The two weeks to the newly-reinstated New Life Festival fly past one after the other, all blurred together like the burning shots of Colovian whiskey Galmar used to be fond of drinking in his younger years. How is it that so much time passes and both so little and not very much happen at all? He doesn't know how either Ulfric nor Dahlia can stand it. Day after day, mind-numbing, soul-crushing tedium follows with no sense of relief-not even from the whiskey. At least not for for Dahlia, for obvious reasons, nor for him. He stopped drinking "for the sake of it" years ago, and it was better for him this way. Getting sloshed into ones cups to forget the ghosts of the past can only get one so far; however, the occasional bottle or two of mead is more than fine. He just doesn't indulge in anything stronger anymore.
Looking to Ulfric, he still thanks the Nine every day that he pulled him up and out from his own ass and stopped him from complete self-destruction, but he does not thank him for the headaches which have come from his duty as housecarl. Sometimes he wonders if he traded one poisonous vice for another-court gossip.
Rikke nudges Galmar with her shoulder, snapping his attention back to her and away from the High King and Queen. Dahlia is having a good day today and was determined to make an appearance to the citizens, so they all made a trip out into the city and are enjoying the scenery-or at least trying to. They did their best with such short notice and such a small budget to bring something together for the people to enjoy. Despite this, as Galmar looks up at the faded banners and and meager entertainment for the day, he grimaces. He supposes it is cheerful in its own way but doesn't fully manage to chase away the dismal grey chill of the streets and the marketplace. There is something about it which still evokes the austerity following the war and reminds them that things are not quite back to normal as of yet.
He smiles at Rikke, taking her hand into his own, before looking forward again to check their surroundings. Today, they are both in charge of keeping the High King and Queen safe. Lydia has taken the day off and decided to spend it with Narile in the Snow Quarter, and they have reassured Dahlia's housecarl (twice over) that they'll be more than fine in their care. After all, what could possibly happen to a giant Nord wearing a big bear cloak, and a pregnant woman in the middle of a big event?
As Galmar's eyes scan the marketplace, he can see many citizens milling about the few merchants' stalls which have set up shop, but the large majority of them are lined up near the produce stalls next to The White Phial. Outside the alchemists', there are a few palace servants handing out care packages of seeds, flour, and other dry provisions to help the people make it through the rest of the hard Winter. Then, a few stalls down beside them, there is yet another giving out free meat pies and mulled wine. By far, both of them are the most popular. Galmar smiles to himself as he sees that everything is going smoothly. There has been no pushing nor any shoving, and it is still too early for drunken fights to break out. It should be an easy day for him.
However, when his gaze returns to find his High King and Queen, they are both gone.
Galmar stops in his tracks, and a sinking feeling much akin to plunging oneself straight into the White River settles in his stomach. He tries to search for the pair again, checking and double checking everyone his old eyes can see before turning to Rikke.
"Rikke..."
She turns to look at him, a puzzled expression painted onto her face. "What is it, Bear-Helm?"
"Do you see Ulfric or Dahlia?" He answers carefully, his heart beating quickly in his chest as his eyes continue to scan the scene uselessly.
She blinks at him, staring at him with a completely dumbfounded look on her face for a few moments before speaking. "I thought you were Ulfric's housecarl."
"I am, but-"
"What do you mean you've lost the High King and Queen?" Her voice hisses. "One is a hulking Nord with bright blonde hair and the other is a pregnant woman. How do you lose them?!"
Galmar has no answer to her question.
"Okay, don't panic. We'll find them."
"Who said I was panicking, woman? I wasn't made general for no reason. My head is cooler than an ice block."
She look as him unblinkingly as she raises a brow. "You mean it is an ice block. I can already see you worrying like a mother hen who has lost her chicks. I know you. I'm sure they'll be fine. They can take care of themselves."
"Yes, but they are the High King and Queen, and they can't be alone and-"
"Well, then you shouldn't have lost them when you were daydreaming about me naked." She smirks.
