"You have one chance to surrender, whoresons!", cried out Galmar Stone-Fist, battle-axe hefted on his shoulder as he glanced up at the battlements of Fort Amol. Around him, men in blue gambeson and winged helmets waited with bated breath, gauntleted hands clutching their weapons. They were all in ranks, protected behind a shield-wall of their own making. The wind of Skyrim came up from the east and chilled them. It would take me than a mere breeze to calm the disciplined battle-fury of Windhelm men however.
Galmar then continued, "Open the gates and come out! The Jarl will show you squatters mercy if you do!"
For a minute, there was nothing but the fluttering of banners and the soft chill of the wind. Then, the Windhelm men watched as a glowing orb of fire rained down from the ramparts. The firebolt thrust down towards Galmar, ready to singe the Nord's face. But before the bolt could even touch him, a man stepped forward and raised his shield, blocking the attack.
Ulfric Stormcloak's lips were pursed as he lowered his shield as he regarded Galmar. "That concludes negotiations," he said, turning towards the walls. His voice rose in volume as he then commanded. "Men of Windhelm, attack! Leave none alive!" he roared. His soldiers cheered their approval and thus, with the sound of a horn, their bitter work began. His men advanced, covering the others bearing ladders to scale the walls of Fort Amol.
There was a reason why they all favoured heavy armor, broad shields, and battle-axes, the idiot mages and their bandit lackeys inside Amol were going to find out why.
"Come, Galmar," Ulfric said, rushing ahead to join the attack. "We have a fort to reclaim!"
The burly housecarl nodded, his battle-axe now baying for blood in his hands. "I call claim to the spell-chucker that tried to burn me," he grinned.
Ulfric laughed. "Find them first!"
And thus with their Jarling's advance, Ulfric's column marched forward. Unlike the other ranks who carried ladders, Ulfric's men did not have such things nor did they need to. Arrows and spells were launched at them, the armor of Ulfric singling him out as the commander of the assault. Yet, he and his soldiers marched on despite the onslaught. And as soon as Ulfric was near the gates of Amol, he took in a breath...and Shouted.
"FUS RO DAH!" roared Ulfric. The world's noise was drowned out by an image of past resplendent glory. From Ulfric came an Unrelenting Force that tore up the ground, cracked the air, and blasted apart the gates of Amol into thousands of pieces. And with the gate fallen, Ulfric cried out, "Attack! Attack! Sovngarde awaits!"
The battle-cries of the Windhelm men would have reached the heavens as they rushed into the breached gate, eyes blazing with battle-fury. Ulfric was the first, ahead of his men, sword hungering for blood. A trickle of spells and arrows rained upon them but he and his breachers took it and ignored the pain. They were not afraid of injury in Cyrodiil. They won't be afraid of injury here in humanity's home. The Jarling glanced around and found bandits on the ground, moaning and groaning. Defenders ready to meet them if the gate was breached. His sword quickly fell on the first man, then the next.
And from there, the carnage began.
The Nords were an unstoppable force, killing those that were stupid enough to get within close range of stabbing or hacking, and many a bandit and mage were sent to Aetherius with savage strikes. Blood pooled and flowed freely on the stone of the fort, from the walls to the grounds where Ulfric and Galmar walked. Ulfric did not use his Shouts here for he wanted a fight, not a slaughter. His skill of arms were disciplined and measured yet with a certain fierceness that would have been wild if Ulfric did not control himself. Galmar however was different. Like the bear that gave him the pelt he wore over his armor, he accepted the fury of that beast into his heart and mind. He hacked and swiped and cleaved savagely, laughing as he did so, as berserker fury flowed through his veins.
But if the Nords thought that the mages of the keep were going to simply accept slaughter...then they were wrong.
Suddenly, purple portals opened, their opening heralded by a shrill ringing sound that Ulfric's ears remembered all to well, in a different field and in a different place.
"Dremora!" a Nord's cry rose above the din of battle. And sure enough, daedric-armored Dremora poured in, their weapons glowing with power and their eyes blazing with bloodlust all too similar to the Nords own. At their head was their Lord who raised his battle-axe and flashed a grin. "We shall honor our lord by destroying you!"
The Windhelm men stood ready to face them and some went in to charge. The Dremora accepted the challenge and met them. The Nords were brave, they were strong and armed with the best weapons that could be brought to bear. But the Dremora were Daedra, lesser in form compared to the Princes but...they were still Daedra.
And between mortal and daedra, there simply was a leap too great even the bravest Nord could only be defiant at.
