Well, it's been a long time... almost two years since I last posted... No fear, you've noticed from the title, this is not a "Fic going on hiatus" or a "farewell" message, nor is it an "apology"... well, kinda is an apology... or more of an explaination. With a chapter on top (well, below... ^^ ).

Sooooo... Where should I start. Well.

-Not dead.

-Not on hiatus

-Well kinda on hiatus but not volontarily...

-Writer's block has been a bitch with this chapter. My computer is an old 2013 lady now and is quite unable to deal ith Skyrim and my 85 little mods... My fiance's puter is just a lil bit younger but he uses it for work so I'd rather not have him get his pc to die on us over a Skyrim game... So inspiration has been a little hard to come by. Andthe more time passed, the more I was blocked because I wanted to return to you with a chapter that would blow your minds... Needless to say, I don't handle self pressure quite well...

- Moreover, those who know me a lil better already know, I've returned to school (at almost 30), and I'll be in university for the second time in my life next year, on my way to become an optometrist ! Time has been a little tight, tighter than when I worked as a pharmacist assistant, but things should be better in the next few months, as univ will likely be less demanding than my current 2 years course...

- Regarding the fic. I've never ceased to think of it, I've occasionnaly come back to it to write, but as previously said, writer's block has hit me hard. I'm on a chapter that deals with Ulfric's past, and especially his "war-criminal" past... However I'll phrase it, the Markarth incident is a dark stain on Ulfric's record, and I did not want to sound like an apologist to anything as I know people are prompt to anger and ascribe many intentions on fiction these days... Which added to my self inflicted pressure...

But in the end, it's something I have to address and no matter how I do, it will always offend someone... This is, after all, the internet. So, I'll just hide behind a disclaimer and remind everyone this is a work of fanfiction, or a role playing game in a fictional fantasy nordic land, that deals with war and nationalism and segregation... It's just a fantasy story, an adventure, a love story between a legendary warrior who turns out to be an half-elven mage and a prejudiced nord king who turns out to be a good man. There's no political claim behind it. No message, just me, enjoying a fictional pairing and sharing it for anyone who will enjoy it. And dragons. Because we all love dragons.

Anyhow, after the Markarth incident is finaly dealt with (when I'll have a skyrim game to rely on, which should happen over somewhere over the summer...) I'll most likelyy return to a more regular publication rythm... The Battle of Dawnstar and the siege of Solitude are in most part writen... And I have whole storylines planned ahead for Ulfric and Eliana's child(ren) ^^

So, to sum it up : You have not seen the last of me! I'm not gone, I'm still writing (and I've quite progressed on my novel!) and this fic is not over!

Now, enough about me, and I'm leaving you with a little something to have you wait till my official return : the beginning of chapter 84!
Please, please, please, review! It's always motivated me to write faster, and your opinion on the chapter and the story matter to me!
Enjoy!:D

Allegiance, fealty and loyalty - 5th of Rainshand – 4 E 202 – Windhelm – The Palace of the Kings

The massive bronze gates opened, letting through a small group of men clad in rich colourful garbs, furs adorning their shoulders as sole protection against the freezing cold of Skyrim after the torrid heat of the desert. One man stepped forth, detaching himself from the rest as he strode the length of the throne room. A red and golden turban framed a face bearing the throes of travel, skin kissed by the sun and lips charred from the cold, but warm ebony-lined eyes twinkling underneath the shadow cast by the head-dress.

"Eben!", Galmar exclaimed.

The general crossed the length of the hall in a few long steps, and pulled the unsuspecting Redguard in a bone-crushing embrace, beads and gilded ornaments colliding against rough steel with a sound of rain before laughter filled the room.

"It's good to see you, little brother!"

"Good to see you too, my friend.", the ambassador said, offering the Nord a strong pat on the shoulder as he walked him up the aisle and to the throne. "Jarl Ulfric.", he saluted offering the jarl an elegant low bow. "Too long since our paths last met."

"Ahmed. A lifetime, it seems.", the jarl answered, and descended from his throne to come greet the ambassador, like one would an old friend. "I bid you welcome in these halls. My steward will make the accomodations for your people to the best of our capacity, given the unexpected circumstances of your visit. I assume your delegation must be tired after your travels."

