My first attempt at writing first person POV.

The DB's race and gender are for you readers to decide, as is the setting.

It was as if all the sluice gates of heaven had opened. Torrents of water crashed down to drown the world, suffocating all life beneath a veil of grey. Streets turned into rivers and the brook we had washed in just yesterday was a beast swollen with the masses of water, murky brown in colour and bent on destroying everything in its path.

I listened to its angry roar and the music of the rain; beats against the drum of the roof. The melody was a raw, primeval sound that suited my melancholy mood.

I saw the mill below ripped out along with its foundation, to be carried away and smashed to pieces against rock. For some reason that thought stirred a deep sadness within me. A miller had once lived here with his family. I imagined a pretty woman with her long blonde hair tied into a plait and their children with round red cheeks and flour-stained hands.

But the mill had been abandoned and if its owners had not fled, they were dead. Most likely, at our hands.

Maybe the gods were weeping. Maybe they wanted to wash away the traces of all that had happened. Or maybe they had resolved they had enough of their quarrelsome children and were now finishing what Alduin had failed to accomplish. It was easy to believe the end of the world was at hand with the sun gone and the day cast into endless twilight.

A flash of lightning startled me into looking up as the room was cast into harsh contrasts of black and white. For a split second I thought I recognized the outline of a familiar figure silhouetted against the sky. Before I had consciously made the decision I was up and the sword that had been resting across my knees was slung over one shoulder.

I pulled the door open and stepped outside and staggered from the sheer force of the downpour. Within a heartbeat I was soaked, icy cold seeping into my stiff, aching muscles. When I turned my face up, eyes closed and mouth open, I expected the rain to taste like tears, salty and bitter. Silly, dramatic me. It tasted like water with a faint hint of ashes. Unlike us mortals, gods did not cry.

They were cruel, the Divines, more so than the army we led across the country, burning, killing, driving our enemy back one victory after another.

I trudged through the mire of the courtyard and fought my way up to the battlements, waterfalls that reached my mid-shins cascading down the stairs and wanting to drag me down. But I withstood their onslaught. I was Dragonborn.

Another flash of lightning and I saw him: my Jarl, my king. My lover. I did not call out; he would not hear me over the thunder.

Something though must have alerted him to my presence, maybe some fine-honed sense he had acquired in the Great War, for he turned as I approached. There was surprise on his face, but the anger from before was gone.

He had not wanted to see me after the battle.

Sometimes I wondered if he fucked me only so his army would have a hero to look up to, a mascot to wave around his banners.

At other times I did not care.

"Ulfric." I stopped just out of reach, unsure whether I was welcome to join his lonely vigil over a dead city. There had been some inexcusable words I had thrown at him earlier when we had parted in bad blood.

But then I have never been in a battle such as this before. Before he had dropped me straight into the front lines of the war. Occasionally it became too much. My anger at him was undeserved though; we were all pawns in this game, this 'greater scheme of things' as the priests called it. And Ulfric Stormcloak exerted no other as often or as hard as he did himself.

I studied the man before me. Even here, even now, drenched, exhausted, with the same blood-crusted jerkin he had worn in combat, he looked regal. The High King carried himself straight and proud beneath the weight of his armour and the burdens of the command.

Three thousand dead today, almost all of them civilians. Such was the price for taking a city, for a few hundred square yards for us to advance. I knew he carried their deaths with him; saw it in the care lines etched into his face and the equal measure of regret and determination that shone in his storm-green eyes. The last thing he needed was for me to add to his pain.

Yet he watched me, albeit wearily, without judgement or resent.

I was the first to avert my gaze. "I'm sorry, love."

He never returned the sentiment and I never asked.

Neither of us was young, but today he looked weary beyond his years. Still it was him to reach out, to invite me to share his private space that he valued so, and I knew I was forgiven without reservations.

Ulfric did nothing halfway.

I gave in to his demand and to my own desire. I was selfish. I took comfort where I could find it. My feet carried me closer, one step then another and his arms closed around me. His embrace was strong, verging on desperate and I clung to him with just the same abandon, had to hold my breath when his grip tightened and his chestpiece dug into my breastbone.

