Lucius emerged out onto the rearmost hall of Dragonsreach, the infamous spot where two mighty dragons had been captured, as the roars and screeches of an army of dragons flew past his vision outside.
Already in the cavernous hall were two dozen palace guards, half of them standing with drawn bows on the far balcony and the rest standing in a long shieldwall across the main entrance- armed with tower shields of steel marked with the yellow horse of Whiterun.
In the balconies above were more guards, these ones standing ready to activate the huge dragon entrapment device above Lucius' head.
"Stand fast!" called Commander Caius to his men from within the shieldwall, "The Dragonborn is here!"
Breaking off from the mass of soldiers at the far end of the hall, Caius ran over to Lucius, his bald head streaked with sweat and his hands pale from holding his sword in such a tight grip. Breathing heavily he saluted the confused looking Imperial, who nodded in response.
"Dragonborn! Am I glad to see you! Look, I know that these…things are meant to be on our side but frankly I'm just glad you're here if things get rough. Legate Cipius is preparing a unit of ballistae if it all goes south but I think you can sort things out? Right?"
Lucius nodded quickly as he began walking purposefully forward, "I'll talk to them!" he said confidently, but then added, "Have your men in reserve just in case! But don't do anything until my signal!"
As he said this Lucius ran up to the shieldwall, who parted quickly to let him pass. As the soldiers reformed their ranks behind him Lucius knew that it was definitely all up to him now. He took a deep breath as he surveyed the view beyond. Far below the parapet he stood on, the coloured forms of the vast military camp carried on for at least a mile, before melding into the rolling plains of Whiterun Hold and, in the far distance, the snow-capped mountains of the Pale.
But what occupied his gaze now was the whirling and cartwheeling forms of the hundred or so Dragons flying above the windswept plains.
Running a hand through his hair in frustration, Lucius closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then let out one word in a shout that echoed across the plains.
"Odahviing!"
Instantly one of the Dragons broke from the formation and flew straight towards the stone parapet, alighting smoothly on the cobblestone with a crunch of stone and scratch of claws. Behind him Lucius heard the men in the shieldwall flinch slightly but hold firm.
"Drem yol lok Dovhakin," the Dragon rumbled, the stones around him seeming to move and fall at the sound of his voice, "Greetings to you. I have kept my rot - my word. I have gathered for you a lahvu do Dovah – an army of Dragons."
Lucius bowed his head in respect. "We appreciate your support. Where is Paarthurnax? His council would be very useful to us?"
Odahviing shook his head and made what sounded like a retching sound in his throat, "Paarthurnax is not the great kendov, the great warrior, I knew him as. He has become a nikriin, a coward," he said with obvious distaste, as if speaking the very word was awful for him.
"I don't expect him to fight," Lucius replied simply, "I only require his counsel and wisdom. He is ancient even by your standards. His place is in a council not a battlefield."
"A Dovah's place is on the battlefield!" Odahviing roared, and for a second Lucius found himself flinching at the Dragon's anger, but he stayed stock still. He knew that amongst Dragons no sign of weakness could be made.
"I can see that you need some example of the power of the Dov," Odahviing declared, "No matter. Myself and my kendov shall fly out against these Dilfahliil ourselves. The Deep Elves will know our fury Dovhakin!"
"But we need you back here!" Lucius shouted back at the increasingly stubborn Dragon, "Our army needs your support!"
"And you shall have it! I serve you now Dovhakin but do not expect me to stay back whilst these defilers march across Taazokaan, Tamriel… Myself and my kendov will attack the Dilfahliil from the sky where their golden swords and vile dwinaar devices cannot fight us."
Lucius internally shrugged. He knew that Odahviing could not be swayed from this path.
"Fly out against the Dwemer then. But don't waste your lives needlessly. And at least convince some of your brethren to stay with us to support our own efforts."
The mighty Dragon dipped his head slightly in what seemed like the closest a Dragon could get to humility, "Of course Dovhakin," he said calmly, "But do not make assumptions about the Dov. We would never throw our lahney so foolishly. That is the way of mortals…"
And with that last remark Odahviing pushed his armoured form up and off the parapet, ripping whole slabs of stone from the floor with his claws as he rose into the sky. Flying over the city beyond, the Dragon let out a roar and blast of fire into the air, a few screams and shouts echoing from below as he re-joined his comrades in the air.
