"Go straight to Windhelm, alright lass?"

"Yeah, I got it. Tu'whacca, do you not think I'm capable of getting to a city without incident?"

"No, I don't."

"Gee thanks."

"Remember the last time I sent you outside of Riften? It took you almost a month just to get to Whiterun. Found out later that you'd taken it upon yourself to disband a smuggling ring and chase down some lass' axe in a Dwemer ruin."

"They needed my help- or my intervention in the case of the smugglers."

"I mean it, Najela. Straight to Windhelm. Deliver the letter to Sapphire. Straight back. No stops or no pay."

"Fiiiine. Just give me the damn thing."


The journey had actually gone pretty well, considering what Najela's trips were usually like. She'd only had to kill one misguided assassin and a rowdy bandit caravan that thought she'd want to join them for some fun, even after she said no five times and threatened to shoot them in the genitals. Hiding the loot for the trip back only took half a day, and as the Redguard moved further and further north several choice facts began to pop into her head.

Windhelm was covered in snow pretty much all of the time.

Snow meant cold.

Najela hated the cold.

And she had no more Resist Frost potions left.

"Why in Oblivion did he send me?" The woman growled as she trudged out of Kynesgrove. She kicked a rock ahead of her. "That damn redhead is plotting something. I'm half tempted to rip this letter open and see what he wrote." There was no way Brynjolf would not find out about that, though, so she resisted. It wasn't like she could really move that much in the layers of fur she'd accumulated anyway. Hopefully no one else decided to attack her on the road. Everything in Skyrim was ridiculously hostile and it was not necessary for a woman who could only walk like an overweight bear, not one bit.

It was midday when she reached Windhelm's outskirts, not that you could tell the time of day anymore. A thick gray blanket of clouds had infiltrated the sky, giving everything a dusky filter while fat snowflakes floated lazily to the ground. The wind blew bitter and dry across Najela's bare cheeks, carrying with it a hint of saltwater tang, and for the life of her the thief couldn't figure out why anyone wanted to live here. Maven Black-Briar's soul was probably the only place in Skyrim more inhospitable than this poor excuse for a settlement.

It wasn't until she was starting across the bridge that she heard the guttural grunts from the banks down below. When she saw the animals responsible for the sounds Najela almost dove off of the bridge right there.

She'd completely forgotten that horkers thrived in the ice barrens on the north. It was almost enough to make her forgive Windhelm's distant founders for settling here (almost). Their meat was plenty delicious after being preserved and carted off into Hammerfell, but there was nothing, nothing, like a horker steak fresh off of the bone.

With Najela's goal of No unnecessary detours! now completely out the window, the Redguard raced back down the bridge, almost ran into a horse as she streaked by the stable, and prepared to make the riverbanks run red. She didn't care if she had to use some of her hard-earned coin to hire a wagon back to Riften. She was harvesting every last animal here, all several hundred pounds of them.

Of course her first arrow managed to strike true and simultaneously turn every horker aggressive. They were large beasts, and the channel to the docks was not that wide; as the horkers thrashed their way out of the water, the waves rippled to the other shore and began to rock some of the moored boats. This did not please the dock workers one bit.

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?!"

"Not my cabbages!"

"You damned idiot! Just let them kill you!"

"Don't worry, Najela, Windhelm's citizens are perfectly friendly to non-elves." The Redguard sneered to herself, doing a poor imitation of Brynjolf's accent as she tried to backpeddle up the slope. Going downhill in knee-deep snow was a lot easier than trying to climb back up it, and the horkers seemed to be having a better time of it than Najela. They were gaining on her.

Movement under the bridge caught her attention; the thief was already on a wire trigger, especially with some of the dock workers waving what appeared to be bows, and she didn't think. She turned and shot and watched her arrow pierce the throat of what was undoubtedly an Imperial spy (seriously they needed to ditch the Empire uniforms if they wanted to blend in). She watched as three of her victim's friends surged out into the open, swords raised and ready for vengeance, and the horkers still seem convinced that the lone huntress was more of a threat than the approaching band of armed men.

