For any that would have trouble with it, this dragonborn's name is pronounced "Neen-yah."

Nynjya sighed wearily, sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the camp. She was desperate for even the smallest scrap of privacy, needing a few moments away from the boisterous soldiers sitting around the campfire with celebratory bottles of mead in their hands- Galmar's secret stash, she figured.

The young Nord ran a hand through her matted auburn hair. The leather of her Stormcloak-issued armor stuck to her sweaty skin, dirt and blood streaked her cheeks, and she was sure she smelled worse than a Riften stable after heavy rainfall. What she wouldn't give for a bath and a home-cooked meal…

Glamar Stone-Fist marched out of his tent with a courier, a grin awkwardly splitting his bearded face. He looked more like a bear about to devour a lonesome fawn. He held the courier's message in his hand, shoving it up towards the sky with a triumphant roar that was echoed with exuberance by his men.

"Enjoy tonight, men! Tomorrow we march for home!"

That news earned a deafening cheer and Glamar moved to sit alongside the soldiers, swiping a bottle from a young recruit that looked barely off tugging on his mother's apron strings. Nynjya smiled softly, the prospect of returning to Windhelm a welcoming one. It was still at least a weeks journey away, but soon she'd be back in her own home, with her own bed and her own bath and clothes.

By Talos, she missed her wool dresses. At least they didn't peel away from her skin with a sickening schluck! as she stood to take her place among her comrades. Ralof shifted to the right, allowing Nynjya to sit beside him, and offered her a bottle of mead which she took graciously.

"You look like you got caught in the middle of a mammoth stampede," he offered, downing the last of his mead.

"You really know how to charm a woman, Ralof," Nynjya smirked, raising her own bottle to her lips. The man laughed, a pink tinge on his cheeks suggesting he'd had much more than just the one bottle of mead. Nynjya shook her head slightly, wondering where they stashed it all.

"I try my best. Maybe, when we get back to Windhelm you'll let me charm you some more."

Oh yes, he'd definitely had a bit too much. But, Nynjya smiled sportingly and pulled the glove off her left hand, revealing the silver ring with three flawless amethysts sparkling in the firelight.

"I don't believe my husband would find that idea very appealing, Ralof. But, I'm flattered."

The Nord's cheerful demeanor faltered slightly.

"Well, I'll be damned. Lucky bastard," then he laughed and slapped her shoulder a little too roughly, "I should've known, though! Who wouldn't leap at the first chance to claim the Dragonborn!"

Nynjya gave a grimace of a smile. Of course, she should have expected such a statement. "Dragonborn this" and "Dragonborn that," it seemed there was nowhere she could go without being recognized by that name.

But, with a fond smile, she imagined herself back in the one place she wasn't Dragonborn. The one place she was just Nynjya…

Shingled roof, warm windows glowing from the welcoming hearth inside, smooth wooden doors, a soft feathered bed, and the man who called her "love." Nynjya closed her hazel eyes and pictured his face…

A loud burp shocked her to attention. She turned her gaze to Jerrich, a long time stormcloak, as he spoke to the soldiers.

"What do you call a Bosmer that doesn't lie, cheat, or steal?" When there was no answer, the Nord grinned broadly, "dead."

A drunken uproar erupted around the camp, suddenly everyone had their own jokes to share. Nynjya remained quiet, drinking her mead as another soldier spewed an off-color joke about a Dunmer noblewoman and a phallic palace, then another about Khajiiti cooking. Ralof laughed beside her, nudging her slightly with his elbow, trying to urge a smile out of her. At length he raised a fresh bottle to gather his comrades' attention.

"What is the chief export of Argonia?" After some silence, Ralof stomped his feet in place, "I couldn't tell you, but the people make some damn fine boots."

Nynjya's eyes widened, keeping her stare pointedly focused on the neck of her bottle. Another soldier jumped to the challenge.

"How many Argonians does it take to shingle a roof? Depends on how thin you slice them!"

Nynjya closed her eyes and sighed quietly to herself. She stood and gave a weak smile to Ralof when he arched an eyebrow at her, waving a hand to signal her retirement for the night. The sounds of the drunken soldiers ripped through the furs of her tent, offering her no peace.

"Once we drive those Imperials and elves out, the damn lizards are next!"

"Skyrim for the sons of Skyrim!"

The cheers thundered in her ears as she tied the flap shut behind her. The firelight glowed through the tent fabric and cast the inside a deep orange. She undressed, laying down on the hard bedroll. Nynjya held her left hand up above her face to stare at the ring adorning her finger with a forlorn sigh.

