(AN: The Dunmer witches subplot was originally just Arvela and her treachery, where she mantled Vivec and tried [and failed] to ascend the entire Dunmer race to live on the moons [see C0Da]. It evolved from one into three when I discarded the first ending and tied in two other elf witches we had previously met. Overall, it was meant to be weird.)
(The end is now in sight, and the last movements shall be swift ones.)
The Fall of Dragon Bridge
Evening of the 22nd day of Sun's Dawn. After many days of hiding out in the Winking Skeever, bedding wenches and paying for his room and board with money picked from various pockets, Servius Crixus decided that it was time to be on his way. He had waited in plain sight long enough, hoping that no one would think to look for him here in Solitude, of all places. Surely by now the pursuit was over, or at least put on halt to tend to more pressing matters. Yet despite the danger, Crixus had another reason for remaining in Solitude rather than going out into the wilderness with his freedom.
Eirik.
Ever since his time with him, he began to fear that he was 'the Grey Spirit' as he called it; the nearest he could comprehend to the spirit of Wulfharth the Undying, Ysmir the Dragon of the North. Truth be told, his time in Mournhold had exposed him to all the prejudices which the Dunmer had against the Nord people - fueled by their refusal to accept Solstheim as a temporary home for a future return to Morrowind proper and the ensuing distrust and animosity between the two people. These galvanized his distrust and fear of Nords based on his own experiences until he saw them as the Dunmer do: little better than animals worthy of nothing more than destruction. In this light, the Grey Spirit was the worst possible thing that could happen to the world of Nirn. For he knew the legends of Tiber Septim - all the better to discredit him with - and he knew that there was something about him during the time when Wulfharth was with him as the Grey Spirit.
If that was repeated with Eirik as the new host for the Grey Spirit, it could mean an end to the Medan Empire. But worse than that, it could mean a final refutation of the necessity of the Medan Empire. With a figure like Eirik, a veritable Talos reborn, at the head, Skyrim could very well stand on its own against the Dominion; the Empire would no longer be needed and, at the worst possible outcome, would therefore cease to exist.
No, Crixus told himself. I can't abandon the Empire now. I have to stay. I'll show them all that I'm still loyal, despite their betrayal after all I've done for them. I'll save the Empire from him, and then they'll see that I'm loyal, and they'll let me back.
So it was that, hooded and cloaked, he left the Winking Skeever and began wandering the streets of Solitude. As he went, he listened in to the conversations around him. A palpable fear was in the darkening air: the Stormcloaks had claimed Whiterun and were now marching west. Some said they were already on their way hither. Swiftly, Crixus made his way towards Castle Dour. He had made preparations to defend Solitude from an aerial assault, should Eirik fly into the city on a dragon, and he wanted to see if these were completed.
As he approached the doorway into the courtyard, he suddenly recalled that he had no uniform. If he went in as he was, hooded and cloaked, he would be spotted at once and the jig would be up. He had to find another way into the Castle without drawing attention. Immediately he started climbing up the side of the wall, as deftly as he could, hoping that no one saw him in the gathering darkness. Suddenly below he heard a cry and hooves galloping swiftly towards the castle. Looking back momentarily showed him three figures in moonstone armor that glistened in the light of the torches they held. The third one was dressed in black, but he could hear a familiar voice fuming from beneath the hood: it was Elenwen. Curiosity got the best of him and he climbed to the top of the wall and saw her make her way not to Castle Dour's war room, but to the Thalmor headquarters next-door.
Moving with the swiftness of a fox, Crixus leaped up onto the wall and darted across it, circling around until he came near to the offices of the justicars. He walked over to one of the windows and peered inside. What he saw amazed and worried him. Elenwen was in conversation with Thelgil; he seemed to be rather smug and confident, while she was stoic and reserved, though simmering with anger.
"...was no need to report this to me," he returned. "My mages have already informed me of your...failure."
"My failure?" Elenwen asked.
"Yes, indeed," he replied. "It was your incompetence that has led the apes to this point of victory. You should have killed this Dragonborn at the humans' little peace summit before he had the chance to disrupt our operations."
"I wasn't allowed there!" Elenwen seethed.
"That wouldn't have stopped a competent agent," he countered. "One could argue that you've done more to help Ulfric's little rebellion than to keep them fighting among themselves."
"That's absurd!" she retorted. "My record is on file: I am loyal to Alinor and to the ideals of Aldmeri supremacy."
"Words, words!" came the dissatisfied answer. "All you give me is words, while your actions speak quite the opposite. I'm afraid, for the sake of the Dominion and our plans, I will be forced to take command of our operations in this shite-hole of a country."
"You wouldn't da..."
Elenwen was cut off mid-sentence and suddenly froze. From where Crixus watched, he saw her collapse to the floor and never rise again. He barely had enough time to get out of sight as Thelgil marched out of the Thalmor headquarters and went straight to Castle Dour. Crixus' eyes followed him go down the stairs towards the entrance, then brusquely shove Legate Rikke aside with a pulse of magic as she made her way out. Crixus was curious as to why she was leaving: she had been acting very strange lately, always taking leave when she rarely ever left Castle Dour naturally. What was she up to?
I could always follow her, Crixus thought. But she might be sent to the front with the rest of the veteran Legionnaires, and my place is here; to prove my worth when Eirik comes here, as I know he will.
