The next days slowly trickle into weeks, and as the frosts set in, they reach out with their spindly fingers to permanently freeze the grounds surrounding Windhelm. However, even as the temperatures fall, time steadily marches forward. It is the one thing that the biting Winters of Eastmarch cannot detain with their unrelenting chill. As such, none but the strongest and most determined survive as each living thing finds its own way to continue growing in any way that it can. The only other option is to be snuffed out, buried under the cold snow drifts to perish bitterly without a trace. Truly thriving in these climates is not for the faint-hearted; it is a conscious choice in defiance of the elements, and time is the most unyielding of them all.
Despite this, Ulfric and Dahlia are far more determined. They will not bend, and they will not bow to anyone.
Since returning to the Palace and resuming their day-to-day responsibilities as the Jarl and Lady of Windhelm, both of them have barely stopped to sleep. Collectively, they have been a flurry of movement between calling council meetings, writing correspondences, and checking on the progress of rebuilding Helgen.
Which brings them to their next duty: dealing with Torsten Cruel-Sea.
While he has proved himself to be a loyal follower, his enthusiasm towards the "navy" Ulfric has promised him is grating on the Jarl's nerves. Day in and day out, he visits the Palace and stands in line graciously with the rest of the petitioners to give him an update on the progress, yet he has not provided the cargo ships he promised them.
"Torsten, please." Ulfric has to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"The hulls are starting to come together and the bases seem to be quite solid. Wherever did you get the red cedar wood? That isn't native-"
The Jarl begins to lift one of his clenched fists from the armrest of his throne, but his wife catches it in her own before it crashes back down into the stone. It would have only hurt him rather than signaling his displeasure to the oblivious Lord.
Dahlia tilts her head slightly to her husband. She understands his frustration-she really does. Every time Cruel-Sea has graced their presence in the Great Hall, she has been there right beside him to listen to the seemingly-endless reports and suffering along with him.
However, this is not one of the times where the Dragonborn is successful in tempering her husband's ire: he has tired of waiting, and his patience has run out.
"Lord Cruel-Sea," Ulfric's voice carries into the back of the room, his tone flat but clearly strained. "I have heard news of these warships every day for the past," he turns to look at Jorleif who blinks.
"Three weeks, my Jarl."
"Three weeks, but yet there has been no answer as to when I might have use of your cargo ships as you have promised. There are supplies waiting in the Docks to be sent to Riften, who has supplied the precious wood you need for your 'navy'. Now, if those supplies are not sent to Jarl Laila, how do you think that is going to look for me?"
Torsten's back stiffens, and his eyes widen, a look of panic clearly in them. "Ulfric-"
"You will address me as Jarl Ulfric as is my title. Despite the fact that I have been more than tolerant of you as of late, you will still treat me with the respect of my standing. We are not the same."
"Jarl Ulfric, many pardons, but those ships are the ones which have been bringing the wood we need to finish these the navy ships. Should I lend them to you now, they'll not get finished until Spring."
The silence which follows Torsten's statement is deafening. There is not a person in the hall that cannot clearly hear the echoing clack of Ulfric's boots on the stone floors as he approaches the sea captain.
"Those ships will be made available to me by tomorrow, or there will be no Cruel-Sea navy. Do I make myself understood, captain?"
The Lord swallows thickly. "Of course, Jarl Ulfric. I will see to it right away. You have my word."
"See that I do." He then lowers his voice so that only Torsten can hear him. "It is not often that I give second chances like this. Understand that I am only doing so because of my wife."
Torsten nods his head slowly. "I understand, and I thank you for your time and patronage." He then bows to Dahlia who inclines her head towards him as he quickly leaves their presence presumably to make arrangements for the cargo ships.
"I'll not be taking any more requests until tomorrow, Jorleif. Please send anyone further seeking my guidance away until then." Ulfric turns to his steward before motioning for Dahlia to follow him out of the room.
"Was that really necessary, Ulfric?" Dahlia asks with a frown as they make their way back to their chambers.
"Do you think he would have stopped otherwise?"
"No, but-"
Ulfric stops and turns to his wife, brows furrowed and showcasing the faint wrinkles on his forehead, as he takes one of her hands in his own. "I know that you have the best intentions, and I appreciate your soft heart. But there are times and places for that, and this is not one of them. We are not tools to be used. We are weapons to be sharpened, and if we do not show our pointed edges, no one will heed our cutting bite."
