A/N: So, we've got a battle chapter here. Which are never fun to write, but I think it turned out okay. This chapter is also the final culmination of something that's been a long time coming, so I hope that it's a good ending to that. I won't say what so I don't spoil anything, but you'll see soon enough. Oh, and by the way, I have officially finished writing Blood and Iron, so I won't get behind on posting again, but I will stay at every other week so that I'm not forcing myself to write instead of doing my schoolwork (cause I do that too often already). Anyway, many thanks as always to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, I think there's probably dialogue in here from the former.
Rating: M for violence and character death.
The march from Windhelm to Whiterun was long and hard, and between the thumping of several hundred boots against the earth, few thoughts crossed Arya's mind.
"For Ulfric!"
Vilkas.
"For Skyrim!"
Vengeance.
"For Talos!"
Gendry.
"For the Nords!"
Death.
As they approached the city, the army split into its respective units so as to be better hidden from Imperial scouts. In the midst of the training that had occurred in preparation of the battle and the promotions that had been given in light of Robb's execution, Arya had been moved from Rorge's unit and given temporary command of her own.
She and her men were placed at the rear, but were under orders to join Ulfric at the vanguard when they reached the farmland that surrounded Whiterun. By the time they reached the fields, the city was already under attack from the Stormcloak war machines. The flames rose high over the walls, and even with the gates yet unbreached, the sounds of panic and death could be heard within the city.
Each regiment moved with precision to where they had been commanded, and Arya led her men through the burning farmlands in silence. A few Imperial corpses led the way to where Ulfric waited, sword bloodstained and in hand as he watched her approach, Rorge and his men already at their leader's side.
When the last Stormcloak had snapped to attention, he raised his sword above his head and shouted over the groans of the war machines and the cries of the dying.
"This is it men!" he bellowed, eyes alight as they reflected the rising flames. "They say that our cause is false and that we are nothing more than thieves, thugs, and murderers! But no! We are farmers! We are craftsmen! We are sons and daughters of shopkeepers, maid servants and soldiers! We are the sons and daughters of Skyrim! And we have come this far because our cause is true! Because we fight as one!"
His men roared in approval and his teeth bared in a feral, bloodthirsty grin. "And because our hearts are bursting with anger! What we do here today, we do for our country! For all the true Nords of Skyrim!"
Another cry met his words and as he continued with their orders, his eyes gleamed with pride. "Whiterun's walls are tall, but they are old and crumbling, like the Empire whose Legion lines them. They've barricades to block us, but we'll tear through them and the Imperials behind them! Our objective is the drawbridge. If we can find a way to drop it, the city will be ours! Let's show these Imperial milk drinkers what true Nords look like!"
With a mighty yell, he led the charge, the sound of a hundred boots drowning out all but the heartbeats and shallow breaths of the men and women that followed him to battle.
The Imperials at the drawbridge met them with swords raised for battle and Ulfric looked back to Arya as he fought through the advancing line.
"Snow, lower the drawbridge!"
Though she had little room for orders over the commands of her heart, she obeyed, leading her men to the battlements where the drawbridge controls lay, guarded by half a dozen men in both guards' and soldiers' armor.
As her men fought the Imperials that met them, she wove her way through to the archer at their rear, loosing arrow after arrow at the approaching Stormcloaks from his position guarding the drawbridge lever. He turned his focus to her as she approached, but his arrows glanced off her armor. The final one struck her helmet and sent her head to ringing, but she was close enough to lash out with her blade and the cry of pain that followed her strike confirmed that the guard would soon be dead.
Blinking through her spotty vision, she grasped the lever with both hands and pulled with all her might, gritting her teeth as the chains creaked and groaned in protest. As she pulled, a second pair of hands joined hers and she looked over her shoulder to see her former commander at her back. His hatred for her forgotten for at least the duration of the battle, he yanked back on the lever and between the two of them, the drawbridge began to lower, earning cries of dismay from the soldiers on the walls.
"Good work, soldiers!" Ulfric yelled as he rushed forward to meet the new wave of Imperials. "Bring down this gate!"
