Chapter 22: Aiding the Underdog

Vilkas and Ralof ambled up to the Stone Quarter, which was still in chaotic bustling of townsfolk preparing for inevitable attack. Vilkas walked up to Brunwulf Free-Winter's home and knocked with an urgency. After some time of waiting he would knock again, louder with each thump of his steel gauntlet. Vilkas had lost a shred of patience, "Brunwulf Free-Winter! We'd like a word! Hello!"

The entrance remained silent, where Vilkas exhaled a frustrated sigh and sat down to the steps before the door— pinching the bridge of his nose again in frustration. Ralof crossed his arms and subtly sat down next to Vilkas.

Suddenly, a large Nord man in scaled armour came stomping towards them. He was an aged warrior, riddled in scars, and a balding scalp. He carried a long, silver beard, and a warhammer to his back. He glared down at the plucky Nords in surprise.

"What is this? You bring visitors, Ralof?"

"No, Brunwulf," Ralof beamed, "I bring help. This is…"

Vilkas swiftly interrupted, "Vilkas. I'm a Companion of Jorrvaskr. We've come to aid Windhelm, more specifically, the Dark Elves in the Gray Quarter. I hear you've been a hero to their circumstances. I'd like to help in the case of a vampire invasion."

Brunwulf leaned his scowl at hearing the title and gladly snatched Vilkas's gauntlet and shook, "Aye. Hail, Companion! The rumours were true! Here I thought the Jarl was far too proud to ask for aid. I hope these Stormcloaks have been treating you like the heroes you are. Yes, Windhelm is in peril. As you can see by the madness that has unfolded as of late."

"It's grim. Whiterun just suffered the same by the vampire menace. Windhelm is strong and cold, like steel. But their numbers may overwhelm the defences. I fear a breach is a real possibility."

"I agree," Brunwulf nodded worrisome, "The Dark Elves are used to being overlooked in this city, as are the Argonians, but I've arranged for them to seek refuge in my cellar. There's only four Argonians, so housing the Dark Elves is a far more difficult feat. They have already decided to hide out in the cellar of Sadri's Wares— Revyn is on board. Can't say Ulfric Stormcloak would sit well knowing his hired Companions are defending the Gray Quarter."

"He's agreed to have myself and my students defend the quarter."

"Well, that's a surprise," Brunwulf marvelled, "Good to hear he's being considerate of all his citizens. I wish I could join your fight, but I've vowed to the Dark Elves I'd stay in the cellar with them— fight off whatever enters if the vampires are daft enough to try."

"They will," Vilkas added stoically, "They will do just about anything for blood and control. Which is why I'm asking you what we can do to help for now."

Brunwulf looked to Ralof and raised his chin, "And how about you, Ralof? You will spare your sword to defend a group of Dark Elves?"

Ralof nodded, "Until Ulfric calls on me, consider my blade in service to the Gray Quarter. I'm aiding the Companions anyway I can."

Brunwulf beamed a smile, "Well done. As it so happens, I've seemed to run into a problem."

Vilkas asked, "What's that?"

"Belyn Hlaalu," Brunwulf grieved, "He's refusing to retreat to Windhelm tonight. He doesn't want to forsake his farm. He suffered a great loss of his livelihood last night, and he don't want to lose anymore. I've tried to speak some sense into him, but he's too comfortable with me, I fear. He doesn't understand the true danger he will put himself in."

"Well, shouldn't he know? If he lost his entire crop and couldn't save it on his own, what makes him think he can do it tonight?"

"Belyn was in the shelter with us last night," Brunwulf informed, "He was more than willing to come with me while his crop was untouched. Now he's seen the damage and don't want to risk losing his farm entirely."

Vilkas raised, "So you need me to go out there and scare him straight?"

"No. Talk to him. Tell him what could happen if he stays, or the true horror of a vampire's power. Just whatever you do, make sure you don't leave the farm without him, you understand?"

Vilkas obliged, "I'll see what I can do."

"Good work, Companion, I thank you. You can return to me when he's in the Gray Quarter. Go on, now."

The gates were opened by Stormcloak guards with Vilkas and Ralof. They walked hastily passed the bridge. The openness brought with it a bitter cold wind from the east. Being in the throes of the wind already blistered Vilkas and Ralof's cheeks. Their Nord brawn was enough to push forward to the skirts of the city— which homed the farms.

Ralof broke the bitter silence as he looked out to the skies over the bay, "Troll's blood, look at those clouds, kinsman. Those carry a malicious storm, eh? Hopefully they venture south. That's the last thing Windhelm needs right now. I don't even have a full beard yet!"

