4E 202, Eastmarch Foothills
Hroldir, the Stormcloak Soldier
The snow was falling thick in the Eastmarch hills, carried sideways by the wind.
Five Stormcloaks trudged through the drifts, wrapped in thick fur cloaks to shield themselves from the cold.
The land around them was quiet, save for the cold whisper of the wind and the hiss of steam rising from hidden hot springs. It had been a slow day of patrol.
"Damn cold," muttered Hroldir, stamping his boots. A bit of frost was stuck to his beard. "Eastmarch ought to be warmer, what with all the bloody lava pools. Instead, we freeze our asses off while the bastard Imperials sit warm in Haafingar.."
"Quiet," barked Skorald, the oldest of them. "You've heard the rumors, with dragons out and about, Jarl Ulfric wants to make a truce with the Empire. So don't go saying anything that might get your head on the block. We've patrol duty for a reason. Bandits were seen near Kynesgrove last week. Keep your eyes open."
The others grumbled but obeyed, shifting their spears and axes in hand. Snow crunched underfoot as they climbed a ridge, the jagged teeth of the Velothi Mountains looming black against the stars.
They were walking by a river stream when they first heard it.
There was a low tremor, like stone shifting deep underground. The men paused, exchanging glances. The sound grew, rising into a thunder that shook the very marrow of their bones.
"Is it an earthquake?" Hroldir whispered.
"No…" Skorald's breath frosted the air as his eyes widened. "Look in the sky!"
The clouds above them rippled as if torn by unseen claws. Shadows blotted the stars, vast wings eclipsing the night. One dragon. Then two. Then dozens, pouring over the mountains like a storm of iron and fire.
The patrol froze, their discipline shattering under the sheer enormity of what they saw.
"Shor's bones…" someone breathed.
The first dragon screamed as it dived. The sound was not mere roar but a shattering of the world itself. Ice cracked, snow avalanched from cliffsides, and the Stormcloaks dropped their weapons, clutching their ears as blood trickled down.
"RUN!" Skorald shouted, though his voice was swallowed by the oncoming tempest.
They stumbled down the slope, boots slipping, breath ragged. A gout of flame engulfed Ragnar, the youngest among them, turning his scream into ash before it left his throat. Another was crushed under a clawed shadow that slammed into the snow like a falling star.
Skorald made it halfway across the frozen stream before frost consumed him. A dragon swept overhead, its Thu'um blasting winter itself into shards of razors. His body froze solid mid-stride, shattering as he toppled.
Fear permeated through his bones as Hroldir's body shook. Turning to see a sight of horror, he saw one of the dragons was barreling towards him, mouth open wide.
Knowing what was coming, Hroldir raised his axe, howling Ulfric's name.
"For Skyrim!"
The scream was his last act of defiance as the dragon's maw closed over him. The crunch was quick, merciless.
When silence fell, only the wind remained. The patrol was gone, their bodies scattered, their weapons blackened. Snow fell over the dead like a shroud.
Above, the dragons wheeled and roared, their wings blotting out the heavens as they spread Alduin's will across Skyrim.
…
4E 202, Whiterun
Aela the Huntress
Her snout was red with blood as she tore another strip of dragon flesh free, the taste acrid and heavy on her tongue. She swallowed it down anyway, for the beast inside her demanded it.
Around her, the neighborhood right below the Cloud District was rubble. Houses that she recognized belonged to the Battle-Born's and the Gray-Mane's now nothing more than shattered stone and splintered beams.
In this form, Aela towered higher than Whiterun's walls. Her silver fur was caked with the blood of dragons as her fangs ached from biting through scales thicker than steel. Surrounding her were the corpses of three dragons, one of the which was still twitching as its lifeblood hissed into the ground.
Never, not even in the wildest hunts under Hircine's moons, had she felt so alive. Her veins roared with fury and triumph both. Every sense was sharpened to a razor point, every sound and smell magnified until she could hear the heartbeat of a guard slumped against the wall a hundred paces away.
