Chapter One: The Half-Blooded Bastard

At the midnight hour, Windhelm was dark and silent. The occasional guard patrolled the shadows and Hilda the Unseen shivered frightfully in the chilling cold, wearing only rags to keep her warm, yet the streets remained as still and as lifeless as a grave. That is, until a voice rose over the quiet... It began so soft that the frozen wind easily carried it away. However, it gradually built up in power, growing in volume until it echoed throughout the snowy city.

"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone... For the age of oppression is now nearly done."

In the dank slum known as the Gray Quarter, half-breed Urd Blood-Banner sat cross-legged atop a sealed-off rubbish barrel, strumming a lute with dark lithe fingers as her voice continued to regale the darkness.

"We'll drive off the Empire from this land that we own... With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home."

As if to join in on her melody, the aurora lights began to dance in the clear, starry sky above, blazing like a celestial wildfire. Her crimson eyes regarded them with a cheerful gleam before she lidded them again, taking in a deep breath and sending off her song in an icy, cloudy breath.

"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King... In your great honor, we drink and we sing."

She opened her eyes again, her face somber as she sang: "We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives. And, when Sovngarde beckons, everyone of us dies."

Her voice paused a moment as she exhaled a deep sigh, briefly lifting her fingers away from the lute's cords to shake them awake as the nerves began to dull from the cold. Once she felt blood begin to flow in them again, she returned her fingertips to the instrument and cleared her voice.

"But, this land is ours, and we'll see it wiped clean of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our-!"

"This place reeks of gray-skin filth!" A voice, joined by slurred affirmation, shouted amid the dark alleys of the Gray Quarter, making Urd grit her teeth in annoyance as she heard the footsteps grow closer. Rolff Stone-Fist rounded the bend that separated the rest of Windhelm from the slums and immediately spotted Urd atop the rubbish bin as she pretended to not notice the Nords by distracting herself with tuning her lute. "I thought someone may have forgotten to seal off those barrels, but I should've known that smell was you, half-breed."

Despite her agitation, Urd responded instead with a feigned smile as she greeted the men while they walked past. "Oh? A fine evening to you, too, Rolff – Angrenor…" As she addressed each of the men, her red eyes shifted between them, first to Rolff then to a man in rags who was once a proud veteran in the rebellion and glaring angrily to her. "What brings you to the Gray Quarter this evening? Done drinking already?" She wrinkled her nose amid her honeyed words and forced smile; the stink of cheap mead on their breaths as they walked past made her stomach churn.

The men halted at Urd, whose smiled faded to a foreboding glare as the men turned to face her. Rolff stepped forward, hiccuping a moment as he tilted his head towards her, cupping his hand to his ear that was reddened with cold as if he didn't hear her. "What was that, gray-skin? You say something?"

Urd scowled deeper at the derogatory name, but strummed the first few chords of her previous song and spoke over them as she responded. "Nothing, friend. Simply that if Elda has kicked you out of her inn already, you might try the Cornerclub for a drink instead. May open up your mind a bit..." She snickered to herself as she internally thought… That, or that old whinger Ambarys will run a sword through your gullet. Either way, I would win.

"Peh!" Rolff spat at the half-elf, making her flinch as the spit splattered against her cheek and oozed down the dark flesh. "You've some nerve to suggest I'd even be caught dead in that filthy place… I'd rather drink a mug full of troll's piss!"

Having endured the abuse enough, Urd was already done being civil. Red eyes glaring up to the Nord after dragging the back of her hand across her sullied cheek, the half-breed sneered and chuckled. "Ahh, but at least troll's piss is warm compared to you and your company, Rolff," she remarked, a proud and wry grin crossing her face. However, it did not remain there long as she felt a fist bash soundly against her jaw, knocking her from her perch atop the barrel.

"You do well to watch your tongue, half-breed!" Rolff snarled at the elf-blood, towering over her downed form in the snow. "You think you're above the others simply because you have Nord blood, but to me? You're still nothing more than a damned gray-skin!"

Urd's bloodied and broken lips snarled as she felt her rage overflow in her, kicking herself up from a pounce after she'd shook off the initial daze from the punch. She hurled herself into a startled Rolff's midsection, and threw them both into the snow… A cloud of frost billowed up about the tousling pair wrestling in the snowdrifts before Urd managed to roll on top of him, holding the Nord by the front of his tunic and throwing a few good blows to his face.

