Disclaimer: I (CraftyNarma) do not own Elder Scrolls: Skyrim or Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. I do, however, have a sort of ownership of Folkvar since he is my Dragonborn and not anyone else's, even if Bethseda owns the Dragonborn.
Folkvar reached Windhelm a few hours before night fall. On his way through the gates, he couldn't help but view the city with a tactician's eye.
There was only one way into the city, over the bridge. That is, if you didn't mind taking a dunk in the frigid waters of the river that served as a moat for the front of the city and enter through the port on the water line. The bridge was well fortified with many locations for archers to hide. Folkvar knew from a previous visit to the city in his youth that the inside of the bridge was hollow, making it a perfect place to store reinforcements in the event of an attack as well as the perfect place for wounded defenders to fall back to be healed. The length of the bridge was also formidable, spanning over the compleat width of the wide river below, plus some. From the back, the city was walled by mountains, nigh impossible to climb. An attack would only come from there in the form of an air assault.
As Folkvar walked through the gates of the city without bother, he felt himself let out a breath only an enemy agent would hold when entering into their adversary's lair. He was inside the city and he still owned his freedom.
Once inside, Folkvar spent his first hour in the city of Windhelm at the Candlehearth Hall, the first building inside the gates, only preceded by some stairs and a light brasier. Inside the Candlehearth was warm. Over the hearth was a lit candle that was said to be lit a long time ago by a mourning father and hadn't gone out since. Perhaps it was like the candles in the crypts that seemed to always be lit. The atmosphere was a little more tense than it would normally be and that was understandable some a war was being fought from this very city, but the people here were still more relaxed than they would be in places like the barracks or the keep.
There were very few Dunmer, or Dark Elves, in the Candlehearth, though their population was much larger here than most anywhere else in Skyrim. The Dunmer suffered from oppression in this city, which wasn't surprising considering that the Jarl was Ulfric Stormcloak and he was never friendly to anyone other than Nords. One of the only Dunmer in the inn was the bard, Luaffyn, who had a beautiful voice, but Folkvar didn't share her taste in music. She was singing 'The Dragonborn Comes', a song that had been written rather recently be someone at the bards college of Solitude, after the return of the dragons and the Greybeards had called him to their monastery on the Throat of the World. Folkvar would have to have a talk with the bard who thought it was okay to write a song about him without his permission.
Once he had rented his room and listened to as much of the local gossip as he could handle, Folkvar decided that it was high time he left for The Palace of a Kings, the place were Ulfric had holed himself up in while his men risked their lives just to make him High King the short and bloody way. Folkvar knew they were fighting for more than just High King Ulfric. They also fought for their right to worship Talos and to get the Thalmor Embassy, the Altmeri Dominion's local presence, out of Skyrim. Folkvar distrusted the Thalmor just as much as any Nord, possibly anyone who wasn't part of the Thalmor, but he didn't feel like fighting the Empire was the same as fighting the Thalmor. The Altmer and their Embassy were a tricky group and seemed to profit from any disagreement, no matter which side they were on or which side won in the end. People like those were not be trusted.
Despite the fact that Ulfric was loosing ground, his soldiers standing guard in the city and outside the Palace of Kings seemed more than pleased with their side in the civil dispute. The guards stationed inside the Palace were no different.
Inside the Palace of Kings it was spacious and regal. A great blue rug was spread on the floor in such a way that it made Folkvar honestly consider getting a fine rug like it for his little cottage, but he caught himself before he fed the fancy with any real conviction. Any rug would be expensive. He might he able to trade an especially nice bear pelt for a ratty rug, though.
Placed on the rug was a dinning table set for a feast but there was no one to feast at it. Folkvar thought about how much lonelier one would feel living in an empty palace than living alone and on the road, the way he used to live before he found Link. Though this palace was a fine place to live, if it was just him and Link in such a big place, it would feel empty for all the rooms unfilled by the presence of people. Folkvar felt homesick for the cottage by the lake that he had only spent a few weeks at with the boy he cared for as his own flesh and blood.
"Balgruuf won't give us any kind of support," Folkvar heard a nasally, rough voice drift from the room to his left, the map room.
"He's a true Nord," a deep, commanding, soothing, and very persuasive voice answered. "He'll come around."
"Don't be so sure of that. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun." He first voice replied, getting louder as the owner drew closer.
The two owners of the voices left the smaller room and entered the throne room. Folkvar assumed the owner of the first voice was Galmar Stonefist, Ulfric's war General and his and Rikke's old friend. The man who found the location of the Jagged Crown. The other Folkvar recognized as Jarl Ulfric himself. He looked much less disheveled and battered than the last time he saw him, on their way to the chopping block together in Helgen before the first dragon attack in hundreds of years.
Ulfric sat on his throne, which was more grande than the High King's and decorated in blue, Ulfric's family colors.
"And what would you have me do?" Ulfric asked.
"If he's not with us, he's against us," Galmar stood firmly in his belief.
"He knows that," Ulfric demanded patiently. "They all know that." He stood up from his throne and paced around the room, neither of them had payed any notice to Folkvar once again. Folkvar wondered how anything got done in secret if just anyone could walk into the planning rooms and listen to the tacticians strategize.
"How long are you going to wait, Ulfric?" Galmar asked, crossing his arms and watching the other man walk around the room.
"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message," Ulfric stated more than he asked, as he paced he absentmindedly walked back into the map room.
Folkvar, to test the security more than anything, decided to see what the guards would do if he followed the two men.
"If by message you mean a sword in the gullet?" Galmar wasn't joking, and that got on Folkvar's nerves.
Jarl Balgruuf wanted to keep himself and his people out of the fighting. To attack him while he had such a stance would be murder in Folkvar's book, not a valid act of war.
"Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful presence, don't you think?" Ulfric mused.
Folkvar, though a little taken in by the extravagance of the palace and Ulfric's honeyed words, was reminded why he had opposed Ulfric by not joining his cause.
"So, we're ready to start this war in earnest, then?" Galmar sounded happier. He was truly turned on by war and bloodshed.
"Soon," Ulfric nodded, a smirk graced his face as he poured over the map.
