The new story.

The thanks for the last chapter of Season's Ruler: To Dicasy, thanks for the Story Favourite! To DragonXander, thanks for the review. I'm glad you like who was crowned King, and Balgruuf's speech. I'm afraid you'll have a while to wait until the 'King' actually comes to light, but feel free to speculate on the new forum. As for the Thalmor, well, you won't have to wait long to see, but I suspect that it will play a far smaller role than you originally think. To Lord Dragorn, thanks for the Follower. To RavenTheHunter, thanks for the Story Favourite! To Darth Rabbits. thanks for the Story Follower. To Delphine hater, thanks for the reviews! I'm really pleased that you liked the last ending, and all I can say is that if you pay for a flight to England, then sure, I'll meet you. As for the Ezio Auditore idea, I'm not sure about that. It wouldn't fit into my story at all, and I have a lot of important stuff already going on, but thanks for the idea anyway.

Okay, first off, I just want to thank my brother for putting in some really great ideas into the whole Trilogy. I never credited him before, because I, er… forgot. To HereLies, thanks for the great editing job and for letting me run some crappy ideas by you.

Anyway, this is it. I'm going to introduce lots of new POV, so things should get interesting. My personal favourites are Thorek Silver-Blood and Nelkir White. But, you'll see those guys as time goes by. Also, I set up a new forum and hopefully, seeing as I want to get you guys biting your nails as the plot unfolds, you'll use it! I also have a new poll up, so when you see a new character (or an original one) you like, vote. You have two choices.

Anyway, this is my love child, this story, so I really hope its going to knock your socks off (eventually).


Carl Ulster Stormcloak

Carl Ulster Stormcloak watched from the shadowsas Jon Stormcloak knelt before the High King to receive his Jarldom officially. He looked on in frustration as the titles were called out, and his heraldry named. It wasn't right, not really. Uncles came before Bastards, didn't they?

The ceremony looked to go on for a while so Ulster suppressed any frustration and anger he might have at seeing his Jarldom being passed on to his nephew and stalked down the corridors of Whiterun, looking for some fresh air to clear his head. Dragonsreach was large, but eventually he made his way out into a side balcony and drew in deep breathes to calm his nerves as he stared out across the great city, his anger rising.

Thirty-three years ago Ulfric had left for the Greybeards. Unbeknown to him, his Mother had borne another son after he left; Ulster Stormcloak. He had been raised as heir for fourteen years before leaving to find the glory needed in a military victory to secure his place as Heir. It wasn't hard to find bandits to fight with in Eastmarch, and he had won a Carlship for his bravery, but he still wasn't satisfied. His Stormcloak nature required him to fight. It was like a great yearning, a feeling he couldn't quite shake. So instead he had left Skyrim entirely, with his own army of Stormcloak men, heading for Summerset Isles to battle the Thalmor. Naturally, it was a disaster. They were unprepared, stupid and naïve. His men had been slaughtered in the night. Just thinking about it made the fear rush back into his mind, submerging all other thought but the need to escape. Somehow, he had, but with grave wounds, no money and a place of guilt and shame in his heart for his men. He was responsible for throwing away their lives away, and it haunted him, and so for a long time, nothing had really mattered.

Eventually, the need to return home reasserted itself. After all, Father was getting old by his reckoning, and Mother had been in her late thirties when she had died delivered Ulster. Ulfric, the brother he had never known, was probably dead, killed for his part in the Markarth Incident, and even so he would have never thought his mother would be able to bear another child. Of course, he could have looked in the Stormcloak records of births, but from what Ulster had been told about his brother, he was impatient and would never have bothered to search for a sibling he was sure he never had. He was the last sire of Clan Stormcloak, or so he had thought.

Years had followed in the wilderness, living like a dog, as a mercenary, trying to buy his way home. And there he had eventually ending up in the Legion, as a recruit. He had raised himself to a Tribune, and finally been posted in Skyrim. There, he had finally met his brother, in the Battle for Solitude. The fight had already been lost, but he fought anyway, loyal to the army he belonged to, and lucky enough to escape, yet not ever lucky enough to get back to Windhelm.

But now, here he was, in Whiterun, ready to confront his nephew. Ready to go, Ulster left the balcony, his head clear now, and returned to the King's ceremonies. The Jarls had finished renewing their oaths of loyalty, and were beginning to head off. With a start, Ulster realised that this was it; he was going to regain his Jarldom!

