Cius sat bored in the Pale Camp, sharpening his sword on the grindstone and pedaling through the dull, blank day.
Cius Denmar was an Imperial Praefect in Tamriel's Imperial Legion. He was held in high regard by the upper echelon for being an efficient swordsman, and his skill was, for the most part, unmatched.
He didn't care much for praise. He was just an Imperial boy with a bad memory and a thick skull who wanted to help keep Skyrim for the legion.
His heavy steel shoulder pads started tiring his arms as he continued to sharpen his blade, as the lacking day bore on.
"Hey Denmar, take a look at this." Heming shouted, another Imperial soldier, of the rank of Quaestor, as he held a browning linen poster.
Cius stopped sharpening his sword and stood up, walking over to Heming while his feet sank into the snow.
"They're looking for guards for this thing, it'd probably be more exciting then sitting around waiting for orders here." Heming said, passing him the poster.
"Yeah, weddings aren't my thing. Even if it's..." Cius scanned the paper," "Oh, that's a lot of gold."
"I know, right? It shouldn't be too hard, it's in Solitude after all." Heming remarked.
"It's also Vittoria Vici, the Emperor's... sister? Right?" Cius responded.
"Cousin, actually." Heming corrected. "I might do this. I'd like to see if anything could be better than that right now."
"Well, I better get back to sharpening swords before I get my hands cut off by the legate." Cius joked turning back around to the grind stone.
"I thought you were just sharpening your sword."
He was just sharpening his sword indeed.
The carriage to Winterhold was a long ride for Captain Gala, especially after the carriage was attacked by bandits, more than once.
Gala had enlisted in the Legion just a few months prior to being promoted to Captain, along with her job in saving the world, the Dragonborn wanted to save the Empire too, which she did first.
Well, she was trying to, at least.
Things got quite difficult regaining the Pale when her carriage wheels fell off for the second time.
"By Ysmir, just let us walk the rest of the way, wood brain." Gala groaned to the driver, Tavan Maplewood, a wood elf from the city of Kvatch in Cyrodiil.
"Of course not, Captain! The risks of an enemy ambush on this road is extremely high!" Tavan replied.
The nord Captain rubbed her temples before groaning, and jumping off the carriage with a lightning speed "Wuld!" to continue the path to the camp on her own, for now, at least.
She came across a tower with a ruined caravan up the road, atop an icy hill, where she stopped to gather herself for the few hundred meters left to the camp.
"Captain! Captain! Wait for us!" Gala heard from behind her, as she whipped around and saw Tavan running up the hill, soldiers in tow.
"I see you've come to your senses." She joked.
"Well I am known to be adept in most fields, ma'am." Tavan responded.
"Yeah, almost as adept as Gullar when he fell off a cliff." A soldier joked, as the rest of the soldiers chuckled.
"In my defense, it was a mediocre dive." Another soldier, Gullar, responded.
"Pipe down, lads. The camps just down this hill." Gala ordered to shut them up.
"Might I suggest-"
"No, Tavan. We're not "surfing on our shields", and we never will." Gullar shouted.
"I was going to say "we hunt for food for the camp", but fine. Be that way." Tavan grunted.
"In the last letter I got from Legate Rikke, she said that wasn't needed, now get moving down to that camp." Gala ordered.
The men started marching down the incline on the icy fields, and around the waters, as they made a small detour around a bandit encampment to save them trouble, as they made their uneventful walk to the Pale's Imperial Camp.
Gala was at the fore-rank of the group as they marched into the camp to get acquainted with the other soldiers.
As they settled in, an Imperial boy eased the grind-stone to a halt.
He brandished his freshly sharpened steel blade contemptibly in front of him, swinging it a few times in the air, before sheathing it away on his left hip, and sitting down by the fire pit.
Gala watched the ordeal with interest, as there wasn't anything better to do, before standing up and strolling over to the fire pit, as the eve rolled in, and the aurora light up the night sky.
"Good evening, ma'am." The boy said, respect and humor mixed in his tone.
"As to you, soldier." Gala responded, sitting in the ice and snow.
They sat in a warm, awkward silence for a few moments, as the eve began to begin it's drift into darkness.
"That conversation led nowhere." The boy commented.
"Yeah I thought something was going to come out of that." Gala agreed. "A fine blade you have there, soldier."
"Thank you, ma'am. I work hard to keep it in a condition to give our enemies a quick and painless death." He replied.
"Why must it be painless? Their leader killed our king. They should pay for it just as much." Gala remarked.
"I just... don't like killing other men that much. They have a family. I used to hunt beasts of the wild for the thrill, and to protect the people of Cyrodiil, or Skyrim, or wherever I was. I suppose killing makes you a monster, too."