"I still think you should take all them out like you did Deadking Torygg," Galmar chuckled darkly. He was fascinated by the Voice, and greatly want to see it in action. Folkvar was tempted to remind the man of the true honor and purpose of a sword and the Voice, but decided against it since he had promised Link to survive at least until the boy was old enough to go out into the world alone.
"Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls," Ulfric studied the map harder, growing deeper in thought. He pointed to the red pegs marking the imperial controlled holds. "Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies. The guards there right now work for the Legion." He informed his General gravely.
"We've got the men and we're ready when you are," Garmar all but saluted.
"Things hinge on Whiterun. If we can take the city without bloodshed all the better," Ulfric picked up the little red flag that was placed on the city of Whiterun. "But if not..." His voice grew dark and menacing. He replaced the red flag.
"The people are behind you," Galmar slammed his fists on the table.
"Many I fear, still need convincing," Ulfric looked straight at Folkvar. He had known Folkvar had been there the entire time. He was letting Folkvar listen, trying to win the man over to his side. Ulfric recognized him from Helgen.
"Let those who do not join us die with their false kings!" Galmar cheered.
"We've been soldiers a long time," Ulfric looked away only out of necessity to continue his conversation with Galmar. "We know the price of freedom. The people are weighing things in their heart." Ulfric turned to face the window.
"What's left of Skyrim to wager?" Galmar leaned on the table, looking at the map as if there were secrets there he had overlooked before and still could not find, though he knew they were there.
"They have families to think off," Ulfric turned away from the window and returned to the map. It seemed like he too was searching on the map for something that could could not be charted on charted on paper.
"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families!"
"Well put, friend," Ulfric and Galmar turned to leave the room. As they passed, both of them nodded to Folkvar.
Folkvar found this suspicious, but exited the room with them, waiting for Ulfric to acknowledge him.
"Tell me, Galmar, old friend, why do you fight for me?" Ulfric asked.
"I'd follow you into the depth of Oblivion, you know that."
"Yes, but, why do you fight? Of not for me, what then?"
"I will die before elves dictate the fates of men." Galmar snarled through barred teeth. "Are we not one in this?"
Ulfric once again looked Folkvar in the eyes. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil," Ulfric sat back down on his throne, pounding his fist on the strong stone arm. "I fight for their wives and children, who's names I heard whispered on their last breath. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces! I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must."
"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. That is why you will be the High King." Galmar almost bathed in the glow of Ulfric's passion for his cause.
Folkvar agreed with Ulfric on some of his points. He might not worship Talos himself, or any of the other gods, and never really did, but he didn't think that something like the worship of different gods, as long as the religion wasn't cult-like, should be banned. He agreed that one should only fight when they must. He wanted to return home to peace, not another war. The only reason he got involved was because when there was war, there was money, and he needed that if he would be raising a child. The day words become enough to end conflict is the day that Folkvar would put his sword. Galmar and Ulfric did not seem to share this opinion.
"The day words are enough will be the day when we are no longer needed." Galmar said bitterly. He never wanted that day to come.
"I would gladly retire from this world were such a day to dawn," Ulfric looked away from Folkvar, sensing that they had more than one conflicting thoughts in this matter.
"But for the meantime, we have a war to plan!" Galmar dropped his detesting attitude towards peace and replaced it with his lust for war and the need to be useful. Galmar returned to the map room with some sort of spring in his step, the huge battle axe on his back glinting faintly of red in the firelight.
Ulfric looked at Folkvar for the third time and finally opened his mouth to address him directly rather than talking to him through Galmar.
"You're that man from Helgen," Ulfric smiled warmly, welcoming Folkvar to his home. Folkvar did not return the warmth, mostly because he had little to give. "You're not one of my men. What got you on their 'to chop' list?"
"A misunderstanding. I've brought a message from Balgruuf," Folkvar grunted.
"Is that so?" Ulfric tapped his fingers on the throne's arm, still looking Folkvar over. "I've been wondering when he'd come around."
Folkvar removed the axe from where it was lopped on his belt and presented it casually to Ulfric, as if they were old friends.
"Oh? What's this?" Ulfric reached out to take the axe and weighed it in his hands. He knew the significance of the axe, and he didn't seem to like what it implied. "You're quite brave to carry such a message. It's such a pity you've chosen the wrong side..." Ulfric lost all interest in Folkvar now that he knew the man couldn't be own over. "You can return this Axe to the one who sent it. And tell him he should prepare to entertain... visitors. I expect a great deal of excitement at the fair Whiterun in the near future..."
Ulfric handed the axe back to Folkvar as if it was diseased. Folkvar put it back on his belt. He was expecting an answer like this.
"We'll be seeing each other again soon," Folkvar turned to leave.
As he left, Ulfric spoke.
"It will be sooner than you think."
As soon as Folkvar left the castle, he took off down the road as fast as he could. He needed to warn Balgruuf and find Link. Whiterun was no longer safe.
(1)(1)(1)
Folkvar rode Alfsigr harder than he had ever rode any horse before in his life. He needed to reach Whiterun before Ulfric's men did.
The wind lashed his hair like whips across his face and the clouded night sky gave little in the way of light except for the occasional blast of lighting followed by the enviable thunder crack sounding like the shout of a dragon overhead. It would be pouring come morning. By some miracle, almost divine fate, Alfsigr managed to carry him to the city by morning at a pace that would cripple a normal horse.
From that ride, Folkvar knew what it was to fly.
(2)(2)(2)
I stopped doing the mock loading screens because I ran out of trivia. Just in case you wanted to know. I also forgot about Navi, and keep doing so. Sorry. I'll fit something in about her later. I just put this here incase I forget... again.
(2)(2)(2)
Thanks to Alfsigr, Folkvar reached the city before the Stormcloaks. He wanted to ride his horse all the way through the city to find Link and get him to safety, but she would definitely go lame on all the steps, if she hadn't already from the hard cobblestone road. Instead, he ran as fast as he could, whispering wuld to himself as he ran to give himself an extra boost.
