Thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this!

-L-

I arrived at the Palace of the Kings at eight, a little after the start of breakfast. I've never been much for breakfast, since one only sleeps on supper, so I toyed with porridge and dried fruits, with sweetened milk and toast. If Ulfric wanted a word, he'd indicate as much. If not, I would repair straight home to finish packing and arranging domestic manners.

I planned to put Svana into the hands of the seamstress just before I left the city. My hope was that Svana would settle into Windhelm in my absence as she managed my estate. I have confidence in people who inspire it and Svana was so unsettled that I felt I had two options: leave her to sort herself out or mollycoddle her—which wouldn't do either of us any favors.

So, in reality, I only had the one option. Breakfast wasn't wasted if I could sort something out. My bigger concern…

…was put on hold the instant Ulfric finished his meal. He turned his attention to me for the first time that morning and indicated very discreetly the direction of his strategy room.

I bowed my head in assent, set aside my things and followed both him and Galmar into the small room.

"I hope the arrangements are satisfactory?" Ulfric asked without preamble, once the door was closed.

"You have been most generous, my lord. I look forward to beginning my service to you in earnest."

Ulfric didn't mince words. He picked up the yellow flag on his strategy map and held it out to me.

I took it from between his thick fingers, studying the scrap of ribbon.

"I want Whiterun."

I twirled the pin between my fingers, watching the ribbon flare out like the plait on a spinning girl. "I will leave today."

"Already?" Ulfric didn't sound surprised. In fact, when I regarded him I found his expression quite neutral—the kind of neutrality, I hasten to add, that one adopts when studying something for a discernible pattern, the way one might listen to a series of musical notes in order to find the refrain.

"I must contract a service from the Companions and I had hoped to reinforce both my cover and my contacts," I answered. "Thus, I was intending to leave as soon as I felt sure you had no immediate instructions for me."

"I've given them," Ulfric answered simply. "I want Whiterun—or at least, suggestions about how to do it."

I chuckled at this sudden addendum, as though he wanted to be quite clear I wasn't to go starting any wars—so to speak—without consulting him first. I suppose my hands-on, go-forward attitude might make that seem like a concern. Or maybe he just didn't want to deal with Balgruuf's corpse instead of Balgruuf himself. "You will not regret placing me in a position requiring diplomatic skills, my lord."

"Good."

I took this as dismissal, bobbed a curtsey and withdrew to leave the men to their map—now devoid of Whiterun's yellow flag. I'll return it to him when I have a plan. After all… 'I want Whiterun.'

-L-

Whiterun was gloriously sunny, and I noticed this particularly, since Eastmarch saw fit to snow on me just enough to be annoying but not enough to impede travel. Ah, well.

"Leandra!" Ysolda yelped as she opened her door in the early morning to find me smiling at her.

"I see my message did not precede me," I sighed, then returned her hug.

"It certainly didn't," she answered, moving back and motioning me inside. "I take it you just got back?"

"I arrived last night." The little house still had merchandise piled up in the back, but it also had a nice, heavy strongbox. "The fruits of my most recent journeys," I said, handing over both an inventory of requested items and a bag of gold which Ysolda smiled at before adding to the general store—she'd count it out later.

"I have to say, better you than me. I've been hearing the most horrible things out of Windhelm."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Tea?"

"I'll get it. What's this about Windhelm?" I moved about, fixing the tea, more to avoid watching her avidly as she either did or did not tell me something I didn't know.

"Apparently Ulfric's getting impatient and Balgruuf's getting angry. The worry is that it's going to be war."

It's already war. This is just the last faction deciding where he stands.

"How-how is it really?" she asked. "Maybe you shouldn't go back."

"It's cold, and many of the people are quite disagreeable. But not much worse than the feuding houses and Belethor, here," I answered dryly. "Merchants enjoy a certain respect not only from the populace but especially when that populace has trouble obtaining non-wartime goods. More than that, any Jarl worth his salt will not hamper trade overmuch, since coin into the coffers is always a good thing."

Ysolda was quiet for a few more minutes. "…doesn't that mean we're supporting the Stormcloaks?" she asked uneasily.

"No more than the East Empire Company does," I answered. "It all depends on what Balgruuf does, and since he does nothing this is our season." I set the tea to steep before sitting down at the carefully scrubbed table. "How are things with the Khajiit?"

Ysolda smiled. "Mutually beneficial! I think… oh, Leandra…" she leaned forward, a blush coloring her cheeks. "I think… I think we may be working towards an actual business partnership!"

It could only benefit them in future, assuming my connections stay both highly placed and strong. I listened as she elaborated the deal she had with the caravans to move her goods from Hold to Hold for a percentage of the profit… and how her name in Whiterun allowed them better access to the city and her honesty ensured that profits were fairly distributed.

