AN: Let the siege begin!
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Miir hunched on the wall, his hands shaking as he looked at the massed Imperial army across the bridge. After word had gone out that they were approaching the whole city only had two days to finalize its siege preparations. Selected streets were strategically blocked off, barricades were erected, and fallback strategies were made in preparation for the attack. The fletchers had been working nonstop since the announcement was made in an effort to ensure that there would be enough arrows to repel the attackers.
"Remember," shouted a sergeant walking the walls, "They attack us here, at our strongest place. We break the back of their army on Windhelm and then take the rest of the country back!"
His words carried little weight with Miir who only hunched down a little further behind the crenellations. That grand dream of shattering the Imperials on the unbreakable Windhelm was the last great hope held up for terrified soldiers who didn't know how to react to the impending wave of violence.
So many of the city's commoners had been pressed into service and while some of them fought for the Stormcloaks willingly, many had been coerced with threats. They were coming to face trained soldiers in war and the Khajiit pitied them. He barked a sad mental laugh at himself for acting like he was better off than they were. He wasn't much better prepared to face the Imperials than they were, but at least he might stand a chance.
A series of dull thuds could be faintly heard as the first volley from the catapults flew. At the same time roars tore out of the throats of the army gathered to attack the city as they surged forward. Devastating booms shook the wall as the boulders impacted and Nords scrambled to dodge. Fiery bundles hurtled into the city and fires roared to life as buildings were set ablaze.
This is it, thought Miir to himself as he readied his first arrow and waited for them to get in range. He willed his shaking hands to still. Four massive booms echoed upwards as the gates splintered under the sudden onslaught.
With effortless coordination, the Imperial army flowed towards the opening.
"FIRE!" came the order and the first volley of arrows lashed out onto the bridge. Screams echoed up from the charging invaders but not many fell. The first wave was particularly heavily armored, realized Miir as his stomach sank and he fired another arrow into the mass of soldiers.
Everything was chaos. Stormcloaks poured arrows down but the Imperials lashed back. Arrows arced back from the bridge as the next wave began firing suppressing volleys at the wall and forced the defenders to split their attention between the oncoming warriors and the much more vulnerable archers firing back.
Miir yelped and ducked behind a crenellation as the return volley darkened the skies. A woman to his left wasn't so quick and gurgled as three arrows pierced her body.
His heart hammered in his chest as he huddled down farther as the arrows continued to ping around him. He covered his head with his arms as three more Stormcloaks died nearby.
Resounding booms could be heard as the catapults went to work on the city's defenders.. Miir couldn't breathe. He was going die here, he realized with a sudden jab of panic as images of the gates breaking tumbled through his mind.
A massive boulder smashed into the top of the wall ten feet away from him and a woman vanished into red pulp. A horn blew in the central keep and the remaining people on the walls began to scream for retreat. Ducking down, Miir ran for the stairs down and followed the others into the city proper.
Glancing quickly, Miir saw that the gate had been lost. The Stormcloaks trying to hold it had been lost. Now they would break down into street fighting. He raced off with those around him as they stationed themselves behind a barricade and, from their vantage point, were able to see the Imperials entering the city. He pulled up a small cloth hood so as to protect himself from the cinders and other debris in the city.
There was so much noise, thought Miir with his heart in his throat. The sound of catapult projectiles had stopped now that there was a risk of friendly fire but there was so much shouting that the Khajiit had to force his breathing to slow down.
He huddled with three other archers as they prepared to shoot down the first attacker who came for them. They watched carefully as a band of Imperials lead the charge through the melee and to their position. Smoke started to fill the air and while it made aiming difficult is also gave them the element of surprise.
A stray gust of wind blew a moment of clarity in the smoke and what it revealed made Miir's heart stop.
He saw a golden face that he instantly recognized and struck a chord of fear in him. It was that damned Altmer from Helgen. How!? How was he here? Miir had left him in a distant hold long ago.
The elf seemed to haunt him like a bad omen and Miir didn't question it. He didn't question the rationality of his feelings. He just ran. Though he clutched his steel bow in his hand, all but one of his arrows spilled as he launched himself away from the coming Altmer and the group of Nords with him.
"Coward!" hissed one Stormcloak as Miir broke and ran. He even fired an arrow at the Khajiit but his hasty aiming caused him to only graze a bloody line in Miir's arm.