Angrenor stood in a stunned daze before quickly snapping out of it at the sound of Urd's bloodied knuckles striking against Rolff's mouth, prompting him to rush forward and pick up the snarling half-elf from his friend. He received a vicious elbow from a thrashing Urd to his face, sending him backwards. Rolff quickly stood as soon as he felt the weight lifted from him and looked as if he were going to charge back at Urd; but seeing his friend holding his bloodied nose and Urd's hellish red eyes glaring back at him in the moonlight reflected from the snowy streets, he second-guessed his actions.

Instead, he only spat blood at Urd's feet, his companion running back from her as she feigned a lunge at Rolff. "You only fight good because of your father's blood, Urd… But that didn't stop him from abandoning your cursed mother or you, you misbegotten bastard."

Urd looked as if she were going to charge back in, but a hand from behind seized a beefy fistful of Urd's dark hair and pulled her back down into the snow and onto her backside, feeling the cold even through the furs. She snarled and turned about to face the newcomer, but halted at the sight of a white bear's head emblazoned upon a blue-painted round shield – Windhelm guards. The elf-blood scrambled up to her feet and backpeddled from the men, knowing better than to continue fighting in their presence.

"Alright, what's all the commotion about, Rolff? Why do you look like you lost a fight with a frost troll?" one of the larger guards stepped towards the group, trying to mask his amusement in the second question.

However, Rolff was in no joking mood. Pointing a stern finger at Urd standing nearby, he snapped, "That… half-breed mongrel needs to be put down! She needs to learn her place! I want her locked up for the rest of her miserable life!"

"Ugh, harassing the gray-skins are you, Rolff?" the guardsman sighed though he did nod to his comrades. A female guard grabbed Urd's wrists at his gesture and clapped them in iron shackles before she handed it off to a third male who stood quietly observing. "You've already been told to quit inciting them. We've enough problems without you prompting the dark elves to attack you..."

"I don't see how that is any of your business, Borik," Rolff huffed as if offended. "They come into our city when they aren't wanted, pollute our city with their filth, and they refuse to help the Stormcloaks! They are parasites, taking what should belong to us Nords. This is our home, ours!"

Urd could bite her tongue no longer, taking a step forward though her shackles held by the other guard kept her back from resuming her brawl with Rolff. "I am a Nord, like my father before me!" she spat venomously, struggling against the chains that bound her. "I was born in this city, and this is just as much my home as it is any Nords!"

"Feh!" Rolff scoffed. "Last I checked, Nords had no gray-skin… And if you were a true Nord, you would help the Stormcloaks instead of sittin' around in your cornerclubs and shelters we so graciously provided you."

"Graciously?" Urd echoed, indignantly. "You gave us slums!"

"Why, you ungrateful sow!" Rolff snarled, but the guardsmen had heard enough.

"Alright, that's enough out of you," Borik turned to face the half-breed, taking her chains himself from his comrade. "A night in the cells ought to cool you off. As for you, Rolff, go home and stay out of trouble. I want the rest of the night to be quiet, do you understand?"

"...He punches me, and I get arrested," Urd muttered, though she wasn't surprised. This was a fact of life for the Dunmer of Windhelm, even for half-bloods.

"Hmph..." Rolff didn't even agree to the terms, only giving Urd one more sneer before turning about with Angrenor to continue through the Gray Quarter and round the bend that lead to the docks, likely to harass some Argonians next…

Urd returned the stare and watched them depart, before she felt her shackles cut into her cold skin as she was pulled to follow the guardsmen. Trailing behind them with heavy footfalls, Urd looked behind her to where her lute had fallen, surrounded by blood and packed snow from the scuffle. She stopped, and the guardsmen halted, Borik grunting in annoyance. "What is it, elf?"

"My lute…" she sighed, her resigned breath forming into a cloud of cold. "Do you mind if I pick up my lute? It was very expensive..."


A gray overcast sky hung heavy above Windhelm, shedding crystalline tears upon the ancient city as soldiers gathered before the Palace of Kings in preparation for war. Among them stood a silver-haired man who was silent and kept his storm-gray gaze fixated forward as young Ulfric Stormcloak addressed his men while an aged Jarl Hoag looked proudly to his son.

