CHAPTER 41: VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE
How did it all begin?
At the end of the long, destructive Great War in 4E 175, Emperor Titus Mede II signed the White-Gold Concordat. For the last four years, the war between the Third Aldmeri Dominion and the Tamrielic Empire had desolated the lands, caused thousands to bleed, and orphaned countless children. On the 30th of Rain's Hand, the bloody Battle of the Red Ring began as the Emperor attempted to take back the Imperial City, as it had been sacked by the elves a year prior. He succeeded, but at a great cost.
Although victorious, as the entire Aldmeri army in Cyrodiil was completely destroyed, the Imperial armies were in no shape to continue the war. Not a single legion had more than half of its soldiers to fit the duty, some had been annihilated to the last man. The Emperor knew there would be no better time to negotiate peace, and so the White-Gold Concordat was signed. The terms were harsh, but the Emperor believed it was necessary to secure peace and give the Empire a chance to regain its strength.
One of the most controversial terms of the Concordat was banning the worship of Talos, the Ninth Divine. In mortal life, Talos was a Nord possessed of unmatched tactical skill, limitless wisdom and the power to see into men's hearts. Talos mastered the power of the Voice, and with it he united the lands of men into a great Empire. And now, on the tip of the Aldmeri sword, the Empire was forced to stop worshipping its founder. What blasphemy!
The ban of Talos caused a great deal of resentment in the Nordic population of Skyrim, and many continued to worship him in secret, until the Thalmor, the governing council of the Aldmeri, also called as High Elves, entered into Skyrim. The Thalmor Justiciars were tasked to stamp out Talos worship within the land, and that just added to the rage of the Nords. But as Skyrim remained under Empire's rule, there was nothing they could do but swallow their resentment or die brutally in the hands of the elven perpetrators.
Yet in the following years, slowly over decades, a rebellion started to rise.
The Stormcloak movement was initiated by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, also known as the Bear of Markarth, a veteran of the Great War. It aims to remove Imperial Legion and the Thalmor from Skyrim, turn the providence into an independent kingdom, and crown Ulfric Stormcloak as the High King of Skyrim. As a High King, Ulfric would restore the worship of Talos, execute Thalmor Justiciars who have been granted to enforce the White-Gold Concordat within the province, and prepare for the upcoming war with the Aldmeri Dominion that Skyrim would face alone.
To the Stormcloaks, the Emperor, Titus Mede II, is nothing more than a puppet of the Thalmor, and should have no legitimacy to rule over Skyrim. They consider themselves as 'the true sons and daughters of Skyrim' who are the only ones fighting and bleeding for the honour of their homeland. And so, in E4 201, Ulfric arrived on the gates of Solitude, Skyrim's capital, and requested the audience of the High King Torygg. But instead of declaring the independence of the country, Ulfric challenged him into a duel, as it was done in the old times when the High King was the High King because his enemies fell in front of him and his people rose to the glory of his name because they loved him.
And with the help of the Thu'um, the gift the Greybeards had taught him years ago, Ulfric Stormcloak murdered the High King of Skyrim. Thus, the unrest between Empire and the Stormcloak rebellion evolved into a full-blown civil war.
The Stormcloaks now face the Imperial Legion, which thinks that as a province of the Empire, Skyrim should abide by its rules. Peace and prosperity are good for everyone, they say, while they still deny the Thalmor authority over them. Their most notable military governor in Skyrim is General Tullius, who directed the ambush of Ulfric Stormcloak at Darkwater Crossing, in Last Seed of E4 201. Unfortunately, Ulfric's execution at Helgen was interrupted by a dragon attack, and so he managed to escape the Legion's grasp in the chaos.
Sometime after that, Ulfric gathered his strength and managed to retrieve the Jagged Crown, the ancient relic of a High King's power, from the depths of Korvanjund, further empowering his claim for the throne. Encouraged by that, he finally turned his gaze on Whiterun. The central city of Skyrim had remained neutral so far, but would be the most critical location for the rebellion to hold. While the Jarl of Whiterun had obligations to the Empire and relied on the Legion's support, he still honoured his Nordic citizens who just wanted to worship Talos without the fear of getting executed by the Thalmor.
The time came for Whiterun to choose. So, in Frostfall, E4 201, Ulfric Stormcloak sent his axe to Jarl Balgruuf.
And Jarl Balgruuf returned it.
It meant war.
At the end of Frostfall, Ulfric Stormcloak marched his army to the gates of Whiterun, aiming to take the city. Thus met the two ways to view the world, so similar at times, yet all just to justify their crimes. Religion and greed would bring Skyrim down in flames.
If the dragons wouldn't do it first.
Has man gone insane?
A thousand thoughts raced within Erza's mind as she rode through the plain tundra towards the burning city, but this was the most prominent of them. While she worried over the lives of her friends, the rage suffocated her fear. Had man truly gone insane? What insanity had caused a man to turn his back to his brother when the world needed them to stick together the most?
As the sun set behind the horizon, Erza finally reached the northern side of Whiterun, where the city rose to the precipitous cliff, Dragonsreach sitting high on the top of the hill. There were no soldiers posted there, and Erza knew why. It would be impossible to climb up to the city from here, every foolish attempt would be crashed with rocks dropped from the perch of the palace. However, circling the city and trying to get in through the front gates would be just as desperate now.
Yet still, Erza knew an entrance – the one and only secret way to the city, known only by the members of the Circle.
The Underforge.
Erza jumped down from the exhausted horse, stroked its head as thanks, and then she hurried to the tunnels below the Skyforge. For centuries, the pathway had remained hidden from the other world, as it was sealed and rarely used. Her heart was racing against her ribcage as she fought her way through the smoke and dust, found the entrance, and stormed into the city through the secret chambers.
When she finally emerged in the backyard of Jorrvaskr, her heart was torn apart by the sight.