"It only makes you a monster if you don't feel, boy. I understand what you mean, but we need to protect Skyrim from the Stormcloaks, whether that means killing all of them, or killing their spirit." Gala responded, trying to ease his troubles. "Who are you exactly, kid? Give me details. This camp already has me bored out of my mind."
"I'm Cius Denmar, I'm from somewhere in Cyrodiil, I just don't know where exactly. I was always in the move when I was younger, my parents were either drunkards or thieves, but they died when I was young... I think." Cius started.
"Denmar, you say? I've heard about your praise, they're proud to have you on our side, especially with that sword arm of yours."
Cius smiled, as he continued. "I grew up until I was 13 in orphanages here and there. I never got taken in, or anything like that. I managed to get out on my own at 14, with a crossbow and a few bolts to spare. My aim was... poor to say the least, but I was able to sell it in for a steel blade. It didn't have a hilt, but I managed to figure out how to get one on, and I started fighting those little goblin things in the sewers."
"I can confirm that those things are very nasty. Bit me once." Tavan added, laying down on a cot of hay he brought from the carriage.
"Where'd you hide that thing when we were walking?" Gala asked, very confused.
"Same place you hid your very large collection of dragon bones." Tavan remarked.
"What?"
"In my shoes."
"I have a travelers pack, Auxiliary."
"Let's see how this boy's story continues."
"Don't dwell on me. I'm not coming back, you know that's not how it works. This wasn't your fault, none of it was. Just continue your life, and remember me as a friend, a son, a partner, a love, anything, but don't dwell on me. Don't dwell on my pain."
"And here I am, in the Imperial legion, 4 years later with a scar on my shoulder and a really bothersome bump in my knee."
"You're... 17?" Gala raised her eyebrow.
"Yes ma'am." Cius responded, with a tired cheer in his voice.
"Most enlistees your age would run at the first sign of conflict. You're a brave lad." Gala, complemented, standing up as she prepared to head to her tent.
"I'll take that in mind, Captain Gala. Thank you." Cius responded. "I'll probably... stay and tend the fire, I suppose. Don't really want everyone dying from the frost."
"Especially not me." Tavan added.
Cius snorted at Tavan.
"Hey! I just don't want to die so undignified!" Tavan.
"You're a Bosmer, Tavan. If you die it'll probably be from an arrow to the face and half of your leg missing before frost gets you." Gullar laughed tiredly from the left-most tent.
"He thinks Falmer and Bosmer are the same thing..." Tavan mumbled.
Gala awoke early in the morning, while the sun was low and a sharp cold rang in the air. Most of the camp, aside from the horses and the quartermaster setting up, was soundly sleeping, including Legate Rikke, who had arrived later in the night.
Cius was face first in the stones, dead-sleep and snoring loudly, while Tavan was astray in the tent next to Gullar.
Gala decided to practice her "loud and annoying voice skills", as Tavan put it, or, in laments terms, shouting.
She had long since finished her training with the Greybeards, and had gotten quite adept with the Thu'um.
She managed to wake the entire camp up with "Yol", while she re-lit the embers of the flame.
"By Malacath's knuckles it's barely even morn! Quiet down." Came a shout from the quartermaster.
"Just trying to warm the place up, quartermaster." Gala responded.
"Use a fire spell for Gods' sake!" He returned.
Gala frowned, thinking on her indifference between the two.
She shrugged, and sat down by the freshly burning fire, which began to singe Cius' hair, waking him up.
His medium length thick black hair was too cold and wet to catch fire, luckily, but the wretched feeling woke him up anyways.
A few hours had passed, and now the encampment was bustling with Imperial life, and duties.
"Captain." Legate Rikke called from the command tent.
Gala strolled over from the anvil, where she had been working on iron swords to assist the quartermaster.
"Yes ma'am?" She asked, stepping under the low flaps and in to the tent.
"As I'm sure General Tullius informed you, both us and the Stormcloaks are after the Jagged Crown."
"Aye, I am."
"Well, we've located the crown, and we fear the Stormcloaks have too."
"Well, where is it then?"
"An Ancient Nord tomb just south east of here, called Korvanjund."
Gala wasn't the largest fan of Nord Burial grounds, and this one had the full package. Stormcloaks, and probably draugr.
(End note: The Imperial questline and ranks are clearly altered slightly, as displayed here, as in most canonical cases, Captain is above Legate, but in Skyrim, it appears to be opposite, which is the way it will be. The quest line and the Dragonborn's story have been altered, as she is Captain, and has been in the legion for much longer than would've been in the actual game.
That's about it, I'll take any criticism, and I hope you guys enjoy the story!)