Vilkas trudged ahead silent, but escaping a light scoff from his lips.

Ralof took notice, of course. He made an amused smirk, "Kinsman… you really don't like me, do you?"

Vilkas flummoxed, "What?"

Ralof said in amusement, "It's obvious. My whole presence has been making your teeth itch since I've known you. Is it that I'm just some ignorant rebel or-"

"I don't even know you. I don't care."

Ralof laughed again, "Then why is my being here so irritating for you?"

"Am I supposed to feel another way about you?"

"I had more camaraderie with your whelps. They don't look like the sharpest tools in the shed either. No offence."

"Out of all my whelps," Vilkas spoke clearly but keeping his eyes to the icy path, "The best one, the fastest learner, the most skilled… she's out doing gods' knows what right now. Likely in grave danger, knowing her. She's ignorant, sure. But I never pegged her for someone who shared minds with a Stormcloak. You're right. Dullest tools, the lot of them."

Ralof stayed his confused glare for a moment, then his eyes flickered, "Mimzi? You don't like me because I knew Mimzi? I don't understand."

"Never mind," Vilkas broke out, "It's not important, we have real things to worry about."

"Mimzi was never a Stormcloak," Ralof assured, "I didn't know her long. Five months ago, myself, Ulfric and a small brigade were ambushed outside Darkwater Crossing. We were taken by carriage to Helgen for execution. There was also a thief and a wayward traveller on board the carriage to meet the same fate. The traveller was Mimzi. We were in the thick of it when the dragon attacked. I helped her escape, she saved my life, I saved her's. We parted ways shortly after that."

Vilkas raised, "You made it seem like there was more."

Ralof chuckled and shook his head, "Sorry… I have to admit, I'm a little starstruck I got to meet the Dragonborn and even save her life before she knew she honed that title. I may have embellished a bit. She was a friend for the time I knew her, and I was hoping she'd come with me to Windhelm to join the war. She made it clear to me she wanted nothing to do with it, and after that, we went our separate ways. I saw her one last time when she came to meet with Jarl Ulfric for the peace council. After that, she was gone." Ralof's eyes widened and he fastened his pace, "Wait, you and her? You two are…"

"No. Well, I don't know. I figured you two were…"

Ralof guffawed heartily, "Ha! Oh gods, no. A little too green for my taste. At least she was when I knew her, poor thing could barely swing a blade and wear light armour. She nearly fell over her first swing!"

Ralof broke out in a belly laugh, and Vilkas couldn't help but curve a smile to imagine it. Ralof assured, "Not that I'm saying you shouldn't fancy her because of her age, lots of men are into that kind of thing. Now I understand why you looked like you wanted to throw punches at me since I've known you. Rest assured, kinsman, the Dragonborn is all yours."

Vilkas leaned his scowl, "I wasn't jealous, you milk-drinker."

Ralof shoved him lightly, "My arse, you weren't! Still, can't blame ya for wanting to throw fists over a woman. Some of us Stormcloaks could scarcely dream, man."

"I've been to the Candlehearth. You rebels would throw fists over anything," jibbed Vilkas, even perking a smile. "I just hope wherever she is… she's alright."

"Kinsman, she's the Dragonborn," Ralof scoffed, "You should be praying for her enemies right now."

Vilkas and Ralof shared a hearty laugh as they walked the frigid path. Ralof asked, "Well now that's been cleared out of the way, you think we may have a chance at being friends?"

"Lose the annoying optimism and I'll think about it."

Ralof nudged Vilkas again as they came up to Hlaalu Farm. The crop was completely desecrated, and gutted livestock littering the pathways. Vilkas ignored the disarray as he made an urgent trudge to the doors. He knocked abruptly to the doors and barked aloud, "Belyn Hlaalu! Open up!"

Tepid footsteps neared the door, and turned the knob reluctantly. Belyn peaked out the crack and fully opened the door in concern, "Yes, what did you want?"

"I'm a Companion from Jorrvaskr. I'm tasked with protecting the Dark Elves of the city. That includes you. You need to pack up your belongings and come with us now so we can safeguard you."

Belyn loudly groaned and slammed the doors into Vilkas and Ralof's faces— locking the door before him. Vilkas curled his lip and clenched his teeth in rage. He breathed it out and pounded again, "Don't make me break down this door! Belyn!"

"Easy, kinsman," Ralof chuckled.

The doors flew open, revealing an enraged Belyn, "Brunwulf sent you, didn't he? I am not abandoning my farm, I told him this, and now I suppose I have to tell you. Be gone, now!"

