There have been many moments over the last three years when Dahlia has questioned her sanity; however, none have made her do so more than right now. As she lays in bed, covers pushed completely off of her, she contemplates her life choices and how it is that she got here to this exact moment. She wanted this-they both did. They wished, prayed, and plunged headfirst wildly into it together without even so much as looking back...or forward. Every aspect. Thinking about it now, the whole of their relationship together has been exactly that: both of them together, hands clasped tightly running against whatever destiny has thrown their way. Or perhaps, it could be more aptly put that they ran directly into her arms. Either way, there is not a doubt in her mind that they wanted this-all of it with the full package tied up neatly with a pretty Saturalia ribbon. Only none of it went as planned, and all of it has been harder than she had expected. And perhaps it might sound crazy, and Lydia would definitely tell her she is out of her mind, but despite all of this this with everything that the Divines have brought upon them, she still wants it.
Maybe that's the funny thing about life: you run from destiny, yet she makes you want it in the end anyway. Akatosh must be laughing somewhere in Aetherius right now.
Dahlia only wishes it wasn't so godsdamn hot.
She turns again to lay on her other side, hair sticking uncomfortably to the back of her neck. Maybe the floor would be a better option, but then, how would she get up again?
She sighs and carefully pushes herself up from the bed to walk a few laps around the room yet again. Who would have thought that the coldest place in Skyrim would could also be such a sweltering oven?
Any day, any hour, and any minute now she would be blessed if this baby would just come already. As the months have pushed into the beginnings of Summer, Dahlia has only become increasingly more uncomfortable, both from the temperature and also from the heft of carrying her swollen stomach around. If she never does this again, it will be all too soon.
Lyssa has been making increasingly frequent trips to the Palace to see her, each time reassuring her that she baby will indeed come, and it will be sooner rather than later. But when is soon, and how much more will she have to stand off this? Not even when she was in the middle of Sovngarde with two cracked ribs did she feel so utterly uncomfortable as she does at the present. Quite honestly, she'd rather face the beast again than endure this Oblivion for another second.
It will all be worth it in the end, Lyssa tells her. But how is Dahlia to know that? She has never been through this before, and she had no sisters or brothers of her own or anyone else to explain this to her what to expect. The most contact she has had with babies or anything close were the children she used to play with when she was growing up in Windhelm, and even then, the smallest were 4 to 5 winters when she had 14...
A sudden cramp makes her stop as a hand flies down to her stomach, and she stops her pacing. Those have been increasingly frequent as of late. Lyssa explained them to her as pre-birthing pains, and nothing to worry about as long as there isn't any blood. Perhaps this would be a good time for her to return to bed. While taking a few short turns around the room helps to alleviate the discomfort from the heat, she isn't supposed to be up for very long as she has had a few scares-blood which has been seen spotting her bedsheets when she overexerts herself-all of this being the reason she was put on bed rest to begin with.
Dahlia slowly makes her way over to the bed, a few more strong pangs rolling through her as she gingerly makes her way back to safety. A deep breath in and out. One step forward. In and out. Another foot moves. In and out. This will pass, and if she can only make it back to the bed, she'll be fine. Breathe in and focus on calm. Clear skies and sturdy ground beneath her feet. Flowing water and-
Oh.
Oh no, what is this?
Dahlia braces herself, fingers just reaching forward to try and grasp the sheets on their bed, as agony rushes through her. Just like that, breathing is all but forgotten to her, pain stealing the wind from her lungs, and she quickly tries to lower herself to the floor to safety. Where is the floor? How can she get down? Why does she suddenly feel wet?
Somehow she makes it to the ground, and she leans her head against the footboard of the bed. Is it blood? It can't be. If it is, there is too much as it flows in a slow trickle. The pain burns, shooting down through her limbs, and she tries to stifle a scream. Ulfric is in a meeting. She can't interrupt him. Good Gods, what did she do to deserve this? A short sob cuts from her throat as she reaches back to grasp the footboard, knuckles gripping so hard she feels as if she might break it. None of it registers to her. Just lightning. Just pain, and wetness, and heat, and movement, but from where? Where?
Tears begin to fall freely from her lashes as she tries to keep herself calm as she finally reaching down to check herself. When she puts them up to her face, she sees nothing. No blood. That's good, that's good, but the pain emanating from her stomach and radiating into her back is not. She leans her head back again against the footboard. She can't take it anymore and suddenly, she feels the urge to push as she screams.
