Thuum translator might come in handy during this chapter.

EPILOGUE

A lone rider raced across the plains of Whiterun, keeping ahead of the billowing cloud of dust that arose in the distance behind him.

The guard squeezed his horse's sides harder, clucking his tongue in encouragement. The young hunter galloped on despite the white lather covering its neck and breast and the foam that flew from its mouth in small flocks, not unlike snow.

They had almost made it. The rider did not stop at the stables or the main gate, but sped right past, shouting to his comrades and at the citizens to move out of his way. He flung himself from the horse's back when he reached the stairs that led up to Dragonsreach. Face red with exertion and panting he took those three at a time and ran right past his startled fellow guardsmen until he stood before the Jarl, bent almost in half and gulping for air.

"My Jarl", the soldier forced out and managed to sketch a sloppy salute that he just knew Irileth would have had his hide for, before he had to curl up on himself again to lessen the pain in his side.

Balgruuf was about to tell the distressed guard to take his time when the man straightened and his next words made Hrongar drop his spoon and the usually reserved Proventus express his surprise in a few choice words that the Jarl had not heard out of his steward's mouth before.

"Ulfric Stormcloak rides for the city!"

oooo

They could have been under another dragon attack judging by the chaos that followed. There was a burst of frantic activity; Hrongar, who had taken over Irileth's position as housecarl, bellowed orders that sent soldiers scurrying to their posts and Balgruuf issued his own, striving for a calm that he did not feel.

Instead he was all the more conscious of the empty place that his former húskarl had filled. The Dunmer warrior had been unshakable in the face of danger, but it was his friend and her reliable confidence and dry sense of humour that he missed most.

The Jarl had bread and mead brought– and his greatsword. Hrongar walked on his right side and Farengar on his left and Proventus behind. He was surrounded by friends and people loyal to him and yet in that moment Balgruuf felt utterly alone as he walked to the city gates and past the drawbridge to stop in front of the outer gates. He winced at the sight of crumbling walls and fortifications that had been reinforced with wood out of necessity and knew immediately that it wouldn't escape his visitor. The other Nord would make notice of every weakness and Balgruuf was absolutely sure that he would never have let Windhelm fall into the same state of disrepair. He was suddenly ripped out of his thoughts when one of the soldiers blew into a horn; a long, mournful wail that raised goosebumps and made hair stand on end.

Stormcloak and his men were drawing near.

The battlements above and the twin towers were manned with archers and there were a good forty soldiers at the Jarl's back, twice the number Ulfric had. But neither his men nor his brother or even his court mage would do Balgruuf much good if his old rival had come to challenge him as he had Torygg.

When the riders came into view, tearing up the road in a full gallop it was impossible not to notice Ulfric Stormcloak. He rode in front, mounted atop a snow white charger that was almost too bright to look at with the sun glinting off its shining coat and armour. Two soldiers rode abreast holding up the banners of the Bear of Eastmarch.

The Jarl of Windhelm knew how to make an entrance; Balgruuf had to give him that. Stones and earth sprayed from the horses' hooves and the ground trembled beneath the charge. It was impressive and he felt his heart speed up, but stood firm. A nervous shudder passed through their own ranks as the warriors shifted uneasily with the riders bearing straight at them.

Balgruuf's attention however was drawn to the two other banners: white flakes on a field of blue. They were mourning colours; the blue standing for the clear skies and white for snow. It gave him hope that this day would pass without bloodshed.

Ulfric lifted his right arm and his men reined in, to the palpable relief of the soldiers on foot. The Jarl's horse pranced nervously beneath him, tossing its head and Balgruuf remembered that he had loved to race the animals once. Only six riders approached them at a more moderate pace and the Jarl of Whiterun recognized Galmar Stone-Fist, who served as húskarl to his lord and friend.

Farengar leaned closer to his lord and quietly whispered, "Beware of the one on the left; I can feel his magic. He is protecting Stormcloak."

Balgruuf thought the elderly man with a bushy, greying beard looked utterly unremarkable but he trusted his court mage's judgement on the matter and his ability to deal with the man if necessary.

The Jarl's own attention was entirely claimed by Ulfric and he braced himself, feeling the ranks of his soldiers around him close in as sixteen hundred pounds of animal and rider stopped just a hair's breadth before colliding with the Jarl of Whiterun, who would sooner fall over dead on the spot than give ground. Balgruuf felt the horse's heavy exhale across his face and caught a pungent whiff of horse sweat and released the penned up breath he had been holding.

He met Ulfric's hard gaze, allowing himself to be drawn into a contest of stares, one Jarl against the other, until Stormcloak's mare threw her head up violently, forcing Balgruuf to step aside or be knocked onto his ass and spraying the Jarl with foamy slobber.

