The Dragonborn, Brand Tyrsson, sat on the patio of Lakeview Manor. It was a crisp autumn day almost a year exactly since the defeat of Alduin. Rumors and hearsay abounded about the coming end of the ceasefire between the Stormcloaks and the Empire; both sides were eager to have him. He'd be a rallying point for swathes of people.

Brand sighed and poured himself a glass of Colovian brandy. As he took a sip, he heard the heavy orichalc footfalls of Rayya, his housecarl. Sighing, he looked up. She was leading a terrified looking Imperial courier, her orichalc sword held lazily in her hand.

"My thane," she saluted.

By the Nine, he thought irritably. He wasn't irritated with her. No, never her. He was tired of the constant barrage of couriers from the armies. He placed his hand on a dagger at his belt as he leaned forward. He looked at the courier, his steel gray eyes boring into the newcomer.

"Who sent you?" he asked. "Surely not the General. I've already told him I want nothing to do with either side in this god's damned war. I've told the Stormcloaks the same so don't think I favor those traitorous bastards."

"I- well, my lord Dragonborn," the courier began nervously. "Jarl Balgruuf actually sent me."

He perked up.

"Balgruuf sent you? Why?" he demanded, not unkindly. He let go of his dagger as he motioned for the courier to sit. Once the man was seated he poured him a glass of brandy as well.

The courier took the brandy and drank it shakily.

"The Stormcloaks are making a move," he muttered. "They're marching on the city of Whiterun as we speak. The Jarl has accepted the help of the Imperial Legion but he wishes for your aid in defending the city, as you are one of its Thanes."

So the Stormcloaks were the first to break the ceasefire, eh? He smiled sadly and looked at Rayya, still standing nearby. He nodded, with no need to speak. She went into the Manor and he waited until he could no longer hear her heavy footsteps.

"Go back to Whiterun and tell Jarl Balgruuf I shall be there as soon as I can be. Whiterun will not fall as long as I draw breath."

The courier nodded and stood before running off. Brand sat there for a few more moments before going into his home. His household – Rayya, a carriage driver named Gunjar, the bard Llewellyn and his steward Faendal – stood on the ground floor. They had been talking amongst themselves when he walked in. Faendal looked up at him.

"What did the courier want?" he asked.

"The Stormcloaks march on Whiterun, they've decided to openly break the ceasefire and threaten the first city to ever welcome me in Skyrim. No matter who threatens my home, I shall defend it."

Chaos erupted. Everyone tried to talk over each other; Rayya insisted on joining him. Faendal insisted they flee to Solitude where they'd be safe. Llewellyn thought they ought to play both sides while Gunjar sided with Faendal. He sighed.

Nahlot!

His thu'um reverberated through the manor, shaking its very foundations. Silence fell as the meaning of the word fell upon them. His will pushed the fabric of reality to bend and for them to listen.

"You four shall stay put here at Lakeview," he ordered. "I will gather supplies and dust off Sunsinger. I will fight at Whiterun and send those Stormcloak dogs running back to Windhelm with their tails between their legs."

None of them were happy but they relented. Brand knew they didn't wish to anger him. They stalked off back through the house to attend to their business. He went downstairs into the armory in the north wing of the Manor.

On a mannequin, in the center of the room, was his old set of armor made from ebony and dragonscale. Sunsinger, a dragonbone sword heavily enchanted with fire. His old dragonbone bow, and a quiver of arrows, was nearby. Smiling to himself, he pulled his armor on. He sheathed his sword at his side, the quiver and his bow on his back.

He went back up to his chambers and grabbed his old pack. A year of peace and quiet ruined in a matter of minutes, he thought to himself as he packed all manners of supplies. He slung his pack over his shoulder as he walked out.

No fanfare. No goodbyes this time, his friends at Lakeview were unhappy with him. He could feel it. But there was no point in apologizing to them; he wasn't going to let them abandon their home just because of a battle at Whiterun. Brand knew that Rayya would follow his order wholeheartedly. She was loyal to a fault and would keep the rest of the household in check.