Furthermore, there was the possibility of being caught. Rikke was, despite Crixus' belief in the elven view of humanity, more than a little aware: she had seen him in prison, and one look from her would be the end of his covert operation. He had to find a way to get inside knowledge without anyone knowing, while he remained in the city. Then it dawned on him: his allies! Shaddar and the Red Dog were still moored in the Solitude harbor, though Gorak the Giant-Tamer was brought to the defense of Dragon Bridge along with his pet Eld. They had been part of his plan to get Eirik out of Skyrim while the Empire dealt with Ulfric: but then everything went south when those two women appeared out of nowhere. Just the same, he had brought one with him on this voyage who wouldn't be suspected at all: after all, he blended right along with the other straw-heads in Skyrim.
Torgrim.
As swiftly as an arrow, Crixus sped his way across the walls of Castle Dour and towards the secret exit he had made when he slew Vittoria Vici. The last he heard, Torgrim hadn't been positioned at Dragon Bridge; though he was quite powerful, he wasn't quite on the level of the elite Legionnaires whom Tullius wanted defending the only access point to Solitude. He may still be onboard the ship, if he hadn't disembarked and reported to Rikke or Captain Aldis. Down the tower Crixus went, coming to the ground level and slinking his way among those milling about near the ships. He found the Red Dog - no one knew that ship better than he - and made his way below deck to the captain's cabin. He rapped on the door and heard a familiar voice announce 'Enter' from within. Inside he saw Shaddar al-Malik, the Redguard pirate captain, sitting at his desk, pouring over a book which he was reading by candlelight.
"My friend," Crixus greeted. "I have to talk to you." But Shaddar didn't seem to be listening. "Hey, you old sea dog! I'm here, I need to talk to you!"
"And you shall have your moment, my friend," Shaddar replied.
"What the fuck is so damn engrossing?" At this, Crixus took the book from Shaddar's hands and examined it. His eyes widened with surprise as he read the words printed on the first page.
"A woman appeared in this very cabin but eight days ago," Shaddar answered. "A dark elf woman. She told me to keep this book safe; she told me that it was of the greatest importance."
"What the fuck is this?" Crixus asked. "It says on here written by Emperor Servius Crixus, five years from now."
"Precisely," Shaddar replied, plucking the book from Crixus' hands and turning back to his page. "I've been pouring over it. Apparently you and I go on some kind of voyage, starting around the end of this year. Most curious."
"I'd love to pour over it," Crixus replied. "But I need your help. Is Torgrim still here? I need him."
"That he is," Shaddar answered. "He's below deck, resting up. It will soon be dark, after all. You know, there's something that just came to mind that I must inquire after."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"Word has reached my ears that a man was apprehended by the Legion for some sort of plot to murder the Emperor," Shaddar began. "Now, you know me: though the Empire and I have our differences, I go where the money is. I'm not one for politics; but the identity of the individual responsible for this plot did come to my ears. It was you."
Crixus froze.
"Now, don't mistake me. I won't be turning you in; but the appearance of this book and what it says so far makes me wonder. Are you planning a coup of some sort? If you were, I want to be part of it."
"There's no coup happening," Crixus returned, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've always been loyal to the Empire. It's all a misunderstanding; and after I slay the Dragonborn and save Solitude, they'll see that I'm loyal."
"One must question," Shaddar noted. "A man who claims that everyone in Tamriel cannot understand him."
"Uh-huh, sure, whatever," Crixus said, rolling his eyes. "Now, if this interrogation is over, I have to see to Torgrim." He turned about with a swish of his cloak to leave, but Shaddar called after him.
"Have a care, my old friend," said the Redguard. "You play a dangerous game; failure could prove...disastrous for you."
"I do not fail," Crixus replied.
Down into the hold went Crixus, looking this way and that under the light of a lantern till he found the sleeping mass of muscle that belonged to the one Nord he hated the least in all of Skyrim: Torgrim Stone-Crusher. Kicking him in the back-side, he got him up and awake.
"Torgrim," he called. "Wake up! I have someone for you to track."
It took a while for the large Nord to realize who it was, and after calming down a bit, he chuckled when he saw Crixus' face.
"You old dog," he replied. "Haven't seen you in a while, have I? What brings you here? Are we moving out?"
"No," Crixus repeated. "I need you to track someone in Solitude; no questions asked. Get your uniform on; you'll need it."
"Eh? Who am I tracking?"
"Legate Rikke."
Rikke was done for the day. She left Castle Dour, dismissed by General Tullius, and went straight for the aviary. Olynnswe was waiting for her with her pigeon: a message was wrapped around its little leg. She was surprised to have received a message so soon: it was only eight days since the last letter arrived in Solitude from this Jonna character. Rikke was more than a little worried that someone she didn't know had intercepted the message. Could she be trusted? She didn't expect to be receiving any messages until at least tomorrow. She dropped some septims into the elf's hand, then unfurled the message from the pigeon's foot. On one side was written a date: 18th of Sun's Dawn, 4E202. On the reverse side was the hastily written message.
Change of plans. Will be in Solitude myself within seven days. Coming by way of the river. Leave me an entrance into the city if you value the life of a shield-maiden's daughter. Farewell.
J
Rikke's eyes widened with shock. This message was written on the 18th of Sun's Dawn with seven days ahead before she arrived: that would mean she would be here on the 25th of Sun's Dawn, just three days from now. What did this mean? Were the rumors and reports true? Were the Stormcloaks so close to victory that she could be in Solitude in such a short time? What would that mean for her now?
