Overlooking Falkreath, Jeanne knew it was possible to take it. The city wasn't one of the larger walled ones like Windhelm or Whiterun, so it could be done. From the size, the hold guard was smaller than some others, at six hundred strong. But that wouldn't be an easy battle for the two hundred that stayed on the outskirts, prepared for battle.
Falkreath was important for the Legion war effort, so they prepared to meet the Stormcloak warband in open war. With Legionnaires backing the hold guard, there was ten times as many soldiers prepared to defend as those who prepared to attack.
But in the size of their forces, there was a weakness. The twenty-two hundred hold guards and Legionnaires couldn't all fit in the city. As such, they were out on the road, camped out to meet the warband in battle. A smaller force could sneak across Falkreath's boarders, sail Lake Ilinalta and strike the city in the night.
Even with the distinct advantage, they would need to strike deliberately and fast. They would need a commander and strategy to understand this and the terrain. Thank the Divines their field commander was Thorygg Sun-Killer, a local boy who knew the streets like the back of his hand. His insight allowed them to formulate their strategy.
With all of this in mind, Jeanne and the Stormcloaks hid in the woods, awaiting the signal to attack. There was no turning back now that they had gotten this far. To turn back now was foolish and cowardice. Everyone here knew that. So, it was no surprise when Thorygg raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. That was the signal.
And the battle began.
The Stormcloaks knew stealth had been on their side to get them this far, but this was no time to sneak. This was the time for speed, so they bolted across the shallow river toward the city, weapons and shields drawn. A guard spotted them, but as he yelled, "Stormcloaks!" an arrow landed in his throat. Would've happened whether they snuck in or not, so why bother?
Jeanne knew her objective as the leader of the second company. She led her soldiers off from Thorygg's men and ran to the barracks. They didn't know how many soldiers were garrisoned here at this time, so covering it was going to be necessary. Hopefully, not many.
The company reached the barracks just in time for the door to open and a few dozen soldiers start filing out. They met Stormcloak shields as they were bashed into the barracks walls. To make sure they didn't have any more soldiers, the door was jammed with a war axe lodged into the ground and the handle holding it in place. They would need a hammer to break it down.
From there, the plan was simple. Jeanne led her soldiers to the jarl's longhouse, Thorygg's objective. The plan was to deal with both the hold guards and the Jarl simultaneously, but if one objective was reached before the other, the company was to meet up with the other. They were intended to be fulfilled at the same time, resulting in a complete surrender of the hold. Doing one but not the other meant it was taking longer than expected and needed aid.
Arriving at the longhouse, the remaining hold guard and Stormcloaks met an unexpected hiccup. An entire Legion company was pouring out of the longhouse. The coward, Jarl Siddgeir, must have had them hid in fear the warband destroyed the barricades. He was right, but it wouldn't save him.
Jeanne's company burst into Siddgeir's lines, aiming to blitz into the longhouse. This was not as simple as it seemed, as the Legionnaires stood strong against them. They tried to break through the lines, but the clunky men in steel armor were difficult to move. Jeanne decided this wouldn't do.
The adopted Nord cast fire to burn her way through the lines. The hardened Legion regulars were unphased by the inferno, but not wisely. Jeanne aimed a stream of fire under their feet and the heat was intended to cook them. Their resolve was fast to fall. Her company broke through and bolted into the longhouse.
The Jarl was at his dais, about twenty men between him and his enemies. There wasn't a moment where he declared he would fight alongside his men for his people and country or anything like that. He didn't seem able to fight anyway, lacking armor or a sword longer than his thigh. How the people thought he was a good Jarl was not immediately evident, but perhaps the Empire was just as guilty of using puppet Jarls that weren't elected as much as Ulfric. Didn't make either better, just the same level of guilty.
No matter, Jeanne would end this quickly. She threw a bolt of fire at the guards' feet, frightening them and giving her the opportunity that she needed. She bolted across the firepit in the center of the house, her leather soles protecting her feet from burns. Her sword in hand, she stabbed at the Jarl's head, but missed.