Kyne's cunt, but he hated those stupid animals – and their riders even more so.

"Balgruuf."

Ulfric was the first to break the silence and he did so with the slightest inclination of his head. If it was meant to show respect it missed its mark by a mile, for he was still seated atop his prancing horse. Along his infamous act of killing the High King and a penchant for getting himself thrown in jail the man was also known for his preposterous arrogance.

"What do you want?", Balgruuf said in the way of greeting.

"I have come to pay my respects to the Companions." Ulfric did not add 'As is my right', but the words nonetheless hung in the air between them.

"Will you not dismount?", the Jarl of Whiterun enquired with a pointed look that was completely ignored by the man it was directed at.

Stormcloak's face did not change; he only patted his horse on the neck to calm it down. "Not before I know whether it is futile."

Balgruuf grit his teeth and wished for a gate to Oblivion to open under the other man and considered the choices he had. Refusing Ulfric's...demand, for it could not be called a request would strain their already tarnished relationship even more. Worst of all, it was the Nord's right to enter Whiterun as a neutral city and even more so to seek out the Companions in order to convey his condolences. The trouble was, Balgruuf strongly suspected Stormcloak of having some ulterior motive that luckily coincided with an opportunity to visit the city.

"You put me in a difficult position", the Jarl begun, hoping against hope the man might yet see reason and reconsider. "If the Legion finds out I welcomed their enemy they will send somebody to -"

And find out they would. Caius was an average Guard Captain and a terrible spy, but he could keep his position for as long as he, albeit unknowingly, provided the Jarl with information on the Empire's strategies and designs.

"Since when does Balgruuf the Greater answer to Imperial lackeys?"

Hrongar growled something at the insult and took a step forward, his hand going for the sword at his back and Balgruuf had to grab his younger brother and drag him back with a stern, reproachful glower for the warrior.

Ulfric, the smug bastard, looked on in unconcealed amusement. "I swear on Kyne and Talos and on my own honour as the Jarl of Windhelm that I only seek to pay my respects to the Companions and to not use this visit to gather allies or advance my position in the war in any other way."

Balgruuf immediately tried to find any possible loopholes, but he had to admit the vow was rather solid. It was more than he had expected and it had come without any persuasion necessary on his part. The Jarl grunted.

"Good enough."

He waved at one of the guards to bring forth the bread and mead that he would offer to his guest and wondered if he'd manage to get anything down with his stomach rebelling. Ulfric snorted when he beheld the bottle of Honningbrew, a sound most unbefitting a man of his position. The Jarl of Windhelm reached behind him to pull a bottle from one of the saddlebags, slung his right leg over horse's neck and gracefully slid down its side. Some officer took the mare's reins and led the snorting steed away.

The Jarls split the loaf of bread first, each eating a chunk from the piece of the other and shared a cup of mead next, all without any words spoken. And then they had to repeat the process with the higher ranking members of the other man's entourage. Balgruuf approached Stormcloak's housecarl first, then his officers, all of which were on their best behaviour. Too bad the same could not be said of his own men.

Ulfric lifted his cup to Balgruuf's steward, as if in toast. "Provenus. Your health."

The Imperial man sniffed. "Pity yours is still intact."

The Jarl only raised one eyebrow at the retort that had come in a nasal whine and moved on towards Balgruuf's brother. "Hrongar."

"Don't speak to me or I'll be forced to break my vow to Balgruuf to not throttle you with your entrails, traitor."

"As always, it is lovely to meet your family, Balgruuf", the Ulfric remarked with astounding calm, completely ignoring the fuming Hrongar. "Though I do not see your delightful housecarl; she too had an unhealthy obsession with my guts, if I remember correctly."

Ulfric drained the cup and closely watched the strangled expression on his host's face. He then turned and walked up to the drawbridge and city gates, forcing a white-faced Balgruuf to hurry after him.

"Ah, Whiterun. She looks as beautiful as ever." He stopped in front of a golden banner waving in the wind to study it. "I do not remember you replacing your father's emblem with a goat though", the Jarl said with evident surprise and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "Maybe I should visit more often."

"Your head almost did", Balgruuf could not refrain from pointing out, a sorry excuse of a comeback for the provocation. A goat! He squinted at the offending cloth and hated to admit the other man had a point. He would have to order the weavers-

"My head prefers to journey with the rest of my body", Ulfric dismissed the comment and began to walk again. The guards pulled open the gates to the city for the two men. "Does that disappoint you?"