As Ulfric sits in the middle of the second council meeting of the morning, his mind drifts lazily as he tries, and fails, to pay attention to what Lord Timberwood is saying in relation to taxes. The low drone of his voice is too much for him with this heat-the hottest he can remember in Windhelm in decades. Torture in the highest. How is anyone expected to listen to any of this drivel without slumping over in boredom? He sighs as he contemplates his misfortune. He has to listen to this.
Ulfric's eyes scan the table full of bored faces, each of them trying to look politely interested in-he looks down at his notes as he tries to recall what they're talking about again only to find a few scattered words. The rest of it is all doodles. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and hears a slight chuckle from behind him. Galmar. At least someone is amused at the moment. Gripping his goblet of mead, he turns to narrow his eyes at him, and the old bastard has the audacity to grin. He'll show him what's amusing just as soon as he is done with this meeting...
"...and so importing materials from Cyrodill is next to impossible anymore. Even with the teams of," Lord Timberwood clears his throat and lowers his voice, "experts which have been sent there. The Jerral mountains are near impassable now, and it seems that what remains of the Empire has finally recollected itself following the death of the Emperor."
"And do we know what puppet they have placed in charge?" Ulfric asks as he drains the last of his cup and pours himself another. He may as well make the most of it if he's required to be here. Either way he's going to leave with a headache.
"The last we heard it was some nobleman Motierre? A man previously on the Elder Council." One of them responds.
Motierre. Hm. The name sounds vaguely familiar in the way that all noble's and high-to-do's, but Ulfric has never had the pleasure, or rather displeasure, of meeting him. He scratches his chin and gives a vague wave of his hand. "It matters not who is in charge. They're all the same in the end-one shade of black on top of the previous stain."
"Yes, but this one in particular is well-connected from what we understand." Lord Timberwood informs him as he leans forward. "We have to do something especially with everything that is going to happen soon. Everything is already in motion. Do you really think the Thalmor will sit on their behinds while we-"
"Do you trust me?" The question rings out into the room, and while Ulfric's tone is level, the timber of his voice carries an edge to it-the type where one knows they're standing on dangerously thin ice which has already started to crack.
"Of course we do, my Lord. We wouldn't have backed you in your cause otherwise." Lord Timberwood answers automatically, and the other council members quickly nod their heads along with him. None of them wants to be caught as the last one to pass their approval to the King, especially with how testy he has been as of late. It feels like he could snap at any moment for any reason.
"Then let me do my damned job." Ulfric leans backs in his chair, a sour look upon his face as his eyes scan their way across the occupants of the room.
Not one of them dares to say anything until Scouts-Many-Marshes, either with bravery or stupidity, lifts a clawed hand. His only indication to speak is a curt nod from the High King.
The Argonian swallows before nodding his head in respect towards Ulfric and standing. "I believe that I speak for all of on the council when I say that things have markedly improved in the last year and a half, and that we are still moving in a positive direction." As he speaks, his fellow councilmen tip their heads in agreement along with him. "The only thing we are concerned about is continuing forward motion. There are so many unknowns since the chaos of our victory in the Civil War. Master Ralof hasn't returned with news of Hammerfell, and we have no idea about the current state of affairs in Cyrodiil."
Ulfric sighs, a heavy thing which seems to put weight on the entire room causing it to press down on them. "Ralof will return soon. I have the utmost faith that he will not come back to me empty-handed, and as for Cyrodiil, I wouldn't count on them in any capacity." He pauses for a moment, eyebrows furrowing with thought before one of the corners of his mouth slowly lifts into a smirk, "...except if we intentionally sow more seeds of discontent. Surely, while the governance itself is nothing but a show of smoke and mirrors put on for the general public's benefit, certainly there are those who know the truth of what is happening beneath the surface of this elaborate façade."
"What do you propose, my King?" Scouts asks, the slits of his gills rippling with well-placed concern. He is a simple man of simple wishes. While he is ever grateful for his position on the council, sometimes when it comes to court politics, he feels as if he were again a small tadpole launched into waters far out of his depths. Perhaps he should not have swum so far.
"Nothing that we aren't already doing, and nothing which should require too many more resources." Ulfric scratches his beard absentmindedly. "Actually, some of the dockworkers might be of use. I have a job for them if they're looking for some extra coin."
The Argonian swallows and nods his head. "I might know of a few good workers who are in need of a some septims."
"Good. I will need able-bodied men and women for this. I intend to send them into the Imperial City to spy, and the best way to get in undetected is through the sewers."
