To the Jarl and Lady of Windhelm,
Over the course of the past couple of weeks, there have have been talks about the Moot, its date, and where it will be held. I am sure by now that you have heard the rumors that the traditional ceremony will be held in the great Hold of Whiterun, but it has been until now that we have been able to finish up with finalizing the details.
It is my great pleasure to extend an invitation to both of you for this great event. The Moot is to be held in three weeks time on the 14th of Evening Star. As I know that the journey from Windhelm to Whiterun during this time can be rather long and tedious, I would like to extend a second invitation to come at your earliest convenience and stay in the city. Both of you are more than welcome here, and we will find a place for you to stay which is befitting of your station.
-Jarl Vignar
Out of all the Holds in Skyrim, it is perhaps Whiterun which is always the busiest. After Solitude, it could perhaps be considered the most important city, as it is the commercial center of the country. The large majority of products, caravans, and merchants pass through here if their wares are going by land which means that no matter the time of year, whether it be midwinter or high Summer, there are always people bustling about.
With the Moot only a week away, the activity in the center of Skyrim has increased ten fold. Vendors of all types and races line the entrance to the city, which has been decked out with the finest embroidered banners in both Solitude crimson and Stormcloak blue for the occasion. Tradesmen of all types: silverworkers, seamstresses, and a Khajiit selling rare spices shout as if in unison, their voices all lost in the din of each other.
Ralof doesn't know where to look first.
He, Galmar, Lydia, and Rikke had been asked to escort Jarl Ulfric and Lady Dahlia to the Moot and to be part of their guardsmen for the trip. On one hand, it makes him nervous being tasked with something so important, but on the other, he is glad to be out of Windhelm. There was not much for him to do there other than babysit Rikke, who seemed much more interested in ignoring him as she tried to needle Stone-Fist in any and every way she could.
Ralof shakes his head slightly. There will be more than enough time for him contemplate if both of those idiots will eventually get over themselves or finally finish the other by tearing them to pieces later. For now, he must focus. He has been given an important duty.
His grey eyes scan the crowds in the streets carefully as he attempts to pick out any who could be a potential threat to his future King and Queen. His attention flickers quickly from one person to another as he tries to keep up with the masses, but each face seems to blend into the next with colors and features becoming an amalgamation of everything all at once.
That is until he spots a familiar face: a tall High Elf with white-blonde hair catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. If he isn't mistaken, this is the same scholar he met at the Bard's College, Elisindir. He had wondered if he would ever see him again. His robes are impeccably clean, and he stands with poised grace as he thumbs through an old tome at one of the booksellers' stalls.
However, as Ralof studies the elf, something peculiar draws his attention. The elf is not even looking down at the book, only feigning interest. As he follows Elisindir's gaze, he can see what truly has his attention. His piercing blue eyes stare fixedly at Ulfric and Dahlia as they make their way through the seas of people.
Ralof frowns, and he can swear he sees his eyes narrow at them suspiciously.
Then, as if sensing someone looking at him, Elisindir glances his way, eyebrows raising in surprise. However, at that moment, someone crosses his line of sight, and when he looks for the Altmer again, he is nowhere to be found. Strange. He will have to keep an eye out for him later.
For now, he will carry on doing his job and protecting his friends to the best of his ability.
The rest of the walk to Dragonsreach is mostly uneventful for the group, just a mix and mash of culture, commerce, and commotion as everyone comes together as one.
As Dahlia's eyes take in the scene, it is unlike anything she has experienced before. Sure, she has seen festival days in many Holds, the great market in Solitude, and she even lived in Whiterun for a time, but nothing compares to the grandeur she sees in front of her today. It is clear to her that Vignar has taken advantage of the influx in guests to reveal new plans for the city.
Briefly, she looks to Ulfric and wonders if this too was part of his elaborate plans. While he has made her a part of everything that he has done since the closing of the Civil War, there are still things she is sure were put into motion well before she had become important to him. Out of anyone she has ever met, she has never seen anyone who spends more time thinking-even more so than herself, and she thought she spent too much time with her own musings.
