Äelberon headed towards the goats’ pen, but Grulmar decided to let him. He knew the Altmer would eventually come around. People were going towards the roasting spit where Tilma was carving the boar and serving slices of it onto wooden plates for the guests, though Grulmar noticed she was not cutting from the best part of the animal. Savin’ it for Shiny, the Orc smiled thoughtfully. When each person was served, they found a seat along the tables, leaving that big hearth chair for the old Mer when he decided to join. Farkas had taken it upon himself to help Greir serve the drinks.
Grulmar watched all that from the head of the table, at his place next to the big chair, waiting for everyone to sit down. When the last guest sat, he stood and raised his bottle of sujamma. “If I could have yer attention,” he raised his voice, making everyone turn to him, the talking slowly dying off. “Damn, it really worked. Well, slap my arse and call me an Orc princess.”
“I’m ready whenever you are!” Farkas shouted, laughter sounding around the table.
“Don’t get yer hopes up, Clonk,” Grulmar sneered and cleared his throat. “I just wanted to welcome ya all here one more time, thankful that ya came.” He then narrowed his eyes, resting his gaze on each person around the table. “Why?” he asked, giving them a second to let the question sink in. “Ya all came because of one person, and if ya ask me, I’m absolutely amazed how this one person has brought everyone here together. This night, this moment, it belongs to Shiny, and it is a gift from all of ya.” He paused for a second, trying to recall the words he practiced before.
He then chuckled and shook his head. “Crap, forgot the rest. As ya can see this is not exactly the type of shit I usually let out of my mouth. What I was tryin’ to say… I’m here because of Shiny, because he gave me somethin’ I didn’t expect. Understandin’. Acceptance. He made me feel like I can be much more than what I am - which is a little piece of shit to most of ya most of the time. He has this effect on people, right? He had that effect on ya, which is why y’are here. To give him somethin’ back in return, a moment he’ll never forget, even when staring into Alduin’s eyes. A moment where his family came together for him. When he needed ya the most, right before he was about to stop the end of the world.” He rubbed his left eye as he felt a lone tear trying to claw out, catching it before it could glisten on his green skin.
“To Shiny,” he raised the tankard above his head, looking in Äelberon’s direction. And so did everyone else.
“To Shiny! - To Äelberon! - Here, here! - To the Dragonborn!” sounded from many throats at the same time and everyone then took a sip from their tankards, chalices or bottles.
“Aye, Ronnie! Send the overgrown scamp ta tha same place ya sent BET!”
That had been Fasendil.
“Auri-El’s Bow! Enough with the fussing!” growled the Dragonborn like a blustering bear and Grulmar saw how the tips of the Atlmer’s ears were now bright red. Can tusk up Alduin the world-eater, but is still as bashful as a girl at her first party. “Say that shit when I slay the fucker, not before!”
“Ah shut up, Ronnie. We’ll praise ya as we like!” barked his heavy set cousin and Grulmar could only imagine the family gatherings with that group.
“Alright, settle down. Now grab a bite, grab a drink - also, somebody make sure that Watch over there,” he pointed at Legate Fasendil, “has his tankard always full. He’s goin’ to need it.” Grulmar then paused, clicking with his tongue. “Ya know what? I’ll do it myself. Mead, right? That’s yer poison if I’m not mistaken, Watch.”
The big Altmer raised his eyebrows, looking at other people sitting at the table. “Watch? Am I missing something?”
“That’s just Grulmar and his names,” Erik snorted. “I think you’ve got a better deal here than most of us, Legate.”
The Orc turned around, magic crackling at his fingertips and he reached for the bottle of mead on the counter behind him, levitating it through the air and putting it down in front of the Legate. “Yes, try to keep up, Watch.” His eyes fell on the Jarl of Whiterun and he slightly bowed. “Grand, would ya be so kind and take upon yerself the responsibility of makin’ sure that the Legate doesn’t ever see the bottom of his tankard?”
