Quiet had settled over the Palace of the Kings this evening. The day in Windhelm had been busy for Ulfric. He had spent the day as he had many others recently: Walking the city's perimeter to find its weak points and noting them for his architect. If Windhelm was going to hold against Imperial forces, it needed an outside barrier to protect against what would eventually be a barrage of Imperial attackers. Though it seemed easy, walking the perimeter and noting issues, it was not. Between horkers and redguards in furs and Imperial spies, it had been little more than a nuisance. And aside that, the job was more complicated than it seemed. Each time they found a weak place in the perimeter they had to note it as well as stare at for what seemed like hours, trying to find the best fix. And this would be a lot easier had their been less threats to Windhelm's integrity. As it turned out, according to his architect, even a chip in a stone was considered a weakened wall joint. Windhelm had a lot of chipped walls. Needless to say, the ordeal took several days and Ulfric wore out several soles of boots tromping around Windhelm from well before dawn to well after dusk.

Now, evening had fallen on Windhelm and Ulfric could barely sit upright on the throne. Everything ached. His toes. His feet. His legs. Everything. Even his eyes hurt from the long day. And desperately, Ulfric wanted sleep. Wanted to slink from his throne and into his chambers, collapse on the bed and sleep well into the next morning. Perhaps the next afternoon or evening, even, considering his aching body was only going to get worse after sleeping. And even if he wanted to go to bed, he couldn't. His architect was rambling on and on and on about Windhelm. Turns out, he wanted to go over everything again. And by everything, he meant every crack. Every crevasse. Everything. Ulfric had lost his attention span about a half an hour into the lengthy speech, yet it had continued for an easy hour after that and the architect was showing no signs of slowing down. All the Jarl could do was slouch as obviously as possible and hope that the man could tell he was quickly losing his patience with the situation.

His mind held out hope that someone might walk through the doors of the Palace of the Kings, needing Ulfric's attention. That someone would approach the throne and need to speak to him. At this point, Ulfric didn't care what it was about. He would take a little old lady coming in to mention a Skeever infestation in her house. Ulfric would take it so long as he could use it to dismiss this man who was clearly cutting into time that would better serve Ulfric asleep. But it was well after dark and probably close to midnight and the likelihood of someone expecting an audience with the Jarl this late was low.

Still, the Jarl could hope.

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0685 WORDS FOR ankh veissa took an arrow to the butt thigh. outfit elysian

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] Home was always a relative term to her. When she was young it referred to the sprawling estate her family owned - the to the carts they traveled in, to anywhere safe from harm. Now it meant Windhelm, where the bitter cold slipped through the cracks in the far too-large mansion, where she could still get lost in the winding alleyways, and the snow never seemed to melt. Home was quiet, tucked away in a neat little corner, bordered on two sides by the city's great walls - away from the hustle of the city center, and the drunkards who were almost always screaming just outside the Hall. ("Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" they'd bellow as she walked past. Yeah? And I saw your mother with an elf last night.) She liked her new home - the isolation, the open space. From her rooftop she could see the stars and the aurora, watch the twin moons orbit and grow; the safety of caves and forest-clad hills was never far off for those times when she had to give in and let the beast inside run free. For the first time in a long while she was content - and it was all because of a stupid mistake. A soft sigh broke past her lips as she tried to ward off her own thoughts. She was curled up in the middle of her bed, furs tucked in tight around her, her loyal dog acting as a make-shift pillow. It was well past midnight but sleep wouldn't come to her - her mind was racing far too fast (it was constant, really; she never got enough sleep, and as such her eyes always looked so painfully bruised), her body wound too tightly despite the roof over her head and the warmth that surrounded her. She wasn't frightened, really - more concerned. Windhelm was the city of an alleged murderer, a leader in a bloody civil war. Attack was imminent, and she would be stuck, whether she was a supporter or not. And what would she do then? She rolled to her feet with a irritated huff, pulling her simple 'off to meet the royalty' robes and boots on. She'd heard the tromping of boots outside earlier that day - presumably Ulfric and his men still looking at the blasted walls, searching for gods-know-what - and she was going to be a good thane for once, and get his attention. She paused. No, that wasn't right; the thought of being in the spotlight made her feel physically ill. She was simply going to see if there was anything she could do, because she was so restless - The door slammed shut behind her, cold air biting her sensitive skin, and before she knew it she was already at the magnificent Palace of the Kings, wringing her hands nervously. The guards glanced at her curiously as she approached, but thankfully let her pass without a word; and suddenly, standing in the main hall, staring at Ulfric Stormcloak as some man ranted over cracks and it simply won't hold under force of a battering ram, Jarl Ulfric, she realized that she was making a target of herself (young, Breton, non-supporting, and now arrogant) and that this meeting was a horrid idea indeed. She couldn't back out though. The man had stopped his speech mid-sentence, staring at her incredulously, and Ulfric - looked like he'd been dragged behind his horse for a couple of hours. Veissalyn was absolutely speechless.

