4E 202, Shor's Stone
Gerron Ironbreaker
He awoke in the middle of the night, eyes settling over Serana, her form still and peaceful beneath the furs. Even without light, he saw her clearly. The pale curve of her cheek, the faint rise and fall of her chest, the dark cascade of her hair against the pillow. She was his wife now.
His wife.
The word settled into him, heavy and unreal.
Wife.
Gerron exhaled slowly, something quiet and steady grounding itself in his chest.
He had never planned for this. Not the marriage, not the title of Jarl. But here he was now, having both and doing them with boldness and daring.
"How does it feel to wake up the Lady of Shor's Stone?" Gerron murmured, his voice low.
Serana stirred, her brow twitching faintly before she shifted closer, pressing herself against his chest beneath the covers.
"Satisfying," she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep. "As always."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I can't believe we're married now," she added, quieter this time.
"Well," he said, "get used to it. You're stuck with me for the rest of your life."
Serana tilted her head just enough to glance up at him, one crimson eye cracking open.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed. Gods, this was comfortable. He closed his eyes once again, thoughts drifting despite himself.
The titles of High King, of Jarls and of Emperors. What would come after, should they survive.
A moot.
The idea had been circling his mind for days now, sharpening with every passing hour.
It made sense.
All the Jarls were already here. The realm's most powerful figures gathered in one place under a single purpose.
Emperor Titus Mede II himself stood among them—a witness whose presence alone could legitimize whatever decisions were made.
Then there was the Archmage of the College. The Harbinger of the Companions. The Dawnguard's leader. The Vigilants' Keeper.
If Skyrim survived Alduin, then there would be no better moment nor a better place to decide its future.
Gerron even suspected Ulfric had his own ideas, especially since he came into Shor's Stone with the Jagged Crown atop his head, a statement as loud as any warhorn.
And truth be told, Ulfric had earned his place in the conversation.
The war had changed things. Ulfric already had a major following from the other Jarls and the people of Skyrim, but his actions, alongside others, had earned him much renown and prestige as one of the major leaders of the war effort. He and Balgruuf, along with Gerron, mostly due to the victories in the Night of Convergence and Bthardamz.
Their names were the ones spoken by many across taverns and inns.
It also reminded Gerron that his initial counts of defenders were wrong. Instead of the twenty five thousand, it was thirty thousand that stood between Alduin and the destruction of Skyrim.
And even that had grown.
When he had spoken to the people of Shor's Stone, two thousand more had stepped forward without hesitation to volunteer for the city's defense.
Despite the shock, Grogmar didn't hesitate to put them to use, splitting them in half to join the guard and the Fire Brigade.
A thousand more crossbows was a boon to any army, for it was easy to train men and women who have never held a sword in their lives. All they needed was a bit of discipline, and they'd be a force to be reckoned with.
A loud knock on the door cut him from his musings as Gerron opened his eyes.
"Apologies for bothering you, my Jarl." Ralof's gruff voice came through. "Your presence is requested by Master Filnjar in the council room."
Gerron groaned softly, "Coming."
He shifted, reluctantly disentangling himself from Serana, but she did not let him go easily.
"We both have to go, don't we?" Serana huffed.
"Probably," he replied, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Filnjar wouldn't wake us if it wasn't important."
He pulled on his boots quickly, before willing for his armor to come around him from his inventory.
Serana just blinked before snorting. "You're helping me dress."
He barked out a quiet laugh.
"Yes, my lady."
…
Once dressed, they quickly headed towards the council chambers.
Looking out the arrowslits of the walls, there was only darkness. It was not even the crack of dawn.
The council chambers were guarded by a couple of burly guardsmen, who remained vigil despite the late hour.
They let them through, and inside were Filnjar, Grogmar, the Emperor, Jarl Balgruuf, Jarl Ulfric, and Kiera. Each one looked worse for wear, the night of heavy drinking not doing them any favour. All except for Kiera and Ulfric, who stood unaffected.
