Author's Note: This chapter marks the beginning of a social experiment I'm conducting within this fanfiction between Ulfric and Neph. No, they're not getting together romantically. You'll see. There are some interesting parallels I'd like to explore is all. But from here on out, nothing is as simple as tossing back a couple pints with a friend. I hope you enjoy!

Diplomacy is the art of saying "nice doggy" until you can find a rock.

Best,

GP

"We move north to Whiterun within the week, Ulfric. You will have it under your control, and hold the center of Skyrim beneath your thumb."

The Jarl paced about the small tent in the Falkreath camp, a rough hand coming up to itch at his blonde beard. "I do not enjoy ripping Balgruuf's hold from Whiterun. He is a Nord..."

"Was it really me in that palace alone when Unblooded returned with your axe?" The older man asked, impatience building in him. "Balgruuf sides with the Legion."

"For the sake of his people, to keep them safe. Legionnaires fight for control, but the guards will fight to defend their homes."

For the first time in weeks, the bear of a man standing across from him worried that perhaps the war for Skyrim was costing more than it gained. Ulfric's cheeks and temples seemed more hollow, and Talos only knew when he ate last. Galmar had tried discussing the Jarl's health before, remembering with a twinge of discomfort how well that conversation had gone.

"You sound like Unblooded now, too," Galmar Stone-Fist rolled his eyes and bent before the map again, glaring at the red and blue markers...he frowned as the blue were more spread out, scarcer than the more-concentrated red. "We need Whiterun, Ulfric. I thought we had agreed on this before we left Windhelm."

"Do not mistake my remorse for apprehension, old friend," Ulfric's eyes stared into him, the gaze piercing. "I am of the same mind as then."

"I think you've been without a proper drink for too long," Galmar muttered as the Jarl moved to leave the tent, pushing the fur door aside and stretching as the morning sun began to peek out around the mountain.

Ulfric had heard that, and in all honesty, the old bear was probably right. He has not been himself lately...The Stormcloaks already out of their tents placed a closed hand over their heart and gave a nod to their leader, the man they bled for. Unblooded, the man Ulfric had his suspicions about, was still asleep in his bedroll, and if it weren't for the armor he slept in obstructing his face from view...the Jarl might have been able to tell if he dreamed of a Skyrim at peace. If he had allegiance of any kind to Whiterun, he would have to place it aside if he continued to fight for Ulfric.

Over his shoulder, he spoke to his second-in-command, "I shall return to Windhelm. When you bring me news of victory, I want three things." The Jarl met the man's eyes, turning sideways. "The first is a report on how Unblooded's loyalty reacts as he fights to take Whiterun. The second is Balgruuf's best warrior...if he has the finest defensive force in Skyrim..."

He paused to hold up a clenched fist. "I want him for my Stormcloaks."

"And the third?" Galmar's gravelly voice was wary.

"An audience with K-"

The sudden sound of hooves came up up the mountain, growing louder as Ulfric cut off mid-sentence. Two figures atop a galloping stallion were thundering towards the two top officers of the rebellion. The driver of this horse, in the split second he caught her face Ulfric only saw the red-and-white of her eyes as he met them, called to clear the way as they plowed through the camp. The horse, not spooked but determined, made for the edge of the ravine straight down almost to Riverwood. The clearly scaled Argonian rider behind the woman driving whooped and held his sword high in a cavalier gesture.

They knocked over a barrel on their way through and the onlooking Stormcloaks watched in shock as the horse started down the ravine. Ulfric and Galmar both hurried to the edge, watching the horse use its hooves to swiftly but safely slid down the rocky cliff.

"Ysmir's...beard..." The old bear breathed, taking the helmet from his head. "What in the name of Talos was that?"

Ulfric Stormcloak had no clue, shaking his head. Quickly, he made his way to a bottle of mead and downed the lot.

The warm Whiterun wind blew the smell of mead and wheat into Neph's face as she held Malcolm's foot between her knees, using a blunt and dull knife to clean the rocks stuck in his hooves. They awaited Huszh's return from Honningbrew Meadery, which the woman and her horse stood outside of now. The Argonian was raised a Nord and often dreamt of mead if he was without it for too long.

That stunt outside Riverwood charging down the side of a cliff had wedged some stones into the hooves. But what was racing through the elf's mind had nothing to do with picking out a hoof. Had she really seen the Ulfric Stormcloak? Wanted posters were often all over Markarth when she went to run jobs, and he'd matched the drawn image perfectly...

"Hey, Trouble."

Neph looked up to see Huszh leaving the Meadery with two bottles in hand and a broad grin across his green-scaled face. She smirked at his longtime nickname for her, finishing the hoof and wiping her knife on her tunic. Huszh popped off the tops a sharp fingernail, handing a bottle to her.

"You know, I may be the only person you know who doesn't love Nord mead." Neph said, a wry smile on her lips.

Huszh took a long drag from his bottle. "You're in Skyrim. Learn to."

Neph braved a single sip. It was too sweet, almost bogged down with honey on her tongue and her stomach began to churn. She pushed the mead back into his hands, forcing herself to swallow. "You can have mine."

He shrugged, continuing to drink as they made their way down the road and gazed up at mighty city of Whiterun on the hill. The summer sun beat down on them oppressively, the elf restraining her hair up into a knot with a leather cord to keep it off her neck and it was not long at all before Huszh was shirtless, his blue-green scales shining as they walked.

