The roar of battle cries, the clash of steel and the pitiful moans of the wounded and dying were the ballads of this war. This brutal fight had been raging since dawn, the battle line remained fluid yet defined as it ebbed and flowed fuelled by the blood of the living and fallen alike. The two opposing forces, Stormcloak and Imperial seemed incapable of breaking the stalemate. This was a war of attrition that was shaping up to leave Skyrim without many of its sons and daughters.
In the centre of the line where fighting was the bloodiest, the commander of the Imperials Hadvar, fought like a man possessed. Cutting down opponents with his sword and lashing out with his shield. At the same time he was in tune with the entire battle, feeling the line his awareness stretching over the entire field ready to react if the line should falter. At his side his men fought with grim determination, inspired by their commander's example. Hadvar felt the line begin to give him and his men sensing the change renewed their effort. He dispatched a burly balding man wielding two axes, using his shield he slammed it into the man's face then disembowel him with a prodigious swing of his blade. Stepping over the body he shoulder charged man trying to fill the breach. His men surged with him and the Stormcloak middle began to crumble before them.
Hadvar raised a bloodied weapon twirling it twice signalling to his reinforcements who had been concealed, they charged out of hiding lending their weight to the crumbling centre, breaking it completely.
"Crush them all, let none live!" Hadvar he bellowed as he felled another Stormcloak.
His men formed a tight practiced wedge and surged through the centre of the Stormcloak line, Hadvar he could taste victory.
Orgrim watched from his vantage point as the breach occurred, unlike the Imperials the Stormcloaks had no hidden reserves to call upon they only had him. He rolled his massive shoulders in anticipation, both his hands firmly clap on the mighty Warhammer Volendrung, his light fur armour seemed a stark contrast to the ancient dwarven hammer, yet it allowed him to move with startling speed.
"It is time" he mumbled to his weapon.
Dropping his arm to his side he run down the hill to meet the breach, his heavily muscled body like tempered iron, nervous sweat glistened off his scarred torso. His run became a charge as he raised Volendrung he could feel the magical hammer hum in anticipation. Drawing upon his ancient lore he called forth the voice of the Dragon. Time itself slowed at his call, nature bowed before the ancient thu'um and Orgrim became death incarnate.
Hadvar looked up as the mighty Dragonborn plunged into the ranks; he heard his powerful shout as it tore the fabric of time itself. Suddenly the dragon born was amongst them, with inhuman speed and ferocity, he moved outside the very laws of nature.
Wielding his Warhammer with deadly purpose he twirled it in an intricate dance that crashed into the men that stood before him, with balanced precision that defied the natural order he spun crashing the weapon into the Imperial wedge. Again and again he lashed out at the Imperials and they fell before his onslaught, even when the ancient magic of his voice dissipated and time resumed its flow none could touch him.
The wedge collapsed around him and Hadvar barley avoided being crushed by a spinning backwards attack from the sabre-toothed like strikes of the Dragonborn. Watching victory slip from his grasp he screamed his war cry and charged the mythical warrior.
"Orgrim, come meet your doom!"
Orgrim turned towards the challenger, his eyes locked and then lit up with inhuman glee at the Imperial in heavy armor who was wading through the bodies of the fallen towards him. Grimly he smiled at Hadvar, long had this moment been overdue. Pulling out mid swing he thrust the heavy hammer like a sword into his current opponent's head, a well-muscled clean shaven brute, crashing into his face he then stepped over him as he screamed clawing his broken visage.
Orgrim and Hadvar clashed with a ferocity that shook both Imperials and Stormcloaks alike; even in the heat of battle those around the pair ceased their fighting to watch the contest. Orgrim's war hammer crashed on Hadvar's shield before Orgrim pivoted spinning the hammer at the legs of his opponent. Hadvar met the mighty blow then leaped over the follow up swing before delivering an overhand blow. Orgrim brought his hammer up blocking the blow then shoved the block forward and the two men sprang apart. Twirling their weapons they circled each other like two Daedric lord of old. An Imperial ceasing his chance at glory raised his bow from behind the line siting the Dragonborn. Orgrim sensed the threat called upon his ancient magic once more he sent out a force of will that flung the archer and the men around him, hurling them into the undergrowth.
All fighting had ceased the battle forgotten, such was the magnitude of this contest, and both sides held their breath as the two men clashed again. Orgrim was a force of nature his mighty hammer wielded with experience born of battle. Hadvar had fought most of his life and he had the advantage of a shield, each man seemed to have the measure of the other. Again they clashed Orgrim's hammer crushing down on Hadvar's shoulder, a glancing blow and Hadvar's sword slicing Orgrim's cheek then his shield crashing into the giant Nord staggering him. Trying to press Hadvar was nearly had his skull crushed as Orgrim spun delivering a backhand blow ripping the shield from Hadvar's arm.