Of course it would be some far-flung and risky mission; however, Scouts understands the need for it. With what is to come upon them in Skyrim, they're going to need all the help they can get. "I'll send any willing to take on the mission to you by tomorrow evening."
"Send them to Rikke. She'll be the one coordinating this." He points to the ex-Legate as her eyebrows raise with surprise.
She did not expect to do anything other than sit there and keep Galmar in line. Not that she would be against being in charge of a mission again. While part of her is enjoying the slower pace, she isn't getting any younger, and she has spent too much time with Galmar sitting on her ass. It has make her more notably softer than a sweetroll. Perhaps one last hurrah is in order before she puts in for her retirement. "I'd be honored, my King. Out of everyone here, I am the one who is probably the most familiar with the current layout of the Imperial City, even if I did not tend to make it a habit to go into the sewers."
"You didn't? I thought all of your closest friends were there?" Galmar adds with a chuff as Rikke elbows him.
"Maybe yours are. That is, if you have any."
"Enough." Ulfric waves a hand to silence them. While it truly makes him happy to see that Galmar has been in better spirits as of late, there is a time and a place for this, and right now they have delicate matters to attend to. "Now that this is settled, we can move on to other matters. Everything is falling into place it seems, and if we stay on top of things with planning, the Elves will get more than they bargained for."
"Excuse me, my King," Lord Corolius sniffs and clears his throat, "but I believe there is more for us to worry about. Something which your wife has been dragging her feet on. I would not be so quick to dismiss the council. If I remember correctly, she had promised her connections with the College would net us some profits in terms of forces, and those are yet to be seen. Even if I still do not trust the idea of a fully-trained battlemage battalion, some type of defense against magic will be required of us."
It's a low and backhanded jab at his wife, which brings absolutely nothing to the table, but then again, when does he have anything of worth to say? It's a wonder to Ulfric that he had stayed silent this long without trying to cause problems.
"You know as well as anyone here that High Queen Dahlia is not in any state to make visits anywhere at the moment, and if I were you, I would be careful about what you are implying. We all know my wife is no slouch." If it were up to him, he would've thrown Lord Corolius out on his ass months ago, but unfortunately, the coin he provides is much needed.
The Lord clicks his tongue as he leans forward on one elbow, "Yes, we all know that as you won't let us forget it. We're all overjoyed that soon-"
The faint sound of a scream reaches down to the council chambers, and Lord Corolius' words are interrupted. Apt timing if anything, as Ulfric was just about on the verge of screaming himself. However, as his mind digs itself out of the glazed fog of polite political courtesies, he realizes that it is his wife who is making such a noise.
Several goblets of mead upset, spilling over the documents spread out on the table as his chair clatters to the floor. Suddenly, he is standing, axe drawn from his waist automatically and not missing one more beat. There is no time for though, only action action, but his knees betray him, and for a split second he is caught.
Ulfric looks momentarily at Galmar, who is already standing with him.
"Go. I'll follow after I clear out this lot."
He doesn't wait to hear another word before taking off up the stairs.
Footsteps echo quickly on the stone floors of the Palace as the guards make their way into the King and Queen's rooms; however, someone else's presence pushes their way through them first. Carelessly, Lydia muscles her way into the room, weaving her way around the bodies standing there. She was not very far from Dahlia's room. Truth be told, she never is, even if Dahlia says she hovers too much and then sends Lydia away to be with her wife. What trouble could a pregnant woman get into? She would ask.
Exactly this type.
As the housecarl glances around quickly, she sees the guards come to a standstill-useless the lot of them. Have they never seen a woman going into labor before? That's the only thing she can assume is happening as she pushes her way through the last of the bodies standing in her way. Surely, they've dealt with more gruesome things than this.
Another scream, cut off into a half moan as Dahlia's head leans back into the footboard again, and Lydia immediately goes to kneel beside her. "It's the baby. She's coming, isn't she?"
Hearing the familiar voice beside her, the High Queen cracks one of her eyes open to look at her. "How do you know it's a she?"
"Because it just is. Only you'd give birth to a stubborn set of daughters." Her housecarl smiles.
"I want Ulfric. Where is he?" Dahlia asks through gritted teeth as she pushes past the pain of another contraction. "And can someone please send for Lyssa?"
Lydia blinks. Good question. Where is Ulfric? He is required to be here for this. She starts to get up, but a hand pulls her back down.
"Don't leave me here alone."
