First draft so probadly horrific, apologies.

Dragons were a puzzling sort; utterly brutal in some respects and sage counsellors in the other, prideful and dutiful all in the same breath, a myriad of contradictions that he failed to understand at all points.

Women to him were very much the same, only multiplied by the different reckonings of their livelihoods and upbringing, from the hardened orc stronghold women who were seasoned warriors yet obliged to be no more than second or third chieftan's wives, to the elvish dunmeri who were scornful of men and other mer alike yet dutiful to the extreme to their deities and gods.

Nordic women were a criss-cross of that he supposed; vampiric women seemed to be the least volatile in his experiences, save for jarls, the jarl he had in question was Elisif of course, standing with him on a rainy ridge overlooking Solitude, graceful and prim, yet suffering the storms simply to deliver a message to him from her own hand.

It wasn't a favourable message, it wasn't ever going to be welcomed or remembered fondly for what it enacted, Ulfric has captured Balgruuf the greater and means to execute him – it was pure folly, the thought that executing one of his former political opponents would somehow cement him as rightful king in the eyes of the more placated imperial nords, "I don't even know what to say about this…this is madness – complete and utter madness" He wasn't being smart or coy, guileful to stroke her evident remaining anger at the man, he at one point had found Ulfric reasonable and just.

Men of power are capable of acts far beyond the remit of ordinary men he'd been told, though Reynald hoped he himself was not so interchangeable and callous when it mattered, "What will you do?" she asked him quietly, miserable and soaked through a woefully thin and dour shawl, bright green Skyrim eyes staring up at him, Reynald didn't see the beauty but rather foul sadness.

He knew what he would have to do if Ulfric didn't relent, as painful as the thought was "I'll free Balgruuf, no one man such as him can be held under the assumption of treachery" That wasn't true however; in the lands of kings they could do as they please as long as there power was secure, and not an army in the land remained strong enough to oppose Ulfric.

Which left only one option if reason wasn't being considered by the king, "The old ways are still considered strong. It's what Ulfric has been attempting to build his kingdom upon. If he refuses to accept my request then I'll have only one option" She looked surprised, Falk Firebeard who stood off aside as a trusted aide had good ears and he looked equally astounded, "You'll challenge Ulfric?" Was what she asked, Reynald gave her a curt nod, his stomach washed with the idea of it.

"Men who have no mercy for old foes will soon be surrounded by enemies, who'd rather fight for survival rather than assure themselves of death. It's always been true that a good king pardons twice as much as he does condemn" Unless they are elves of course, no man pardons an elf the bile rose again in his throat and he knew that despite the idea of facing down Ulfric being horrible, he couldn't allow the man to kill dunmeri or bosmeri, the cat people or even imperial simply for the sake of their race, not any longer.

He remembered a time when Ulfric spoke words of reason and wit; rather than an overblown caricature of what nordic power truly meant, it was hard to imagine what that truly was, an act for the overreaching breton who had become blessed with the blood of the gods and dragons or words of a man on a search for justice.

"There is something else dragonborn…what I wanted to see you for" Elisif produced a letter from her sleeve, the seal broken on what was a golden starlit sun coming over a horizon of fine indigo "A letter from Skald the younger; jarl of Dawnstar that arrived to me" Reynald took it and ran through the contents under the cloak Elisif had provided, Reynald failed to suppress a smile, the gods never had delivered him much in the way of expenses or glory in the former of his years, but they'd certainly made up for it now as he was overwhelmed with distractions away from it.

"Jarl Skald on being stricken with disease has named me jarl of Dawnstar, to hold the title until better awaits me" It was madness incarnate, the mad god himself couldn't make up this plot, "I'm now a jarl; from a peasant to soldier, soldier to traitor, sellsword to saviour, and now a great offender to a position of nobility." It was a fair stroke of luck; due diligence to what he and his men accomplished in repelling the vampires foothold, "With this and your word of support; given that Windhelm was recently sacked and Markarth is on the brink of siege, Ulfric cannot upset the support of Whiterun – I hope at least. If he kills Balgruuf he'll set a bad taste there given that he's already shamed the companions – the cities crowning glory." Reynald felt the gears of a plan clicking in his head, "This is good news, perhaps it'll avert things" He took the letter and snuck it under his quilted greave, "I'll need to go with this, before anything happens" But Elisif took his hand as he went to move, squeezed it with the genuine affection he could see in her eyes.

"Don't let Ulfric harm anymore good men" she told him; and he knew it would have to be that way, no army or man would dare to stand up to Ulfric it seemed, too many thought that he was a hero or that the ire of the Stormcloaks was too much to bear, "I will save Balgruuf – I swear it" He made himself away onto the plane lands below, slippery rocks and wet wills made his footing uneasy, but he didn't have to worry about marching his way through a ruddy Skyrim however, he only had to shout into the sky before his newest dragon companion descended.

Durnehviir even for a dragon was a swift mount; able to take through the storms at a pace frightening to any archers or mages who'd ever attempted to ground him, even through the whipping wind and fearsome onslaught of rain Reynald could see that they crossed distances as easily as a argonian treaded water, hills and mountains dotted with forts and homesteads went by as passing mounds and nothing more as they broke south.

It was a flight in a space of hours that should have been a march of days, Reynald relished the feeling of all the soaking rain even as it caught him across the face, until the storm broke and he was faced with an oncoming night that was testy but relatively calm.

In the distance he could see Dragonsreach upon the mount of Whiterun to his left flank, gripped tighter onto Durnehviir as his grip weakened once again, then on came the final slope of hills that lay before the onset of the Jeralls where Ulfric army lay, the great Ilnalta lake passed easily underneath.

The future of Skyrim rests within my words or my sword once again he realised, knew it would soon be that there would be no turning back, Ulfric could attempt to throw him in a cage just as easy as he would listen to him, their alliance for whatever it was remained on a hairpin.

It didn't matter now; sentries in their rickety towers on the outcropping of his main encampment had already caught sight of Durnehviir, had already rang the drums and pulled their bows, some loosing and futilely missing with their panicked aims, most retreated to safety when they landed abruptly at the forefront of Ulfric's camp.

"Pardon me for awhile Durnehviir, but I must go ahead alone" Reynald threw himself to the ground as he spoke, hoping the dragon would take itself off before any of the men inside could cause too great an offence, whipping up a frenzy of dirt and soiled ground.

Reynald shielded himself as the dragon lifted off; leaving himself vulnerable enough that when he turned he was facing several men in equally miserable wear, with spears and axes digging out from wet soaked hands, "Show yourself or be killed!" one of the men shouted in a testy voice, clearly displeased with his lot on the ill tempered night, tempered by the rapidly ascending shadow all the same "I'm the dragonborn, Reynald Manis." He produced his hands which were nowhere near the broad scabbard at his side, "Show me to your king, we have things to discuss."

The men looked astounded and confused; the one at the head who looked haggard and somewhat of a veteran was unsure for a moment, until a man came from behind him torch in hand to look upon Reynald, "Ah! It is the dragonborn. I saw him at Windhelm once" the man seemed positive enough for the head guard, who gave Reynald another curious look before he turned his weapon aside, others had began to come to the entry of the camp as he went to enter, the guards quickly enveloped him in their 'protection'.

It felt wrong having men cloistered around him, cloaks against his as he was headed through the massing of tents and men. It looked miserly all around, the rain had battered the men and their surroundings, tents where bogged down in the slick mud and some had fallen through where the winds had swept up badly, torch fires struggled to stay lit or where completely diminished, everyman he past was leaning upon their staves or huddling around each other in circles.

How could they not he supposed, for all of Ulfric's veterans being assembled meant men who had been fighting non-stop for more than a year, no time to pull in the harvest or spend times with their families, no time to saviour their freedom or relish being away from the imperial yoke.

It had been too much perhaps to ask them to oppose the empire, not when the imperials would sent their legions to waste themselves in the futile attempt to return Skyrim back into line, had he been so wrong to think that they could settle the strength of Cyrodiil in the battles of wit and guile that had forced Tullius into his retreat? Or was an independent Skyrim still a dream worth having.