Hadvar dived to his left retrieving the shield as Voldendrung crashed into the ground where he had just been. Hadvar rushed the Dragonborn his shield slamming into his opponent and Orgrim met the charge the sound of their collision rang out over the battle field. Neither of the men spoke or uttered a sound, and the soldiers around them watched in silent awe. It was as if the nine themselves held their breath. Again the two combatants clashed , Hadvar ducking a moment too slow receiving a cut above the eyes and delivering a savage strike that cut into the Dragonborn's bracer. Snarling Orgrim twirled the mighty Voldendrung delivering a punishing blow to the hastily raised shield of his Imperial opponent. A mighty crash sounded over the battlefield as the Imperial shield shattered under the blow.
Hadvar's arm was jarred as he caught the blow; he shook off the effects and grasp his sword with both hands. Orgrim stepped purposely back raising his hammer in a gesture of parlay and indicated Hadvar replace his shield. Rage filled the Imperial, how dare that man give him that curtsy, this was a battle not some contest between sword brothers. Snarling he leaped at the bearded giant sending a crushing overhand blow.
Orgrim watched as the emotions played over his opponent's face, first bewilderment then disbelief, relief then finally anger. Sighing to himself he braced for the rushed attack and soundly blocked the Imperial's swing, then with a sweeping blow forced him back.
Orgrim then moved through practiced combat karta his hammer spinning at incredible speed reversing and switching hands, Hadvar looked on in amazement trying to anticipate the direction the next blow would come from. Orgrim watched his opponent then completing his movements instead of lashing out he dropped his weapon. Hadvar looked at the fallen weapon momentarily confused by the Dragonborn's actions. Two quick paces and the Giant Nord stepped under his guard and was upon him, one hand clamped on his sword-arm the other around his throat.
Orgrim violently lifted the heavily armoured man off the ground then with a sickening crash slammed him down. Hadvar's helm flew from his head his sword clattered on the ground released from nerveless fingers. Orgrim lifted the shattered Imperial off the ground then slammed him back down a second time. Reaching both powerful arms around his neck he crushed Hadvar's throat, the imperial desperately clawed at his face, his fingers digging into his flesh. Orgrim ignored the pain and continued to crush the life out of his opponent. Slowly the life left the imperial, his face turning red then purple before a final shudder.
Standing up like a wounded bear his arms stretched out beside him he bellowed a primal victory scream to the heavens. The soldiers around him stood stunned by the violence they had just witnessed. Grimly he looked around his eyes sapphire blue, cold and feral, scanning the men he sort further challenge , such was his fury that all thoughts of battle on both sides was forgotten. None would challenge the savage killer, even unarmed he intimidated them.
The moment passed and the men began raising their weapons.
"Hold" Orgrim bellowed.
"This battle is done" men on both sides hesitated
In a show of his legendary strength Orgrim picked up the dead commander by his armour and held him aloft for all to see with one mighty arm.
"Your commander is dead your reinforcements are crushed, it is over" he said pointing to the bodies that littered the ground around him.
"This battle is finished; you need not die this day. Collect your injured and bury your dead, no Stormcloaks will hinder you".
Orgrim looked around at the men, they all looked like children, so young, too young to be dying he thought, dam this war. Lowering Hadvar to the ground he collected Voldendrung and continued.
"Tell your general I march on his last bastion of strength within the month. Tell him Voldendrung will taste his blood, he cannot avoid all the battles. I am sick of killing my brothers and sisters, but this war must end, and I will end it"
Orgrim spat in the ground and then took pause looking at the men and women staring at him as if caught in a spell, it made what he said even more difficult knowing he would be fighting them again very shortly.
"If you fight against me in Solitude you will die there, I urge you, I beg you, don't go back to your coward of a commander who is too afraid to leave his halls , go home, go to your families and your fields. This war is already lost the Imperial commanders are all that is left and they soon shall fall".
Orgrim looked at Hadvar's lifeless body then back to the Imperials standing before him.
"Bury Hadvar with honour, I once counted him as a friend and he fought well"
Then looking around the battle field, over the mountains of bodies and the tired faces staring back at him he intoned.
"I march on Solitude within the month, I will crush the Imperial General and all who oppose me."
Drawing on his ancient Thu'um the magic of the ancient dragons he roared at the heavens and the clear skies suddenly boiled with thunder clouds and it began to rain.
"Behold, Solvngarde weeps at this folly" he shouted as he turned and strode from the battlefield.
Orgrim trudged through the rain heading away from the battle, he felt an ache in his bones, he was too old for this shit. He heard the muddy footfall as someone ran to catch up with him, without turning he nodded to his house-carl Vladimar.
