A Bulwark Unbent
4E, 201, 1st of Evening Star
Imperius stood on the walls of the renovated fortress, looking out at the combined armies of Whiterun and Falkreath that numbered in the thousands. Since the village of Riverwood had joined him on the promise that they would not be harassed by Ulfric, or any other raving war band of raiders and looters that were common in the war torn province, the Jarls of Whiterun and Falkreath had held a meeting with each other on neutral grounds, their soldiers stood outside while only their thanes were allowed in their company as they talked. Balgruff wanted his village, and source of revenue, back, while Siddgeir wanted to prevent any future threats this upstart conqueror would become, so they agreed to combine their forces and march on his stronghold. An attempt to utterly crush Imperius before he could pose a more significant, and possibly unstoppable, threat. For months upon months, they gathered their forces, enacting the highest manpower tithes possible to ensure ultimate victory against their common enemy. Knights with their peasant levies, nobles and their retinues of men-at-arms, mercenary war bands dressed in the livery and armament of the faction they sold their loyalty to, and each Jarl's personal army, soldiers with the best arms and armor that their respective hold could offer, the highest prices for the best services of the most experienced blacksmiths paid readily, for one's personal army had to be the best, if not in skill, then in quality of equipment.
Even Tullius, who would rather leave the natives to squabble amongst themselves, knew the value that Whiterun held. A staging area for future campaigns into the eastern half of the province, and a possible front that would require the usage of resources better used elsewhere, on different fronts where the chance of victory was strongest. With this in mind, he offered a regiment of soldiers specialized in support roles, even sparing some of the few cavalry soldiers he employed in support of Whiterun, this seeming act of good faith increasing the chances that the neutral Jarl would side with the Empire and provide much needed resources to the already strained Legion. They have besieged the renovated fortress for about five weeks, with little progress. But now, they have something that will turn the tide in their favor, and a way into the fortress.
A flaming projectile flung from an enemy catapult hit the walls, leaving small cracks in the reinforced stonework.
"Catapults, Ballistae, open fire!" he shouted, three flaming stones were hurled at the combined army, leaving a trail of crushed corpses and setting aflame many more. Gigantic bolts were fired into the enemy formation, single bolts piercing numerous men before they stopped.
This exchange continued for a while, both sides delivering casualties to the other, slowly wearing each other down. An archer tower exploded nearby, flinging stones and killing the soldiers inside it. The sounds of cheering soon came to his ears, as a crudely constructed ram was slowly making its way to the wooden gates that have been reinforced by the Guardian himself. This wouldn't do. If they were to breach the walls and get enough men inside, then they would lose this battle, and they couldn't afford to lose now. They have come too far.
"Archers, draw fire arrows!"
His command was repeated by the archers as they set their arrowheads on fire, drawing their bows.
Imperius gave the command, and hundreds of flaming arrows were fired at the ram, setting it and the soldiers pushing it ablaze. The siege weapon soon turned to a smoldering husk, his soldiers cheering along the walls. While his soldiers were cheering at the destruction of the enemy's siege equipment, he ordered the dragons to attack the enemy army in any way they saw fit. The dragons were strafing the enemy army,causing mass panic, burning what they could without getting into arrow range, streaks of dark burned earth permeated the ground the host of the Jarls were standing on, charred corpses were all that remained of the men. From deep within the ranks of the nordic forces, five giants clad in chains were pulled forward, their jailors pointing at the wall. Such was the desperation and need for Balgruff to retake what was lost that he contracted multiple mercenary companies to capture giants and use them as living siege weapons. Many a mercenary captain was smashed into a bloody paste, and even more followed before the giants could be considered effective tools of war.
The giants shook their heads no, a last vestige of defiance all but spent, but were prodded along with long pikes with barbed tips. They began with a slow walk, then sped up into a jog, and finally changed into sprinting, their footsteps shaking the ground as they went. This shocked and astounded Imperius, but he didn't let it show. He could tell that his men were scared. If they were to see their commander in a similar state, it would severely cripple their morale, and none of them would survive the coming battle. If they were to reach the wall and successfully create an opening, the enemy army would flood in and slaughter his men, and he would take his own life before he saw a repeat of his defense of Whiterun in his previous timeline.
