As Gallica descended into the broad, windswept plains that surrounded Whiterun, she felt energized at the prospect of spending a night in her own house and her own bed again. Without her noticing, Whiterun had replaced her family estate in Cyrodiil as the place that came to mind when she thought of home. Her father's people had come from Whiterun and his distant cousins in the city were now perhaps the only living blood family she could claim. She had buried her brother's remains in the crypts there alongside ancient generations of their ancestors. Though, nominally, the family estate just outside of the Imperial City still belonged to her, Gallica did not think it likely now that she would ever return there in life. That house, in her mind, would always belong to her grandfather and her parents. Breezehome Cottage in Whiterun was the only house that had ever been hers alone and she felt safe there.

Little had changed from her last visit, she saw, as she entered the city's wide gates. Despite the precarious political climate, the streets seemed peaceful. Adrianne, busy working the forge at Warmaiden's, threw up a hand briefly in greeting as Gallica passed through and Gallica reciprocated the gesture. She was known here - as a Thane, as a friend. Not only as the Dragonborn. That was why this was her home and why it was important, for the sake of Balgruuf and everyone else in the city, that she succeed on this mission.

She stopped off briefly at the house to leave her gear and freshen up. Lydia greeted her with relief and enthusiasm and Gallica remembered that it was the first time she had seen or spoken with her housecarl since she had left to confront Alduin.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine," she assured the younger woman.

"We heard that you had returned, but I was worried when you didn't come back here. I wanted to go after you to make sure you were truly alright, but -"

"You're needed here. I had business elsewhere, but I'm back now."

Lydia eyed Gallica's Legion armor at that comment, but wisely chose to avoid the subject.

"Will you be staying long? Should I send to the market for anything special?"

"No, it's fine, Lydia. I need to meet with the Jarl and then I have to be on my way again. Go about your business as usual."

The carl seemed disappointed, but Gallica clapped her on the shoulder fondly.

"You've done well here while I've been gone. It's a load off of my shoulders to know that my holdings here are in good hands."

Lydia preened happily at the praise and excused herself. Gallica watched her go and then looked around at the cozy interior of her home. If it came down to it, she had no doubt Lydia would defend the place with her life. And it was Gallica's job to see that it never came to that. No rest for the weary.

Quickly, she washed the travel dirt and sweat from her body, rebraided her hair, ran an oilcloth over the outside of her armor to shine it, and then began the climb to Dragonsreach. She would need to be at her best for what was to follow.

~~0~~

"Dragonborn," Balgruuf acknowledged her, grinning as Gallica approached the High Seat. The Jarl rose and prevented her from bowing by reaching to clasp her arm. "It has been some time since we've seen you in Whiterun. I've not had the chance to congratulate you on your victories. Welcome home, friend."

"It's good to be back home, Jarl Balgruuf," she replied, unable to hide her smile despite the fact that she was nominally here on official business and meaning it from the depth of her being.

It had only been a few months ago that she had stood in this same place while Balgruuf told her that she was Dragonborn. Weeks ago, she had stood here and bid him farewell before she had flown away to Sovngarde. And here she was, yet again to ask him to end his neutrality and begin the war in earnest. All of her paths seemed to lead back to Whiterun.

"You must stay and eat with us. I'm anxious to hear about your battle with the World-Eater," the Jarl told her.

"I would be honored," she acknowledge, smiling briefly, before straightening. "Unfortunately, I have an errand that needs to be fulfilled. I carry a message for you from General Tullius."

The warm hall became suddenly quiet. Gallica saw both the Jarl's reedy Imperial steward and his zealous hulk of a younger brother step forward. Balgruuf's smile faded.

"So, you've decided to take up arms with the Legion. I had heard differently," he sighed, but his sharp eyes flicked from the parchment back up to her quickly. "No doubt the General still wants to garrison troops in my hold and thinks the request will be better received coming from you, hmm?"

Gallica steeled herself for the words she would deliver next. She liked Balgruuf. She admired his commitment to the city and to his, til now, peaceful rule. However, war was coming to Whiterun regardless. All during her journey, she had turned over the words she would need to make the Jarl see that neither of them could afford to remain in the middle anymore.