He would soon see Ulfric's resolve he knew, as they marching for his larger tent situated at the very core of his camp, "On comes the dragonborn" the lead guard announced to the guards standing at attention, men armoured head to foot in thick mail and faceless 'full guard' masks.

They pulled their spears and allowed them entry; satisfied that Ulfric wasn't at danger upon looking at Reynald and taking his weapon free from his side, if not to mention all the guards behind him, not hesitating he went forward and came into the relative warmth of the room, a thousand questions filled the air.

Ulfric was there in an envelopment of blue soaked cloaks and furs; hard faces and glinting steel off the thick candles hanging from each corner of the expansive tent, it was of course unlike the rest of the camp in good order and stocked with all the amenities of a king or supreme commander, the smell of fruity ale and remnants of a roast were in the air.

It reminded Reynald of his legionary days; coming blood soaked into the camps and reporting to superior officers, men who sat eating crispy bird or roasted venison while he stood at attention at their leisure, it was why he always filled a cup for visitors and kept his place the direnni sort of sparse.

"Ulfric" He greeted evenly, aware that the room had split and stopped as he entered, the king had to turn on him completely to look at Reynald, rain soaked and spoiling the throw upon the floor to ward off the rough ground beneath. "Your pooling water on my floor" Ulfric replied in his baritone voice, but Reynald was drawn immediately to the sour mop of bandages upon the man's left eye.

"You look terrible" the dragonborn observed; his skin was pale and pasty, his eye was added to by numerous other scratches and even stranger indents across his face and hands, "Do your healers not know how to deal with poisons?" he asked, surprised at how invasive the vampiric attack had been, "Not for whatever filthy those beasts have used…though I see you're in good health" Reynald moved forward even at the accusation, ignoring the guards behind who hesitated, stared down the men surrounding the king; Red-Shoal, Frozen-Heart and Cairn-Breaker amongst them, some of the most fervent of his men.

He offered out his hands and showed his face in the clear candlelight, "You look more a beast of the night that I do Ulfric; and for the asking I would have provided you with the necessary help had you asked." Ulfric glared at what was simply open contempt of the king, Reynald was sure he loved the thought of that in his mind – the king of all Skyrim but he did not order his guards to hustle him out, nor did he allow those generals present to vent some frustration he could see writ across their collective faces.

"What help can you offer? I have reports of you consorting with these vile creatures, I have found evidence that implicates you on the attempt on my life! Tell me; what should I think of your help?" the accusation was entirely expected, the grim look on the kings face along with it obvious, but Reynald was far too tired to deal with his delusions. "One or two of those creatures helped me destroy the rest of them its true; but what man doesn't take a hand to destroy his enemies even when they have claws at the end? And as for accusations of an attempt upon your life, well I wouldn't have thought it would be such a good idea considering I helped you win your throne! Perhaps you should have considered the facts before you accused me" Ulfric was ready to spring on him, looking like an injured mountain cat braying at a wary hunter.

He looked tired as well; sagged and thin against all his many other wounds, unable for a fight but not ready to back down "You could not expect me to sit idly by while you consorted with vampires-

"Enough about the vampires; enough about all this talk of betrayal" Red-Shoal's hand went to his hip as Reynald shut off Ulfric, "Who are you to dare to cut off my king!" he threatened with his hilt grasped, but the only breton in the room wasn't impressed "Anytime you wish to try and cut me off Kottir you can attempt it, but remember – you already owe your life to me" Reynald stared the man down until his gaze broke, but Ulfric remained.

"Tell me then, why shouldn't I care about a threat across the entirety of my homelands?" and Reynald did so, from the reversal at Dawnstar; how he was contacted by a mysterious benefactor – but not mentioning it was in fact an assassin, or thee assassin, onto Windhelm and the occurrence of the redguards and dunmeri. He could of course only skim over the details of the emergence of a prophecy in the elder scrolls; the moth priest and the covenant with the mages of Winterhold to oppose them.

The news of the falmer invasion and subsequent destruction; on the basis of help from the former dragon threat up to their assault on the Volkinar keep, meant that Ulfric and his men were suitably muted when he'd finished.

"So it's done then? All these blood suckers are destroyed?" Cairn-Breaker asked to head off all the confusion, some relief forcing its way through his coarse voice, Reynald had always found him to be more deadly in his mind than Ulfric's other commanders, highlighted by his vanguard actions in the assault on Haafingar, "There castle is taken, their lord is slain. What remains are scampering about in the shadows. I'd be confident that Isran and his dawnguard will see to them."

Like that it was over about the vampires and their threat; Ulfric and his men seemed relieved to Reynald's word, accepting it without whatever suspicion had led the man to send out a writ for his arrest. It added credence to the fact that perhaps it was political rather than any real concern, showing up unannounced camp side and in good health.

He didn't come to speak on the vampires; they were better left forgotten, "Where is Balgruuf?" he asked simply, causing Cairn-Breaker to tell him gladly "In the stockades, awaiting the morning for his date with the headsman axe" Ulfric didn't look at him directly, he'd taken himself behind the desk they stood around to sit, Reynald was uncompromising in his gaze to the king "Why is he being beheaded?" he asked again, Cairn-Breaker fixed him with an irate glare.

"Traitors are rightly beheaded for their crimes" he advised, "and what crimes did Balgruuf; former jarl and so entitled lesser king of Whiterun commit?" the man's eyes burned even as they were wavy blue, "What of you king Ulfric? Are you to commit an honourable and by all estimations great; peace loving nord to death, for fighting for his rights to retake his own home? Can you not make peace?" He couldn't it seemed, Ulfric rounded his own stormy eyes on Reynald for what looked to be just short of an actual blow to the face "Who are you to speak to me of Balgruuf, a man who betrayed his own people by siding with those imperial dogs. He'll be sacrificed before the standard to set the tone for any nord who thinks to turn traitor, then I'll finally destroy these legions who plague my borders." My borders, Ulfric's standard, men either stood with him or died by the headsman axe, did he even bother mentioning the help Lathar or Milisi had given him in defence against the vampires? That would that leave him under the veil of suspicion again.

This king wasn't the man ready to lead the shout of liberation from the empire, he just wanted to annihilate it so that he could enforce his own perverted sense of what 'the nordic way of life was', "I want to see Balgruuf before he is dealt the blow, now if I can" he requested voice thight, Ulfric took no notice of whatever threat he could offer without any reasonable force, he was secure with his massing of soldiers around him.

"By all means dragonborn, but remember to warn him what occurs when people betray their people." Ulfric dismissed him; his men had turned away to discuss their own matters, Reynald turned and ordered the guards who'd left to be outside to show him to the stockades.

When they left him there he was disgusted by the sight of them, an ugly massing of thick lumber discoloured and eroded by what had to be thick rains and unruly storms, the smell from them even in the drizzle was perverse to his nose, "Show me to Balgruuf" he asked the lictor on duty, the guards remained while the half drowned man shuffled himself over to the last cell upon the thickets flank, inside was detestable and fiercely pungent.

Balgruuf was there, in the corner of the pitch black room obvious to the world, no torch was provided leaving Reynald to cast a ball of illumination that rose across his face, highlighting his own surely grim look to the man's gloomy features.

He awoke after a moment and Reynald shooed away the lector; going as far as to shut the doorway behind him, "You look terrible my jarl" he jested poorly as Balgruuf fully awoke, his face didn't improve as he squared his eyes on Reynald.

"Ah! Ulfric's faithful attack dog, have you came to gloat at your former confidant? Eager to stick the knife in perhaps" his words were scathing but weak, he looked as if he hadn't been fed since he'd been captured, Reynald didn't mind, not anymore, he'd been right. Reynald had already thrown his lot in with a butcher as a king; and Balgruuf was a man too good for this sort of age.

"I came here to talk to you. Not to gloat or harm you, I came to work out a deal with you Balgruuf." He didn't have time for all this nonsense, didn't care to think on it anymore, "Ulfric cannot remain as king in Skyrim, he plans to annihilate the legions and have your head. I thought he would stop and secure his borders; that he'd be as reasonable as he was convicted off the evil of the Thalmor, but in reality he is a man convinced off the wrongness in everything that is not his own thoughts." Balgruuf peaked up, suspicious into silence, exactly what Reynald needed, a captive audience for his last hurrah.