They were just jokes, she knew. But, knowing that she was fighting for men that would so easily drive out entire families from their homes put a bitter taste in her mouth. She remembered what Brunwulf Free-Winter had once told her about Ulfric and the Gray Quarter, how he was content to keep it run down. How if you weren't a Nord, the Jarl of Windhelm had no time for you.

At the time, she'd thought the Stormcloaks an easy choice. After all, they hadn't been the ones putting an axe to her neck.

But, that was before she had gone down to the docks.

She kissed the center amethyst, thinking of her husband waiting for her return. She'd be able to give him her love in person soon, for now, kissing the ring he had so painstakingly created just for her would be enough. Her lips stretched into a grin as she recalled how he explained the placement of the stones to her.

The large stone in the center represented the Hist, as was custom. The smaller stone peeking out above it represented her, a woman from the north, a woman he held above all else even his own people. The stone below the Hist represented him, born in Blackmarsh to the southeast, kneeling at her feet in love and admiration. The two smaller stones touched behind the larger one, symbolizing that no matter what barriers came between them, no matter what distance she traveled, they would always be connected.

It had brought tears to her eyes then, and she felt the burn of them now as she smiled and rolled to her side, holding the ringed hand against her heart.

She wished she had his arms around her.

The march back to Windhelm was long and exhausting. It seemed the Nine cared not for their plight as winds and rain and snow assaulted the Stormcloaks ruthlessly. After a week's trek, the walls of Windhelm came into view and a collective sigh was pulled from the fatigued soldiers. The sun was setting by the time they made it into the city's gates and Nynjya wasted no more time getting home to Hjerim.

Her heart sank with disappointment when she noticed the windows were dark. Her husband was still at work, then. Slipping her key into the lock, she decided it was a small blessing. She could clean up and look presentable, maybe have time to make him supper for once. A grin cracked her tired lips at the thought of doing something wifely for a change.

She pulled herself up the stairs, filled the tub with water, and quickly scrubbed down. As much as she wanted to enjoy the feeling of getting clean and relax, she had much she needed to get done. Once she was completely free of dirt, sweat, and blood, she dressed in a satin blue and green gown and hurried downstairs to fix up supper.

Nynjya opened the larder, staring at the ingredients on the shelves. She came to the devastating conclusion that they were all ingredients from Argonia and that she had no idea what they were much less what to cook with them. She bit her chapped lip, running her fingers through her damp hair. As much as she loved her husband, she realized she knew next to nothing about Argonian…anything!

"I'm a horrible wife," she whined.

"Well, I don't think that's true at all," a familiar hiss sounded behind her. Nynjya twirled around with a surprised gasp.

"Scouts!"

"Nynjya," Scouts-Many-Marshes caught his wife in his arms, holding her in a tight embrace as she kissed his snout. "I've missed you, my love," he sighed, nuzzling against her neck. Nynjya smiled softly, running a soft hand along his scales. He smelled like the sea.

"I missed you, too. I was lonely without you."

"You're never alone, Nyn," Scouts-Many-Marshes ran his thumb along the amethysts glistening in the firelight and Nynjya's heart swelled. She brushed her cheek against his, mimicking the Argonian act of affection he had bestowed upon her so many times before. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest against hers.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, arms still holding her against him, "I'll make us something."

"I wanted to make you something, actually," Nynjya admitted, looking down at her bare feet to avoid her husband's pale gaze, "but I've never seen any of those ingredients before."

People called the Argonians emotionless, but they just didn't take time to get to know them. Nynjya glanced up in time to see Scouts-Many-Marshes' eyes soften with as close to a smile as he could form. He ran a scaled hand through her hair and rested his palm against her cheek, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

"Well, then. I'll just have to teach you, won't I?" He took her hand and lead her to the larder, pointing out different ingredients and in which dishes she'd had them before. When they decided on a meal, he watched with smiling eyes as Nynjya worked out which to take with them and which weren't necessary. Once she had gathered them all, he nodded in approval and put his hand on the small of her back, leading her to the counter.

He stood behind her, chest pressed against her back, and guided her hands with his, showing exactly how to cut the roots, dice the vegetables, and how to season the meat just right so that it wasn't bland but didn't overpower the other flavors and textures.

Nynjya sighed happily, her body was bruised and her muscles fatigued, but being in the company of her husband invigorated her in ways even absorbing a dragon's soul couldn't hope to match.

They gathered other ingredients into a pot to boil over the fire. Scouts-Many-Marshes guided her right hand on stirring the broth, keeping his voice low as he explained the importance of not letting it boil over so she'd have to lean more against him in order to hear. His left hand blazed burning trails through her gown as it glided along her thigh and stomach. Nynjya sighed and let her eyelids flutter shut, only to be jerked to attention by a sharp nip to her neck and a chuckling Scouts warning her to keep her eyes on the fire.

