AN: I'm not dead! Without further ado (and there has been a lot) here's the chapter
Lydia ran the whetstone down the edge of her blade in easy motions that spoke of long practice. All around her was the roaring bustle of soldiers seeing to their gear and going about camp duties. The city of Whiterun was full to bursting with warriors. After a few more passes she examined the edge with a critical eye. Unchanged. And sharp as a razor's edge.
She held her blade up to her face, staring at what was once a simple steel longsword, though one of fine craftsmanship. She could no longer pretend that was the case however. She had begun to suspect this while she was deployed to the eastern front. Initially she and her men had been tasked with holding the border, but as the weeks passed this then became raiding and harassing the stormcloaks. As tensions escalated, the pressure and violence inevitably pushed the volatile situation to a boil.
It had escaped her notice for some time. The changes had been subtle and difficult to notice given that she always kept her equipment in pristine condition. But she could not remember the last nick to the edge of her blade, or the last time that she felt the whetstone had actually done anything for that matter. She had taken this sword through many battles now and there was no way to escape such damage. Yet it had.
This was all aside from the matter of the handle. The sword had not been forged for her specifically and the grip had always been a touch too long. It no longer was. She couldn't even have said when this would have occurred. It was so subtle and yet made wielding it even more comfortable.
Much the same thing seemed to have occurred with her armor as well. It still looked the same, but it had changed. She had worn the armor for so long that it had become a part of her. She was accustomed to the annoyances, the places where the fit didn't quite suit. She never had the wealth to have armor forged specifically for her and it had been close enough. Now, however, no one else would be able to wear her armor comfortably. It was tailored to her in every dimension.
She couldn't help but remember a miserable week at the border with Eastmarch where she had led a band hunting stormcloak scouts. It had rained for the entire week. Divines! She hadn't had a dry set of clothing or a hot meal for days. When they finally returned to the base camp with the weather, thankfully, improved, everyone had set about cleaning off the mud and scouring away the rust that had begun to creep over them. Lydia remembered knocking away the mud with ease before examining her plate and mail and not finding a single speck of rust anywhere on her armor.
She knew that she had no right to complain, nor would she, but the changes, or rather her realization of those changes, had been eerie. Unsettling in a fashion. Her armor was fit to perfection, would not rust and was far quieter than any plate had a right to be. Lydia also could not tell if the entire set were somehow lighter or if she were simply stronger. She closed her eyes for a moment, casting out with her mind and instantly catching on to the radiant presence that shone in her mind's eye. After all, either of those too options was all too possible. She shrugged to herself slightly. Why couldn't both be true?
That light was finally drawing near. It had been quite some time since she had seen Kratos. She and her men had received orders, messages, and, at times, reinforcements. But she had been out in the field for weeks, ravaging the stormcloak war machine. That light, her connection, had always remained and remained strong, but it was invigorating to be near the font of power that he was once more.
Lydia opened her eyes, a slow, broad smile spreading across her face. She stood quickly and sheathed her blade, before jogging towards the gates. She passed quickly through the packed city, dodging civilians and quickly returning the respectful salutes and nods of the soldiers. As she neared the gates, she slowed and stepped up on a low stone porch.
Her eyes caught upon him immediately, drawn to him like iron filings to a lodestone. Kratos moved through the crowd at a steady pace, a few of his officers following after, their faces streaked with warpaint in similitude of his own. He stood head and shoulders over most of the crowd, his height and ashen skin making him stand out even amongst the predominantly tall, fair-skinned nordic population. His lack of armor and mostly bare torso revealed muscle as pale and hard as marble, but it was not only his unique appearance that set him apart.
He carried a weight and gravity to his presence, as if he were much larger than the mere physical shell walking down this cluttered street. This aura was what parted the crowd before him, leaving a bubble of space surrounding him as he strode forward, heedless of the looks and stares from the people around him.