The dark had fallen, but the world was lighted by several fires that blazed across the city. Wooden roofs were set aflame, the sparks rising tall above the stone walls between the districts. The streets were empty, abandoned, as most of Whiterun's soldiers were out there defending the walls, leaving only a few guards and citizens behind. Guards commanded where to carry the water reserves to fight the despairing battle against the spreading fires while Erza could hear the enemy raging right outside the gates.
Had they made it across the drawbridge yet? If they would, the battle would be lost. The walls might be sturdy, but the gates of Whiterun were old and brittle, too easy to breach. Were the Stormcloaks waiting for the Jarl to surrender before the whole city would be consumed in the fire? She did not know.
This just wasn't supposed to be happening.
Every man, every sword, every resource was supposed to be fighting the dragons. Every barrel of water should've been used to put down the fires caused by a dragon, not by a man. It was all going to waste. Everything, everything was so vain, this wasteful war, yet still so long ago foreseen. It had been coming for a long time, but she had turned her eyes away, refused to see what was churning below the surface – and now it had exploded at the cost of countless lives.
To Erza's faint relief, Jorrvaskr stood unburned amongst the flaming city, safely separated from other buildings. Yet the blazing bolts were ever flying across the air as the catapults kept firing their bombs, but they weren't aimed for the mead hall of the Companions. Did the Stormcloaks still hold such a little respect for their band of warriors? Erza didn't stop to ponder it over. She hurried across the courtyard and slammed open the hall's doors.
They were all there, but the relief in Erza's heart was short-lived.
Such a familiar sight. Aela, Skjor, the wolf twins, and Cana were seated by the long table, while Njada and Torvar and the others brawled again in the open area by the fireplace. Kodlak, the Harbinger of the Companions, sat near the wall with Vignar Gray-Mane, both drinking mead. Tilma, the maid, still faithfully served food to the tables, even though no one seemed to be in a mood for a feast.
"What are you imbeciles doing!?" Erza shouted in shock. The brawls paused, everyone turned their heads at her, blank looks in their eyes, as if they hadn't even noticed her arrival until she raised her voice. "Don't you know what's happening out there!? Why aren't you fighting with them?"
Of all things, finding all of them here, brawling and idly drinking mead while the city outside was burning, shocked her the most. They were the Companions. A band of warriors, the true spirit of Skyrim! Following the legacy of Ysgamor himself! And now they would do nothing? Nothing at all!?
"Erza, my dear," Kodlak started with a hushed voice. He didn't question how she had gotten into the city. He already knew. "We are very aware of the situation, but as you know, we're decreed by honour not to take part in political conflict."
"Political conflict!?" Erza yelled, a tremor of disgust running through her body. She dropped her belongings to the floor, only keeping her sheathed sword secured to her waist. "The Stormcloaks are storming through the gates at any moment! They're going to take the city we're sworn to protect!"
Kodlak shook his head. While he was the Harbinger, highly respected and the most trusted of the Companions, Erza's heart was blazing with rage as she looked at him now. "The matter is not that simple. Never is."
Erza stormed into the hall and halted in front of the old man, a fierce stare in her eyes. "What, didn't the Jarl pay you enough gold for you to stand up for the people of Whiterun? They're dying –"
"This isn't about gold either!"
Erza turned her angered gaze towards the man sitting beside Kodlak. "It is you, Gray-Mane. You support the damned rebellion! Did you convince the rest of us to stay out of the battle? So that you could benefit from their victory yourself?" Erza spat the words out like venom. She felt many eyes on her, but couldn't care less what the others thought. She was the first one to point out the truth. "Damn, aren't Eorlund's sons out there fighting on the side of Ulfric? You could have as well opened the gates for them yourself!"
"Erza –"
"Can we honestly call ourselves as Companions anymore if we don't pick our swords when the people need us the most? Who's going to rely on our help anymore if we turn our backs to them now?"
Erza forced herself to turn away from the elders before she'd slap them both or clank their heads together. In the old days, the services of the Companions could be purchased for fighting wars, but it meant that shield-siblings could be forced to face each other on the battlefield, such conflicting their bonds of honour. Whoever was the Harbinger who decided that Companions wouldn't take part in any war hadn't seen this day coming when Whiterun, the sacred ground of Ysgamor, would be under attack.
"I've been thinking the same for the last three fucking days," Cana said suddenly and stood up, placing her barrel on the table. "And I've had enough of sitting still and drinking mead. Yes! Even I have had enough of drinking mead! I want to fight!" A loud explosion from somewhere nearby filled the air and shook the entire building, causing her to curse. "And I've had enough of those fucks! The next is gonna hit our fucking roof! And what are we gonna do then? Pour our mead stash on the fire?"
A quiet chuckle emerged among the silent group of warriors. Cana's cheeks were flared red, as she had probably been also drinking for the last three days. With determined steps, she marched across the hall to the weapon racks by the door and picked her two swords. Then she turned towards Erza.
"I don't care what you elders think, but I'm going to defend the city!" Cana shouted, as if she had read Erza's thoughts. Hope flashed in her heart upon these brave words. "Empire, Nords, Talos, who cares? There are enemies at our gates, and they're gonna be here next!"
"That's right!" Erza agreed, standing at Cana's side. Never before had she been so proud of her shield-sister as now. "We're not letting them destroy Whiterun!"
Vignar Gray-Mane stood up from his chair, obviously offended, his patience with the younglings running thin. "They're not going to destroy the entire city. Ulfric tried to avoid bloodshed! They're just smoking out the Jarl –"
"Have you been outside!?" Erza shouted at him. "Have you seen what they've already done!?"
The old man went silent.
Same as Cana, Erza couldn't care less about the cause why Ulfric waged this war. Of course, she hoped that people could worship Talos freely again, but whatever noble reasons Ulfric had to fight for, they were all for nothing the dragons would win. The only victor of this war would be Alduin, the World-Eater, who'd devour what would be left of mankind afterwards. A man who couldn't see that wasn't suited to be the king of Skyrim.
