Empty Chairs at Empty Tables
Author's Note: Hey guys I want to thank all of you who read and reviewed my previous story Incompetence. It is truly humbling to know that people actually enjoy what I write so THANK YOU! This story was inspired by the Les Miserables song. I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters nor do I own Les Miserables. Once again if there are any grammar or lore issues I am truly sorry. I would also appreciate it if when you write a review you tell me what you like about the story and what I need to work on so I can improve. Sorry this is such a long blurb so thank you and enjoy the story.
Story
The palace seemed so empty. The main hall was deserted, aside from the servants who rushed around completing the day's tasks, and Ulfric himself. His men were gathering at the gate readying to march on Solitude. He should be out there giving a grand, inspiring speech, but he was here in the lonely palace pondering the past few years. Or perhaps brooding would be a better description of what the Nord was doing. He had started this war…why had he started the war? Was it because he thought that the Thalmor and the Empire were oppressive blasphemers? Or was it his own greed and lust for power that fueled his actions? He had lost countless numbers of his men, those who he called friends, and brothers, and for what? His own selfish gain?
He stood in the main hall looking at the long tables with a glazed over expression. This is where they once sat and drank and sang. These halls were once filled with their laughter and celebration, but now it was quiet and the only noise he heard was the sound of his own ragged breathing. Back then his cause seemed just, noble even, but now Ulfric wasn't sure it was worth it. Did the means justify the end? How many people had died because of decisions he made, and how many more will perish under his command? Stomcloak, Thalmore, Nords, Elves, their blood was on his hands, their voices haunted his thoughts. He saw their faces cold and defiant as they lay dying, and he remembered their names. Some were beheaded, others killed in battle and many more taken prisoner. And he, the great Ulfric Stormcloak, sat idly on his throne as his brothers and sisters fell around him. So full of pride and ignorance he sat, and he watched, and willed himself to not feel. He knew the sacrifices that came with war, he had witnessed it firsthand and he was ready to accept the consequences whether it be imprisonment or death. They knew, they all knew what could happen joining a rebellion, yet with boisterous confidence they aligned themselves with his cause, even took to calling themselves Stormcloaks.
Ulfric remembered when he had first heard the term, he was enraged at the foolishness, yet he was touched that these men and women so strongly believed in him. He soon became attached to the name, and even began using it himself. Each time one fell in battle he would deliver the heartbreaking news personally. How many more swords of the fallen will he have to deliver to their families, who look upon him with hope that their son or daughter or husband or wife is returning home. If he gave up it would easy, he would die and Skyrim would be at peace once again. But if he gave up their deaths, their sacrifice would have been for nothing. The grieving of their friends and family would be for nothing. The Empire would outlaw the worship of the other eight Divines if given the chance. Death may be easy, but if he does not act Skyrim will never be at peace until the Empire is pushed from Skyrim once and for all. This is why he is fighting! He fights because he must, he fights for the farmers and the merchants, he fights for the husbands and wives and mothers and fathers who have lost a loved one to the treacherous rule of the Empire, HE FIGHTS BECAUSE SKYRIM NO LONGER BOWS THE TYRANNOUS RULE OF THE ELVES!
"My lord? Are you ready to march?" Glamar asked.
Ulfric turned around his eyes glinting with new found resolve, "I've never been more ready for anything."
With one final look at the empty hall he marched with the memories of those who had not made it this far. He marched either to victory or to join his brothers and sisters in Sovnguard.