A/N: No notes for this one. You get a little bit of a history lesson for what led up to the Civil War, but everything is explained. I think. If anything ever confuses anyone who isn't a member of both fandoms, or even someone who is, just PM me and I'll do my best to answer whatever questions you may have. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

Rating: M for mentions of abuse and character death.

Ulfric Stormcloak had never had a particular fondness for the color blue. It was the color of the sky, and the sea, and the eyes of a girl he had once been sweet on. But it had no true significance. The sky would darken, the sea would grow white with foam, and the girl would marry a different man. It was a color, like any other.

Until that was, the White-Gold Concordant had been signed, and Skyrim had been given to the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. Talos worship became punishable by death, the Nords who loved their home became rebels, and the color blue became one of power, and freedom.

On that fateful day, sixteen years before, Ulfric Stormcloak, a veteran of the Great War and a man who loved his country, had sworn to drive the Empire out of Skyrim. But it would be a long time yet before he acted. He became a Jarl, gained the loyalty of his people, and continued to pray to the hero-god. When High King Istold died, a Moot was called, and Ulfric chose that as his day to act. He called for a free Skyrim, independent of the influence of the Imperials and the Thalmor. Despite his reputation, his pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and Torygg had been crowned king, General Tywin Lannister at his side for the coronation.

The new king had sent a letter to Windhelm following his ascension to the throne, praising Ulfric for his bravery in speaking out for independence, and expressing an interest in discussing the possibility of another treaty. It was intended to loosen the iron-clad grip of the White-Gold Concordant and give Skyrim a measure of freedom while remaining under the command of the Empire. But in the end, it was just another piece of bloody parchment.

Once, as young men, Torygg, Eddard, and Ulfric had been close friends, but the war had changed them and in the end, the High King proved to be nothing more than a fool, even to his final moment when his blood stained Ulfric's blade red, the color of the Empire. The cry of murder followed him as he rode to the gates of Solitude, and they opened before him. Eddard Stark, ever a man who cared for honor, could not hold back the victor of an honorable fight, even if it was a friend who had been killed.

Not but a fortnight later, Robb Stark had appeared at the gates of Windhelm, determined to fight for the man that his father had died for. He was barely a man at the time, only just one-and-twenty, but Ulfric had given him a sword and a set of armor, and the lad had quickly proven himself.

With the "Young Wolf" at his side, Ulfric Stormcloak had conquered the East, gaining support and soldiers alike until the Stormcloak army was far more than just a band of meddlesome rebels. Robb Stark was a man that he could trust, a man who brought victory to the Nord army and struck fear in the hearts of the Lannisters. He was a man that Ulfric was proud to call a friend.

Now, the war had stretched on for nearly five years, the worn leather map in the Palace of Kings was all but covered in blue, and Robb Stark was a traitor.

Sansa was awake when Ulfric entered her chambers, seated in front of the room's barred window as her maid brushed through her long auburn hair. He didn't miss the way she tensed as he opened the door, and the smile on her face was swiftly replaced with a carefully guarded expression.

"My lord."

There was a dark bruise high on her breast, newly swollen from the night before and visible through the thin shift she wore. It pleased him to see it against the white of her skin.

"Where is your brother?" he asked, watching as the pregnant servant continued to pull the brush through her mistress' hair until it shone.

"I don't know," Sansa replied evenly, rising from the chair and making her way to the pitcher of water beside her bed. He could see her nipples through the sheer fabric, hard in the winter chill, and he felt a familiar tug in the pit of his stomach. She truly was one of the most beautiful women in Skyrim, and still so young. He had made a good choice of bride.

"I haven't seen him since you sent him to Whiterun," she continued, sipping daintily from an engraved silver cup. "I would assume he's with his men."

"My men," Ulfric replied, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Sansa's eyes fell at the movement then slowly rose to meet his gaze again.

"Of course, my lord."

Robb Stark had once been a stern, but just and honest man, like his father, and he had gained the favor of all of those who fought beneath the Stormcloak banner. If only they knew that he had betrayed the name of their cause. Perhaps then they would be more reluctant to follow him.

"If he isn't there and you see him," Ulfric said after a moment, regaining his composure, "tell him I need him. I'll be in the war room."

His wife nodded in acknowledgment before turning away and letting the maid remove her shift. He stopped in the doorway for a moment longer, eyes lingering on the swell of her hips. Though he had half a mind to dismiss the girl and have her right then, he refrained, leaving her chambers behind. He would return come nightfall. She would need the comfort.

Robb was indeed with the men, watching dispassionately from the fringes of the training yard as the new recruits shot a line of straw dummies full of iron arrows. Ulfric was glad they would witness this.

The Stormblade straightened up at Ulfric's approach, his expression shifting to one of suppressed alarm when he noted the two city guards at his sides.

"Has something happened, Your Grace?"

Ulfric nodded, his gaze hard and cold as it met the confusion in Robb's eyes. Once, they had been eyes filled with trust and admiration.

"Yes. In light of recent events, it seems that we have a traitor in our midst."

His expression was one of complete shock, and for a moment, Ulfric almost found himself believing that it was genuine.

"My lord—"

Ulfric cut him off with a sharply raised hand, and a hush fell over the training yard. In the sudden silence, Ulfric's voice was loud and echoed harshly off of the stone that surrounded them.

