Argis awoke early and was up before this thane could return with their breakfast. It felt strange to have the elf getting the meal as it was traditionally a housecarl's task. Most other thanes wouldn't have bothered to negotiate with the innkeeper over price and would expect their housecarl to either haggle for a better rate or pay for it themselves. Perhaps the fact that the elf wasn't steeped in Nord culture and was used to dealing with inns had an effect on the way he approached accommodations.
The elf returned with an extremely displeased look on his face and thunked the tray down on their small table. "Gruel," he spat, "They're serving gruel today. Divines only know why they would serve this."
Argis sat down and stirred the thick, lumpy grain mixture and actually smiled.
"You can't be serious," uttered the elf with an incredulous expression. Continuing, he uttered, "You actually like this stuff?"
Shrugging, the Nord replied, "I grew up on a farm and we ate this often. It reminds me of home." He mentally twitched at the use of the word "home" as he hadn't been back there in over a decade and he honestly didn't know if his family was still alive or not. His mind wandered for a moment as he tried to imagine what the farm must be like now or if it even had survived the passage of time. He had a young sister when he left to join the Stormcloaks, and he felt a pang of guilt for his absence in her life.
"What's wrong?" asked the Altmer with a look of curiosity. Argis' mind snapped back to the present when he realized that his face must have been plainly showing the emotional gamut he had run as he thought of his old life.
Forcing a smile over his features as he softly shook his head, Argis replied, "Nothing. Nothing at all." He internally sighed at his own lie. While it wasn't his place as a housecarl to burden his thane with his problems, he had no one else to truly speak to. A mercenary's life left little room for true friendships. He stirred the food in front of him and wished he could just be honest, just to see what happened.
Still eyeing the Nord with an expression that indicated he wasn't convinced at all, Ardanthis mentioned, "I'm going to go out to find something more appealing to eat. I might as well gather the supplies while I'm at it. I'd like you to ensure our place in the Fort Amol squad. I want to make sure we're with the right group if we're going to be heading that far east, and that close to Windhelm." He hesitated a moment before continuing in a voice that was too casual, "After that, you're dismissed until the next morning. So enjoy the city's pleasures for the last night before the march." He left shortly after that with a quick nod to the seated housecarl.
Argis slowly ate the porridge and relished the soft taste of honey and cinnamon that the cook had mixed in. Despite Ardanthis' opinion of it, it was quite good. He sat very still for a short while after eating his meal and took advantage of the silence of his shared room.
What had become of his family? Had he really let his own life so badly dominate his thoughts that he had none to spare for his own blood? He massaged the bridge of nose as thoughts like these rolled through his head and he could feel a headache building being his eyes. He pushed himself away from the table angrily as he tried to clear his head of worries. There were immediate problems to focus on that needed resolution. His self-pity could wait until he could afford it.
He walked out into the bright morning and headed straight for the keep, marching up the ramp to the imposing structure. Heading into the cool, shadowy interior he came upon Legate Rikke looking down at the map and a small stack of parchments at her elbow. She looked up suddenly at his entrance but recognized him quickly. Putting her quill down and moving her inkpot to the side, she rose, nodded at the man before her, and asked, "Greetings, Housecarl. What do you need?"
Argis was unfazed by the very brusque tone and manner of speaking that the woman employed, understanding it for the mark of respect it was. Rikke was speaking to him as fellow soldier, and not a pompous courtier who needed to be flattered and spoken to coyly. Inclining his head, Argis replied, "I hope everything is well with you, Legate. I need to know where the dragonborn is supposed to meet his squad before departing for Fort Amol."
Nodding, the woman gestured with her left hand towards the city gates, "All the squads will meet outside of the city walls. There will be too much confusion on all accounts if we try to muster here with the limited space afforded by the courtyard. In particular though, your group will be the one on the far right, but you can always verify that with the captain in charge of the unit."
"Thank you, Legate..." began Argis before hesitating.
"Is there something else?" asked the woman.
Smiling wryly, the housecarl inquired, "Actually, yes. As a housecarl, my primary concern is my thane's safety. I need to know – is Fort Amol well garrisoned?"
