Alright, before you start throwing things, this plot bunny has been running rampant around my head for a bit, and Ter'im is based off of my real life character. I've always wanted to see a bit more depth to the stories and characters of Skyrim. If you can't tell, this one is Elder Scrolls: V. Note, this is gonna evolve into a M!DB/Ulfric Stormcloak/Vilkas, so if that don't float your boat, get out the boat. Other than that, enjoy!

-JazzyKat

Ter'im sighed under his breath as he pulled his battle worn and travel weary body to Windhelm, seeking Ulfric Stormcloak. The self proclaimed High King had sent him a message by courier a good fortnight ago, and Ter'im was just now getting around to answering the summons. He'd managed to work his way to a good position of power in this cold Nord world, with the Companions, College of Winterhold, and Dark Brotherhood titles under his belt, but he still found himself shying away from any true alliance to either side, although every time he saw one of the worthless Thalmor, he gritted his teeth and his blades sang for their blood. He'd finally decided to buckle down and take sides, after The Blades charged him with killing the one dragon he'd spoken peaceably with and he'd rebelled against their words, hurt and determined to spare the old dragon.

A guard's offhand comment brought Ter'im to the fact that he was about to smash against the door to the palace, and he swung out a hand in time to spare his whiskers from being squished against the heavy wooden door. He staggered his way inside; ignoring the way all present in the palace drew their weapons. He stopped in front of Ulfric and observed the formidable man. Ter'im felt a stirring in his groin at the sight of Ulfric as well as the aura that surrounded the man.

Ulfric motioned for the men to sheathe their weapons and spoke in a rough timber, "Stranger. What brings you into our midst?"

Ter'im smirked underneath his dragon priest mask before speaking, the mask distorting his voice. "You don't recognize the one whom you have courted for so long, Ulfric? I am the dragon born, Dovakhiin, Hero of the Ages and defeater of the World Eater."

Ulfric sat up straighter in his throne. "Are you now, how do we know you are the Dragon born? Remove your mask."

Ter'im smirked and pulled the mask away, his whiskers twitching in amusement at Ulfric's steward's gasp. He ignored the sound of weapons screeching out of their scabbards and stared into Ulfric's stormy eyes.

"Not what you expected, huh? No Nord hero to save the world this time," Ter'im taunted tapping an unsheathed claw against the mask he held in his hand.

Ulfric motioned for Galmar to put his weapon away and slowly raised a blonde eyebrow over his icy blue green eyes.

"The famed Dragon born is Kajhiit? What have these end times brought to us? I want to see your thu'um in action."

Ter'im merely flipped his tail before selecting a shout, bracing himself and letting loose.

He smiled when he felt himself go transparent and weightless. He didn't move as Galmar suddenly thrust a hand through the space where his chest should be and watched as Ulfric's eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hair line.

"Having fun, Stormcloak?" Ter'im deadpanned, trying to move away from Galmar before he phased back into mortal standings once more. Galmar grunted and put his hand back at his side as Ter'im rematerialized.

"I have heard of that shout before, yes, in my time with the Grey Beards, but why are you able to go completely transient? The most the Grey Beards could tell about the shout, one was not able to injure or be injured, not be completely phantom like." Ulfric breathed fascinated, sitting straighter in his throne.

"Perhaps I will spill my secrets to you soon enough, Jarl Ulfric. What say you about me joining the Stormcloaks?" Ter'im purred, shifting his weight to ease the pain in his left side.

"Why's a cat want to fight for Skyrim?" Galmar growled, stepping toward Ter'im. Almost immediately, Ter'im's inner eye flashed to those he'd seen dying slowly and painfully in his brief excursions with the Thalmor. Most of all, Ter'im remembered the one he truly cared about being tortured and then burned to death because his love would not betray him.

Giving a rough shake, Ter'im lifted memory haunted eyes to Galmar Stone-Fist's cold blue ones and answered, "Skyrim has been taken over by the low dogs the Thalmor truly are, they need to be stomped out before they take over us all. So long as I can lift a battleaxe or draw a bow, I will fight against the Imperials. Too many things have they taken from me, and it will continue no longer."

Ulfric shifted on his throne, bringing attention back to himself by humming. "I see no harm in it, Galmar, one more son of Skyrim on our side."

"Very well, Dragon born, to prove your worth, go out and kill an ice-wraith and bring me its teeth. You survive a battle with one of those cursed creatures; you are more than worthy to stand under the Stormcloak banner," Galmar spit out his title of dragon born as almost an insult.

Ter'im nodded and bowed, smiling curtly before pulling the mask back onto his face. He limped out of the palace and back out into the cold harshness of Windhelm.

"Ay, conjurer, conjure me up a warm bed and a belly full of mead." Ter'im's shoulder's stiffened, before he bit the inside of his cheek and continued on, ignoring the guard and his cackling buddies. He headed immediately toward the town gates, absently noting how dark it was and how difficult it would be to travel and see through the snow storm.

He was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder, and a heavily accented voice spoke in his ear, "Whoa, traveler, you'll not need to go out wandering on your own tonight. 'Tis best to wait out the storm in Candlehearth Hall. No need for us to go digging your body out of the snow."

Ter'im sighed and let the well meaning guard push him toward the inn, deciding that his health potion store was running low. The bar maid looked up as the heavy door swung inwards, and her harsh face relaxed a bit when she took in how ragged Ter'im looked.

"Hail, stranger, what brings you to Candlehearth Hall?"

"Ter'im is passing through on some business, might you have a room open?"

"Sure, it'll be ten coin. I'll show you the way."

Ter'im steadfastly ignored any hostile or curious glares he received and focused instead on the throbbing pain that increased with every footstep. He was grateful to get to the small but clean room and collapse on the straw mattress to eat a better meal than dry bread and cabbage. He waited until the bar maid left, shutting the door with a smooth click and Ter'im undid the buckles to his heavy armor. He was still working his way up to ebony armor, having only the bronzed dwarven on at the moment. He piled it as neatly as he could along with his weapons, keeping his favored war hammer near to him and slipping a dagger under his pillow. He drifted off, meaning to sleep lightly, but failing as his hurts and weariness overwhelmed him and he sank into oblivion.