Slow, fur-laden Najela turned and ran, with a great deal of trouble, back up the snowy slope. Her curses could probably be heard from the gates.

”What I am asking you is will we hold?”

“That is a dangerous guess to make, my Jarl. There are so many factors that will affect... It is impossible to know off hand. Not until they come.”

“When it will be too late.”

Jarl Ulfric's voice was not cruel or harsh. Simply realistic. If nobody felt that Windhelm needed reinforcements, they would not be getting reinforcements. And guarding a city was not an arena in which Ulfric was fond of 'playing it by ear' so to speak. He knew the Imperials would come. But he didn't want to be unprepared when they did. If these walls and these men would not hold, he needed to know now so he could move reinforcements from the encampments spread about Tamriel. But to move troops would take time. And time was precious to Ulfric right now.

He needed an answer.

The man walking with Ulfric across the city had dark eyes that darted every which direction, taking note of alleyways, broken walls, guard posts, buildings and the like. Ulfric noticed that he did not seem to like what he saw. And he could barely blame the man. Windhelm was but a shadow of its former self, both due to the influx of the gray-skins and the fact that the city had fallen into disrepair and there was barely enough manpower to guard it, much less fix it. Aesthetics were the last thing on Ulfric's mind.

“What worries me about Windhelm is the little alleyways. If they would find their way in, it is optimal fighting ground for everyone. Plenty of places to hide. You need to focus on not letting them in.”

A growl threatened to rise in Ulfric's throat at being told something he already knew, though he pressed it down easily. “From a tactical perspective, the alleyways give us strength. The Imperials do not know our city as we do. It would be easy for them to find themselves in a dead end or ambushed from shadows they did not know existed. This is our home. Let them come in if they think that they can take this city from the inside.”

Windhelm would have to fall from the outside.

“What about the perimeter? The city walls have holes but the guards have a decent view from the front. Any waterway access you need to be concerned about?”

“We have the docks. The scaled ones stay there.”

“Take me to them.”

The business of assessing a city did not stop within. Every point of access needed thoroughly evaluated for use. And the docks were no exception. What Ulfric expected to find at the docks was a calm scene. Silence enough to explain to this man the access points and the architecture of the dock. But what he found there was anything but.

Past he and his architect ran something that looked like an overgrown, bipedal cave bear. In hot pursuit of the alleged cave bear was a visibly enraged horker and three Imperials, which created an enraged Ulfric. However, the Windhelm guards had already caught scent of the scene and arrows flew from behind Ulfric and his architect, nailing the three young men. For several seconds, Ulfric stood puzzled by this scene, not entirely seeing the guards eliminating the irritable horker. Whatever had just happened occurred so quickly that for a moment, Ulfric was convinced that he had passed out and hallucinated. But the voice of one of the Windhelm guards finally broke into his attentions, bringing him back to the present.

And the present was not, in fact, a hallucination.

“My Jarl! Are you alright?”

“I am fine. What ha gone on here?”

“Imperials, my Jarl. Spies. Three of them. Possibly a fourth.”

Looking over at the bodies of the dead and dying young men, Ulfric saw the unmistakable Imperial armor upon their bodies. “You would think Rikke had more sense than to send them in their signature armor so boldly. ...But I only count three. Where is the fourth spy you allege?”

The guard's finger pointed towards what Ulfric had wrongly mentally labeled a cave bear.

In the midst of all of the thick fur, however, popped a tiny little head. A Redguard. In Windhelm? Ulfric didn't have the time to consider why before his head started screaming for him to get her out. His helmsmen, aware of his blatant dislike for almost anything other than Nords, began to advance on the woman. Something about her looked vaguely familiar. Not to a tee. But just enough that Ulfric's curiosity was peaked. And aside from his own personal curiosities, he wanted to know the politics behind what brought a Redguard to Windhelm.