Vilkas slapped his hand to the door frame before Belyn could close it again, "You're willing to die for a damn farm?!"

Belyn scoffed in doubt, "Oh, please, if the vampires even come back at all. I have a cellar if they do. And so what if I do? This farm has been my life for more years than I'm sure you can remember. It is my life! A farmer goes down with his land!"

Ralof corrected, "Pretty sure the saying goes, 'A captain goes down with his ship' or something. You do much sailing?"

"Oh, whatever." Belyn groaned, "It's all the same. A man's land is all he has. I won't surrender it to the vampires… they've already taken enough."

"The vampires can smell you. They won't quit till they find you and bring down this farm as they do so. So, you want to keep your farm standing, come with us."

Belyn grumbled, "I wasn't here last night, and they managed to do all of this. I don't care what you say, I'm not leaving. Just… leave me alone."

"This farm exists because of you," Vilkas explained more calmly, "You managed to till this frozen soil, grow food from nothing— you did that. There is very few with that skill and knowledge in growing in the frigid temperatures, very few who can feed our unforgiving land as you do. So if you think I'm going to let you kill yourself— a man with your knowledge- you're mad. Now, for your dignity, come with me now, or I'll have no choice but to carry your unconscious body over my shoulder into the city."

Belyn's eyes widened at the towering Nord before him, his hand still clasped to the door, "Fine I'll just grab a few of my things… Just… wait."

Belyn went to close the doors of his farm, where Vilkas kept the door pried open. "Precautionary measure…"

Belyn groaned and went to pack his things reluctantly. Vilkas and Ralof awaited in silent contentment with their success. Belyn left his farm with the two, still showing remorse for leaving his farm unguarded.

The elf didn't say a word to the two Nords, but trudged ahead, making sharp sniffles as if he was weeping. Ralof and Vilkas stayed quiet out of respect, but still maintained a sliver of joy— knowing they were saving the man's life.

Ria, Torvar, Athis and Njada crept to the docks by the city walls. The gates were almost blocked by walls of stock. All containing varieties of food, potions, and hides. They spied their eyes over the area for anyone near, and slowly began to abscond items for the Dark Elves.

Torvar stated lowly, "Back to stealing. Never thought I'd see myself back to this again…"

Athis remarked aloud to his shield-siblings, "Honestly, look at all of this! You think the Nords would hurt if a few crates went missing? The Stormcloaks are clearly doing well for themselves, so why not the Dark Elves? All of this is just sacrilege."

Ria blurted happily as she pried open a crate, "Oh! Potions! Healing potions, a whole crate of them!"

Njada praised, "Nice! Got some food over here. Kind of fun stealing from these greedy rebels, anyway."

Torvar buckled his knees as Athis and himself carried the large crate of potions down to the Gray Quarter. Torvar wheezed, "Stormcloaks got a lot more boxes like this. I'm sure they won't even notice."

Abruptly a reptilian voice scuttled behind them, "What do you lot think you're doing?"

Torvar and Athis alarmed and dropped the crate of potions, with a few shattering at the bottom. All four of the Companions spooked at an Argonian man with his arms crossed— disapprovingly glaring. He had dark green scales, large yellow eyes, and two horns curled on each side of his head. He wore labourers' clothes and his tail slowly waved along his backside. Athis and Torvar sputtered at the appearance of the Argonian, certain they were caught in the act. Ria and Njada froze with their backs still curved over the barrels.

"Uhh…" Torvar muttered, "Organizing?"

"Hogwash." The Argonian said, "I know thieves when I see them. Who do you all think you are taking from these stocks?"

Athis implored, "We're the Companions. We need these supplies for the Dark Elves. I'm sure you could understand the reason why we need all these supplies. We're not stealing, we're trying to help."

The Argonian replied, "Of course I know the reason. Why do you think these stocks are here? Most of this was to be moved by myself and my egg-brothers to the palace. Those were our orders."

Ria piped up timidly, "I'm sorry… but the Dunmer community really needs these supplies. They don't have anything. The Jarl wants it to stay that way. How else will they survive underground if the vampires attack? What if they have to stay under there for days?"

"Didn't you hear me?" The Argonian man asked hotly.

Athis implored again, "Please… sir."

"I said 'most' of these supplies," the Argonian declared, "Sure, the Nords want to see all of it in their palace, but who's to say we haven't taken a few crates ourselves? I suppose if you're taking a few for the Dark Elves… this one is sure he wasn't witness to the extra stocks going missing."

The whelps looked to each other in confusion, not sure if they were comprehending the Argonian's complacency.

