-Here we go! Things are really starting off with a bang! And I don't just mean the new year! -


The sound of thunder rang out across the flat landscape.

Wait... no. This wasn't mere thunder. Not only was this a cloudless night for one thing, but this thundering sound did not come from the sky itself. This sound came from much lower, closer to the ground itself. This thundering sound also came with another, and another, one right after the other. A thunderous crashing of fireballs crashing on rocks.

The entire time Lydia watched the entire thing unfold. She had first seen the blue of the Stormcloaks in the distance, vaguely illuminated by the soft glow of orange-yellow light from fires. She then realized that this fire was not only from torches that they held in their hands but also from lit balls of fire that were being mounted into large wooden contraptions. Contraptions that began to fling said balls of fire out through the air and towards... Whiterun!

Whiterun was under attack!

"Gods, no!" she found herself exclaiming.

Her eyes darted over to the city in question. Whiterun still looked as it had for the most part, yet now it held glowing orange and yellow within its walls! Who knows just what damage had just been inflicted by those siege catapults!

Her eyes darted back to those that were around her, the unfamiliar Imperial soldiers with looks of surprise equal to her own. They finally came to rest upon Legate Rikke who was standing atop the upper arch of the fort's primary entryway.

"Legate Rikke! They're attacking my city!" she cried out.

"Easy, housecarl, we're not about to let them!" she called back out, "Men! Get those catapults in position! NOW!"

"Yes ma'am!" a number of voices from behind called out.

Movement could be seen on the far sides of both ends of the fort. Lydia watched in anxious anticipation as the catapults were slowly being pushed into place. Eventually they came to a halt and the men further scrambled to prepare the flaming shells.

All the while Lydia's eyes darted back and forth between the Stormcloaks' own catapults launching their own fire, and Whiterun currently being besieged by them. Every launch and every impact she felt as a stab at her own being. She always knew Whiterun was strong but seeing it in this light; she came to realize she herself had never experienced a time where that strength of the city was ever tested. The occasional brazen bandit attack attempt on had absolutely nothing on a full-mounted assault such as this...

"Flame shells ready, Legate!" one of the soldiers called out. Lydia's head spun back around towards them.

"Then fire at will! Aim for their own catapults!"

The men pulled on various cranks on the wooden contraptions and the catapults practically came alive. Lydia watched the large pieces of wood fling several large yields of flaming shells out. They flew as streaks of fire sailing through the air, man-made shooting stars across the night sky. The faint scent of fire and smoke began to fill her nostrils. Lydia watched them just as anxiously...

The arcs they made for the most part were dead on. The flaming shells crashed into the ground in the general area where the Stormcloaks themselves were standing, with some landing just a little before them. Nevertheless, the effect was immediate: the Stormcloaks from this distance appeared to scatter in different directions. Some of them Lydia could see had actually caught on fire from direct impact!

"That's a confirmed hit!" one of the soldiers called out. The entire troop let out a quick cheer in response.

"Their catapults are still firing! We didn't hit them!" another called out.

"What are they-?"

The Stormcloaks appeared to be surging in motion. They all began to flow away from the catapults and outwards. The majority of them were running in the direction of Whiterun, while the other half... were running forward.

"By the Gods, they're coming this way, aren't they?"

"Stand strong, men!"

Lydia and the men turned their eyes to the Legate Rikke, having made her way down onto the ground and joined them. She advanced to their front and stood before them. She stood as straight up and tall as ever, her face a stern visage and the picture of authority as she focused on every single person present.

"This is it! This is what you have all been training for!" she announced, "Remember to take no pity on those traitors, as they will have none for you! What you all do here today, you do for the good of Skyrim! Ulfric the pretender and his 'Stormcloaks' will fall, and it is through this battle and many more to come that we show them the hollowness of their cause! For you are the true might and force of the emperor, and nothing will stop us!"

Rikke's speech was met with a cacophony of cheers from the soldiers. If there were any that were nervous or filled with fear, none of that was seen nor shown through any of them at this point. Lydia had to admit that this Nord definitely had the talent for speeches; even she was feeling motivated!

One by one weapons were drawn. Soldiers, Legate Rikke, and herself brandished their blades and held them at the ready. Looking ahead the Stormcloaks were approaching closer and closer. The sounds of their own screaming could be heard getting louder and louder.

With gritted teeth behind her pursed lips Lydia pounded the hilt of her sword against her shield, a traditional and ancient rallying gesture.

"CHARGE!" Rikke called out. As one everyone surged forth to meet the attackers head on, with Lydia and Rikke in the direct lead.

"FOR WHITERUN!" the housecarl cried out as well.


Everyone saw the fires incoming.

When the first thunderous explosions rang out, everyone was practically jolted awake. Guardsmen and dedicated city fighter alike were made aware that something was going on. Despite this warning however, there was little they could actually do to stop actual fire from raining down upon them.

Siffre at the time had been taking this time to close her eyes for the evening. A spot right next to the walls had been chosen relatively out of the way. This entire time she had been sleeping peacefully... until she heard them.