Normally, the way Grulmar addressed Balgruuf or even what he asked him to do would raise eyebrows, but not here, not in this company. Belief, allegiance, status… None of that mattered here, they were all equal.
Balgruuf chuckled and uncorked the bottle. “Pouring drink to an Altmer?” he asked, his eyes going over everyone at the table and then he grinned. “With pleasure.”
“Good, good,” Grulmar murmured, smiling. He watched them sit at the table, talking with each other and he looked to his right, at the large empty chair where Äelberon was supposed to sit. Ya got the balls to call him on that, matey? Yeah, sure. Why not? “So I thought that since no one here really wants to hear my lovely repertoire of the best Orc poetry there is-”
The table exploded with laughter, snorts and drinks being spit out, only earning more laughter in return. As if everyone there was familiar with Orc poetry or something. Well, Shiny probably was.
“- I decided to tell ya a story,” Grulmar continued, motioning for everyone to quiet down a little. “Now some of ya might not like this story, or even dislike me even more than ya do now after I tell it, ‘cause this story ain’t pretty, no heroes and all that. There’s nothin’ happy about it, and everyone in it could be a villain, ‘cause isn’t there a little bit of a villain in each of us? We all have ambitions, desires, and those are sometimes put above those of others. It’s what makes us mortal. But does that make us villains? I’ll leave that for ya to decide.” He then wiggled his fingers and cleared his throat, taking a sip of water as his mouth had gone dry from the talking. “Don’t worry, this story actually has a point, and I wanted to tell it specifically to Shiny,” he said, pointing to the empty chair to his right. “Who went to feed his goats or somethin’, but with his sharp elven ears I have no doubt he’ll hear it anyway. Right, Shiny?!” he raised his voice, looking towards the goat pen.
“Sharrum and Bataz cannot starve, Grulmar, and neither can her kids,” observed the Dragonborn, as he loaded a bucket of oats into the goat’s trough, looking more like a farmhand than the savior of the world in his work clothes. Funny, he was a thane, had the right to dress like one and Grulmar knew he had better clothes, but no, still in a very simple woolen shirt, usually in some shade of dark brown or grey, and trousers of the same quality, with worn boots of leather. They weren’t dirty, just simple. His hair was in his crazy braids he typically used when he was working, the beard thicker and longer than most Nords.
“Oh come on, cuz, take a load of and have a seat!” Fasendil implored, raising his tankard. ”Goats can wait.”
“Besides that the kids are still nursing, do you really want farting goats, cousin? Because that is how goats get when you do not feed them. Their stomachs fill with gas, and the gas has to go somewhere.” He pointed with the empty bucket at Olaf. “We already have one animal farting up enough gas to power a Dwemer city in here…”
“Pole up yer arse, Ronnie,” grumbled Fasendil.
“You can take it out later if you wish, cousin.” The older Altmer challenged. “But I will feed the goats.”
The fat Altmer reclined in his seat and eyed his cousin. “Arm wrestle then? Been ages, ya up for it, old timer?”
“If you seek humiliation, of course.” Äelberon replied with a stiff nod.
Damn, he's not even talking like he normally would in a party, Grulmar shook his head. He was being deliberately formal.
“You’re but a slip of a thing now, old goat. I can take ya with me pinky.” The Legate smirked, though there was something painful behind the eyes when he gave his cousin another once over. Everybody, it seemed, had noticed the dramatic weight loss, that there wasn’t a single angaid of fat on that Mer’s body and that he was just starting to lose muscle. It removed any softness to his face. Happens when ya’re bein’ consumed. It’s why we’re here.
“So yes,” Grulmar interrupted. “This story will have intrigue, ambition, and overall shitty character attributes. So grab a drink, have a bite of that absolutely amazin’ boar that was prepared with care and love, and don’t mind the Old Mary bein’ all cuddly with the goats back there.”
