There is smut which I have edited out in this chapter. If you're so inclined...you can check it on AO3.

"Are you sure that's going to work, Ulfric?" Galmar looks down at his friend who is sitting behind stacks of papers. They seem to cover every surface of his desk, scattered about without any sense of rhyme or reason-ledgers here, requests there and documents which he can make no sense of everywhere-they litter every inch leaving none untouched and spill from every drawer. No place is safe nor sacred.

Galmar does not envy the headache that he must have now.

Ulfric pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to keep his temper in check. "It's going to have to. A whole restructuring must happen after what occurred at the Moot. I can't allow Jarls who are actively undermining my authority to keep their seats of power."

"What will you do with Elisif and Balgruuf? It won't be popular to-"

"Whatever I damn well please!" Ulfric slams a fist onto the top of his desk, further sending the papers there into disarray as they begin to cascade off the edges of his desk.

"But who are you going to replace her with? You have few options and even fewer friends in Solitude."

Ulfric fists a hand in his hair as he looks up with tired, red eyes at his housecarl. He knows that he isn't doing this on purpose, but he honestly wishes he would take his difficult attitude and shove it up his ass for the moment. "I don't know, Galmar, but I will figure it out. I always do."

He then directs his attention back to what he was working on. What was he even doing?

In the days since being named the next High King, his brain has been spinning faster than ever. What's worse is that upon their return to Windhelm, there were more documents than ever to cross his desk-along with more worries. For the past week, Dahlia has been unwell and has expressed that she has been having headaches more days than not as of late.

It's the stress. It has to be. He's told her time and time again when she has tried to accompany him late into the night in order to sift through the endless seas of words and ink flowing across his desk that she should go to bed, but she insists that she doesn't want to leave him alone.

"What about Falk?" Ulfric asks as his quill scratches a hasty signature on whatever is in front of him. He doesn't even care at this point.

"Firebeard? The Steward?"

"Yes, who else would I be talking about?" His patience is being tested, and despite the fact that Galmar is his oldest friend, there is only so far that will stretch. "Obviously, I cannot execute her nor Balgruuf. It will turn them into martyrs, and it would not paint a favorable picture. I have only just started trying to change the minds of those in Skyrim to see me as something other than a tyrant and a criminal." He licks the tip of his quill before putting it to the document again. "I will send her off to Cyrodiil where she belongs."

"That all sounds well and good on parchment, but what if she refuses?" Galmar shifts his position to lean against the windowed wall behind Ulfric.

"I'm not giving her a choice."

Galmar grunts in acknowledgment before reluctantly crouching down to pick up some of the scattered papers around his feet. Sure, it may be Ulfric's job to deal with this swamp of documents, but this is the least he can do. Even if he is testy with him. Quite honestly, he would be too if he had to deal with this bullshit. It would seem as if Jorelif did nothing but holiday while they were in Whiterun.

As he sets the documents down on the edge of Ulfric's desk, he decides to push his luck further. May as well since Ulfric is still speaking to him and hasn't gone to sit on his throne and brood or lock himself in his room with Dahlia. "And what about the other Jarls?"

The sounds of scribbling across parchment doubles as Ulfric's hand grips his quill more tightly. It's a wonder he hasn't worn a hole through the paper or his desk for that matter.

"Have you even given it any thought because something will need to be done at least about-"

The quill stops.

Ulfric straightens his back to sit completely upright as he slowly turns his head to look at his housecarl. "What do you think I have been doing over the last two weeks? Sitting on my ass as I watch the world turn? If you think that you could do a better job of running Skyrim, then by all means," he pushes his chair out from his desk and stands before gesturing down to it with both arms, "go ahead. Be my guest!"

"I'm just saying that-"

"What? What are you trying to say, Galmar. Spit it out. Usually, you have no trouble speaking your mind, so why should you now?" He lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

There are limits and Galmar has finally found his. While he knew that things would inevitably come to this if he kept pushing, he still bristles at Ulfric's choice of tone as he too folds his arms defensively. Actually, all things considered, he is doing the man a favor. Better to have wound him tight until he snaps now rather than later in some council meeting.