Folkvar found Link in the park on his way up to the Skyforge. The boy was stunned to see him a day early and almost faltered as he walked. He was carrying two bucket lunches, probably from Fralia. He dropped both of them, spilling cabbage stew all over the cobblestones, when Folkvar grabbed his shoulder.
"Link, we need to get to the keep, now," Folkvar hissed urgently. He dragged Link up the steps to Dragonsreach, desperate to get there before the attack started. He didn't waste time explaining the urgency in the situation. Link was almost able to keep up with Folkvar up the steps, but he scuffed his worn boots on the pavement more than once.
"F-Folkvar?" Link finally managed to stutter. "What's going on? What's happened?"
"There's no time, lad!" Folkvar shouted over another clap of thunder.
They made it to the keep, Folkvar still dragging Link behind him. Folkvar only stopped once they were in there because Link had scrapped his knee on one of the steps and the expression in his face was twisted with worry and fear. Link was breathing hard and his hands were gripping tightly onto his sleeve. His eyes were wide.
Folkvar let Link catch his breath before he went to warn Balgruuf of the impending danger. Before he could get to where the map and the Jarl were, a Legion messenger ran last him and broke the news to Balgruuf himself. He was panting even harder than Link. Folkvar followed the messenger up the stairs in the back of the throne room and Link limped behind him, holding a hand to his scraped knee but otherwise not complaining. He could feel the tenseness of the situation wafting off Folkvar in waves.
Around the table was everyone of importance, Balgruuf, Irileth, and Proventus Avenicci. Since they were discussing ways to defend the city, Folkvar was confident they had already anticipated how close the Stormcloaks were. He was just glade he had gotten there in time to evacuate Link to the keep. Folkvar kept his hand on Link's shoulder to make sure the boy stayed right beside him, where it was the safest.
"Sir, I..." The messenger took a deep breath. Thunder rolled through the hall. "I have..."
"Take a moment to breath, soldier," An imperial legate, Quentin Cipius, patted the man on the back. He sounded worried but tried to lighten the mood anyway.
"But... Sir..." The messenger panted.
"Breath!" Quentin order.
"The outer walls are strong, if we can hold them there..." Balgruuf continued whatever conversation they had been having. No one had noticed Folkvar or Link yet.
"They have catapults," Quentin informed the Jarl gravely.
"Dammit, Where'd they get catapults?" Balgruuf slammed his fists on the table. "The city walls are already falling apart as it is."
"My scouts tell me they're loading them with fire," Quentin reported.
"So, he wants to take my city, walls intact?" Balgruuf mused. He seemed relived that his walls wouldn't get blasted.
"The men will be fighting in flames," Quentin worried.
"My men are fearless!" Balgruuf proclaimed. "It's the imperial milk drinkers I'm worried about."
"If you prefer to have your men fight alone," Quentin threatened.
"No!" Balgruuf amended his words. "Of course not. Just... Don't let me down, Cipius. We'll need to set up the water brigades to combat the flames."
"Already taken care of," Quentin nodded.
"You Imperials are efficient, I'll give you that," Balgruuf found it in himself to give a compliment. "How long until they arrive."
"Sir?" The messenger had regained his breath.
"Not long, they're hiding in the country side," Quentin said.
"Dammit, what's he waiting for?" Balgruuf slammed his hands on the table. Another glitch of thunder erupted from above, rattling the roof.
"Sir?" The messenger repeated.
"What is it, soldier?" Quentin addressed the messenger.
"Sir, they're on the move," the messenger reported, confirming Folkvar's suspicion. "They'll be at the gates at any moment."
"Why didn't you say so immediately‽" Quentin scolded.
"Sir, I tried," the messenger slunk off before he could be reprimanded further.
"This is it!" Balgruuf announced. "Time to see what these 'Stormcloaks' are made of."
"The men are already gathered at the gates," Quentin said. "Move it soldiers, let's go, go, go!" He sent his down to the gate.
"Oblivion take these Stormcloaks," Balgruuf prayed grimly. "Every miserable last one of them!"
"Balgruuf," Folkvar steeped forward, once more presenting the axe casually.
"You've returned with my axe." Balgruuf took it like it weighed more than both moons combined. "I had a feeling this would be his response, still, there was no harm in hoping this could be ended peacefully. As soon as you left I sent word to General Tullius, who's been kind enough to lend us some of his troops and Legate Cipius. Let Ulfric try to make it past our combined forces. I'll turn you back over to the Legion. Legate Cipius will have use for you. Gods be with us all. You most of all, Dragonborn."
"You must be Folkvar Dragonborn?" Legate Quentin walked up to Folkvar with a little bit of poorly concealed awe and held out his hand for Folkvar. Folkvar didn't take it.
"That's what everyone seems to be saying," Folkvar grunted.
"Well, the Stormcloaks are here, by force," the Legate quickly remembered that he still outranked Folkvar in this situation and barked his orders. "Get down to the front lines. This is it! We must hold the city. You're our secret weapon. We can't do this without you. Move out."
Folkvar nodded his understanding and started to leave, but a hand grabbed his sleeve before he could go very far.
"Folkvar?" Link whispered. He looked more worried and timid than he had in a long time. Folkvar hadn't seen him look so small since he first found him nestled in the old moth eaten blanket in the dungeons of the bandit hideout. "Do... Do you have the carving I made you?"
Folkvar knelt down to Link's height and pulled the little wooden unicorn from under his shirt and armor. He had changed into his armor before leaving Windhelm, anticipating Stormcloaks the entire way though he was stopped by none. He held the shaggy unicorn in his palm and Link put his hand over it. Link sniffed away his tears and fear.
"Please protect him," Link prayed to the three goddess of Hyrule under his breath, unaware that Folkvar could hear him. "Please, don't let him die. Please, if you can hear me and if you listen to me. Please. I can't loose him, too."
Folkvar held Link and pulled him close. Being so close to Folkvar's rough armor must have hurt the boy, but Link didn't complain. He just held on tighter, still muttering his prayer. Folkvar knew that fearing for someone's life was not something that went away, even if that person was as skilled and experienced as himself. The fear that encompassed the mind was full of what-ifs and a what-ifs would only go away once the danger had passed.