Lydia hopped down from the porch and cut through the crowd towards him, not even noticing the ease with which the throng parted for her as well. Drawing nearer was like walking into a warm room on a cold day. Strength and resolve swelled around her. She came out into the circle of space surrounding, a broad smile already gleaming across her face. Kratos lips twitched up into the subtlest of smiles, almost more a simple softening of his features.
Lydia took a breath to greet him, "My thane. You are well?"
His eyes twinkled back at her, but his voice was the same gravelly tone as ever, "I am. And you, girl?"
In reply, she skipped forward the last step and hugged him, squeezing him tightly, "It is good to see you again, Kratos."
Kratos paused for a moment, struck by the action before his arms encircled her. It had been a very long time. Lydia smiled as he returned her embrace before taking mercy upon him and stepping back.
His hands remained on her shoulders as he asked, "Are you well?"
She grinned up at him, "I am. My men as well."
He squeezed her shoulders gently before dropping his hands, "Good. Now. I need to arrange lodging for my men and speak with the Jarl."
Lydia turned her, her eye catching on one of her men. With a sharp whistle and a jerk of her head she called him over. He jogged over immediately, saluting crisply as he came to halt, "Thane, Redhand, how may I be of service?"
"You are familiar with the quartermaster, yes?"
"Of course, Redhand. Worked with the man often."
"Good. Take these officers to him and assist in organizing lodging and supplies for our comrades." With another quick salute to them both, the man turned to speak quietly with the other officers for a moment before setting off as a group to find the quartermaster. Lydia turned back to Kratos with one brow slightly raised, "Shall we go to see the jarl?"
Rather than say anything, Kratos merely let out his customary rumble and set out once more up the crowded streets towards Dragon's Reach. Despite the fact that the city was full to bursting, Kratos and Lydia made good time, the press of people clearing a space around them as they pushed up through Whiterun's Cloud District.
The soldiers guarding the doors to Dragon's Reach cast the doors open wide as they approached and brought their fists to their hearts in salute. Kratos and Lydia returned the gesture quickly as they passed through the entry way into the building proper.
As they entered the main hall, Irileth was coming down the steps from the upper levels. With a gesture she caught their eyes and began to hurry over, wending her way through the unusually full great hall, packed with thanes, retainers and servants, that all seemed to be rushing about. All of Whiterun was a hive of activity.
Irileth gave them each a brusque nod as she swept up, "It is good that you have returned. The jarl heard that you should be returning today and I was about to send word to find you." Kratos' only reply was a low grunt.
Lydia interjected, giving the dark elf a small smile, "We are happy to have saved you the trouble and are eager to meet with the jarl."
Irileth gave them each an amused glance, a corner of her mouth twitching at the dynamic before she spun on her heel, "Let us go then. The jarl is already taking counsel and I know that your opinions would be most welcome." They followed Irileth through the great hall and deeper into the winding corridors of the upper levels of Dragon's Reach to the jarl's study.
Jarl Balgruuf stood at the head of a large map table, scowling and fists planted, as he looked over the figures placed on the map showing the known locations of stormcloak, imperial, and Whiterun forces. Scattered around the table were several thanes and, of course, Proventus Avenicci at the jarl's side.
One of the thanes was speaking as Irileth led them into the chamber but Balgruuf cut him off, "No. Ulfric will attack Whiterun itself and he will do so now. He has finally made his main push into the hold." Balgruuf glared around the room, eyes brightening as they landed on Kratos and Lydia before continuing the rounds. "This is why I have gathered our forces here. Ulfric will attack us here and he will attack us now, because he has no other option but to attack. You think he is going to raid and burn farms and villages? Sack them for supplies? No. He has only what he carried with him and only a fraction of that thanks to the good work of some in this room." Balgruuf gave Lydia a nod of thanks, recognizing her harassment of the stormcloak supply lines.
The jarl straightened crossing his arms, "Ulfric can only strike military targets and moreover he needs a symbolic victory, something to bring the hold over to him. Drawing this out only weakens him, makes him look more like a rebel, not the patriot he claims to be." Balgruuf jabbed a finger at the map. "We have only given him the one option. Time to see if he bites."