The General opens his mouth to answer him and put Ulfric in his place, but before he can do so, the sound of hurried footsteps can be heard from down the hallway.

Eventually, Jorleif's face appears in the doorframe.

Out of breath and red in the face, he only spares a single moment to get some air before speaking, "Jarl Ulfric, you are needed urgently-"

"Can't you see that I am busy right now? I don't have time for trivialities, especially with all this paperwork which you left on my-"

"It's Dahlia, sir."

All of the color washes from his face as the air from his lungs suddenly leaves him. "What about her? Where is she?"

"She's in your quarters, sir, but-"

Ulfric says not another word as he pushes himself from the room without so much as a glance over his shoulder nor further comment towards Galmar. The soles of his boots click and echo impatiently as he makes his way through the suddenly too many twisting and turning hallways of his Palace.

Why is he needed urgently? Ulfric's heart drops into his stomach. If something has befallen her, he does not know what he will do with himself. On top of everything else which has been straining and pulling at him, he feels about ready to be ripped apart in every which direction.

Up until now he has been able to catch himself, stitching himself back together with those stolen moments he has with Dahlia, before falling completely, but without her-

Why is it that his brain always runs away from him to the darkest corners of his mind-to his greatest fears? More visions and ghastly speculations flit their way through his brain as his footsteps take him to the Great Hall, the second floor, and finally to the threshold of their bedroom.

He pauses in the doorway as his heart lurches further, threatening to burst apart at what he sees: his wife abed and looking rather pale as Lydia holds one of her hands and Narile passes her some unknown beverage in a mug.

The delay is only for the briefest moment however, as he soon makes his way closer to her to kneel down at her bedside. "My heart, are you-"

Dahlia smiles tiredly at him and reaches her hand down towards him, but he quickly closes the distance between them as he rubs the back of her clammy hands with his fingers. "I'm fine. I just had a little dizzy spell and-"

"And then she fell to the floor unconscious and dead to the world." Narile finishes with a frown. "It's a good thing that I was up here in the halls with Lydia already or who knows how long you would have been laying on the cold stones."

"I would have come to eventually."

"Eventually, she says." Lydia snips with a roll of her eyes. "When will you ever learn to take things easy for yourself?"

"Have you been feeling unwell?" Ulfric asks as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed with her. "Or more unwell than you have lately?"

"She was already feeling sick?" Lydia asks as her eyes narrow towards her best friend.

Dahlia sighs as she shifts uncomfortably on the bed. There are too many people surrounding her at the moment, and she is yet trying to sift through what happened to her. A fog clouds her brain still, and her stomach churns angrily as it is on the cusp of threatening to provide her with further discomfort.

Her dull hazel eyes look up pleadingly to Ulfric, asking him silently for exactly that-some peace. It is a good thing he knows her so well.

"I would like to thank you for taking care of Dahlia while she was...incapacitated, but now I would like a moment to speak with her alone." He tells them both with particular emphasis towards Lydia.

"But you'll come find us when you're done, right?" The housecarl can't help but add as she starts to walk to the door before lingering there.

"Of course."

Lydia nods at him and she and Narile both leave the room, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

"Ulfric, I swear I am fine." Dahlia tells him as she tries to reassure him by attempting to get out of bed.

However, he does not allow it. A warm hand rests on her shoulder, gently pushing her to lay back down against a pillow. "Please," he tells her quietly, "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you. What is the matter?" His eyes implore her to hear him and to stop being stubborn-just this once for him.

She looks away from him guiltily. "I don't want you to worry, and I don't want you to-"

"Do you know what is wrong? If so, why haven't you said anything?" He strokes a hand down her face gently before pressing his fingers under her chin to tilt her gaze back to him. "Should I send for Lyssa?"