After thanking Olynnswe, Rikke stepped out of the aviary and thought. Normally, she would have defaulted to her duty as a Legionnaire: she would stand by the Legion till death. But she knew otherwise: she knew that the Empire was not only bleeding Skyrim dry and abetting the very ones who sought to destroy her and the Empire, but that the Emperor was dead. Without Talos as the god of mankind, the god of the Empire, without the Septim Dynasty, without the Amulet of Kings, what was the Empire of Cyrodiil now? If she threw her lot in with the Empire now, it very well could be that she would die. If Eirik was as powerful as the rumors said - and now they were coming in that he had taken all the holds save for Haafingar and the Reach - then his victory was all but assured. But that meant a place in Sovngarde in the end, didn't it?
What would she choose?
The 23rd of Sun's Dawn. Taking Markarth was one thing, but keeping it was a different matter altogether. Many had been killed by the Forsworn in the little time they had been in charge of the city. It had been Eirik's unfortunate task of remaining in Markarth and coordinating with those who remained concerning the ordering of the city. The Forsworn now owned the wilderness and going to and from the city would be dangerous for all save a great host. The Silver-Bloods and Jarl Igmund had been slain, and there was none with authority who could keep the city intact until the end of the war; none, that is, save for the elderly uncle of Jarl Igmund, Raerek the Old. He was none too happy about an ally of Ulfric telling him what to do, the memory of the peace summit still in his mind, but recognized that there was no alternative.
Eirik was all too happy to be gone from Markarth: he hated the place, and even after learning what Arrianus had said was all lies, he liked it none the greater. Odahviing had flown off after Madanach's death and when they entered the city on foot. They spent the night in the Understone Keep, and the grateful people of Markarth prepared a great feast for their liberators. It was during the preparation for this feast that Sigrun discovered something shocking about herself as she was washing her face and hands; the scar on her head, from her left eyebrow back across her temple into her hairline, was still glistening with blood, but there were other marks as well. Bruises that she had thought had healed up ages ago, but were now coming back into view. She paid them no mind, for she was being summoned to the feast eagerly and had to ignore them for the present. At night, they slept in the Jarl's quarters while Mjoll and Sigrun sat by a large Dwemer brazier for warmth. She doted on Sigrun and told her all the stories of her journey deep into Mzinchaleft. Sigrun smiled - she had heard this story a hundred times over in her seventeen years of life - and every time obliged her mother.
When the 23rd came, it was time to leave. Eirik left Raerek and the city-guards in charge of Markarth, then he rented a horse from the city stables and gave the order to ride north and east, by way of Karthwasten. All roads now led to Solitude. Of course, in the end, Eirik was aware that he had left a temporary solution behind in Markarth; it would not be the end of the road for his time there. The Forsworn had to be dealt with, hopefully only brought to submission rather than outright exterminated, and a proper ruler had to be installed. But for now, he had a war to win and there would be a long ahead of them.
They all rode atop horseback, following the main road. Sigrun and Erik had no horses, so Sigrun rode behind her Father and Erik behind Lydia: Mjoll was less hard on him than Eirik, but was still wary of him based on what she had heard. They rode as fast and as hard as they could, following the road as it snaked around the northern banks of the winding Karth River. As they passed Kolskeggr Mine, they were ambushed by a company of Forsworn. They were no match for fifty Stormcloak soldiers, but the attack had slowed their return. Five were wounded and three horses were slain. They carried on as swiftly as they could, binding their wounds and putting the swiftest walkers and runners on foot to spare the horses: but their going was much slower as a result.
It was getting on to evening when they arrived at last at Karthwasten. They rested in the town, much to the chagrin of the towns-people; despite Eirik's command that they eat only of what they had taken in supply from Markarth and plunder no house or force themselves to be quartered anywhere. They made their camp in the center of the village, lighting a fire for warmth. To Sigrun's amazement, Erik was not at the camp but wandered outside of the village, back onto the road and over to the edge of the river. When there was a song in which everyone's attention was on her Father, she pushed herself back up onto her feet and hobbled down the road to where the sound of the river was heard. Erik turned around upon hearing her approach and sighed in relief when he heard her voice.
"It's not safe, you know," she said. "Wandering out here all alone at night, with the Forsworn in the hills around us."
"I can take care of myself," he returned.
"You left your bow back at the camp," she said, as she came up beside him. "What's wrong, Erik?"
"I never left Rorikstead," he began, speaking aloud his thoughts. "When I was a boy, dreaming of being a hero like Ysgramor or Lyris or Tiber Septim or Annhilde the Knight, I would wander off into the hills west of the town, pretending to fight off daedra or monsters or whatever. I remember one time I went farther than I ever dared: so far that...the tundra came to an abrupt end. I peered over the edge of the cliff and saw the land plummet down into a great ravine, and below I could hear the sound water rushing below and a village just beyond it."
"Is that why you're out here?" Sigrun asked. "There was plenty of water back at Solstheim, or in any of the places we went."
"I know, I know, it sounds stupid," Erik returned, laughing off his moment of candor as he heard her dismissal of it. "The wild visions of a boy too ignorant to know what lay beyond the boundaries of the village. When I grew up and had the chance to ask those who visited Rorikstead on their travels, I would ask them about the river to the west beyond the cliffs: they told me that it was the Karth River." He turned back around to Sigrun.
"This is the very river I saw from the cliffs as a boy," he said. "I...I can barely see it under these moons, but...to hear it again, it's like something out of a dream."
Sigrun now felt very guilty for having shamed him in his moment. She thought of herself, standing on the shores of Lake Ilinalta several weeks ago. Or was it months? No, it was years. It was in another time, another age, one that no longer existed. She knew that she existed in that time, and so did Jonna, and that things had happened in that time period that were part of her history and had affected her: but the memory seemed faint and fading.
"Sigrun?" he asked. "Are you well?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, I'm fine," she dismissed. "So, now that you've taken your first steps outside of Rorikstead, what do you think? Have you had your fill of adventure?"