Kratos' gravelly voice carried out into the quiet following Balgruuf's statement. "Ulfric is a fool. But he understands this well enough. He does not have the supplies to go elsewhere without raiding, nor will he be able to lay siege. Raiding will paint him a monster to his countrymen, uniting holds against him and weakening his own. The jarl is correct. It will be decided here at Whiterun. Soon."
Balgruuf came around the table towards him, "I am glad you have returned in time for the big day, Kratos." The jarl reached out a hand which Kratos took, clasping forearms, "Despite the fact that you have consistently complicated my life since your arrival, your troops have proven invaluable and there is no warrior I would rather have on my side."
At that the other thanes in the room began to murmur, exchanging glances and eyeing the pale stranger. Kratos despite being known was a rather unknown quantity in Balgruuf's court as his reclusive nature kept him away from the city and led him to rebuff correspondence of empty pleasantries from the other thanes of the hold. Lydia was able to pick out one voice particularly, "He receives levies of additional gold for his troops! Of course he can raise more, I could have as well. I do not understand how this upstart has the jarl's ear."
Kratos ignored entirely the grumbles around him and turned his attention to the map. The conversation from there quickly went into finalizing the finer details of troop dispositions along the walls, watch schedules and troop rotations. They would let the stormcloaks break themselves upon the city's walls and stop them there.
When the meeting wound down to its eventual close, Jarl Balgruuf spoke, "I believe we have our plan then. I thank you all for your wise counsel and for heeding the call to oaths and arms. You are all welcome to remain in my hall. I believe that a meal should be coming out shortly. Let us enjoy this reprieve. Ulfric will be here tomorrow or the next day."
No sooner had the jarl finished speaking then Kratos turned and left the meeting chamber, his massive strides carrying him out in an instant and leaving Lydia hurrying in his wake. The other thanes exchanged startled glances at his abrupt exit, before their mutters began once more.
When she caught up to him in the hallway, Lydia remarked, "So, you did not want to socialize with the other honorable thanes of Whiterun?"
Kratos let out a snort, "They are yapping dogs. Empty posturing. I have no stomach for it."
Lydia chuckled, "In that case, come. I will show you where the men are lodged. We may as well get what rest we can. It will be in short supply soon enough."
The day dawned, bright and sunny, the grasses of Whiterun's verdant plains rippled like the waves of the sea under a perfect cloudless sky. The scene was silent. No shouts from the market or even birdsong disturbed the scene.
Battle lines had been drawn. The stormcloak army stood at arms, arrayed before the city. And it seemed as if the world held its breath. A deep calm before a deeper storm.
Kratos and Balgruuf stood side by side atop the city gates looking out over the assembled army. The jarl broke the silence, "I didn't want to believe the scouts, but I can see they were correct." He scoffed gesturing before them. "If anything they underestimated. Why there must be…"
Kratos gravelly tone cut in, "Nearly fifteen thousand men."
Balgruuf shook his head, "He must have emptied his holds or been preparing for this longer than we realized." They watched the army as a small party broke from it and rode forward towards the gate. Balgruuf broke into a sneer, "Ah, the Bear of Eastmarch." Scorn lay heavy in the word. "Come to demand our surrender no doubt." Kratos merely let out a snort, as if Balgruuf had told a joke.
In short order the cadre of stormcloaks arrived before the gates of the city. Jarl Ulfric was indeed leading the party. He was a large and severe looking man, all hard planes and angles. Deep eyes sat beneath a prominent brow, a zealot's eyes. Despite the pleasant day he still wore the bearskin mantle that was his trademark and called to mind his informal title as the Bear of Eastmarch.
Ulfrich pulled his horse to a halt and looked up at them for a moment before speaking, "Brother Jarl. I wish that it had not come to this." His striking appearance paled in comparison to the deep and resonant timbre of his voice which seemed to toll from him like the tone of some low bell.
