The End of an Era

by xcaliber234

Long has the Stormcrown languished, without a worthy brow to sit upon... As the war comes to a close, Aurelian Octavius, The Last Dragonborn, a Legate of the Imperial Legion, must navigate his new path through a world free of The World Eater. He has the loyalty of Skyrim and now the Legion. It is said when a true Dovahkiin appears in history, it is often to rule over men...

2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Strategy

"With all due respect General," Legate Hrollod spoke, though his tone was bordering on something more along the lines of frustration than respect. "My men have harassed and held the line here in Eastmarch for the better part of a year. If any of the Legions deserve to lead the charge, it's me and mine."

"Your opinion is noted," General Tullius said as he put his signature on another letter before looking back over the map that was spread out on the table before him. General Tullius, Legate Rikke, Legate Hrollod and Legate Fasendil stood around the map, detailing the terrain around Windhelm as well as a general layout to the city's districts. "However, I trust that this request is born out of some superior tactical knowledge of the city and its defences, and not some misguided desire for glory."

Hrollod went quiet for a moment, although the General's gaze wasn't on him, the gaze of Legate Rikke was. Her eyes narrowed somewhat slightly as she awaited Nord Legate's answer.

"Of course sir, my scouts have reported back to me the layout of the city, what places will be easiest to hold and hardest to break through should the Stormcloaks mount a defence."

"And you feel confident that you can recall these locations in the heat of battle?" Rikke inquired.

Hrollod's eyes narrowed now. "Are you doubting my abilities, Legate Rikke?"

"No," she said, returning his gaze, though hers was far more tense. Although they bore the same rank, all knew that it was her voice that carried weight amongst the Legates of Skyrim. "I am questioning your abilities. There is a difference."

"Regardless of whether or not Hrollod leads the attack," Tullius stated, before the argument could continue, "There are still more than one way into the city." He pointed to a spot on the map where the White River flowed by the Windhelm dockyards. "An attack here would not be out of the question. If we can find the boats we could use them ferry our men across and attack from two points."

"They have only have so few men left after Markarth," Legate Fasendil spoke up. "Dividing their forces even further should help de escalate the advantage of their walls." The Altmer Legate and his Eighth Legion had marched from Riften after fresh reinforcements from Cyrodiil had arrived to help secure the city and surrounding fortifications. "However, there is still a chance that a Stormcloak force is persisting somewhere outside the city," he said as he pointed on the surrounding territory to their southern flank. "Regardless of how we proceed, I recommend we keep a strong rearguard."

Tullius nodded. "Agreed. We have not come this far to lose it all because of some miraculous cunning on the Stormcloak's part. Fasendil, divide the Eighth in two. Have half of your cohorts ready to support the vanguard once they are in the city. The other half will keep our flanks secured."

Fasendil saluted, a fist over his heart. "I'll see to it at once, General." he turned on the spot and marched out of the tent, his helmet tucked under his arm.

As he exited however he was halted by another man's entrance, an Imperial with short dark hair and a light stubble that barely covered a long scar that cut across his left cheek. He was accompanied by a Nord woman, whose green eyes immediately took to scanning the tent and its occupants.

"Apologies for my late arrival, General." The man said, as he and the woman both shared a salute toward Tullius. "No excuses sir."

"You're here now, Legate Aurelian." Tullius said. "That's what's important. If you slept through the battle in its entirety, well, then we'd have problems." He motioned for him to step forward.

Aurelian gave a brisk salute to Fasendil before the Altmer stepped out of the tent as Aurelian joined the others around the table. Rikke gave a low nod of respect to him, whilst Legate Hrollod gave him a slight tilt of the head. It was hard to tell if it was a nod or whether the man looked confused for a moment. Lydia meanwhile took a position in the corner of the tent. She did not take part in these meetings, but Tullius had long given up trying to tell the Housecarl to leave her Thane's side when Legion officers met.

"I've sent Fasendil to ensure that his men are ready to secure our flank whilst we make a push for the city. We're also going to open up a new avenue of attack through docks, hopefully divide the Stormcloak's forces within the city enough to give up some breathing room whilst we get the ram to their gates."

Aurelian nodded. "The Nords aren't likely to suspect it. On top of that whoever leads that side of the attack may be able to cut through the Grey Quarter. They will face even less resistance there."

Tullius raised a brow. "How do you mean? You're talking about the slums where the Dunmer are housed, correct?"

