The table had been set hours ago, the linen napkins pressed and good porcelain dishes spread out across its surface. When they were first brought in, each one steamed and called to them invitingly as if attempting to persuade them into some type of truce. Only, in this case, the dishware had forgotten one thing: the High King and Queen are both too stubborn to do such a thing.

Ulfric sighs as he looks up for the third time to see his wife pushing glazed carrots around her plate as if concentrating on making some elaborate piece of abstract art. The silence has been killing him. Or killing both of them really, snuffing out and suffocating what life is left between the two of them. Neither of them are fond of the long, pregnant pause which has extended for far too long between them. It is unnatural, looming over them like an unwanted dinner guest invited to their table, and with each second which ticks by, it only grows larger, appearing to gorge itself on the untouched food in front of them.

He shifts once more, and Dahlia's eyes dart momentarily to his own, catching his tired gaze. Vaguely, she notes how much older he seems to look in these particular moments, as she imagines she does as well. The glow of life teems all around her, but yet, the half-hidden greys of her hair have somehow become more prominent as of late. Perhaps, it can be attributed to the worry which has been gnawing at her along with the silence. Either way, it is a true contradiction to see both ends of the spectrum of life, nascent beginnings and aged wisdom, displayed so prominently.

If they were speaking at the moment, Ulfric would even tell her that it suits her. However, before he gets to chance to say anything at all, her eyes refocus back on the plate in front of her as she frowns. He has had enough.

"Is this really what you want? To sit here in silence as the years stretch on and distance fills the space between us until we end up hating one another-just like most court marriages? It seems to me we have been perpetually trapped in this back and forth for the last two months."

"You don't understand-"

"Then, help me to understand." Ulfric's fist comes down onto the table as emotion rolls through him, coiling him up like gathering clouds of thunder. Something is coming. It is only a matter of what.

She looks up at him, eyes as glazed as the carrots on the plate before her, and stares at him with wide-eyes. What is there to say? She bites the inside of her cheek as she tries to hold her tongue or rather her emotions at bay.

As of late, things have been difficult between the two of them, that much has been more than evident. What would fix this? How can she make him understand when thus far he has been so far absorbed in his own devices that it would seem she is nothing but an accessory to his life?

This is not what she imagined when she married him much less when they decided to-

She cannot finish the thought.

Waves of emotion crash back and forth, stirring whirlpools in her stomach as she capsizes, tears threatening to spill in earnest from her eyes. No more water can be taken into her ship; she has reached her limit. Contrary to what he believes, this was not what she had intended, and this is not what she wants, rather she just doesn't know how to bring them back to shore-to safety.

Blinking in an attempt to dam her emotions back into place, she tries to arrange her face into some semblance of placidity. He looks back at her, his own features shifting, preparing for the tempest which is to come.

"I-," she stops and thinks about what she wants to say next-or to give herself a moment to collect herself before continuing. "This has all been too much for me. In-between the normal goings-on paired with the newness of court intrigue, and now-"

"You knew this was going to happen if you chose to marry me. It is not unlike you were unaware." A hard defensive, perhaps too callous, even for him. He reinforces his walls, preparing himself for the assault he knows is to come. Or protecting himself from the seemingly-inevitable heartbreak. It is not like he is unaware that things have not been as they should between them.

"Is that what you think?" She blinks at him stunned as her mouth turns into a deep frown, and the urge to throw something at him is swells within her almost too tempting to ignore. "Of all the stupid-"

Ulfric's elbow moves from its position from leaning on the table as his back straightens against his chair. "What else am I to think when all you do its bicker and fight with me, picking at every single decision that I make?"

"I do not to that all the time."

"You don't, but it has been more oft than not as of late. You cycle through seemingly being enamored with me to not even being able to stand looking in the same vague direction as me. You cannot tell me this is false."

"And you cannot tell me that you truly do not understand my struggle, Ulfric. I am-" She sucks in a deep breath and pushes it out slowly between her teeth. "This has been difficult, and I am trying."

"As am I. As are we all."

"Yes, but-"

"But what? What excuse could you possibly have for being so displeased with me? I have been doing the duties of High King almost single-handedly as you rest-"

"That's it. That's the problem."

Ulfric's brow furrows in confusion, wrinkles becoming much more prominent as he tries to parse out her meaning. "I don't understand."