"Whiterun has become my home, Jarl Balfruuf. I would not come if I did not think it was in the city's best interest."

Perhaps she had learned a thing or two from Ulfric, after all, for she could see the Jarl's pursed brow relax slightly at her courtesy and assurance. Gallica ventured on.

"Ulfric plans to attack Whiterun. He has grown tired of waiting. I have heard this from him personally in Windhelm and General Tullius' sources in the field confirm that the preparations are already under way. The General would send you a ordines of light infantry and two maniples of heavy triarii to help defend Whiterun, if you will allow it."

"I see." Balgruuf said, sitting back in his chair, his expression growing grave and increasingly concerned. "Give the papers to my steward."

"Apologies, my Jarl, but I believe the General meant the letter for your eyes only."

"Proventus is my eyes." Balgruuf growled, slightly irritated, but he accepted the letter. Gallica waited as he opened it and squinted at the neat text, his brow creasing further, "Hmm. It seems you may be correct. If Ulfric were to attack Whiterun now -"

"Might I urge a cautious approach, my lord?" Proventus interjected, quickly. "We have waited this long. And Jarl Ulfric has made no move to attack Whiterun yet."

"Prey waits," Irileth, the Dunmer housecarl, huffed from where she stood watchful as ever at Ulfric's left side.

"I have to agree with Irileth. It's time to act," the Jarl mused. The Imperial steward stepped forward, the pitch of his voice rising slightly.

"Lord, you are surely not suggesting an attack on Windhelm."

Balgruuf snorted and scowled. He gestured dismissively in the air. Gallica could tell that this was difficult for him. The Jarl and Ulfric had a long history. They had been rivals since they were children - the heirs of two powerful fathers laying the groundwork for future political disputes. Balgruuf was envious of Ulfric's gift with the Voice, a talent he had been unable to learn when they were boys under the tutelage of the Greybeards. Ulfric was envious of the wealth of Whiterun hold and of the respect that was paid to Balgruuf by the other Jarls. This battle had been brewing for a very long time.

"I am not a fool," Balfruuf replied, at last. His expression was tight and dark. "I will not endanger my people unnecessarily. I mean to challenge Ulfric to confront me as a man. These threats and hiding behind walls do no credit to any of us. That is the way of things among the back-biting Imperial noblemen. That is not the way of things in Skyrim. If Ulfric wants to challenge me in the old way, as he did Torygg, so be it. Let it be my blood that is spilled rather than the blood of my people."

"But Torygg - Ulfric just walked up to the boy and murdered him," Proventus protested, alarmed, hearing Irileth's scorn.

"That boy was High King of Skyrim. He accepted the challenge."

Balgruuf shook his head, curling his lip slightly as if remembering something unpleasant.

"I am no High King, but I'm no boy either. If Ulfric will meet me on the field, then all the better. But I would wager he would prefer to send his Stormcloaks to do it for him."

"He needs to prove the strength of his armies," agreed the housecarl. The Dunmer woman's red eyes flashed with the scent of war. Gallica remembered that Irileth and Balgruuf had been soldiers together long before he had become Jarl. Some said, and Gallica was almost certain, that they were more than that to each other. No one had better cause to look out for the Jarl's well-being than Irileth. And that was, in part, why Gallica tended to trust the housecarl's acumen more than the somewhat cowardly Proventus. Proventus, like so many low-ranking Imperials, would remain loyal only so long as the wind was blowing in the right direction.

"Then why not accept General Tullius' offer?" the steward asked, wearily. "If you are bent on offending Jarl Ulfric, let it be the Legion that takes the brunt of the blow, rather than your own men."

"Proventus has a point," Irileth mused, glancing at her colleague and occasional opponent. "For once. From Ulfric's position, you have already sided with the Empire. The Legion would be a valuable ally."

"It seems cowardly," Balgruuf muttered, shaking his head, and Gallica saw Irileth smile, cunningly.

"Was it cowardly to accept the White-Gold Concordat?"

What seemed such an innocuous question hit Balgruuf like a catapult missile. The Jarl's face flushed and he bristled.