Jarl Balgruuf leaned forwards, his hands planted on the crenulations of the wall before him, "And yet you are here, Ulfrich. Invading my hold. To spill the blood of my people! Nord blood which you claim to hold so dear!"
Ulfrich remained impassive, "I do what I must. I take no pleasure in this. But we cannot bow to the Thalmor and let them carve apart our culture - our way of life - as they see fit. If the empire will do nothing, then I must." He sighed, "Please, brother. Surrender this city. Do not make me do this."
"Make you do this?! You are the invader. You come to our homes and threaten us. We have made you do nothing. Go home. If you come, we will fight you." Balgruuf's voice had risen, his face flushed as he glared down at the man before him.
Ulfrich continued, "I implore you once more. Surrender. Make the right choice. You cannot win. I have at least four - likely five - times the men you have. I will try to prevent it but… I would not see this city sacked. Surrender, Balgruuf."
Kratos' voice rang across the space with all the force and inevitability of an avalanche, "The only thing you will see is your army slaughtered and driven before us, the lamentation of their wives and husbands, and the resentment in the eyes of your men for having wasted their lives." Kratos' words floated in the still air for a moment before he continued, "You have the choice. Fight and die. Leave and live."
Even Ulfrich looked taken aback as his men exchanged glances behind him. The jarl turned his gaze back to Balgruuf, "Is this your answer, Brother Jarl?"
Balgruuf straightened, peering down his nose at the stormcloaks, "My honorable thane is correct. I could not have spoken truer." Ulfrich nodded grimly before clucking to his horse and setting off back towards his army. They quickly lost sight of him as he disappeared into the immense mass of soldiers before them.
The stormcloaks wasted no time. In short order horns rang out followed by shouted orders and the forward elements of the great host assembled before them started forward, scaling ladders ready to send the invaders up the wall. Balgruuf turned and placed a hand on Kratos' shoulder, "I know my limits. I will withdraw now to the observation post and direct the reserves. Defend our city."
Kratos nodded, his eyes remaining fixed on the approaching force, "Whiterun will not fall."
The jarl let out a barking laugh at that, "And they will be broken and driven before us, eh? Fight well, thane." Balgruuf turned and headed for the stairs, Irileth and his honor guard following close behind. Kratos remained where he stood, arms folded, gauging the distance to the approaching enemy force.
Lydia stood by his side, face tilted up, taking in the sun and the air. She felt no nervousness, no fear. Not anymore. Before despite her confidence and training, of course, she had felt the cold touch of fear on the edge of combat, but now… the battlefield was her home far more than it wasn't. She looked towards the approaching stormcloaks, squinting as she gauged the distance. After a moment she picked up her longbow and pulled a shaft from the barrel of arrows near her, setting it to the string, "They will hit range soon."
She saw the edge of Kratos' eyes crinkle with crow's feet and heard his approving rumble, "You are correct." His next words were a thunderous bellow that carried the length of the wall, "Archers stand ready!" The creak of strings and strained wood travelled the wall as the soldiers raised and drew their bows. Lydia followed suit.
A few moments later the command came, "Loose!" and thousands of shafts arched up into the sky with a hiss, hanging in space for a moment at their apex before the cruel iron rain fell. Stormcloaks raised their shields and continued their advance, stepping over their dead.
Kratos bellowed again, "Sergeants! Volley!" At his command the sergeants in command of their various sections of wall, or of the companies of soldiers behind it, took direct command of their bowmen each launching volleys as quickly as they were able, sending a withering torrent of arrows down onto the stormcloaks. The few warmages in Whiterun also began to hurl their spells into the interlopers. Kratos joined them, tearing lightning bolts from the magicka in the air with sheer will and hurling them into the stormcloaks, thunder cracked and men died with each pocket of scorched earth he left. The invaders of course were not idle and their own archers loosed shafts in reply.
The stormcloaks had launched their initial attack in sufficient numbers that they would reach the walls and gate without taking appreciable losses, seeking to bull over the outnumbered defenders despite the fortifications. Scaling ladders began to fall into place as the stormcloaks tried to push onto the walls themselves. Kratos watched the situation carefully, but the defenders were holding the wall quite ably, denying the invaders a lodgement on the wall.