She was violently rocked from her slumber by the sound of thunder. Immediately her mind flashed with panic. The sky was still dark but was periodically illuminated with streaks of bright fire. The last time she had heard such thunder and seen fire in the sky... No, it couldn't possibly be happening again, could it?! She was certain she had escaped from it!

"Siffre? Siffre!" Illia cried out.

Her head shot to her side to see the familiar mage rushing towards her. In that moment, the present came flooding back into her mind. This wasn't back then, she wasn't at Helgen, and there was no dragon. However, from the surprised and panic look on Illia's face, things clearly weren't any better right now either.

"Illia?" she said as she pulled herself to her feet, "What's going on?"

"I don't know! One moment those guards suddenly started calling out, and the next there was fire coming from the sky!"

Her grogginess had completely cleared by now, Siffre processed what Illia had said as well as took in her surroundings. The time was still night with the sky remaining dark as ever, but it wasn't nearly as pitch black as it should have been.

This was in fact due to the aforementioned fire; she could see the fire as streaks, flying across the night sky. Siffre traced them back to its source, all the way down to the ground in the distance. It was there that she could see them: a large group of people gathered around large wooden... were those catapults? Catapults that were even now hurling large balls of fire towards them!

Siffre's eyes glanced back up towards... wait, was that one fireball coming towards-?

"Illia! RUN!" Siffre exclaimed. The two women frantically dashed to the side as one of the rounds of fire shells sailed through the air right over where they were standing. A mighty crash filled the air and the two women stumbled forward from the force of the impact.

"By the Gods-!"

The two glanced behind them to see what had just happened. Exactly where they were standing was now coated with a thin sheet of burning fire. The ground beneath was dry gravel with hardly any grass or vegetation to burn. Even the wall right where Siffre had been sitting up against now held heavy scorch-marks of ash and soot beneath the burning fire.

They both looked back at each other and exchanged worried and alarmed expressions.

"We... we could've just... we were-" Illia stammered.

"I was almost..." Siffre said, "Thanks Illia; if you hadn't come along and woke me up...!"

"Everyone! To the front entrance! Hurry!" someone's voice called out. It was a man's voice, but neither women could possibly tell who it was.

Siffre and Illia were pretty much running on instincts by now. All around them and what they could see as well and smell... it was smoke, and fire. The very air was beginning to become thicker and thicker. Thankfully their immediate vicinity was still clear enough to see, but some places like the far distant horizon were starting to appear more obscured.

"I can't believe it... this is happening, it can't be..." Illia could be heard muttering to herself as they moved.

They eventually found themselves at the main road that fed into the winding entryway of Whiterun's gates. They were not alone, as they found themselves in the company of the Whiterun guardsmen as well as the select individuals that elected to stand and fight. They were mostly strangers even now, but Siffre had the pleasure of being told some of them their names: the Battle Born brothers Jon and Idolaf, the Dunmer Jenassa, Uthgerd the Unbroken, just to name a few. While Hrongar and Captain Caius were present as well, Irileth had already returned to Dragonsreach to stay at the Jarl's side.

Everyone present here had a weapon in hand drawn and at the ready. They were standing their ground, but many were still exchanging nervous glances between each other along with anxious murmurs.

"Is this everyone?" Caius said, "Alright, you men! Raise the drawbridge!"

From up above and behind a call of acknowledgement was made. This was quickly followed by the sound of gears cranking and wood creaking. It could not be seen from this angle, but the drawbridge was being raised slowly and steadily.

"Finally, the true enemy elects to appear before us...!"

At Hrongar's statement the gathered mass looked out toward the rolling plains of the once plain and ordinary Hold. Near where the offending catapults were the individuals could also be seen. They were indeed small from this distance, but the patches of blue on their outfits was unmistakable. The Stormcloaks stood at the ready, each one armed with a fierce-looking weapon in hand.

"The cowards, attacking this city from a distance while they hold back?" Idolaf Battle-born grumbled, "Let me at 'em...!"

"You got a death wish, Battle Born?" one of the guards spoke up, "What about those catapults? They'll rip us to shreds!"

Siffre stood in place with everyone else. The voices of those around her being heard in her head. This situation was absolutely dire indeed. The city was being attacked by those catapults in the distance; they had to be taken out!

But on the other hand, wouldn't doing so leave Whiterun largely undefended? Could they afford to split up the meager defense force they had at the moment to attack their surely larger numbers? How many of them could even get close enough without being destroyed by an unlucky catapult strike?

Even the distant Stormcloaks didn't even seem to be moving at all! It's like they were waiting... Watching and waiting.

'This is just like in Cyrodiil...' she thought, 'When they picked us off... one by one...'

"What can we do? We don't have the numbers to assault their main force and stop those catapults!" Commander Caius said, a mirror to Siffre's own thoughts.

"Wait! What's that...?!" Illia spoke up.

One by one Siffre and everyone else turned to where Illia was pointing. There, in the distance... more streaks of fire?

"The Imperials! They got catapults too?!"

"They're firing upon the Stormcloaks! Huzzah!"