"I'll get over it", Balgruuf grunted. He knew the man next to him could sense weakness like the wolf he was named after, but after the events of the last weeks he did not have the energy to keep up pretences. Of all the times the Jarl could have visited, this was the worse.

On top of that he was left wondering how it was possible for Stormcloak and his followers to come within a day of his city without any forewarning from their scouts or border patrols. As much as it was alarming it spoke volumes of Ulfric's ability lead his soldiers through unfamiliar territory - or to the meticulousness of his spies. How the Imperials had managed to ambush him was a mystery.

Stormcloak tore into the leftover bread with real gusto and undoubtedly fake ignorance. He offered a chunk to the man walking beside him and Balgruuf waved the gesture away. He was not hungry; had not been for a while. All food tasted like ashes, the ashes of a funeral pyre that had settled on his hair, and robes, and face.

"You should eat", Ulfric remarked blithely. "You look terrible."

It had not escaped his notice how gaunt the other Jarl was. There was almost nothing left of the chubby man he remembered. Dark bags gave Balgruuf's eyes a bruised appearance and though his hair was braided, it hung listlessly in fatty, matted tresses, like he had not bothered to disentangle and wash it for weeks straight. If Ulfric knew one weak spot of the other Nord, it was his vainness. The man was a fop; he dressed in the bright finery of a peacock and was decked out in a jewelled circlet, with rings on his fingers. Ulfric did not know what must have happened for the other Nord to let himself go like this.

The Jarl of Whiterun stopped in his tracks and Ulfric took another step or two, before he pretended to notice and followed suit.

"I have been mourning my son's death, you tactless bastard." Balgruuf's fists were clenched at his sides, flecks of red discolouring his waxen, unshaved cheeks.

Stormcloak could actually look taken aback. "Forgive me." He half-bowed in apology; such a topic was beyond what he was willing to touch on just to gain some advantage over the other Nord. "I did not know."

"As if you cared", the Jarl of Whiterun forced out.

They slowly resumed their way. "Would you believe me if I said I did?", Ulfric asked softly. He had lost family and it was a pain he did not wish upon anybody but his most bitter enemies.

"Only if my wits equal your skill at diplomacy."

Booming laughter answered Balgruuf's jab and the people who had been keeping out of their way stopped to cast curious looks the pair, startled by the sound.

"I have missed –"

"You have missed being insulted?", Balgruuf interrupted, not in the mood to share thinly veiled insults disguised as banter. "You should talk to the Battle-Borns then. I'm sure they would be happy to indulge you."

He couldn't see the man gone soon enough. "Go about your business and leave; I won't have you kill or sow discord in my city."

If the open hostility startled Ulfric, he concealed it well. At least it put an end to his amusement and Balgruuf felt a hair's breadth less inclined to punch him in the face.

"I must admit our last meeting was rather stained by unpleasant circumstances", Ulfric conceded with a sigh, his gaze wondering over the wooden structures around them and the people who quickly resumed what they had been doing before they had stopped to gawk.

Balgruuf could not believe the man's gall. After what he had done... "By you Shouting Torygg to pieces", he grit out.

"I didn't Shout him to pieces", Ulfric corrected him unapologetically. "You of all people should know, you were there."

"No, you didn't", Balgruuf agreed. "You flung him twenty feet through the air and into a wall, probably breaking half of his bones and butchered him like a sow when he was still down. In front of his crying wife!"

Ulfric shrugged carelessly, the motion ruffling the fur on his shoulders and declared haughtily "I gave him plenty of time to get up first."

The High King's armour, only ever used for ceremonial purposes up to that day, had been pretty before Ulfric's Shout had dented it so badly half the inlaid gems fell out. Balgruuf and a few other Jarls who had accepted the 'invitation for negotiations' stood witness to the man's demise and because he had stayed after the duel, Balgruuf knew they had to saw pieces of the king back on for his last rites, his broken body spilling out when the armour that held it together was removed.

Balgruuf remembered the pleas of Torygg's young wife as the Jarl of Windhelm had stood over the fallen lad to coldly glare down at the man. None of them thought Ulfric had it in him to take the High King's life in his own courtyard. And then Stormcloak had proven them all wrong.

They had fought, though. Torygg had been a dead man as soon as he had accepted Ulfric's challenge, Shout or no. Ulfric had even had the gall to toss his sword from his right to his left, before settling to fight with his left hand. One final insult delivered to the High King. And he'd been good too, Balgruuf had had to admit with grudging admiration. He himself had not picked up his sword in...months, he realized with a pang of shame. Apparently the Jarl of Windhelm had kept up his warrior's training.

"Don't you have a conscience?", Balgruuf asked, aghast at the cold-bloodedness of the Jarl when confronted with his crime.