"Fire on the giants, don't let them get close!" Imperius shouted, the archers, catapults and ballistae sending volley after volley at the lumbering humanoids.
Two of the giants went down with a shout, tumbling for a few feet and stopping, their bodies peppered with arrows and ballistae bolts. The rest rushed forward, intent on destroying the wall. Another was struck by a flying stone from a catapult on the wall, collapsing to the ground shortly after, not even twitching, the giant's skull split in twain.
The two remaining humanoids crashed into the wall, denting the reinforced wood but not breaking it, staggering backwards from the collision. The archers peppered one giant until it fell, many arrows piercing its skin and eyes, the large humanoid screaming in agony until it fell. The final giant roared with rage, at the loss of its kin and at its attackers and surged forth, breaking the door and rushing into the courtyard. The jarl's forces were charging towards the breach, howling war cries as they went. The archers soon refocused their fire to the oncoming horde, felling dozens with each volley. The giant took out the ballistae crews, sending the men flying over the walls and landing with a sickening crunch. The Guardian rushed to the ballistae, intending to meet this enemy in combat. The giant saw him and roared a challenge, jogging towards the godlike being.
The two crashed into each other, creating a mess of thrashing limbs and flying fists. Each time a hit landed, thunder sounded, shaking the stones and the soldiers in the citadel. Their battle soon went outside the fortress, it devolved from fist fighting to grappling on the ground. A fist thrown here, a kicked leg there, then the being tossed the giant into a tree. The two stood up and charged each other, grabbing each other's fists. It seemed like a stalemate, with the two trying to overpower the other.
As this was happening Imperius shouted the command, and his forces surged from inside the fortress, halting the enemy advance at the gate entrance, pushing back the tide of enemy soldiers until they were fighting in the fields in front of the fortress. The legionaires with archer support forced the enemy soldiers into a rout, though it didn't last long as the soldiers from each hold quickly returned to the field and formed into a single line of soldiers four rows deep, three thousand wide at the opposite end of the field with two lines of archers behind them, facing the soldiers of the Imperium. The centaurs soon joined the legionaries outside the walls, taking up their positions on the flanks of the legionaries, their lances and shields glinting in the sunlight. Soon, a horn from the enemy army sounded, and the soldiers of Whiterun and Falkreath surged forth, seemingly without coordination, but Imperius was proven wrong by their next move.
The combined army suddenly formed into a wedge formation, cutting deep swaths into the legionaries' line, killing dozens with the charge alone. Arrows soon came flying into the legionary formation, striking those who didn't raise their shield in time. The legionaries soon began to give ground, slowly being pushed back to the citadel walls, hacking and slashing at exposed limbs. Within minutes of the melee being joined, the Jarls' forces at the front lines began to loose cohesion, the sudden and violent deaths of their officers and commanders by small strike teams of legionaires breeding confusion, orders from junior officers conflicting with one another, and the advance slowed to a crawl. The centaurs galloped forth from the wings, crashing into the archers, stopping the deadly hail of arrows. They cut down dozens upon dozens until the archers broke, sprinting into the far woods towards their respective holds. The centaurs chased the archers into the woods, then they turned towards the clash outside the citadel walls, and tried to aid the legionaires, but were attacked by a regiment of soldiers from both holds, forcing them to halt their relief effort.
Valian swung his spear, slicing through the armor and into the chest of a Falkreath soldier. He dodged a spear thrust by a Whiterun pike man, and cut off the spear point and crushed his helmet with his weapon. He and his force of centaurs were to relieve the pressure the legionaries were getting on their line. So far they were making progress with relieving the legionaries, killing hundreds of archers and any reinforcing regiments from either Jarl. A high pitched horn sounded, and from the surrounding woods burst forth a detachment of imperial cavalry, the mish mash of leather and steel making them recognizable.
"Come on men, we need to relieve the legionaries fighting for their lives, charge!" he shouted, the force of centaurs rushing to meet this new foe after slaughtering the infantry regiments.
