A Bard's Tale

by gabbicav

Bards spin words to win the hearts of men and mer, and Celeste Passero studies with the best at the College in Solitude. But when Ulfric Stormcloak uses his voice to murder the High King, forcing Skyrim into war with the Empire, Celeste finds herself the subject of a legend to inspire the greatest bard's tale ever told; if only she could find her voice to sing it. A Skyrim story.

41. Marching to the Beat

Chapter 41: Marching to the Beat

Farkas brought two of the dead Thalmor to the riverbank, slung over his shoulders as though they were sacks of flour.

"Undress them," he ordered, depositing one with a dull thump on the ground before me.

I tore my eyes off the mer and flashed Farkas an uncertain glance. "Why? You can't hope to pass us off as Thalmor-"

"I don't," Farkas cut in, groaning as he leaned over to place the second of his burdens down before Lydia. He glared at the Thalmor as though he expected him to get up and attack at any moment, then gave the mer a small kick with the toe of his boot. "But if we dump the bodies in the river, and the armour and weapons into that giant's camp we passed. Might take longer for their people to figure out what happened here."

I saw Lydia shudder, and then nod. Wordlessly, she knelt by the Altmer and started stripping him of his robes.

Farkas turned away, returning to the site of our battle to retrieve the third Thalmor, I assumed.

Glancing down to the mer Farkas had dropped in front of me, a wave of nausea hit and my throat clenched, making it suddenly harder to breathe. Half of his face was gone. Bitten off, I realised. Feeling dizzy, I knelt so I wouldn't fall down, and mechanically, trying to avoid thinking about what I was doing and what Farkas had done (to protect us), tugged the Thalmor's gloves off his hands and laid them together on the grass.

Farkas' plan is sound, I assured myself, busying over the details so I wouldn't have to think about anything else. By the time their absence is noticed, the crabs and slaughterfish will have disposed of the bodies. And if their armour is located, it may be assumed that they had an unlucky encounter with the camp's inhabitants.

I nodded in confirmation as I heaved the Thalmor onto his side to draw one arm out of a thick, heavy sleeve.

My gaze was unwittingly locked onto the only remaining, glazed-over eye of the dead Altmer, but I didn't realise I was staring at it until the smell of his blood flooded me when I lay him back down. I covered my mouth to cough, and searched for something else to distract me.

Delphine. Yes, a worthy distraction. Farengar had meant it when he'd told me she was being hunted. What had she done? All I knew was that she was an innkeeper in Riverwood, and seemed interested in the dragonstone. But even so, when I had seen her, it had sounded as though she was a messenger for someone above her with a greater interest in it. Was she a thief? A mercenary, a grave robber? Had she stolen something that belonged to the Aldmeri Dominion?

You have managed to leave a trail of dead bodies behind you since you left Solitude.

The fresh, mocking sentence overtook my musings over a woman I knew little enough about. I sat back, taking a gasping breath, glancing away from the dead mer in an attempt to relocate some measure of calm. I searched the churning river beside us, and then the skies. Skyrim is at war, I found myself pleading to the heavens.

So it's kill before you're killed? Strange path for a Bard to tread, the stars twinkled accusingly.

"Lydia?" I spoke up swiftly, averting my eyes and clearing my throat.

She glanced over to me; her eyes wary, then at once looked back down to her task, tugging off the Thalmor's boots swiftly. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but I thought she looked paler than usual. "Yes?" she answered, her tone flat, quiet, and disappointed.

Her uncertainty made her appear younger, and I shoved aside my internal panic as I felt a wash of sympathy for her, and shame in my own part in keeping her in the dark about the twins. It had not been my place to enlighten her, but finding out that your travelling companion was a werewolf, and given my reaction, that everybody must have known it already, had to be jarring.

I shifted, kneeling beside her and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" I tried to make eye contact with her. "I mean," I rolled my eyes at my own question, then hesitated, uncertain of what to ask or say to ease her mind. "I don't know what I mean," I admitted glumly.

Lydia's reply was a slow nod, as though I had managed to come up with something profound and she was considering my words. Her hands continued moving, undertaking their grizzly task seemingly of their own accord.

Rather than make her talk if she preferred not to, I stayed with her and helped her to undress the dead Thalmor she was working on. After a minute or two, when we were done, she sat back. She glanced over the long, pale body laid out before us, then stood, and still without a word, forcibly kicked him into the water.

I said nothing about her silent outburst, and together we watched the figure bob along the river. After a few heartbeats, it was caught by an undercurrent, and tugged swiftly out of sight.

"Vilkas is the same," Lydia stated finally; her voice now all too steady.

I glanced to her, but her eyes were still on the surging waters. "Yes," I confirmed at a whisper.

"And you have known about them for some time?" Lydia turned away, making for the Thalmor that I had half undressed.

I trailed behind her, repeating, "Yes."

"Does Hadvar know?"

"No."

"And you...are you one of –?"

"No," I cut in quickly, flushing as I recalled how close I had come. I could vividly recall the smell of Aela's blood as I had held it in the underforge, before Vilkas had burst in and saved me, though it seemed as though eons had passed since that fearful, fateful night.

Dropping down beside our next task, Lydia lifted the mer up so I could disrobe him more easily.

"You're not worried they'll attack, or try to turn you into one of them?" she questioned, trying to sound nonchalant, but the trembling edge to her voice gave her away. She seemed more frustrated than scared, but perhaps her tone was another kind of mask, too.

I shook my head, groaning in exertion as I tugged the black leather off the mer and piled it with the rest of his armour.

"But they're –" she huffed a laugh, a sound of exasperation more than anything else. "Werewolves, Celeste," she hissed. "They could turn around and eat any of us at any moment-"

"They won't hurt us," I shot her a warning look. My eyes flickered to the road, wondering where Farkas was. As soon as I had wondered it, I knew. He was there. He was listening. He was keeping out of our conversation. With a pang, I realised that he was just as uncertain as Lydia was; of what her reaction would be, and what was worse; he could sense all that she was feeling, right now.

"You cannot know that-" Lydia continued.

"But I do," I insisted, determined to make her understand. "It's something to do with me being dragonborn. Kodlak's diary explains it–"

"Kodlak Whitemane was a-?"

"Yes. Keep your voice down," I crossed my brows at her, standing to help her lift the disrobed Thalmor into the water.

"By the Gods," Lydia glanced around fearfully, even as we threw the mer into the river. "He can hear us can't he? They can – that's why they always knew who and what was approaching," she pushed the heel of her palm into her forehead, her expression pained.

"Yes. The beast blood heightens some of their senses. It was useful, wasn't it?" I rallied my training so that I could speak with conviction, and imagined that I was performing. She needed some facts, and some perspective, like the audience of a play, who needed a moment of exposition to be brought up to speed. "Had it not been for Vilkas and Farkas, you and I would be dead. Several times over," I added pointedly. I turned away from the form of the dead mer drifting down river and put my hands on my hips, trying to catch a glimpse of Farkas. He was there, somewhere. "I know that this must be a horrible shock, but try to imagine how Farkas is feeling?"

Lydia cast me a rueful look.

"No, really, think about it," I pressed her. "He is still Farkas. Still the man you know. How would you feel, having to hide a part of yourself every day, wondering if your friends would lead the angry pitchfork-wielding mob to run you out of town if they found out your secret? It must be exhausting," I murmured, searching the road again. "Farkas, are you there?" I called out, deciding to go to him. I could suppose, from Lydia's lack of hysteria, that this revelation would be safe with her, even if it changed her easy familiarity with the brothers for a time.

Lydia was striding beside me at once, though her lips pursed. "I cannot believe that you kept this from me," she muttered with an angry, sideways glance.

"It was not my secret to tell," I replied reasonably. "Farkas?" I called again.

"'m here," he murmured, stepping out from behind a tree with the third Thalmor draped over both of his shoulders.

I startled at his proximity, but Lydia yelped in surprise.

The sad look on Farkas' face tore my heart in two, and I recovered swiftly, rushing to his side. "Don't sneak up on us like that," I tried to laugh. "Here. Let me help you."

"s'all right," he shrugged, turning and trudging toward the river. "I can do it," he added quietly, dropping to his knees and leaning the mer down before him. His back was to us, but it was clear from his movements that he was stripping the Thalmor of his armour.

I glanced to Lydia, giving her a pointed nod in Farkas' direction.

The pleading look she gave me made me narrow my eyes at her, and after a moment she sighed, then glanced to the sky before going to him.

"Let me help," she muttered. "It's easier, with two."

Farkas stilled as Lydia knelt opposite him. He sat back and watched her, but she kept her eyes lowered and on the dead mer between them. Doubtless Farkas was sensing and wondering over whatever she was feeling, whether she understood he was or not.

After the boots and gloves had been removed, Lydia lifted the mer up, and then had to make eye contact with Farkas.

"Could you?" she shuffled the mer's weight under her arms.

Farkas nodded and got to work. After they'd stripped the Thalmor down to his loincloth, Farkas rose and unceremoniously tossed him into the river, to join his comrades.

I hung back, observing Lydia and Farkas as they stood on the riverbank together, silently watching the dead mer drift further and further away from us.

When he was out of sight, Lydia turned and stooped, gathering Thalmor robes in her arms. "Giant camp next, yes?" she cleared her throat.

"Aye," Farkas agreed gruffly.

I wanted to shake them both.

You can't force them to talk it out and hug, I told myself, clamping down on my frustration lest it worry Farkas even more. Give them time.

In complete silence, we lugged the Thalmor armour to the giant's camp. It was a simple task to avoid the two inhabitants; both seemed occupied with a cow. Dumping our burdens next to their nearest treasure hoard, we darted away before they could turn and figure out what had caused all the dull clanks and crashes in their territory.

We fled to our horses, and it was only when we reached them that Lydia spoke. I was relieved, for I knew that Farkas, being reticent on a good day, would not.

"I won't tell anyone," she said in a quiet voice to my shield-brother, grasping her horse's reins in her fist and swinging up onto the saddle.

Farkas glanced up to her, frowning, but still said nothing.

Lydia nodded to him, as though confirming what she had said, then added a little hopelessly, "I don't understand why, but I have seen with my own eyes that you...it, whatever, strives to protect Celeste. So I cannot..." she hesitated, huffing a helpless laugh. "I will learn not to fear you, and I will not expose you."

"Uh, thanks," Farkas mumbled. There was a pause where I thought that he might say something more, but the silence went on for too long.