"Yes sir," Aurelian pointed at the area on the map. There was far less detail about the city streets there, with only the name Grey Quarter written on the map. "The slums are tightly packed together, meaning a smaller force could hold off attackers within the streets themselves. However, the Grey Quarter is barely patrolled by guards. It's possible they may neglect to keep a watch there at all."

"The elves that live there are no friends of the Stormcloaks either," Rikke spoke up. "I have heard reports of the conditions they are kept in there. None of them are likely to go running to warn the Stormcloaks."

Tullius nodded, before looking up at Hrollod. "What do you know about this Grey Quarter, Legate?"

Hrollod cleared his throat a moment, before pointing his finger to no place in particular about the map. "Like the Legate said, very tightly packed. Should give us the cover we need to hit the rest of the city."

He has no idea what he's talking about, Aurelian thought to himself. "And of course," he said, "There is a path through the Gray Quarter that leads right to the Palace of Kings."

Hrollod tried covering up his surprise at that, but Aurelian could spot what most Nords called subtlety from a mile away. "Yes of course! With Dunmer assistance we can cut through the slums and make our way right to Ulfric's front door. We could have his head before the battle is even over."

Tullius nodded. "That could prompt the stragglers to lay down their arms. We will still require a force to breach the main gate and secure the city. Bombardment with our catapults is out of the question; I'm not about to give the people of this city more reason to hate us after we take their High King's head. Civilian casualties must be kept to a minimum if we want to avoid making martyrs."

'Here goes nothing,' Aurelian thought to himself before standing almost at attention before the General. "With respect sir, allow me to lead the attack on the gate."

Tullius looked at him for a moment before sighing. "How did I know you were going to ask me that?" He motioned to Hrollod. "Legate Hrollod has already put himself forward to lead the assault. Why should I choose you over a verteran officer?"

"With respect sir, the Legate's plan to take Ulfric's palace in the midst of battle is the more paramount strategy." He looked to Hrollod and bowed his head low. "The men of the Seventh Legion have been fighting using stealth, hit and run tactics and cunning almost their entire deployment in Eastmarch. His men, as I see it, are meant for this. We wait until nightfall, begin our attack, and the Seventh fairies itself across the river under the cover of night and our frontal assault."

"And from there," Hrollod continued, "We will breach the city, make our way to the Palace of Kings, and take Ulfric Stormcloak. Alive or dead, the remaining defenders will cease to be a problem."

Tullius looked between the two Legates Before landing his gaze on Aurelian. "And what makes your men so suited for storming the gates exactly?"

"The Ninth might not be a fully manned Legion, but each one of my men signed up after the Battle of Whiterun. They fought tooth and nail with me before the gates of the city. If that is not enough, those that survived joined me at Markarth."

The tent went silent at that. Markarth. None of them spoke of it, but they were all thinking about it.

Tullius cleared his throat, changing the subject with his cough. "What do you make of this, Rikke?"

Rikke looked to Aurelian, her eyes narrowed slightly for a second, though it was not out of anger. It seemed to be out of suspicion. "If Hrollod is confident that he can get through the slums and onward to Ulfric's throne room, this war will be over before midnight."

The General seemed to think it over for a moment. "It would appear that everyone is happy with their role in the assault. Fine then." He looked to Hrollod. "Send what scouts you have along the coastline. I want every row boat, fishing boat or wagon that can float that you can find requisitioned. I'll make sure you have some gold to compensate the owners. Keep them hidden from sight as best as you can, we don't want to make your journey through the Gray Quarter a matter of gossip for the Stormcloaks up on the walls."

Hrollod saluted proudly, standing at full attention. "By your command, General Tullius. I'll begin the preparations at once." With that he donned his helmet before exiting the tent.

Tullius looked to Aurelian. "You realise putting yourself in the frontlines means that every Nord with a bow up on that wall will be looking at you and the plumed helmet of yours?"

Aurelian smiled lightly and shrugged. "Those storming the gate will need someone to follow. At least with my helmet they won't lose me as easily."

Rikke smirked whilst Tullius shook his head. "Make sure your men are prepared. They are about to receive the worst of the fighting." He pushed himself away from the map and over to a side table where a jug and a few wooden cups sat. Pouring himself a cup and downing it. Knowing Tullius, it was likely water. Aurelian had never seen him with ale, mead or even wine in his hand.

"I'm not saying this because you're the Dragonborn, Legate," he said as he poured another cup. "I'm saying this because for one so young and so freshly recruited into the Legion you have shown great promise. Do not even think about dying or putting yourself at unnecessary risk." The comment caught Aurelian off guard. "You can fight, you can lead and the men respect you. The Empire will have a need for such exceptional soldiers after this war is over."