This was all well and good, and it was from them that much of her gossip came. Most of it was the mundane stuff, and all of it was stilted by the fact that many of the major cities wouldn't let the Khajiit in to do business. However, the minor Holds and small settlements weren't quite so picky. Coin and goods were coin and goods.

My thoughts immediately slipped to the fact that so much real news was outside my reach—not just real news, but the speedy communication of it. What I needed were people, chosen people, in the Holds, major or minor. People who either partisans (but without actually donning the blue of the Stormcloak movement) or who had enough 'free loyalty' to buy and were in a position to require a patroness.

Whiterun was easy: I simply needed someone in House Grey-Mane—though perhaps not Fralia or Eorlund. This was more sentiment than anything else.

I had to flick through my mental list of people I know, and wondered how many hand-picked Stormcloaks (or partisans) I would have to seed throughout the Empire and how/where to place them.

Falkreath was easy. Ridiculously easy, since Siddgeir is stupid and avaricious. He's a butt in a seat as far as much of the Hold is concerned… and a threat to the Hold, as far as others are concerned. 'Others' include my acquaintance Valga Vinicia, who runs the local inn.

A charming woman, wholly dedicated to Falkreath… I believe she's not a partisan for either side in this war: her loyalties are to Falkreath… and, if I'm any judge of people, she's the sort of person Siddgeir would consider a threat. Not that he's quite stupid enough to do anything to lessen the taxes he can exact from her business.

Hmm… but if he thought she wasn't a threat, if he thought there was a way to—

"Leandra?"

I blinked. "Yes, if you can come to a permanent arrangement that would be most beneficial."

She beamed, clearly unaware that I'd been giving her only half of my attention. This settled, she turned her attention to the inventory I'd brought. I don't trade in wartime materiel, most of the time, so all of the things on my list were fairly innocuous.

-L-

He glared at me all through the meeting, which did nothing for my mood.

I'd used the Companions before, but at that time Ysolda made the arrangements. This time, since the task was personal, I had to do it. She never warned me that Kodlak's… what, second in command?... had such an unfavorable aspect.

I did my best to ignore him, but something about his fixity of attention made me feel like prey and I didn't like it. "The sword is large, with 'Grimsever' in the Old Tongue etched into the blade. It was lost deep in Mzinchaleft, which is in Hjaalmarch," I declared. "Apparently there was some Dwemer monstrosity down there—a truly large thing made of metal."

"The chances of finding a sword in a place like that are spectacularly low," Kodlak noted. "You are aware of this?"

"Hence why I brought the matter to the Companions. Your membership is excellent at challenges—and if you've never seen a Dwemer steamwork…" I shook my head. I'd never actually seen one myself, but the reports are all bad. That they're ridiculously strong, resilient to magicka, and because they don't feel pain and don't need to remain totally intact to be effective they're quite… well. I wouldn't want to fight even one of the small ones.

The answer was really too complimentary to be turned down—and if Kodlak meant to turn it down he would have done so at this point. As it was, he did not.

"And I assume there is a timeframe for this?"

"I would prefer not to be waiting for months; even weeks in the plural is stretching it. But it's not a matter of life and death, either." At least, I hope not.

I'd given some thought to placing someone in Riften and had decided to try my luck with a down-on-his luck mage I met during my last visit—assuming he was still there. Doing magical odd jobs and hoping to be hired as protection or whatever isn't a good way to get through life—although hoping to be hired on in such a fashion is not exactly uncommon in Skyrim. Add a substantial amount of gold to get him started, I might be able to find a way to get him into Laila's court because, of course, a Thane hears things the local populace doesn't. And if I can keep my association with him quiet he'd be an asset in keeping an eye on Maven once she's been installed as Jarl.

To go from hopeful hireling to a man of consequence, and all he has to do it keep me up to date on the news and gossip coming out of Riften… that's not exactly a taxing responsibility.

And I can trust that there will be no loudmouth tendencies such as the Stormcloaks so often display. That will be a little peace of mind.

I need to find out how far ahead Ulfric has gotten with regards to replacing Jarls. Then I need to screen these candidates—I would hate to think he was of the 'comrade's club' school of thought, ignoring what's best in favor of what's familiar… but judging by Galmar… well, better safe than sorry.

"Very well," Kodlak finally announced, nodding. "What do you think?"

"Phoebe. Send Farkas with her," Kodlak's second grunted after thinking for a moment. "She's got good eyes and he can flatten anything bigger than she is."

"That's not difficult," Kodlak almost chuckled, shaking his head.

The second's mouth twisted into what might have been a smile, as if both amused by and fond of the girl in question.