"We made our last stopover in Whiterun hold, two days ago but since the jarl refused us clearance in the city, I fear you'll indeed find my less travel worn companions in poor dispositions..."

"Why is that so, if you don't mind my asking?"

The man turned to the young woman, standing right of the jarl. Her place, two steps in retreat from the throne was that of a Thane, he considered, a noble woman of the court, yet her stance and the three scars barring her face – scars her assumed wealth and position allowed her to conceal, yet she chose to bear as a pride – revealed her as the kind of nobility who had won her titles and possessions at the tip of a sword.

"Quarrels with Alik'ir mercenaries, from what we were told.", he answered curtly, the words rolling on his tongue like pebbles under the waves. "And considering how uncertain allegiances are in times of civil war, we could hardy justify our presence within their walls with our status of ambassadors."

"So, is that indeed what brings you to Windhelm, my friend?", the jarl asked, handing back his sword to the redguard. "An embassy mission. I couldn't expect you'd come from so far just to pay respects to an old battle-brother."

The redguard nodded. "I carry word of the High-King of Hammerfell."

"At long last...", the jarl breathed.

"Coming late into battle is better than deserting it completely...", Galmar groaned.

"Your solicitations remained unheeded for too long already, my friend.", the ambassor willingly conceeded. "Crowns and Forebears long failed to come to an agreement, regarding our position in this conflict of yours against the Empire, and on where our realm should stand, when the war is over and time comes to rebuild. If the power in Sentinel was willing to lend you help, and make a clear statement that we backed Skyrim's claim at independence, Forebears' voices rose against it, firmly contesting any attempts at a firm political posture. Hammerfell, as a whole, relates to your struggle against the Imperial yoke, but people of the desert, and the provinces that draw near High-Rock never had much luck in their relations with foreigners. Forebears opposed that we divided from the Empire to trace our own destiny, and that it would be unwise to entertwine our fate with that of another realm. The High-King had little choice but to comply, as twarting the people's opinion would only cause more unrest... Until the tide of war shifted, of course. For two years, we observed the fight from afar, both factions willing to take part, but impeded by our own interests."

"The fight for Skyrim's freedom is naught but our own.", Ulfric dismissed, much to the ambassador's surprise. "This is Nord land, Nord war, Nord blood that ought to pay the price for independance. What matters to me, now, is whom I can count as my allies, when the time comes to stand against the real enemy. One can easily foresee High-Rock bending to whoever the balance of forces favours. I cannot expect them to take position before the fires of war are raging at our gates. But I need to know if Hammerfell will take part in the upcoming conflict."

"You are making this easier for me than I believed.", Ahmed smiled. "The High-King was worried our lack of implication in the civil war might have irrevocably strained the bound between our two kingdoms."

"This is why they sent you, of all people."

"Our connection have not escaped the attention of the High King.", the redguard answered. "It was assumed that I would be best placed to negociate with you. I must admit I did not share their conviction that you would be so easily persuaded, but I certainly appreciated the opportunity to see you again. I am surprised, though, that you would already have your eyes so far on the horizon.", he added. "Unless..."

The jarl let out a chuckle.

"The war has taken quite a decisive turn recently", Ulfric said, casting a glance towards the young woman at his side, "and the time for reconciliation might come sooner than expected."

The redguard straightened, his curiosity piqued. The glimmer in her eyes and the smile enlightening her features gave yet another indication of her character – a fighter who rejoiced at the prospect of peace.

"I do not have the pleasure of knowing you."

The young woman bowed curtly. "Eliana Evergreen, my lord."

"No titles, just a name?"

"I prefer to speak for myself rather than letting my titles do so in my stead, ambassador."

The redguard smirked. "Ah, would the One have indeed gifted Nirn with a spirited Dragonborn."

Eliana froze.

"Do not look so baffled. Even across the desert, you are famous, amara."

Ulfric ticked at the formal use of the title; 'Amara', the yokudan word for the wife of the High King.

