Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. We're almost done readers. I have to say that I was impressed and surprised by the reviews of the previous chapter. I was not expecting people to react with sympathy to Ieago's fight with Aela. Thanks again team, I'm even more glad I wrote it now. Without further delay, here is the penultimate chapter.
A bugler sounded the reveille while the sky was still dark. I must have passed out at some point, for the next thing I remember was looking up to see Lydia arranging the pieces of my lorica on the table while Vilkas cleaned the neglected cuts on my face.
"Where's Aela?" I asked them.
Their faces were fixed in a careful neutrality. When Lydia finally spoke, her voice was quiet, stiff, and formal.
"She is outside Thane. She spent the night with Farkas and I," She answered, offering no accusation—or absolution—in her tone.
After my friends fitted the cuirass to my chest, I lowered my head in shame. "You all know. Don't you?" I asked as Lydia cinched the greaves tight to my legs and Vilkas did the same with the bracers on my arms.
"Half the camp knows Thane," she said as Revenant was hooked to my belt. The legion-pattern sword hung next to it.
Vilkas passed my left arm through the straps of the Legion's heavy kite-shaped shield. He spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet and deadly serious, "Harbinger, Farkas and I have known Aela since she was a skinny tomboy playing with us in the mud and tearing the heads off the other girls' dolls. If you ever strike our shield-sister in anger again, my brother will hold you down while I rip the offending arm off."
I nodded my submission and took my helmet from Lydia, tucking it under my arm. In full gear of war, I stepped out of the tent to face my wife.
She stood next to Farkas with our cadre arrayed behind them. It was all I could do to walk over and fall on both knees before her. In her hands was the strip of white cloth I dreaded.
She looked down on me for a long while in the predawn light. "If it wouldn't mean your death, I would use this cloth to bind your hands," She told me with a raw voice.
I said nothing, looking to the ground and leaving the back of my neck open to her.
"Look up at me," she commanded sharply.
I did as I was told and watched her as she unfolded my gag. In the midst was sewn a crude patch of red cloth cut in the shape of Akatosh's red diamond, "I made this for you this morning," she explained. She wrapped the cloth over my mouth and nose before tying it behind my head. I offered her my helmet.
As she placed my helmet on my head and tightened the chin strap, she leaned in to whisper one final requirement for my pennance, "When the battle opens, though you can't Shout, I will be your battle-cry," she commanded.
I'll be damned if that woman doesn't know how to reduce a grown man to tears.
Yesterday's storm blew off during the night, but the sun that morning ascended in a cloudless, crimson sky. It was cold, but not fiercely so. Everything presaged a heavy snow to come. I guessed the weather would turn foul again before noon.
I walked over with my companions to where Tullius and Rikke waited with the remnants of Hadvar's soldiers. They regretted their officer dearly and from the Osirimer optio on down, they wanted to hurt Windhelm any way they could. A mix of wariness and surprise came from them when they saw me advance in standard armor and the gag tight over my mouth.
The whole group stood behind Admonisher and its crew, who were poised to guide the ram through the Praetorian Gate and open the battle. Already the trebuchets were throwing stones into Windhelm and battle-mages loosed blasting spells against the towers.
Tullius looked me over, "I told you, no devices today," he said.
Vilkas spoke for me in his cultured tones, "He is wearing his lady's token to battle. Surely you can let that slide?"
Tullius grunted but said nothing more. If he was worried about me upstaging him, he needn't have bothered. His steel helmet was plated with brass. Its broad neck guard shone brilliant gold-red in the rising dawn, mimicking the low red disk struggling over the distant hills to the southeast. About his shoulders he wore a red silk cape that rippled and billowed with the least motion of the air. The dark red bronze of his lorica musculata supported a harness of brass-studded leather strips. The harness was adorned with the many badges and honors conferred to him over a lifetime of service to the Empire: Lion's heads, dragons, and coats of arms stamped in a dozen metals dangled from every hook and ring. His shield was painted black with brazen chevrons nailed on the face. They pointed down, making a layered cradle for the golden badge of Akatosh hovering above them. The only plain steel with Tullius that day was his spatha, a long narrow sword with a worn handle and notched blade that he'd used for all of his career.
Rikke's armor blinded those who looked on her. The silver inlays and the tall red horsehair crest on her helmet were spotless, as were the similar uniforms of the legates with her.
Me? Apart from the gag and Revenant, I matched the 5000 soldiers of the 9th; the 3000 of the 1st who were not chasing rebels in the Pale; the 4000 each from the 77th and the 25th diverted from their camps for the assault; and the meager 1000 of the 42nd who wanted so badly to restore the honor of their legion and Legate Telendas. I looked out on 17,000 faces in gleaming ridged helmets, a pattern broken only by the sideways crests of the tribunes and centurions. Much like looking out on the Companions, I could see all the races of Tamriel united under Titus Meade's thin forest of cohort eagles and gold legionary dragons. A faint vapor rose from thousands of faces as their breath met the cold morning air.
