The ice wraith teeth hit the map, tinkling together like broken glass.

"Done. Next?" Athene put on a bored face and looked up at Galmar.

He boomed out a laugh. "Well, well. I didn't think you'd come back."

"No kidding. You sent me to my death."

"Not at all. But I wasn't convinced you were committed to the cause. Now I know. You're Stormcloak material after all."

The pride and pleasure in his voice grated on Athene nerves.

"Does that mean I can stop washing floors?"

"Aye. You ready to take the oath?"

"Oath?" She was the spokesperson for a dead creature serving Sithis and she'd never had to take an oath for that. Now there was an oath?

"To join the Stormcloaks you must swear fealty to Ulfric, the true High King of Skyrim."

At least there was irony involved.

"All right. Hit me," Athene said.

She hadn't realized how well known she'd become. The evening of her oath they held a party in the barracks that spilled through the Palace of the Kings, Nord Mead and Alto Wine flowing. Even Ulfric appeared for a while, smiling at them all like a proud parent. Athene raised her glass to him and he looked troubled.

"Does he ever join the rest of us?" she asked Longs-for-Stars. "Does he ever go around to the camps, even?"

"He has a lot to do right here in Windhelm," the Argonian said. Ever the loyalist.

Athen watched her true High King of Skyrim retreat up the stairs to his wing of the palace. Her Stormcloak compatriots were swapping stories of their time on the ice, fighting wraiths or ambushing Imperials unused to the intense cold. She took the opportunity to slip away.

This wing of the palace was similar to the others but there were more locked doors and Ulfric's quarters commanded the largest room at the end of the hall. Athene had cleaned there more than once, but never when he was around. Anytime she'd wandered he was occupied with court or elsewhere, and she was more likely to run into Galmar, asking her what she wanted and when she'd be finished.

Tonight Galmar was revelling with his soldiers. Some of the doors had been left unlocked, some left opened, but Athene ignored them all and made her way down the hall.

Ulfric's door was closed, and likely locked, but it wouldn't hurt to listen, to peer through a keyhole and perhaps witness what he did when he wasn't on display as Skyrim's best hope.

Some steps away she slowed, her footsteps whisper-quiet on the stone.

She strained for sound. Even the pages of a book. Or a groan as he took off his boots and let himself relax, finally.

Reaching the door, she leaned her ear close.

From the shadows leading down another hall, movement startled her. She went to flee and was grabbed hard around the waist.

Ulfric held her, looked at her, then dropped her.

"You took the oath, today?" he said.

"Yes, my King."

"No need to clean up here anymore, I think."

"No, my King."

He squinted at her. "Did you mean it, truly?"

"My oath?"

"Your oath."

Was that why he'd seemed troubled downstairs? He didn't believe her loyalty? He wasn't stupid, then. Even as they stood by his quarters, in the heart of his safest place, surrounded by those who loved him, her hands itched to finish her mission. End this man's life and end the civil war. Earn her fifty thousand septims and return to the Dawnstar sanctuary in victory.

Her stomach hurt from his assault. She had never been strong or able to overcome many who saw her coming. The last few real fights she'd had–killing the vampires Hert and Hern, and with the ice wraiths on Serpentstone Isle–had been near-deadly. And neither of those were fights with trained soldiers who lived on constant guard. The man in front of her thought himself a King, and he held himself as a King. More, he'd managed to murder the true High King, and escape. Maybe she could get a blade into his belly, if she was quick, but would it stop him for good? Or even long enough to keep him from killing her in reply?

"Of course, my King," she said. "I swore fealty to you, to Skyrim and her people. I will bleed to destroy the Empire and I will follow your every command until this country is cleansed of Thalmor and any others who lay claim to our home."

"By Talos, you sound like a propaganda machine. Do you have an original thought in your head? Who wound you up and sent you here, talking like that?"

Athene was stung. "Every thought I have is my own."

"And I'd like to hear them, rather than the parroting you're stuck on now."

She bit her lip.

"But perhaps I never will. Are you intimidated, Athene?"

Sure, she was. She wanted to kill him and knew she couldn't do it. Not yet.

But he'd seen through her poor veil of obedience and knew there was something else within. No point in hiding it now. What should she choose to show him, to make him think he'd seen it all?

It was interesting that he remember her name. Did he remember all his soldier's names, or just the young women?

"I am intimidated," she said. "I stand next to you and see a man who will change all of Tamriel, not just Skyrim. It's… exciting."

Ulfric snorted. "If seduction is your game, you're a little late. I have Nord and elven women alike lining up to warm my bed."

"And how many of them excite you any longer than it takes to 'warm your bed?'"

"Tell me you have some Bosmer trick involving a treehouse and a couple of arrows."

"I can Shout."

Had they been alone the whole time? Athene hadn't seen or heard anyone on her trip up the stairs but that didn't mean anything. She hadn't heard Ulfric, either. Now the only sound was his breath and a far-off howl of frigid wind. Did he keep his windows open in his bedroom? Was he so married to his country he slept in snow?

She hadn't wanted to mention her Shout. Always knew it was a connection to Ulfric but didn't want to think about it. Now, seeing his reaction, she realized it was her greatest tool.

"I knew it was you," he whispered. "News came from Whiterun of a Dragonborn called by the Greybeards. Did you walk the 7000 steps? Did you stray from the Way of the Voice when it asked you to lay down your passions forever?"

"Did you?" Way of the Voice. Lay down her passions? The pilgrimage to High Hrothgar was more than she thought it was, then.

He bowed his head. "I did. I couldn't vow to still my voice while my country lay abused beneath the Empire."

"Noble," Athene said.

"Or weak," Ulfric said. "Get back to your party. I've no need of company tonight and your invitation is… interesting. But untimely. Enjoy your evening and maybe tomorrow we can speak again of Shouts and other painful things."

Athene was relieved. Not just that he'd accepted her fumbling attempt at seduction as rote, but because he was too damned tired or moody or accept, and that was perfect. An idea placed and let grow was much more powerful than something blurted in a dark hallway, and next time they spoke–tomorrow, or whenever–she knew her words would have become much more complicated in his mind.

She'd come to understand that defeating Ulfric would not be a simple case of a blade in the dark. It would be layered, difficult…

And so very satisfying.