"Oh, I've had adventure alright," he returned. "But not my fill. I never thought I'd have gone as far east as Solstheim, or into the frozen wastes of the Pale. And I know that that's only the least of what there is to see." He turned back around and started making gestures with his arms and hands, measuring things in the darkness which Sigrun could not see.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just guessing," he returned. "If I'm not mistaken, the bridge we'll cross tomorrow will take us to the northern road that follows the Harald River north towards Dragon Bridge: that same road leads south back home...to Rorikstead."
"Are you feeling homesick?" Sigrun asked. "Look, you can go home if you want."
"Who said anything about going home?"
"Well, I mean, we're going into battle," she said. "And it won't be like with the few we fought in Whiterun, or the skirmishes in the snow outside of Morthal. These will be the Empire's best."
"Since when has that ever daunted you?"
Sigrun gave no answer, though her heart was dismayed. She feared exactly what would happen once they reached Dragon Bridge. Father would falter, he would go back to using traditional wartime tactics to win the War. It might work, it might even succeed in them taking Solitude by force: but would she be alive to see this victory? Already she was starting to despair of her life: aside from the bruises and bleeding, the cold seemed frightfully intense: more so than it should rightfully be for a Nord. She shivered so violently at night that her hands moved beyond her control, and if her lips were open, she babbled and mumbled like a crazy person.
"Come on," she said at last. "Let's go back to camp."
They spent the night in Karthwasten, keeping themselves as warm around their fire as best they could. Sigrun slept very little: the visions no longer troubled her sleep, but the pain was still there. More and more she feared that she might close her eyes one night and never open them again. So she kept her eyes open, trying to think about something; anything. But her mind drifted once again to the reality that even if the war ended in victory, she might not be there to see it.
No, no, don't say that, Sigrun! she told herself. You've come so far, farther than anyone else has come at least...besides Jonna. You're going to survive: you have to. It wouldn't be fair otherwise, to come so far only to die before everything I've done is finished.
Morning came, drenched in a heavy fog: the 24th of Sun's Dawn. The company ate breakfast swiftly, then mounted back on their horses and continued riding east. They crossed the river, but now came before an even worse delay than the one before: the Broken Tower Redoubt. A small army of the Forsworn were stationed here, and they opened fire upon them as they rode under the shadow of the redoubt. Sigrun held up her shield over herself and Mjoll, and Lydia held her shield above Erik, but only just in time. Ten men were shot down with arrows, and another nine horses were slain. No matter how many times Eirik Shouted at the walls, sending fur-and-bone-clad Forsworn flying off the battlements to their deaths, more would come to take their place.
"Charge through them!" Eirik shouted. "We must break through to the other side!"
Those who were still unhurt drove their horses eastward, heedless of the arrows. Some more were wounded as they fled, among them Lydia, and five more were slain: fifty men went into the Reach and only thirty-five came back out. They rode on until they came to the fork in the road, where they rested as a small guard was posted and they tended to their wounds. Sigrun was most concerned for Lydia: she had heard, or at least believed she heard, that she had died from an arrow in battle. The arrow was removed and her wound was bandaged without incident.
"I think," Lydia said. "We should be more concerned about you, Sigrun."
Aside from the wound on her head, Sigrun was looking like death itself. Black bags around her sunken eyes were now visible, as well as dried blood on her cracked lips and the corners of her mouth. Her skin, already pale, was as sickly white as Serana's. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling, no matter how hard she thrust them against her body; there was little warmth for them there, even so close as they were.
"I'm sorry, Sigrun," Eirik said. "I shouldn't have let you leave Whiterun."
"Don't say it," Sigrun returned, her voice cracking.
"You lost a lot of blood," Eirik returned. "I'm afraid the journey's taken more out of you than I thought it had."
"This isn't the journey" Mjoll added, placing her hand on Sigrun's shoulder. "It's worse. Sigrun, it's okay. We'll win the war without you."
"Don't!" she dismissed. "I have to be there...to the end."
"There might not be anything left of you by then!" Erik said, his voice breaking.
"I'm fine," Sigrun lied: inside, she felt the truth of their words. When she ate, she felt no nourishment from the food, and no quenching of thirst when she drank water. "Just get me on a horse, and I'll be fine."
"No, I won't let you," Eirik replied.
"Where would you be..." she asked him. "...without me? You need me, as much as I need to be there...in the end. Now get me on a horse!"
No matter what they said, she refused to leave. So instead, they helped her back onto Mjoll's horse and made their way northward from the crossroads. Erik cast his eyes southward only briefly: his concern was for Sigrun, and he wouldn't leave her yet.
As they rode north, they could hear the sounds of battle before them. The siege was still going on? Eirik had his men increase their pace, and steeled himself for the battle ahead. Battle-time would soon be upon them. At last, as the sun was going down, they came upon the Stormcloak siege camp on the southern side of Dragon Bridge: the Markath side, as it was once called. A shield-wall was formed of the Stormcloak soldiers, with archers peering up from the shields periodically and shooting arrows across the river. Ulfric and Galmar were near the front surrounded by shields, with Havi next to them, throwing fire-balls over the shield-wall. Ever and anon, arrows and fire-balls would come over from the Imperial-side of the river into the Stormcloak camp. Some would hit the shield-wall, some would find their marks. It was to this scene of chaos that Eirik, swiftly dismounting from off his horse and running over to Ulfric, now arrived.
"My lord!" he cried out.
"Dragonborn!" Ulfric cried out. "Your timing couldn't be better! Now our victory is assured."
"What's going on here?" Eirik asked.