Now that he thought about it, Gerron had plenty to drink as well but wasn't bothered. Was he immune to getting intoxicated now?
Kiera was the first to speak.
"There's the newlyweds," she said, a grin tugging at her lips. "How's married life treating you?"
"Very well, thank you," Serana replied smoothly, though her gaze had already shifted to Filnjar. "What's going on?"
Filnjar merely lifted a piece of parchment before putting it back down. "We got news. The scouts reported at least fourteen dragons have flown to Velothi over the past two days."
"Alduin is calling his forces." Kiera said simply, "Every single dragon within Skyrim's borders will be our enemy."
"Then it's a good thing we spent the last few months thinning their numbers." Ulfric folded his arms. "How many are left, according to our counts?"
"Less than a hundred, more than seventy." Balgruuf said, massaging his head with two fingers, "at least if the original count from Paarthurnax is accurate."
"It should be," Kiera said. "But they're not the stragglers or newly revived wyverns. They're—"
"The strongest," the Emperor murmured, finishing the thought.
"The oldest," Kiera confirmed. "The most dangerous."
"So like the ones you and Vermithor faced in Castle Volkihar," Gerron mused, to which Kiera confirmed with a nod.
Gerron remembered reading about the reports. Kiera had somehow fought with the Reaper, the same one that Gerron had released back in the Soul Cairn. He must've found the stray portal that Valerica had left open.
"Champions and mages of Savos' calibre should be able to handle the dragons in smaller numbers. But a hundred of them…" Serana shook her head. "What of the Voice-wielders?"
"The ones capable of offensive shouts will be mixed in with the legionnaires and stormcloaks." Kiera answered. "The rest will be with the reserve forces."
"Then it seems the time to wait is no longer," Gerron stated, earning everyone's attention. "The city enters a full state of alert, effectively immediately. We begin preparations."
He let his gaze sweep across the room. This wasn't all of their leadership. But it was enough to begin.
…
4E 202, Shor's Stone
Kiera Fendalyn
The next few hours after that meeting felt like a fever-dream.
The city awoke quickly as bells rang across the city. Deep, resounding tolls echoed across Shor's Stone, rolling through the streets like thunder.
Kiera moved through the Ebony Palace corridors as the transformation unfolded around her.
Servants ran with purpose, arms full of linens, armor, supplies. Guards barked orders, their voices snapping through the air as formations were called and reassigned.
Filnjar had been the first to do his part. With the help of Valerica, mild healing potions had been distributed across the city—just enough to purge the worst of the drink from last night. Kiera had shook her head at that, thousands of people were wasted after last night's celebrations and were feeling the repercussions today.
The image of proud Jarls and dignified nobles nursing pounding headaches in the halls of the palace had been mildly entertaining.
But only for a moment. Because the instant the bells rang, everything changed.
Word spread like wildfire as the city entered alert state. Two words, that was all it took for everyone to rise from their beds and move as one.
Shor's Guard captains led and escorted the non-fighting townsfolk to the shelters as Grogmar led the others to walls, where archers and crossbowmen lined the battlements shoulder to shoulder, their breath fogging in the cold air as they checked strings, bolts, and angles of fire.
Siege engines groaned as they were turned into position. Cluster ballistae and magicka turrets. Every tower, every arrow slit, every vantage point was manned and ready/
It was…odd to see the city in such a state, but Kiera got used to it quickly. The once busy and lively streets were now empty of laughter and children, instead filled to the brim with burly Skyrim men and women clad head to toe in steel.
While the majority of the Shor's Guard, the Legions, and Whiterun soldiers manned the walls, the streets were filled with Stormcloaks and the rest of the Hold Guards, people used to combat in urban areas.
They filled the avenues in tight formations, weapons ready, eyes scanning the skies above. They would be the ones to meet any dragon that dared land within the city, to swarm it and kill it, or die trying.
Kiera walked through it all without slowing.