Briefly, she pauses to toss her thoughts around in her brain as she refuses to say it out loud. Speaking the words into existence will only make things harder in the end if-

"Dahlia, please." He sounds tired-more so than usual.

On one hand it is cruel to not at least give him some idea, but she is still afraid and deeply so.

She starts out hesitantly. "I have not felt well for some weeks, if truth be told..."

Ulfric frowns, his brow crinkling with worry.

"...and I didn't want to say anything more to you because I am not certain and..."

His breath catches in his throat as his mind races-thoughts in every which direction which all circle back to one possibility.

"...I missed my moon blood the last month."

Breath comes rushing out all at once with force at the possible implied meaning of her words.

He clasps onto her hand tightly as he can barely make out the words of his question. "Are you...?"

Dahlia chews on her lip as she tries to keep a smile from her face. It is still uncertain and early, and she dare not give herself the space to hope. Not after what happened the last time...

"Why didn't you tell me? You should have told me, and we could have sent for Lyssa."

"Because I am not sure, Ulfric, and you shouldn't jump to conclusions either."

One of his hands wanders slowly, steadily and with a featherlight touch until it reaches her stomach, but she quickly presses one of her own hands on top of his.

"Ulfric, you can't..."

"But, I can, and even if you aren't. It's okay. It will be fine. We will be fine. Let me have this-let us have this. We deserve to be happy." A hand envelops hers in a warm embrace as he squeezes her tighter.

Dahlia weakly returns the gesture and reaches her other hand to brush a strand of hair from his face. She knows what he wants-can sense it from the hopeful, watery expression shining through clearly over the purple bags lining his eyes, but she cannot give it to him because she cannot bring herself to say the one word he so desperately wants to hear. Not until she is certain.

Over the last two weeks in particular, there have been a few cues which lead her to think that she is indeed...

She shakes her head with a sigh.

...other than missing her moon blood, of course. She has also been tired, overly-emotional, and somewhat queasy. None of which things she has told anyone about properly, only mentioning in passing. But perhaps the other biggest clue to her was that she accidentally cut herself in the kitchen last week, and when she went to heal it, she felt a faint fluttering. Just the smallest hint of something quite similar to how she felt back in Solitude. That there is something there which she could push magicka into or conversely pull from.

The thoughts stop in their tracks there, and she refuses to think about it anymore.

"We should send for Lyssa." Ulfric's deep voice fills the crackling silence of the room, and his hand slips from hers.

Dahlia doesn't have the energy to argue properly with him. "Okay, but could I request that it be after lunch?" She asks him as her fingers seek out his again at feeling the loss of contact.

He nods in assent. "As you wish, my heart. Do you want me to send for something? We can eat here together."

A faint smile pulls at her lips. She was hoping he would say that, but at the same time she knows he has been busier than ever since they have been named the next High King and Queen. Actually, if she is entirely honest with herself, she hasn't had much time to process this herself. "Are you sure you can stay? I know you have a lot of work to do."

"For you, everything can wait."

After giving one last squeeze to her hand, Ulfric gets up from his position on the bed next to her to speak with a servant about having a meal sent up for them. Later, he knows that he will pay the price with another night without sleep, but that matters very little to him right now. The only thing he can think about is the possibility of what is to come and making sure his wife is comfortable. So, if that means adding a few more sleepless nights to his schedule, he will put his time into the tithe happily and without complaint.

Soon thereafter, a whole roasted boar along with all the trimmings, baked potatoes, seasoned vegetables, honey-glazed breads, and an entire snowberry crostata are sent up to the room. Much care is taken as a plate is loaded up to its brim, the contents practically spilling over the edges, before it is passed to Dahlia for her to tuck in to. To finish it all off, a mug of steaming-hot tea is placed on the stand beside her. Everything that she could possibly need is within her reach.

The meal is quiet, almost contemplative in nature and that sentiment is mirrored throughout the Palace.

Despite it being midday, there are no servants hustling and bustling through the halls with footsteps echoing noisily through the stone walls, and the sky has darkened outside. What little light comes from the low flickering candlesticks, filtering their lazy glow throughout the room. It is as if the world sighed, gifting them a moment of respite and peace, and the elements bowed to its whim-light and sound dimming to give them more space.