Stopping at the supply wagon signalled to one of the men organising the medical supplies, he leant in close and said.
"Send a healer to the Imperials and make sure he has ample potions, the man nodded once and run off to do the Dragonborn's bidding.
Vladimar stiffened but said nothing until the man was out of ear shot,
"My Thane what are you thinking, we should treat our own men and to Oblivion with the Imperials"
Orgrim gave his housecarl a long look before saying in an even voice.
"You have a lot to learn about war my friend"
He paused for a moment then continued,
"Right now those men and women hate me, they hate us, I just killed their commander and most likely knowing Hadvar, their hero. By giving them a healer and showing compassion that hate they have for us is leached away. Next time we meet they will not be able to draw on that hate and they will be weaker for it".
Vladimar listened to his Thanes explanation and could not find fault in the logic.
Together they continued moving away from the battle in silence.
"It was a Good fight" the large Nord housecarl intoned in a strangely speculative manner.
Orgrim left the comment unanswered, he did not wish to talk about killing, the dead were dead and the living should do just that.
Undeterred by the Dragonborn's silence he continued
"You are hurt, here let me…"
"Enough !" Orgrim commanded.
Vladamar lapsed into an uneasy silence and they continued onwards away from the battle.
"I need a drink" Orgrim offered when it became clear he was not heading to the Stormcloak encampment.
"There is plenty of drink at the camp, the men will want to celebrate; they will want to drink to your victory".
"That is not the way it works friend" Orgrim answered with a tired voice.
"I am the mighty Dragonborn, I tear apart cities, I pluck wings from dragons and I crush armies and enemies in my sleep" Orgrim smiled in a self-depreciating manner.
"The men think me a legend and it needs to stay that way, they will tell my tale, most likely embellish it and soon all the Bards will sing their lies" Orgrim stopped and turned facing his housecarl his cold eyes boring into him.
"And that is what Skyrim needs right now, that is what the sons and daughters and the families of the fallen want to hear. They do not need to watch some tired old man getting drunk" Orgrim finished with a snarl then resumed his travel.
Vladamar silently watched the Dragonborn for a few moments contemplating their exchange I guess that is what separates the men from the heroes he thought. Then he shuffled through the rain to catch up with his thane.
General Tulluis cursed "Dam!"
Legate Rikki stood silently to the side, reeling at the grim tidings the breathless courier relayed.
Looking over at her General he suddenly looked older than she remembered; his gold embroidered leather armour seemed to weigh heavily on him. Leaning over the table with both arms resting on the battle map he wearily closed his eyes before reaching up and rubbing his temples with one hand.
"Drink" he roared
His aide rushed forward hastily filling his goblet careful not to spill the expensive Cyrodilic Brandy, The commander waved him away then downed the amber liquid in a single gulp. The gentle hints of berry and the mild tannins lost to him. Feeling the warmth of the alcohol as he swallowed it he silently groaned in frustration. Legate Rikki, his second in command, noticed he drank more now that the war seemed to be favouring the rebels.
"Hadvar dead and those dam cowards refusing to fight on I should have them all impaled" the General raged.
Legate Rikki kept her silence she knew the canny general would do no such thing, he needed every available soldier for the defence of Solitude. She watched as he silently seethed at the latest blow to the campaign.
"My General it's the Dragonborn, it always…."
"I know it's the dam Dragonborn legate! Please tell me something I don't know" the general barked quelling the legate.
"I know" he said in a more reasonable tone.
Raising his hands he rubbed his palms together gently blowing on his hands. He slowly walked around the room lost in thought mumbling under his breath. Legate Rikki watched in silence awaiting her General's decision, she had been with the General since he arrived in Skyrim over five years ago. He had proved to be a decisive and capable commander whose actions were always well planned. He seemed little interested in personal gain and was completely loyal to the Emperor. Suddenly he stopped and stared at the Legate a small smile creeping across his troubled features.
"Commander Maro!" the wirily general said aloud.
Legate Rikki remained silent; she had witnessed the man in action many times and knew he would explain himself as his meticulous mind thought through the problem.
"He has leads on the Dark brotherhood, I remember his last visit he mentioned they had located the Sanctuary and the identity of the leader….Asrad….or something like that"
Legate Rikki nodded remembering the conversation.
"Summon a courier!" the General said reaching for a quill and parchment.
"Let's kill two skeever's with the one arrow, let the Dark Brotherhood take care of this problem"
Legate Rikki thought on this watching the General's Aide rush out to do the Generals bidding,
"One assassin my General perhaps we overestimate…."
The general looked up his eyes cold and calculating his look stopping the Legate words in her throat.
