Salutations, my good friends. This is the second chapter of The Great War, a series of fanfics that I am writing. My first one, in fact. Thank you for the reading, and if you like it, don't forget to review!

Enjoy it.

Lorus Lex, from Anvil

- Wine! Sweet wine to calm your souls, the finest vintage in all of Cyrodiil!

- Blades! Daggers! Axes! The sharpest metal ever made!

- The finest steel and the hardest leather! Come to the Three Shields and protect yourself!

Lorus woke up that morning, his ears harassed by the insistent offers of imperial merchants. He looked up to the ceiling, where a candlestick hung, moving forward and backwards as the heavy wind blew through his window. He turned, sitting straight on the bed and fixing his feet on the wooden planks that formed the floor. Lorus yawned, tired. The last night surely was one of great work, with him chasing a Thalmor spy named Nasts, while he counted the imperial army's numbers. The elf took an alley, and feeling safe, risked writing a letter and tying it to a hawk's leg. The animal was now in the warehouses, going to serve as a dinner for a legionnaire, and the man was incarcerated deep on the imperial prisons, at the mercy of torturers.

Not that I like it, thought Lex, while he got up and filled a chamber pot. His solution would be a clean kill, but his superior, Darius Arcadia, descendant from a long line of imperial officers, ordered him to be carried off. Darius was now a general, a renowned lord from Chorrol, where he held many lands on the name of the Count. It granted him the higher echelon, as the leader of the Eighth Legion. The captain opened a drawer, and took a sponge. He began cleaning himself, in a simple and the less messy possible. Then he donned the armor, first a hauberk, which went all the way from the shoulders until the thigh, and a breastplate, adorned with arabesques and showing two signs which displayed the eighth legion's emblem and the badge of a captain, showing a sword and a shield in a red field. Then he wrapped his shoulders with a long piece of cloth, that time showing House Lex's symbol: An anvil in red and a fox in gray, over a golden field. The boots, of hard, dark leather, followed the uniform.

But his blade was something special. Some said that a smith in the Imperial City could make steel so perfectly that it wouldn't even weigh a thing. His sword, though some would say that it was too old, or the steel wasn't so alive, seemed to the captain the apex of quality. He had forged the blade himself, by the time he was only a lad struggling through his grandfather's legacy and climbing the steep legion's hierarchy, and it was almost a legionnaire as him. It was not the classical gladius, wielded by the traditional militia, but a legitimate bastard sword, in the High Rock style, made to either two hands or accompanied with a shield. He sheathed it, and went to his private chamber. As always, his squire, Claudius Dores, a native from Cheydinhal, had taken special care with his food. There was a goblet half-filled with his favorite mead, and a bowl of venison stew with half bread inside. Lorus sat on the chair, sipping the mead, but leaving the stew for a while. Annoyed, he moved the food aside and pulled pieces of parchment from a drawer. Lex hated the bureaucracy that seemed to move the Empire. Some were answers from letters of conscription, with results that varied from thanks for attention and an estimative of numbers from declarations and threats of rebellion in exchange for their participation in the war.

There were contracts, too. Those were the mercenaries needed to bolster local armies, and though Lorus did not appreciate them, He learned in field experience that the rabble was more for firing-fodder. The staunchest fighters eventually left the companies and joined the legion itself, even though such things took time to happen. He knew that he had money to hire at least a company or two of mercenaries, and he had the hope of taking the best he could. From his lands of Anvil, many men had already been drafted, and Lex trusted their leadership to his old Castellan, Ser Quintus Garn. Food was being harvested quickly, taken to the cities along with great numbers of fearful peasants, those who lived by themselves and those whose lord did not have a castle to protect them. Winter was turning its tide, and even on the Colovian lands, where crops would flourish even in that part of the year, were harassed by a dread cold and heavy, long rains. He finally finished the contracts: One for the Tais Bricks, from Morrowind, a branch from House Redoran that had, on many accounts, the reputation of the best spearmen in all of Vvanderfell, and one for the Drowned Ebony, a company that fielded experienced battlemages and warriors.

Hiring a company in times of war was like a game, played by lords and kings. Mercenary's commanders analyzed every point of the contractor: The field of battle, his position on a war, and, most importantly, the gold offer. Lex offered the sack of a captured castle, a chest of gold, and one especially big diamond to the first company that accepted; the second would receive a jeweled dagger, ten ingots of gold and one of ebony. It would potentially empty his treasury, but he was sure that it was worth it. There would be sack to be looted from the rich castles of Valenwood, and gold to be taken from defeated armies.

Or they could lose. He knew that if the Empire fell, Men would never have another chance to counter elven domination. He finished the contracts, and put them aside, letting the ink dry. The captain capped the inkwell, cleaned the quill, and brought the meal nearer. The stew was not as hot as before, but still had a bit of warmth, welcome on the cold climate that winter had brought upon them. The mead, imported from the north, on the frozen reaches of Skyrim, where the sweetest honey was made, had a special flavor, and melted away the annoyance brought by bureaucracy. He was halfway through the stew when a knock sounded on the door.

-Come in. – Lex said, calmly. His squire entered, nodded, and spoke:

- Sir, Aissa is out there. Should I call her in?

