AN: yep, it's been some time. Not been a good month for me tbh, especially when I lost the chapter file and had to rewrite it. But in the end, I am happier with this than I was the previous attempt :) Hope you like it! Morgan vs Ulfric has finally come to a head :D


"FUS RO DAH!"

Morgan snarled in satisfaction as her Shout tore through a large group of Stormcloaks, the sheer force sending bodies flying and even gouging a shallow channel through the earth. She barely noted how the enemy slowed slightly at the sight, for she had increased her speed, her blade held in one hand, her other balancing her body as she charged.

Rikke was right. She actually ignored her Legion teachings and pulled the wool over Ulfric's eyes.

Rikke had known that the Stormcloaks would set their defences in such a way that a direct attack would have cost her half her forces before they reached the city walls. She had glanced at Morgan several times while she had been rallying the troops, and it had been Serana's whisper that had alerted her to Rikke's subtle hint.

She wants you to tear their ranks with your Voice.

The plan had worked perfectly. Ulfric had sent a few hundred as an advance force, and Morgan had taken a chunk of their numbers with a single Shout. As she charged, she channeled her blood through her body, her thirst increasing as her latent powers grew. She craved the blood, she needed it.

The first two Stormcloaks barely saw her. One second, she was fifty feet away, the next moment, she was past them, her blade cutting through their sternums in a fluid attack. The Stormcloaks rallied fast however, and the initial charge came to a halt as the two forces met and close quarters combat began.

Morgan grinned wickedly as she changed stances, now opting for what was known as the Stance of Akatosh. Her mother never knew what she had taught her daughter, but Morgan had managed to tap into a few more dragon memories and this particular style would suit her well.

Left foot forwards, blade angled slightly over my head, always looking at my blade…

She grinned as she began to move, every step dodging the Stormcloak blades that whistled by her by inches while her own blade cut through the flimsy armour and the flesh and blood that it was meant to protect. She ducked as three arrows whistled by her right ear and launched a barrage of fireballs in the direction where the arrows had come from, her magicka reserves dropping sharply as a result.

Morgan smiled as she sensed Serana come alongside her, her hands alight with a purple hue.

"Time to make things a little more interesting," Serana grinned before throwing her hands outwards, her necromancy coming into effect. The yells of alarm from the Stormcloaks as the dead started to rise was the catalyst that would spell the end of the enemy charge.


Ulfric snarled in distaste as the corpses started to attack his forces.

Bitch. Using the fallen as a weapon…

"Advance!" He yelled, running forwards as quickly as his legs would allow.

He sighed as the first Imperial soldier tried to dodge his first swing, and barely flinched as his axe scalped the top of his head, blood and skull fragments spattering his armour. He moved on, his loyal soldiers forming a shield wall in front, the archers taking positions behind them.

At least the Imperial training was good for something. This brings back bad memories.

"Move!" Ulfric commanded, holding his shield up to absorb an arrow that would have pierced his skull and gritted his teeth.

The dragons are a menace but our archers are making it hard for them.

As this thought formed in his mind, a bronze dragon slammed into the side of the bridge that connected Windhelm to the outlying area before falling into the icy waters below, dozens of arrow shafts riddling the armour of the ancient creature. Ulfric had a brief moment to smile before strange lights erupted from beneath the water and raced past him…

Straight into the body of the vampiric Dragonborn that was standing at the front of the enemy army, her armour drenched in blood and gore.

Morgan snarled as she met the eyes of the man who had made her life, and in her view, many others, miserable. She could still see her lying bastard of a husband in her mind's eye, and it was all HIS fault. She tightened her grip on her newly crafted blade and ignored how the battle around them stopped.

The Stormcloaks were regrouping, their main bulk situated close to the bridge. A few wounded rejoined the ranks and yelled obscenities at Morgan, who smirked at each person who dared to insult her. A few others began to fidget, awaiting Ulfric's command.

On the opposing side, Rikke was setting the remaining soldiers into ranks also. Morgan overheard many of the senior soldiers reorganising the less experienced warriors, knowing that they were vastly outnumbered yet still ready for a final skirmish.

But her entire focus was on the man standing before her, his axe dripping with blood, his face grim and showing little emotion.

