A sudden cry of the horn woke up Rena. It took her a moment to realize to wake and realize why to was sounded. Not to simply rouse the troops; it was for warning the city of a coming attack.
The entire barracks scrambled, picking themselves out of bed like someone put burning coals on the mattresses. Anyone still asleep was shaken awake by those slapped their armor together. They grabbed their swords, shields, bows and arrows and bolted from the barracks, ready as they could for war.
The Imperials and guards alike ran through the streets to the walls, the day breaking in the sky. The townsfolk, those who were still awake in these hours, ran for cover, to protect their families. Many a tired face from an absence of enough sleep could be seen, but their bodies would not give out. Worn as they were, they were prepared to fight.
At the walls, the Stormcloak warband could be seen. The entire valley had been filled with blue clad soldiers and war machines. Balls of fire from catapults were launched into the city, smashing into unflinching rock and falling onto either something that couldn't or something that could catch. Archers loosed arrows at the walls in hope of getting past the shields stood strong.
Rena ordered, "Archers, nock," in the loudest voice she could, "pull, loose!"
Her own archers loosed a volley into the sea of Stormcloaks and their shields blocked it, not a single body could be seen falling. But that could easily be because their ranks were packed that tight, not that the arrows hadn't found purchase. The Stormcloaks loosed their own volley but fell just short of the city's emplacements.
Then there was no mercy. One of the catapults launch its fiery materials but was falling too soon to make it over the walls. Too late did Rena realize this meant it would land into the Legionnaires' formation. Before she could say anything, before they had the chance to bolt, the flaming rock smashed into a shield wall, the three furthest back losing their grip and falling to their deaths.
The soldiers left were better off, only because they weren't dead. When the healers dragged them away, six soldiers were covered in burns, two of them with mangled shield arms from absorbing the blast. Rena prepared to call another volley but was cut short by another flaming rock finding purchase on the wall. But falls to their deaths, more burnt soldiers, less men on the wall.
"Archers!" Rena yelled with a losing voice, "Nock, pull, loose!"
Another volley into the mass of shields that saw little results. Another flaming rock was launched into emplacements. Another six or so soldiers were dragged away in pain. It would become mundane, but then the Stormcloak archers finally gain some semblance of skill and one of their volleys sent a dozen or so soldiers to their deaths. It was horrific.
To make things worse, a siege ladder emerged from the Stormcloak ranks. It locked onto the wall and soldiers began to climb. One soldiers, visible hatred even from the gate, put his sword away and ready his hand for something. As the first soldier was almost to the emplacements, a strike of lightning shot from the Legionnaire's hand and twenty odd Stormcloaks lost their grip from the shock. Most fell to their deaths. Battlemage. Right.
"Battlemages!" Rena ordered, "To the walls! Fill the ranks!"
A hundred odd soldiers ran up the walls, throwing fire balls and bolts of lightning all the way. Even then, it wouldn't be enough to keep the warband out of the city. Rena knew this. They had a battering ram ready, protected by too many shield bearers. There was nothing she could do but wait to watch this city fall.
Oh, as if that was her choice. See, a choice can't exist without another. And there was another.
"Ansgar!" Rena called, "Kill them all!"
The Nord Legionnaire had been behind the gate, waiting for it to break open the entire siege. Even from this high up, past his closed helmet, Rena could see a grin on his face.
Rena went back to the battering ram. Before it could even make another strike, the gate opened and it was thrown like a toy into the sea of Stormcloaks, as were many of their comrades. Ansgar led Mariqa and several soldiers into the fray, himself standing tall with his Zweihander. Ulfric wanted a war, so he would have it.
With the warband occupied, Rena ordered another volley. With the battlemages' attacks and Ansgar's opportunity for glory, few stood or paid attention to note the arrows that punched a hole into the ranks. Another volley was ordered, similar results.
The Stormcloak commander must have panicked and ordered another volley from the catapults. Before they found purchase, the battlemages froze the rocks and broke them apart with a fireball. Another volley, same results. There were a least ten battlemages for every war machine at their disposal. You couldn't outflank the best in Tamriel.
Rena looked back at Ansgar's charge and it was brutal. Many a guard and Legionnaire fell, but so did the Stormcloaks. It looked as though he was carving through to the catapults, but even with his obvious movements, they could nothing to stop him. Sometimes, you can know the strategy well enough to know you can't stop what's about to happen.
