4E 202, the roads of Skyrim, Two days later
Isran
He could not remember the last time he had seen a force like this. Not in all the many years that Isran had considered himself a warrior and soldier.
The column stretched for miles. A living river of steel, banners, and bodies moving as one, carving a path through Skyrim's rugged land.
Fourteen thousand were here, a number that still felt unreal to him.
It had begun in Solitude, Haafingar's soldiers and the Imperial Legion forming the backbone of the march. But with every passing mile, more had joined. Morthal and Dawnstar joined in their fifth day of travel, their armies swelling their ranks into something formidable.
Isran rode along its flank, eyes sweeping across the marching lines. Legionnaires in polished armor. Nordic warriors clad in fur and steel with the sigils of their holds clad on their shields. Archers. Cavalry. Supply wagons rumbling behind them.
All of them marching for the same, unified purpose.
It stirred something in his chest, a low, burning intensity that made his blood roar.
He wasn't alone of course, a small group of twenty Dawnguard were with him, veterans that Isran brought in the retaking of Northwatch Keep. Gunmar rode not far ahead, his broad frame unmistakable even among armored soldiers. Around them padded several husky war dogs, alert and disciplined, their noses twitching at every shift in the wind.
He had already sent a letter to Sorine and Celann to bring everyone else to Shor's Stone from Fort Dawnguard in their own time.
All one hundred Dawnguard Knights will be present for the coming battle, along with everything that they had to offer. Fully trained war trolls and war dogs, their armory of four hundred advanced crossbows, and acolytes trained in Restoration as healers.
He would make sure of it. By the time the battle came, the full might of the Dawnguard will be ready.
The Emperor was riding at the very front, Jarl Elisif beside him, surrounded as they were by the Legions finest. Legate Taurinus was the one leading the procession of Legionnaires, while the Jarls of Morthal and Dawnstar rode just a few steps behind them.
The new Jarl of Morthal was a woman called Sorli the Builder, who had been an overseer of Rockwallow Mine. According to rumours, the woman had won from the other candidate, Idgrod the Younger as the successor as Jarl of Morthal.
She had joined with the column just a few days past when they had passed the burnt down remains of Rorikstead, along with Jarl Skald the Elder of Dawnstar.
Together, Morthal and Dawnstar had brought together a force of three thousand, leaving only token garrisons in their cities. A small number, but more than enough to matter in the coming fight.
Something was going on with the politics of their individual holds. From what Isran understood, most of the Jarls were now racing to Shor's Stone to contribute to the war effort, Jarl Skald more so since Dawnstar had spent a majority of the war being put to sleep by one of the Daedra, until the Dragonborn freed them of it almost a year ago.
None of that really mattered to Isran. War had a way of simplifying things for him, they were either allies, enemies, or cowards.
"You're staring." Aela said mirthfully.
Isran glanced sideways.
The Huntress rode beside him, her brown destrier moving with easy confidence alongside his own mount. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp. Even surrounded as they were by Skyrim's finest, she was still scanning the surroundings, expecting trouble.
"This is quite the sight to see, isn't it?" she said.
"It is," Isran admitted, "and we're considered leaders here. You realize that right? They look to us for salvation because we're champions."
Aela snorted. "You might be a capable leader of men, Isran. But I shall always be a hunter first and foremost."
"…Doesn't matter what we call ourselves." He gestured subtly toward the soldiers. "They look at us like we can prop up the sky if it falls. The answer to all their problems."
Aela didn't respond immediately, but her silence said enough.
Truly, how did his life turn this way again? He was supposed to be just another face in the field, a man who dedicated his life to the service of the world, ridding all nightstalkers and vampires.
But now, even in this column, the legionnaires and soldiers were looking at him and Aela with awe. They were calm, so assured of victory because it was champions who led them. Even the regular folk, civilians and townsfolk who heard news of the war through hearsay, have heard of their exploits and cheered them for it.
'And that right there is what makes you a rightful champion. I chose right, Isran.'
As always, Isran tried to ignore the voice in his mind, but it was getting harder and harder by the day.