Dahlia's eyes search his own as she ponders his chosen wisdom. She can see sincerity in them and that he truly believes his heavy-handed directness is the solution to those who will not bend to his will. On one hand, she admires that stubborn conviction about him. It is what has gotten him this far, and she cannot fault him for that. At the same time, however, she cannot help but think that his way is not always the best.
"I understand that, but this is exactly what has many disenchanted with you and your vision."
His lips twitch slightly, but he keeps them from pulling into a frown. "And are you one of them?"
Blunt as ever. Clearly, his tongue does not require a good sharpening. It never does.
"You should more than know the answer to that by now."
"Yet, I would hear you say it.
She exhales slowly through her nose as he is trying her patience; however, she answers him anyway. "Never."
"There are many who would take advantage of you if you do not hold them at arm's length. I do not intend to be the High King to make friends." He lets go of Dahlia's hand and opens the door to their chambers for her. As she passes, he brushes back the hair back from her shoulders and whispers. "You are the only one I can trust. Remember this."
Once they have changed into weather-appropriate clothes, they take their housecarls-who have insisted in accompanying them-to the Docks to check on what exactly needs to be done to continue with their plans for Helgen.
The afternoon is the normal hustle and bustle of bodies moving about their daily business despite the cold. Baskets of fish line the lower streets closest to the entrance to the docks and various fishmongers call out to them to sample their wares, but their small group passes them by without so much as an acknowledgment; feet only move forward trudging through the grey slush of the most recent snowfall. There is work to be done, and there is no time for distraction.
As they walk through the streets, Dahlia keeps a firm hold on her husband's arm, her back straightened and head held high as the midday sun glints off the silver tiara placed upon her brow. If they are on official business, she should look the part. This is true down to her fur-lined velveteen dress and low-heeled boots. There is not a hair out of place. Everything is in order. She looks put together, but on the inside she can't help but wonder if this is how Elisif feels day in and day out with her head held too high in the clouds to see the people she tramples underfoot.
Her eyes quickly glance over to Ulfric, and she see the same: a place for everything and everything in its place. His face is pulled into one of his infamous enigmatic looks, giving away as much as staring at one of Windhelm's stone walls. He is handsome in his new bear cloak, silver-embroidered blue overcoat, and cream dress shirt, but she much prefers him with a smile on his face.
She knows that this is the way of things, and she plays her role well, but that doesn't mean she has to like it.
When they reach the great wooden door to the docks, Galmar and Lydia push them open for the pair as they stride effortlessly down the stairs and onto the boardwalk. Neither of them miss a single step-not even they come face-to-face with an unexpected disturbance. What was supposed to be checking on the readying of supplies for Torsten's ships is turning out to be more of a headache than Ulfric thought. Perhaps they should have stayed in the Palace.
"What is the meaning of this?" He steps forward, puffs of misty air spilling from his mouth as he yells over the din.
A two Argonians, a Khajiit, and three Dark Elves are being held back by their respective kinsmen as many others begin to circle around Torbjorn Shatter-Shield like slaughterfish about to devour their prey.
No one pays Ulfric any mind except Dahlia. She tugs on his shirtsleeves as Lydia and Galmar ready their weapons in case there is to be a fight.
He looks down to her a displeased frown replacing the stoic look from earlier. "What is it, Dahlia?"
She can see his eyes dart about the scene before him as he pulls her closer to him. She isn't even sure he realizes he is doing it, but she allows it. They both know she can more than take care of herself.
"I'm pretty sure I know what this is about."
Ulfric raises a brow as the frown on his face sets in deeper. Why would she know what is amiss here?
Before he can raise the question himself, she supplies him with an answer.
"A few months back, actually before the war had really gotten started, there was a problem on the docks which one of the dockworkers, Scouts-Many-Marshes, brought to my attention."
"Which was?" He asks her impatiently. She can see that the scene is making him uncomfortable.
Dahlia throws him a scolding look, yet answers his ill-tempered question anyway. "Lord Shatter-Shield was paying the Argonian workers only a third of what their labor was worth, yet paid his Nord workers their value and sometimes more. It was not fair nor just, and I helped negotiate a deal between both parties. She raises her own brow to him. "I suspect that the same thing is happening here now. Perhaps, with you getting closer to the title of High King, some of the Nord supremacists believe you'll support them."