"Who said anything about one assassin, the Dark Brotherhood will get one chance at this or we will wipe them out, no Legate, they will all be sent after the Dragonborn on fear of death, and we will pay them a Jarl's ransom to double their incentive".
The General scribbled his instructions and Legate Rikki silently pondered the implications of dealing with such a legendary organisation, shivering at the prospect.
The storm raged outside the small inn, Hadring smiled, he had managed to convince a passing khajiit caravan to spend the night, all be it on the common room floor, also two wood elves had chanced in from the storm and secured one of his rooms, he glanced over at the wood elves that occupied the corner table they seemed ready to turn in, the four khajiit had set up their camping swags near the fire and spoke in hushed tones. Hardring considered closing up for the night. His hand strayed to his large beard, stroking it gently he moved towards the door to secure it. As he reached out to the handle it burst open and two men rushed in struggling too close it in the roaring wind.
"By the Nine" said a balding Nord in scale armour.
"Tis a night only fit for only snow devils" he continued invoking an old Nord saying referring to the long extinct Snow Elves who once inhabited Skyrim.
The two men shook the snow off their cloaks and glanced around the Inn. The other man was a large stocky warrior with greying hair and the mother of all hammer strapped across his back, he moved towards the bar, like a sabercat stalking its prey, his heavily muscled form seemed to ripple with violence. Hardring swallowed trying to wet his suddenly dry throat and in a voice that came out more like a croak he said.
"Welcome to the Nightinggale Inn what can I get you ?".
The large man turned his gaze upon the innkeeper and Hardring visibly relaxed at the giant man's open and honest face, where he thought to find the eyes of a killer instead he found a seasoned warrior with a mischievous half smile that was strangely infective.
"Ale my friend and some of that stew I can smell bubbling over the hearth" he replied in a deep voice that seemed more use to command than banter.
"Coming up" said the Innkeeper unable to keep the relief out of his voice.
"You men staying the night?" he asked
"Indeed" said the warrior
"Two rooms if you have them to spare" he continued as the Innkeeper place two large mugs of warm spiced mead in front of them. Grabbing the mug both men took deep swigs before moving over to the fire next to the khajiits to warm themselves.
Hardring smiled to himself, more customers and with those two the inn was full, he thought as he collected two bowls and moved towards the hearth. Looking at the two men as he walked over, there was something about that Hammer, it looked large enough to knock down a house. Ladling two generous portions out of the pot he dumped them down on the table just as the large bearded Nord looked up at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen, suddenly he knew.
"Why Talso preserve me, you're the Dragonborn"
"Aye Lad, now don't stand their gawking grab yourself an Ale, pull up a pew and I will tell you some lies" he said in an infectious manner.
Hearing this, the elves who had been sitting in the corner turned towards the two men, hesitating they clearly wanted to meet the Dragonborn as much as the next person, yet they could not think of how to approach.
Seeing the elves hesitation Orgrim smiled signalling them over with a flick of his wrist.
"Grab a chair friends the more the merrier"
Then looking at the khajiits he encouraged them to drag another table over, after a few moments hesitation they grabbed a table and began dragging it over near the fire.
Valdimar leaned over and whispered "I thought you didn't want people watching you get drunk"
Orgrim smiled broadly at the rebuke, his eyes glinted with amusement, and before the others were in ear shot he whispered.
"The soldiers will speak of the battle and the glorious victory, and the innkeeper and our friends here will speak of the humble hero that stopped at the Nightingale inn and spent the night".
Vladamar sat back considering his thanes words, every action seemed to be calculated and yet watching him he couldn't help but be caught up in the moment. Orgrim seemed as much at home in this chance encounter as he did on the battlefield. Listening in, he smiled as his thane launched into a tale so unbelievable that everyone would see it for a lie, yet he soon found himself enthralled in the words as the unlikely story unfolded.
The night grew long as the men shared their stories, each telling brought rounds of laughter and moments of sombre reflection. When the Orgrim announced that he was turning in Vladamar saw genuine regret in the faces of everyone present, and he realized this would be something they would tell their grandchildren. The night they drank with mighty Dragonborn and how down to Skyrim he was. Smiling he watched as Orgrim reached into his coin pouch, the innkeeper insisting it was on the house only to have Orgrim shake his head and place easily three times the worth of the night in the man's hand.
Seeking his room Orgrim opened the door and was pleasantly surprised at the orderly state of the room, removing Volendrung he turned around to see his housecarl walking towards him.
"You were right, people need to hear these things perhaps more than they need a hero".
Orgrim clasp a massive hand on Vladimar's shoulder and he said.
"Ulfric does not see this; he rants about Skyrim for only the Nord's cause it suits his agenda yet when this war is over we will need to heal, and all the races will need to get along if we are to survive a break from the empire"
Vladimar nodded his understanding before retiring to his own room.