The group watched as a completely new set of fireballs streaked across the night sky. These however were flying directly towards the attacking Stormcloaks and their catapults. With a distant thunderous crash, shells impacted in the general vicinity of the attackers. While none of the Stormcloak catapults were destroyed, a number of Stormcloak soldiers could be seen having caught fire themselves. Almost immediately the catapults on the Stormcloaks' side ceased launching; they were clearly caught off-guard by this sudden development as well.

The guardsmen and the volunteer defenders let out cheers at the sight. Illia even gave a deep sigh of relief. A smile tugged at the corners of Siffre's lips; for a moment it seemed like the worst was being averted... that is, until she squinted a little closer.

Movement among the Stormcloaks ranks could be seen again. Rather than scrambling all around in perceived panic, they began to move... towards them?

"By the Gods, they're... they're coming!"

The mass of the Stormcloaks began to surge by this point, a massive flow of blue against the drab green of the rolling plains. This mass appeared to divide itself, however. One half flowing towards Whiterun and them, the other half breaking off westbound. This half was running towards the attacking Fort Greymoor, where the Imperials were.

"Finally... I've been waiting for this...!" Idolaf said.

"Just be careful, brother," his brother Jon said, "I have no desire to see you fall here..."

"Alright, alright..." Illia said to herself. Her hands were held up at the ready, even her bandaged left arm. The sight of those Stormcloaks rushing towards them, and her. Memories of yesterday and her encounter with them were brought to mind. They already barely tolerated her presence then, but now... There was no doubt that they would absolutely kill her here and now!

"They're... they're not going to beat us! They're not going to kill us...! Right? Siffre...?" The mage glanced to her side to watch the woman in question step forward and away... down the walkway and closer to the invading armies.

As Siffre walked forward her hand reached behind her and drew forth her great sword, the metal scraping on the leather of the sheath. Even in the growing thickness of the clouded smoke around them the brilliant gray of the sword's shine seemed to pierce through with its luster alone. She took hold of the weapon in both hands and held it at the ready.

All the while her eyes remained trained dead ahead. Was she still scared?... Yes, she was a little scared. After all, there were just so many Stormcloaks approaching, even after having split in half. Would she survive this? Or was this where she was to die today?

'I should've died in Cyrodiil... but I didn't,' she thought to herself, her fingers gripping her blade hilt tighter, 'I lived, I went to Skyrim... and I discovered so much more about myself... I learned to speak. I learned to Shout. I learned I could be so much more than a highway bandit... And I am.'

By now the Stormcloaks had advanced closer and closer, and the sounds of their cries could be heard. They were crying out for battle, for blood, for absolute slaughter. Most of their heads were concealed by helmets similar to that of guardsmen, but some of them wore helms that showed their faces. Their eyes were positively widened with absolute bloodlust.

"They're almost upon us!"

"What's the Dragonborn doing?"

"Siffre?" Illia said.

'So, no... I may be scared, but I will not die here,' Siffre continued thinking, 'Not when there's so much more I can do! More I can learn about myself! I'm no longer a bandit... I am Dragonborn!'

She maintained her white-knuckled grip on her blade even as she opened her mouth to draw in air. Her breath was controlled, her mind was focused, and she breathed,

"Fo-KRAH!"

The effect was immediate and felt by all. Out of Siffre's mouth blew forth a blast of pure, cold air. The violent winds of whipping ice flew straight forward... directly into the mass of the Stormcloaks.

The invading rebels had already advanced close enough. From this proximity they were essentially being blasted at point blank range. The defenders watched as the wave of freezing cold air struck the brunt of the Stormcloaks. While a number of them were lucky enough to quickly jump out of the way and to the side, a few unlucky soldiers were not fast enough. They practically fell flat to the ground, their war cries turning into cries of pain.

The remaining Stormcloaks resumed their run, but their attention was refocused on the one that had just attacked them.

"What was that?!"

"The Thu'um! Like Jarl Ulfric!"

"She's fighting for the Imperials, the traitor!"

"What is she? Dragonborn?!" A volley of questions could be heard from the mouths of some of the soldiers.

"Everyone! CHARGE!" Commander Caius' voice rang out.

All at once the Whiterun defenders began to run forward with weapons drawn. The non-guardsmen ran the fastest with the Whiterun guardsmen bringing up the rear. Illia on the other hand kept her distance but all the same charged up a fireball spell in her right hand, ready to blast it forth.

The two sides met with a massive clash of steel against steel and even steel banging on the wood of shields. The air was now thick with smoke and now the deafening sounds of cries of battle and weapons clanging against each other.

Illia held her hand cocked back, prepared to through her fireball forth. She hesitated however, as it was getting harder and harder to focus in on exactly 'who' she was supposed to be firing it against. She knew who of course, but the Stormcloaks and even the Whiterun defenders were just moving around so much! She couldn't focus in properly!

"Come on! Just... stay still!" she muttered to herself. The fire energy in her hand felt as a warm mug of ale. At the same time with it being so close to her face as it was cocked back, Illia became aware of just how much hotter it was on a different part of her skin.

Finally, the mage saw her opportunity. She singled out a single Stormcloak that had been momentarily stunned by someone, and also separated just enough from the pack so's not to accidentally hit anyone else. She thrust her hand forward and let the fireball fly outward.