'Despite your reluctance, you have done your duties as the Champion of Stendarr well enough. You are my Champion, whether you acknowledge it or not. It is why I don't hesitate to strengthen you more as the days go by.'
Isran exhaled sharply through his nose. 'I never asked for this.'
'Few ever do.' There was something almost amused in the tone.
Isran's grip on the reins tightened. 'Yeah well, I never considered myself a pious man. So if it's worship and a dedicated priest that you want, you got the wrong idea.'
A large snort echoed in the back of his mind. A snort. Was this really how a divine should act?
'You're not acting like a supposed righteous paladin yourself. And besides, I am the God of Righteous Might, Isran. Something you represent quite accurately.'
'Are all divines as chatty to their champions as you are, or did I get the short end of the stick?'
'That's something you'd have to ask the others. I, for one, would like an amicable relationship with my Champion.'
'If this is what you call amicable, then you sure have a skewed sense of relationships.' Isran thought back.
'Well, I'm not called the God of friendships, now am I?'
'Yeah? Well I'm here to tell you thatyou talk too much for a god.'
'And you complain too much for a Champion.'
"…Hah."
Aela glanced at him. "Still conversing with him?"
"Unfortunately, I've learned to ignore him. Mostly." Isran muttered. "It's still weird to hear a voice not your own speak into your own head."
"That is odd." Aela tilted her head, though a smile appeared on her face. "Hircine does not speak to me often. But when he does, it is usually important information that I would need, like when he led me to the Spear of the Hunter and the Savior's Hide."
"Sounds great, then." Isran grumbled. "Cause mine just likes to rattle on and on about his life."
Soft laughter came out of Aela's lips. "Truly, that is not what I expected the Divine of Strength and Mercy to be."
"Me neither." Isran said, before shaking his head. "What about you? You've been away from the Companions for a while now. Any word from Hircine regarding the other werewolves?"
"Vilkas and the rest are already returning to Whiterun with Jarl Balgruuf." Aela answered. "Bthardamz was a major victory, with fewer than two thousand losses. The Jarl of Windhelm is returning as well, along with Keeper Carcette and the Vigilants. Igmund of Markarth has finally decided to throw his lot with us, bringing another four thousand men to the cause. Together, that's another nine thousand men that should arrive in Shor's Stone."
Isran nodded as he listened. Among all the Champions, he had to admit that Aela's ability to send messages with wolves was among the most useful. Most communication among Holds happens through courier, letters sent by men and women who braved Skyrim's Wilderness.
Things became easier lately with Gerron's Vox Matrix, which allows instant communication across distances. But they were large, heavy things not meant to be lugged in a war column such as this.
Using couriers during wartime was also difficult since they could not keep up with a moving army, or at least find them since warcamps could be created anywhere. Messages were often delayed, lost, or misdelivered.
So the moment the Empire's column had left Solitude, they had essentially gone blind to the world.
Which made Aela's ability invaluable. Spectral wolves, acting as messengers of Hircine.
They moved unseen and unhindered, capable of reappearing through her or the other werewolves. It allowed communication to be established between the two armies, especially to the Harbinger of the Companions, who participated in the Siege of Bthardamz.
From what Isran heard, Karliah of the Nightingales also shared a similar ability, but her nightingale birds worked for a much shorter distance.
"You should bring this to the Legate and the Emperor." Isran said, to which Aela nodded.
The column eventually reached the southern banks of Lake Illinalta, the massive lake that eventually goes out to the Sea of Ghosts by Windhelm. Golden light stretched across the water, reflecting in shimmering waves.
Just as they did, the column stopped as the Emperor raised a hand. His aged face looked to the skies, where the sun began sinking behind the Western Mountains.
"We shall camp here." Emperor Titus declared before his gaze shifted to the Legate. "Prepare light defenses and send a small group to scout ahead. Rikke and Maro should have already retaken Helgen, but I'd rather have confirmation before we get there."
