Empress. Ulfric would've burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all if the Dragonborn didn't seem so damn confident. The glimmer in her eye, the smirk she just barely failed to hide; she was fully expecting to be crowned. She obviously wasn't a direct heir, the only way for her to be crowned was- "You want to overthrow Mede."
"I want to rebuild the Empire to what it once was, when Tiber Septim, Talos, reigned," she said. "It took a Dragonborn ruler to defeat the Second Dominion, it will take a Dragonborn ruler to defeat the Third."
Ulfric was at a loss for how to respond. He hated the Emperor, he…didn't quite hate her, and he loathed the Thalmor. But any form of government change made for messy politics, even if it was a simple succession from a leader to a well-groomed, well-liked heir. A full dynasty change, especially one from Imperial to Dunmer, gods, Ulfric could only imagine the unrest in the courts and in the public. "You criticized my rebellion for fracturing the Empire," he said simply.
"Your rebellion was hasty. My ascension to my rightful throne will not be." She looked up to the sky, where the stars were just beginning to fade. "I am the last heir of the Septim Dynasty. It is my birthright to rule as Dragonborn." She looked back down to face him, to stare into his eyes. "Just as it is your birthright to rule as High King of Skyrim."
The Dragonborn held out her hand to him, an invitation for him to take it and accept her offer to help him become High King. An invitation for him to help her become Empress. His mind swam. She had gone insane! He couldn't deny there was some precedent for her reign, every single empire of men-not elves-had been founded by a Dragonborn of some sort, be it Ysgramor, Wulfharth, Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, or Talos. All of them, legendary leaders that the Dragonborn herself was not-or not yet. The legends of the Dragonborns before her were just that: legends. How could he know how she would be spoken of in the centuries after her death?
She had no political experience, yet neither had Ulfric before he was groomed as Jarl-heir of Windhelm, neither had any politician. Not to speak of the idiotic politics that plagued the Imperial City, that plagued the Blue Palace in Solitude, she could still learn the ins and outs of politics better than Titus Mede II or Elisif ever could. She had something they lacked; determination. Just behind her eyes a fire of determination burned, nothing like the nervousness Elisif held in her very posture, nothing like the tired acceptance of fate Titus Mede II let slip in every word he spoke. No, she had it in her mind that it was her throne, and she wanted to become worthy of it to others.
And that's exactly what she was asking of him. She knew she was unprepared to even hold her Thaneships, as an outsider unfamiliar to Skyrim's customs, laws. That was her true reason for keeping him alive; she didn't need him as a distraction for a dragon, the dozens of tales of her single-handedly slaying dragons that wormed their way into his court proved that false. She wanted him for his experience in politics and influence over Skyrim far more than for his Thu'um.
A deep tug within Ulfric's gut warned him that the Dragonborn could still be lying, but every other part of him protested. Her piercing stare bared her soul to him; she was committed to make herself Empress, to make him High King. Even if this was some strange ploy to earn his trust, why? What reason was there to make up a desire for the Ruby Throne? With the Empire weakening day by day it was not an enviable seat, even more so if she truly believed a war with the Dominion was looming. The Dragonborn was right: the Empire was far too weak to survive another Great War. The Ruby Throne might not exist in a decade or so if a war did come to pass.
Curiosity burned within him, almost as much as the desire to regain his lost honor, pride, power. Becoming Jarl of the Rift, being named High King of Skyrim, that would nearly return him to his previous condition.
Besides, what could he possibly lose other than his life? Dying might be a blessing compared to his current low state. Ulfric reached out and grabbed her hand. She clasped back with more than a soldier's strength, betraying her smaller form. "I knew you'd come around," she said.
They passed through Heljarchen Creek without stopping in the town; the Dragonborn was determined to make it to Whiterun the day after. She picked up their pace soon after they left the town since the snow cleared up as they broke through the mountains. Whiterun itself was just barely visible in the distance after midday. On a clearer day that this, the Throat of the World could be seen. If it weren't Whiterun, if his situation was different, Ulfric might have found himself glad to see the city and know their trek was nearly over.