"I was given no choice in that matter." Balgruuf vented angrily. "They never asked the Jarls. We were given no chance to object to the terms of the treaty. We were told. And we had to like it!"

"The chests of gold didn't hurt," Proventus ventured, but he clearly did not have Irileth's grasp of the Jarl's inner demons.

"Damn it, this isn't about gold!" the Jarl of Whiterun bellowed, startling some of the servants who were beginning to set the table for dinner.

A tray of meat crashed to the floor. A matronly woman appeared from the kitchen, softly scolding a sniffling serving girl as they hurried the tray and the food back to the kitchen while another maid cleaned up the mess. The distraction caused a welcome lull in the argument, which gave Balgruuf's anger time to cool. He glowered at his steward, and the Imperial bowed obsequiously.

"Lord, before we commit to anything, let us simply see if Jarl Ulfric is serious."

"He is serious. But so am I."

Balgruuf turned to Gallica, reaching for the axe that leaned beside the High Seat. He hefted it in his hands, looking it over with a tense expression, before holding it out to her.

"Dragonborn, I want you to take a message to our friend in Windhelm. Deliver my ax to Jarl Ulfric."

She accepted the ax, bemused, looking from it to the Jarl. He must have seen the confusion in her face because he shook his head wearily and explained as he leaned back on his throne.

"Just give the man my ax. If he returns it, we have business to settle. If he keeps it, then we are at peace."

She wanted to ask more questions, but she could already tell that Balgruuf was incensed. It would do no good to prolong the encounter and she had ceased to question the eccentricities of Nord culture months ago. Gallica pressed her fist to her chest and bowed.

"As you wish, Jarl Balgruuf."

"If Ulfric returns the ax to you, get back here quickly," the Jarl warned her. He studied her briefly, the anger in his eyes fading back to concern. "He's not bluffing, and I'll need every able bodied warrior to defend the city when his Stormcloaks arrive."

Gallica nodded and turned, taking her leave and feeling as if a ball of hot lead were growing in her stomach.

Windhelm. Ulfric.

The task could not be delegated and there was no one to delegate it to besides. She would not send Lydia or anyone else into that bear's den. It would have to be her. She would have to face Ulfric again in person. She would have to see the look in his eyes when he understood what she had done and the mere idea of it cut Gallica to her very core.

~~0~~

Fate, it seemed, had decided only to taunt Gallica with the prospect of spending a quiet night in her own bed after all. She tossed and turned. Nightmares assaulted her - a city in flames, Ulfric's face illuminated by the deadly light. A whispering voice that she had never heard before, but which was familiar to her all the same. She woke in the early hours soaked in her own sweat despite the chilly air, and dreaded the ride ahead of her. But Balgruuf's message could not wait any longer than necessary. Lydia tried to impose herself on the journey - for protection, she said, to make sure that Gallica was not summarily arrested - but she was over-ruled.

"I need you here, especially if I fail and Ulfric marches on Whiterun," she told the disappointed housecarl, as she swung up onto her horse. "If all goes as planned, I'll be back tomorrow or the next day. Pray that the Divines are feeling especially generous."

And she was off, skirting the trail around the great mountain and through the forests, pressing onward towards Windhelm. When the city came into view at last in the early evening, she hesitated and tried to reconcile the warring factions within her. She would rather be anywhere else in the world than marching through Ulfric's gate at this moment. But she had a duty to perform. Tullius had ordered her to do whatever was necessary to gain Whiterun's aid for the Imperial side and she was bound to obey. There was a part of her that longed to see Ulfric's face again. She missed him. She ached for the feel of his body in her arms. But she dreaded seeing him now, too. Ultimately, however, there was nothing for it but to go on. She stabled her horse and approached the gate, pausing as the guards stepped into her path.

"State your business, Imperial," one demanded tersely, his face hidden behind the mask of his helm.

Her Legion lorica marked her plainly as an enemy and their body posture was hostile. It would only take a wrong word or a false move to provoke the guards into violence. Gallica stood straight and did not flinch. She delivered her message simply and without flourish.