The magic fireball instantly impacted against the Stormcloak, with the soldier being completely caught unaware and off-guard by this sudden attack. Their cries of surprise and subsequent pain from being caught on fire could be heard even from here. The Stormcloak could be seen dropping their weapon and frantically rushing this way and that, their entire body still ablaze.

"I-I did it! I shot a fireball!" Illia voiced her excitement. With a grin she looked down at her hand that was clenching into a fist in victory. As time in her mind slowed to seemingly a crawl, her grin slowly faded as she realized what had just happened. She had just shot a fireball... and, killed someone?

"Hey, mage! Focus!" Illia was broken from her thoughts by someone's voice off to the side. One of the guardsmen? There was no telling in the slightest.

Out of the corner of her eye to the side she could see the yellow-garbed guardsmen that were similarly hanging back letting forth a volley of arrows from bows upon the enemies. Shot after shot, with some striking true and others missing, they continued to nock arrow after arrow non-stop. Illia shook her head harshly.

"Come on, Illia! Focus!" she berated herself. She then charged up a fireball spell in her hand and prepared to launch at another Stormcloak.

Further down in the thick of the battle, Siffre was engaged in ferocious combat. More than a couple of Stormcloaks had seemingly singled her out to attack. The Dragonborn herself was undeterred. There may be too many all around her to hit with another blast of her Thu'um, but she still had her great sword to attack with!

Her first opponent came in the form of a Stormcloak to challenge her. This one had a helmet on but Siffre could tell from the build that it was a woman; the war cries she was letting out sounding muffled beneath her helmet. She was armed with a mace in one hand and a shield in the other. She brought her weapon from over her shoulder to strike down hard against her.

Siffre held out her blade to easily parry the mace strike. The weapon was deflected, but she could still feel the sheer force of both the weapon's weight and the attacker's arm strength behind it.

The attacker and her weapon were now off balance and Siffre was prepared to capitalize. However, the Stormcloak quickly thrust her shield forward to quickly bash against Siffre. The Dragonborn was unlucky to not only be hit by it, but the edge of the shield also happened to clip her on the lip. Her tongue unconsciously tasted blood.

"Die, traitor!" the Stormcloak exclaimed. She swung her mace horizontally from the opposing side this time. Siffre managed this time to jump back a little and avoid the mace swing. Once again her attacker was left wide open for a counter attack. Siffre lowered the tip of her great sword and thrust it forward with all her strength.

The sword easily pierced through the cloth and armor as well as the tender flesh beneath. The Stormcloak grunted in pain and died silently as her mace and shield fell from her hands.

Siffre's senses were still alert even after claiming this life. She planted a foot on the now corpse of the Stormcloak and kicked off to free her blade. She spun back around in place, eager to face her next foe.

There was of course no shortage of foes to challenge her; at least two more were rushing forth in her direction, their intentions clear. One was armed with a sword and shield, the other was armed with just a war-axe in one hand. Siffre held her own blade at the ready and charged forward to meet them.

With teeth barred she brought her blade upwards from below to catch the sword swinger in a deadlock. The two of them held their stance for a moment as both struggled to overpower the other. Just then, Siffre glanced to the side and was reminded of the war-axe wielding Stormcloak about to strike at her unguarded side. If she didn't do something she would surely be hit!

Acting quickly she shoved her shoulder as hard and fast as she could against the other Stormcloak. The satisfying sound of surprised grunting filled her ears as her attempt to break free had succeeded; the Stormcloak stumbled backwards briefly a step or two, giving her the small window she needed to act.

Siffre then turned her attention to the war-axe Stormcloak. She swung her great sword to the side to catch the smaller weapon against its sideways swing towards her. The look on his open-helmed face betrayed surprise. He was caught off-balance, but she was not done yet! She released one hand from her sword hilt and swiftly brought it to strike as hard as she could against his face. She could feel her gauntlet hit something solid, but she wasn't certain exactly what part of his face was that was it. Whatever it was, the Stormcloak let out a cry of pain as his head snapped to the side.

Once again Siffre seized this moment of stunning her opponent. She returned her gauntlet to grip her sword hilt with both hands again. The Dragonborn then spun in place to allow her blade to diagonally carve through the Stormcloak's body. The man's cry of pain was guttural as the attack certainly ended his life.

Using her momentum of her swing she brought her sword to strike hard against the shield of the other Stormcloak who had just recovered. Metal thudded against the hard wood of the shield in her opponent's hand, but this Stormcloak stood fast against the onslaught. In fact this one was quick to strike back with sword in hand against Siffre's own sword. The smaller blade clanged against the larger, but the attacker followed up with strike after strike; the smaller blade in hand playing to his advantage.

Siffre held her blade up horizontally and eye-level as she defended herself. This person's strikes against her own weapon may not be enough to weaken her terribly, but he was still causing her to maintain her defense without allowing much else for her.

"So, you're really a Dragonborn, but you choose to fight 'against' Skyrim!?" the Stormcloak taunted in between his strikes, "You're a disgrace to your own kind!"

"No... I'm... not!" Siffre grunted.