The plan he'd thought off; being thinking off since he'd seen Ulfric, was something that Balgruuf could not deny, a thing that saved him from the headsman's block and left the country he loved into the hands of a man more suited for an uneasy peace than the most brutal war.

It was what Reynald reflected that he knew now entirely; that Skyrim could only resist the Aldmeri dominion if they stood side by side with the empire, but not under it, allowing their plump coffers and ample farmlands to wade south to prop up the corrupt mede dynasty that had failed it's people.

"Agree to this covenant with me Balgruuf and I will allow you the chance to deliver Skyrim from the imperials and stormcloaks alike" was his pleading words, covered by his most passionate stare, that same one he levelled the day he asked for the jarls surrender in his own throne room.

"I will give you my word if you give me yours, you will never ask me to fight a foreign war on the interests of men south of the Jeralls." He agreed wholeheartedly, gone were the days of the homelands of other men providing for those who once held the power to enforce their wills but no longer, Reynald left him and went to an uneasy sleep, the morning beckoned like that dewy summer's morning that he'd ridden off to follow Alduin.

Awakened by the flocking of birds he awoke in a start; convinced that they'd been assembling to pull the flesh from Balgruuf's open neck, his clothes filthy and his hair unkempt Reynald rose and broke through the camp, his near tarnished document of entitlement up his sleeve and his blade returned across his hip.

It was a fine morning for the sun, better than any these men had seen he wagered in days, as they trudged through the water logged camp grounds, all of them were going to assemble further towards the eastern passes than Reynald had previously seen, great stocks of munitions' and thrown together stables surrounded a brief patch of featureless ground, save for an all too familiar block resting at the centre.

There he found Balgruuf tussling in his irons, a man either side looking queer at the thought of delivering the blow, cretins he mouthed as he waded through the amassing gathering of men, Reynald knew only the faces that surrounded Ulfric directly facing Balgruuf some few lengths away.

The king was pronouncing the sentence, death by the sword – proudly, as if a man should be so lucky, Reynald's composure went with any hardness he felt in his heart for what he was about to do, "So this is what remains of Skyrim's brave men eh? A bunch of squawkers festering around a brave corpse" Reynald pushed through the ranks and drew his sword wicked tear against its scabbard. His ire was up and he let them all see it, "Look upon the man who went to Sovngarde himself, who slew Alduin! The world eater! And tell him why a good nord has to die? Have any of you a sense of goodness left in you, or have you all became rotten and heartless as those bastards of Alinor!?" the world didn't quake as it did when he spoke in his dragon tongue, but men caught their grins and quieted as if struck, Reynald turned to them all, questioning with his gaze, until finally it centred upon Ulfric.

"Do you – king of Skyrim, jarl of the hallowed halls of Windhelm accuse this man of treachery when you too stood so firmly in your beliefs as to risk your own imprisonment and death? Can you not take this man in hand as your brother, to show that all nords stormcloak and those opposed that Skyrim is a land of tolerance and justice" Reynald's words were pleading but his voice was firm; unwavering, Ulfric's jaw was set and his mind focused even within his tattered skin, "I call this man traitor, and he'll die as just that" It seemed settled, the men began to hustle Balgruuf forward like a common criminal, the same way Reynald had entered this great land. He was about to witness the slaughter of a man who'd helped more than the sentence giver to rid them off the threat of Alduin.

His blood pumped and his lifted his sword firmly, out came the razor like blade off his namesake to bear, the Dragonblade – he aimed it squarely for Ulfric, no one dared move, "I say this man is a true son of Skyrim, a loyal subject to the people he has served faithfully for so many years, who asked for nothing but peace" Ulfric looked all the snarling wolf his standard, teeth bared at the sight of the weapon, Reynald's arm held the blade without an inch of wavering, his voice was as lethal as his blade "If you name him traitor; then I challenge you – Ulfric Stormcloak, high king of Skyrim"

"You dare challenge me, After all the faith between us? Are you so low dragonborn" Ulfric taunted, did he truly think he'd win a confrontation in direct combat? Reynald cared not a little "I call you – Ulfric Stormcloak, a false high king, unworthy of the title, unworthy defender of the nordic people and the lands of Skyrim! I call you now to a challenge in the old ways, by sword and stone, by the way of blood and sweat! Face me if you are a true nord, or go scamper away to the home you couldn't protect." The ring of men erupted in an uproar, some men exploded in disbelief while others threatened their swords on Reynald, finally he relented with his blade but did not place it within his sheath, instead he drove his blade forward into the muck and grime, Ulfric was already shuffling out of his long draped cloak, the blood inside Reynald's veins near escaped him.

His plan wasn't complete however until Cairn-Breaker moved forward and attempted to quiet the sally, "Wait! Wait a moment dragonborn. You cannot expect the high king to fight you now, we all know your reputation; second to none in the ways of the sword like our own king" the men rumbled again, Ulfric had discarded his heavier clothes and was standing only in some thin bronzed mail and accompanying underclothes, he had suffered rightly it seemed, he was thinner than Reynald's own form, "But king Ulfric is recovering from a grievous attempt on his life; lame in one eye, this challenge must wait" that was what Reynald wanted, he'd either slay Ulfric by his own hand or open the door for Balgruuf, who previously asked broke from his captors and went to Reynald's sword, he grasped it evenly and took up the blade.

"I take up the dragonborn's challenge. You may have rebuffed me before Ulfric, but you without an eye and me drained from the attentions of my captors make an even watch I think" he levelled the blade at their enemy, in front of all his men and captains, "dare you refuse? Are you a coward as well as a liar" Ulfric exploded, he threw his men from around him and grasped the sword as his bearer produced it, "unshackle him so I can kill him cleanly" he ordered furiously, the men who'd held Balgruuf complied meekly and pulled his cuffs.

There were no last words or sizing up; Ulfric bounced forward near out of his skin and attacked Balgruuf in a wild overhand swing, the blades clashed and sent the former jarl towards his flank with the wrist shattering force behind it. Reynald and everyone else looking to keep a limb gave them space to slash and hack at each other, Ulfric near dissecting one of his men as Balgruuf sidestepped his charge to turn the momentum, his blade flashed across Ulfric's lowered guard and near cost him a head if not for a timely dip, Balgruuf followed up with strokes of sublime skill, endless majesty in the blade as he went on.

Ulfric was strong as a bull but limited by his vision; Balgruuf was quick and skilful but lethargic enough to gave Ulfric the way of the fight, Whiterun's former jarl was stopped in his tracks as Ulfric broke his blade back with a hasty shoulder thrust before he went to impale Balgruuf, who managed to get away from the attack in some awkward mammoth steps.

Reynald was worried and Ulfric was lurking around his prey like an eager daedra, sizing him up as Balgruuf breathed and sagged, the fight had barely began but then Ulfric struck and it came clear than Ulfric could not be resisted, the man was pure power and a great warrior, he surged forward and Balgruuf's defence seemed to resemble nothing more than an amatuer's stiff blocks and awkward parries.

If he was to win then he'd need to get resilience from the depths of somewhere, Ulfric scattered his guard with thick and hard blows –

Like a flash Balgruuf struck; shambling back in one moment as his blade faltered, Ulfric struck at him overhand as he preferred to free him off his head, but like a coiled serpent Balgruuf closed the distance and threw his blade up in a reversed fashion, catching Ulfric's before he disengaged across the kings thigh low, pulling blood from a previously unbroken stone.

Ulfric brought up his guard again quickly, struggling to follow Balgruuf as he attempted to move to his unbroken sight, then he attacked and whipped his blade at Ulfric's to end the contest, the king looked on edge and panicked, steel flashed against bone at such a tempo that Reynald thought they might shattered or smash to pieces.

