If Vilkas hadn't been there to catch me, I would've fainted into the cobbles due to blood loss.

But by now, the healers had seen to my injuries. With their quick fingers and gentle words, my skin stitched back together without leaving too much of a mark. As Vilkas hovered behind me, practically biting his nails through his gloves, I couldn't ask the young Imperial to use one of her spells to check on my baby. I didn't want my husband to find out about our child like that. I had to be the one to tell him, and I wanted to wait for the right time.

After the hysteria from the battle wore off and I didn't have to worry about Vilkas yelling at me or running away in shock. Knowing how dramatic he could be, I didn't want to leave anything to chance.

Now, sitting around a small table with Jarls Balgruuf and Ulfric, Marina, the opposing leader, Tyernil Salingian, and a couple of his guards, we could begin to negotiate terms of surrender.

I wasn't the best at the political side of war, which was why I trusted the Jarls to handle this part, but at Balgruuf's request, I had joined the circle. I knew I wouldn't be able to negotiate the same way these skilled leaders could, but my presence at the table would keep the Thalmor from acting out.

We hoped, anyway. As far as the Aldmeri Dominion forces knew, I was the one who killed their leader. No one saw Vilkas take her head from her shoulders. I wouldn't steal the credit for Elenwen's death from my husband, but he had no desire to sit across the table from the Thalmor and play nice while we worked out the terms for their surrender.

Since he didn't want to be involved in the meeting, Vilkas had volunteered to oversee the gathering of bodies. A gruesome task that I had no desire to complete, so I was thankful that my husband was so ready to step up and take the responsibility from me.

"Shall we get these talks underway?" asked Balgruuf, pulling my mind out of the streets of Whiterun and back to the present moment.

"There isn't much to talk about," said Ulfric as his arms crossed over his chest. "I will accept nothing short of total and immediate surrender."

I shot the Jarl of Windhelm a sharp glance. Of course he was jumping straight to demands. I knew very little about the process of surrender in war, but I felt this was a breach in protocol.

"We can promise that your remaining troops will be treated fairly," added Marina, glaring at Ulfric under her furrowed brow. "Those who have been taken prisoner will be transferred back to your homeland. We have no desire to execute your soldiers."

Ulfric's meaty fist slammed into the table, which was an improvement from his habit of shooting out of chairs and knocking them to the floor. "They should pay with their lives for what they did to our land! What they did to our savior!"

Oh, that's me.

"Ulfric," I began, tone sharp, like I was scolding my children, "the one who caused me so much pain is dead, her blood running cold at Talos' feet. I say that debt has been settled. I only wish to usher in a new era of peace. Our nation has been at war for far too long, and it's time to give Skyrim the rest it deserves."

"Well said, Dragonborn," said Balgruuf, turning to the Thalmor soldiers. "Our leaders have promised fair treatment to your Thalmor prisoners, in exchange for your immediate departure. Are these terms acceptable so far?"

"Yes," said Salingian, tilting his pointed chin upward. "So far. I would also request the transport of our dead back to the Summerset Isles."

"That's reasonable." I nodded. "You will surrender your weapons, the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar, and any riches you have taken from the people in your occupation. I also expect you to pay reparations to the families of those you killed, either on the battlefield or in your torture chambers."

Ulfric scoffed, shaking his head. "Oh, I see, Dragonborn. When I expect the Thalmor to make reparations, you tell me not to hold grudges, but when you can make the demands, it's fair to ask anything?"

"You wanted mass execution. Blood for blood will make no difference. Paying reparations will do more to get this land back on its feet than filling Skyrim's soil with more bodies. We can rebuild with finances. We cannot expect to get back what was destroyed by killing more people."

"Then how do we stop the Thalmor from coming back?" The big man to my left leaned back in his chair, chin tucked low to his barrel chest.

"Restrictions on travel?" suggested Balgruuf, ever the diplomat to get us back on track. "Steeper punishments for Thalmor agents who sneak across our border?"

"All things we can discuss in the upcoming Moot," reminded Marina.

Ah, yes. The Moot. Now that Skyrim was on the edge of peace for the first time in years, the Jarls in every Hold would have a reason to meet, to settle, once and for all, who would be our next High King or Queen. Balgruuf and Ulfric would be there, along with the current Jarls in each Hold. I had no idea who was in charge of which city, but I would know soon enough. As the Dragonborn, I'd be expected to be there, to show support for the Jarl of my choosing. I had no vote in the final decision, but my support would be critical in the Moot. Whoever I chose would almost certainly be elected as our leader.

No pressure, right?

