The first time Ulfric Stormcloak laid eyes on the Dragonborn he was wary.

He put on a good show. Slightly trembling legs, drumming fingers with constant fidgeting painted a conclusive picture, one that the young Stormcloak had examined and dismissed while thief was too panicked to care. A good show but as was the way with all but the greatest of liars, it was the eyes that gave him away. Steady as they calmly took in what was happening around him with a glance.

Ulfric knew the type.

Dangerous men one and all.

Cold-blooded was perhaps the best way to describe them and the irony of calling a Nord cold-blooded did not escape him. Still the cart rolled on and all were equal under the headsman's axe. Death does not distinguish between would be kings and killers.

Then came the Dragon, Alduin the World-Eater and everything became fire and smoke.

So the second time Ulfric Stormcloak laid eyes on the Dragonborn he was cautious.

He had cast off the persona of the man cowering in fear of death, like taking off a cloak, his strides confidant and his hands steady. There were no ropes to restrain him now and to use the Thu'um in the crumbling tower was to turn it into a burial mound. He remained calm for that was the burden of leadership. Then the dragon burst through the wall and the last he saw of the stranger was as he jumped presumably to his death.

In the weeks and months that followed as dragon sightings and attacks increased as did tales of the Dragonborn hunting them down and all of Skyrim had heard the call of the Greybeards. He never made the connection to that stranger in Helgen. Why would he? What was one unnamed stranger, presumed dead, whom he spent less than a day with? That was perhaps part of the reason he was so shocked to see him again.

So the third time Ulfric Stormcloak laid eyes on the Dragonborn he was surprised.

Surprise quickly shifted into rage then horror ending in agony.

Having returned to his throne room he was surprised to find his general face down in pool of his own blood along with all of the guards posted in the throne room.

Surprise turned to rage as he saw a figure in black coming towards him from the corner of his eye, naked and bloody blade in hand, closing the gap in great distance eating strides.

Rage turned to horror as he spun the confront the threat, sword already half drawn, air filling his lungs in preparation of a Shout, a savage blow from the assailant's off hand to the throat robbed him of his Voice and a swing of the sword robbed him of his blade.

Horror turned to agony as his attacker pivoted and with a two handed thrust, stabbed the blade up through his stomach, piercing his lung, before exploding out his back in a spray of blood.

Ulfric slid off the blade and fell to the floor with his pierced lung filling with blood while the rest seeped on the floor. The man in black pulled down his hood revealing that long forgotten face, newly remembered, as it stared down dispassionately.

"You have my apologies. Perhaps you did not deserve this but it is for the greater good. We must be united against Alduin and you are a threat to that goal. So you must die." The Dragonborn stated evenly. Almost as if he hadn't just killed six men.

With his dying breath Ulfric pondered the irony of being killed for the good of Skyrim. He'd always hated irony.