"Hush now, lad." He held Link's head in one hand and Link's shoulder in the other. His own mind was constantly full of what-ifs and there were more now than there had ever been, with the eminent battle approaching. Link may not be on the front lines for this, but that didn't put the boy out of harm's way.
Folkvar stood up and ruffled Link's hair. Link was still mouthing his prayer as Folkvar turned to leave. Folkvar felt plagued once more by unwelcome memories, this time of his father leaving and only his sword, the one Folkvar now carried, was returned to them by Farengar's father. This sword would carry him home, even if it hadn't carried his own father home. He had to believe in that, if nothing else.
(3)(3)(3)
When Folkvar left Dragonsreach, it had finally started raining. Water fell from the sky and the dark and stormy clouds were alight with thunder and lighting. If Folkvar didn't know any better, he'd say the gods were looking down from this storm to observe the lesser folk squander and kill each other. Folkvar was startled into action when something fell from the sky but wasn't rain, made a loud crack but wasn't thunder, and lit up the world but wasn't lighting.
The Stormcloaks were here and making use of their catapults. They launched fire at the city, intend on claiming it for their rebel High King.
Folkvar ran down the steps and slopes that elevated Whiterun above the plains that surround idea it on all sides. The air was thick with fear and fire rained down from the sky, setting buildings ablaze. The guard and imperial soldiers ran against the tide of citizens fleeing to the safety of the lofty keep. Even the Companions descended from Jorrvaskr to defend the city and all those who lived there. The warriors of the mead hall were almost beast like.
The Stormcloaks' attack had begun.
Folkvar once more whispered the dragon word for whirlwind under his breath so he could reach the front line without missing any of the important action. When he reached it, he found Legate Rikke and Hadvar waiting for him. Hadvar, though grimly facing the oncoming attack, was more than a little relived that Folkvar was there to help him defend the outer walls.
Legate Rikke was giving the men a rally speech similar to the one she had used before any attack in Korvanjund. She was standing on top of the wall so that her voice could reach all of the soldiers and warriors gathered at the outer gate. Just like Hadvar, she seemed rallied enough just by knowing Folkvar would be there to fight by her side his words of power on his to undue, even if he didn't intend on using them.
"This is the day we send a message to Ulfric and the Jarls who support him! Make no mistake, what we do here today is for Skyrim and all her sons and daughters!" Rikke shouted over the din of the fire raining from the sky. "By cutting out the disease that is Ulfric's rebellion, we will make this country whole again!"
The men shouted their support but Folkvar stayed stubbornly silent.
"Everyone, with me! For the Legion! For Whiterun!" Rikke turned to face the plains were the rebels would be storming in from and raised her sword. She shouted and everyone shouted with her, charging forward as waves of rebels rose from the low lands, bows and swords drawn, hot blood pumping through their chins and clouding their vision. Folkvar drew his sword and found himself ahead of everyone in the Legions charge, with only the Companions close behind and Rikke next to him.
Folkvar jumped over the wooden barriers placed under the gates, his sword clenched firmly in his hands and his own dragon blood boiled at the thought that if he failed to defend this city, innocent people would die, and among them, Link.
Folkvar cut through the Stormcloaks like they were butter and he was rage. He barely felt his sword rip through armor and flesh, but the resistance was noted in the darker recesses of him mind, sure the haunt him when he entered the oblivion of sleep. Folkvar was unaware of the breadth his allies were giving him. They worried that in the heat of battle and with his eyes full of smoke, blood, and dust, Folkvar might loose the ability to differentiate between friend and foe.
Arrows flew over head, though none of them hit Folkvar in ways that could kill him. One or two bounced off of his armor, but none wounded him. The blue shafted arrows of the Stormcloaks hit some of the archers who stood on the outer wall and a few of the legions foot soldiers, but many red shafted Legion arrows met their marks, staining blue armor red.
Before long, the battle turned more into a slaughter with Folkvar leading what seemed an arrow of destruction through countless waves of attackers until there seemed to be none left. Folkvar found that at his side were the two people who did not fear his raging rampage. They attacked any rebels who had gotten past his seemingly unbreakable wall of death and destruction.
Before he could let his guard down to survey the main road that was now littered with bodies, the General of the advance force, mounted on a heavily armored horse and swinging a huge hammer, lead a final wave, this time with almost all the attack aimed at Folkvar. Rikke, not retreating but strategizing, called her men back behind the barrier so the general and his four or five mounted troops couldn't get to them, but in doing so, she left Folkvar exposed.
The general, with his intimidating bear pelt armor, rode his just as intimidating war horse directly at Folkvar, who inhaled deeply, waiting for the horse to reach the right spot. Right as the General started to bring back his hammer to strike Folkvar with the combined force of his swing and the horse's speed and...
FUS RO!
Folkvar shouted the horse out from under the General. Folkvar sidestepped as the horse tumbled through the air past him, it's footing kicked out from under it by the force of Folkvar's voice. If you want to shoot the General, first shoot his horse.
The general managed to leap from the horse before he was crushed under it. The other mounted soldiers tried to advance, but the resounding echo of the boom of Folkvar's shout spooked them into rearing, throwing their riders into the mud, leaving them exposed for Rikke's archers to pick them off. Hadvar lead a wave of the legion against the wave of the rebels, clashing all around Folkvar and the Stormcloak General, who were themselves locked in battle.
Despite Folkvar's dragon blood, the General was still an even match for him. Ulfric chose his men with care and it payed off. Folkvar's armor proved a hinderance against the General's heavy swing. If Folkvar was hit at the right angle, his armor would bend, making the hit worse than if he was dressed like a berserker in light armor, like the General, and not a force of both strong defense as well as attack.
What the General lacked in defense, he made up for with speed. Without heavy armor, the General was faster than Folkvar, but his armor was not matched for Folkvar's weapon. One hit at any angle and he would suffer serious injury. But every attack Folkvar swung at him was blocked by the staff of his hammer. He used the heavy weight of the metal end to weigh Folkvar's sword unevenly in an attempt to throw his balance.