A warning growl came from the pen, but Grulmar ignored it. “So our story - yes, our, ‘cause it’s mine and Erik’s, we were both there - takes place in early two-hundred-two of Fourth Era - big surprise there, yeah - and it was one of the cruelest winters Skyrim had ever experienced-”
Grulmar was interrupted by Erik’s very loud and very telling snort. “Now you’re just bullshitting them. It was quite a warm one actually.”
“We were in the tuskin’ Pale, how was I supposed to know we were havin’ a ‘mild’ winter? There was snow! Lots of it!”
“That’s Skyrim for you, milkdrinker,” Farkas laughed from his seat and Grulmar grimaced.
“Fine, fine. It was ‘mild’, so mild a baby could walk around naked. I just wanted to make it little bit more tense, make ya feel sorry for me or somethin’. So, winter, and we were in the Pale. We got a tip from a collector of sorts for a Nordic barrow with a treasure in it. Find, obtain, and bring it to the collector. A huge sum of money waited on the other end. It was supposed to be an easy job…”
I was trudging through the snow, shivering with cold, even though I was wrapped in a thick fur cloak. The snow was all around me, sunlight reflecting from it right into my eyes, so I was mostly just stumbling half-blind. I could hear the crunching in front of me, sometimes even seeing the silhouette of Erik, when I managed to wipe the tears from my eyes.
“Is it far?” I asked and heard a groan from the Nord.
“How many times are you going to ask, Grulmar? I told you: It’s not far.”
“Ya’ve been sayin’ that for hours and my arse is still freezin’!” I growled. I was seeing myself somewhere down south, either Whiterun or Riften, not in this frozen shithole they called the Pale. It was a damn fitting name, if you ask me. “Why don’t ya just admit we’re tuskin’ lost?”
“Because we’re not,” Erik replied with annoyance in his voice. “We’re close, trust me.”
“Trust ya? It’s more likely the Pale will melt before I trust yer orientation on a map.”
Then we reached the top of the snowdrift and I shut my mouth when I saw the worked stone of a Nordic barrow ahead of us. At least, I thought I was seeing that, because with all the damn reflection, it looked more like black and grey spots in the white landscape.
“You were saying?” Erik snorted and I grimaced, imitating his snort.
“I can’t see shit, so unless I bump into the entrance I’m still not believin’ ya.”
“You just don’t like to admit it when someone else is right. I can see right through you, Grulmar.”
Ya can see shit, I thought, frowning. Milk’s still on his chin and he thinks he ate the wisdom of the world. Truth, glory and honor are worth shit, Erik. Don’t aim for those qualities, not in this world, ‘cause those will only get ya killed. We’re not some glorified Companions, we’re on our own out here, just the two of us against the world. Instead of saying all that out loud, I grunted and motioned for Erik to lead the way. I tried to keep my eyes down, pulling the hood lower into my face, focusing only on Erik’s feet as he led us towards the barrow.
Then he suddenly jumped on me, pushing my face deep into the snow. It got into my mouth and nose, making me spit. I was about to curse when the Nord hissed into my ear: “Quiet! Look.”
His weight slightly lifted off me and I raised my head, pulling the hood back a little so I could see. Right in front of us was a ridge, the walls made of carved stone in the style of ancient Nords. The bottom of the ridge was mostly covered with snow, revealing a set of stairs, but there were spots of crimson that made me narrow my eyes.
It looked almost as if the ridge was bathed in blood.
I could see the corpses in the snow, recognizing Legion uniforms, at least a dozen of them, and that, in my opinion, didn’t foreshadow anything good for us. There was also movement between the corpses, streaks of blue and I opened my mouth, only to close it again. Stormcloaks.
“Imperials,” Erik whispered, a certain distaste in his mouth. “The corpses.”
Yes, he was right, even I noticed that. There had been a fight in the ridge, by the looks of it Stormcloaks ambushing the Imperials down there. There were no Stormcloaks casualties however, which implied that the rebels had the advantage of numbers and possibly even surprise. Those streaks of blue that I saw were two rebels walking among the corpses, taking all the valuables they could find, also stripping the dead legionnaires of their armor, putting it on a big pile along with all their weapons.