The two forces met each other in a flurry of steel, dozens of soldiers on each side falling to the deadly charge. Centaur lances met imperial cavalry swords, the lances ripping the imperial riders off their mounts, shattering their shields and tearing through thick, tanned leather and partial steel battle plate, imperial cavalry swords tripping up the armored centaurs, sending them flailing to the ground, bones snapping under their immense weight, crippling them, tripping others as the melee continued around them. Valian thrust his spear, piercing the leather armor of an imperial, the horseman flung from the saddle into the mass of horses and men as his mount continued to gallop without its master. A blade struck his back, the steel armor he wore saving him from a grievous wound. He turned and was met by the force's commander. You could tell he was of a high rank, with the gold inlaid in the steel of the ornate armor, the helm sporting a bright red plume waving in the breeze. The imperial swung his blade, a steel sword, his strike blocked by Valian's glaive.
"So you must be the infamous Valian I was briefed about. Pity the reports didn't match up to the real thing," he said with a smirk.
He was of an elderly age, with the white of age just now beginning to show in his hair, which was almost gone. Scars ran across his face , most notably his left eye, which was now a clouded white, the dimmed jade green piercing behind the veil. His voice was of a deep bass, the sound rumbling and deep. He had a scruffy, silver beard covering his chin and most of his face.
Valian grunted and disconnected the engagement, and rushed back into the fray, his steel meeting the commander's. They exchanged blow after blow, only small cuts here and there being made. Valian moved to the side as he dodged the commander's attack and swung his glaive at the man's neck, only for his weapon to be blocked by the commander's sword. Valian used the other end of his weapon to stun the commander and delivered a strike to the commanders face, cutting through the tanned skin with ease.
"So, the abomination can fight, can't say the same for your other brethren, they fought like heathens, savage and brutish," the imperial said, angering Valian.
He yelled a battle cry and rushed the imperial commander. The imperial smirked, his plan at angering the beast had worked, now his rage would make him sloppy, giving him the opening to finish him off. His smirk quickly turned into a frown as the blows he was blocking didn't become sloppy, but became quicker, more precise, more deadly.
'This pompous imperial thinks me a savage beast. He has no idea that I was a former soldier, and knows all about handling rage in battle to my advantage,' Valian thought.
His focus and combat ability surprised the commander, that he could read by the imperial's expression alone. He was slowly getting the better of his foe, with more of his strikes hitting home than being blocked. Attack after attack hit their mark, slicing through and piercing the armor worn by the commander, drawing blood. Soon the cavalry commander was panting on his steed, sweat and blood were dripping off of his frame.
"You know, for a beast you fight well," he said, a condescending smirk marring his features.
Valian cantered towards him, stopping beside his horse, looking him in the eye.
"I am not a beast, and I have a name. My name is Valian!" he shouted, cleaving off the imperial's head.
With the death of their commander, the rest of the cavalry detachment fled into the forest, giving Valian and his cavalry the chance to level the playing field. They charged, lances lowered, smashing into the enemy lines. Valian felt many soldiers crumple under his hoof during the charge. He used his spear to strike at enemy soldiers he missed as he charged, adding to the death toll that his men were racking up.
Galba blocked an overhead swing of a war hammer, the weapon denting his shield. He thrust his sword into the belly of the Falkreath guard, ending his life as the soldier groaned in pain before falling dead. He looked around at the soldiers beside him, all covered in sweat and gore, but determined to defend their land. He blew his whistle, and the ranks shifted, the soldiers behind the front line of men moving forward to replace the legionaries in the thick of the fighting. The legionaires efficiently cut down the enemy in front of them, their blades cutting through the armor of their foes, piercing their midsection, torrents of blood soaking the ground under their feet, achieving a near fluid motion born of familiarity. Block. Thrust. Repeat. They had done this a thousand times before, never faltering even for a second. Even so, it was hard to keep up with the seemingly endless numbers of the foe they faced. Galba was breathing heavily, sweat dripping off of his nose to the ground below. They had been fighting for about two hours in the hot sun, and it was starting to wear on him and his men. He hoped that some help will come soon. His men won't be able to hold the line without some relief.
'Damn it, we aren't going to last long our here if this keeps up,' he thought.
He then heard the screams of the dying as the centaur cavalry charged into the rear of the enemy formation, killing dozens and wounding more. His confidence and hoped soared at the sight of the centaur cavalry cutting down numerous enemy soldiers. He knew by the surprised and fearful looks on the soldiers from Whiterun and Falkreath that they were about to break. They needed that little extra push.