"I come as a diplomatic envoy from the Jarl of Whiterun. I have a message for Jarl Ulfric."

For an instant, no one moved. The eyes that she could see through the guard's oculars went wide with recognition suddenly. He removed his helm, blinking at her as if he couldn't believe what he saw. He exchanged a glance with his fellows at the gate, and then put his helmet back on.

"Enter. But be quick about it," he told her, falteringly, almost breathing the words instead of speaking them.

Windhelm was exactly the same as Gallica had left it, except perhaps quieter. The group of men who hung around the entrance to the Candlehearth in the evenings were nowhere to be seen, although the gloaming light of dusk was settling over the city. Hardly anyone was out on the streets in this cold. The early winter darkness was falling quickly and Gallica did not relish walking unannounced into the Palace of the Kings as she once might have at this hour of the evening. The few people who were out, gave her a wide berth and hurried away. No one wanted to be seen with an Imperial soldier in Windhelm. At last, Gallica rented a room at the inn. The proprietress remembered her, but said nothing. Patrons glowered at her from the recesses of the inn and so Gallica decided to confine herself to her room. It was small, but at least it warm and comfortable. Quickly, she stripped out of her armor, scrawled a quick note to Ulfric's steward as the proper protocol would have it, then went downstairs to find a messenger to deliver it. Then, she waited.

Not an hour had passed before Elda, the aging innkeeper, knocked on her door with reply. Gallica unfolded the sealed parchment carefully to see only two words written there in Ulfric's neat-handed script.

Come home.

With her heart pounding, Gallica thanked the innkeeper and closed the door. She sat down on the bed and pressed her face into her palms. It would be stupid to go now. When Ulfric saw her, she did not want it to be in the Palace at night where she could be easily arrested with few would be the wiser. She knew that his honor would demand that he respect the right of safe passage granted to diplomatic envoys, but in this case she suspect that the urge to keep her in Windhelm by any means would be too great. The Dragonborn was too large and important a player to him to let her just walk back out of the city now. Everything in Gallica's tactical mind warned against it, even as the softer part of her thrilled to think that he missed her and burned with yearning to see him again. She folded the letter, laid it on the bedside table, and then lay back, closing her eyes. She would not go. She would wait. If she knew Ulfric, he would not wait.

The hour was late when she heard another knock at her door. A cloaked figure stood in the threshold of the now silent inn, hood pulled down to cover most of his face. Gallica did not have to wonder who her visitor was. Stepping back, she allowed the figure into the room and, once the door was closed, found herself looking up into the face of Ulfric Stormcloak.

He stared at her for a long time. For once in his life, the Jarl of Windhelm seemed unable to find the words to express himself. At last, he spoke and his voice was thick with emotion and with bitterness.

"When Galmar told me that you had been spotted at Korvanjund," he began, breathing in deeply, "I didn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it now if I were not seeing it with my own eyes."

Gallica said nothing. Her lungs seemed paralyzed, unable either to draw breath or expel a reply. She had tried to think of what she would say to him, but there was nothing she could say that would mend the situation. There was nothing she could say to Ulfric that would make him understand. She stared back and waited as the betrayal in Ulfric's eyes turned to anger.

"Why?" he demanded, after a moment. "Why this?"

With great effort, Gallica forced herself to step forward towards the man she loved. "Ulfric-"

He stepped back an scowled, his voice growling out at her like a cornered bear.

"Why?" he demanded again.

"Because I can't let this happen," Gallica replied, feeling the dam within her break at last. She cast around her, spreading her palms as the words she had wanted to say to him since her return to Windhelm spilled out of her mouth. "Look around you, Ulfric. Skyrim is being torn apart at the seams. People are suffering. In your own city, people are suffering and you do nothing to stop it. How can this be right?"

His eyes flashed and his face grew red with fury.

"Skyrim is being torn apart because the Empire refuses to relinquish its hold, not because we want to be free," he snarled at her, disgusted. "I thought you understood that. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Maybe Skyrim should be free to go its own way. But, Ulfric," Gallica replied, realizing that she was almost pleading with him to listen now, "killing the High King, attacking Jarls who don't agree with you, letting the worst elements in your city grow and thrive - this is not the way to do it. You're going to get yourself and a lot of other people killed and then who will be there for Skyrim in the hard times to come? How can I follow you down that path?"

