Kris squared her shoulders, lip curling in distaste. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the blood that ran from her split lip. To her Ulfric Stormcloak was a traitor to be reviled, not a friend to be visited. The Nord sized her up with a glance, evidently no stranger to such reactions. He held up his palms in a guesture of friendly negation which did nothing at all to dull the steel in his eyes.

"I can take you Ulfric or I can take you to Ulfric," he said, his tone still friendly but the slight change in emphasis as clear and sharp as an autumn afternoon. Kris cast a look at Dax and then shrugged her shoulders.

"When in Windhelm I suppose..."

_____________________________________

At this late hour the throne room was not precisely packed but at any time Ulfric held court, he could expect attendance. The infamous Yarl of Windhelm lounged on his stone throne, a great fur cloak tossed over his shoulders that seemed to fit him far better than the silk finery that made up the rest of his costume. In his hands he held a crown worked to resemble a score of intertwined sword blades. Men and a few women lined the ancient stone throne room, mostly in armor and all armed, they had a hungry look, like a pack of dogs straining at the hunters leash. They eyed Kris and Dax as they were escorted towards the throne, between Dax being an Argonian and Kris' obviously Imperial Legion leathers, they glances were less than warm. 

"Yarl Ulfric," their escort began without preamble.

"These two handled themselves well in a brawl at the Winds Favor, they are new comers to our city and no doubt eager to prove their loyalty to you and to Skyrim, for an appropriate fee of course." The last remark bought a hearty laugh that seemed to somewhat cut the tension in the room. Kris revised their guide from tough bastard, to clever tough bastard.

"Approach then and let me look at you," Ulfric boomed.