The sky thundered with the ancient call of a forgotten beast. Ulfric lifted his attention from the missive, jaw tilted like a wolf scenting the air.
Dragon.
It must have been close. Was it arrogant enough to attack this city? To challenge their walls of stone and Skyrim steel?
Ulfric rolled the missive back up, and set it beside three others. Fate was beginning to arrange itself; pieces fell into place.
“You heard it?” Galmar prowled into the war room, eyes keen and questioning beneath his grizzled brow.
“Yes. It seems the legend is unfolding even as we speak.” First the dragon at Helgen… then the cry over Eastmarch.
“Pity we can’t use them against the Imperials,” said Galmar. “Or to burn those Talos-damned Isles to ash.”
“You’ll have your fire, Galmar. Skyrim needs liberation first.” These dragons - and the elves - were a problem to be dealt with later.
Galmar’s eyes glinted. “You trained with the Greybeards, Ulfric. You know how to shout. A dragon interrupted your execution at Helgen. Is there something you are not telling me?”
Ulfric felt a pulse of excitement course through him. To be Dragonborn… The Jarl shook his head. “Until the Gods say otherwise, I am nothing more than the man you have always known me to be.”
“A little rumor-spreading wouldn’t hurt,” said Galmar. “To have the Dragonborn on our side - it would turn your rebellion into fate, Ulfric.”
Ulfric turned to face his general. “It will be fate whether we have a Dragonborn in our ranks or not. I feel it in my bones.” Legends - the kind that truly mattered - were not made when the gods showed favoritism. They were made when one man made the decision to take matters into his own hands - the consequences be damned.
He did not need the soul of a dragon to do what needed to be done.
“Ashilda Shatter-Shield.” Ulfric gazed upon the pocked map at an outbreak of red and blue flags in every hold. Nearly every hold. “Is she ready?”
““Aye,” said Galmar. “Give the word, and Fort Greenwall will be ours.”
“Good. Rally our forces in the Reach as well. These Forsworn are a distraction - I want them gone.”
While stratagems were revised, Ashílda Shatter-Shield rallied her war band at the gates of Windhelm. The great metal doors opened, and she stalked onto the bridge, her eyes narrowed to the stinging salt-strewn wind.
Two hundred Stormcloaks walked behind her.
The energy was palpable. Ashílda caught her grandfather’s eye among the crowd watching from the battlements. His eyes flashed steely grey in the sunlight. She understood.
Make your Clan proud, Ashílda.
She could already feel the raw anticipation for a battle yet coming, the certainty of victory as real as the wind upon her face. Clan Shatter-Shield would know fame in the fourth era. Ulfric’s cause would drive back the faithless and the honorless. Skyrim would soon breathe her first true breath of freedom.
She would make sure of it.
A hawk-shape drifted somewhere above them, and when Ashílda snapped her head back for a better look—the shape was gone.
♦END OF PART II♦
Here we are, gang. We've reached the end of Frost Moon Part II: Sign of the Bear. Up next is "Change Moon", the explosive ending of this first legend. I hope I can deliver on the promises made in these first two segments. :) There are ten chapters left to go. Very VERY big thank-you to everyone who has stuck with the story so far, and to new readers giving this a try. Your views, your likes, your comments—they all keep me going and keep me in good spirits. Writing can be a lonely endeavor; the beauty of TV's story corner is getting to know your audience and actually seeing how they respond to your work. This has been an invaluable learning experience for me.
Chapter Thirty arrives April 28th, 2018. Grab your preferred drink of choice and settle in! It only gets hairier from here.
-SpottedFawn
Comments
Congratulations to finishing Part 2, Fawn. What's your word count... more
Congratulations to finishing Part 2, Fawn. What's your word count so far, for all t... more