A small sting was felt in Jeanne's gut. She looked down and saw a crossbow bolt there. Jarl Siddgeir's, as she saw him wielding such a weapon in his shaking hands.
"I've had worse, you willowy prick," she growled.
Jeanne wrestled the crossbow out of his hands and grappled him in her arms. "Alright, alright!" he cried, "Don't kill me! I accept defeat!"
Jarl Siddgeir was released and fell off the dais. "Good," Jeanne stated, "Now, run along to your mother, whelp."
Him and his staff left the longhouse, his surviving guards following him out. Now that the battle was over, a healer came over and mended Jeanne's wound. That was a fast battle, around a half hour. She hoped they would be just as long.
When the adopted Nord exited the longhouse, the streets were littered with Legion corpses. Thorygg looked visibly shaken. He just had to invade his hometown; Jeanne wouldn't expect him to be happy.
"I knew this place," he remarked with a longing look around, "The general goods store clerks were nice people, always gave me sweets for helping them bring in the latest shipment. The smithy always shooed me away from all the pointy things. The innkeepers always let me watch the new people come in. I missed this place."
Jeanne wasn't acquainted with those feelings, of returning home the bad guy. All she knew was that the Legion was likely to strike back with the knowledge of what happened here. She summoned her soldiers together and told them to prepare for over a thousand strong coming their way.
They never came.
The Whiterun survivors had reached Solitude in the night and collapse in their beds from the travel. They awoke to their new orders, all of them. Most were honorably discharged due to injury, few staying on for the rest of the war. They deserved it. They already lost limb and friends for the Legion; they deserved to rest after this.
In the morning, Rena and Ansgar were summoned to meet with General Tullius. As the only ranking officers to survive, he would want a report from them. The strange thing is that protocol only dictated they write one, not give one orally. Rena thought there was something more to this meeting than a report and he had something else he wanted to talk about. Hopefully not promoting Ansgar.
Entering the war room, Rena could tell Tullius was stressed. His face was hard as stone and his eyes were cold embers of fire. Why wouldn't he be? The events of these past two weeks have led to war. From failing to hold Ulfric, dragon attacks and now open war, this surely wasn't like any position he held before. Rena half expected him to pick up drinking.
Tullius put his hand on the table, on a small pile of letters. They looked like official reports. "Captains," he spoke in a harder voice than normal, "Give your report of the Battle for Whiterun."
Ansgar was first. "The Stormcloaks attacked in late afternoon. They broke through the first two lines of defenses within an hour. When they reached the gate, we attempted to ambush them by attacking them from the north road through town. I reminded them of their duty to the Empire, even over Skyrim, and the Nord soldiers turned. The third layer of defense was broken immediately, and we tried to lose them in the residential area. When the Stormcloaks breached the keep, I ordered a full retreat. Our total Casualties were 1,409, total injured were 119."
He continued, "I request the Legionnaires that left their post at the keep be punished."
Tullius looked as though he was lied to. "Captain Donton," he asked, "what's your report of the battle?"
Rena could only tell the truth as she saw. "The Stormcloaks attacked without strategy or any real form. Every soldier fought for their own glory. How they broke through the first two line of defenses speaks to their individual talent."
She continued, "Our battalion was going to take advantage of their disunity by applying our forces from two directions two and corner them. Tribune Barsotti tried to rally the Nords, told them to 'give them the glory of Sovngarde'. A cultural thing, I suppose."
Legate Rikke took great attention to that. Rena noticed she was a Nord herself. Perhaps she thought that was a good idea, even if she knew it was for naught.
Rena continued, "Ansgar also gave them a rallying cry. Something along the lines of 'They may fight for Skyrim, but we fight for all of Tamriel.' The moment the Stormcloaks broke through, half the battalion turned on the other. Tribune Barsotti was killed."