This war, implying there will be one to follow very soon, Aurelian thought to himself. "Whatever the Empire needs," he said with a nod.

Tullius chuckled slightly at that. "Careful saying that. You might just be stuck in this life as long as I have been soon enough."

At that moment a Legion guard stepped in, saluting the officers. "Forgive the intrusion, General, but Jarl Elisif of Solitude seeks an audience with you."

All three officers turned with looks of surprise to the guard, who now looked horrifyingly out of his depth.

"What in Oblivion's name is she doing here of all places?" Tullius growled, setting down his cup and rubbing his eyes. "First she wants to throw a damn parade in the middle of a war, now she shows up in the middle of a war camp." He looked up at the guard. "Well what are you waiting for? Bring her in here!"

The Guard gave a quick salute before hurriedly exiting the tent. Not long after he did so a young Nord woman stepped in. A fine black wolf pelt cloak rested on her shoulders overtop what looked like a new red and black dress. With her red hair pinned back by her circlet, Elisif of Solitude, otherwise known as Jarl Elisif the Fair, brought a level of cleanliness and regality to the camp that Aurelian had not been expecting. Flanked by her Housecarl, Elisif strode into the tent, her hands held in front of her, giving a slight bow of her head to the officers.

"General, Legate Rikke," he gaze turned to Aurelian, and her smile caused a blush on his face that he hoped was made less obvious by the lack of light inside the tent. "Dragonborn, a pleasure to see you again."

Aurelian bowed his head lower than the Jarl's, as was custom. "An honor to stand in your presence once again, Jarl Elisif."

She smiled softly before turning back to the General. "I apologise for my sudden appearance, General Tullius, but I-"

"What are you doing this far from Solitude? You understand the danger you have put yourself in, correct?" The General was not happy. Though there was some level of decorum he had to keep, given Elisif's title, his own position as Military Governor granted him the freedom to address her more freely.

Elisif seemed almost hurt by his tone. "I understand the dangers General, but I thought it fitting that I should be here. From what I understand these are the closing days of the war."

"They are, but that is no reason to put yourself in danger by showing up here." Tullius shook his head before looking to Aurelian. "Legate, see to your men. Make sure they are prepared for what is to come."

Aurelian hesitated somewhat, looking between the Jarl and the General for a moment before saluting. He gave a final bow of his head to Elisif before exiting the tent, Lydia not far behind him. Stepping out of the tent and into the slowly arriving dawn of the new day, Aurelian pulled his cloak closely around him as they made their way through the throng of soldiers and camp followers towards where the Ninth Legion had set camp.

"Elisif turning up on the dawn of Ulfric's defeat," Aurelian spoke, he did not see the need to whisper with such activity and noise about them. "The General is not wrong, she is in serious danger here if battle goes out of our favour."

"I'm sure she has her reasons." Lydia said as she followed along, her helmet under her arm. "She's no Jarl Balgruuf, but she has always meant well from what I can see."

"True," Aurelian said as they passed a pair of junior officers, who stood to attention and saluted as they passed. "Fasendil's rear guard should be enough to protect her either way. I'm sure the General will give the order for her to be evacuated on our fastest horses should the need arise."

Lydia cast her gaze at him. There was a smile there, one that did not match her question. "Speaking of battle positions; do you hate Hrollod that much, or are you just having fun with him?"

He smirked. "That idiot couldn't find his arse with both hands and a map. He'll get so turned around in the Grey Quarter, he won't find the Palace of Kings until Ulfric's corpse has gone cold. Even better, his blundering through the slums has been presented to the General as if it was his idea. Not my fault if he claimed to know how to navigate those streets."

"And his men? They'll be just as lost as him if he's the one they are following. That's men you are taking away from killing Stormcloaks."

"The Skyrim Legions are barely Legions with these numbers. And I was honest about Hrollod and his Seventh. They've spent this war fighting from the tree line. A supply wagon attacked here, a patrol ambushed there all have their uses. But no pitched battle or prolonged engagement. His men are capable in their own way, I will never doubt that. But I would prefer frontline veterans with me over bandits wearing uniforms."

"Wouldn't let any of the seventh hear that," Lydia said, casting her gaze about her as they made their way through the camp. "You know how these soldiers get when you speak ill about their Legion."

