Rising Darkness Ch 10: Stormcloak, an elder scroll series fanfic

A/N: This chapter occurs over the course of a couple years or so, during the Skyrim Civil War.

4E 201, 4E 202, 4E 203

The most heroic word in all languages is revolution.- Eugene V. Debs

Stenar Frosthammer

Helgen. That was where his memories of this man, Kaius, began. First, they were all together in wagons, being transported to the chopping block. A dragon attacked, and everyone scattered. Kaius and Stenar wound their way up a tower and jumped through the roof of a burning inn, meeting up with an Imperial soldier named Hadvar on the other side. Hadvar led them across town, avoiding the dragon and the spreading fires.

A Stormcloak soldier named Ralof confronted them, beckoning to Stenar… He ran to the man's side, glancing back through the smoke to see Kaius staring at him with an odd expression, and he remembered a strange premonition… As if he and Kaius would meet again.

The day brightened as the first rays of sunlight broke over the distant clouds. Stenar and the rest of the army were in their Stormcloak uniform, a cuirass made of quilted leather over chain mail with a blue sash, or "Storm cloak", as Jarl Ulfric called it. They also wore fur boots, warm fur gloves with bracers, and a peaked helm identical to any guard's helmet in the Holds. Stenar knew this to be symbolic, to show that the true sons and daughters of Skyrim were guarding her. In their command post outside of Whiterun, it was time. Time to take back the land from the puppet Empire and the real enemies, the Thalmor.

Galmar Stone- Fist, housecarl and Ulfric's second in command walked over to him. "Unblooded! Are you ready for this fight?"

Stenar clapped a fist to his breast. "My hammer itches to tear into Imperial flesh!"

Galmar nodded with a fierce grin and sounded the order to charge. Catapults opened fire on the city, hurling boulders, shrapnel, and jugs filled with oil and stuffed with burning rags that would explode on impact. The Stormcloaks, true to their name, stormed towards Whiterun, their battle cries splitting the dawn.

As they drew near to walls, Stenar could hear horns being blown inside and saw a flurry of men on the walls, frantically running to their stations. A distant voice called something to the Imperial archers and a flight of arrows whined down, felling some of the warriors. They all did their best not to step on their comrades. The woman's voice rang out again, like well tempered steel.

"Notch. Draw. Loose!" She cried to the archers, and another burst of steel shafts sliced into the sons and daughters of Skyrim. The outer gates were fortified by wooden spiked barricades, and the first ranks of warriors who reached the gates tried frantically to destroy the barricades before the army's momentum impaled them on it. Stenar lunged with his golden dwarven warhammer, Volund, and smashed the obstacles into kindling.

The Stormcloaks flooded the outer courtyard, avoiding arrows from the enemy archers stationed on the walls. Stenar roared his cry of anger, fear, and bloodlust to the heavens and swung his giant hammer at any Imperial that stood before him. He felt unstoppable. Legionnaires screamed and collapsed under his crushing blows.

He led the Stormcloaks to the next barricade, but before he could reach it, a huge figure leapt over the parapet and landed before the army. Stenar paused for a moment. This warrior was clad in custom ebony style armor, emblazoned on the chest with the Imperial dragon. He straightened and took a dark mace from his belt, awaiting them.

The Stormcloaks started forward again, and as the first warriors reached him, the Imperial swung his mace with agility, denting their helms and shredding their armor. He was fast, but at the same time seemed like a mammoth, rooted to the spot and dealing out huge blows. Stenar saw eight men die before he could reach the man.

They traded blows, but neither seemed to have the advantage. Stenar swung his hammer at the man's legs, which he deflected. The man stepped inside his guard and replied with a looping underhand blow that would've taken Stenar's head off, had it connected.

Before long, the churning tide of battle separated them. Stenar had no choice but to retreat as Galmar sounded the horns. The Battle for Whiterun was over, and they had lost, Stenar knew, due to the elite legionnaire in ebony.

He remembered his mission, given to him by Ulfric himself, to track down the man and destroy him. Stenar met up with a small force of Stormcloaks, led by his old friend Ralof, in The Pale to ambush the man and kill him, once and for all. They waited in a snowdrift next to the road for over an hour, grateful that their Nord blood made them resistant to cold. Even still, if they had waited any longer, frostbite would've begun to set in.