Giving the blonde man a wolfish smile she barked out a laugh and, "We wouldn't waste the dragonborn's presence on an easy fort. To answer your question directly, yes, Amol is expected to be the hardest one to break, especially considering its proximity to Windhelm. This makes it a key structure to take and we want to ensure our success by including both of you. Your unit is larger than the others as well."
Giving Rikke a grim nod Argis exchanged farewells with her and left. He mentally worried over the resistance that they would face at the fort, but he knew there was no way to avoid the danger. They had committed themselves to this course of action and there was no way out now.
He didn't leave the keep quite yet but made his way through the castle, on the directions of a maid, to the quartermaster. The man wore a surly expression as he muttered to himself and scribbled on the parchment in front of him. Quietly wondering if every quartermaster was this angry, he smoothed his features into the calm and confident face that a housecarl was expected to wear. "Pardon me, but I require two steel blades for the dragonborn," he stated with all the professionalism he could muster.
The man eyed him suspiciously and replied in a nasally voice, "And why doesn't the high and mighty dragonborn come here himself? Why does he need them in the first place? Can't he just shout the enemy to pieces?"
Argis maintain an impassive expression as he explained, "The dragonborn is a capable swordsman as well as wizard. He requires the swords to ensure the success of the mission. Additionally, the Thu'um is not a weapon that discriminates between friend and foe and we do not want any friendly fire. The dragonborn will need something else for when close combat is joined."
Grumbling quietly to himself, the quartermaster wrote something down and said in a voice that suggested he was doing Argis a great favour, "I'll have them included with your unit then – Amol, right? Of course I'm right." Argis nodded his thanks and turned away from the miserable man to find his way out of the keep.
As he exited the keep, he clapped a guard on the shoulder and asked with a genial voice, "Say, besides the Winking Skeever, where's a good place to get a drink in the evening?"
"The market has a wine merchant who would be able to quench your thirst. If you're not looking for what she sells, there's always a dingy little tavern near the western side of the gates. It's of much lower quality than the Skeever, though, so I don't recommend it... sir," replied the guard. Argis could hear the hesitation before the soldier said "sir" being unsure of the housecarl's position in the army. Thanking the guard he walked into the courtyard where several soldiers were drilling techniques and sparring.
Argis didn't want to return to the city quite yet and wanted to do something. Waiting for the march was always the worst part for him and he was determined to find something productive to do. He also rather liked the invisibly afforded to him in the keep as it seemed that most regarded him as just another soldier. He had missed this camaraderie from his time guarding caravans.
Hailing the drillmaster he offered to spar with the trainees and do what he could to teach them. Looking the newcomer over, the man gave a curt nod and faint smile before directing the trainees to learn how to handle their shields from Argis. He knew who Argis was and what the housecarl's proficiencies were, but only the latter mattered when it came to teaching the soldiers.
Argis lost track of time as he sparred with the soldiers. His own easy-going manner and experience training soldiers allowed him to be quickly accepted into the small squad of soldiers. They weren't experienced by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren't too proud to learn. When the other men invited him to join them for mess in the barracks it reminded the housecarl of the time. Regretfully declining, he returned the training sword and shield as he wandered out to the tavern that he was recommended earlier.
He found it soon enough and it was as dirty as he expected. Argis was unsurprised by its state but didn't mind. He wasn't here for company or atmosphere. He sat down at a table in the corner and a weary looking woman walked over to him. "What do you want?" she asked in a tone that said she had been repeating that question too often.
Giving the woman a courteous smile, Argis simply ordered a plate or bowl of whatever they had made for the dinner crowd and a mug of mead. The waitress nodded and quickly left. Argis looked over the other patrons as a matter of habit and realized how many sad, wretched people went here to drink their sorrows away. He immediately tried to curb his disdain for the other men in the tavern as he was also here to drink, hidden away from the condemning eyes of the more upper class Skeever patrons.
The waitress brought back a bowl of greasy stew, half a loaf of stale bread, and a mug of mead that was surprising good. "Pay up now, love. We don't do tabs for those who aren't regulars," she said warily, watching for him to react badly. Argis simply shrugged and dropped the necessary septims into her outstretched hand and began to eat.