After deliberating on a few more trivial elements of the surrender, like the amount of rations Skyrim would provide to the prison transports to ensure the Thalmor soldiers made it back home, and how many wagons we could spare, the talks ended with everyone shaking hands. As though we hadn't been trying to kill each other just hours ago.

Once my soldiers escorted the Thalmor out of the room, I propped my elbows on the table and leaned my forehead against my fists. Thrilled the negotiations were over, so I could return to the rest of my men. I dreaded the letters I'd have to write, but there was no way to know how many there would be until the dead had been tallied. I would have to enlist the help of Marina, Balgruuf, and Ulfric as we passed our condolences onto the families of those we'd lost in this gruesome battle.

"Dragonborn?" asked Ulfric, his hand sliding across the table to touch me. his fingers wrapped around my forearm, the width of his palm grasping half the distance between my wrist and elbow. A big man, to be sure, but a big man who blustered and harrumphed like a child when scolded.

Strange how I looked up to him as a young girl in Windhelm. If only I'd known what kind of person he truly was.

I couldn't be too angry or cynical, though. His help in the leadership had been crucial in our fight. I couldn't have accomplished half as much with.

"I'm fine, Ulfric," I murmured as I swallowed a lump in my throat. If I kept swallowing, my meager breakfast wouldn't make its reappearance just yet. I feared my allies would see my nausea as weakness at the sight of gore, and that was the last thing they needed to think in this moment. I had to be strong for them, so strong I would remain until I had a moment of privacy.

"The Moot shall be an exciting time," admitted Balgruuf as I lifted my head to face him. His hands were clasped under his chin, pointed beard overlapping his curled fingers as his intelligent eyes surveyed everyone at the table. "There is sure to be a feast in your honor, Ylva, and the honor of your leadership."

"Forget a single feast!" Ulfric's face lit up as he leaned back in his chair and planted a fist to his chest. "There will be a whole week of feasting! We will have a real celebration for our victory."

Shaking my head, I rose to my feet, using the table to steady myself while I waited for the blood to flow back into my numb feet. The chairs we'd sat in weren't the most comfortable, and we'd been forced to remain for quite some time. "I'd rather just celebrate with my Companions for now. If that is all, I wish to return to Vilkas's side. He'll need my help soon enough."

"Very well, Ylva." Balgruuf nodded my way as I left the table.

I marched out of Dragonsreach and into the bright mid-afternoon. The air was heavy with steam evaporating off the wet grass and soil. The sun was sending its glorious beams around us like a crown of light. If it weren't for the stench of coppery blood hanging in the open air, the conditions would've been perfect for a day of haggling with the merchants.

I made the long trek down the stairs leading into the Wind District to meet up with my husband and his brother under the shade of the Gildergreen. From here, they had ample view of the wagons trundling in and out of the city to retrieve the bodies being stacked into piles, Thalmor in one section and our men in another.

"All the Companions are all right?" I asked, standing between them. If I got lightheaded again, I wanted the Moonborn twins to have the chance to catch me should I fall.

"Yes," said Farkas with a grin. "The whelps are moving our food stores back into Jorrvaskr to prepare for our celebration."

We could always count on the Companions to move things along. If there was a party to be thrown in celebration of a victory, big or small, they were sure to make sure the mead casks were full and the tables were overflowing with meats and other delicacies.

"As long as we leave enough for the rest of the city, should their own stores not be deep enough." I crossed my arms, watching as one empty wagon rolled down the streets and another one came to take its place. "Any word from Helgen?"

"Only that they will send our citizens back when the rubble has been cleared," answered Vilkas. His face was pinched, and I could only guess that he was thinking the same thing I was.

We wanted to hold our children again.

I missed my twins so much. Grateful to the gods that they were kept safe in the midst of this war, but I couldn't wait to pull them into my arms once more. With the hope of peace just on the horizon, I could hardly contain the joy when I thought about raising them in the serene, unbothered beauty of Skyrim.

But before I could daydream too far into the future, a woman on horseback broke past the wagon in the middle of the marketplace and stopped at the foot of the stairs. The rider dismounted, vaulted the stone steps before her, and stopped just in front of Farkas. I didn't recognize her, but she had blonde hair, a gentle chin, and yellow-brown eyes. A Breton most likely, but her race mattered not when she had the symbol of the dragon, wolf, and bear emblazoned on her shield.

"Sir Moonborn!" she panted, throwing her free arm toward the horse. "Your wife sent for you! She's in labor!"

Now I understood why the army would risk such a small messenger in the middle of a warzone. She had to be swift to make it to Farkas in time.

He couldn't miss the birth of their next child.

