Glory to Assassination
Prologue:
Author's Note:
Yes, this chapter may be a bit boring, but it's only the intro chapter. I assure you there will be more excitement and... you know the good stuff. Hehehehe.
Author's Note.. Again:
I made some slight tweaks in this chapter. (Things like race/placement of paragraphs,etc) -.- Thank you, inner editor.
4E 201, 10th of Frostfall
That night. That damnable night.
Of all the people in Skyrim. All the terrible, terrible people. I had to be the one to unleash the monster that would send her plummitting into an incurable turmoil.
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4E 201, 28th of Rain's Hand.
A heavy midnight descended upon the clouds of Hjaalmarch, letting only the burning light of the lanterns above guide the way of the seemingly crowded horse carriage, harboring the shrouded passengers inside. Fierce torrents of rain fell from the sky, crashing down against the earth and dampening the ground beneath it. The rain made loud splattering noises as the carriage approached a stone bridge-way, overlooking the East Empire Company Warehouse.
It must have been at least one in the morning, yet ship crews and shipment workers still plodded along the docks, lugging wood, supplies or their own two hands along with them. Besides the one or two town guards that were posted, most of the workers were Argonian, and their tails shined sleekly below the fiery light of the lanterns. A majority of the passengers on the carriage glared upon the sight of the warehouse, agitatedly listless noises absconding from their mouths.
"My Jarl," a young woman spoke up, pulling her soaked hood over her head to have a better look at the man, "may I ask what we are doing in Solitude?" she awaited response as respectively as possible, grabbing the hood that lay limply behind her neck and wringing it out, watching the small flow of water escape the ebony-colored cloth.
"Quiet, Battlemaiden!" another passenger said, making the girl whip her head around. His words condensed against the cool Skyrim air, "the Jarl takes no words from meaningless recruits," he hissed, baring his mead-stained teeth.
The girl turned her head to face the speaker, "Watch it, soldier," she snapped, folding her arms and glaring at him.
Another soldier spoke up in protest, "We would have been all dead had it not been for her. I can count more than three times that you have needed her aid."
Another blonde Nord beside her nodded in agreement to the soldier in front of him, "I bet I could do your job just as well," the carriage of people all laughed at this comment, "I come, I stay, I heal. Am I forgetting anything, Battlemaiden?"
A silence bestowed itself upon her. She hunched back in her seat, fighting back an itching laugh.
"Mind your tongue, Ralof. I did not recruit you to be an ignorant," the Jarl, and the only man who was not amused by the soldier's teasing, finally spoke. Though he was quiet, his voice sliced through the rain like a well-wielded axe.
Another man spoke, a red-headed, young looking nord, who was glancing at Ralof wearily, "the girl has more of a reputation in Skyrim than you would think, Ralof."
The young girl smiled at the soldier, a sense of returning welcome embodied her.
"Forgive me, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof bowed his head in a phony shame, making a target for the droplets of rain to gather in the crevices of his armor.
"We are in Solitude because I have some unattended business that needs dealing with. There is no need for me to worry you," the Jarl swatted away Ralof's comment as he spoke.
"Then what are the rest of us to do, my Jarl?" a soldier said, the one who had unleashed his pent-up discomfort towards the Battlemaiden.
"You wait, Valtiir. You stand guard with the rest of the soldiers and await my return," The Jarl turned his body in direction of the Battlemaiden beside him, "As for you, Battlemaiden, I have a task for you,"
The girl nodded to her Jarl, waiting for him to continue.
"Ah," the Jarl said, completely oblivious to his previous words, "here we are," he gestured outward and away from the carriage.
Even in the black of night, Solitude was just as perfect as Faelyn had remembered years ago. The city looked almost as welcoming as the doors to her own home. Solitude held an air of elegance. Of importance. Simplicity. A simplicity Faelyn could not begin to have any understanding of.
The carriage awkwardly rolled up along the hill overseeing the Katla's Farm. Faelyn could hear the horses in the farm whinnying to themselves, trying to keep out of the torrential downpour. They rode past a small man feeding and drying off his horse. The man nodded, honestly baffled, at the arrival of the Stormcloak soldiers, keeping a watchful eye as they turned the corner towards the gates of Solitude.
The horses pulled the carriage up to a faulty stop, making the passengers shift in their seats, some of them making forceful grunting sounds as they tipped and toppled over each other.
Ulfric was the first one to depart the carriage, smiling and taking in the smell of the sweet Skyrim rain. One by one, the rest of the soldiers followed behind him like a pack of lost dogs.Surprisingly, what seemed like nearly twenty soldiers only summed up to about seven or eight. Faelyn waited patiently for each one to step off before her, then stood up and clumsily parted ways with the carriage and the horses.
"Bleh!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, spitting bitterly at the ground, making his utter disgust apparent, "It reeks of Imperial scum!"
"Quiet, soldier," Ulfric whispered, shooting the soldier a furious glance. He motioned to the Solitude gates, pointing out that there was only one man presently guarding it. The stormcloak soldiers smiled along cheerfully. Less Imperials, the better, it seemed. Ulfric turned around to face his soldiers, puffing up his chest and taking a deep breath.
The soldiers waited on bated breaths.
"Men," the Jarl began, "tonight, on the twenty-eighth of Rain's Hand, I must venture alone. I see to it that I get what I came for. I see to it that Skyrim is made whole once again. I see to it that Skyrim is ours once more!"