Ulfric's answering gaze was without pity. "War requires action, not sentiment", he said. "You would know if you'd ever been in one."

To this day Balgruuf could not forgive his father for calling him back after a few minor skirmishes. The late Jarl had not wanted his heir put in danger. He had had no such qualms about his younger child.

The indignation burned, even years later. "I have been in battle."

The indulging smile Ulfric gifted him with, combined with the faintest hint of a patronizing tone and his next words almost sent Balgruuf's blood boiling. "Drunk brawls between Legionnaires in wayside taverns do not count."

"And it has worked out flawlessly", the Jarl of Whiterun retorted, his resentment evident. "Brothers and sisters are butchering each other on two fronts, friends are torn apart, neighbours begin feuds. Have you no regrets?"

"I have more regrets than you have hairs left on your head, Balgruuf. Liberating Skyrim is not one of them."

There was no man more dangerous than the one who truly believed in the righteousness of his course. "You are not freeing her", Balgruuf spat, infuriated with the other man's blindness. "You are dooming her! Don't you see? While we fight, the Thalmor laugh behind our backs."

"Oh?"

Balgruuf wondered if Ulfric practiced that particular look of mixed mild surprise, amusement and overconfidence in front of a looking glass and if so, how many hours per day. No wonder Windhelm was rumoured to be going to the dogs.

"I daresay they laugh straight in our faces", Ulfric said calmly, "Though I wouldn't know. Any Thalmor crossing into my territory have nothing to laugh at."

He looked so smug, it made Balgruuf sick. How could he, who had himself suffered at the hands of the Thalmor play right into them? The Jarl shook his head, giving up on the argument. He did not have energy to deal with all of this.

Thankfully, Ulfric was distracted when they passed by the statue of Talos, where Heimskr was currently busy sweeping the pedestal and lighting scented candles. Stormcloak bee-lined for the shrine, like a moth drawn to light. He put one hand on the altar, before going down on one knee.

Balgruuf took a step back to give the man his privacy. He thought it prudent, considering to what lengths the other Jarl had gone in the name of Talos.

"Ysmir-"

Heimskr chose that moment to begin his sermon anew, probably to show his devotion to the god to the Jarl of Windhelm.

Ulfric looked up, irritation furrowing his brow upon being interrupted. "Would you shut up for a moment?", he barked at the priest. "A man can't hear his own thoughts."

Heimskr's jaw snapped shut immediately and moreover, it remained closed. The place was blessedly quiet without him shouting to the heavens so Balgruuf did not intervene on his behalf.

Ulfric bowed his head again and picked up his prayer, but though the Jarl of Whiterun heard every word, he understood none of it. He recognized the Old Tongue, guttural and harsh, yet strangely melodic from his days in High Hrothgar.

"Ysmir, hon dii draan ko Keizaalro tiid do praag. Bolaav zey mul, fah dii paal los pogaan ahrk fax, ahrk ahkrin wah dii rahzun ful mu aal qahnaar pah wo fund kriist midrak mii ahrk straag hond nol hin moro. Aak dii steg ahrk dii tuz ahrk lingraav avok dii fron ahrk gein voth dovah sos ahrk inaak mok wah zey waan grik los hin fen."

A short pause, then Balgruuf heard him sigh. "Ahrk enfan osos dahrin nau golah turog do Bronjun areid zey ful nid zuk Bron sos fen kos stiis."

Ulfric then reached into his coat to pull out something – Balgruuf saw the glint of metal and thought he could discern the shape of an amulet. Ulfric briefly touched it to his lips before putting it away again.

Finished, he shifted his weight to get up and froze. The Jarl needed to brace a hand on the ground for a moment before he stood stiffly, brows furrowed with what Balgruuf guessed was pain. He wondered if the rumors about Stormcloak's deteriorating health weren't true after all.

"I'm glad you have been true to our faith." None of the strain that had showed on his face a moment ago was in the Jarl's voice as they contuned.

"For all your talking I am a true Nord", Balgruuf declared proudly.

"Yes." Ulfric sounded distracted. "I wish we could have been allies."

"I stand where I have always stood", Balgruuf reminded him. "With Whiterun."

"The Gildergreen is sick." Ulfric picked up a fallen petal from one of the benches that surrounded Kynareth's holy tree and as if in second thought he sat down, twirling the crimson flower between his fingers absent-mindedly before pocketing it. Balgruuf noticed that he was breathing more heavily than a leisurely stroll warranted. He did not take a place, remained standing himself. Neither did he reply to the statement and so the sounds of the city washed over them. Behind the two Jarls their followers kept a respectful distance, each group making sure there was enough space between them.