Eventually, the great doors of Dragonsreach loom in front of her, just as familiar as ever. That has not changed at all since she was in the Hold for the last time-after the Battle of Whiterun and the death of Irileth.
Her heartbeat flutters, pounding slightly in her ears as the faintest hints of nausea turn her stomach like waves in a distant storm. What is in the past is dead and buried, and there are more important things to focus on now: what will bloom from the uncertain future. Her stomach churns at the thought as nerves and unease threaten to consume her. What will the future bring for Skyrim, for her people, and most of all for herself and her family?
One of Dahlia's hands grips Ulfric's tightly, and he squeezes it back, trying to put her mind at ease. Vaguely, she wonders if he feels the same way. He always seems so certain of himself-so sure of what will come next. Conviction and faith run steadfast through his veins even in times like this. He is her rock of strength; however, she knows that he must feel the rippling waves of incertitude at times.
When their party enters the residence, they can see many servants scurrying back and forth as they bring in furniture, put up banners, and move large platters of food into the main hall. However, even through all of the noise of their preparations, Dahlia can still hear a familiar voice above it all.
As Ulfric motions for their guards to stay behind them.
"Are you sure you wish to trust the security and safety of all of the Jarls-including the future High King and Queen-to her?" Elisif asks, her voice raised in incredulity.
As they approach the front of the room, Ulfric motions for their guards to stay behind them but follow closely. Along with Jarl Vignar, Elisif, and Balgruuf, Vilkas of the Companions stands as tall and stoic as ever next to a shorter woman with honey-brown hair whom Dahlia does not recognize. She must have arrived after Dahlia had already left the Hold.
"I assure you that she is more than capable of-" Vignar begins, but he is interrupted.
"As Harbinger of the Companions, she deserves your respect." Vilkas replies sharply. "If you insult her, then you insult all of us."
Dahlia can see that the Companion is as moody as ever. That much hasn't changed. While she didn't have many interactions with him during her time in Whiterun, the few that she did were short and curt.
"I'm just concerned about someone so young doing such a heavy job."
"And not to mention what happened with her father." Balgruuf adds as he attempts to defend his wife.
Color rises in the Harbinger's features as she turns her intense golden eyes towards Balgruuf. "What would you know of him?"
"Only that he abandoned us during the Great War, the coward. I fought with him myself and saw it with my own two eyes."
"How are we to know she won't do the same?" Elisif insists, twisting the knife further into the woman's old wounds.
"Dreki would never-" Vilkas shouts, teeth on edge and hand on the hilt of his blade.
At this point in time, Dahlia and Ulfric have finally made their way to the front of the room, and personally, the Dragonborn has seen more than enough of this.
As angry tears begin to form in Dreki's eyes, Dahlia takes a step forward. "Some would say that we are too young as well, yet here we are posturing our names to be rulers of Skyrim."
Five sets of eyes all turn on her at once, some of them friendlier than others, but she continues.
"We are not our fathers nor our mothers. While blood is blood, we are all our own individual people with our own choices." Dahlia narrows her eyes slightly as they find Elisif's. "And I do not think your choices now very fitting of one who would be High Queen."
The Jarl of Solitude glares at her. "I'm just assuring that we are all safe during this event. There is sure to be plenty of hostility during the course of the selection process, and we need to make sure that everyone is playing by the rules and honoring any decisions which are made instead of taking matters into their own violent hands."
Of course, she wouldn't be able to resist throwing a none-too-subtle jab towards Ulfric. And tempting as it would be to answer with her own retort, Dahlia decides to smile pleasantly at Elisif. "Of course, the Moot is a sacred Nordic tradition which has been carried out over the ages, and none would dare to interfere with that."
She then looks to Vilkas and Dreki, inclining her head in respect towards the pair. "It is good to have the Companions here. Thank you for agreeing to come."