"What I mean, Ulfric, is that you are working entirely too much past the point of reason and logic. It is stressing you beyond exhaustion. You've stopped seeing me, except for these 'planned meals,' and well, quite frankly, I feel alone." She chews on her lip as a hand comes up to lay on her stomach. "Perhaps I am not entirely alone, but it has been hard. I want to help you, and I feel like I am more like a burden. I want to drag you to bed and make you sleep a few decent hours. I want to slap you across the face." She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "And more than anything, I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms. Your absence has been felt, and it is not that I do not appreciate what you are doing as I know that it is important, but...the stress has changed you. Remember Ambarys? I don't even know what to make of that mess."

A hand comes up to massage his temple. She is not entirely wrong, but she is not entirely right either. "What do you want me to say? And what would you have me do? I cannot leave the throne unoccupied, not in a time like this."

"You could come to bed once in a while or stop in and say hello or join me again for our book reading, or-"

It is so simple, yet things are more complicated than she would believe them to be.

"I'm here now, and yet, you insisted on giving me the silent treatment, squandering the little time we have."

Touché. He has her there, but she counters.

"You should not have to schedule time to see your pregnant wife."

A point for her as she parries. In their current spar, words are weapons, and each one must be wielded carefully lest someone draw blood.

"We just went over this, Dahlia, and I told you-"

"-that you are too busy to see your wife. Yes, I heard that one before. Try again."

And here he thought they were actually getting somewhere. One step forward, two steps back. A cyclical dance without an escape.

"Why are we fighting when we could be taking advantage of the time we have together?" He leans forward to capture one of her hands in his. "This is pointless."

She shakes her head sadly. "No, it is not. This is about us, and if I fight, it is because I will not let you go. I will not let you push me to the side and leave me to collect dust until you pick up someone better."

There is it at long last: the real reason why she is upset.

He stares at her for a moment, tired eyes and frowning lips which dip further down at hearing those words. "You think I am going to forget about you and leave? My heart, I-I could never do that."

"But you already have. You spend so much time in your office with your advisors."

"You know I must." He grips her hand even tighter.

"And you know that I do not have to like it." She says to him, voice barely a whisper.

Ulfric runs his opposite hand down his face. What a mess. The delicate scales of balance must recalibrate, but with what time? Fate twists upon itself like a great serpent as Akatosh pushes them further out into the unknown, tipping the equilibrium in whichever way he chooses. If only he could see the end. Either way, from his perspective, he cannot see a way for him to win.

He tries to smile at her, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss the back of it gently. She seems almost hopeful now as she looks at him, and the expression breaks his heart.

"What if you brought the rest of your paperwork here? You've worked in here before."

"Are you ready to receive multiple guests in our bedroom who are in and out at all hours of the day?"

"I would do anything if it meant I could see more of you." She gets up slowly and takes a chair closer to him. "Besides, with this," she places one of his hands over her growing stomach, "I don't sleep that much anyway no matter the time of day."

While he understands where she is coming from, at the same time, he isn't entirely sure that this is the answer either of them are looking for. Is there even one to begin with? As he looks down at her, he knows there is only one correct answer to this conundrum, and only one right thing that he can tell her.

"Alright." He relents, the sound coming out as a heavy sigh. "How about this-I will bring more of my work here to do in your presence at my desk in the evenings. However, during the day, I must still keep to my duties downstairs. There are too many meetings and too much going on for me to leave."

Compromise is complicated, and sometimes giving in is the best response, even if he knows that he will have to sacrifice. It would cost him infinitely more not to.

"Are you sure that I cannot accompany you?" She already knows the answer to that question, yet she invites the disappointment anyway. Ever since their foray into the city for the New Life Festival, Lyssa has told her her situation is even more delicate. Her blood pressure has been rising to uncomfortable levels. Bedrest is what she needs, especially this close to her giving birth and due to what had happened to her before. As if she needed any reminders.

If he could fix everything for her with a wave of his hand, he would, but things are not as simple as that. Ulfric's heart sinks in his chest as he looks at her, a faint fluttering accompanying it as it always does when he is around her. He knows that he will lose more sleep, waste more precious time, and gather ever more paperwork with their new arrangement. A headache already pounds behind his temples at the thought, but in the end, it will all be worth it. It must be. Especially when he sees the hope glistening her eyes. How could he be so shortsighted?

