Balgruuf the Great ch 54 (Defunct) (Patreon)

+++

Windhelm

Ulfric and his men marched out, Galmar was the vanguard who cut down those that dared come close to his Jarl. A pair of traitors rushed at him, their shields raised high and swords at the ready. Their courage was commendable but ultimately, foolish. Galmar grinned wickedly as he swung his battle axe at the nearest man with such force, it shattered the shield. The second guard was not idle, he thrust forward with his arming sword but Galmar was more experienced and faster. He reared back, his axe gleaming as he blocked the thrust. The fear in the guard's eyes were palpable as he realized his mistake.

Galmar bisected him quickly, the great steel axe-head shattering iron, bone, and blood, splattering it all over the wall. The first guard rushed at him, adrenaline and panic forcing him to move. He died quickly, Galmar's battleaxe digging itself into his chest.

"Come on, milkdrinkers!" Galmar roared in challenge at the arriving traitor reinforcements. "Is not one of you a worthy challenge!?"

"Push forward!" Ulfric yelled. His veteran Guard gave their shouts of approval and moved. Battle was quickly joined, Stormcloak against Zealot, Ulfric had decided on calling them. They were all each other familiar with each other's tactics, having been with together since the start of the Great War and having Windhelm as their home. It was a blade into his heart seeing the men he fought with, grew up with, killing each other. But Ulfric knew that there were bigger and more terrible stakes at play.

For his sake, the sake of his House, he had to fight.

Sword met with sword, axe striking against iron or shield. Brother fought against brother, zealous courage in the eyes of the traitors, righteous fury in the Stormcloaks. The battle was decided before it began however. Ulfric and his guard were veterans, and trapped. Trapped animals fight harder to escape their cage. Not a moment later, they were left catching their breath, the bodies of friends and traitors on the floor. There was no time to mourn, however. They had to move.

They passed through scenes of battle, traitor or not dead or dying on the floor. or against the wall. Ulfric kept his composure calm but it was clear as day that he was seething. Galmar did not need to be clairvoyant to know that his Jarl was one inch away from exploding. While that would be such a glorious sight, to see the Jarl use his most powerful weapon at his disposal, they could not afford to be free with it as they were trying to escape the city, not reduce it to rubble.

Eventually, they arrived into the Great Hall. And it was in the middle of a warzone. On one side, Stormcloaks. On the other, the Zealots. Ulfric moved forward. "Wuunferth!"

The Court Wizard stepped forward, hands glowing green, and unleashed his magic. Terrible eletric tendrils connected with traitors, trapping them in place. As the last tendril touched the final traitor, Wuunferth cried out as he unleashed a terrible cry, sheer Destructive power flowing through his finger tips. The traitors yelled and screamed as they were all electrocuted on the spot, blue light shining brightly against the Halls of the Palace. As the light's strength slowly faded and the Stormcloaks came to, they spots where the traitors once stood were replaced with piles of dust.

Wuunferth stood for a few seconds before collapsing against Galmar, who caught him.

"Are you alright there, spell-chucker?" Galmar asked, tone amused.

"Give me...an hour," Wuunferth wheezed. Ulfric marched, patting his Court Wizard on the shoulder. "You have done well, Wuunferth."

The Court Wizard, sickly in look, stood a bit straighter. "My loyalty is to Windhelm, Jarl Ulfric."

Ulfric gave him a smile before he turned to the surviving loyalists. They had all erected barricades around his throne, and by its foot, an injured Jorleif sat with his back against the wall. They all cheered him as he approached.

"Jarl Ulfric! You live!" Jorleif cried, standing up this his feet.

There was another smashing at the doors. That urged Ulfric to move quickly. Time was of the essence here. Still, it did not hurt to speak candidly with one of his men. "And I am glad to see you all alive as well." Ulfric said, marching up to their barricades. "Now, listen and listen well. If we try and hold the Palace, we will hold it for nothing. Glorious a last stand may be, we are better off dying in an actual battlefield than getting killed by traitors in our own home. We are...we are abandoning Windhlem."

Looks of shock came on the faces of the surviving guards. Windhlem, it was their world, their home. Their families were in here. And they would have to abandon it? Ulfric saw the doubt in their eyes and he quickly moved to address it. "I understand that Windhelm is our home, our fortress and our city. But if we make a stand and fight here, it will be for nothing. You will not be the only one abandoning something, my friends. However, if you wish to stay and be with your families, I will not stop you. Whosoever wishes to follow me, raise your sword."

The guards, the retainers, what nobles there were still alive glanced at each other. Their was a flash as metal gleamed. Not a single one was unraised.

With men such as this, he felt he could take on the entire Dominion and win.

"Where does the Jarl command we go?" Jorleif asked for the survivors. Ulfric turned to him. "We make for the docks and head out. Afterwards, we will plan the rest."

"But the front gate is besieged, my Jarl." Jorleif pointed out. "There is no way we all can leave with the zealots standing at our door."

"There are passages, Jorleif," Ulfric reminded the Steward. "A Jarl is afforded a few secrets from his father," he said with a smile. Jorleif nodded quickly understanding what Ulfric was getting at.

