When we have lost everything, including hope, life becomes a disgrace, and death a duty. She had seen her country fall to the Thalmor. She had watched her people lose hope, torn from their own religion. She had witnessed the end of true living, and she knew that death could be the only answer to their disgrace. What words could be more fitting for the fall of the Empire and their reign.
She gazed across Skyrim from her perch upon the mountain, the lashing of wind and snow flaying her platinum curls from under her hood, the burden of her sword almost overtaking her balance. With grey skies and a faded horizon, her eyes followed the trail of fire that burned steadily down the slopes; the trail of torches that brightened in the hands of warriors as they trudged through snow. She did nothing but breathe in the chilled air, calming the flames within.
The marching had begun; Whiterun would soon fall.
Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle, but duty is the essence of manhood. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. The brave man inattentive to his duty, is worth little more to his country than the coward who deserts in the hour of danger. When the men are silent, it is a soldier's duty to raise their voices in behalf of their ideals. And as she stood upon the mountain, she had never known better of what her duty was. Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what she should be, what she can be, and what she was. And she owed it to a single man.
He stood at the head of his soldiers, like a beacon of hope to their land. And he was, for he was Ulfric Stormcloak himself, defender of faith and freedom. No man had been so drawn to duty as he had. When Skyrim fell like a broken bird, it was he who plucked the feathers from the earth and healed wings so they could yet again sore. It was he, the so called usurper of the throne, who gave hope to a falling nation. And it was he that brought peace to the faded souls of their brethren when they broke into riots in the streets, their very religion stripped from their souls. He did not just speak holy words; he acted upon them, bringing justice to his people with a raised sword. Ulfric was the true king. An honorable man... as well as her paramour.
She stood silently by his side, banners waving furiously in the chilled air as the soldiers marched in honored unison. They spoke of nothing, but his eyes caught hers for a fleeting moment, giving her all she needed to bring herself to continue. Love always involves responsibility, and love always involves sacrifice. It involves a strong connection, and a stronger commitment. They had both. Not in the way of lovers... but in the way of soldiers.
The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war. They above all others see their duty clearly, and follow with determined steps till their blades weep blood in honor of their home. No soldier knew this better than she and he.
And yet, even now as they marched side by side, she'd never speak such words to his face. Nor would she ever expect to hear the same from him. It was a silent agreement, a greater calling. Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. And there was too much love for their country to accept the love of each other.
But she would love in her own way. Taking her sword in both hands, she stood her ground, her will stronger than the steel that bonded her sword. She would not comfort with whispered words and soft touch, but with blazing fury and a burning will. She would show her commitment by being committed to his cause, fighting the greater fight. She would love him by loving Skyrim, and letting the fire within her consume her fears.
And at the sound of the horn, the battle began.
Swords clashed and torches fell, lighting straw roofs and wooden barns as though the sun had lit the earth. Down came the fury of the Stormcloaks upon the unsuspecting victims of Whiterun, shouts of anger and anguish following their slumped forms as the tumbled to the the ground. They fought, till blood caked their blade and ash clung to their faces, giving no rest to the enemy. It was their duty to fight, even if it meant death.
But shallow wounds gave way to quick deaths, and men began to fall as their swords fell from their stained hands. For in the end, there is no victor to war, only an end result. Countless Nords would fall for their beliefs, and countless more after them. Even Ulfric himself.
His own blade was strong, like the will of a thousand warriors. He struck blows with precision, leaving trails of blood as in his wake. With a voice as powerful as a breaking mountain, he shouted the language of the Dragons from his mouth, leaving catastrophic ruins before him. He was invincible, he was the beacon of hope to them all.
But he was also a man, as vulnerable as the soldiers who served under him. And her eyes caught glimpse of his death that spiraled towards him in his oblivious state. An Imperial soldier with his sword just inches away from his heart.
Every soldier must know, before he goes into battle, how the little battle he is to fight fits into the larger picture, and how the success of his fighting will influence the battle as a whole. And she understood. She understood that love could not prosper without freedom. She understood that sacrifices must be taken. She understood that she was given an opportunity... And she understood that duty came before all...
And before the blade could sink into her flesh, she understood that protecting Ulfric was her duty. That, as the beating of her heart sputtered with agony, she had paid the ultimate sacrifice of love. A life for a life, one meant to serve and the other meant to live. Ulfric would live to see an end to his war, for she made it her duty for her lover to survive. A sacrifice for duty, as it was the job of a soldier to know their battle... And to know when it's necessary to die.