A Nordic warrior met his challenger, his axe striking against an opening in the Dremora Lord's armor but the steel simply could not break through the infernal metal. The Dremora Lord reached out and broke the warrior's hands with a gauntleted strike. The Nord cried out in pain as his bones were snapped and broken but he was not going to let some Dremora take him easily. The Dremroa Lord laughed as he heard the cries of the mortal. How sweet it was. But his chuckling ended as the Nord reached out and with all his might, headbutted the Dremora Lord with all the fury and adrenaline he could bear. The Dremora Lord reared back, clutching at his bleeding nose and quickly bisected the Nord with his greatsword.
This Ulfric saw and at first, his heart burned with the need for vengeance. His mind, however, paused. It was expected that the mages would have a trick up their sleeve to even out the odds, but daedra? He did not have enough men for this. Fifty Nords were all it took to retake a fort occupied by mages and their bandit lackeys. Ulfric fought with his men long enough to know what they were capable of and in this push-came-to-shove scenario, they could take on the Dremora but suffer casualties. As much as he wanted to punish the squatters of Fort Amol, his mind and heart was not willing to sacrifice his men for what was essentially a skirmish.
The prudent thing was to retreat for now and wait out the Dremora before they inevitably had to return to Oblivion. An annoyed tick broke out within him. If only he had more men, they could have just overwhelmed the defenders and this all would have been over in a day. But now...he had to pull back and delay.
Just as he was about the order his bowmen to cover their retreat, there was another sound that broke out that Ulfric did not expect to hear.
The sound of horns, harmonic to the ears in the distance. The thunder of hooves...and the fluttering of golden banners.
The arrival of the Whiterun men was unexpected but not unwelcome. With the thundering of the cavalry, they rushed into the melee and the Dremora found out what it meant to be on the receiving end of a cavalryman's lance. The battle was not entirely one-sided and the Dremora were not so easily frightened by a charge, but the added forces gave the Nords the confidence to continue the fight.
And with the raising of the blue-bear banner atop Amol's ramparts, the battle was won and Fort Amol was once again retaken by the Nords.
All around, the Nords cheered at their victory, others went to the task of attending to the wounded or gathering the dead. Ulfric let out a breath of relief as he sat on a fallen rock, the high of battle slowly drifting away. Footsteps crunched against the dirt as Galmar came close, battle-axe hefted on against his shoulder and steel axe-head dripping with blood.
"We've won the battle," Galmar said, a tinge of pride in his voice. His lips quivered as he saw the expression on Ulfric's face. "Yet here you are, looking as sullen as you did coming back home. What is wrong, Ulfric?" The Housecarl sensed some despondency in his lord. Normally, Galmar would have referred to him with deference yet here, Ulfric did not need a Housecarl. He needed a friend.
The blonde Jarling glanced up towards his men. "So many of them would have died if the horsemen did not come." he said simply.
"We are Nords, Ulfric. We live for dying," Galmar reminded him. "And this is a battle that they would have died fighting with Eastmarch's future. There would have been no greater honor."
Ulfric afforded Galmar a smile. His friend's support lifted him up. "I do not know what I did to gain such support, but...thank you, Galmar."
The berserker snorted. "It is to be expected of me, my lord." He then offered Ulfric a smile back. "Someone must watch over your back. And the Stone-Fists have had that honor for as long as we could remember."
Ulfric stood up to his full height, dusting off some dirt off his armor. He needed a bath soon. "And my family is grateful for such loyalty. Now...it is time we must thank our rescuer."
"Hm," Galmar grunted. "That we should. Though that begs the question, why are horsemen from Whiterun in our borders?"
A paranoid mind would have made Ulfric think of some secret plot that the Whiterun men were here to sabotage and ruin Eastmarch but only a fool would think that. This was no longer the time when Nords kill Nords for some petty power, this was Skyrim in the Empire and the Empire had brought peace to Skyrim...even if the Empire had treated him and his people like trash after everything they had given to the Emperor to defend his Empire. "Yes...let us go find out," Ulfric nodded in agreement as he walked up towards the courtyard where the commander of the Whiterun men was.
And immediately, Ulfric knew who he was.
"Hail, Lord Balgruuf!" Ulfric greeted him. The helmed rider turned to see Ulfric walk up close to him, Galmar quietly walking at his side. Ulfric had heard whispers his guards often told one another, especially when they thought that he wasn't listening, of a daring cavalry commander that would strike behind their lines, killing anything wearing Dominion colors, and fleeing before the main force could arrive. The Elfsbane, one of the many heroes that proved themselves in the field of battle...everything that Ulfric was not. A part of him felt a manner of irritation. This was supposed to be his battle to win and Balgruuf arrived with the literal cavalry to save the day. But the irritated part of Ulfric was little compared to the relief that many of his men would return home tonight.