What in Oblivion was the Empire doing down there? And why were Stormcloaks there too?
A dozen legionnaires. Hardly a main force, they had to be the rearguard, but they still got obliterated. Dumb idiots, just throwin’ away their lives like that, I thought. That was war but what is war if not just a few people arguing and then using good men and women as their arguments to throw at the other side? People throw away their lives in wars waged over bullshit, such as a piece of land, to settle disputes, or just to prove whose god is more true. It was all so pointless, in my opinion.
I focused on the two Stormcloaks scavenging what they could. They don’t seem to be worried about an attack. So that means the rebels are even more stupid than the Imperials, or they got the Legion trapped inside the barrow. Shit!
This new turn of events tossed our plan out of the window - not that we really had a complicated plan in the first place. It was just about getting inside, grabbing what we came there for and getting out. But Stormcloaks and Imperials were in there too, most likely looking for the same thing…
“Why are they here?” Erik whispered in my ear, as if he was reading my thoughts. “Grulmar. What exactly are we looking for? Is it possible the Empire and Ulfric want it too?”
“Ya will know it when ya see it,” I murmured. “We just need to get in, but once we get there... “ I was thinking out loud, letting my voice trail off. What were we supposed to do inside with both Empire and Stormcloaks probably not being very happy about us poking around? I knew we had to be quiet and undetected, but was that even possible? The best way would be to just pit one side against the other, taking advantage of the chaos - “Hmph,” I grunted, which got Erik’s attention.
“What? Grulmar?”
“I think it’s yer lucky day, Ginger. Ya just got a chance to join the glorious Stormcloak rebellion…”
“Ginger?”
Erik shook his head, forcing his eyes away from Tavia, who was sitting on the other side of the table and looked at Grulmar. “What?”
“Yer turn to talk now.”
“Uhm. Yeah. Where did you end?”
“Joinin’ the glorious Stomrcloak rebe-”
“Yeah, yeah, got it. Thank you,” Erik nodded and then cleared his throat. “One of Grulmar’s stupid ideas, that one, but all things considering, this was definitely not the stupidest he had ever had. But still…”
I didn’t like the idea. This thing suddenly got way over our heads and I just couldn’t understand why we were still trying to pull this off. I mean, Imperials and Stormcloaks? I couldn’t imagine going against Ulfric’s men, they were sort of like heroes to me. Their cause was right, because who was the Empire or the Thalmor to tell us who we could worship or not? We had the right to believe in what we wanted and Ulfric was fighting for that. Fighting for the freedom of body and souls.
In that time, I was thinking about joining the Stormcloaks, but Grulmar kept repeating how stupid they all were, just throwing away their lives for bullshit. There was no reasoning with the Orc and so I kept my mouth shut.
And now I was supposed to play ‘Get help.’ It was so humiliating.
“Help! My friend is injured!” Grulmar shouted as we stumbled towards the Stormcloaks in the ridge, me leaning against the Orc. “Get help!”
They looked confused, exchanging glances and reached for their weapons, but they were hesitating. They saw a fellow Nord, limping and being supported by a person hidden under a fur cloak. The Stormcloak soldiers began moving towards us, and I had to resist the urge to curse. Grulmar was right... again. If they had seen an Orc being dragged by a Nord, they probably would kill us where we were standing, but seeing a fellow Nord, injured… They felt obliged to help.
Mind games, that’s what Grulmar was playing.
They were just a few steps away from us when I collapsed on the ground - fainting, of course - dragging Grulmar down with me. He pushed me into the snow, his back to the Stormcloaks, his fur cloak obscuring their line of sight at me.
“What happened?” one of the Stormcloaks asked, a woman.
“A bear, it was a bear, there was nothin’ I could do. Oh, Shor, help us, please, help us,” the Orc kept rambling until they stopped right next to him.
Grulmar shifted on his heel, sweeping the Stormcloak to his left and then jumping on the one to his right. I heard the surprised gasp of a woman and they both ended up on the ground, but I was already busy by then.