"I only separated them all due to their own histories, and I-"
Dahlia places a hand on his shoulder. "You don't need to explain that to me." She points behind her at the angry ring of people who look as if they could tear Torbjorn to pieces at any moment. "You need to tell that to them. This is your opportunity, Ulfric. Show Skyrim you love her. All parts."
He sighs yet there is a glint of pride in his eyes. "You'll make a fine queen."
Ulfric motions to Galmar as he steps forward to bring himself into the throng of people lining the docks. As he pushes himself forward, the onlookers slowly begin to realize that their Jarl has joined them for their afternoon entertainment. They begin to part the way the best they can, but with the cramped space, it is slow for Ulfric to make his way to the middle of the fray.
"What is the meaning of this?" He asks again. This time his voice booms with the faintest traces of the thu'um. "We have just finished tearing brother and sister apart and have come out victorious in the great Civil War, yet here we are like savages fighting against each other in the open. I demand to know the reasoning behind the hostility here."
His eyes search the small band of dockworkers as they struggle to free themselves of their holds. Eyes narrow sharply at him like unfriendly daggers as claws begin to reluctantly retract back into finger pads. Despite the dropping of their arms, it is clear to him that he is a much unwelcome presence-an interruption of their vigilante justice. It is a perfect demonstration to him of how much faith the minorities have in him. Their tongues remain silent yet their eyes say everything. A pity. This will force him into the awkward situation of either asking Torbjorn his perspective or slighting the Lord and asking the crowd. Either way, things will not go smoothly. He is certain of it.
And here he had hoped today would be easy.
Cautiously, he turns his back to the workers and looks to Lord Shatter-Shield. "I'd like to hear your perspective..."
The crowd begins to protest and hiss ominously around him; however, he isn't finished.
Ulfric lifts his head as he makes eye contact with the first row of onlookers. "...and then I would like to hear what you all have to say about this."
"You can't be serious, my Jarl." Torbjorn begins to protest. "You cannot believe a word that comes out of their money-grabbing mouths. They are not like us-"
More shouts erupt from the public in protest of the lord's insult. If the Jarl doesn't get control of the situation soon, a riot will begin.
"Quiet!" Ulfric shouts again, his voice a crack of lighting through the rumbling storm around him. "As if my duty as Jarl, I will hear all perspectives on this issue and pass a fair judgment based on those accounts."
At this announcement, Torbjorn snorts and begins to move closer to Ulfric until he is on the brink of invading his personal space. "I'll spare you the embarrassment of hearing what these lazy beasts have to say, and then this situation will be resolved."
The Jarl frowns as the astringent odor of alcohol hits his nose, and he frowns. He knows that both he and Tova have been taking the death of their daughter hard. He still frequently sees them both in the Temple of Talos, but turning to drink as a coping mechanism is not the answer. It paints a grim picture, and he is afraid that he will have to replace yet another member of his council.
"Thank you for your testament, Torbjorn. Why don't you sit down?" Ulfric offers the swaying man an opportunity to save some of his dignity while he turns to question the others. "What have you seen?"
"First of all," a young Argonian begins, "this Nord has been assaulting the workers here, and second, he's been short in paying us for the past month. We are tired of being treated like second-rate citizens and-"
"Are you really going to believe them over me?" Torbjorn struggles as he points an accusing finger out towards the crowd.
"As I told you once, I will hear what everyone has to say before passing my judgement. Now, sit down. I will not ask you again."
However, the lord does not take kindly to his command, and as Ulfric asks again for testimonies, he inches slowly closer to him.
"What do you think you're playing at? I thought you were a man of the Nords. Skyrim is for the Nords. You're as bad as Free-Winter."
Ulfric's eyes harden dangerously, glinting steel in his gaze, as he places a firm hand on Lord Shatter-Shield's shoulders. "I have given you all the kindness which I can considering the circumstances your family has been through lately. It has been more than generous, and I have even forgiven you for not paying your fair share in taxes."
Torbjorn's eyes widen.
"Yes, I have noticed and so has Jorleif that you have not paid in full."
"That-th-" His face begins to turn a mottled red and purple in anger as he tries to form coherent thoughts. "Whose fucking side are you on-you-you, flaccid milk-drinker?"
Ulfric's eyes flare brightly with anger; however, before he can make a move, Torbjorn unexpectedly pulls back his arm, and it crashes straight into the Jarl's face with a sicking crack.