"Lord Ulfric, this is a surprise! I did not expect to see you," Balgruuf greeted him, recognition in his eyes. This gave Ulfric some pause. He hadn't met Balgruuf before yet the man knew of him, a prisoner. Still, his spirits felt brightened that a war hero would know his name.
"Nor did I, my lord," Ulfric replied quickly. "I thought that this was going to be a quick retaking of my father's land from cut-throats and mages. We did not expect them to be so foolish as to attempt to summon Dremora."
"I understand that. Thankfully, the war gave my men practice in dealing with Dremora. The Dominion are awfully fond of summoning Daedra," he said, spitting on the floor. If Ulfric didn't know any better, he swore he heard the man curse the elves under his breath.
'Fuck the elves,' Ulfric inwardly joined him. He shook his head of his thoughts as he returned his sword to his sheath. "So, what business has brought you here to Eastmarch, my lord?"
"I have heard that the Jarl of Markarth has travelled to your city, my lord," Balgruuf began, not hiding his intent. "I have a proposal for him, if he has arrived to your city."
Ulfric hummed. The Jarl of Markarth and his son had indeed arrived at Windhelm but for what purpose, he did not know. "Yes, Jarl Hrolfdir and his son Igmund are at Windhelm, my lord. I do not know why they have come, though. Before I could meet them, my father sent me here to investigate Fort Amol's silence. And here we are."
Ulfric's eyes were drawn to the side as another horseman drew close. But it was not a man his eyes quickly found but a she-elf. A dunmer, clutching tight a weapon wrapped in cloth, ruby red eyes glinting underneath her hood. Ulfric's immediate reaction was curiosity. So that was the Elfsbane's housecarl. Ironic that despite his fame for killing elves, his fervent follower was one of them. Ulfric did not despise the Dunmer, despite claims of his family's hatred of them. Really, all what one needed was to spend not more than five minutes with the Morrowind refugees and it was easy to see why getting along with them was going to be hard. He turned his attention back to Balgruuf as the man spoke.
"I see...well, I do not wish to take up too much of your time and your victory, my lord. We will be well on our way to the city, with your leave," the Whiterun Jarling said, ready to turn his horse back to the exit.
"I shall be leaving behind a token force here to clean up the Fort. I can return to Windhelm with you, my lord," Ulfric offered. It wasn't as if Balgruuf was some random adventurer. Their rank in the nobility was the same and if he wanted to rule Eastmarch well someday, he needed friends and who better to gain friendship of than Balgruuf of Whiterun?
Balgruuf glanced at him, eyes immutable for a brief second. It seemed he was thinking about something as he took a measure of Ulfric. Then, he nodded. "I would be honored, Lord Ulfric."
Ulfric smiled.
"He has a strong face," Irileth commented, the clip-clopping of horses mixing with boot-steps against the snow-crusted road. Balgruuf turned to glance at who Irileth was looking at and appraised the man, Ulfric. The man that would have plunged Skyrim into Civil War was at this time, young. His hair was a blonde that was common to most Nords, with eyes of deep blue that would turn piercing in one second to a certain wistful longing the next. His armor was regal, a thick plate suit with a blue sash across the chest, between them a doublet depicting a roaring bear on left half and the Imperial Dragon on the right.
"Kingly too," Balgruuf suggested. They had set off from Amol immediately, Ulfric leaving behind a token force to clean up the mess left behind. For the duration of it, Ulfric led the column with his dour-faced Housecarl trailing behind him. The Whiterun contingent rode a little behind the Windhelm men, considering that they were in their territory. Irileth turned to Balgruuf, eyebrow raised.
"Kingly? My lord, I hope you are not planning to change your mind?" Irileth questioned, knowing what Balgruuf had in store for the future. The Jarling of Whiterun shook his head.
"Oh no. I was only saying," Balgruuf answered with a shrug. "Besides, I am grounded enough to recognize when others are simply built different. I am not the only one here who can inspire men and lead them to battle, you know. The only difference is the color of our armor and personality,"
Irileth hummed. "Is this humility, my lord? It does not suit you."
Balgruuf snorted. "Humility, my ass. It simply is a man acknowledging another man, you know?" His eyes looked ahead as his voice turned soft, soft that only Irileth could hear. "There can only be one king though, and that would be me."