"I was doing no such thing, I was-" Galmar throws his hands up in the air. There is no use disagreeing with her and the more he does so, the more she will think she is right. "Instead of arguing, we should be looking for them."
"Or we could have our own fun?" She smirks as she takes him by the free meat pies and offers one to him.
Frowning, Galmar pushes the pastry away from him. "You certainly have a carefree attitude about all of this."
"Don't be such a wet bear pelt, Galmar. As I said, I am sure they're fine."
"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Galmar is losing his bear helm at the moment?" Dahlia asks as she hides a chuckle behind her hand.
Ulfric casts a furtive glance towards his wife as she leads him down several side alleyways he never even knew existed. They have made it far past the marketplace by now, and the sounds of Hermir's hammer as well as Luaffyn's lute have dulled to nothing more than low background noise.
"My heart, may I ask you where we are going?"
Once his wife has put her mind to something, there is no use talking her out of it.
She looks up at him, her mouth twisting into a mischievous grin. "You'll see."
As much as she is excited about their new destination, Dahlia's stomach flutters with nerves. She has never taken Ulfric here before and has almost never mentioned this place. If she closes her eyes, she can almost see it as images and memories flicker one by one through her mind's eye. Name day. Feast of the Dead. Warrior's Festival. There were also the long nights by the fire, sneaking candle stubs into her room to read at night, and the danish or two she would be treated to when they had money. Home. She can still smell the cedar and ash from their hearth and feel the scratchy wool of her worn baby blanket, sewed and patched over so many times that it was almost unrecognizable.
When Dahlia is pulled from her reminiscing, she can see Ulfric still looking down at her, a questioning gaze in his eye. While chewing on her lip, she grabs his hand tightly and continues to pull him along. "It's not far now. I promise. You'll like this a lot, I think. It's something that I haven't shared with a lot of people, and I haven't even been back here myself since-"
She suddenly stops, her words dying in her throat as she looks in front of her. They have reached their destination, but...how can this be?
A shell, empty and devoid of warm fires, of laughter, and of anything that resembles her childhood home. Effectively what stands in front of her is a hovel-grey, black, and cold.
Ulfric looks down at her, his face confused. "Why have we stopped?" He doesn't understand, but the longer he looks down at his wife's face, the more upset he can see she becomes.
A simple house stands in front of him, damaged and in disrepair. Scorch marks cover the façade, several stones have come crumbling down, and tattered, faded blue curtains peek their way through the broken, bubbled glass which once made up the cheap window panes.
Dahlia looks up at him for a moment, her eyes watery and glassy, before she steps forward and into what is left of the building.
"My heart, I don't think it's safe in there, please."
She does not listen; she cannot hear him.
Shards of broken glass and splintered wood crunch under her feet as she walks through the doorway as Ulfric follows her.
Her arm moves to the left and points. "This was the kitchen." She then swings it vaguely in the opposite direction, "And this was the dining hall."
Dahlia's voice sounds choked and small as she looks around in disbelief as sudden understanding dawns on Ulfric as to where they are standing. This is where she grew up. This was her family home. He moves closer to her, drawing an arm around her as she continues to lead him through what is left of her broken childhood.
Shadow and memory filter through her mind as if it were a sudden cold wind blowing through the foundations of her old home. It would not surprise her if she felt the true chilling hands of the frost biting through the skeletal structure of her old house-what is left is not what it once was. There his nothing here but the phantoms of the dead.
A shiver crawls slowly up her spine as she feels swept up, the rug pulled out from under her, and she is falling. It doesn't even catch her notice that Ulfric has helped her to sit on the floor, his bear cloak around her shoulders. He peers into her eyes and tries to gain her attention to bring her back to the here and now, but she looks past him as if horrified by what her past has become.
"This is where I grew up. I lived the first 17 years of my life right here in this place." She blinks as she sets her eyes on the remnants of the soot-covered kitchen table, the space where her family would once break their fast. "It does not look like much now, and well," she pauses, biting her lip in deep thought before continuing, "not all of the memories are pleasant, but I wanted to show you..."