"I have just the girl." Kodlak produced a sheet of paper and began to write briskly, outlining the terms of the contract.

"Payment upon receipt, if you please," I said. "As I don't live in Whiterun and—as you said—this is a mission whose outcome is questionable."

I regarded the price of the task, considered what doing it myself would involve, then signed the paper, leaving Fralia's address in case I was still in Whiterun and my address in Windhelm in case I wasn't. I handed the paper back to Kodlak, who took it and smiled kindly at me. "It shall be attended."

With that, I thanked him and withdrew. I reposed confidence in the Companions' ability to get the job done.

I just wish I'd convened with Ulfric about his future plans… but decided it would not have been a productive conversation unless I had specific points to discuss. Well, now I had specific points. Too bad it wasn't something I could just send him a courier about. Some things really shouldn't be written down.

-L-

I spent that day and the next in Whiterun, mostly shoring up contacts and panning the waters. I did get to see the two Companions I'd hired leave—one was a mammoth of a man who looked even larger than he probably was because of the small, curvy Breton chatting happily to him. They looked quite mismatched, the tiny woman with her two light axes and the behemoth carrying a sword almost as big as his companion was.

Whatever works, I suppose.

More to the point, Ulfric wanted Whiterun—and I take this to mean 'if Balgruuf won't respond to reason.' Otherwise why employ me?

Balgruuf is a widower of several years. His wife, Roswitha died of fever when his youngest was two—that was five years ago. He's given no sign of an intention to remarry, despite being the sort of fellow who needs to crook a finger to summon a legion of admirers. And, with my fairly unbiased view of the matter, he was good-looking enough for many faults to be forgiven.

His chief detracting feature is a quick temper, but quick tempers are useful: they flare and die quickly, allowing for acts of contrition afterwards. I don't know how this manifests in his home life, but it may be one reason his children are so overindulged—he doesn't want to risk acting in anger.

He has three children: Frothar, Dagny, and Nelkir—all of whom are impudent, rude, and thoroughly overindulged by their father. They're brats and I was sassed by one of them without provocation when I made a discreet trip into Dragonsreach on pretense of speaking to Farengar Secret-Fire who was (as I very well knew) at Arcadia's Cauldron when I arrived.

Balgruuf also keeps his kin close, his brother Hrongar being his right-hand man—though not his housecarl. His housecarl is a rather formidable Dunmer by name of Irileth—all of this is common knowledge.

For many reasons I would like Balgruuf to throw in with the Stormcloaks: he has many qualities that highlight the best of Skyrim's culture, and his open-mindedness about differing kinds of people (barring the Khajiiti traders, who really are foreigners) would be a good example for the rest of the Empire.

The problem with Balgruuf is twofold. Firstly, he's not a man to be pushed around and might act out of sheer contrariness whatever his personal convictions might be if he is. Secondly, the Dragonborn is not only his Thane but is rumored to be a good friend—witness the dragontooth dagger she presented him as a gift, a weapon part of a set and which was no doubt her way of making sure everyone knew of her association with him.

Now, how good a friend is up for debate. There's a rumor floating around that they're lovers, but with the amount of time she supposedly spends out of Whiterun I rather doubt it. It's the fancies of the idle romantics.

Regardless, one doesn't antagonize the Dragonborn, because she has thrown in with neither the Stormcloaks nor the Legion. So if Balgruuf won't ally with the Stormcloaks his downfall and treatment after his city is taken will need to be performed carefully. That way, we can say if asked: 'look here, my lady Dragonborn—your friend the Jarl is not badly off, he's been well-treated out of respect for you.' I don't think Ulfric will be warm to this—he's the sort to want definitive action and indefinite imprisonment isn't really definitive. Galmar certainly don't like it, but he's a hammer-minded person well-suited to winning battles but not containing the indirect fallout.

Assuming Balgruuf won't be 'reasonable,' I need people on the inside. In this case, I already know: House Grey-Mane. But until I know what Ulfric has planned and what I'm allowed to offer as incentives—because in this instance incentives are the best way to go, the proffered carrot instead of the frozen one—I can't move forward.

I withdrew from Dragonsreach after asking Farengar about means for reliable messaging—I had Wuunferth's solution already, but it wouldn't do for me not to be seen chatting with him since that was supposedly what I was there for.

-L-

1 First Seed

Black-Briar Manor, Riften

Your crusader was arrested this morning for disturbing the peace. I suggest you collect her before she gets herself into even more trouble. The fee to redeem her is 500 septims. Stint of confinement in the Mistveil Keep dungeons is fourteen days.