The General swung the hammer over his head, trying to bash in Folkvar's head or shoulder, but Folkvar brought his sword up to defend, holding the hilt in his right hand and supporting the other end by putting his hand against the flat of the blade. The wood of the staff bounced off the more mailable metal but Folkvar inadvertently cut his hand in the blade as it bounced and vibrated from the blow. Folkvar felt the sword bend a little under the attacked, but was still quick to shift his stance back to holding the sword with both hands, the hilt becoming slippery with blood with the pain was lost in the ocean of adrenaline that surged through him.
The barbarian General once more attacked, this time from the left, but Folkvar parried again with the flat of his blade, his sword slipping in his blood stained hands. Thinking he had the advantage, the General attacked again form the same angle, but Folkvar moved out of the way. Just because the other man was faster didn't mean that Folkvar couldn't dodge.
Folkvar moved to offense as the General stumbled, his heavy weapon moving him via centrifugal force. Folkvar fainted to the left, causing his for to flinch but turned his swinging blow into a lunge, running the General through with his sword.
Though the individual duel to the death was won, the fighting was not yet over. The last wave of Stromcloaks was not yet decimated. With Ulfric's bishop defeated, Folkvar to cutting through Ulfric's pawns.
No matter what they threw at Folkvar and the Legion backing him up, the rebels never even made it past the gate. Folkvar showed no mercy and they were forced to retreat. Their fire catapults and element of almost surprise did nothing to help them capture the city, not while Folkvar was there to defend it.
Once the fighting was over and nothing but the dead, mortally wounded, and captured Stormcloaks were left, Folkvar felt his sword grow heavy with the weight of all the lives it carried. Folkvar returned the sword to its resting place on his back and found that he had not come through the battle unscathed, though since he hadn't recovered from the adrenaline rush that came from such a huge battle, he didn't know the extent of his injuries.
"The Jarl wishes to speak!" Rikke announced to the survivors of the attack. Thanks to Folkvar making such a perfect wall, their casualties were few, but the pain of loss was still evident in the guards and soldiers eyes. Jarl Balgruuf stood on the battlement attached a section of the wall that showed heavily just how old the city was. He looked over his men, waiting for it to become quiet so that everyone could hear him speak.
"Revel in your victory today, even as the gods revel in your honor!" The Jarl began, shouting of the din of raging fires, the pouring rain, and the booming thunder. "They already sing of your valor and skill! The halls of Sovngarde are no doubt full with your praise. In defeating these Stormcloak Traitors, you have proven the hollowness of their cause and the fullness of your hearts. The citizens of Whiterun are forever in your debt."
Balgruuf stopped to let his men cheer on their victory and though the Jarl was addressing all the men with his speech, most eyes seemed to be lingering on Folkvar, who sat a distance away cleaning the red off his sword, letting the rain clean the red from his armor and his face.
"Ulfric will not stop here," Balgruuf continued when the cheering died down. "No, he will continue to strike out against any true Nord who remains faithful to the Empire. He will continue to sow discord and chaos wherever he can. And so, we must each one of us, continue to fight this insurrection, lest our fallen brothers and sisters have died for naught! Lest our honor be lessened should we allow these bloodthirsty beasts to prowl our lands. Carry on warriors, my blessings and gratitude go with you. For Whiterun! For the Empire!"
When Balgruuf's speech was over and the men started to disperse for the city to have their wounds treated, Hadvar approached Folkvar. He looked deeply worried and Folkvar could guess why.
"Link is fine," Folkvar said, standing up. "He followed me when I left."
"Thank the gods," Hadvar sighed. "I thought something horrible had happened. Everyone dreaded what would happen if you came back from your mission and Link was missing. Looks like we won't have to worry about that. We gave up looking when he was gone for a few days."
"All that trouble for one boy?" Folkvar asked.
"Well, it was just Rikke and me looking," Hadvar admitted. "And Tullius wouldn't let anyone else join the search. He needs everyone available for other things, you know, with this war going on and dragons attacking."
There was a moment of silence where both men found themselves thinking about death and pain and all manner of fire. Around them, flames licked the sky and the sky itself weeped at the pointlessness of it all. Or maybe, Folkvar wondered, the space above them turned and rumbled with the storm because it wanted to and it would continue do what it wanted no matter the squanders of men, mer, and beast people alike. Nature would not weep at the passing of the people of Tamriel, nor would it celebrate. The world would continue on indifferently and droplets of water would still fall from the sky at random intervals of time. Folkvar might have continued contemplating this, but Hadvar was not a thinking man and couldn't stand thinking about deep things anymore.
"I'm pretty sure I killed more than you," Hadvar said jokingly, needing to say something before the silence killed him. "I was counting."
"Never count," Folkvar warned, mourning the silence that Hadvar destroyed. "Numbers will haunt you. And never look. Faces haunt you more."
"Well, aren't we full of happiness and sunshine," Hadvar frowned. He rubbed his ears as of they were bothering him. The raging of fire falling from the sky had been like thunder but closer. It must have hurt his ears. "My ears are still ringing. I hope that goes away. I suppose with your abilities, you don't get this problem."
"No, I don't," Folkvar said.
"Folkvar, good job," Rikke approached him gingerly, no doubt worried that she had lost Folkvar's only family. Folkvar almost ignored her by entering the city, but she and Hadvar decided to go up to Dragonsreach with him. They waded through the aftermath of the battle to the keep on top of the hill.
"Link is fine," Folkvar reassured her. "He just thought it would be a good idea to go with me and took matters into his own hands."
"He is much more sly than I gave him credit," Rikke lamented. "He might be an Altmer, or a Bosmer. Possible both, I think. How he managed to run away while I was watching him..."
"I had a talk with him, he won't be pulling a stunt like that again."
"Good," Rikke nodded. "We'll just have to keep a keener eye on him."
"No," Folkvar said. "He'll have to be more responsible."