"Robb Stark, you are hereby accused of treason and sentenced to death by execution. Guards, take him to the dungeons."

Ulfric was pinning a red flag to the map marking that denoted Whiterun when the doors to the palace opened. The footsteps that followed were heavy and swift, the gait of one who carried important news.

The man that appeared in the doorway was Ralof, the highest ranked soldier below Robb, a brave and loyal man by all accounts. He would prove to be a great asset as the new Stormblade.

His eyes were dark with anger as he entered and Ulfric was taken aback by the fury in his tone. "Have you gone mad?"

Keeping his own emotions in check, Ulfric raised his gaze briefly from the map before replying. "It's good to see you back from Riverwood. I'll be needing you shortly."

The younger man took another step forward, eyes narrowed. "Treason? You've accused Robb Stark of treason? You'll have mutiny in the ranks!"

At that, Ulfric looked up, his jaw clenched. "I'd have had mutiny if I didn't. The soldiers that fight beneath my banner look to him as if he's to be their king. If I didn't need an army to take Whiterun, they would be standing beside him at the block."

"Robb Stark is a good man, my lord," Ralof continued, no less incensed. "He's no traitor."

The Jarl was quiet for a moment before picking up a worn letter from the edge of the table and holding it forward.

"You delivered this to me yourself, did you not?"

Ralof hesitated as he took it, and when his gaze lifted once more, it was heavy with guilt. "He was concerned for your safety, my lord, nothing more."

Ulfric ignored him. "Was it not you yourself who first mentioned the word 'treason'? You questioned his motives enough to voice your concerns to me."

His gaze turned away. "I was wrong, my lord."

"And yet," he continued. "He was right. I disregarded his warning, marched on Falkreath, and was nearly executed by the Imperial Legion. How could he have known I was in danger if he didn't have a hand in the very plans that made me so?"

Ralof opened his mouth to argue, but Ulfric cut him off. "That isn't all, soldier. He failed to secure the Jagged Crown, leaving it to fall into Imperial hands. Now, even the Nords, my people, our people, have a reason to trust Torygg's woman with the throne."

"They fought at Korvanjund, your grace. A few men died at the hands of the Imperials. They had no choice but to retreat or else join them in Sovngarde."

Ulfric nodded slowly before looking back to the map. The red flag in its center was glaring, out of place amongst the blue that surrounded it.

"And what of Whiterun? Balgruuf is a sensible man, a Nord who cares for this country, and a Talos worshipper despite the Concordant. What reason would he have to support the Legion?"

Ralof's expression changed to one of disbelief. "Are you suggesting that it was Robb who urged him to do so?"

He didn't bother to answer the question. It was a clear enough fact to see.

"I thought Robb a friend, but only because I allowed myself to let down my guard. His father was killed for what I did, and it seems that his son was never one to forgive."

Ralof shook his head, but stayed silent, the letter still open in his palm, evidence of his own betrayal against his friend. Ulfric knew that the boy would not agree with the sentence, but could be convinced to see the truth of it in time. He was loyal to Skyrim above all else, and that would make him see Robb's treason for what it was.

"Prepare yourself. This evening, you shall don the executioner's hood once more."

At that, the young soldier lifted his gaze, eyes wet with unshed tears. He hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't, my lord. I'm sorry, but…I can't. Robb was—is, a good man, and a friend. Have someone else carry out the sentence."

Dropping the letter back to the table, he shook his head once more, turned his pained gaze to Ulfric a final time, and withdrew.

Ulfric watched him leave, quiet and reflective. It would be wise to keep him close.

The night was cold and grey, a light rain falling from the clouds and soaking the crowd that stood beneath. It was a fitting scene for death.

The man beneath the hood was one of the captains that had remained in Windhelm, a man named Rorge. He had come to Ulfric himself, asking for the honor of holding the axe that would remove Robb Stark's head. The Jarl had been pleased. It would serve him well to move Rorge higher in the ranks.

As he was led to the block, Robb Stark showed no fear. His eyes were clear and bright, his expression neutral, his hands steady.

Ralof stood at the front of the crowd, his features grim. Lady Sansa stood at his side, her eyes rimmed with red. Ulfric watched her closely. She had come to him after the sentence had reached her ears and when he tried to subdue her, she had fought, for the first time since the execution of Sandor Clegane, cursing him in the name of all the gods for his cruelty. Her black gown hid the new scars.

"I, Lord Ulfric of House Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and future High King of Skyrim, condemn Robb of House Stark to death by execution for the crime of high treason."

The words were the same, and they carried with them no less of a victory. The first death had earned him his freedom. The second, his bride. The third would secure his soldiers' loyalty, and in time, the throne of Skyrim.

"This man has conspired with the Empire and the Thalmor to bring about my death and place Elisif on the throne of Skyrim. For that, his life is forfeit. What say you in your defense?"

All eyes turned to the young man at the block, standing tall and proud. When he spoke, it was with an even tone, as though he had no fear of death.

"I have lived my life for Skyrim," he replied, neither refuting nor supporting his accusation. "And I wanted nothing more than to see her free. If my death will serve as a means to that end, so be it. I will drink to her freedom in the halls of Sovngarde with my father before me."

Ulfric's jaw clenched. Robb Stark would not be a martyr, he would see to that. The Young Wolf would be removed from the record books, and in his place, only the traitor would remain.

"Executioner, let the Jarl's Justice be done."