Small smiles and soft touches are shared between the two of them as they dine on the feast which is brought before them. Hands graze against each other gently but with intention. Words are murmured tenderly, the feeling behind them felt more than understood as they are brought together by the calm of silence and closer still by the intimacy of being alone in the tenuous darkness.

Suddenly leaning in closer to Dahlia, Ulfric tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Warmth blooms through her at the simple action, and she cannot stop herself from moving closer to him, lips stopping just short of his. "You spoil me, Ulfric."

"You're the queen of my heart, and I love you," he whispers gently before pulling back slightly to see her expression, "so why shouldn't I?"

He then inches forward, enticed by the teasing proximity of lips, before pressing his against hers. The warmth they feel soon stokes into a fire burning low in their stomachs as mouths open, gasping for breath; tongues touch; and fingers tentatively explore.

Lunch is all but forgotten as plates fall and silverware clatters to the floor until nothing is left on the bed but them.

Dahlia follows his lead, leaning back carefully until her head is once again on the down pillows of their bed.

All the while neither of them stops kissing the other while they pull at each other's clothing hastily in attempts to remove it-to get closer to the other. A shirt falls to the floor here, and skirts are lifted there until skin finally touches skin, and a low hum springs from Ulfric's lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this? I don't-" He asks as a hand ghosts over the soft skin of her sides and a shiver rolls down her spine.

As they lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch their breaths, Dahlia turns on her side to him, burying her head into the crook of his shoulder. "I'd stay like this forever if I could. Tangled up in you and locked in our rooms-away from the world and all of its terrors."

Ulfric kisses the top of her head, and he can feel her smile against him. "As would I, my heart, as would I. But unfortunately, the world beckons us." He pulls back just enough to see her face before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "But there is no one else I would prefer at my side."

After they are both cleaned and redressed, Ulfric carefully helps Dahlia from the bed and onto her feet to test how she is feeling. Once about ten minutes have passed of them carefully making circles around the room with no incident, he leaves her sitting on the bed before summoning Jorleif to them.

"Send for Lyssa." Ulfric asks of him, and as the steward turns, he quickly adds on a second request, "and see if Ilse's has any snowberry danishes left."

"At this hour?"

The only response Jorleif receives is a stern look with steely eyes.

"Of course, sir. I will see what I can do." He bows stiffly before leaving the room to find one of the errand boys around the Palace. They can always use a few septims for their pockets.

"Ulfric," Dahlia begins to admonish him. "Jorleif is overworked as it is, and I while I appreciate the gesture, that won't be necessary." She chuckles. "We had lunch not so long ago."

He sighs as he runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Perhaps that is true, but nothing is too good for you. I also know how you love them," He adds with a smile. "For now, lay back and rest while we wait for Lyssa to arrive."

Minutes which feel like hours tick by as butterflies slosh the contents of Dahlia's uneasy stomach. If she could not disprove it with her own eyes, she would think she were back on one of Torsten's battleships with the way vertigo is setting in now, threatening to capsize her. And the more she focuses on that singular sensation, the stronger it becomes.

She looks over to Ulfric-the picture of calm on the outside, but she wonders if he feels the same as she does about this new possibility. At least that is until a slight jostling of the mattress indicates that his feet move as if tapping to a silent melody-the song: nerves.

A long breath passes through her lips. Good to know that she isn't the only one, then.

Eventually, the thudding of not-so-far-off footsteps echos through the hallway of the second floor of the Palace of the Kings, and not much later, a very pregnant Lyssa emerges in their doorway, huffing and puffing as she does so.

She hurriedly unwinds a thick, woolen scarf from her neck and tosses a heavy, fur-trimmed cloak onto a spare chair near the entrance. "Why are there-so many bloody-stairs in Windhelm? Couldn't you have-planned the city better? Or-made a campaign to level it off-or something?"