"Name is Scouts-Many-Marshes, but most of the Nords here just call me Scouts. Nice to finally meet some Companions, even the Argonians have heard much of your fame. How may this one help?"

Njada smirked and asked, "You saying you want to help us?"

"My kind has been under the cold, steely boot of Nords for a long time. We know our hardship is shared with the Dark Elves. Perhaps we know far worse. First step to making this place better for all is lending a helping hand in difficult times. The Dark Elves and ourselves don't get along, either, but if the danger of vampires is true, we should all stick together."

Athis smiled as he shook Scouts' scaly hand, "Thank you, my reptilian friend. The help is greatly needed. If you could help bring some crates of food down to Sadri's Used Wares, we'd gladly compensate."

"Don't worry." Scouts grew a fanged smile, "… this one is not asking for money. I just want to help. After you."

Belyn went directly down to the Gray Quarter when they reached the city. He struggled with his belongings to Sadri's Used Wares. Vilkas and Ralof stole their attention back to Brunwulf's door, knocking loudly again.

"Brunwulf! We're back!" Vilkas shouted to the door, but once again, no answer. Vilkas scowled as he sat back down to the steps, "Damn oaf was just here. Does he ever just stay in one place?"

Ralof chortled, "That's Brunwulf for ya. Pretty impressive work back there. Most Nords couldn't even begin to change the mind of a Dark Elf here."

"Back when I was a whelp, I got a lot of jobs as hired muscle. Not to run in and start throwing punches so much, I mean… yeah. I did have to do that. But sometimes you just needed to give them a stern talking to. Got a lot of practice getting people to do what I needed them to."

Ralof chortled again, "And for you, which one did you enjoy more?"

"Running in and throwing fists, of course."

Ralof and Vilkas joined in light laughter, as familiar crunches of snow came stomping to them once again. Around the corner was Brunwulf.

Vilkas and Ralof shot up from the steps, "Belyn is down in the Gray Quarter…"

"Really?" Brunwulf asked then looked to Ralof, "I suppose I won't see any new bruises to the farmer, will I?"

Ralof assured, "No, not at all. Maybe a little defeated, but Vilkas made sure he knew what was at stake."

Brunwulf made a pleased smile and said, "I'm impressed. You did what I could not, and for that, you have my thanks. Now that all the Dark Elves are accounted for, it's about time we start to make preparations."

Vilkas inquired, "What first?"

"First, begin boarding up the homes and shops. The Dark Elves should be able to return to their livelihoods when this threat has passed, if we survive the night."

Ralof added, "Then?"

"Then stock supplies," Brunwulf ordered, "I think I saw your 'whelps' getting a head start. Saw the pups stealing from the dock crates. Ha, I won't tell a soul, trust me."

Vilkas rolled his eyes, "Well, as long as they are being put to use."

"Well, I'll let you two get to it. When it's close to nightfall, I'll have you and Ralof barricade the trapdoor and entrance to Sadri's Wares once we get inside."

Ralof and Vilkas said in unison, "Yes, sir."

Brunwulf ambled back inside his home as Ralof and Vilkas made way. Around the corner came Farkas with a fast jaunt. Vilkas raised a smile, "Brother, what are you doing here?"

Ralof startled at Farkas's appearance and balked, "Ysmir's beard! He's like the mountain replication of you. You're…"

Farkas interrupted gruffly, "Twin brothers… yeah."

Ralof raised a brow, looking back from Vilkas and to Farkas, "You two are twin brothers… then why do you sound different?"

Vilkas chuckled at the question, "I'm sorry?"

"You've got the strong Nordic accent I have, as well," Ralof chattered but raised, "But your brother doesn't. Why?"

Vilkas and Farkas baffled at the question, sneaking confused glances at each other. Vilkas explained wearily, "Uh. Well, of course, we were raised together, by the same people. But in our early adolescence we had totally different groups of friends. Farkas preferred to spend time with people with more southern tones of voice. For myself, I was friends with locals from Whiterun. Maybe… that's why?"

Farkas grumbled, "I don't really speak much, either…"

Ralof looked to them in an astonished gawk and remarked, "Hmm… interesting. Well, Vilkas, I'll get started on gathering some supplies for the refugees. I'll give you two a moment alone."

Ralof promptly left the twins and ventured up through the Stone Quarter towards the alley of the market. Farkas asked as he watched the Stormcloak leave, "You make friends without me?"

"What's happening, Farkas?"

"Just wanted to tell ya, the Stormcloaks are beginning to move beyond the wall. Aela and I are joining them. I… think this may be the last we see each other for a while. I wanted to say goodbye."