For a brief instant, Gallica thought that her words might have gotten through. Ulfric shook his head, scowling as he reached up to rub his brow. She stepped towards him, but before she could reach out to him, the Jarl glared up at her coldly.

"I loved you," he accused her and cursed. "Talos give me strength. I trusted you."

Gallica closed her eyes against the ravaging blow of the words. The past tense of his statements was like salt in the open wound. She felt tears springing to her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply to hold them back.

"I still love you," she replied. This seemed only to set him off again.

"You love me? So you join an army against me? So you fight for the people that would have hung both of our heads from their gates only months ago?" Ulfric paced like a sabrecat, but the room was small. The rage in his voice was laced with hurt so severe that to hear it was like the thrust and twist of a knife. "You were there at Helgen. Your damned Legion and that butcher Tullius would have executed you without a second thought."

"There are always mistakes. No army is immune to that, even yours," she replied, trying to make him understand. "I rejoined the Legion because I know this conflict has to come to an end. This is the only way to end it without critically weakening both Skyrim and the Empire. The Empire is not the real threat here, Ulfric. The Thalmor are."

She shook her head, closing her eyes tight as she buried her face in her hands for a long moment.

"I love you. Whether you believe me or not, Ulfric, I do. Would you have me go against my principles and my better judgment just to please you? What kind of person would that make me? How could you respect me - or trust me in the field for that matter - if you knew I fought for something I can't believe in?"

"I would have hoped that you believed in me," he told her, bitterly.

There was a long silence before either of them spoke again.

"It isn't that simple. You know that it isn't that simple," Gallica sighed, her voice finally breaking as the tears came.

Ulfric stepped towards her then and reached out, raking his fingers into her hair on either side of her face. He pressed his palms to her cheeks in the old gesture of intimacy, leaning his forehead down against hers. His proximity, after so many nights away from him, made her shiver, but Gallica could not stop herself from embracing him. His breath was warm on her scalp as he spoke. Pleading with her now.

"Gallica," he said. It was the only time that she could ever remember him using her given name. "Come home."

Her heart broke and the tears were flowing in earnest now. Gallica leaned back, but Ulfric followed her, earnestly.

"It's not too late. If this is about the elves, we'll find a way to fix it. I'll make sure Rolff is punished fairly. Tullius is using you as a weapon against me. You must know that."

"I don't know who is using who anymore," Gallica confessed, hearing the tremble in her voice as her heart sank. She splayed her fingers across Ulfric's chest, feeling him real and physical there underneath her fingertips. She shook her head. "I don't want to lose you. But, heart, I don't see any way you can win this."

"Together we can-"

"And then what?" she asked, frowning, unwilling to listen to the propaganda this time. "Even if the Empire withdraws, the Thalmor are waiting. We need the Empire and the Legion for what will come after. We can't do it alone."

She expected Ulfric to explode again, but to her surprise, he was silent. He was listening, thinking about what she had said. Finally, he sighed in frustration.

"What do you want me to do?"

For once that day, hope blossomed in Gallica's chest. She looked up into her lover's face, searching his eyes for sincerity. His expression was raw with emotion, but she could see a lost look behind all of that - the man afraid of losing her, not the Jarl afraid of losing the Dragonborn. She placed her hands over his and gazed up at him. She gathered every bit of resolve she had within her, willing Ulfric to really hear here for once in all of this mess.

"Negotiate a peace with Tullius. He's already agreed to spare your life until there can be a trial. The Emperor knows that he needs Skyrim. He knows that you are a critical influence here. There may be censure, but it would be in his interest to keep you alive. If you continue the rebellion, though, Ulfric, his hands will be tied and so will mine. If you do this - if you make peace - you won't be High King. But at least you will be alive, Ulfric. Please."

She was getting through to him. She saw him swallow, his expression hardening slightly, but he didn't pull away. The Jarl bowed his head, closing his eyes and drawing deep breaths.

"I'm not afraid of dying," he told her, at last.