The food itself was terrible but he wasn't really here for the food either. On his third mug of mead – the waitress had been very attentive to his needs – he began to regret ever coming there. He knew he had nothing to feel guilty about as his thane had dismissed him until tomorrow, but he looked around at where he had ended up. He suddenly looked down at the nearly empty mug before him with suspicion, as though it were a traitor who he had thought was his friend. He tried to remember the time back in Markarth where he had similarly drunk his worries away and the aftermath of that. He looked around sharply at the miserable looking figures seated around the room and rose, leaving the rest of the cost of his mead on the table.
"Leaving already?" quickly asked the waitress, who was probably hoping he would keep paying out for drinks.
Argis didn't bother to respond but hurried out into the cold night air and away from the dregs of Solitude. He wouldn't end up like them, he swore to himself.
He arrived back at the Winking Skeever and slipped through the busy main floor to the stairs up to his shared room. He eased the unlocked door open and met the gaze of a surprised looking Altmer wizard.
"I didn't expect you back so soon, Argis. I gave you leave to go wherever you wanted for the night," said the Altmer cautiously.
Giving a genuine smile for the first time that evening, he replied, "I know, but I'm where I want to be."
The warmth of his smile was mirrored by the warmth of his thane's expression and they settled into quiet preparations for tomorrow. Argis had never felt so peaceful as he ran a whetstone along his blade's edge. The gentle rustle of things moving in and out of backpacks and the scrape of the whetstone formed an accompaniment to the easy silence filling the room.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
They rose early and Argis performed his last minute checks before they left the inn room that had been their home. The innkeeper seemed genuinely dismayed that they were leaving, but it was probably because they were a steady source of income for him.
Leaving the greasy Imperial behind, they marched over to the gates of the city. The streets were absolutely packed with soldiers streaming in and out of the city and the well wishers and camp followers who trailed behind the army. Through the tactical use of jostling and their elbows, they made surprisingly good time and made it out of the choked gate with only minimal disruption. The moment they left the city they stepped out of the flow of people in and out of the gates. The assembling squads at the bottom of the hill were still messy clumps but they were rapidly forming up into proper ranks. The two men hurried over to the far right cluster of soldiers, which was slightly larger than that the others, and greeted the Imperial in charge.
The stern looking man had a large scar running down the right side of his face, and the rest of his expression was set in a stern scowl as he observed the odd pair approaching him. "You must be the dragon born and his housecarl," said the man peering curiously at the two men.
Ardanthis nodded and added, "We've been assigned to help you take For Amol. We will help you in any way we can." By now, it was clear that the rest of the unit was surreptitiously watching the newcomers with evident suspicion. Whispered words, mostly "wizard" and "Altmer," slipped between the soldiers as they looked at the dragonborn.
The captain kept his composure better than his soldiers and coughed slightly before stating, "Understood. Fall in with the rest of the unit then as we'll be leaving soon. There'll be no horses except two to carry our supplies, so be prepared for a long walk." The wizard merely nodded in response, maintaining a cool and aloof appearance. Argis wanted to sigh heavily because he wasn't sure if his thane's cold composure was helping or harming the way he was perceived by the soldiers around him.
Argis mingled with the soldiers as Ardanthis discussed the march and tactics with the captain. The soldiers' initial hesitation quickly gave way when they realized that Argis wasn't anything other than a Nord with a sword. He was quickly welcomed and he felt almost pitied by them, as if they were welcoming him back from the Altmer's presence.
The march began with little fanfare and the smaller units dispersed to attack their respective targets. The hope for the overall campaign was that attacking multiple positions would create too much pressure on the Stormcloaks and prevent them from defending any of the positions successfully.
The march to the southeast was going to be a long one, but their unit made it without complaint. The dragonborn and Argis were never put on guard duty or directly ordered to directly do something, and the soldiers treated the elf as if he was someone to be politely spoken to without them actually liking or respecting him. Argis, by contrast, was warmly accepted by them and he frequently was welcomed by the other soldiers. Ardanthis weathered their dislike with his usual hauteur and silence, but Argis knew it was wearing on his thane.
As the days dragged on, the housecarl gradually grew more and more worried that the distance between the soldiers and the dragonborn would compromise their combat efficiency. He also was starting to feel like he was acting as a liaison between the two sides. The camaraderie that flowed so easily between the men seemed to freeze and turn into grudging politeness when it was directed to the High Elf. Argis' hopes for a gradual welcoming of his thane into the circles of the soldiers slowly withered as the marched progressed, and they were over half way to their assigned target without any sort of acceptance being shown to the elf.