Ulfric's fist cracked across Balgruuf as he caught him under a high strike, his follow up was clumsy but caused the near beheaded man's own blade to cut into his upper arm, it was blood apiece now, the men circled to catch their breath, Ulfric's leg happened across his already failing side, it was prime choice for when Balgruuf would strike.

The man was coy enough to know that, Ulfric was cunning enough also, they tangled again in a fight to the death at the core of the ring as the massed stormcloak forced watched around in awe and terror, their dream of an independent Skyrim relying on the sword of the Stormcloaks which Ulfric wielded with brutish skill.

It was ironic the battle; the stormcloaks fighting half-blind and enraged while those that remained where left wilted by their ties to the corrupt empire, strong hands of the north wielding swords made for men of Skyrim against her enemies.

Yet for all Ulfric's strength Balgruuf's skill matched him, neither man possessed enough raw stamina or power to vanquish the other, those around had quieted to a whisper as they battled, it looked an impasse.

It couldn't be however; and neither Reynald nor all those assembled could interfere, it took no guile or wit, but nordic hardness to enforce the end of the contest, as it should have done. Ulfric as was his way smashed down Balgruuf's guard; he swung high but found his blade deflected low to his side, an occurrence familiar and forgiving as Balgruuf's own blade lay harmless on the return.

Then the man who was known as being 'a puppet' for the imperials leapt forward blade still out of striking range; his hand grasping the blade of Ulfric's sword and grasping it so firmly that his fingers could have been lost at a sudden jerk, Ulfric in a panic ripped his blade free and blood ruptured from every digit but it was Balgruuf's chance, on came his weapon to tear across Ulfric's mail – a blade as edged and with so much teeth as the Dragonblade could not be refused, his stomach opened as Balgruuf's hand went slack and his fingers drained.

The king could no longer stand; he looked up at Balgruuf with his useless hand and perhaps thought himself proud to lose to such a brave; reckless nord, but Balgruuf gave neither him nor his supporters time.

His blade whirled high before he slung it down across Ulfric's neck, it cleared bone and marrow and opened blood and flesh across Reynald's sword as easily as a heated knife cut through butter, Ulfric shuddered and fell across himself, and the world seemed to stall around them.

No man could believe it; all of them stood and stared in shock, Ulfric Stormcloak lay decapitated before them, at the hands of a traitor. Shock turned to anger and suddenly a blade came out from the hand of one of Ulfric's captains Reynald had not seen before, a man he knew only as Sun-Killer.

He rushed Balgruuf in a wordless cry; Reynald came from his stupor in a moment and shouted "Wuld!" it carried him across the sight of Ulfric's death, his elbow even un-armoured hit the captain so forcefully that he knocked him into the ranks of men, unmoving but alive, "no man interferes with a lawful contest" Reynald warned, his eyes fierce against those murderous of Ulfric's captains, "Jarl Balgruuf is the lawful victor, he slew the high king in fair combat. If any dispute it, let them throw their swords at my feet."

None moved; not Ulfric's captains with the daggers in their eyes or the men surrounding the entire place, no one truly knew what to do, Ulfric was dead and Galmar Stone-Fist who led in his charge could have been as far away as Akavir for being on the opposing Rift front. Even his captains had no ideas save to consider breaking their ancient customs.

Reynald stepped up of course, he called into the ranks for a healer and for respect to be paid to Ulfric body, but he also rounded on the captains present, generals all amongst these men and told them in no uncertain terms the way of things, "You men are all here to fight for jarl Ulfric; who desired peace within these lands. Now he is dead and you are without your leader, and jarls rule these lands as certainly as the emperor rules in Cyrodiil."

Reynald produced the document given by Jarl Elisif and asked for Ulfric's acting steward to come forward, and a short squat man in reasonably pleasant dress came to him, Ords of Springhold, "Can you know this letter to be true; do you know the seal of Dawnstar is not the words of its stewards, can you say these words are to the truth?" he asked, and of course the man could as a steward, having seen messages from every hold and jarl.

"These are words of jarl Skald the younger of Dawnstar – along with the annotations and stamp of jarl Elisif of Solitude" he announced, mainly to the men Reynald directed his attention towards, "It announces that Reynald Manis the dragonborn has been made the jarl of Dawnstar in recognition for his efforts in breaking the vampires siege…and that jarl Elisif supports the new jarl of Dawnstar in his actions, against even the high king himself" That king is dead, now all she fights against are this lot of scared 'generals'. The men's faces were deflated, they looked to need more than a few moments to summon anything resembling a plan of action, but this was what Reynald and Balgruuf had planned for, both of them have to act decisively.

Balgruuf however was broken looking, holding what remained of his hand while attempting to fight the slump of his shoulders, not to mention stemming the flow of blood from his hands. Two healers; what the stormcloaks referred to as 'shieldmaidens' came forward and without notice took Balgruuf's injured digits in hand, they were anything but impartial, but Reynald couldn't say the same of what was Ulfric's assembly.

"The death of king Ulfric will be avenged dragonborn…words on a piece of paper won't save you or that traitor. We won't let Skyrim fall into the empires hands again!" Sun-Killer promised, the steely eyed veteran of Ulfric's rift campaign promised, even as he rose with a grasping breath.

Balgruuf on having a poultice applied to his hand, held as the two young cowl worn sisters worked over his hand with whatever abilities they possessed in restoration, spoke up before Reynald could say a word, his voice was clear and strong despite the obvious pain he endured.

"Neither would the dragonborn let it, and nor will I" Balgruuf had agreed to this proposal by Reynald, sat in his sweat and anger, and said it to them as Reynald had said to him. "I believe now that Skyrim can't return to the way of a feeder state for the dying land of Cyrodiil. I have seen how corrupt the Mede dynasty has become. The emperor is dead, slain supposedly by an elder council jostling for power along with many of his family. His sons were untouched but stupid, the entire imperial court is rotten, Skyrim's bounty will no longer be subject to them – if you would but join me in resisting them" Ulfric's captains scoffed at the suggestion, some threatened and others stood in shocked silence, the men around them stirred however, and that was enough for Reynald.

He went to stand beside Balgruuf; both of them looking worn but resilient to their trials, the day had long gone and the ardour of whatever Ulfric had planned vanished from their faces, their eyes were shorn of any gleam. "Listen to me now; believe me when I say I only opposed the high king out of the direst need. Did I not stand with Ulfric against the empire? Did I not liberate the innards of Whiterun so that less of you would fall? I fought to save you against Alduin and the vampire menace alike! Who here can say they have done more to protect Skyrim's people?" he knew none of them would oppose his words, perhaps they'd resent him or bite their tongues but that would be the height of it he thought, only one particular Stone-Fist would have the nerve for it, and he was too far away to be a threat.

"If we don't stick together now then the imperials will march through Falkreath hold and capture the required foothold, then there within reach of Whiterun and Markarth. After that they have only to send a dignitary to Solitude and they'll have returned half of Skyrim to imperial control. I don't think anyone here wants that" Cairn-Breaker and Sun-Killer asked the question on the lips of near all Ulfric's closest, "Why should we have anything to do with you, or you're imperial traitor here? All of us command men in the hundreds; aligned together by bonds of blood, we can resist these imperial bastards and slay them in Ulfric's honour, what can you do about it?"

Cairn-Breaker was right of course, save for the fact that the men around him didn't look like men aligned by blood, or any other notions of great spirit or pride, "So that is what you wish for is it, the last remnant of the great Stormcloak kingdom? With no high king to lead you; you'll charge into the imperial ranks in some bastardisation of great battle. Perhaps to die or vanquish in what will be a great many dead? Why not stand behind myself and Balgruuf the greater as equal men, propose to remove the imperials by their own weaknesses, so that we can all rebuild Skyrim and make this land strong again? Tell me my brothers – are you all so eager for an inglorious death?" Sun-Killer and Cairn-Breaker; with Arrald Frozen-Heart and Red-Shoal were that sort of keen, they told Reynald that firmly.

Yet the men behind them were not as vainglorious as them; the others Reynald knew as Hjornskar Head-Smasher; who he'd fought with at Whiterun, Kai Wet-Pommel and Frorkmar Banner-Torn who both lived in cities Reynald had helped liberate from the vampires and thalmor, where all wary, now that they had assurances of his intentions perhaps.

