A few things:

1. I have not finished writing this story, but hope to finish this summer.

2. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.

3. I'm taking liberties, so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.

It had been years since she'd seen snow. As her ship approached the docks of Windhelm, Crayla Honeyrunner, renamed Cry Silverworthy seven years prior, stuck out her tongue and caught a snowflake on it. She smiled happily as more drifted against her cheeks and forehead, and then she focused once more on the shore. Within minutes, she would be standing on her homeland for the first time in seven years.

"Miss, I'll need you to step away from the railing while we dock," a sailor said to her, and Cry backed away from the railing submissively. The ship steered towards one of the open decks, and glided through the icy water up next to it.

Cry was the first to disembark once the gangplank was laid down onto the deck. Making sure to hold her knapsack, which carried everything she owned, snugly to her shoulder, Cry made it to the end of the dock and glanced around. She inhaled the cold air, and bent down to scoop up some snow into her hand. She smiled at it, grinning to herself, and then tossed it into the air. It fluttered down to the ground around her, and she set her shoulders, turning towards the walls of Windhelm.

She started for the city gates, passing by the stable as she went. She waved to the stable master, who returned it, grinning happily. Cry grinned back, feeling nothing but excitement. She was home.

She made her way into Windhelm, and glanced around. She'd only been here once before, with her father on a trip to visit Galmar and Ulfric. She could barely remember the experience, having only been five at the time, but she recognized the city's Candlehearth Inn, and she heard the sounds of the marketplace to her left. In the distance, she could make out the Palace of the Kings, which was her destination.

She walked through the city, and couldn't help but notice the high number of beggars on the streets. All of them looked sick, and most were of a different race than Nord. She frowned to herself as she passed by a particularly skinny dark elf, and she determined to speak with Ulfric about them as soon as she could.

Reaching the Palace, she was brought to a halt by a guard, who wore the distinctive Stormcloak colors. She couldn't see his face, because of his helmet, but she looked at where she thought his eyes were, anyhow.

"I'm here to see Jarl Ulfric," she told the guard. "Or Galmar Stone-Fist. They both know who I am."

"Your name, then?" the guard asked, sounding suspicious.

"Cry Silverworthy."

The guard straightened his shoulders. "Fine," he said, shortly. "Follow me."

He pushed his way into the Palace, and Cry went after him. The inside was warm, and lit by sconces despite the light coming in through the windows high up on the walls. It looked just as she remembered it, with the long table in the middle of the hall, and the jarl's throne at the very end. Seated in the throne, she saw as she followed the guard to it, was Ulfric Stormcloak, whose eyes brightened with recognition as soon as he caught sight of her.

"My Jarl," the guard began, bowing slightly. "A Cry Silverworthy. Says you know her."

"I do," Ulfric responded, starting to climb down from the throne. "Thank you."

The guard shuffled off, and Ulfric came to a pause a few steps away from Cry, who smiled at him.

"Hello, Ulfric," she greeted, and then she bowed as well. "It's good to see you again."

"It is good to see you," he said, "and looking well."

Cry's smile widened. "I've done my best to keep myself fed," she told him, "although… some of what I did you might frown upon, so it might be best if I don't tell you much about my time in Morrowind."

"Perhaps at a later date, when I am not on court duty," Ulfric replied with a grin of his own.

"Is Faisley here?" Cry asked him, and he shook his head.

"She's been in Falkreath for several weeks now, overseeing our encampment there," he responded, and Cry lost her smile.

"Right," she said, quietly. "The war."

A civil war had broken out across Skyrim several years ago. Faisley had written to her about Ulfric's imprisonment and then escape from Solitude, and how he'd battled the High King for the throne. Ulfric had won, but High King Torygg had died in the fight, giving the Empire cause to believe that Ulfric had not won fairly. As such, there was now a disagreement as to who should hold the throne: Ulfric, or Torygg's wife Elisif, Jarl of Solitude. This disagreement merely added on to the fact that the Stormcloaks, Ulfric's army, disagreed with the ban on Talos worship, which had been put into place at the end of the Great War. The civil war had been going strong ever since.

Ulfric was nodding. "We haven't made much progress," he said, regrettably. "We have the support of only four of the holds, one of them being my own. We're currently fighting for control of the other five, but…" He shrugged, in a very un-jarl-like way. "We're doing our best."

"And Galmar?"

"I sent him to make sure that the Imperials pose no threat to Riften," Ulfric responded. "He should be back by tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Cry frowned slightly, and Ulfric tilted his head. "What's the problem? Did you plan on leaving Windhelm so soon?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"I want to go to Whiterun," she explained. "I know that there's nothing left for me, there, but I'd like to start something, if I can."

"Ah," Ulfric said in understanding. "Well, if you don't mind waiting one more day, I planned on take a regiment over to Falkreath to help reinforce Faisley's forces. You could travel with us?"