The crowd gasps as the group of dockworkers looks on with a mixture of shock and horror, and Dahlia desperately tries to push herself through the masses.
Blood trickles down from Ulfric's nose in small crimson rivers. He wipes it from his face unbothered as he reaches out with two hands and pushes Torbjorn to the floor before turning to Galmar, who is the first one to have made his way to the Jarl. "I believe you know what to do with him."
"Aye," the housecarl answers gruffly as he kicks the lord to his feet. "To the Bloodworks until you know how to behave yourself like a civilized human being, or I beat it into you."
As Galmar leads Torbjorn away, the crowd's eyes follow them curiously for a moment until they collectively make their way back to Ulfric and the red stains slowly seeping from underneath his nose. None of them had expected him to listen to them let alone send the lord to the prisons. Things may have been moving in Windhelm albeit slowly, but it is until now that they can actually feel the winds of change on the horizon.
"The rest of you can go back to your business or to your homes. There is nothing more to see here." Ulfric dismisses them with the nod of his head as Dahlia finally makes herself to the front of the group to him.
"I can't believe he would have the audacity to-" she holds up one of her healing hands to him; however, he takes her wrist gently in his own to lower it.
While the onlookers are dispersing, many of them still have their eyes trained on him.
"No, leave it for now." He shakes his head.
"What do you mean 'no'?" Her stomach churns in unease at seeing him hurt. Blood is still flowing steadily, but she does what he asks reluctantly.
He nods indicating the people around them.
"You intend to wear that thing like a badge of honor and go parading around Windhelm, don't you?"
Before he can answer, someone Dahlia recognizes, approaches them both, distracting her attentions from his injury for the moment. "Greetings, Lady Dahlia and Jarl Ulfric. I have had the pleasure of encountering your wife before, but I believe we have not met personally, my Jarl. I am Scouts-Many-Marshes." The Argonian addresses them in a soft lisp. "Both of you are most welcome faces down in these parts, especially after this scene." He bows to them both in thanks.
"It is good to see you as well, Scouts." Dahlia replies warmly as she extends a hand to him to shake. "I am sorry I was not aware of your continuing troubles, or we would have been here earlier."
He shakes his head. "I know you have been busy as of late, but we do not forget friends here." He then turns his yellow-slitted eyes towards Ulfric. "And we do not forget those who help us-even if it comes a little late."
Ulfric does not miss the jab directed towards him. "I am only sorry I was not able to extend help to you sooner. Times have been hard for all of us over the last year, and I understand it has not been fair." He takes in a deep breath, rolling around his next thought before speaking it aloud. "Perhaps, you can come to the Palace in the next week, and we can discuss this further."
"I might be able to find some time in my busy schedule for that."
Having reached a mutual understanding and there being nothing left to say, the two men nod at each other, and Dahlia waves to Scouts-Many-Marshes before he turns to walk back to the Assemblage.
"What was that all about, Ulfric?" Dahlia asks, although she suspects she might have an idea.
"There is a vacancy which recently opened up on the council. I thought perhaps I might extend and invitation to your friend."
"That is a rather bold move. How do you think the other members will feel?"
"Do you not agree with my decision, my lady?" He asks her as he takes her arm, and they begin to walk towards the entrance of the Docks.
Lydia follows them from a few steps behind as she listens with interest to their conversation. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that Ulfric was teasing Dahlia. The corners of her mouth lift into a smile. Good for both of them. They need a little happiness in their lives.
Dahlia swats playfully at her husband, but he easily avoids her wrath. "You know very well how I feel on this matter. I shouldn't have to say it."
Ulfric laughs at her mock anger. He does enjoy getting a rise out of her once in a while. "I am only doing what a good husband and a good future King would do."
"And what's that?" She asks, lips already curling into a smile as she pretends she does not know what he is doing: continuing to distract her from healing his nose. She did not forget nor will she until she lays her hands on him later.
"Getting my wife's opinion." He leans closer to her to whisper in her ear. "I thought you'd appreciate that."
Sooner, than she thinks, they have made their way back into the city, and Ulfric has lead them to the door of somewhere unexpected: The Gnisis.
"Hungry?" He asks her as he opens the door for her without even waiting for a response.
"I knew it." She narrows her eyes at him. She knew exactly what game he is playing from the moment he refused to allow her to heal him.