She looked down in shame. "I attempted to avenge her. The ambush had already failed; I just wanted to make that soldier pay. I failed." She sighed, "I was corned and thrown in the gutter to die. That's all I can say of the battle."
She remembered something and added, "And there was a Khajiit called Mariqa that started beating up Stormcloaks. He's weird."
Tullius looked at the letters. "You know what these are?" he asked, "These are reports I've asked from the twenty of the survivors."
Ansgar looked ashamed. Rena figured it was because he knew they would hold something against him for causing half the battalion to revolt. With longer to think about it, it lacked tact. He probably knew this, and he had to be reminded to never do it again.
"Ansgar, you most likely caused the Nords' to turn against us," Tullius remarked, "Asking the soldiers that fled Dragonsreach be punished doesn't sound good from your mouth." He continued, "And you, Captain Donton, left your post for your own glory. Neither of you are prime leadership material."
He looked to one, then the other, looking back a fourth as he spoke. "I considered making one of you tribune, but I won't give it to the likes of you." He looked honestly disappointed in them, as he should. "You're to await further orders in the next three days."
Rena and Ansgar nodded and left. Back at the barracks, there were things unspoken. Ansgar was angrily doing whatever he did. Rena didn't ask what it was about, but assumed it had something to do with how that meeting left. Tullius knew he had something to do with the ambush's failure and he was held back because of it. It was probably that.
At the barracks dinner, it was almost silent. An air of depression was apparent in the mess hall. The Whiterun survivors were crushed by the failure and wounds of the battle and the hold guards were sympathetic. The only sounds that could be heard was the clanking of dishes and utensils. It was almost unbearable.
And suddenly, Mariqa jumped on top of the table, shirtless. "Who here knows the story of Dagrun Blood-Maiden?" he asked with a chipper voice.
Most of the mess hall shrugged, while Ansgar had his head in his hands for some reason. "Well, do you wanna hear it?" he asked.
Again, barely any enthusiasm could be mustered. "Well, you're about to hear it!" he proclaimed, pulling a lute from his seat.
"Tsun's balls," Ansgar muttered.
"Blood and steel, fur and bone, Dagrun fought to save her home
"Kyne's grove, the holy place, was where the enemy that she did face
"Came to murder and to kill, and sought for innocent blood to spill
"J'Dahros of the black mane drew- a bow, and from it arrows flew
"Dagrun had saved her home before, and so led the guards through the gore
"Brigands and thieves, cutthroats and fiends, filled the battle to the seams
"Dagrun the Loudmouthed spoke a taunt, and her skill she did then flaunt
"Axe of Nordic make she drew, and with fought through the slew
"Behind shield of courage and of might, she made it through all the night
"The moon set, and the sun did rise, and the bandits dropped all like flies
"J'Dahros would not yield, and so drew the bow that he did wield
"Fired once he did, and all the guards they had hid
"But Dagrun charged the mighty cat, though found no fruit doing that
"Up a tree the bandit climbed, and fired arrows whose targets they'd find
"Dagrun knelt and drew her bow, aiming now the killing blow
"One she fired and it struck, their arrows clashing out of luck
"A mark on her ear did Dagrun get, but in their contest she'd won her bet
"J'Dahros fell from the tree, and the guard shouted out in glee
Mead, ale, and wine they drank to toast the brave, and Dagrun toasted the town she saved"
The mess hall erupted in cheer as he sang. A good song, Rena supposed, brought levity to even the emptiest crypt. The soldiers that knew the lyrics joined the song, even though they were hardly good singers. Much mead was spent, and a fine night was had by all, in and out of the of the hall. Even Ansgar enjoyed himself with an arm-wrestling competition, though he wasn't a fan of the song.
Rena almost wanted the night to never end. Better than the war, anyways.