Ansgar broke the catapults with his mighty Zweihander, frightening the warband. What they must have realized was that they had been outflanked and wouldn't be able to win now. Every time their try to climb or raise a siege ladder, they would get struck down by flame or spark. Their shield wall was falling to the volleys. They had to realize this battle was lost.
They must have, as the warband began to retreat. Soldiers ran from their formations to the valley's exit. Many still stood their ground, but their shields were shattered, and the Legion volleys carefully avoided their own soldiers and allies. Finally, the valley was emptying. They understood this battle, they would fail. Rena couldn't count how many soldiers there were when the battle began but figured around three hundred Stormcloaks were still alive.
Rena descended the walls and walked into the fields bellow. She could see so many fallen soldiers, piles of them. So many bodies. She could walk in any direction and still need to guide her foot away from stepping onto a body. She hadn't the opportunity to survey the aftermath of another battle, always needed to run at the end. This was a lot to take in.
She found Ansgar on top of the rubble of a catapult, cleaning his sword. "That isn't the end of it," he stated.
Rena nodded. "I doubt that was all their soldiers in the Reach," she agreed, "Still, this was a victory."
"Not for long," Ansgar remarked, "Not when they come back."
Rena quietly asked, "Any suggestions?"
"One."
Rena could hardly believe this was happening. When they went to Legate Admand with the idea, she was certain it wouldn't get far. The fact it was approved was either a sign of faith on his part or an indication of how desperate they were for anything that might work. That might be misplaced in his part.
Herself, Ansgar, Mariqa and twenty odd troops road into a Forsworn camp. Not charging, not attacking, riding. Their intention wasn't to clear them out. Hardly. It was to ask for their aid.
Rena had never seen Forsworn before. She heard rumors that they were barely clothed barbarians, followers of old gods and inherently violent. She wasn't sure what to make of them, so didn't pay too much attention to them, but now in their presence, she couldn't help trying to find anything she might have heard about Forsworn etiquette.
For starters, the Forsworn weren't just barely clothed for winter as she assumed; they wore deliberately exposing clothes. As for their worship, their reverence for Hagravens was noticeable around the camp, with the creatures walking around like they weren't anything to fear but honor. What they could tell for their violent side, the most immediate thing they noticed was how many arrows were trained on them.
When they came to the largest tent in the camp, spiked swords were drawn against them. Rena assumed Ansgar took this tent to be their leader's. From the crowd, one Forsworn stood out in front of the captain. Given she was a woman, he was visibly uncomfortable with her scant clothing. Rena didn't stare.
"I seek an audience with your chief," Ansgar announced.
"Then you'll not find him in the medicine tent," the woman stated, "Follow me."
The Forsworn put away their blades as the Legionnaires dismounted and followed the woman. Ansgar seemed ashamed of his mistake, but maybe it was because of her attire. To be honest, Rena assumed it would never be the former and always be the latter. He just always seemed like the most sheltered idealist she'd ever seen. She naturally assumed this would kill their chances with the chieftain.
They eventually reached a tent that lack any distinguishing features on the outside that it was special. The troop entered and found a typical Forsworn sat on a bed. He was painted with tribal tattoos and dressed in pelts meant to keep him warm, but it was doubtful they worked. He looked akin to a Breton but was as hardy and fierce as a Nord. He didn't look impressed.
"Who are you scabs?" he asked.
"Captain Ansgar Nordson," the Legionnaire curtsied, "This is Captain Rena Donton. We come to speak with you."
The chief just raised an eyebrow at Ansgar's last name, as did Rena. "I'm Wulded Randela," he stated, "I lead the Forsworn in place of our king, Madanach."
Madanach was the leader of the Forsworn some decades ago. He led them to take the city of Markarth during the Great War, as the Nord armies were all away. This didn't last, as Ulfric Stormcloak took it back in a brutal display that gave him the title "the Bear of Markarth". Their leader was slain and most fled in terror.
But that is not what makes it relevant to the Empire or Aldmeri Dominion. Ulfric only agreed to reclaim the city if a it became a haven of Talos worship. They agreed, but those concerned didn't approve, so the shrine of Talos was walled off and Ulfric was arrested. He escaped and that was the beginning of his rebellion, even if the war didn't begin for years.
"What do you what with us?" Wulded asked.
"We wish to ask for your aid against the Stormcloak's conquest," Ansgar stated, "I know you would fight them anyway, but- "
"I would fight Ulfric," Wulded interrupted, "his followers mean nothing to me. I fight anyone who wants to wipe us out, you included."