A soldier's Legion was like their family, their family legacy and ancient family traditions all rolled into one. Though the Skyrim Legions were mere shadows of Imperial might compared to the fully manned, armed and armoured Legions in Cyrodiil, they were still a force to be reckoned with. Each Legion had their own traditions, methods and specialties, all of which a Legionnaire was taught to be proud of to a fault. Some minor brawls had broken out on the road to Eastmarch, most of them between members of different Legions over some petty squabble over whose Legion had seen more blood. Despite the legions not being fully manned, most of them only consisting of a few cohorts, General Tullius had managed to turn an army of conscripts and auxiliaries into a conquering power in Skyrim. Their training combined with a Cyrodiilic battle doctrine of 'Aggressive Defence' had taken them from one end of Skyrim to the other, reclaiming and securing towns, villages as well as a number of encampments and fortifications.

Aurelian's ninth Legion was the newest to be organised, having only been a standing army for a few months. Despite this, the flow of recruits had brought their ranks up at an alarming pace. With their numbers rising to some five thousand men, some Legates had been close to demanding that the Ninth be split up to reinforce already existing legions. Tullius however saw the value in letting the famed Dragonborn being able to maneuver throughout Skyrim as he saw fit. Forgotten towers and defensive positions like Fort Morvunskar were cleared by the Ninth and then garrisoned by Imperial reinforcements as Tullius and his army pushed further east.

Dawn was truly underway as the two of them arrived at the camp of the Ninth Legion. A number of the soldiers on watch snapped to attention as they approached the perimeter, which was lined with spiked barricades. Beyond the barricade were just over six hundred large red tents. Each was about the size of Aurelian's personal quarters, but each one was made to house eight men rather than one per tent. Much like the rest of the Imperial encampment, they had been set up along the road leading away from the city, with many trees having been cut down in the process to make way. The cobblestone road snaked past the front of their camp like it did all the others, allowing for a highway of supply wagons to and from a supply base set up at Fort Morvunskar, as well as a clear path for marching patrols. At the center of the Ninth Legion's camp was an enormous muddied courtyard which served as a parade ground and rallying point when the call to battle went out.

A few of the Legionaries were awake, some of them coming back from foraging with prizes of deer, rabbit and pheasant. A few others sat around, some reading, others writing either wills or love letters whilst one or two of them played dice. As they neared the center of the camp they were met by a bald Breton man, shorter than Aurelian by half a head and older by at least a decade or so. He donned a full set of steel officers armour, shined to level of perfection matched only by his posture as he snapped to attention and saluted them both.

"Legate Aurelian, sir." he greeted.

"At ease, Strabo." Aurelian commanded, and although the order had been given to stand at ease, the Breton continued to stand as upright as possible though his stance did relax a little. "Anything to report?"

"The Ninth is slowly coming about from sleep sir. I was going to begin running drills in the next half hour, with your permission of course. Otherwise, no pressing matters, sir."

Quintus Strabo bled Legion. He was a veteran of the Great War that had retired to Markarth to run a shop with his wife. After the Stormcloaks took hold of the city after the Truce of High Hrothgar, the Nords kicked him out of the city and seized his property for suspecting him to be a Legion spy. He had reenlisted with the Legion after the attack on Whiterun and had made himself a vital asset to Aurelian's Ninth Legion. His leadership and organizational skills had lead Aurelian to promote him to Camp Prefect, in charge of the day to day running of the Legion. Guard duties, rations, drills, correspondence with other Legions and ensuring a general state of cleanliness were all a part of Strabo's duties. He was more than a clerk as well. He'd been there when they took Markarth back, and he was just as capable a warrior as he was a Prefect.

"Limited drills today Strabo," Aurelian said as he looked over the camp as hundreds of men began to wake to the growing light of dawn. "We'll be leading the attack tonight."

Strabo nodded slowly. He knew what that meant. "I will inform the men sir. Shall I also command a suspension on drinking and heavy labor for the day?"

"Allow them their drinks, but they are to practice moderation. As for heavy labours, ensure that only the most necessary of duties are fulfilled. Otherwise, sound for assembly in the next ten minutes. Send for the Tribunes to meet me in the command tent now. I would speak with them first before letting the men know."

Strabo came to attention once again, giving another perfect salute. "By your command, Legate." He went to leave before turning back to Aurelian, pulling a sealed letter from out of his pocket. "Forgive my forgetfulness sir. A rider came in the night from Whiterun."

Aurelian took the letter with a nod before the Prefect saluted once again, turned and marched off to rally the other junior officers in the camp to bring the cohorts to attention.