She seized this moment to quickly bash the hilt of her sword against the Stormcloak's sword hand. Her opponent maintained his hold on his sword, but all Siffre needed was a break in between his strikes. She quickly raised her own sword above her head and brought it down with all her might. The Stormcloak looked up and held up his shield to block the overhead strike. As fortune would have it the strength of Siffre's attack actually overpowered the shield to knock it away. Mustering even more strength she didn't realize she had she quickly realigned her sword to slash diagonally across the Stormcloak's chest.

As before with his late comrade the blade easily sliced through the cloth of the armor and into the flesh beneath. Even a little bit of blood sprayed out of the deep wounds and coated Siffre's front and armor. The defeated Stormcloak tumbled to the ground where he lie still in a growing puddle of his own blood. Siffre panted heavily from this heavy exertion of movement she had been forced to do.

Being granted a moment of reprieve she glanced all around her to find nothing but chaos. The immediate scene of battle was as far as she could see. For some reason, trying to view past the immediate area felt impossible. Everything just seemed... hazy. Smoky. Nothing could be seen as far out as the plains of Whiterun that she was certain were there. Every breath she took felt like she was inhaling the thick smoke that filled the air. The feeling should've been suffocating, and for the most part it was, but for some reason Siffre didn't feel as if she were 'choking' per se. She was filled with a sense of... For the life of her she could not describe this feeling. This need for battle, it was far more intense than anything she'd experienced as a highwayman.

While no soldiers were immediately rushing to fight her at this time, conflict was occurring everywhere she looked. Blue-garbed Stormcloaks, yellow-garbed Whiterun guards, even familiar faces that were defending the city, all were locked in vicious combat. There were also a fair number of bodies littering the ground as well, from both sides. Stormcloaks, and Whiterun guards; many were lying in pools of their own blood, while some were rolling about the ground and apparently writhing in agony from some injury.

"Rrraaaagghh!"

The familiar sound of a grunt reached her ears. She caught sight of Hrongar himself striking down a Stormcloak soldier. Like herself he was armed with his iron great sword and putting it to good use. The blue-garbed invader stood no chance against the burly-armed Nord and his superior strength as he cut down his foe. Rather than take a moment to pause himself, Hrongar simply turned about to find his next foe. The flow of battle simply came naturally to him it seemed.

"They're coming along the side!" someone screamed.

"By the Gods- who is-?!" someone else called out.

The second voice that had called out was relatively closer to Siffre for her to hear and interpret. In that moment, something compelled her to turn and and face what the caller was pointing out. What she saw was not at all what she was expecting.

Atop the large wall where she'd seen the gear cranks for the drawbridge she saw someone standing there. What was confusing however was that this person was definitely not one of the Whiterun guards. Nor was it a Stormcloak soldier for that matter. Rather, this person was dressed in rather pristine and familiar robes that covered the top of his head. It was then that Siffre's eyes widened in realization: she'd seen those robes before, not too long ago in fact!

The robed Heimskr held in his hand a dagger, red-tipped from blood dripping off from it. The dagger had clearly just been used on the Whiterun guard that was standing there, whose lifeless body was being unceremoniously pushed over the side of the wall. The Talos proclaimer wasted no time then turning around and spinning the wheel crank as fast as he could. In no time the sound of wood crashing down could be heard filling the air. Everything that had transpired happened so fast that Siffre was almost in disbelief it had even happened at all!

"No... No! NO!" she exclaimed in horror. There was no denying what she had just witnessed: that priest Heimskr had just dropped the drawbridge, the one obstacle that was certain to keep the Stormcloaks out of Whiterun! Now that it was lowered...!

"Stormcloaks! My liberators! The sons and daughters of Skyrim!" he exclaimed, his voice a harrowing mirror from having heard him before, "Your path is now clear! Enter Whiterun and cleanse it of the heretics! In the name of Ulfric Stormcloak we shall be free! For Talos, and for Skyr-!"

"Fus, Ro-DAH!"

The Thu'um burst from Siffre's lips like actual thunder itself. Almost everyone was nearly shaken by the sheer 'intensity' of this Shout! The Thu'um traveled up on a direct course towards where Heimskr stood; the priest himself in just as much disbelief as to what was happening.

By the time he came to realize, it was already far too late to do anything. The sheer force of strength behind the Thu'um blew him completely off of the top of the wall, sending him flying backwards. The sounds of his cry could be heard as he disappeared on the other side.

"Come on, men! This is our chance! Let's get in there, hurry!"

By now one of the wooden spiked barricades that stood along the path had been smashed to pieces, opening a 'new path'. Almost as one the Stormcloaks began to surge through along the winding pathway that led to Whiterun's doors, gradually smashing or outright knocking away the remaining barricades. The majority of them barely even regarded the defenders, opting to simply run past them and avoid them completely. The defenders attempted their best to stem the flow of invaders, but alas a number of them were still able to slip past them no matter how many were downed.

Siffre herself could feel the horror of this moment mounting within her. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all! They were barely holding them at bay as it was with their current strength, but now? They'd surely be able to raze the inside of the city with what little guards had to be in there!

"Damn them...!" she cursed while slashing her sword to slay another Stormcloak, "DAMN THEM!"