They sat around a small campfire and the elf miserably grumbled, "I haven't done anything to them – why do they hate me? They accepted you as if you were blood kin."
Argis sighed, "Both the Imperials and Nords in the unit have their own reasons to hate High Elves. The Aldmeri Dominion is still viewed as a threat by the majority of both peoples, so I suppose they're just wondering when they'll have to fight you next."
In a soft voice, the dragonborn asked, "Are they ever going to see me as something other than an elf?"
"Probably not," replied Argis sadly.
Nodding bitterly, the elf watched in silence as the fire slowly burned down.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The scouts spotted the Fort and the rest of the unit made sure to keep behind cover as the sun slowly rose over the plains. The captain ordered a rest, but most of the men were too nervous to sit still, and they spoke in low voices with each other.
The fort looked dilapidated and the places where repairs had been made could be clearly seen. The thick stone walls still mostly stood, but the gate was completely gone and a rough barricade had been erected in its place. The crumbling merlons offered little cover from ranged attacks, but the attackers lacked a real number of archers necessary to capitalize on that advantage. Their goal was to get inside the fort before they could turn the gate into a real choke point. Being so close to Windhelm, the men of this fort seemed complacent and only had a few sentries lazily strolling along the wall. Argis hoped that this lack of discipline would turn to their advantage and that they wouldn't get blocked from entering the fort.
A nervous energy filled the camp as the fifty men of the Empire rallied into their formations. They had obsessively checked and maintained their gear over the journey and were eager to prove their prowess. They formed up perfectly in front of their commander who inspected ranks and was explaining tactics and setting up contingencies for his men to follow. Argis and Ard, who were standing off to the side began their own low conversation.
"I'm going to focus on killing anything that wields a bow or, Eight forbid, spells. Please, keep close to me because I don't trust these others not to leave me to die – that's if they don't kill me on their own," muttered the wizard.
Rapping a leather pauldron of the elf's ensemble with a knuckle, the Nord replied, "This will definitely help and I'm glad you wore them. I will stay close to you, though, so you can focus on the archers. If they retain control of the walls and get enough archers up there, then the fort will become a bloodbath as they trap us and pick us off."
The captain waved at the pair who nodded and joined him at the front of the formation. The men began to jog towards the fort at a quick, but not exhausting pace. They didn't get far before one of the sentries called out a warning and the shouts of alarm from the fort could be clearly heard. The attacker broke into a sprint and rushed for the barricades as the archers on the wall knocked arrows and began to take aim.
Ardanthis and Argis were in the front ranks of the charge as they approached the wooden contraptions blocking the doorway. Bringing his hands together, the wizard conjured a bolt of fire which slammed into the center of the barricade with a low boom. The barricade exploded apart under the fiery burst of magicka but a small group of enemy soldiers stood to block the path. Snarling with frustration and bringing his hands together again the elf hurled a large bolt of lightning at the group. The lightning slammed into the lead man and arced to the others, staggering by not killing them. Drawing his swords, the wizard ran a disoriented Nord through and the others in the gateway suffered a similar fate as the invading force swept over them.
Pouring into the courtyard, the attackers engaged in a fierce melee with the assembled Stormcloaks. Arrows from both sides thudded into unprotected flesh and skipped off shields as screams resounded off the stone walls.
The pair from Markarth stepped back to let the other soldiers rush by and rapidly surveyed the situation. The Altmer sheathed his blades and rapidly hurtled three bolts of fire into the busy archers on the wall. One archer tumbled off the wall from the force of the spell, one missed its target, and the last one struck but didn't kill its target. The wizard rushed back into the press of Imperial and Nord troops becoming invisible among the other leather and steel garbed soldiers.
The elf darted over to another spot before hurling a few quick spears of lightning, killing and incapacitating his targets. He drew both of his swords and charged a group of Stormcloaks and Imperials fighting on the steps up to the walls.
Just as he arrived, an Imperial was cut down but Ardanthis exploited the attacker's vulnerability by swinging his blade a vicious arc that severed the hand of the Stormcloak. The man jerked back and screamed as he clutched his blood spurting stump. He didn't even try to dodge Argis' jab under his rib cage and into his organs. Argis was nearly frantic with worry over the reckless assaults his thane was heading but did his best to ensure his safety. He would keep his word and stay near the wizard.