Dreki's eyes focus on hers, the lamp-like quality of them startling Dahlia, but she doesn't say anything. Instead the Harbinger's face is pulled into a hardened neutrality as she bites her lip. Slowly, she nods her head, and then abruptly turns and begins walking out of Dragonsreach.
Vilkas' eyes follow her as his lips pull into a deep frown before he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "We expect every person who enters this room, Jarl or not," his eyes find Elisif's and then Dahlia's, " to respect us and what we stand for, or we walk, and you'll have to deal with your petty problems yourselves. Understood?"
He does not wait for an answer. Just as quickly as his Harbinger, he makes an exit from the room indicating that he is finished this this conversation.
For a moment, everyone is still. While Dahlia knows that it is in Vilkas' nature to be cold, she nor Ulfric did anything which could have possibly upset him. She hopes that any future partner of his is prepared to deal with that.
Vignar eventually breaks the awkward silence as he extends a hand in greeting to them both."Welcome Jarl Ulfric and Lady Dahlia. It is good to have you here, and especially good to have our Thane back."
Dahlia's eyes widen. The title was stripped from her when Balgruuf kicked her out of the city, and here he is-and with Balgruuf there nonetheless-offering it back to her.
"It is a pleasure to be here. Thank you for kindly extending an invitation for us to come early. The snows in Eastmarch make travel during this season particularly difficult."
"It is no problem." Vignar bows to them both, "however, I am afraid I will not be able to offer you lodgings here. As you see, I also have invited Jarl Elisif and Lord Balgruuf to join us. I hope you do not mind staying at Breezehome as it still rightfully belongs to you. With Elisif's new baby, they cannot stay at the Bannered Mare. I hope you understand."
While she remembered that Elisif had sent them various letters which all pointedly commented on her state, Dahlia had not noticed her current lack of stomach due to the confrontation earlier.
"And when will you start having children?" Elisif asks with a sniff. "Or are you perhaps too old for this."
"When the time is right." Ulfric cuts in before Dahlia has the opportunity to answer. His wife's grip tightens onto his hand, nails digging into his skin painfully at the force of her anger.
"Not that it particularly matters to me." Elisif continues as she examines her fingernails. "I don't know how you can stand to sleep with a murderer, but to each their own."
Ulfric grips Dahlia's hand tighter, the temptation to say something building, but both of them must bide their time and act as professionally as possible. Acting like children will not gain them any points or win any favor for the Moot. Patience and keeping a level head will be important for them, and they may as well start putting that into practice now.
Sensing the tension building in the room, Balgruuf rests a hand on wife's shoulder and murmurs. "We should probably go and check on the baby. He's been with his nurse for a while now, and he probably misses you."
Dahlia forces a smile onto her face."Congratulations, by the way. Both of you must be very happy, and you should spend as much time as you can with him."We have many things to do in order to prepare for the Moot, so we will also be taking our leave now as well. Our intention was only to bring good tidings to Jarl Vignar and inform him of our arrival."
"Thank you again for your hospitality, Vignar." Ulfric bows to him slightly again as he begins to lead Dahlia outside, their party of guards following them as they leave.
No sooner than they hear the heavy doors close behind them do they both let out a sound of relief.
"I don't know how you could stand not shouting her apart where she stood. Who in their right mind would put her in any position of power?" Galmar mutters under his breath as he spits on the ground.
"It's called restraint, and you should learn some of it." Rikke quips. "And you should not underestimate Elisif's ability to play the game of politics. Sure, she has a personal vendetta against both Ulfric and Dahlia, but she can be charming when she wants, and Balgruuf is rather popular."
He snorts. "Of course, you would say that. You're probably best friends. I'm surprised you didn't give her a warm embrace upon seeing her again."
"Enough." Ulfric says, a pointed look in both Galmar and Rikke's direction. "This entire encounter has been an exercise in control for both of us. That much is certain, and I expect just as much if not worse at the Moot."
Lydia catches Ulfric's look between the two and snorts. They're both too stubborn for their own good. What they really need is a few bottles of mead and a night at The Bannered Mare. That would certainly sort them out.
