Hey all you readers, reviewers, and lurkers :) and I can't help but feel like the Joker whenever I put out a chapter like this:
"And here… we… go."
-)
I stood on a hill, overlooking a clearing in the Autumnal Forest near Riften, dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, no boots. It had felt twelve kinds of strange not to strap my armor on and lash my swords into place, but I was going into battle as a werewolf first. No need to ruin perfectly good armor, or worse, distract the men. A chilly winter's wind blew past us, making the unbraided parts of my hair dance.
As I glanced about the group of assembled warriors, I could help but realize how many freakin' couples there were. I remembered snatches of the events in the Cistern from just half an hour ago:
Vex, sanding stock still, entirely in her legionnaire's armor except for the helmet, which she held in her hands and was scrutinizing with an unreadable look.
Delvin Mallory, terrifying in his battle robes, gently taking the helmet from her hands and kissing her something fierce
Claudius, and Lydia, checking over each other's armor with the calculated precision of soldiers.
Aela, packing her armor into a knapsack and checking over her arrow inventory.
Farkas, whose face was set in a hard line, stoically standing over her shoulder.
Thrynn, looking uneasy in scaled armor once more, and yet it suited him.
Sapphire, grim and hard-edged in her Guild armor, sitting cross-legged on Thrynn's cot, painting his face as he did hers.
And then there was Brynjolf, fierce and battle-ready in his clan tartan and chain mail, and myself, dressed in simple clothes that could be ripped to shreds without a second thought. Both of us, I couldn't help but note, were half blue now.
"Good day for a battle," Farkas commented from over my left shoulder, and I immediately glanced up to the sky.
I smiled through the weak winter sunlight. "Aye, and an even better day to win one."
Aela was grinning. "As always, Shield-Sister."
I had gone over everyone's battle positions back in the Cistern, so the entirety of our ragtag army was ready to go. There was just one more loose end to tie up. "No one panic!" I shouted as I headed, alone, down the hill.
I stood now in this open clearing and, throwing back my head, shouted, "OD-AH-VIING!"
He never kept me waiting long.
A dark shadow descended over us, accompanied by the terrifying roar of a dovah. Several of my comrades drew their weapons, but the Companions urged them to keep them sheathed. A hulking, red-scaled beast landed just before me, its gleaming red eyes boring down on me. "DO-VAH-KIIN!" he greeted. "Drem, yol, lok."
"Drem, yol, lok." I couldn't help but smile. "It is good to see you again, fahdon." Friend.
Odahviing graced Nirn with the closet thing he could give to a smile. "And you, fahdon. What need have you of me?"
I used bits of Draconic to be sure he understood. "There is to be a grah, here." Battle. "Perhaps the killing of a vojun." False king. "Care to join me?' After all, one never ordered a dragon about. One could merely ask.
But I knew Odahviing, and therefore knew his answer. "Geh, Dovahkiin! I shall fly with you!" He paused. "Which joorre do we fight?"
"They'll be coming from over there..." I pointed across the clearing. "…And they'll all be clad in blue. Krif med dovah." Fight like a Dragon.
"I will." Odahviing nodded his great scaly head. "And you, mal briinah. Where do you fight?" Little sister, he called me.
"Don't look for me," I warned him. "I will be a grohiik." Wolf.
Odahviing chuckled, a noise most found alien when coming from a dovah. Me? I was used to it. "Then take them by gol, and I by lok!" He rose into the air again.
"Hon fah faal Thu'um!" I shouted up to him. Listen for my shout!
Odahviing made no indication that he'd heard, but I knew there was no way he'd missed it. I pounded back up the hills to re-insert myself into the Circle, but found myself waylaid by the Guild.
"What the hell was that!?" Mercer barked. He was wearing some sort of skintight, black armor, emblazoned with what I thought was Nocturnal's sigil (a Nightingale, wings outstretched, with the moon just over its head) and a hooded cape across his shoulders. But Mercer wasn't a devout of the Daedra. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sure he wasn't a devout of anything. I wondered what, then, could possibly be emblazoned across his chest.
"That," answered a voice for me, "was the great dragon Odahviing."
I nodded gratefully to Farkas. "He's on our side Mercer; don't you worry. He's actually agreed to kill some Stormcloaks for us."
Brynjolf had an eyebrow cocked, which admittedly looked hilarious underneath the woad. It was Vex, however, who said, "And you failed to mention you can summon a dragon because…?"
"I summoned nothing," I replied swiftly. "I merely asked a favor of a friend."
In the end, Ulfric didn't keep us waiting long, either.
I stood on the crest of the hill with the Wolf Twins and Aela, all four of us battle-painted and outwardly nervous, in our own ways. I was bouncing on my heels; Aela kept testing the air with her nose; Vilkas was tapping the flat of one bracer with the other hand; and Farkas didn't say a damn word. Our gear was stashed with the archers—Cynric and Niruin—and Delvin, since we were to take Uflric's boys by surprise in our beast forms. It was as a good a plan as any, given our sorely outnumbered state. (Some of the city guard, and a few random citizens had joined the fight as well, but they were hardly Companions.)