"How much are you willing to bet that we won't even be within the walls when the guards grab me and escort me straight to Balgruuf?"

For the first time since they'd begun this adventure, she sounded worried. Huszh cast a glance at her. Her eyes were to the dirt, one hand clenched with nails burrowing into her palms and her jaw tight as if to tell him that she was listening to Brynjolf's cautions in the background. To the beat of their feet against the stones in the road, she could hear the thief's words beckon her to safety like a heartbeat. But Huszh knew her far better than Brynjolf.

He nudged her with his scaly elbow, "Listen. Don't doubt yourself. You're cleverer than you know, Neph."

"It's not doubt," She corrected, crossing her arms as she moved faster to keep pace with the Argonian's long legs. "It's a bit of embarrassment." His eyebrow ridge rising prompted her to explain."I didn't think of how my arrest would look to your Harbinger."

"Didn't realize you care what Kodlak White-Mane thinks of you." His tone was half mock and half surprise. He typically operated the balancing act of maintaining friendship both with the Companions and Neph on the assumption that she didn't give a skeever's rump what anyone thought. That she did as she pleased.

"I don't," She prefaced, "But if Kodlak is going to hate me for my profession, I'd prefer it to not to be justified with anything he can see from his porch at Jorrvaskr."

"He does not hate y-" He started, but she cut him off pointedly.

"Or your father perhaps?" Although she barely raised her voice beyond a conversational midtone, he could tell that if she were anyone else with the same problem, she'd be shouting in frustration.

Huszh understood her concern. His father was a Whiterun guard that was usually posted outside Dragonsreach; he was the first line of defense should someone come up the Cloud District wanting a shot at the Jarl. He was the first line of defense against theft, and he probably didn't know that the last time someone got away with robbing the Jarl, it was the woman his adoptive Argonian son was adventuring through Skyrim with. The woman he had let sleep in their house more than once.

He had actually left Whiterun a few days after, because his father was not at all civil when he'd been bamboozled. It took Huszh and Farkas both to restrain him from punching a passersby for looking at him wrong. His father was really a hot-tempered man, but he was forgiving after a time of heating up, which the Argonian hoped had passed by now.

"You stole a book from the Jarl's nightstand to turn a pretty Septim and for the pursuit of knowledge. He'll understand."

They reached the stables, and Neph lead Malcolm into the stables while he waited on the road. She removed all essential supplies from his saddle and turned him over to the stablemaster, a gruff Nord who bowed his head solemnly to her from his stool as she lifted a hand as means of "thanks".

"Don't you care that I lie and cheat and steal for a living?" She asked, returning to him.

He scoffed, lazily draping a scaly arm around her narrow shoulders. His words were light, honest. "It is not for me to say what you do with your life, Neph. Quite frankly, I do not care. So long as you don't steal from me, the Companions or my father, then what you do for a living is your prerogative."

A small smile to herself, Neph was quiet the rest of the walk up to the gates. She had never befriended someone like him before, who was so open-minded and would suspend judgment simply because it wasn't his business. Interrupting her thoughts was his voice again, "Do you mind that I am a glorified sellsword who will fight just about anything for any amount of coin you throw at me?"

"You fight for honor, do you not?"

"I do," He declared, his voice lowering, "Some, I think, do not. Not anymore."

He shrugged, thus closing that part of their conversation. Huszh ran his reptilian tongue over his dry lower lip, preparing to tell the guard to open the gates. It eased his mind, in a way, knowing he'd see his father again within minutes. Luckily, the guard recognized him.

"Alarik's boy? The Argonian Companion?"

Huszh's stomach twisted. If there was something he minded, it was being referred to as his race like it defined him. The elf under his arm pointed her face towards the ground so that her features were somewhat hidden with the midday sun, and allowed him to speak. Though she knew by his long silence after the guard had spoken meant that he was annoyed, and sighed to let him know she sympathized.

"Yes, on both accounts. We wish to enter the city."

The guard, peering out from his helmet at the woman, slowly nodded and turned to open the huge gates. The Argonian pressed the inner of his elbow against her neck slightly to beckon her to go in first, and she did so, casting a stern look at him over her thin shoulder. Pick your battles. He understood, and entered behind her without another thought, before he could tempt himself to say something to the guard.

Whiterun was indeed the pride of Skyrim. Pristine stone streets, the guards' barracks on the left and a blacksmith on the right; they could see the road ahead of them to the Bannered Mare, the Drunken Huntsman on a hill across from the one house for sale in the city. Huszh had been eyeing up that property since the last owner was killed in the dragon attack a month ago at the Western Watchtower.

"I want to get my business with the Jarl over with as soon as possible." Neph stated under her breath, a splayed hand over her satchel where the stolen book resided.

His reply was simple. "You want a scene in the market, or me to drag you up the Cloud District to present you to the Jarl?"

Her eyebrows furrowed at the latter. "Dragged? Very undignified."

The Argonian rolled his eyes, and stopped her mid-stride in the middle of the road. He glanced around; it seemed no one was paying attention, though he would lament later that he had not looked harder. He gestured to her. Have it your way, then.

A smirk rewarded him, another glimpse of humanity within her. "I do not envy you the lip you'll have after this."

She reared her fist back and flung it forward to collide with his mouth.