Reaching forward, he takes her hand, a thumb massaging the back of it. "I know you want to, and I know you would if you were able, my heart." The tone is gentle as he plays the diplomat, ever trying to make amends. It is long overdue that he drew his attention back to her. Back to home. Back to his own needs. Their needs. He only hopes he will be able to continue to walk the path of balance as he stands precariously between the line of a rock and a hard place. Falling through the cracks to the space between is not an option.

With all the grace she can, Dahlia holds smile on her face-genuine for once, yet fragile and ready to break like shattering glass as it hits stone floors. "I will take what you can give me. We will get through this, and we will be okay. We always are."

As she says these words, Ulfric's heart breaks just a little more.

Sentinel, finally.

There is something different about the air, the streets, and people as foreignness swirls about Ralof in vibrant, multi-colored cloths and the smell of exotic spice. Never in all of his life did he ever imagine he would see anything like it. On one hand, it is clear that he is most-certainly not in Skyrim anymore, and on the other, a small piece of him is comforted by that fact. He is here, and he has made it, even if he is not sure how well he will do in this peculiar land of scorching sands awash with too color. How he longs for Skyrim wrapped in its deep grey, blues, and greens, the familiar scent of snow on the wind that chills him to the bone!

Hopefully, this will be a quick and painless process, or at least as quick and painless as the machinations of political alliances can be. Ralof is well aware he was not sent here for his proficiency in political maneuvering but rather his amiable spirit and level tongue. He will use it and any other method at his disposal to smooth over the sandy roads to pave his way back home-to bring good tidings and better news back to his King and Queen.

With that being said, perhaps some lessons on what to expect in the political scene of Hammerfell would have been useful in this case. Ralof thinks back to what he knows as his eyes drift among the stalls of various spice merchants. Well, from what he last heard, the citizens still were in a stalemate with the Aldmeri Dominion, which makes sense or else he probably wouldn't be here in the first place. His eyes are drawn over to some bright silk robes. Perhaps he should buy some if he is to fit in. If nothing else, they would be more comfortable than...

Focus, Ralof.

He brings a hand up to his forehead and visibly shakes his head. Something about...Forebears and Crowns? Some type of disagreement and then a political marriage? Damn it. Why didn't he pay more attention when Ulfric was speaking about this earlier? He sighs as his eyes redirect themselves back to the stalls-all golds and jeweled tones. It's hard for him to keep his eyes off the scenes as many of the merchants beckon to him, clearly having already spotted him as a tourist not from here-someone other, but he must continue. He has a job to do.

Winding streets lead him the long way around as he bobs and weaves through the market towards the inner part of the city to where the political seat of Hammerfell is located. Whether or not he is ready for this does not matter. Briefly, he thinks that perhaps even given all the time in the world and training as a diplomat, he still would not be fully prepared for what this conversation will entail. Maybe that's the secret. No one is ever completely ready to set the wheel of time in motion. They only brace for the outcomes as they accept the possible consequences of their actions.

As he stares up at the elaborate mosaics and sprawling towers of Hammerfell's grand palace, he sends a small prayer up to Talos, or anyone that will hear him, for the strength to meet them with as much poise as he can.

"What is your purpose here, Ralof of Riverwood? We were not aware of your coming. No letters were sent, and no announcement of your arrival was received." Riyah at-Sirali, Uniter of Crowns and Forebears, Queen of Hammerfell, and Sun on the Sands of Ali'kir, asks him carefully as he approaches the throne.

While rings glitter from all her fingers, her deep brown eyes seem to swallow him whole, reflecting no light at all. It would appear the queen will mince no words here. Better for him, if he is entirely honest. He knows blunt-is intimately familiar with it. He has worked with Galmar for long enough to understand that.

"I am sent here as a messenger from High King Ulfric Stormcloak and his wife, the Dragonborn, High Queen Dahlia Stormcloak of Skyrim. I have a letter and an offer of alliance against the Aldmeri Dominion." He bows and a servant comes forward to take the letter from his hand.

Her dark brows raise slightly as she takes the letter and runs a long nail under the wax to release the seal. Her consort, a marriage of alliance in and of itself, turns with interest, but says nothing. It would appear the Queen is the one who holds the reins in this kingdom.