Ulfric sits next to her, an arm wrapped around her to pull Dahlia tightly against him. "I am still glad to know the place you once called home."
"They were supposed to be together forever, you know." She shuts her eyes forcefully as she fights to keep her swelling emotions under control. "They had pledged themselves to Lady Mara and to each other, but that didn't last." She shakes her head. "This home didn't last. Nothing lasts." Her face seems to twist into itself, brows furrowed and lips trembling, as the tears start to fall one by one from her dark lashes.
"That is no fault of yours, Dahlia. None of it is. It is an unfortunate circumstance and one which happens at times."
She swallows thickly as she tries to will away her tears and her anguish-tries to find some relief, but the tides of her emotions overwhelm her with their strength. "What if we end up like them? I don't know what I am doing. I don't know how..." Her voice trails off as she slides a shaky hand down the bump she is carrying.
"We are not your parents." He tilts her head to him, forcing her to look into his eyes, before dragging his thumb lightly over her cheeks to wipe her tears. "I will admit, dear heart, that I do not know what I am doing either, but I am happy to find out what that is with you. I would not dream of abandoning you. It is my solemn promise to you."
Despite the tears falling from her eyes, she still looks at him with a half a smile. And when he leans down to kiss her, the other half appears shortly thereafter. Wrapping his arms around her, Ulfric draws her as close as he can to him before one of his hands finds their way into the silky strands of her hair.
A soft sigh falls from her lips as she melts into him, allowing him to take all of her worries away. They are for later-long forgotten at the moment and a distant concern they'll face at some point in the future. For now, they have each other, and it is exactly as Ulfric says: they will find out together.
As he pulls away, Dahlia whispers softly into his ear. "I'm glad you're here."
"There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be." Ulfric then stands and reaches a hand down to her. "Come. Show me the rest of the house." A sly smirk slides its way onto his face. "I'd rather like to see where your room was."
A day off. Time to herself. And more importantly, time for her wife. If Lydia were forced to it, it has been a rather long time since she took a moment for herself.
The housecarl's boots slosh through the ashen slop of the most recent snows as she loops her arm around Narile's to lead her down the the Snow Quarter, and their eventual destination, the Gnisis.
While it's finally her time to get some, as Dahlia puts it-much needed rest and relaxation-she cannot help but chew on her lip as she looks back towards the Stone Quarter. What if something should happen to her while she is off getting hammered and making passes at her own wife?
"You shouldn't worry about them so much." Narile looks to Lydia with a smile. "They have been left in more than capable hands, and they are more than able to take care of themselves if you haven't forgotten."
Lydia sighs. "I know that, it's just that-"
"You don't trust anyone other than yourself." Her wife quips back to her, a knowing smile on her face.
"Hey, I trust people. I married you after all."
"Yes, but when it comes to your job, you take it too seriously."
Lydia frowns as they come to a stop outside the Gnisis, and a tall, hooded Altmer pushes his way past them grumpily, and she casts an annoyed glance his way. "If I do not, no one else will. You've seen Dahlia. That woman doesn't know when to stop or know what's good for her, and with the baby coming..."
Narile steps closer to her, taking one of her hands and bringing it to her lips. While most would call Lydia prickly and say her personality is somewhat off-putting, she knows that it's truly because she cares underneath all of her cheek. "I know you worry, dear, but they'll be fine. I promise."
"I suppose you're right-"
"I am more often than not." Narile interjects, and Lydia pushes at her playfully. "And while you might be a Nord, I am not. I'd rather appreciate it if we went inside and got a glass of something warm before my fingers freeze."
"Let it be known that I am not one to allow my wife to suffer in the elements." Lydia winks at her and holds the door open for her to walk through.
Low chatter and wary stares meet them as they both push their way into the packed corner club and try to find a seat for themselves. While there has been some progress with the Dark Elves, and they did see a number of them wander their way towards the market for the New Life Festival, the majority of the Dunmer are still keeping to the lower quarters of Windhelm.