"We came here and found the Legion have dug their heels in," said Galmar. "They're throwing arrows at us, but we got the shield-wall up in time. Now they've brought in the battle-mages. Three of our siege weapons have caught fire..." Suddenly there was an explosion behind them as a fire-ball struck another packed catapult.
"That makes four!"
"The bridge," Eirik asked. "Is it intact?"
"So far, yes," Ulfric returned. "But we've been unable to break through their defenses."
"By your leave, my lord?" Eirik asked.
"Been waiting for you!" laughed Ulfric.
Eirik rose up and cried out to those around him in a loud voice. "Stormcloaks! Follow me and I will give you victory!" Cheers rose up as they heard the voice of the Dragonborn, and hope entered their hearts again. Another loud roar was heard, deeper than the others, and from the shield-wall there arose Talvi. Behind in Eirik's company, Sigrun threw herself off of the horse's back and onto the ground. Erik leaped off his horse and helped her back onto her feet, then the two of them made their way over to Talvi.
"Well met!" the giantess greeted them. "What's happened? Is she okay?"
"I'm fine," Sigrun returned. "Talvi, what's up? Where are the giants you had?"
"I've sent them into the hills to find rocks and trees," she returned. "We'll force our way across once they return."
"And where's Jonna?" Sigrun asked. "I thought she'd be here to greet us."
"Jonna left with us from Whiterun," Talvi replied with a puzzled expression on her face. "But she was not in the shield-wall when it was formed."
Sigrun gasped. "Don't tell me she's..."
"She hasn't been counted among the slain either," Talvi replied. "She's not with us at all."
"You mean she's gone?" Sigrun asked. "How? Did she just vanish or did she take her leave?"
"If she took her leave, it was without my knowing," Talvi replied. "But she's been acting strange ever since we intercepted that messenger in Morthal."
"Fus...Ro Dah!" came the sky-shattering Thu'um of the Dragonborn.
All eyes were now on Eirik. He stood alone on the southern side of the bridge of Dragon Bridge. Arrows came whistling through the sky towards him, some striking the ground near him, and others glancing harmlessly off his armor. Then came the Shout; a blast of force that rippled through the air, sending all arrows aimed at his face flying this way and that. In the middle of the bridge, on the northern side, was a line of Legionnaires in the turtle formation. Behind them were a handful of battle-mages. As soon as the first word was spoken, the battle-mages rose up and cast a powerful magical ward in front of them. The blast soared through the air, striking the barrier, and was gone. The Imperial lines were not shaken by the blast.
"Get back here!" Ulfric shouted. "Before they shoot you!"
Eirik was stunned by what had happened. Few things could stand before the might of the Voice, and now he had seen just that. Even as the mages recovered and the order was given on the other side to send them another volley, Eirik darted back under the shields next to Ulfric and Galmar. A rain of arrows came down after him, barely missing him as he got under cover.
"I see you're as flesh and blood as the rest of us," Galmar grumbled. "A shame."
"Is there no other way across the river?" Eirik asked.
"None," Ulfric replied. "The river widens as it goes northeast out to sea, and there's no time to go west to look for another crossing farther up-river."
"What about boats?" Eirik asked. "Could we make boats and cross farther downstream, near the sea?"
"Building ships will take time," Ulfric answered. "Time we don't have. I've already sent for Jarl Skald to send us as many boats as he has ready: but that will also take time."
"Da!" Sigrun called out. Eirik rose from the shield-wall and approached his daughter. "You know how you can end this."
"No," he returned. "We got lucky in Markarth; and even then, Madanach was ready to sacrifice the entire city rather than surrender to us, and that was with a dragon!"
"You have to do it!" Sigrun begged.
"There has to be another way," he replied, and went back to the host outside of arrow-range. He then turned to Talvi and spoke with her a while. Sigrun hobbled over to his side, with Erik following after her.
"You know it's our only choice," she demanded.
"No, not our only choice," he said. "If we wait for the giants to return, we'll break through those battle-mages and take Dragon Bridge."
"And then what?" Sigrun asked. "How long to wait out another siege of Solitude? What about siege engines? They're burning them right here around us!"
"Sigrun, please!"
"I don't have time to wait!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. Mjoll dismounted from her horse and ran to Sigrun's side, even as Erik did upon hearing that. Eirik walked over to her.
"What?"
"I've known for a while," she said. "That I wouldn't make it. Ever since I started coughing up blood."
"How much time?" Mjoll asked.
"Don't know," Sigrun replied, shaking her head. It seemed so hard to say these words: she was accepting the inevitable, despite what she wanted to be true, what she had been promising herself underneath her breath ever since the blood appeared. She wished that Jonna was here for her, when she needed her the most.
"What are you saying?" he asked. "You wanted to be here, despite my word that you shouldn't, and now you're saying that you're running out of time?"
Sigrun nodded. "Yes."
Eirik lowered his head, sniffing softly. At length he lifted his head and pressed his forehead against Sigrun's, and placed his hand upon her cheek.
"Just hang on for a little while longer," he begged. "Talvi's giants will be here, and they'll break through the Legions' lines. It'll all be fine, you'll see."
Night fell. The Imperial battle-mages continued to heave flaming balls over at the Stormcloaks, and Havi threw fire-balls back at them. Hours passed and still no giants were to be seen. Eirik and his little family huddled around a camp-fire near the back of the company: Ralof was with them, as he was part of the army from Windhelm. Mjoll tried to get Sigrun to eat and do something to cure her gauntness; but she refused. Her eyes were moved between the lights in the north - the lights of the Legion's campfires - and the darkness to the south and east. Where were the giants?
