A/N: Hey guys! I hope those of you still in school enjoyed the short break, but here we are back to the grind with another Monday. Thankfully, that also means another update, so there's that at least. As you can see by the title, we have a minor narrator for this chapter, because my boyfriend was asking me if Robb would ever get his own chapter, and it actually worked to give him one, so yes, here you go Robb, here's a chapter of your own. And now an apology for the main dialogue sequence. It's one of the most awkwardly written conversations in the game because there are three people just talking around you without ever actually acknowledging your existence, so...yeah. That's fun. I changed it up and tried to add in some actual recognition of another person, but it still just sounds a little odd, so sorry about that. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut, and reviews are appreciated. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

Rating: T for maybe language? I don't actually remember, but it's definitely no higher than that.

Robb had been foolish enough to hope that with Sansa's escape from the Lannisters, the war would be at its close. The Stormcloak force that remained in Windhelm could march on Solitude, taking troops from the forts they had captured as they went until they broke down the gates of Castle Dour and ended the bloody conflict once and for all.

But instead, Ulfric had insisted on making a show of their army's superiority, determined to win over Riften and Falkreath to the rebel side before moving on Solitude. He had told his Stormblade, time and again, that with the East at their back, the Stormcloak victory would be a foregone conclusion.

He had been blinded by his arrogance, unable to see that his grandiose plan would only lead him into an Imperial trap. Robb had tried to warn him, but the Jarl of Windhelm was nothing if not stubborn. So he had marched on Falkreath, gotten captured by General Lannister himself, sent to the block, and as if that weren't enough, a dragon had come and destroyed the town where the executions were being held.

It all sounded more like one of the fairy stories Sansa had loved as a child than reality.

When Ulfric had returned to Windhelm, Robb urged him once more to march on Solitude. Now, more than ever, the Legion was disoriented and weak. But instead, he had sent him away to Whiterun, determined to sway the mind of the city's Jarl in favor of the Stormcloaks. With each day that they kept from taking the Imperial city, victory grew farther away, and yet, he seemed not to notice.

Robb swung down from his horse before walking it into the stable outside of Whiterun's gates. As a stablehand approached, he withdrew a few septims and pressed them into the boy's palm for the tethering and grooming of the animal.

The guards at the gates seemed nervous as he approached, but held their ground regardless, hands at the hilts of their swords.

"State your business or be on your way. The gates have been closed for all but the most pressing matters in light of the attack on Helgen."

Nodding, Robb withdrew the letter tucked beneath his belt and held it forward. "A letter for Jarl Balgruuf the Greater," he replied. "From Lord Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm."

The two guards exchanged another uneasy glance before returning the letter and opening the gates. He pretended not to notice that their hands remained firmly at their sides.

As he walked through the streets of the Cloud District, he ignored the glares from the Battle-Born clan and returned the smiles of the Grey-Manes. No matter what the Jarl believed, it seemed that his city was still quite divided on their support in the civil war.

He was questioned again at the doors to Dragonsreach, and was sent through once more, with even more suspicion than before. His fingers itched to reach for the blade at his hip.

Jarl Balgruuf met his gaze as he approached and Robb dropped into a shallow bow. "My lord."

"The Young Wolf himself," Balgruuf intoned drily, his expression carefully neutral. "Ulfric must have something very important to say if he's sending his best man."

In truth, Ulfric hadn't cared who delivered his message. Robb had asked the new recruit, Snow, to make the journey, but the boy had balked at the mention of Whiterun, and Robb had swiftly withdrawn the request before his boots were covered in the contents of the lad's stomach. In the end, it had been simpler to make the journey himself, and Ulfric had trusted his judgment on the matter.

"Yes, my lord. He hopes to gain the support of Whiterun in the coming battle. As a gesture of peace, he offers this." He took the finely carved axe strapped to his shoulders and placed it at the Jarl's feet.