For several minutes, she looks the letter over, her face a diplomatic mask of blank impartiality. Clearly, she knows the game well and has been schooled in the arts of politicking-and here Ralof thought Ulfric was the only one who wore such an insufferable thing. Wrong again. How it is that noblemen gain such a skill will always be a mystery to him. Much does he prefer to speak with those who hold their hearts closer to their sleeves, their true nature and intentions peeking out from within.

Ralof shifts on his feet uncomfortably as he waits for the inevitable response. What will he do if it is not to their advantage? While Ulfric gave him the barest of briefings of how such things work, he has no idea what he is doing. Why did he think he could do this? And of all people why did Ulfric have to place his confidence in him? He is but a simple man of humble beginnings from a quiet river hamlet tucked next to the shores of a lazy river. Never in his life has he had to negotiate anything in his life other than the small squabbles had between children or nosey neighbors.

Sweat begins to form underneath his collar, dripping underneath his tunic and soaking it through even further-as if the foreign heat of this land hadn't already gotten to him. Waiting. Watching. Waiting. At least in his post during the Civil War, he had something else to focus on or even other people to speak with to distract him from what was coming. Tap. Tap. Tap. The heel of his boot hits the marbled floors of the palace in short staccato to break the otherwise oppressive silence. He can't stand it.

Sharp brown eyes find his, and shortly thereafter, the crinkle of paper hits his ears as Queen Riyah finally places the parchment neatly on her lap. "These are your terms?"

A simple question. One whose answer appears to be obvious to Ralof-or to anyone reading the letter. Isn't that why it was written in the first place? "Yes, your Highness." Ralof nods his head and then bows awkwardly, unsure of himself.

"And is this all you have to offer?" She leans forward on her throne, her gaze never leaving him. "Do you know how difficult it has been for us to keep the Thalmor at bay? Does your new king have any idea of the resources which were put into this or of what we have lost?" She scoffs, "This isn't good enough. We need more reassurance."

Unsure of what to say, Ralof stands in the middle of the room in silence. Is this it then? After all he has been through in the last month, does he turn tail and go back to Windhelm with nothing? He hasn't even been her for a full hour yet.

Ralof looks up at the Queen, a frown on his face as he blinks in disbelief. "I don't understand."

Queen Riyah stares back at him, drawing herself up to her full height. "I mean, we cannot accept this. The terms-"

A buzzing starts in his ears. No. No. No. He will not accept this. Can she not see? Does she not understand what is at stake and how much more will be lost? All of this in the name of petty politics?

"Do you have any idea of what we have been through in Skyrim?" Ralof's voice rings out into the court. "I do not mean to make light of the suffering of your people, but we have lost just as much. Brothers and sister go missing all the time. We all know what happened to them. They are not missing. They are not lost. The Empire and what they have done to all of us was irresponsible. We were the shield which helped hold the Dominion at bay, and now that they do not have us, they will come whether we like it or not. Whether we are ready to lose more or not." Ralof shakes his head. "We are on the same side. We want for the same thing. I just watched my country tear itself apart-lost many whom I loved and would consider as good as family-and all for what? Do not make the same mistake that half my country has made. We are not so different as you would think, and together we are stronger."

Queen Riyah's lips twitch slightly, the only display of any emotion she has shown thus far. "You offer us some coin-something which I know is hard to come by and precious to you at the moment. Some weapons? We have all of that. I understand your plight is our plight and that we need to fight the Dominion together, but what is to say that you won't hold us back? What is in it for us?"

There it is. The real question and reason for rejecting the alliance. If Ralof could, he would spit on the floor. Instead, he grits his teeth against the temptation. Politics. How he detests them and the games which put innocent lives in danger. While he has no problem himself with dying a valiant death and sharing in the spoils of Shor's Halls, he knows that life on Nirn has value and those here should be able to live their lives in peace.

"There is one thing you are not considering."

This perks up the Queen's ears as a Khajiit-like smile slides its way onto her face, "I am listening."

Ulfric had prepared him for this eventuality, but he had hoped-had prayed that it would not be necessary. For Dahlia's sake. "The King and Queen are offering more than coin or weapons: they offer protection. What better than that of the Dragonborn herself? The alliance, should you take it, will extend to a mutually beneficial alliance where the legend herself would be as obligated to you and your people as she is to her own."