The first Stormcloak hit the ground right next to me and I already rolled on top of him, hitting his helmet with my fist while hissing with pain. But it did the job and made his head and ears ring no doubt, shaking him. I grabbed him by the helmet’s eye visors, pulling the helmet off his face and hitting him several times before he could react, knocking him out.
I looked at the face and I could see the face of a man who wasn’t much younger than me. Still a boy in most people’s eyes, with very scarce signs of facial hair on his now bloodied face. It made me feel bad, for doing what I just did. This boy was only doing his job, protecting his country from usurpers like the dead Imperials around us. But the boy was in a way lucky, because he met us, and Grulmar was never much for killing in cold blood. The boy was still alive and that was a much better outcome than if someone else instead of us showed up.
I could hear struggle and turned my head, noticing Grulmar on top of the woman. She was lying on her side and Grulmar was wrapped around her like a spider, his legs tightly locked around her waist while his arm was under her neck. She was gasping and grunting, trying to break free, but the Orc wasn’t prepared to let go.
I almost said Grulmar’s name out loud, but bit my tongue, quickly going for something else. “Orc!” I warned, afraid Grulmar would kill that woman. Her arms then stopped trying to reach for the Orc, falling to the ground. The woman was now unmoving.
Grulmar let her go with heavy breathing. “Tusk! I hate big women!”
“Is she…?”
“What? Are ya crazy? Of course she’s not, she’s just out. Now hurry up, we need to change our clothes.” The Orc then began stripping the woman, muttering while at it. “Bloody lucky she doesn’t have a skirt. Why do I always have to wear the women’s stuff, Ginger? Why me?”
“Because you’re small. And she’s big, so it will balance out.”
“Balance my arse,” Grulmar growled and I began stripping the other Stormcloak, slowly putting on the armor.
When we were both done, we dragged them into the barrow so that they wouldn’t freeze to death.
Yes. Very lucky they met us and not someone else.
We entered a large hall and the first thing I noticed were the bodies all around the room. Mostly Imperial dogs left where they fell, but there were also the bodies of Stormcloaks, all in a line next to the wall, with their hands crossed over their chests, holding their weapons. Sovngarde waited for all of them and if they were lucky, Tsun would find them worthy of the Hall of Heroes where they would drink and sing until the end times came.
Which in that time, didn’t seem to be that far away. With the dragons coming back and all that. We had seen the battle at the Watchtower from a distance after all.
“I can’t see shit in this piss pot of a helmet!” Grulmar growled, his head turning to the left and right. I just grunted to that, because even I had problems with my space orientation in the helmet. The narrow eye visors were completely blocking my peripheral vision and breathing wasn’t exactly easy either if I had to be honest with myself. Maybe in a battle I would be glad I had this helmet on my head, but in a poorly lit barrow?
I could hear voices nearby and I frowned. We were getting closer to the Stormcloaks. I had to take several deep breaths, mentally preparing for that. If they discovered we were just pretending to be Stormcloaks, they would most certainly kill us, so the helmets had to stay on and Grulmar made sure I knew what to say.
The Orc couldn’t really speak, since he was supposed to be a woman after all, which wasn’t that difficult with his size.. He also had to cover every spot of his green skin, wearing a deerskin tunic under the Stormcloak chainmail and hauberk. His neck was hidden underneath the blue cloak he stole from the woman, wrapped under his helmet and over his shoulder like a scarf.
I sure hoped it would work.
"I don't like the look of this. Perfect spot for an ambush. Ten to one they're just waiting for us on the other side,” a rough voice sounded from ahead, something very close to the rumble of an angry bear. I knew that voice. Galmar Stone-Fist! I thought, nearly gasping in surprise. The second-in-command of the Stormcloak rebellion. I met him once and I would never forget that voice. And the stories I heard. He killed scores of the cursed elves in Red Ring, his arms and his axe were said to be blessed by Shor himself. The greatest warrior of the north, that’s what they said. After Ulfric, of course.