He couldn't help but imagine what Balgruuf would say to him, do to him. Ulfric wasn't expecting to leave Whiterun alive, and he kept expressing that to the Dragonborn. She seemed to think herself higher than a Jarl in his own hold, always expressing that she was fully aware of the situation. "I won't let anything happen," she assured him.
"You're not Empress yet," he hissed back on one of their rare stops. He repeated a similar concern for his life, or, rather, an insistence that she should be concerned for his life, every time they had a minute. Those minutes came few and far in between, especially as the Colette, the Restoration master, warmed up to him even more. He almost wished he had never clarified his views towards magic for her; she now believed him to be a staunch supporter of Restoration simply because it was the one school that could be used for good.
Yes, he would always take Restoration over the other schools, though it was still not something he fully trusted. A bandage around a wound could always be seen, it's purpose always known, but a spell was a secret to all but the caster. Restoration spells had saved lives, but all spells held the risk of backfiring or having unintended consequences. How many soldiers had been paralyzed by a failed spell, or had all of their skin turn into thick scar tissue?
Colette was obviously well trained, but how many novices ran around attempting to heal the sick, the wounded? He mentioned as much to her early in the journey and received little more than a fumbled change of subject to how Restoration could banish undead. She rambled on and on about various topics that, to his untrained ear, sounded little more than tangentially related to Restoration magic. At the very least, some portion of what she talked about was entertaining enough to keep his spirits up on the trek through the mountains, and then through the near-featureless plains of Whiterun Hold.
They passed a few patrols on their way; none gave them more than a second glance and a warning to keep to the roads as they passed. Giants and bandits, they said. Ulfric could pick out neither on the horizon. The only animals he saw were a small herd of deer grazing and the occasional livestock on a farm they passed, though he heard quite a few dragon roars throughout the day.
The Dragonborn did as well. "Is everyone up for a fight?" She asked just as the Throat of the World became barely visible in the distance. Whiterun itself was still nowhere to be seen.
"I'd like a little elaboration on what kind of fight you have in mind," Colette said.
"Dragons," she replied, dismounting her horse. "They sound close."
"They?" Ulfric asked. He supposed she was more experienced when it came to placing dragons, but each roar throughout the day sounded identical, and from the same direction.
"There's at least three, maybe more," the Dragonborn said. "If I Shout, they might come and attack."
"Oh, like what you're planning to do in Dragonsreach," Colette said. "It would give me a chance to test out my wards."
"Shouldn't we try and save our strength?" Ulfric asked. One dragon was more than enough challenge, but the possibility of fighting three at the same time…
"Of course not," J'zargo said, sliding off his horse and cracking his knuckles. "Unless this one is a water-drinker."
"Milk-drinker," Ulfric corrected. He looked over at the Dragonborn and she looked back. That look of confidence was plain on her face. No use in arguing. He dismounted, Colette followed his lead. "Go on, then."
The Dragonborn grinned and Shouted, "Fus!" Almost instantly, two roars sounded in response. Ulfric sighed and drew his sword, turning to face the direction the dragons were coming from. "Only two," she muttered, sounding miffed.
A dragon came speeding through the sky towards them, the other lagging behind, flying with an almost stumbling pattern. "Oh, that's rather…small, don't you think?" Colette said, raising her hands and casting a ward over them regardless.
Ulfric agreed as it neared, it was a little thing, absolutely dwarfed by the few other dragons he had had the misfortune of meeting. This particular dragon had dull brown scales and wings that looked far too big for its body, even though its wingspan was likely only three or four men wide.
"Let it Shout over the ward, and then we'll attack," the Dragonborn ordered. "I want to see how it holds up."