"The defence is moving out now? We've only just got here."

"It's almost dusk, brother," Farkas stated shallowly, "Jarl Ulfric wants everyone to be ready before the vampires get here. You know, if they do."

Vilkas glared up at the sun, which was beginning to lean. The evening was setting over Windhelm now, and time spent in the city had gone by faster than he had anticipated for. Loud orders barked against ancient stone, frantic yelling from guard and townsfolk. They would emerge from their homes in scattered panic— belongings outweighing their arms, all heading towards the Palace of Kings. Convoys of blue-robed guards jogged to the main gates to the bridge. The moment they were preparing for was finally here.

As Farkas and Vilkas beheld the building chaos, a sharp, freezing wind blew powerfully through the streets from the east. The winds would calm and pick up faster, whistling loudly against the icy stones. They both glared up to the east skies, where thick, dark blue clouds began to loom over the horizon. They crept closer over the tall city walls, still far into the sea.

Farkas muttered defeatedly, "Please tell me those aren't storm clouds."

"Goodbye, Farkas." Vilkas said softly, then gripped Farkas's shoulder— catching his attention, "I'll see you again when it's over. Windhelm has nothing to fear with you at the frontlines. You'll squash the vampires to a pulp."

Farkas shuddered, "Last time I left you, I almost lost you. I don't know if I can leave you again. I don't like this plan."

"I'll be fine," Vilkas assured, "I'm not going to leave you. I'll be here with the whelps, protecting the city. We'll be together again when we reign victorious, and we will."

Farkas remained troubled, his eyes wilting to the floor. Vilkas kept his hand to his shoulder and sighed. He pulled Farkas in for a hug. Their armour clanged together and Vilkas slapped Farkas's back. Vilkas spoke through Farkas's shoulder, "You'll do good. You've got Aela and Skjor at your back. The whelps may be idiots, but they got me as their teacher now. I've got to stay with them. You go, I stay. Okay?"

Farkas sighed heavily and winds began to ferociously blow as they held onto each other for some time. They slowly released and Farkas pressed his lips before saying, "You stay, I go. Take care of yourself."

Aela came around the corner in an urgency and stopped before the brothers saying, "Farkas… come on, it's time to go."

Farkas reluctantly left Vilkas, who made an optimistic smile at his brother, patting him on the arm, "I'll see you after."

"Yeah…" Farkas nodded, still forlorn, "Bye, Vilkas."

He left his brother, following Aela towards the front gates with the other soldiers. Aela waved farewell to Vilkas and carried on— leaving him alone once more. Ralof came up behind Vilkas again, his breath fluttering in excitement, "It's time. If we are going to help the Gray Quarter, we need to do it now before it's too late."

Vilkas took a while to steal his stare from the alley where Farkas and Aela departed in. He finally looked back to Ralof, "Right then… let's get to it."

Vilkas and Ralof fled down to the Gray Quarter in haste, using the supplies of lumber from Windhelm's stocks to put together spike barricades at the entrances of the alley. They used whatever remaining to board up windows and doors of the Gray Quarter homes and shops. Ria, Torvar, Njada and Athis carried supplies of food, water and ailments to Sadri's Used Wares. The Dark Elves started to clutter in the alley, grimly watching as the Companions prepared them for inevitable attack. Ambarys watching on begrudgingly from his cornerclub, and his glare slowly easing at the effort they put into protecting himself and his people. Brunwulf hurried the refugees into the dank cellar— all apprehensively leading down into the depths. Brunwulf went last, instructing Vilkas and Ralof to barricade the trap door. They used boards to trap them inside, before finally moving a cupboard overtop the entrance. They barricaded the front doors and windows of Revyn's shop.

As soon as they were done, Ralof, Vilkas and the whelps, went up to the streets of Windhelm. They instructed townsfolk that hadn't yet to retreat to the Palace of Kings, before beginning in barricading the streets with the Stormcloak brigade's help. The banners of the Stormcloak emblem flapped aggressively against the building winds from the incoming shelf of clouds. Every gust of wind only fastened their pace in securing the city, which was now hallowed in silence— nearly void of life that it's inhabitants were all underground, or in the palace.

Vilkas kept his paranoid gaze to the clouds that crept over Windhelm. The winds carried small flecks of snow, sparse and scattered, but building slowly. Ralof came up to his side with his arms crossed, and both stared up at the clouds in dejection— knowing the night didn't just bring the threat of a storm.

Ria, Torvar, Njada and Athis finished their duties in barricading the homes and shops, then joined Vilkas and Ralof to the front of the Stone Quarter. As they all kept silent in fear, snow began to blow in from the east. It built stronger and stronger, and the winds far colder with every pulse.