"Ulfric has been so blinded by his greed for power that he cannot see the real danger, which is no Legion or even the Thalmor, but the dragons! By Ysmir, he has seen one himself, knows how quickly a dragon can turn a city into a smouldering ruin, and he still wastes men and steel in this!? Half of Whiterun is burning because of him!" Erza's roar echoed in the hall as she felt her heart drumming in her throat. "The city cannot fall into the hands of a man who doesn't see that! And if I have to be the only shield standing in between the rebellion and my hometown, I shall be it!"
Silence descended after her shout, only the roaring fires could be heard through the wooden walls. Erza studied the faces of the warriors, saw how they considered the weight of her words. While the elders disagreed, nobody was no-one's master in Jorrvaskr. Everybody had the right to make their own choices. And now, of all the times, they were finally making choices of their own.
"Count us in, we're coming too," said the wolf twins as they stood up. "Just tell us who needs bludgeoning!"
"Don't forget me," Aela joined fiercely. "I can't stand that a bunch of snowberries are out there earning glory while we stay out of it! Skjor, you're needed, too! We'll hold the gates!"
The bald man in steel armour, Skjor, followed the huntress to pick up their weapons. Erza smiled at them. She had known all the time she could count in her comrades, her kindred spirits, in a time of need. Six warriors: five from the Circle, and even though Cana wasn't a Circle member yet, she was as much a seasoned warrior as the rest of them. And Erza would make sure that after this, Cana would become one. Her bravery was an example for the younger ones, who reclined this battle in the fear of judgement from the Stormcloak-supporting elders of the Companions.
While the warriors prepared their gear, Erza waited for others to stand up, but no one else did. It didn't matter – she knew they'd be strong enough. They had slain giants together, and with the courage she had gained from severing a dragon's tail, she knew she could do anything.
"Even if there's only six of us, let's show them what a pack of wolves can do to one cowardly bear!" Erza encouraged her group as they were ready, and was answered by loud cheers, the elders grimly staring at them from the background. "Everyone, with me, now!"
Then the six Companions left Jorrvaskr, strode into a battle with the bravery and glory of Ysgamor.
It had been a difficult choice for Whiterun.
Keeping Ulfric's axe would've meant peace, but only for a short while. It would've meant free access for Ulfric to garrison his soldiers in Whiterun and operate his war from there, and at the same time severing the city's ties with Solitude and other cities under Imperial command. The city's provisions were running dangerously low. The stores of meat, wine and grain were all but depleted, gold coffers nearly empty as well, as every coin was used to pay the guards and soldiers. Whiterun couldn't afford to lose Empire's support and let the people starve. Talos wouldn't bring bread to their tables.
And so, a hard choice was made.
As soon as Jarl Balgruuf had sent the axe back to Windhelm, he had started gathering his forces, calling his bannermen, and preparing the city's defences for the upcoming attack. He had believed that Ulfric didn't have enough men to take the city, but more and more had joined his rebellion each day. Underestimating his enemy and as his own need for help, overestimating the strength of the city's outer walls, Balgruuf placed Whiterun into an unfortunate situation when Ulfric's army marched into the hold, faster and stronger than Balgruuf ever expected.
The first battles had raged days ago in the outskirts of Whiterun as the Stormcloak soldiers pushed through the defences they had set up. They had expected to face a legion of hardly a thousand men, and easily defeat them before they'd even glimpse Whiterun, but they had been so wrong. They had faced an army five times as large. With the help of the Legionnaires, they would've stopped the attack, but as the help was still riding the long way from Solitude to Whiterun, they had no hope for prevailing.
Balgruuf was losing men at an alarming rate, and his army was soon forced to pull back and focus on defending the walls and the drawbridge until the Imperial reinforcements would arrive from Solitude. As long as they'd keep the drawbridge up, the Stormcloak army wouldn't be able to get into the city. Balgruuf had prepared for a long, passive siege, as he trusted that Ulfric needed the city too much to wreck it, and counted in the Legion to come and save them. He was mistaken. The chance of avoiding bloodshed was already passed, and now they were stuck in the burning city like rats.
So how could we, just a handful of warriors change the tides of war? That fateful night, with Ysgamor's glory on our side, we entered the fray.
The rest is history.
Erza had thought the streets of Whiterun to be empty of citizens by now, but to her surprise, one familiar voice carried over the uproar of the fires and siege weapons. She and the Companions hurried over the courtyard of Jorrvaskr and arrived at the steps that led to the plaza below. In front of the statue of Talos, Heimskr kept preaching to a lone rider. Flames licked the pale bark of the great tree of Gildergreen right behind them.
"I'll welcome the Stormcloaks with open arms, with cheers and song, with joy in my heart and tears in my eyes!" shouted the priest. "Praise be to Talos, this is a glorious day for Whiterun and for all Skyrim! Our liberators have come at last!"
The rider was a cloaked man tall on a pitch-black stallion, and Erza recognized him even before he turned his face at her. "One last time!" Jellal shouted back, annoyance clear in his voice. Yet still, hearing it awakened a shiver of warmth in her heart. "If you want to keep preaching in the future, get to Dragonsreach now, or the soldiers will surely shut you up forever after they –"
The priest refused to move a single step. "Let them come! I have no fear, for Talos is my ally and I am his prophet. His word is upon my lips, his voice in my throat! Trust in me, Whiterun! Trust in Heimskr! For I am the chosen of Talos! I alone have been anointed by the Ninth to spread his holy word!"
As he heard someone approaching, Jellal gave up on the priest and glanced up to the stairway. Though his hood shadowed his features, Erza could still see his eyes widening.