“Stop,” he said, raising his hand to the advancing soldiers.

“Jarl? You do not wish her detained?”

Without an answer, Ulfric moved from his place alongside his architect who remained rooted to the spot, clearly flustered by this flurry of events. Fur mantle protecting the Jarl from the cold, he moved close enough to the woman to hold a conversation, though kept a safe distance (and a few Windhelm guards) between them for his own safety. He paused a moment, marveling that she could move beneath that tent of furs that she wore.

It had been such a long time since Ulfric had left Windhelm that he'd forgotten what it was like to return after spending time in a more temperate climate.

The look on his face was serious. Hardened. Having a Redguard in Windhelm was off to him and it did not seem like an innocent mistake. Few other than Nords ventured to Windhelm and certainly not singularly. The city's reputation for being malicious to non-Nords had gotten around. Yet had not seemed to deter this woman.

“What is a singular Redguard woman doing coming to Windhelm?”

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Tu'whacca ferry her, the Windhelm guards weren't completely incompetent. Najela wasn't stupid enough to waste time looking over her shoulder, but she heard the arrows whiz through the air and find their Imperial targets. She also heard a roar from one of the horkers, but when a second beastly death throe failed to follow the Redguard knew she wasn't out of the cauldron yet. It was still gaining, too, more capable of plowing through the thick drifts than a young woman used to plains and trees...

And it really didn't help when Najela tripped and fell flat on her face.

Her legs were exhausted. They felt like overcooked pasta, and it sounded like the guards were too busy exclaiming over the slain spies they'd almost missed to notice Horker approaching Woman. And damn, she was boiling! That workout had overheated her, and the abundance of furs was not helping. Except, now that her foe had caught up with her, they actually were helping.

The horker was trying its hardest to impale her with its tusks and she barely felt a thing.

She just lay there for a long moment, trying to process exactly what was happening. Her daggers were out of reach, buried under her "armor," and her bow was in her hand. Her loaded quiver was on her back but the arrows were starting to spill out around her shoulders. An angry horker was bashing its head against her torso in what could easily be mistaken as a bizarre cross-species mating ritual. And now there were men approaching her, which just put a cherry on top of a thus-far fantastic day.

With an internal groan Najela grabbed one of the loose arrows; when the horker lifted its head to strike again she flipped over, putting the arrow to the string and loosing a shot into the creature's throat. It bellowed thinly- Najela was too close to get enough momentum for a fatal shot- and slid backwards, deciding that enough was enough. A second shot through the eye did it in.

The Redguard sighed gustily and flopped over onto her back, her arms spread out, and closed her eyes. She would just lie here, cool off some, then collect her arrows and see what she could do about the carcasses...

"What is a singular Redguard woman doing coming to Windhelm?"

"Are you hitting on me?" Was the first thing that popped out of her mouth. Suffice it to say that Naj' had a very poor survival mechanism. After a moment she opened her eyes, glaring up at the man who was interrupting her snowy basking, and his face plucked at some strings in her memory.

She'd seen him before. Okay, Naj, think. Picture his face right-side up, there you go. There was something missing...what was it...maybe...no...

"Ah! You were in Helgen when the dragon hit!" A sudden, triumphant laugh escaped her throat. Of course. This was Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the Skyrim rebellion and the singular reason it has been so easy to pickpocket everyone at the execution.

"You look great bound and gagged, by the way."

Several times in a matter of seconds, the Jarl of Windhelm had to remind himself that this was not a dream. Nor was it a delusion. Nor a hallucination. And nor a comedy, he had to ad, when he watched the cave bear woman tripping and falling through the snow. Had Ulfric been a gentleman, he may have moved to help her up. But between his confusion over her race and the remaining hostile horker, his brain could not fathom what he should be doing. It left him standing quite still, puzzled as all of this excitement went on around him as if he were not there. It was not often that atypical happenings occurred in Windhelm. Atypical was more a descriptor for Winterhold or even Whiterun. Maybe Solitude. But Windhelm... It was not popular enough a destination to bring many travelers and the Windhelm guards were notorious for being quite stern in their law enforcement.