Inside his mind, Balgruuf had no doubt that he had what it took to lead. In true honesty, he had no qualms about playing second fiddle to someone. He had Whiterun, he had Irileth. Really, what more could anyone want? The issue however lied in the fact that he lived in a time where he could not count on another to lead Skyrim well, knowing what was ahead. Oh, Ulfric was strong but he had, as of yet unconfirmed, ties to the Thalmor. He wasn't going to follow a man who could betray them in the future. Really, if Ulfric wasn't suspect, he would have happily guided the young man away from his disastrous future self and moulded him into a more acceptable ruler. There too was Torygg in Solitude. He could spend time with the young man, influence him as easily Ulfric did in a future that would no longer exist. But he did not know Torygg well and what he knew of Torygg, the young man was a cookie-cutter snoozefest as High King, merely content in keeping business going and lacked the personality and the drive to be a leader worth following.
And thus, that left only him.
His thoughts were interrupted as Irileth whispered. "My lord, a rider approaches."
Balgruuf glanced up as Ulfric's housecarl at the head of the column reared back, trotting towards him. He saluted swiftly. "My lord wishes that you join him ahead, Lord Balgruuf," Galmar rumbled, his voice deep. "He apologizes for not inviting you earlier. Business relating to the Hold was discussed."
Balgruuf replied with a wave of his hand. "Apologies are not required. I will happily ride alongside your lord, Housecarl."
For Ulfric, the coming of horses signaled to him that the Elfsbane was coming close and as he turned, he saw the brown-clad Jarling of Whiterun approach, his housecarl quietly shadowing him under her dark hood.
"My lord Ulfric," Balgruuf greeted him. To Ulfric, Balgruuf's voice was something he still needed to come to terms with. He spoke warmly and gently, the tone a relaxed man would use greeting a friend. He did not change his voice whether or not he was talking to him or to his own soldiers. His expression too, it was like he was greeting an old friend with how much his eyes shone with life.
"I wish you entered Eastmarch on a different road and saw its beauty first rather than its men putting the rabble in their place," Ulfric apologized. He felt awkward that the first thing Balgruuf saw was them cleaning up house. It was not a good look for any ruler to have their fortifications occupied anyway.
"The war has left our garrisons short, my lord. Your father is not the only one whose Hold will find places beset by bandits or rabble," Balgruuf offered. "In Whiterun, a ruined fort was occupied by a necromancer and her followers. No longer, though."
His explanation offered Ulfric a way out of looking like a bumbling defender, if everyone was experiencing it then really, he shouldn't be worried of how the Hold would look. This, Ulfric saw and took with a nod. "And this necromancer, where is she now?" he asked.
"Rotting in a cell. She surrendered before my men and I could gut her. It felt distasteful to murder a surrendered enemy, even if they are a filthy necromancer," Balgruuf answered with a shrug. "I am thinking of killing her anyway. But, a trial first. Laws makes us different from beasts."
"Why bother to put her in a trial when she will die anyway?" Ulfric asked. He already knew why. Laws established authority and stability. Necessary for any ruler to have. He was still interested to hear from Balgruuf regardless.
"To establish authority, stability. The war is over and the common peasant to the highest king wants stability. The need for Martial Law is over," Balgruuf answered. Ulfric grasped that reasoning quickly "And as I said, we aren't animals. What is the point of law and order if we do not abide by them?"
"Should laws be followed to the latter, then? For example...it is law now that worship of Talos is banned," Ulfric asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Balgruuf eyed him carefully.
"As a loyal servant of the Empire, I am bound to follow it," Balgruuf began robotically. It turned the more he spoke however. "But, really, how in Oblivion is the Empire going to enforce that? The war has just ended, Cyrodiil is in ruins and the Emperor will need to repair his homebase. You and I, all of us, we fought in Cyrodiil. We saw how much the Dominion ruined it."
Ulfric sat a little bit straighter, his interest rising as Balgruuf spoke.
Balgruuf shook his head. "No, it is unenforceable. Faith cannot be stamped out, no matter how hard the Dominion might try. I assure you, scores of our people are still praying to Talos privately. By Ysmir, even I do it."
The frank and honest delivery of Balgruuf caught Ulfric off guard. "You still worship him?" He asked.
"Well, of course. Privately for obvious reasons. Just because we cannot do it in public doesn't mean we cannot do it in private. As long as someone isn't foolish enough to demand Talos worship be made public again, this is a reality our people will have to live with."
"But you cannot expect us to live through with this arrangement forever, my lord," Ulfric said quickly, his voice rose as he spoke, irritation coursing through him. "Faith as you say is something that cannot be stamped. This is our country, no? Our Empire? Should we hide what we are in our own home?"
He took a breath, calming himself down.