Finally, a smudge of black appeared from around a bend in the road. It was him. The Imperial who was raiding dozens of Stormcloak camps, leaving few alive. He had already retaken The Pale almost singlehandedly, and Galmar thought that the Legion's next target would be Winterhold. That could not be allowed to happen. With the man were two other legionnaires, both of them shivering from the frigid temperature.

Ralof gave the order, and the ambush team vaulted over the snow and attacked. They did not yell and scream as usual, seeking not to draw attention from the nearby city of Dawnstar. The two legionaries fell quickly, overwhelmed by the Stormcloak blades. The ebony clad man, however, had retreated several steps to give himself room. He raised his mace and sent two men flying. Blood stained the snow. Stenar reached him as an older Nord named Paltin collapsed, his chest caved in. Stenar cut high at the man's helm, but he ducked and tackled Stenar into the snow.

From atop Stenar's chest, he raised his flanged weapon high, preparing for the deathblow. There was a flurry of motion as Ralof pounced on him, dragging him off Stenar with the help of the last of the ambush team. Stenar staggered upright in time to see Ralof barely evading the man's blows. The rest of the Stormcloaks lay scattered, around, unmoving. Ralof tripped back into the snow, and Stenar threw himself forward, yelling.

"No!" Volund flashed, seeking to embed itself in the man's kidney. The Imperial would not have it, however, and spun, swinging his mace at Stenar's side. He felt his ribs splinter, and he dropped to his knees, his vision going fuzzy. He saw the bluish blur of Ralof collapse into the ice beside him, blood seeping from his side. Stenar felt the world turn, and the cool frost on his cheek. Faint crunches announced the departure of their target, who remained unscathed…

Sometime later, his eyes opened. All he saw was a blur of white. Someone was shaking him. Ralof.

"Frosthammer? Frosthammer, get up. You can't be dead, you can't! Stenar!" Stenar raised his head slightly.

"Ralof…"

"Stenar! I'm getting you back. We're gonna make it out of this, come on!" and they began the long trek back to the nearest camp.

Stenar remembered healing for months afterward, hearing about the fall of Winterhold and The Rift. Fearful stories featured the ebony legionnaire prominently. Stenar had listened to rumors about him, and heard that his name was Kaius. Shock and betrayal flashed through him when he heard the name. That was him at Whiterun and Dawnstar and everywhere else we've been losing. The bastard! Stenar thought.

Most of the men, Stenar include, cursed his name. They began calling him "the Chief" as a similarity to a bandit chief. Little did they know that Kaius had adopted the title with pride.

Ralof had survived the disastrous ambush as well, and had lain in the cot next to Stenar's for a while, although his scrapes and broken jaw had healed faster and he had been called back out to duty, leaving Stenar alone. Jarl Ulfric had not been pleased at the outcome of the mission. Somewhere in the war, Stenar had been promoted to general. He was awarded armor festooned with various bear parts, like fur and claws. It was this that he was wearing during the last great battle of the Uprising.

The Battle of Windhelm crept through Stenar's mind, just as much of a painful muddle as when it had happened. It had started off well enough, with Stormcloak archers stationed on the porticos leading to the huge metal doors picking off legionnaires at their fancy. But the Imperials carried large diamond shaped shields, and led by the Chief, advanced up the causeway to the city, capturing each small archway/ tower as they went. Despite their might and the Thalmor helping them with magic, they could not break down the heavy doors.

But alas! One of the elves of the Gray Quarter let in a force of legionnaires through a small entrance near the Windhelm docks, who battled their way to the front gate and opened it, letting in the main army. They had flooded into Windhelm, pushing back the Nordic defenders. Rubble was piled up in chokepoints to stop the Legion from having easy access to the Palace of Kings, so the attackers fought their way through the housing and cemetery, which made for desperate, bloody conflict. Despite the Stormcloaks best efforts, they were pushed further and further back, until at last Stenar found himself with his back to his own house, Hjerim.

Imperials rushed him, seeking to overwhelm him. He slew them all, but more came, and more, their bodies starting to pile up. Stenar acquired dozens of minor wounds: a gash along his arm, a shallow stab wound in his gut, a cracked rib, finger, and dozens of bruises. But still, he held his ground. Blue uniforms began to creep back along the lane; the Stormcloaks were pushing back the Imperials! He saw a fireball soar into the Stormcloaks ranks and explode.