All of them wrangled between each other as Balgruuf was returned to some sense of ease; his hand useless in a thick white sheen of cloth, those two shield maidens began to fuss over the now pooling corpse of Skyrim's one time high king, the men around were despondent as his body was tended too.

They didn't have time to lament; perhaps only to die, as near every stormcloak within a league stood and wavered, on came the legion. It started with a host of scouts filling into the camp; clambering to despair with the others as they found out the events, before the sound of the legions great bull horns began to sound.

There was no order or composure, from every porter to the high captains everyone hadn't the heart to resist, not truly in a battle to the death against the ranked formations of the veteran ninth, but Balgruuf the greater; owing to his name stood up, clambering upon a nearby hut to preach to the men around him, "All of you listen to me! Is it not the great charge laid against me; that I am in league with the imperials and working against our homeland? Form the ranks known to you; shoulder your armour and grasp your spears! I will go forward and make these imperials leave of their own accord, then we all will have a free Skyrim."

Everyone was eager for that to become truth; save Cairn-Breaker and his sort, to Reynald's disgust they turned their backs, proposed that they should throw their lot in with Galmar Stone-Fist in the rift, but not all the men thought of glory or slaughter, most wanted the idea of peace Reynald and Balgruuf had fashioned.

Some small number of men turned and left as the stormcloak camp rumbled into readiness; perhaps two hundred in a haze of men eager to get beyond the breech and see the imperials finally repelled, "Get us out of this and I'll deliver you to Whiterun myself" Hjornskar Head-Smasher related to Balgruuf, callous given he was Galmar's direct lieutenant in the stormcloak assault, "Ready the men and put on a brave show; and I'll not challenge you for honour's sake, Hjornskar" Balgruuf returned, as whatever remnant of leadership went fourth on horseback in front of the winding foot array.

They broke across a great outlay of thick brush across woodlands; the reason the old stone towers had to be relied upon instead of the usual wooden watchtowers for the stormcloak camp, there was no track across where they would potentially meet, thick woods intersected by a rolling stream that left little room for the formations of the imperial lines.

Reynald surveyed that the imperials could remain on the brink of torrent and soak up any volleys from the stormcloaks heavy archer prescience, the imperials meanwhile held superiority that their shieldwall could hold upon the banks even against skilled assault men like the stormcloaks, either side wouldn't think of flanking around the broken terrain that permitted the borders of where they would engage.

It would be a thick; congested and narrow, you couldn't wager any decisive victories in this sort of engagement, they could thank the divines that Tullius would know this, but Reynald could only wonder what the general was planning.

He led beside Balgruuf who trusted his thu'um it seemed; his own prescience non-withstanding, as he rode straight for the imperial lines as if he was rejoining an old comrade rather than an enemy, Reynald rode astride of him unperturbed, imperials weren't known for slaying any party coming as messengers.

As they came within the stream Reynald recognised the formed ranks of the legions, the heavy infantry of steel and spear that had for so long terrorised battlefields and reduced errant states and cities to obedience, the ninth with its immortalised ruby dragon standard across a field of pearly silver. Inside the ranks and before the secondary line of soldiers and ongoing support infantry, he saw general Tullius upon a white charger with all his massed force complimenting his steely complexion.

He counted eight cohorts in their usual numbered ranks, two less than what was considered a full legion, there were no real content of mages or archers to see, while every legionnaire wore dented and worn armour – had the grim look of greying veterans in the first ranks Reynald could catch a good look of.

Tullius for his part was surprised as the pair; no longer followed by any of those others directed to oversee the stormcloaks themselves, Reynald turned to see a huge swath of cobalt and steel beginning to oppose these imperials, he turned to trot on with Balgruuf.

They stopped short of the river, holding their reins and showing their lack of weapons, Balgruuf called Tullius forward with something resembling unease in his voice, the thousand strong vanguard opposing them with a blazing wall of spears troubled Reynald.

Tullius came on in his splendid general's attire; the golden trimmed, marron leather cuirass and accompanying finery accustomed to the head of a legion, his head struck with now greyed hair but his hazel eyes as alert as ever. On his left hand he held the reins of his horse while upon the other he grasped the pommel of a stark white sword held upon his chargers mount, his eyes squared upon Reynald almost immediately as he approached.

"What are you doing here traitor, what is the meaning of this Balgruuf?" Rikke upon Tullius' left flank asked harshly. Tullius didn't look to correct her; it was hardly easy to explain given Reynald's past affiliation. Balgruuf managed a fairly acceptable job, explaining his attempt to run the Stormcloak scouting parties, being captured and then finally sentenced to death by Ulfric, followed by Reynald's plan to allow him a challenge towards Ulfric himself.

The result was known to them; the end of Ulfric Stormcloak, but it left more questions, Tullius didn't even bother asking the final fate of the former king's body, he only focused on the current appearance of his army. "Why are their ranks formed behind you Balgruuf? You're not thinking of throwing in with the stormcloaks are you?" It was another hard question, but Balgruuf looked confidant, assured of his fate, "Tullius; I have always been repulsed at the idea of the white-gold concordat, but I always stood by the empire, opposed Ulfric and his rebellion. I thought that I would die in the hands of that murderer, but I realise that the dragonborn is not the same man. Yet he too wishes Skyrim free of the empire, and why? Because the corruption of the empire is rampant, you're new emperor is a fool, your government is full of flesh eating – gold stuffing robbers. I cannot in good conscience return our bounty to the empire."

Tullius looked pained to hear the words, a man at a loss to see how his chief aim could be tainted by the words of a man he saw as an ally; perhaps even a friend. Reynald was the direction of his anger, he vented on the dragonborn that looked like the very brigand that Tullius accused him of being "You. You've done this. With that serpents tongue of yours, twisting things to destroy the empire who wronged you" he was literally incensed, a hair away from lifting his hand up to commence the attack, but Reynald interceded his tirade "General calm; before you throw away more lives of your men, and force Balgruuf to waste more nord lives" Reynald held his hands palms up, he kept his tone as easy as possible, everything was upon the edge of a blade.

"I know you hate me; for the lives of your men I've caused to die, for the uprising in High Rock and the affronts to imperial justice. But I'll only remind you that this empire you fight for is no longer the embodiment of what it was built upon; it's no longer the dreams of Tiber Septim – only a poor caricature of that glorious dream. Why should you ask Balgruuf and all those who stand behind him to spend their lives so that the fat lords in the white-gold tower can enjoy their gold and splendour? Should you not ask what you're fighting for? What you're men have died for?"

"Your traitors tongue won't work on me dragonborn" Tullius all but growled, the very visage of a Cyrodillic behemoth, but Reynald persisted stubbornly.

"Listen to me general Tullius, I saved Skyrim – the world because I believed we could not return to Alduin's twisted dreams, of servitude and the banishment of justice! Why then should I prescribe that the men of Skyrim bend the knee while the Thalmor run free, does your heart not bleed everytime you condemn an innocent man to die in pursuit of his gods? Are men not allowed to love what and who they want?"

"There was nothing we could have done! Nothing the emper-

"The emperor is dead Tullius! Slain by one of the elder council" Reynald was sick of it, sick of this man's delusions of a free empire, a fair empire, "You protect a dead monarch; a dead idea, is it worth your life, your men's lives? If you fight now then perhaps you'll conquer, but you'll have to go on and slaughter all those who would be buoyed by their brother's slaughter. Balgruuf just slew their king and yet they stand behind him rather than face another quarter of imperial taxes; another period of thalmor persecution, another one of their sons dragged away to guard a border against the sand lands or the poisoned forests of the bosmeri" Reynald's voice was impassioned even by his own estimation, Balgruuf gave him a look of what could be considered pride, Tullius lost his fire, and the strength in his shoulders went.

"So it seems it comes to this once again, you'll fight to the death to secure your independence Balgruuf, and you dragonborn will do everything you can to unravel the empire" Tullius voice was accusatory but low, the four guards following him were uncertain, Balgruuf was fervent at Reynald's fluency of Skyrim's opposition to the empire, perhaps he saw what truly lay in store for his people if he could but glimpse freedom for them.