He looked back at his house as he exited. The towering Manor had been his home for the past year and he had grown comfortable in its secluded halls in the foothills of Falkreath. He looked down the small dirt path leading to the main road; Pinewatch had been newly occupied by a small family that helped tend his animals and apiary. They were simple folk but very kind and hardworking.

He took a deep breath. He hoped that his call would still be heard by his old friend.

Od-ah-viing

The shout carried across the sky. Several tense moments passed before the rhythmic beating of dragon wings could be heard. A great shadow passed over his home before Odahviing landed nearby. The dragon cocked his head at him, looking as shocked as a dragon possibly could. It was hard for Brand to tell at times.

It's been quite a long time since I have heard from you, Thuri.

"I know, Odahviing. I need aid from you once more, old friend."

Ask, Dovahkiin and I shall aid you. growled Odahviing. Brand nodded and looked at the sun beginning to set.

"The Stormcloaks threaten Whiterun, my old friend. I will not dare risk you or any of my dov allies, but I have need for haste…," he trailed off. Odahviing merely nodded and lowered his head. The meaning was clear; he wanted the Dragonborn to get on and they would fly to the city.

Brand climbed on and gripped the red dragon's horns. Dust and pebbles kicked up into the air as the great wings beat. They shot into the sky, Lakeview Manor and Pinewatch shrinking below them. Odahviing shot north to Whiterun and the sight that met them was sickening.

A vast army of Stormcloaks and their mercenaries surrounded the walls of the city. Brand could see siege engines being constructed; catapults and battering rams scattered throughout their camp. He swore under his breath, wishing he could aim a spell from his vantage point. As Odahviing flew over the walls, he could see the two sides exchanging volleys of arrows and bolts. Bodies fell from the walls by the dozens, only to be replaced.

They circled the city, cries of dragon and dragonborn filling the air. Odahviing turned and flew towards Dragonsreach, landing as swiftly and as gracefully, for a dovah, on the great porch at the rear of the palace.

Brand dismounted. There was no one present on the great porch; no guards or courtiers. The tables and chairs had been knocked over before they landed. Goblets and plates shattered across the stones of the porch. Were they all fighting? He drew Sunsinger and entered the palace. The torches and braziers were lit, servants scurrying about like rats. He stopped one, Gerda, he thought her name was. He hadn't been home in Whiterun for a year and he wasn't sure of anyone's name anymore.

"Where is everyone?"

"Oh! Thane Brand!," she nearly dropped the basket she was carrying. "It's good to see you again. The Jarl and the rest of the able bodied members of the household are in the plaza by the Gildergreen. They're using Jorrvaskr as a headquarters for the duration of the siege."

"Thank you, Gerda. Talos guard you," he nodded his thanks. She went about her business as he ran through the palace. He prayed that the citizens of the city had gotten out. As he exited Dragonsreach, he saw Odahviing fly off towards the Throat of the World in the distance. He ran down the stairs leading from the palace into the Wind District; legionnaires and guards of Whiterun, as well as select members of the Companions, were scattered throughout.

Balgruuf and Irileth stood nearby, both armed to the teeth, talking to an Imperial officer. She looked vaguely familiar to Brand. Had she been with Tullius at the peace talks? He walked up to them, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Recognition flashed across all three faces as he approached.

"Brand, by the Gods! What are you doing here already?" asked Balgruuf. Surprise was clear in his voice, but so was relief. The Dragonborn being present amongst the defenders would be a morale boost. The Companions nearby ran over, their attention grabbed by Brand's name being called out. They looked at the former Harbinger with shock etched into their features.

"I came as soon as I heard about the attack," said Brand. "I decided to come by dragon not long after sending the courier back this way but from what I saw… either he'll return after the siege is over or he'll be killed before getting close to the city."

"Where are the citizens?" he continued, gesturing to the empty homes. Balgruuf sighed and scratched the back of his neck. Irileth rolled her red eyes at her lord before answering Brand.

"They and some of the Companions, and some guards, are currently at Fellglow in the hills." the Dunmer housecarl replied sternly. She hadn't changed much at all, still as stern and dedicated as ever. No sign of aging showed on her features. Balgruuf however, was beginning to show his age even more than Brand remembered. Grey was mingled with his blonde and age lines crossed his face.