"Cowardly Stormcloaks! Stay here and fight me!" the voice of Hrongar also rang out.

"Those rebels managed to slip past us; they're going to enter through the doors into the city!" Commander Caius said.

"What can we do though?" Siffre called out, "There aren't enough of us to-"

"Siffre! I'll go!"

The Dragonborn's head shot to the side towards Lydia. The Imperial's face held equal surprise and desperation, but she was already poised to make a run towards Whiterun herself. For a moment she was almost unbelieving that it was Illia that had even posed that idea.

"Illia? But, you can't-"

"There's no time to argue! We've got to do something!" the mage protested, "I'll- I'll try and stop them, however I can! Just... keep holding them out here!" Before Siffre could say anything further, Illia had already dashed away, rounding the corner and following after the Stormcloaks that had already made their way towards Whiterun itself.

'Be careful, Illia,' she thought to herself before turning back to join the fray.


'Wait, what am I doing?!'

It wasn't until she had entered through the almost decimated doors of the city that the gravity of the question actually sunk in for her. She recalled saying earlier what she intended to do, but now that she was here...

On that note, she stood within the city and beheld what could only be described as a warzone. Given what was happening that was not far off at all. Everywhere she looked, every breath she took, everywhere she listened, it was nothing but fire, smoke, and screaming. Occasionally the world around her felt as if it were rocking from the impact of a fire shell landing somewhere nearby.

The place was also ablaze with the permeating, almost suffocating glow of orange light from burning fires. Almost everything was burning with a handful of buildings having been caved in from those catapults. Illia found herself coughing hard from smoke that had entered her lungs.

"Where... where is every-?"

"Up this way!"

Illia's head snapped to the left where the sound was heard. There, up a set of stairs leading through an elevated wall, a trio of those blue-garbed Stormcloaks were rushing upwards with weapons in hand. All appeared to be focused on running forward with not a single one glancing backwards towards her.

'Right, this is good! I can actually surprise them...!' Illia charged up an ice spike in her right hand and let it fly.

The piercing, light blue of the ice spike stuck out amidst the thick orange all around like a sore thumb. She watched as the sharp ice flew forward and embedded itself into the back leg of one of the Stormcloaks. The soldier in question let out a cry as he found himself stumbling forward onto the stairs, having not made it all the way to the top yet.

"Yes! I got one!" Illia softly cheered for herself. Her spirit dampened however as she saw the other two Stormcloaks turn back around.

"Bodin! What's wrong? You alright?!" a female Stormcloak called out to her comrade. She looked down at the ice spike that had stuck itself into the back of 'Bodin's' leg, then quickly glanced back even further, and right at Illia.

"Oh no..."

"There! Get that mage!" another Stormcloak called out.

With that the two still-standing invaders reversed their course and made their way back down the steps. One of them had a helmet on to conceal their head while another's helm was open to show the male's. Both of them were locked onto her and if the blood-crazed face of the one Stormcloak was any indication, they absolutely would not show her mercy.

Illia could feel the panic begin to rise within her. She raised her right hand to prepare another spell, even raising the left hand purely instinctually. Just then something clicked within her mind: a reminder of sorts.

'Of course! I can summon an Atronach!' she thought, 'Alright, come on...'

With that she readjusted her mind, essentially 'switching' to allow her hand to prepare for a summon this time. A Frost Atronach, that's what she needed and intended to summon. This couldn't be like the last time where the one she summoned was flimsy with hardly any structure to it. By now the two Stormcloaks were nearly upon her. One was armed with a sword in hand, the other was armed with a war-axe in one hand and a shield in the other. Her fingers flexed in an almost fist grip as the summoning energies coalesced in her hand.

"Here goes-!"

Illia's hand shot forth towards the general vicinity of where the Atronach was to spawn. Time felt like it slowed down as she anxiously awaited to see what would happen...

Waves of translucent energy gathered into a singular spot until they solidified into a light blue color. The object became a solid itself and brought itself to both legs from the one knee it had been kneeling upon. The Frost Atronach had again been summoned; it may have been just barely taller than the Stormcloaks by about a head, but it was enough.

"Yes!"

"What in Oblivion-!?"

The Stormcloaks' attention was quickly shifted away from Illia onto the familiar; the immediate threat posed had changed.

The large ice construct creaked with every subtle shift in movement from its seemingly 'frozen' joints. It raised one of its blunt, club-like arms and jabbed it hard towards the sword-wielding soldier. The Stormcloak attempted to shield himself with an arm across his chest but was swiftly knocked away by the sheer strength of the creature from Oblivion. He tumbled backwards and landed dangerously close to a nearby conflagration of fire. He quickly scrambled away, but in the process attempted to reclaim his sword that he had dropped in the process.

The second Stormcloak let out a challenging cry of her own. She raised her war-axe and brought it down hard against the icy body of the Atronach's other arm. The weapon actually lodged itself into the joint where the 'elbow' likely would've been. Unfortunately for her, the weapon remained lodged in place despite her best efforts to free it.

"Now's my chance-!" Illia said to herself. She channeled her magic into her hand to conjure a fireball this time, then let it fly towards the occupied Stormcloak.