The three Nords weaved through the crowds of people who were descending form the keep to check their houses to make sure nothing horrible had happened to their home. In the park were the dying Eldergleam Tree withered, a preacher of Talos and his house had been crushed under the flaming stones that had fallen from the sky. It was a miracle that the brittle, dry bark of the old tree had not burst into flames. The little orphaned girl, Lucia, who begged under the tree was helping some of the people clean rubble out of the streets and put out fires, asking for a few gold septems in return.
Since most of the citizens had managed to flee to the keep in time, no one but the preacher had been hurt or wounded. The guards were removing the wooden barriers from the narrow parts of the streets. Everyone was relieved that the fighting had not reached the city, but no one more than Folkvar.
When the three Nords entered Dragonsreach, all the blood that coated them, both theirs and others, had been soaked away by the rain and their hair was plastered to their faces. Folkvar felt more tired than he had in a long time and his legs seemed heavier than he expected. The stairs, though normally not a challenge, seemed much too long for him and he had to sit at a chair before looking for Link.
Folkvar wanted to search for Link to make sure that he was alright but Link found him first. The scrape on Link's knee was gone, probably thanks to Farengar's skill in healing magic. Farengar was right behind Link, a look of worry on his face that Folkvar hadn't seen before, not even when they were little and their fathers would leave for adventuring, against their mother's pleading.
But the expression Link wore was much more concerning. Folkvar was expecting to see his surrogate son light up at seeing in alive and in one piece, but Link looked terrified. His deep blue, youthful eyes were only happy and relieved for a second before they dilated and the golden color drained from his face.
Folkvar felt his head drop against his will and he was met by a seeping gash on his left arm he hadn't noticed. It didn't hurt, and Folkvar knew that was a bad sign. He realized that once all the adrenaline had left his system, he started to go into shock. He vaguely heard Hadvar, Rikke, and Farengar shout in alarm as he fell to the floor. He had lost too much blood from the gash to maintain his upright position. The only thing he recognized clearly was Link running to him and collapsing to his knees, screaming his name and shaking his shoulder painfully, though Folkvar couldn't tell if the boy actually managed to make an audible noise because the world faded to quickly.
(4)(4)(4)
Link waited in agony with Rikke and Hadvar on either side of him while a guard ran to get Danica from the temple were she was treating the other wounded. Farengar had brought Folkvar to a makeshift stretcher in his quarters and place him in his desk, trying desperately to put what little healing magic he knew to work to keep his best friend alive until Danica got there, but she was taking too long. She was too occupied with the other influx of soldiers who had been wounded.
Link was torn between needing to run outside and scream at the rain and the crippling fear that Folkvar would die. He couldn't stop the image of the Deku Tree turning gray and his leaves turning brown because Link couldn't save him from Ganondorf's evil magic in time. He couldn't stop thinking about the soldier who had given his life to hold off the hoard of monsters that were after them as they fled the castle. How the soldier lost all color as his life drained from his body, like Folkvar as he collapsed. Link couldn't stop feeling like Folkvar's life being reduced to such a delicate state was his fault. Everything else had seemed like his fault, why should this be any different.
After too much time had passed for Link's preferences, Danica entered the temple, cleaning her hands of the red stains on her hands and forearms with a pink cloth that was supposed to be white.
War brought so much red, Link observed. He had started to grow numb, the world around him was moving agonizingly slow. Hadvar was shouting something about Danica being late and Rikke had left, probably needing to report to Tullius or some other duty that she couldn't leave unattended, no matter how much she wanted to make sure her most valuable soldier faired. Hadvar had loyally stayed to make sure Folkvar was seen to and that Link wouldn't start hyperventilating, which he was close to.
Danica entered Farengar's quarters, only slightly perturbed by Hadvar's anger that she hadn't arrived sooner, she must have been used to angry and impatient friends and families. She shooed Farengar out and pulled the screen Farengar had placed at the entrance of his quarters for privacy. Link quickly stood up, wringing his hands together, and looked up at Farengar hopefully, begging for good news.
"I don't know," Farengar sighed. "I tried my best, but I just don't know. I closed the wound but there's a huge scar. Danica will know what to do. She'll make him better."
"Are you sure?" Link whispered. Farengar had been able to heal the scratch on his knee, but there was so much blood coming from Folkvar's arm that Link had grown dizzy just looking at it.
"He isn't in pain," Farengar's own voice was quiet. "The only real problem is the amount of blood he's lost."
Both he and Link saw Folkvar as some all-powerful, god-like man on par with the dragons. The current predicament reminded them that, Dragonborn or not, Folkvar was still a frail mortal and dragons, though seemingly impossible to kill, were very killable.
(5)(5)(5)
Folkvar was dreaming, he knew, but this dream felt different than any other dream he had experienced. It felt more like the vision he had of Link and the three godly women months ago. He was floating in darkness again. This time, though, he could feel the darkness. It moved around him, seemingly solid yet undeniably not. A light suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and Folkvar felt drawn to it.
"Folkvar," a calm, familiar voice reached out to him and grabbed his hand. "Folkvar, it is good to see you, my love."
"Freya?" Folkvar whispered the name of his dead wife, the syllables heavy in his throat, but, just like he remember, light on his tongue and heart. For a moment, he was angry at the world for taking her away from him, but it melted away quickly when he felt her presence.
He began to weep as his world was returned to him, his wife's face finally coming into view. Her face was pale like snow and her ice blue eyes were just as perfect as he remembered. Her pale hair curtained her face in a misty vale. It was pulled back in a braid that started at the base of her neck and ended at the small of her back.
She was wearing the same white, blue, and gold dress as she had on her wedding day. It fell in waves down her strong body. The body that Folkvar remembered as fitting perfectly entwined with his own. He remembered their wedding night suddenly and the two lovers found themselves locked in a loving embrace, trying desperately to hold on to the decades they had been robbed of.
"My lady of ice," Folkvar whispered his name for her through his sobbing. "Why did you have to leave?"
"The world is not fair, my man of the sky," Freya whispered her name for him through her own sobbing. "But it is kind to let me come to you now."
"Don't leave me again, Freya," Folkvar begged.
