"When was the last time you were out like this in public?" Dahlia turns to Ulfric as her traveling boots splash in an suspicious puddle of liquid in the middle of Riften's street.

As they walk through the murky city, the smell of rotting fish, refuse, and something strangely sweet yet herbal, assails their noses. All of this is a reminder to Dahlia as to why she doesn't frequent this place more than she has absolutely to.

She sighs as her foot falls into yet another puddle, and she seriously contemplates why she agreed to leave Windhelm to begin with. The things she does for love.

However, the one thing she can say for the city is that it certainly has a lot of personality. The further they get from the entrance, the livelier the population becomes, and while most leave them to their own business, there are still some passersby whose eyes follow the well-dressed couple as they make their way into the main square.

Ladies and gentlemen alike call out to them both, trying to entice them in with the promise of a pleasurable evening in the red district as they pass Haelga's Bunkhouse and Dahlia's face turns a bright snowberry red as she shivers at their offerings.

She pretends she doesn't hear them and turns her head from their gaudily painted faces.

"It's been a while since I have visited the other Holds on political business." Ulfric finally answers with a quirk of his lips. His wife's response to the "ladies of the night" is entertaining to him, and he wonders how he might tease her about that.

Eventually, he is drawn from his musings and his wife is spared-for now at least-when they dump out into the marketplace. If possible, even more people are gathered around the shops found there. Too many tables with mysterious baubles and trinkets spilling from their edges line the space as merchants and traders of every race pawn their wares. As Dahlia looks around the offerings, she spots Brynjolf peddling his usual dubious wares.

What in Oblivion even is Falmer Blood Elixir anyway?

She gives him a wide berth, pulling Ulfric with her, while they circle around the market instead of going directly through it. However, despite circumventing the busiest parts, their way forward is still full of entirely too many people to move comfortably. Marketgoers crash into them with big baskets full of fruits and vegetables, and dockworkers interrupt their path as they move their materials up and down the rotting planks of the stairs leading to and from the Ratways. Each step forward feels more and more crowded, as the space available seems to gradually become less and less. But perhaps that is just her anxiety talking.

As they finally reach the end of the wooden walkway, Dahlia spots something-or rather someone-which makes her heart stop: her father and his new family.

Cold fingers claw their way through her chest to grip her heart, making it skip a beat as she comes to a stop. She had hoped to avoid him entirely on this trip and had no plans whatsoever of even trying to take Ulfric to visit him. Darrin Wintersnow has burnt too much bridges for his daughter to try to repair them.

"Dahlia, is something the matter?" Ulfric looks at her in concern before following her gaze and frowning. He has never seen the man in person before, but even from the short distance they are standing from him, he can see the resemblance: they have the same basic profile and dark hair.

She hears Ulfric's voice, but the sound is drowned out by the swirling thoughts circulating within her and the churning pain settled low in her stomach: Why didn't he bother to come to her wedding? Why didn't he answer almost any of her letters? And most importantly, what did she do to have him spurn her so? While things were not always great between them when she was a child, he did teach her some of the most valuable skills she has.

Her eyes track his movements as they walk towards the marketplace, Unknowingly, her fists clench around Ulfric's hand in hers as she tries to control her shaking.

"That is-" She starts but doesn't finish the statement. If there was one thing her mother taught her, it was if she cannot offer up anything decent, it is best to keep one's tongue still, so she bites hers so hard it bleeds.

Ulfric places a comforting hand on her shoulder as he starts to tug her forward lightly. "I know. You don't have to say anything, and we can just ignore him."

However, that choice is taken away from them as one of her father's stepchildren tug on his shirt and points to them. She and Ulfric are not exactly discreet nor are they unrecognizable. Although many in Riften prefer to keep a low profile and mind their own business, she has felt the eyes on the back of her head. Their presence has been noticed if not acknowledged.

As her father walks closer to her with his family in tow, she can see the all-too-polite smile plastered on his face, the corners of his wrinkled lips tugged into the fake emotion. He can keep it and so can his new wife, whose face mirrors his own, except where her father seems reluctant, hers seems all too eager to meet them. Probably because she will attempt to gain some favor from her "stepdaughter." The word causes her to feel nauseous.