The dragon neared and opened its mouth, Ulfric briefly looked past it and saw the second dragon, another small one, approaching. "Yol!" It Shouted, sending a wall of fire colliding with the ward. The ward blocked it, and the grass around them burst into flames. Colette looked proud and kept the shimmering ward up.
"Joor, Zah Frul!" The Dragonborn Shouted, just barely catching the dragon in the tail as it circled. The dragon screeched as it crashed to the ground. It twitched, making a horrible noise of pain. "J'zargo, get the other one," she ordered between breaths and pushed out of the ward to run to where the dragon fell.
J'zargo raised his hands, murmuring to himself. They began to glow and then he pressed them forwards; a crack sounded as lightning flashed, hitting the second dragon directly in the chest. The dragon wavered in the air for a second, it's scales smoking, before falling out of the sky. J'zargo cast another lightning spell when it hit the ground. Ulfric jogged towards it, hating the resistance he felt as he walked out of the ward's radius.
He passed the Dragonborn, the telltale glow of the dragon's soul streaming into her; she had already killed it. Up close, the dragon was definitely small; no more than two men long and three men wide. He continued on to the second fallen dragon, waving for J'zargo to stop casting spells in his direction when a spark broke off and stung his cheek.
It was in a miserable state from the spells and tangled in its own wings from where it fell. It's breathing was heavy and labored, and its one visible eye looked around wildly before spotting him and staring. The dragon opened its mouth to Shout. Nothing but embers emerged, leaving the grass near it smoking. "Niid," it groaned, over and over. Ulfric realized it was begging for its life as he approached. He stabbed it once through the eye and it went limp. Deep red, almost black blood poured from the wound.
The Dragonborn approached and the dragon began to dissolve into an array of colors. She rolled her shoulders and stretched as the second soul surrounded her and disappeared. "They were young," she said. "They had no memory of the Dragon War, or being killed before at all." Ulfric raised an eyebrow. She absorbed memories with souls? "They're breeding." She took a shaky breath and turned back towards their horses and the mages. "Do dragons have a mating season?"
"How would I know? Ask the Blades."
The dragon disappeared, collapsing into a pile of bones, with a clatter from its abdomen; a half-digested body lie there. A guard, in destroyed armor recognizable as from one of Balgruuf's cities by the dim orange cloak. The Dragonborn coughed and turned back to the road. Ulfric stayed to bless the man's body and soul on its way to Sovengarde, though he couldn't even tell if the guard had been a Nord. The Dragonborn called for him to hurry up. Ulfric hesitated and took the man's axe, jogging towards her.
When they reached the others, the Dragonborn announced that the reason the dragons were so small is because they were only recently born, resulting first in a debate over whether dragons were born or hatched, and then culminating in a conversation about if Alduin had resurrected a pregnant dragon or if they simply had a quick gestation period. Ulfric wondered how dragon reproduction compared with that of an Argonian, though he kept his thoughts to himself. J'zargo, however, did not and said just as much and more, going as far as to imply that dragons were overgrown Argonians, and earned a laugh from the Dragonborn.
He scoffed. If he said anything half as derogatory towards any other race, it was taken as 'Nordic Traditionalism' and scolded. But let a Khajiit say it and it was a joke? Perhaps if he had glued fur to himself as Jarl, his policies would've been more widely accepted among his people. They continued on until dusk, when Whiterun rose over the flat plains and farmlands only a few hours journey away.
The Dragonborn directed them to set up camp in a small enclave of boulders a short ways off the road, and closer than Ulfric would've liked to be to a Giant camp. She insisted they would be safe, as Giants didn't bother anyone who didn't bother them first, and most bandits and the like were just as wary as he when it came to Giants. Ulfric eyed the bonfire of the camp warily through a break in the rocks, watching the occasional Giant or mammoth pass in front of it. Their own fire of grass and shrubs was dwarfed even from the distance between them.