As they all reach the main square of the Wind District, she suggests just that-at least partially. "Why don't we all go to the tavern and get a few bottles of mead? We can enjoy our peace before all Oblivion breaks loose. Better a headache from too many drinks than one from the bickering which is sure to happen in a week's time."
"I like the way you think, Lydia." Ralof chuckles as he slings an arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "What do you say? Will you both be joining us?"
While the offer is tempting, Dahlia shakes her head no. "You are all more than welcome to go, but I have something that I would like to do before settling into Breezehome."
When they entered the square, she had noticed the Harbinger of the Companions sitting on one of the benches under the Gildergreen, head in her hands, and Vilkas with an arm around her. It is there that her attention is drawn now. She knows the pain of one of Elisif's well-placed jabs all too well, each word designed to hit where it hurts the most.
Ulfric follows her gaze, and immediately knows what she is thinking. "I will accompany you if you'd like."
While she isn't certain how the Harbinger will take to being approached by both of them, Dahlia nods before walking towards the pair. She would rather have him beside her in case she needs him.
As they approach the pair, she can see Vilkas pick his head up to look at them, his eyes narrowing defensively. However, Dahlia is not to be deterred. He might intimidate others with his steely-gaze but not her.
With a small motion to Ulfric, she indicates to him that he is to wait for her a few steps away as she makes her way to stand in front of Dreki.
"Haven't you done enough damage?" Vilkas asks her, hand on the hilt of his great sword.
She blinks at him in confusion for a moment before answering. "I understand that you want to protect her," she nods towards Dreki," but have done nothing at all to her. I'm only here to offer a word of kindness."
Vilkas scoffs, his voice humorless."How is it not entirely your fault?" He nods his head towards Ulfric, who is standing close enough to be in earshot, but far enough away to give Dahlia the space she asked for. "Between his greed and your stupidity-," he shakes his head. "You're supposed to be the Dragonborn, and this is what you choose?"
"Vilkas, that's enough." Dreki's voice comes out small as she finally raises her head, eyes watery, and gives the Companion a stern look.
"But-"
She shakes her head. "Let her speak."
"I promise I didn't come her with bad intentions." Dahlia sits down next to Dreki. "It's just that I know what it's like. Elisif very clearly hates me and with good reason, but that doesn't make what she says right." She pauses for a moment and then mutters under her breath. "She needs a few lessons in poise and humility."
Her words earn her a quiet chuckle from Dreki. "More than a few, I'd imagine...but if you left it up to me, I'd have taught her that with my fists."
"You'd get along perfectly with Galmar." Dahlia laughs. "That's exactly what he suggested I do. And while the idea is more than tempting, I cannot. That wouldn't endear me to anyone, and it would go against what we're trying to accomplish for Skyrim." She turns to give a pointed look at Vilkas. "Despite what some would think, we are trying to make things better. Just as the Companions cannot be blamed for every new bandit camp which forms or every citizen who is taken, we cannot be blamed for not fixing all of Skyrim's problems at once. It's impossible."
"And what about the Dunmer?" She asks quietly. "I have heard-"
The pointed question is curious to her, and she sighs but answers it nonetheless. "The issues in the Snow Quarter are complicated and more nuanced than what it would seem to those outside of Windhelm, but it is something that is changing. Maybe not all at once, but it is. Buildings have been repaired, more patrols are in the streets, and the Argonians have been allowed into the city proper. It's not perfect, but it's getting there." She turns back to Ulfric with a smile. "And I'd like to see anyone else do a better job."
"We're both doing out part there, and Dahlia was the one who got things started." Ulfric moves forward to stand next to his wife and places a hand on her shoulder. "We'd invite anyone to come and see it personally."
"Maybe I will one day."
"Well then, you have a personal invitation from myself, and I would take you for the best ash yam stew in all of Skyrim. Perhaps, we could even get into some trouble." Dahlia extends a hand to her with a wink. "You can even bring grumpy with you."