Jeanne awaited Galmar's arrival to Falkreath. She did not sleep yet, as she thought the Legion, or the rest of the hold guard would come to reclaim it for Siddgeir. No, it wasn't doing good things to her mind. At some point before the dawn, she lost time and discovered Galmar stood over her, poking her awake in the middle of the day. Perhaps her bravado was less than wise.
"Hawksly, get up," the Stormcloak commander ordered.
Jeanne got up, embarrassed. "Now," Galmar stated, "we have something to discuss."
The officers entered the Jarl's longhouse and saw the man on the dais was old with a beard like long winter. To her knowledge, this was Dengeir of Stuhn, the Jarl before Siddgeir. The two were uncle and nephew, and you'll not hear the end of it if you deliberately mix up who is who. The public reason for Dengeir stepping down was declining health, but most believe it was because the Empire replaced him with someone more compliant. Considering Jeanne's only interaction with him was him claiming the general goods clerk was a Legion spy that killed the previous owners even though he's a Stormcloak veteran, claiming he'd be an invaluable warrior on the frontlines, and insulting her for pretty much anything immediately apparent about her, she doesn't think that was the only reason he was replaced.
Galmar and the other officers met in the war room off to the side. Thorygg, just as tired as Jeanne, was propped up like a training dummy. He looked like he was crying though. The rest of the officers were all Nords, quite unlike Jeanne herself. It was a reminder that everyone was at least taller than her, not specifically that she was wrong for being here. She accomplished far more than these few, cornering two Jarls in their keeps. There was no conflict between them that she could see.
"I think we should begin with the obvious," one officer, Mirafing, stated.
"Right," Galmar replied, "To those of you who aren't aware, we were expecting around two thousand hold guards and Legionnaires in our path to Falkreath. When we expected to meet them, they just weren't there."
"How do you miss two thousand men?" a familiar officer, Harling, asked in disbelief.
"We don't know," Galmar admitted, "When sent to check free prisoners from Fort Neugrad, we ransacked it for any information. We couldn't find anything. We're expecting scouts any minute now that should confirm or deny they retreated."
"How could they retreat without anyone noticing?" Thorygg asked, "The roads are laid out so that anyone, tired or not, would make it very obvious when two thousand soldiers march by the city."
"We didn't notice anything," Jeanne added, "If they didn't have anything at Fort Neugard, and we didn't notice them on the road, I'm not sure what to say."
One officer, Heimrand, wasn't satisfied with that. "You'd have to be terrible soldier to not notice two thousand soldiers march right past you," he remarked, "don't you think?"
Jeanne could feel some sort of condescension from him. She understood that some Nords weren't thrilled with a short Breton rising through the ranks so fast. She understood she'd face some prejudice from her fellow Stormcloaks. The fact he wanted her to be the reason they lost the Empire's men was unprofessional at best.
"Yes," Jeanne replied with snark, "two hundred soldiers who just took a hold capital didn't notice two thousand soldiers. Thanks for the review!"
Heimrand seemed a little defensive. "Well, all it takes is one officer telling them not to check for it to go unnoticed," he grumbled.
The Breton gave him a stare of resigned disbelief. "Do you want to insult me and my shield brother with your backhand again," she inquired, "or do you want to use a clenched fist? You know, like a real warrior?"
That almost sent him across the table with his axe drawn, but Galmar held him back. In brief hindsight, it wasn't wise to mock a fellow warrior. However, all Stormcloaks are shield-siblings in the end, as they may need to bear arms together. If one would lower their shield to let her die, then comradery wasn't possible.
"Heimrand, stand down," Galmar ordered, "Hawksly, don't antagonize him."
"Excuse me," a voice from the doorway spoke up, "I'm here to report the Legion situation."
They turned around and saw a Stormcloak with dusty armor from the road and a tired look on her face. She was surely one of the scouts.
"Well then, shield-sister," Galmar replied, "give us your report."
He took the message and looked over. His expression melted from incredulous to confused. He set the message on the table and caught himself.