And then, just out of the trees, came a rider with a white flag. Odahviing shouted to me in Draconic that it was a man who smelled like a kodaav, a bear. Galmar. Has to be. Behind him came row upon row of Stormcloak soldiers, their order seeming more like that of the legion than the rabble I'd commanded. "Let me do the talking," I murmured to Mercer, who was standing behind me with the rest of the assembled warriors. "There is no arguing with Stormcloak or his men. The most we can hope to do is unsettle them."
"You are good at that," Mercer agreed, handing over power to me for one last round.
I strode out to meet Galmar's white flag with Odahviing swooping overhead. "Your resolve is admirable, Dragonborn," Galmar commended as he dismounted, immune to Odahviing after so many years serving the cause alongside me. "But foolish. Surrender now, my friend, before you're all destroyed."
"Sovngarde will take me first," I growled.
Galmar sighed. "You're being suicidal, Morwyn."
"And you fight for a false king," I snapped.
"You swore an oath…!"
"I swore an oath to protect the people of Skyrim! Not a vojun!"
Galmar blinked in confusion. "A what?"
I shook my head, unsure of why Draconic was worming its way into my speech. You are becoming more like the dov than you know. "A false king. Anyway, you can turn right back around and tell Ulfric that I have no intention of letting Riften fall."
Galmar just sighed, sounding so very old and careworn. "Just as stubborn as your father…"
"Never refer to him as such again," I said, my voice in its deadly alto. "If you weren't under the white flag…"
Galmar held up both his hands, palms out. "Peace, Dragonborn. I go now. I go…" He carefully remounted his horse. He sighed then, suddenly seeming very old. "I am sorry my friend, but you leave us no choice."
The wind kicked up again, and Odahviing howled in warning from somewhere in the skies: "Strun los meyz!" A storm is coming!
"You always have a choice," I replied quietly as Galmar rode away. I noted with black satisfaction that he shivered and shook his head—the way Galmar Stone-Fist always did when things were spiraling out of his control.
You mess with the dragon, you get the horns.
I strode up the side of the hill to the questioning gazes of my friends and allies, and addressed the men as I always did: "TO WAR, GENTLEMEN"
The Companions howled in response, and I knew whipping the Guild, some assorted Assassins, and the city guard into a fighting furor would take some effort. Vilkas and Farkas were both trying to stifle grins—they knew what came next.
"WHO LIES IN WAIT!?" I roared over the assembled mass.
The Companions shouted in reply: "ULFIC STORMCLOAK!"
They set the tone. "AND WHO DO YOU FIGHT FOR?"
"DRAGONBORN!"
As had been done many times in years past, one of the Wolf Twins hoisted me up onto his shoulders so I could address the crowd (shortness… not the ally of an awe-inspiring warrior). This time however, unlike years past, it was Farkas whose shoulders I addressed my men from. "My friends, comrades of the Rift!" I called, my voice reverberating over the now-silent assembly. "Ulfric Stormcloak sends his dogs to do his work!" Murmurs of resentment arose from the Nords. "He thinks us weak, thinks we can't hold our line. What say you?!"
Avalon's shrill soprano called: "He's wrong!"
"He thinks us craven, thinks he can control the Dragonborn. What say you!?"
Delvin caught on: "He's wrong!"
"He believes he can easily take the Rift. But this land is ours! Will you take this insult lying down?! Will you be slaves to another false king!?" The roar of negation was growing ever louder.
"Will you watch your brothers die in civil war? Your children grow up parentless?! I didn't come this far to lose!" The roar from the Companions was becoming indistinguishable from that of everyone else. "I did not kill Alduin to see Skyrim fall to another vojun! I did not risk my life to live on my knees under a tyrant! Zu'u Dovahkiin!" I am the Dragonborn! "And I will not be silenced!
"They will taste of the Thu'um and weep, and Red Mountain will sing with their blood! I will not be silent—we will not be silenced. And as of this moment on, we are brothers-in-arms! It matters not what faction you come from, be it Brotherhood, Guild, Companions, or Civilian! We are all brothers in battle now." Another roar, this time from the entirety of the army.
"So tell me now," I roared over them, "who do you fight for?! Because it isn't me! You fight for Skyrim, for her people, for your lives, for your freedom!"
Farkas, sensing the end was near, dropped to a crouch so that I could extricate myself from his shoulders. As my feet hit ground, Vilkas began the unofficial battle cry of the Companions: "May Talos guide you!"
"May Stendarr protect you," Farkas added as the four of us began to make our way to the crest of the hill.
"Hircine lead you," Aela added, looking like some fierce primordial war spirit in her battle paint and studded armor.
With a wicked grin, I faced my Guildsiblings, Shield-Siblings, and Brothers-in-Arms. "And Sheogorath predict you!"
And with that, I whirled on heel to face the oncoming army and began to run down the hill. My spirit wolf began to claw its way out of the corner of my soul it usually stayed locked in, and by the time I smashed into the first of Ulfric's soldiers, I was all wolf.