"Sigrun, you need to eat!" Mjoll urged her for the third time.
"Eating does nothing for me," Sigrun replied.
"You'll need to keep up your strength!"
"What strength?" Sigrun asked. "I eat but don't feel full. It's no use."
"Don't ask me to watch you kill yourself," Mjoll replied, a catch in her voice.
Sigrun reached over and placed her hand on Mjoll's shoulder. "It's alright. I'm not afraid, and you shouldn't be either."
"How can you say that?" Mjoll asked. "To have just met you, only to lose you so soon!"
"But you'll see me again," Sigrun said, looking down at Mjoll's stomach. It was still too soon for anything to be visible, but they both knew the truth. "And then we'll be together all over again!" Sigrun's eyes filled with tears as she thought of all the memories that she had with her Mother. She threw herself onto Mjoll's shoulder and wept, while Mjoll put her arms around her grown daughter's shoulders and softly shushed her and rocked her back and forth.
"You don't have to go through this," Mjoll said.
"I have to, Ma," Sigrun sniffed into Mjoll's shoulder. "I don't have a choice. We're so close to victory."
"But you're in no condition to fight," Mjoll replied. "There's no shame in..."
"It's not the shame, Ma," Sigrun said, lifting her head up. "If I don't make Da win, he'll hesitate. If he hesitates, we'll lose. And if we lose, then all of this will be for nothing...including my death."
Mjoll said nothing, but cradled Sigrun's head against her shoulder. Sigrun closed her eyes, feeling safe and secure even in the middle of a battle.
"It's alright," Mjoll whispered. "I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Ma, for everything," Sigrun sobbed. Somehow it seemed the right thing to say at this moment, though Sigrun could no longer think straight. "I love you."
"And I love you," Mjoll answered. "And I hope that this child turns out to be just like you."
Sigrun smiled. It seemed strange to hear her Mother say this. She should know her better than anyone: at least, she would know her better than anyone.
There was a slight tremor felt on the ground, a dull and distant rumble. Then another one, and a third one. Now they came one after the other, in a great concussive assault, like the beating of a great drum. All eyes in the camp of the Stormcloaks now turned south, and some took up burning brands from the fire-pits to cast light on the source of the rumbling. Out of the darkness loomed shapes of immense proportions, like creatures out of feverish nightmares: giants, wielding clubs of stone and great tree-trunks. Horns were being raised on both sides of the Karth River: the battle was joined.
"Throw everything at them!" came a shout from the other side of the bridge. "Gorak, take point! Mages, ready to blow the bridge!"
At the head of the host of giants came Talvi, dressed in her Skaal clothing with her mammoth's tusk spear in hand. Behind her walked a giant wielding a tall tree for a staff stripped of all leaves with naked branches hanging outward at odd angles like the limbs of a scarecrow: perched atop that tree was the head of the ancient giant which went behind Talvi like a standard. Through the lines of the Stormcloaks she strode, amid cries of joy from the rebels: from the northern shore there came arrows and fire-balls. The giants were easy targets, and many darts and blasts found their mark. Some of them collapsed in pain, taking to their knees before falling down, while others made havoc of the Stormcloak lines: three times the shield-wall was broken as giants sent Stormcloaks hither and yon as they swung their great limbs or weapons in agony. But Talvi heeded no shot, flanked by her banner; she made her way through the fray to the southern end of the great Dragon Bridge.
Directly opposite her, on the far side of the bridge, there stood a great Orc: his head was bald and he bore a thick beard upon his jowls, but his face was painted red and his loins were girded in the armor of the Legion. He was armed with two axes made of orichalcum, and there was no one with him.
"Stand down, giant!" roared the Orc. "You have no place in this battle, and your life is in danger. I've broken bigger monsters than you."
"So have I, elf!" Talvi shot back. "And if you stand in my way, then by the All-Maker, I'll break your head upon the stones!"
"It won't be my head broken on the stones," the Orc replied. "But yours...but not after my wife has taught you a lesson. Eld! Knock some sense into this little girl!"
From out of the darkness on the northern side of the bridge there appeared a tall figure: clad in a fur loincloth with body tattooed and scarred, this one stood at least three feet taller than Talvi. For this was not a half-giant, but a full-blooded giantess whom Gorak, in his days since the Battle of the Red Dog pass, had broken and made his mate. With a defiant roar, the two of them, Orc and giant, rushed across the bridge and attacked Talvi at once. She had naught to defend herself but her spear, which could keep the Orc at bay: with such little armor, one lucky blow could be his end. But Eld saw this and leaped upon Talvi, seizing the staff of her spear in hand and attempted to wrest it from her grip. While they grappled, Gorak tried to come up between Eld's legs and seize Talvi from in front, where she was open and defenseless. But Talvi heard his heavy panting through his tusks and brought up her knee, kicking the Orc back into Eld's groin. The two stumbled back, roaring and grumbling, and Talvi fell onto her back. Still fueled with the battle-fury, she got back onto her feet, staff in hand and a look of rage in her eyes.
So lasted the battle on Dragon Bridge between the half-giant, the Orc, and the giantess for many long hours, until the rising of the sun. So narrow was the bridge that none could intervene on either side: they merely watched as the battle went on in the midst of the bridge. All that while, the Legion kept lobbing fireballs and shooting arrows at the Stormcloak lines, especially the giants: but no arrows or fireballs were sent at the bridge. For one thing, the stone arches that hung over the bridge would prevent a clear shot of the struggling figures: and there were two loyalists on the bridge. True, they cared even less for the life of one Orc than they did for a hundred Nords, but Gorak had convinced the commander to have him bring his giantess with him, and the commander refused to jeopardize their defensive position by angering a friendly giant.