"I know," she agreed, squeezing his hands with hers. She felt his fingers lace into hers, but then she felt his fingers pause over his ring on her hand. "But it would be unkind of you to make me a widow before I've had a chance to become a wife."

She was winning him over. As Ulfric pulled back from her, Gallica looked up at him hopefully. He stared at her, weary and vexed and sad for a long moment, and then he shook his head. His expression closed before her eyes. His voice was strained and quiet when he spoke.

"I won't let you do this," he said, softly, more to himself than to her. His blue eyes flicked to hers, and she could see that his anger was returning. He straightened. "I don't know how that Imperial bastard talked you into this, but I won't stand by and let him turn you against me."

"Ulfric-" Gallica interjected, alarmed, but the Jarl cut her off curtly.

"Enough." He turned from her, evading her outstretched hands, and moved towards the door. He paused with his hand on the latch and glared at her. "Deliver your message at the court tomorrow, Dragonborn. We will do this properly. I don't blame you for this. You weren't born here. You weren't there in the Great War when the Empire betrayed us. You don't understand. No, this is on Tullius' head. And on Balgruuf's. When Whiterun falls, I will see to that you are brought here unharmed. When you have come to your senses, we will undo the damage you've done together. As it should be."

And then he was gone. Gallica stared at the empty doorway, her heart racing and feeling as if her blood was slowly draining out of her. So, that was how it was going to be. As she closed the door, she leaned her forehead against the rough wood and closed her eyes.

What happened next was going to be hard. Many, many people were going to die because of this. But what else could she do? If Ulfric would not save himself, she would have to do it for him and she knew now that he would fight her tooth and nail every step of the way.

She undressed, finally, and stretched out on the bed after blowing out the candle. She stared into the empty darkness for a long time before finally drift into a restless haze of sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day and she needed every ounce of rest she could get.

~~0~~

The Palace of the Kings was more forbidding now than it had ever seemed previously. As Gallica entered into the great, high-vaulted hall, she saw that Ulfric had been waiting for her. The hall was usually loosely guarded, but there was a full complement of men on hand today. The Jarls that had been deposed as part of the High Hrothgar Treaty glowered from the sidelines. To Gallica's estimation, Galmar seemed oddly calm as she approached. He smiled tightly at her as if he had known that this was coming all along and had just been proven right. No doubt, she thought, he was imagining a day soon when Ulfric wouldn't care what happened to her and would allow him to repay her for the insult to his family. The revenge would be all the more sweet now that she stood before him in the garb of an Imperial soldier.

But Galmar was not the man she had come to see. Her attention focused on the Jarl of Windhelm. She bowed as she approached, forcing her face to remain a mask despite the turmoil in side of her.

"Dragonborn," Ulric began from the high seat as she approached. He must be tired, she thought, but he maintained his regal and unconcerned appearance anyway. The eyes that fixated on her were imperious and as sharp as blades. "Make it quick. I have a war to plan."

"I bring a message from Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun," she announced, in a crisp military tone that carried through the room. Ulfric smiled, glancing at his housecarl.

"I was wondering when he would come around," the Jarl commented, though this was pure theater. He already knew why she was there.

Gallica unstrapped the ax from her shoulder. There was a momentary intake of breath among the assembled, but she turned the blade away from Ulfric and held it out to him by the haft, harmlessly. He accepted the weapon, inspecting it, and then nodded.

"I see. You're brave to carry this message into my hall, Dragonborn. But I would expect no less from you."

He turned the axe in his hands for a moment, as if deliberating, and then handed the ax back to her. He raised his voice slightly so that there would be no ambiguity over what he had said later

"It is a pity that you have chosen the wrong side in this matter. Take this axe back to the man who sent it. And tell him that he should prepare to entertain visitors. I expect there will be a great deal of excitement around Whiterun in the days to come."

Gallica accepted the weapon without breaking eye contact with the Jarl. Ulfric's expression was like stone, but she could see regret in him, too, as if trapped behind his eyes. They both knew what was coming. He did not want her to die, much as she did not want him to die. And, because she could feel it, too, she could see the fear in him that this was the last time they would see each other alive. But he could no more stop himself now than she could, and so the moment was lost.