"I will never leave you," Freya knotted her hands into Folkvar's shoulder length hair and their lips pressed together with a hunger that had been born from an endless, heart breaking separation. Her lips seemed warmer as his grew colder. They drifted through the oblivion between the worlds towards the light but before Folkvar could finally be with the woman who had brought him so much life she pulled away, tears staining her perfect face.
"My love, we need to talk," Freya whispered in his ear.
"We can talk for an eternity," Folkvar whispered back.
"Yes, but not now," Freya said. "Our child needs you to be with him more desperately than I need you to be with me."
"Freya, we had no children. We couldn't have them," Folkvar mourned. No matter how they tried, Folkvar could not bring life to Freya's womb. He had felt broken and had suggested annulling their marriage so that she could find a husband who could give her children. She had refused, telling him that they didn't need children to be happy together.
"We have a son," Freya smiled, brushing a strand of Folkvar's hair away from his forehead and kissed his hair line lovingly. "His name is Link and he is our son, even if I cannot be there with you to love him. You must return to him, Folkvar. He needs you."
Freya started to drift towards the light, pushing him away, back into the darkness so that he could wake again on the other side, the wrong side from her. The closer she got to the light and the farther he fell into the darkness the harder she was for him to see.
"Freya, I can't loose you," Folkvar begged. He reached for her desperately with both hands, searching in the dark for her warm hands that fit perfectly into his. "I don't want you to leave me again. Not twice. Not after I finally got you back."
"We will see each other again, my love," though Freya was distant and fading, the words sounded like they were spoken close to him. The vision faded into the darkness and Folkvar woke. "I will always be in your heart."
(6)(6)(6)
Link and Farengar waited for Danica to report some sort of progression, good or bad, for the next hour, Hadvar had to leave with the rest of the bulk of the Legion who had been sent to protect the city. Both remaining keepers of the vigil looked up from were they rested their heads when Danica left Farengar's quarters. She had used a lot of her energy on healing Folkvar and looked like she could use a hearty meal and a long nap, but when Folkvar followed behind her, all attention to how tired she was was averted to how alive Folkvar was. In his hand he held firmly the little wooden unicorn. The leather band that Folkvar used to keep it around his neck hung down from between his fingers.
Danica had completely healed the gash on Folkvar's arm and was sitting down in the chair Link had been sitting in, reveling in the miracle of how perfectly Folkvar's arm had healed from such a wound. She was explaining to Farengar how she was loosing him, he was rejecting her healing magic, and then suddenly he woke up and the spells started working.
Link was so relieved that he went to Folkvar in a trance and fell into the man's arms, holding on to his surrogate father and nuzzled his face in his muscular chest, sighing with relief. Farengar stayed back, giving them this moment, even if he didn't want to.
"I'm sorry," Link whimpered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be sorry for, lad?" Folkvar asked. "You've done nothing wrong."
"Yes I did," Link confessed. "I should have done something. You almost died because of me and I... I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Link, you did nothing wrong and you most certainly did not almost get me killed. You weren't even there," Folkvar patted Link's head.
"Everyone else was my fault," Link tried to convince Folkvar of his guilt, but Folkvar wasn't buying it.
"That wasn't your fault either," Folkvar sighed.
"Yes it was," Link said. "I didn't save the Deku Tree but I should have and I should have warned the King about Ganondorf so he would have sent him away before he got assassinated and it should have been me holding off Ganondorf's minions so that Princess Zelda could escape, not the guard who died and..."
"Link, none of that was your fault," Folkvar pushed Link away from him so that he could look Link in the eyes to show Link that he truly believed Link was innocent.
"But I should have been stronger," Link complained sadly. "I'm supposed to be a hero."
"You are supposed to be a child," Folkvar corrected. "No one should ask more of you than you can give and you've already given more than I could ever ask."
"But..." Link started.
"Link, you are my son," Folkvar said, quietly so that he and Link could share this moment in privacy. "And I will love you as my son no matter if you're a hero or a child, because to me you are both. If all we did was cry for the people we couldn't save we won't be able to see the people standing in front of us that we did save."
"You're my father," Link whimpered, crying into the man's chest. "Father."
Folkvar held Link in his arms and cried with him. They were both relieved that they had each other, even if even is everyone else was gone. They were family.
(7)(7)(7)
The heavens had stopped crying by the time Link and Folkvar left Dragonsreach. The blueness of the sky sparkled brilliantly above and below the ground was scorched by fire and washed clean by the storm. The air no longer was tense and rumbling, but fresh and light. It reminded Link of air after the first rains in the forest were the atmosphere felt like the green of newly sprouted trees and he would nestle between a knot and a branch high in the Deku Tree and take a nap far above the bullies who picked on him.
After they both helped clean up the city along with Farengar, Eorlund, and everyone else, Folkvar and Link were invited by Fralia to go to her house for a celebratory meal. Folkvar wanted to say no and leave the city for Solitude, but Link begged him to stay. Folkvar caved with a sigh and accepted the invitation.
Link and Folkvar sat at the Gray-Mane's table together across from Fralia and her daughter. Eorlund sat at the head. Fralia had broken out the horker steak, a special meal that was harder to come by in the southern and central parts of Skyrim since horkers were nasty brutes found in the icy waters of the north. Folkvar and Eorlund had tried to get her to save that for later, like when the war actually ended, but she insisted on cooking it to celebrate that the city was safe and that everyone, mainly Folkvar, had returned home. Eorlund and Folkvar discussed everything that Eorlund had managed to teach Link while they ate.
Link was chewing almost comically on the blubber, not sure what to do with all the salty, juicy fat that made up most of the steak. Folkvar, having eaten horker before, was much more skilled at judging the right size for a bite to avoid putting more in his mouth that would be socially acceptable. Link tried to cut it with his knife but the knife kept slipping off the fat. Folkvar sighed and took the plate from the boy so he could cut the meat for him. As he cut the meat Link pouted a little in his seat. When he was done, he placed the plate back in front of Link, who took it gratefully, but didn't seem to like that he needed help.
"I could've done it myself," Link fussed. Embarrassed that Folkvar had to help him in front of other people.
"Really?" Folkvar raised and eyebrow at the boy. "You didn't seem to be doing so well."