Her presence alone parted the flow of movement around her. Soldiers stepped aside instinctively, offering nods, murmured greetings, or simply respect.
She acknowledged them as she made her way to the courtyard, to where Vermithor was waiting.
The bronze dragon had claimed his corner of the courtyard as his own, his massive form curled into what passed for rest. Snow had piled atop him in the night, turning him into something almost indistinguishable from a hill.
The moment Kiera stepped into the courtyard, his eyes opened, and snow slid from his scales in sheets as he rose, bronze plates catching what little light filtered through the clouds.
She could feel his anticipation from the bond they shared. The Bronze Fury felt different the moment he ascended into Kruziik. The time training under Paarthurnax, however brief that was, had been beneficial.
His presence now felt like roiling thunder coiled tight. A storm that would be unleashed upon their enemies.
The courtyard itself was also filled with many people scurrying about as this would be one of the three triage points of the city.
Cots were being laid out in neat rows. Tents raised. Fires prepared.
Legion alchemists moved quickly, organizing supplies. Healers from the Vigilants of Stendarr prepared their tools with practiced efficiency.
Even townsfolk had volunteered, hands steady as they soaked bandages in alcohol, sorted herbs, and prepared poultices.
Valerica herself was set up in the biggest triage area set up in Zenithar's Square.
"Is it time, Kiera?" Vermithor rumbled, "Are we to ride to fight Alduin at last?"
"We are, partner." Kiera stepped forward, placing a hand against his scales. "Are you ready?"
A rumbling laugh that sounded like thunder emitted from his throat. "Indeed I am. I could not hold a candle to Alduin's power when we clashed in High Hrothgar. I wish to see where I stand now."
Kiera grinned. "You and me both."
"Lady Kiera," Legate Rikke came up to her with a satchel, extending it to her. "Here are your potions, may it serve you well, my Lady."
Kiera took it with a nod as she inspected the contents.
Valerica had truly gone well and beyond. Through her efforts as well as the many alchemists in the city, thousands of potions were ready to be distributed. There were so many that each soldier was given a satchel filled with them, some of which purified by the ability of the White Phial.
Looking at her own satchel, Kiera counted at least three potions of healing, two stamina draughts, two potions of resist magic, as well as a strength-enhancing elixir.
"Thank you, Rikke." Kiera said, fastening the satchel to her belt. "Where will you be stationed?"
"At the western gates, with General Tullius and the other Legionnaires." Rikke answered, her back ramrod straight as always. "I am to lead the reserve force, meant to reinforce whatever position is weakened by the dragon attack."
"An honorable station." Kiera said, before gazing to the skies above the city. It was a beautiful day, a light rain of snow descending from the clouds. "This reminds me of that day, when Vermithor swooped down the Haafingar Mountains and saw a legion cohort surrounded by undead."
Rikke's lips curved slightly. "I remember."
"You were the first Legionnaire to swear yourself to the cause, even when your fellow Legate was hesitant."
She turned back to her fully. "It's been an honor fighting alongside you."
Rikke met her gaze, something proud and resolute shining in her eyes. "The honor is mine, Lady Dragonborn."
Kiera nodded, "Good luck, I'll see you at the end of this."
She turned and moved toward Vermithor, not a single shred of hesitation or doubt within her mind.
She had done this countless times now. Her hands found the harness, her feet the familiar holds as she climbed with practiced ease. The leather creaked softly under her weight as she pulled herself into the saddle.
Vermithor shifted beneath her, his long neck curling back slightly so one massive eye could regard her. "Ready to fly?"
Kiera exhaled once, before smiling. "Always."
With a single, powerful wingbeat, they took to the skies and above the clouds, where she would wait for Alduin's arrival.
…
AN: Here we go, the beginning of the end. Next chapter will begin the assault of Shor's Stone, so I hope you guys are ready :D.
This fic is officially in its last legs, with the battle, the aftermath, and the epilogue all that's left.
What a journey, and I hope you liked it.
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