"We will expect to see you in Whiterun, Jarl Ulfric," she heard herself say, though the words sounded hollow, as if they came from someone else a mile away.

"Sooner than you think," he replied, dismissively, and her interview was over.

She bowed and turned to go, slinging the axe over her shoulder and feeling Ulfric's gaze burn into her back as she left the Palace for what she could not help feeling was probably the last time.

~~0~~

Gallica did not go to the gates. She knew that Ulfric had only let her leave because he wanted to make a political point to the people around him. She knew him too well by now to think that he would actually let her return to Whiterun if he could prevent it. She was too valuable to the war effort. Instead, she made a detour through the Grey Quarter, waiting for a group of guards to pass by before slipping down to the docks. It was not long before she spotted a familiar face among the Argonian dockworkers.

"Shahvee," Gallica whispered, moving close, and the Argonian woman stopped and cocking her head slightly. As recognition hit the lizard-woman's eyes, Shahvee bobbing her head slightly in the way her people normally expressed pleasure. She moved closer.

"I greet you, honored friend."

"I need a favor. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

The Argonian glanced around and then turned, motioning Gallica to follow. In the privacy of the the communal bunkhouse, Gallica allowed herself relax slightly. A fair few of the Argonians in Windhelm were suspicious of Nords, and rightly so, but Shahvee had helped her more than once and Gallica had done a favor in return by helping the woman recover her holy amulet of Zenithar. If anyone could help her, it would be the reformed thief.

"It's a long story", Gallica explained, but I need to get out of the city without being seen. Can you help me?"

The Argonian listened and considered, her black eyes twinkling in the dim light of the bunkhouse, and then nodded.

"For the kind Nord, Shahvee can do this. Wait here."

Anxiously, pacing the length of the cramped bunkhouse, Gallica waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the Argonian returned and beckoned to her and led her down the dock toward a light skiff on which another Argonian, a dark green male with white under-scales, waited.

"Sees-in-the-Dark must deliver new blades to Mixwater Mill up river. Perhaps Sees-in-the-Dark will deliver other cargo as well."

Gallica looked to the male, who nodded, wordlessly, and she felt relief spread over her. From her belt pouch, she removed a ruby ring that she had picked up from a bandit's cave weeks ago and had not yet managed to sell. She pressed it into the woman's hand, knowing it would be more than the Argonian would earn on the docks in a month.

"Thank you, friend. I will not forget this."

The Argonian woman smiled in the curious way of her species and Gallica boarded the skiff. Sees-in-the-Dark pointed her towards a place where she could sit among the already loaded crates, obscured from all but the most careful observers. Within moments, the dockworker had poled the skiff out into the icy river, and they were on their way.

~~0~~

It was midafternoon before she reached Whiterun, cutting across country to avoid assault on the road after she left the Argonian at the mill. As she approached the city, she saw that it was already swarming with activity. Barricades were being constructed, the fortifications were manned. Balgruuf was no fool. He knew Ulfric as well or even better than she did, and he had sent for the Legion already.

She found him in the planning room of Dragonsreach, situated between the Great Hall and the porch where she had captured Odhaviing what seemed like an eternity ago now. His steward and Irileth were taking counsel with him along with a covey of Imperial officers. Exhausted, Gallica approached, with a perfunctory bow, and held the axe back out to Balgruuf.

"I knew that would be his response," the Jarl admitted, shaking his head. "I sent word to General Tullius after you left. Legate Cipius here has come to assist us."

Gallaca glanced at the stoic-looking Legate who had been poised over the maps, who nodded at her in return, and back to Balgruuf.

"Let Ulfric try to make it past the combined forces of the Legion and Whiterun," he said, chuckling. "Thank you, friend. I'll turn you back over to the Legion. I believe Legate Cipius requires your attention."

She bowed and turned crossing the distance between the Jarl and the Legate.

"At ease," The officer said before she could salute. She had not met him before, but he seemed to know her. The handsome Imperial smiled at her. "I hear good things about you, Auxiliary. Make your report."