"I would've figured it out eventually," Link excused.
"We don't have eventually," Folkvar sighed. "We need to leave."
"You don't have to leave so soon?" Fralia asked, put out that Folkvar seemed to be resisting her need to act motherly even though she was only ten or eleven years older than him.
"Let the man go, dear," Eorlund put his hand on Fralia's. "He's needed elsewhere."
"At least let me..." Fralia tried to offer more help, but Folkvar shrugged her off.
"We should really go now," Folkvar excused himself from the table when Link finished his meal and Link followed him sadly. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"You are always welcome under this roof, friends," Eorlund heartily patted Folkvar on the back and patted Link's shoulder. "We will think of you as family."
(8)(8)(8)
The stables, though outside the walls, had been left untouched. The stable master, Skulvar, had taken the horses behind the stables to keep them safe from the fighting and was relieved to hand over Dapple and Alfsigr to their owners. Since Folkvar had almost single handedly saved the city, the stable master refused to let Folkvar pay for keeping Dapple there overnight. An offer that Folkvar's still recovering wallet was thankful for.
The road to Rorikstead seemed more revitalized after the storm and Link was having trouble keeping Dapple on the road. The pony kept drifting to the left or the right, trying to nibble on the fresh smelling grass and flowers that peaked from the cobblestone on the edges of the road. Link had gotten good at riding but he still kept leaning forward too much when he tried to lope, a phenomena Folkvar found strange.
"Try keeping Dapple on the road, lad," Folkvar warned. "He could trip and go lame. He's very old and I'm not sure I can afford another horse."
"I'm trying," Link shifted the reins to his other hand in an attempt to get better maneuvering abilities. "He really wants to graze."
"Try looking in the direction you want to go," Folkvar chastised. "He's smart and he can tell when your not paying attention."
"I am looking where I want to go," Link shifted his weight in the saddle, trying to adjust himself better. "In Hyrule the horses don't need bridles or reins. Or, at least, Impa didn't use any and my friend, Malon, said she was going to trained her horse the same way."
"Well, in Skyrim, the horses required bridles and reins and that's how Dapple leaned to take his queues."
"I know. I just miss Hyrule," Link looked down and Dapple started sneaking to the left, eyeing some orange mountain flowers next to the road a few yard away. Link had to check Dapple back on the road again.
"Home sick?" Folkvar looked down at the boy sadly. Even before getting kidnapped and separated from his fellow Hylians, Link had had a lonely life. He had been through so much for someone so young.
"It's more than that," Link looked up to Folkvar, a sadness to deep for his years rested in his heart. "Hyrule isn't even Hyrule anymore. If I went back, I'd probably be attacked by Ganondorf's minions and I've gotten too old for the Kokiri to recognize me since they are all permanently children. My native home is suffering and I can't do anything about it because I'm too small and my foster home with the Kokiri will reject me because I'm too big. And I don't want to go back without Princess Zelda and Impa but I don't know if their alright. Well, I do know because I can feel it. I'd know if something happened to the Princess. I just don't know where they are. What if I never see her again?"
"Sounds to me like you like her," Folkvar tried to lighten the mood with a tease, but he sounded too serious.
"We're just friends," Link blushed violently and looked back down at Dapple's main, carful not to let him wander again.
"I'm sure you'll find each other," Folkvar tried to not think of Freya while Link needed him more. "I don't think she'd leave without you."
"But how does she know I'm alright? I mean, we got attacked by pirates and I didn't make it and that was more than three years ago. She probably thinks I'm dead."
"You said you'd know if something happened to her?" Folkvar asked.
"Yeah," Link nodded.
"Then she probably feels the same way," Folkvar explained. "Those kind of relationships go both ways."
"Are you sure?" Link asked.
"I'm sure," Folkvar answered confidently. He had the same relationship with his wife. When she was happy, even if they weren't close, he could feel her and was happy with her. It worked with every emotion and went both ways. Folkvar could still fell when she died. Even though Folkvar couldn't see it or hear it, he felt it as if he had been the one stabbed, not her.
"Would you feel it when I'm in danger?" Link asked quietly, as if he was afraid Folkvar would say no.
"Of course I would," Folkvar said.
"Because you're like my dad?" Link asked. He was still hesitant but was now slightly more confident than usual since Folkvar had answered positively.
"Yes, lad," Folkvar agreed, confronting his feelings for the boy outright.
Folkvar had avoided acknowledging that their relationship had grown into that of a real father and son because he was terrified something bad would happen and he'd once more loose his family. One look at Link and he knew that the boy was still afraid that he would say something wrong and get Folkvar mad at him. Despite them both being heart sore from past relationships that ended badly and weary of getting close to another person for fear they would be hurt, Folkvar and Link had become a family, albeit a small and broken one, but a family nonetheless.
(9)(9)(9)
It took them three days to reach Solitude. Nothing tangible changed during the course of the last three days, but there was something different about the way they both acted. Folkvar felt lighter than he had since he was going and foolish. He looked around at the land and could, for the first time, appreciate the shear beauty of Skyrim's rugged wilderness. After his family's caravan had been attacked by the bandits he had traveled all over the continent of Tamriel. He'd been Hammerfell, High Rock, Morrowind, and Cyrodiil, to name a few, but none of them had Skyrim's majestic, bold mountains, amazing cloud formations, or elegant landscapes.
Out of all the amazing monuments to Skyrim's epic beauty, Solitude, perched on the huge stone arch when the sun was eclipsed between the city and the ocean below. The sun was past the point of eclipse, but there was one other thing that contributed to Solitude's splendor.
A roar filled with power rippled through the air. The capitol of Skyrim was burning.
Please review and when you do review, do so in compleat sentences, with proper grammar, and with context if you comment with your favorite part of the story. Ex: "My favorite part was (blank) because (blank)." I know that sounds really school like, but when you review like this, it raises the over all quality of the story. Reviews consisting of just 'dur dur dur' are rude and offensive. So is using grammar like some of the examples in the reviews for this story. I appreciate your effort to let me know that you read and liked my story but please be intelligent about it.