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

“And you see, I think that we could benefit from another round of mortar. Just for that little crack. Just in case.”

The crack in question was no longer than the nail on Ulfric's pinky finger. And not even half as wide. It was barely a cut in the rock that one could see leaning over it. Ulfric knew this first hand because during their walk of the city, it had been pointed out to him and he had taken a subsequent ten minutes to actually ind it in the stone. Camouflaged so well, there was no possible way that it would be noticed. Not unless someone tripped and had their face plastered up against the wall right next to it. And even then, the force of the concussion would probably skew the eyesight enough that it would never be noticed. So why Aegin the Annoying Architect was making so much a scene about it, Ulfric couldn't fathom. And truly had no desire to. It was a crack. Not a hole. A mostly-invisible crack.

“Truly, Jarl, this could make or break the foundation of the city!” Something about the dramatic way he uttered (half sang) the word 'foundation' irked Ulfric to no end. Yet he said nothing, simply sighed in such a way that expressed the copious amount of boredom that he felt. Taking this as some skewed kind of permission to continue rambling onwards, Aegin pointed out his (latest) sketch of the crack that Ulfric did not even lay eyes upon in some childish attempt at rebellion against this grotesquely exhausting man. “It simply won't hold under force of a battering ram, Jarl Ulfric--,”

Because Jarl Ulfric was not looking up at the architect or the doors in that moment, he did not see what caused the man to cut himself off mid-sentence. All he knew was that suddenly there was a blissful silence that washed over the hall. Momentarily, Ulfric thought that Aegin wanted some kind of recognition or some input to go about the task of mortar that he was fussing so beautifully over. Yet after a few seconds of no noise, Ulfric realized that his assumptions were incorrect. The tension in the air could have been cut by a knife and it was not caused (quite unfortunately) by Aegin noticing that Ulfric was bored to tears. Rather, it was when Ulfric finally heard the sound of the Palace doors touching closed that he realized that there was a new one added to their number. Looking up finally, his eyes laid on the newcomer easily.

“Thane Wintervoss. Late hour to be wandering Winhelm. And far too cold. There is mead on the table. Please help yourself while Aegin finishes his assessment of Windhelm.”

Yes, Ulfric knew of the Breton Wintervoss. Impossible not to. Not only was she something of a walking contradiction, being a Breton Thane of the most racist city in Tamriel, but he had seen her in passing. Galmar had once or twice pointed her out so Ulfric was aware of her. Yet there had been so little time between plotting and scheming and generally trying to fell the Imperials that he'd had no time to meet her properly. And it was more acceptable for she to approach the Throne than he to approach her. Of course, his time on the throne had been much abbreviated as of late. Sitting around (as evidenced by his irritated and aching posture) was not one of his priorities as of late.

“...Finishing my... Assessment, my Jarl? But... But Windhelm has not been comprehensively assessed. We've only just covered the Eastern perimeter. We've still got to discuss the North, South and West... And eventually we'll need to see the docks and... My Jarl, I do think that you are taking this a bit quickly. The city is still very vulnerable until we mortar and restone all of these Achilles spots,” he said, holding up and pointing furtively to his drawing like a very small, wronged child.

“Aegin... You have done a fine job. And more than your fair share for the reconstitution of Windhelm. However, I think that your expertise in the matter outweighs that of mine. I will trust what you see and I allow you free license to patch anything that makes you uneasy. You and your assistants are given from the hours of sunrise to sunset, though not between. Citizens need uninterrupted sleep. But truly, Aegin: You are a Master of your craft and I have faith in your abilities. Thus I am trusting you to act without my direct approval. But for now, it has been a long day. Please, retire to the chambers I have offered you and I will have my Housecarl bring you dinner.”

Pleased by Ulfric's twist on the situation, Aegin nodded and dismissed himself with a smile, the promise of dinner and relaxation far too much for him to dispute. Ulfric, however, peeled himself quite painfully off of his throne and stepped down onto the floor, making his way slowly towards his Thane. It was with ginger movements that he came to sit near her and give her his undivided attention.

“My apologies. Aegin is a wonder at his work but it often finds himself too entrenched in it. And unfortunately, everyone else around him seems to fall into that trench as well. In any case, it a pleasure to finally meet you, Thane Wintervoss. What is it that brings you to the Palace of the Kings this evening? What may I offer you?”

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