Atypical was not welcome in Windhelm.

And atypical included whatever this horker was attempting to do to this women. Momentarily, he wondered if the woman was not hunting the horker at all, or rather doing... Well... Things Ulfric did not care to contemplate at this moment. Instead of allowing his mind to drift into unwanted places, he uprooted himself from his spot just in time to watch the woman off the horker with an arrow. To the eye, nonetheless. The Jarl had fully expected her to get up once her foe had fallen, though she did quite the contrary. Flopping back onto the ground, quite like a fish out of water, her eyes closed and she was presumably falling asleep. Quite puzzling, indeed...

Where was Galmar? He was the one that typically handled situations like this...

Yet Ulfric's words seemed to wake her up. And her words did the same to the Jarl. To accuse the Jarl of Windhelm of desiring a Redguard woman? Who did she think she was? An abashed look crossed Ulfric's face as he looked down upon her seriously. “Hitting on you? Really? Do you know I am, Redguard? Nobody that is interested in blood less than Nordic.”

Ulfric had never been quiet about his racism.

Debating walking away, the only thing that tethered Ulfric to this spot was the way she was looking at him. It wasn't appraising, as so many were. But rather searching. For what, he did not know. It was possible that she did not know to whom she spoke, though it was not probable. His face was well known throughout Skyrim. And even if she had never seen his likeness, Windhelm was his city. And here he was, formal clothes, a fur mantle, the gag passed down from his father atop his head. Speaking to a man about reinforcing the city. It did not take a genius to deduce that it was Windhelm's Jarl.

Not to mention the guards all addressing him as such.

But within a few seconds, he saw the memory in her eyes. It was a glint of recognition and before Ulfric knew it, she had remembered Helgen and the dragon. Not surprising. It was common knowledge that Ulfric was in Helgen, ready to be put on the chopping block for execution. Everyone that was at Helgen had gathered around and pointed at him. Laughing. Taunting. Just like the gray face in his mind did every single day...

“I cannot begin to think why you would have been at Helgen unless you, too, were on the list ordered for execution. And I do not remember you among those in shackles.”

Not that he would have remembered her even if she were sitting in the carriage next to him on the way to death. Ulfric remembered very little of Helgen. His time in captivity being escorted to the block was spent in silent prayer to Talos, asking redemption for his soul. Mortal matters had not trifled him that day.

Yet his words fell short as she referenced his status in Helgen: Bound and gagged. For a moment he stood silent before her, unsure whether to take that as an insult (that he was rightfully a criminal) or a sexual innuendo (Ulfric was no stranger to tying his women to the bed for variety). Either way, he didn't like it and it showed on his face. “Remember it well, then, for it is not a vision you will see again. Now, I ask you again and I would like an answer: What brings you to Windhelm, horker slayer?”

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Out of the cauldron and into the fire, it seemed. The Jarl's less-than-friendly reply brought nothing more than a thoughtful frown to the Redguard's face; she was hardly insulted, not when she spent a large portion of her time around Vex. But it was becomingly increasingly clear that Seriouspants Ulfric had absolutely zero sense of humor.

So basically Windhelm was still the worst city in Skyrim. Lovely.

"First of all," she began, sitting up and collecting her stray arrows with a graceful swipe of her hand, "you're probably twice my age, and I have better taste than wrinkly old men. Secondly, since when was Windhelm actually off-limits to travelers? Sure you're all closed-minded ignoramuses, but that doesn't mean I can't just stop in." She rose to her feet, depositing the handful of arrows into her quiver and proceeding to strip off her layers of fur. "Is it a crime to visit so I could say I've been here?"

This was the second sign that Najela was not from a cold climate. Besides having no idea how to walk in deep snow, she was taking off layers when she was hot- any Nord could have told her that this was the quickest way to get hypothermia. Ulfric probably wouldn't bother, but luckily the entrance to the city was close. She'd have shelter, assuming His Majesty was going to let her in.