Orgrim closed the door and leaned his mighty hammer against the handle jamming it shut then gently stripped off his armour. Stretching his neck to the side he lay down on the fur covered bed. taking a deep breath he closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted his first housecarl Lydia, sighing with regret he rolled on his side, and drifted off to a troubled sleep.
The next morning the storm had blown over, when Orgrim and Vladimar entered the common room they found the khajiit caravan had already left. After a breakfast of oats that was a little too heavily salted they made their way outside into the crisp air of the snow covered forest.
Over the next week they visited the Stormcloak encampment finding it in the last stages of packing up, the commander had already left so little could be gained from hanging around. From there they visited the newly appointed Jarl of Whiterun, Vignar Gray-Mane who replaced the deposed Balgruuf after the town was liberated from Imperial control. The new Jarl was proving to be a fair yet firm leader who seemed to have softened his views on the other races. The khajiit caravan it seems had proved invaluable in keeping the town supplied with some of the essentials until trade could be reestablished.
Orgrim and his housecarl set off from Whiterun, the scars of war still visible on the town, the citizens appeared skittish despite the heavy Stormcloak presence. Crumbled barricades and scorched walls still dominated the townscape, yet the resilience of the people was also evident with the sound of hammers and saws echoing though the marketplace. Outside the gates Orgrim nodded to the Stormcloak guards who nodded back and visibly stood taller. Walking down past the stables Vladimar looked longingly at the cart and then at the horses for sale.
"We should buy horses or take the cart it will save time" he ventured.
Orgrim did not give pause or alter his stride "Nah friend, the people expect me to walk, it is what I do".
"Why do you, we always walk?" he asked.
"When a man gets his feet too far off the ground he ends up with his head in the clouds, soldiers walk that's what we do".
"You are more than a common soldier, my Thane".
"Aye, but it's not about that is it" Orgrim said with a grin.
Suddenly Orgrim stopped his grin dropping from his face, with practiced ease he grasped the mighty Volendrung, looking at the ground his eyes narrowing.
"What is it" said Vladamar looking around his own hand reaching for his mace.
In a blur Orgrim's hammer lashed out crunching into his unseen opponent, with a snap of bone's and a gurgled scream the argonian assassin was hurled across the trail his now lifeless body crashing into the ground.
Spinning Orgrim watched in horror as a blonde female killer suddenly materialised behind his housecarl drawing her lethal blade swiftly across his throat. Vladimar slumped to the ground with a gurgling cry as his lifesblood spraying across the trail. Clutching his throat in a futile gesture he looked pleadingly at his Thane before the darkness took him. Orgrim saw the light slip from his companion's eyes after a final pleading look.
More assassins materialised next to the blonde killer, a large man wielding an axe, two killers in robes one female the other an older male and a Redguard in hammerfell garb wielding a curved blade. The Blonde looked over at the dead argonian, sneering at the large bearded warrior she said in a sarcastic voice.
"You want to hope you have more tricks than that"
Orgrim's clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth, he slowly lowered his hammer holding it in his left hand he started walking menacingly towards the assassins
"You'll pay dearly to find out, lass" he said in a voice as cold as a crypt.
Astrid shuddered slightly at his words, reassured by her numbers as she felt he husband tense and begin the change, and looking at the large warrior a cruel smile flooded her face.
Orgrim saw the large Nord transform, his armour tore apart falling from his body as fur grew and he elongated into a giant werewolf. Orgrim didn't break his stride or alter his pace, with icy calm he brought his weapon to bare. The giant wolf loped forward quickly gaining momentum and launched at the warrior, claws as large as daggers extended and its mouth agape.
Orgrim's ancient thu'um resonated through the valley it caught the beast and hurled it backwards over the top of the assassins, crashing into the ground some distance further up the trail. The two robed assassins without hesitation unleashed their devastating magic, electricity and fire hurled towards the Dragonborn. Diving to the side he avoided most of the blasts his magical ring flared on his hand protecting him in part from their attacks.
Burnt and bloodied he rolled to his feet and charged into the assassins. In a devastating arc he twirled his hammer catching the female mage in the ribs she collapsed like a rag doll her ribs caved in. Falling heavily and gasping for air as she was slowly drowning in frothy blood. The older mage fell back from the brutal assault and Astrid vanished as she called upon her stealthy arts to hide her.
With a quick lunge Orgrim caught the old mage by the robes as he unleased another torrent of fire, burning the skin off the Dragonborn's neck and arm, letting out a roar he pulled the mage towards him and drove his forehead into the mages face, he felt the bones crumble and the flame die, without pause he head butted the mage again and again until he face was a mushy pulp.