"Surrender and I may be merciful," Ulfric said after a lengthy pause.

Morgan smirked in irritation.

"Even now, you lie," she hissed. "You know damned well that if anyone were dumb enough to heed your demand, you would cut them down the moment they relinquished their weapons."

"Yet you are the one leading them to their doom," Ulfric countered. "Look around you. Your numbers have dwindled by half and my forces outnumber you two to one. Your dragons are falling and you have nothing left to give."

"Except for one thing," Morgan grinned wickedly, raising her blade high in the air for all to see.

The dragons bellowed her title, the sky filled with fire and ice as they heeded her unsaid command. There were a few moments of silence before Ulfric chuckled.

"Was that it?" He laughed, the soldiers of the Stormcloak army following suit.

Morgan smiled wider.

And then the terrified yelling could be heard from the eastern flank of the Stormcloak army.

Ulfric risked a glance and held his breath as a horde of savages swept over the mountain, holding tooth-studded weapons and deer helmets on their heads.

The Forsworn. How did….

Morgan's amused laughter brought his gaze back to her as she settled into another of her unidentifiable battle stances.

"This makes things a little more interesting, no? Our numbers match yours now. Come, Ulfric. Meet your end!"

Ulfric charged at the same time as the Dragonborn.

Morgan ducked his initial axe thrust and countered, spinning away before moving forwards, angling her blade towards his right side. Ulfric managed to dodge and swung again, lashing out with his shield. Morgan ducked and rapidly jabbed at his right side once more, one jab scoring a hit, the blade digging into his ribs.

Ulfric roared and managed to shove her away, and growled as her felt a little blood seeping through his armour.

That blade is too sharp to be natural.

He had seen how she had cut through wooden shields during the initial stage of the battle, and was glad that he had had the foresight to equip a sturdy steel shield. But even so, as this personal battle continued, her blade was managing to puncture the shield, pieces of wood falling off every time she adjusted her strikes.

Ulfric charged again, bringing his axe down as fast as his muscles would allow.

So he was surprised when that devil blade was suddenly impaling him through his gut, his axe held fast by the Dragonborn's free hand. He glared at her as she pushed the blade deeper, all the way to the hilt.

"Bitch," he muttered as his mouth filled with blood.

He head butted her and was glad to see her back off, feeling the bridge of her nose before forcing the cartilage back into place with a sickening crack. Then he saw her eyes. The were black, a horrifying, empty void.

"Now you really pissed me off," she snarled, twirling her blade in her hand and angling it over her head.


Serana dodged Galmar's attack and kicked him in the ribs as hard as she could. She smiled slightly as she heard, and felt his rib cage shatter. She loved being a vampire sometimes. She easily dodged his lunging attack once more, leaping over his head in an incredible feat of acrobatics before spinning in mid air and landing on his broad shoulders.

Galmar winced as he blindly swung upwards, attempting to strike her thigh, only for her to grab his flailing arm and break it with a simple twist of her wrist. And then he knew no more as her twin daggers, crafted by that of her love, were violently inserted into each of his ears.

Serana leapt off his shoulders and smiled as the Stormcloaks yelled and screamed at her.

"Think that was bad? Look at what is going to happen to your precious leader," she chuckled darkly, her hands alighting with red magic, her daggers becoming infused with dark magic. "Of course, you can always discuss it in the afterlife," she finished, leaping forwards once more.


Ulfric closed his eyes for a moment as he heard the screams from the left flank.

Rest well in Sovngarde my friend. I may be there sooner than you think.

He chuckled as he felt his deadened fingers drop his shield, a torrent of blood pouring down his left shoulder. Angering the Dragonborn had brought about a foe he could not cope with. Every attack, she had scored a hit, shield or otherwise. He could feel every single stab wound that riddled his body, especially the one in his gut.

Her last attack had almost cleaved his left arm off his shoulder, and as he felt the blood flow out of his shoulder, he knew he had one chance left. Ulfric let out a silent prayer before catching his axe in a steady hand and charged, bellowing a war cry as loud as his lungs would allow. He saw her move forwards, her figure a mere blur. He briefly saw her blade angling downwards towards his neck...and saw a fist coming from the other side...