The Queen's eyes widen slightly. This was not something that she had considered. Rumors of the Dragonborn have spread all over, Hammerfell included. She knows what tales have been woven together about the abilities of Skyrim's current queen. Smart of Ulfric to marry her and join his house to hers. Is it really love as the stories say, or simply convenience and power? The corners of her lips lift into a smug smile. She knows what she would do in that situation, but speculating on such matters will gain her no insight nor grant her any favors.

There is only one answer when things are put so plainly as this. "Fine, I will sign, and we will fight the Thalmor together. However, I expect the King and Queen to hold up their end of the bargain. They will come to Hammerfell's aid should it become necessary."

Silently, Ralof sends up a small thanks to the Divines. While he had anticipated this to be difficult, he thought that the negotiations would drag on for days or even weeks. In one part, that says more about the current state of Hammerfell than the façade that is put on here. They need them and cannot afford to shrug off such an alliance. Maybe that is all politics is-smoke and mirrors and who puts on the best mask. Or perhaps Skyrim truly do have the Gods' favor, be it Talos, Akatosh, or even Mara. Either way, he is grateful to not have to spend any more time here than necessary. Things are too hot here for his blood in more than one sense of the word.

"I can hear you thinking from all the way over here."

The statement catches Ulfric off-guard as he turns his head to look back at his wife lounging comfortably on their bed. For a moment, he doesn't answer, only studies her carefully. The peace between them has been as fragile as eggshells, but the important thing is that there has been some semblance of peace. Still, he has tread lightly with her for fear of smashing it and making a mess.

He waits-one, two, three seconds-for her to come to him and see if she will say more now that she has his undivided attention.

Dahlia only turns the page of the book she is reading. Of course, she isn't even looking at him. She doesn't have to. She already knows. "A septim for your thoughts?" She finally asks, and her eyes find his.

Ulfric thinks about it for a moment, but the papers sprawled out on the desk in their room tell a clearer story. There is no use trying to hide it from her. Every which way parchment is spread out so far that he feels like he is drowning in it. Frustration. Disorganization. Incompetence. Not from him, of course, but from so many others that it almost makes his head spin every time he sits down anew.

"I have been working on organizing and redistributing reports from Galmar related to the new recruits. It would seem that the numbers are low, resources are low, and-"

"-everything is low?" Dahlia finishes for him.

A hand comes up to massage his temple. Headache upon headache, and he didn't want her to have to worry about this on top of everything else. This was exactly the reason why-

Dahlia's voice cuts through his thoughts. "We have raised taxes particularly for the noblemen and still things are this way?" She frowns as she puts her book down on her lap in thought. "Do you think someone is stealing from the coffers?"

Ulfric bites his tongue as he hesitates; however, his thoughts eventually leave him. If there is one thing which he has learned in the last month, it is that it is better for him to tell her instead of waiting. "That or someone is mismanaging them, which is really the same thing."

"Is there something I can do to help you?"

Despite his throbbing temples, he smiles softly at her. "No, my heart, but I thank you for the sentiment. It's just a matter of sending Jorleif and a few other trusted advisors in to investigate. I am sure it will be resolved soon...even if it is a waste of our time."

"Oh," she looks down at her hands, fingers picking at her cuticles nervously, "is there perhaps something else I can help you with? What other papers do you have in front of you?"

A better question would be what papers doesn't he have in front of him. Ledgers, recruitment numbers, and reports from the various Jarls all sit in front of him untouched along with the regular day-to-day paperwork for running the Hold.

"If you gave me some of the documents related to Eastmarch business, I could probably take care of it for you."

It's like she reads his thoughts. He smiles and shakes his head. "You are supposed to be resting-"

"-and yet I am tired of resting as I do nothing but that. Please Ulfric, let me help you. I am on bedrest, not incompetent."

While her tone is light, there is still a slight chiding to her words-a quiet threat of falling back into the unfortunate cycle they had only just gotten themselves out of. He has but one option. Checkmate.

Ulfric turns to his desk, sifting through some of the stacks of papers to find what he is looking for, and then walks over to the bed to sit down next to her. "Are you certain?"

"Positive. We share this burden together for better or worse, and a little paperwork is no match for the legendary Dragonborn." She smiles. "If I get angry enough, I can make them disappear with a single word."

He chuckles quietly at her words. Some part of him is happy that his wife seems to be back to her usual teasing, even if he wishes that the circumstances were less administrative and more of a different type. While she may be with child, it is not that he has not stopped thinking about her or wanting her.

