For hours, the legion slaughtered the now trapped stormcloaks, who themselves fought with fury, their courage never wavering. Such was the level of violence and death that even Mirmulnir had to gawk at such a display. Imperius nodded to himself, seeing that the remaining rebels had had enough, and signaled to Galba and Valian to end this slaughter. The two lieutenants nodded and pulled their forces back, leaving at the center of a field of bodies thirty haggard stormcloaks, smeared with blood, their armor torn and shattered in some areas. It was a pitiful sight.
He motioned with his hands, and a line of archers formed, drawing their arrows back, the tips promising an agonizing death from a distance.
"Stormcloaks, I offer you a chance to surrender. Your famed and beloved leader has forsaken you, fleeing the battle when it turned against him, only taking his trusted generals, leaving you to be slaughtered. He cares not for any of you. He remembers not your names, your deeds, your titles or histories. He cares for none of you. There is no shame, nor loss of honor, if you lay down your arms, and end this senseless loss of life," Imperius said. In the past he had not given the rebels a chance like this, only putting them to the sword, as was fitting for a servant of the Empire. Now, he was free of such restrictions, and would like to try to convince the Stormcloaks that he was a better alternative to the status quo. He only hoped that his effort will be successful
For the most part, the group of warriors yelled in defiance, wanting to die a warrior's death. Who was this upstart imperial to tell them about honor, when he wasn't even a nord, and only nords knew of the concept of honor. But the noise was silenced when three stormcloaks separated from the group, their bodies shaking with exhaustion. The three rebels laid down their weapons and shields, one nearly falling over, and were led away from the field by six legionaires.
Galba glanced at the three captured rebels, noting with anger and shock that they were extremely young, and shook his head. Using children as cannon fodder was the most dishonorable thing a leader could do. Sacrificing the youth for your ambitions was abhorrent in his eyes. Only Ulfric would stoop to such levels, his face twisted into a grimace of disgust at the rebel leader, cursing his name silently as Imperius asked if the rest will join their comrades.
"We will never surrender, imperial scum! Glory to Ulfric Stormcloak, Skyrim will be free!" one of the nords yelled, prompting the rest to cheer in agreement. Imperius raised a hand, and let it fall, watching the stream of arrows fly to the doomed stormcloaks. The screams and cries of pain soon drowned out all other noises, the twitching bodies coughing up blood from their various wounds. Those that didn't succumb to their wounds immediately were finished off by legionaires moving through the bodies, searching for those that survived the volley. Soon, there were none left alive.
Imperius looked away, sighing with regret at his failure to convince them, and directed Mirmulnir to fly back to the temporary headquarters. The legion marched back behind the newly constructed walls that sealed off the entrance to the Imperium's territory from Whiterun, some cohorts went to their tents, while others resumed their patrols and vigil's over the walls.
"Valian, Galba, we must plan our attack on the divided Skyrim. Now that we have nullified the two threats to the Imperium, we can get back to conquering the territory," Imperius said, bringing up a map of the province, with his lieutenants entering the command tent to stand beside him, the elf bringing up the rear.
She was impressed with the tactics used in the battle she witnessed. There was no doubt that this imperial was a veteran soldier, judging by the way he used cunning to outmaneuver the Stormcloak forces. He seemed to also be an experienced commander by the familiarity he displayed when barking commands to his subordinates. She assumes that he has commanded men before, despite the obvious legion under his command. In her mind, this imperial is an experienced commander, probably from the Empire, a decisive leader, and wants, no, needs to conquer Skyrim, possibly the entire Empire as well, but why this needs to happen, she hasn't figured out.
"I say we make for the Whiterun Hold. With the armies defeated, and only militia forces bolstering his depleted garrison, it should be an easy victory, and we wrestle control of one of the main areas for trade in the province away from either of the main factions, cutting off supply lines and securing key deployment zones towards either the east or west, then we move onto the northern territories, securing vital territories from the Stormcloaks as well as establishing an open port to the sea from which to launch future attacks against either side," Valian suggested.