Miir felt the pain of the injury but he didn't stop or slow. No. He was getting the fuck away from that elf. Something deep in his gut screamed at him to keep running and hide somewhere, let this mess blow over. A desperate thought snapped into his mind. Yes, he was a Khajiit, the least likely person to be accepted into the Stormcloak Rebellion. He could play it off like he was a trader just trapped in the city. All he had to do was survive this night and he was safe.
Unfortunately, between the smoke and his panicked flight the Khajiit did not go into the quiet district of the wealthy like he had planned, but ended up in somewhere much closer to the Grey Quarter. He didn't care. He saw a door hanging open and rushed in, daggers drawn.
Nearly weeping with relief, he saw the dark, little house was empty. He threw the bolt on it and sank down with relief. So long as his hiding spot didn't catch ablaze he'd be ok, he'd survive.
"Someone went in there!" a voice shouted.
Miir's eyes snapped open. No. No, divines let them have seen someone else, he prayed as he moved to the darkest corner he could find and set his daggers on the ground before him so as to look nonthreatening.
The sound of something heavy connecting with the door made Miir stare at it intensely and when it splintered inward he immediately shouted, "Wait!"
He couldn't make out the face of the Imperial soldier before him but the man demanded, "Who are you!?"
Miir babbled out, "I'm just a trader who got trapped here in the siege and-"
The rest of his tale got cut off but a voice from outside shouting, "Ambush!"
Miir's interrogator snarled and lunged forward, suddenly on the attack. Wasting no time, Miir snatched up his weapons and parried the thrust.
The two combatants had little room to maneuver in the close confines and they faced each other with deadly intent. "Just let me go, I'm innocent," hissed Miir.
"Can't take that chance that you'll stab me in the back," growled the Imperial back. Something in that voice made Miir hesitate with confusion. It pulled at old, old thoughts.
Sensing the weakness in that momentary lapse, the soldier pounced in a flurry of strikes that left Miir stumbling back as he tried to reconcile what his mind was telling him.
"Stop!" he shouted as his own daggers came in on the offensive and drove the Imperial's sole blade wide. The man stumbled back into the dim light from outside and his green eyes were illuminated. Memories flooded like a burst damn through Miir's mind.
"Bas," softly whispered Miir in disbelief as he finally saw the man's entire face. The Imperial looked suspiciously at him and the Khajiit ripped his hood off, "Bas, it's me! Miir!" So many thoughts rattled around in Miir's heart and head as he looked at his first love. Bas had left to fight in a mercenary band and had been helping to put the western part of the Empire together after the Aldmeri invasion. It was his way of escaping the squalor of the streets.
Shock sprawled across the Imperial's face, "What are you doing here!? How did you even get to Skyrim!?"
A thunderclap sounded just outside of the house they were fighting in and Bas shook his head, "Stay here and out of the way, Miir! My friends need me." He ran back out into the street.
Miir darted to the doorway, crouched as he took in the scene that had played out while he had been fighting his lover from the Imperial City. He was roiling with emotions and what he saw next didn't calm him.
A second thunderclap sounded as Voros's magical hammer caved in the chest of a second Imperial and another thunderclap sounded as the weapon discharged energy into its victim. The Imperial flew through the air and landed lifelessly on the ground.
He froze in the darkness of the doorway as a new rush of emotions overcame him. "Die, Imperial dog!" spat Voros as he tried to crush Bas with a swing of his hammer. The Imperial was light on his feet, however, and dodged backwards. His blade flicked out but Voros snapped his arms back in and avoided the attack.
Miir didn't want to process the scene in front of him. He didn't want to know what was going on. He didn't want to watch two men fight to the death when they should have never even met. Damn, Bas wasn't even supposed to be in this country, let alone this city of all places!
Voros bellowed a warcry as he flew into a flurry of strikes that kept Bas dodging back defensively. There was no way he could parry those attacks and with lightning crackling around the head of the hammer a single strike could be fatal.
His ferocious assault left him open though and Bas scored a deep gash on the massive Nord's arm.
Miir shifted slightly as he watched the fight and the lone arrow in his quiver touched his arm. With shaking hands, he gently picked it up and laid it on the bowstring. He could do nothing and let fate decide the winner here, or he could fire one arrow and choose the fork it took.
