A/N: This story contains strong language and sexual content. This particular Dragonborn has been a regular on the kinkmeme, but most of the stories featuring him are too saucy for ffnet. You can, however, find them on Ao3 under the same author name. There are a few references to his previous adventures scattered throughout the story, but it's not necessary to have read the previous stories.

Yrsarald paced across the snowy steps in front of the Palace of the Kings, frowning and occasionally blinking the snow out of his eyes. He jumped slightly when a black clad figure stepped out of the swirling snow, pulling a fur hood back from his head.

Dyce smiled.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Ysarald said.

"I keep my promises. I just had other things to do first."

"Is it true you captured a dragon in Dragonsreach?" He ushered the Breton towards the doors.

"Yes." Dyce shrugged. "But I let him go again. I needed his help. Is the jarl expecting me?"

"Indeed he is. He anticipates your Thu'um will be priceless on the battlefield, and your mere presence behind us priceless in court." Yrsarald opened the doors and preceded Dyce through into the warmth of the great hall of the Palace of the Kings.

"But?" Dyce brushed the snow off his cloak and knocked it off his boots.

"I wasn't at the peace talks at High Hrothgar, but he seems to think you're a fool."

"The only thing foolish about me was my attendance in the first place," Dyce said with a scowl. "Well, he doesn't have to like me personally. I'm not exactly enamored of him after all. I was at the peace talks too, remember."

Ulfric and Galmar were talking down the other end of the hall, and although Ulfric could see Dyce and Yrsarald, he didn't break the conversation. Over the long table, thief and jarl regarded each other expressionlessly.

"Wait." Yrsarald put his hand on Dyce's shoulder. "It is good to see you again. And even if Ulfric isn't sure about you, I am. You're a hero. You're the Dragonborn."

"Maybe, but what is Ulfric?"

"He's the rightful king of Skyrim."

"We'll see," Dyce said softly.

He'd been dreading this, but the mistakes he'd made in avoiding facing the Greybeards, and the lives that had been lost to dragons in the meantime, had convinced him that he had to be here. The war had to end, one way or another, and the peace talks had convinced him that words alone – even shouts – couldn't break the deadlock. And all the while Elenwen smiled.

Part of him wanted to believe in Ulfric the way Yrsarald did, but he knew too much for blind faith. It was enough to to remain undecided about the man lounging on his throne, watching Dyce approach.

They were discussing Whiterun, and Balgruuf's continued and unsustainable neutrality.

"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men. Are we not one on this?" Galmar asked.

Ulfric's voice rolled out across the room, "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight because I must."

Dyce knew the speech was for his benefit and so he paused a polite distance from the throne and softly clapped his gloved hands together.

The two Nords regarded him silently, but Dyce fixed his attention on Ulfric. Equally irritated with everyone, he hadn't paid a great deal of attention to him at the peace talks, and this was the first time since that rather hazy morning at Helgen that he'd come face to face with the man.

He looked like a king. His beard and the hair at his temples was starting to grey, and his blue eyes were unreadable and tired. Burdened. He looked Dyce up and down, but what he thought of him, Dyce couldn't say.

"Jarl Ulfric," Dyce bowed his head and raised it again.

"Dragonborn. Yrsarald says you might finally take a side in this war. All of Skyrim has heard that a Dragonborn is among us again." A slight pause. "If you fight for me with honour and integrity, as the stories say you do, we will welcome you among our ranks."

"Mm. Did Yrsarald mention how much effort he had to put into convincing me to even be here?"

Ulfric smiled faintly, although it didn't reach his eyes, "And what might I offer you, Dragonborn? Gold? A title?"

"Answers. You want me to fight? I will. I've been convinced I have to. You need to convince me you're the one worth fighting for."

"If you have questions, you may ask."

"You might prefer they be asked in private," Dyce said.

Ulfric regarded him for a long moment and then indicated the side door with a tilt of his head. His generals obeyed the silent order.

"I have a war to run," Galmar said as he left.

Dyce opened a pouch on his belt and produced a small booklet, bound in leather. He knew the contents by heart. He held it up.

"This-"

"Stop!" Ulfric stood, glaring down at the object in Dyce's hand. Dyce obeyed, watching him intently. He clearly seemed to recognise the kind of document it was. "Follow me," the jarl said eventually. "Even empty halls have ears. The Imperials have spies everywhere." He turned without waiting for a response, and led Dyce to the private quarters of the Palace.