"I suggest that we make for Markarth, the silver mines would benefit the Imperium's coffers, and offer us a stable income. Plus, it would weaken the imperial military and rob them of a reliable income, and a strategic position such as Markarth. If it were to be captured we would gain control of the Reach area, something no other faction as of now has truly ever accomplished, which would prove to most of the native nords that your side is the one to be on and would hopefully implore imperials under the Empire's banner to defect to your side, as you are dragonborn, and a efficient leader with victories under his belt," Galba offered.
Imperius liked both options. Both had potential for resounding success, but he was cautious. If he were to attack either hold, his right flank would be unsecure. If Ulfric could muster the amount of soldiers he had for his personal army, what was the strength of his actual army? The thought was poignant in his mind, unwilling to be brushed to the side to be dealt with later, as he had done to many others. It demanded his full attention, like a babe wailing for its mother. He had the reports of his scouts to rely on, but they couldn't get accurate numbers of the Stormcloak's overall force, and now he possibly could.
"I shall return shortly, I must see to something," he said, leaving his confused lieutenants in the tent, making his way to the local guard house. He entered the building and made his way to the garrison captain, who was raising a toast of wine and mead to the victory.
"To Imperius, for winning the day for the Imperium. And to all the men who perished this day, may the divines have mercy on their souls!" he shouted, the surrounding guards caroused in agreement. He noticed Imperius standing in the back of the group and hastily made himself presentable, nearly knocking over his tankard in the process. Imperius chuckled when the less than sober men around him made to do the same, half of them falling back into their chairs, the rest spilling their mead and wine on each other.
"Don't let me interrupt your celebration, go back to your tankards. I just need the captain for a moment."
The guards nodded and went back to chugging down their mead, the honey colored liquid sloshing onto their chins as they drunkenly held their cups. Imperius led the captain to the ale barrels and asked him for the keys to the cells containing the prisoners. The captain handed them over and wished him well, rejoining his companions in the revelry that was taking place. The stairs creaked, sounding like they were about to break under each step he took, as he made his way down to the holding cells. The shadows flickered under the candle light, like a flame in the dark, slowly being driven away as more candles were lit.
"How are the prisoners, I hope they are treated fairly?" Imperius asked a nearby guard
"Yes sir. We gave them fresh food, and gave them blankets when the night's chill arrived."
Imperius nodded, and made his way to the occupied cells, illuminating the young stormcloaks. They were children, with the boy having small patches of blonde peach fuzz around his upper lip, and the girls just now coming into their own. They looked kind of funny, curled into little balls of blankets on the straw mattress. All appeared to have drifted into slumber, except for one, the eldest of the trio he assumed, noticing him from her perch upon the bed. She began to back up, hitting the cell wall and wrapping her arms around her legs, trying to make herself seem small.
"Are you going to torture us?" she said, voice cracking.
"No, there will be no torture for you, or your friends. I promise on my life. All I ask is the strength of the stormcloak forces in the east and northeast. Their numbers and where. Plus, if there are fortifications along the roads to the cities under their control," Imperius asked
She shook her head. "Imperials lie. Ulfric says that imperials will lie to you, trick you into getting what they want, and then hurt you afterwards."
Imperius nodded at her statement. She isn't wrong. When he worked for the Cyrodilic Empire, the Game was always played, lies and misdeeds ran rampant in the struggle to gain power and prestige. You could hardly trust anyone without them trying to stab you in the back for one reason or another. He himself was almost a casualty of an elaborate plot for a local noble to gain control of a legion, framing him for their lack of victories in the Reach, and the failure to capture Ulfric when he was in the area in the previous timeline. All of these charges were false of course, but he was nearly lynched for his supposed crimes. He was saved by testimonies from his centurions and a friendly legate that happened to be in town when the trial took place. This timeline's imperials were hardly any different.