Balgruuf eyed it for a moment in silence before meeting Robb's gaze once more, his eyes shining with newfound interest. "The Stormcloak war axe is it? A symbol of peace between us, you say. The man you follow is persistent, I'll give him that. I do suppose it's time that I gave him an answer..."

Robb remained silent, watching as the Jarl turned to his steward.

"What do you make of all this, Proventus? If Ulfric were to attack Whiterun..." He left the thought hanging, and Robb could practically see the steward squirming at the thought.

"As in all things, my Lord, I urge you to act with caution," he said nervously. "I believe we should wait and see."

At his other side, Irileth, his long-standing housecarl, snorted derisively. "Prey waits," she murmured, just loud enough for Proventus to hear.

The steward bristled, but Balgruuf nodded in agreement. "I'm of a mind with Irileth. It's time to act."

Proventus' eyes nearly bulged from his skull as he stared at his master. "Are you saying that you plan to march on Windhelm, my lord?"

Balgruuf sent him a withering glance and Robb suppressed an impatient sigh. "I'm not a fool, Proventus. I simply mean that it may be time to challenge Ulfric to face me as a man, or march his Stormcloaks up to the gates."

"Face you as a man? He'll do no such thing! A dagger in the back is all you could expect!"

The Dunmer woman spoke up again. "He was rather straight forward with Torygg."

"Torygg?" Proventus sputtered in disbelief. "He simply walked up to the boy and murdered him!"

Robb bristled at the accusation, and his reaction did not go unnoticed by the Jarl. Balgruuf had been on good terms with Eddard Stark, and had been saddened by his death, even as he had been by his decision to trust the Jarl of Windhelm.

At their sides, the Jarl's two servants continued to argue. "That "boy" was the High King of Skyrim."

Before his steward could respond, Balgruuf lifted a hand to silence him, his gaze still firmly locked with Robb's. "I am not the High King, but neither am I a boy. If Ulfric wants to challenge my rule in the old way, let him. Enough of this posturing. Though I do suspect he'll prefer to send his "Stormcloaks" to do it for him. Even Robb Stark has been relegated to an errand boy in this ridiculous farce of a peace offering."

As annoyed by the Jarl's insight as he was, Robb could offer no rebuttal, for he knew it was true. Errands were all Ulfric had left for him as he continued to stall his attack on Solitude.

"Are you surprised, my lord?" Irileth asked drily. "He's already proven his personal strength. Now he seeks to prove his army's."

Proventus spoke up again, his tone calm once more. "My lord, if I may be so bold...might I urge you to consider General Lannister's request? If you are bent on offending Jarl Ulfric..." He trailed off.

Balgruuf stayed silent, and Robb was surprised to see that Irileth spoke up to defend the steward's point. "Ulfric is certainly the one who has offended, but...Proventus may have a point, my lord. Ulfric has made it clear that in his mind to refuse his claim is to side with the Empire."

Proventus nodded, obviously pleased with himself. "And what harm is there in letting a few legionnaires die in place of your own men?"

Slowly, Balgruuf bent from his throne and lifted the axe, his fingers running absently across the blade. A drop of blood welled up on his thumb and he watched it turn the skin crimson before speaking. "It seems cowardly."

Irileth raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. "Was it cowardly then to accept the White-Gold Concordat?"

Robb slumped noticeably at the mention of the infamous treaty. A gods damned piece of paper had brought the Thalmor to Skyrim and outlawed the worship of Talos. It may have ended the Great War without further bloodshed, but it had sparked an even bloodier war in its wake, one that had stretched out longer than it had any right to.

At that, the Jarl raised his head and leveled a glare in his housecarl's direction. "This again? That was different. Was I given a chance to object to the terms of the treaty? No. The Jarls weren't asked; we were told. And we had to like it, whether we agreed with it or not."

That quieted the room, and a long moment had passed before Irileth spoke up again, her voice curt. "It's time to decide."

"My lord, wait," Proventus urged. "Let us see if Ulfric is serious."