Ulfric and Galmar walked from the Palace of Kings, Skjor close to their back. Steel in their eyes. They marched through the streets in hurry, barring their weapons in their sheaths and shackled in thick armour. They walked from the gates, where the portcullis was lowered once more, trapping them outside the walls. They faced the open bridge, where an army of Stormcloak soldiers assembled over the sidings and to the arrow slits of the bridge. Aela and Farkas ominously watched the horizon to the east. The winds were so cold it clawed at their faces in anger. The looming clouds were hued darkly, and coming in fast over the seas towards them. Aela stood over the ledge of the bridge, holding onto a pillar as she glared east. The winds blew her auburn hair back, but she kept her gaze in patient waiting— dreading the turmoil that awaited them. Every soldier kept silent, including the numbers of the Circle, who only mentally prepared for the fight soon to wake over the very bridge they stood on.

Ulfric stood tall to the east of the bridge, watching the gathering clouds. His gaze dull but dour. Skjor slowly walked to his side, also watching the storm move in.

Ulfric stayed his glare to the storm, "A couple times a year, Windhelm battles relentless blizzards. Blizzards you could scarcely imagine if you haven't lived here. We are harboured at the sea, and west of Vvardenfell. The warm winds from that volcano collide with our cold air in the most disastrous of ways— creating ruinous storms. We've grown accustomed to the changes in weather and know when to expect these storms. I do, I've been raised to know this. Of course, the night this storm decides to visit, not even a month into the new year, it lands on this night. The gods I fear, will be testing our resolve. If you weren't a praying man before today, Skjor, I implore you start now. We need the fury of our ancestors to the back of Windhelm today."

Skjor spoke gravely, "I haven't stopped praying since we've arrived, Jarl."

"Maybe they'll attend to yours, they haven't been acknowledging mine. Skyrim's strength is marshalled here. Our victory will foretell that of the province. No matter what happens, we must fight with every fibre we have."

Skjor remarked, "I will not cripple in fear today… or any day we stand fighting this menace."

"Good," Ulfric left the side of the bridge and marched ahead with Skjor and Galmar following, "Let's instil these men in the courage they'll need to battle the worst of Skyrim tonight."

Vilkas and Ralof had just finished securing the city, and joined the defending Stormcloak soldiers assembled before the gates. The whelps practiced their melee training still in the storm, preparing for the possible threat. Ralof and Vilkas stood at the dock entrance— just before the Gray Quarter barricade. The winds carried heavier snow, flakes the size of septims, and a bitter chill that made all who stood out in the streets rattle. The discomfort of the cold was so much, even the staunchest Nord huddled for warmth. Vilkas stood within a narrow passage to shield from the blistering winds, where Ralof joined him.

Vilkas grunted through chattering teeth, "Now I know why everyone here has thick beards."

Ralof chortled, shivering tepidly, "Not even a beard can quell this chill."

"So," Vilkas muttered, "You chose this place over the warmth and mild weather of Riverwood? You must really want to be a rebel, eh?"

Ralof scoffed, crossing his arms tightly to keep warmth, "A Nord will trudge through a thousand blizzards to fight for what he believes in."

Vilkas raised a brow at the comment, leaning up against the wall in a rigid stance, "Even if it meant following some false king? A king who segregates his own people?"

Ralof huskily replied, "It means holding loyalty and love to Talos. The god who made the Empire, who made it possible for Dunmer and Argonians to seek refuge in Skyrim cities. The man-god of all Nords— all Imperials. His values are everything we stand for now. Honour, bravery, and the importance of war. To fight for what a man believes in, that is Talos. How can you be a Nord and not want to avenge him?"

Vilkas smirked and shook his head, not saying a word but outwardly aloof.

Ralof rejoined, "Well?"

"I'm not a man who honours the Divines, even the ones who are still valid…" Vilkas grumbled, "There are always good reasons to fight… I just wish this war had them. Who cares who worships what dead god? Is it worth destroying the province over? I've seen lifelong friends toil and estrange each other over this rebellion. Families torn apart by different ideals. Stormcloak or Imperial? Who cares. We're all stuck on this chunk of rock. Why waste the years we have fighting our own kin? That's not Talos. That's your Jarl and his opportunism, kinsman."