"Tullius I do not ask you to turn your army away and never look upon Skyrim; as Ulfric foolishly did, but I will grant you a compromise to avert this newest battle" Reynald had discussed all this in length with Balgruuf, in his tiny damp cell, against the threat of a broad axe clambering across his neck, but now he saw the advent of a new Skyrim. "We will grant amnesty to any families of those displaced by the war of the imperial favour, your soldiers and nobles included. I will lead the movement; with the dragonborns help and Solitude's support – so that the stormcloaks are reduced and a true formation of Skyrim's people can be formed, rather than an army bred for contempt of other races man and mer alike" Tullius did not dispute as Balgruuf weighed it to him firstly, a good sigh given that a nord Reynald noticed as a guard perked at that. "Furthermore Skyrim; under either myself or the dragonborn's – perhaps even jarl Elisif's rule, will recognise imperial authority in the way an allied kingdom would, with tribute of grain and other support as being fair. We will come to your aid in times as when needed, against the thalmor or any other threat that presents."

"And in return?" was the obvious question, Balgruuf was just as simple in his response.

"Skyrim will stand as Ulfric made it to be; I owe that to his propriety at least. Your armies will vacate the south and return to Cyrodiil, nords will be permitted to join the legion in the same fashion as the bretons or orcs, but there will no other authority upon us" If he was unsure or wavering Reynald didn't catch it, Balgruuf rose to be great lord in his eyes then that Ulfric should have been. A kind but firm man; with personal morality governed by equality of races yet the lessening of no religions or people for the basis of another, Tullius seemingly agreed.

The general was jaded and angry, his legions and legates in all behind him looked weary and battered, there was no spirit in their array despite the gleam of their sabres and spears, every shield was rent, every helmet was battered, the sigils and standards blew unsteadily in the winds, they faced down what they saw as a ferocious army of nords unwilling to surrender.

Tullius blinked before Balgruuf, ordering his legates to return themselves to the array, to Balgruuf he finally related his last words, "I thought better of you Balgruuf, I thought that you might want to do more than what Ulfric would have done. But I understand why you're doing this over that traitor, you want to protect your people and I don't have enough strength to stop you." His horse reined up and the general began trotting away, over his shoulder he called to them again "I'll see about what Cyrodiil thinks of this, if they'll accept it. If not – well then we'll meet on the battlefield regardless." Reynald and Balgruuf watched him go, the stormcloaks roared behind as they slunk back into their occupied hold and her outlaying regions, visible at the end of the forest, "We have a lot to do Balgruuf" Reynald motioned for them to return to their own lines, Balgruuf snorted.

"That's putting it easy dragonborn. We still have Whiterun and Vignar Grey-Mane to deal with, not to mention all these stormcloaks" that was an understatement, clear as an argonians skin they realised, the return to the camp had summoned every single nordic soldier within ten leagues of the main encampment.

Balgruuf was at first worried that it would look like a planning of a final onslaught to the imperials before a wild chorus went up through the ranks, not for slaughter or revenge even against himself but rather something more innocent and dramatically pleasing.

The men wanted to go home; all of them in varying degrees of longing, some who would forego their wages for the moment to others who would stay only long enough to see the imperials finally escape through the passes, the captains that were left them were bloated in numbers by all sorts of men who represented parties or warriors and warbands, families of men and guardsmen that had been brought into the ranks.

Hjornskar Head-Smasher spoke for the men who had been the most veteran or fervent in Ulfric's war, though those that had left with the vengeful captains had seen fit to despise Balgruuf and Reynald together, leaving only the men who were loyal enough to Skyrim to resist their fury at the pair.

Frorkmar was a Dawnstar man, 'aligned to Reynald's side by way of homestead and a rather fair liking of the dragonborn' he'd said, thankfully more than a few of the men found him a great captain and easy man to put their swords and axes behind. Kai Wet-Pommel likewise had provided enough valorous service in the rebuffing of an imperial assault on Winterholds outskirts to give him popular appeal, but in all the numbers lost to them in leadership was insurmountable.

Captains of guards sourced from Riften and Markarth came and complained that they wished to go home almost immediately, and Balgruuf was not willing to leave them with the same distaste they seemed to hold for Ulfric under their tight tones. Both sets of men to the number of four hundred were told to pack their belongings and prepare their separate marches tonight, something that opened the floodways for the rest.

Men of large homesteads and farming communities complained that they would miss the harvest; others said that their homes had been raided constantly by bandits and brigands. All wished to leave in the same manner of those begging for leave before them, immediately that night.

"I will deal with your requests when I have worked out how many men we can afford to have retire from the field" Balgruuf had told them, but it was clear that sooner than later they would take the lack of leadership as a boon and go themselves.

This was both a blessing and a curse; as it meant both that Ulfric's array of stormcloaks for the most were disheartened for war, which served them well until the point Tullius decided to march upon them for a battle.

"We must keep enough men to maintain the air of an able fighting force" Reynald had warned throughout the day as they'd taken to Ulfric's original entrenchment, to hear what was being said for the men, past the three captains who were probably sore to have been displaced by two seemed traitors in their true hearts "These men were the most useful there truly however, all three proved their weight in steel by being completely unable to stem the tide of possible desertions, yet were able to report it accurately at least.

"Near four hundred men from Windhelm wish to return home and help repair the damages to their homes" Head-Smasher reported in one instance past the break of day, "More than one hundred ship-hands men from the Pale are planning to march home by noon today" he reported only a little time later. Wet-Pommel proved as slippery as his sword suggested by informing them his men wouldn't leave until their dues were paid, and that would be sooner than the last men leaving in a day's time by his reckoning, Banner-Torn meanwhile could marshal some few hundred others to patrol through the trees and emplace them thickly to supply the idea of strength.

By the time supper had arrived Balgruuf for all his bluster realised things were useless, Reynald some time before. Too many had been broken by the king and truly Reynald was surprised more weren't in fits of tears or throwing themselves upon their own swords, but really it came to nothing more than these men fighting for their homes, it meant they wanted to see them again.

Finally as they heard the cooks and butchers had decided to pack up everything worth having; mainly all the ale and meat, Reynald decided to act for them both, it meant gathering their three loose captains and what remained of a veteran lot of guardsmen.

"Frorkmar I need you to settle this idea of not feeding whatever men decide to stay, bring as many soldiers as you'll need for the job. We need one more night from whatever men are staying, don't take no for an answer" He told the seemingly most responsible of the three first, who took twenty men to settle that account, before he turned to Hjornskar, the most ferocious of the lot.

"Take whatever men that leaves you with and get all the coin and plunder together here, I don't want war chests marching off into the night, no one receives their wages until we sort this mess out" was that instruction, followed by a derisive Windhelm native who thought it was a flash in the pan of their larger problems, Kai Wet-Pommel was perhaps the least useful, if Reynald gauged them on who was willing to see this out.

"I need you to bring me whoever leads the Whiterun guard, quickly and quietly." He felt the wheels of his plan set in motion, even as Ulfric's army disintegrated around him, a flash of slogging bodies outside the thrown open entrance, either throwing their slinging their long staves to handle their packs or packing up tents.

"We'll lose half our arms at this rate not to mention our soldiers" Balgruuf said off against Ulfric's flat lined desk, rooting their through his designs of further stratagems and correspondences, "We better hope Tullius is suitably cowed" No one who knew the man thought he could ever be easily cowed, but Reynald at least had enough dragon shaped deterrents up his sleeve to ward off a full assault, perhaps to a retreat to a denser location if needed.

That however was something removed from his mind as a man entered with Wet-Pommel, sturdy looking with sharp indigo eyes and a round kernel like head. He was perhaps only slightly older than Reynald but wider and with two rickety looking pommels across his thin hips, in the usual garb of a soldier including all the mail and netted quilt, with no colours typical to a stormcloak was present.

