The massive, ancient doors of the Palace of the Kings creaked as they swung open, sending an icy gust of wind and snow swirling into the grand hall, announcing Alessia's arrival. Stepping inside, she shook off the snow that had been clinging to her cloak and watched it melt in an instant as it touched the floor. The guards wasted no time in shutting the doors behind her as soon as she cleared the threshold. The warmth of the Palace of the Kings was a blessed relief after travelling through the bitter cold that seemed to grip all of Eastmarch. Although she had grown up in the foothills of the Jerall Mountains, Alessia had never known cold so biting.
Pushing back the fur-trimmed hood of her cloak, Alessia was too busy taking in her surroundings to notice the guards either side of the door giving her suspicious looks. It wasn't entirely unusual for people to turn up unannounced for an audience with the Jarl, but with the civil war raging and emotions running high, the Windhelm guards were more wary of these petitioners than ever.
With a hand now lightly resting on the hilt of his sword, one of the guards said, "If you have business with the Jarl, proceed."
Alessia's head snapped to her right, instantly noticing the subtle warning that the guard was giving her. Deciding that standing here gawping like a simpleton was probably not in her best interest, she nodded to the guard and started to walk the length of the great hall. Her footsteps echoed off the ancient stones, sounding lonely and lost in the flickering gloom of the tallow torches and oil burning lamps overhead. For a moment, Alessia almost wished that she'd brought Vilkas along with her. The Companion had a surprising appreciation for history and grand architecture. Undoubtedly he would be fascinated by the Palace of the Kings' ties with Ysgramor.
But history was not the reason why she had travelled the long distance from Whiterun.
In fact, the reason for her visit had just climbed the steps to his throne and seemed to be making an impassioned speech to a man wearing a bear skin. From where she was, it was little more than an echo, but as she drew nearer, the gist of what the Jarl was saying became apparent.
"I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must."
Alessia watched as the Jarl's shoulders almost seemed to droop at the end as if the weight of the world were upon them. Of course this wasn't far from the truth; the fate of Skyrim hung in the balance of war, a war that he had started. Should the Empire win, the Thalmor would undoubtedly swoop in to deliver the harshest of punishments for those who dared defy them.
"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King," said the other man in his gruff, weathered voice. It was then his turn to express, albeit minutely, his worry about what the future might hold for them. With an almost imperceptible shrug, he added, "But the day words are enough will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."
Ulfric's brow furrowed as he considered the words of his closest and most loyal friend before he heavily sat upon his throne. With a slow, sad nod he said, "I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn."
And it was true. Ulfric had seen more than his fair share of fighting and wars to last a dozen lifetimes, but it seemed that it was to be his lot in life. Proud Nords always spoke of "Season Unending", a time of war. Indeed when he was a young man with fire in his veins the very idea of glorious battle was enough to set his pulse racing. But he was no longer a young man, and the fires of war had left him scarred and hardened.
Sensing that Ulfric was slipping into one of his occasional melancholic reveries, Galmar smiled and nodded.
"Aye. But in the meantime," he turned to leave the room, giving Alessia only the slightest of notice as he passed her, "we have a war to plan."
Feeling as if she were intruding, Alessia was about make her own hasty retreat from the Palace of the Kings for the safety of the inn she'd passed on her way through town when Ulfric's eyes finally landed on her.
"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons," he said to her, watching for her reaction. Instead of muttering an apology or turning tail, the woman before him took another step forward and assumed the pose of an Imperial soldier at ease.
The more he studied her, the more certain he was that there was some military training there. The way in which she carried herself, the fact that she seemed to travel with the bare essentials, and even how she had placed certain items on her belt were dead giveaways. Ulfric had no doubt if he could see her upper arm that he would find the mark of the Imperial Legion tattooed there.
Alessia resisted the urge to squirm under the intense gaze of the Jarl. Whether that was from her years of military service or not, she couldn't quite say. Eventually Ulfric looked her in the eyes and only then was there the slightest hint or recognition there.
His eyes narrowed slightly, propped his chin on his knuckles and asked, "Do I know you?"
"I believe we've met before, Jarl Ulfric," Alessia said, hating the way her Imperial accent sounded so out of place in this Nord stronghold.