The caster, one of the Thalmor in shiny elven armor, laughed arrogantly, until Stenar grabbed a spear lying around and hurled it into her throat. Through his narrow lane, out through the walls that surrounded his house, there came the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim. They sensed victory at hand, and yelled with renewed spirit. Then came the crack of a mace, and Nordic bodies went flying. The Chief stalked forward, then slowly turned his head to look at Stenar, who stared back with a mix of terror and hatred.

Kaius slowly entered the walled yards of Hjerim, making sure that no surprises lay in wait. Stenar couldn't hold himself back any longer. He screamed, "Come and get it, you Thalmor slave! Let justice be done upon you! And if you're going to kill me, make sure you do it right this time!"

The Chief nodded, as if in agreement, and met Stenar's first blow with a block. Stenar ducked and weaved, trying to score a hit on this enemy of Skyrim. At last, after a pair of awkward counters that earned him a large gash along his thigh, he swung his hammer with all his strength at the Chief's chest. The Chief tried to dodge, but the hammer caught him squarely in the breastplate, denting it and causing the man to wheeze and clutch his chest. Kaius staggered back as Stenar pressed forward. Suddenly a white light erupted, and Stenar's next impression was the bloodstained cobblestone. He realized his helmet must have come off.

He raised himself up, tenderly touching his jaw. It felt bruised, but the helmet must have taken the worst of the blow. His vision quickly returned to normal, and he spotted the Chief up against a wall, his helmet off, drinking out of a large red glass bottle. Stenar knew it must have been a health potion, and as he watched, the man seemed to stand straighter. He adjusted his armor and put his helmet back on, but not before Stenar caught a glimpse of his face.

It had changed since the last time Stenar had seen him. The Chief's head was shaved, and his nose was squashed now, as if it had been broken several times. His olive skin was covered in scars. The biggest ran vertically from just above his eyebrow to midway down the same cheek. Unremarkable brown eyes glared at the downed Stormcloak from amid the collection of old burns and wounds.

The Imperial marched out of Hjerim's courtyard, gesturing at the legionnaires and issuing an order that Stenar did not hear. Six soldiers ran toward him, raising their weapons to finish him. He growled and rolled to avoid the first downward thrust, then kicked the man in the forehead. The legionnaire stumbled back as another jumped on him with a steel dagger, but Stenar coiled a leg against his chest and pushed the soldier off of him. A third swung a hammer against his shoulder, and the others clustered in, each seeking to end him. A red haze gathered in Stenar's sight, and he remembered no more.

He woke to Ralof tipping a healing potion down his throat. A dozen pains registered in his mind, some sharper than others.

"Ralof? What…?" He croaked, and Ralof hefted him up, wrapping one of Stenar's arms around his shoulders.

"Frosthammer, listen closely. Windhelm has fallen. They're at the Palace of Kings, and will soon overwhelm the last of our boys. We must go aid Jarl Ulfric. Grab your hammer."

Stenar scooped up his bloodstained weapon. "Why me?"

Ralof gave him a hard glance. "You know why. We were… Are the best of the Stormcloaks. I was on Jarl Ulfric's personal guard, and you have risen to general within a few years. Despite you being half dead, I know we can still save the Uprising. We are his only hope of survival. Just try not to die."

"You worry about yourself, old man." Stenar rasped. He coughed and spat blood into the weeds.

The sounds of fighting reached them. They were passing through Windhelm's graveyard now, which was currently filled with more bodies than there was vacancy. Stenar saw many friends he had served alongside, and averted his eyes. There was a lump in his throat, but rage burned within him, turning his insides molten.

"Ralof. He won't leave. You know he won't."

Ralof scowled. "I won't let his damned pride get him killed. We need him! We'll have to convince him to flee. You and Galmar will stay behind and buy us time."

Stenar nodded, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He still leaned heavily on Ralof, and his blood drenched his friend's uniform. In the inner courtyard, in front of the Palace of Kings, a small group of Stormcloaks were fighting desperately against Imperial soldiers. It looked like the rebels, despite their ferocity, would not last much longer against the conglomerate races of the legionnaires. Ralof and Stenar slipped against a wall, seeking to avoid the fighting. Ahead of them, they saw General Tullius, the Chief, and two silver- armored officers slip in the doors.

"Hurry, Frosthammer! We must catch up!" Ralof, supporting Stenar, reached the doors and pushed them open using his shoulder.