Unfortunately, the blue-garbed warrior saw this coming and quickly brought her shield up to block the projectile. Illia's eyes widened in mild surprise. The Stormcloak turned her attention back to the Atronach, and her weapon still stuck in its body.

"Hold on, I'll get you out-!"

The other Stormcloak had regained his footing and rushed to his comrade's side. He deftly ducked underneath the swinging of the Atronach's other arm attempting to smash at him. He then brought his sword down as hard as he could against the ice near where the war-axe had remained stuck in. The result was the war-axe finally being lodged free from the ice, and both Stormcloaks were able to separate and put distance between themselves and it.

"Grah! Damn monster! I'll carve you into pieces!" the male Stormcloak cried out, already raising his sword to strike again.

"Hroli wait! There's still that mage there-!"

The female Stormcloak's warning went unheeded though. In that moment the male Stormcloak 'Hroli' was striking against the Atronach's defending arm, chipping away ice upon ice. The other Stormcloak essentially had her attention divided between the creature from Oblivion and its summoner.

The Atronach then proceeded to angle its arm and swing it upwards in a daunting uppercut. The male Stormcloak unfortunately caught the full brunt of the swipe and was positively bashed. A loud cry escaped his lips, along with a copious amount of blood, as he was thrown back and sprawled onto the ground. He remained still and did not get back up.

"No! Hroli!" the remaining Stormcloak cried out as well.

This time the Stormcloak was clearly alarmed to her situation. The Atronach had refocused its attention onto her, just as Illia was. The mage quickly shot forth an Ice Spike, which was again deflected by her shield. The ice construct chose that moment to bash at her with the 'elbow joint' of its arm. Without her shield to absorb the blow in full, she was left staggering backwards a few steps, her weapon even falling from her hand.

Once more Illia launched an Ice Spike. This time the spike embedded itself into an exposed section of the Stormcloak's back. The light blue icicle quickly became stained red as blood began to flow around it from the wound.

The Stormcloak cried out in audible pain this time. She reached around fruitlessly to dislodge the icicle lodged into her body, her thrashing gradually growing slower and slower.

The Atronach gave her no such mercy as to wait for her. It proceeded to raise both of its arms above its head and bring them down hard upon her. The Stormcloak was absolutely powerless to stop the metaphorical avalanche of ice as it crashed down upon her. Like her comrade she too was felled and did not rise from the ground.

"I... I did it...!" Illia panted. Unbelievable as it may have been, she and her spells managed to prevail! Against warriors no less! Were she not surrounded on all sides by flaming danger she might've taken this moment to feel good about herself right now.

"Alright, let's-"

She proceeded to direct the Atronach, until she noticed something. The ice construct was still in its 'prone' state from having bashed its arms down upon the Stormcloak. However, it was not rising to its feet again for some reason. Her answer as to why this was came in the form of the Frost Atronach cracking audibly at the joints, literally falling to pieces. The chunks of ice that once comprised the elemental creature from Oblivion promptly returned to its plane of origin in a swirl of purple energy.

Illia found herself alone once more.

"At least you lasted longer than the last Atronach I summoned," she said to herself, "Alright alright, calm down Illia! Just think... Stop any Stormcloaks, and... make sure people are safe? Um, yeah, that sounds good enough!"

With that, the mage quickly rushed forth along the path that would lead towards the Plains District's marketplace, coincidentally where the fires appeared to be the strongest.


Jarl Balgruuf the Greater stood inside of Dragonsreach's throne room. He was currently dressed in his battle armor, the very armor he had hoped to swear off of since the Great War had ended. While he was fortunate in a way that the armor still fit him after all these years, not a day went by where he was ever hoping for a reason to don it again.

The only other occupants in the room were a troop of guardsmen, posted at various locations within, and his trusted bodyguard and friend Irileth. His children had already been seen to and were safely concealed in his quarters, while that damnable Farengar remained cooped up in his own quarters doing Gods know what at a time like this! Oh well, it wasn't like his absence from contributing would be an active hindrance.

He and everyone within had been instantly alerted to the sound of thunder outside these very walls. But they knew better; there wasn't a cloud to be seen in the sky this evening, and this sort of thunder they were hearing posed a far greater risk to his very city than anything nature could do.

"Catapults by the sound of it..." Irileth said, gazing in all directions at the walls as the tremors were felt.

"My lord, there are indeed catapults out there," one of the guardsmen reported, "They're hurling fireballs into Whiterun!"

"Ulfric..." Balgruuf practically grumbled the name, "He means to take my city with its walls intact."

"And likely oust anyone in the process," Irileth concluded, "But fear not, my lord. Your guardsmen and the volunteers are out there right now, fighting. They will not let this city be taken."

"For all of our sakes, I should hope so..." Balgruuf said. His mind began to race with sudden worry; was there anything they hadn't done? Some sort of preparatory work that remained incomplete that could make the difference in this battle? The civilians were sheltered, defenses were crafted, even their reserves of water could be swiftly obtained to combat these fires that would surely spread.