"Erza!?" Jellal shouted and rode to them. Shadowmere greeted her with a snort, its red eyes gleaming in the darkness. The horse showed no signs of distress, even though the fires were roaring around them and cries of dying soldiers echoed behind the city walls, but he was no common horse indeed. Even Erza didn't know the whole truth about Jellal's stallion. "What are you doing here? It's not safe! Get to Dragonsreach already –"
"And what are you doing here?" Erza asked in return. He clearly hadn't expected her to arrive so soon and on this horrendous day. "Shouldn't you be –"
"Evacuating the last citizens by the order of the Jarl. Most of them are already in the dungeons of Dragonsreach, but some refused to leave their homes, thinking Talos will guard them. Fools, I say. Talos isn't here today." Jellal glanced past his shoulder to Heimskr, who continued his passionate sermon, arms outstretched to the smoke-veiled sky. "Again – why are you here?"
For the smallest moment, Erza wondered why an assassin was helping the townspeople into safety, but then she realised that no contract had been bound on them. Seeing this side of him was strange. As much as Erza knew, Jellal had picked no side in this civil war. War simply wasn't his concern. The only way he'd take part in politics was through paid assassinations. By Sithis, couldn't anyone perform the Black Sacrament and hire the Brotherhood to assassinate Ulfric Stormcloak, and end this madness? Jellal would gladly do it. Damn, he would probably assassinate the Emperor himself if just contracted to do so.
The rest of the Companions had stopped behind Erza, and she sensed the urgency in their presences. She gazed deep into Jellal's eyes, hoping there was more time to explain everything, but there wasn't. She opened her mouth to talk, to tell him where she was heading, but was cut before she could say a single word.
The tearing screech of iron chains pierced through the night, followed by a heavy thump, and loud, joyful cheers. Everyone's head turned towards the sound. It came from the gates.
"What was that?" Cana asked in a silent whisper. Erza knew what it was.
"The drawbridge," she answered and mumbled a curse under her breath. "They've dropped the drawbridge! We've got to go, now! They don't have enough men to defend the gates with the bridge down!"
"What?" Jellal's gaze shot back to Erza, full of disbelief and worry. "You could as well walk to the gates of Sovngarde. That's what awaits you there. Jarl Balgruuf was late to accept General Tullius's support, but the Imperial reinforcements should arrive at any moment! We should wait until –"
A loud explosion cut Erza's retort as a catapult's bolt hit the stairway right behind them. Burning oil spread on the steps with the broken pieces of the jug it had been stored in. Erza knew the city would be already sacked by the time the Legion would arrive. They were already bringing the ram up to the gates. Once that, the gates wouldn't last long.
"Then we'll hold the gates until they come," Erza declared, determined as she stared into his eyes. Jellal shook his head.
"You can't be serious –"
"Yes, I am."
He sighed. Then, Jellal grabbed her and lifted her on horseback, seated her in front of him as he pressed a quick kiss on her lips, then clucked his horse into motion. For a moment Erza thought he'd just forcefully take her to the shelter of Dragonsreach, but she was wrong. Jellal never doubted her skill in battle. Not for too long, at least.
"Stubborn as ever?" he asked as Shadowmere trotted fearlessly down the burning street that led down the wind district. "If that's what you really want, I know there's no stopping you. But don't ever think I'd let you go there alone."
Erza's lips twitched into a faint smile. "And how do you plan to fight? Stabbing them to the back?" she whispered to him. The Companions followed them along the way, and Erza could envision the satisfied grin on Cana's face.
"I've got a few tricks to my sleeves," Jellal answered, sounding confident. "These new staffs of mine are actually quite powerful."
Erza nodded, turned her gaze forward. How he had found the staffs or learnt to use them, she did not know, and couldn't even bother herself with it now. Her heart kept sinking as she saw the streets she had walked home so many times, the familiar buildings consumed in fire. How she had missed Whiterun while she'd been away, how she had longed to be back here, but now it was all being burnt to ashes. Just as she had ridden through Rorikstead, burned in a dragon's flames, this was almost the same.
Though the nights had been cold as the grave, she was now sweating under her armour as the flames around her grew hotter. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs, heavy and suffocating. Jellal, sensing her nervousness, entwined his gloved fingers with hers. Erza squeezed them softly without saying anything. She didn't need to. There was enough comfort in his silence.
The uplifted roars grew louder as they rode forward, as did the blunt blows of the battering ram as it was smashed against the gates, over and over again. They were here. The wood was cracking as the soldiers rejoiced, then screamed when caught in an arrow's way. There were still archers in the watchtowers by the gate, but they were outnumbered and devastated, and every Whiterun's fighter outside the walls was most likely dead.
As a split-second thought, Erza wondered what kind of a fiery pit straight from Oblivion the scene would've already been turned into if Natsu would've joined the Stormcloak ranks. There would've been no need to bang the gates with a heavy shaft if they'd just let the bastard blow them all up with his fireballs. But gladly, and praise to the gods, Lucy had changed his mind. And as Erza's thoughts wandered to them, she hoped they were okay, and not running into Stormcloak reinforcements while on their way out of here.
"What did you plan to do?" Jellal asked by the time they reached the area by the gatehouse, where a couple of dozens of soldiers were waiting for the hundreds on the other side to break through, shivering as they stationed their pikes to welcome the intruders. Erza glanced over her shoulder at the Companions who had faithfully followed them all the way to here.
As the enemy kept banging the gate, Erza's quick mind tried to come up with a strategy. Her eyes travelled past the frightened guards to the city walls, knowing that the only way to get to the enemy was to go through the gates. Would they just let them breach through, and then fight them, kill them right here? Or would they storm to the walls and jump at their backs?
At this moment, what they needed the most was courage. Erza turned sidewards in the saddle, facing her friends, barely seeing their faces in the darkness. The great hinges of the gate groaned like a dying giant behind her.
"I've fought beside you countless times, but this time is different!" Erza shouted at them, shouted so loud her lungs and throat hurt. "These are no bandits, no brigands, these are the toughest sons of bitches Skyrim has to offer if they've already made their way to our doorstep! Yet we have to be tougher than them! They might be our kinsman, our cousins, uncles, even our brothers, but their bloody cause will only turn this country into a served table for the dragons to feast on! What we'll do here today, we do it for Skyrim and her people, so we could be whole again, and unite our forces against the real issue: the dragons!"
