4E 202, Castle Volkihar
Kiera Fendalyn
She eyed the jagged towers that pierced the sky, black stone slick with salt and age, resting upon a lonely island swallowed by perpetual mist.
Castle Volkihar loomed from the Sea of Ghosts like a half-submerged corpse.
An apt name, if Kiera had to admit, for no birds cried here, no waves crashed loudly. The waters moved in slow, muted rolls as schools of fish swam beneath the frigid waters.
Kiera stood at the bow of the lead ship, the cold wind tugging at her cloak. Her enhanced draconic sight cut effortlessly through the haze, stripping the mist away as if it were little more than an illusion.
The battlements of the castle came into sharp focus. She could see the Thralls already lining the walls in loose formations—men, women, some scarcely older than children.
Their eyes were glassy, unfocused, their movements stiff and unnatural. They wore a good mix of steel and elven armor, ones probably looted from the Thalmor though their weapons were of high quality.
At least two thirds were archers, several others manning the ballistas mounted and spaced evenly atop the walls.
She forced her gaze away and sought for their supposed masters. Every few clusters of them stood the vampires, those responsible for enslaving the people of Skyrim.
Kiera counted automatically, the habit drilled into her over months of command. One. Two. Three. For every twenty thralls, a vampire overseer was watching and waiting.
It was easy to spot them, for they bore the cleanest and most high-quality arms and armor. The warriors were mostly in full plate, while the mages in their robes and cloaks.
According to intelligence, there shouldn't be many vampires left in Harkon's court. Most of the stragglers that escaped the Night of Convergence were hunted down religiously by the Dawnguard. The ones who escaped had taken refuge in Northwatch Keep, the only other established settlement owned by the court.
The ones there will be handled by Isran, who led the attack on the mainland. The Dawnguard and a Legion led by Legate Taurinus will take the keep simultaneously. It was the plan concocted weeks ago to rid their land of the vampire threat once and for all.
A soft tapping of boots approached her from behind, being slightly drowned by the cacophony of noises of legionnaires around their ships.
"How is it, Lady Kiera?" General Tullius asked, stopping at her side. His armor gleamed despite the gloom, red plume snapping lightly in the wind.
"At least twenty vampires," she said calmly, "and roughly four hundred thralls on the walls and battlements."
It was a paltry number, incomparable to the force of six thousand that Harkon brought with him to the Night of Convergence. But sieges were a complicated thing. A single defender on those walls was worth at least three attackers on the ground.
These were facts that Kiera had to study intensively to become the commander the forces of Skyrim needed her to be. She was never an expert on warfare, training as the Vigilants of Stendarr required less practices on army strategy and more towards ways to counter the movements of Daedra.
She remembered her early days after the war began, sitting in command tents with maps spread wide, listening to Tullius and Ulfric debate troop numbers and supply routes and flanking maneuvers while her mind reeled.
She had been a regular Vigilant of Stendarr then, travelling to Skyrim to visit her mother. Her world had been simple. Kill the monsters, and protect the innocent.
Not anymore. She had grown not just in body, but also in mind and spirit.
With three thousand legionnaires prepared to siege it, the numbers meant this won't be an easy siege. At least, if it was normal men who were the ones doing the sieging.
Kiera was far from being normal wasn't she?
She could feel the rumbling within her chest from her partner who was waiting on a small empty island a few clicks to the west.
It was a half-hour travel by ship, but only a minute at most for an adult dragon.
Wait, she sent through the bond—calm, reassurance, trust.
"From our intelligence," Tullius continued, "Volkihar is supposed to be holding thousands of civilians. Why only four hundred thralls on the walls?"
Kiera snorted softly. "Preservation probably. Or pride. Stendarr knows these vampires are vain to their core. They wouldn't burn through their blood banks unless they were very desperate. Even after Harkon's death and the major losses since the Night, they still think themselves untouchable."
Tullius chuckled. "True enough. Four hundred shouldn't be enough to hold should they bunker themselves. We've already shot at least a dozen messenger birds in the last ten minutes, but we don't have enough ships to completely encircle the castle."
"It won't matter," Kiera said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes burned with certainty. "Their only allies left are in Northwatch Keep and that's being handled as we speak. Today, this castle falls."