Kratos narrowed his eyes as he glared down at the army before him. Something was wrong. The press of foes was avoiding clustering at the gate proper even though the ladders could be used as well there as anywhere. At a shouted command the stormcloaks drew back from the gate, leaving a clear area before it. An instant later Ulfrich stepped out of the press of stormcloaks already having drawn a deep breath, his bearskin left behind, he was armored the same as the men around him. Several bodyguards stood close, guarding him with large shields. Kratos spotted the jarl and shouted an order to the archers near him, pointing at the man while he clawed another bolt of lighting out of the air.
The sonorous boom of his shout echoed across the battlefield, an immense column of force blasting forward. The gate shattered like so much kindling, hurling shards of jagged wood as it was blasted open. The soldiers standing on the wall above the gate were caught by ripples of the wave of raw force and hurled back off the wall, dashed on the stones below, leaving Kratos alone standing atop the broken gate. Even the leviathan axe had been dragged from its seat on his back by the blast.
With a roar Kratos hurled his lighting bolt at Ulfrich, who had fallen to his knees, so drained by his excessive use of the thu'um. The jarls body guards however surged forward into the face of the spell, only to be blasted aside as so much dead, seared meat. The stormcloaks rushed forward dragging Ulfrich back and shielding him with their bodies, but that was not what saved him.
Kratos spun, eyes searching the streets of Whiterun behind him, looking among the bodies cast down below, an unfamiliar cold sensation in his chest. There. He could still feel her. Down amongst the wreckage, Lydia struggled to her feet, bloodied, one leg held gingerly, but with her fist still locked on the hilt of her sword, she began limping towards the open gate, screaming for a shield wall.
The stormcloaks surged forward, howling towards the breach. Atop the broken gate Kratos drew his twin blades and turned back to the approaching horde. He burst forward up onto the crenellations and leapt out at their foes, body bowed back, arms raised above his head, holding chains that dripped liquid fire as the blades arched out behind him. The rush paused as the howling harbinger of ruin descended on them. Kratos jerked forward, bringing his arms hurtling down as he landed in a crouch, the blades describing a fiery arc through the sky came down like a comet amongst the stormcloaks, landing in an explosion of flame, shattered earth, broken flesh and screams.
With a jerk on the chains, the blades leapt back to his waiting, only to be immediately cast out again, spearing the nearest stormcloaks. Kratos hurled the bodies aside and leapt forward again, spinning as he did, letting the blades out to the length of the chain, turning the space around him into a maelstrom of razor edged fire.
Kratos did not let up his assault. He rampaged across the front lines of the army, every movement dealing death. The fires of the blades coursed through his veins and slaughter reined wherever he went, cutting back and forth along the wall and gate trying to relieve the hardest hit of the defenders positions. Still the stormcloaks pressed forward driven by their officers and zealous belief in their cause.
Lydia splat blood and dust onto the rubble-strewn street. She was covered in dust grime shaken loose in the blast and every inch of her ached from the impact with the cobble street despite the fact that she had managed to roll with the fall. Most of those who had been launched from the wall were dead, she didn't see any others that were ambulatory. Perhaps she had been saved again by whatever virtue had been imparted to her. She eyed the 35 foot wall before her and spat again.
She grit bloody teeth and took a painful, lurching step forward, fist still locked around the hilt of her sword, her other arm a solid mass of pain, held close to her side, her shield lost somewhere in the blast. "To me!" She screamed to the stunned reserves. "To me! To the breach!" She shambled towards the gate, eyeing the stormcloaks trying to get by the hurricane of Kratos' bloody reply. The shamble picked up speed and became a limp, which she forced into a jog. Stormcloaks were slipping by, even Kratos could not be everywhere at once.