Ulfric warned the Dragonborn one more time in the morning that Balgruuf would have his head, and maybe even her own for helping him. She shrugged and continued breaking camp, announcing that they would be meeting with Jarl Balgruuf by midday, and warning everyone to keep the age of the two dragons to themselves.
The guards at the first of the Whiterun gates recognized the Dragonborn before she dismounted her horse. They called up to a guard on the wall to begin to open the gates. The first gate was little more than a checkpoint, with two guards on either side and another patrolling the outer wall, or, what was left of it. Scaffolding covered a good amount of the left wall, with rubble tumbling down from a section of the wall where it had been reduced from about ten feet to three in height. Similar wounds were dotted across the main walls, though the thicker, higher sections that protected the city proper had less dramatic damage.
"Rebuilding the walls?" The Dragonborn asked the guards. A stable boy came up and took their horses, leading them to a large stable with enough space for more than twenty horses.
"Yeah. Damn things've stood a thousand years and they're gonna stand a thousand more," The guard said, glaring at Ulfric. He didn't miss how both of the gate guards held the hilt of their swords, ready to draw. "That's what Jarl Balgruuf says, anyways."
The guard on the wall shouted down. "Gate's open, Thane!"
Ulfric followed up the outer path, trying to blend in between the two mages but knowing it was pointless even if he wasn't wearing ebony armor. It wasn't hard to hear word of Balgruuf's hatred for him. He'd imposed a strong tariff on any Eastmarch goods, something he hadn't extended to the other Stormcloak holds. Ulfric's spies reported anyone in support of him would find themselves in Dragonsreach's dungeon in astounding time.
Really, it was amazing that a guard's 'stray' arrow hadn't found its mark between his eyes on Balgruuf's order yet.
He missed their old rivalry, when consequences of sending the other a profanity-laden letter criticizing the other's penmanship or something else stupidly irrelevant were simply receiving a similarly worded reply a week later. Balgruuf had always been good natured, but in the recent years it had been harder and harder to find it under a weary, impulsive man. Even before the failed Stormcloak siege of the city, their friendship was tense; they'd gotten into a shouting match at Torygg's Moot.
The Dragonborn was just as tense as he was, though she showed it outwardly. Her posture was forced upright, too straight, and she walked too stiffly. She let the sword on her hip swing loosely, instead of keeping it mostly still as a trained soldier, an experienced swordsman easily knew how to, and she had demonstrated with mastery. She dipped her head at each guard they passed, calling attention to herself instead of Ulfric. J'zargo adopted a similarly conspicuous gait, though it was simply a more extreme version of his normal arrogant stride.
It seemed to be working; past the gates, they passed fewer guards and the ones they did pass focused their attention on the Khajiit and Thane. He and Colette seemed to come off as relatively normal in comparison, though he noticed citizens that waved and greeted the Dragonborn had their faces fall into a scowl when they spotted him. J'zargo split off from the group at a fork in the road, heading towards a distant market area while the Dragonborn continued on up stairs.
The Winds District was aptly named; Ulfric suddenly wished he had tied back his hair. Old legends said all of Kyne's storms were born in Whiterun. Colette gasped and rubbed her eye; one of her braids had hit her in the face. She pulled her hood up, shoving her hair under roughly. Ulfric stared at the magnificence of the Winds District as much as he could without gaping. His soldiers had barely made it inside the District, word was they had inside help from one of the prominent Clans. Still, even with help, once inside they had been easily dispatched by either the guards, citizens, or Dragonborn herself.
The Clan halls lorded over the city below, and even they were dwarfed by the great Temple of Kynareth. Almost hidden on the opposite side by the blooming Gildergreen was the Companion's hall, a low, imposing building that seemed much bigger than it was due to it's placement on the cliff. Here, there were few guards. Ulfric supposed the presence of the battle-hardened clans and Companions, as well as the holy nature of the district itself made it a less than optimal place for any crime to occur.