And they had a plot of their own, which they needed this distraction in order to orchestrate. Even now, as the battle was looming, a detachment of soldiers, under shields, cover of battle and darkness, had slipped downhill to the water's edge and had waded out to the supports of the great bridge. Unstable concoctions that had been prepared by the battle-mages in advance, when they had been placed in charge of the defense of Dragon Bridge, were now being placed into cracks in the masonry of the bridge support pillars. Ever and anon, the body of a Stormcloak or a giant would tumble down into the river with a mighty splash and the Imperials had to halt all activity and cower beneath their shields.
On the bridge, the battle continued. Gorak's breath was coming out heavier than before, but he was still in his second wind. He rushed at Talvi, throwing the last of his strength at her in an attempt to muscle her down into submission. He knocked her off her feet and had her on the stones of the bridge. Then, following up on his success, he threw himself upon her in hopes that he might pin her down and so have her under his power. But Talvi wasn't worn out just yet: and unlike other giants, her limbs were not as slow and unwieldy in their motions. As he gripped her shins, she kicked him back as hard as she could, punting him against one of the arches of the bridge. He hit the stone hard and fell down onto the bridge, dazed and motionless. Eld let out a roar and threw herself at Talvi, picking her up off the ground and slamming her into the arches one after the other, as if to break her.
Then came the order from the northern side.
"Blow the bridge! Bring it down now!"
Battle-mages now flung their fireballs down toward the bridge supports. There was a great crash and a sudden boom as explosions rocked the bridge. Realizing what was happening, the giant who bore Talvi's banner ran across the bridge to help her. But his footsteps brought increased weight onto the already weakening bridge. The masonry gave way, crumbling beneath their feet and sending Talvi, Gorak, Eld, and the banner-bearing giant down into the swift-flowing Karth River.
A stunned silence filled the camp of the Stormcloaks, broken only by cries to reform the shield-wall as Imperial arrows sung through the early morning air. Those giants who were still alive now fled north and east, searching the banks of the river for their champion. They could not be mastered by any, and none dared force them. There was an even bigger problem ahead of them: the bridge had completely collapsed, and now there was no way to reach Solitude by foot. Worse still the casualties were coming in: eighty-five men had been lost in the night when the giants went mad. Added to the fifteen Eirik lost in the Reach, five hundred were now less than four hundred, counting the additional losses suffered during the arrow volleys.
Galmar stood grim and silent by Ulfric, whose eyes were trained on Eirik as if looking for answers. At Eirik's side was Mjoll, who along with Erik held Sigrun between them: she hadn't been wounded but looked none the better than yesterday. Lydia, Ralof, and Rayya were at the front, with their shields raised, holding the shield-wall, and Havi was heaving fireballs at the Imperial lines.
"We're not defeated yet," Ulfric said, though his voice belied his confidence. "Not while we're still standing."
"We're barely standing at that," muttered Galmar.
"Dragonborn," Ulfric said. "Do you have any more ideas?"
"Me?" Eirik asked. "You're the High King...or will be. Why do you come to me?"
"You brought us to this place," Ulfric replied. "You must have some plan for victory."
"Victory?" Eirik asked. "How can you think of victory at a time like this? My Voice wasn't enough to break their lines...it...it always has been."
"Now's not the time to be choking on pride," Galmar interjected. "We need a plan!"
Eirik sighed. "We wait for the boats and cross elsewhere."
"That will take too long!" Ulfric retorted. "This company will surely return to Solitude to fortify its defense: and these were hardy veterans. I know, I fought alongside them in the Great War. They're not easily defeated, nor will they surrender on a whim."
"Then what do we do?" Eirik asked. There was a deafening silence as none of them had an answer.
"You know what to do," Sigrun breathed, letting out a hacking cough and spewing dark red blood onto the grass.
"No, not that," Eirik replied. "Anything but that."
"Anything but what?" Ulfric asked. "What will you not do?"
"Eirik can summon a dragon," Sigrun said. "He used it to defeat Alduin World-Eater." She coughed again.
"A dragon?" Ulfric asked incredulously. "You can control one of those things? Shor's balls, why didn't you mention it before? We could be in Solitude today, right now even!"
"I don't want to become a name of terror and evil to the people of Skyrim," Eirik sighed.
"Sometimes," Ulfric said. "A man must accept whatever name weak men will place on him in order to bring about a great end. We've lost many men this day: how many more will be lost if we continue this fight? As your future king, and for the lives of all the sons of Skyrim, I command you, Dragonborn: call this dragon."
Eirik sighed in resignation. He turned to Sigrun, bloodied and broken. She silently nodded at him. He was now up against the wall. There was no other option but to do what he would rather never do. Looking up once more to the sky, he lifted up his head and Shouted: Oh Dah Viing! The sky rocked with thunder, though there was not a cloud above them. Then came the rush of wind as the great red dragon's wings beat up a gale. Cries came from the Imperial side, along with arrows and fireballs; but none could crack the dragon's hide. It came down to land before Eirik, an evil glare in its blue eyes.
"Again you summon me, Dovahkiin," grumbled Odahviing. "Against your word. Does honor mean so little to you joore that you'll change your mind whenever you become too lazy to fight your own krif?"
"Odahviing," Eirik greeted. "I ask that you bear me but this one last time. I need your speed and strength."
"Mmmm," grumbled the dragon. "I seem to have little choice in the matter. Very well. I shall bear you once more."
"I'm coming with you!" Sigrun cried out.