Cry's expression brightened. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not," Ulfric answered with a smile. "You can go all the way to Falkreath with us, if you like, to see your sister. I'm sure she'd be glad to see that you made it back to Skyrim in one piece."

Cry chuckled. "I'll send her a letter," she said. "I wouldn't want to interrupt her war efforts with a visit."

"I doubt she'd mind, but it is your choice, of course." Ulfric glanced upwards. "It wouldn't be a bad thing to stop at Whiterun for a brief visit with Jarl Balgruuf, actually. He seems determined to remain neutral in the war, but Whiterun's central location would be crucial to have."

"I'm sure," Cry agreed, and then she adjusted her knapsack. "So, should I go get a room at the inn, or -?"

"Why would you do that?" Ulfric asked, frowning. "You'll stay here."

Cry was relieved, and it must have showed, because Ulfric laughed. "A little loose on coin?"

"Just a bit," Cry replied, glancing down at the floor. "It's not a big deal. I'll find a job to do soon enough."

"I'm sure you will," he said with a nod, and then his expression changed. "I don't believe I was ever able to offer you my sympathies for what happened to your parents."

Cry shook her head in response to this. "It doesn't matter," she told him. "I… I did my best to avenge them, and I think I managed to do so." She frowned. "The only thing that bothers me is that Madanach still lives."

Ulfric nodded in understanding. "Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about that," he said. "We should have killed him while we had him in custody, but your father insisted we imprison him instead."

"He was too merciful," Cry murmured, "and it cost him his life, and Mother's."

The two of them fell silent for a moment, and then Ulfric exhaled. "Well," he began, looking at her, "I suppose I'll find you someone to show you to a room -"

"I think I can find one on my own, if you don't mind," Cry answered, hiking her knapsack higher onto her shoulder. "I sort of want to settle in by myself."

Ulfric seemed to understand, because he dipped his head. "As you wish." He gestured towards the stairwell built into the wall. "Just up there."

Cry headed that way, up the stairs and into the first vacant bedchamber that she found. She dumped her knapsack onto the bed, and then she walked over to the window and gazed out it. It showed out into a part of Windhelm that she'd never been to before, and she frowned to herself at the looks of it.

It seemed that Windhelm's jarl had been so focused on the war that he'd started to neglect his city. That wasn't any good. Cry would need to speak to him about it, and soon.

She returned to the main hall for dinner, at Ulfric's request, and found him in a small room off to the side, eating alone. He looked up at her arrival, turning his gaze away from a large map that was spread across a table in the middle of the room.

"Settled in?" he asked, and Cry nodded, joining him near the table. She eyed the small number of blue flags relative to the number of red ones. Ulfric followed her gaze, and exhaled a breath. "Yes, it's different to see a visual, isn't it?"

"Slightly," Cry replied, and then she looked at him. "Ulfric, I - walking through the city, I noticed that the homeless population is… very high."

Ulfric's eyes turned in a different direction. "Yes," he said again. "Many citizens of Skyrim have found their way to Windhelm, seeking refuge from the war."

"You've done what you can to help them, I'm sure," Cry said quickly. "Just - I don't know. They all look to be starving. Surely there must be a way to feed them."

"Unfortunately, my lady," Ulfric said, "when you are busy funding a war, it is difficult to find spare coin to suit the needs of a group of people you never intended to have to deal with."

Cry frowned. "If you were to help them, show that you card about matters like that, don't you think it's possible that more people would be persuaded to join you in the fight?" she suggested, and Ulfric sighed outwards. Cry immediately backpedaled. "It is only a thought, of course."

"A smart one," Ulfric assured her. "Just… one that doesn't seem feasible, at this current moment in time." He nodded toward a tray of food that sat on a different table. "Have something to eat."

Cry remained where she was for a moment, trying to figure out a better way of convincing him to help the homeless, but found that she could not come up with one herself. Sighing, she moved to the table, and poked through the food on the tray for a moment.

"Perhaps what you need is a sponsor," she finally said, and Ulfric snorted derisively.

"Who would support my cause?" he asked her. "One of the elvish lords that signed the White-Gold Concordat?" He shook his head. "This is my war, and I fight it alone."

Cry inhaled, but left the topic alone. Ulfric was stubborn, as were all Nords. Getting into an argument with him now about the best way to conduct his war was not something Cry wanted to do, being a Nord herself. Still, she had to suppose that there were better ways of going about it all, ways that still allowed for him to remember his duties as a jarl, his duties to Windhelm. After all, shouldn't Windhelm come first, if he didn't want a mutiny spreading within his own city?

"How did you manage to keep yourself alive in Morrowind?" Ulfric asked, drawing her attention back to him. He'd sat down in a chair, holding a mug of mead. "Surely there were plenty there who did not take kindly to a Nord in their homelands."