Balgruuf looked up to Robb again and continued to finger the axe in his lap. "Tell us, boy. Does Irileth speak true? Would a refusal bring Ulfric's wrath upon our walls."

Robb considered his answer for a moment before simply nodding. "Yes, my lord. Ulfric is a proud man, and he doesn't take well to refusals." The bruises that continued to rise on his sister's pale skin were evidence enough of that.

"See there, Proventus. He's certainly serious." He lapsed into silence for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "But so am I."

At his side, Irileth sighed in relief. "Finally."

Rising from his throne, Balgruuf descended the steps and held the war axe out toward Robb. "I do not envy you this task, Stark," he said, a hint of true regret in his tone. "But I must ask you to deliver this axe back to Ulfric."

His expression stony, Robb nodded, fingers curling tightly around the weapon's handle.

Turning away, Balgruuf returned to his throne and waved a hand at his steward. "Proventus. Bring me my quill. And the good parchment."

The Imperial's eyebrows rose. "Are we writing a letter, my lord?"

The Jarl's gaze was grim, but he nodded, his eyes fixed on the Stormcloak lieutenant in his hall. "Aye. To General Lannister. I need to make a few things clear before I accept these Legionnaires of his."

The ride back to Windhelm was a quiet one. The roads were clear, the skies were blue and cloudless, and even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. Robb couldn't decide if it was calming or unnerving. With each step he rode, the axe on his back seemed to grow heavier, until he felt as though he would be unable to bear the burden at all.

In the years since his father's death and his ascension through the ranks of the Stormcloak army, he had grown to respect Ulfric Stormcloak. Though he was brash at times and didn't think well of those who hailed from beyond the borders of Skyrim, he was a man who knew what he believed in and fought with all his might to achieve it.

At the start of the rebellion, his vision had been clear: a free Skyrim. Free of the influence of the Imperial Legion and the Aldmeri Dominion. Free to worship any and all gods that one may wish to. Simply...free.

Now, Robb wasn't so sure what the army he led was fighting for. It seemed that the fight had spread from the oppressive governments of the South to anyone who wasn't a Nord, no matter where their allegiance lay. Instead of ending the war, Ulfric had dragged it on, determined to conquer the whole of Skyrim and claim the throne as his own.

He would make a good king, of that Robb had no doubt, but it was getting harder to believe that the Ulfric Stormcloak he now fought for was the same man who Eddard Stark had spared so many years ago.

The gates of Windhelm opened without question at his return, and he walked slowly to the Palace of the Kings, the weight of his failure heavy on his shoulders. Ulfric would not be pleased with the news from Whiterun, of that he was certain, but the extent of his wrath was yet to be seen.

Ulfric was seated on his throne when Robb entered, and his gaze rose from the newly polished shine of his boots to meet that of his Stormblade. For a brief, almost unnoticeable second, his eyes moved to the handle of the axe across Robb's back and he waited until the younger man had reached his feet before speaking.

"What news from Whiterun, Stormblade?"

Reaching over his shoulder, Robb retrieved the gilded war axe and handed it to the Jarl with a bow. "Jarl Balgruuf has declined your offer of alliance, your grace. And he is calling for Legionnaires from General Lannister to defend the city from a Stormcloak retaliation."

Ulfric nodded, his hands roaming the curves of the axe almost lovingly. "My best soldier not only failed to sway the city in my favor, but also turned it against us, is that what you mean to say?"

Robb hesitated, but thought it best to strive for honesty. Above all else, honor was what mattered most a Stark. "Yes, my lord."

Slowly, Ulfric's gaze moved from the axe's sharpened blade to the man before him and he nodded once more, a slight smile on his otherwise expressionless face. "So there's to be blood then. I had hoped this day wouldn't come, and yet I've seen it approaching just the same. Very well."

Robb's stomach twisted at the Jarl's nonchalance. He would have rather the axe been thrown at him than be faced with this uneasy calm.

"You are dismissed. I have no further need of you, Stormblade."