From Traversing Tamriel
23 Sun’s Dusk, 4E201
I had allowed myself a rare moment of tardiness in convincing myself that my arrival at Whiterun last night was too late to call upon the Jarl. I knew my news of Ulfric’s reply to Balgruuf would gain me entrance at any time of the night, but I told myself this morning would not be too late.
I awoke to the sounds of horns and shouting men beyond the city’s walls and realized that Ulfric made good on his word much quicker than I anticipated. I thought he would need to rally his soldiers, gather supplies and equipment, then march on Whiterun.
Instead the Stormcloaks must have nearly marched on my heels last night, for they were arrayed around the city, catapults somehow constructed overnight, and were beginning to surround the city as I rushed to Dragonsreach.
I found the Jarl in an upstairs chamber planning the city’s defense with an Imperial Legate I had not seen before. No one gave me a second glance as I ascended the staircase, so I stood to the side and listened to the Jarl and the Legate bicker. The Jarl arrogantly declared that he was not concerned with his guards, only the “Imperial milk drinkers”. The Legate tartly replied that he and his men could sit the battle out if it would help…though I doubt that would have been truly possible. Whatever the case, the Jarl apologized. Stress was high.
An Imperial messenger arrived out of breath, shouting that he had arrived just as the Stormcloaks closed off the approaches into the city. The Legate ordered his advisors to see to the Legion’s deployment, leaving the Jarl, the Legate, and Irileth peering at a map of the city, the latter whom excused herself a few moments later to see to the city guards.
I announced myself then, startling the two men, but the coincidental return of his axe made the Jarl chuckle, replying that he had a feeling Ulfric would provide such a reply. Anticipating it, he had sent for the Imperial Legion as I left Whiterun, making my journey necessary only to goad the Stormcloak leader into rash action. Balgruuf suggested I resume my duties as a Legionnaire and asked the Legate if he had any business for me. He curtly replied that all Legionnaires were expected to be already at the walls, so I bowed and left Dragonsreach.
Balls of fire were raining down on the city as I rushed down the stairs, but they seemed unable to damage the buildings, even with a direct impact. The villagers were in far more danger, but other than an orphan who quickly scampered into a house I saw no one on the streets who was not armed and heading for the gate.
More Stormcloaks came pouring down the road towards the gate and the soldiers at the walls had fewer arrows than the rebels had bodies. The took up positions behind me, swords and hammers in hand as the Stormcloaks rolled the barricade away from the gate. I would look stupid suddenly running behind the others, so I stayed in front, a Khajiit bearing the first melee for a city which did not normally let her kind enter.
What happened next is quite a blur. Many of the Stormcloaks simply ran past me to engage the Legionnaires and guards, perhaps thinking I was a member of a caravan caught in-between. So it came to be that out of thirty or so rebels I fought only two at the small stream which the city uses to dispose of its waste.
Ulfric, or any Stormcloak of note, was not in the battle. Of course.
The bodies of both sides were collected for the funeral pyre and a speech given by the victorious Jarl with the ever dour Irileth standing alongside. I did not see either of them in the battle either.
The speech was as expected: praise for the bravery of the survivors of Whiterun and Sovngarde for those that did not. A nod to the Imperials was also provided in the form of the obvious prediction that Ulfric would soon attack the other cities and that we would all need to band together to finally end Skyrim’s civil war.
So it was on the road once again for me.
I had just passed the ruined watchtower which Skyrim’s first awakened Dragon had nearly destroyed when one of the sentries shouted “Dragon!”. I had just enough time to duck as a giant gold-colored Dragon swooped low over the road, attacking someone further ahead of me.
The “someone” was a mounted Imperial detachment returning to Castle Dour and they rushed back to the tower as the Dragon swept around for another pass at them. They reached the tower just in time to save themselves, but their horses were not so lucky. The Legionnaires joined the guards in loosing arrows at the beast from atop the tower as I drew my axe. I am sure it looked stupid, such a short weapon against the Dragon, but I have suspected that they know of the Dragonborn and anticipated that they would start targeting me. In this I appear, at least, to have been correct.
Once the Dragon noticed the Khajiit standing alone on the road it ignored the watchtower and landed right next to me with a bone-shaking thud. This provided my allies an easier target, but their cheap iron-headed arrows mostly glanced off the Dragon’s hard scales. As usual it was down to my hand weapon to fell such a great creature.
With a grateful wave to the cheering soldiers on the tower I resumed my journey to Solitude…
..and encountered absolutely nothing else along the way, reaching the city before the gates locked for the night. I chose to not repeat the mistake I made last night and immediately reported to Castle Dour with news of the Imperial victory. As expected I found the General and the Legate still at the map table.
General Tullius congratulated me on “my” victory and promoted me to Quaestor, which I gather has no practical benefit to me. He stated that my unique skills would be wasted on the line and felt I would be more useful as a “flexible agent”, which I agree with. To that end I am to report to The Pale, an L-shaped region containing Dawnstar and little else. The Legate will be on her way there tomorrow in order to take command of a raid there, one I anticipate I shall be taking part in.