Lex suddenly righted himself on the chair, bringing fingers to the hair and bringing it into place. Claudius smiled, and signalized to someone on the stairs.

- Morning, Lorus. – Aissa entered, clad in armor similar to Lex's, but instead to a blade on the belt, she had a heavy-headed mace, made of steel. – Gods, you have really became one of them, don't you? Now I need to be announced before I enter. – She had a smile on her face. It was rare for her not to have.

- I love the field experience as much as you do, but Darius saw fit to have me behind those cursed walls. What does a man do in a city? Grow fat and old while years pass and intrigue enlaces you and bring you closer. – He sipped the mead again. It was heavy and thick against his tongue, and Lex let it pass through his teeth and through his inner cheeks before swallowing it.

She lifted a brow, looking at him and at the mead. Lex look was clear enough. – Another goblet and a bottle of mead, please, Claudius. It seems that Lex is protecting his as a Dragon would protect their spawn. – Claudius hushed to a cupboard, pilling a glass goblet, a bottle of mead, and a small pot of spices.

Meanwhile, Aissa took a piece of parchment from the table. – The Tais Bricks? Really? I have seen a dozen captains sending their requests, and Tiberius, from General Dante, has offered them eleven chests of gold and an urn of jewels.

- Well, I had to make a contract. Have you ever thought about the fact that they might choose me? I must have something to offer. – Aissa look, too, said what she thought about it. Maybe it was a ridiculous request. Claudius came back to the table, putting the platter over the desk and filling her goblet. She took a sip, and messed his curls.

- And how are you going, Dores? Is Lex treating you like a slave? I could have you in my tower, and you would swim on mead and eat sweets all day.

- Aissa. – Lex talked, while Dores flushed. – I would thank you if you stopped trying to take my men to your company.

- Oh, of course. It isn't my fault that your men are so well trained. You could give us a lesson and make a favor to the legion. – Lex knew she had been trying to take recruits from his division and gather them under her banner, the hammer and the tongues from House Steelheart. Fortunately, none had defected.

He smiled. They had grown together, and Aissa had always been like that. – And before you drink all my mead, could you make me the courtesy of explaining the motive of such visit? – Lorus got up, and went to the window. The captain didn't see it, but he was sure that she had a brow up and half a smile on her face.

- Is that so? Can't friends visit each other for the simple pleasure of company? – She laughed, as Lex's sarcastically credulous face looked at her, showing what he thought of it.

- Well, it is rare for you to even wake up at that hour. Rarer for you to leave the mess hall and come talk to me or to anyone. – She wasn't the perfect example of a captain, but her insights of battle tactics had saved a warband more than once. Aissa lifted her arms in surrender.

- Damnit. You know my habits too well. – Her smile receded, and she talked seriously. – You got an order. – He turned from the window, and faced her.

- From who? – In the Imperial Legion, it was common to send parts of legions out in scouts, or in special missions, but the request worried him further.

- Titus. The emperor himself. You better sit. It is a worrisome history. – Lex pulled the chair back and sat. – You know that Naarifin has already taken Leyawiin. By all accounts, the Count foolishly wasted men in attacks at lord's camp. A tattered messenger has come to us, claiming that he has left the city to crime and chaos after sacking it. He is slowly marching to Bravil, and his troops are not as fast as they could because of the siege machines he bought from Valenwood.

- Bravil's Count is having a hard time keeping the city under control. If it gets besieged, the populace will surely break into violence. While at it, though, Naarifin sent a small branch of his army, even if the messenger did not let it clear about how small it is. They marched through Elsweyr and took Skingrad by surprise, capturing the city and besieging the castle. Hassildor has sent word that supplies are short, and we need to put the army down before the walls are breached. Have you ever seen Skingrad?

Her question was sudden, and Lex was concentrated on her explanation. – At a distance, while passing through the West Weald and excursing throughout Valenwood. Why?

- Then you have seen where its castle lies, over a high and steep cliff. They are going to squeeze themselves on a bridge, and that's Hassildor's advantage. Oh, another thing. Skingrad's Mages Guild and Fighters Guild refused elven control, and blockaded a street. They are holding for the time being, but Captain Syralle will manage to get past their guard soon. – She said, pointing the name of the elven commander.

- How many men am I bringing with me? – Said Lex, frowning.

- Me and Tullius's companies and Prince Indarys retinue of knights. The count's son could not bear leave such and "adventure" behind. We agreed, and I don't see why you wouldn't agree too. So I admitted him.

- How many men do you have?

- A thousand and thirty in mine. Maybe seven hundred in Tullius' retinue, and the knights from the Order of the Thorn. – A knightly order was generally composed by thirty or more heavy armored knights, plus double that number in squires and servants. In a prince's retinue, though, there was bound to be at least fifty, counting a hundred or more men.

- Summing it up, maybe two thousand and five hundred, with eight hundred or so of stewards and engineers. It will be hard to advance on all the mud that dot the imperial reserve. But I suppose we will arrive. – Lex finally drank the rest of his mead. – Thank you for the information, Aissa.

- Of course, Lex. My men are already ready to march at any time. – She got up from her chair, and opened the door. Before she could get out, Lorus said:

- Aissa. – And she turned. – When? – He asked, knowing that she would understand the question.

- Tomorrow's morning. – And she closed the door.