his thumb.
She smiles at him, slow and warm, and the raging swarm of butterflies in her stomach starts to settle. Why is she so afraid? He wouldn't reject her. No, it's something else. "Yes, we had a good time together, and she helped me a lot. Not that you don't."
"Of course, and speaking to a trusted friend is sometimes necessary. While Galmar might be thick-headed at times, he has helped me through more than one difficult situation."
"Exactly." Dahlia squeezes his fingers. "And I told her about," she lowers her voice into a whisper, "what happened to..."
And in that hesitation is where it hits her. That is her fear: failure. She doesn't want to disappoint him again.
"We don't have to talk about that if you won't want to." Ulfric gets up from his chair to kneel before her, his eyes full of sincerity.
She shakes her head again. "No, I have something important that I want to tell you, and I have waited too long." She leans down to cup his cheeks in her hands and swallows thickly. "I think I am ready to try again. We should try again."
Quickly after her confession, she tries to drop her hands from his face as if holding them there any longer would burn her, but he is faster.
Ulfric takes her hands and presses them closer to his skin as he closes his eyes to processes what she is telling him. When his eyes open to her, they are a glassy blue, deep yet transparent, as they tell her exactly what he feels about this information: unfiltered joy. "Do you really mean that?"
Words seem to fail her, and the only thing she can muster is an enthusiastic nod of her head with a smile, and he reaches up abruptly to kiss her deeply.
He remembers at the very beginning of their relationship, where he laid everything out bare to her. Someday, if they were to be together, he would require an heir. That was a simple fact. However, now that he is faced with something he did not ever think that he would have: love and acceptance, it doesn't feel like facts and duty but rather like want and need. He can have it all or at least all he needs: a family.
Soon, Dahlia doesn't feel the leather of the chair underneath her as Ulfric picks her up and carries her to their bed, not stopping for one moment from showering her with kisses: to her lips, her neck, her collarbones. He rains affection down on her sweetly in a deluge of happiness, and it is contagious. The downpour soaked both of them through as she returns the same emotion to him with her own flood of kisses to any and everywhere she can reach.
Who would have thought after so many storms that there might be happiness for them?