Until I saw it, I kept hoping it wouldn’t really happen, but by the time we arrived on the Plain, Galmar’s forces were raining hell down upon Whiterun. Catapults threw flaming tar balls down behind the city walls, and smoke rose from the Plains and Wind Districts. So far, Ulfric’s words were coming true. The City would not survive the winter under this siege.
I found Galmar shouting encouragement to his men, exhorting them to fight, telling them that this was what it was all for. I paused to listen before approaching, wondering if he could inspire me. No luck—I already knew what I was here to do and why.
I saluted Galmar, keeping my head low. “Balgruuf the Lesser,” he considered me as though he could not decide whether I was a hero or a monster. “Unless you can open that drawbridge, we’ll smash the walls flat.”
“I can open it,” I told him tersely.
“You can promise it?”
“I grew up on those walls. I played, I guarded, I inspected. If you can get me to the base of the drawbridge, I can get it open.”
He nodded and started issuing orders. Under the cover of Galmar’s squad, I ran down the road, Lydia at my flank. I remembered my father’s words, and vowed to myself that no Whiterun citizen would fall to my sword.
Archers rained arrows down on us as we reached the bank of the creek in front of the drawbridge. I jumped in and ducked into the culvert under the guard tower. I had just a quick beat to catch my breath under that perfect cover before I ran out the other side, turned the corner, and scrambled up the low spot in the wall. It had taken a direct hit from the bombardment and was even lower than it had been, though it was still too high for Lydia. As soon as I was on the wall, a defender came to repel me. This man wore the steel armor of the Imperial Legion, so he was fair game. I took strikes to both arms, and ducked into a ruined tower to lower my sword and cast a healing spell, but there wasn’t time to complete it before I was attacked again. Most of the defenders on the wall were Imperials, but there were enough city guards that I could not maintain my position. I retreated at a run from place to place, drinking potions or casting my spell whenever I had a chance, always working my way toward the gate. With a final sprint, I threw the lever that sent the gate crashing down and Stormcloaks pouring into the City.
I was distracted by the scene below me, and only became aware of my next attacker when his sword was already swinging at my head. I jerked my great sword up in a clumsy parry and riposte, slaying my attacker. Only then did I realize he was a city guard. I had failed my vow.
I fell to my knees beside him, and pulled off his helmet. I knew him. His name was Ragnar. I don’t know how long I sat there, weeping, before the noise brought me back to the battle now raging below me.
I sprinted for Dragonreach. The only way to end this was to convince my father to yield. All of the defenders on the streets were city guards, so I sheathed my weapon and defended myself with speed alone. The Cloud District was barricaded, as was the Bridge, but I leaped the barriers and kept sprinting.
Stormcloaks poured through the doors behind me as I entered the Great Hall. My father rose from his dais, dressed in heavy armor, great sword in hand, joined by Uncle Hrongar, Irileth and his personal guard. Had Proventius been there, I would have slain him and only him, but the coward must have been hiding, so I kept my weapon sheathed and held back.
“Father! Please surrender. This battle is over, your city is lost!”
He ignored me and fought on until he’d been brought to his knees. Finally, he yielded. “That’s enough! I surrender! PEACE! Everyone stand down!”
As combatants pulled back from their engagements and cautiously sheathed their weapons, the doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Vignar Gray-Mane entered, bellowing, “Balgruuf!”
“Vignar Gray-Mane,” he replied. “I should have known. Wouldn’t a dagger in the back have sufficed?”
“You think this is personal?” Vignar growled back, and the two of them began to argue and insult one another. And as I listened, I finally heard my father explain the reasons that he would never give to me. “We need the Empire as much as it needs us. We Nords are the Empire. Our blood built it. Our blood sustains it.”
“You wish to see an Empire without Talos? Without its soul?” replied Vignar. “We should be fighting the witch-elves, not bending knee to them!”
I agreed with Vignar, but I barely heard what he said. I was focused on my father’s words.
“Enough!” interrupted Galmar. “Both of you. There is a burning city out there that needs a government.”
“You’re right, Galmar,” said Vignar. “Let us restore order.” He turned his back to my father and ascended the dais to the throne. My father turned to me.
“And you, Stormcloak! I’d thought better of you. How many of those corpses lining our streets are your doing?”
My mouth went dry. I was tempted not to answer him, but I did not want to avoid what I had done. I had to take responsibility. “One—Ragnar Toressen.”
“They are all your doing!” he spat. “Everyone of them wears a face of a man that once called you friend. Have you ice water running through your veins? What about their families?”
“Damn it, father!” I shouted. “Perhaps if you had once explained your reasons to me, I would have chosen differently. Why did I have to wait to overhear you explain yourself to someone else? Why?”
“A father should not have to explain himself to his sons any more than a jarl explains himself to his soldiers!” he roared in reply. “A father should be able to count on his sons!”
“No,” I said. “That’s not the way it works. A son is not his father’s soldier.” But I didn’t know whether I believed my own words.
Galmar interrupted us. “Ice-Veins! Stop arguing and get to Windhelm. Tell Ulfric of our victory here.”
I turned to leave. “This isn’t over,” my father growled, “You’ll come to regret this day.” Whether the words were aimed at me or Galmar or Vignar, I did not know. It didn’t matter; I already did regret this day.
Ralof clapped me on the shoulder as I walked out of the hall, and out of my father’s sight. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure I killed more than you. I was counting.”
It did not make me feel any better, but I had not the energy to explain it to him. I accepted his company as I slowly moved through the aftermath and recognized the faces of men who once called me friend.
Comments