Once supper was done cooking, Scouts-Many-Marshes remained behind her to dish out the servings. Only when that was done, did his warmth leave her to sit across from her at the table. The food was delicious, though she knew it would have been an utter failure had Scouts not been coaching her every step of the way. They chatted of mundane things, things that in all her time fighting dragons and imperials, were welcome and wonderful. Scouts spoke of the docks, the interesting shipment from Anvil and the goings-on of the other workers. He told stories that made her laugh, broke her heart, and made her reel back in disbelief.

This was how every night should be.

When their meal was over, they stood together at the basin and cleaned their dishes, hips and arms bumping gently and his tail caressing the backs of her sore calves. Scouts took the dishes and set them on a rack, then bared his sharp teeth deviously and lifted Nynjya into his arms. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingertips gently petting the spines along the back of his neck.

He explored every new bruise and scar that dotted her skin and she relearned every texture and surface of his scales, spines and corded muscles. Whispers of love and cries of bliss were the only words exchanged between them for the rest of the night.

In the morning, Nynjya was delighted to wake up in warm, dark-scaled arms instead of a cold, itchy bedroll. She turned to press a kiss to her husband's chest, wrapping an arm around his midsection when he gave a purr and pressed his snout against her hair in his imitation of a kiss. They lay like that for some time, Scouts's hand lazily trailing up and down Nynjya's spine. He seemed to be deep in thought for a while, eventually shifting to press his nose to Nynjya's forehead.

"A ship docked for a supply run two days ago," he explained, "I hadn't known they weren't there for a delivery so I went to unload the crates. There was one heading for Solitude, to the Legion."

Nynjya raised her head to meet Scouts's light blue-gray eyes.

"These sailors don't think to cover these things up, think we're too dumb to read anyway. I took the box off the ship before Neetrenaza told me they weren't making a drop off. The sailors had already returned before I could bring the crate back, so I moved it to the pile so they wouldn't attack me or another worker. When they left port, curiosity got the best of me," he sighed and gently caressed Nynja's cheek. "I've never seen so many weapons in one place before, all I could think of was 'one of these could kill my Nynjya,' so I hid them. I'd…rather your Stormcloaks be using them instead of worrying that they'll be used against you. I have them hidden in the alchemy room."

Nynja gasped and kissed Scouts's snout.

"You're amazing."

He lowered his gaze.

"I just…I trust you. But, I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," Nynjya promised, only half-way sure of herself. But, wasn't it a wife's duty to assuage her husband's worry? Scouts held her a little bit tighter.

"I know. I just can't help but think lately that first it'll be the Legion and the Thalmor, then-considering the Gray Quarter- what if Ulfirc targets the rest of the elves, then Khajiit and Argonians would surely be next. I just hope you made the right choice pledging your loyalty to these 'Skyrim for the Nords' types."

Nynjya frowned and ran her knuckles along Scouts-Many-Marshes' cheek.

"Now you listen to me," she growled. "My loyalty isn't to the Legion, or the Graybeards, or the Stormcloaks. By Oblivion, it's not even to Skyrim!" She gently ran her fingertips along the band of Matrimony on his finger, "my loyalty is and always will be, first and foremost, to you."

Scouts squeezed her hand and she smiled.

"Things would be so much better if everyone could just get along," he sighed. Nynjya nodded.

"They would be. In all honesty, I think this whole war is stupid. But, I was hasty. I was angry about the Legion putting my head on the block that I wanted to stick them where it hurt. When I learned I was the Dragonborn, it seemed like the perfect thing to throw in their faces," she sighed and shook her head. "I didn't have a reason to fight back then, but I do now. I fight for you, for us, so that one day we won't have to live with this war beating down our doors."

"And dragons breathing down our necks?" He added, his voice hinting at the smirk his lips couldn't form.

"Exactly. Now," Nynjya's voice lilted teasingly, "what was that tail thing you were doing last night?"

Scouts's teeth flashed in a reptilian grin and he rolled on top of her. Nynjya grinned and pressed a kiss to his snout.

If this wasn't worth fighting for, nothing was.

So, originally this fic was going to be more "DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA, I AM A SKYRIM FOR THE NORDS TYPE BUT I LOVE AN ARGONIAN, WHAT DO?" but it turned into this. I think it's much better than what I had planned and I have to say I'm please I was able to just sit down and write this so easily. Please leave a review if you would!