Hearing the hurried scuff of boots on stone, Lucius turned to see Commander Caius and a whole crowd of guards with crossbows and bows at the ready rush over.
Caius shook his head in disbelief as the Dragons soared in the skies overhead before saying simply,
"So, are they on our side or what?"
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"I just don't believe it!" Lucius said in frustration as he walked down the steps from Dragonsreach with Hadvar at his side- the burly Nord remaining calm as always. "Sometimes I wish all Dragons were just a bit more like Paarthurnax- able to think things through before acting!"
Hadvar shrugged as they crossed over the small bridge into the large square where the Gildergreen stood. On all sides was a sprawl of dozens of richly carved wooden houses while in the distance to their left could just be seen the distant rooftop of Jorrvaskar- almost lost amongst the countless houses. And around them milled crowds of scared looking citizens and confused Whiterun troops, all eyes on the skies.
"You told me yourself when I asked about Dragons joining our side in the Civil War," Hadvar said evenly, "They're not tame or civilised. They have their own minds and needs. Paarthurnax may be their leader in theory but with Dragons it is whoever it the strongest and most fearless who dominates. If Odahviing tries to make them all hang around while we prepare our forces, they could be here for weeks! I somehow doubt any kind of Dragon would be alright with that. I mean, even you seem to be ready to rush across to Morrowind yourself."
"For Serana not some stubborn idea of power!" Lucius snapped, his anger and frustration finally coming forth, "Those Dragons are rushing into something they don't understand! I mean, we're taking our time because we don't know what to expect. I would like nothing more than to ride to Morrowind with the might of Skyrim and the Legion at my back right now but I know that that's stupid! Serana…Serana will have to hold her own for a while." He conceded with a defeated bow of his head.
Hadvar put a large hand on Lucius' shoulder and smiled slightly, "I understand Lucius. I'm a Nord after all- the most stubborn humans on Tamriel. Every other moment I'm thinking of Lydia. But I understand that we have to prepare. Every time I drill my men in tactics or teach them new ways of formations, I know it's another step closer to beating the Dwemer and the Dominion. And when we ride out of Skyrim and meet the Dwarves on our own terms, you know I'll be right there at your side, watching your back as we retake Morrowind."
As the two men walked towards the glittering form of the Gildergreen, its branches and leaves swaying slightly in the breeze, the distinctive form of Legate Galliverie, a broad grin across his Breton features, came striding through the crowd towards them. Dressed in newly polished Imperial heavy armour and with two similarly armed and armoured Legionnaires at his back, he looked every inch the proud officer as he saluted them and declared in a jovial tone.
"Just the men I was looking for! Captain Aldis is starting the new formation training with my unit. Should be a good exercise for you two to witness. Plus it's always fun to see the old captain chew out some idiot recruits!" he added with a wry smile and, with a shrug at one another, the two men followed him.
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Legate Galliverie's unit, a full division of a hundred warriors, all outfitted with Imperial heavy armour-which seemed to be becoming increasingly standard after the Dwemer's emergence, Lucius noticed- were drawn up in an open square in the south of the massive Imperial camp, just outside the Honningbrew Meadery.
Standing outside Galliverie's personal tent atop a large rocky outcrop, the three Legates watched as Captain Aldis, standing at the head of the formation between two fluttering Legion banners, shouted out orders at his enraptured audience.
"Soldiers of the Empire! I assume you've all been trained in the tactics of the Legion!"
"Yes sir!" came the thundering reply, and the ghost of a smile played across Aldis' bearded features as he held up a large red book, printed with the dragon symbol of the Imperial Legions in gold.
"This is the official tactics manual of the Imperial Legions. I presume all of you have read this cover to cover!"
"Yes sir!"
With one decisive move, Aldis grabbed hold of the thick book in two hands and, with barely any effort, tore it in half and threw the remains at the feet of the front rank of Imperial soldiers.
"Well unfortunately everything you have been taught isn't going to work! We are fighting the Dwemer! Not some arrogant Altmer! We have to completely redo every tactic we have!"
Ignoring the confused looks many of the Legionnaires in front of him were giving Aldis barked out another order, "Battle formation! Shieldwall!"