He looked at the two men, and his mind shouted a thousand feelings at him. He looked at Voros. Strong, a true Nord warrior who fought for the purity of this beautiful land. The Khajiit remembered the way their bodies twined together on all those nights they had been together. He remembered the way the big man had urged him to try and join the Stormcloaks. He remembered the way the man's size and steady mind had grounded Miir.
Bas's face a mask of concentration as he assessed his much bigger, stronger, and better armed opponent. Miir remembered all the ways that they had been there for each other every day in the Imperial City. They always had each other's backs and when the man left it was one of the saddest days of Miir's life. He recalled the things they had shared with things stolen from shopkeepers in moments of softness stolen from the hard streets.
He made his decision in the middle of a city ablaze.
Voros staggered in sudden shock and looked down at the arrow that protruded out of his side, right where his armor ended. He glanced back at where the arrow had come from but the smoke and the shadows of the empty house hid Miir from sight, from his accusatory gaze. It had driven deep into him and the big warrior slapped a hand over the bleeding wound as he tried to shuffle back from the suddenly aggressive Imperial.
It was clear from each defensive swing of the hammer that Voros was struggling to keep up with the fight. His face twisted with agony each time he moved to counter the fast-moving blade of the Imperial.
Bas thrust his blade at Voros's eyes and the man jerked the haft of his hammer up to parry the attack, but it was just a feint. Bas's blade swept in and slapped the arrow lodged in the Nord's side.
Voros groaned in agony and tried to lurch backwards as he half-heartedly swung his hammer in a defensive arc in front of him with one hand, the other clasped the profusely bleeding wound.
With a vicious chop, Bas knocked the warhammer away and out of Voros's weakened grip. Struggling to remain on his feet, the big Nord snatched out his daedric dagger and furiously swung it to ward off his opponent.
It was clear that Voros wasn't skilled with the blade and even though it left deep gouges in the metal of Bas's steel sword with each parry, The Imperial quickly beat out his opponent's lesser swordsmanship.
A resounding clang signalled the dagger being knocked aside and a quick reverse tore out Voros's throat and splattered Bas's armour with hot blood. The blond warrior clutched at his torn throat for a moment before collapsing to the ground.
Miir watched the sudden stillness which only seemed to be bothered by Bas's heavy breathing. Slowly, the Khajiit stepped out into the street. Voros has never known who had been his undoing. He probably thought it was just another Imperial, he realized as his gut twisted when he looked at the body of a man he had loved.
"Good shot, Miir," said Bas with a grin, "He would've had me if you hadn't wounded him then." It was the same grin the Miir had seen when they successfully stole a bottle of wine or a pair of sweet rolls, but now it was applied to a dead man. It seemed so wrong right now, like a perversion of something that was so right.
Ignoring the compliment, Miir asked shakily, "How did you even get here, to Windhelm?"
"My mercenary band got paid to join the fight here. It's good money too," said the Imperial with a shrug. His gaze suddenly turned accusatory, "But how did you end up here? I thought Skyrim was the last place you'd want to go."
"I got in trouble with one of the gangs in the city," Miir said defensively as he looked away, "And I figured this place was half wild and I could get away for a bit. Maybe start something new."
His voice rose a little as he moved slowly towards the Imperial, "When you left, I never thought I'd see you again." The hesitation in his voice was clear but he still slowly reached out a hand to take Bas's free one. Divines knew he needed a moment of touch, something to anchor his spinning thoughts. His world felt like it was crumbling.
Gently, he took Bas's free hand and he felt their fingers intertwine for a moment. Bas's hand felt different. It was tougher and more calloused, but it still fit Miir's furred one smoothly. "Maybe... maybe we could see each other again, just grab a drink?" he asked and he knew he sounded desperate to reconnect with Bas, to hold onto anything from a more stable time. The words felt ridiculous coming out of him. He was asking for a drink in the middle of a city under siege and neither of them might make it out alive. Somehow, the question felt right like it was holding the shattered parts of his life together.
The Imperial brought up such a flood of memories for him and reminded him of when he felt like anything was possible, before he had gotten caught up in this war and all the bloodshed. He really wanted to feel like that again.
"Miir," began Bas with extreme gentleness and hesitation. The catman could hear the impending rejection in that heavy pause. It hit his heart like Voros's warhammer.
"I'm with someone now," said Bas with a voice that carried sadness, "A beautiful Imperial lass."