"Yes, Emperor." Taurinus nodded before barking towards the Praefect. "Hadvar! Take a few men and go!"
"Gunmar can go with them." Isran spoke up. "Our war dogs can sniff out some trouble ahead if they need it."
Gunmar gave a short grunt of agreement before riding out with the Unbroken Sword, Sceolang and a pack of huskies trailing behind them.
Isran watched them go before turning with Aela.
Around them, the camp rose quickly. Tents, fires, and a perimeter wall was set up in a quarter of an hour. Fourteen thousand souls meant that a small city of tents were created on the banks of the lake.
Isran and Aela set up their own space along the outer edges, before eventually seeking the Emperor to bid her findings.
Aela delivered her reports in the main war tent, where the Emperor was already busy by a table that held a map of Skyrim, discussing matters with Legate Taurinus and the other Jarls.
"That is good news indeed, Lady Aela." Emperor Titus Mede II said with a faint smile. "Send word back to Balgruuf that they are to make for Shor's Stone immediately. We will stop by Ivarstead to pick the Voice-wielders before continuing on our way."
"It will be done." Aela nodded.
It was the next day, after another night of passion in their shared tent, did Isran and Aela await on the edges of the camp with the higher-ranking members of the Legion and the Jarls did their scouts return.
There were dark bags under their eyes and clear exhaustion on their posture, but a satisfied smile was visible on their faces.
"The road ahead is clear, Emperor," Hadvar stated after rearing their horses, "Helgen has been successfully captured. We spotted Imperial and Falkreath Banners over the towers. Legate Rikke and Commander Maro are awaiting us."
Gunmar nodded. "Sceolang and the dogs didn't detect any trouble, either. We should be able to pass through unassailed."
They did so, and continued on their way. It was right after sundown, the autumn winds turning colder at this time when they arrived at Helgen.
The ruined town came into view beneath the massive mountain that was the Throat of the World, its broken walls now bearing fresh banners. Signs of battle lingered, but so did signs of rebuilding.
The gates opened. Inside waited Jarl Dengeir, Legate Rikke, and Commander Maro. They knelt as the Emperor entered.
"Helgen is yours, Emperor Titus." Dengeir said.
"Rise," Titus Mede II replied. He turned, addressing the gathered force. "We camp here for the night. Tomorrow, we march for Ivarstead. Rest up and be prepared."
Isran exhaled slowly as the soldiers began to settle once more.
Another camp. Another night closer to war.
He glanced toward Aela briefly, then toward the darkening sky.
'Almost there.'
Without another word, he moved to help prepare the camp—knowing that by this time tomorrow, they would be one step closer to the final march.
…
4E 202, Shor's Stone
Gerron Ironbreaker
"It's beautiful." Kiera said as they stood by the balconies of the Ebony Palace, overlooking the entirety of Shor's Stone.
Kiera gazed at the many colorful buildings that now dot around the city. It was neat too, for Gerron had painstakingly made sure that the locations of new buildings had followed his plans rather than allowing them to be built haphazardly.
They stood in careful order, following a grid-like pattern with a few locations acting as centers or squares that allowed every street to spread out from there. The Ebony Palace and Zenithar's Square were among the few of these centers.
There were few twisting alleyways or places clumped together. It avoided overcrowding and a stench to form from many people occupying the same street.
Gerron's eyes drifted toward one of the central squares, where a small crowd had gathered.
A circus troupe of all things was now present, giving entertainment to the masses. Jugglers tossed flaming torches into the air while a bard strummed a lively tune. Laughter rose even from this height, faint but unmistakable.
It was a breath of fresh air for a land that was choked with war even now.
Serana leaned lightly against his side, her head on his shoulder as they enjoyed the sights. Gerron shifted just slightly to accommodate her without thinking, his arm brushing against hers.
Vermithor could be seen as well, napping at the foot of the Palace. Even at rest, he was an imposing sight. Gerron made sure the dragon was well fed for the times ahead, having servants cart some food for the bronze beast, roasted venison and whole cows cooked with some spice.