"Dahlia, it's so nice to see you." Her father nods and holds out a hand to her.

She leaves her father's hand hanging in the air as tension gathers between them.

Not to be deterred so easily, he makes a second attempt."You've grown a lot since I have seen you last. What has it been...a decade now?"

Ulfric clears his throat. "It would be customary for you to bow when addressing a Jarl and his wife." While his voice is even in tone, entirely polite, his eyes are hard and narrowed. He will not give on this, and they will receive-Dahlia will receive-the respect she deserves.

"Of course, where are my husband's manners." She at least has the grace to bow.
I am Tala Wintersnow."

Dahlia flinches at the use of her maiden name. She is no blood of hers.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, and this is my wife, Dahlia Stormcloak." He places particular emphasis on her new last name, laying his claim to her and distinguishing that she is no longer a part of their clan. "And if you will excuse us, we have important business to attend to at Mistveil Keep."

"Oh, but we have so much to talk about and catch up on. I actually had meant to send a letter to ask you about a few things relating to expanding our lands. You must accept an invitation to tea. Darrin and I would love to have you in the house, and the children would love to meet their stepsister-"

"As my husband has stated, we unfortunately do not have the time." Dahlia's voice cuts sharply through Talia's. While she would be considered rude under normal circumstances, she doesn't care. That is not her family. Her only family is in Eastmarch now, and she doesn't require anyone else.

Instead of bidding them goodbye, she only nods her head faintly at her father and his family and begins to walk away. She feels as if she could vomit onto the floor at any moment and doesn't want to spend another second in Darrin's presence. However, her father's hand reaches out to grab onto her arm before she can walk away.

"That isn't very polite, Dahlia. We're only trying-"

It happens quickly: Ulfric steps forward into Darrin's personal space, one hand reaches to the handle of his war axe, and the other touches the nape of Dahlia's neck. When Darrin's eyes meet the Jarl's, Ulfric's glint dangerously, a promise of violence in them. He will not spare him his hot temper, especially when he knows personally of the damage her father has been causing his wife lately. Like Oblivion they couldn't make it to the wedding. More like they didn't see it as convenient.

"You will unhand my wife immediately, or there will be dire consequences." His voice rumbles low with the unspoken threat.

Her father swallows as he makes a feeble attempt to stand up to Ulfric, but soon Darrin is forced to back down. Despite her father being the older man, Ulfric far outranks him now both in terms of political standing and in kinship with Dahlia.

"Perhaps, another time then." Darrin states flatly.

"Perhaps." Ulfric echoes him with a satisfied smirk before turning to his wife. "Let's go, my heart. I am sure Jarl Laila is waiting for us, and it would be rude to keep her waiting."

"What is this whole thing about, Ulfric? If you want an endorsement for the Moot, you know I can't give that to you without a reason. While I support you and the Dragonborn whole-heartedly, the rest of the Jarls would have my head if I just handed it over to you. I'd be accused of nepotism."

Jarl Laila graciously had her staff prepare a feast to accompany their chat. Perhaps she suspected that good food and flowing spirits would lessen Ulfric's displeasure at her outright refusal to give him a nomination for the Moot. Either way, the Jarl of Windhelm is, for once, biding his time patiently as he lays out his ideas carefully for Laila.

"I think I have a plan which would benefit all of us." Ulfric states as he picks up a cup of Black-Briar Reserve. He sniffs at it thoughtfully before putting it back down in favor of regular Nord mead. He wouldn't be caught dead drinking anything that backstabbing Imperial sympathizer produced even while she is currently rotting away in a jail cell.

"And that would be?" Laila has known Ulfric for a long time and is aware of his love of the dramatic. He won't tell her anything if she doesn't prompt him further. Some call it charming-she thinks it's irritating.

"We would like to rebuild Helgen." He states with perfectly-practiced nonchalance. He doesn't even offer up any additional details. That will all come in good time, and this is just another day at work for him.

Laila's eyes widen, and she lays her utensils on the table, forgetting her meal. This is not at all what she had expected from him. "Rebuild Helgen? How are you doing to manage that? Especially with all the septims it will take to rebuild what was lost in the Civil War and what will eventually come with-"

"You misunderstand me, Laila. We are going to rebuild Helgen. Together."