“But there isn’t any other way in,” someone else said which was followed by a growl.
"You sure about that? Then please, be my guest and go strolling on in there. We'll stay here and watch your back…” There was a pause and no steps were taken. The Nord commander chuckled. “Not so sure now?”
It was then that me and Grulmar walked into the room and the Nord clad in full steel armor looked at us from the shadow of his helmet covered by bear’s head. There were two dozen Stormcloaks around the room, most of them standing by a narrow hall leading into another chamber. “What in the Shor’s name are you two doing here?!” he hissed. “I told you to guard the entrance.”
I opened my mouth only to close it again, just taken by surprise by the aura of command around Galmar. I could feel Grulmar’s elbow poking me and I cleared my throat, repeating the words I practiced in my head before I opened my mouth. “W-we just want a piece of the action too, general,” I stammered. I recalled the dead bodies of the Stormcloaks in the big hall near the entrance and that gave me enough courage to straighten my back. “We saw the hall, general. The bastards killed our brothers and sisters, and even though they feast in Sovngarde, we could hear their ghosts whisper. ‘Vengeance.’ That’s what they were saying.”
I could see Grulmar’s helmet turning my way and I could clearly imagine his raised eyebrows and a smirk on his face.
Galmar stared at me for a moment, my heart beating faster and faster, the loud pounding echoing in the confined space of my helmet, and then the Nord grunted. “Spoken like a true Nord! That is a zeal I can admire. Vengeance indeed. You give me courage, brother.” A wolfish grin appeared on Galmar’s bearded face, making him look even more like a bear ready to attack. “Vengeance,” he repeated in a lower tone, looking at one of the Stormcloaks to his right. “Ralof, hold your shield,” he growled and the man nodded, raising his shield.
“Ralof?”
“Huh?” Erik blinked when he heard the question, taken out of his storytelling. He turned and saw that it was Ronnie who had spoken.
“Ralof?” The Mer repeated, putting the bucket down. “Aye, I know the name. He and I escaped Helgen with some others when Alduin first attacked. Good man. I have managed to track one other soldier down, but I never knew what became of the lad.” He took a seat at a stool positioned near the pen. “I will listen to this story.”
Jarl Balgruuf gestured towards the Mer’s big chair. “Friend, don’t you want to sit in your cha--”
“No.” Ronnie grumbled, stiffening in his stool and crossing his arm over his chest.
The Legate cleared his throat and pushed his tankard in front of the Jarl, “My Jarl, a spot of mead?” He leaned closer to the Jarl and Erik just caught the whisper. “So I don’t take a strap to the old Barbarian meself?” The Dusken put another tankard in front of the Jarl, who was grinning and nodding like he definitely understood his way around his most spirited thane. “And while yer at it, pour yerself one too.”
“With pleasure, my good Legate.” Balgruuf replied, pouring them both some mead. He then looked down on the Legate’s lap. “Ah, still have the dog?”
“Hmm, I think I’ll turn her loose though. Perhaps she needs to take a piss.” The Dusken answered, his eyes on Ronnie the whole time.
The Jarl chuckled and picked up the puppy. “Allow me to do the honor, Legate.”
“With pleasure, my Jarl.” The Dusken flashed his teeth in a mischievous smile
Jarl Balgruuf set the puppy down on the ground and Erik had to bite his lip when he heard “go find your da and give him a good soaking, little one.” The object of the Jarl’s and Legate’s conspiracy was none the wiser.
“Continue, Erik.” Ronnie prodded, and Erik took a breath, noticing that the puppy was headed straight for its target. What was it with puppies finding the grumpiest person around and going right for them?
Galmar Stone-Fist pointed down the narrow hall, while looking every single Stormcloak in the eye. When he looked into mine, I shivered under that intense stare full of fire. “They think they have the upper hand. That going in there means death for us,” the general said, his voice slowly gaining intensity. “We welcome death!” he growled, his axe hitting Ralof’s shield with a loud thud and ringing.
