The Stormcloaks had gathered outside to hear Ulfric's speech, and he stood in front of them, with Galmar flanking his right and Qassanda flanking his left, a small group of Soldiers surrounding Jarl Elisif and standing off to the left side.

"I am indeed Ulfric Stormcloak, and at my side the woman we know as the Sneak-sword, and the world knows as the Dragonborn. And indeed, there are many that call us heroes, but it is all of you who are the true heroes!
It was you who fought a dying Empire who sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it.
It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage.
It was you who fought your kin who didn't understand our cause, who weren't willing to pay the price of our freedom. But more than that, it was you who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles…to return to our glory and traditions, to determine our own future!"

The Stormcloaks cheered loudly and Ulfric raised a hand to calm them.

"It is for these reasons that I cannot accept the mantle of 'High King'. Not until the Moot declares that title should adorn my shoulders will I accept it."

A red haired Stormcloak called out.

"And what about Jarl Elisif?"

Ulfric turned to look at the fair woman.

"Yes, what about the Lady Elisif? Will she put aside her personal hatred for me, and her misplaced love for the Emperor and his coin, so that the suffering of our people will end? Will she acknowledge that it is we Nords who will determine Skyrim's future? Will she swear fealty to me, so all may know that we are at peace, and a new day had dawned?"

Elisif folded her arms and a scowl crossed her pretty face.

"I do!" she called out from the crowd. Ulfric smiled and raised his arms.

"Then it is settled. The Jarl will continue to rule Solitude, I will garrison armies here to ward off Imperial attempts to reclaim the city. And in due time, the Moot will meet, and settle the claim to High King once and for all. There is much to do, and I need every able bodied man and woman committed to rebuilding Skyrim. A great darkness is growing, and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores or abroad." His voice rose, "The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but it has not defeated Skyrim!"

The Stormcloaks cheered and yelled, and Ulfric turned to Qassanda, utterly serious. She found her mind wandering, thinking of how talented Ulfric was in speaking, and how he would make an excellent thief. She was so lost in thought, that when Ulfric spoke, she jumped in surprise.

"Qassanda. I know you by many names…to me you are Sneak-sword, Stormblade, Dragonborn, and the thief that stole my heart away. I only want to ask if I may call you wife, among the many names you bear, and that I may call you mine."

Qassanda stopped in her tracks and stared at Ulfric. Did he just propose to her? Dumbfounded, she opened her mouth to answer, but shouted in fear instead.

"Ulfric!" She jumped in front of the Jarl as soon as she saw the glint of the arrowhead, trying to push him away, but she jerked instead as something hit her back.

Ulfric's voice filled with worry.

"Qass? Qassanda!" he cried, spinning her around to find the arrow buried in her back. There were gasps and cries of horror and surprise among the crowd of Stormcloaks, and a few ran up to the city wall where one last Imperial still held his bow with an expression of shock.

Qassanda's eyelids began to lower as her body spasmed and convulsed, and the Stormcloaks dragged Toralf in front of Ulfric, who cradled her body carefully to his chest. A healer rushed forth from the crowd, wearing priest's robes, and called out commands, having the others lie Qassanda on Ulfric's soft cloak on her belly as he tried to pull the arrow from her flesh.

Ulfric knelt with her, whispering words of comfort and hope into her ear as a little whimper escaped her parted lips, before a spurt of blood followed a weak cough. The healer lifted the arrow and studied the ebony tip.

"My Jarl, it's poisoned."

Qassanda could almost feel her body fight the poison, she grew hot, and her vision was dim as she saw Yolah's huge body land, and his muzzle near her face.

"Monah? Monah? Please, hear me, Monah! Don't go!" he whimpered like a babe, "we need you! Please, stay, Monah!"

And the last thing Qassanda saw was Ulfric's face, contorted with a mixture of rage and grief, calling to her.

"Qassanda! Qassanda!"