Kiera had mentioned how Vermithor had changed, now adding another number to the vaunted title of Kruziik. The new name meant changes, and that included the dragon's appetite. Vermithor now ate just as much food per day meant to feed at least forty people. It would have worried Gerron of their rapidly depleting food stores if word did not come from the Emperor that they were bringing with them carts and caravans worth of food.
When news of the dragon had spread to the entire city, many townsfolk clamoured in excitement. They had crowded around the courtyard and the gates, trying to see a glimpse of the Bronze Fury.
The crowds and the gawking and the sheer chaos had turned Vermithor restless. The endless sounds of gasping and pointing didn't help either, so Gerron had kicked them all out and had Grogmar tighten security around the bronze dragon.
Gerron understood, since the sight of a benevolent dragon was truly majestic, doubly so for Vermithor who served as the Dragonborn's partner. It was the kind of thing songs were written about.
But the people needed to learn that dragons were not mindless beasts, nor were they curiosities. They were thinking, feeling creatures, and they would be treated as such.
"You've done well with this place Gerron. I've scarcely seen happier people since the Imperial City in Cyrodiil." Kiera's voice pulled him back as Gerron glanced at her. "Even then, most of the happiness above ground was just a facade."
"Yeah well, it helps to have a steward as capable as Filnjar." Gerron shrugged lightly. "Besides, I learned my lesson from Laila Law-Giver. The rot and corruption that plagued Riften will not find purchase here."
"Indeed, using the Thieves' Guild the way you did was clever." Kiera turned, a grin on her face. "Serana's plan, I'm guessing?"
Serana's smile widened. "Of course it was."
Kiera let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You two are something else," she said. "You built all of this… together." Her expression softened. "And now you're getting married."
Serana stepped away from Gerron, moving closer to Kiera. She placed a hand gently on the Dragonborn's shoulder, her expression warm—but thoughtful.
"I never imagined this," Serana admitted quietly. "Not… this life. But I'm glad it turned the way it did."
There was a weight behind those words. Centuries of it. Then she tilted her head slightly with a smile. "What about you?"
Kiera blinked. "Me?"
"Is there someone?" Serana asked.
Kiera snorted. "No, or not yet at least."
She leaned back slightly against the stone railing, looking out over the city again.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy where I am now. This whole Dragonborn thing…while it wasn't easy, I've grown into it." Kiera looked at Gerron, smiling. "It's like you said Gerron, it helps that I'm not doing this alone. All of Skyrim now march to this city, for better or for worse, survival or death, what happens next is something we'll all face together."
"What is next for you, then?" Gerron asked, crossing his arms as leaned on the balcony. "Truth be told, I've considered a lot for myself as of late."
Two pairs of eyes turned to him at his words. "What do you mean?"
Gerron was silent for a heartbeat before he swept an arm towards the city. "After all of this...after Alduin. What comes next? In the chance that we actually kill the damn World-Eater, would Skyrim go back to what it once was? Filled with more war and death and cruelty? Aye, all the Jarls would probably return back to their cities to lick their wounds, for almost every hold had lost plenty. But what then? Would Ulfric cast his bid once more against the Empire? What of the Thalmor? You should know more than me of what the Emperor said and did to them. Would they just allow us to recover from all this devastation or is another Great War on the horizon?"
"That…" Kiera pursed her lips.
Serana tilted her head, taking a step closer and cupping a hand on Gerron's cheek. "Is this what troubles you, Gerron? The thoughts that made you wake in the middle of night?"
Gerron let out a slow breath. "It is."
Her thumb brushed lightly against his skin.
"Then it sounds like the answer is clear enough to me." Serana smiled, sharp and dangerous and wide enough for one of her fangs to descend. "Should anyone come and be foolish enough to threaten the home that you and I built, then we fight. This life of ours is something I could only ever dream of, things that I shuddered to believe was possible back when I still walked the halls of Castle Volkihar. Should the Thalmor, or anyone else, dare take this way from me, then I will show them just what it means to anger a pure-blooded vampire and Champion of a Daedric Prince."