Dreki takes it with a smile. "Thank you, and I mean that sincerely. I didn't expect-"
Dahlia waves her off as she stands. "The pleasure of meeting you is mine, friend, and my door is open at any time. However, for the moment, we have a lot to deal with, and we'd like to try and get some rest before the Moot. If you'll excuse us."
"Of course." Dreki waves. "And someday I will take you up on that offer. I grew up on Solstheim, and ash yam stew is my favorite. I haven't had it in quite some time."
That would explain why she was asking about the Dunmer. If she grew up on the island, she would have had a lot of contact with the people and culture there. "You won't be disappointed." The Dragonborn nods with a smile as she turns to take Ulfric's arm and leads him down to the Plains district where Breezehome is located. She is rather tired even if she doesn't show it.
"That was very nice of you." Ulfric tells her with a smile.
"I try to be sometimes, but only to those who deserve it."
"Is that why I am punished by spending the rest of my days with you?" He asks, squeezing her hand as he does so.
Dahlia laughs, a rich sound escaping from her lips. She had sincerely missed these moments with Ulfric. Over the last few months, they have both been though a lot, and they haven't really had time to themselves, other than on their brief trip to Helgen. "I wouldn't exactly call it punishment."
"Then what would you call it?" He asks.
They reach Breezehome, and she looks to him, the sky turning dark behind him and moons starting to rise. Fading beams of light illuminate the strands of his light hair, creating a soft halo around him. "I would call it heaven in the highest."
And with that she turns and fits the key into the lock, opening the door for both of them.
On most nights, The Bannered Mare is a hub of activity. With its warm fires, cozy atmosphere, and decent selection of mead, the tavern is normally full of life no matter the time of year. However, with the Moot's festivities going on, it is near exploding.
As Lydia makes her way through the crowds, a sea of both unfamiliar and familiar faces meet her, and some of them call out to her having recognized the housecarl. With a smile and a wave, she greets most of them, but continues her way to the bar with Ralof, Rikke, and Galmar in tow.
Due to the crowds, it takes her a couple of minutes-along with a few good elbows to some of the more stubborn customers, but eventually, she finds them all a seat in front of Hulda.
"The usual?" The older barmaid asks to her as she dries the insides a freshly-cleaned mug.
"Do you even remember what that is by now?" Lydia asks with a smile. While Windhelm is her home now, she had missed being here.
"Pfft," Hulda scoffs as she sits four tankards on the bar, "it's the same thing every self-respectin' Nord gets 'ere." She then plunks four bottles of Honningbrew mead in front of them. "And if you think I'd try ta' serve Black-Briar to these two," she points a thumb towards Galmar and Ralof, "then you'd be sorely mistaken. I like my head right where it is, thanks."
"I doubt you'd want to get your hands on that stuff now anyway." Galmar chimes in as he takes his tankard. "I hear Ingun took over since Maven is rotting away in a Riften jail cell. Word is that she's been doing experiments on the mead."
Ralof slides a tankard to Rikke before taking one of his own. "Ah, but did any of you ever taste Vilod's juniper berry mead before Helgen burnt to the ground? That really brings me back to the old days. Things were a lot simpler then."
"And morally corrupt." Galmar mutters.
"Just because-" Rikke shoots him a look.
"Why does this feel like the butt end to a very bad joke?" Lydia interrupts after taking a swig of her mead. "Two Stormcloak officers and an Imperial Legate walk into a bar..."
"And what about you?" Rikke asks. "Should I assume you're with them? You're the Dragonborn's housecarl after all."
"I am...but would you like to know what the end of the joke is?" Lydia looks down into her tankard, a smirk pulling at her lips.
"What would that be?" She asks, curious even if she is sure she'll regret asking.
"That you are in fact here with us."
"Here, here." Galmar and Ralof laugh as they crash their tankards together, sloshing mead all over the counter. "To High King Ulfric."
"And High Queen Dahlia." Lydia adds with a smile as she raises her own mug.
Rikke looks at them, an uncertain expression on her face as a finger traces around the mouth of her own mead. Should she raise it? On one hand, she is the Imperial Legate, but on the other, Lydia does have a point. She is in fact here with them.