At first, Ulfric doesn't know how to answer the woman, but then a smile and later amusement seeps its way onto Dahlia's face, and he understands that it is a joke. Of course, he didn't plan the city, and leveling it off would be a ridiculous waste of septims, not to mention nearly-impossible.

"It's good to see you too, Lyssa." A laugh bubbles up from Dahlia. "I'll make sure it's the first thing on our agenda when we are crowned."

"Good. I would expect nothing less." She nods seriously, but a smile peeks through her expression as she makes her way towards her. "So, what seems to be the trouble here?"

Silence stretches on for one awkward beat and then two as both Dahlia and Ulfric look at each other without saying a word. He nods his head to her, but she turns her gaze from him, becoming slightly pale as the tempest in her stomach threatens to overwhelm her.

Dahlia can't bring herself to say it, so instead she picks at the threads in the sapphire-colored blanket covering her. What if- She shakes her head no, and then looks at him again, eyes watery, pleading, and Ulfric's heart breaks for her.

He holds a delicate smile on his face-as if it would shatter and crack like a porcelain bowl at any moment, as he looks to Lyssa, "Dahlia has been experiencing headaches and general fatigue the last few weeks, and this morning she fainted."

Lyssa's brows raise. "Why didn't you call for me sooner? I could have-"

"We would like you to check to see if I am p-" Dahlia blurts out all at once as if trying to force a cart up a hill, but right before she reaches the top, she falters and changes directions. "I have also felt slightly nauseous, and I have thrown up a few times, and-"

Ulfric looks at her with surprise. When was this, and why didn't he notice it? Why didn't she tell him? Was she that afraid? He frowns, but nevertheless, his hand makes its way down to squeeze hers and then drifts to place itself over her stomach.

Instant understanding dawns on the healer, and she places her bag down on the stand near the bed and begins to rummage through the contents. "Of course, of course. I have everything right here." She mutters in hushed, calming tones before pulling out two potions, some cotton gauzes and a small, thin knife. "If you're experiencing symptoms, I can do a simple alchemical test with your blood to determine it with certainty."

"Blood?" Ulfric asks as he eyes the knife in Lyssa's hands.

If she were not aware of their particular circumstances, she would have answered with a snappy comment. But considering that this has been a difficult situation for the both of them and they both seem to be terrified, she makes an exception. "Yes, but only a little, my Jarl. I promise that no harm will come to your wife." She places a bit of pink-tinged potion on one of the gauzes and begins to wipe at Dahlia's forearm. "I simply need it to mix with the reagents in this potion." She holds up a blue bottle with a yellowed label. "If there are hormones present in her blood, they will react to this. The first which I just used is a disinfectant."

"Thank you, Lyssa. I-" Dahlia starts, but the her friend quickly cuts her off.

"This is my job." She smiles down at her kindly. "Now, you're going to feel a bit of stinging, but it will be over soon. You can actually heal yourself as soon as I'm done gathering up some of your blood on this gauze." She holds the white material up with one hand and slowly presses the knife down to make a shallow incision.

Red blood seeps slowly out from the cut and begins to drip down Dahlia's arm as Lyssa presses the gauze into the wound. After a few seconds, what was once a pristine piece of white cloth is now soaked in crimson. She pulls it away quickly, and turns to the side stand as she sees a faint tinkling light in the corner of her eyes.

She wastes no time in getting to work. If she waits too long, the sample will spoil, and she will have to draw more. On a small wooden plate she pulls from her bag, Lyssa lays out the blood-soaked gauze, making sure that it is pulled flat and no edges are overlapping. The more surface area the reagent has to react with, the more accurate the result will be, and here precision is absolutely necessary.

For one brief moment, Lyssa closes her eyes, mouthing a silent prayer to the Goddess Mara before then pouring a healthy dose of the lilac reagent onto the gauze, making sure to soak it through.

Taking out a pair of metal tongs, she flips the piece of fabric over making sure to dip both sides thoroughly before then leaving it to do its work.

