A/N: I forgot to post a chapter for this story yesterday, so you get two updates today. Make sure you read this one and the next!

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Ulfrida Stormcloak and her retinue have barely left Ivarstead behind and begun their way towards the start of the Seven Thousand Steps when they’re stopped by a visitor in a cloak.
 
“Jarl Ulfrida. What the blazing fucks do you think you’re doing?”
 
Needless to say, several of her Stormcloaks immediately draw weapons in defense of her honor, but Ulfrida holds up a hand to stay their bloodlust, gazing upon the intruder in silence until the other woman huffs and finally lowers her hood. Narrowing her eyes, the Jarl of Windhelm lets out a grunt.
 
“What do you want, Breton?”
 
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, we don’t have time for your Nord Supremacy bullshit. I want to know what you’re thinking! Why would you walk head-first into this trap?!”
 
Ulfrida raises a brow at that.
 
“Trap? You think that the Greybeards would dare betray their neutrality in such a way?”
 
“The Greybeards are blinded by the Dragonborn!”
 
The outburst causes a rustle through the Stormcloak troops. Everyone here knew that it was the Dragonborn in conjunction with the Greybeards who had called this Peace Conference. To think that that young Nord who had shared a wagon with Ulfrida all those months ago would turn out to be someone of such import… it was still hard for Ulfrida to wrap her head around.
 
Unfortunately, Ralof hadn’t made it out of Helgen alive, or else Ulfrida might have received news earlier. As it was, she’d only heard distant murmurings of dragons and the Dragonborn for the last months, until suddenly, the Dragonborn and the Greybeards were demanding that both sides of the Civil War come to the table in order to negotiate a temporary peace.
 
Apparently, Alduin the World-Eater had returned and brought all manner of dragons back from the dead with her. If they were to have any hope of defeating Alduin and her fellow dragons, they would need to stop fighting for a time, or Skyrim and the rest of the world would be forfeit. Of course, Ulfrida couldn’t just call for a ceasefire, lest she look weak.
 
But she also couldn’t ignore a call from the Greybeards themselves to go to High Hrothgar and attend a peace summit. If she did, General Tullius would gain even more support to his side. However, on the other hand, if she didn’t and the Imperials ignored the call, then THEY would be the ones to lose support.
 
Really, it was a no brainer. But then there was this Breton… and Ulfrida still didn’t know who she was.
 
Seemingly realizing that her hidden identity was doing her no further favors, the blonde cuts a hand through the air.
 
“I am Delphine, Grandmaster of the Blades. And I have come to beseech you to not walk right into the arms of the Thalmor!”
 
Ulfrida’s eyes widen at that, and even her Stormcloaks react to that bit of news. The Blades were not a Nord organization by any means, they were wholly Imperial. But even the Nords had heard tale of them, and there was a certain kinship between the Blades and the Stormcloaks, or so Ulfrida liked to think.
 
“Grandmaster… what information do you have? How many Blades still live?”
 
At this, Delphine’s face scrunches up and falls.
 
“… I am the last. But information, I have a-plenty. The Dragonborn is a Nord girl named Svanna… but she has been completely corrupted by a Thalmor Agent named Vayral. He has not only taken control of her, like a puppet on strings, he has also taken over the College of Winterhold as it’s Arch-Mage. There is even talk of him running roughshod over Riften, that even Maven Black-Briar and the Thieves Guild have come under his control!”
 
The Jarl of Windhelm mulls over the self-proclaimed Grandmaster’s information. On the one hand, she’s not much of a Grandmaster of anything if she’s the last of her kind. Still, being the last of the Blades is a feat in and of itself. On the other hand, the information she’s just spouted out for all to hear is… rather damning, if true.
 
“What proof do you have of this? What evidence?”
 
“… Nothing I can give you. But know this, Vayral has had dealings with the Thalmor Ambassador, Elenwen. The First Emissary will be up there at High Hrothgar, waiting for you.”
 
THAT sends a jolt through Ulfrida’s body. Elenwen… that’s a name the Jarl of Windhelm hasn’t heard in a long time. It’s NOT a name that fills her with any joy or even confidence. If Elenwen is up there… then indeed, it might very well be a trap. Certainly, it’s evidence that the Imperials are not willing to negotiate even a temporary peace in good faith, if they can’t slip the leash of their Thalmor Masters for even a second.
 
And yet… and yet…
 
Ulfrida lets out an explosive breath, before giving Delphine a sharp nod.
 
“I thank you for your knowledge and advice… but this changes nothing. I must still go to High Hrothgar and be seen making the attempt, even if it is all for naught. To do otherwise would doom the Stormcloak cause.”
 
Delphine looks taken aback and confused.
 
“But… it’s a trap!”
 
Ulfrida lets a wicked grin spread across her face, and looks to her men.
 
“Tell her what we Stormcloaks do with a trap, boys!”
 
“WE SPRING THE TRAP!”
 