The wax seal carried the horse sigil of Whiterun. It was directly from the Jarl himself. "Think he's wishing good luck and good wishes?" Lydia asked.

"Knowing Balgruuf, probably. Hopefully it's good news regarding his leg."

They made their way to the command tent, which sat opposite of Aurelian's personal quarters on the other side of the rallying grounds. There was that small part of his mind that wanted to steer him towards his tent. Back out of the wind and snow, back into bed and back into Ulpia's arms. A pang of jealousy hit him for a moment as he thought about the possibility of her running off into one of his officer's tents to make more gold. But he quickly realised it was all immature thinking regardless, especially less than a day before the final battle of the war. Still…

---

The command tent was for most part very bare besides a table, where normally a jug of wine and some cups would rest, and a much larger table where maps and other documents would paint the table in a layer of parchment and ink. For now the large table was clear, aside from Aurelian's helmet. The Dragonborn leaned forward on the table, a quiet yawn escaping him as he longed to return to bed, but instead broke the seal on the letter, laying it on the table.

Thane Aurelian,

I hope this letter finds you in good health my friend, better so than it leaves me. The healers have done their best to make sure I am comfortable, but then there is not much comfort to be had when one loses their leg. Rest assured that it will not impact my duties to this city that you and so many others shed blood to defend. I understand that you are on the edge of victory, and I wish that I could be there to join you. I will just have to trust that those of my people who have sworn their service to the Empire fight well alongside you. When the battle is over send word to Whiterun, both of your victory and so that I can send whatever support I can in the way of food and supplies, both for the Legion and for Windhelm. It's an ancient and proud city, it's citizens equally prone to pride. They will hopefully see support from another Jarl as something worth taking than that of the Legion.

Fight well, Dragonborn. I look forward to hearing of your victory soon. Olfrid wanted me to pass the word along through you as well to tell Idolaf that Jon and Olfina have been blessed.

Regards,

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun.

A smile crossed over Aurelians face. "Good news at least," he muttered to himself. Olfina Grey-Mane and Jon Battle-Born's relationship had become public knowledge during the battle of Whiterun after Jon pulled Olfina from a collapsing building that had been struck by the Stormcloak catapults. After that, the two families finally put their feud to rest, and the two were married promptly after the battle had ended. The same battle that Balgruuf has taken a blow to the leg from a warhammer.

Whilst Lydia stood watch in the corner, five men entered the tent. They all wore decorated suits of studded Legion armour, each of them clothed in furs beneath the armour as well as a thin red stripe decorating their pauldrons. They were all Tribunes, most of them had been promoted from out of the ranks save for one. Idolaf Battle-Born had shown a great deal of courage and bravery in the defense of Whiterun, having personally lead a combined force of Empire loyalists from among the city's residents. Once Aurelian had begun recruiting for the Ninth Legion, Idolaf and many of his cousins from among Clan Battle-Born were some of the first to sign up. Although he had requested to be made the senior ranking Tribune, otherwise known as a Broad Striped Tribune, Aurelian had chosen to forgo having a direct second in command at least for now. He knew it was risky, if he were to fall in battle there would be some difficulty about who among the Tribunes would be the next in line for command. But Aurelian had made it this far despite the risks, what was a few more?

They all stood to attention and saluted as one.

"Stand at ease," Aurelian ordered. "I have just come from General Tullius. The city will be assaulted tonight with the Ninth Legion leading the attack on the city gates."

There was quiet from the Tribunes, something that surprised Aurelian. One of them, a young Imperial woman named Hostillia stepped forward. She had barely been of age to have joined the Legion, but she had a mind for organization that rivalled Strabo as well as an affinity for destruction magic. As such she had been placed in charge of the few dozen battle mages in the Ninth Legion.

"Sir," she spoke softly. Though a Tribune, it took a battlefield or a skirmish to get her to speak up, otherwise she spoke quietly. "We are to make the first move? Without using the catapults?"

Aurelian nodded. "Civilian casualties are to be minimized as much as possible. As such, I want your Battle Mages primarily on supporting our infantry. Wards and healing where you can."

"We have the manpower and the supplies to outlast them in a siege," Idolaf spoke up, stepping beside Hostillia. "Why not wait and let starvation soften them up?"

"I do not question the General's orders, Idolaf." Aurelian said, his voice becoming more stern. "And neither will you question mine. Is that understood?"

The Tribune stood back at attention, saluting before falling back in line.