Unbeknownst to Ulfric, Dyce had been here before, but it wasn't to the living quarters that Ulfric led him. Instead they ascended several flights of stairs, and Dyce's feeling that they had to be above the height of the palace wall was confirmed when they exited a trapdoor into one of the watchtowers that lined the building.

The guard there saluted and retreated. There was nothing up here but howling wind, swirling snow, and a single brazier. Dyce huddled as close to it as he could without setting his fur cloak alight and pulled his hood up over his head.

Ulfric didn't seem to notice the cold. He stood with his hands on the stone coping, staring out at the icebergs floating in the sea beyond Windhelm harbour.

"I found this," Dyce said. "And I want you to answer to it, to me, before I consider fighting your war."

"You think I have to answer to you?"

"No. But I certainly don't have to fight for you." Dyce narrowed his eyes. "You think you know what's in this. I think you might be wrong."

Ulfric turned back to him and Dyce handed him the document. He warmed his hands over the glowing coals while Ulfric read. Dyce had to give him credit, Ulfric's expression never changed; he made a mental note never to play cards with the man, should such a thing be likely.

He finished reading and closed the folio, holding it in both hands, carefully.

"You say you found this. Where?"

"In the torture chamber beneath the Thalmor Embassy," Dyce said promptly. Then he saw it. A flicker of a flinch, barely a blink, in Ulfric's right eye. "And it makes sense to me. Does it make sense to you, Jarl Ulfric?"

Ulfric exhaled. "The city had already fallen," he said, mostly to himself. He looked relieved.

"What about the rest of it?" Dyce demanded. "'Proven his worth as an asset'? 'Direct Contact? You're a fucking Thalmor spy, and this war is your fault!"

Ulfric kept his temper, just. "You should use your words more carefully, Dragonborn. Your actions betray you; this." He waved the dossier, "Would be an invaluable document to General Tullius, would it not? He would have the people of Skyrim who have not yet picked a side eating out of his hand. But you brought this to me here, instead."

"It's plain as the nose on your face that this war benefits the Thalmor more than anyone."

"Yes," Ulfric said. "To see Skyrim divided has always been their goal. But the war won't last forever. And then they will have something to fear. Unless the Imperials win, of course, in which case their dominion will be complete."

"How can you talk like that when you helped them get where they are? How could you? All that guff about the men dying in your arms – they killed them! They tortured you-"

Ulfric turned and loomed over Dyce, and the Breton resisted the urge to take a step back. There wasn't anywhere much to step to.

"You have no idea what that bitch did to me! What I endured."

"Tell me then," Dyce said. "I want to understand."

"You have no right to ask." Ulfric's teeth flashed and Dyce could feel faintly the warmth of his breath on his face. You did not fuck with men like Ulfric lightly. His house symbol suited him; a snarling, shaggy old bear.

Maybe you could outwit him. Maybe your steel was sharper than his claws. But his eyes gleamed with cunning, and his strength was limitless, and he would fight until the last breath had left his lungs. His voice didn't need Thu'um to change the world.

Dyce refused to be cowed.

"I am the Dragonborn!" Dyce roared back. "And I have accepted what that means." And it had hurt. "And when I say this war will end it will end! I slew the World Eater. I have the right. I earned it in Sovngarde!"

"And what was a Breton doing in Sovngarde?" Ulfric growled, turning away in disgust.

"I don't know." Dyce shrugged, "I don't know, Jarl Ulfric. What difference does it make?"

"Skyrim is our homeland. It belongs to the Nords. Sovngarde-"

"Like hell! I have fought and killed and bled for-" Dyce broke off. "Huh. I didn't come here to debate race politics with you, Ulfric. I came here to ask you if you were a damned traitor."

Ulfric watched him through eyes narrowed against the cold and snow. "Well, things have changed since the peace conference." He looked back out to sea. "I am not a traitor. Whatever is in here, is irrelevant now. I will see every Thalmor in Skyrim – in all of Tamriel – put to the sword."

"Your hatred of the Thalmor is not in question," Dyce said. "I'm concerned about potential vulnerabilities. Why did you do it, Ulfric? Why do they think they could make you do it again if they had to?"

"Things have changed since that was written," he said. "I am no longer an asset. They know what kind of response they will get if they dare to try and contact me now; their messenger's head in a box."

"Those are assurances, not an explanation," Dyce said.