"Captain Anshal as ordered dragonborn" Wet-Pommel introduced, a man not known to Balgruuf despite being from the man's own city it seemed, "I have never failed to know a face from the city guard my brother" Balgruuf greeted with warm tones, yet questioning all the same.

Anshal appeared flustered at that, embarrassed even "I was installed ahead of many of the older guard sir…jarl Balgruuf" he replied unevenly, he looked to them far more dangerous than he sounded, though to the boots on the dirt he had nearly one hundred and fifty men from the city of Whiterun.

Reynald didn't ask him about his men's desires or needs, his plan needed to move ahead, and what it was amounted to a simple question of "Will you return Balgruuf to the throne of Whiterun; as is his by the right of familial succession?" it was direct and loaded, Reynald stood opposing him and Balgruuf looking on intently in the corner. It was too much for the man it seemed, too much for him to resist anyways.

"I'll have you instated as a captain in your own right if you prove your trust to me" Balgruuf promised, before Reynald insisted that the man would be ready to leave tonight, "I cannot go with them tonight" Balgruuf had tried to argue but the dragonborn knew that had to be the way of things, time wasted meant more time in where there advantage slipped.

"We need a powerful array to stand against further stormcloak aggression; Galmar Stone-Fist will be dangerous in a pitched battle, but let's see him rally support if he finds half of Ulfric's supporters returning to their homes and you seated in your rightful throne" Reynald argued with insistence bordering on intensity, "No man who isn't a jarl commands forces beyond their own loyalty to his cause, that cause died with Ulfric for most we've seen that. The pale and Solitude will soon be known to declare for your ascension to high king; Markarth is beset by the forsworn and won't go beyond her borders to help anyone regardless of who's the jarl. If you add Whiterun then you have the two most economically powerful holds in Skyrim on your side, while the pale holds the route to the sea, Winterhold if promised a port can be convinced to leave whatever remnant in Windhelm that proves hostile flat."

"So it will end with Whiterun…how strange that I thought I would never see dragonsreach again but only a few hours ago." It was settled, the prospective high king would go try his hand at recapturing his own home, leaving the imperials to the dragonborn.

How many men he would be left with was more than likely a bigger concern, the night fell and on came the rushing of captains of lesser note begging notes of forthcoming payment, guarantees and sworn oaths while Reynald waited on the hammer of the imperials following the anvil of desertion.

More than once he had to shoo men away to deal with the lot of clerks and that sort, where he could find them from the now decimated ranks of Ulfric's orderly staff. He was beginning to thank Talos for the men who'd stayed behind to help them stem the tide, until he heard the hasty blows of that same legion bull horn as before, weaker and less in number yet present all the same.

He'd gotten his sword back from Balgruuf; had Hjornskar find him some reasonable armour in the form of an iron cuirass in good condition that he could throw over his now well soiled travelling garments. It left him looking more like an escaped prisoner than a commander of a thousand's strong army, but he supposed he wouldn't even be in command of a few hundred men if the night kept up.

"Wet-pommel met him with a pair of horses ready for riding, Reynald leapt up beside him as a few men gathered some mounts behind against the backdrop of a tension filled camp, men ran to and fro without concern for their captains, the entire place was a frenzy.

He left orders for order if something resembling that was possible, kicked up his horse and sped away towards the sound of the imperial horns in an attempt to intersect them before the camp. If it was an order of diplomacy for the plans then that was good, if it was an attack then perhaps Reynald and his newest dragon acquaintance could at least rout them through confusion.

It was madness instead; a throng of worn imperial scouts offering him peaceful passage, 'the general needs to speak to you urgently sir' was what they said. So he went across the river with them, past all the pitched spikes and traps worn into thick bush that the scouts were careful to avoid on the way, past sturdy lookout posts and archer dugouts that eyed him curiously as he went.

After what was a long while; and having seen that the imperials were in no great number past the oncoming Falkreath Reynald began to wonder what this meant, rather than worrying about an attack, the guards certainly didn't show any signs of aggression as they lead him in a flurry towards the dusky town at the foot of Skyrim.

It was a quiet place that while thought of as foul; where as he really thought to be serene, a place where solemn men worked and drank while quiet ladies found comfort in their lives. The thickets of barricades and high emplacements coupled with rows upon rows of endless of lily white tents.

Tullius it seemed had commandeered the jarls own court for his business here, a relatively quant little longhouse like those of Winterhold and Dawnstar. There was nothing save legionnaires upon the streets to put him in the mind of a curfew and more than a few gave him a wary glance before turning away. The men sent for him took neither his weapon nor attempted to hamper him as he made his way inside through the thick door blocking him from the general, what he met inside was almost horrendous but surely stupefying.

Legate Rikke was around the table they had planted in the middle of the slightly upraised dais, with a flutter of white robes healers around her looking to pull two arrows lodged inside her breastbone, just under her now mail that was unable to be pulled off like her plate, Tullius was over her in a fury.

The men around scrambled back; most of them low enough in rank to warrant not being able to scramble out of Tullius' way, the guard even announcing Reynald took a weak attempt at coughing such was the ferocity of the aged mans appearance, Tullius turned with blazing eyes.

"All of you save the healers out! Lock the door behind you, if any man wishes to come through it they'll go through you" the men all moved quickly to evacuate while Tullius stared down Reynald, who could only stare back blankly.

After a moment of madness the general sighed, blew out a deep breath over his shadowed eyes and motioned for the dragonborn to follow him, into the small recess usually providing accommodation for the jarl of the place beyond their own sleeping quarters.

"No jarl to bother you Tullius?" Reynald wondered as he noticed the room was entirely devoid of amenities, filled rather with multitudes of war plans and broad maps across its walls and thick legged table at its centre, along with piles of quills upon the ledger mount beside along with the impromptu station of an imperial scribe just beside.

"Jarl Sigmund has been relieved of his quarters until he can become useful to the war effort" he dryly told him, hardly surprising given the man's overall snide appearance, "Jarl's don't matter anymore regardless dragonborn, not Sigmund; not even Balgruuf really. We've got emperors and plotters to worry about now, which is why the legate is in their bleeding over my main command table, and why you're here with me instead of plotting across the river."

"Kindly explain" Reynald said evenly, taking a seat across from the table and waiting impatiently.

Tullius did explain; something so wide and far ranging that he could hardly believe it even as the man's teeth gritted and his voice went as cool as the night's breeze. Words concerning conspiracies in the imperial city between the two princely heirs of the late emperor; violence in the streets of the palace district between two opposing factions of supporters, culminating in a series of brutal battles that cost the lives of the marshal elect, the favoured consort of the emperor and his sister to share, along with a currently unknown number of the high echelons of the elder council.

It wasn't all either; in fact it was but the prelude to something far more distressing news for Tullius at least, the emperor's oldest son Eldra had been driven to the undercity itself in the confusion, presumed dead if not lost.

The palace itself had been near burnt to the ground; the younger brother struck with a poisoned dart, someone had slain three thalmor representatives and the palace guard was said to have been riotous themselves in the free for all, cutting down scores of lesser nobles on the orders of the dead marshal.

"That's…quite a tale Tullius" Reynald said simply, as he couldn't help but understate the weight of the news, "I fail to see how that relates to legate Rikke and her arrow wounds however?" It appeared the general was only warming up.

He then mentioned the Cheydinhal bastards and wondered if Reynald knew of them, a stupid question given that everybody in Nirn rather than the legion had heard of the 'flagged vagrants'. Men of the eastern watch of the imperial city coupled with the ruins of the fifth and sixth legions, thrown in together with whatever refugees from Morrowind and Blackmarsh that could be pulled together.

All of it made a cluster of races and sects into a legionary force that was unlike any other in Cyrodiil, un-trusted and scrupulous under the command of men who had been given control of the lands south of Cyrodiil's only eastern great city in order to providence against the threat of Black Marsh. They had thrived and became powerful lords in their own right, there legions received their pay from these men themselves rather than the treasury of the imperial coffers, which meant loyalty to the men in the backwater of Cyrodiil rather than the heart of the Nibean.