Instinctively he lashed out with his boot kicking the Redguard warrior in the midriff sending him sprawling to the ground. Rushing forward he was about to stomp on the man face when pain exploded in the old warriors side. The Blonde killed drove her dagger into his ribs aiming for his heart, had it not been for the quality of his armour it would have been a killing blow. He clutched the dagger after dropping the mage's lifeless corpse.
The blonde wrenched her dagger free slicing deeply into his hand. Orgrim turned to face her and looking over her shoulder through the blood and bits of flesh from the dead mages face he could the Wolf charging towards him. Roaring he brought his hammer up catching the blonde killer a glancing blow on the shoulder, moving with the direction of the hammer she tumbled expertly to the side skidding to a halt a few feet away.
Something about the dagger had affected him he felt drained and tired, sucking in great heaving breaths he grasp Volendrung. The Redguard having recovered ceased his chance lunged at the stricken warrior seeking to end the battle, he had been shaken by the sheer ferocity of the attacks, even as he lunged he couldn't believe three of his fellow assassins were gone.
Orgrim sensing the attack twisted feeling the curved sword slice along his ribs just below the strange stab wound. Spinning he lost his grip on Volendrung and he inwardly cursed at his mistake, he desperately grasp the sword by the blade. Grimacing as the blade cut into his remaining good hand he used the momentum of the attack to hurl the Redguard towards the rushing wolf.
Crashing together the two assassins tumbled to the ground. Orgrim fell to his knees his great strength leaking from him. Drawing on his ancient lore, his thu'u'm echoed through the valley once more only this time he called upon dragon flame. Burning death exploded from his mouth and covering the two assassins, both beast and man screamed as their skin blackened and the air was sucked from their lungs. Together in a final embrace their charred remains toppled over.
A scream tore from Astrid's throat as her husband toppled over.
"No!".
Running to her husband's side burning herself as she tried to hold him. Closing her eyes as tears cut clean trails through her grime covered face. Slowly she turned a venomous stare towards the giant warrior, seething as he toppled over falling on his side. Murder filled her mind, a cold fury consumed her that only this warriors death could sate.
Rising slowly, she twirled her mystical blade; it danced across her fingers as she approached the fallen warrior. He coughed a gout blood and his breathing was a heavy wheeze. She knelt beside him leaning close to his face,
"Dam you to oblivion, I will make you suffer for this; I will peel the skin off your ugly face and feed it to you"
Orgrim clenched his teeth, anger boiled his blood. Struggling to breathe through waves of pain he could smell his burnt flesh, he could feel the lancing pain from the lacerated ribs and the dull mortal ache from the dagger wound. Snarling he drew upon his prodigious strength with every ounce of his being he lunged forward at the remaining assassin. Grabbing her through bloodied hands he pulled her towards him. He wanted to crush her, kill her, rip her apart, however his strength failed him. The assassins dagger had drained him of his victory.
He refused to give in; he would not let this killer send him to Solengard, with no options left to him he bit into the face of the assassin, clenching his teeth he bit through her cheek. She screamed plunging the dagger into his shoulder, fresh pain blistered through him, yet pain was something he could deal with. The he felt the dreaded dagger work is dark magic and soon even the effort of biting was beyond him.
Astrid tore free hurling herself away from him crawling backwards her eyes wide with panic, her dagger still imbedded in his arm. Her hand leapt to her ruined face bleeding from the gaping hole in her cheek. Anger and outrage assaulted her mind she scrambled to her feet and with a screech rushed the fallen Dragonborn, her fingers clawed she leapt at him.
A crushing weight slammed into her and she was hurled backwards, momentary stunned as a strange numbness flooded her senses, looking down her eyes widened in amazement at the arrow sticking out of her chest, suddenly, another jarring impact as another arrow slammed into her. Looking up as the light slowly faded she saw a Stormcloak guard raising his bow and behind him another soldier rushing over to the fallen Dragonborn.
"No this is not how it's meant to be" she whispered with her dying breath just as a third arrow plunged into her.
Orgrim floating on the edge of consciousness refusing to give up, he willed his mighty frame to get up. The effort, proving too much even for him, he fell back down waiting for the death blow, instead he felt a gentle pressure on his chest.
"Easy there, rest now Lord Orgrim you are safe, the assassins are dead" said a voice in the unmistakable deep Nord accent.
Sighing he slipped into unconsciousness.
Orgrim drifted slowly up through from murky depths of his dream, struggling to hold its memory only to have it flee from his mind like sand through his fingers. The last remnants washed away by waves of pain that greeted his waking body. Forcing his eyes to open just a slither brought unwelcome light that pierced his soul, he felt drained, weak as a day old wolf pup.
