Argis awoke filled with nervous energy. This was the day that armies of the Forsworn and the liberators of Markarth would clash. The barbaric Forsworn had been pushed into a valley that forced their backs to a mountain, leaving them trapped. They would fight viciously, but everyone was confident that they would be crushed in the upcoming battle.
He rose, strapped on his armour, checked his sword's edge, and then hefted his shield. All of his equipment was ready, and so was he after a deep breath. He joined his fellow soldiers at the stew pot where an assistant was ladling out stew and giving chunks of bread. Argis forced himself to eat so he wouldn't weaken in battle. Most of the older soldiers similarly ate, but the newer ones who were terrified barely ate a bite.
The men formed up after their ate and stood in their perfect, straight lines. The sergeant of the squad Argis had been put into was named Torold, and his powerful voice bellowed out instructions to the men of the unit. "You will be part of the front line, lads. Advance with the rest of the army and never on your own or else you WILL get cut down." He paused for a moment before continuing, "While you may expect this to be a quick and easy fight, the Forsworn will fight like cornered animals; do not underestimate them." He quickly lead the men in a march to the front of the formations.
War drums pounded as Skalds began to sing songs of past victories and the glories of Sovngarde as the march began. The Forsworn encampment quickly appeared before them and hordes of the enemy swarmed out of tents and the large, old temple that sat at the back of the valley.
As the two forces advanced towards each other, Argis heard the voices of his father, Fjorn, and Calder in his head. He remembered his father's last word, "stand tall," and Fjorn's instructions. He remembered Calder's faith in him, too, and was determined to fight as hard as any of the more experience soldiers.
War cries exploded from both sides as the two groups broke into a charge. The ferocity of the enemy's voices reminded him that even though he was facing Bretons they were not lesser opponents.
The first Forsworn to reach Argis worn little armour besides a kilt and a large deer skull headdress. He wailed loudly as he swung his spiked sword at Argis' head. Argis calmly recalled Torold's instruction regarding those swords and the phantom voice lectured in his head, "Be careful of the spikes. If they hook your weapon, the bastards'll rip it out of your hands. Turn it around on them."
Argis crouched slightly and caught the spikes on the edge of his shield. Using his whole body, he rose up and jerked his shield back which ripped the sword from his opponent's grasp. Argis ran the stunned man through his heart before his opponent could recover. Collapsing to the group, the next Forsworn in the mass attacked Argis, swinging both swords with frenzied speed. Argis scowled at the ferocity of his opponent and was forced onto the defensive or else risk being wounded. After blocking and parrying his opponent's latest attacks, Argis slammed the edge of his shield into the Forsworn's unguarded face, causing him to stagger back and shout in pain. Not wasting a moment, Argis swung his sword, slashing the throat of the other man with his stroke.
Before his next opponent could fill in the breach, a small bolt of fire flew down from the top of the temple and slammed into the ranks a short distance from Argis with a loud explosion. The cry of "briarheart!" echoed up and down the line in fear as a figure with burning hands became visible atop the temple. His thunderous voice chanted as he raised his hands for another shot when a large blast lightning struck him in the chest, staggering him backwards.
Argis cast a glance back and saw an old Nord shrouded in robes chanting and gesturing at the briarheart, his hands crackling with electricity. A surge of relief spread through the army at the sight of the court wizard of Markarth joining the battle, despite the traditional dislike for wizards. The two spell casters began a long range duel as the masses of soldiers at their feet fought.
Argis was forced to concentrate on his own situation when he was nearly disembowelled by a Forsworn axeman who tried to take advantage of his distraction. Argis swung viciously and forced the other man onto the defensive, and then knocked his axe aside with a swing of his shield. The disarmed man lunged for his axe but was too slow and died on Argis' sword.
Forsworn were pouring into the breach caused by the fireball and the Nord army threatened to be split. An unnaturally deep voice called out, "FUS RO DAH," and deafening burst of sonic energy hurtled several Forsworn warriors back. Ulfric had arrived!
Argis cheered as Ulfric and his cadre of bodyguards charged into the gap in the lines and pushed back the mass. The Forsworn seemed to concentrate with sudden vigour on Ulfric and his body guards as they struggled to hold back the press. Being nearby, Argis fought his way over to their side.
He watched in horror as the guard between Ulfric and Argise fell, and the masked assailant jabbed her sword at Ulfric's exposed side. A desperate twist saved his life, but the Jarl was still wounded in the attack, and he collapsed to one knee. In a flurry, Argis swept his sword down, cutting off the attacker's hand and then decapitated her on the return swing. Argis himself stepped into the hole in the defensive wall and joined the elite guards in defending the Jarl.
Ulfric grabbed a small red bottle from his belt, tore the cork off with his teeth and downed the contents in a large gulp. He quickly stood up and stepped back, putting two bodyguards between him and the combat. Ulfric immediately began arguing with a burly warrior carrying a two handed axe, but the argument could only be heard by the nearby guards and Argis.
The axe wielder hissed, "We cannot withdraw or else the entire right wing will be slaughtered by the remaining Forsworn!" Ulfric snarled back, "So let them die. The Forsworn will still lose the day." To punctuate his words, the briarheart atop the temple was transfixed by three rapidly thrown spears of electricity and collapsed in a smoking heap. A great cheer went up from the Nord army. Ulfric suddenly seemed to realize Argis could overhear his argument and his voice suddenly returned to its previous leaderly tones and he shouted for his guards to take the lad with them. Argis shouted back, "I will not leave this spot, even if it means my death. I will stand tall!"
Ulfric visibly gritted his teeth, knowing how it would look if he withdrew while a boy foot soldier held his place. He ordered his guards to stay and under the combined pressure on all fronts, the Forsworn army collapsed and was slaughtered.
After the battle, Argis was ordered by the axe wielder to follow after Ulfric. The Jarl looked down his nose at the battered and bloodstained Argis as his axe wielding officer asked, "What's your name boy?" Argis, nervous again, replied shakily, "Argis of-" but was cut off by Ulfric who stated, "It doesn't matter. Your heroics on the field deserve more than just praise." By now a small crowd had gathered around Argis and Ulfric who paused for a moment before continuing, "You stood strong against overwhelming odds in the defence of your commander. You were a wall that would not be breached by the fiercest assault. You were a bulwark against the enemy, and so shall you be known. Henceforth, you should be known as Argis the Bulwark so your courage will never be forgotten."
Argis had never imagined in his young life that he would get such an honour and he nearly wept with joy before checking himself. Ulfric continued, "Return to Markarth for further training. Your road to glory does not end here." Ulfric grinned at having bought off the only witness so easily, though it looked like a benign smile to the young man.