Cry pursed her lips for a moment. "Actually, the elves of Morrowind were all very kind to me," she said. "More than once, a family would offer me their home for an evening, so that I would have someplace to rest my head, some food in my belly. They only asked that I help them with work around the house, or with their crops." She leaned back against the table, crossing her arms with a shrug. "I never felt as though they resented my presence."

From the look on Ulfric's face, she could tell that something she'd said had hit close to home, and she decided it was probably best if she took her leave. So, she bowed to him, and said, "Thank you again for letting me stay here, my Jarl. I will see you tomorrow."

She exited the room, and headed for the stairs to return to the room she'd claimed for the night, hoping that Ulfric hadn't taken too much offense to what she'd said. She definitely didn't need Ulfric to resent her already, when she'd been back for barely more than a day, and especially not when she still had plans to travel with him halfway across Skyrim.

She frowned to herself, as she dressed for bed. Maybe she needed practice thinking, before she spoke.

The following day, Cry walked down to the throne room just after mid-morning, yawning widely. She started to blink the blurriness out of her eyes, only to be scooped up into a tight grasp. She yelped, struggling to escape it, and received a hearty chuckle in response. Immediately, she scowled, and stopped struggling.

"Put me down, Galmar," she ordered, and her father's oldest friend dropped her back to the floor. She turned around to face him, and narrowed her eyes as she took him in.

"You look just like your mother when you do that," he said, grinning, and immediately, Cry's scowl faded, and she grinned back.

"How are you?" she asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't complain. Annoyed, though."

"About what?" Cry queried, and Galmar gestured towards where Ulfric stood, speaking with a blond Stormcloak.

"He said that I have to stay here," the old bear explained. "Said that I need to watch over the city while he's gone."

Cry tilted her head, and eyebrow raising. "Don't you want to stay here? You just got back from Riften, didn't you?"

"Aye," Galmar replied, "but I'd rather travel than sit in this stuffy old castle." He sniffed disdainfully, and looked at her again. "So, how was your time in Morrowind?"

"Not bad," Cry said, shrugging her shoulders.

Galmar waited for more, but she didn't give him any. He eyed her closely, and said, "That's all? Just 'not bad'?"

"Well, what more do you want me to say?" Cry questioned, frowning at him. "I don't have anything exciting to tell you, unless you want to hear about the rich caravan that I robbed when they were stopped by a contingent of Thalmor that searched their carriages."

"Did they find anything?" Galmar asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't hang around long enough to stay and watch; just grabbed whatever I could from the saddlebags on the horses and ran." She glanced around the great hall for a moment. "Now that I think about it, though, one of the caravans did have the sign of Talos on the side of it." She shook her head to herself. "The amount of Talos worshippers hiding out there is incredible."

"Elves worshipping Talos?" Galmar looked uncertain. "That's unheard of."

"I guess they do it because they can," Cry said with a shrug, and then she looked at Ulfric. He had finished speaking with the soldier, and started towards them, looking ready to head out. "I guess we'll be leaving soon."

"You're right," Ulfric said, pausing beside them. "I'd like to reach Whiterun by tomorrow morning, and the only way we'll be doing that is if we leave right now." He looked at Galmar. "I hope you aren't too angry that I'm not allowing you to come with us."

"More annoyed than anything else," Galmar replied good naturedly. He grinned. "I know someone needs to stick around to make sure the Imperials don't move into Eastmarch while you're gone."

"That's exactly it," Ulfric said, smiling back at him. "Thank you, Galmar." He then looked at Cry. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I'm always ready," Cry answered at once, grateful that he didn't seem to want to bring up their discussion from the night before. "I just need to go upstairs to get my knapsack."

"Then do it, and meet us by the barracks," Ulfric said, heading for the room that they'd spoken in, probably to do a final sweep of the map, to ensure that the route they planned to take would not lead them straight into any Imperials.

Once he was out of earshot, Galmar turned back to Cry. "You're going too?" he asked, sounding a bit disheartened. No doubt he'd wanted her to stick around for awhile, keep him company.

"I want to get to Whiterun," Cry explained. "I don't know what I'm going to do there, yet, but… I'm sure something will present itself."

"I appreciate that optimism," Galmar said, and then he reached out to ruffle her hair. Cry ducked away immediately, almost from bodily memory. It was an interaction the two of them had shared since she had been a child. "What are you calling yourself nowadays, again?"

"Cry Silverworthy," Cry told him, proudly, and Galmar rolled his eyes upwards.

"It could be worse," he decided, and she whacked his arm. He laughed, and nodded towards the stairs. "Get moving, or the regiment will leave without you."

Cry nodded and hurried up the stairs to the bedchamber she'd slept in the night prior. She grabbed her knapsack, slung it over her shoulder, and then hurried back down the stairs.

"Bye, Galmar!" she called as she raced past him towards the doors of the Palace. Galmar smiled fondly to himself, watching her go.

"Goodbye, little warrior," he said, "and good luck."