The soldiers broke out into silenced cries of valor. Thrusting their fits in the air in solute of their great Jarl.
Ulfric Stormcloak. The true High King of Skyrim.
"Now, men. I would like to ask you to guard my carriage, and make sure everyone who boarded it with me is returning with me. Do that, and I will buy a round of Victory mead in your honour," the Jarl's powerful voice echoed through the charcoal night, igniting sparks of triumph through each and every Stormcloak soldier, even if they had no awareness of what he was doing. Or about to do.
Jarl Ulfric turned around, his back facing his troops, and started for the Solitude gate. A jolt of reminder went soaring through Faelyn, making her push her way through the group, and run up to the Jarl.
"My Jarl," she said once more, clasping gently on his arm, "what is it you want me to do?"
The Jarl looked at her, and she threw her hand back, embarrassment tainting her pale lips. He simply smiled and said, "I don't care how you do it, but I want that gate opened by the time I come back. I will send for someone to be a lookout. Just make sure the gate is opened."
"Yes sir," she bowed her head to her leader, then turned around and rejoined the cheerful group, watching Ulfric fade into the shadow of the Solitude gates.
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It had seemed like hours since the Jarl had departed, and Faelyn had grown extremely impatient. Two of the the soldiers had already had their chance to sneak past the gate guard and climb their way up through the tower, to steak-out the return of Ulfric. Faelyn stood facing the opposite side of the gate that the guard was on, underneath where the soldiers were scouting.
"Hey, Ralof," she heard one of the scouts saying. Clearly it was him and Ralof scouting for the Jarl.
"What is it, Vogjorn?"
Vogjyorn. Sheesh, these Nords have such strange names.
"Do you think it would be wrong to bed a woman of a different kind?" he pondered to his blonde friend, peering over the tower to admire Faelyn, admiring her dusty auburn hair against her pale Elven face. She scoffed viciously. He laughed along with Ralof, "She clearly has no skill in combat, but would make do for a bed-warmer on long journeys."
Nords. Pig-headed oafs. The whole lot of them.
"Well, friend," Ralof said to his companion, "we will soon find out. Jarl Ulfric approaches, Battlemaiden!"
Faelyn's senses flared.
I don't care how you do it, but I want that gate opened by the time I come back.
Out of either courageousness or stupidity, Faelyn hastily approached the Solitude guard, swallowing the lump of anxiety that welled in her throat.
"Excuse me, milady," the guard said, sticking his hand out in front of her, "what are you doing out here so late at night?"
She continued to walk up to the guard, pulling at her robe to conceal her blue Stormcloak armor, "I had some questions for you, if you do not mind."
"You should really be going, it is late, and I must man my post."
Faelyn snickered at the man, stepping dangerously close to him, "Oh, really?" she laughed, taking another step towards him and yanking his steel sword from its worn scabbard. She whipped around him and yanked his head back towards her, sliding his sword under his neck, threatening to slice skin.
"What are you doing?!" the guard cried, struggling to break free.
Faelyn laughed again, feeling inconsiderately vile from his discomfort, "What's your name, soldier?" she tugged against his head some more, making him grunt loudly.
"Why should I tell you?" he struggled to say. Faelyn tugged some more.
"What is it, fool?!"
The soldier fought for his breath, Faelyn had begun pressing against his throat with the shoulder of his sword.
"It's Roggvir," he panicked, "my name is Roggvir."
Faelyn laughed some more, "Alright, Roggvir. How about you open up this gate for my friend here, hmm?"
He struggled in her arms some more, feeding the growing power inside her body.
"Open it, damn you!" she cried, shaking him, sliding the blade against his throat.
Roggvir broke hold of her grasp and approached the gate, "Fine," he muttered, finally accepting defeat. He crept up the the gate, Faelyn's new-found sword pressed against the side of his neck.
"Come on, son. Open it," she sighed impatiently, "I haven't got all night."
"Hurry, Battlemaiden!" Ralof cried, "The Jarl is almost there!"
Faelyn grew bitter, and tossed aside the Solitude guard like a half-eaten rabbit leg, shoving him aside and tugging the gate as far open as Jarl Ulfric would fit.
Within seconds, the Windhelm Jarl bolted from withing the gates and made a hastey getaway towards the horse carriage.
Faelyn signalled the two scouts up in the tower, and released the man who called himself Roggvir, "Talos guide you, Imperial," she said quickly, nodding in his direction as she scampered off toward the carriage.
Ralof and Vogjorn followed quickly behind her, hopping on the carriage along with the other soldiers and setting off along the midnight shadow.
Faelyn didn't know what came over in those few short moments. Power? Greed? Corruption? No, no, no. It could not have been any of those things. It was heroic. Yes, heroic. She braved the situation for the glory of her people. Yes, that is it. Exaclty it.
"You did well, Battlemaiden," Ralof said, throwing a chuckle in Faelyn's direction.
Valtiir grunted, "Yeah. For an Elf."
After a few minutes of silence on their journey back to Windhelm, Ralof spoke up, "Jarl Ulfric," he began, "May I now ask what business you had in Solitude?"
Ulfric nodded to his troops, sitting up tall and declaring the words everyone wanted to hear; "I was sending the Empire a message."