Tullius climbed to the peak of the roof that sheltered Admonisher's ram. More stones flew overhead.
"Young soldiers of the Legion! Listen now to an old man to whom the old listened when he was young!" The world became silent enough that four armies could hear his voice, "For time beyond measure, Skyrim has been the living soul of the Empire, wedded to Cyrodiil her beating heart! Armies of our ancestors, of our families, of our friends have fought and died to defend that union!"
General Tullius pointed his drawn spatha at Ulfric's banner, hanging black and limp in the still morning air.
"Within that city are those who would see the labors, the sacrifices of our friends and ancestors come to naught! You cannot accept that and return home without shame! I cannot! The Emperor will not! And know that the Emperor is eager for the outcome of today's battle! When I send news of our victory today, any who signal themselves by their valor will be named by me to His Majesty! So Legates, with me! And bring your legions behind!" His voice boomed, "And when the swords flash let no feeling of mercy or piety, or even the faces of your fathers restrain your arms!"
A deep thrumming roar came from the army as Tullius jumped down from Admonisher. Some called out the name of the Emperor or of Tullius or a favored legate, others just shouted 'Empire' or 'Death to the Stormcloaks.' Everyone clashed a sword on a shield and the rare two-handed wielders like Farkas and Vilkas simply held their blades high and roared wordlessly into the red dawn. I stood still and silent behind my gag, rotating my shield arm in its straps and gripping Revenant's unlit hit in my free hand. Looking on Aela, I saw her standing with anger and love on her face in equal measures. Lydia stood next to her weeping openly. Risking a glance at Farkas, I saw him gazing at the black haired woman with deep regret.
The options in charge of Admonisher's crew shouted their commands above the noise of the armies. Boulders hurled overhead to and from the city as Ulfric's commanders demanded a tremendous last effort from their artillery. Even as the great ram began its terminal roll, a Stormcloak crew got lucky and a shot landed in the midst of the 9th Legion's formation. The screams of the mutilated made a ring of pain around the bloody gash in the ranks.
Admonisher rolled up onto the bridge with Tullius, Rikkie, and I following the Forlorn Hope. The battle-mages redoubled their efforts, sending countless balls of destructive force at the looming walls and towers. The Stormcloaks were replying with their own mages and a more insidious weapon. Powerful ballistae unmasked above the walls and launched. Their crews brought them below the parapet to reload and turn the windlass placed at the end of each weapon. A tremendous iron bolt pierced the shield of one of Admonisher's escorts. He cried aloud as the four-foot-long steel shank passed through his shield like it was cheap tin and not almost an inch of lime wood and laminated steel.
The Stormcloak crews remounted their great crossbows and fired again just before Admonisher passed beneath the first arch. The steel bolts lanced in again. This second volley was more dangerous to the escorts desperately shielding the hulking men heaving like oxen against the terrific ram. Even as mages with their manna spent ran to pull the wounded out of the way of the Legion's advance, crews climbed the arch to set up and return fire with their own ballistae.
But beneath that first long arch, all was blessedly quiet. The calls of the wounded, the open weeping of the cowardly, and the laughter of the mad echoed only faintly. The incessant rushing sound of spells and the snap of conventional artillery was not to be heard at all.
Admonisher cleared the first arch and came into the renewed shot of the defenders' artillery. The long iron bolts were still flying in at us when Windhelm's walls sprouted bows and helmets. Helmets with high crests, flat faceplates, and merciless black eye slots that glowered down on us by the thousand. I discovered later that the rebel soldiers had all pained their faces black or blue to appear more terrifying. I remember not being able to feel my legs moving as I looked up at the archers and shook.
A well-aimed bolt took one of Admonisher's options squarely in the chest, all of ten feet from where I walked with Farkas and Vilkas. The world slowed down as the Redguard man folded around the missile. I watched the rear bands of his lorica fly away from his body and the sharp tip of the bolt stick out of his spine. He fell back and died sitting upright on his ass with blood dripping from his mouth into his lap.
I remember hearing Tullius yelling something, but the world refused to speed up and let me hear him. I guess it had something to do with all the Stormcloak arrows darkening the sky as they chased their larger cousins to the advancing battering ram.
My somehow weightless shield went high above my head as my free arm grabbed Vilkas and pulled him close. Shields moved to meet mine and in my delirium, I noticed that the whole evolution looked like a flower closing its petals as the day grew dark. I was brought back to my senses by the sound of missiles striking the shields above me. Vilkas and Farkas walked with me beneath my shield and I doubt that Aela and I have ever held each other so close.