Ralof kept shivering but went still at Vilkas's words. He curved a scowl, one Vilkas hadn't figured Ralof could even show. It was making Vilkas pick apart his own words in his head. Ralof looked down, "You and I were too young to know the horror of the Great War, but I'm old enough to know the true horror of the White Gold Concordant. You're a city Nord, Vilkas. You haven't seen the innocent men and women dragged away in the night by Thalmor Justiciars. Whole families taken in moments to places unknown— just because they had a stashed Talos Amulet in their cupboard. You haven't seen a wailing mother plead with haughty Imperial soldiers for the safety of her child, only for these men to ridicule her own tears. I feel only pity for the Dunmer refugees in this city. We Nords are all too familiar with the subjugation of races that think they are higher than us. Think just because our society and appearance is different, they have the means to control us. The Empire allows these criminals to torture our people because they are scared. They are more than willing to make us a pet to the Thalmor if it means a few more years of 'peace' or whatever they call it. It's not peace. Dead god or not, we have the right to worship who we please, and we have the right to sovereign our own province, without the fear of the witch-elves kicking in our door. That's why I'm not in Riverwood, kinsman. You'll do right to respect that in my company. Are we on the same page, now?"

Vilkas crept a greater chill to Ralof's woes, rather than the growing blizzard. He stayed silent and didn't dare mutter a word he had no personal knowledge of. He bowed his head and simply tried to huddle for warmth— still thinking deeply to Ralof's words, who only batted away his teary eyes and looked up to the city walls.

Outside the gates, nightfall finally crept over Windhelm. All warriors battled the unforgiving chill and of what was soon to come. The air was scarce as the snow began to throw with little forgiveness. Slopes formed over the bridge and buried Stormcloak boots. They had stood diligently against the frigid storm— looking out into the bleak darkness. There was no idle chatter, and no clanking of metal from movement. The Circle and Stormcloak soldiers kept their eyes peeled to the darkness. Every sound discouraged in fear of being caught off guard by the vampires.

Skjor stood side to side with Aela. They both dreaded the chill, but Skjor discreetly caressed his hand over her own. She squeezed his hand back, still remaining silent ahead, her bow held in the other arm. Farkas curved his brows to the other side of the bridge, which was opaque in shadow. Even if it was daylight, the snowfall left a blinding haze. Ulfric and Galmar stood to the front of the brigade, closest to the stables, preparing to single their men if they saw any activity or looming red eyes. Hours of this went on, and the bitter cold began to cripple those who remained out in the open walls.

Ulfric glared still, almost as still as a statue, and flinched at the sharp glimmer of looming orange into the distance.

"READY!" He barked out, lifting his right arm to gain sights of his archers and brigade. The archers drew their arrows at the glimmer of light that neared closer to the bridge. Skjor, Farkas and Aela readied themselves at the calling. A growing and familiar anxiety lingered to the three. Aela drew her arrow and pulled tight to the light, following its direction. Skjor whispered to the two, "Prepare yourselves."

The light neared, and Ulfric kept his arm up. Galmar hushed, "We need to fire now, Ulfric!"

"Not yet!"

Suddenly, another boisterous holler erupted through the blasting winds. Harboured by the travelling light, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Ulfric kept his arm up. The figures emerged through the clouded snow. The glimmer of orange scattered into flames from torchlight, and a Redguard in burgundy scaled armour came forth with his arm raised, as well. Farkas and Aela balked at the sight of Isran once again, backed by his fellow Dawnguard soldiers Durak, Agmaer, Sorine, Gunmar, and a few new recruits the pair were unfamiliar with.

Ulfric stayed his arm up before barking again, "EASE!"

The Stormcloaks reluctantly retreated the pull of their arrows, confused on the untimely arrival of these warriors.

Ulfric stomped through thick snow to Isran and berated, "Ill timing, indeed, Isran. Especially since last we spoke, you refused in aiding Windhelm from these pests. Why are you here?!"

Isran divulged lowly, "Apologies, Jarl Ulfric. We needed time to replenish our muscle. As I hear it, you managed to get the Companions to come to the city. We started this fight with them, it's only prudent we offer our weapons to your resolve, as well."

Skjor walked ahead with Ulfric, angrily confused at the arrival, as well.

"What was it, Isran," Skjor growled, "Hiding out in your fort became too droll, did it?"

"Skjor," Isran erupted, "It's good to see you again. You didn't want to see another Dawnguard in Whiterun, I hope that differs to that of Windhelm, especially now."

Farkas and Aela kept kindred minds of last they were with Isran, and distrustingly scowled at his return.

Ulfric raised his chin, where Galmar stated bluntly, "More muscle means more dead vampires. I'm happy with the extra men, but that decision is ultimately Ulfric's."

Ulfric declared in discontent still, "The portcullises are lowered, you're not getting into the city till the battle is won. You all can strengthen our defences here if you must."