The sound of her voice is weak and desperate, but can she really blame Dahlia? She wouldn't want to be left alone with the guards either. While they're a nice enough bunch, a fat lot of good they're doing now. Lydia turns to them. "Oi, you heard your Queen. Go get Ulfric, and for the love of Mara, someone send for the midwife."
It doesn't take long after that for a head of blonde hair to make an appearance, and Ulfric moves to Dahlia's side, placing a hand to her forehead and a kiss to a sweaty temple. "What is happening? Are you okay"
Dahlia's hand finds his and squeezes it tightly as if trying to crush it with all of her might. All she can do tat the moment is focus on her breath, and the only sound that leaves her is a scream.
"What do you think, Ulfric? She's obviously in pain. And where were you anyway? With the baby so close, shouldn't you have been checking on her periodically?" Lydia folds her arms over her chest.
His eyes narrow. He will not stand for his, especially not now of all times. "I was in a meeting with the council. Skyrim does not run itself!"
"I'd think your wife needs you more than-"
"Enough! Both of you please just shut up!" Dahlia pushes through her teeth, and both of them instantly quiet. "If the first thing this baby hears is both of your stubborn voices arguing, so help me I will-"
"Out! Everyone out." Lyssa sweeps into the room and places her bag on the floor before putting her hands on Dahlia's forehead to push her hair back. "You both are distressing my patient, and she doesn't need any more stress than she already has."
"But-" The protest is simultaneous from Ulfric and Lydia; however, Lyssa's stern look, and Dahlia's continued groans convince them.
"I'll be right outside the door if you-" Ulfric tries to tell his wife, but he is cut off.
"Yes, yes, all well and good. We will send for you when we're ready." Lyssa waves a hand at them while she begins to lift Dahlia's skirts. "Lydia, can you get some boiling water and clean rags, and leave them at the door for me?"
They both look stunned at the other, neither moving for a moment.
"Any time now would be good!" Lyssa snaps, and they both throw themselves into motion, quickly leaving the room and Dahlia behind.
Minutes which feel like hours and drag on for days pass as Ulfric's boots clack against the hard stone outside of his door. Each step comes quicker than the next, and with each beat a swelling terror rises within him. What time is it? Shouldn't she be out by now? Is she okay? What if something went wrong? If only Lyssa hadn't insisted that he stay outside. The irony isn't lost on him-kicked out of his room in his own Palace. A humorless chuckle passes from his lips as he fists a hand in his hair, tugging on one of the braids.
Another scream, and he pulls harder. He can't take it anymore. The not knowing, not being able to be beside Dahlia especially while knowing his child will soon come into the world at any minute. What if the baby turns out like him and-
"If you don't soon stop, you'll wear a hole straight through the floors, Ulfric."
The voice doesn't register to him at first, and when a hand touches his shoulder, he startles only to look up and see Galmar. He is not in the mood for the sagely advice his friend thinks he has so cleverly disguised as a lighthearted joke. There is no time for that, no time for anything especially when he knows that he is quite possibly moments away from the most important event of his entire life. How is he supposed to remain calm when he has no idea what happens next?
In all his years, he has dealt with many situations which have required strategy, diplomacy, and no small measure of pretended grace to navigate the pressures of what has been thrown into his path, but suddenly, now there are no answers. There is no book to read, no councilors to consult, and no previous experience to draw upon. He is, for once in his life, truly without a map nor any faint inclination of what he is to do.
Galmar leans forward, pressing his hands onto his shoulders to stop his pacing. "In all the years that I have known you, when have you ever failed at anything?"
Flashes of memories of times past filter and flow, but Ulfric cannot catch more than glimpses of them: High Hrothgar with Arngeir, the Great War and those he thought he had betrayed, the whole mess of Skyrim's Civil War and the people who died-the people of Windhelm whom he has failed. There are plenty of times when he has not held up to the full measure of the man he should be-the man his father was. What if this is just another one of those times?
A creak accompanies the sound of a handle turning, and his heart stops.
"What if I cannot do this?" Ulfric doesn't know how or why the question leaves his lips, only that it does so as a whisper. It is the weakest question he has ever asked of himself, and he cannot believe he deigned to say it aloud and to Galmar no less.
"You can and you must, soldier." Galmar claps him on the back, drawing him closer. "A healthy amount of self-doubt is necessary. If you were always so sure of yourself all the time, I would worry about you. You're just fine, Ulfric. Go."
An infant's cry hits his ears, shrill and strong-and perhaps the sweetest yet most irritating sound he has ever heard. It is the battlecry he marches to when he turns to walk into the room to see his wife disheveled, tired, and holding a small baby with wisps of dark hair to her chest.