"When will we know-" Ulfric asks from over her shoulder as he watches her.

Lyssa startles slightly, but places a smile back on her face before turning to him. "In a minute or so, I suspect."

Slowly, bubbles being to appear as Dahlia's blood fizzes wildly in reaction to whatever plants were used to make the alchemical reagent. Chains of chemicals change shape and rearrange themselves to create new bonds as wispy tendrils of gasses separate themselves out in green-tinged waves.

Finally, once the concoction is settled and no further movement is observable, the mixture fades from a murky maroon to a bright fuchsia.

The healer stares blankly at it for a moment before turning to her friend and uttering two simple words.

"It's positive."

At first, she doesn't think that Dahlia hears her, but then her features begin to crumple one by one like leaves falling from the trees in mid-autumn.

Tears slide down her face, and while she quickly tries to compose herself, the the more she wipes at them, the more they seemingly multiply. It isn't long until she gives up entirely on stemming the flow of the oncoming deluge and just allows them to flow freely as her walls come crashing down, disintegrating into nothing. Sobs soon being to wrack her body as she curls into herself, holding her stomach carefully in her hands. As much as she cries with relief-it is also a much needed catharsis as she relieves herself of all her grief, sorrow, pain, and joy.

That is when Lyssa knows it is time to take her leave, quietly tiptoeing out of the room and pulling the door shut behind her. However, before the heavy wood clicks into place, she can see Ulfric gently lay on the bed with Dahlia and wind his arms around her, holding her tightly.

It is the miracle they have been asking for, and they should be able to process it in peace.

As he walks through the opulent corridors of the Imperial Palace, the only movement which can be seen are his own dark shadows casting ominously behind him.

The hour is late-half past two in the morning to be precise-but despite the fact that there should be guards lining the empty, gold-dusted halls of the Emperor's residence, the only one about is him.

"The finest guards septims can buy." He mutters under his breath.

He was forced to listen to the old Imperial windbag wheeze on and on about his victories here and his conquests there. But he knows better. The glory of the Empire is long forgotten, trampled in the mud under Ulfric's underfunded boots.

He sniffs derisively.

It was easy enough for him to gain an audience. He does have connections in high places with the Thalmor, after all. The only thing he had to do was wave his credentials and in he strolled with none the wiser. They were all too eager to hear of their victory over the blasphemous Jarl of Windhelm. Even if that is the exact opposite of what is true, he can fabricate any lie he likes as long as it sounds favorable to the Emperor's ears. It won't matter much for him anyway as he won't be occupying this plane for much longer.

Besides, who would think that some gangly scholar could cause them any harm? The Empire is unbreakable, and long may Titus Mede II rein.

Elisindir chuckles darkly under his breath. None of them will see it coming, and for once he'll show his dear mother that he isn't entirely useless.

Maybe this time she will be proud of him.

The operation has been running as smoothly as fine Alinor silk thus far, which is a blessing from Auri-El himself considering the disaster he has had to deal with over the last few months. Failure after failure has followed him ceaselessly as he sent vaguely-worded letters the Green-Kettles and then to that useless Imperial Legate in an attempts to stir trouble in Windhelm. He thought if they could rid themselves of Ulfric by crushing his spirits, it would dash any of his remaining naïve hopes of pulling Skyrim out of the brink for good. The Thalmor would then be free to manipulate Elisif as the new High Queen. But no. That was not to be.

The execution of Raffi Green-Kettle was the last straw for him and when he decided to go about things from a different angle...

Elisindir will taste the bitter flavor of defeat no longer, and he will succeed, all in the name of their glorious purpose: Elven Supremacy.

After he met with his new contact-some prickly blonde from the Brotherhood-everything fell into place. Money was exchanged, and he was given a poison. Everything was business as usual. The only request made was that a black handprint be left by the body, and he was already planning on leaving a note anyway.

Now, all he has to do is slip into the Emperor's room, tip the poison into his water pitcher, and wait for his reward.