As they get closer to the bar and Ambarys, several of the regular patrons call out to both Narile and Lydia in polite greeting. It has been a while since either of them has shown their faces in the establishment but not for lack of motivation. Sadly, it is that life has gotten away from both of them.
Eventually, they find two unoccupied seats at the end of the bar.
"So, you've finally decided to come down from the Palace from serving their highnesses." One of the regulars, a Dunmer woman dressed in shabby robes, slurs to them both. At her side is an Argonian with dully colored jade scales who leans in with interest to the conversation. "It's nice to see your face in here for once. How is that job by the way?"
Narile shares a look with Lydia, jeweled violet colliding with the piercing stare of her wife's deep brown. She can almost feel her wife's annoyance before the muscles in her eyelids start to jump. Best to diffuse the situation before Lydia's temper gets the better of her. "Just fine. Their highnesses have been nothing but kind to me. They've actually been looking for more help in the kitchens, and if you hadn't noticed House Hlaalu and Sadri have joined trade discussions."
"...I've been talking to Scouts. He's there too. Told me all about this Council. Whatever that is. But if the Argonians are finally being invited for a place at the table, it can't be all bad at the Palace. At least not anymore." The Argonian inserts himself into the conversation, blue-green scales around the gills fluttering with excitement.
Or at least with what Narile can only assume is excitement from an Argonian half-drunk on blood wine, if the bottle in front of him is any indication, anyway.
He extends his across the table, not even bothering to pardon himself with the woman sitting next to him as he reaches over her. "Hides-in-Reeds, at your service." After shaking Narile's hand exactly twice, Lydia's cold stare warning him off of any further pleasantries, he turns to the woman sitting next to him sitting arms-crossed and huffily next to him. "This is Shelatah, works down at the Docks with me in restocking the ships going from Riften to the new settlement in Helgen."
Narile nods politely as she places a hand on her wife's thigh to calm her. "Narile and Lydia. As your friend has indicated, we both work at the Palace. I'm the new head of the kitchens, and Lydia is our High Queen's personal housecarl."
"That's a pretty important job." Hides-in-Reeds lets out what is surely intended to be an attempt at a whistle, which ends up being more of a low hiss. "I'm sure you both see-"
"You did not tell me you had been promoted!" Lydia interrupts the conversation, eyes questioning as she looks at her wife.
"This morning actually. Sifnar is retiring, the poor thing. He can barely see the nose in front of his face, and I am sure he'd have managed to cut that off by now along with the two fingertips he's missing if it wasn't for me." Narile smiles at her wife, and then turns back to their present company. "You'll have to forgive my wife's manners. What she means to say is that it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She lifts a brow as she turns her gaze back to Lydia.
"Uh, nice to meet you." She mutters embarrassedly under her breath as she desperately tries to flag down Ambarys. Where is that man when she needs him? Narile and Dahlia are the ones who are good with mundane pleasantries. She'd sooner disappear around a dark corner, press her wife against a wall and-
The Dunmer barkeeper slams down two mugs of sujamma, and they slosh their contents messily over the already sticky bar. Lydia lifts her head from staring at her wife's legs to see what has gotten his breeches in a twist only to find bloodshot eyes and twitchy gaze from the usually amiable Ambarys.
"Hey Ambarys," Lydia waves at him cautiously as his eyes shift from one corner of the room to the next, "how have things been going for you here?"
Left corner. Right corner. Rafters. Floor. Left corner. Right corner. Rafters. Floor. It makes her dizzy just to watch him. She leans forward when she gets no response from him, and the scent of burnt ozone fills her nostrils along with the sound of Ambarys' fingers tapping-or rather twitching uncomfortably on the bar top. "Ambarys..."
He looks down at her, eyes widened and eyebrows raised almost into his hairline as if he had not noticed she was there despite the fact that he brought both her and Narile a drink. "Just fine, Lydia. Been very busy lately as you can see." He swipes his arm across the bar, almost upsetting the two drinks he just brought as he indicates the mostly-full tavern. "Everything has been just fine."