"I'm afraid the news are getting ahead of themselves.", the jarl said with a smirk. "If I may strand you from the rest of your delegation", he offered, motioning to Jorleiff and a couple of servants crossing the hall to take care of the diplomats, and escort them to the guests' quarters, "we should take this conversation to the war-room."

The redguard nodded silently and followed suit, Galmar at his side rather than dogging his steps as he would should the man pose any threat to the jarl. His stance was relaxed, the hand usually taut and ready to go the the hilt of his warhammer lay placid at his side. Whoever this man was, whatever past they shared, Ulfric and Galmar trusted him with their life.

"Drink?", the jarl asked, inviting the redguard to take seat at the round table in the corner of the room and pouring him a cup of honeyed mead.

"I am still partial to spiced wines, but mead will do just as well. Plus, I too seldom have the occasion to drink in such good company."

"Is it company that's lacking, or is the wine not sweet enough in Hammerfell?"

"Our own political struggles have left us scarred. If alcohol loosens tongues it also seems to sharpen egoes. And words must be carefully weighted when standing on an edge so thin it already caused a civil-war."

Ulfric nodded, heeding his warning, and turned his glance to his battle plans, the freshly added blue-flags marking the forts and villages of the Rift giving weight to their claim, as little remained of the Empire's hold on the Northern province.

"How is the status of Hammerfell's diplomacy with the other provinces, lately?", he asked, returning to the matter at hand.

"We have reached a certain stability with Cyrodiil. And the Aldmeri Dominion has learnt the hard way not to send their ships anywhere near our coasts. As for High-Rock, we maintain trade relations with Daggerfall and Wayrest, but also keep a firm hold onto our northern border with Evermore and Markarth. As you imagine, I'm not the one they send in embassy in these parts. The legend preceeds me whenever I deal in the Reach. And my reputation there is not that of a peace-maker."

"You fought the campain of Markarth.", Eliana muttered, under her breath, a spark of realisation igniting in her eyes.

The redguard let through a bitter smirk.

"Wish I could forget what we saw, erase what we did there at the time.", he said, his features darkening and a weight suddenly oppressing his shoulders - the same that now passed into Ulfric's stance as he averted his gaze. "We all would...", he added towards the two Nords standing awfully silent in the dim silvery light. "But we can't go back to the days of yore, for we were different men back then. And if the ghosts that haunt history in our names are not what keeps me awake at night, it is because the truth is hardly ever so pure, and never simple. It is quite hard to imagine what the Reach was like in these days."

He cursed under his breath, a word that Eliana couldn't quite understand but sure did get the meaning of. Ulfric tried and failed, in the past, to grasp at this fluent yet gutural language of Hammerfell.

"Those they call Forsworns now pale in comparison to the witchmen of the Reach."

The young woman sat, caught in the tale, absent-mindedly soothing the creases of her tunic, revealing under the leaf-green wool, a small bump that inevitably caught the redguard's eye.

"Back in those days", he began, "I was a poet in Sentinel – the most beautiful city in the world. Life was easy, and I lived without care... Until the fateful day where I met a most beautiful woman... who belonged to another man.", he added with a bittersweet smile. "The jealous husband complained to the High King, who made me ambassador to the land of Skyrim... a kingdom I knew nothing of, beyond its harsh climate and yet harsher people. My travels led me across the land for weeks, from the Alik'ir deserts to to the plains of Eastmarch, where I was appointed to witness the coronation of a young prince, just returned from war. As fate would, the son of another jarl had come to Windhelm this day, bearing the plight of his people, and hoping to gain help to reclaim his throne. The Reach, I assume you know, had fallen early during the Great War, and recognized no authority from the Empire nor any relationship with the surrounding provinces. They lived in complete isolation and little was known of the fate of the former Nord land-owners... Hrolfdir, exiled jarl of Markarth, sent his only son that day, to bear his plight to whomever would listen to the call, and the son of the Bear of Eastmarch answered. I was invited to accompany the waring party, not for the impression I might have made on the jarl as a warrior", he precised, an amused smile breaking through the jarl's tense stance, "but in my quality of diplomat, in case negociation were possible with the Reachmen. One hundred warriors left the safety of Windhelm the next morning. Thirteen returned."

"What happened?"