Tullius studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Shall we proceed with the plan?"
"We shall. I'll leave you to it, General."
She walked to the edge of the ship and closed her eyes.
It's time.
Deep within her chest, something stirred. The answer came as a distant roar, vibrating through her bones.
Kiera smiled.
She leapt.
The deck buckled beneath the force of her takeoff as she soared skyward, wind tearing past her. A massive shadow rose beneath her, bronze scales catching the light as Vermithor surged upward to meet her.
She landed between his shoulder blades with practiced ease.
"Come on, partner," she said, gripping the ridges along his spine—the saddle no longer needed. "Let's blow a hole in this castle."
Vermithor rumbled in agreement and dove. She could hear shouts and bells from within as ballista bolts screamed through the air, followed by streaks of hostile magic.
"Just keep going and don't stop Vermithor!" Kiera said, inhaling deeply.
Power flooded her chest.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The shout tore outward as a massive shockwave as a thunderous boom echoed through the skies. Ballista bolts disintegrated midair. Spells unraveled into harmless sparks. The very air rippled as the force cleared their path.
Vermithor surged upward, clearing the walls as Kiera drew Dawnbreaker.
Golden light ignited the blade.
Her first swing unleashed a wave of radiant fire that washed across the battlements. Vampires screamed as Meridia's light reduced them to ash. Thralls collapsed unconscious, freed from their bindings.
This was the true strength of Dawnbreaker. When the wielder wills it, only those cursed with undeath shall feel its flames.
Her second strike sent a crescent of blazing gold that cleaved through a tower. Stone melted like wax, the structure splitting apart as it collapsed inward.
"That should do," she muttered. The chaos of this section should be enough to allow the Legions to land unmolested.
"Now, Vermithor!" she called. "To the gates!"
He banked sharply. From above, Kiera saw the Legion ships nearing the beach.
'Right on time.'
Vermithor banked and stopped before the gates, his wings sending massive gales to the ground. Lightning crackled in his throat.
"QO SPAAN LOK!"
A beam of searing blue lightning tore out of his gaping maw that zagged towards the gates, blowing the portcullis open as the steel melted. The gates collapsed inward with a deafening crash.
"The Dragonborn has bid us the way!" Tullius roared. "Charge! For the Legion! For the Emperor!"
A rallied cry rang out from the Legionnaires as they dismounted from their ships. Centurions bid out orders for their centuries to form lines as shield walls formed that trudged through the beaches towards the opening.
Kiera crouched atop Vermithor's back. "Stick with the plan, alright partner?"
He dipped his head. "Indeed. Good luck, Kiera."
She smiled before flipping away from his back, timing it right to land right as he passed one of the main keep of Castle Volkihar.
Her mission was different from the rest of the legions. While they would focus on clearing the castle, it was her job to make sure the hostages and prisoners don't get butchered while they do it.
Her descent ended in a roll atop the keep's roof. She rose smoothly, cracking her neck as the sounds of battle echoed below.
She entered Volkihar Keep through a shattered window.
What met her first was a large dining hall. Two long tables lined the room, piled with silver platters smeared in blood. Bones lay discarded like scraps. There were women sprawled across the tables—riddled with bite marks and throats torn open, their bodies pale and lifeless.
Dead.
All of them.
Kiera clenched her jaw as the castle rumbled around her, dust falling from the ceiling.
'I forgot,' she thought bitterly. 'Not all vampires are like Serana.'
They were not victims of Molag Bal's cruelty, but regular men who sought power to lord over others. They were monsters by choice.
Voices echoed down a corridor, followed by a low growl. It didn't take long for them to round the corner, two vampires arguing, a death hound padding beside them.
"Should we flee?" one hissed.
The other, a tall dunmer vampire, spoke. "How?! There's a bloody dragon out there! Even invisible, it'll catch our scent!"
Kiera stepped into view. The death hound immediately turned towards her, its hackles raised.
Dawnbreaker flashed.
The hound perished beneath her blade and the dunmer vampire died before he could scream.
The other barely had time to raise his hands before she had him by the throat, blade glowing inches from his face.
"Where are the prisoners?" she demanded.