"A woman!?" shouted Miir with disbelief, "You said you loved me!"
"I did!" came the heated retort, "And I told you that I liked both men and women, Miir!" All the anger seemed to rush out of the Imperial and his aggressive posture sagged, "And I loved you - I still do - but I love her too. And I love my daughter too. Please, Miir, please don't make me feel like this. I want to be your friend, to hear your story, but we can never go back to the way we were. I could never do that to my family." There was a pleading quality in his voice, something that begged for Miir to understand him, that tore at Miir's heart.
I was once your family, your one and only, thought Miir numbly. He swallowed the bitter words though and simply said, "I'd like that." The words scraped his dry throat. They were hard to get out but he didn't know what else to say. There was so much death, so much happening in the middle of this siege that he couldn't think of anything better to say. The whole situation felt surreal. His heart was breaking in the middle of a city being blown apart.
"I need to go," he said simply as he pulled his little cloth hood back up and stalked away. Bas might kill him if he found out that the Khajiit had helped the Stormcloaks. He needed this to settle down first.
Bas called after the retreating form of the Khajiit once, but the other man didn't slow.
While Miir heard the call, he wasn't ready to talk just yet. He'd find Bas later if the man stayed in the city. He was in far too much turmoil to handle this now.
His boot kicked something and Miir thought it was just a chunk of debris until he heard that object clang off a stone wall. Looking closer, he saw it was the daedric dagger he had so coveted. He had planned to get it, true, but not at the cost of Voros's life. He looked at it a moment longer.
Plans change.
He dropped his worn, steel dagger to the ground as he walked off with his new acquisition strapped to his belt.
Focus, he thought to himself. The siege was turning into a rout for the Stormcloaks and Miir needed to get away from the victorious Imperials. His eyes caught on a band of Stormcloaks rushing towards the Grey Quarter and he followed them as stealthily as he could.
The Grey Quarter looked deserted to the Khajiit as he passed through it. Windows and doors were sealed shut as the Dunmer within tried to avoid the ire of both the Imperials and the Nords who fought for control over the city. Small fires burned here and there but nothing seemed to be moving in the smoky air.
Miir wondered for a moment if he'd find shelter there but the insular community would likely be too fear struck to show him any mercy. Darting after the fleeing Stormcloaks, he made his way out to the docks and crouched behind a stack of crates. Numerous Stormcloaks were commandeering ships and trying to sail across the river to escape and Miir watched them with trepidation. Should he try to join them and keep fighting against the Imperials who had been cruel to him? Or should he let it go here? He didn't particularly like the idea of living cold and hungry in the woods, even if they would take him with them. his mind wrestled with the decision for a time.
The Nords seemed so disorganized as the scrambled to escape and the normally bustling docks were devoid of life. Miir immediately reassessed that idea when he looked towards the end of the dock that curved towards the Imperial army. There, at the end, stood one Argonian figure against five Stormcloaks with their swords drawn. Miir frowned at them, remembering the way they had looked down on him and his confusion and fear suddenly coalesced into a desire to not let them harm this poor laborer. The fool must've been caught outside and he was going to pay for that mistake from the looks of the Imperials.
His fingers locked around his blades as he raced forwards before the unarmed Argonian was cut down. The other man was clad in steel armor, likely taken quickly from a shipment. The Khajiit winced as he saw a Nord step forward, his sword held high over his head as he readied himself to slash the Argonian.
Miir knew he wouldn't make it in time and braced himself to watch the other man die. He was determined to protect anyone else from these Stormcloaks, though. He might be able to find a potion or a healer to help the Argonian if he survived the attack.
The Argonian exploded forward in a blur and suddenly his steel-clad fist connected with the face of the Stormcloak. The man's head snapped back as blood sprayed into the air.
Calmly, the Argonian resumed his ready-but-neutral stance. "I told you, you will not take any of my people to row your ships," the muscular Argonian stated with steel in his voice. Miir suddenly reassessed the lizard man's combat abilities with new hope.
Uncertainty made the other four Stormcloaks hesitate. That uncertainty gave Miir the opening he needed. Gracefully, he tore past the middle two Stormcloaks and struck each one, using surprise to hit them hard. Nettlebane stabbed into the sword arm of the Stormcloak on Miir's left while the daedric dagger slid with sickening ease through the hamstring of the man on Miir's right.