During it, I wondered how this exchange might have gone had Vilkas been with us. I knew first hand that Vilkas was no stranger to words, or uncomfortable conversations.

Farkas cleared his throat and turned his mount around. "We should reach Whiterun by dawn," was all he eventually said.

I murmured my relief to hear it, and fell into line as we directed our horses back onto the road.

"As long as there are no more surprises," I heard Lydia grumble.

–

There weren't. Even so; once we reached the plains surrounding Whiterun, and the shadowy form of Dragonsreach swam into view in the distance, my nerves started building.

I hummed quietly to myself – pointless little tunes the moment they came to mind – and the buzz of music did much to distract me from what was laid out before us, and what had to be done when we reached it.

But there was no way to entirely forget about the news that I had to bring Jarl Balgruuf. When the sun rose and the glory of the new day gently blushed the tundra, I felt a sick sense of dread as the memory of Ulfric's message pressed upon me. I doubted I would be able to appreciate a sunrise until the battle with the Stormcloaks was won.

I called ahead to Farkas, asking if we could ride a little faster.

How many more dawns will Whiterun see before the Stormcloaks attack?

–

We reached Whiterun soon after sun up, as Farkas had anticipated.

My shield-brother hung back at the stables, mumbling that he would see that the horses were looked after and bring our packs up for us, if we wanted to go on ahead.

He was anxious and withdrawn, perhaps more about Lydia's penetrating silence than anything else, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to think beyond Whiterun and war to be clever about convincing him to join us. I would not leave him behind to carry our burdens, and Lydia was...well, she seemed serene, though more quiet than usual. She could cope with his presence.

Part of me knew her attitude must have been a front to cover her fear, but there was no denying that Lydia had taken the news of Farkas and Vilkas being werewolves better than Farkas was dealing with Lydia's enlightenment.

Buzzing with anticipation over what I soon must announce to the Jarl, I drew Farkas into a swift hug. "Come with us, brother," I whispered as the large man recovered from the suddenness of my actions. I squeezed my arms tighter around his mid-section as his hands gingerly fell to my shoulders.

"To Dragonsreach?" he asked in that low, seemingly bored tone of his.

I nodded, arching back as I made myself smile. "I can't do this without you."

Farkas' brows furrowed. "What can I..."

"I mean," I rolled my eyes at myself as I recalled how literally Farkas took everything. I laughed a little, adding, "I don't want to do this without you."

"The horses will be taken care of by the stablehands," Lydia supported with a groan as she dragged her pack off the back of her saddle and settled it on her shoulders. "You should report to Dragonsreach with us," she added, looking up to the great building looming over Whiterun as she said it.

I glanced at it for myself; the morning sun was casting an attractive golden hue over the wooden beams, lighting it up like a beacon. If Ulfric has his way, Dragonsreach will be flying the Bear of Eastmarch soon.

Releasing Farkas, I hastened to my horse and began to untie my pack. "Besides, you're not an errand-boy," I murmured as my eyes fell to Jarl Balgruuf's axe, strapped to the side of the saddle. Ulfric's taunt about being an errand girl poked at my twisting stomach, making it more difficult to assuage my nerves.

"All right," Farkas sighed uncertainly.

Once we were ready, I grasped the axe in both hands and made directly for the gates. Lydia and Farkas were either side of me and a tense silence settled between us.

As we strode with obvious purpose closer to the main gate, we were met by hails from many Whiterun guards, ranging from respectful hullos and head nods, to one embarrassingly reverent "Our Lady has returned!" from who I thought might have been Bryor Sorinsen, who I had not laid eyes on since we had fought together at the Western Watchtower.

I hesitated to see if it was him, and to say hello properly, but my companions sweeping by me and their unfaltering pace had me catching them up before I could spare the guard a second glance.

The main gates were opened without hesitation, and locked again behind us. As I paused to catch my breath I wondered suddenly why there had been so many guards on duty outside of the city?

But as I stopped on the bridge in the entry, I looked around the place I had come to think of as home, and breathed a sigh of relief. "He knows," I murmured.

"It would appear so," Lydia replied quietly.

During our absence, Whiterun had undergone some changes. Changes that were, undoubtedly, in anticipation of Ulfric Stormcloak's refusal to back down. Great long stakes, sharpened at the tip, had been driven into the ground around the inner wall, as far as I could see in both directions. Within the barrier, wooden scaffolding had been erected, slung with quivers and bows, and bolts and crossbows at intervals. Many of the houses had been barricaded with planks of wood nailed across the windows in effort to shield the glass.

"The Jarl knew war would always come to Whiterun," Farkas mumbled.

Nodding, I pressed on. All of Skyrim knew of Jarl Balgruuf's logical, loyal, no-nonsense ways, but I had not seen such strong indicators of his nature, or his determination to protect his people. War was clearly coming to Whiterun – and the city wasn't in a panic about it.

A flood of warm devotion to the Hold he had made me Thane of, and to my Jarl himself, swept through me, banishing the anxiety I had felt in returning home with the bad news. I knew, then, that I had made the right choice to return, even if I had first proposed doing so as a means to ensure Vilkas would accompany Hadvar to Solitude.

We passed through the marketplace, which seemed to be operating as usual despite the added fortifications here and there. As we turned and ascended the stairs before the Gildergreen, I realised with some alarm that I had been nervous because I assumed Jarl Balgruuf would blame me for the impending attack. These preparations in our absence told me otherwise; the Jarl had known that it would come to this. My going to Windhelm had been a last ditch effort to avoid it, but I was grateful to learn that he had not relied on the outcome.

Any guilt still dragging me down had lifted by the time we entered Dragonsreach. The throne room was empty, as I had expected to find it given the early hour, but I could hear strains of conversation coming from upstairs. We ascended to the war room, to find Jarl Balgruuf, Irileth, Hrongar, Proventus and Commander Caius standing around a large map on the main table.

The noise our boots made on the stairs had brought pause to their talk, but I caught the Jarl's eye as I turned on the landing to face the assembly. The moment before I lowered my gaze and dipped to one knee, holding his axe before me, his icy-blue eyes shone with a relieved pride that brought a flush to my cheeks. In the corners of my vision, both Lydia and Farkas ducked down as well, falling a step behind me.

"Celeste – you are returned," he called warmly. The shuffling sound of booted feet treading the floor boards came to me.

"Yes, my Jarl," I stood, having been given leave to do so when he said my name. I met his eyes again, faltering as he stopped before me; his housecarls flanking him. While Irileth and Hrongar's expressions were, as usual, unimpressed verging on hostile, the Jarl's welcoming smile cut through their coldness. I had not expected him to be so accommodating upon my return, given the task that was ahead of us.

"Your greatness prevails. I am pleased to see that your companions kept you safe," he rumbled, reaching out with open arms. "Though you appear to be missing two of your entourage," he frowned a little. "They are accounted for?"

I placed the axe in his outstretched hands, as I assumed he wanted by his gesture, but he made a tutting sound and passed the axe to his brother idly, then turned back to me, taking both of my hands in his instead.

They were very warm, and his fingers squeezed mine gently as he continued. "Where are Vilkas, and your Hadvar?"

I faltered again before I could find words to reply with. "They are...on their way to Solitude," I managed, casting a hasty glance to Hrongar, who was holding the returned axe menacingly before him. Remembering Hadvar's words before they had departed, the determination to carry out my duty enabled me to add, "Quaestor Reidarsson is instructing General Tullius to put the legions he will commit to your command on standby in Rorikstead, should you wish to accept the alliance with the Empire."

"Is he now?" the Jarl raised an eyebrow, but seemed no less affable than before. "The prospect of war has given many a man and woman the courage to take liberties, it seems."

I told myself to be heartened by his manner, rather than unnerved, and had the notion that his words were meant in jest, for otherwise why would he still be smiling?

"Aye my Jarl," I lowered my eyes, to be sure. "Though only out of hope to keep our people safe. I take full responsibility if you believe the action to be presumptuous. The Empire will remain in Rorikstead, awaiting your orders, and you may leave them there to wait, if you do not want them."

"Ah hah," the Jarl let go of my hands and turned to his steward. "Proventus, write a letter to Rorik and explain why the Imperial Legion is about to descend on his community. I would not want him to think he is under attack."

"Very good," Proventus nodded cordially and made to leave.

"Rorik was a soldier with the Legion during his time," Irileth spoke up. "He wouldn't obstruct the Empire from setting up camp within his borders. In fact, he'd likely welcome it, for the business it will bring his people."

"Perhaps," Balgruuf murmured. "But better to forewarn him, while we are still able to do so. Proventus," he called to the steward as he reached the landing. "You might as well write to General Tullius, while you have your quills inked."

This the Jarl said with a little more regret to his tone, and I glanced to Proventus curiously.

After a pause, the steward hazarded a question; "And, what would you have me write, my Jarl?"

Balgruuf glanced down, placing his hands on his hips. He sighed, shaking his head. "Celeste," he murmured.

I met his gaze. The weary, icy depths were set on me, inspecting me.

"Y-yes?" I blinked.

"You are for the Imperials, are you not?" he asked.

Standing straighter, I did not hesitate. "I am for Whiterun."

A smirk lifted his expression. "Clever girl. But your father, he was a man of the Empire," he stated, narrowing his eyes speculatively. "If you will not advise me yourself, then pray; recite me some of Samuel's wisdom."

What exactly was the Jarl considering that he needed advice on, I had to wonder? He had clearly been preparing the city for battle, and had not seemed surprised by either the return of his axe, or the news of the legions who would soon be on standby in his Hold. Was he questioning whether or not he should accept them?

It would only be bad for Whiterun, if he refused the alliance. But if it was my father's advice that Jarl Balgruuf wanted, I would give it. Father would not have wanted anybody to go to war, but if it had been inevitable, protecting his people and that which he believed in would have been key.

I made myself think about father; made myself remember his kind, steady, perhaps slightly too-indulgent nature. A memory came upon me as I centred my thoughts on him; one relevant to decisions and paths set before oneself, and my throat grew thick as I withdrew from it and opened my eyes; "He used to say, to follow my heart."

The Jarl said nothing. I supposed he was waiting for me to elaborate. I felt the others in the room also looking at me, with stares ranging from curious to judgemental, but did not pay them any mind. For once I did not feel exposed under the scrutiny of the Jarl's housecarls; as though the impression of my father somehow shielded me from them.