The bruised veins of his eyes make the red color look even more intense as they continue to dart about until they stop. Finally, they settle, attention fixed on the steps to the upper floor as he stares at them in abject horror as if some phantasm would appear at any moment.
Lydia nudges Narile under the table as her eyes carefully check the room for a threat. She then leans in to whisper in her wife's ear. "Something isn't right here, and I am going to find out what. Stay here with your new friends, and if something should happen, go call on Galmar and tell him that there is suspicious activity happening here."
"But-"
Lydia shakes her head slightly as she gives Ambarys what she hopes is a disarming smile. She doesn't want him to think that anything is out of the usual for them. "You will stay here. Do you understand me?" She tucks a strand of hair behind her wife's ear and places a kiss to her neck, lingering there for a moment. "Be good while I am gone, and make some more friends."
She then straightens herself up and looks up at Ambarys who has since wandered his way to the other side of the bar and has started rewashing the same mug for the third time as his eyes continue to search the room. Something is definitely wrong here, and she's going to find out exactly what, starting with searching upstairs.
As slowly as she dares, she slides off from the stool she is sitting on before ducking her way behind some of the patrons standing in the middle of the room. All the while, her eyes focus on Ambarys. If she happens to get caught, she can just say she was going to the bathroom. It's adjacent to the stairs to the second floor anyway. However, with the state he is in, she isn't sure that he would be receptive to her explanation.
The old wooden planks creak ominously as Lydia's foot touches the first stair, but she dare not look back at this point. Either she goes up now or not at all. As she ascends the staircase, each step she takes echos louder in her ears than the last, and she is certain that Ambarys will come running at any moment-but he never does. She reaches the flat of the second floor without any problems. It almost seems too easy.
Reaching down to the pommel of her short sword, she continues her search carefully. First, her eyes drift around the first corner. Nothing. The second. Nothing. She turns her head around and even checks behind her. Dust, dirt, and depression. As much as the first floor has been remodeled, it would appear that the second did not merit that same treatment.
However, as Lydia continues forward, at the end of the hallway, she finally encounters something interesting. A closed door. She presses her ear against it to try to listen for movement. Still nothing, and when her hand reaches up to turn the handle, it is locked. Divines damn it. She has never been any good at lock picking, and for that same reason, she doesn't carry any picks on her person.
Creak. Swish.
Suddenly, she hears the sound of someone behind her, and she spins, sword in hand to see them.
Narile.
"I thought I told you to stay downstairs." Lydia hisses angrily.
"And leave all the fun to you? I think not." Narile smiles and pulls a pin from her hair. "Besides, it would appear that you require some assistance."
After inserting her hairpin into the lock, it takes a matter of moments before it clicks, indicating that Narile has been successful.
"Since when can you pick locks?" Lydia asks.
"I can do a great many things." Her wife winks back at her and then turns the knob on the door to reveal an interesting sight.
Scorch marks on the floor, and items scattered about helter-skelter. Clearly the signs of a struggle. But, in the middle of the room sitting on an old rotted-out chair is the most interesting find of them all: a full set of Imperial legate armor.
"I'll be damned..."
Down the back streets and alleyways, through twists, turns, and dark corners, and then finally back to the main square of the market district, Galmar searches for Ulfric and Dahlia with Rikke on his tail. However, neither of them are able to find the High King and Queen anywhere.
"Curse them both to Talos above if I find them off and enjoying each other's comfort. So help me-"
"Breathe, Galmar." Rikke places a hand on his shoulder and turns him to her, a half-smile on her face. Truth be told, she has started to worry herself about them both, but it will do Galmar no good at the moment to add more fuel to his fire. "As I told you before, I am sure they are both fine, and even better if they're occupied. Diabella knows they both deserve a bit of fun."
"They're both rulers now with responsibility, and while I'd normally be the first one to encourage Ulfric to 'have a good time', this is unacceptable."
"What's unacceptable?" Lydia and Narile appear behind Galmar, Dahlia's housecarl with her arms crossed over her chest as her brows furrow. "Where are our High King and Queen?"