Just as they are about to pull their tankards back to drink; however, she does something which is unexpected of herself: she adds hers, knocking the metal together so hard it seems rings through the noise of the tavern. All three pairs of her companions eyes look to her in surprise before she adds quietly, "To the new hopeful King and Queen."
They all drink to that.
Many bottles pass between them for who knows how many hours as they speak together about the past, present, and future. The shift in the air is felt as Galmar has stopped throwing barbs at Rikke and has even managed to somehow snake an arm around her shoulders.
And she in turn has not tried to shake him off.
Lydia lifts a brow as she tries to catch Ralof's gaze over their heads, but unfortunately, his attention is elsewhere and soon thereafter he leaves in order to chase after a head of blonde hair she doesn't recognize. Huh.
When she looks back to Rikke and Galmar, their bodies seem to have somehow drifted closer together as the ex-Legate leans against the general. She takes that as her cue to also make an exit. Reaching into her pocket, Lydia draws out a small handful of septims and places them on the table before motioning to Hulda."This should pay for the tab, and get Galmar a room, would you?"
The barmaid nods as Lydia slips from her stool. She will be staying at her brother's house for the duration of this madhouse so her lodgings are taken care of.
Hulda makes her way to Galmar and drops a key in front of him. "Lydia asked me ta' leave this for you, and it's a good thing too as it's my last room."
Galmar looks to the barmaid confused, but takes the key from the bar.
"It's room number 5, up the stairs and to the left." Hulda instructs him before she leaves to take care of a fresh wave of patrons who have entered the tavern.
A thoughtful look crosses the Stone-Fist's face as he wonders if he should offer the room to Rikke as well. If this is the last room, then she won't be able to get a place of her own, and he doesn't know if he has any friends in the city. At the same time, he questions if it won't be awkward for them both with their past. But, perhaps this is where they can start anew.
"I know that face. What are you thinking about?" Rikke asks, she shifts on her stool, and as she does so, her knees brush slightly against his.
Galmar's fingers reach out tentatively to touch hers. "I've missed you."
"I've been right here for the last few months." She answers, heat rising to her cheeks at his touch.
"You know very well that isn't what I mean."
"You left me-"
"And you left me as well. You need to remember that. We both had to go off and do our duties and see to what we believed was right. I'm sorry that our ideals didn't coincide, and it still burns me, but now..." Galmar leans closer to her.
"Now what?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't see why we can't pick up where we left off. I loved you, you know? Still do." Without thinking, he brushes his lips over hers and then places a small pouch on the counter before quickly pulling away. "You know where to find me."
Rikke looks down at the pouch, questions burning in her mind just as her lips burn from Galmar's unexpected kiss. However, when she opens the pouch, all thoughts suddenly go quiet. She takes the amulet into her hands, recognizing it instantly despite the scorch marks all over its surface. It's as if it had been thrown into a fire. Carefully, she turns the metal in her hands until she sees an inscription on the back: "Rikke, 4E 176."
He had this for all this time, and he never-
The legs of her stool scratch against the wooden floors as she hastily gets up from her seat.
Rikke makes her way to Galmar's room, her heart pounding in perfectly-timed staccato to the beat of her knocks on his door.
It does not take him long to answer, but when he does, he is almost surprised to see her there despite the fact that he was the one to extend the invitation to her not moments ago.
Rikke presses the amulet into his chest. "What is this all about?" She asked, voice angry.
It takes a moment for him to process what she is asking before he takes her hand in his. "It's what I should have done years ago."
When Dahlia opens the door, dust motes stir in the moonlight, swirling in the air like tiny floating stars. They bob and dip casually around them as the stale scent of wooden furniture from the uninhabited space hits her. She has to suppress a sneeze while looks around the room.