"Then we are ready to follow you, My Jarl," Jorlief professed.

"Pardon me for the intrusion," Wuunferth wheezed. "But might I remind you all that there is still a crowd of zealots hammering the Palace doors, intent to kill us all?"

The Stormcloaks gave him a dirty look. Ulfric shook his head. "Then let us be swift."

It was then a loud bang echoed throughout the main hall. The Stormcloaks turned and saw the palace doors buckle, the shouts of the sieging crowd filtering in through the cracks. A few more and the doors of the Palace of Kings would fall.

"They are breaking in!" someone yelled, causing a stir among the Stormcloaks. Galmar and Ulfric locked eyes. "My Jarl, someone must stay, and buy time for the rest to escape. If we all go as one, they may catch up with us."

Galmar spoke up, walking forward. He would heft his battleaxe against his shoulder, blood dripping from the axehead.

"I volunteer," a warrior announced. He carried with him a shield and a sword, his scaled helm hanging loosely from the belt on his tunic. A chorus of volunteers joined in as well. Ulfric turned to him and immediately, he recognized who he was.

"Brunwulf Free-Winter," Ulfric spoke his name. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm getting old, my Jarl. I would rather go to Sovngarde still having at least some color in my hair," Brunwulf joked. He had the usual blonde hair of Nords but it was slightly losing the blonde shine, replaced by greying white hair. A few men laughed. Ulfric afforded the man a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"For this act, I raise you to Thane, and to the other men who have volunteered," Ulfric declared. He tightened his grip on Brunwulf's shoulder, turning around to share a look with each volunteer. "I have one order for you all, brothers. You all must survive. You are all of you not allowed to die. We shall assemble at Dawnstar, do you all understand?"

They all smiled. "Yes, My Jarl!"

That was the last Ulfric saw of his men, smiles on their faces, as the Palace doors were breached.

+++

The Palace of Kings was ancient, old, and had many secrets. The tunnel which he and the rest of his men were now travelling in was one such tunnel, torches dully lighting the way in a stuffy and damp passageway. Their mood was low, silent. Who would, when they left behind such joyous comrades.

"Where does this Tunnel lead to, My Jarl?" Galmar asked, walking right next to Ulfric with a lit torch. Ulfric walked with a set expression, pure focus on his face. He would glance to Galmar, before answering.

"This tunnel leads into the Shatter-Shield Warehouse," Ulfric explained. "When I was younger, I explored all that the Palace could hide, this was one of them. Perhaps it was an old tunnel, reserved for the Ysgrammoric Kings in the Elder Days now forgotten."

"A King walks in it again," Galmar said. Ulfric gave him a look.

"I am not the High King, Galmar," Ulfric shot back. "Nor will I be worthy of it."

"Not to us, not to me," replied his housecarl. It was then that they rounded a corner, a dead end. Not so much to Ulfric who walked over to a corner where three turn-stones sat. Ulfric walked over and successfully turned the first two. He stopped turning the last one.

"Is something wrong?" Galmar asked, concerned. Ulfric shook his head, turning to Wuunferth. "See if there are surprises waiting for us at the other side of this door,"

Wuunferth nodded and lifted his finger. A sort of magical aura appeared on his eyes, Galmar saw. "I can see two figures, before this gate. Many more outside,"

"Are we trapped? Is it an ambush?" Ulfric questioned. Wuunferth shook his head. "No...the ones farther seem to be rushing somewhere. Perhaps it is a battle?"

"It could be loyalists," Galmar offered.

"Then we ought to hurry," Ulfric said quickly, turning the last stone. Metal groaned, as mechanism long kept unused were willed alive. Then, the wall shook as a door painfully and slowly opened. Screams came from the other side, female screams. Galmar went in, first, axe at the ready.

He blinked, finding two shivering children cowering behind a table. Ulfric followed after him. Recognition filled his eyes. "You are the Shattershield's daughter," Ulfric said, eyeing them. "Where is you father and mother?"

"J-Jarl Ulfric?" one of the girls said aloud. Ulfric recognized her as Friga, the eldest. She would scurry out form her hiding spot, dragging her sobbing sister with her. She would attempt to curtsy but the young girl could only do so much. Ulfric shook his head. There was a time and place for courtesies, now was not one of them.

"Do not mind the courtesies, Lady Shattershield. Where are your parents?" Ulfric asked again. The expression on Friga's face told him everything.

"We...we were supposed to greet Papa coming back from his journey at the docks when...when..." Friga's forlorn expression earned another frown from Ulfric. Galmar turned to Ulfric, whispering. "What are we to do with them?"

"Let us take them," Ulfric said, glancing at the frightened girls.

"Forgive me for interjecting, Jarl Ulfric," Wuunferth added. "But these are children. They cannot travel in a band of warriors!" A few men snorted at Wuunferth's remark, glancing at his lanky frame. The Court Wizard however gave them a look, a flash of electricity flashing around him. That promptly shut up the snorters.

"That is exactly why we must bring them, Wuunferth. They are children." Ulfric explained, not exactly enjoying the idea of leaving them behind. 