-x-X-x-
 
In the end, Delphine had insisted upon coming with them. Ulfrida had… graciously allowed it. After all, if the Imperial swine wanted to raise a fuss about a member of the Blades being in her retinue, then she could just as easily call out Elenwen’s presence at the peace summit.
 
And so, together they climbed. Only, when they reached the top, the Greybeard forbade any of Ulfrida’s men from coming inside. Only she and Delphine were allowed entrance, and after a bit of going back and forth, she’d ultimately accepted.
 
Now though, sitting around the table with the other members of this so-called Peace Conference, Ulfrida was starting to wonder what she was even doing here. Her counterpart, General Tullius, hadn’t even bothered to show up!
 
Instead, on the Imperial side of things was Elisif the Fair and Legate Rikke. The wife of the High-King that Ulfrida slew, and the General’s Aide of all people. Now, Ulfrida was well aware that Elisif had laid claim to the title of Jarl of Solitude. And she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that General Tullius would name Elisif as High-Queen if Ulfrida’s rebellion ended in failure.
 
… But even if it might be hypocritical of her, it was hard to look at the other woman as anything more than Torygg’s wife. She was just so… soft. So pathetic. So weak in both body and heart. She was a girl playing at being a leader, while Ulfrida Stormcloak was a warrior who had survived countless battles and proven her capacity to lead!
 
On Ulfrida’s side, twas just herself… and Delphine. Now, more than ever, the Jarl of Windhelm was glad she’d allowed the Blade to come along. Delphine was the only friend face she saw in this room, and even with Delphine at her side, she felt outnumbered. Because even if officially, only Elisif and Rikke were here to represent the Imperials, there was still the First Emissary.
 
Ambassador Elenwen stood off to the side and would smirk ever so slightly whenever Ulfrida so much as made eye contact with her. Needless to say, the Jarl had endeavored not to do so as much as possible. She wanted nothing to do with that Thalmor Bitch, n-no matter their past history…
 
And then, finally, there were the two people presiding over this entire charade. The Dragonborn sat in a chair much too big for her, looking down on them all figuratively if not also literally. The little Nord was so lithe Ulfrida felt like she could pick her up and swing her around without issue! She could crush this ‘Svanna’ to her bosom and suffocate her to death with her tits alone, if she wanted to!
 
Yet, the girl looked like she thought she was better than all of them, like she KNEW she was better than all of them. Hm, Ulfrida would have to keep an eye on that one. But not as much of an eye as she’d have to keep on the Altmer at her side. This… Vayral, who Delphine claimed was a Thalmor Agent, stood next to Svanna’s chair with a hand on her shoulder and a smile on his face. He certainly had the look of a mage about him, so Ulfrida had no problem believing him to be the Arch-Mage if Winterhold. But was he truly Thalmor as well?
 
Well, one easy way to find out, wasn’t there? As the Altmer Vayral claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention and begins to speak, Ulfrida doesn’t waste time with pretty words.
 
“Alright everyone, thank you-!”
 
“Enough! What is SHE doing here?!”
 
Standing to her feet and pointing at Elenwen, Ulfrida still doesn’t look the Thalmor Ambassador in the eyes. Instead, she’s glaring right at Svanna, taking her grievance to what would seem to be the highest authority in the room. Svanna just blinks lazily, not once breaking eye contact with Ulfrida, even as Vayral clears his throat, and the Jarl finds her attention inexorably drawn to him and that… that damn SMILE of his!
 
“Ahem. First Emissary Elenwen is attending this Peace Summit as a silent neutral party. She and her contingent have already promised considerable aid towards vanquishing the Dragon threat… and so it was decided by the Dragonborn and the Greybeards that she would be granted a seat at this table. She knows not to disturb the proceedings, however. As you just did.”
 
Ulfrida bristles at that, ignoring the fact that even the Greybeards don’t seem to be allowed into this room. No, Vayral is the only male who has been allowed in, interestingly enough. Instead, Ulfrida focuses on the other thing of note that he’d said… the Thalmor had already pledged their support to fighting the Dragons.
 
That… that didn’t make any sense! The Thalmor were a bunch of greedy, selfish bastards and Elenwen was the worst, most selfish bitch of them all! This all stank of a trap the more and more Ulfrida stood here, and she would be damned if she just let this go without a fight.
 
“I refuse to negotiate any sort of peace that SHE is part of! Either she walks, or I do!”
 
There, ultimatum given. Ulfrida smirks, crossing her arms over her chest as she sniffs haughtily. Elisif is looking at her aghast, but then, the Jarl of Windhelm isn’t surprised to see her Imperial counterpart so taken aback. The girl is fit for parties and social functions, more than a council of real power like this one. Legate Rikke, meanwhile, is glaring at her angrily. Pah, she might be a Nord, but she was no true Daughter of Skyrim. Traitorous bitch, more like.
 
“Unfortunately, neither option is feasible. The doors are sealed. By stepping into this room, you have agreed to remain here until an agreement is made.”
 
Ulfrida’s eyes widen at that, as do the eyes of every person in the room save for Svanna and Vayral himself. As if sensing their outrage, Vayral raises a hand to cut them off, continuing on.
 