It is a night and day difference from when she was here last. Sparse furniture, simple in its construction, along with only a few other odds and ends are all that is what is left of what once was. Almost everything has moved, changed location. What was then is no longer now. Before the space was covered in baubles, trinkets and other oddities from her and Lydia's many dungeon crawls, and there was always a fire dancing against the walls, roaring with life. Now, all there is are coals, cold and shedding ash over every surface.
As she runs a fingers over one of the dressers, dark, grey dust collects on her fingertips, and she quickly wipes them off on the skirts of her bright blue dress.
What must Ulfric think about all of this?
Heat rises in her cheeks, warming them from embarrassment as she turns to him. However, when she looks, all she can see is him standing over the hearth of her cooking space, brows furrowed in thought.
He walks the small kitchen space, eyes slowly taking in all of the details of the room. While it is clear to him that it is much emptier than it normally would be, the small space is almost cozy. The small dining room table and chairs are arranged close together instead of at opposite ends. A few handwoven tapestries are still hanging on the walls, and it's evident that she bought these from local artisans. He can see a few flaws from the weaving in the pattern. As he continues his inspection, he moves his attention from the walls to something on the floor. Stooping down, Ulfric picks it up and blows the dust off of it to reveal a small silver bracelet.
A blonde brow raises in question.
"It's not much but-"
"You don't have to worry about impressing me, you've already done that enough with your kindness, compassion, and bravery." He holds out the bracelet to her, and she gingerly takes it from his hands. "I'm more interested in who gave you this."
Her cheeks heat further as she smiles fondly down at the bracelet. "Don't tell me you're jealous, Ulfric."
His face gives nothing away, only looking at her with a mix of curiosity and mock offense. "Do I have something to be jealous about?" Ulfric steps closer to her, backing her up to the wall behind her.
Dahlia smiles and shakes her head, handing the bracelet back to him carefully. "This was a gift from Fralia Grey-Mane. She had Eorlund make it for me after I helped them with a few things."
He looks down at the simple piece of silver and feels a little foolish. For a moment, he was a tiny bit jealous.
"I'm sorry that the house isn't more grand and what you're accustomed to." She waves a hand in the air as she changes the subject. His closer proximity to her along with the feeling of the rough wood behind her back causes her stomach to flip.
He leans down to her, lips grazing hers as he whispers. "Where do you think I lived during the Great War? A palace?" He chuckles lightly, causing a shiver to roll down her spine. "No, I slept in a threadbare tent with Galmar who snores."
"Should I be jealous then?" Dahlia asks quietly, trying to keep the humor from her voice, but she is entirely unsuccessful.
"You're a much better sleeping partner than he is, so you have nothing to worry about." A warm smile breaks out on his face before he presses his lips to hers gently.
She sighs into the kiss and reaches up to him, wrapping her arms around him before tangling her hands into his hair.
Being with him has become natural, and falling in love was so simple. Many would question her choice, especially when he is so much older than she is. Why him? However, she has not one regret. He knows her, and he understands her. When others have only tried to make advances due to her status, he has treated her as any other. She admires his strength and conviction in his ideals, his intelligence, and most of all his ability to listen and learn. Even if at times he is still a bit hot-headed. They have shared their darkest moments and highest joys, balanced the other when needed and offered harsh truths as well as soft kisses. What could be better than this?
When he breaks away from her, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before letting her go. "I love you."
No matter how many times he tells her, it always makes her heart skip a beat when she hears it. "And I you. More than words can describe."
Ulfric squeezes her hand before taking a step back from her, allowing her space to pass.
"I suppose we should light a fire under this pot and see if I can find anything left in this house to drink." Immediately, Dahlia starts sifting through the drawers of one of the dressers, finding a spare piece of flint and some kindling and handing it to Ulfric. "You do know how to use this, right?" She teases.
"Who do you think lit all of our fires and cooked for us during the Great War?" He takes the items from her hands and leans down to strike the flint across the stone floors.
"I wouldn't eat anything Galmar cooked even if you paid me all the septims in Skyrim."
He laughs, "And right you would be to refuse."