"I hear the Dragonborn is in Whiterun", Ulfric said conversationally, more to the tree than the Nord next to him.

"Did your spies tell you so?", Balgruuf asked, sourly. He had explicitly ordered his soldiers to hold their tongues.

Ulfric spared him an amused glance. "There was no need. As a man trained in the Voice I heard the Greybeards' summons."

"All the way from Windhelm?" Balgruuf knew he sounded doubtful, but despite himself he felt impressed.

Ulfric nodded. "All the way." Some time passed before the Jarl of Windhelm prompted, "Well? You did not answer my question."

Balgruuf had an axe to grind with the man himself, but he would not let the former Thane of his hold fall into Stormcloak hands. The consequences for the war would be disastrous. "The Dragonborn is gone", the Jarl replied.

"Gone? Where to?"

Was there a hint of urgency in Ulfric's voice? Balgruuf was sure he detected the anticipation of the other man and did not let his smile show. Yes, there was that sharpening of the Jarl's gaze, the eagerness in his eyes unmistakable now. It was the same look he had had when he declared that he would be Skyrim's High King; power-hungry and full of self-entitlement.

Balgruuf was not going to give him a shred of information above what was commonly known throughout his hold. "I do not know", he said, for the first time since he had been practically overrun by Stormcloak's appearance feeling like he had solid ground under his feet again. "After his return from High Hrothgar he decided to fulfil a task the Greybeards had appointed to him." He knew that much from the man's housecarl.

"Pity. I had hoped to meet him." Ulfric did not conceal his disappointment half as well as he had his emotions before.

So that was why he was here, Balgruuf thought with grim satisfaction. The Jarl of Windhelm would not find here what – whom – he was looking for.

"Who's that?", Ulfric enquired and pointed to a wanted poster of Whiterun's disgraced Thane, changing the topic when he sensed he would get no more about the Dragonborn out of his host.

Before Balgruuf could open his mouth to answer, their conversation was interrupted by a servant from Dragonsreach that had run up to the Jarl to ask where he would have them house the Stormcloaks.

Impeccable timing if there ever was one. Balgruuf was all too happy to have a valid reason to avoid answering the other man's question.

"If you would excuse me for a moment."

xxxx

Ulfric nodded at the Jarl of Whiterun and watched as he took a couple of steps away from him to give orders to the head of his staff without him overhearing.

He stretched out his legs and suppressed a wince at the sound his knee made. At least the cramps had stopped. Galmar had cautioned him against riding too hard, but Ulfric had been adamant about catching Balgruuf by surprise. The Jarl inclined his head slightly when one of his men approached him, shuffling his feet like a horse stabled too long. Or a man hiding something.

"My Jarl."

"Yes, Ralof?" Ulfric made sure to know all of his officers by name – and their loved ones and even bits and pieces of their history. He always had a few words for those who served him; a question about life back home, a comment on how their children were growing up, wishes for the speedy recovery of a sick relative. Most were surprised, yet honoured that the Jarl remembered them and cared. It was part of the reason how he had won over almost half of the country in just over two years.

"That man." The Stormcloak spoke quickly and quietly, casting a brief look at the other Jarl to assure himself he was still distracted. "On the warrant -"

"I recognise him from Helgen. What about him?"

"We escaped together. Became friends. His name is Wulfryk; anyway, he told me he is with the Companions", Ralof said so fast the words merged into one another.

"Ralof." Ulfric looked up at the young man whose dedication had him recently promoted into his personal guard.

"Yes?"

"Go, buy yourself a drink", Ulfric suggested and, more quietly, "And find out what you can."

The Stormcloak had an air of honesty about him that had to come from his rural upbringing, but he was charismatic and had brains enough not to get himself into trouble. Ralof retreated just as Balgruuf turned back to them, the servant running back to the keep.

"Your quarters in Dragonsreach are being prepared", Balgruuf said in a way of invitation.

"Thank you for accommodating my men", Ulfric responded respectfully. "I promise they will cause you no inconvenience. It is time for me to go to Jorrvaskr." His plans had just changed.

"Do you not wish to refresh yourself?", Balgruuf asked, too quickly.

"I shall do so after", Ulfric answered and turned his attention to his housecarl. "Galmar! Make sure they behave themselves."

The grizzled veteran chuckled and cracked his knuckles, giving all the Stormcloaks minus Ralof a once-over. "Will do."

"I wouldn't want to intrude upon your hospitality any longer than necessary", Ulfric told his host utterly straight-faced.