For a moment, Farkas seemed confused. Like he couldn't believe what the woman had just told him. But all at once,  he understood what he had to do, and there was nothing that could stand in his way.

"Take my horse!" continued the rider, stepping out of Farkas's path. "Someone will direct you to her once you arrive at Helgen!"

Vilkas ran down the steps with his brother, helping him mount the horse and get the beast spun around so he'd be ready to run as soon as he got settled. They exchanged words I couldn't hear, but the next moment, Vilkas slapped the horse on the rump and sent it into a wild gallop out of the city. Even when Farkas dipped out of sight, I could hear the clopping of hooves on cobblestone, and the occasional "Out of my way!" bellowed while he raced to Helgen.

"Thank you for delivering that message," I said to the woman. "Now, go see what you can do to help."

"As you wish, General." She pressed her hand to her chest, ducked her head, then set off at a trot down the path she'd just ridden up. In a few moments, she was out of view.

I took a deep breath as Vilkas returned to my side, reaching out to grab his hand. "I hope Tyra will be okay."

"I think she will be." My husband smiled. "She's survived two of my brother's children. What's one more?"

I laughed. "As if your children were any different. You're more stubborn than he is."

"Their stubbornness is a trait they inherited from you, my dear."

I shook my head. "As if."

We were alone. There was little to do now. Any task that still needed to be finished could be handled by the others. I felt as though I had earned my time with my husband.

"Come on," I said, pulling him toward Jorrvaskr. "Let's go inside." I didn't think it would be fair to tell him about our little one while we could be interrupted. Out here, anyone could run up to us and inform us of some issue to settle. Inside, the Companions knew not to bother us when our doors were closed.

The scene inside Jorrvaskr was one of familiarity. Njada carried the boxes of plates and mugs back to the main dining table, grumbling as she lugged the heavy stuff to and from Vignar's room just off to the side of the hall. Athis and Aela worked together to set up the casks of mead and baskets full of food around the room. Once Tilma returned later today, we were bound to have quite the feast.

"Where are Eirik and Sofie?" I asked Aela as she walked past us.

The Huntress had been wounded in the fight, judging by the bandage across her right shoulder and underneath her chestplate. Her features were pale under her streaked war paint, but her cunning eyes were sharp as ever. The battle hadn't dampened her spirits, it seemed, though I could see an edge of regret under her gaze. Even after all these years, she missed battling with Skjor.

"They went downstairs," she said with a scoff, tossing her ornament-ridden hair out of her face.

"I'll make sure they come back up here to help. Do you need us for anything?"

"No, Harbinger. You have been through enough. Take your rest. With the other whelps, I can manage."

I gave her a smile, then a nod, then Vilkas and I headed toward the stairs leading to the living quarters. Once the door swung open, the obscene sounds of lips and tongues crashing together became abundantly clear.

Well, at least we knew what those two had gotten up to, and at least we knew they weren't too badly injured from the battle. Still, I couldn't have them... doing what they were doing while the others were hard at work.

I motioned for Vilkas to move ahead to our quarters, but quietly. So far, the young lovers hadn't seemed to hear us, and if I was going to break them apart, then the least I could do was have a little fun with it.

It was what Eorlund would want me to do anyway. He wouldn't approve of his daughter falling into bed with any boy, especially if the boy hadn't asked for his permission to court Sofie.

I crept up to the door of the whelps' room to find Eirik and Sofie lying side by side on one of the straw mattresses, clothes still on—thank the gods—and hands chasing through each other's hair. For a moment, I hesitated breaking the two apart. After a battle like the one we'd survived, emotions and hormones would be running high. There would be unused adrenaline coursing through the already-volatile teenagers. This was a natural response to everything we'd just endured.

But I didn't have to break them apart, because the moment Eirik caught me lurking in the doorframe, he shoved his way out from underneath Sofie and sat up in bed. "Harbinger!" he said, tugging his tunic straight while his sweetheart slid off the bed.

I chuckled, thinking back to the early days of my own waxing romance with Vilkas. The giggles we shared in quiet moments away from the others, the heat rushing through my veins every time we kissed, the thrill when we almost got caught. Not that our love had ever been secret, but I had to admit there was something enticingly forbidden about the beginning of our courtship.

"If you two go help the others upstairs," I said, pushing myself off the doorway, "I won't tell Eorlund about this."

"Thank you, Ylva," said Sofie as she grabbed her paramour's hand and dragged him from the room.

With them gone, I walked down the halls to my own bedroom. I hoped those two would continue to explore their relationship. Eirik needed someone to keep him steady, keep him from spouting off in anger. He was a fine Companion, and even though prone to outbursts, I couldn't imagine a finer young man for someone as even-tempered and gracious as Sofie.