"The—Thrall Dungeons!" he gasped. "Beneath the kitchen!"
She released him.
The golden blade took his head a heartbeat later.
Kiera moved fast through corridors lined with blood kegs, past the kitchen with its bleeding rack and coffin-bed, until she found the stairs.
They led down into darkness.
There was a single vampire here who looked at her with surprise. That surprise lasted for only a second as Kiera separated his head from his body.
The Thrall Dungeons opened into a massive chamber of iron-barred cells.
Hundreds of people were crammed within them—huddled together, bruised, starving, terrified. Kegs of blood sat beside them like livestock feed.
The rumbling above had filled them with equal parts dread and fragile hope.
Kiera could understand. After having spent months or years here, even the slightest of disturbances could look like salvation.
One woman looked up.
She saw Kiera's Vigilant armor, the cloak of the Greybeards around her. The light of Dawnbreaker.
"Are you… here to save us?" she whispered.
Kiera smiled.
"Yes," she said softly. "I am."
…
4E 202, The Reach
Ulfric Stormcloak
The last time Ulfric Stormcloak had ridden hard into the Reach, Skyrim had been a different land.
Then, it had been fire and grievance that carried him, rage at Imperial weakness, fury at the chains placed upon the throats of his people. The Markarth Incident still lived vividly in his mind.
Blood on the streets, Forsworn screams echoing through the fields, and the bitter taste of betrayal that followed victory. Hroldir and Igmund had begged him to reclaim their city, and he had done so with steel and Thu'um alike.
It was there, amid the ashes of Markarth, that the seed of rebellion had truly taken root.
And now, years later, he rode west again—not for politics, nor crowns, nor grudges—but to save it from the mad clutches of a Daedric cult.
That truth still sat uneasily in his chest.
Of all the threats Skyrim had faced, the Mythic Dawn was one that truly caught Ulfric by surprise, and one that unsettled him the most.
The dragons he had seen firsthand back in Helgen. He had cut down vampires since his youth in the snowbound passes of Eastmarch. He had bled against the Thalmor for years, watching his people suffer beneath treaties signed by cowards.
And now finally, the Empire had stirred.
News of Titus Mede II's actions against the Thalmor had reached Windhelm just a week ago. Ulfric had read those reports twice, then a third time, scarcely believing them.
'At last', he had thought, 'the man has found his spine.'
After years and years of hard grueling work, of the children of Skyrim bleeding, their worship of Talos muted—did the man finally open his eyes that the Thalmor was a rot that the Empire shouldn't have tolerated or bowed to.
It had taken dragons falling from the sky and Daedra crawling into Skyrim's soil—but the Empire had finally recognized the Thalmor for what they were.
Ulfric did not begrudge the timing.
If peace came at the end of this road, he would accept it gladly.
The letter from Shor's Stone still weighed in his saddlebag, its seal broken days ago but its words burned into memory. Gerron Ironbreaker's words repeated itself in his mind.
'Jarl Ulfric, my efforts have borne fruit at last. My scouts have found the headquarters of the Mythic Dawn, deep within the mountains of the Reach within the Dwemer ruins of Bthardamz—'
There were more words detailing the findings of the scouts, before it ended in a request for him to ride west to end the Daedric threat once and for all. But the first words were enough.
Since the Peace Summit at High Hrothgar, Ulfric had remained in Eastmarch, consolidating what remained of his forces and hunting the dragons that dared cross his skies. He had ridden out dozens of times, Stormcloaks at his back, Thu'um on his lips.
Four dragons had personally fallen to his blade.
Galmar Stone-Fist himself had earned new renown in those hunts, crushing skulls and wings alike. The bards had taken to calling him the Brown Bear of Windhelm, a title Galmar pretended to dislike and secretly adored.
Now those same warriors marched west.
Men from the Pale and Winterhold had joined first, swelling the column. Garrisons from Fort Amol, Morvunskar, Mistwatch, and Fort Dunstad followed soon after.
Five thousand Stormcloaks in all, a little over half of his total armies, and the reinforcements from Whiterun, which were only a few days behind them.
It should be enough to burn a cult from the mountains.
The Mythic Dawn had lost their Champion, the man known as Calixto now deep within the dungeons of the Vigilants. Which was why Karliah of the Nightingales now rode with them.