"Ah, the Temple of Kynareth," Colette said, pausing for a step as they passed the towering building decorated with large lavender bushes, giving the air a sweet, earthy smell. "I trained the head priestess there, you know. Gifted student. Great respect for the Restoration school." Ulfric wasn't sure if she'd forgotten mentioning that not two days ago in Aftland, or if she was simply bragging. She continued on another of her rants to no one in particular about the use of Restoration magic.
They reached the steps to Dragonsreach; Ulfric stopped at the base, staring at the statue of Talos and the shrine at it's feet, Septims glinting in the sun among offerings of flowers and breads and whatnot. The marbling of the various metals used to make the statue gave it an iridescent gleam, free of rust or dirt or bird droppings. He looked around, no guards or Thalmor stood at the shrine waiting to arrest anyone who dared near it. Gods, it had been months since the Empire took definitive control; leaving the shrine up wasn't a matter of priorities anymore, and couldn't be argued as such. The Dominion would have Balgruuf's, and half the hold's, head for having what was obviously a well visited shrine right in the spiritual center of the city.
"Stormcloak," the Dragonborn said, pulling Ulfric back to the present. He snapped his head back to look at her, already a dozen or so steps up, her face grim. His focus shifted to behind her. Dragonsreach seemed to reach up to the sky endlessly from his angle, an imposing building to anyone, let alone himself. Balgruuf waited inside, and he doubted the Dragonborn's protection would be of much use against the Jarl's order. "J'zargo isn't back with my Housecarl, yet. I suppose we have a few minutes to rest before meeting the Jarl." Her mouth twitched, almost in a smile.
Nariilu sat on the steps, watching Stormcloak in silent prayer on one knee at the shrine. She held up a hand when she noticed J'zargo and Lydia around the other side of the Gildergreen and rose to meet them. "I thought you were joking," Lydia said quietly.
"I was. That's actually Ysgramor, not Ulfric Stormcloak," Nariilu replied. "I found him wandering around outside Jorrvaskr." She gestured towards Colette, who was inspecting the Gildergreen. "And that's St. Alessia herself."
"Ha. You know the Jarl's going to have his head."
"He hasn't gotten over the siege?"
"You know he wasn't part of the deal," Lydia crossed her arms.
Nariilu shrugged. "We're trapping a dragon. We need all the help we can get. Jarl Balgruuf can deal with it."
"You can't use Dragonsreach without the Jarl's support, my Thane." Lydia added her title as an afterthought. "I'm serious. It was foolish to bring him here in the first place."
"It will be entertaining," J'zargo spoke up.
"I don't care. This is what I've chosen to do," Nariilu replied, ignoring J'zargo. "I'm the Dragonborn. I'm the authority on dragons in Tamriel, specifically on matters related to their defeat. What I say goes."
"About that," Lydia said. She looked around and dropped her voice. "Uthgerd is back as of last week. She says there are…factors that prevent Delphine from helping."
Understandable, Nariilu thought. The Thalmor presence was getting more than just annoying. With her and Esbern being at the top of the Dominion's hit lists, it made sense for them to stay hidden in Sky Ruler Temple. "Did Uthgerd mention what these factors are?"
"She didn't say, but she was at Breezehome just now. I'll let you ask her yourself, if you walk away from Jarl Balgruuf with your life."
"It'll be fine."
"You've never seen him mad."
Nariilu bit her cheek. She was right, not even during the siege was he angry, truly angry with something to direct it towards. He was concerned for his people more than anything, and openly expressed his newfound hatred for Stormcloak. But, publicly, he had kept it under wraps in favor of rallying his guards and the battle-ready citizens. She took the axe from J'zargo. "Let's go change that."