I stood taller, clearing my throat. "If I examined my heart, he said, I could find any answer, to any decision that I faced," my eyes misted as I recalled his voice, the sparkle in his deep blue eyes, like the ocean under a clear, midday sky. My mind painted such a vivid picture of him that I found it impossible to believe that he was truly gone.

Taking a steadying breath, I continued. "And, that most importantly, if I would listen, my heart would provide me answers that I could live with, for the rest of my days."

The Jarl hesitated before responding. "And that is what rules your actions, Celeste?" he asked quietly. "Your heart?"

I smiled unwittingly; his question reminding me of Hadvar's staunch honour when we had been faced with our hearts' desires. "Sometimes," I conceded, with a wry tilt to my head.

The Jarl seemed amused by my reply, which did much to banish the remaining tension within the room. "My sentimental old friend," he shook his head thoughtfully. "If you expose your heart, there is nothing to stop your enemy from cutting it out of your chest," he murmured.

"Except for those surrounding you, who have sworn to protect you," I countered quietly.

The Jarl shot me another look; this one lasting longer than his previous looks, and more searching. Between us hung the unspoken; that we would stand with him, when he made his decision, regardless of how he proceeded.

Finally, he grimaced as he nodded. "All right," he turned toward Proventus, calling out, "Tell the General that we will ally with the Legion. Tell him that I welcome his soldiers who he sends to fight for us," he glanced back to me. "I believe my heart can live with choosing their side, given the price if I don't. Tell me, Celeste," he continued on, his tone modulating to betray his hesitance as he held his arm out for me, so I might approach. "What did Ulfric say to you, when you presented him my offer? Did you meet with your sister?"

Proventus left while Jarl Balgruuf took me under his wing, literally, and guided me to the war room table. I could hear Lydia and Farkas behind us, ghosting my every move, and could all but feel the bewilderment emanating from them.

I had no answers for them, with regards to the Jarl's warmth. Why was Jarl Balgruuf suddenly so accommodating toward me, treating me with such an easy, equal manner? With the exception of the time he had grounded me, he had always been kind, but this? This change, this mood, whatever it was, while a welcome surprise, was serving to make me a little uncertain.

Recalling suddenly that the Jarl had asked me a direct question, I accepted the seat he showed me to and thanked him hastily. Placing my hands on the table; staring down at the small paleness, covered in dirt and scratches and blood, I took another deep, steadying breath as I rallied my courage. Jarl Balgruuf never played games with people.

Perhaps you have done it, I told myself. Perhaps you have proven your loyalty to him and the Hold, by going to Windhelm. Perhaps this is what it is, truly, to be a proper Thane to a Jarl; this freely offered kinship and trust.

Perhaps. Father had never spoken of it, but then, I had never needed to ask him. As directly as I could, I outlined the relevant details of the meeting with Stormcloak. None present needed to know about Giselle and Ulfric's entanglement, or the fights that we had fallen into to and from Windhelm, so I did not bother entering into those parts.

The Jarl's face darkened when I relayed Ulfric's words about the sun rising; the only moment since I had ascended the stairs that he seemed truly vexed. But by the time I finished my report, the darkness was gone, to be replaced with a flat sort of acceptance.

"He will not collect my people or my city in his personal quest for glory," he resolved, then shook his head regretfully. "But he will take many a worthy son and daughter of Skyrim down with him, I fear."

"His people are not children. They follow him of their own choosing," Irileth interjected, her voice unyielding. "He cannot bend Skyrim to his will."

"And yet, still he fights," the Jarl cast her a poignant look.

"Just let him try and take Whiterun as his own," the Dunmer bit out through her teeth. "We stand with you, not because you have tricked or threatened us, but because you have given your all to do what's best for each and every one of us, time and time again. He might have numbers greater than ours, but our people have the greater strength, in you," her eyes flashed with determined fury; but she wasn't done.

"If we are to march to the beat of our hearts," she cast me a sharp look, "then know that they beat with yours, and as one. Stormcloak will not find Whiterun a twig to bend and snap under the pressure of his thumb, but a mighty tree, with roots dug deeper than he can hope to penetrate. He will not break us."

Silence met her earnest words, but eventually the Jarl clapped his hand to her shoulder. "Indeed, he will not. Caius," he nodded to the Commander, "gather your officers; they have been preparing the city well enough, but now that Celeste has returned, we must prepare them for what is to come. I will join you in the barracks, in a moment, after I have signed the letters Proventus is preparing."

Everyone started moving all at once. I stood, my eyes flitting around the war room as the Commander made his exit and the Jarl strode for the throne room with Hrongar and Irileth on his heels.

"What am I to do now, my Jarl?" I couldn't help but call out. A part of me hoped that he would order me to bed; I had not slept for some time now.

The Jarl hesitated on the landing. "Evacuate those who cannot fight, and inspire those who can to take up arms. In other words, Celeste," he tilted his head a little as he smirked. "Be yourself."

He descended then with a rushed clatter of heavy boots, and, taken aback by the vagueness of his orders, and the freedom they gave me, I stood at the table for a moment longer, wondering at this...lightness, this vitality in him. He had visibly suffered a moment of disappointment when I had told him of Ulfric's determination to attack him, but the speed at which he had recovered, and the entire Hold's readiness for war, made me wonder if the Jarl was...

Was he excited by the prospect of a battle?

Blasted Nords, I unwittingly thought, then shook my exasperation away as I left the table. He had not dismissed me, but the Jarl had not asked me to accompany him, either. Until he summoned me, it seemed that I could prepare as I saw fit.

How does anyone prepare for war, I wondered wearily? I was not a soldier, or any sort of legitimate fighter, even as a Companion. Had I not been Thane of Whiterun and known in my heart that leaving Whiterun was out of the question, I might have been packing to evacuate right now.

I was absorbed by these thoughts when Lydia spoke up as we walked out of Dragonsreach.

"Ever your father's daughter," she sighed laboriously. I glanced to her, wondering what she meant by that this time, in time to see her rest her hand on Farkas' arm. "Farkas, wait."

My shield-brother did startle at her touch, but Lydia spoke up before he could question her, and swiftly, as though he had not reacted.

"Samuel was always right about these things," she told him. "And in my heart, I cannot fear you. Thank you, for all that you did. And for trusting me enough that you could do what needed to be done," she added quietly.

"Lydia," I warned; though we were some distance from the nearest Dragonsreach guards, I didn't want her to unwittingly rouse anybody's interest in the finer, more delicate details of our expedition.

Farkas gave her a crooked, uncertain smirk. "Any time," he drawled. And then, there it was in his eyes; hope.

Biting my tongue to keep my emotions from flooding out of me, I turned away from them and resumed my path down the concourse. I felt brighter; glowing with gratitude toward Lydia for overcoming that which had silenced her earlier – fear, prejudice, superstition, whatever it was – bolstered by my pride in Jarl Balgruuf – my Jarl, who had risen beyond his determination against committing his people to war, to do what needed to be done to ensure we could protect everything we held dear.

My feelings overwhelmed me, swelling in my chest and bringing tears to my eyes, and for the first time since I had begun this terrible, wonderful, astounding journey, I allowed myself a moment to cry. They were tears of relief, of joy, of fatigue, and of grief, as my father's words about listening to my heart drifted through my mind on the cool morning breeze.

Of course, the moment I began crying I felt Farkas' hand fall gently to my arm, turning me back, and once Lydia realised why he had turned me, she ducked down and began asking questions. I laughed them both off through my tears, unable to explain as I detangled myself and continued descending the Dragonsreach stairs, to the utter perplexity of my companions.

I knew from his stories that Whiterun had been a place that my father had liked, and through Lydia and the Jarl's reflections, I could assume that he had striven to protect and serve here as fiercely as he had in Haafingar.

I found that I understood his devotion entirely. Whiterun – both the place, and the people – had in a very short space of time, become home. It was, I was no longer afraid to genuinely admit, where my heart wanted me to be.

–

In the days that followed, time passed at an alarmingly fast pace. There was much to organise within Jorrvaskr, for the building had to be fortified, and the people of Whiterun needed our assistance.

While the Companions had always managed to keep themselves somewhat separated from the common folk in the past, I had insisted that if we were to have a home to return to once this battle had ended, we would need to stand and fight with the people, and defend it together.

If we were to fight as one with Whiterun, it meant we were to stand alongside the Empire. Regrettably, my words brought forth some minor dissent, though I was not overly alarmed by it.

Vignar Grey-Mane immediately, staunchly refused to have any part in a war effort that would give the Empire a greater hold over Whiterun, and then turned his spite on me. "Since you walked through these doors," he pointed accusingly toward them, "you have wrought nothing but death and destruction on us," he grated. "Were Kodlak alive, he would regret-"

"You don't speak for Kodlak," Aela snapped sharply. "Never presume to speak for Kodlak."

"I am not the one making presumptions," Vignar fired back, rising to his feet as his narrowed gaze drifted back to me. "As a shield-sister, you have ruined the Companions," he declared savagely. "And as Dragonborn, you have betrayed Skyrim," he added sharply, turning and making for the doors.

Brill shadowed him, his eyes downcast. The doors clicked closed behind them, and for a time, nobody said anything.

I was surprised by how little his words made me feel. He had spoken them bitterly, intending to wound and shame me, but in the calm after his storm had swept from the building, I felt nothing for him or what he had said. Had any other member of the Companions spoken as he had, I might have done.

But Vignar had been a consistently disagreeable force within Jorrvaskr, from the very first moment I had entered its halls. If I felt anything, it was relief that he had gone.

I could not say the same about Eorlund's departure. When the sound of steel hitting steel ceased to toll from the Skyforge the following day, I felt sick with self-reproach.

Farkas had felt it, and had consoled me with a rumour he had heard about the town; that the entire Grey-Mane family had evacuated Whiterun the night before. He had added that Eorlund had never borne me any ill-will, and while I was grateful for his direct honesty, it took some time to banish the feeling that perhaps my coming to the Companions had destroyed them.

Eorlund had merely left to see to the needs of his family, I told myself over and over again. Perhaps, when Whiterun was made safe again, he would return to the Skyforge and all would be as it was?

Nothing will be the same after this battle, I told myself. Choosing a side divides us, just like it divided Hadvar and Ralof. And if Whiterun is taken by the Stormcloaks, it will be you who is made to leave next.