Having a Champion as an ally was an advantage no other thing could boast. They became the newest war potential, something that all the great commanders of Skyrim had taken note of.
And now, seven of them were allied with the Empire.
Ulfric rode at the head of the host, Galmar to one side, and half a dozen Snow-Hammers surrounding him—his personal battleguard. They had taken the name after Caraxes, the red dragon, had burned Windhelm's docks. Those men had not fled. They had not broken.
They had stood with him through fire and death, from Windhelm to High Hrothgar, and to the many battles since.
The Vigilants of Stendarr joined them mid-march. A hundred holy warriors, accompanied by men bearing the red cloaks of Haafingar.
Ulfric rode alongside their leader, Keeper Carcette.
The woman was older than she looked, her presence calm and unyielding. Skyrim now knew her by many names: Keeper of the Vigil, Bane of Daedra, mother of the Dragonborn.
Ulfric respected her.
Behind them rode Vigilant Tolan and Captain Aldis of Haafingar, commanding the rear guard of fifty Hold guards.
The captain was an Imperial Loyalist, sworn to Elisif and Solitude. Just half a year ago, they would have met on the battlefield as enemies. Now, Ulfric was glad to call the man a shield-brother.
"We haven't had the chance to fight side by side yet, Jarl Ulfric," Carcette said as the road narrowed. "I look forward to seeing your vaulted Thu'um in action."
Ulfric huffed quietly. "I suspect it pales beside what the Dragonborn can do."
He glanced at her. "Though I find the irony amusing. I sent you a letter once, before all this madness began, asking for the Vigilants' aid."
Carcette nodded. "I remember. I sent a reply."
Ulfric frowned. "I never received it."
"Then your runner met an unfortunate end," she said evenly. "My answer was the same then as it would have been today. The Vigilants do not fight political wars."
Ulfric considered that. He had once taken the silence as an insult.
Perhaps he had been wrong.
"Then fate has a sense of humor," he said at last. "We ride together now, side by side all the same."
"Perhaps," Carcette replied. "It does."
Sense of humor indeed, for the Keeper's reputation precedes her. Many sang praises for the Keeper of the Vigilants, for she was one of the most prodigious healers in all of Tamriel.
In the fated Night of Convergence, many claimed they would have perished if not for the Dragonslayer's potions or for the Carcette's ability.
Once, Ulfric would have looked down on magic and the like. His mind has changed since then.
The Reach rose before them soon after. The trees thinned as stone climbed skyward. Jagged mountains cut the horizon like broken teeth as the soft ground turned rocky and rough.
"We're getting close," Ulfric said. "Best not dally in these lands for too long, some bands of Forsworn still call these lands their home."
A Stormcloak rider approached at a gallop from the front. Galmar peeled away instantly, intercepting the scout. They spoke briefly before turning back.
"What news?" Ulfric asked.
"We've met someone ahead, my Jarl." the young nord, Bormund if Ulfric remembered correctly, bowed his head. "Claims to be from Shor's Stone. Says he was sent by Jarl Gerron Ironbreaker."
Ulfric straightened in the saddle.
"Must be the advanced scout Gerron mentioned," he said. "Take us to him."
He turned to Galmar. "Get the Bone-Breakers and hold the column. Set up a perimeter of scouts for a quarter mile in every direction, I'd rather us not get ambushed by the Forsworn if it comes to it."
"Aye," Galmar said, already riding off.
Ulfric looked to Carcette. "Shall we?"
She inclined her head.
Together, they spurred their horses forward, following Bormund down a narrow mountain path, Tolan and his battle guard coming up behind them, toward the man waiting ahead.
…
AN: This chapter takes place at around the same time as Gerron and Serana's adventure in the Soul Cairn. So everything in the past 7 or 8 chapters happened in the span of about 7-10 days.
Anyways, the threats to Skyrim are being dealt with one at a time. Kiera and Tullius have it handled with the Volkihars, while Ulfric, Karliah, and Carcette handle the Mythic Dawn.
Now I'm confident that there should be around 10 chapters left of this fic. Maybe. Hopefully. I have no idea. (Edit from the future: I was wrong.)
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 108 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!