Ansgar sighed. He cut his teeth in the Reach, hunting Forsworn raiders. "I hunted you because I was assigned to keep the Reach safe from threats," he explained, "We will request you not attack travelers on the road, but we're willing to discuss terms to a treaty."
Wulded nodded, "Alright. I want to be Jarl."
Ansgar's mouth was agape, but what was he expecting? The Forsworn wanted their homeland free from outside rule and this would accomplish that. Did he assume they wouldn't want something they could only get from the Empire? This kid of thirty-so years needed to wise up.
"I don't think I can get you that," the Nord captain explained, "But I think I can have some land set aside for your people."
The chieftain smirked. "I can assist your war, keep my people from attacking travelers and swear loyalty to whatever king you put on the throne," he explained, "but I want my people to a place they can call their home, not the Nord's home. You have nothing I want."
Rena knew it wouldn't end well. There was nothing she could think of they want beyond to rule themselves and no one chooses to give up something from its control. If he wanted to have the Reach leave Skyrim or even the Empire's jurisdiction, that is what he wanted, and no one would just give him.
"What if we gave you supplies?" Ansgar offered.
"And what would we trade them with?" Wulded questioned, "Face it, you have no authority to give me what I actually want."
Then Ansgar's face melted into pride. He must have gotten an idea. "What about Ulfric's head?" he asked.
Wulded raised his eyebrow. "Do you think you could do that?" he asked.
The Legionnaire nodded. "If we have your loyalty, we will give you land, resources and whatever you wish from Ulfric's estate," he offered, "Now, do we have a deal?"
The chieftain thought for a moment. "Deal," he stated, holding his hand out and Ansgar's met it.
So, they had a deal. They would have to put it past Legate Admand first, but they had something. Rena had no clue if it would be accepted or if it was another promise to break in the Reach. She hoped, for the sake of the war effort, it would not be questioned and would be followed to the letter. If not, there would be no peace.
But then Rena realized they left Mariqa outside. She checked and found the Khajiit twitching at the sight of the hagravens. It was as though their very presence was trying to horrify and offend him. It would drive him mad just by being there.
"This one wishes to leave," he seethed, "I can't trust myself with these creatures."
Neither could Rena, to be honest.
All this travelling around had worn Skathi out. She had been from Eastmarch to Solitude within a week and that always takes a toll on you. She was catching sleep on the cart, too tired for horseback riding. She would love to stop running around the province and just stay somewhere quiet for enough time to feel comfortable, but Dragonborn never sleep, do they?
On this little adventure, she was going to Riften, a city on the opposite end of Skyrim to Solitude. Delphine sent her to find and secure Esbern, the Blade they discovered alive. The Breton seemed to have a history with him, as though he once warned of the dragons' return. He potentially had information that could help drive them back, so it was obvious they needed him.
Skathi barely got any sleep on the cart, especially since it was the middle of the day. She was just trying to catch up when it came to a halt. At this stop, she groaned and threw herself off the cart, landing face first on the ground. Could she just have a day off? Or a night's rest? For once?
She picked herself up and brushed herself down. All clean as she was going to get, the outsider headed over to the gate. The guards at their post were clad in purple sashes, a scaled vest and a mail shirt. Something seemed hauntingly familiar about them, besides their uniform in common with other hold guards. It was unnerving.
"Hold there," one of the guards ordered, "Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."
Odd. She never had to pay to enter a town or village before, even the capital of Skyrim. "What's the tax for?" Skathi asked.
"For the privilege of entering the city," the guard explained, "What does it matter?"
If it did not have a purpose, it did not have a need. "This is obviously a shakedown," Skathi proclaimed, putting an emphasis on the 'shakedown.'
"All right, keep your voice down," the guard panicked, "you want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in, just let me unlock the gate."
This corrupt guard dealt with, Skathi entered the city. The buildings were built from wood and stones and held together with moss. The roads were dotted with more beggars in rags than she had ever seen. The guards could be seen accepting gold from characters without any sign they were the jarl's men. It was clear this was not a clean city.
Her contact here was named Brynjolf, a Nord by the sound of it. However, she did not know which Nord here he was. It was Skyrim. For all she knew, he could be anyone from the beggars on the streets to the jarl's right-hand man. She would need to ask, so she went over to one of the vendors, a Dunmer, and asked. Turns out, he was the vendor selling potions opposite him, so she went over to him.
"You're Brynjolf?" she asked.
"Eye, lass," he replied, "Whatcha here for?"
"I'm looking for this old guy hiding out in Riften," she explained
"Expecting free information, eh?" he remarked, "Help me deal with business first, then we'll see how I can help you."