"I'll get right to it dragonborn then; not tricks or threats" Tullius said reminding him of his prescience, Reynald's mind buzzed with the scandal of it all. "In the panic the remnant of the elder council in conjunction with what army precinct that remained decided to act swiftly to regain control of the capital. In their haste they turned to the current legionary 'counsellor' – as they call themselves on the southern banks, Eurthika Teleron." Reynald knew the same, had heard veterans curse it especially if they were dunmeri, a 'coward' if anyone could ever be called that from the days of the great war.

"The mans a viper by what I heard" Reynald answered to what had to have been their first agreement, "He's the worst imperial I've ever met, probably due to him having some of that beast blood in him. The swine had managed to have contact with whatever remained of the elder council, convinced them to install him as the protector of the capital. That was near two months ago; but I only found out when one of his garrisons along the lower Jerall's feathered legate Rikke and her party on return to Bravil."

"What? What is he doing garrisoning the passes, attacking your troops?" Was it pure rebellion? A plot perhaps against Tullius himself, whatever it was the general himself was at pains to say it, the words came out bitter and confused, "He's a power hungry dog that's why. Always looking to get this honour or that, lands or titles or the emperor's favour for one of his new cities or foundations."

"And now without an emperor?" Reynald suggested, Tullius knew what he meant.

"Dragonborn you know as well as I do men covet power. Most if not all in some respects" Tullius told him with Reynald not quite sure if it was a jab, "This Eurthika is a spoiled brat of the worst sorts of Cyrodiilic's, bastard sons of foreign missions with no real loyalty. I can't allow the emperor's sons to fall into the hands of someone who hasn't got the best intentions of the empire at heart, he'll not back them he'll kill them" Tullius was assured of it, Reynald saw it in his eyes as clearly as he had ever saw conviction, but it didn't bring them to why he was here.

"You want me to help you overthrow this…usurper? " he asked quiz idly, Tullius gave him a stout nod and pressed forward to meet them eye to eye, Reynald rose and found that he was slightly elevated on the general, but he didn't feel like he overawed the man, not once not ever. "Will you help me? To restore some sense of order inside the empire before it falls apart. If you want Skyrim independent then fine, I'll not press north of the Jeralls for so long as I'm in command – I'll swear it upon the bones of my ancestors. But I need your abilities to break the deadlock through the passes. I need your dragons to remove these parties"

Reynald could have laughed; could have cried, he could have flatly refused the general just to be spiteful in the face of all his hostility. But he didn't and he couldn't even if he wanted nothing more in Nirn, he had Skyrim's freedom delivered and what seemed like the hostility of the imperials tempered if only for a little while.

It was all he needed to let Balgruuf sort this mess out, let him get his bearings back in High Rock and concentrate a stance across what was coming to be two independent states of imperial held territory.

"I assume you only wish for me to fleck these ambushers off the pathways. Rather than torch them all root and branch?" he enquired feeling himself get back into the mind of business, his real calling.

"I'll need you to move quickly, I've scheduled my legions to march out in the morning. If you upset this setback then I'll be in Bravil by the end of the week, Eurthika won't be expecting that if I deal with his garrison parties, there's no way short of a miracle to displace men in the Jerall's" Tullius was speaking in his generals voice, but Reynald wasn't the usual lowly slodjer in the mud, "Then what do you expect to do, Charge the imperial city against the man sent to protect it? You'll cause a civil war Tullius" he warned.

The general wasn't in a questioning mood, he was in his I may care mood, "If you want this peace dragonborn then you'll do as I ask, then you can go back to patching up Skyrim"

"What of my activities in the west?" Reynald asked to a suddenly severe Tullius, "That will be settled on another time; another day dragonborn. Let's just put out one fire at a time and hope you can get what remains of Ulfric's horde under control."

It wasn't what he expected nor what he was prepared for, in fact as he removed himself with Tullius onto the streets of Falkreath he found himself suddenly overwhelmed at how much the tide had turned. Where Tullius saw an affront Reynald saw an opportunity, the final blow to the mede dynasty that would cause an uproar in the imperial city, whether good or bad was to be seen.

In his experience events could be moulded somewhat to a person's liking if they but played their own part correctly, for Reynald that meant acting the hero for Tullius and his legion, perhaps bridging the gap to allow the veterans the opportunity to remove the scampering eastern legions from the capital, or rather instead and more importantly – allowing himself a foothold through the passes.

Tullius needed him to go now, the passes would be open and whatever draft agreement put forward by him in place by dawn, Reynald resisted the offer of legionary surplus armour and instead took to consuming some of their mead and dry meats, scoffing it all as he removed himself to an open field west of the dour brown city.

There he threw out his voice to incarnate Durnehviir, a dread inspiring sight for someone who hadn't caught sight of it before. The purple miasma that morphed into the great fleshy dragon made Tullius and those twenty or so of his guards recoil back in shock, but Durnehviirwas elated once again to be of Nirn again.

"Saraan uth Dovakiin. I hope this Revla of mine will involve your mortal combat" the malevolent at its soul beast inquired, as ghoulish as Reynald had ever met in his travels spare but a few. Tullius looked disgusted but Reynald cared not a little at that, clambering on the pussing skin of Durnehviir and commanding him towards the southern approach to Skyrim.

"Fly high and fast my friend. Search out any signs of those like me, they will be but few in those frosted parts" he commanded, to the great delight and speed of his only comrade.

If he thought he knew speed before he was mistaken as Durnehviir flew so mightily that he thought he might lose his grip, hands tightening on the creatures natural armor as he rose higher and higher until only the mountains of the Jerall's were anything but shapeless specs to his sight.

They continued south until Reynald had to cast a slight heat upon himself just to stop his fingers from frosting over or his eyes becoming useless, every white sheet of mountain appeared all the same as they searched for their prey.

It wasn't a task that left Reynald numb and crusted over however; they had not gone that far when Durnehviir snorted and roared, throwing himself off course to barrel towards a crag of rock somewhere towards where he imagined the passway would remain.

"Kri Lok Dovakiin. Our prey awaits" was the only notice he was given before they swooped towards the impassable peaks, through the wind and snow unto a relatively flat plateau that any military commander would give their first born for.

"Do not kill them in great number Durnehviir! Only make them flee!" he shouted as the wind blew out his ears, perhaps to no avail. But whether he would relent his lust for slaying was a matter well before his task of not being sheared apart as he was given a chance to rush off into the midst of whatever camp had been erected.

He was only dropped perhaps a few sten yet it was a reaching body blow to have him so hastily dropped; like a deadweight he lay in the thick snow as anyone who was aware of themselves lost themselves to fear at the sight of a dragon.

Durnehviir was enormous even for a dragon; legendary and ancient beyond comprehension, even to those who had been somewhat 'experienced' with dragons would turn tail on him, these soldiers were terrified out of their armor.

Camps were torched and burnt even in the frost inducing weather, fireballs and mistmen all fell upon them from the ghastly dragons fearsome maw, and all the while Reynald in a rush of dragonbone threw upon them so fiercely with his sword that they could not tell if it was one hundred or just one man.

It took less than a watch to rout the camp; bodies lain half charred and frozen but few dead from Reynald's own sword, a bitter taste that allowed him the knowledge that he'd slew men due to the actions of another pompous fool who imagined himself the highest authority in the land.

As he sat within the empty camp, watched overhead by a roaring and lusting dragon Reynald knew he had secured his passage to Cyrodiil, on the backs of the ninth legion that he had helped envelop and destroy for the most.

Dynastic terrors in the south; revolutions of a king in the north, it meant all potential good for a revitalization towards the kingdoms of men if he could work his way into the thoughts of sympathizers that remained for a great empire and realm.

It wouldn't be easy however; it wouldn't be bloodless, and as he sat there Reynald thought that the worst thing for today was those words of Tullius in his diatribe earlier in this longest of days.

Three thalmor slain…an invitation to war for the dominion, a war that the empire could not fight perhaps, if men were not there to meet them, the great war had brought all the assembled might of Alinor towards the very gates of the imperial palace and beyond.

Reynald would be ninth damned if he even let them burn one patch of ground in the golden heights.