The rest of that dreadful crossing is lost to me, though I remember Rikke dragging me forward and throwing me at the ropes trailed out behind Admonisher. I clapped on the rope with Farkas and Vilkas behind me. I don't know what happed to all the people who were pushing the ram, though a fistful still sheltered beneath its low roof. I looked up to the great doors of the city as Tullius counted down for the first pull. The gates of Windhelm looked taller than the Throat of the World. The blackened live oak beams were nailed with ebony bolts and a curtain of heavy steel chains descended over all as a horrific rain.
At Tullius's command I heaved with all my might, nearly coming off my feet as Vilkas and towering Farkas leant their indomitable strength to the effort. The ram sped forward. The chains rippled with the impact and some parted with metallic rattling as they fell to the feet of the doors.
After what felt like a hundred pulls, the doors of Windhelm parted. Orders were screamed and soldiers heaved. The great ram was cast off the bridge to land with a muted splash on the icy river far below. The men and women tasked to part the doors of Ulfric's city withdrew like a curtain.
A wave of axes whirled in at us, accompanied by stones and javelins. It was time for the real fight to begin.
Aela's name thundered through my gag as my steel sword swept out of its scabbard. I could have cared less how many rebel soldiers stood before me with shields locked with swords low and axes high. I leapt forward and screamed, driving the blade into the face of my first kill that day. I landed as the man fell and my shield lashed out wide, shoving the blue-clad soldier to my left. He fell into his fellows and made room for Farkas to bear down roaring on the people unfortunate enough to be in his way. To my right, Vilkas reversed his grip and used the cross guard of his sword to hook a shield out of position. My sword shot into his target's side, boring though leather and chain to kill instantly. I pulled my gore-spattered steel out of my shield-brother's way as easily as drawing breath. Vilkas had taken that brief respite to change his grip yet again and now wielded his sword like a quarterstaff. He hooked another shield and pulled it behind him, using the necessary twist of his powerful body to drive the first third of his weapon into his enemy and sweep the soldier away like a boater poles a barge though water. Hadvar's men roared their dead officer's name as they threw themselves on the waiting Stormcloaks.
Nearby, I beheld hulking, one-eyed Argis lead Jordis and Iona into the Stormcloak ranks. The enemy waivered before them and fought back at the last instant. No one faces the dragon bone-clad warriors of the Thane of Whiterun without fear in their hearts.
That moment's distraction almost cost me my life, but a green arrow shaft buzzed by my head and into the woman who would have earned the glory of killing the Dragonborn. For a second I gazed uncomprehendingly at the green shaft and black fletching. I looked back to see a curvaceous figure in ebony plate guarding a slender archer wearing my dragon-scale armor. Red hair spilled out beneath her borrowed helmet. I'm not sure if I was elated or furious and I think Farkas would have felt the same if he was not wholly absorbed in hacking at the defenders with a sword that swung ten times a second.
The shrill blast of centurions' whistles pealed above the din of the opening melee. Vilkas and I had to drag a bellowing Farkas away from the battered ranks. The Forlorn Hope had done its job and turned the enemy line behind the doors into series of broken and bloody rents. Now it was the 9th Skyrim Legion's turn. Tullius and Rikke came through the gates with the Legion's standards borne above them to guide the men and women behind. Rank after rank the cohorts paced over the fallen chains, timber, and bodies rendered together into a jagged pulp. Their shields touched tip to tip, looking like row after row of gleaming teeth in the morning light. Heavy pilia sped forward by the dozen. Swords were drawn in bright flashes and began banging on shields.
The Stormcloak commander was skilled. Blowing horns pulled his shocked soldiers back and allowed two fresh divisions to close on the legions from the alleys in a desperate attempt to halt the breach of Windhelm. The tactician in me was worried to see a well-spaced formation. Behind the developing wedges of locked shields, a variety of weapons could be seen. If the rebels were lucky, those boars' heads might pierce the approaching legion's ranks. Then Nordic brilliance and individuality could come to bear on an army trained for teamwork.
A familiar and dreaded cheer came from the Stormcloak press. I felt eyes turn to me pair by pair as the thunder of the defenders became general and even the intrepid 9th began to slow behind their officers.
I sheathed my sword and raised Revenant high in reply. She hissed her challenge into the crimson sky. Elated to be in my hands she sang and roared, eager for her battle with the Stormblade's axe. I felt my stomach turn to lead and my arms and feet lost their weight again. I remember every detail of how Ralof looked when he evanescenced out of the front rank of enemy soldiers and turned to face me in his war-glory.