His vision slowly cleared the burning light gave way to blurred vague shapes. His eye lashes seemed lashed together, crusted with sleep. He squinted trying to focus, he dimly recognised his surroundings; he was lying in Breezehome, in Whiterun, his house yet one he avoided since the death of Lynda, subconsciously sifting through his scattered memories he recalled the attempt on his life and with a sharp pang he remembered Vladimar falling, his death bringing a different kind of pain one that tore at his heart.
Inwardly groaning he closed his eyes trying to shut out the grief, his heavily bandaged hands reached around, feeling for something, almost as if they had a mind of their own. He felt them gently clasp by someone, a female, soft and delicate. Pulling away they continued their search.
"Stand aside Dancia, it is not that kind of comfort he seeks, he is a true warrior and only steel will ease his mind" said a gruff voice he didn't recognise.
He felt something gently pushed into his damaged hands; his fingers closed around the haft of his Warhammer Voldenrung. Drawing the giant weapon across his chest, Orgrim's battered body finding solace in its touch.
Forcing his eyes opened he blinked away the sleep and found himself surrounded by anxious faces, Danica Pure-Spring he recognised, she was the healer from the Temple of Kynareth. A young Nord, Olfina Gray-Mane the Jarls of Whiterun's personal Housecarl, two storm cloak soldier's and presumably the owner of the Gruff voice, Kodlac Whitemane , Harbringer of the Legendary Companions.
"We thought we had lost you there" Olfina said in a neutral tone,
Orgrim tried to respond yet was unable to give voice to his thoughts, his throat and lips dry, whilst he was struggling to moisten them and reply Dancia Pure-Spring in a commanding voice took control,
"That's enough for now, everyone out, You too Kodlac even the mighty Dragonborn needs time to heal on this occasion, out, out everyone out", forcefully shoving everyone out the door, satisfied, she turned back to the Dragonborn and with practiced ease resumed her ministrations.
Over the next few days Orgrim grew increasingly annoyed by this woman, he had not really had dealings with the temple in the past and it occurred to him that the sick and injured were getting a rough deal under this priestess. With a voice that seemed more suited to a parade-ground rather than a healing temple, her daily visits were the bane of his existence. She forbade all ale, all grains and all meat and forced ghastly potions upon him and endless bowls of Bland vegetable stew.
Despite his misgivings over the next couple of weeks he felt his strength return. Orgrim had also been surprised to find that Ulfric had sent a special detachment of soldiers to guard Whiterun during his recovery. He learned later that the Companions had also ceased all activities and were taking shifts guarding his home.
Fifteen days after the attack Orgrim was feeling much better his wounds had all but healed. One of the ever-present Stormcloak guards knocked on his door, rolling his shoulder gently stretching his side he opened the door.
"My Thane, an Altmer seeks audience with you"
Orgrim nodded, knowing the precautions the Jarl was taking he had little concern about his safety. He watched as the two guards entered first followed by the elf who was wearing the robes of a Monk. Orgrim noticed the heavily muscled frame and the scars that crisscrossed the wrists and hands of his visitor. The elf removed his hood in a fluid motion revealing a strong jaw line, high cheekbones and cool yellow eyes, his features were dominated by two scars that ran down his left cheek.
"What can I do for you Warrior" Orgrim intoned offering a chair near the hearth.
The elf smiled ever so slightly and made his way around to the chair, sitting down he made a show of getting comfortable and after taking in the room with a sweeping glance his eyes came to rest on the Dragonborn. He had an unsettling gaze that Orgrim suspected didn't miss a trick. The grace of his walk hinted of a warrior that moved well, and most likely fought just as well.
The elf cleared his throat and in a deep confident voice he began "I have come to Skyrim to kill you!" both guards drew their weapons as the elf smiled dismissively and ignored their actions.
"I'm hardly going to kill him today, where is the sport in that, he still carries the injuries of the last attempt" showing no sign of panic he watched the two guards wrestling with indecision.
Orgrim sat down next to the elf looking into his face he smiled.
"It's alright lads, the elf here won't be the first to try" he responded.
The elf warrior nodded thoughtfully, "Yes that is true" clasping his hands on his lap, "I heard of your encounter with the assassins, there is no honour in such a dark pathway, I am glad you survived".
The elf seemed to reflect on this then continued. "It is said blacksmith that you are a man of honour, is there any truth to this?"
Orgrim tilted his head slightly to the side and raised an eyebrow "Blacksmith? Hmm, I didn't realise my skills on the anvil were held in such high regard by the Thalmor".
The high elf stared at the Dragonborn, his yellow eyes giving no indication of what he was thinking.
"I know nothing of your skills in the forge, I assume you are a blacksmith, why else would you fight with a hammer, such a uncouth weapon" smiling slightly the elf continued,
"Clobbering your way through Skyrim? So blacksmith, you still haven't answered my question do you have honour?"