"Ulfric rejected Whiterun's offer of peace. He will be mobilizing his troops soon," she replied, and the Legate sniffed, disdainfully.

"Hardly surprising. But we're more than a match for anything the Stormcloaks can throw at us," Cipius replied. "There's an army of them massing to the north, maybe two thousand men. By all accounts, they'll be on our doorstep tomorrow, if not sooner. Go rest and eat while you can, Auxiliary. Report back in at dawn, we'll talk defense then. I want you in the forward line and at your best tomorrow when those dogs get here."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and there was a package brought from Solitude for you as well. I sent it with your housecarl for safekeeping."

Gallica nodded, saluting as she turned on her heel and threaded her way through back down from the great hall into the city streets. Whiterun was lit up like a beacon, archers manning every position along the walls, soldiers on every street corner. The townsfolk were carrying provisions home to secure their houses against the impending invasion. Quite a few of these men and women, she knew, would not be coming back home to their families tomorrow if the Stormcloaks attacked, and the thought pained her as it always did. As she passed by the foot soldiers, she tried not to think of how young most of them looked or to see her brother's face in theirs.

"Thane," Lydia said, bounding down the stairs as she heard Gallica enter. "I'm glad to see you returned safely."

"The Divines smiled on me. But it seems their favor is capricious these days."

"The Stormcloaks," Lydia said, obviously, and Gallica nodded.

"I'm going to sleep for a few hours and head back to Dragonsreach to help plan the defense. You should get some sleep yourself. I want you on the wall tops tomorrow helping."

"I won't be in the battle with you?" the housecarl sounded disappointed.

"You'll be in the battle, but as a supplement to the city guard. If the Legion fails in the forward guard, I want you in here with the second line holding the gates. This is your city. Stay and protect it and let the Legion see to the Stormcloaks outside."

"Understood," Lydia replied, drawing herself upright."I won't let you down."

"I know," Gallica said, smiling grimly, and headed upstairs. Lying on her bed were two bulky objects covered in sacking. Frowning, she undid the rope that bound the first one and reached inside. As her hand touched the smoothed, pitted surface of the first object she encountered, she knew instantly what Tullius had sent her. As she withdrew the fearsome dragonbone helm, a piece of parchment slid out with it. She recognized the handwriting at once.

Thought you would want these. I believe that it's about time to remind these Stormcloaks why the Legion's standard is a dragon, don't you agree? ~T

She set the note aside and pulled the rest of her armor out of the sacking, laying it out on the chair and table nearby. The note struck opposing chords with her, especially in light of her conversation with Ulfric the night before. Tullius was right, though. She could do more good as the Dragonborn now than she could as a simple legionnaire.

Exhausted, she unstrapped her armor, laid it aside, and slept without undressing. She needed to be ready at a moment's notice, and there were few enough hours between now and dawn to worry about it. Ulfric would not waste time. He had already been planning for this for weeks. No doubt all his troops needed was the order.

She did not dream of Ulfric and Whiterun, but of another city miles to the south and another siege, though it had happened before she was born. She stood on a rise overlooking a roiling battlefield, the walls of the Imperial City burning in the distance. The man standing next to her was speaking to her, but she could not hear him over the din of battle. At first, from his general's armor and salt-and-pepper hair, she thought it was Tullius,but as she looked closer, trying to understand what he was saying, she recognized the man in a flash of insight. She had never seen him in life, but the eyes were her mother's eyes and she could see a mix of her brother's features and her own mapped out there in his face.

"The gates are the key in a siege," General Caius Gallicus told her. "Make the gates work for you. Don't be trapped by them. Make them a trap for your enemies."

Before Gallica could respond, though, a low distant sound - so loud that she felt the reverberations of the base notes in her blood - echoed across the field and she woke in a cold sweat. The horns were sounding outside and she could hear the clatter of hobnail boots on cobblestones. Jumping up, Gallica called for Lydia. With the housecarl's help, she donned her dragon armor and hurried outside, pelting through the streets in the early morning cold and darkness towards Dragonsreach, dodging guardsmen and soldiers who were rushing to their posts.

War had come to Whiterun. It was only a matter of time now.