Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 15 (Patreon)

+++

"You have one chance to surrender, whoresons," cried out Galmar Stone-Fist, battle-axe hefted on his shoulder as he glanced up at the battlements of Fort Amol. Around him, men in blue gambeson and ringed helmets waited with bated breath, gauntleted hands clutching their weapons. They were all in ranks, protected behind a shield-wall of their own making. The wind of Skyrim came up from the east and chilled them. It would take me than a mere breeze to calm the disciplined battle-fury of Windhelm men however. 

Galmar then continued. "Open the gates and come out! The Jarl will show you squatters mercy if you do!" 

For a minute, there was nothing but the fluttering of banners and the soft chill of the wind. Then and from the ramparts, the Windhelm men watched as a glowing orb of fire rained down from up high. The firebolt thrust down towards Galmar, ready to singe the Nord's face. But before the bolt could even touch him, a man stepped forward and raised his shield, blocking the attack. 

Ulfric Stormcloak's lips were pursed as he lowered his shield as he regarded Galmar. "That concludes negotiations," he said, turning towards the walls. His voice rose in volume as he then commanded. "Men of Windhelm, attack! Leave none alive!" he roared. His soldiers cheered their approval and thus, with the sound of a horn, their bitter work began. His men advanced, covering the others bearing ladders to scale the walls of Fort Amol. 

There was a reason why they all favoured heavy armor, broad shields, and battle-axes and the idiot mages and the bandit lackeys inside Amol was going to find out why. 

"Come, Galmar," Ulfric said, rushing ahead to join the attack. "We have a fort to reclaim!" 

The burly housecarl nodded, his battle-axe now baying for blood in his hands. "I call claim to the spell-chucker that tried to burn me," he grinned. 

Ulfric laughed. "Find them first!" 

And thus with their Jarling's advance, Ulfric's column marched forward. Unlike the other ranks who carried ladders, Ulfric's men did not have such things nor did they need to. Arrows and spells were launched at them, the armor of Ulfric singling him out as the commander of the assault. Yet, he and his soldiers marched on despite the onslaught. And as soon as Ulfric was near the gates of Amol, he took in a breath...and Shouted

"FUS RO DAH!" roared Ulfric. The world's noise was drowned out by a image of the past resplendent glory. From Ulfric came a unrelenting force that tore up the ground, cracked the air, and blasted apart the gates of Amol into thousands of pieces. And with the gate fallen, Ulfric cried out. "Attack! Attack! Sovngarde awaits!" 

The battle-cries of the Windhelm men would have reached the heavens as they rushed into the breached gate, eyes blazing with battle-fury. Ulfric was the first, ahead of his men, and sword baying for blood. A trickle of spells and arrows rained upon them but he and his breachers took it and ignored the pain. They were not afraid of injury in Cyrodiil. They won't be afraid of injury here in humanity's home. The Jarling glanced around and found bandits on the ground, moaning and groaning. Defenders ready to meet them if the gate was breached. His sword quickly fell on the first man, then the next. 

And from there, the carnage began. 

The Nords were a unstoppable force, killing those that were stupid enough to get within close o stabbing or hacking, and much bandit and mage were sent to Aetherius with savage strikes. Blood pooled and flowed freely on the stone of the fort, from the walls to the grounds where Ulfric and Galmar walked. Ulfric did not use his Shouts here for he wanted a fight, not a slaughter. His skill of arms were disciplined and measured yet with a certain fierceness that would have been wild if Ulfric did not control himself. Galmar however was different. Like the bear-pelt he wore over his armor, he accepted the fury of a bear into his heart and mind. He hacked and swiped and cleaved savagely, laughing as he did so, as berserker fury flowed through his veins. 

But if the Nords thought that the mages of the keep were going to simply accept slaughter...then they were wrong.

Suddenly, purple portals opened, their opening heralded by a shrill ringing sound that Ulfric's ears remembered all to well, in a different field and in a different place. 

"Dremora!" a Nord's cry rose above the din of battle. And sure enough, daedric-armored Dremora poured in, their weapons glowing with power and their eyes blazing with bloodlust all too similar to the Nords own. At their head was their Lord who raised his battle-axe and flashed a grin. "We shall honor our lord by destroying you!" 

The Windhelm men stood ready to face them and some went in to charge. The Dremora accepted the challenge and met them. The Nords were brave, they were strong and armed with the best weapons that could be brought to bear. But the Dremora were Daedra, lesser in form compared to the Princes but...they were still Daedra. 

And between mortal and daedra, there simply was a leap too great even the bravest Nord could only be defiant at. 

A Nordic warrior met his challenger, his axe striking against a opening in the Dremora Lord's armor but the steel simply could not break through the infernal metal. The Dremora Lord reached out and broke the warrior's hands with a gauntleted strike. The Nord cried out in pain as his bones were snapped and broken but he was not going to let some Dremora take him easily. The Dremroa Lord laughed as he heard the cries of the mortal. How sweet it was. But his chuckling ended as the Nord reached out and with all his might, headbutted the Dremora Lord with all the fury and adrenaline he could bear. The Dremora Lord reared back, clutching at his bleeding nose and quickly bisected the Nord with his greatsword. 

This Ulfric saw and inside, his heart burned for the need of vengeance. His mind however paused. It was expected that the mages would have a trick up their sleeve to even out the odds but daedra? He did not have enough men for this. Fifty Nords were all it took to retake a fort occupied by mages and their bandit lackeys. Ulfric fought with his men long enough to know what they were capable of and in this push-come-to-shove scenario, they could take on the Dremora but suffer casualties. As much as he wanted to punish the squatters of Fort Amol, his mind and heart was not willing to sacrifice his men for what was essentially a skirmish. 

The prudent thing was to retreat for now and wait out the Dremora before they inevitably had to return to Oblivion. An annoyed tick broke out within him. If only he had more men, they could have just overwhelmed the defenders and this all would have been over in a day. But now...he had to pull back and delay. 

Just as he was about the order his bowmen to cover their retreat, there was another sound that broke out that Ulfric did not expect to hear. 

The sound of horns, harmonic to the ears in the distance. The thunder of hooves...and the fluttering of golden banners.

+++

A/N: I want to portray the characters as faithful as possible. People have said that I nailed Ulfric's character in the original and in this, I hope I can as well. 

Also, I have no idea when exactly Ulfric broke his vow of not using the Thu'um other than for worship. I know in the war, he refused to use it. In the wiki, it says that the Thu'um cannot be used for selfish reasons and in this scene, I reckon that fighting bandits and dark mages ain't exactly selfish, considering what they are capable of.