"Here are the recent Hold reports. Most of them are the usual sort that you've seen around here with requests for supplies or general petty disputes. There might be something or other related to comings and goings of shipments to Helgen. I'd pay special attention to that and to Torsten's reports of navy ships." He sighs, "Ideally, exports should be up, imports should hold steady, and the numbers should all match, but that would be asking for too much."

Dahlia takes the papers from him, her hand grazing the underside of his palms gently as she does so. "And how are Torsten's ships coming along?" A glance down at the sheaf of papers, and several noble names catch her attention. She shifts them to the bottom; they can wait. Other matters are more urgent than political pissing contests, and she finds she doesn't have the patience for it at the moment.

A steady breath in through Ulfric's nose and out through his mouth tells her almost everything she needs to know before he even speaks. "He's been dragging his heels, but...I know how to light a fire under his ass. He'll soon learn the hard way that I am not playing around at ships and sailors."

Despite knowing the seriousness of the situation-and the sometimes foul disposition of her husband, Dahlia finds herself smirking. "True, and High King Ulfric Stormcloak has no time for fun and games"

He looks at her, cool blue eyes narrowing at the jab towards him. "...unless it is with his wife, of course." Then, his voice lowers slightly as he leans forward to press his lips to hers, "But only as long as his wife approves."

Eyes glittering with mischief, she looks up at him, her hand cupping his face. "She would approve if there were not more paperwork." Dahlia sighs, "Or if she were not so uncomfortable."

"How have you been feeling?"

"Large and uncomfortable." She shifts as she feels Ulfric begin to rub circles on her stomach. "I've been managing, but I am still suffering from bouts of nausea. Lyssa has been telling me that I will be fine with rest, but it's still rather frustrating to be confined to this room."

He picks up one of her hands and kisses the back of it. "You are very strong, my love, and you'll get through this." Half of a smile slides its way onto his face as he imagines what the baby will be like. "Do you think it is a boy or a girl?"

Dahlia thinks about it for a moment. While the question has crossed her mind, she really hasn't given that much importance to it. "It matters not to me as long as they are healthy."

"A good and very diplomatic answer, spoken like a true queen."

"According to Lyssa, I only have a couple months left, perhaps less. Are you excited to be a father?"

While it is a normal and even expected question, Dahlia can't help but feel a bit nervous about his answer. She knows very well that he has always wanted to have a family, but wanting one and actually having one are two different things.

"I will not lie to you the idea has me a little nervous, but at the same time I know we will rise to the occasion." He slides his hand over her stomach. "But I know that I am happy that it is with you. There is-"

He stops suddenly, a curious look making its way onto his face which turns into a smile and then quickly to excitement. Ulfric looks at his wife open-mouthed, his brain, for once, searching for words. "Did you feel that?"

At first, Dahlia isn't sure what he is talking about, but then it happens again: a slight stir-a kick. She smiles back at him and places her hand over his own. "Yes, the baby does that a lot as of late. Sometimes I think that they wish to punch or kick their way out of the womb. Very much like their father, filled with fire and ready to fight any who would oppose them."

"Or like their mother." He teases back.

"You're very funny, dear." A look crosses her face, and she squeezes her eyes shut as if in pain. "Do you really think we can do this?"

It's not the first nor will it be the last time she asks him this question before the time comes, and she's not wrong to ask it. Honestly, it is something which he thinks about himself, mostly in the small hours of the morning while she is still sleeping. It is the only time he reserves for such indulgent thoughts when no one can see him and no one but the Divines himself can judge him.

He squeezes her hand and leans forward to her to kiss her lips again gently before pulling away. "We can do all of it. It is sometimes a burden, and it is not always easy. I am sorry." He sighs but holds to her hand tighter. "But we can do it. We must. All of this for the safety of those who will come after us so that they will live a better life-to truly free Skyrim of her shackles, and the Thalmor hold the key. We will show them our strength and determination."

"That's what you learned from Ambarys, isn't it?" Dahlia asks tentatively. They haven't really spoken about what happened there even if they have been fighting about it for the past month.

"Yes." He answers simply and shame twists onto his face painfully. "They were here, Dahlia. A Thalmor spy was amongst us, and there was nothing I could do, but I won't let them get away with it. I have scouts on his trails, and eventually, they will sniff him out and bring him here. Then, we will be the ones with the advantage." Or so he hopes.