"You can barely stand on your own," Eirik said. "You're in no condition to..."
"No more arguing," Sigrun retorted. "I'm going with you, if I have to strap myself down to that dragon's belly."
"What will you do with this dragon?" Ulfric asked, eying the creature warily. Eirik wasn't the only one who had ill memories of Helgen.
"Fly to Solitude and force the Empire and their elven masters to leave," said Eirik.
"And if they refuse?" Galmar asked. "Will you burn the city about their ears?"
"Kyne grant it doesn't come to that," Eirik returned.
"But are you prepared, Dragonborn?" Ulfric asked. "Are you prepared to do that, if there is no other choice?"
Eirik sighed. "If I cannot convince them with the sight of a dragon, then I will have to use force."
"Very well," Ulfric replied. "We'll wait for the boats and ford when we can. Talos guard you, Dragonborn."
Meanwhile, Mjoll and Erik had a few words to say to Sigrun after her brazen boast of strapping herself to Odahviing's underside.
"Please, you don't have to go!" Mjoll repeated.
"Don't say it, Ma," she replied. "This is why I'm here: to make sure this particular victory happens...to make sure he..."
"He what?"
"To make sure he becomes king," Sigrun sighed.
"King?" Mjoll exclaimed. "But your Father will never be king. He's too humble and stubborn for that."
"Shor's bones, he is!" Sigrun chuckled. "But you have to make sure he is, when the time comes. The people will look to him after this, and he must be ready to lead them. Promise me that you'll make sure he leads us when the time comes."
"Sigrun..."
"Promise!" Mjoll slowly nodded. Sigrun leaned in and kissed her cheek.
"I'll see you again soon," she said. "You just keep your baby safe." They threw their arms around each other in a strong embrace and wept. It wasn't until Eirik was already on top of Odahviing's back and calling for them that they broke their embrace. As she turned to the dragon, Erik stood before her now to say his peace.
"I'm going with you," he said, swallowing his reservations about flying in a moment of desperation.
"No," Sigrun said, shaking her head.
"I have to keep you safe!" he returned. Sigrun's trembling hands reached up and dove into Erik's red hair, bringing his head against hers.
"Remember our promise?" she asked. "In the Thirsk Hall? Go to Solstheim; stay there for seventeen years. I'll meet you again in the hall, I promise." She leaned in and kissed his lips.
"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"I lied about not loving you," she confessed. "I was afraid and in pain and confused. But not anymore. If I have to wait another seventeen years to see you again, Erik, I'll do it."
Erik smiled as tears welled up in his eyes, and placed his hand on the back of Sigrun's head. "You just hurry."
They didn't kiss again, but Sigrun reached up for her Father's hand. Onto Odahviing's back he lifted her, and she took her place right behind him, clinging to his back tightly. At a word from Eirik, once again the dragon lifted up off the ground and flew northward across the Karth River. Arrows and fireballs came soaring up from the Imperial side at the massive beast. Sigrun clung whimpering to her Father's back as the dragon circled around and began flying northeast: she suddenly became aware of how absurd her statements were. Facing off against the Forsworn was one thing, but it suddenly dawned upon her that they were now high enough that falling off the dragon's back would mean instant death. If one of those arrows hit her hard enough, she'd slide all the way down.
Below them, the ground reeled as Dragon Bridge receded behind them and the land began to steadily incline and grow higher and higher. Before their eyes rose the tall towers and lofty walls of Solitude, the capital of Haafingar and loyalist Skyrim. The red-wolf banners flew defiantly in the morning air, and below them cries and horns could be heard blowing. Odahviing flew once through the courtyard of Castle Dour and around the great dome of the Blue Palace towards the windmill. Then from below came a familiar drawling voice raised in cries of command that filled Eirik with wrath.
"There it is! There's the bastard! Shoot him down! Shoot that fucking dragon down!"
A heavy iron bolt came twirling through the air towards them. Eirik ducked and it skipped on the dragon's scales. Another one flew out and glanced across the dragon's wing, sending a shower of scales falling to the ground. A third one came and Odahviing rolled out of the way to avoid it, sending Eirik and Sigrun upside down and danging from its neck. They both roared and shouted and held on to their grips - dragon-scales and dragon-bone armor - for dear life.
Wham! Another shot struck Odahviing in the chest, and the dragon lurched suddenly in mid-air, belching fire and dropping suddenly. So furiously did the dragon thrash about that the two on its neck were rocked about this way and that: Sigrun's grip on Eirik's armor was weakening. Another shot came and the dragon began to descend rapidly nose-first towards the city-streets of Solitude. Its body slammed into a tall building, causing the neck to turn about and send its two passengers falling three stories into the ground. Sigrun hit the ground first and instantly blacked out; she remembered no more.
(AN: What will happen now! Are they alright? Is this how Sigrun meets her end?)
(This is my big refutation to the "use the dragons" thing: an example where it is prevented from working. Also, I know magic in the Elder Scrolls universe is supposed to be the big deus ex MacGuffin, capable of explaining away everything from bad-writing to why a planet with no sun hasn't frozen over and died long since, but I find it absurd that a lesser ward used by a novice mage is the default trump card to the Unrelenting Force Shout.)
(The part about "being too lazy to fight your own battles" comes from something I had in mind today at work. People complained that Peter Jackson didn't make Aragorn an unfaithful oathkeeper [as someone else I know] to the Oathbreakers by not having them around as a deus ex machina in Return of the King. Because arm-chair critics have no concept of honor: all they care about is convenience. So I ended up having to "get rid" of a lot of really powerful stuff in this chapter, which includes giants and dragons.)