"Knew what?"
"That you wouldn't be able to resist making some dramatic gesture." Dahlia rolls her eyes at him.
As they make their way to a table, the many patrons there all look to them, their eyes all eventually fixing on Ulfric nose as they whisper. Of course, word has already spread here about what occurred not long ago. Someone must have seen Galmar leading Torbjorn up to the Palace. They would have passed right through the middle of the Snow Quarter.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, my heart." He smiles at her innocently as he pulls out a chair for her and Lydia. "I only stopped here to take my wife and her housecarl to dinner."
Following dinner, Dahlia and Ulfric walk around the lower sections of the Snow Quarter and inevitably, make their way full circle until they are wandering the outskirts of the opposite side of the city. They speak with many people as Dahlia drags her husband into conversation with a few friends she made in her time as Thane of the Hold. It is high time he became more social and got to know some of the everyday people he is ruling over.
All in all, it goes well even if some of them look at him a bit questionably in the more heavily Dunmer and Argonian populated areas. Either way, Ulfric doesn't flinch as they favor speaking with his wife and only make half-hearted efforts to try to hide their curiosity at his bloodied nose. This is exactly what he wanted after all.
As Dahlia finishes speaking with one of the shoemakers, Ulfric turns to her politely. "Are you ready to go back to the Palace? The sun has long gone, and Galmar will start to worry that we haven't returned yet. I'm surprised that he hasn't sent out a full search party already."
"There is one more place I need to go before turning in for the night. If that is alright with you." Dahlia says to Ulfric.
"And where would that be?" He asks, curious as to who she would want to call on at this late hour.
She hesitates for a moment before telling him. "Lyssa."
It isn't that she doesn't want to tell him or that she wishes to hide anything from him, but she'd prefer to talk to her friend first before saying anything to him.
"Would you like me to accompany you or-"
"If you want, you and Lydia can leave me ther,e and she can return you to the Palace. I shouldn't be there long."
"I can't leave you there by yourself-" Lydia begins to protest.
"Once you escort Ulfric, you can come back for me. I should be finished with my business there by the time you return," she turns to her husband, "and then, I can fix your nose."
Business, Ulfric thinks to himself. But didn't she just say Lyssa is a friend? What business could she be doing there? Perhaps he will be able to pry the answers from her later. For now, he lets it drop and leaves without protest with Lydia as Dahlia makes her way into Lyssa's home.
"I'm sorry. We are closed for the evening. Please come back tomorrow." Lyssa calls out.
"Closed even for a friend?" Dahlia asks sheepishly as she closes the door behind her and kicks the snow off of her boots.
"Dahlia! You're always welcome here. Please come in. I'm just getting things ready to turn in for the night, but I am always up for a visit from you. How are things in the Palace?"
"Things have been a bit busy, but-"
As Lyssa turns to her, gesturing for her to take a seat, Dahlia has to swallow the hard lump which forms in throat as she sees her stomach.
She is with child. Of course. She and her husband were only recently married as well, and she had always spoken fondly of making a family of her own in their days working at the Stormcloak camps.
"But?" Her friend prods her to continue.
Dahlia shakes her head quickly and rearranges her facial features into a warm smile. "But it is manageable."
"And what about yourself? How are you? It has been a while since I have seen you, but it seems you are looking a far deal better than the last time you visited. You gave us all quite the scare, especially Ulfric. He was a white as a sheet."
"Fine, fine. Everything has been fine." She waves Lyssa off and joins her in sitting at the table. "I'm more interested in you." She gestures at her stomach. "When are you due?"
Lyssa's face lights up at the question. "It was all so fast, but we're both very excited. By my estimates, the little terror will be out in three to four months." She passes a hand over her stomach to smooth her dress. "What about you and Ulfric? Are you not planning on-"
The question dies in Lyssa's throat, and she turns pale as she remembers. How could she forget, and here she is rubbing it in her friend's face.
Dahlia's eyes shift to the floor, and her fingers pick at a splinter at the side of the table. "It's quite alright, Lyssa. That is actually why I am here. I was wondering with your expertise if there was any-"
"Yes, yes. Don't you worry. I have something." She gets up from her seat and makes her way slowly to a cabinet filled with glass vials of various shapes and sizes, none of which Dahlia recognizes. "I know I had put some of that potion away somewhere." Lyssa rummages a bit more towards the back of the top-most shelf. "It should help him-"
Dahlia's cheeks flame, and she clears her throat awkwardly. "Actually, Lyssa," her voice drops into the quietest of whispers, "I think the problem is me."