"The Emperor...our people gave our lives to defend the Empire. And he repaid it by signing the damned treaty," he lamented, bitterness in his voice. Ulfric's arrival towards his homeland did not come with the joy of victory. They should have won. The ought to have won. But no. The sacrifice of his people at the Red Ring was hollow and forgotten by the Emperor. He who should have honored them for their blood, sweat, and tears instead took away the worship of the Ninth Divine, Talos Stormcrown, Son of Atmora and Skyrim. The founder of the Empire...made illegal to worship.
Balgruuf did not say anything, letting the silence of Ulfric's bitterness carry on in the air. Finally, he spoke.
"What is the price of peace?" He suddenly asked.
Ulfric considered the question. And after a moment's thought, he gave his reply. "It depends if we are the one attacking or defending," he answered. That answer seemed fair, Ulfric reasoned.
"And what would we have done if we were in the Emperor's shoes?" Balgruuf drawled out. "Consider this, the Empire is at war for five years. Cyrodiil is ruined and the Imperial City is a mess. Hammerfall's coasts are occupied. High Rock and Skyrim are untouched but far. The Legion has been battered and the enemy's strength is yet undetermined."
Ulfric considered the question, his mind calculating what he would have done. He was no fool. He knew what the situation in Cyrodiil was like. He saw it. "I...Cyrodiil cannot be expected to carry on the war. Taxes would have to be raised on High Rock and Skyrim to fund the war effort.."
"There is also the fact that the Navy is impotent at the moment. Anvil, the home of the Navy, fell to the Dominion. We would have no ships to carry us to the Summerset Isles. Yes, the Dominion may have lost armies at land but their Navy is still strong." Balgruuf added. "We could have invaded Elsweyr or Valenwood but really, do you seriously think that with how much Cyrodiil was burning, that invasion could have been supported well?"
Ulfric's mind grasped at what Balgruuf was pointing at. "Skirmishes then. Raiders entering Valenwood and Elsweyr. And the remaining Legion to support the Redguards in Hammerfell." He attempted, thinking about a way to continue the war. It made sense to Ulfric that raiders ought to have been sent in to harass the Dominion's territory while the regular army went to relieve the Redguards.
"Indeed, small forces could have been sent to raid the Dominion holdings in Elsweyr and Valenwood and perhaps the Legion could be sent to aid the Redguards but the problem remains, how will those soldiers be supported? And even if we could move the Legion to Hammerfell, who would be left to defend Cyrodiil?" Balgruuf shook his head, gripping the reins of his horse. "I feel that the Emperor should have asked for a ceasefire or a white peace. His mistake was getting desperate and giving in to the demands of the Dominion. He ought to have remained strong on his position, no matter how much the Dominion threatened to resume the war."
"And how exactly could the Emperor have done that? Cyrodiil is ruined, no? That would simply mean armies staying in a husk of a province, its resources drained by inactive forces. At least in attacking, something could be achieved." Ulfric said, pointing out a flaw in Balgruuf's argument.
"I say that, my lord, because it would expose a weakness on the Dominion. They claimed that they still have armies left after we smashed them in the Red Ring. If they would have refused a ceasefire then they would be forced to play their hand and reveal what forces they had," Balgruuf reasoned. Ulfric listened closely. One of the reasons spread out for the Concordat's acceptance was the Elves still having armies to use. Balgruuf continued. "Would they empty Valenwood, Elsweyr and the Summerset Isles simply to gain victory? I do not think that the Wood Elves and the cat-folk would tolerate the High Elves sacrificing their generations nor would I feel the High Elves would empty their precious Isle of armies and let it be threatened by the Sea Elves. No, they would have been forced to accept a white peace."
Ulfric thought of Balgruuf's assessment. He had to admit he felt impressed at the Whiterun Jarling's thinking. "Then...why did the Emperor not demand a White Peace?"
"Desperation," Balgruuf said simply. "War exhaustion. For Cyrodiil, they have been fighting for years. For Skyrim and High Rock, we might as well just be newcomers."
"A choice of being cooked in a pan or burning in a fire," rumbled the Jarling of Windhelm. The dejection in his heart worsened. "...Then what do we do now? Accept this new reality with a whimper?" He asked bitterly. It seemed that their situation was hopeless.
"Absolutely not." Balgruuf laughed. Ulfric glanced up, turning to the Elfsbane. He seemed cheery despite their situation. "You forget, my lord, that we have the benefit of peace and time to once again grow our strength. Let us heal our lands and our people...then when we have grown again, when we are stronger again...who knows what could happen? I intend to make the best of it."
"For what?" Ulfric asked.
Balgruuf's smile reached his eyes. "Evgir Unslaad. Season Unending."
A/N: Taken from my QQ account
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