"Dragons are bad for business," Skathi stated, "I can make them go away."
He took a moment to swallow the implications of that statement. "Aye, you've got a point there," he agreed, "Your guy's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens and paying us good coin for nobody to know about it. Well, until now that is."
"Thanks," the outsider replied, setting some coin on the counter, "For your trouble."
After a lengthy and bloody trip into the Ratway, Skathi found her way into the Warrens, a haven for strange and unsettling characters. A legion veteran muttering about the battles he fought. An old woman keeping track of what few possessions she still had. A man in an apron and chef's hat talking to himself like everyone else was meat to butcher and cook. If Esbern were here, she hoped still had his senses.
Skathi poked around until she came to a door, she could not open and she was certain it could still be opened. She knocked on the steel and wood door and a window opened to reveal an old man. He was most likely Esbern. He seemed strong; despite the knowledge he was almost eighty years of age. Makes sense, given he was trained to slay dragons and protect someone who would most likely have a great amount of violence ahead of them.
"Go away!" he barked.
"Esbern? Open the door. I'm a friend," Skathi asked
"What?! No, that's not me. I'm not Esbern," he reeled, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's okay. Delphine sent me," she tried to explain
"Delphine? How do you?" he wondered before coming back with full fire, "So you've finally found her, and she led you to me. And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap."
The Breton gave her a contingency for this. "Delphine said to 'remember the 30th of Frostfall," Skathi stated.
His defense was lowered at that codeword's use, like hearing your family call your name as you ran away. "Ah. Indeed, indeed. I do remember," he sighed, "Delphine really is alive, then? You'd better come in then and tell me how you found me and what you want."
He shut the window and mechanical sounds and an old man's muttering could be heard. It was surely the locks, but there were so many, it was hard to be sure it was just that and not an array of music boxes all be wound up. Eventually, he did open the door.
"So, Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years," Esbern mused, "I thought she'd have realized it's hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago." He trailed off into a memory. Perhaps not a good one.
"The Thalmor have found you," Skathi stated, "We must get out of here."
"Yes, yes, so you said. But so, what?" Esbern questioned, "The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I'm tired of running."
"What do you mean, 'the end is upon us'?" the outsider asked.
"Haven't you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what's going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said!" he proclaimed, "The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell them. They wouldn't listen. Fools. It's all come true. All I could do was watch our doom approach."
"Alduin," Skathi repeated, that word echoing in her mind coming doom, "the dragon who's raising the others?"
"Yes, yes! You see, you know but you refuse to understand!" Esbern raved, "Oh, yes. It's all been foretold. The end has begun. Alduin has returned. Only a Dragonborn can stop him. But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They've left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater."
Then she could not turn aside. She was prophecy incarnate; a warrior sent by the Divines to evade destruction. If she left all this behind, ultimate death would follow. Alduin, she had heard that name before, probably referring to the Black Dragon of Helgen. Good. She wanted to kill that Beast.
"It's not hopeless, Esbern. I'm Dragonborn," Skathi proclaimed.
"What? You're, can it really be true? Dragonborn?" the old Blade stuttered, "Then, then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must, we must, we must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss."
As he packed, the golden armor of Thalmor soldiers could be seen outside. They were here for Esbern, no doubt. Some of the occupants here tried to fight them but were fruitless in this effort. Well, with the world at stake, these few could stand to be thrown apart. And so, the Dragonborn drew her sword and gave a Shout.
"Fus Ro!"
Legate Admand wasn't known for being diplomatic. He followed orders, gave orders and expected his soldiers to follow orders. He was career Legion, devoting his life to follow his general's orders. War was his craft, so there was little room for the work ascribed to those who don't fight, that of lords and generals. He fought, they made peace. The fact he even considered Ansgar's plan was almost uncharacteristic.
So, when Rena and Ansgar came back with what the terms of the treaty, there was much discourse.
"Are you mad?!" yelled Jarl Igmund.
"Possibly," the Thalmor, Ondolemar, remarked.
Legate Admand sighed. "Listen, this is what my officers suggested," he stated, "I can hammer out a better deal if you want."
The Jarl leaped out of his throne. "There will be no deal with savages!" he screamed and left. Admand led Ansgar to another room, presumably to chew him out.
Rena knew the jarl wouldn't accept it. He was there when Markarth was taken so many years ago. He was forced from his home for two years. After that, his father tried to make peace with the Forsworn, who died in the process. It was understandable that he wouldn't want to give them anything in the deal.