Dahlia pats a cloth napkin to her lips before taking a sip of her watered-down wine. "That's what I told him when he first told me what he was thinking of doing." She laughs and throws Ulfric a teasing smile. "I still have some trinkets and treasures stashed away from when I was crawling through Nordic ruins on my quest to defeat Alduin. I believe that should at least get things started."

Ulfric nods for her to continue. They practiced this all the way to Riften during their journey. She knows what part she plays here. After all, she was the one who had the idea in the first place.

Dahlia leans forward on one elbow, taking a relaxed position-as if she were talking to a friend and not the governor of one of Skyrim's Holds. "This won't only benefit us, but rather the whole of the country. The first part of our plan is to move supplies to Riften and through Lake Honrich. It will bring tradesmen and skilled workers through the city, and perhaps we might even be able to spare some of the labor to fix up the Docks. Maybe get them running again at full capacity?"

"I'm listening." Laila chews on the lip in thought. She isn't as dumb as people would believe her to be, and she doesn't follow anyone blindly; however, she can see where they're going with this. And what they're going to want in return. It's actually a brilliant plan.

"Rebuilding Helgen would not only bring in those workers, but also reestablish lost trade routes." Ulfric finishes. "It would make the Rift a more desirable location to live in and work from. Not only that, but it would also provide new homes for those who have been affected by the dragon attacks or lost their properties and lands. It's about hope. Skyrim will be rebuilt from the ashes, and a new dawn is upon us. Don't you wish to be a part of that?"

It doesn't escape Laila that those ashes are partially of his own creation, but she bites her tongue. It wouldn't be wise to bring that up now no matter how true that statement is. "And I suppose in return for all of this, you get an endorsement for the Moot?"

Ulfric leans back in his chair, his face sculpted into careful neutrality. "If that is what you think, we would gladly accept."

And just like that, Laila has been caught in their plan. What is she going to tell them? No? She looks between the two of them, impressed with what they have accomplished together in such a short time. Perhaps she should let the rest of her reservations go.

Turning her head to the Dragonborn, Laila takes the measure of her. If there would be anyone that could temper Ulfric's bearlike fire, it would be a dragon, of course. As much as she has heard of the legends, rumors, and myths surrounding the Dragonborn, she has not had the pleasure of meeting her face-to-face until now.

At a first glance, she appears unassuming. Dressed in a deep azure velvet, she would seem to be as any other wife of any other Jarl: polished, pampered, and privileged. However, there is a sharpness behind her gaze, glinting steel and modest intelligence. It hides underneath her exterior, making her seem wholly ordinary-disarming even, which is probably their intention. Ulfric is the sword; Dahlia is the honey. Perhaps, they would make good rulers for Skyrim after all. At the very least, they would be better than Elisif.

It appears her decision has been made for her.

Riften's Jarl turns to her steward, motioning her forward with wave. "Fetch me some parchment and a quill. It would seem that I have some urgent letters to write." She sighs before turning back to the pair. "You should have married her sooner, Ulfric. She suits you."

"Thank you, Laila. I am inclined to agree with you." Ulfric takes his wife's hand in his with a smile. "If you agree, we should make plans to see Helgen as soon as possible. We will need survey what needs to be done and what materials will be required. There may also be some bandits which need to be cleared from what's left of the Keep."

"While I would love nothing more than to go with you both, I have no experience in battle, so I would be a hinderance more than anything. However, you go with my backing, and rest with certainty that I will send out letters to the other Jarls immediately."

As if proving her point, the steward returns with paper, and she immediately begins scratching away at it. If nothing else, she is a woman of her word. That's one of the reasons why she and Ulfric have always gotten along over the years. However, they will need more allies like her in their corner if they are to be successful at the Moot.

"We thank you kindly for your support. Please know that your faith is well-placed." Dahlia adds while trying to stifle a yawn.

Despite the fact that the trip from Windhelm was relatively calm, the dinner and conversation took them all evening. Between the necessary pleasantries and calculated questions, they have spent a good few hours in discussion and debate, and she is tired.