He opened his eyes and blinked once. Then twice.

The sky was different. Instead of the cold and harsh skies of Skyrim, this sky was vibrant, full of beautiful colours he never knew existed. And then there was the sounds. He could hear a strong set of voices coming from what looked like…

A hall…..a hall filled with singing and….can I smell honeyed mead mixed with juniper berries?

That was Ralof's favourite drink, he recalled.

"Well, you pissed her off too, huh?"

He whipped his head around and stared as Ralof of Riverwood strode towards him, a wide smile on his face and his clothing clean and free of rips and tears.

"Welcome to Sovngarde, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said, gripping Ulfric by the forearm and easily hoisting him to his feet.

Ulfric sighed.

"The battle…"

Then he heard the gruff snort of amusement that he was so familiar with.

"You really don't want to know how it went, old friend," Galmar Stone-Fist said as he approached, embracing his life long friend and smiling sadly. "We fought for what we believed in. All we can do now is watch and pray that the elven bastards don't take advantage of a fractured land."

Ulfric nodded and followed the two men down the hill, dozens of Nords appearing on either side of him and following his wake. He glanced at the sky again and closed his eyes.

My Lord Shor. Don't let that girl fuck up.


"I think he's dead, my love."

Morgan thrust her blade into the umoving corpse once more before standing up, glaring at the bloody mess beneath her. She had dodged his last attack and had punched him as hard as she could, her fist connecting square with his face.

And the impact had obliterated his skull; blood, brain and skull fragments exploding within the gigantic bear helmet that had encased it. His headless body had collapsed yet Morgan wanted more, straddling the corpse and stabbing it repeatedly while roaring obscenities as loud as she could.

Serana's light grip on her wrist calmed her blood and she sighed as she was led away from Ulfric Stormcloak. Then she glanced around. Over one hundred Stormcloaks were on their knees, their hands tied behind their backs. A sea of Forsworn and former Legion soldiers were on one knee, heads down except the ones guarding the prisoners.

Of the twelve dragons that followed her command, six remained. She nodded to Odahviing as he dipped his head when they met eye contact. She could feel his disappointment that the battle was at an end, but she could also sense he was satisfied with the outcome. The Forsworn, with Shea at the front, also knelt as she passed.

Morgan wished the ground would swallow her whole.

She hated being worshipped in any way.

Then she smiled as Serana's arms coiled around her body, bringing her close. Their lips met, and she couldn't help but grin in mid kiss, forming a rude hand gesture as the cheers around her increased, the dragons roaring their approval as their Thuri claimed her prize.


He frowned as the cheers increased in volume. At first, he was glad of Ulfric's rather brutal demise. But after listening to the deafening cheers of the Empire…and the Forsworn (which had taken him completely by surprise), he was concerned at how the Dragonborn had not only proved she was nigh on unstoppable in a fight, she had also managed to gain an alliance with the savages of the Reach.

What else can go wrong?

He packed his few belongings and stuffed a piece of stale apple into his mouth before setting southwards. He had a personal report to make to Herself. And after what he had seen, he braced himself for the storm to follow.

For he knew that she would not be happy.

Not happy at all.


Rikke threw her battered shield and sword onto the war table before falling into a seat. For a time, she simply sat there, staring at the drips of blood and sweat falling from her hair and watching them splash onto the dirt.

It's done. So why do I feel so empty?

She had fought for what she believed in. The Empire had given her a purpose.

And after the Thalmor hear about it, we will be declared traitors. And then their armies will travel north, to Skyrim.

She wasn't sure she could see a way of stopping the elven 'overlords'. Due to the civil war that had been raging for over two years, the number of soldiers available to defend the land had been severely reduced. Rikke sighed and pulled her bracers off and threw them to the corner of the tent and glared at the war table.

So many forts still in Stormcloak hands, and I doubt that they would willingly hand them over after Ulfric's death.

She snorted.

"'Death' is an understatement," she muttered dryly.

Seeing just how easily the Dragonborn had defeated a great warrior like Ulfric had been scary to witness. But watching as she shattered the man's skull with a single punch was even more terrifying.

If she were to turn on Elisif for any reason, none could stop her. And with a necromancy master at her side….