They stumbled into the Palace of the Kings' main hall. Just ahead, the four soldiers of the Legion marched forward beside the banquet table cautiously, for at the end of the spacious hall sat Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. Galmar Stone- Fist stood next to the raised throne with his warhammer at the ready. Tullius called out in his reedy voice, "Ulfric Stormcloak!"

"We'll take them by surprise," said Ralof. "Get ready— hey!" he said, surprised when Stenar collapsed against the table.

"You are guilty of insurrection, murder of Imperial citizens, the assassination of King Torygg, and high treason against the Empire!" Tullius said, still approaching the throne. "It's over." Ulfric regarded him from his throne, his posture relaxed, though there was an inferno of rage behind his eyes.

"Frosthammer, get up! C'mon, you can't stop now." Ralof urged, causing Stenar to start crawling. He grimaced, but he knew no matter what, he had to reach the legionnaires and stop them.

Galmar growled, "Not while I'm still breathing, it's not."

Legate Rikke, Tullius' right hand woman, said, "Step aside, Galmar. We're here to accept Ulfric's surrender."

"I'll never surrender Skyrim into the hands of a corrupt and dying Empire." Ulfric's voice was deep and rich, as always. To Stenar, it sounded like the voice of freedom. But the Stormcloak general had collapsed halfway along the banquet table. He leaned against it and asked Ralof, "Do you have any potions?"

"I have a minor one. My last," said Ralof, who was sporting a multitude of wounds himself. Stenar took it, and, with shaking fingers, uncorked it. He downed the bottle in one long draught. Immediately, he felt better, although it was barely enough to keep him going. Up at the throne, he heard the others arguing.

"Skyrim doesn't belong to you, Ulfric." This came from the other woman, who Stenar recognized as Jordis, Cuaroc's housecarl.

"No… but I belong to her." Ulfric said with a trace of sadness.

"Enough!" Cried Tullius. "You are traitors and will die traitor's deaths. Stand down and face public execution, or advance and face summary execution by my hands. It matters little to me. Either way, I'll be sending your heads back to Cyrodiil."

Stenar started to rise and grab his warhammer. "No…" He groaned.

"Well? What're we waiting for?" Galmar yelled. But before he had taken a step forward, Ulfric stood up from the throne and Shouted three words. They were not of the Nordic language. Ulfric knew dragon shouts.

"Fus Ro Dah!" Pure power blasted from his mouth, and General Tullius and the two women went flying over Stenar and Ralof's heads. Kaius, however, had dropped low and clung to a crack in the cobblestone floor as the force buffeted him around. His mace flew out of his hands. For a moment, he lay limp, but then he rose and unsheathed a deadly ebony war axe.

Tullius, Legate Rikke, and Jordis picked themselves up off the floor behind Ralof. He hefted his axe and said to Stenar, "We can keep them busy. Ulfric and Galmar should be able to fight the Chief off." They advanced on the Imperials.

Tullius stared at the Stormcloaks incredulously. "It's you two! You were at Helgen! And you, Frosthammer, have caused the Legion no end of trouble! Well, I can finally put you down like the dogs you are."

He shouted and ran forth, swinging his sword over his head. Ralof ran to meet him. Stenar walked toward Jordis and Rikke.

"I am sorry about this, kinsman." Rikke said.

Stenar felt rage grip him. "You joined the wrong side, woman." They began dueling. Stenar swung his hammer low and Jordis was swept off her feet, but Rikke pressed him back with her shield. Stenar decided to break the shield. So he did. Blow after punishing blow he smashed into it. Wood chips began flying, and metal supports crumpled under Volund's wrath. At last Rikke cast it aside and swiped across Stenar's chest. He ignored it shoved his hammer against her, knocking her over as well. Jordis charged him, but he sidestepped and crushed her shoulder. She collapsed with a piercing cry.

Turning on the downed Legate, Stenar raised his warhammer high above his head and brought it down with a gonglike sound. Rikke's breastplate crumpled, just as the Chief's had. He heard a cry, and spun around to see Ralof, on his knees before Tullius. Ralof's eyes found Stenar's. Then Tullius' sword flashed, and Ralof's limp body collapsed upon the Palace of Kings.

