Go to Sovngarde
Smoke and fire filled the air. Shouts and screams of soldiers and warriors could be heard all around. The moans and cries of the dying were mixed in. Arrows whizzed by, swords clashed against one another, shields cracked and splintered under the strikes of the enemy.
It had started a month ago, when Stormcloak troops marched to Markarth and set up camps around the city. Besieging it. He was the second in command of the army, after the passing of Galmar many years ago. Under the rule of Ulfric only a month before the battle of Whiterun, he had been the messenger who went to the city with the axe.
Him and a woman, Talia, had been guarding the encampment outside the city. She was gifted a powerful spell and had been contacted by a divine in order so she could stop the Forsworn invasion. And now there they were, on the final stretch. The final battle. It brought back memories of the siege of Solitude over twenty years prior. The air had been thick then, but Ulfric had been there to make a speech, give moral to the troops. But this time he wasn't. He was back in Windhelm worrying about a battle with the Thalmor that never seemed to come.
They attacked at night. They made it through the gates at dawn.
He watched men and women he had known fall to the Forsworn's arrows, tipped with poison. Talia and him had led the charge. Soot and ash now covered her face, streaks of crimson blood on her armour, most likely not her own. They ran up the narrow streets while Forsworn picked them off. Not a single arrow hit Talia or him, to which he felt quite lucky.
Then, as he made his way to the doors with Talia at his side and Ralof just behind him, one hit him. Pierced his chest, just under the heart. Again, laced with poison.
He fell to his knees, clutching the arrow, trying to pull it out, but couldn't. Talia looked over to see him on his knees, arrow jutting from his chest. She spotted the Forsworn archer and cast her spell, sending him to a very painful death.
She turned back to him, saying something inaudible. Everything seemed to go in slow-motion for him. It was only when Ralof came into view did things seem to turn back to normal.
"We need to get the arrow out!" Talia shouted.
"You go on ahead and I'll do that!" Ralof replied.
Talia knelt over besides him. "He's my friend too you know!"
They yelled over the sounds of the fighting, but other than that, no hints of anger could be heard between them.
"I know that, girl, but you need to kill Skoulf!"
"But what about him?!"
"I'll watch him, you go ahead and fulfil your destiny." Ralof replied.
A lone tear made it's way down the strong, stoic woman's cheek. She nodded, gave the man a kiss on the forehead, called over a bunch of soldiers and made her way inside the keep.
The man coughed up blood. "This is it, Ralof," He coughed again. "The final stretch,"
Ralof smirked as a tear made it's way down his face as well. "Yes, and your going to make it through this, now hold still while I pull the arrow out."
The man moved his hands to stop him, weakly. "No, there's nothing you can do for me now,"
"No, we will make it out of this," Ralof said, determination in his voice.
The man shook his head. "No, the poison in the arrow is already in me, not long before I pass to Sovngarde,"
More tears made their way down Ralof's face. "Don't say that, we're going to make it through this, Bormic,"
Bormic let out a few chuckles, wincing in pain after. He thought back on his life in Skyrim before he made it to the situation he was in. He was fresh out of Morrowind after hearing about the rebels fighting for free worship of Talos. He made it out of the pass and into the first city in Skyrim, Riften. He spent a few weeks there, gathering money and information on the Stormcloaks, the rebels.
He eventually made his way to Windhelm, where he spoke to Ulfric. Ulfric had asked if he had known him and said it was foolish to speak to a jarl without summons. He had explained that he was fresh out of Morrowind and was unfamiliar with Skyrim customs. He excused the mistake he made.
After speaking about enlisting, he was sent to Serpent Stone Island, where he fought an Ice Wraith. He made it back, and made his way to Volenruud to find the Jagged Crown. And that's where he met him, Ralof. Fresh out of the attack in Helgen, he was excited to see a new recruit somewhat like himself. They spent the time in Volenruud as Shield-Brothers, to make sure they didn't get killed. Their bond only grew stronger from that.
They shared many passionate nights as the civil war raged on. Ralof was there when Bormic delivered the axe of Ulfric to Balgruuf, but stayed outside the city. They had many times when others told them to be quiet in their tent, but payed them no mind and continued on with their carnal activities.
He remembered the day, when the war was over, that he had strode into the house Ralof and him and purchased together, Hjerim, wearing an amulet of Mara. He remembered talking with Ralof and showing him the amulet. He remembered the ceremony where Ralof's family, some of the soldiers he considered good friends, and even Ulfric and Galmar, the two grizzled warriors themselves showing up for the bonding. Tears had made their way down Ralof's face then, of pure joy and happiness. He remembered the kiss as well, the most passionate of all the previous.
Bormic was snapped back into reality from his memories at the scream-worthy pain of Ralof pulling the arrow lodged in him out. He ceased Ralof's efforts with a smile, and said, "You know, throughout my life I have many regrets," He began. "But if I changed them, and it altered our lives, and made it so we might never have become lovers, I wouldn't change them for anything."
Ralof's face was red now. Tears making their way down his cheeks like a broken dam.
"Now I go to Sovngarde, I will see you there. But do not arrive before your time, for there shall be plenty of it in the land where we shall call home in our afterlife."
He took in a breath and said, "I love you,"
Bormic exhaled one last time, and with it, his life left him. He still had a smile on his face, one that made it slightly, but barely easier for Ralof to deal with.
Ralof closed his lover's eyes, held Bormic's hand with his own, and sung a soft tune, one that they had sang together on the road countless times and kissed his forehead. The truest Stormcloak ode.
"We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone. For the age of oppression is now nearly done."