"FUS!" bellowed the dragonborn, staggering the four remaining soldiers in his way. Argis winced, knowing that Ard's use of the Voice had just announced his presence to everyone in the fort and had potentially just made a target out of himself. The housecarl could argue with the results though as the Imperials cut down the last opposition and pushed themselves up the stairs towards the archers on the walls.
Shouts of alarm rang out across the battlements as the bowmen turned their attention to the threat posed by the charging Imperial forces. While this tactic took the pressure off the attackers in the courtyard, the barrage of arrows levelled against those mounting the battlements scythed down the first ranks of Imperials. The second volley, however, was much less effective as those with shields took to the fore and blocked the shot to the best of their ability.
Argis slightly shouldered his thane aside to stand in front of him as the arrows continued to strike into shields and flesh. The archers attempted to stop the wall of steel heading towards them to little success and the first of them fell to the swords of the approaching soldiers.
The thane and his housecarl whirled around when a man behind them screamed and pitched forward, an arrow sticking out of his back. A lone archer had huddled behind a pile of stone and was now firing desperately into the undefended backs of the attackers.
One of the Nords who sided with the Imperial forces clutched is arm as an arrow sprouted from it. Argis rushed forward with a sudden burst of speed and his shield raised in an attempt to engage the woman before she could do more damage. The archer aimed down and shot again, and Argis wasn't fast enough to dodge the arrow that slid into his thigh. He tumbled down with an anguished cry, but he tried to protect himself by getting into a kneeling position with his injured leg sprawled behind him. His steel shield afforded him scant cover and the Stormcloak knew this. She knocked another arrow, drew it back, and aimed for a killing shot.
"Argis!" roared the wizard in a voice resonating with panic as he dropped his swords and slammed his hands together, unleashing a massively bolt of lightning that transfixed the woman. She arched her back as the energy coursed through her before collapsing to the ground, barely breathing and smoking slightly. The elf bent down and snatched up his blades before rushing over to the prone woman. He wasted no time before reversing his grip and slamming the swords into her chest. She convulsed once, coughing blood, before falling still.
The High Elf left his swords standing upright in the woman's cooling corpse as he turned to face his injured housecarl. The Nord whimpered slightly as he looked at his injured leg which was soaked in blood where it had leaked out from around the armor. "Icanfixthis. Icanfixthis," the wizard said rapidly and worriedly, as he knelt by the injured leg. He took a deep calming breath and closed his eyes. Warm, golden light poured from his hands and the arrow slid out of the wound it had made as the healing magic forced it out. It clattered as it landed on the hard stone of the walls and left only a faint scar and a hole in the leg plate where it had punctured.
Rising as quickly as he had knelt, the wizard extended a hand to Argis and helped him up. He retrieved his swords from the death archer and wiped the blood off on her jerkin. The sounds of combat had all but faded as the invaders successfully swept through the remaining defenders. The men on the walls looked down on the courtyard and were appalled with the blood soaked fortress floor. Imperial and Stormcloak corpses were strewn over each other in piles and groans and faint movement emitted from some of the strewn figures.
"By the Eight..." whispered Ardanthis as he quickly made his way down the stairs to lend what healing he could to the dying. It looked like over half of the assault force was dead or injured.
After sealing one man's leg wound, he called out, "Isn't there another healer? I can't do all of this on my own!" A Nord who was helping to collect weapons off the dead wordlessly pointed to a sightlessly staring figure. The dead Imperial's brown robes had turned a dark red from the blood that soaked into them, and an amulet of Arkay hung askew on his chest.
The elf sighed and returned to healing the fallen and pressed golden glowing hands to the worst injured. He coordinated with Argis and a few others to find those who would die without magical healing. He moved between the dying with flagging energy. His expression grew more and more haggard with each Nord and Imperial he helped.
Oddly enough, Argis found the healing process interesting to watch. It was almost like watching time rewind as wounds disappeared, and he watched with sick fascination as the restoration magic pulled the guts back into the abdomen of a fallen man. The wound was almost sealed before the golden light flickered out and left a small gash in the man's gut. "Bandage it," croaked the wizard as he sat back with exhaustion written into every movement he made.