"Yes, they do lie. However, we are no longer imperials. We fight the imperials. We fight for a world where everyone can be safe, and never have to worry about war or religious persecution befalling them ever again. If you do decide to tell us what you know, you will be made a citizen of the Imperium, with all the privileges and rights afforded to you with your citizenship. You will be free to worship whomever you chose. You and your friends will be safe in the Imperium, I guarantee it," he said.
The girl looked hesitant, almost at war with herself over whether to betray Ulfric or not. Why would she betray the man who fought for her freedom? Ulfric fought for the worship of Talos, something the Empire wanted to eliminate entirely. That alone made him the more favorable option of either Imperials or Stormcloaks, and when Stormcloak soldiers came and took them from their village to be trained, she and the others didn't protest. They relished the chance to spill imperial blood in Talos' name, to become official Stormcloaks. But now, with all of the excitement and initial interest gone, all she wanted was to go home with her friends, the friends she had left. She had seen too many of her friends die in, her opinion, pointless battles, and she had had enough. But if she went home, the Empire may invade her homeland and round up Talos worshippers, and flog or execute former Stormcloaks for high treason. But if any Stormcloak recognized her and her friends, they would be captured and executed for high treason against Ulfric Stormcloak.
She saw no way out of this without taking up arms once again, only this time it would be for self preservation, not ideals. However, there was now another option, one that promises an end to the fighting, where she and her remaining friends can return home to their families and live peacefully, if they were still there. It was a tempting offer, and to her, the rewards were worth the risk of betraying Ulfric. Besides, Ulfric had left them for dead. So she told him. She told him where the training camps east of Whiterun were, the locations of outposts and watchtowers, and where to her knowledge the remaining Stormcloak forces were. However, she had one condition. Imperius would have to protect her and her friends and their families in the village of Ivarstead, which was under Stormcloak control. Imperius nodded and made to get up, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the left sleeve of her tunic was a darker color than the rest of the clothing.
"Are you injured? Here, let me see the damage," Imperius said, beckoning her forward. She hesitated, looking at him with fearful eyes, but relented and scooted closer to him, showing him her arm, which had a slash from a sword running up it. He asked the guard for some medical supplies, and grabbed a water skin, pouring the clear water onto the wound, the girl hissing from the contact. He took the bandages and salves offered to him by the guard, and began applying it to the wound, spreading the salve and wrapping the bandages around the slash.
"Tell the guards if it worsens. They will send for a medicos to help you if need be. Soon you will be escorted under guard to the capitol. There you will be given citizenship and the protection that comes with it. We will protect all you hold dear, I promise," he said, finishing tying off the bandages
She nodded and laid down, falling asleep as soon as she hit the straw. He left the cells, and made his way through the guard house. He stopped to stare at the moon, and to just wonder at how things have played out. Sometimes it's hard for him to not stop and just marvel at the nature of things, how he assembled his forces, gathered the men of their particular skills, and the formation of his nation. Imperius chuckled to himself. He is so busy with conquering territory that he hasn't even begun to set national policies, trade agreements, defensive alliances, non aggression pacts, etc.
Imperius shook his head, and made his way back to the tent.
"So, I take it your excursion was successful?" Valian asked, an eyebrow arching, unsaid questions dancing on his tongue.
He shook his head in affirmation, and began to mark multiple places in the Rift, Eastmarch, and Winterhold territories, labelling them as he went. From the information that he had obtained from the young Stormcloaks, the attack on Riverwood was the second largest army in the Stormcloak faction. The main army, the largest by far, was stretched thin with guarding their holdings in Eastmarch and The Rift, along with a garrison in Winterhold, and with their losses in The Pale to the Imperials and with the losses obtained a few hours ago, the Stormcloaks were stretched to the breaking point. If any concentrated attack in either the Rift or Winterhold were to happen, their faction would soon begin to crumble. The many watchtowers, camps, and patrols in these areas were light, if not non-existent from Ulfric's disastrous military defeat at Riverwood. Apparently he nearly cleared them all out for this battle. Something to do with gaining a certain jarl's favor. They shouldn't be any trouble for him. What he now needs to focus on is the somewhat strengthened imperials in The Pale, Hjaalmarch and Markarth itself, bastions in his way of the imperial capital of Skyrim, the seat of their power. He needed to break that power.