There was a momentary pause while Ulfric looked her over again and finally said, "Ah, yes, you were with us at Helgen." Giving her a crooked smile, he added, "Destined for the chopping block, if I'm not mistaken."
"Aye," she nodded, quickly dismissing the memories of coming within a hair's breadth of death. "Ralof and I managed to escape through the tunnels that run under Helgen."
"Ralof's a good man," the Jarl nodded thoughtfully. "However, he's failed to report in since Helgen."
Alessia's feet shuffled and her brow furrowed. This was inconvenient, at the very least.
"I see," she replied slowly. "He had promised to vouch for me."
At this, Ulfric's keen eye passed over the Imperial again before he dismissively waved in the direction of the war room.
"If you wish to join the Stormcloaks, speak to Galmar." His green eyes locked onto Alessia's as he coolly added, "I am uncertain as to why you would want to join us though, Imperial."
The way in which he sneered "Imperial" made Alessia wonder whether she'd done the right thing by coming here, but here she was and she now had to give an account of herself.
"Alessia, Jarl Ulfric. My name is Alessia Mercius."
"Alessia the Slave-Queen, who defeated the elves and set captives free," Ulfric snorted. "If I were superstitious, I might believe your arrival here to be a fortuitous omen. As it is, I've lived long enough to know better. So again I ask you Saint Alessia, why do you wish to fight for me?"
Ulfric's obvious disdain for her name rankled Alessia, but she did her best not to show it. She somehow doubted that if he knew about everything that had happened to her since leaving Helgen that he would remain so aloof towards her.
Risking raising the ire of the Jarl, Alessia said, "To be honest, I'm not sure I want to join the Stormcloaks, Jarl Ulfric."
Her voice had remained calm and even, without a trace of haughtiness, but Ulfric couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of anger at the Imperial. Undoubtedly she would back the Empire; Cyrodiil, the seat of the Empire, was her home after all. His right hand unwittingly curled into a tight fist and he sat up a little straighter on his throne.
"Then why have you travelled all this way, Imperial?" he growled at her. "Surely you haven't braved dragons just to mock me?"
"No, my Jarl," Alessia replied. "I have, and I mean no offense, come to take a measure of you for myself."
"And who are you to stand judgement over me!?" he practically shouted, drawing the attention of the nearby guards. Even Galmar had reappeared from the war room, one hand reaching for his war axe. If it hadn't been for a sharp look from Ulfric, he would have cut the impertinent Imperial down where she stood.
Still, even in the face of Ulfric's anger, Alessia did not shrink back.
"My lord, you still misunderstand me," she said, placatingly. "I, as you know, am not native to Skyrim. I have had precious little knowledge of what has been happening here up until a few weeks ago. In that time, I have heard people both praise and curse your name. To some you are a champion for the people of Skyrim, the one true High King. Others, however, say you are selfish to a fault, that you only care to advance your own cause and are willing to do so at any cost."
Ulfric's fist slammed down on the arm of his throne, cutting Alessia off. Her words had provoked a terrible rage in him. It was true that he'd heard these things before; they were far from being secret. Usually Ulfric would shrug off the disparaging and slanderous things that were said against him because how could anyone but he know what was in his heart of hearts?
But this... Imperial... standing here before him and daring to judge him was too much.
He raised an accusing finger and jabbed it in Alessia's direction, "Who are you to condemn my actions, Imperial!? Who are you to come before me and dare question my commitment to my people!? You impertinent, arrogant woman! I should strike you down where you stand!"
Ulfric's fury was bad enough, but the sound of swords being loosed from scabbards made it abundantly clear to Alessia that she was very close to a point of no return.
"Jarl Ulfric, you have nothing but my apologies for any offence I might have caused. I can only say that it was never my intention. I pray that you forgive me for my ignorance."
Through narrowed eyes, Ulfric studied the Imperial for a moment more, unwittingly grinding his teeth together as he considered his options. He could very easily give the order to have her thrown in the cells beneath the Palace of the Kings. Equally, he could have her beheaded and made an example to anyone else who might dare to openly doubt him. As it was, however, Ulfric's detractors certainly didn't need any more ammunition to use against him in their war of words; harshly punishing this Imperial woman would only play into their hands.