But despite my inner turmoil, there was a great threat to prepare for, so I had to put anything unrelated to the Stormcloak attack aside. Outside of Jorrvaskr, the township was abuzz. The Battle-Born family coordinated much of the residential fortifications, as the Guard was committed to the walls and approach. Many citizens refused to abandon their homes. While the Jarl had seemed quietly pleased and vocally honoured that so many of his people wanted to stand up with his Guard and the Legion, he made it known that if they insisted on remaining, the city barracks was to be their shelter, when the fighting commenced. There was no use in merchants and farmers throwing themselves in the path of trained Stormcloaks, and they could be of great use by tending to any injured brought in, sharpening weapons and mending armour, mixing potions, and ensuring that every man and woman had food in their bellies.

He was unyielding, however, when it came to the topic of children remaining in Whiterun. He sent his own daughter and sons away with Proventus as escort on the day after I returned, to where even I wasn't certain. He had issued an order that all citizens who were not of age were to be sent out of the city within a three-day, or they would be sent to the orphanage in Riften until the battle had been won.

To comply with the Jarl's decree, and avoid having to send Lucia so far as Riften, I had proposed Lucia go to Riverwood, to stay with Alvor and Sigrid. As much as Lucia liked the Ebonhands, the little girl had begged Lydia to let her remain; that she would stay out of everybody's way, and could help by running messages and cooking dinners, but she was simply too young. Standing with us in Whiterun was out of the question.

She left Whiterun in fits of tears with Jenassa, a mercenary that Lydia paid to escort the girl to Riverwood. Once the tiny girl had been taken and the gates locked behind her, Lydia had grit her teeth and marched away with tears welling in her eyes.

"Try to think about how much fun she will have, running around that beautiful valley with Dorthe?" I offered, uncertain of the best course or words to ease her mind. "Alvor might even teach her how to smith?"

Lydia nodded swatting at her eyes in frustration. "Yes. So much fun, that she will not wish to come home," she choked out.

"Oh, Lydia," I hushed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as we walked.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea that I would do this when she left," she indicated herself with some exasperation. "What has happened to me?" she laughed through her tears.

I squeezed her close and continued leading her back toward Jorrvaskr, for I had been working to fortify the wall beside the training yard before the time of Lucia's departure had arrived. Smiling at my ordinarily steady housecarl's emotional outburst, I replied in a consoling tone, "You have found someone worth fighting for, and it is...terrifying."

Lydia sniffed and wiped her eyes again as we circled the Gildergreen. A battalion of guards wearing the Whiterun yellow passed us, each bearing large, sharpened logs, bound for the front gate, I supposed. The majority of the Guard's defensive efforts were being focussed there.

"It is, isn't it?" Lydia responded belatedly in a quiet, thoughtful voice. When I glanced to her, her gaze was still fixed on the retreating form of the guards. "Terrifying," she shuddered, turning away. "I will do anything to keep that little girl safe," she mused. "Lucia must go where it is safe," she added quietly, to herself.

I knew how she felt, though the protective force driving my actions was borne of a different place. The flames lit by one's destiny or the want of fame and wealth paled to insubstantiality when brought beside the fierce, blazing loyalty felt toward a loved one.

It was a power that gave strength and endurance, prompting all who privately felt it to continue with the preparations even as it threatened to shake or paralyse us. And so, those remaining in Whiterun continued to make it ready for the impending Stormcloak attack, knowing and accepting that soon we would fight and possibly die to protect those that we believed in.

–

"Celeste," Lydia's voice drifted to me. A hand was on my arm, shaking it gently. "Celeste, wake up," her call was clearer this time.

I opened my eyes, blinking at my housecarl as my vision cleared. It was still night, still dark, but Lydia was beside me wearing her armour and holding a candle in a slim, elegant, silver candelabra. A knot of worry tugged at her brows, and she was frowning.

"What is it?" I gasped, sitting up hastily and then steadying myself as my head swam.

Lydia put the candelabra on the side table and sat on the edge of my bed. "The Jarl has summoned you."

"What?" I croaked, glancing over my shoulder to the enormous window behind my bed. "It's the middle of the night."

"Something's happening," Lydia continued. She stood again, as though she was finding it difficult to sit still, and her eyes fell to the window, and beyond. Her eyes narrowed in what seemed to be an attempt to see something that was there but obscured.

There was only one matter that would cause the Jarl to summon me in the dead of night, I realised. "Stormcloaks?" I asked Lydia quietly.

Lydia shrugged. "They didn't say. The messenger woke me, and said that all of the Jarl's advisors were to assemble on the Great Porch," she tore her eyes from the window, sighing as she looked down to me. "Let's get you into your Thane armour, just in case. I fear you are right; such a summons, at this hour, can only mean that Stormcloaks have been sighted."

No more dawns, I realised with a thud to my chest. "All right," I swung my legs around and rose, glancing uncertainly at the dummy I kept my armour on. "But really Lydia – you think I should wear that into actual battle?" I cast her an unimpressed look.

Lydia tilted her head curiously at me as she moved to the armour for herself and lifted the cuirass, inspecting it. "Would you rather not be recognised? I suppose you are right," she frowned, her shoulders sinking as she lowered the armour. "But your Companion armour is just as conspicuous, and you will have far less room to move in it-"

"No, that's not it at all," I stopped her, joining her and jabbing at the silvery chains that held the chestpiece together down its sides. They made a tinkling sound as they brushed against one another. "This isn't armour, Lydia. It's jewellery."

Lydia huffed a laugh, pushing the chestpiece to me so I would have to take it. "Is that why you don't wear it? You think others will make fun of you? Really, Celeste," she laughed again as she flung open my cupboard and busied herself extracting clothing for me to wear under my armour.

I clutched the leather to me automatically, confused by her ire. "I don't wear it into battle because it's...not made for battle!" I defended. "Look at it – it's clearly ceremonial. It's meant to be worn with a dress to fancy dinners and parties-"

"Ceremonial? Who told you that?" Lydia poked her head around the wardrobe, wrinkling her nose at me. "Why would they have – no, wait a moment," she held up her hand, closing her eyes as though to gather her wits.

I frowned as I waited for her to elaborate as a flush of embarrassment crept its way slowly under my skin, toward my cheeks. Had I been wrong about my Thane armour, all this time?

"You don't know who made your armour, do you?" she asked slowly, fixing me with a steady look.

I glanced down to the chestpiece, my eyes tracing the Whiterun crest on its breast. "It's...real?"

Lydia was in front of me then, holding out a light blue padded tunic and dark leggings, and swapping them for the chestpiece. "As real as my armour," she scoffed. "Just...prettier. And, custom made to fit you, and your needs. You couldn't ask for finer armour. Look. See here?" she turned the leather over, pointing to a tiny indentation on the back, near the neckline. "Recognise that?"

I peered at the marks, realising that it was a small maker's seal. It was so tiny that it was no wonder I had never noticed it, and I had no idea how the smithy had even made it. I couldn't even determine its form. A wheel, perhaps?

"Whose mark is it?" I frowned, taking the chestpiece back to inspect it. I shifted closer to the candlelight on my side table, but was still unable to figure out what the mark was.

Lydia sighed in exasperation at me. "It's your future uncle-in-law's," her laugh tittered around my bed chamber.

"What?!"

My flush hit my cheeks with a whoosh, as though a dragon had breathed on my face. I looked closer, certain that she was wrong. Alvor had made this? The Jarl had commissioned Alvor to make my Thane armour?! Why hadn't anybody told me? I ran my fingertips over the small mark, still unable to make out more than a circular shape; it was too dark in my bedroom to see it properly.

"I had no idea," I turned the armour around, raking my wide eyes over it; properly, for the first time.

The finely stitched leather and silvery chain links both caught the weak candle flame in different ways; one glowing warmly, and the other glittering beautifully. If Alvor had made this for me, then there was no further doubt in my mind as to whether it would protect me. His family had always protected me. And the beauty of the garment made sense, once I connected it to Hadvar's uncle. Hadn't I inspected his work myself, the first night I had stayed in their home, marvelling over the fineness of the etching on a piece of armour in his shop? Hadn't I held – and worn on more than one occasion – the delicate jewellery that he had formed by the same hand that worked weapons and armour for the Legion's contract? Alvor poured his skill, his creativity, into all he made, and this – this armour that I had thought too graceful to be real, had been crafted by him, not for the Dragonborn or the Thane of a Hold, but for me.

"I'm an idiot," I admitted in a mutter as I laid the armour on the bed and lifted my night shirt over my head. When war was no longer on our doorstep, I would write and thank him, though I had no idea how I could explain why it had taken me so long to do so. To soften the blow, if he felt one at all, perhaps I could also send him money for the jewellery he had given me to sell. I had decided, some time ago, that I couldn't bare parting with the three pieces, so it was high time that I paid him for them.

Lydia helped me to dress, clearly eager for us to get moving, and she would not let my awkward mistake go. "I can't believe you didn't ask when you had doubts about its functionality. I just assumed you didn't like it," she laughed.

I shook my head, searching for excuses that didn't sound ridiculous, but came up with nothing. "I...truly, barely thought about it, after I first saw it. No – actually, I think I did intend on asking you whether or not it was real, and then forgot to."

"Hmm," Lydia smirked at me. "A likely story."

"You can't blame me for believing it wasn't proper armour," insisted as Lydia tugged the padded tunic down over my head. "I'm no expert on any of this, and when I first saw it, it was on a mannequin over a silk dress."

"That was the Jarl's doing," Lydia was full of amusement. "He loves to see his ladies of the court dressed up in their finery," she teased, holding the scrunched up leggings out for me to ease a foot into.

"Stop it," I swatted at her, flushing again.

"Then get moving," Lydia widened her eyes pointedly, but stepped back and palmed me the leggings, allowing me the space to dress myself. "If the Stormcloaks are on the horizon, we must hurry."

"We are ready to face them," I assured her, stretching my legs into the tight-fitting garments.

And we were; not only had we prepared Whiterun adequately, but the Legion had made contact the day before from nearby Rorikstead, where they had set up camp. It was my hope that both Vilkas, and Hadvar, were accompanying them. If the lookouts Balgruuf had placed had alerted the Jarl to our enemy's approach, it would be a matter of hours before the Legion joined us.

I threw on the tasset and chestpiece that I now knew had been made by Alvor Ebonhand, wishing that I had more time to appreciate the pieces for what they were. Lydia stepped forward again to help me tighten straps and secure links, and once I had slipped into the arm bracers and boots, I was ready to move. I whipped my hair out of my eyes and braided it hastily as we made for the door, pinning the braid up so that it would not fly around and risk distracting me.