"The Reach will be reclaimed for Skyrim and her people… And under Jarl Hrolfdir, we will be free to worship Talos again!" Ulfric raised an axe high, the men and women gathered before him roaring and cheering for the promise. "Hold by hold, we will free Skyrim and her people and restore to her her most favored son. For Talos! For Skyrim!"

-"FOR TALOS! FOR SKYRIM!"-

As the men rallied quieted when Ulfric stepped down to prepare for their departure, the snowy-haired Nord looked about the crowd for his own beloved, scanning the sea of pale faces for the sight of gray...

"Otin!"

"Sybola!" he waded past his comrades to the dark elven woman, catching her in his arms as she burst through the well-wishers and weeping wives and mothers who bid their sons and daughters farewell. There were gasps and even scornful whispers from the soldiers at Sybola's impudence, but she largely disregarded them – looking to her beloved with tears in her crimson eyes.

"You mustn't go… You told me yourself that your fighting days were done," her bottom lip trembled as Otin's hand reached up to cup her tear-stained cheek affectionately.

"I am sorry, Sybola," he said, moving to brush her twirled dark locks from her face as they were tousled by the bitter wind that whipped about them. "But, this is what I must do… How can I call myself a true Nord if I don't take up arms to fight with my brothers and sisters?"

"And what of our child…?" Sybola jerked her head from his touch, her voice indignant and stung with betrayal. All around the couple, men and soldiers gasped and muttered in disbelief at what they were hearing while women cupped their hands near their mouths to gossip amongst themselves. The woman's glare was hard and unyielding as she looked to her beloved's face searchingly.

Otin's expression was unreadable, but his eyes did glance down and his hand rested at his love's flat belly. She showed no obvious signs of pregnancy, but he knew in his heart she would never make up such a story to ensnare him. Her mastery of the healing arts and knowledge of anatomy and medicine was unmatched in Windhelm. Looking to her, he pressed a kiss to her high brow, sighing. "Our child will be fine, no matter what happens, Sybola. You must have faith."

Sybola opened her lips to argue, but was cut off by the call of the battle-horn, signaling the start of their march. Knowing it was too late to dissuade him, the dark elf simply turned her head, sniffing back any further tears that stung her ruby red hues.

Otin looked to the woman with deep sympathy and pulled her into a tight albeit brief embrace, before he turned to join the others as the Nordic legionaries poured from the front gates as they marched through the main square to the bridge. Sybola choked back a sob and fell on her knees as she watched her beloved depart for the last time…

The air stilled as Otin halted in his steps, turning about to face the wife and soon-to-be child he was leaving behind. The sky seemed to darken as many of his comrades, once on their feet and joining what was to be a glorious procession out the city, laid dead about him, himself clutching a wounded belly and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His lips parted and he seemed to look to Urd, who found herself marveling at the sudden change of setting.

The city itself about them had changed and was carved into a mountain side. The buildings and streets were lined with stone, metal, and steam hissed from between the cracks in the landscape. It was Markarth, the City of Blood and Silver… Where Otin Blood-Banner fell twenty five years ago.

"It is all up to you now, Urd… You must fight for our people, and for your mother's. You must free Skyrim." He dropped to his knees, Urd rushing past her grieving mother to reach her father. However, no matter how hard she tried, her legs simply wouldn't obey her. He seemed ever more distant, no matter how hard she ran. Hand outstretched, Urd's eyes widened as a shadowy figure with deer antlers on his head appeared behind her father, hoisting an axe high and poised to cut the downed Nord in two. His final words before Urd watched in horror as her father's head rolled from his body: "For Talos."


"FATHER!" Urd's voice was sore, so she knew she had been screaming. She sat upright in the scratchy loose hay that lined her cell floor and shook her head, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation that was only matched by her rapidly beating heart. Her chest ached, and her limbs trembled… With a heavy sigh, she ran both her hands down her sweat-matted face, before her pointed ears perked up at the sound of her cell door being unlocked.

Lifting her hands from her face, Urd saw the jailer swing open the door, racing in and startling the awakened half-elf. Watching the woman from behind the dark-shadows that formed his helmet's eyes with sword and shield at the ready, the guard seemed to look about the cell, before his stare fell hard on the half-breed. Urd's eyes widen fearfully, daring not make a sound, before a wave of relief washed over her as the guard sheathed his sword. "Keep it down in here!" he barked testily, likely woken from napping in a chair by Urd's shouting. "You were howling like a sabre cat!"