The Companions and the guards cheered on her, cheered loud enough for the Stormcloaks to hear it on the other side. At that moment, Erza knew what to do. She dismounted the horse, spared Jellal a brief glance as she lifted her sword to the darkened sky.
"We might be lesser than them in numbers, but we'll stand our ground! Strike to where it hurts! Fuck the Empire, and fuck the Stormcloaks, we'll fight for Whiterun! We'll defend this city, our hometown, to our last breath!"
A great crack appeared on the wooden gate as the iron-headed ram finally pierced through, and Erza began the final battlecry, the fear of death absent in her roar.
"FOR VICTORY…"
And a choir of warriors answered.
"… OR SOVNGARDE!"
When the gates were breached, a moment's calm descended, one last breath before charging into the battle. Jellal rode his horse in front of Whiterun's soldiers, gestured at them to back off. Without really knowing what he would do, they obeyed, and so did Erza and the Companions. Then Jellal released the staffs secured on his back and faced the broken gate. The surging mob of soldiers rejoiced, cheered as they pushed the doors open, clasping their swords and shields and halberds, and for a second Erza could see their faces. Young men in horned helmets, no fear gleaming in their eyes, only a sense of relief when they thought the battle was finally won.
They were wrong.
Slowly, Jellal lifted his arms, gathered magicka as if pulling it straight from the heavens, then struck them forward. As he unleashed the power of his staffs with the strength of thunder, every soldier vanished into the infernal chaos of his sorcery, and the cheers of joy twisted into frightened, dying screams. In the blink of an eye, the false victory twisted into a living nightmare.
Hot air bled from the gatehouse to Erza's face, a whirlwind caught her scarlet hair as she was almost thrown out of balance. Her eyes widened at the sight, her ears were ringing from the magnitude of the blast and the panicked shrill of the soldiers lost in there. She gasped as the aura of this utter, destructive magic bloomed outward, releasing tides of flames and lightning at the enemy. A sea of fire engulfed the soldiers, scorching them inside their armour like mudcrabs boiling inside their shells, while chains of lightning arched off from one dead to another.
Erza brought her hands to shield her head from the flying sparks, instinctively stepped backwards as the flames kept spreading. Their canopied battering jam was instantly consumed in the blaze, so were the remains of the wooden gates, and in front of all that destruction Jellal stood high on his horse, as if proud of his terrifying handiwork. Of course, he was proud, what else could he be?
The stench of seared flesh hung unmoving in the musty haze when the blistering light dimmed out. Where there had just stood a hundred soldiers were no longer but pieces of empty armour and abandoned weapons left, embers sparkling on the melting metal, the ground radiated with lesser bolts of lightning still arcing out of control. Smoke and blood-red steam rose towards the sky. Jellal turned his head towards the warriors behind him, extended his left-handed staff forward to the carnage, bowed and said, "You're welcome."
Still in shock, the frightened guards stared at the scholar without uttering a single word. Even if they had been their enemies, they were still someone's sons, someone's brothers, fathers, lovers. People were waiting for them at home, now there was nothing left of them to bury. In front of all the pathos and terror, a lump formed in Erza's throat.
"They were good men," Erza whispered as no one else dared to say anything.
"Good at dying," Jellal answered coldly. Shadowmere snorted, as if agreeing.
'You're a monster, my love.'
Not every Stormcloak had gathered to the narrow pathway between the drawbridge and the main gate – there were still many of them left in the field, trying to climb over the walls with their ladders, but a moment of silence fell as they noticed what happened there. As if every soldier held their breath, wondering what would happen next.
The battle had just begun.
Now, they'd fight.
Erza let out a pained sigh, closed her eyes and stepped forward. She kicked an empty helm with her foot as she halted below the gateway, and beckoned the others to follow her. Cana was the first to move. As if she had been waiting for this a long time, she could barely stand still from excitement. Even if she had been drinking for three straight days, she was never too drunk to fight.
And following Cana's example, the rest of the Companions and the city guards followed Erza as she led them into the battlefield. She was no commander, not a general, but she was the one they'd follow. Her courage was what they needed now.
"Vilkas! Farkas!" Erza shouted at the wolf twins. "Once we're all on the other side of the drawbridge, you pull it back up! And you stay here killing every Stormcloak who attempts to drop it again!" The twins nodded to her and headed to the stairs that led over the portcullis, then Erza glanced at Aela. "You're needed in the watchtower! Aim well, shield-sister!"
Aela left to the tower with her bow and arrows, and Erza knew they'd claim many lives tonight. Cana and Skjor remained by her side with their swords drawn, ready to meet their enemies. Jellal rode his horse over the drawbridge by their side and briefly halted to turn at Erza.
"I'll see if I can do something to the damn catapults," he told, his voice low enough for just her to hear. "They've been keeping me awake for three straight days."
"Be careful," Erza answered.
"Always."
Jellal kicked the sides of Shadowmere and rode away as fast as the wind. Erza watched him go into the darkness of a night, shooting chain lightning at every Stormcloak he passed by, distant rumbles of thunder echoing in the distance. For a second she was lost in thought. Why hadn't he done this earlier? Had the Jarl ordered him to remain in the city? Or did he simply lack the desire to defend it? How many had to die because he hadn't acted earlier? Yet again, Erza had to remind herself that Jellal didn't bother himself with such thoughts. The only life that mattered to him was hers.
Erza was torn back to the battlefield as a wave of enemies emerged from the blazing stables – or what was left of the stables. She braced her sword and stepped to Cana's side – they had fought together for years, faced enemies more terrifying than these boys, so nothing would get past them. Behind her Erza heard how the iron chains creaked again as the wolf twins pulled the drawbridge back up, preventing the entrance to the city even though the gates were breached. The morale of archers up on the walls was rising with Aela's command, and a hail of burning arrows soon rained over the attackers. They raised their shields to cover them from the arrows, but men still fell dead to the ground. No shield could protect from Aela's aim.
