The girl's name was Fawn. At least, that was the name Ulfric gave her. She rarely spoke, and when she did, it was often in gibberish. Ulfric wasn't even sure if the girl knew any language. Perhaps her understanding came from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. He, however, didn't need her to speak to know that she loved him. She told him that in every other way.

It was late into the evening when Ulfric returned. Blood still stained his face and clothes. Ulfric remained stoic as he walked across the great hall towards the bedchambers. Galmar was awake. But then again, of course he was awake. He was like a little lap dog, always there until Ulfric returned.

"So it is done?" Galmar asked with a cruel grin.

"The boy died with honor, Galmar," Ulfric stated, "You'll do well to remember that."

Galmar didn't catch on to Ulfric's tone. He lumbered about room like a bear and flicked a tiny crown off the map that was spread across the table. "Our armies will double in size, now, Ulfric! Any true son or daughter of Skyrim will come running to Windhelm!"

"And so will all the Imperials here to arrest me. They don't take kindly to king slaying. Not even in a duel."

"We are prepared for that, Ulfric. They won't be sending an army after you, of course. But anything less than that isn't getting in here."

"Very good. Now, if you'll excuse me. I've had a long day."

Ulfric turned and made his way to his bedroom. Upon entering, he could feel her presence. He closed the door, dismissed the night guard, and extinguished the candles. He then sat on his bed and disrobed down to his pants and socks. He sat on the bed then and exhaled, silently breathing her name. Almost instantly, he felt her hands stroke from his back to his chest and her arms embrace him in a hug.

His chest began to heave as he gasped her hand tightly. "Fawn, I have killed a boy in hopes that it would be worth it for the greater good. But this boy…This boy admired me and trusted me. And I took advantage of that. Does that make me a king? Or a killer?"

Hot tears ran down his face. Fawn brought out his more sensitive side. She was the only person that he really trusted, and sometimes he wondered if she was even real. The girl never spoke, but he owed her so much. During what would become known as the Markarth Incident, Ulfric nearly killed her. She was Forsworn, but in his brief moment of hesitation before plunging a sword into her chest, she touched his cheek and tilted her head, smiling up at him. He couldn't have killed her then. She was a child, perhaps fourteen years old. Ever since then, she has been there by his side, aiding him. She smuggled out his father's eulogy for him and brought it all the way to Windhelm. And when he returned, she was there. But she only revealed herself to him when he was alone. No one else had ever seen Fawn. Even when she was in Markarth, he was the only one who had ever seen her.

Now, as she comforted him to sleep, humming a gentle lullaby. He was soon fast asleep and Fawn closed her eyes as well, sleeping beside him.

Now, when you are pretending to be a mysterious wildling who cannot speak and will only be seen by a single person, it really pays off to be a light sleeper. Anyone sneaky enough to get into the room before you wake up has ill intentions and will die shortly thereafter, so it doesn't matter if they see you. Anyone else will make enough noise to wake you well before they can lay their eyes on you.

Fawn was a very light sleeper. And on this night it paid off. She was awake at the first step the person took into the room. At the second step she knew who it was. Fawn rolled out of bed, never sleeping under a blanket for precisely this reason.

"Gabriella," Fawn whispered in a singsong-y tone the second she was certain only the assassin would be able to hear her, "Can we not right now?"

The dark elf turned to her and silently giggled. "Why, sister, I never expected you to be here! I had my money on the Jarl of Falkreath. But no, your little pet is the racist 'king' himself."

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Fawn asked, and the two assassins exited the Palace through the window.

Once they were walking along the frozen seaside, likely unseen to all others, Gabriella began to speak. "You know, had you simply told me that Ulfric Stormcloak was the little cub you've been so protective of, I could have killed the Jarl of Solitude the second she gave me his name."

"Wouldn't you have preferred to kill my 'little cub?'" Fawn asked.

"Oh, come now. I hardly care about his opinion of me. I could hardly care about anyone's opinion of me. I gave up all ties to Morrowind when I joined the Dark Brotherhood. As I, um, had assumed you did even before you found a family with us, when you joined the Thieves' Guild?"

Fawn glanced up at her fellow assassin and felt a tinge of guilt. The Guild were her friends now and the Dark Brotherhood was her family. She had cut all ties to the Forsworn, her only true family. But she had done that when she had chosen Ulfric.

"I still think this is going to work out for me," Fawn said, "I'd rather like him to become High King. So many more nobles to rob or kill or both. It would be much more fun that way, you know."

"Ahh, you clever little deer!" Gabriella grinned, intending the pun, "You're using him. And here you almost had me fooled. I was thinking that you loved him."

"And what would be the good of all that? He becomes High King and establishes himself here as a worthy and powerful ruler—let's just say that's possible. Let's say that he doesn't get himself killed within a few days of ruling. What happens then? He marries some noble woman who would have her guards kill me if they ever saw me. I could become a mistress, if that. I'd be screwing myself over."

"Yes, as is the struggle of loving the nobility," Gabriella laughed, "I do prefer assassinating the nobility. It's so much quicker and less painful."

Fawn did not reply, as was her tendency to do so.

"I'll leave him to you, then. I'll let the others know he's not to be touched, as I'm sure many will be wanting him dead."

Fawn thanked her sister and Gabriella disappeared into the shadows. The Breton returned to her place in Ulfric's bed. Gently, she stroked his cheek, telling herself she didn't love him.