Bang.
“We will not hide in the shadows!” Stone-Fist yelled as loud as he could, letting everyone know we were there.
Bang.
“They let the elves into our land, forcing us to bow, forcing us to forget who we are!”
Bang.
“Let them hear you! Let them fear you, for we haven’t forgotten Stormcrown!”
Bang.
“We ride the storm, as if it were our cloak!”
Bang.
“There is only one answer we can give to the bastards!”
Bang.
“Freedom!”
Bang.
“Only one answer to death!”
By then we were all clamouring with our weapons, our breaths quickening, our bodies shivering. I completely forgot why we were here, all I could think of was the pounding of that axe on the shield, like a smith’s hammer upon an anvil, the sound of a heart beating to the rhythm of a war fever that made men lose themselves in the glory of battle.
“Sovngarde!” Galmar shouted and we all shouted with him.
And we didn’t stop even as we charged through the hallway to meet death head on.
Idiots!
That’s what I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs as they all charged into the room because of some imbecile pounding on a shield. But I couldn’t, because they swept me into the hallway, pushing me forward. I no longer knew which one of the tin-heads was Erik, but the idiot surely fell for that bullshit too.
I truly believed I was going to die back then.
We emerged from the hallway into a large room and the first thing I noticed was a squad of Legionnaires on a platform above us to the left, hiding behind their large shields and with crossbows aimed at us.
“Shield wall!” I heard that bastard Stone-Fist shout just as death began raining down on us. I barely managed to raise that stupid piece of heavy wood called shield when the volley hit us. Heavy thuds sounded as bolts pounded the shields, the wood splitting and splintering, men and women screaming in pain. Something struck my shield and my arm almost broke under the impact.
And we were still moving forward.
A few of the Stormcloaks answered the volley with their arrows and spears, but with little effect, because the Imperials were well-protected by their large rectangle shields. One man was holding a shield and another one was shooting from a crossbow. That was called tactics, not this suicidal bullshit I was involuntarily a part of.
All I could see were the raised shields of the Stormcloaks around me, their helmets. I could hear the cursing, the thuds on the shields, the shouts and screams, the growls. It was too overwhelming in those closed quarters and I nearly ripped the helmet off my head.
“Stairs!” someone shouted from the front of the formation and whoever that was I was inclined to send him a kiss, because otherwise, I would have been lying down on my face, trampled by ‘my fellow rebels.’ Men and women were dying around me, their screams echoing in the hall, ringing in my ears.
Then our formation hit something. A ringing of metal meeting metal sounded, grunting followed by wet sounds of bodies violated by steel were burying into my skull. Something hit my shield, almost sending me down on my arse if the Stormcloaks behind me weren’t pushing me forward. I lowered my shield for a second and saw a Legionnaire in front of me, raising his short sword one more time.
I couldn’t dodge. I couldn’t block. And I was pushed forward.
I rammed the Legionnaire with my shield, both of us ending on the ground. I was shaken by the impact, seeing absolutely nothing through the helmet’s visor, only to suddenly see the Legionnaire looming above me, ready to strike with his sword.
His head suddenly left his shoulders as someone swung with a massive axe and I swallowed the scream that was clawing out of my throat. Someone grabbed me by the collar and forced me back on my feet. When I turned, I could see the ugly bearded face of Galmar Stone-Fist.
“Fight!” he shouted, his spit landing on me before he turned around to bury his axe into another Imperial’s stomach, ripping it out along with a bundle of guts getting stuck on the blade.
It was damn chaos! Everyone around me was fighting, swinging their weapons in a wild fury, covered with blood from head to toe and I noticed I was covered in it too. I wanted to throw up, but I just couldn’t, something telling me that if I did, I would be dead.
I realized we were inside an Imperial formation and I could only shake my head. Did we actually break through a Legion shield wall? Seemed unbelievable to me.