Galmar looks to Rikke, his previous anger replaced with worry as he licks his chapped lips. He certainly doesn't want to be the one to tell Lydia that they've lost the two most important people in Skyrim. However, Rikke looks away from him as she raises a challenging eyebrow towards him. A confession is the only thing that will do.
"I don't know." He mumbles under this breath.
"Excuse me?" Lydia's eyes widen, and she takes a step closer to him.
Galmar sighs. "I don't know. We've been looking for them for the past two hours."
"You mean to tell me that you have lost the High King and Queen of Skyrim, one of those people being a huge, bulking Nord who loves the sound of his own voice and the other a pregnant woman who Shouts for a living? I leave you alone for five minutes and-"
Galmar huffs as he sticks out his chest, lifting a finger to poke at her. "I'd have liked to see you do any better. What were you doing? Off and getting drunk while we-"
"While I had wrongly assumed that I could leave one of the most important people in my life in your car; however, it would appear that I was sorely mistaken!"
A hand pushes the two back as Rikke tries to insert herself in the middle of them. Both housecarls can be so stubborn. There is nothing she'd love more now than to knock both of their heads together until-
"What is going on here?" Ulfric's deep voice sounds from behind them as they all turn to look at him, faces clearly unamused.
"A better question would be where in Oblivion were you two? But I can see from," Galmar casts a disapproving gaze over them, "the state of your clothing exactly what you were doing."
Hair mussed in several places and cloak askew, Dahlia's cheeks tinge pink as Ulfric wraps an arm around her. "That wasn't what we were doing. We-"
"Save it." Lydia holds out a hand. "We don't want to hear it. Of all the idiotic things." She rubs her temples, brows creasing in frustration. "All of us were worried sick-"
"For all of two hours." Ulfric raises his own brow. "Besides, you do not think that between two people who can Shout that we could not take care of ourselves?"
"That's what I told them." Rikke adds, "But it still would have been nice to know where you had both gotten two."
"And who am I to say no to the whims of my pregnant wife?"
"I think we have bigger problems to worry about at the moment than whatever this is." Narile steps forward, her tone cutting through the conversation like a knife. Thus far, she has only stood to the side watching, but it is high time to direct the conversation back to sense. And of course, it is she who must put order into place.
"What exactly is that?" Ulfric turns to her, a frown beginning to form on his face.
"While you all were 'having fun'," Lydia finally cracks half of a smile to poke fun at them. "We were in the Gnisis."
"Yes, yes." Galmar waves her off. "We already know that you were having your own type of merry enjoyment."
Lydia shoots a glare at him before she continues. "Ambarys was acting very strange. Not himself at all, and when we went upstairs, we found a set of Imperial armor hidden in one of the back rooms behind a locked door."
Ulfric and Dahlia look between Lydia and Narile as if to confirm this rather unsettling information, and all the two women can do is nod grimly.
"And what would a set of Imperial armor be doing there, exactly?" Ulfric asks. "Had you seen anything like this before when you were working there, Narile?" He asks her pointedly, eyes narrowing with suspicion as he brings Dahlia subtly closer to him.
She shakes her head. "No, my King. That's the odd part about it. Sure, everyone there had always been...unhappy with the way things were being run in the Snow Quarter, but it was always the way it was even before your time."
Dahlia chews on her lip nervously as she look up at her husband. She can see the wheels turning in his head as well as the overly-protective look he is currently giving her. "Don't do anything rash, love."
He turns from her swiftly with a sigh to look towards Galmar and Lydia. "Bring him down to the Bloodworks. I would like to have a chat with him, and we will see how forthcoming he is."
"The Bloodworks?" Dahlia gasps. "Ulfric, you cannot be serious!"
He shakes his head somberly as he laces his fingers with her own to squeeze her hand. "I will take no chances with you nor with our child." Ulfric then nods to the pair of housecarls, who then walk off purposefully in the direction of the Gnisis.
One way or another, he will get to the bottom of this.