"You would have all my secrets, Dragonborn? Are these scars not enough?" When Dyce didn't answer he continued. "Say you are satisfied with my explanation; will you swear loyalty to me and our cause?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

"Yes," Dyce said. "If I didn't think the Empire's appeasement was nothing more than a doomed attempt to buy time I wouldn't be here."

Ulfric turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't like the Thalmor either," Dyce pointed out. "I've seen what's under the embassy. I rescued the unfortunate sods they had locked up in there."

Ulfric actually looked impressed. "That explained Elenwen's expression at the peace conference," he murmured.

"I know what they're trying to do. Talos is only the first step. I have a friend," Dyce continued. "I rescued him. Underneath it all he was a really good mer. He was so lonely." He looked up and met Ulfric's gaze, "I'll keep your secrets, my Jarl."

"I believe you'd try. But there are no secrets they cannot prise from your mind. The harder you grip - I can't even remember telling them, but they knew. They let me escape so I could see." He was looking out at the snow, but Dyce was sure he couldn't see it.

"What did they know?" Dyce asked.

"You will swear your life to me," Ulfric said. "Or I will take it. Please let this be enough. Not even Galmar knows." He turned his head and looked at Dyce.

Dyce set his jaw and raised his head, waiting.

Ulfric sighed. "So be it. I have a daughter."

"Ah" So there it was.

"Her mother did not want her raised as the daughter of a Jarl. She wanted to give her a choice, when she was older. Foolishly, I agreed. We saw her to a different city, somewhere safe. If I were to die in the war, the Stormcloak line would not end."

"But she wasn't safe."

"No. I do not remember it, but I must have betrayed her. And for her, I betrayed Skyrim. But I never gave up. I vowed I would set things right again. They had her. They weren't even threatening to kill her; they would have 'educated' her instead. A Thalmor puppet for a Stormcloak heir."

"Where was she?"

"Markarth. A wealthy and protected city, but because of that I couldn't try and rescue her without tipping my hand. But she was close enough to give me hope."

"And then the Forsworn uprising."

"I took Markarth back. I knew the Thalmor wanted the region disrupted, so the rivers of silver running into the Imperial coffers would dwindle for a while. So I used them and they used me and I'd hoped in the chaos of war I might snatch my daughter back."

"But that clearly didn't happen."

"I couldn't find her, but I learned something else. The Thalmor didn't have her either. The family we'd left her with had snatched her back and hidden her somewhere in the city. She was just a tiny child, and easy to hide among others. I couldn't ask the family where she was hidden; the Thalmor had got to them first, and they were all dead. None of the interrogators had the skills Elenwen did in keeping their prisoners alive."

"After the uprising, the Thalmor installed a permanent presence in the city. To look for her, but also to keep me away. Keep me on their books as an 'asset' no matter how uncooperative. For twenty-five years I lived in fear that they'd find her. But I could afford to wait no longer; was I to die an old man, watching Skyrim forget Talos? I went to war. But always the thought of her held me back, as they knew it would."

He looked at Dyce, "You did well to remove Elenwen from the peace talks. She would never have let Markarth fall into Stormcloak hands even if it cost her a dozen other holds. But she wasn't there and she didn't." He ground his teeth, "And now I am free to scrub the Thalmor stain off the face of Skyrim. And you." He turned to Dyce. "You are going to help."

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric. I will fight for you," Dyce said quietly.

Ulfric was still holding the dossier and with one swift movement he cast it into the flames of the brazier. Dyce didn't make any effort to stop him or fish them out again.

"Get out of my sight," Ulfric said. "Galmar will have a task for you and if you survive it you can take the oath."

Dyce bowed his head, "Jarl Ulfric." He lifted the trap door and descended the stairs, glad to be out of the cold. Certainly any potential eavesdroppers would have frozen to death.

The guard was sitting with his feet on a table and his helmet next to him when Dyce appeared. He hurriedly got to his feet.

"Should I get back to my post?" he asked, adjusting his helmet.

"I think it might be a good idea to wait until the jarl comes down first," Dyce said.

Out of sight of the guard, Dyce leaned against the stone wall and shakily let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since he arrived. Please Divines, he thought, don't ever make me have a conversation like that one ever again.

For better or worse, he was now going to war under the Stormcloak banner. And as for his commander, he honestly couldn't say what he thought. But he didn't think they'd be having too many fireside chats. Just end the war, and get out, he thought, as soon as he possibly could.