No matter how many times she opens and reopens the cupboards, they are mostly bare. More than likely, the moving crew took any alcohol left in the house as part of their payment. Still, she can't help but be disappointed as she had hoped she would be able to scrounge up something. However, she refuses to give up, and Ulfric's eyes follow her through the room as she digs through a few abandoned boxes. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her to sit down, she disappears into a small room in the back.
When Dahlia returns, she hands him a small dusty bottle of wine and a small sachet of some type of Breton herbal tea.
"I knew I'd find something in here. While I had almost everything shipped back to Windhelm, I left a few things here that I wouldn't miss." She smiles at him triumphantly before leaving the house with the cooking pot to get water to boil.
After she hangs the pot over the hearth, she instructs Ulfric to pour the tea into the water and gives the mixture a stir.
"Why don't you sit down? Since we got here, you haven't stopped moving, and you deserve to rest. We had a long day." He tells her as he takes the wooden spoon she's holding. "You don't have to worry so much. I promise." He then holds out the bottle of wine to her. "I feel like you need this more than I do."
Dahlia sighs as she reluctantly takes his instruction and sits at one of the chairs near the fire, but she leaves the wine for him. "I'm sorry."
He continues stirring the watery concoction, and a slightly floral scent soon wafting through the small home. "Whatever about? We are here, and we are together."
"I know, but with everything that has happened and now the Moot I just feel..." She stops for a minute as she feels her stomach turn once again. "What are we going to do?"
Ulfric has been strangely silent about the whole situation ever since they left Dragonsreach. She would have thought by now that he would have made some comment about Elisif and the less-than-warm welcome they received upon their arrival or even about the Moot itself.
"Do not worry about it, my heart. All will come together in its moment in time. You have to trust."
When he looks up at her, for the first time, she can really see how tired he is, and here she is adding to his burdens and he is comforting her when she should be the one supporting him.
"I do." She tells him sincerely. "The Divines and Akatosh have lead me this far even if at times I was unsure of the outcome. I just can't help but wonder what is next."
"I too often wonder the same thing." He sighs as he pours some of the tea out of the pot into a mug for Dahlia and sits down next to her.
She looks at him to see deep lines creasing on his forehead as he pours himself a tankard of wine.
"Do you really believe that it's going to happen?" The words are quiet, yet they are said with such gut-wrenching self-doubt it makes Dahlia's heart twist painfully. "Perhaps, all of this is just some Dwemer pipe dream." Ulfric looks to her, his eyes dulled of any of their previous hopeful shine."Have I had my head stuck in the clouds, and now all of Skyrim is hitched to what-idealism?" He shakes his head dejectedly as he takes a sip from his cup-anything that will dim the ache he currently feels. What has he done? He had visions of grandeur of being the savior Skyrim needed and finally setting what he loves most free. But here they are, no closer to that than when they started and possibly in an even worse situation, and it's all because of him.
"You can't think like that." Dahlia reaches out to him, cupping his cheek in her hand.
"Even if we are crowned at the Moot, what next?" He continues. "The Thalmor are surely coming, and what will we do? Have I doomed us all?"
"There is nothing that I believe in more than I do in you." She looks at him earnestly as she tries to catch his gaze, but he avoids her. "Doubt is normal. It is what makes us human, and it is exactly why you will make an excellent King." She places her fingers softly under his chin to lift his gaze so he is forced to look at her. "They don't understand you like I do. They don't know how you toss and turn at night. They do not see the countless hours you spend at your desk as you try to untangle the mess in Windhelm, which is more complex than they could ever understand. And they do not see the anguish that I see in you and the worry that you have for Skyrim and her people."
Emotion twists in Ulfric's stomach at hearing his wife's words. How is it that she can hold so much conviction and belief in him when daily he questions himself, even if he does not tell her so every day. Truthfully, he had been holding this feeling in for a while. He did not want to put more on her plate with everything else she has to worry about.
"Thank you." He tells her quietly as leans into her touch. "This is exactly what I needed to hear."
Dahlia does not say anything more, only holding onto him tighter.
Come what may, they will walk their destined path together.