"Hey! There's another one over here. Looks like a lung wound, so hurry!" called out one of the wizard's assistants.
Closing his eyes as a way of finding a reprieve from the carnage around him, the elf replied, "Find him a healing potion then. There's nothing more I can do for now." A numb surprise and silence followed as the Imperials turned to look at him. The charnel house smell was nearly overwhelming and seemed to emphasize the importance of the wizard's healing.
Storming over to him, a soldier said, "More soldiers need your help, elf. Get up and rest on your laurels some other time."
"I can't. I've used everything I've got," said the wizard in a soft, composed voice.
The soldier snarled angrily, "Then they are going to die today. You need to help them."
His emerald eyes snapped open and, flashing with anger, the wizard replied, "What don't you understand about 'I can't?' I am tapped out. I want to help them but I'm not able. I used my two personal healing potions a long time ago and I have nothing left."
The Imperial narrows his eyes in suspicion before hissing out, "You want us to die, don't you, elf?"
"What! No!" sputtered the exhausted wizard in outrage.
With a cold hatred the other man continued, "Yes you do. You used all your magicka to kill Nords so you wouldn't have to save Nords later. I know you elves, and you all want us dead."
A small crowd had gathered around the arguing pair and looked at them with great interest. A few of the bystanders were nodding at the soldier's words and Argis grew nervous at the prospect of trying to defend his thane from all of these others. Ardanthis shook his head sadly, regained his composure, and replied, "If I didn't kill the archers I did, then we would have a lot more wounded here than we already do. Even you know that every healer has his limit and I've hit mine. Hating me for being a High Elf won't accomplish anything or save anyone else. If you notice, I've put just enough energy into each man so they'll live in order to maximize the number of lives saved. If you can save any of them until later tonight, I may be able to save a few more."
The accusing soldier's anger seemed to melt away as he collapsed to his knees next to the elf. Argis started forward before hearing the man say, "Please. Please one more, elf. There's a dying man over there – and he's my brother. Save just one more life. Anything you can give, please!" The pleading voice showed that the man was throwing all of his pride away in order to try to cajole the wizard into saving his brother.
"I'm sorry-" began the elf in a voice heavy with sympathy but the man stood quickly and staggered back.
He drew his sword and screamed, spittle flying from his lips, "You bastard! You murdering bastard! You-" His tirade was cut off by Argis' shield, which slammed into his face. The housecarl had rapidly interposed himself between the sword and his thane and dealt with the threat.
The wizard gained his feet and Argis spoke loudly to the moaning man on the ground who clutched his bleeding nose and mouth, "You know he saved who he could. The gods allotted your brother his fate, and I'm sorry for your loss, but stop looking for a mortal to blame for this. Blame Ulfric if you want since he's the reason we're fighting this war in the first place. Don't blame the man who did everything he could to save everyone he could. He may be dragonborn, but he's still mortal and only capable of so much."
The other men, even the ones who had agreed with the rant from before, looked away and resumed their duties. Argis and Ard walked into the fort's winding halls and rooms, looking for somewhere quiet to spend the night. The halls of the fort were slightly less blood soaked than the outer courtyard, but dim lighting and stench of blood hung heavy in the air, and they quickly left the stench-choked rooms.
By now, most of the men were either preparing bodies for burial or gatherings weapons. The two men from Markarth helped with the hunt for weapons and stayed away from the wounded, for which they had already done everything they could. Ardanthis made sure not to go near them for fear of provoking another outburst from the soldiers, but he frequently glanced at the dying men.
By the time night fell, the barricades had been restored and sentries had been set up along the walls. The captain, looking as tired as the Altmer, handed the wizard a sealed scroll along with the words, "We're going to guard this fort and hold it down, but you need to take this back to Jarl Elisif. She needs to know we succeeded and likely reassign you."
Nodding, the dragonborn and his housecarl retired to the small corner they had staked out for themselves in preparation for the long march back to Solitude on the following morning.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
AN: Updates after this may be a little slower. I'm going to try to gradually rewrite the first few chapters since they are fairly shoddy and not doing the rest of the story justice. As always, reviews, suggestions, and criticism find a welcoming home here.