“The Dragon Threat is much too large for your petty fighting to continue. We WILL come to an agreement here. However, the Dragonborn understands that to expect you all to just set aside your differences would be ridiculous. Instead, an ancient Nordic Tradition will be observed. If you find your grievances are so great, then you may invoke the Ancient Nordic Tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling at any time.”
 
THAT bombshell rocks the room as well, everyone reeling back at Vayral’s words. Because… of course they all knew about the Ancient Nordic Tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling. Ulfrida most of all! Twas a long and storied Nord Tradition… one that could only take place between two women, though they did not have to both be Nords.
 
The two women would strip down to nothing, and wrestle in a mud pit. The one who came out on top would be declared the victor, and her cause just before all of Skyrim! The loser… would submit to the victor from that point forth, as the only way to wash away their muddy shame.
 
“Now then, Jarl Ulfrida of Windhelm… are you challenging First Emissary Elenwen to Mudcrab Wrestling? Shall we take this to the pit?”
 
Ulfrida licks her lips, as she finds it impossible NOT to make eye contact with Elenwen now. Despite being far from her equal in physical combat, the First Emissary doesn’t balk at the idea. No… far from it. There’s a wide, wicked grin on Elenwen’s face, as if the Thalmor Ambassador WANTS Ulfrida to invoke her people’s most ancient and revered tradition. But how can that be? How can Elenwen be so sure she’d win?
 
A shiver goes down Ulfrida’s spine, as she imagines a world in which she loses. It’s not very hard… after all, she doesn’t have to rely on her imagination to picture what it would be like to be stuck under Elenwen’s thumb, beholden to her every whim… once more. Only, this time it wouldn’t be temporarily, as the First Emissary’s reluctant, unwilling prisoner. It would be permanent, with Ulfrida’s own honor as a Nord binding her to Elenwen’s service.
 
… She couldn’t afford to risk it. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself, as she backs down without a word and shakes her head, retaking her seat. Her people, her Stormcloaks, were all relying on her. She couldn’t… if Elenwen had some trick up her sleeve, she couldn’t count on this Vayral fellow to be a fair and balanced Arbiter. Yes, that was it. She definitely, DEFINITELY wasn’t afraid.
 
“Very well. Then let’s move on with the conference.”
 
As Vayral continues to prattle on endlessly about the need for peace and the threat of the dragons, Ulfrida finds herself barely paying him any attention. Honestly, she’s not sure WHERE her head is at right now. Except… something is niggling at her thoughts. Something to do with the Ancient and Revered Nordic Tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling being brought up.
 
… More than once, she’d found herself wishing that the leaders of her enemies could be women like herself, so she could challenge them to a good bout of Mudcrab Wrestling and just… end things without any further bloodshed. Alas, it had never been possible. High-King Torygg… she’d had to challenge him to honorable combat instead and look where THAT had gotten her.
 
Pah! If it had been a bout of Mudcrab Wrestling that Ulfrida had won, she would DEFINITELY not have been chased halfway across Skyrim, nearly executed half a dozen times, and hunted by Imperials and Thalmor alike! No, even the Imperials, even the THALMOR respected the Ancient Nordic Tradition of Mudcrab Wrestling!
 
But wait… General Tullius wasn’t here. He’d sent Elisif in his stead. Ulfrida might not think much of Elisif, she might not think much of her at all… but by doing so, hadn’t General Tullius opened himself up to a unique line of attack? By sending Elisif here in his stead, fully empowered to speak on his behalf…
 
“Elisif!”
 
She interrupts Vayral again but doesn’t care. She wasn’t paying attention to what the Altmer was saying anyways. Meanwhile, Elisif looks startled at being addressed directly, and then most scornful.
 
“That is JARL Elisif to you, Ulfrida!”
 
Grinning in a carefree manner, Ulfrida just rolls her shoulders, shrugging it off.
 
“Sure. Jarl Elisif. Tullius sent you here, aye?”
 
“… Yes. The Legate and I are here on behalf of the Imperials…”
 
“You’re fully empowered to act on behalf of the Empire then? My, General Tullius has practically named you High-Queen already, hasn’t he?”
 
Elisif’s admittedly cute face scrunches up in confusion, and she grits her teeth.
 
“Watch your tongue, Ulfrida… yes, I am fully empowered to act on behalf of the Empire! What of it?!”
 
Feeling a sense of triumph welling up in her breast, Ulfrida rises to her feet again. Delphine places a hand on her arm as if to stop her, but the Jarl of Windhelm shakes the hand off. Looking to Vayral this time, recognizing him as the Dragonborn’s voice after the lithe cunt hadn’t said a word this entire time, Ulfrida smirks.
 
“I have a way for us to end this right now and bring peace to the Province. Since Elisif speaks for the entirety of the Empire here in Skyrim… I challenge Jarl Elisif the Fair to Mudcrab Wrestling! Let the Gods decide which of us is righteous! Let our fate be decided… in the PIT!”

-x-X-x-

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