Lydia marched by my side, bearing her own weapons, and mine; my bow and quiver, both of which had been ready for this battle for days. The quiver was full of steel-tipped arrows that Adrianne had supplied to everybody who would fight, and I had adjusted the tension of the bow string just enough so that I could draw it without shaking.

When we reached the war room, we turned left, and pushed on through the great doors that led to the vast open balcony the Jarl had called us to; the Great Porch. The high, curved roof of the semi-enclosed section wasn't visible in the pitch of night, but I couldn't stop myself from staring up into the nothingness, trying to make out the lines of the dark, cold, dusty candelabra that I knew was swinging solemnly up there somewhere.

It was an odd space; one that I had spent barely any time in, and to be honest, I had a feeling that not many of the castle's current inhabitant's spent much time here either. It was not conveniently situated, and there was an air about the balcony that made it uncomfortable. The stone arch at the very end of the enclosed area formed a perfect wind tunnel, so it was usually frigidly cold and blustery. An ancient, somewhat frayed carpet ran the length of the part which had a roof and bales of hay were stacked against the walls, shoved around ancient, rusted mechanisms that clearly no longer served any purpose.

The stories I had read of Dragonsreach while I'd been studying had of course been full of the porch. It was said that King Olaf One-Eye, during his time as the Jarl of Whiterun, had imprisoned the dragon Numinex in this very space. The legend did somewhat account for the old gears and chains, the strange aspect, the vastness of the expanse, and possibly even how uncomfortable striding through it made me feel. Before Helgen, I had believed it to be just another glorious and fabricated song, to entertain others with, as we saw fit. We had studied the tale; dissected it, questioned the authenticity of the claims surrounding it and how much artistic license had to be assumed, with the open mindset and distance maintained by scholars.

But now as more and more legends I had learned about became real? If the story of Numinex was true, and the dragon had been restrained in this very room during ancient times, I doubted the sanity of the once High King. Why even try to contain an enormous wriggling, screaming mass of muscle and fire? What purpose would it serve? And, I had to admit that at its core, I couldn't dismiss the callus cruelty of such an act. As Dragonborn, I might have a career full of dragon slaying in my future, but I had heard enough of a dragon's inner thoughts to understand that they were vastly more intelligent than the myths gave them credit for. To deny a dragon its freedom to fly, or its death, would have been torture.

At the end of the lengthy corridor I spied a gathering of people, all with their backs facing us. As Lydia and I drew closer, I recognised the majority of them. The Jarl was at the centre; his hands rested on the edge of the balcony and his eyes set on the horizon, with his housecarls either side of him. The Jarl's trusted advisors included Commander Caius of the Whiterun Guard, Farengar, Idolaf Battle-Born, a broad, dark-haired soldier I didn't recognise in what looked like extremely heavy Imperial armour, and –

"Vilkas!" I whispered in abject relief; placing the shadowed form of my shield-brother the moment I laid eyes on him.

He turned at the sound of my voice, casting me a grim nod and murmuring something I couldn't hear to the soldier next to him. The soldier turned to face us, as did each member of the Jarl's party as Lydia and I stopped before them. I wanted to run to Vilkas and hug him, ask him about their journey to Solitude, and tell him all about the Thalmor – and make him aware that Lydia was now aware of his curse – but of course, there were more critical matters at hand. I made do with a small return nod of greeting, for the time being.

"Good, you are here," the Jarl quipped, his eyes narrowed as they glanced me up and down.

I lowered my head quickly. "Apologies for the delay, my Jarl."

"Never mind that," he waved his hand dismissively, then motioned toward the soldier who I didn't recognise. "Thane Passero, this is Legate Cipius," he introduced swiftly.

"It's my pleasure and relief to meet you, Lady Dragonborn," the Legate bowed swiftly.

"Likewise," I echoed his greeting before turning back to the Jarl. "Is it true, then?" I confirmed. "The Stormcloaks approach?"

"See for yourself," the Jarl drawled, moving aside as he raised his arm and motioned toward the horizon.

I stepped forward, positioning myself next to Vilkas, gripping the freezing cold stone of the balcony edge as I peered out toward the mountains in the distance. At the base of one of the large, faraway peaks, was a smudge of burnt orange.

"Fire?" I queried quietly.

"Torches," Vilkas corrected. "Approaching from the north-east," he added grimly.

"And you are certain?" I glanced up to him swiftly, openly.

Vilkas cast me a sideways look and nodded once.

The Jarl drew everybody's attention to him, and started at once issuing commands, outlining which of us would cover each area of the city and the outer walls. Legate Cipius was to lead the mounted officers, consisting of both Whiterun Guard and Empire soldiers, that would form the first line of defence, and Idolaf was to manage the Legion infantry that would follow them. Commander Caius was in charge of the defence of the outer walls, while Irileth was to take command of the archers inside the main gate. Hrongar was to remain at Dragonsreach, to coordinate with the Jarl during the battle and with a delegation of Whiterun Guard, to ensure that there was a final line of defence, should one be required.

"Vilkas, naturally you will lead the Companions," the Jarl outlined, "and it will be your task to patrol the eastern and southern borders of the city walls, ensuring that any Stormcloaks stupid enough to attempt an attack on those fronts are stopped. And Celeste," he glanced to me briefly, as though to confirm I was paying attention. "You will support Caius, on the outer walls. Take position with the archers there, and make sure that the Stormcloaks see you. I want them to know who they are dealing with, the moment they sight the city. Farengar," the Jarl continued immediately, his hard as ice eyes swivelling to his court mage, "you will shadow and defend Celeste with your spells, while Lydia defends her with steel. Should your post be overrun, you shield them and fall back to the second gate, and then the next, and should our main gate fall, you bring her back to Dragonsreach. We'll have need of both of you during the final defence."

Swallowing nervously, I nodded with a glance at Farengar, though the Jarl's words had been aimed at his mage, not at me. Farengar seemed unsurprised, or perhaps even unfazed by his placement.

Lydia had warned me that the Jarl might place me in a position of command when the time came to divide and fight. I had disagreed with her, on account of my complete lack of experience. I had clumsily struggled my way out of a variety of skirmishes and snuck up on bandits to fire on them, but I had never been in the middle of a war. I had no idea of what to expect, and perhaps that was why I was not as terror-struck as I might have been otherwise. But I was certain that if the Jarl put me in charge of any body but myself, I would be responsible for their deaths.

Your sister is one of Ulfric's Generals.

I huffed at the reminder as Lydia's hand rested on my arm in support, signalling that she was here for me. I felt myself relax a little. As we had discussed, she would be by my side the entire battle no matter what the Jarl wanted me to do, and together, she and I would do what was necessary. And despite his tendency to keep rather important information from me, I actually felt a little relieved by Farengar's appointment, too.

Now that we had been assigned, the Jarl went on to explain the objective of each position; our goals, potential weaknesses, and how each should fall back, should the Stormcloaks break through the defences.

When he asked Irileth to prepare the summons for the Imperial Legion, for Proventus had departed with the Jarl's children of course, I realised that he was done, and that apart from those few, brief instructions, he was trusting the stratagem for each point's attack to each individual officer.

The moment the Jarl asked for the Divines to guide us and then dismissed us to our duties, Lydia and I moved toward the doors leading back into Dragonsreach. I motioned hurriedly for Vilkas to join us.

My shield brother jogged to my side. "He's put you on the front line!" Vilkas hissed, before I could get a hello in, then turned me to face him, halting our exit in the middle of the Great Porch. "Why did you agree to this?" he implored.

I blinked up at him, lifting my eyebrows. "You don't believe me capable of-?"

"Don't do that," he looked out toward the horizon, exhaling a sharp puff of air that clouded in front of his face. "You are capable of many things," he conceded, shaking his head as he turned back to me. "But. You are a Companion," he whispered. "You should be stationed with us. This will be your first battle – and the Stormcloaks will know it," he faltered, meeting my eye. "We can't protect you, divided like this," he owned, breathing out another somewhat restrained breath.

I cast him an endearing smile, but Lydia interjected before I could reply.

"Peace, Vilkas," she shook her head minutely, speaking very quietly, but directly, her green eyes flickering over Vilkas' form a little uncertainly. "I will shadow her every move, and Farengar will be shielding her with magic," she tilted her head to meet his eyes. "And, if I fall, you will be able to feel that she is in danger and come running, won't you?" she asked carefully.

Vilkas' eyes widened as he took in what she had said, and then his silvery gaze was back on me; flashing and furious. "What did Farkas do-?"

"Don't," I pointed a finger at him to cut off his impending tirade. "We got into trouble on the path home from Mixwater. Farkas saved us," I pointed out, perhaps more harshly than I should have.

Vilkas took a step back, becoming pale as a wariness settled on his features. "You were attacked?" he grimaced.

I nodded, but didn't elaborate beyond continuing with a short, "And survived."

"There is no time for this," Lydia insisted hurriedly, casting a glance behind us at the approach of multiple footfalls.

"Lady Dragonborn," Commander Caius was suddenly there before me, dipping his head briefly in both respect and welcome, with Farengar beside him. "This way, if you please," he motioned toward the doors that led to the war room. "I need everybody in position early, to assess the weak points in our lines," he explained.

"Yes, at once," I fell into step beside him, and Farengar wordlessly fell into step beside me.

I cast an apologetic glance Vilkas' way and hoped that his and Farkas' beasts wouldn't panic during the battle. There really was no time to talk, or to reassure him, so they would have to trust that there were others beside themselves who had a vested interest in keeping Skyrim's fated Dragonborn alive.

The Commander cast me a sideways glance as we walked. "Are you any use with that bow?" he motioned toward my weapon, which I had slung over my shoulder with my quiver while the Jarl had been talking to us.

"I'm a...fair shot," I half-shrugged, uncertain of what terminology to use.

"You are too modest, my Thane," Lydia spoke up warmly, a step behind us. "Commander; you are addressing the woman who has downed two dragons with that bow," she added with some pride.

I gave Lydia a doubtful look while I felt Farengar's eyes settle on me as we continued. I had not taken down two dragons with my bow, and everybody knew it.

"You have encountered another dragon, since the Western Watchtower?" the mage asked curiously in his thick, heavy accent.