Silence permeates the room for a moment as her friend stills her hand of its movements and turns to her. Lyssa's eyes fill with a sad understanding as she comprehends what Dahlia is seeking. "Of course, dear. Anything for you. I also have something which should be helpful to you." She tells her gently while moving to another cabinet and retrieving a purple vial.
"I don't know if during Solitude I did something or-" Dahlia continues awkwardly.
"You don't have to tell me, and you know I do not judge you. You did what you needed, and you would never intentionally harm anyone or anything." Lyssa tells her sternly. "Take this now, all of it at once. The effects should be almost immediate and last until the next moon cycle. It will not fix anything that is beyond repair, but it will help make things easier if you are still capable of having children."
If.
The word hangs in the air for a moment, and Lyssa wishes that she hadn't needed to say it, but at the same time, being a friend comes sometimes with harsh truths. She will need to be prepared for the worst case scenario.
Dahlia swallows hard past the emotion in her throat and sends a quick prayer to Lady Mara before she downs the liquid from the bottle. Hopefully, she has not messed things up beyond repair. For now, she will have to put her trust in her friend's bitter concoction-it was truly awful to injest-the Gods, and in herself.
"Thank you, Lyssa." She goes to fish out a small pouch of septims to pay her for her services.
"I won't be taking any money from you. You should know better than that."
"At least take enough for the ingredients. I am sure whatever was in that bottle had a significant monetary value. Please." Dahlia insists.
Reluctantly, Lyssa takes half of the coins from her as a knock sounds at her door. "By the Gods, who could that be now?"
"That is probably Lydia to fetch me and escort me back to the Palace. Apparently the Dragonborn is not capable of taking care of herself anymore." She states a touch bitterly.
Lyssa laughs softly at her response and walks her to the door. "Please don't be a stranger, and please don't only visit when you need something. You know our home is always open to you for anything."
Dahlia nods before giving her a hug and quickly slipping out into the night.
"What did you need there? You're not sick, are you?" Lydia doesn't even allow her to shut the door completely before assailing her with questions.
"Let's just go back to the Palace, Lydia."
"I asked you a question."
"And I am not in the mood to answer it." She grumbles as she trudges through the back alley shortcut to the Palace.
Lydia grabs her arm and turns her so that they're facing each other.
When Dahlia looks up, she expects to see the same the same stubborn fire that her well-meaning housecarl carries with her everywhere. She braces herself for it, a defensive response on her tongue. However, instead she sees a soft worry in her eyes.
"Are you okay?"
Dahlia blinks as she tries to think about what she should tell Lydia. Sure, she knows what she has been through, and they have talked about it a bit, but this visit feels more personal. "I'm okay, Lydia." She lifts her hand to squeeze her housecarl's shoulder. "I'll be fine. I promise"
Her housecarl frowns and begins to protest, but seeing the vulnerable look in her friend's eyes, she decides to drop it-just this once.
They walk the rest of the way back to the Palace in silence, and upon reaching their destination, each one of them retires to their respective rooms after bidding the other nothing more than a simple goodnight.
Dahlia then makes her way upstairs slowly, each step forward weighing heavier than the next, yet there is something which pushes her forward. A warm feeling bubbles up from her stomach like a spring. It is as familiar to her as an old friend as it takes her by the hand and leads her steadily to her destination. And here after all this time, she thought it had abandoned her: hope.
As she pushes the door open to her and Ulfric's room, a contented smile tugs at the corners of her lips. However, when she spots her husband holding a handkerchief to his nose, red spots dotting the stark white fabric, it immediately folds.
"I should let you stay like that for the rest of the night."
Ulfric turns to her, and if she could see his face, she is sure she would be able to see his frown. "But you won't allow that, will you?"
She tsks, yet moves closer to him until she is kneeling in front of him. "Of all of the stupid, idiotic things, Ulfric. What was the point of that? Grandstanding?"
He has no answer for her, so he stays silent.
Gently, she takes the now heavily-stained cloth from his hands as she dabs at the dried blood around his nose and mouth, and he winces at her attentions. Apparently, she has decided that he is going to suffer through the cleaning and then heal his damned nose.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you still cared regardless of how idiotic I am."