When she awakened, she felt a level of adrenaline she had never felt before. Her sixty-foot frame now stood larger than most of the dragons. While she was still an ant compared to the mighty height of Dragonsreach, she felt like she could challenge the world itself.
'So this… this is what it means to be his Champion,' thought the part of her mind that was still human.
It was…frightening and thrilling at the same time. To be half-feral and half-human, a constant state of war between her and the wolf inside her.
In this monstrous form, she walked the line between predator and protector. And somehow, she still clung to herself, to the Aela who was more than a beast. Years of accepting the wolf had steadied her where another would have lost themselves to madness.
Her ears flicked as the clash of steel echoed across the courtyard. Hrongar bellowed atop the walls, his blade raised high as he rallied what remained of the Whiterun guard.
Heavy fighting was still imminent on the wall that had crumbled by the dragon's Thu'um. Hundreds of people—volunteers, sellswords, even farmers with pitchforks—forced back the shambling dead, plunging that hole as best they could to prevent them from coming in.
Among the invaders, only Krosis was left. The dragons had all perished, either from the initial ballistae barrage or through the relentless effort of the people of Whiterun.
Her slitted golden eyes looked back towards Jorvaskr, where the body of Kodlak Whiteman now lay. Her ears drooped slightly at the reminder of his death. Her heart clenched, though she had no tears left, only rage and the solemn weight of vengeance.
A sudden blast of cold wind made her look back outwards towards the fields beyond Whiterun.
Her hackles rose as Krosis drifted above the battlefield, floating in the air as his robes swirled, staff aglow with frostlight. The Dragon Priest's mask caught the dim sun like a shard of ice.
For a moment his gaze lingered on the battlefield at large, before they locked on her, a silent challenge.
Aela snarled, answering it, marking him as prey.
Then, he turned and flew away.
Aela tensed to pursue, her rage burned as her prey began to flee. But snow burst from the heavens as the priest conjured a storm to cover his retreat. The blizzard rolled across the plains, swallowing the retreating undead in its curtain of white.
Her fury mounted, but she knew the truth. She could not chase a flying prey, not one that was as small and nimble as he. She remained earthbound, forced to watch her quarry slip beyond reach.
Still, the enemy was broken, the hordes of undead pulling back following their master.
Seeing their retreat, the entirety of Skyrim roared. Guards slammed their weapons on their shields, voices rising to the clouds. The Alik'r raised their curved swords in victory as survivors screamed their triumph, and even the wounded raised fists skyward.
Aela could feel herself calming down at the sight of it. The fire in her veins cooled. Slowly, agonizingly, her body shrank. Her claws withdrew, her snout shortened, her fur melted back into flesh slick with blood and sweat. She collapsed to her knees, naked, trembling with exhaustion.
"Aela!"
The voice of her shield-sister and newest member of the Companions was desperate, but bright. Ria rushed to her side, throwing Aela's arm across her shoulders. Even through the exhaustion, Aela chuckled faintly at the girl's wide-eyed awe.
"That was incredible," Ria panted. "You…you killed three dragons, all by yourself."
Aela's breath left her in a weary sigh. Her chest ached with fatigue, but her voice was steady. "We defended our home. That is enough." She glanced toward Jorrvaskr again, and her voice hardened. "Though the cost was steep."
Ria's smile trembled, but she nodded. The both of them looked upward as Farengar Secret-Fire, whose robes were wet with snow, raised his hands and hurled fire into the sky.
The spell detonated high above, scattering the blizzards. As the snow clouds dispersed, sunlight spilled down on Whiterun's battered streets, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.
For a moment, it felt as though the city still breathed. Still endured.
And Aela, weary though she was, lifted her chin to the light.
…
AN: A shorter chapter, but a necessary one to tie up loose ends that I've introduced in this arc.
The dragons descend from Skuldafn and have begun razing the countryside. The fight for Skyrim has finally begun.
In the next chapter, we'll cut right into the thick of it, with Gerron arriving back in Shor's Stone as well as the actions of the Jarls of Skyrim now that they're united.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 75 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!