I cast him a swift look. "Yes. During a Companion mission. Vilkas was with me-"

"Did it pursue you, or was it uninterested in your movements until you fired upon it?" he cut in.

I crossed my brows at Farengar. "Now is really not the time for such questions," I evaded. While I had tried to put the Thalmor attack behind me, I had not forgotten about their interest in Delphine Comtois. And if Farengar wanted answers of me – at a more appropriate time – I would not offer them freely.

"Correct. And, good," the Commander sighed, shaking his balding head. "Because the Jarl will have my head if any harm comes to you while you are under my watch, no matter who has your back. It relieves me to know that you can somewhat defend yourself."

I huffed a laugh, surprised by his honest frankness, and raised my eyebrows. "If there is a need, I will use the thu'um."

"Her protection is our prerogative," Lydia spoke up swiftly and sharply, almost over the top of me. "Place us where the Stormcloaks can see, but not reach us, as the Jarl desires, and both Farengar and I will ensure she is defended," Lydia added with certainty.

I heard Farengar hmph, likely because a housecarl had deigned to speak for him, but he didn't have time to respond.

The Commander made a sound of amused assent, then almost laughed as he added, "The Stormcloaks won't know what to think, when they see you standing at the front of the Whiterun defence."

They'll think I'm an imposter, I thought as I glanced over the empty tables and chairs as we passed through the Jarl's audience chamber. "Commander, I believe that is the Jarl's plan," I murmured in reply.

–

The outer walls where the Jarl had stationed Commander Caius and I had been altered greatly since Lydia, Farkas and I had returned from Windhelm. The sections that had once been crumbling had been repaired with wooden scaffolding, and where the stone had fallen away entirely, thick boards had been erected to provide cover to those positioned there. Barricades made of sharpened logs were set up at intervals throughout each of the open areas between each of the three gates that the Stormcloaks would need to break through to make it into Whiterun proper, and large versions of the same barricades blocked both of the open gateways.

Commander Caius placed me front and centre of the very first gatehouse the Stormcloaks would encounter. Again, the prospect didn't make me as nervous as it should have. During our preparations to defend Whiterun, I had worked out much of my anxiety, and in its place had risen a slightly jumpy desire to get this job done so our lives could move on.

As the dark of night was still upon us, torches set at intervals lit our way, sometimes wedged into the rock itself. The gatehouse had been strengthened with stone and wood alike, and with ample blockades of solid rock to duck behind on both sides of the platform that we walked along, should any Stormcloak archers decide to aim our way, it would provide better defence than most places along the wall.

"I will be positioned at the gatehouse there, to begin with," the Commander pointed out the tower opposite us. "Should you have need of me, ask Farengar to send up a signal. The Stormcloaks won't be using magic, so any of your more benevolent spells will do the trick," he shrugged.

Farengar agreed to this plan by murmuring something about flaming spheres.

The Commander addressed me directly then, reaching his hand out to me. "Lady Dragonborn?" he began.

I hurriedly gripped his arm, as he seemed to expect me to do.

"May the Divines protect you," he clasped my arm in return.

"And you," I added automatically.

Once the Commander had left us, Farengar sighed and leaned against the wall lazily.

I glanced to Lydia, whose lips were pursed; she was unimpressed by the mage's relaxed pose. I had to somewhat agree with her; Farengar seemed aloof, and soon we would need to entrust him with our lives.

I turned back to Farengar myself, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you bored, Farengar?" I asked quietly.

From under his hood, I saw the curve of his mouth arch knowingly, and he turned to peer over the edge of the gatehouse wall, onto the path the Stormcloaks would have to tread if they hoped to gain entry to the city. "Far from it," he assured me warmly.

"Good," Lydia stepped up beside Farengar, gripping the side of the gatehouse for herself as she stared out into the still, quiet night. "When the Stormcloaks see Celeste, it is likely that a portion of them will target her. I will cover this way," she nodded toward the path that the Commander had brought us along. "And you will cover that way," she indicated the opposite direction, that the Commander had left us along a moment ago.

Farengar frowned. "They will have archers, Lydia. What of attacks from the ground, from the east and west?"

"Well," I stepped up beside my housecarl, tired of being talked about rather than to. "I can cover the west," my eyes flit over the darkened road beneath us. Through the shadows, I could just make out the stable yard in the distance, though I knew it had been boarded up and emptied of horses the previous day. "And, should they make it through the first barricade," I flickered my protectors a glance, wishing to remind them that we were defending each other in this endeavour, "We can take cover from the west here," I gripped the edge of the stone wall. "You two can continue defending the access points, and I'll turn on those running east."

Briefly, we talked further about the various strategies we could utilise, but eventually, as the eastern horizon paled and the promised hoards of Legion officers arrived from the west, we fell into silence and simply watched the orderly lines of soldiers as they were assigned and assembled.

Unsaid between us was the understanding that it didn't matter how we planned to ensure that each point and person was covered adequately at all times. We would have to react and adapt to what was before us, once the battle had commenced.

Improvise, I thought with a dull thud.

I watched the torches below bob about and shadowed forms shift from place to place, wondering if Hadvar was amongst those who had just arrived. I hadn't had time to talk to Vilkas about what had happened in Solitude, and Hadvar had made it sound as though his promotion had removed him from the front lines.

The reminder heartened me, and I glanced up as a beautiful green aurora, tipped in pink, unfurled before the stars. I hope he is far away, and safe, I thought to the colours materialising to meander high above us. But then, if he could see Whiterun right now – if he was with those who had arrived from Rorikstead – he would probably be wishing that I was far away from here, too.

The silence between Farengar, Lydia and I persisted for there was nothing more to talk of that could gain traction against our focus on the impending attack, and the seemingly endless line of torches from the east snaked closer toward Whiterun at every moment.

–

The morning that broke over the high mountains was glorious. The stars gradually blinked out one by one, hidden in the soft grey-blue of the sky, and on the horizon, barely above the line of the ranges, the thin clouds accumulated burned red, then orange, then gold.

Messengers, most wearing Legion leathers, had been drifting along the gate walls almost constantly since the skies had begun to lighten, so we were well aware that the majority of Stormcloaks had assembled out of our line of sight, beyond Honningbrew Meadery, while two smaller parties had situated themselves further afield. One had placed themselves close to Battle-Born and Chillfurrow farms, while the other had settled near the ruins of the Western Watchtower.

At my request, the news of the first break-off group had been related to Vilkas at once; it was likely that those soldiers were going to attempt to gain entry to Whiterun by means other than the front gate. And while the faction who had gone to the disused watchtower were surrounded by too much open space to get close enough to scout them, it was assumed that it was to serve as the base of Stormcloak operations in the region. This, it was murmured, was where Ulfric Stormcloak would be, if he had chosen to come to Whiterun himself to manage his invasion.

I had set my eyes on what I could see of the old watchtower, as soon as I could make it out in the pre-dawn, narrowing them as I somewhat callously hoped that the remains of the dragon that the Whiterun guards had taken out there would unnerve them. The whole of Skyrim was aware of the significance of this particular dragon, and of the watchtower itself, for it had been there that I had first taken in the soul of a dying wyrm, and used the thu'um, revealing the existence of the dragon within me to the people of Skyrim.

The sun had been risen for well over an hour before there were any signs of Stormcloak activity. Everybody waiting within Whiterun had been growing edgy; eager as I to get on with it, it seemed. The anticipation thickened as the blue of the sky deepened and the horizons paled.

But then a murmuring began amongst the defenders, and it didn't take long for all eyes to be directed toward the approach of three mounted officers, riding in from – as we had anticipated – the Western watchtower. I squinted as I attempted to make out more of the small blurs, but all I could determine was that the central rider was large and wore brown – very likely fur, I reasoned, as the Stormcloak Generals tended to favour – and those flanking him wore the trademark Stormcloak blue.

When the Stormcloaks reached the border of Pelagia farm, I noticed a figure riding toward them, with four Whiterun guards and a huge man in scaled armour close behind him.

I did a double take as the sun caught the blonde of the central figure's hair and glinted off something else around his head. I stared, realising it was a golden circlet. Jarl Balgruuf? I blinked, my eyes widening as my hand fell to Lydia's arm, gripping her urgently as fear rose within me.

"What is the Jarl doing out there?" I asked in a horrified hiss. Shouldn't he have been in Dragonsreach as he had outlined, to manage our people from the safety of his fortress?

Lydia had jumped when I had grabbed her, but it was Farengar who answered my question.

"Did you honestly believe that the Jarl would both trust and risk anybody but himself to meet the Stormcloak's generals to discuss the particulars of the battle for his Hold?" he asked in that amused manner of his that made everything he said sound like a taunt.

"What is likely," Lydia emphasised, casting Farengar a warning glance, "is that Jarl Balgruuf hopes to convince them to call off the attack," she detangled my hand from her arm, giving my hand a light, encouraging squeeze instead. "He may be a red-blooded Nord who craves the glory of battle with the best and bravest of us," she said in a softer tone, "but he will do what is right by his people, first."

I frowned, watching the distant group with interest. "He believes he can make the Stormcloaks change their mind, even now?"

Lydia shrugged. "I doubt it. He knows Stormcloak better than most, and will know that he will have ordered his Generals to take Whiterun at all costs. But still, he will strive to sway them."

"And they will be encouraging him to surrender before they commence their bloodbath," Farengar murmured.

I shuddered at the detachment to his tone, and it was the word bloodbath that awoke a nausea within me, in the depths of my stomach. That was what this would be, no matter who won the city. It would be painted with either the blood of our people, or of those who attacked it. With a certainty that stilled me, I understood that if the former eventuated, I would have to watch as it happened. Stormcloak wanted to talk to me, when all was said and done. It was highly unlikely that I was to be counted amongst the fallen today; a thought that both relieved, and simultaneously horrified me.

The air was cool but smelled of smoke; many of the night's torches had been left to burn out, and the grey tendrils of extinguished flame drifted across the scene before us like thin, pale ghosts, biding their time at the impending certainty of the fallen that they could drag to Sovngarde, or Aetherius, or wherever their beliefs had promised their eternal souls.

I had to find some way to stay optimistic; now was not the time to lose my nerve or hope. We were ready; we were backed by the Legion. We would not fall. I watched on as the nine mounted figures stood together for a time, wishing that I could hear what they were discussing. Was this how a battle worked, I wondered? Representatives of each side meeting peacefully on the battlefield, in a final attempt to talk it out? Had wars been won before they had begun in this way? Perhaps yes, but then, would they even be recorded as battles, as they had been diffused before any blood could be shed?