Both of them shouted in agony and staggered away from their new assailant. Miir came to a stop next to the Argonian and bared his fangs in his most intimidating snarl. "You aren't taking a single Argonian, bastards!" His bloody daggers glistened in front of him. He hoped the Argonian trusted him and that he wouldn't be the next one laid out on the floor from a gauntleted fist. A groan from the man the Argonian had punched announced he was coming to, but the bloody mess his face had become said that there wouldn't be much of a threat there.
A growl of helpless anger came out of the Nord who had been stabbed in the arm, "Get to the boats. We'll remember you, Khajiit." Her voice was cold and hard. A glob of spittle landed at Miir's feet as the Stormcloaks collected their injured and hurried off. Miir relaxed his stance and used a rag he saw on a nearby box to wipe the blood off of his weapons.
The Argonian looked at Miir and the Khajiit finally got a good look at the man he had helped. Standing a little over six feet tall, the Argonian was covered in small, fine emerald green scales with a shock of darker black-green scales running from the top of his head and ran down his neck as far as Miir could see. Though it was hard to tell due to the armor, the Argonian looked like he was built from pure muscle. Miir would have thought that the man would be lumbering and slow but the quick speed with which he had lashed out said that that perception was misleading. Miir's eyes looked into ones that had irises the colour of new spring leaves and even the pupils seemed to be flecked with little sparks of the same colour. He carried himself with a remarkable calm, and though Miir had a hard time reading the other man's age, he guessed that the Argonian was close to his own. Something about him seemed faintly otherworldly
A tense moment passed before the Argonian stuck out his hand, "Thank you for your help." Miir gripped the much bigger man's forearm in a warrior's shake. Everything about the Argonian felt solid like an old tree.
"What were you doing out here? The Stormcloaks are riled up and you should get out of sight," cautioned Miir.
The Argonian's mouth twisted a little in a smile, "I could ask you the same question." Miir conceded the point with a nod, so the Argonian continued, "They were trying to take some of my people as slaves and rowers. I was not going to let that happen." His voice dropped from a pleasingly deep rasp to a dark rumble as those words came out.
Shouting Stormcloaks raced for a boat a little too close for comfort. "But you are right, we should be gone," the Argonian grunted as he almost turned away but suddenly stopped. He looked directly at Miir in a way that made the Khajiit slightly uncomfortable.
He suddenly smiled, "My name is Krin. What is yours?"
"Miir," hesitantly answered the Khajiit, suddenly afraid of what he had gotten himself into.
Beckoning, Krin called out, "It isn't safe for you out here either. It would be poor of me to turn away someone who put himself in danger for me. You should take shelter with my people. Let the Nords and Imperials fight this out. There's no reason for any of us to bleed over their fight."
He was surprised by Krin's invitation. Miir knew that Argonians and Khajiit were supposed to hate each other but he had never found a good reason for that animosity, but a little voice in his head worried that he was being led into a trap. He knew many people on both sides of that petty fight clung to their ancient hatreds.
Still, he followed Krin as the man headed towards a nearby warehouse. It was likely safer than the streets where either side in this war was apt to kill him, not to mention any looters or vigilantes that might be roaming the city. Smoke was billowing up from the city and the Khajiit could only imagine what was going on in there.
Built solidly out of stone, Miir followed the hulking Argonian into the building.
A chorus of relieved exclamations fill the air as the Argonians huddled in the large room saw Krin return.
The voices quickly went quiet or turned to muttered curses when Krin stepped aside to reveal Miir.
"What is that filthy Khajiit doing here?" growled an aged-looking Argonian, "They are nothing but thieves and liars." A few heads in the back began to mutter their agreement. Their voices formed a low, angry mutter the buzzed in the room.
Miir swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the sheer number of Argonians before him, and he began to try to calculate a way out.
A loud clang filled the air as Krin smacked his gauntlets together. "Enough!" he shouted, his strong voice carrying, "We left those old hatreds behind. We came to Skyrim for a new life, so we should leave the prejudices of the past behind. He risked his life to help me against four armed Stormcloaks. We are not going to turn him out." His eyes sternly swept the crowd as they quieted down. Miir noticed no one protested Krin's declaration.
"Come, Miir," said Krin as the others resumed their activities, "Have something to eat."
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As always, feel free to leave feedback and criticisms. I want to get better at writing!