But there wasn't much choice. They lost many in the initial attack on Markarth, around three hundred in all. They still had over fifteen hundred soldiers in all, but this war was about fighting fast and loosing lives fast. If they didn't force the Stormcloaks out, they would overtake the Reach.
Ondolemar approached the Legionnaires. "You know, it sounds like a perfectly acceptable deal," he remarked, "The only problem is that the jarl won't buy it."
Rena looked at him with a doubtful expression. "I don't think I can trust that," she stated.
He sighed. "When will you Legion types accept that we're only here for your best interest?" he asked.
"Your government's policy towards the races of Men is about as forgiving as the Red Mountain to Dunmer," she sneered, "Until that changes, I won't be able to take anything you say seriously."
Ondolemar looked disappointed. "Why don't you understand that we just want to improve your civilizations?" he remarked, "The worship of mortals as gods is unhealthy, as you can see. The infighting and hatred towards others must be made better. We simply want to uplift all of mankind."
"With a knife to the back?" Rena growled.
His disappointment burned to barely contained contempt. "I would rather not be here," he stated, "Because of this damn invasion, I had to skip out on a party held by Ambassador Elenwen to observe the situation."
"That was your mistake," Rena remarked.
Ondolemar left in a huff. It was unprofessional to have such a spat with a Thalmor diplomat, but he was hardly diplomatic. Rena accepted this was probably going to hurt her career, send her to the most remote post at the edge of High Rock. She hoped that it wouldn't, but it was how it would go, most likely.
Legate Admand and Ansgar returned from their discussion. Ansgar looked seething. That seemed likely, as he just seemed like someone who needed a good talking to. He had his own way, which he thought was right, and thought everyone else needed some shoring up. Sounds like most people, but he wasn't subtle about it.
"So, how are we going to do this?" Rena asked.
Admand sighed. "Further talks with the Forsworn will require the presence of myself, Jarl Igmund and Observer Ondolemar," he stated.
That made sense. It was a question as to why they weren't part of discussion already. The Jarl was the Jarl, the Legate was the Legate, and neither could take a piss in a stream without a Thalmor to check. Admand did give them a mandate and numerous methods of bargaining, but Ulfric's estate and reservations of land weren't amongst them.
The Forsworn wouldn't be happy. Their original requests were far more outrageous, so haggling further down from that would require Zenithar's greatest blessing since the gift of coin. That may have been an exaggeration, but a simple man, a vengeful jarl and a Thalmor didn't sound like they'd make such a good treaty.
Speaking of unhappiness, Mariqa didn't seem pleased by something. He was stood in the foyer, starring into a hallway. He hissed at first, but then went into a noise Rena only heard when she cornered an ally cat. The men on guard didn't seem to know what to make of this.
Rena went up to him and asked, "What are you doing?"
One of the guards answered first. "He seems to be yowling at the Hall of the Dead."
"Something bad is in there," he stated.
And suddenly, the sound of horns blasted into the air. It was to signal that another army was approaching with unknown intention. Bizarre, as they weren't expecting anyone. It couldn't be the Forsworn, as they hadn't finalized the deal. It couldn't be Legion or Stormcloak, as the horns would declare more certain intentions. What was out there?
Rena and Ansgar bolted through the streets and many Legionnaires followed them. The citizens, who should be enjoying dinner by now, were now frozen in anticipation at their doorways. They knew as much as the guards and soldiers did but were far more afraid that the army may turn out to be hostile.
When Rena reached the wall, she saw who it was. It was a host of Forsworn raiders with helmeted heads on pikes and a Stormcloak flag in hand. Were they back from war or here for their new allies? Both were terrible prospects.
One raider stepped forward, taking off his horn headdress to reveal himself as Wulded. "The Stormcloaks are slain!" he declared.
Many soldiers cheered and passed word, causing an eruption from the entire city. Rena and Ansgar meanwhile were silently looking at each other in dread. They knew what everyone else did, but more. They did this on the assumption that the deal was valid, but that wasn't true with the jarl's disapproval. When they found out, it there would be blood.
The gatekeepers led the Forsworn into the city. Many citizens were silenced by discovering who their saviors were. Rena and Ansgar kept up with them as they marched through the city in victory. Wulded led his men to Jarl Igmund and entourage. The atmosphere was palpable.
"Prepare your finest ale, my friends!" the war chief belted, "Tonight, we celebrate a grand victory!"
Divines save them from the living Oblivion about to come upon them.