The assembled group split suddenly into three and six; the Stormcloak soldiers riding away and the Jarl and his entourage directing their mounts back to Whiterun.

A horn sounded from afar; a singular low, animalistic note that travelled far on the morning breeze and across the plains surrounding the city. The Jarl and his riders neared the city; the barricades at the first gate were shifted aside temporarily, hurriedly, to allow him to pass.

"Stand ready, protectors of Whiterun!" the Jarl called once he'd directed his horse around the spiked barricade. Lydia, Farengar and I whirled around to continue watching him as he and his party made their way toward the main gate.

"Today is a momentous day for Skyrim," the Jarl's deep, powerful voice rang out clearly, resounding between the outer walls, even as he rode further from us. "Today we stand and protect what is ours, to show the Stormcloaks that Whiterun will not tremble under Ulfric's glare. Protect your comrades; protect our allies," the Jarl hesitated on his horse, tugging at the reigns to turn around. I could barely make out his face, but I could tell that it was trained on our gatehouse; on us. "Protect the Dragonborn, the champion of Skyrim, who fights by your side, for your home as well as hers, today."

I gripped my bow handle a little tighter in my hand. I felt several sets of eyes glance toward me, but was too focussed on the Jarl to care. I had always known he meant to use me, my status that was, to rally his forces, but I found that in this case, I did not mind at all.

"The Divines smile upon those with courage in their hearts," from his tone, I could tell he was drawing to a close. "And they smile on Whiterun today."

Turning his horse around, he rode away swiftly, his brief, inspiring speech seemingly at its end as the soldiers below and beside us cheered. As he disappeared through the second gateway and the spiked blockade was shifted back into place, I heard his voice bounce between the walls again, only this time I could make out none of what he said.

My shoulders sagged as the hurruhs dissolved into the hum of activity, but I snapped to attention when a sharp, echoing crack from abroad rent the air.

I turned, ducking instinctively as I saw a large, flaming mass of rock fly over our guardhouse. My eyes followed it, and I startled as it impacted the main wall of Whiterun with a resounding BOOM.

"Eyes front," Lydia ordered, hauling me around by the arm.

Nodding; realising that the battle had begun, I positioned an arrow; my eyes trained on the road, flickering over the stables, the farms beyond, the meadery; searching for that angry mob that I knew would swarm into sight at any moment.

I heard them before I saw them, though I had not realised what I heard at first; a low, rumbling sound underneath the calls and sounds of final preparation closer to us. But eventually, the roaring sea of voices screaming unintelligible battle cries overtook all else. While I contained my surprise, my heart leapt when the clearings around the sparse settlements outside of the outer walls suddenly seemed to be teaming with roiling, charging, Stormcloak blue; an ocean tide, surging forward to flood us.

Another set of battle cries; these voices closer, overtook the Stormcloak's rabble. The infantry consisting of both Empire red and Whiterun yellow, and Legate Cipius' mounted officers charged forward across the clearings, then split, to surround the approaching enemies.

"Remember, my Thane," Lydia was saying quietly, ducked down beside me with her own bow poised and ready and her widened eyes on the two fronts about to crash into one another at any moment. "Whatever happens today, or in the days to come if the siege is to be a long one," she whispered. "I will die before I let them lay a finger on you."

I swallowed but that was all the reply I could muster; my voice seemed to have fled in my efforts to steady my mind and aim my bow. There would be no firing on the Stormcloaks until Commander Caius had given the order, but I wanted to be ready for that instant, when the call came.

"You and I both, it would seem," Farengar replied to Lydia's vow in a droll voice.

I crossed my brows at his tone but his words didn't warrant a reply, though I wondered how he could continue to be so unaffected, given the enormity of the collision about to take place.

Whiterun and Legion met Stormcloaks in a flurry of primary colours, the intimidating battle cries accompanied by the ring of steel meeting steel; immediately joined by screams from man, woman and horse alike.

With another crack of wood meeting wood, a second ball of flaming rock soared overhead, aimed once again on the main wall of Whiterun. My eyes were centred on the battle beyond us, but the ground shook when it impacted its target and I pressed my shoulder into the stone wall we were using as cover to steady myself.

The cluster of bodies mixing and falling before us swelled at its centre momentarily, before break off groups of fighters began to form on the outskirts. Divisions occurred, and inevitably, clusters of blue shifted as one, drawing nearer to the outer walls; their objective clear.

"AIM," Commander Caius' officious cry rang out from his position in the guard house opposite us.

The sound of armour shifting as bows were lifted made barely an impact on the chaos below growing ever nearer. I sideways-glanced at Lydia; her focus was poised; her bow drawn. I lifted mine smoothly, inhaling a deep breath to stabilise me. In the mass of approaching soldiers, I singled out a blue cuirass, and trained my eyes on that particular soldier's movements as I narrowed my eyes.

"FIRE!"

Arrows were loosed toward the approaching party, and beyond. The breakaway Stormcloaks, battling Legion and Whiterun infantry on their fringes, ducked and held up shields as the volley reached them. There were screams; some of their numbers fell, but their shields had taken the brunt of the attack, if the multiplied thunk of steel tips meeting wooden marks was anything to judge by. Had my arrow met its mark? There was no way to tell.

Grimacing, I placed another arrow, drawing and waiting for the Commander's orders.

"You should probably stand up now, Miss Passero," Farengar advised.

I turned on him, faltering as the Commander called for the archers on the outer walls to take aim again.

"And do what?" I asked him swiftly, turning back to face the oncoming mass as I lifted my bow and trained my arrow on another blue cuirass.

A gold light surrounded me. I glanced about swiftly, to see that it was coming from Farengar's hands. He had cast a spell to encircle us.

"Let yourself be seen, as the Jarl requested," Farengar's hands were before him as the bright shield flowed in a continual trail of thrumming light, leading from him to the sphere about us. "Let them know you," he added. The glare from the ward allowed me to see under his hood, and his eyes were narrowed on the approaching mass. "Let the Stormcloaks hear the true Dragonborn's roar, before they die."

Roar, I queried, shuddering at his finality? I stood, lowering my bow as the Commander called for the archers who were ready to fire. Lydia's bow twanged audibly as she loosed, but then my housecarl stood, and stepped within the bounds of Farengar's shield.

"A thu'um this early in the battle will draw the entire Stormcloak army to her," Lydia protested urgently, her words coming fast and her eyes sharp and focussed on the mage.

"Good!" Farengar snapped. "The sooner they come, the sooner we will win this ridiculous battle."

I glanced to Lydia, uncertain for many reasons. Farengar's indifference in the field was disturbing enough to give me pause before following his directions.

But I hated to admit that I did agree with him on one account. "Lydia," I took her hands quickly and squeezed. "If there are Stormcloaks out there right now, fighting because they believe I am on their side," I rushed, "a thu'um might stop them in their tracks."

"In your own time, Celeste!" Farengar drawled, though for the first time there was a sense of urgency underpinning his words.

I let go of Lydia's hands and tore my gaze from hers, mechanically lifting myself up into the gap in the wall that I had been firing between. I clenched my bow in one hand, and simply clenched my fist on my other side as the morning breeze buffeted against me and I adjusted my stance to account for it. I could see so much more from up here, and while Farengar's shield spell gave all around me a golden hue, the sheer mass of blue approaching the barricade made my heart leap in fear.

Another crack; another fiery mass of stone soared over us, impacting Whiterun's innermost wall with a thud. I felt Lydia's hands grip my legs; steadying me while the stones shuddered, as though the city itself was sighing.

Do it, I ordered myself. The wind whipped my hair out of my face as I took a deep breath through my nose, and allowed my emotions; my fear and my fury, pool within my core.

"Yol, Teor Shool!" was screamed from the plains to the right of the guardhouse, amplified unnaturally so it might be heard, though just barely, over the din of war.

My mounting shout deflated as I turned toward the cry. That had not been the dragon tongue, but a human tongue wrapped around words it didn't understand in a vain, pathetic attempt to emulate it. But there had been no depth to the cry; the resonant harmonics weren't present at all, and the words had not impacted on my soul, or translated automatically within my mind.

"Oho," I heard Farengar snipe with a lilt of amusement. "Very clever, you little witch!"

I stared, unmoved by his words, trying to determine where exactly the fake shout had come from; on where she was. With my sister's last known location being Riften, I had not stopped to think that she might come here, to this battle; to me. I was so focussed on who I knew it meant was out there, and so focussed on what she hoped to achieve by speaking the words of the dragon without the power of the thu'um behind her, that I failed to notice the ball of orange flames flying toward me until Lydia tugged me off the wall.

The fireball exploded on Farengar's shield with a shattering BOOM, and I covered my ears as its power coalesced and whooshed around us.

"Get back up there!" Farengar shouted through his grimace as he reinforced his ward. "My spell will hold against hers. Unless you want her to steal our thunder?"

Realising what Giselle had done, and how the Stormcloaks were perpetuating the lie they had begun – she was a mage, after all – my resolve hardened. Whichever way the battle went, I would face her, before we were finished.

I tried to rise but Lydia's arms were locked around my shoulders.

"Let me go," I ordered Lydia quietly, settling my eyes on my housecarl for a moment. "I will make them listen."

Lydia seemed to have forgotten that she was holding me; her eyes were fixed, and narrowed on the part of the plains that the false shout had originated from. "She is out there?" Lydia hissed, almost to herself.

A splintering sound joined the shouts and clashing steel, and when Lydia let me go and helped me back onto the wall, I looked down. The Stormcloaks that remained from their first wave had reached the barricade between the gate houses. Half were hammering against it with swords, maces and war axes, while others held their shields aloft in an attempt to cover their comrades from the arrows raining down upon them.

Allowing the obscure, snaking brightness room to rise within me once again, I tapped the indignation I felt for my sister and fed it into the wild brightness that I knew to be the dragon Akatosh had placed inside of me. The unfinished shout surged up and out of me, ready at once to do my bidding; the note in between notes that my bard's training had never prepared me for but felt more natural to me than singing ever had.

"FUS," I Shouted. The shock wave flowed from me, unhindered by Farengar's shield; the force a spell in its own right, and my storm pushed the wave of Stormcloaks and the swarm of Legion and Whiterun soldiers battling them away from the barricade. Enemy and ally alike tumbled from the first gateway, struggling to gain purchase against the road, the nearby stable yard fence, and each other.