And of course, there were the people themselves, defending the city. Namely the Dragonborn, housecarl Lydia, his commander of the guard Caius, even his own brother. How he longed to be down there, fighting alongside them. Which in turn only pained him to know exactly why he couldn't do just that. A Jarl was too important to risk in battle, just as Hrongar said. For all his muscle over his brains, he had to admit his brother was right.

The sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention. A number of footsteps filled the air. All looked over and along the other end of the entry hall to see someone... approaching? A group of four individuals were advancing up the stairs and towards the congressional area. All of them were men; three of them were wearing various armors, while one remained dressed in rather formal clothing. The latter was quickly recognized.

"Vignar?" Balgruuf said, almost disbelieving what he was seeing, "Why are you here? Should you not be with your family? Keeping them safe?"

The Gray Mane patriarch and his three escorts stepped around the central fireplace before coming to a stop at the other end. It was here that Balgruuf also recognized one of the individuals along with Vignar: it was in fact his son, Avulstein Gray Mane. The last time the young man had been seen he had got into one of the more violent altercations with one of the Battle Born boys a couple months back where thankfully no one was killed from that fight. But why was he here, and with Vignar, and during this chaotic point in time?

From here, the head of the Gray Manes was sporting a rather strange look upon his face as he looked back up at the Jarl.

"My family... the Gray Manes shall be just fine... by the time this is all done," Vignar said. It was then that he could be seen subtly turning to one of his companions before giving him the subtlest of nods. The man returned the nod, and both he and the other two individuals began to step away from Vignar what also seemingly advancing further within the room.

Balgruuf's eyes narrowed at this random and rather impertinent action.

"What are you talking about-?"

His answer came in the form of two things. Firstly, he happened to glance back and past the four and towards the door... only to find the guards that had been posted there were now crumpled on the floor! By the Gods! They had killed those guardsmen just now?! How had they not seen that taking place?! Then the three accompanying individuals suddenly brandished their weapons. Two of them pulled forth a mace and a war-axe, while Avulstein himself pulled out a large, steel battle-axe. All of them gave various flexes of their weapons before them; an ancient custom of Skyrim to make intentions clear.

"Let's do this, boys! For Whiterun, and for Thorald!" Avulstein declared. His two companions cried out as well as the three of them proceeded to rush forward.

The court's attendees leapt to attention at this sudden development. The guardsmen themselves pulled forth their weapons as well, Irileth drawn her sword out the quickest.

"Positions, men! Defend your Jarl!" she called out as well.

With her leading the way she dashed down the steps to meet the attackers first. Her first target being Avulstein and deflecting his battle-axe in mid-swing before he could attempt any serious attack upon her. The guardsmen themselves by now had rushed to her defense and were keeping the other two attackers occupied.

Balgruuf witnessed this entire event transpire. He was at first in shock of what he had just seen, then gradually became nearly disheartened. This wasn't some assassination attempt by some long lost enemy of his; rather, it appeared to much bigger and more dire in comparison. If Vignar Gray Mane being present for this was any indication... this was an attempt to depose him personally!

The man in question was still standing on the other end of the central fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes locked squarely on him.

"So... Vignar..." he spoke to the Gray Mane leader, his voice laced with sadness as well as disappointment, "It really has come to this? You would risk yourself and your family the highest of treason?" To his mild confusion at this damning accusation, Vignar appeared to shake his head. His gesture appeared reminiscent as that of a parent preparing to scold a child.

"It is you who has betrayed us, Balgruuf," he spoke, "You, who were given plenty of chance to see reason. You who felt it best to turn your back on the rightful rulers of Skyrim, favoring instead non-Nords and the Empire that supports those witch-elf Thalmor! And it is YOU who is no longer fit to rule Whiterun!"

All notions of disbelief and even sympathies were almost instantly dashed upon hearing what was just told to him. The gall, the audacity of THIS man to openly proclaim his rule 'ineffectual' to the point of staging a coup?! Balgruuf's mood quickly turned to anger as he pursed his lips as tightly as he could.

"So, you're willing to throw your lot in with Ulfric?" he shot back, "You old fool- Look at what's happening right now as a result of his actions! Those men at the door there, the ones outside, fighting and dying for this city that you grew up in; how many of them once called you friend? What of their families?!"

"You shall not speak ill of High King Ulfric, milk-drinker!" Vignar practically exploded. It felt as if this were the first time during this entire exchange that he momentarily lost his composure. Apparently sensing this, he took a brief moment to take a breath before continuing.

"He will take the throne and he will lead Skyrim to victory against any that would threaten us! If you or anyone else will not accept that, then you're all no different than the traitorous Empire that sold us out!" Vignar chose this moment to reach down and draw forth his own sword before pointing it straight in Balgruuf's direction, "As Talos as my witness, here and now, I will personally see you cast from Whiterun!"

Balgruuf momentarily broke his pursed lips to let out a quiet sigh. He then proceeded to reach down and draw forth his own blade.

"Gods have mercy on you, old man..."

The Jarl of Whiterun rushed forward to meet the leader of Gray Mane in their 'duel'.


-I'm actually really proud of myself with this chapter! Not only because of how fast I felt I managed to get it written but by the sheer content of it! And there's still more to come, so stay tuned and keep on reading! -