Dusk shone orange through the snow flurries around Windhelm. Ulfric Stormcloak was hidden beneath a thick cloak and hood, escorted by his second in command, Galmar Stone-Fist. He hadn't announced his intentions and even the Stormcloak soldiers at the gates spared barely a nod to their true High King.

Athene watched from the end of the bridge that led over the inlet to the stables. She'd spent the night pacing and her eyes were fuzzy without sleep, but she felt sharp beneath it all, like there was something larger than herself inside her skin. Something with a jagged spine and talons, stretching to break free. She felt positively vicious.

As the two men approached she stood straighter and nodded.

"I've scouted the house. It looks good, but I still want to go in first."

"Of course," Galmar said. He'd lost none of his attitude since her release from jail and showed all his dislike for her with his tone and expression.

She smiled at him.

"Let's go," Ulfric said. "Dusk is a good time to travel unseen, but I don't want to stumble into an ambush in full night."

Athene led the way, a small figure in hide armor walking two well-bundled Nords that might have been visiting nobility, or hired mercenaries. Perhaps she appeared to be the nobility, and these were her bodyguards. The thought nearly made her laugh.

The house where they were headed was a quarter hour away and they made good time on the low road by the river. Steam rose up into a thick mist that shone gold, then silver, as the sun found the horizon. There was a torch burning in the abandoned house, making it visible from some way off. The group stopped and looked, studying the lay of the land, the cracks of light visible through the dilapidated walls, even the sky—Whatever they thought they needed to see. Galmar even turned and peered behind them.

"I'll go in," Athene said. She stepped forward.

Galmar put a rough hand on her shoulder and dragged her to a stop. She turned to him, annoyed, then saw his grim face and Ulfric's mirrored disappointment.

A lone figure walked out of the house, too tall to be a child. No one Athene knew. A soldier.

"What…?"

Ulfric shook his head. "Sorry, Dragonborn. But I do not give my trust away so easily as that. I had other men scout the house, men I trusted, and they found no sign of Raerek. No sign of anyone. Whatever you were planning tonight, it wasn't an exchange of information."

Killing the Emperor had been so easy compared to this. After all was said and done, she'd just murdered a ship of people and made her way to him. This? This was all psychology.

Galmar's fingers bit through her armor and Athene heard footsteps that were almost a march. How many others had he brought with him, without her knowledge? What was his reaction when he thought he'd been betrayed?

Well that much was obvious. King Torygg could have told her.

Facing the two men who finally knew her for a traitor, Athene heard a whisper on the wind, a rumble meant only for her.

You are doom driven.

Galmar gasped, and she thought he'd heard it but then she saw he was staring some distance away.

"So there was a daughter," he said.

Now they could all see it, the crumbled form from behind the mist, and now obscured again. The child looked dead.

"Galmar," Ulfric's voice held a note of warning. He'd taken hold of Athene when his second in command moved away.

"I don't think she's breathing." Galmar stepped closer and knelt. "She's cold."

"Kynesgrove," Athene said.

"Don't speak to us." Galmar glared at her.

"Is she truly dead?" Ulfric said.

"I don't think so. Not yet. I can't tell what's wrong with her."

"Then the elf is right. You must take her to Kynesgrove, to someone who can help. Not back to Windhelm."

"I'm not leaving your side."

"I'll have my men. My loyal soldiers."

He shook Athene's shoulder as he said it and she looked up at him, putting as much amusement into her eyes as she could, quirking her mouth. "You don't trust me."

"Very good, elf."

"Last night you trusted me."

"Last night—"

"I could have killed you in your sleep after I'd sated you to exhaustion. That, I suppose, would have been a true Nord's death. Yes?"

"Don't speak to me." He growled, perhaps unwilling to admit to Galmar how close he'd come. But Galmar had Babette in his arms and was climbing up the hill.

What a softie, Athene thought.

She kept talking despite Ulfric's command.

"Do you wonder when I was turned? If I was ever loyal to you? Or do you assume that since I'm an elf treachery is my second nature?"

"Shut up."

"Will I get a trial this time? Or will you shout me apart yourself, right here?"

"Don't tempt my wrath, elf!"

Somewhere in the fog the smallest sound broke into their conversation. Something like a giggle, or the cackle of a mad clown.

Athene grinned. "You'll never know how much I knew about you. How much I might have told the Imperials. The Emperor himself, even. The Thalmor. Elenwen."

Ulfric's torture at the hands of the Altmer Elenwen was legendary. There were rumours it was what had finally led him to take up arms against the Empire.

As she said the name his eyes widened and he snarled, ferocious, the true son of the Bear of Markarth.

Athene slipped from his heavy grasp and dropped low, rolling into the fog toward the river.

"Come back here!" His shout made her flesh crawl. He was beyond furious now, ready to murder. But his anger deafened him, and stopped him from wondering why his so very loyal soldiers hadn't closed ranks around them. He would never realize the tiny giggle of an insane jester explained everything. He couldn't see the still forms of a dozen dead men, bleeding into the snow beyond the haze.

Head down against the chill, Athene ran. She made it to the river and splashed in, knowing her progress would be marked immediately, knowing his footsteps were close behind her.

On the far bank she pulled herself up as quickly as possible. The soft ground fell away but she pushed with her leather boots and scrabbled onto the road, out of the mist. The snow had stopped and the great city was lit along its bridge and walls, a beacon. Athene ignored it and threw herself off the road to a path that curved up over boulders to a single massive figure.

The statue of Talos stood staring at the traditional capital of his once great country. Sword in hand, he bowed his head to the strife that had eaten at his countrymen. The man-turned-God who claimed the blood of dragons was silent as Athene reached his back and turned, Ulfric Stormcloak on her heels.

The assassin smoothly slid two daggers out of her sleeves and drove them deep into Ulfric's shoulders.

He blinked at her, and laughed. This was why she'd never tried the direct approach before. It was useless. He was too strong, too battle-hardened. He brushed away her hands, and as she dove behind him he readied his waraxe, aimed at her head even after she'd moved. He was quick, too.

Athene took a breath.

"FUS!" she Shouted.

Without a moment to react Ulfric was thrown back, doll-like, tossed from the seat of the shrine. From Talos' arms he sailed over the boulders and down, down, to the stone bridge that led across the river to his city. He landed with the crack of a glacier breaking from summer thaw.

Athene breathed, just breathed, and looked at him. He was absolutely still. His waraxe was several feet away, his arms outstretched.

"Hail Sithis," she said. But it was another God that echoed in her mind and whispered its rumbling warning for her alone.

Doom driven.