"Come on legionaries, we have reinforcements. Press forward!" he shouted, the cry of victory being raised among Imperius's soldiers as they began cutting down guard after guard, fighting with renewed enthusiasm, ferocity, and efficiency that often surprised and frightened the soldiers of the enemy army, pushing them back into the blades of the centaurs that awaited them. As they were being attacked from the front and rear, with no path of retreat readily available, the combined army began to waver, their morale began to drop dramatically and desertions began to crop up. Small regiments quickly threw down their arms and were not touched as the battle lines of the Imperium passed them, being led away by those in the rear of the legion. Others were not so lucky, their more loyal comrades, affronted by such treachery, cut them down before the legionaires could get to them, the killers being slain shortly after.
'This "giant" being is certainly a worthy opponent, I wonder how his skills with armed combat are?' the Guardian thought, using his strength to slowly break the stalemate.
He pushed the humanoid away and drew his blade, the holy energies swirling around the cross guard. The giant grunted and pulled out his club, a leg bone of a mammoth with a boulder tied to the end of it.
The Guardian struck first, swinging his blade in an overhead strike, the giant blocking the blow with difficulty. The giant pushed his blade off of his club and swung his club horizontally, barely scraping the being's armor. The Guardian smirked and used the pommel of his sword to strike the giant, the end hitting its forehead. The giant stumbled back and swung out in a wide arc, intending to keep him at bay. He ducked under the swing and buried his sword in the giant's chest, the limp body falling to the ground.
He turned towards the battle, and took off with a sprint, smashing into the surrounded guardsmen, being careful to avoid the legionaires and centaurs. With the combined losses taken from all sides, some of their allies already breaking ranks and surrendering and the addition of the metal giant, the Jarl's forces surrendered en mass, being led to the fortress in chains by the victorious legionnaires who, while victorious, did so with a subdued happiness as they passed by fallen legionaires, brothers in arms lost to them forever.
Valian and Galba looked for their leader for hours, long after the battlefield was cleared of soldiers and the fallen. The soldiers of Falkreath and Whiterun, be they mercenary or loyal soldier, were buried in mass graves, the survivors wouldn't accept the bodies being burned. The fallen legionaires had funeral pyres, with each pyre containing four legionaires each, culminating in a total of a thousand of the Imperium slain in battle. It was there that they found him, head bowed in silent grief for the fallen, standing among the rank and file, all comforting each other with their presence and shared grief. Each soldier was unique in Imperius' eyes, though they wore the same battle plate, carried the same weapons, and fought under the same banner, they were inescapably different. And he grieved, for each and every single one of them. They decided against bothering him during this time, as they respected the need for silence. They would wait.
Inside the Citadel
4E, 201, 2nd of Evening Star
"Imperius, we have too many prisoners to feed. We need to either make them a part of our army, or execute them," Valian said, his armor free of the blood and gore of the battlefield. They couldn't support the sheer amount of prisoners they have just acquired today. Their supplies would vanish if they had to care for and feed them. The only logical conclusion was to execute them. Their stockades couldn't handle the influx of trained warriors, and if left alone, could result in a violent insurrection at the citadel whilst the legion was away. The garrison, while made up of superbly trained soldiers, were simply too few to hold back the hordes of hostile warriors in the inner bastion of the citadel.
"We don't have enough materials to begin repairing and making armor for the men sir. Our armor and weapons will eventually break, and we'll be an army without the means to fight," Galba said.
Imperius hummed and retreated into the throne room, coming out with a marked map.
"I have marked on this map certain places which, if we secure in time before the jarl's forces do, will alleviate our plight. Embershard mine and Half-Moon Mill. The mine is close to Riverwood so I will take some legionaries to storm the bandits holding the area. Galba and Valian, you are to take a force of centaurs and legionaries to secure the lumber mill. We will need it to rebuild our fortifications.I will address your concerns after we secure both locations," Imperius said.
The two lieutenants nodded and together they left to gather the soldiers and supplies they needed. The groups met at the gate of the citadel, the being and the construction crews working on rebuilding the archer tower.
"Good luck, and secure those resources, we're running low on wood and metals," the giant said.