"You think that now is the time for jokes?" She stops moving the cloth across his face, pulling it away from him as she gives him a stern look.
"What do you say I make it up to you?"
Her hand hovers in the air, and a blush creeps onto her face as one of his fingers slides its way slowly down her collarbones until it ghosts over the slight swell of her breasts.
She takes the hand quickly in her own, removing it from temptation. "Not until I am done with you."
She raises her other hand, the soft glow of her Restoration magic casting shadows through the room, as she moves it forward and finally heals his nose. It snaps back into place of its own accord with an uncomfortable crack.
"There. That should feel much better." She stands and brushes off the dust from her skirts.
"Am I as good as new, my lady?"
"You are, but you won't be if you keep teasing me. Perhaps I should have left your nose as it was." She turns from him and moves to her closet to get ready for bed.
As she looks through her clothing to find something appropriate for the cold Winter's night, she thinks on how to tell Ulfric about her visit to Lyssa. She still plans on telling him before they go to sleep for the night as it is not something she wishes to keep from him. She sighs and turns to him again.
"Ulfric..."
"Yes, love?" He can see the conflict in her expression as she worries at one of her lips between her teeth. "Is there something you want to tell me?" His brow furrows.
She swallows. "When I went to see Lyssa, I asked her for some...assistance. I-"
Why is this so divinesdamned difficult? She is a grown woman, the Dragonborn of legend, and perhaps even the soon-to-be High Queen of Skyrim. This should be simple.
Ulfric waits for her to sort out her thoughts patiently as he moves closer to her. "I'm listening."
"I went to see her because," she lets out a heavy breath, "I think it's me."
Ulfric's lips pull into a frown. "What do you mean?"
She has to tell him plainly and she should not hide behind vague language. He deserves a full explanation. "I think the reason we haven't had any luck with-with a baby is me." Her eyes suddenly fall to the stone floor as she studies their pattern. But she must continue. As she finally admits this burden she has been carrying, it feels as if a boulder has been lifted from her chest.
"I think Lady Mara is punishing-", she shakes her head, "-testing me for what happened in Solitude and what I gave up to save you." She lifts her eyes to peer into his stormy blue irises. She cannot tell what he is thinking, but she can see waves of emotion tossing through his expression. "I asked Lyssa to give me something which should help," her voice dips into a low whisper, "if I am still capable of having children, that is."
Ulfric reaches out a hand to cup her face, and he pulls her to him in a tight embrace. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have stayed with you."
His answer surprises her, although it shouldn't. "I thought it was my burden to bare alone. Besides, you were in pain. You can deny it all you want, but I know it to be true."
"But that is where you are wrong." He tips her head up so that she is looking at him again. The expression there is soft, yet focused; she is all he sees. "I would be with you in those moments as we are each other's strength. When will you realize..." He pauses as he tries to think of what to say to her to make her understand. "My heart is so full of you that you are everywhere. There is nowhere you do not touch, and there is nowhere I would not go with you."
She is left speechless as she blinks quickly to try to keep her emotions in check, but it is to no avail. There is no fighting the overwhelming feeling which bursts from her chest and envelops her entire being.
His lips touch hers tentatively as he wipes the tears falling from her eyes with the pads of his fingers, and she opens for him willingly. What else is there for her to do after a speech such as that? She pulls him closer desperately as her fingers dig into his sides and then find their way underneath his shirt. Heat flares to life inside of her as his tongue meets hers in a soft caress.
Dahlia gasps at the sensation as she feels freer than she has in a long time. Who cares what the future holds as long as they have each other?
And when Ulfric's hands slide down her sides and make their way to cup her heat, she spreads her legs willingly for him, waiting for him to fill her with the love he has promised her for the rest of her days.
He pulls back to whisper into her lips, his voice rumbling low in her ear. "Once more then, I will make love to you, and again and again until you are satisfied and until you believe it. Besides, Lyssa's hard work should not go to waste." He smiles at her and tucks a stand of hair behind her ear.
She has no response for him, only for her to press herself closer to him as she feels his fingers dip into her. All thought has left her; all there is is him.
Whatever will come from this, she will let it be. Dahlia will accept her fate and what the gods have given her as long as she has him. She will hold fast to her love stubbornly and never let go.
Nothing could be more important, and who knows? Maybe there will be a miracle.