And when the rebels reached them, Erza swung her greatsword in a long, circular sweep, tearing through the defences of their armour. Skyforge Steel was unmatched in sharpness, and each of the Companions wielded it today, from arrowheads to blades. Erza blocked a strike of an axe as Cana thrust her swords into the chest of the rebel, then quickly turned to face another, bringing them to the same fate. Whiterun had been brought to the brink of despair, but by the courage of the Companions, the tides finally turned for their favour.
All the fear she had felt was gone.
There was it. The fever of a battle, the flame that forged the strongest blades, she felt almost drunk by it. It rushed over her, flooded into her once-terrified heart, fueled her with valour. Time seemed blurred, slowed, even stopped – the aches faded, she couldn't feel the wounds, only the instant moment as her eyes sought for a new foe to slay. Though she held the sword, she was the weapon. Past and future, yesterday and tomorrow merged into one.
She stopped feeling, she stopped thinking, she stopped being her. She became an armoured beast, a ferocious wolf chasing its prey. She'd keep fighting while her enemy would tire, and she would not, while her enemy would get afraid, but she would not. She blocked another blow, kicked the soldier into the guts and cut him open from shoulder to waist, her heart drumming rapidly in her chest.
She was alive.
While the men of Ulfric's army could've been used in the fight against the dragons, Erza felt no remorse as she stroked them down. It was their choice to join the rebellion, and trying to take the city was their mistake. May these deaths act as a warning example for anyone who still considered fighting in the name of Ulfric! As Erza kept swinging her sword at the enemy, striking precise killing blows, her eyes searched for their leader. She knew Ulfric's face, but where was he?
Had the coward stayed in the Palace of Kings in Windhelm, sitting on the throne, pretending to be a king while his men were out there shedding their blood?
Blood burst from her cheek as an arrow flew past her head, scraping off the skin, but it didn't hurt – she just knew she couldn't focus on searching for a man who wasn't even here. She turned around, saw an archer in the distance, and quickly dodged another shot. She leapt over the fallen soldiers, all the gore littering the ground, and struck her sword through the archer woman's back as she tried to run away.
As the rage fed her valour, she kept fighting, tirelessly putting Stormcloaks on her sword for the entire night. Her blade sunk through their chainmail with ease time after time – damn it, her blade had cut a dragon's scales, of course, it would cut through any mail. She had been lost in the blizzard of a dragon's breath and survived. She would survive this night, she knew. While there were many of the enemies, they were losing their will to fight. Erza saw it in their eyes as she killed them.
They knew they were losing, and the man who ordered them to fight wasn't there. They would die alone, knowing their effort was in vain, all in the name of a fool who believed to be a king. Their fates were never their own, just means in the game of endless greed. And while they died, they called not the name of Ulfric Stormcloak, not the name of Talos. They screamed for their mothers and fathers. Their futures, the seeds of their lives would be buried upon this ground, satiated with their blood.
From time to time, Erza checked for Cana and Skjor. They had strayed a distance away in the smoky battlefield, but they were doing fine. It was hard to see them in the darkness, as they moved from one death to another, but the absolute trust Erza had for them was as strong as their bond. With hope burning in her heart, she knew they'd all come home today and hold a grand feast for the sake of the saved city.
"Behind you!" Erza shouted to Cana as a soldier approached her from the blind spot. Instantly, Cana reacted and spun around, flashing her sword into the man's neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as Cana pulled back her weapon, the soldier falling lifelessly into the mud.
"Thank you, Erza!" she answered and roared as she leapt forward, avoiding the strike of a warhammer. Skjor hurried to her aid and with a feral fury, he severed the attacker in half with his greatsword. Cana thanked him too, her steps wavering as she stood up from the blood-smeared ground. She panted heavily, but carried on the slaughter. "I've killed more than you! I've counted!"
Erza chuckled dryly. She stepped over the bodies strewn across the field that had once been a farm, tried not to look down at the carpet of broken bones, meat and armour as she strode forward, finding new threads to weave into the carpet of the dead. Though she had hardened her heart to the death, she still held mercy within her – everyone who wanted to surrender was free to go. Everyone who'd throw down their sword wouldn't be met by Erza's. She would let them live. She wasn't here to annihilate the entire enemy army. She was here to defend her city, nothing more.
And in front of her stood a boy, young enough to not grow a beard yet, his head bleeding from the temples. Erza stared deep into those terrified eyes, the fires around them revealing the splattered blood on her face and bits of meat on her armour of steel. She yanked her crimson-streaked blade upwards, and the boy loosened the hold on his own. The sword dropped to the dirt at his feet as he lifted his hands over his head, whimpering a silent plea for his life.
"Go," Erza murmured at the boy. He nodded below his helm, then turned around and ran into the darkness.
As Erza's gaze followed the deserter, she saw how the catapults in the distance were set on fire, one by one. Lightning strikes flashed far away and flames licked the wooden structures of those weapons, accompanied by screams as the men using them died. And again, her sole thought was that Jellal could've done that before, but as no one had been allowed to exit the city while the gates were closed and the drawbridge was up, that power had remained unleashed until now.
What an eerie sight.
As the Stormcloaks watched their catapults being destroyed by sudden bursts of mysterious sorcery, they joined into a despairing roar, in one last effort to accomplish their mission. Yet still, even more of them surrendered, and Erza knew the victory was drawing near. Their forces were dispersing, more and more yielding to their strength. Her lips twitched into a faint smile.
Then she heard a high-pitched, pained scream.
In the edge of her vision, Cana plummeted forward, but by what, Erza couldn't see. A cough escaped the woman's throat with drops of blood as she tried to restore her balance. Then Erza noticed the warrior behind her – a general, wearing the hide of a bear, the beast's head as a helmet, its fur and claws wrapped as a cloak. The man, older of age, roared as he swung his greataxe straight into Cana's back.