Once she was dramatically slimmed down she draped the furs over her shoulder, belying a greater strength than her figure suggested. One arm curled around her burden to keep them in place; the other propped onto her hip. "Of course I wasn't a prisoner in Helgen. I was passing through and I stopped to see what the commotion was about. You know what happened next. Noow, if you don't mind, I'm just going to pop into the inn."

She turned to walk (read: trudge in deep snow) past Ulfric. After a second she paused and added "And you're welcome for revealing the spies for you. Keep the horkers there, will ya? I want the meat."

With that she strode back up towards the bridge. Or, at least, she tried. Surely Najela didn't expect to just waltz into the city of the most racist man in the country, especially after she'd she just sexually harassed and then insulted him.

If her thoughts were public forum and Ulfric was able to see them, he would have laughed at the very insinuation that he should have a sense of humor. He was a Jarl. It was not a Jarl's job to be funny and sweet and generally loving of all the world's little individuals. It was a Jarl's job to defend his city. Reinforce his walls. Train his soldiers. Win wars. Few Jarl's were polite or even open with visitors and many were the same with their people outside of their trusted confidantes.

Ulfric did have people that he cared for and trusted. This was not to say as he cared for nobody and acted frosty to all. There were people whom Ulfric treated like gold. People he would lay down his life for without hesitation. People he would care for with his own gentle hand without a second thought. But those people were few and far between. Given, he would lay his life for Windhelm, its people and the Stormcloak cause. But in the general scheme of individuals... The numbers were few. And he certainly did not act the same in front of those he cared for as he did now as he took on his role of a Jarl.

A Jarl defending his city.

Her words did not perturb him. He was not threatened by the Redguard woman and certainly not on the grounds of his own city. There was a very small modicum of irritation with the way she was addressing him, but he reminded himself that he did, in fact, have the upper hand here. She was in his city under his rule. And he wasn't afraid to show that. Giving the men at his gate a meaningful look, they nodded in response and closed the gates to Windhelm, leaving Ulfric, the Redguard woman, his architect and a few Stormcloak soldiers locked outside. Which was perfectly fine for Ulfric. Windhelm had been his home since birth, sans the years he spent in High Hrothgar. But he was used to the cold. Welcomed it. And he was more than willing to be locked out of Windhelm's gates if it meant trouble was locked out with him.

Slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched her advancing on the gate before it closed. “I have no problem with people visiting my city. But I have problems with people who disrespect the throne of a city yet still expect to enter it. Unwise, for both themselves and the Jarl.”

One thing about Windhelm was that its inhabitants were fiercely loyal to Ulfric – at least, the Nord ones. Not the Gray Quarter, but Ulfric didn't give a damn about them. They could vacate whenever they liked and the sooner the better, as far as Ulfric was concerned. To come into a city such as Windhelm after disrespecting the Jarl would be problematic at best. The guards would keep a constant eye on you and likely not intervene if you found trouble. The city's inhabitants may also be less hospitable than a snow storm. Still, he was not forbidding her to enter. He was just forbidding her to enter right now. If he got some answers, he may be persuaded to change his mind.

“I am sure you aware that a Jarl is a city's protector. We keep the good people in. And the bad ones out. I do not know what you are. But if you are willing to tell me why it is that you are here, I may let them open the gates for you to enter. But without answers, I'm afraid I can't risk an unknown in my city.”

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Why would Sapphire willingly want to work in this city? It was cold, it snowed all of the time, it was run-down, and the Jarl was clearly a man who could have as much fun as a box of rocks. Mudcrabs were more entertaining than this guy- and a lot less infuriating, Najela realized, as she stood and watched the gates to the city close.

He was shutting off Windhelm solely to her. This was the reason she didn't do these kinds of jobs. Najela was only good with people if she liked them or was trying to rob them, and neither applied to Ulfric Stormcloak.