He comes closer before kneeling next to the bed, expression stunned as Dahlia's eyes meet his. Her eyes are bright despite how tired she looks, and as he places a kiss to her forehead, she asks,"Would you like to hold her?"
Her.
Hold her.
Hold their baby-their daughter. "So, it's a girl?"
She turns towards him, struggling a little against the soreness of her body. "With her mother's hair and her father's eyes."
He holds out his hands carefully-they are so big in comparison to the tiny creature his wife places there that Ulfric is almost afraid to touch her, but the second her gentle weight hits his arms, he doesn't know if he will ever be able to let her go.
Dahlia resettles herself against the pillows behind her as she looks up at them both: the most perfect picture she has ever beheld. If only she could capture it in her memory and keep it forever. "I thought we could name her Sylvi, but if you'd prefer something else-"
"Sylvi is perfect." His eyes don't leave his daughter's as she yawns. Apparently Sylvi has cried herself out for the moment, but he is sure there will be more of that later. "How are you feeling?"
She smiles despite the fact he isn't looking at her. She knows the feeling-still knows it as the tugging in her heart pulls her to look towards their daughter. It is inevitable. How could she not look? "Very tired and very sore, but I'm fine. More than fine actually."
Silence blankets them as they fall into a comfortable quiet, and neither one of them have the need for words now. Everything is perfect and nothing could spoil this moment for either of them. It is the culmination of so many things crashing together as one-so many things which Ulfric thought he would never have. Doubt had colored his hopes in shades upon shades of pessimistic black, yet as he looks from Sylvi to his wife, he realizes that all the pain and all the waiting was well more than worth it. He'd do it all over again just so that he could arrive at this point again. He wouldn't change one second even with all the suffering he has endured over the years.
Ulfric moves to take a seat next to Dahlia on their bed, and as she makes space for him, he hears a sharp intake of breath. "You're still hurting?" He looks to her, a frown crossing his features. It's just like her to hide something like this.
Lyssa rises from her chair in the corner of the room to go to Dahlia's side and lift the covers to check on her. Until now, neither of them had remembered she was even there. All eyes were only for Sylvi. "Try not to move so much for now. You'll need to heal a bit before trying to get up because of the bleeding."
"Bleeding?" Ulfric asks, as concern fills his eyes.
"During labor, she started bleeding a little, but it has stopped. It's not uncommon, and from what I can see, not something to worry about, but she should still be careful. No unattended trips out of bed for the next three days." Lyssa admonishes her, and Dahlia makes a face. She knows her friend well enough to know she'd try to get up and move around. "Unless you want to spend more time in bed, you'd best listen to me, and be sure to call on me if needed."
"Would you take one of the guest rooms until the morning, Lyssa?" Ulfric asks as Sylvi begins to squirm gently in his arms. "I don't mean to take you away from your family, but your presence would be appreciated."
The healer nods, a small smile crossing her face as she can see how much the normally-stern High King cares for his wife. "I think I can manage that, yes. I'll have to send a note to my husband, but it shouldn't be a problem."
"You can use my personal courier."
"Thank you." Lyssa bows her head with respect ,and she stands. "Dahlia will be fine for now, but please don't hesitate to call on me for any reason."
"There is nothing to thank me for." Ulfric tells her sincerely. "I appreciate the care you have given to our family."
As soon as the words leave his mouth, it dawns on him-our family. He has a family. By Mara, when did he get so sentimental? Perhaps it is his old age catching up to him.
"We'll call on you if anything is necessary." Dahlia tells her, a tired yawn forcing itself from her mouth. "For now, take the room down the hall next to us. You deserve some rest."
"As do you. With the new baby, you'll need it." Lyssa teases before leaving them alone together for the first time.
"Hand her here, Ulfric."
"You heard what she said. You need rest. Besides, I am enjoying spending time with our daughter."
As much as she knows exactly what he is doing and wants to complain, she cannot. How could she when he words it like this? She sighs-he is a politician even now as a parent.
"Fine then." She's too tired to protest. "But if she starts crying, I will need to feed her, and if you get tired, you can put her in that bassinet in the corner."
"I think I will be fine."
She sighs as she attempts to fight off sleep, trying to take in as many moments of Ulfric with Sylvi as possible, but she truly is exhausted from the whole ordeal of today-and of the last few months if she is honest.
Minutes later, when Dahlia finally does drift off, she does so fitfully, dreaming of Akatosh, Ulfric, and Sylvi.