Seeing the conviction in her eyes, it was difficult to not get swept up in her belief. After all, she was not wrong in the slightest. That kind of certainty was easy to believe.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"You're right." He took her hand, lifting it to press a light kiss against her knuckles. "And besides… Zenithar's already seen fit to give me more years than most, at least thrice as long as a normal man. Plenty of time to enjoy all this."
"Gods, you two are cute." Kiera said with a laugh, reminding them that they weren't alone. A hint of red appeared on Serana's cheeks as Gerron coughed lightly. "Besides, I've thought a bit about this as well."
Kiera's words had them both focusing on her.
"The Thalmor will definitely do something the moment Alduin is dead, that's a fact." Kiera said. "But the Empire is also more than ready to fight back should that day come. Part of the reason that only two or three legions from the Empire came to support us here in Skyrim is because the Emperor is having the rest of them secure our borders everywhere else. More Legionnaires are being trained in Cyrodiil, and we have legions moving slowly moving to Hammerfell and High Rock just in case."
Gerron let out a low whistle. "…Didn't think he had it in him."
Kiera smiled faintly. "He does. And don't forget that we have eight champions on our side, and two dragons as well. Despite our depleted numbers, the Empire has never been stronger. Should another Great War come, we're more than ready to face them." Kiera's face then turned to a frown. "My concern lies further in the northeast."
"Northeast? You mean Solstheim?" Serana questioned.
"Yes." Kiera nodded, turning her gaze in that direction. "Paarthurnax shared some stories with me about a man named Miraak, the First Dragonborn, who had lived in the days of the Merethic Era during the age that Dragons ruled mankind."
"That would make him a bit older than me," Serana said, "though not by much."
"Is he still alive?" Gerron questioned.
"That's the thing." Kiera folded her arms. "Despite being defeated by Vahlok and his temple razed by the dragons, Miraak was never killed. He instead escaped to Apocrypha, with Vahlok stationed in Solstheim to ever wait for his return."
"Apocrypha?" Serana's eyes widened. "You mean the realm of Hermaeus Mora?"
"The one and only." Kiera grimaced. "While this may be just paranoia on my part, what do you think would happen should a man like Miraak become a Champion to a Prince as unpredictable as the Keeper of Knowledge?"
"Not all Princes or Divines chose to have a champion." Gerron said, brow furrowing. "Vaermina and Sheogorath have both confirmed it, and Malacatch, Sanguine, and Peryite all chose to be silent in the matter. The Divines are no different, with Mara, Kynareth, Dibella, and even Talos choosing no one."
Kiera shrugged. "Like I said, paranoia. All I'm sure of is that I'll probably take a flight there with Vermithor to check things out. Just to make sure everything is okay, at the very least."
Before their conversation could continue, they were interrupted by soft knocking that came from the balcony doors.
"Excuse me, m'lord Jarl." Faldir's voice came from the other side, the Breton lad that worked as a page for Filnjar. "Master Filnjar told me to tell you, an approaching army has been spotted nearing the city. They bear the banners of the Empire, Winterhold, Falkreath, Solitude, Dawnstar, and Morthal."
The three of them shared a look, before nodding. "Thank you, Faldir. I'll be right outside,"
Soft steps echoed from the other side as Gerron turned back to the two women, a faint grin forming despite everything.
"…Looks like Skyrim's arrived."
Serana smiled and Kiera straightened.
Gerron pushed off the balcony, already moving toward the doors.
"Come on," he said. There was no hesitation now. "Let's go welcome them."
…
AN: The calm before the storm! This chapter marks the descent as every force remaining starts to arrive at the final stage.
The next chapter will continue right where we left off, with the first Grand Council to be held after the last one in High Hrothgar.
And before anyone asks, the story will end way before Miraak becomes a prominent figure. It's just a way for me to tie in a potential epilogue where Kiera would fly northeast to confront her ancestor before I end things permanently.
More chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 126 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
For free users, you even get some benefits! Two chapters are ahead if you read it through the p-word.
Cheers lads.