"Sorry," Urd grumbled weakly, her head coming out of the dream-like haze and taking in her surroundings. As the wrought iron bars creaked and slammed shut, Urd shifted in her makeshift bed to sit upright, doing her best to ignore the menagerie of smells that assaulted her nose. The itchiness of her bed was only matched by her ragged clothes that were given to her when the guards stripped her of her gear to ensure she wasn't hiding weapons, lockpicks, or skooma.

Despite the bleakness of her situation, she thought at length about the dream while it was still somewhat fresh in her mind…

Otin had died before Urd was even born, so she didn't know his face. Although, she had been told of him so often that she easily discerned that the man with the snow-white hair and proud stormy eyes was in fact the man who'd sired her. She could see how her mother had fallen for him.

She'd been told that her parents met when her father made his way out to Solsthiem and met her mother, Sybola, while she worked as an alchemist's apprentice out in Raven Rock. It didn't take long for the young Dunmer to become smitten with the young and handsome warrior, who so constantly needed to be treated with varying battle-scars. She even took to wandering with him as he explored the island. When he was called back to Windhelm, Sybola followed, only to become pregnant and lose her beloved months later. She herself passed when Urd was barely ten years old.

"How much longer is this waiting going to last?" Urd heard a female voice gripe nearby, at the jailer's table from the sound of it. "We've been quiet for too long and this war is dragging..."

"Mind your tongue, Fridah," the jailer from before grumbled, heavy with drowsiness. Urd vaguely wondered how long she had been in her cell, was it morning already or still night?

"I meant no disrespect of course," the woman offered. "It's just that… the longer we wait, the more ground we give to the Imperials and the Thalmor to do as they please in Skyrim. My cousin in the Rift? Her husband was taken by those damned elves under suspicion of Talos worship. They didn't even have legitimate proof!"

The man heaved a sigh, something of a mix of sympathy and reluctant agreement. "Ulfric knows what is best for all of us. I am sure he is going to act soon and we'll free all those the Thalmor have captured."

"I hope so..."

All conversation halted as the door near the barracks swung open and heavy footsteps thudded on the stone floor before it halted in front of Urd's cell. "Blood-Banner." The half-breed picked up her head and looked to a large imposing figure before the bars. He lacked a helm, but as soon as he spoke, Urd recognized him to be Borik, the arresting guardsman from the previous night. "Your fine has been paid… Stay out of trouble with Rolff, understand? Next time won't be so easy..."

Urd stood up, brushing the straw from her rear as she grumbled to herself, "For him or for me?"

She walked past the guard who followed after her, reaching the jailer's table to retrieve her lute and clothes. The two guardsmen, the male sitting beside the evidence locker and the female leaning against the edge with her arms folded over her chest, watched Urd carefully as the dark elf whistled a tune while she boldly stripped herself of her rags and redressed in her street clothes. After tugging her tunic over her head, she took to busying herself with counting her coins on her belt after it was dropped in front of her. Urd's red eyes flicked up to the woman before her whistling halted.

"I'm sorry about your cousin," she said, "I really am."

Fridah jolted a bit and Urd could almost feel the venom in the guardswoman's stare from behind the helmet."I don't need your pity, half-breed." Whether her anger was at Urd for having elven blood or for having her conversation eavesdropped on or even both, Urd ignored the obvious disdain and turned on her heel to walk with Borik as he escorted her out.

As the pair made their way past the barracks, Urd endured all the harsh stares and even derogatory names and jeers from the guards and Stormcloak soldiers with a dignified and unfazed candor. Just as they entered the main hall, Borik halted dead in his tracks as Urd asked, "Would it be possible to have an audience with Jarl Ulfric?"

"What?" The guard turned to face her, questioning if she was serious. His voice dropped dangerously low, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What for?"

"I want to join the Stormcloaks."


A/N: Well, this was actually fun to complete! I haven't completed and posted a fan-fiction since 2014, so there are definitely a lot of cobwebs to shake off and I am more than a tad rusty. (I apologize in advance for any errors or the like.) However, I am actually proud of this and hope you guys will look forward to new works coming. This is going to be an ongoing piece and I am looking to publish a few more works alongside it. I will try to at least post on a weekly to bi-weekly basis.

Got comments or questions? Feel free to PM me! Also, leave a review as it will help me know how well I am doing! Thank you all for reading :)