"As you are honored guests, you are both more than welcome to spend the night in one of the Mistveil's spare rooms. I insist, actually. The hour is late, and while much has been done about the Thieves Guild recently, there are still plenty of unsavory characters who roam the city's streets at night."

Dahlia flushes red, embarrassed at being caught in her fatigue. "It isn't that I do not enjoy the current company, but-"

Laila doesn't look up from scratching on the parchment in front of her. "You and Ulfric have had a long journey, and an even longer one before you to Helgen. This is to be expected. Do not worry about it Dahlia."

"In that case, we could not imagine saying no to your generous hospitality." Ulfric stands from his seat, and reaches a hand out to help Dahlia out of hers. "We will be retiring for the night as we will be leaving early for Helgen."

"Very well, Jarl Ulfric. I wish you well on your journey. Please be sure to keep me updated with your plans." She nods to them both cordially. "My steward will show you the way to your room."

While the road to Helgen is well-maintained and still in good use, the milder conditions on the Southern road in Skyrim makes the way difficult for Ulfric and Dahlia. The warmer temperatures have turned snow into rain which make the paving stones slick and dangerous to traverse at any decent speed. Pools of rain and mud also begin to wash their way over the pathways, sticking like a thick paste to the bottoms of their horses' shoes. However, they must continue forward. It is the only way.

Determination beats like the pattering rain over Dahlia's water-drenched cloak, and every time Ulfric asks her if she wants to stop to rest, she only shakes her head no. If he can continue on like this, so can she. This must be done and quickly if they are to make a fighting chance at the Moot. Should they fail, it will not be because she is some princess stuck in the mud. She will only bring glory and honor to house.

So, they ride through the storm over the many bridges and forking pathways laden with water until it is near dusk. Between the heavy rains and the sinking sun, they cannot see two feet in front of their faces. There is no choice now but to stop for the night.

"If we are lucky, we might find a cave where we can stay in for the night and perhaps stay at least partially dry." Ulfric casts a glance over to Dahlia's half-shadowed figure. The magelight floating warmly over her head is the only reason they have been able to get this far.

His wife nods as she strains to look out across the trees. "That's a solid guess, and if nothing else, the forest will at least cover us more than the open roads."

They both dismount from their horses and begin to lead them into the trees. At this point, with the weather conditions as they are, staying on the animals' backs is more likely to bring them harm than taking their chances by walking. Forward into the murky unknown is the only way for them to continue on despite the potential danger.

Neither of them can hear the sloshing of their feet over the sounds of the storm as it drives down into the sodden ground underfoot. Carefully, they trudge onward towards the darkened outline of the Jerral mountains in front of them, hoping that they are not ambushed by any large animals unfortunate enough to be caught in the inclement weather as they do so. While the ambient noises are good at hiding their own smell and sound, it is also good at disguising any potential threat hiding in wait.

After what feels like entirely too long, Dahlia signals Ulfric with her magelight. A large crack in the imposing mountain stone in front of her is just big enough for them to squeeze through and opens up into a small yet comfortable space for them to camp out for the night.

Laas Yah.

Despite having to fight to be heard over the the din of the storm, the Shout does as it is intended. The aura whisper reveals to her that the cave is uninhabited by anything bigger than some harmless salamanders and insects.

"What was that?" Ulfric asks her.

"You could hear that? I can barely hear you, and you're nearly shouting at me now." She responds as she makes her way into the cavern's opening.

"Well, not exactly, but I could feel the vibrations of your thu'um." The hairs of his beard tickle her ear as he answers her as they finally make their way into the main chamber of their shelter for the night.

"Aura whisper. It's a sort of detect life spell which reveals enemies and foes alike to me for a short while. It's one of the more useful Shouts that I know and has saved my life on more than one occasion."

"Hmm, I can imagine." He states as he starts gathering kindling, twigs, and branches and starts a fire.

"You know, I could and probably should teach you some of these Shouts." Dahlia muses as she continues to check the walls of the cave for any signs of life.

More than once she had thought of teaching him some of the more useful things she knows about the thu'um, but there was just never a good moment for her to do so. In particular, it would make her sleep better at night if she could at least teach him the first in the series of the ethereal Shouts. While she can see him being reluctant to use it, at least it would give him something with which to protect himself.