Balgruuf had wanted him gone as soon as possible, just a couple of minutes ago. Now the Jarl of Whiterun looked like he had bitten into a foul fruit. Ulfric knew he had speculated that he could visit the Companions before him.

He did not allow his smirk to show. Be careful what you wished for, Balgruuf.

oooo

"Jarl Ulfric!"

The old woman's hand fell from her husband's shoulder and she dropped into a curtsy that was more befitting for a noble court than a dusty courtyard.

"Fralia", Ulfric greeted her, noticing the dignity with which she carried herself, a stark contrast to the patched, stained dress she wore. "Eorlund."

The man likewise stood up and bowed.

"Please, there is no need for formality", Ulfric assured them. "I would not want to keep you from your work." He heard it was potentially unhealthy.

"Good", the smith grunted and went back to his grinding wheel.

"Eorlund!", his wife called out, aggravated, but he only grunted something intelligible at her and bent lower over his work. "Please excuse my husband", Fralia told the Jarl, giving up on correcting her husband. "All his talent is in his craft which sadly left him with manners like a lump of cold iron."

Ulfric laughed at the smith's heavy sigh as he stopped the wheel and looked their way, though he did not get up again. It was not for his company that anybody hired Eorlund.

"Would you do us the honour of dining with us?", Fralia asked the Jarl. "Our home is humble, but our doors are open."

"Thank you." It would be interesting to catch up with his staunchest supporters. He had not seen the Grey-Manes for too long and Fralia had been like an aunt to him when he had been but a boy. She and his mother though only distantly related had been close friends and so the old woman had used to visit Windhelm when Líf had still been alive. It all seemed so long ago now.

"But I have given my word to Balgruuf that this visit was to pay my respects to the Companions only", Ulfric declined regretfully. "We wouldn't want to make the Jarl nervous, would we?"

The old woman nodded her understanding, but the way she wrung her hands told him there was more.

"Something seems to weigh heavily on your heart."

"Yes", she admitted with relief. "It is about Thorald. We haven't seen him in such a long time..."

"He did not return to Windhelm after we escaped Helgen." Ulfric did not know what became of his best agent. "I had hoped he might be with you", he admitted. "Maybe his cover is still intact?"

It was entirely possible Thorald had gone right back to working on the mission assigned to him. If that was the case, maybe he had just not found the opportunity to send his reports. It was better for him to remain quiet than to be damasked as an agent of the enemy by the Imperials.

"I shall make enquiries", Ulfric promised. He would have to be cautious and the matter handled in a roundabout way, but perhaps one of their other contacts knew what had happened to the young man and were able to share their intelligence.

"Thank you", Fralia said and even Eorlund left his worktable again to clasp the Jarl's hand in gratitude.

"Of course." Ulfric gifted them with a smile, one of his few genuine ones. "Now I better go and relay my condolences. Kodlak was a great man."

"Aye", Eorlund agreed brusquely and pointed at the Jarl's side. "If you would give me your axe first, I'll have it sharpened to slice through bone like butter by the time you're out of Jorrvaskr again."

Only a fool would refuse such an offer. Ulfric handed over his weapon without second thoughts. He doubted he would need it, here, on Jorrvaskr's grounds. And even if...he did not need it.

"How is the new Harbinger?", he enquired.

"He's struggling", was all the smith said. "You will best see for yourself." With that he retreated to his forge.

oooo

Ulfric did. He remembered the mead hall as loud and full of life – not the exact opposite; quiet and empty. The only other person in the common room besides himself was a warrior with dirty blonde hair and an unkempt beard sitting at the table and nursing a mug. He reeked of drink. A pair of crutches were leaned against his chair.

The Jarl grabbed two bottles of mead from a shelf in passing and came up behind the man, filling his mug before taking a place.

The Companion stared up blearily at the other Nord. "I already like you", he slurred. "You here to apply? I don't think we 'ave met before?"

"No indeed. The name is Ulfric Stormcloak", the Jarl introduced himself, but did not extend a hand in greeting. Instead he took a sip of the mead and grimaced. The Companions used to have the good stuff.

It was almost comical watching the other man attempting to sit upright. "Torvar, m' Jarl. I'm sure you wanna talk to Vilkas...I can get 'im if you want me to."

"In a moment", Ulfric decided. Likely as not the layabout would break his neck trying to hobble downstairs. In the meantime...he might provide a willing source of information. The Jarl poured the contents from his own bottle into the man's mug and beckoned for him to drink.

Torvar was more than happy to spill everything he knew. The Companions had been attacked, Skjor and Kodlak killed and the Thane, only named Thane recently, because, hush, it was a secret that he was the Dragonborn, had fled with a priceless relic and blood on his hands.