"Go from here, Imperial, and pray that we do not cross paths again," Ulfric finally growled at Alessia before motioning for his guards to come and escort her out.
Letting out a breath that she had been unaware of holding, Alessia mindlessly fell back on old military habits. Practically clicking her heels together, she placed a lightly clutched fist over her heart and bowed her head briefly.
"Again, you have my deepest apolog- oof!"
A Stormcloak cut her off by shoving her in the direction of the exit, making her stumble over her own two feet. Although a biting remark sprang to her lips, Alessia bit down on it knowing full well that it wouldn't work in her favour. Instead, she merely gave the guard a cool look, turned on her heel and did her best to retain some sort of dignity as she left.
She could feel the weight of Ulfric's glare on her back as she went and wanted nothing more than to scurry away, but fought the urge. Instead she calmly pulled the hood of her cloak up in preparation to head back out into the bitter cold of Windhelm.
There was a squeal of protest from the hinges of the heavy door as a guard pulled it open for Alessia. A frigid blast hit her sending a chill through her that made goose bumps rise all over her body. Pausing briefly, Alessia cast one final look over her shoulder and gave the glowering Ulfric a final nod before disappearing into a snowstorm that had descended upon Windhelm.
Once the door had shut behind the Imperial, Ulfric finally relaxed slightly and heavily sat on his throne. All around him guards went back to their usual posts, waiting and watching for whatever trouble may come next. For a few moments, Ulfric felt pleased with having ejected the woman from the palace, but the more he dwelled on it, the more it bothered him. Shifting uncomfortably on his throne, Ulfric could feel a splinter of irritation in his brain over the things this Alessia had said.
Finally unable to stand it, Ulfric rose and marched into the war room where Galmar stood talking with a Stormcloak courier, preparing to send out the newest dispatches for the troops nearest Whiterun. Ignoring them, Ulfric went to the map, leaning over it and studying it closely, his fingers idly drumming on the table as he thought things through.
"Go boy, and be quick," Galmar grunted to the courier. "And I don't care that nightfall is coming. If I hear word of you stopping by Candlehearth Hall before leaving Windhelm, I'll feed you to a bloody dragon myself!"
Without a word of argument, the courier muttered in the affirmative and quickstepped out of the war room leaving Galmar and Ulfric alone.
"The incident at Helgen..." Ulfric said quietly, a finger now tapping the location of the Winterhold Stormcloak camp.
"What of it?" Galmar asked, uncertain what his oldest friend might be thinking.
Again, Ulfric's finger slid over the map to the Windhelm camp and he said, "It was weeks ago now."
"So?" Galmar practically shrugged.
"I've not left Windhelm since my escape from General Tullius," Ulfric replied and lightly touched upon the marker for the Pale camp.
Galmar scowled, not quite liking where this was going.
"And in the time since you came back, the world has gone insane," Galmar grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Dragons have returned, the Greybeards are calling for the Dragonborn, and the war with the Empire continues."
Galmar needn't tell Ulfric this; he knew it all very well. He'd seen the dragon at Helgen with his own two eyes. He'd felt the very ground shake at the call of the Greybeards. The war was rapidly turning into one of attrition, which Ulfric detested more than anything.
But the Imperial had brought home to Ulfric all the more that the people of Skyrim were still deciding where their loyalties were. Were they to continue as they were, letting the dying Empire rule over them or was it time to declare independence? The people needed to see that he was not the opportunistic murderer that the Empire made him out to be. They should be shown that he could be the High King that Skyrim required.
"Indeed," Ulfric nodded. "These are strange times we live in. And in such times, people need reassurances. They need to know that their leaders are not cowering behind thick walls, turning a blind eye. It is times like this that those who would lead should be doing just that - from the front and out in the open."
"So what are you suggesting?"
Looking up from the map, Ulfric said, "Prepare an honour guard. I want to tour the closest camps and take a measure of the mood of the troops. I've spent enough time here licking my wounds; it sends the wrong message to the people."
Satisfied with his course of action, Ulfric stood to his full height and a fearsome grin spread over his face.
"If the people of Skyrim want a High King, then let them see him! Let them see that I fight for them, Imperials be damned!"