When I walked through the open doors of my living quarters, I saw Vilkas leaning against the frame leading into the bedroom. He had a knowing smirk on his face, and the warpaint that darkened his eyes was gone.

"What?" I giggled, walking straight into his arms. "You look as if you're scheming."

"Maybe I am," he purred right back, bending down to plant a kiss to my nose, teasingly keeping his lips just out of my reach. "With this blasted war over, I have you all to myself again. No more missions, no more battles, without me by your side. You can't be rid of me so easily anymore."

"I would never dream of being rid of you, my love." I stood on my tiptoes to steal a kiss from him, and the mock-indignant look on his face made me giggle again.

With his arms around my back, he pulled me back into our bedroom, allowing himself to fall backwards onto our mattress with me perched on his lap. His deft fingers tugged at my armor plates, trying to remove the metallic barriers between us.

All the while, with my heart in my throat, I worked to take his armor off, too. Leather straps and pieces of cloth gave way under my touch, and with every piece that fell from his supple body, I tossed the offending plate aside. We could separate our armor later.

"Oh, Ylva," growled Vilkas, his fingers pausing in their task to snake up my woolen-clad back to entangle with my hair. "Ylva..."

"Vilkas," I breathed right back, voice equally hoarse. I pressed my forehead to his, my hands coming up to brace the back of his head with my palms.

For a moment, we sat there, frozen in time, the only sounds between us our ragged breaths and heavy heartbeats. I swallowed, and he swallowed, too. Our hearts beat as one.

Leaning down, I hid my face in his neck, taking in the smell of his musk while his hands slid under my tunic and traced the path of my scars. "I have something to tell you, my love."

"It can wait," he grunted back as he adjusted our position on the bed. Now, he hovered over me, his face only inches from mine, his fiery eyes boring holes into the depths of my being,

It was hard to think straight when we were sharing the same air. Seeing him only inches from me, with his lips glistening from our kisses, his gaze locked on mine like a hunter staring down his prey. My soul wanted so badly to be one with his, but I couldn't wait to tell Vilkas the truth any longer. Within a few hours—gods willing—Tyra and Farkas would be back, their own little one in tow. Our children, too, would return. If I didn't talk to him now, I would never get a moment alone with him.

"It can't wait," I moaned, hands coming to his chest to keep him from diving in for another kiss. Oh, it ached in the very marrow of my bones to keep him at arm's length. "I've been meaning to tell you since the battle ended."

How brow furrowed, and he fell onto his side next to me. Propped on his elbow, he cocked his head to one side. "What is it? Is everything all right?"

There was no sense in beating around the bush. I just needed to tell him and get it all over with.

"We're having another baby."

I expected this to put him off, to stun him into silence, to send him to his feet and out of the room to think.

But that didn't happen. Instead of scolding words, hurt feelings, or even a race out of bed, my husband sidled closer to me, put his arms around me, and kissed me deeper than he'd kissed me all day.

It was my turn to be stunned silent.

"I already had a feeling you were pregnant," he said when he finally pulled away. "I know why you didn't tell me, but I wish you had, my dear one."

"Then why did you let me fight?" I wiggled underneath him, not to get away, but to get more comfortable. It wouldn't be long until a swollen belly kept us from being this close to one another. I wanted to soak in as much time as I could with him before that happened.

"It wouldn't have mattered." He ran his fingers through my hair, pushing the curls away from my face. "I knew you'd do everything you could to keep our baby safe, and if I told you no, you would've gone out there anyway." Then, with a smile on his face, he scooted down the bed so that his face was above my belly, where he then pushed my shirt up and pressed his lips to the barest hint of a bump. There wasn't really anything there just yet, just a small rise in my stomach below my navel.

"Our child," he whispered against my skin, sending gooseflesh up and down my body. "Do you know if it's one or two yet?"

"Gods, I hope it's not two," I laughed as I covered my face to hide the blush. He couldn't know how flustered he made me. I didn't want him to tease me mercilessly.

"I don't care." His weight shifted next to me, and when I moved my hands, I saw his face just above mine. His lips parted in a grin, the wrinkles just beginning to form around his eyes deepening with the expression. "You're safe, our child is safe. That's all I could ever want."

"All you could ever want?" I tilted my head to one side, hands running over the hard muscles in his chest. "You seemed pretty bent on something just a few moments ago."

"Well, that's a given." Dipping down, he kissed along the line of my jaw. His hands gripped my arms tight, fingers rubbing into the sore muscles. Deep in his chest, he moaned, and I found myself echoing the noise just a moment later.

Oh, Vilkas, you take my breath away.