"Nasty business." Torvar shook his head and had difficulties to stop, the motion almost hypnotizing. "He killed Balgruuf's youngest son, then his housecarl, then Old Skald." He hiccupped and looked up, oblivious that the Jarl was observing him with the cold calculation of a predator; emerald eyes hard as chips of flint. "No, wait, Skald was first", he pointed out with a finger raised.

"Jarl Skald is not dead", Stormcloak corrected softly. Just a drooling imbecile; Ulfric heard that was still quite the improvement to when he had been actively ruling.

He would have to move swiftly to put in motion the plans he and Galmar had made. Messengers were already riding for Winterhold. Who could have known the unsuspecting Dragonborn would aid them so? Maybe he should extend his thanks to the man. And a pardon. If Balgruuf wanted him caught, it was all the more reason for his own men to garner the former Thane of Whiterun. After what he had done he would not be able to refuse Ulfric's offer and the aid of the Dragonborn would surely prove to be an invaluable asset to the war.

The Jarl of Windhelm chuckled mirthlessly and Torvar shut up immediately, realizing too late what he had just done.

"You may get the Harbinger now", Ulfric dismissed him.

xxxx

Vilkas came to the living room to find the Jarl of Windhelm sitting at the head of Jorrvaskr's long table like he owned the place. He did a double take, righted himself and walked into the room, heart hammering. When Torvar had appeared in his room without knocking, flustered and stammering that the Jarl wanted to speak to him, the last person he would have expected was Ulfric Stormcloak.

The last time the man had visited Jorrvaskr, Vilkas had been a lad, not even part of the Circle. The time before that...had been at Askar's funeral. The thought made him feel terribly young.

Ulfric rose and greeted the Harbinger in a forthcoming, respectful manner that did little to put the Companion at ease. He was one of the very few men Vilkas could look squarely in the eye without having to look down. It was a strange feeling. Enervating.

"Jarl Ulfric." He had to grasp at the appropriate words. "It is an honour to welcome you in our hall." The man might be called a murderer by some, but he was nobility and a Jarl. And, Vilkas could sense that he demanded respect. He prayed the words sounded better out of his mouth than they did in his head.

Apparently they did. The two warriors slowly walked outside, and over the courtyard where the vista of the plains was bathed in the orange light of the setting sun. It was just easier and less tense than standing still. Ulfric had many things to say, about Kodlak and his own grief at the passing of such a distinguished, wise man. Too bad big words seldom came from big emotions. The Jarl should visit the Bard's College, Vilkas thought and flinched when Stormcloak mentioned Sovngarde.

The formalities eventually turned to talk of more everyday matters and the Harbinger was surprised that Ulfric seemed genuinely interested in how the Companions fared. Vilkas doubted that he really was, but he allowed himself to relax a little bit, leaned his elbows on the low wall surrounding the courtyard, mirroring the Jarl's pose. This was something he knew. The Jarl of course, knew the hardships of leadership even better. It gave them something in common. The rest of the conversation flowed easier, turned almost friendly.

After a while Vilkas could feel that they were drawing close to the end. Then,

"I heard the Dragonborn was a Companion", Ulfric remarked in an offhanded manner that immediately alerted Vilkas that this was not just friendly interest.

"Heard where?", he asked, playing for time.

Ulfric gave him none. "From the Jarl", he replied curtly, and then, "Where is he?"

Vilkas knew it was not the Jarl he was asking after. "He hasn't returned yet from High Hrothgar", he promptly lied.

"Hmm." The hum made Vilkas' hair stand on end. "Interesting."

He had already put his foot in, he would stick to it. "What's so interesting about that?", the Harbinger enquired, striving for a pleasant, ignorant tone.

His hope at fooling the Jarl died when Ulfric turned to face him. "That's not what Balgruuf said. You should get your stories sorted out", he softly advised.

Vilkas swallowed, heart racing and fully aware of the colour that had risen to his face.

"Who is Wulfryk?"

He already knew. When Vilkas failed to immediately supply an answer, Ulfric Stormcloak nodded once, acknowledging the unwilling confirmation and bowed his head. "Harbinger."

Vilkas was left staring after the Jarl, feeling like the other man had punched him in the gut in farewell.

xxxx

Ulfric Stormcloak did not go to sleep that night. Not because he feared that Balgruuf would go back on his word, but because there were too many thoughts crowding his head. With his men snoring in the quiet of Dragonsreach, he did not even attempt to find the peace that meditation usually would bring him. Instead he sat at the same table he had dined at and by the light of a few candles he was composing his newest letter. So much had been revealed by his visit, more than he could have ever hoped for.