Her whole world came to a halt, the fever of the battle now wearing thin.
"Cana!"
Erza's desperate scream was left to echo in the air as the woman fell face-first to the mud. The general wore a nasty grin on his lips. What a glory, to bring down a Companion, he must think. Erza's heart blazed up with utter, grief-ridden rage as the general pulled his greataxe out of Cana's flesh, blood dripping from the stained steel. Cana lay motionless on the ground, a sight that tore Erza's heart apart, yet fueled the berserk wrath within her. And with the strength of that wrath, she charged forward.
Her blazing gaze met the general's a second before she slashed her greatsword at the man's neck, decapitating him with a swift, clean move. A move which she regretted in an instant – she should've made him suffer instead of granting him an easy, quick passage to Sovngarde.
Erza dwelled not in her regret as the general dropped lifeless on his knees, his head sinking into the turned-over field of blood and mud close by. She turned her eyes away from the blood spraying from the separated neck, and rushed back to Cana. She crouched beside her and pulled her fallen comrade out of the mud into her arms, wiping her face clean with her gauntlet.
"Cana, do you hear me?" she spoke to her, tears welling up in her eyes. Cana's were closed, her chest did not rise, yet her fingers were still loosely curled around the handles of her swords. Despair grew in Erza's heart. "Cana! Stay with me! Don't you dare to die on me, gods damn it!"
As she traced her hand over the wound in Cana's back, Erza knew she was already gone.
The axe had reached too deep, nearly sunk through the thin body and out of her stomach. Blood flowed on Erza's legs as Cana lay on them, seeping through the seams of her armour and dropping warm on her skin. Tears washed clean trails on the dust and blood on Erza's face as she kept caressing Cana's cheeks with her thumbs.
How she wished she knew magic to heal her with, but all she could do was to watch her die in her arms, helplessly like a child. They had been supposed to go home together, as they had for a hundred times before. She had led her into this battle, she alone, and she'd now have to return without her.
"You lived your life to the fullest, enjoyed every moment of it, did you now?" Erza whispered to her, cracking a faint smile through the tears. Still, Cana didn't answer, didn't breathe, but the persistent grin was still stuck on her face. "I hope there's enough mead for you in Sovngarde. Spare some for old Ysgamor too, will you?"
With the death of the general, the Stormcloaks kept surrendering. They ran past them as Erza held Cana in her arms, held her tight so she wouldn't be alone as she passed from Nirn to Sovngarde. While she would now spend the eternity in Shor's wondrous hall, how empty would Jorrvaskr be without her laughter? Would her joyous presence linger there from now on?
Her face twisting from grief and guilt, Erza lifted Cana's lifeless body against her chest and embraced her for one last time.
"I'll see you later, shield-sister," she muttered and pressed a kiss on her bloody forehead. Then she lowered her gently to the ground, facing up to the clouded night sky. The orange lights of the raging fires reflected from the low-hanging clouds, creating a sight almost eerily beautiful.
The boy-soldiers were running away, their weapons abandoned far behind them, but the mercy she had in her heart was now gone. She wanted to strike down every Stormcloak she'd see, for they had stolen Cana from her. Her fingers squeezed tight around the hilt of her sword. Her every muscle ached from the urge to lift the blade and pierce it through the deserters, her honour kept it down. Still in tears, she gazed around for a hint of her other comrades, but couldn't see them. The darkness had faded into blue, and the desolation was now truly starting to slow in the early morning haze.
Each catapult was now blazing in the distance, their ladders were torn down with the bolts of thunder, but she couldn't sight Jellal anywhere. There weren't too many horses left of the Stormcloak army, if barely one – every horse she could see was dead on the ground. For a brief moment, as she got lost in the daze of grief, all she could see was the dead horses, their wounds devastating and terrible. Bile and feces and blood stained the once-proud mounts as they lay on blood-smeared field. She almost wept for the horses, too.
The world around her went very silent as she watched the dawn break over the carnage. Fires were still roaming within the walls of Whiterun, the columns of black smoke looking like towers that reached the skies. Golden banners with the face of a steed flew over the pyres, and blue ones with a bear were stumped into the mud. Somewhere ahead of her, a Stormcloak deserter stumbled upon a fallen pike, and was fast impaled by the halberd wielded by one of the guards Erza had seen by the gate. But then her gaze sharpened through the fog, and she saw the red cape worn by the soldier, the dragon-shaped crest of the Empire embroidered into the fabric.
Imperials?
Before Erza could take that line of thoughts any further, she was suddenly lifted from the shoulders. A flash of blinding light exploded right where she had just stood. A dying scream of a soldier filled the air as he was incinerated within his armour of steel – and only when Erza heard Jellal's voice, she understood what was happened.
"It's over," Jellal said as he placed her to sit sidewards on the horseback, wrapping his arm around her trembling body while the other hand wielded the staff. "It's over now."
Her breathing ran ragged and thin as she watched the empty shell that now lay beneath Shadowmere's calves, adjacent to a long, spiked warhammer that the soldier had wielded behind her back. It had been just seconds away from mashing in her skull, and she hadn't noticed a thing. Bereft by the loss of her shield-sister, she hadn't been in the condition to fight any longer – if not for Jellal, she would be lying on the bloody mud as well.
Erza leaned her head on Jellal's warm chest and let the tears fall. Jellal secured the staffs on his back again, gathered Shadowmere's reigns and motioned the horse towards the city. As the horse turned, Erza's gaze moved to the west, from where a whole legion of Imperial soldiers had arrived ahorse to claim their hour of blood. Their shining armour glimmered in the first light, untouched by battle. While she had spared her mercy to the deserters, the Legion didn't. By their swords and pikes, they killed everyone who they just reached, and if a single limb twitched on the ground, they struck through it as well.
Hasn't there been enough?