"We will march ahead of the battering ram as it nears the gates." Aurelian continued. He began explaining which cohorts would be leading, as well as those who would be manning the battering ram itself. The task was simple enough, the trick was not succumbing to enemy archers before the ram reached the wall. They discussed positions, potential casualty rates, the plan of action when it came to getting the wounded off of the battlefield. It was about as perfect as it was going to be, without the chaos of battle and unforeseen circumstances. There was never a complete guarantee of success, and as they spoke it was a well known fact that many lives would be lost that night. But they had placed their faith in him so far. It did not take much actual convincing, but soon each officer knew their role.

Outside of the command tent Aurelian began to hear the sounds of Strabo calling Legion to assembly. Hundreds of footsteps combined into a mighty roar as armour was donned, weapons prepared and formations assembled. They were getting quicker. Once the noise had died down, Lydia had peeked outside the tent flap, turning to Aurelian and giving the nod.

"Join the Legion outside," Aurelian ordered the Tribunes. "I will be out shortly to address them. Idolaf, remain here please."

The other tribunes salted before turning and embarking outside. They would take their positions at the head of the Legion, ready to receive the Legate's orders. Idolaf meanwhile looked uneasy.

"Legate," he began. "I apologise for questioning you. It was not my intention to cause-"

"That's quite alright, Tribune." Aurelian said, raising a hand to silence him. "I would question it also, but as it stands this war is to end today by the General's command. Ulfric Stormcloak will either face summary execution by the hands of the Legion, or public execution before a crowd. That is what will wait for us before the sun rises tomorrow."

Idolaf nodded. "Of course sir. Apologies, sir."

Shaking his head, Aurelian joined him on the opposite side of the table, standing before him. Idolaf was his senior by some years, and taller than him the way Aurelian was taller to Strabo.

"I don't expect you to follow me blindly. But I expect you to have trust in me." he reached back across the table, taking the letter in his hand before passing it to Idolaf. "And if the end of this war is not enough, then returning to Whiterun as soon as you are able should be."

Idolaf's eyes darted across the parchment with a smile slowly spreading across his face. "The gods have been kind to my family." his gaze went to Aurelian. "And you have been kind to me, Legate. Thank you."

Aurelian smiled, placing a hand on Idolaf's shoulder. "We all deserve to know what we are fighting for. That child of Grey Mane and Battle Born will be the first of many born into a new Skyrim. United by Empire, for the Empire."

The Tribune snapped to attention and saluted. "Long live the Empire," he said, pride alight in his eyes.

Aurelian returned the salute. "Long live the next generation of that Empire. Join the assembly, Tribune."

With a smile on his face and without another word, Idolaf donned his helm before stepping outside. Aurelian turned to Lydia with a smile, one she returned.

"Whiterun will have the peace that Balgruuf fought for," Lydia said. "And that child will grow up learning that you were the one who gave them that future. How does that make you feel?"

"Like I am undeserving of the praise," Aurelian shrugged. "We've all played our part in this war. Here's hoping after today is done we can enjoy the benefits of peace for at least a little while."

"You're sure about your strategy? It's a risky move, you could even be tried for insubordination if it goes wrong."

Aurelian chuckled. "If it goes wrong I'll be dead anyway. After that it's up to the Gods to judge me. Besides, I've been to Sovngarde now. At least I know what to expect."

The smile on Lydia's face turned into a smirk as she shook her head. "You realise that's only for Nords, right?"

"They told me it was only for the living last time I was there," he said as he picked up his helmet and held it under his arm. "If there is anything I know how to do, it's defy the general norm of things, including cultural afterlives."

Lydia donned her own helm, tightening the chinstrap. "Well until you break the laws of the afterlife yet again, you need to give a speech of some kind."

He sighed. "You mean tell men and women to run right into the fire of battle like it's a good idea."

The Housecarl shook her head, walking over to her Thane's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No. I mean compel them to risk their lives for something greater than themselves so that others can finally know peace. Convince them to stand by your side no matter what ends awaits us, and you'll be there right beside them until the end."

A small smile crept over Aurelian's face. "When did you become so wise?"

Lydia returned the smile. "When I was assigned to serve as Housecarl to a skinny Imperial who ended up saving us all."

They stood there for a moment, just the two of them. Never before had Aurelian had a friend like Lydia, someone who not only had his back on the battlefield, but off of it as well. True companions like her were something seen once in a lifetime.

"Time to be convincing then."

Just wanted to take a moment to thank those who have read, followed and favorited this story so far. It's been a long while since I have done anything on this site, but it has been a lot of fun writing so far in a world and setting many of us know and love.

Until next time,

-xcaliber