The Imperial and Whiterun soldiers recovered swiftly, and while my breaths calmed as the power of the thu'um quietened within me, I took their response, and their speed, to mean that they had expected me to use it.

While the twenty or so Stormcloaks I had knocked back groaned and picked themselves back up, some glancing toward me with eyes filled with betrayed horror but most with glares of malice, a number of them were descended upon by our allied officers. The Commander's call to fire resulted in the felling of several more, and swiftly, the first wave was conquered.

I watched, my eyes wide and roving the scene as the men and women wearing blue below me were slain, but I felt nothing for them. I turned back to the plains to my right, searching for my sister. Had she heard my Shout? Did she understand that the lies she had spread with Stormcloak were exposed? Did she feel worried? Did she feel anything?

Chink. Chink chink.

I winced, brought back to the now as the first arrow of three bounced off Farengar's shield and clattered against the stone wall as they tumbled, diffused, to the earth below.

"Yol, Teor, SHOOL!" my sister's cry came again, from somewhere near Pelagia farm this time.

This time I was certain that she was using something, a hollowed bull's horn perhaps, to amplify her voice. They had certainly put considerable effort into their lie, but then the only living who had witnessed the true power of my thu'um before today were those Whiterun guards who had been with me at the Western Watchtower, and the Companions.

"It's Yol Toor Shul, idiot," I bit out in a mutter, even while I couldn't seem to rouse the snaking fire within me to use the words properly for myself.

Gritting my teeth as I tried to distinguish Giselle's form amongst the mass of bodies battling around the farm, I cursed as I spotted the bright orange ball of flame she had cast flying toward us.

Wondering how much longer Farengar might be able to hold his shield, I determined not to risk it and leapt down from the wall before the fire hit. Again, the ward was impacted by the flames, but not destroyed, though it flickered and paled until Farengar threw back the contents of a little blue magica bottle.

"She's butchering the dragon tongue," I muttered to Lydia through clenched teeth as I peered around the wall, lifting my bow and placing an arrow as the Commander's powerful voice called for his people to aim once more. "The little cow is making them believe she's the dragonborn by speaking words somebody has told her," I hissed. Probably Stormcloak, I realised, as Commander Caius gave the call to fire.

I loosed, turning to Lydia as soon as our arrows had soared out of sight. "She's not even saying the words properly!" I thundered belatedly to my housecarl, my anger rising at every moment.

Lydia threw me an unimpressed look. "Perhaps it is time to use your thu'um again?" she suggested.

"Yes," I agreed, mounting the wall even as I realised that Lydia's look had not been out of disdain for my sister's efforts, but a warning to me, that I gain some perspective.

It was gained when I glanced over the ledge to see the fight directly below us. The ground seemed to be littered in red-smeared soldiers from all three armies, yet still others clashed around them, and still another cluster of blue-clad soldiers were trying to smash their way through the first of the barricades.

"Stop!" I ordered them, my thought to make them look at me before I used the thu'um this time, but my voice was swallowed by the clamour of battle raging all around us, punctuated by another keening whoosh as a fiery boulder soared overhead.

Giving up on my own voice to make a difference on this field, I let out another harsh, "FUS!"

I was immediately rewarded. The Stormcloaks flew back, pitching over one another as the dragon tongue oscillated through them. My heart thudded in double-time as I watched the arrows rain down from our wall upon the stumbling Stormcloaks, before they had been given a chance to recover.

"Foh crah din!" my sister's furious, boosted cry tore through the wake of my call, followed by a stream of frost that swelled and covered several Legion officers fighting near the stable yard.

My eyes widened, wondering what Giselle had been trying to shout, if anything. I had never heard that before from a dragon. Was this really how she worked the false dragonborn claim? By calling out made up words into a bullhorn, before firing with the spells she had been taught at the college in Winterhold?

Chink chink, chink.

Several more arrows rained down on the shield Farengar maintained faultlessly around us, but I ignored them, my attentions fixed on the point the frost spell was originating from. I could barely make out individual bodies in the flurry of movement. Several screams of pain tore through the nearby mass, and the frost spell dissipated, to be replaced at once by the searing bright white of a powerful shock spell.

I startled at the ferocity of the spears of whiteness edged in mauve as a handful of both Whiterun and Legion soldiers flew back in an arc; victims of my sister's power.

Even as the immediate circle of soldiers fell, another wave descended on the source of the magic, and while I saw both licks of flames and clouds of white frost erupt in bursts from the site of the skirmish, within seconds there was a muted cheer under the other nearer, more frenzied sounds of battle.

They have her, I realised, both in anticipation and dread.

"Finally," I heard Lydia mutter. I glanced to her swiftly; her eyes were hard, and on the same scene that I had been fixated on.

CRASH.

I glanced down in time to see that the barricade below the first gate house had been breached. The Stormcloaks who remained of the wave that had broken it flooded the entry. One of their number stopped before he stepped through, turning and raising a horn to his lips.

He managed to blow it once before an arrow found his neck and he toppled, crashing onto the broken logs of the barrier.

"Archers, divide and fire at will!" Commander Caius was calling over the roaring of the Stormcloaks. "Infantry, engage!"

Whipping around to face Whiterun itself, I was in time to see the Whiterun guards rush forward from the second gate to meet the Stormcloaks funnelling into the open space head on. Arrows flew in both directions now; within and outside of the gate.

So much was happening and it was all so confusing that I took a step back, and another, until my back was pressed against the stone wall. Farengar called out something to me, about using the thu'um again I assumed, and I nodded, turning back to face the farms. I stood on the wall again and Shouted at one of the approaching Stormcloak masses, my Voice flooring the men and women as it had all of the times before. Again, I felt nothing as the ringing note settled, and my eyes drifted toward the place where my sister had been restrained. The ground was scorched and frozen in places, and – I did a double take – I could finally see her.

She was being restrained by no less than five Legionnaires. Her hands appeared to be bound behind her back and they must have gagged her, too, so she couldn't call out for help. Her small frame looked frail and pathetic beside the thick-set soldiers who were escorting her even as she thrashed about, and for a single second, I pitied and feared for her.

The fear shifted into horror as I realised that the Legion officers were leading her away from Whiterun.

"No!" I screamed. No, the Legion would not have her, not before I had made her answer for all she had done, to both our family, and countless men and women since, including Hadvar's friend!

I leapt down from the wall and made to run from the gatehouse, much to the agitated surprise of Farengar, but Lydia must have anticipated my actions, for she caught hold of my arms even before I had made it to the boundary of Farengar's ward.

"They're taking her away!" I screeched, struggling to break out of Lydia's grip.

"It's what she deserves!" Lydia fired, her strong arms enclosing me as she dragged me back into the centre of the shield. A well-timed chink reminded me that I was still a target, but at that moment I didn't care.

I twisted around, rounding on Lydia as my eyes flared. "She is mine, Lydia. I shared a womb with that woman," I pointed in the general direction of the retreating forms. "And she took everything that was good about my family, about the name Passero, and destroyed it," I thundered.

Lydia shook her head in frustration. "We are in the middle of a war, Celeste! You step outside of this shield, and you'll be killed!" she yelled at me. "Then what purpose will all this vengeance serve?"

Screaming out in rage, because I knew she was right, I didn't realise that I had punched the stone wall until I felt the cold jab of pain across the knuckles of my closed fists. I opened my eyes, which I hadn't realised I had slammed shut, and stared down at my bloodied hands in muted wonder.

"Your job here is to defend Whiterun, not to execute a personal vendetta against your twin," Farengar posed unhelpfully. "Why don't you use all that anger of yours in another dragon shout? It might make you feel better," he bit out.

I glared at him in time to see him down the contents of another blue bottle, which reminded me that he was another cog in this defensive machine, doing his part to contribute to the whole.

As I should have been doing. Turning away immediately, unwilling to meet either his or Lydia's eye, I lifted myself up onto the wall and ignored the throbbing pain swelling in my shaking, bleeding hands.

My sister and the soldiers leading her away were barely visible now, though I knew where to look for them. I prayed to Stendarr, God of Justice, that they would not take her far – that they would take her to Rorikstead, and no further – and that they would keep her conscious, for me.

The battle cry of approaching soldiers brought my attention back to the now, and the war we were fighting. I watched a cloud of Stormcloaks rushing toward the fallen first gate as though through a haze of time slowed down. Their fury seemed more vivid, more desperate than I had ever perceived it before. Did these men and women realise that their false dragonborn, one of their Generals, had been captured? Did they care?

Did I care? Beyond standing in front of Giselle and making her answer my questions, did I care what happened to her? The Empire had meant to execute her, when they had assumed I was her in Helgen, and given all I knew and had heard about her activities, she was a traitor who deserved such a fate.

"FUS!" I surged, forcing the oncoming Stormcloaks away from the gate. My vision blurred before I could tell whether they had all been taken out or regained their footing and continued their approach.

I shared a womb with that woman. The words I had spoken to Lydia in fury repeated within my mind in a scared, childish whisper as my heart beat echoed in my ears.

I closed my eyes for just a moment, feeling dots of wetness trail down my cheeks. The chink-chink of arrows hitting Farengar's ward fell to my ears as I breathed deep breaths in and out in an effort to regain my centre. The crack of the Stormcloak's siege engine and subsequent keening whir of the boulder they had fired was amplified, and the shuddering of the ground beneath our feet as it hit the wall with another loud CRACK made my eyes fly open at once.

I faced the city, staring in disbelief at the freshly gaping hole in the inner wall. They had broken it. If I did nothing, if I allowed myself to run after her; to be caught up in my sister's chaos and whatever it was that I was feeling, then Whiterun would be lost.

It was as though the tenuous strand of time that had twisted about and kept me from throwing myself into this fight had suddenly snapped. I breathed out swiftly to steady my bleeding hands, lifting my bow and firing as soon as I had aimed on one of the blue bodies racing across the clearing toward the city.

I forcefully pushed all thoughts of Giselle from my mind, and fought with my heart and soul for Whiterun.

---

A/n: Writing battles is hard, particularly from the perspective of a character who knows nothing about them.
Cake-san, the truth about Celeste's Thane armour was for you ;) (hope you are still with me) - see, it was functional!
And thank you for everyone who commented about not minding the length of this story...um, hope you enjoyed this (just over) 18,000 word chapter O.O