Instantly the hundred strong unit former a shieldwall, twenty men across and five deep, locking their shields together and holding their swords ready to face an imaginary enemy.
"Instantly we have a problem!" Aldis shouted at the stock still Legionnaires, "The Dwemer do not fight as we do. They will not rush you berserker style like Stormcloak rebels or form a phalanx as Dominion soldiers do. They form armoured formations made up of interlocking shield lines, covering all sides!"
"Sir!" called out a voice and a hand went up. 'It's like a school lesson back in the Imperial City' Lucius mused to himself with a grin as Aldis nodded and allowed the soldier to continue, "What if we break their formation and engage in individual combat?"
The ghost of an amused grin crossed Aldis' face, but he nodded and replied gruffly, "A fair question! Soldier, come forward! Draw your blade!"
Not daring to show any kind of disobedience, the soldier, a wiry Imperial with a goatee, ran out from the formation, shield held in his left hand as he drew his sword with a metallic clatter.
"Hold it steady!" Aldis ordered as a Solitude warrior to his left marched over, saluting before handing him a Dwarven sword in an ornate golden sheath. Drawing the blade in one swift motion, Aldis held the sword up, the sun reflecting off its bronze blade.
"This is the main weapon your enemy will use!" he explained, "Thirty one inches of pure Dwemer metal. This particular piece was found in the Dwemer city of Alftand. It's a few thousand years old at least! Designed mainly for stabbing motions but…"
He paused and, gripping the weapon in one firm hand, he swung at the soldier who held steady as the sword cleaved straight through the Imperial steel of his own blade, cutting it in half and leaving the soldier unharmed but obviously slightly shaken.
"That is what will happen to you if you try and take a Dwemer in close combat! That wasn't even a particularly hard swing. Besides, trust me on this one, I have gone up against bandits and rebels using scavenged Dwarven weaponry and armour. Normal Imperial steel will not work! Your shields however, from what I have heard from the only two known survivors of the first encounter with the Dwemer, from who the vast majority of this intelligence is coming from, will hold! But only if you have a proper formation!"
Lucius saw Hadvar grin as the captain put the men through their paces, making them now form into a square, made up of lines of ten men all with shields locked together- essentially making ten shield walls in a row.
"You have been issued with heavy armour and shields!" Aldis continued, "Remember that! When you fight the Dwemer legions it will not be a quick fight. It will be a war of attrition! You must grind them down and force them back! Support each other and do not allow the formation to be broken!"
As the captain continued to give orders, making the new square formation of Legionnaires march in time, turn to face flank attacks and finally work on pushing an enemy formation back, Lucius turned to look out at Whiterun, rising up from amongst the countless coloured tents of the armies of Skyrim and the Legion. The walls shone in the bright sunlight, their chiselled stone forms seeming to gleam as his enhanced sight picked out soldiers moving behind their thick battlements and strong towers.
That's when he saw the Legionnaire riding at top speed towards them, shouting inaudibly and waving to get his attention.
Nudging Hadvar and simultaneously checking the sheathed form of Dragonbane at his hip, Lucius ran out to meet the rider, who reined in his horse just short of him. The messenger, his tanned Imperial features set in an expression of obvious alarm, shouted at them as he came to a stop.
"Dragonborn! Am I glad to see you! You have to come! We were just in negotiations with the Snow Elves and…well, Bolgeir Bearclaw and the Snow Prince are having a fight to the death in Dragonsreach as we speak!"
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Hadvar shoved open the main doors into Dragonsreach, giving them one final heave before rushing through with his sword drawn, Lucius right behind him. It had taken them slightly longer than Hadvar would have liked, but Lucius had been adamant in retrieving his other sword, the Oathblade of a fallen Blade, and it clattered at his hip as he ran.
Inside the hall it was a scene of chaos. Sounds of steel on steel echoed across the chamber, along with harsh war cries. A few guards in Whiterun colours lay slumped against the wall, no marks or wounds on them but all obviously unconscious. Running along the central aisle, past a few terrified looking servants and unarmed messengers, Lucius noticed a few discarded steel swords and shields lying in their path, along with more unconscious guards.
It was a completely different scene however, to the bloodbath they were expecting when they came to the main section of the hall.