In the coldest hours of dawn, before the sun had risen to burn away the mist Ulfric walked the streets of Whiterun. The city was neutral territory nobody would get as suspicious as if he sent his letters from Windhelm. That always required some finesse, to make sure the recipient of his correspondence could be not traced back to him – for the safety of them both.

Ulfric checked if anybody had trailed after him, but saw nobody; the city was dark and quiet and the few palace guards he had passed had been leaning on their spears half-asleep. Poor discipline, if he said so himself, but favourable circumstances for him. The Jarl did not need anybody to know of his doings, neither the Imperials, nor his own followers.

He found the man he had been looking for and a package and a pouch of coin changed hands.

His contact assured the Jarl he would leave as soon as the city gates opened and they parted again, quickly and without any more words.

Satisfied, Ulfric nodded and did the math in his head. Less than a month until his letters arrived if his contact found a trustworthy mounted courier. Two more at least until he could expect a reply. He took a deep breath of the brisk autumn air and let it out in a long sigh before he turned and retreated to Dragonsreach. Business taken care of, it was time for them to leave.

oooo

Breakfast was a quiet, sombre affair. Balgruuf was obliged to attend, though he did not eat and although Ulfric's soldiers fell over the food eagerly, knowing that another month of way rations awaited them, there was none of the talk and laughter the Jarl had grown accustomed to. Galmar was keeping the Stormcloaks at a tight leash. Ralof appeared slightly hungover, but in good spirits and Ulfric was confident he had managed to gather some interesting news and gossip. He was curious to hear whether it matched with what he had found out.

After the meal it was time for them to depart. Balgruuf had their horses readied and accompanied his guests to the city gates where the Jarls exchanged a few terse words in parting. Undoubtedly the young Harbinger had informed his Jarl of all that had happened yesterday. Balgruuf looked anything but happy and Ulfric was glad to be leaving again, not willing to test the other Nord's patience any longer.

He swung himself onto his mare and from atop the dancing horse he saw as Fralia elbowed her way through the group of soldiers standing around them. The old lady spared a glare at Balgruuf when he asked her what she was doing here and approached Ulfric with a wrapped parcel. The Jarl smelled apple pie, a smell that brought back memories of his childhood. It was still warm.

"Something for your journey", Fralia whispered, and loudly enough for the others to hear "It is a shame we did not have an opportunity to talk."

Clever woman. Ulfric felled a decision that moment. "I did not know one of Whiterun's oldest families has fallen upon such hard times", the Jarl proclaimed. "You have my aid."

Fralia shook her head. "Eorlud will never accept help", the old lady replied sadly, but with a smile underlining the simple truth; that one could not force a proud Nord to accept help he had not asked for. But...

"He doesn't need to know", Ulfric answered with a conspiratorial wink. Fralia used to say the same about his father when she was slipping him sweets as a kid and she had not forgotten. "Now that I think about it my officers could use some good steel swords and axes. An order of...two hundred should do nicely for the beginning."

Fralia clasped her hands to her chest, tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you." She reached out, paused for the fraction of a second and patted the horse's flank, a gesture that was meant for Ulfric's his leg, but she could not show such familiarity with the Jarl now.

"Return safely", the old woman quietly said.

Ulfric inclined his head. "Talos guide you and yours."

He wheeled his horse around, heels digging into its sides and raised his arm. The mare sprang forth in a fast gallop and the other riders fell into line behind him, banners rolled up again. Ulfric saw Wuunferth mumbling his spells and revelled at the sheer strength of the animal beneath him, the rapid thunder of hooves and the feeling of freedom that the speed brought him.

Fortunately, it was a long way to Windhelm.

~THE END~

AN: Thank you all for reading. My special thanks go to everybody who faved and followed this story and especially to those of you who commented on it. You guys made me go on and I hope you will enjoy the next instalment as much as you did this story (and, hopefully, more) and stay with me through many, many more adventures. A year ago I would not have thought it possible for this story to reach a 100.000 words and now I have thrice the amount and the main story has not even properly begun yet. Wow. Wow! It would not have been possible without your support, so give yourselves a pat on the shoulder. You deserve it. Thank you.

~bluRaaven

1) The Blacktyde Chronicles continue with 'A Wild and Wicked Youth.' (High Tide is now part three.)

2) The Companions (whom we won't see for a while in HT) go on in 'The Value of Family'.

3) Also, do not miss out on the accompanying series centred on Ulfric Stormcloak that begins with 'The Price of Freedom'.

Initially, I really thought Whiterun's emblem was a goat.

You know what this means, right? Right? It means it is officially time for me to TAKE HT OFF its way too long HIATUS! :DDD