As they rode through the carnage, Erza spotted another familiar face among the dead. A bald man in the armour of a wolf, Skjor had been outnumbered by the fiercest Stormcloaks. Both of his arms were missing, his blade lost somewhere among the countless other weapons laying on the ground. Erza forced her eyes shut and clutched her fingers into Jellal's robes. He spoke quiet words to her, words of comfort so shallow, but she couldn't hear them. She couldn't hear anything at all except her own desperate sobbing.
Like vultures arriving on a corpse, the Legion kept slaughtering the wounded. This wasn't what Erza had wanted. This wasn't what was supposed to be. Erza lifted her eyes to the great army that had arrived from the west, to the horsemen who had ridden all the way from Solitude to find the battle already over.
In the front lines was a rider, a dark-haired man on a white horse, possibly a general or a warlord judging from the fancy garments, whose precise gaze followed Erza and Jellal as they rode towards the gate. Erza looked that man deep into the eyes, seeing something familiar in them, but her sorrow wouldn't let her understand what was what she saw. It didn't even matter now. She turned away, closed her eyes and pressed her head against Jellal's chest.
And soon, the few survivors of the slaughter gathered into a line before the gates, where Jarl Balgruuf the Greater now stood welcoming the returning warriors. Erza glimpsed the wolf twins and Aela among them – how could she ever tell them what had happened? Their eyes sought for two warriors who'd charged into the battle by her side, and their absence spoke more than words ever would.
Then the Jarl began his speech of praise.
"Revel in your victory here today, even as the gods revel in your honour! They already sing of your valour and skill! The halls of Sovngarde are no doubt ringing with your praises! In defeating these Stormcloak traitors, you have proven the hollowness of their cause and the fullness of your hearts. The citizens of Whiterun are forever in your debt!"
Valour and skill? Erza scoffed silently. She couldn't feel it anymore. There was no victory to revel in. Jellal kept stroking her back as she was still shivering. There was nothing that could pay the debt of a lost comrade. Nothing.
"But Ulfric will not stop here. No, he will continue to strike out against any true Nord who remains faithful to the Empire. He will continue to sow discord and chaos wherever he can. And so, we must each one of us, continue to fight this insurrection, lest our fallen brothers have died for nought! Lest our honour be lessened should we allow these bloodthirsty beasts to prowl our lands! Carry on men, my gratitude and blessings go with you!"
As Erza stared at the Jarl in perfect silence, men joined into a cheer.
"For Whiterun! For the Empire!"
A new day was dawning, and the sun rose over Whiterun.
Just not for everyone, ever again.
As the cheers were still echoing in the faint dawn light, as the songs of our valour were sung, my broken heart only beat a hollow dirge.
For that night, I, Erza Scarlet of Rorikstead, led my Companions into battle, and even though we won, some of us never returned. I led them into the night, straight into the arms of the enemy. I trusted in their strength and courage. It wasn't enough.
And I will always carry that guilt in my heart.
She had been so young. Even though I kept telling myself that Cana wouldn't blame me for what happened, I couldn't help but hope she'd forgive me once we'd meet again in Sovngarde, if I'd die valiantly in honourable combat and earn my place in Shor's great hall. I held onto that thought to keep myself together through the mourning until I finally learned the harsh truth.
There would be no reunion.
It was the night at the funeral, when we cremated her and Skjor in the flames of the Skyforge, while Whiterun was still licking its wounds, that Kodlak came to me during the silent feast held for their sake. He asked me, the wolf twins, and Aela to follow him into his chambers – the remaining Circle members, in the other words.
Then he told us that the beastblood, a blessing we took into ourselves as we became a part of the Circle, would prevent us from stepping into the realm of Sovngarde. For a blessing could also be a curse – it wouldn't only affect our bodies, as it seeped into our spirits as well. Upon death, we would be claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. In this paradise, we would hunt forever by the side of our master, but for me, this was the heaviest of all blows.
I had always hoped for Sovngarde to be my spirit's home, so I could reunite with my fallen comrades. I had hoped to finally meet my father there for the first time, share mead with Ysgamor, hear Cana's laughter once again. But now those gates were shut before me, would stay forever shut. There was no known cure for the curse, Kodlak told us as he apologized for keeping this secret from us. He had spent his twilight years searching for a way to undo the bargain formed two centuries by one of his predecessors and the Glenmoril Witches, and there was no such way, no hope in sight.
And as I wept in front of the closed gates of Sovngarde, wept for the joyous reunions we could have held there, only the words spoken in her funeral brought me comfort. I've kept chaining them together, muttering them over and over again like a prayer.
'Before the ancient flame, we grieve.
At this loss, we weep.
For the fallen, we shout.
And for ourselves...
...we take our leave.'
A/N: Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
... I know I said this would be the most massive chapter ever, but at 9,5k, it felt just enough, also allowed me to post this a bit faster. This was the first chapter where I utilized a "narrator" in the form of Erza's voice, as she was explaining the previous events of the war in the beginning. I thought this "info dump" was useful for those who do not know Skyrim. This was also the first chapter without Natsu or Lucy in sight or barely mentioned, so it was interesting and different one for me to write. I still miss them already.
I won't lie, writing this chapter was challenging. I tried to live up to my own (and your) expectations. I took inspiration from such books as Steven Erikson's "Gardens of the Moon" and George R.R. Martin's "A Clash of Kings", as well as music. I'd mention the whole album of Caladan Brood - Echoes of Battle, and Sabaton's "Lifetime of War" to my biggest sources of inspiration.
So, I finally entered the killing spree with this chapter. Who thought this character would die? I'll admit that it wasn't my original plan. Well, I didn't mean to include the Battle for Whiterun at all into this story, but then decided to do it. Here I also planted the seeds for some new plotlines to grow. Did anyone pay any attention to the Legion's general in the end, who looked at Erza? Who might he be? And what about Erza and her inability to step into Sovngarde, how will that play out? PS. I finally decided what to do with Erza's mother.
Once again, thank you for all the support and love! It truly means the world to me 3
Next up: The Breach