Imperius, Valian, and Galba nodded, and they rode out towards their targets, the sounds of numerous footsteps following them out of the gates.
A lone adventurer arrived at the gates of Whiterun, staring in awe of the place.
"So this is Whiterun, the trade center of Skyrim. I'm going to check it out," he said.
He started towards the gate, only to be met with swords thrust at him.
"Halt, no one is allowed into the hold on account of a rebellion and reports of a dragon attack at Helgen," the guard said, the man's facial features twisted into a frown at the less than hospitable greeting.
"I'm from the east, and at my back are thousands of warriors, all of them dragon slayers in their own right, killers for hire, and I'm certain that they can help with whatever is going on here," he said, lying through his teeth as easily as breathing.
"Dragon slayers you say? Well, better get to the jarl, help him any way that you can," the guard said, unlocking the gate.
"By the way, what is your name traveler?"
He turned back to look at the guards.
"My name is Harald, Harald Hardradda," he said, brushing his long locks of blond hair out of his eyes. The guards nodded and turned back to guarding the gate, locking it behind him. Harold made his way through the market district, the sun warming his bones, chasing away the cold bite of the snow.
"Care for some venison sir? Fresh from the wilds," a wood elf asked, his hunting bow leaning against the counter.
"No thanks, but maybe later," Harold said, the vendor waving as he left. He arrived at Dragonsreach and entered the mighty keep, the agitated voices of an argument reaching his ears.
"We need to regain Riverwood before Tullius or Ulfric take the town from the upstart!" Jarl Balgruff shouted, his face a volcanic red. Why couldn't this advisor see how important regaining Riverwood was. If either side were to gain the town, they could pressure him into joining their cause. Plus, it was a good source of revenue lost, meaning less coinage for his coffers. His nobles were already making a fuss at their recent, and unexpectedly lesser boon in exchange for loyalty. If they were to find the reason for this, they would abandon him without question. He needed to keep them in the dark as long as possible if he had any hope to survive.
"Sir, we don't have enough troops to guard the hold and attack their forces, we would be left defenseless," his steward said, cowering before his jarl's rage
"I don't care if you have to empty out Whiterun to meet the demand for manpower, just make it happen!" he said with finality.
The jarl plopped into his chair and sighed, finally looking at the newcomer. He didn't have the patience to deal with nonsensical travelers. He needed someone or something that could help him with his predicament. Anything else could wait until his problem was dealt with. He assumed that the traveler was here on other business, so he didn't even bother with a proper greeting, not noticing the expensive clothing that the man wore, or the curved blade on his hip.
"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy running a hold here?" Balgruff said, his face twisted in annoyance.
"I am Harold Hardradda, and I come to offer my help. You see, I was at Helgen so I can help you with this dragon problem you seem to have. Second, I have a mercenary army of about three thousand in High Rock, plus an additional seven thousand in Hammerfel awaiting my command, which could help you with this rebellion of yours," he ended, a devilish smile on his face. He didn't know what Helgen was, and he didn't want to know. All he needed was coin. Defending against usurpers, fighting dragons, this wasn't why he was here. There were much more interesting things happening at home, and required his attention. This was simply a scam. A front to further his efforts.
Balgruff sat there in shock. Here was a man claiming to have experience with dragons since he was at Helgen, and he happened to have a mercenary army awaiting his call. It seemed too good to be true. A man appearing from the blue seemingly having the answer to nearly all of his problems. Balgruff was distrustful of the man, as anyone should be, but he didn't have many options at the moment.
"All right Harold, what is your price? I've dealt with enough men like you to know you have a catch with offering your services."
Harold nodded, and proceeded to smirk. "I simply want coin to pay for the expenses of moving my mercenary army here, as well as coin for food, housing, and any supplies that will be needed to keep my army at full capacity."
The jarl begrudgingly agreed to this arrangement and called a huscarl named Lydia, and told him she was to aid him in every way possible.
"Thank you for doing business with me Balgruff, you won't be disappointed," he said, the great doors closing on his face.
"What are your orders my thane?" Lydia said, anxious to get to work. Little did she know that there wouldn't be much work being done while in this man's service.
"My dear, our first project is to call in our forces, then we proceed from there."