The Jarls and military commanders stood behind a crude shieldwall of Imperial and Skyrim troops, while the rest of the room's guards, at least a dozen, were grappling with an equal number of Snow Elf warriors. Neither side had drawn their blades, and yet, as the two Legates pushed past the various brawling Elves and men, they found the source of the sounds of battle.
In the centre of the room, next to the shattered remains of the council table, two armoured figures were, as the soldier had said earlier, having a fight to the death.
Prince Mirtil, his cloak thrown aside and his armour of ice shimmering in the torchlight, was a near blur of white as he spun and danced around the heavily armoured form of Bolgeir Bearclaw. The burly Nord was armed with a towering steel greatsword, and he brought it down with a roar just as Mirtil leapt aside and it embedded in the thick wooden floor.
Sensing an advantage, Mirtil brought one slim leg around and kicked Bolgeir in the back of the leg, forcing the Nord back and away from his weapon. Swinging his icy blade in a complex arc, Mirtil swung for the Nord's face. And yet Bolgeir was ready. Rolling aside he shoulder barged Mirtil aside and wrenched his greatsword from the ground, running at the dazed prince with a savage bellow.
"Looks like I need to be the peacemaker here." Lucius quipped to Hadvar as he ran past the various battling Snow Elves and palace guards, drawing his swords across his chest and holding them at his side as he sprinted to the duelling men at the centre of the room.
For a second the Elf and the Nord paused, both shocked to see Lucius running at them, but then went back to their fight as he came closer, Bolgeir gripping his greatsword and once more rushing Mirtil, the prince bringing up his own weapon to decapitate the enraged Nord.
"Tiid-Klo-Ul!" Lucius bellowed in the Dragon language, his voice echoing across the cavernous room.
To everyone watching Lucius was a blur of red cloth and bright steel for a few seconds and, as the two combatants reached one another, two simultaneous clatters of steel echoed out, and they both found their weapons cut in half.
For a second they looked ready to go at one another with the broken blades of their swords, but, with another word in the Dragon tongue, Lucius sent them both to their knees and stood between them.
"Enough!" the Dragonborn roared, and for a second both defeated combatants could see orange fire around Lucius' form, but it quickly passed. "It's not just Dwemer who can cut swords in half…" he added darkly, the torchlight flickering off the silver Akavari steel of his blades.
Mirtil attempted to rise, but found Lucius' blade at his throat.
"What are you-"he began, but the furious Imperial cut him off.
"We'll have no more of this madness!" he ordered, in a tone that seemed to quieten the rest of the room, and, as he looked out, Lucius could see that the other fights had ceased, the Snow Elf and Nord warriors all cowed into submission by his display of power. "Why are you two fighting like stupid children?"
"He insulted my lineage!" Mirtil protested.
"The filthy Elf killed my ancestors!" Bolgeir bellowed.
Then another voice, one Lucius was glad to hear once again, shouted from the far end of the room.
"What kind of war council is this?"
As he turned to face the stairs behind him, keeping a wary eye on the two men at his feet, Lucius was glad to see the broad-shouldered figure of Brunwulf Free-Winter appear, dressed in ornate blackened steel armour covered in silver finery. Around his shoulders was a black cloak with a single white rose- the crest of the Free-Winter Clan on it- and a steel sword in an ornate sheath was at his hip. Behind him came the heavily armoured figures of the Winter Guard, his family's personal troops, all dressed in similar armour and wolfskin cloaks and bearing his sigil on their shields, and the stoic form of Knight-Paladin Gelebor, looking just as confused as the Jarl.
"Captain Malborn, disarm these men!" Brunwulf said simply to the man next to him, a stony faced Bosmer in full plate armour with a shock of brown hair, who looked confused for a second.
"The Elves or the Men?"
"Both of them." Brunwulf said with barely disguised fury, and, as the Winter Guard marched over to the Snow Elves and Nords who, seconds ago, had been fighting to the death but now were looking more like scolded children as the Jarl's men took their sword belts and daggers from them.
"Good work Lucius!" Brunwulf said with a smile across his wrinkled features, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand. "I'm glad to see somebody had the sense to stop these two idiots killing one another…" he added with a glare at both Bolgeir and Mirtil as two Winter Guard hauled each of them to their feet, making sure to stay between the two men- both of whom looked ready to kill one another regardless.