"According to this report," the commander explained, "the regiment and hold guard never left Falkreath hold; they're just missing."
This unsettled the entire room. How had two thousand soldiers just disappeared? You can't just hide that many thinking, feeling, eating people. Two hundred, you could; that was proven, but not thousands. The Thalmor were easy scapegoats, but far too easy for it to be true. The thought it could happen again niggled at the back of Jeanne's mind.
Nervously, Heimrand spoke up. "We still have the Reach to discuss."
"Yes," Harling replied a bit too quickly, "let's talk about that."
Ah, the Reach. To Jeanne's knowledge, it was a strange place. The terrain was mountainous terrain with little space to move an army but was swarmed by native barbarians that called the place home. A people calling themselves the Reachmen, descended from an extinct race of Men, Cyrodiilic, Orc and, claims had it, Daedra. Despite that lineage, they looked a lot like Bretons, though her own kin denied any relation to them.
"I think we ought to send an advanced force to secure Markarth," Mirafing suggested, "and deploy the rest of the warband when we have the strength to take the Reach."
"I don't think that's wise," Heimrand retorted, "Markarth was only ever taken by Tiber Septim and I doubt you're the next Tiber Septim."
"And Ulfric," Galmar interjected, "While I didn't accompany him the first time, I know he found a way into the city." He looked straight into Heimrand's eyes, "Besides, what's your plan?"
Heimrand didn't back down. "Blockade the roads, starve them out."
"That would kill civilians before it killed the Legion," a younger officer barked at his elder.
Galmar turned to look at this warrior. "What's your name?"
He was overcoming with what seemed youthful awkwardness. "My name is Kottir Red-Shoal."
Galmar put a hand on Kottir. To Jeanne, it looked like a father about to teach his son a lesson. "I think I'll put you in command of the advance force," he stated.
Kottir's face was full of joyful surprise, while the other officers were overcome with murmuring confusion. Jeanne had only become in officer within the week, but she thought this was most irregular. This warrior looked only recently bloodied, despite looking at least thirty summers old. He wasn't well known, but he still had the officer's uniform, and they don't give those out for nothing. Maybe her and the other officers were making something out of nothing.
After another few topics hardly worth noting, the meeting was out. Jeanne, tired as ever, began to saunter over to the Dead Man's Drink to rent a room and rest.
Skathi rode strong for miles to Kynesgrove. Despite her reservations about fighting another dragon, she knew it had to be done. The ride took the rest of the day, interrupted by the odd bandit or a random priest from an obscure religious sect. Both were given a boot to the face or sword to the chest, if need be. She would rather not be out here more than she needed to.
She was wondering how she was so able to kill more now. Then she realized she was not thinking about it. The minute she asked why she was so reserved, it weighed on her greater than her Dragonborn responsibilities ever did. What right did she have to kill them? They might have gone on to do better ambitions, but all that was gone.
These thoughts were interrupted by a wolf or a bandit, but they always came back with vengeance. She never had these thoughts before Helgen, when she was in the wilderness. But did she? Something seemed familiar, like she had been burdened by guilt for something she had done, but she lacked any memory of what. She was blocking something out, she knew that, but not what.
But did she really? Would she risk whatever secret she kept hidden from herself to cripple her again and tear her mind apart a second time? Perhaps. To have one's one mind conspire against itself is a thing no one would want. If only to learn the truth.
Skathi's ponderings and self-loathing were interrupted by the sight of Delphine outside of Kynesgrove. She had gotten ahead of her, despite needing to dress herself in armor. Confusing, but not impossible, given all the other madness that had plague her the past week.
The town of Kynesgrove itself was smaller than any town she had ever seen. One building she could classify as such, followed by what could accurately be called a camp site. They surely had little money to their name if they had nothing to their name but this. Even Ivarstead, a backwater with nothing but an inn and mill, was better off than this.
Before Delphine could get a word in, a woman ran to the two in a panic. "No, you don't want to go up there!" she warned "A dragon, it's attacking!"