My own hands had snuck beneath his cloak and were searching for a way past his armour. He was just as drenched as I was, but I felt the warmth of his body radiating off him. I wanted to touch skin and found another layer of clothes instead.

I may have cursed; and Ulfric chuckled.

He combed his fingers through my wet hair, pulled me back. I thought this was it, ready to step back until he tilted my head up, ducked his head lower and kissed me.

Ulfric's thumbs, rough with callous, stroked my cheeks and I recognized the uneven ridge of his scar under the tips of my fingers. His braids, messed up by the fighting and weather, brushed against my face and I felt the rasp of his beard. Our noses bumped.

I kissed him back, pushed into his immovable bulk, not with the desire to battle him, just to be closer. I could smell him, over the wet furs and sweat, the man who, at least for tonight, would be mine. He moved to kiss me deeper, but I pulled back, just the tiniest bit so he had to chase my lips with his own. We were both smiling, and I brushed my teeth against his lower lip because he liked that.

I heard Ulfric's pleasure in his sharp inhale, felt his hands trail lower, towards my hips and beyond, my own mirroring his actions until I could press one palm against his flank, my fingers cool against the fever of his skin. We couldn't get closer like this; already every belt buckle and metal plate was digging into my flesh and the leather of his cuirass creaked when I palmed at it in my desire for more contact.

He angled his hips into my own and licked at the seam of my lips and when I groaned with the sensation he invaded my mouth. I felt more than heard the low rumble of his enjoyment as he hummed into my mouth. Ulfric's tongue curled against my own, soft and caressing and then hard and challenging and I clung to his broad shoulders; let him steal my breath away.

I wasn't sure I would ever get used to the way Ulfric kissed, like he wanted to drown himself in me.

The rain added to the sensations, water up our noses and in our eyes when we opened them, the downpour making our kiss slippery.

And, just like resurfacing after a long dive, we gasped for air when we broke apart.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked, still holding on to his arm. I needed to steady myself, my head was spinning.

Ulfric pointed at the plains below us. "Have you ever seen a storm like this?"

I turned to look and felt him rest his chin atop my shoulder, his arms wrapping around me once more. I did not recognize the world like this and shook my head, I had not.

"I did," he whispered into my ear. "Just before the Red Ring."

I shuddered from the cold and the tickling brush of his breath and mostly from his words. "It's just a storm, Ulfric."

He noticed my shiver, must have felt it somehow through all those layers of armour and let go of me to take a step back. "Damn, you must be freezing."

I wore nothing but leather breeches that were probably stuck to my legs for good now and a shirt; having forgotten to take as much as a coat, not that it would have done me much good anyway.

I opened my mouth to protest, to his statement and his withdrawing, but his hands had already undone the silver clasp of his cloak and he draped the white fur of a snow bear across my shoulders. In spite of it being wet it was warm and I caught his scent and inhaled deeply.

"The gods were with us then," Ulfric continued, pulling me close again and I let him. "I will take it as a good sign." I knew he was looking at me when he said "You are Kyne's chosen. This is her doing, her way to let us know we shall be victorious."

I sighed. I would not argue with the stubborn old bear who was wearing his amulet of Talos in plain sight. "When do you think the war will be over?" I asked instead.

"Winter will be upon us soon," he replied without a moment's thought, "Our men can rest while our enemies are too busy freezing to death to fight."

Ulfric was looking forward to the coming of the cold season and the respite from the warfare it might bring. Perhaps we could even get away from the army, just for a few days. Just us.

"Pahfos aal meyz, Zu'u fen kriist areid hi, Strundaam." I felt his smile against the nape of my neck, along with his warm breath and clutched his cloak tighter, sought shelter beneath it as together we watched the storm rage across the countryside.

Tomorrow, a new day would dawn, rosy and pale and untainted.

AN: Translation of the dragon language: "Whatever may come, I will stand beside you, Stormcloak."

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this little piece.

Also, I should mention that this story is a standalone and in no way connected to the BC!