"Are we to stop for every single child we come across now?" Wuunferth asked, to the annoyance of Ulfric's guards. 

"These are no ordinary children, spellchucker," Galmar added, after some thought. "They are Shattershields, the richest family in all of Windhelm. It would be best not to allow such children into the hands of the Zealots. Who knows what they will do." 

Wuunferth shrugged his shoulders. Ulfric on the other hand turned back to the two girls. "I do not know where your parents are but if you come with us, we will keep you safe." 

"S-safe from the bad men?" Friga pitifully mewled. Ulfric nodded. "As safe as you can be," he answered. 

"T-then...my sister and I will go with you, Jarl Ulfric," Friga sniffed, pulling Nilsine along who cried silently and quietly. 

"Stay with my guard. They shall protect you," Ulfric ordered before turning back to Wuunferth. "Outside, how many?" 

Wuunferth turned out, his eyes shining with magicka. "It seems that there is a crowd, going against each other." He said succintly. 

"Then we must move quickly," Ulfric said, walking forward and opening the warehouse doors. His face was immediately hit by the rush of snow, the embers of fire, and the copper-metal smell of blood. The port of Windhelm was in chaos, ships burning where they were berthed. Longships, knarr's, cogs and hulks. The bodies of the dead and dying lay on the snowed in street; zealot, stormcloak, or innocent. 

"Jarl Ulfric, Captain Lonely-Gale ought to become a Thane," Galmar said, pointing to one particular ship. At one particular berth, there sat Ulfric's own personal ship, battered and bruised but floating still. Soldiers and sailors stood on it, fighting off a horde of zealots. 

"He first needs to be alive to get his Thaneship," Ulfric said. He would unsheathe his axe, a relic passed from the first Stormcloak to the last. Ulfric had no intention to be the last however. He bent down, picking up a roundshield. "Forward men! To Lonely-Gale!" 

At that, he and his Stormcloaks rushed in disciplined silence. The Zealots only realized they were trapped when they hear screaming, but from their own ranks. They turned, seeing the Jarl and his men quietly hacking and slashing at them. Ulfric's face was stone as he raised his axe and dug its head into the exposed neck of a zealot. Garlmar was a force of nature, his great-axe bisecting men and women in two, blood and bone and gore flying about as he attacked. 

Fire burned in Ulfric's heart. Fire and rage. These rabble who burnt and destroyed Windhelm. What did they think they could accomplish, doing such things? He lifted his shield, blocking a zealot's sword strike. Growling, he thrust his shield into the zealot's nose, cracking it. The man screamed, dropping his sword. Ulfric moved forward and slammed his axe straight into the man's open face. 

Not even breaking a sweat, Ulfric kicked the corpse on the wooden quay. He glanced up, seeing the rest of his men wordlessly lock themselves into a shieldwall and slowly by slowly, pushing the blocked and panicking zealots against Lonely-Gale's men who eagerly greeted the crowds with their weapons. 

The zealots died unceremoniously, slaughtered. Ulfric walked over the corpses, face set as stone. Lonely-Gale went up the quay, gasping for breath. He was a middle aged man, with black hair and worried looking eyes. A great beard was underneath his chin. He was no coward however, blood and wounds all over him. "Jarl Ulfric...what is going on? Folk just started attacking! The guar-"

"This is an uprising, Captain Lonely-Gale," sighed Ulfric. "I have no illusions that the same thing is happening all over Skyrim, not just in here." 

The Captain's face morphed into shock. "An uprising? Why?" 

"I think it was obvious, from their battle-cries," Galmar said dryly, his great-axe resting against his shoulder. 

"Zealots..." Lonely-Gale sighed, glancing at the corpses being thrown into the icy waters below the quay. "I...I never stopped worshipping Talos but I would never consider killing my brothers and sisters over it." 

"Not a lot of people seem to share that opinion, it would seem," Galmar said once again, hearing a zealot stir. Galmar simply walked over to him and brought an armored heel on his throat. The zealot died gurgling on broken bone and blood in his pipes. Galmar looked at him as one would look at a crushed insect. 

"I see..." Lonely-Gale said, grimacing as the zealot choked. He cleared his throat, turning to the Jarl. "What are we to do now?" 

"We set sail," Ulfric sighed. "Make for Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar?" 

"Jarl Skald is the closest ally we can count on," Ulfric explained. "It is there I will call for what loyal men I have left to reclaim my city," 

"But, Jarl Ulfric, if what you say is true and if rabble are rising...how would we know if Dawnstar yet stands?"  Lonely-Gale asked. Ulfric and Galmar shared a glance. Ulfric walked forward, by the edge of the quay. He would look up into the clouds, at the falling snow, and peered beyond. 

"I...I don't know," Ulfric said silently, and quietly. 

"I don't know,"

+++

In a dark cell, a prisoner slowly stirred to life. Across them, a woman and a man sat on an opposite wall. The woman glanced at the prisoner in barely-hidden concern. 

"Hey...you...you're finally awake," greeted Mjoll the Lioness.

+++

A/N: Ehe.

The Dragonborn comeths.

And of course, the Dragonborn shall be a character created by you fellas. The choices shall be made soon.