Lem, a big soldier that Arya had fought with in the yard before, was cut down before the gate, but there was no hesitation from his fellow Stormcloaks as they stomped through his blood to breach the city. As Arya passed the body, his lifeless eyes followed her and for a brief moment, they appeared to shine a pale blue in the light of the rising sun.
"Fall back!" cried the commander on the walls as the gate came crashing down.
The Imperials obeyed in practiced unison, releasing a volley of arrows as they retreated toward the market square. Only one man remained, and as the Stormcloaks broke through, he ran down to the body of the archer Arya had killed, crying and cradling his bloodied head in his lap, his bow lying forgotten on the crimson battlements.
Of the two regiments that had swarmed the drawbridge, only a dozen men remained and half of those were wounded. Arya and Rorge waited at Ulfric's side as he surveyed the carnage, taking in the rising flames and the cries of the dying.
"I want to capture this city's traitorous jarl myself," he said after a long moment. "Rorge, take the Cloud District. Snow, fight through the market while I get past to the keep."
As their reinforcements ran through the broken gate, they scattered to obey their leader's orders, and Arya found Lommy at her side once more. The young man gave her a crooked grin as their eyes met, but Arya's expression remained grim. Every man and woman around her was fighting and killing for their king, but she had only one man in mind and it wasn't the jarl of Windhelm.
Twice she had seen the dark blue eyes of her lover's murderer, and twice he had escaped. When she found him amongst the burning barricades, he would not be so lucky. Only divine intervention would be able to save him this time.
When Arya reached the market, it was hardly recognizable. The stalls that usually lined the square were turned over and engulfed in the flames from their catapults. Once the battle was over, it would take many moons for Whiterun to repair the damage.
The soldiers from the walls had retreated to the barricade that blocked the inn and raised their weapons once more as the Stormcloaks pushed forward to meet them. Men on both sides fell to the ground, and in the midst of the din, Arya heard a single command.
"Rally at the Gildergreen!"
The man who gave the order was in the thick of the fighting, his officer's armor stained with the blood of friends and foes alike. He fought with a desperation that sent the Stormcloaks stumbling back, and though he seemed far from the young man that he was in truth beneath the helmet that belied his position, it was a voice that Arya knew well.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the fray of battle, but standing at the Skyforge, her arms full of weapons and a petulant pout still on her face from the orders she had been given. The young man across from her smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I'm Gendry Waters, Eorlund's new apprentice. I guess you're one of the Companions then? You have some weapons for me?"
She could hear her own voice answer in her mind, young and innocent. If only she had realized how naïve she was before her foolish immaturity had gotten Vilkas killed.
"It's all right there."
The last time she had been in Whiterun she had left the Companions behind. With nothing more than a note of farewell she had left her old life, too afraid to face her own responsibility in what had happened.
It was the night of Vilkas' death that Jaqen had first come to her, mysterious and alluring as he talked of fate and an escape from her nightmares. Everything since had led to this moment as she stood sword in hand, eyes locked with Gendry's, the battle around them nothing more than noise beneath the pounding of her heart.
"Hold the market!" she cried, backing out of the fray as Gendry stumbled toward the steps to the Gildergreen. "Force your way into the inn if you can and take the citizens as collateral if the Imperials won't surrender."
She knew that the orders she was giving were those calling for the murder of innocents, but Vilkas' death had been the same and nonetheless, that command had been given.
The soldiers parted around her as she stalked after Gendry, their gaze never breaking as they moved to the city center, away from the fighting. All around them men lay dying: those that had not been able to stand against Ulfric and his men in the taking of Dragonsreach. Their cries for help fell on deaf ears, and their grasping hands may as well have been reaching for ghosts.
He stopped with his back against the trunk of the towering tree, hands raised in a gesture of supplication.
"I didn't want to kill him." he said evenly, his gaze wary as she continued to move toward him.
"But you did," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes shone red in the fire that danced around them, and her fangs bared as she snarled at the man who was responsible for all of the pain she had endured.
With inhuman speed, her sword was flashing toward him, and he only barely managed to block it before it sliced his head from his shoulders.