Lydia glanced back at the soldiers rushing to get to her, to the gate, and form a line, but the stormcloaks were already seeping in. She let out a hiss as the first ran by her, ignoring her as too battered to be a threat, the second passed to close and died for it, her blade lashing out quick as an adder cutting into the side of his neck. Lydia didn't even pause but continued her grim run forward. She ducked a passing stormcloaks swing and ran him through, the stab arresting her forward momentum and knocking him to the ground.
Another came in and they exchanged a quick flurry of blows before Lydia slid their blade wide, rending open their thigh before finishing them with another thrust, 8 inches of steel to the solar plexus. The next stormcloak fancied himself a berserker and tried to split her in half with a battle axe. She saw strike from leagues away, sidestepped it easily and cut his throat before he had a chance to recover.
Whiterun soldiers were closing in now as Lydia neared the gate. It was devolving into a broader thicker melee beneath the wall. A tangled mass of hacking blades, splashes of blood and screaming men. Lydia bared her teeth in a feral snarl, her aches and pains fading with each kill, and waded into the stormcloaks. Battle continued unabated, men cycling back from the fronts if they survived, to rest before heading back into the crucible of war. Lydia stayed in the breach, blade in hand, hacking at any stormcloak that came near.
Lydia stumbled to the side narrowly avoiding a slash before stabbing her attacker, who screamed and fell, dragging her off balance as his weight dragged down her blade. Exhaustion had finally found her. Another foe came in on the heels of the last, with a desperate cry she yanked her blade free and parried. The powerful strike from a fresh soldier overcame her grip, knocking her blade from her hand.
The stormcloak pressed his advantage cutting at her with his sword. Lydia danced around a few blows and managed to deflect another by turning it aside with her bracer. Lydia grit her teeth, she was exhausted, bloodied, and had started this battle by taking a blow that had killed or incapacitated those it had struck. But she was not going out like this. Not without a weapon in her hand. Lydia juked again, a stab grating along her armor. At least she'd go down swinging. Lydia reached out with her senses pulling on the divine strength that had sustained her. She heard a whistling through the air, as if arrows were passing overhead.
Her eyes widened and she leapt back as he slashed at her face, but she knew she was too slow. She wasn't going to get back far enough in time. Her hands moved on instinct moving to block as if she held a weapon. With a snap the handle of the leviathan axe swung into her hands. She clutched it as its momentum slammed it into the stormcloak's attack, knocking him off balance.
Their eyes met, sharing a shocked glance as they both looked at the axe that had come soaring out of nowhere and back to each other. Lydia recovered faster and whirled the axe up and around striking off his head and sending it hurtling through the air. Lydia fell back, her steps faltering as she withdrew behind allied lines.
Lydia followed the shouted directions of one of the barking sargeants as he rotated a group of men back from the front lines. Lydia followed them back behind a blockade where a few civilian volunteers were distributing water. A few haggard and harried healers also rushed about triaging the soldiers from the front. One immediately ran up to Lydia taking in her blood soaked armor and the splatter that covered her, "Where are you wounded?" she asked, voice weary but still crisp.
Lydia smiled, her teeth shining white in her scarlet face, "Oh it's not mine." Ignoring the healer's shocked look she took a seat, resting the axe on her shoulder and reached out to take a skin of water with one trembling hand.
AN: There has certainly been a delay in my writing. Life's gotten a little crazy and the real truth is I fell of the writing wagon for a while.
I do have to say a big thank you to readers old and new that messaged / reviewed and got in touch to check in on both myself and the story. Y'all are wonderful and I'm glad that so many people have found something to enjoy here. Hearing all of your feedback definitely fuels the fire and keeps this ball rolling. I read everything (even if I've gotten a bit worse about replying) and I appreciate every single one. So please tell me what you think.
One point to clarify as someone was actually concerned that I had passed, I am perfectly healthy. I did have a case of covid back in the summer but it was thankfully quite mild and I haven't had any negative affects.
Again, thank you to all of the readers. I really am surprised each time at the response. Hopefully I haven't lost many of you to my own slow updates.
R-