Perhaps, it is selfish, but she'd like to keep him around for as long as possible.

"Come here Ulfric." Dahlia turns from her inspection of the walls, having found nothing of interest there, and motions for him to join her in sitting on the cave's mostly-dry floor.

He cocks a brow at her but does as she asks. "Should I call you master now?"

"Only if you would like." She quips with a smile. "Focus, Ulfric. I want to teach you something that important."

"While I appreciate the gesture, it's been quite a while since I have tried meditation, and either way, it would take me months if not years to master any new Shouts, love."

"That's because you haven't tried to learn from the Dragonborn. I am no hermit on the top of a far-off mountain. I am, in some ways, a dragon, and this is my native language. Perhaps, you'll even find that you like my teachings more than those boring old men."

She knows what he is doing in trying to warn her off of teaching him anything, but she will not have it. If she has the power to give him the gift of protection, she will not hesitate to give it.

"Then, I suppose I am ready and willing to try, Master Dahlia." Ulfric smiles at her as she recasts her magelight in order to keep the space lit.

Dahlia doesn't look at him. She already knows that looking at him will distract her from her focus. "Breathe in and out, Ulfric, just as Arngeir taught you. Focus on somewhere that keeps you calm-connects you with the ground beneath you as you relax your muscles."

He inhales deeply through his nose, pushing steady breaths out past his lips as he concentrates on anything on Nirn that could possibly keep him calm at a time like this-where he can feel his wife's knees so close that they barely graze his own. Her body soft and warm next to him. His hand in hers as they sit next to each other in comfortable silence. In and out. Air fills and empties from his lungs as he thinks of his wife. The first place he truly felt accepted and understood. The first person he can truly feel at peace with. His new home.

Sooner than he thought, he finds himself in a state of calm as his thoughts drift to her, bringing him an easy kind of tranquility he has not been able to feel in years.

"Good," Dahlia whispers quietly. "Now, I want you to focus only on that as you relax your muscles. Think of it as if you were untethering yourself from your body as it fades away. Your entire focus is on your sense of self-your spirit."

His sense of self? Who even is he anymore? He thinks about disconnecting himself from the sensations of his body underneath him as he instead focuses on her voice as she coaches him through this strange new meditation.

When he was on High Hrothgar as a boy, Arngeir would only tell him a word of power, and he would focus on untangling the meaning of the word in translations as he contemplated it. This was back in a time when he was still young and full of hope, a time before the burdens of the Great War and what came with it. A time before his anger and self-righteousness had gotten a hold of him and caused him to act to violently. Is that what makes him him? He shakes his head. It has to be more than that. The things he has been through-he shivers as he remembers and abruptly pushes thoughts of that damnable elf woman aside. Instead he draws on another memory. It may be that he is angry, but it is well-placed. Perhaps then, it is his determination and love for Skyrim which makes him who he is. His passions have always run deeply.

Despite the fact that he puts on this façade of unmovable temper, he feels and deeply. Sure, it may be that he wants to be the High King, as he thinks he could do a much better job of it, but it is all based on wanting what is best for his home-and for his family. Dahlia casually floats through his mind again as he thinks of her.

"You're thinking too much, Ulfric." His wife's voice calls out to him.

Of course, she would know him better than that.

He feels her body shift as she leans forward to whisper in his ear. "Everything you were just thinking about? Let go. Feim. Let it fade away as you float through the cosmic rivers of the universe. None of that matters. You are unburdened by your troubles and your sorrows. Feim. The only responsibility you hold is to yourself." She reaches out to place a hand on his chest.

Feim.

He feels the thu'um rumble from her lips and down his chest as he understands the meaning. Vaguely, he tastes the freedom of the word-the lightness of it as he focuses only on his breath and on her. He no longer feels the scratching of the dirt underneath his body, no longer hears the rain pouring down outside. Then, he carefully forms his lips around the sounds he heard from Dahlia.

Feim.

He lets go as his own thu'um looses as nothing more than a whisper in the cave.

And then there is nothing. He feels nothing.

Ulfric sighs heavily. He has failed in his wife's lesson just as he suspected he would.