She frowned and stood up, walking over to the stand nearby and rubbing her hands in the water filled bowl, thinking hard. She had to organise a new temporary ruler for Windhelm before reporting the battle outcome to Elisif. She glanced up as she heard the tent flap open and repressed a shudder as the blood soaked Dragonborn entered.

Rikke noted how her armour was slowly repairing itself, blood slowly disappearing as the armour drank the viscous liquid. She moved her eyes upwards and stared into those blazing eyes, and fought to maintain her composure.

"Dragonborn."

"Rikke," Morgan replied softly, putting her weight onto her hip and folding her arms. "You look unhappy."

"I knew Ulfric and Galmar. For a long time," Rikke replied, drying her hands with a rag and taking a breath. "Did you have to…kill him like that?"

Morgan frowned.

"I could think of many more painful ways to kill the bastard. But he had it coming."

Rikke blinked at how cold she sounded. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that she was disappointed. She walked closer until she was nose to nose with the shorter woman and glared at her.

"He died with honour."

Morgan laughed, angering her even more.

"Tell that to the people who died for his noble cause," Morgan retorted. "Tell that to my mother, who he had captured and tortured for nearly a month!"

Rikke held her ground, but the sensation of a cold breeze flowing through the enclosed tent and seeping into her bones told her that she had overstepped her bounds with this dangerous woman.

"Ulfric was a visionary. He fought for what he thought was right," Morgan continued in a cold voice. "But he fucked with the wrong woman. I made mistakes in my life, but at least I have the guts to admit them."

"Like what?" Rikke snapped before thinking.

"Like killing a Thalmor officer in a tavern without thinking of the consequences. I killed him and the owner ended up getting quartered for it," Morgan growled.

"So you ran to Skyrim like a coward."

"At least I am not the person crying over a fucking traitor!"

Rikke threw a punch and hit nothing but mist, which flowed out of the tent, taking the coldness with it. She shivered as she unclenched her fist, staring at the digits.

I shouldn't have said that to her. I will leave her be for a while before offering my apology. If I live to see it of course.

She stomped over to the small cabinet and found a new set of lighter armour as well as a smaller sword and shield. After a few minutes, she was ready to end the rebellion once and for all. She knew of a few candidates who could run Windhelm until the Moot, but she also knew that tensions would be high within the city for years to come.

One problem at a time, soldier.


Morgan threw a stone off the mountainside and watched as the object hurtled through the sky before landing somewhere near an old, ruined fort.

Hope it landed on a Stormcloak.

"Hey," Serana said, wrapping her arms around Morgan's waist and holding her gently. "Tell me what's bugging you."

Morgan sighed.

"I keep getting the impression that no matter what I do, it's never enough. We just ended the civil war. Yes, there are a few places where the Stormcloaks remain, but many will choose to go home after hearing about their illustrious leaders demise. Yet I keep thinking I will be asked for more."

Serana kissed the nape of her neck.

"You know you can always just say 'no'. You have done more than anyone to make this land better. Everything will fall into place, little dragon."

Morgan smiled slightly as Serana held her a little tighter.

"So, what do I do now?"

Serana's laughter made her feel ten times happier.

"We visit Elisif for what will undoubtedly be a boring award ceremony for Skyrims greatest protector…" Serana teased.

Morgan grunted. She hated being singled out when so many had fought and died for their own beliefs.

"And then we go home."

Home.

That sounded good. She smiled and turned around within Serana's embrace and put her arms on the shapely hips of the ancient vampire.

"That's one of the best ideas I have ever heard you come up with. You aren't just a pretty face after all."

Serana grinned.

"When we are alone, I will show you just how many good ideas I can come up with," she whispered, pulling her love into a kiss as the twin moons began to rise over a blood soaked battlefield, the sounds of the mourning echoing through the valley and the howling of wolves bringing many soldiers to the perimeters of the Empire encampment.

The battle of Windhelm had lasted only a single day, but Rikke, who was watching the two vampires at a long distance away, knew that Morgan would never have the quiet life she wanted.

Heroes, heroines never get that luxury.

She walked away, never noticing how the two vampires vanished into an explosion of red mist, or how the ground froze solid at the place where they had stood…