Isran barked at his men, "Sorine and Durak, join the archers at the higher levels. Agmaer, you'll stay with me at the Jarl's flank, Gunmar, head to the gates. The rest of you, make yourselves useful with the rest of the Stormcloak militia."

The Dawnguard replied, "Yes, sir!"

As they moved to their spots, Durak clasped his hand to Farkas's shoulder and made his usual tusked grin, "Good to see ya, big stack,"

Farkas nodded, "You, too, Durak…"

Skjor glared menacingly at Isran. Isran stopped just long enough to quietly mutter passed in his ear, "Don't worry, Skjor, you're pack of dog's secret is safe with me till Windhelm is secure."

Skjor's glare leaned at the statement. His heart climbed to his throat. Isran who smugly walked past him with his other Dawnguard following. Aela had overheard the exchange and glared her piercing green eyes to Isran— whilst dreading the possibility of Isran's knowing exposing their true form.

As they assumed their positions, a roar from a Stormcloak upon the tower cracked over the wind, "I SEE MOVEMENT! I SEE MOVEMENT PASSED THE STABLES!"

Everyone fell silent and still, then immediately grabbing their weapons and drawing their arrows. Ulfric called out in panic, "READY!"

Arrows from archers drew towards the stables, but not anywhere distinct. Ulfric pried his eyes to the darkness, as did Isran and Skjor, but there was no movement or red eyes detectable through the clouding snow. The crying winds sounded over anything else into the distance. Ulfric cried again, "WE ARE BLIND! WHERE ARE THEY?!"

The Stormcloak called again in more nervous hesitation, "I… I CAN'T SEE THEM! BEFORE THE STABLES! RED EYES!"

Ulfric snarled lowly and reluctantly ordered aloud in a sharp holler, "OVER THE STABLES! FIRE!"

Arrows shot into the mists of the blizzard air, as well as steel bolts from Dawnguard crossbows. Aela released her arrow high up into the opaque darkness by the stables. The release quickly brought a defeated silence among the warriors, who eerily awaited for the sound of bodies to fall. The hollering winds didn't grant them relief. The distance ahead still remained without movement, and shrouded by drifting snow. Skjor, Farkas and Aela's breath pattered at the suspense, with Ulfric undauntedly staring into the mists with his sword clasped tight.

Galmar spaced his feet and held his warhammer high, "Come on, devils, reveal yourselves."

The bodies of warriors all glared into the same area, the same bleakness. Without anything distinct, the fear of what awaited within began to fester. The crippling blindness and blistering cold of the blizzard was their master now, and in that moment, Ulfric shuddered at the knowing the vampires had the advantage.

He hollered out to the darkness, "COME ON!"

Suddenly bolts of flame sprawled towards the warriors in swarms. The Stormcloaks began to holler in panic, and Ulfric cried, "FIRE BOLTS! TAKE COVER!"

As he screamed it, the flames collided with Stormcloaks— throwing them off towers and onto the pillows of snow engulfed in fire. Their screams cried and chaos unfolded like the blink of an eye. Another wave of fire bolts and ice spikes came flying from the darkness from monsters unseen. Soldiers went scrambling for cover, with Skjor snatching Aela by the arm for cover behind a tower. Ulfric and Galmar ran behind another tower— peeking passed the stone in watch for the spell-flingers.

Isran screamed out, "VAMPIRES! USE YOUR WARD SPELLS NOW! SHIELD THEIR ATTACKS!"

Farkas ran backwards from the throwing magic, and quickly conjured a ward spell at an incoming array of ice spikes towards him. The Stormcloaks that managed to retain the knowledge from Aela and Farkas used their ward spells hastily, but those who didn't, were quickly disemboweled and impaled by ice spikes. A group of red eyes emerged from the shrouded snow, and they continued to throw their spell attacks to the soldiers, who were drowned in a sea of disorientation.

Ulfric hollered, "DO NOT SHRINK IN FEAR! WE ARE THE STORMCLOAKS! WE ARE THE PRESERVERS OF SKYRIM! STAND FAST NOW! FIIIRE!"

A wave of arrows went to the emerging vampires, where the group became a swarm of the monsters. They ran through the bridge towards the warriors. The arrows thudded into a dismal amount of their numbers, and more began to reveal themselves steadily through the snow— with death hounds sprawling passed their legs. As the war waged on between the vampires and warriors, the storm carried faster and stronger winds, and showers of sharp ice from the skies. The blasting of fire, ice and lightning, and clashing of steel and hollering cries, could scarcely be heard among the howling of the blizzard's winds.