However, as he looks down at himself, he sees that his body has become translucent. Curiously, he wiggles the ghostly fingers of his right hand as he tries to reach out and tap Dahlia on the knee to show her he was successful.

Only his fingertips pass right through her.

Oh.

Suddenly, her lesson makes much more sense to him. Feim is a type of fading. He is here in spirit but not in body.

The sensation doesn't last much longer before color and feeling return to him, and he tries tapping Dahlia on the knee again; this time finding himself to be solid.

When she opens her eyes to him, Ulfric's face is inches from her own-his blonde hair plastered to his face, water sliding slowly down his cheekbones and then splattering over the rest of his dripping clothing. She wasn't expecting to see him this close to her.

"You are a very good teacher." A small smile works its way across his face as one of his large hands comes up to push back the soaked strands from his eyes. Soon thereafter, he slowly pulls his ruined tunic over his head and lays it out in front of him by the fire to dry.

Light and shadows dance softly over his face, painting his normally sharp features with a delicate glow. As Dahlia looks back at him, she cannot help but return his smile and appreciate the rare moment of stillness between them. And her eyes cannot resist following the last rivulets of water running down his chest. They wander freely over him-in one part checking the prominent scar over where his heart would lie and in the other shamelessly exploring the muscles now exposed to her.

"Would you like me to help you out of your clothes so they can dry as well?" He asks.

While the question is posed using the purest of tones, Dahlia knows him better than that. His intentions are most likely anything but.

However, he does not give her the opportunity to answer him. Instead, Ulfric leans forward, kissing his wife's rain-glazed lips softly as he takes the edges of her tunic to pull it over her head.

What should be a quick and uncomplicated process is agonizingly slow. His fingers graze teasingly over her newly-exposed skin, tracing lazy patterns over her stomach.

"I cannot wait for the days when I can watch your belly swell with our child." He whispers as his lips ghost over her own.

The corners of her mouth lift into a small smile as heat pools low in her body. "If I am honest-"

"Always be honest with me." His voice is warm honey in her ears while his hands explore her further, wandering a scorching path down to her waist to bring her closer to him.

"Neither can I." She admits.

"Should we continue trying then?"

Dahlia doesn't respond to his question, but rather draws his lips back in to hers-kissing him once, twice, three times with a slow sweetness that makes her stomach flip violently. With each touch of their lips, their bodies steadily get closer to the other. Her own tongue coaxes his mouth to open for her as their tongues massage the other, tasting the last remnants of rain and thu'um from the other's lips. Skin caresses skin as their bodies are pulled flush together, warming them from the inside out. Hands wind their way into hair, tugging lightly as they tangle into the wet locks of blonde.

She moves erratically as if her fingertips cannot decide which part of him she wants to touch, embrace, and cherish first. Eventually, they find their way to his face, her hands brushing against his cheekbones with feather-light strokes. Briefly, she pushes his face back so she can look at him before desperately diving in again.

Ulfric takes her hands in his own, quieting their movements as he lays her back on the single bedroll they brought with them. After all, why would they need more than one when they can share?

"You know, you will make the most beautiful mother." He says as lays his body carefully against her own.

Red blooms into her face and rushes down her body. Between the words he whispers in her ears, the smell of his rain-washed skin against hers, and the heat of his body, she feels as if she is going to burst into flames.

"Ulfric..." She whispers softly as she touches her lips to his.

"Yes, my heart?"

She reaches out to cup one of his cheeks with a hand. "I love you very much, and I hope you know that."

"And I you."

Slowly, he leans down to claim her body as his own, the flesh beneath his fingers becoming warm clay under his touch as she molds to him. It is perfect in every way; she is perfect to him in every way, and he will show her exactly how much he feels for her.

As they tangle together, their fingertips explore each other with tentative yet worshipful touches. Along with pleasure, adoration and love spread through their bodies, and from underneath Ulfric, Dahlia cries out softly for him as she returns his love in kind. She does not only receive, but gives in turn. At every stroke, she meets him in the middle.

While her hands wash over every inch of his skin, praises for him spill from her lips like the rain falling outside their temporary shelter.

And when they have both had their fill of each other, sated and spent from their joining, they spend the rest of the night together in their single bedroll.

Helgen will wait for them tomorrow.