"Who- who goes there?" Galmar asked, sensing a presence in the shadows.
"Come..." A woman's voice responded, "Come hither... I have need of you..." The voice seemed to float through the air as effortlessly as a light breeze. Every word it spoke seemed to draw Galmar's every instinct toward it, as if it had rendered him helpless to its seductive call.
"It's so dark... I can't see you."
"Not yet... but you will. Come closer... ever closer... I beckon you..." Her call was barely a whisper in Galmar's head, yet it resonated with the fabric of his very soul. "Galmar..."
"You... you know who I am?"
"Aye... oh, what maiden does not know of the mighty Galmar Stone-Fist, right hand of the Stormcloaks?"
This recognition flattered Galmar greatly. 'Right hand of the Stormcloaks', she called him... whoever she was.
"The hand..." Her voice continued, "... that will surely crush the frigid throat of a crumbling and insipid empire... it is to be your hand, yes?" Her form appeared as little more than a silhouette: a tall and thin young woman, with long silky hair falling from her lovely head.
"Aye...!" Now Galmar's voice became excited, "They will perish at my feet for what they have done to Skyrim! ... But..."
"But what...?"
"Our forces have been... compromised... I- I don't know what has become of them..."
"Compromised...?" The presence seemed to fade behind Galmar, who paid little mind to her presence.
"Our men are failing us... our plans are falling... ... ... it... seems as if..."
"As if the enemy has gained the upper hand?"
"Yes..."
"And... how could this happen to the mighty Nords, eh?" Her voice seemed to take a slightly more sultry tone. "Whose word guides their hand in battle?"
"... Ulfric...?"
The shape's eyes seemed to narrow.
"But... Ulfric is our--"
"Ulfric..." Her voice interrupted his statement, "... is ill fit to lead Skyrim's people into battle. His mind is lost... clouded by the melancholy of the past..."
"How dare you...!" Galmar raised his voice, "He is a true son of Skyrim! It was by his word that our glorious rebellion began!"
"Yes..." The voice maintained her soothing, sensual tone. "His word began a great revolution. But what has his leadership done to serve his cause?"
"It..." Galmar found himself afraid to answer. "It... I..."
"You..." The shape drew a finger to Galmar's chin and turned his head to face hers. Though she could not be seen, he could feel the aura of her lips so near to his own. "I've heard your words from afar... for years you've known better, haven't you?"
Galmar was rendered speechless, wholly spellbound by his visitor.
"The enemy should not be reasoned with... it cannot be reasoned with.... not at the right hand of the Thalmor." The shape seemed to retreat back into the shadows, but drew Galmar towards her all the same. "What is Ulfric saying now, hmm? That the Jarl of Whiterun must be won over?"
"That milk-drinking loyalist...? No! He must be slain!"
"Yes... can you imagine it, Galmar? Balgruuf's men laying dead in the streets..." As the voice spoke, an image of the scene began to form before Galmar's eyes. "Whiterun's Imperial province in flames... and Balgruuf, dead and broken before your mighty feet..."
"Yes..."
"Does it thrill your warrior blood, Galmar? Do you want this to come to pass?"
"Yes... yes!!"
"It can, you know... I can see that it does."
"You can?"
"Oh, but.... there is a slight problem. Tell me... what stands in the way?"
"How can you--"
"What stands between you and Whiterun, Galmar?"
"... Ulfric...?"
"His time is over, Galmar..." The voice hissed, "Yours may yet begin. And Whiterun... is only the beginning."
Then, before Galmar's eyes, an entirely new scene was laid out before him; he found himself seated upon the throne of Windhelm, with Skyrim's people bowing loyally before him. He saw the Dunmer in ragged robes, pleading for his mercy toward their kind; Elenwen and the Thalmor pledging their allegiance to Talos of Atmora, while crowning him the high king of Skyrim; the Imperial legion being formally executed for his amusement; and the Nords of Skyrim hailing his name.
"This is what I offer you, Galmar." The woman's voice spoke again, "The throne of the high king will be yours! All of Skyrim will revere you and sing forever of the freedom you brought its people... but first you must slay Ulfric Stormcloak in my name, and forever swear your loyalty to me."
"Who.... are you....?" Galmar said, entranced.
Finally the voice took form before his eyes. She was a pale woman with raven-black hair and lips, coupled with sinister glowing blue eyes that complimented her black dress. She gently cupped his face in her hands and pulled his lips toward hers as she whispered her response...
"I am the Witch."
Galmar awoke from his dream with a sudden start. He looked around his room for any trace of the woman, but he could see nothing. Ulfric knocked casually at his door and spoke. "You look worried, old friend." He said, "What is the matter?"
"... Just a dream, Ulfric..." Galmar replied, feeling as though the woman's presence watched from the shadows. Her words repeated themselves in his head, leaving Galmar feeling both uncertain and wary of his leader.
"Just a dream..."
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