The world spun. No, he can't be dead, he can't be dead, he can't, he can't, he can't! Stenar was sprinting forward before he knew it. Tullius started to turn, then his head snapped as Stenar drove the haft horizontally into Tullius' gut, and he fell onto the banquet table, scattering dishes. Stenar perched above him and rained heavy blows onto his face. His hammer lay on the ground, forgotten. Stenar's huge fists pounded the general's face bloody. He slammed the man's head against the rough wood once, twice, three times before grabbing Tullius' throat and throttling him. Tullius' irate face slowly turned from red to purple, and he feebly pushed against Stenar, to no avail.

Stenar felt a sharp pain, and something tugging at his armor. He glanced down and did a double take. An imperial sword blade stuck out of his left side, below the ribs. He let go of Tullius' throat and touched the point of the sword, now covered in crimson. For a long moment, everything seemed to stand still: The sword, Stenar and Tullius' surprised faces. Then Tullius regained his composure and lashed out with his foot. Stenar's vision winked out for a moment when he hit the ground; when it returned, everything was blurry, and sounds were muffled due to the relentless pounding of his heart.

Rikke stepped in front him, her leaf- shaped blade still stained with his blood. "No." She said. "You chose the wrong side." She helped Tullius up, and they both lifted Jordis onto the banquet table. They tipped a large potion into her mouth. She groaned and slowly sat up, but they had already gone to the throne. Jordis gave him a strange sad glance, and loped over to join the others. Slowly, Stenar turned himself onto his front. Slowly, he breathed in and out. And slowly, he started to crawl forward. He passed Ralof, avoiding his blank gaze and the spreading pool of his blood. He looked at the throne.

It didn't seem possible. Somehow, the Chief had defeated both Galmar and Ulfric. Galmar lay lifeless at the foot of the throne, his iron battleaxe still in his cold hands. Ulfric sat limp in his chair.

"Well, Ulfric, you can't escape from me this time." Tullius sounded satisfied. "Any last words before I send you to… wherever you people go when you die?"

"Sovngarde, sir." Legate Rikke answered with a hint of resentment.

"Right. Well?" Tullius answered impatiently.

"Let the Chief do it. It'll make for a better song." It was Ulfric's voice that stopped Stenar. He sounded tired. Defeated. No longer was he defiant of the Thalmor and their puppets. Stenar's hand reached out and he grabbed another cobblestone, drawing himself forward. His whole head felt wobbly now, but he had to keep going. No! He thought. Jarl Ulfric! NO!

Kaius and Tullius seemed to decide something, then Tullius handed over his sword. The Chief leveled it at Ulfric's breast, glanced down as if to make sure this was actually happening, and drove it deep into Ulfric's chest. Ulfric stiffened, and like Ralof, his eyes sought Stenar on the floor. His face seemed to relax. With a small sigh, Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, the Bear of Markarth, and true High King of Skyrim... Died.

Perhaps Stenar's scream of fury and grief was audible, for the Chief turned to him. "Jordis," He said. "Would you take care of him for me?" Jordis nodded and walked toward Stenar, her sword flashing wickedly. Stenar numbly got into a crouch and began inched away as fast as he dared. Jordis seemed hesitant to strike him down. That was the only thing that saved Stenar. He reached the door to the Palace of Kings second floor and staggered inside, falling on the roughly hewn stone steps.

He glanced at the bloody trail he had left, heard Jordis approaching, and closed his eyes, waiting for the end. He felt strangely content. He had performed his duty well to free Skyrim, killed many Imperials, and now he was going to Sovngarde. He was going to see Ulfric and Galmar again. And Ralof. And all the others who the Chief and the Empire had taken from him.

But it was not to be. A small sound interrupted his reverie. Someone had barred the door from the inside. Two pairs of hands dragged him backward up the stairs and down a hall. There came a hammering from the door. A voice he dimly recognized as a palace servant called Sifnar Ironkettle said, "Wuunferth, we have to get General Frosthammer to safety!"

The voice of the crotchety court wizard replied, "Aye. I know a place."

A/N: The Jagged Crown isn't mentioned because Kaius never went on that mission. The Stormcloaks seized the crown and Elisif the Fair received it after the Battle for Windhelm. Keep up those reviews! It drives me to get the chapters out faster!

ATTENTION: I AM NOW ACCEPTING OC SUBMISSIONS! PM me with your character's name, race, fighting style, and a small bio. If I like it, your character may be featured in Rising Darkness!