"I want our western front secured, so when we defeat the imperials, we can focus our full attention on the crippled rebels. We first make for Whiterun, secure the staging areas, and divert the might of the legions towards the silver mines. The silverblood family won't take too kindly to us taking their mines, so expect many mercenaries when we besiege the city. Valian, take a force of thirty centaurs and scout Whiterun, find out how much of the Jarl's forces remain. Galba, head to Marianus and tell him to refocus his efforts on the infrastructure project," Imperius said, the two generals saluting and leaving the tent to carry out the task laid before them.
Whiterun
4E, 202, 17th of Morning Star
"Harold, I order you to march your forces and meet the approaching army at once! We need to halt their momentum before they gain too much power. He gained half of an imperial legion last week! His forces have doubled in such a short amount of time that if he were to besiege us now, we would have to surrender or be put to the sword!" Balgruff exclaimed, beads of sweat rolled down his frame.
Ever since he had gotten word that Imperius had driven off the imperials, and utterly obliterated the stormcloak forces, needless to say, he was frightened. In fact, frightened can't even begin to describe the terror he was feeling at the moment. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, and wake up from this horrific nightmare that the divines have cursed him with. He knew full well that Imperius wouldn't tolerate resistance to his military might, and would gladly have his head on a pike before the walls of the Imperium's capitol.
"Relax Balgruff, this is all a part of my plan. We let them march upon Whiterun, and once they have dug in for the siege, my forces will ambush them from the surrounding countryside, slaughter every single one of them, and put an end to this petty tyrant of yours," Harold said, with a crooked smile on his face.
He had no intention of saving this pathetic excuse of a nord. He was going to take his forces, and march back to Hammerfell, and spend the large sum he 'earned' on women and wine. Balgruff looked relieved, and slouched onto his throne, gulping down his mead from his silver goblet.
'The poor fool, he actually believes I will save him. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I take my forces, and leave this run down pigsty of a city,' he thought, softly chuckling to himself as he grabbed a goblet from a nearby bar wench.
The thane that had been assigned to him was a nuisance to deal with, constantly badgering him to actually help the jarl in a useful capacity. He had to placate her somehow, and drummed up support from the local populace by asking for 'contributions' to the cause, mainly in the form of food for the garrison and oaths of loyalty. That diverted her attention away from him enough to maneuver her into a position that deprived her of any authority, and practically removed her as a threat to his plans altogether. When it was time for him to leave, he had plans to dispose of her without issue, assigning 'bodyguards' to her person that would 'protect' her from threats from within or without. They were loyal and reliable men, they would do their part.
A particular bar wench caught his eye, a dark manned vixen that was practically inviting him to her bedchambers with her swaying hips and alluring eyes winking at him every time she passed by, and the clothing she wore left nothing but the essentials to the imagination. The fire burning in his belly called to her, and he answered it. The jarl wouldn't find his mercenary captain for two hours, only finding him by the word of the bar wenches' gossip in the bedchambers of one of them, the man putting on his clothing and leaving the room as the jarl came upon him, the wench left upon her bed, her face was one of satiated lust and overwhelming pleasure.
"Harold, are you sure that your plan is sound?" the slightly inebriated nord asked the mercenary.
Harold silently groaned in frustration at the jarl's pestering.
"Jarl Balgruff, your title, lands, and your own safety, I guarantee will be kept in place from that usurper from the south. My men will ensure that you will rule uncontested for years to come," he placated, just wanting the man to go away.
The Jarl nodded, reassured, and returned to the main hall, grabbing two bar wenches and leading them to his bedchamber.
Harold sighed in relief, hoping the comforts of the flesh will keep him occupied enough for him to think in peace. He had to make sure that everything went according to plan, because if it didn't, it would mean his destruction.