"I have not the time for this nonsense elf, you want to die that I can arrange for you".
The high elf let out a long breath whilst examining the back of his hand, "It was said that after the last battle you told everyone you were tired of killing your own kind, a folly I believe you called it, is this true?"
"Aye elf, I said that, and I meant it".
"Good" said the elf, "lowering his hand to his lap his gaze returning to the Dragonborn.
"I have a proposal for you".
"I'm listening"
"I am the appointed champion of the….Imperials, if you agree to meet me in single combat before the assembled armies; our fight will decide the outcome of this rebellion"
The elf watched the Dragonborn with a tight smile.
"Tell me elf why would I risk this when the Imperials are all but defeated".
The high elf leaned back in the chair and picked at his front tooth with his finger seeming to take a great interest in what he discovered. Eventually he looked back at Orgrim and in a bored tone he said,
"As you are no doubt aware the Aldmeri Dominion has, shall we say a passing interest in the skirmish, they favour the Imperials and now that favour has been solidified with troops, as we speak Solitude is already significantly reinforced with Dominion troops"
Orgrim smiled folding his arms "You are lying, elf!"
Orgrim saw anger flash across the features of the warrior quickly replaced by a passive controlled expression.
The elf seemed to consider his reply
"You do not know me blacksmith and I suspect you have not heard of me, however I do not tolerate falsehood in any form and….I Never Lie!" the elves last words were spoken with underlying conviction.
Orgrim nodded silently "So elf, if you have the numbers why then would the Imperials and the Dominion risk all this in a single match?"
The elves expression turned thoughtful "Two reasons, Skyrim has a dragon infestation that needs quelling before it floods into other lands and secondly and more importantly you cannot win".
Orgrim looked at the elf his expression turning cold, "You know my destiny yet you would seek my death, the Dragonborn, the one fated to stop Auldin?"
"Fated!" chuckled the elf,
"Ah yes, should a giant Skeever rise from the slimy pits of Skyrim, the Nord's would no doubt claim to have a Skeeverborn, fated to defeat the beast. I forget you are such an arrogant race, rest assured blacksmith when you are dead we will attend to the dragons".
Orgrim watched the elf impassively, he would not rise to the bait, he considered the offer. The chance to end this war without further battle was too good to pass, he suspected the arrogant elf believed the terms of this combat however he doubted General Tullius or the Dominion would honour the deal. However killing their champion in front of the armies would demoralise the Imperials and the dammed elves enough to make it worth the risk.
"I accept you challenge elf, however we will not lose ground we have fought for, and the fight will take place outside Solitude".
"Agreed" said the elf rising from the chair.
He looked around the room once more then in an emotionless tone said,
"There will be no honour in this fight for me, I will take no pleasure in killing you blacksmith. I have fought many duels against warriors that have honed their skills longer than you have been alive. Yet now I'm fated to kill you, a Nord, thrust into combat for what, ten, twenty years, no more than a blink of the eye, and you wield a hammer. I can't remember the last person foolish enough to bring a hammer against me in combat. No….I find this whole thing distasteful, I would refuse if it was within my power to do so".
"Well I guess I will try not to disappoint" replied Orgrim in an even tone.
The elf stared at the Dragonborn blinking a small smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "I did not mean to insult you as such with my words, I am blunt by nature it comes with killing as I imagine you know, I have no doubt you believe in your cause and your skill. From what I have heard you are a skilled warrior, yet it will matter little in the end"
The elves tone was so assured Orgrim felt a stab of uncertainty, a flicker of doubt. This was not some idle boast this elf was clearly honed in battle, more than likely trained by the best a formidable foe.
He extended his arm and the elf after a moment clasp his wrist in a firm shake, "I will see you outside Solitude in two weeks from today elf, and in front of our Armies we will decide the outcome of this war, you and me"
The elf grinned then with a surprisingly warm smile said, "You surprise me Blacksmith, I will see you outside Solitude".
"Before you go elf I would know your name?"
The elf paused looking at the ground; he seemed to wrestle with his decision,
"My name?" he intoned
"I am not know by my name, only my title, for what it's worth my name is….was Sindaren" he said as he moved towards the door.
Orgrim absorbed this "…and this title you speak of?"
The elf paused at the door "I am the Over Champion of Cyrodiil".
One of the Stormcloak guards scoffed at this breaking out into a chuckle
"Over Champion, if memory serves me that title was only given out once and that was 200 years ago to the Hero of Kvash" he said sarcastically.
Sindaren slowly turned his gaze on the guard, his yellow eyes strangely compelling and unnerving at the same time, the seasoned soldier lapsed into an uneasy silence
"Yes, that is another title that was once bestowed upon me".
With that comment he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.