Ulfric stood in the back, behind the Dragonborn and J'zargo, behind her Housecarl, Lydia, she introduced herself as, and Colette. It didn't matter much, he was taller than all of them and looked over the tops of their heads with ease. He easily met the eyes of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater as soon as they were lead up to the main court platform by a steward. "My Jarl," the Dragonborn said, kneeling down. Her Housecarl followed, along with the mages, though the Dragonborn yanked firmly on J'zargo's wrist to get him to comply. Ulfric knelt last, not quite letting his knee hit the floor. They stood. Ulfric noticed Balgruuf's own Housecarl, the dark elf battlemage Irileth who hadn't left his side since the Great War, had drawn a sword, along with the guards around the throne room. J'zargo and Colette tensed in front of him.
"You've brought disgrace into my court, Dragonborn," Balgruuf spoke after a long silence. "It has been a long time since I have been insulted this severely, by my own Thane, no less."
"I mean no insult, Jarl," the Dragonborn replied. "Ulfric Stormcloak-"
"Caused the deaths of hundreds of innocents with catapults and fire," Balgruuf finished.
"-Is my prisoner under the Laws of Wulfharth the Ash-King," the Dragonborn continued. "I defeated him in battle, in Thu'um. He serves me. He serves us."
Ulfric saw Balgruuf's mouth creep up in a smile. Balgruuf knew he was without any honor, finally, truly. Since that first casual, almost joking accusation after the Markarth Incident, to the more convinced condemnation during the Moot, and finally the letter sent after his duel with Torygg. And to be under a Dunmer Dragonborn, well, Ulfric looked past the irony for his own sake. Wulfharth himself was Dragonborn, and his laws brought back the fervent killings of elves from the days of Ysgramor.
But laws were laws, race be damned. Wulfharth was Ysmir, Dragon of the North; Wulfharth was Talos. He could not bear to face Talos in Sovengarde if he dared scoff in the face of his own teachings. Balgruuf motioned for his guard to sheathe their weapons and then for the Dragonborn, her Housecarl, and the mages to step aside. Ulfric stood up straighter.
"You failed. I warned you, Ulfric," Balgruuf said, standing from his throne. "And now look at us. I am leading my people to prosperity. I am rebuilding from your mistakes. And you." He walked forwards, stepping down the throne platform stairs one at a time, punctuating his words. "You kneel before me." Ulfric did not kneel. "Oh, come now, Ulfric. Don't be so defiant. Kneel as you wanted me to kneel to you."
"I never wanted you to kneel," Ulfric said, staring at Balgruuf, neither of them breaking eye contact. "The Emperor wants you to kneel. The elves want you to kneel. I wanted you to rise against them for the good of Skyrim and her people."
"I never wanted any of your foolish war," Balgruuf retorted. "You brought that to us. My city suffered because of you, not to say anything of the worse-off Holds. Tell me, was it for the good of Skyrim when your soldiers burned the farms around my city? When your soldiers caused the deaths of five hundred eighty-three unarmed citizens? Were they acting for the good of the twenty-seven children that will never grow up?"
Ulfric steeled his jaw. War is war. Balgruuf should've understood that as well as any Great War veteran. Casualties, even those that hurt the worst, were necessary. The casualties he taunted with weren't necessary; Balgruuf's loyalty to the Empire was bought with chests of gold and jewels. If the Emperor's dogs hadn't shown up, Ulfric had little doubt Whiterun would've stood behind him.
"I would ask if you were acting for the good of Skyrim, though I missed you during the siege," Balgruuf continued. "It seems you were absent at all battles, except for the first and last." He turned on a heel and stomped back up to his throne. "Dragonborn, you're being heralded as the hero of the Civil War. Tell me, did you ever see Ulfric Stormcloak lead his soldiers?"
"No, my Jarl." She looked uncomfortable. Ulfric wondered what she had expected, bringing him here. She was too used to getting her way, he figured, especially in Whiterun Hold. Rumor was she had been proclaimed Thane soon after entering the city, though reports varied if it was for surviving Helgen or for slaying a dragon. Either way, he could've laughed in her face; he tried to warn her and exactly what he said would happen happened. Some would-be Empress. Ulfric could almost find it in him to want the Dominion to annex Skyrim just so he could see the same look on Balgruuf's face.