Skathi's eyes hardened. "Where's this dragon?" she asked.
"It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound," the woman explained, "I don't know what it's doing, but I'm not waiting around to find out"
The outsider dismounted as the woman ran off. Her and Delphine ran up the hill to meet the dragon in battle. There, Skathi took one long look at the Beast before her. It was almost impossible to see in the night sky, but it was there. It was the spot that hid the stars in the sky. Inside held ebony spikes and eyes like embers. It was surely the Beast of Helgen.
It hovered there, menacing over a mossy stone cap in the ground. This was surely the burial mound. Before a blade could be raised again it, the dragon Shouted upon the grave. Energies rose around the stone, writhing and ribboning. And then, the stone broke apart, shattering in every direction.
Out from the mound rose a dragon's skeleton, moving as though alive. It crawled out and bowed before the Beast, presenting like a farmer to his jarl. Scales began burning around it, as though it were forged on its bones again. Before a moment passed, this skeletal creature became a full monster again.
This reborn dragon began a conversation with its black overlord. Skathi recognized the words as Dragon Language, but not what they meant. The feeling of subservience to the great Beast radiated from this other dragon, but that was a guess. Before she reached for her bow, the Beast turn its head and looked right at her.
"You do not even know our tongue, do you?" it boomed in unholy voice of Coldharbour, "Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."
He then spoke an unintelligible command to the other dragon and left. The remaining beast turned to Skathi and Delphine and Shouted a gush of fire out at them. The Breton took cover, but the outsider stayed to absorb the inferno. It left her armor damaged again, but she was still clothed, and her blades were undamaged.
Skathi charged at the beast, sword and dagger in hand, and gave a blow against its jaw, the beast barely reeling. It opened its maw and moved to bite her head. She dodged the bite and lunged at its jaw a second time. Its scales were scratched, but not broken. Skathi was running out of options.
"Fus Ro!"
She Shouted as the dragon tried to bite again. This shook its concentration and gave Skathi an opportunity. She took out her singed bow and nocked a black arrow. She loosed it straight into its exposed underbelly, the beast bellowing in pain. It was still alive and tried to set her ablaze again. With less faith she would be unburnt, Skathi bolted out of the way. Without missing a beat, she sent a black arrow straight into its head.
The dragon fell, dead. Like before, fire wreathed its body, but the more familiar burning of it scales than repair. The ribbons of energy writhed out and met Skathi to give ancient knowledge once again. She found it funny this was easier to learn than her own memories. Once it faded, Delphine stood, shocked.
"So, you really are- I-, "the shorter woman stuttered, "it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn." She collected herself and started again. "I owe you some answers, don't I?" she remarked, "Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."
Finally, some answers. "Who are you and what do you want with me?" Skathi asked.
"I'm one of the last members of the Blades." Delphine explained, "A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragon slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them."
"The Blades? Who are they?" Skathi asked.
"Exactly," Delphine replied, "Nobody even remembers our name these days. We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors. Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years, we've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one. Until now."
Great, more Dragonborn worshippers. "What's our next move?" Skathi sighed.
"The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons," the Blade stated, "The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."
"What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?" Skathi inquired. It seemed a weird to blame it on mortals.
"Nothing solid. Yet," Delphine answered, "But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"
"So, we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons," Skathi clarified, "Any ideas?"
"If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy," Delphine explained, "it's the center of their operations in Skyrim. Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia." Silence only made that statement sink in as Skathi realized how crazy the Breton was.
"So how do we get into the Thalmor Embassy?" Skathi sighed.
"I'm not sure yet," Delphine admitted, "I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together." She continued, "Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long. Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse."
Skathi was tired. From the dragon slaying on one end and spy craft on the other, she was starting to wonder when she would be released from this service to the realm. Before anything else happened, she was going to get what sleep she could at the inn and be done with the day. She hoped they had good apple pie.