I was pushed aside, stumbling over the corpses and ended up on the ground again while the fighting around me continued. Someone stepped on me few times as I crawled towards the wall, bruised and in pain, but still alive. I leaned against the wall with my back when I got back on my feet, suddenly feeling more safe when I had a piece of cold stone protecting my rear. So much for Erik havin’ my back. Asshole! I cursed in my mind.
There was a Legionnaire right in front of me, locked in a trade of blows with a Stormcloak and I looked at my right hand, at the steel axe in it and I swallowed. What was I supposed to do? Kill that Imperial? My hands were shaking, telling me that I wasn’t capable of that. All that death around me was making me sick and I just-
The Stormcloak fell on the floor with the Imperial’s sword in her chest and the Legionnaire then noticed me.
Shit! Shitshitshitshit!
I raised my shield, preparing myself for the assault, and the Imperial charged at me with raised sword.
Just as the sword came down I jumped aside, the sword hitting the wall, breaking it in the process. The Imperial shouted as the impact reverberated in his arm, and he looked at me, his eyes full of recognition. Recognition of death, because he knew he was dead already.
But I couldn’t do it.
I hit the man in the face with my shield, blood and teeth spraying around as the man fell on the floor where he laid without a single movement.
And just like that, the fight was over. When I looked around, I could see only the Stormcloaks on their feet, the blue color now amidst the sea of red and crimson, like stars on a night sky. The rebels were walking among the Imperials, finishing off those still alive without any remorse. The Legionnaires were the lucky ones, they couldn’t see the faces of their killers, of their brothers and friends, but the Stormcloaks could. They surely knew some of the men in this room, men that used to be their friends before they were divided by this stupid war. And yet...they killed them anyway. Without a word.
Galmar came into my view, his armor dented, scratched, covered in blood and bits of Imperials, and he looked me up and down, looking at the axe in my hand which seemed to be the only unblooded weapon in this barrow. He snorted and his gaze fell on the Imperial I fought with. Galmar’s axe went down, cracking the man’s skull open like a goard and I just gulped. A life gone. Just like that, with one swing of an axe. Just gone…
“We’re not done yet,” the Stone-Fist raised his voice. “Treat your wounds, but do it fast. We still have a job to do.”
“And what is the job?” one of the Stormcloaks asked. “I thought we were here to deal with these Imperials.”
Galmar bared his teeth at the rebel and growled: “They are here for the same thing we are. Something that could end this war.”
“What is it?” asked someone else.
“You’ll know it when you see it,” was the rough reply from their general and I could only shake my head.
I knew what they were here for. For the same thing me and Erik were here for. But in this room, it was apparently only me and Galmar who knew what it was. All those men just died not even knowing why. They died for nothing. I wondered if the Legionnaires knew what they had died for. I hoped so, for their own sake.
“You alright?” a Stormcloak whispered to me and I realized it was Erik, recognizing his voice. He too was covered with blood, as well as his sword, and for some reason, that made me sad.
Why? Was it because he had the guts to do what was necessary? Or was it because he didn’t stop, not even for a second, to think about how many lives he just took?
In any case, I wanted to shout at him. Remind him that we were just using the Stormcloaks, not really joining them. We were supposed to watch from a distance, not get dragged into this. Watching someone die without participating in it… It was better. It wasn’t so personal. It wasn’t so terrifying as watching someone’s life disappear from their eyes.
It was hypocritical. I knew that. What was the difference between letting someone die and killing them with my own hand? They were dead anyway, after all. I knew I would never stop pondering that question, mostly because I was scared of the answer.
“No,” I murmured, replying to Erik’s question. I’m not alright. But we have a job to do and one of use has to keep his head cool.
Someone has to, I thought as I watched the dead all around me-
Grulmar paused when he heard a noise coming from the road. The sounds of a wagon approaching…
Comments
'Shh, it's fine. He's just sleeping.'
'I-I don't think he's breathin-'
'I SAID HE'S JUST SLEEPING!'
'Shh, it's fine. He's just sleeping.' ... more