Jon Stormcloak left the hall with a boy of perhaps nine and a women, making his way through a side corridor, probably to an apartment reserved for Jarls. Soon, Ulster would be sleeping in there. It was almost too good to think about properly. He followed Jon, until they came to an empty corridor. Ulster knew that this was his chance.

As quick as he could, he moved forward and touched Jon's shoulder, lightly. His nephew turned, his hand on his sword before shock enveloped his face. With a start, Ulster realised that he must be seeing him as his own brother, Ulfric. They were alike, and Jon knew nothing about another son.

'No, I am not Ulfric,' Ulster said quickly, to disperse any supernatural tendency quickly.

A tight, and weary look crossed his face, dark with suspicion. His family also looked shocked, and the women moved close to Jon, presumably for protection. 'Who are you?'

'Ulster Stormcloak, Ulfric's brother. I am your uncle.'

'What do you mean? Ulfric had no brothers.'

Ulster sighed. It was understandable, but Jon's slowness still annoyed him. 'I was born after Ulfric left. He knew nothing about me.'

Jon stepped forward, composed again, to look more closely at Ulster's face. 'Assuming I believe you?'

'You don't have to really,' Ulster shrugged. Jon might have checked the birth records eventually, and it was better to get his existence out in the opening now, when Jon's appointment was still fresh. 'I just want you to know, and I have something to ask you.'

Jon worked his jaw, glancing at his family before replying. 'Speak then.'

Ulster felt a twinge of annoyance at Jon's commanding tone. 'I am your uncle, you, for better use of a word, are my brother's natural child. I am first in line of the succession.'

Jon nodded, as if he understood now. 'So, what do you want? The Jarldom?'

'Aye.' It sounded stupid now that Ulster thought about it. He decided it would be best to show him that he bore Jon no ill will. 'I would of course let you and your family stay in the Palace. I'll give you a Thanehood, and make you my Heir until a son is born to me.'

'You would have me give up my Jarldom. My Father's only gift to me?' he looked sceptical and angry. This wasn't going well.

'I am the true heir. Your father gave up his right to the Jarldom when he joined the Greybeards.'

'But the people raised him up,' Jon countered. They stood still, watching each other for a while before Jon staring speaking again.

'Why don't you join me and my family? Alsfur would be pleased to have a grandfather, and I would give you the Thanehood.' Jon waited for Ulster's answer, his face frank and unyielding.

It wasn't right though. Ulster felt cheated. All his life he had been left to the mercy of foreign forces, never allowed to get what he wanted, even when he had the full right to it! His anger clouded his thoughts now.

'I don't want your pity! I am the true heir,' he spat out. Before he could reel it back in, he said; 'And I will have it, before the end, even if it means killing all your family, and you!'

Violent anger contorted Jon's face and before his wife could stop him he leaped forward. His hand went to his sword and he kicked Ulster down, levelling the point at his throat. 'Never threaten my family, do you understand! NEVER!'

His wife rushed to his side and started talking to him rapidly. Jon seemed to calm with the words.

Finally, he said; 'if you weren't family, I would ram this point through your throat, but as it is, I'll let you go.' He stepped off Ulster and sheathed his weapon. 'Go now, you dog.' And with that he picked up the boy and left, with his wife at his side, leaving his uncle sprawled out on the floor.

Now, Ulster felt a mixture of guilt, rage and disappointment. He had never even thought that Jon would refuse. But then, he had been naïve. A mixture of self pity for himself and hate towards his nephew emerged, fuelled by jealousy.

A voice startled him from his thoughts. 'You want that Jarldom, right?'

Ulster felt a stab of embarrassment that someone had seen the confrontation and he quickly got up to see a small man, an Imperial, leaning against the wall. He had dark curly hair, a slight figure, and a face made for joking. That said, as he turned, his eyes revealed darker qualities.

'Well, do you, mortal?'

'Who are you to call me mortal, you Imperial!' Ulster burst out, directing his pent up rage at someone. .

'Me?' The man looked pleased to have been asked. 'I'm Clovius. Well, no not really. I'm actually known the world over as Clavicus Vile, Lord of Power, Conjuration, Wishes and Bargains.' Ulster looked shocked and the Daedra pressed forward with a grin. 'So, ready to make a deal?'