"Not even during the Siege of Windhelm?"
"No."
Balgruuf scoffed. "And he's done nothing but preach of lost honor since the Moot. You've never truly cared for Skyrim, Ulfric. Just what you believe Skyrim is."
Ulfric pulled the axe off his belt. He didn't flinch as the guards drew their swords; Balgruuf's Housecarl jumped between them. He stepped forwards, stopping at the base of the throne platform and placed the axe down at Balgruuf's feet. Ulfric knelt. "You're right. I have lost everything, beginning with my honor and ending with the trust and respect of those that once called me a friend. I know I will never be forgiven for what I've done to you, to Skyrim. Please, let me try and regain a mere sliver what I have lost by allowing me to fight alongside the Dragonborn in your palace."
"By allowing you to fight," Balgruuf repeated. He shifted his weight in his throne, eyeing the axe. "You never did know how to make peace. You got yourself into this mess by fighting too much, and you want to fight your way out of it."
Ulfric remained silent. Damnit, Balgruuf had a point, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. But what was better, to face one's problems head on or to wait until action is beyond necessary? He knew he was hotblooded; it had practically been his calling-card around Windhelm in his youth. It was unfortunate that so many of his problems required the use of a sword, but the backwards politics of the Empire often had unintended consequences. Still, even the debate chambers of the Moot and the Jarlships and the Empire's senators was a battleground of wit and strategy and devastating losses. Though he was fearsome in battle, Balgruuf remained passive in almost every tactical planning, every negotiation, every dispute, until his hand was forced, usually by gold or the threat of an army at his gates. It was the only way to motivate him.
Balgruuf would never understand what it meant to fight, to truly fight with his whole self. He left strategy behind on the battlefield in preference for pure, raw talent, and left dispute out of politics to avoid angering anyone.
"Jarl, if I may," the Dragonborn spoke up. "During our original preparation for…this, our biggest flaw was how to keep the dragon focused on us, not the city. The easiest way to catch its attention is to Shout. The dragons take it as a challenge, one they can't refuse."
"Who's to say he won't Shout me off of my own porch for daring to honor my oath of loyalty to the Empire?"
Ulfric wondered if Balgruuf was planning to arrest and execute him. He had more than enough precedent to. It would likely be a public affair, one with a large amount of support from the citizens. The numbers of outspoken Stormcloak supporters in Whiterun had dwindled to nearly nothing after his siege, with his detractors becoming more vocal than perhaps even Solitude.
"What could I possibly gain from that?" Ulfric spoke up. He kept his head low, staring at the floor and the untouched axe.
Balgruuf paused. "It is true you've never acted for anything but your own benefit." A grey hand darted into Ulfric's view. His Housecarl picked up the axe. Ulfric assumed, based on the ruffle of fabric, that she handed it to Balgruuf, though he didn't look and kept his head down. "You beg on your knees for mercy that you didn't give to me or Torygg. Granted, neither of us begged for any." He stood, his heavy boots punctuated each step, the steel axeblade scoring the floor as he circled Ulfric. "Tell me, why should I be so forgiving?"
Ulfric was at a loss. His mind was in a flurry, trying to figure out a way to justify his own life. He pushed dozens of thoughts away, from appealing to their previous friendship to the legacy of their fathers to the point that he was perhaps the only one that could distract the dragon from Whiterun. None of them were all completely true, their friendship had always been marked by jealously and the lives of their ancestors had been marked by the same bloodshed and desire for independence that Balgruuf had ignored. The dragon could be distracted by ample forces in one place; it would be as much of a challenge to its strength as any Shout.
"You shouldn't," Ulfric finally said. He felt the cold of the axe on his neck. The Dragonborn cried out, and there was a flurry of movement behind him.
"I know."