What was even more frustrating was the fact that the Jarl's reasons behind this decision...weren't exactly baseless. Even Naj' couldn't admit that she'd approached any level of respect, even after he had essentially taken care of the mob of people and animals trying to kill her.

"...okay, fair point." She admitted, still staring at the gate as if she could mentally make the doors creak open again. If Ulfric had been alone she might have outright told him why she was here- she was a member of the Thieves Guild and she was very well aware of the fact that this powerful man was now a client. She was also well aware that most clients didn't like to be revealed in public; she couldn't very well just say "I've got a message from the Guild" or anything of the like. People would put two and two together and Najela was not going to explain to Brynjolf how she had effectively ruined a huge contract with one sentence.

So instead she turned, almost casually, to eye the Jarl. "I'm just dropping by to deliver a message to a friend. Her name's, ah, Emerald, in case you were wondering."

She gave Ulfric a subtle but pointed look. Hopefully he would clue in to what she was getting at.

Oh, right, and he probably needed further explanation. He hadn't exactly met her out of normal circumstances. "Also I noticed the horkers and wanted the meat, unless I'm not allowed to take them because they're Windhelm property. I think I at least deserve one, yeah?" She had unwittingly revealed Imperial spies and then killed one of them, after all. Surely Ulfric would consider that worthy of processing the walrus carcasses.

There was the smallest of smirks on the Jarl's face as Naj seemed to realize that he was simply being what a Jarl should be – the protector of his lands. In many ways, he had half expected her to turn around and leave rather than trying to convince him to get into the city. Much to his surprise, she opened her mouth to speak again. And though she had not yet explained herself, something in her eyes told Ulfric that she intended to.

And he was curious.

When she did finally speak, using cryptic language to hide her meaning, Ulfric straightened up noticeably. He knew that she meant Sapphire. Sapphire who was presently safely within the Windhelm walls and the walls of the Palace of the Kings, enjoying all of the comforts that Ulfric could offer her. To hear that this woman was coming to speak to her put Ulfric slightly on edge, though he had a good idea where she was from. That being said, he still was unable to allow himself to open the gates until he was sure that she had no intention of harming the woman inside.

Holding a hand up to motion for his guards and those attending him to stay back, he made slow and easy steps toward this woman. It was possible that she was part of the Guild, but Ulfric was unsure. He had no solid evidence of such. Had Sapphire been here, she would have been able to confirm. But without her, Ulfric was stepping into the dark.

As he approached her, his voice was low. Although it would not necessarily harm him to admit the woman's name and affiliation in his city, he wished to avoid putting a target on her back. The last thing he needed was the Imperials finding out that she was taking private contracts from him and setting out to kill her. Or use her as collateral – which would be quite effective against Ulfric.

Watching her closely, he finally spoke. “The woman you speak of is residing safely in the Palace of the Kings under my personal protection until her leave of Windhelm.” He supposed that there was no use in denying Sapphire's presence here. The only ones that would know to ask for her would be the Thieves Guild. And even if this woman proved to be otherwise, it would not be difficult for Ulfric to behead her and be rid of his problem. And if she was part of the Thieves Guild, it was likely that the message she spoke of was from Brynjolf – a message Ulfric would not keep from Sapphire. If Brynjolf was sending word, it was important.

“I am assuming a mutual friend sent you, right lass?”

If she understood the stolen figure of speech, she would be allowed in the city – heavily guarded until Sapphire attested to knowing her, if that was the case. At which point, she would be allowed roam of the city and the main rooms of the Palace of the Kings. Main rooms only, not the upper floors. He did not trust this woman as far as he could throw her. She seemed likely to get funny ideas about stealing the silver.

Glancing at the horkers, he narrowed his eyes slightly. “If you are truly a friend of the woman at the Palace of the Kings, you may return for the horkers and do with them what you will. If she does not know you, or anything of your little business venture, you will not need the horkers – dead women do not eat.”

If Sapphire did not know her, Windhelm would be her new resting place.

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