"You killed him!"
"I had no choice," Gendry responded desperately, meeting her blade at each stroke. "Endryn would have killed me if I hadn't."
"You always have a choice!" Arya yelled back, her eyes welling with tears as the image of Vilkas' mutilated body filled her mind.
"I was scared," he replied, eyes shining in the light of the flames. "Gods, Arya, I was so scared. I didn't want to do it, but I wanted to live. I was confused and terrified of dying, and so I killed him. I...I thought it was him or me, and I...I chose him."
Lunging forward, Arya slashed across his chest, shredding the red Imperial banner on his armor into ribbons. "I loved him. And because of you, I never had the chance to tell him that."
As Gendry countered another strike, Arya caught a flash of movement to her right and noticed the chubby young soldier that had been at his side in Korvanjund approaching, sword drawn. Ducking her opponent's sword, she twirled to face the other soldier. As her focus shifted, his eyes widened and behind her, she heard Gendry yell.
"Hot Pie, run!"
Before the legionnaire could even think to move, Arya was lunging forward and her sword slashed across Gendry's abdomen as he threw himself in front of his friend, catching the gap between the plates of his armor and opening his stomach with a sickening squelch.
By the time he had fallen, the other man had fled in tears, his sword lying abandoned on the ground. Arya could hear him retching nearby as she watched the blood gurgle from Gendry's gaping mouth.
Yanking the helmet from his head, he gasped and then amidst the bubbling of his spilling blood, he struggled to speak, his gaze fixed firmly on his killer. Arya couldn't make out the words so she dropped down beside him, her sword clattering to the earth and staining the dirt a thick crimson.
"What?" she asked, a strange feeling rising in her chest as she watched him bleed out in the dirt.
"He..." Gendry coughed, spraying her face with his blood. His eyes flickered wetly when she made no move to wipe it away and he closed them for a moment before trying to speak once more. "He knew."
"Who knew?" Arya snarled, her tongue running absently across her bloodied lips.
"Vil—" He coughed again and when he tried to breathe only a thin wheezing sound escaped his mouth. "Vilkas. He…he knew. That—" He winced and when he opened his eyes, a tear ran down his cheek. "That you loved him."
Weakly, he raised a hand to his chest and then scratched his fingers at his throat. Finally, he caught the thin strip of leather around his neck and he tugged on it with trembling fingers until it was free from his armor.
At its end was a simple silver ring, and the sight of it sent Arya's heart to her throat.
"I love you, so why can't we just...stop hiding? Arya, I want to be with you."
Mustering the last of his fading strength, Gendry ripped the leather from his neck and held it out to her, the ring glinting across his features as it spun in the air between them.
"He gave this to me...before he died." He closed his eyes again before continuing softly. "Before I killed him." He wet his chapped and bloodstained lips before meeting her gaze once more. "He asked me to give it to you."
Carefully, Arya took it, cradling the symbol of Vilkas' love for her in her palms as she stared down at it. A few tears escaped her lashes and she let them fall. As they dripped from her chin they fell to wash Gendry's dirt stained face, mingling with his tears as they continued to spill from beneath his eyelids.
"I didn't want to kill him," Gendry whispered, more to himself than to her. His hands moved to his open stomach, sliding through the spilling blood as his fingers absently tried to return his entrails to where they belonged. "I never wanted to kill him. And I know that you'll never forgive me, but that's okay." His voice grew softer and his hands stopped their mindless grabbing, folding serenely over the gaping wound. "Because I'll never forgive myself either."
Through her tears she saw his eyes open once more, and his mouth gaped soundlessly before he managed to speak one final time. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
A single tear met the trail of blood that ran from his mouth and when he stilled, he looked almost at peace. His blue eyes stared blankly at the sunrise above them and his blood continued to flow, joining that of his fallen brethren.
With trembling fingers, Arya lowered his eyelids, and as she curled into herself and held the ring to her lips, a cry of triumph echoed from the doors of Dragonsreach.
"Hail the Stormcloaks! Hail King Ulfric! Whiterun...has fallen!"