Madame M. Black-Briar

-L-

1 First Seed

Riften

Dear Leandra,

Maven had Mjoll arrested this morning—supposedly for 'disturbing the peace.' The price to redeem her is 500 septims—Mjoll won't let me pay the fee to get her out. She should be at liberty in a fortnight, but we've got to get her out of here. Maven's been content to ignore her until now, but this willingness to act… it means she's reached the end of her patience. I don't want to think what might happen if Mjoll keeps pushing, and you know how she is. I'll try to talk her into leaving but I have the feeling I'll be wasting my breath. I hope whatever you're doing materializes.

Your friend,

Aerin

-L-

Hjerim had improved since I left. Svana clearly meant it when she said she'd scrub tavern floors on hands and knees to get away from Riften: I didn't doubt one could eat off any inch of the floor one chose. The furniture was all arranged neatly, and the other miscellaneous furnishings had been settled into place according to Svana's tastes—no doubt to be changed if those tastes clashed with mine.

"My lady!" Svana hurried out of the kitchen at the sound of my entering. She looked the part of the neat little housekeeper in her green woolen gown and white apron, her cheeks pink from working in the kitchen. She immediately took my wraps as I toed my shoes off.

"Have I had any mail?" I asked.

"Some. If you'll come into the kitchen, you can warm up and have lunch and I'll fetch your letters."

It wasn't a bad arrangement, so I did so, settling at the small table in the kitchen. The kitchen had the look of 'on a creditable level' being well-stocked with very clean cookware and tableware (which she undoubtedly purchased with the 'operating funds' purse I left her). The girl could certainly manage day-to-day cooking, for the savory odor of a venison stew emerged from a pot. After being on the road in Eastmarch's wretched early First Seed weather the smell and promise of a warm meal made my mouth water.

Svana was back in a moment, carrying a small stack of messages—a copy of the Riften Town Crier; a copy of the Solitude Courier (passed by an acquaintance in Haafingar); a message from Wuunferth soliciting me to acquire a few things for him; a similar message from Nurelion; a note from Madame Black-Briar, which told me she was keeping Mjoll out from underfoot more than anything else and that if I wanted to make the right impression I would pay Madame the five hundred septims as a goodwill gesture—kickback is more like it, but I digress; and a note from Aerin confirming Maven's assertions about Mjoll.

I frowned at this. I can't exactly tell the Companions to hurry it along.

Svana interrupted my perusal of these messages by setting a bowl of stew on one my right and a plate of fairly fresh bread on my left. Butter and a cup of rich milk appeared a moment later. "I made an apple tart yesterday—I can warm it up a bit and there's plenty of eidar cheese… or cream, if you'd prefer it," Svana said, fidgeting a little as she watched me. "…you did say to keep the kitchen well-stocked…"

Knowing what that meant, I set aside my correspondences, broke off a piece of the bread—which was a bit coarse and a little overbrown on the top, which spoke to unfamiliarity with her new kitchen—and dipped it into the stew. "This is very good," I announced, a little surprised. She'd made it sound like she was fairly so-so in the kitchen. Not if this meal is any indication. "And those were my instructions, yes." I smile at her. "You've gone above and beyond my expectations, Svana. I didn't realize how modest you were being."

She turned pink at the praise. "Shall I heat you a bath?" she asked.

"And see to my purple gown. While I'm bathing, I want you to take a message to Jorleif—ask one of the house guards, tell them the message is from Thane Grey, and they'll conduct you to him." Because, of course, it would be rude and imprudent to simply show up and demand Ulfric's time.

I finished my lunch alone while Svana saw to the heating of water and the lugging of it upstairs.

I should speak to Wuunferth. In Solitude we had warming stones for the bath so the maid only needed to fill the tub and activate them in order to heat the water—or keep it heated in the case of a long soak.

-L-

4 First Seed

Hjerim, Windhelm

My dear Aerin:

I'm still working on a way to convince Mjoll to leave Riften and I'm quite hopeful about its success. With any kind of luck, I will have something before she is released from prison and will be able to collect her at that time.

Additionally, I want to thank you for recommending Svana—she's just the girl for me and, I believe, quite happy with her lot in life. It is my belief that she would thank you for your part in this, so permit me to pass that along on her behalf.

Sincerely,

Leandra

-L-

4 First Seed

Hjerim, Windhelm

To Madame Black-Briar:

Thank you for your message. With any luck I will be able to collect Mjoll before her incarceration ends.

Cordially,

Leandra M.

-L-

To: Jorleif, Steward of Jarl Ulfric

As keeper of our lord's affairs, I would request a moment of His Lordship's time in order to discuss the last objective with which he entrusted me.

Awaiting his convenience,

Leandra Grey

Thane of Eastmarch, Head of Diplomatic Affairs