"Jarl Brunwulf! Are we glad to see you!" came the voice of Maven Black Briar, as she pushed through the soldiers formed up in front of her and the rest of the council, her hair askew and her fine clothes rumpled.
"Keep the false pleasantries to yourself Maven," Brunwulf said simply, "I didn't see you attempting to stop this violence. Or any of you so called warriors!" he added, pointing at the various Jarls and commanders still cowering behind the now disbanded shieldwall. "How are people meant to follow you into battle when at the first sign of trouble you dive under the table? Where is High King Balgruuf?" he demanded.
"He's down in the Plains District with Jarls Elisif and Igmund," said a nearby servant, "They were going to reassure the people after the Dragons left."
Brunwulf nodded. "A shame. If he had been here I doubt the High King would have let this stupidity happen. I've known the man since his father was Jarl before him. He doesn't stand for such idiocy as this. It's a good thing that the Dragons left almost. I was riding to Windhelm with a detachment of Eastmarch troops when I saw them fly overhead. I figured that something was afoot back at Whiterun. But I didn't expect this!"
"Jarl Brunwulf I-"Lucius began, but the Jarl silenced him with a raised hand, before saying politely.
"Of course Lucius. You must have some explanation for the Dragons, and we can all hear it in a minute, once these two fools have explained why we almost saw a repeat of the damn Night of Tears! Explain yourself!" he demanded of Mirtil, "You may be the Snow Prince but that doesn't mean you have to slaughter every Nord you see! And Bolgier, do you really think attacking our new allies is a good way to stop history repeating itself?"
Mirtil nodded simply as he stood up, spreading his arms wide to show the suspicious Winter Guard that he was unarmed.
"Let me explain this," he said evenly, his normal arrogance replaced by an almost regal sense of confidence tempered with humility, "We were negotiating the role of my forces in battling the Dwemer when that idiot Nord over there…" he added, pointing at an arrogant looking man in fine clothes who Lucius instantly recognised as Erikur, Thane of Solitude, "…said that the best use for my troops was as 'disposable skirmishers', I believe his words were. Of course I ignored the insult but then he proceeded to use an 'example' of the Battle of Moesring. I was at that battle!" he declared with a mix of anger and sorrow.
As he said this Mirtil pulled back his flowing white hair off the back of his head to reveal a jagged red scar running from his right ear to his hairline.
"That was a glancing blow from a Nord axe. I still have other scars from that day. I watched as our warriors were slaughtered by Nord berserkers. I watched my older brother- the Snow Prince of legend, carve a path through the savages in fur and hide, and then I watched as a grieving child put a sword through his chest. Then this dumb brute…" he added, pointing one snow white finger at Bolgeir, "…proceeds to boast of how his ancestors fought at that battle, and how they still have the spear and armour of the Snow Prince in their family vault! Not only did he admit his family killed my kin, but that they broke into the barrow my brother was laid in and took his possessions as trophies!"
Brunwulf nodded slowly, then looked down at both men.
"Bolgier, I know that Nords can be tactless, but this just goes beyond the realms of any kind of decency. This army is having enough problems without old grudges spilling forth. As for you Prince Mirtil. Do you really think that brawling over the slightest insult like some drunken fool in a tavern is going to help forge a stable alliance! Captain!" he shouted and Malborn appeared next to him, saluting quickly, "I want you to take two men and the fastest horses we have. Ride to Solitude with Bolgeir here and bring back the prince's family armour and weaponry. If he is going to lead his people into battle with us, he will do it in the armour of his ancestors."
"But sir, that'll take at least a week and a half! I thought we were heading to the border?"
"Fixing this alliance, and restoring the Snow Prince's honour," he added, with a quick glance at Mirtil, "…is just as important as seeing that our men get to the front. Inform Captain Gelanna that she is to take the majority of our forces to Windhelm immediately. I will remain here until your return with the rest of our troops."
As Malborn saluted and left with Bolgeir, giving Lucius a sly wink as he walked past the Dragonborn, the Jarl of Windhelm turned back to the assembled soldiers and statesmen.
"We cannot afford to let old grudges and rivalries tear us apart!" he declared, his voice seeming to fill the room, "If we cannot put aside our differences and work together against these new threats…"
He lowered his voice, his tone serious and morbid, "Well the Dwemer may as well have won already."