Hi Skyrim peeps, this is my first fill here so I apologise for stuffing up any protocols...
***
Legate Rikke stood with her sword in her hand in front of General Tullius. The general sat, staring at his hands in disbelief. Outside the castle, the battle raged - the cries of dying men, the clash of steel. And above it all, the echoing Thu'um of not one, but two Tongues. It would be over soon. They had been doomed from the moment the stranger joined the rebels.
"We're done here, Legate," Tullius told her, speaking for the first time in hours. "You can go."
"Not yet, we're not," Rikke said. She flexed her sword arm, watched the doors.
"Don't be an idiot, Rikke. It's over for me. If you go now, you can take the tunnels from my quarters. Make it to the Thalmor embassy."
"Are you trying to insult me, sir?" She glanced at Tullius, raising an eyebrow.
"Ugh. Fine, have it your way," he replied. "Stay here and die."
Another Shout rattled Castle Dour. Legate Rikke stumbled as the stones shook beneath her, then regained her balance.
"They're here, sir," she said calmly, in the same tone she'd used so many times announcing the arrival of an emissary or a diplomat.
Tullius laughed drily; half-way through, it turned into a hacking cough. She'd never heard him sound so old. "You don't say, Legate."
Two old friends, Rikke thought. Two old friends, and a stranger.
***
"Ulfric. Stop," Rikke said. Her stomach sank at the sight of his eyes. She saw no anger in them; only cold resolve, and a hint of sorrow.
"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?"
"You're wrong, Ulfric," she said. "We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will fall to the Dominion."
"The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died," said Galmar Stone-Fist.
She shouldn't be disappointed - the Stormcloaks had never listened to reason before; why would they do so at the moment of their victory? Arguing with Ulfric was pointless. But she could buy time. Perhaps the Thalmor would send aid. Perhaps the remaining loyalist soldiers would rally the people of Solitude to Tullius' side. Or perhaps the heroes of Sovngarde will ride in on a dragon's back to save us. You're a fool, Rikke, she told herself. Still, she couldn't give up. She was a Nord; and Skyrim was her home. She would fight until her dying breath to save it from destruction.
"This is what you wanted, Ulfric? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you want?"
"Damn it, woman, stand aside," Galmar growled. "We've come for the general."
"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in."
No aid was coming. There was no-one left to come. Tullius' men were shattered; the townspeople were dead, or fleeing; and the Thalmor were biding their time. The Dominion weren't going to help the Empire hold Skyrim. They'd swoop in after the fighting was done, maybe even take Solitude for themselves when the Stormcloak victors were celebrating, good and drunk in the early hours of the morning.
"Rikke," Ulfric said. "You don't have to do this."
"You've left me no choice," she said. "Talos preserve us." She raised her sword, and advanced.
***
Rikke doubled to the stone floor, a hand clutching a deep slash across her side. Hot blood spilled through her fingers. She could feel the ragged edges of her own ribs, the rough ends of bone torn apart by Galmar's axe, and her vision blurred. Behind her, Tullius fought on, and the sound of his blade clashing with the Dragonborn's rang in the background.
Tullius had seen her go down, heard her cry out as Galmar's axe sliced through flesh and bone. The shame of that was worse than any pain. Rikke wished she'd stayed silent, that Tullius hadn't seen her fall. If he thought her still alive, he'd have hope, fight harder. Rikke knew her general better than anyone else did. She had watched Tullius descend into a shadow of himself as first Whiterun, then Falkreath, Markarth and Morthal fell to the rebels. Nothing she had said or done could save his morale from its downward spiral, compounding loss after loss in the civil war.
Tullius is no Nord, she thought, watching detachedly as her blood splattered onto cold grey stone.
Fill: Civil War Angst - Rikke POV [1/2]
***
Legate Rikke stood with her sword in her hand in front of General Tullius. The general sat, staring at his hands in disbelief. Outside the castle, the battle raged - the cries of dying men, the clash of steel. And above it all, the echoing Thu'um of not one, but two Tongues. It would be over soon. They had been doomed from the moment the stranger joined the rebels.
"We're done here, Legate," Tullius told her, speaking for the first time in hours. "You can go."
"Not yet, we're not," Rikke said. She flexed her sword arm, watched the doors.
"Don't be an idiot, Rikke. It's over for me. If you go now, you can take the tunnels from my quarters. Make it to the Thalmor embassy."
"Are you trying to insult me, sir?" She glanced at Tullius, raising an eyebrow.
"Ugh. Fine, have it your way," he replied. "Stay here and die."
Another Shout rattled Castle Dour. Legate Rikke stumbled as the stones shook beneath her, then regained her balance.
"They're here, sir," she said calmly, in the same tone she'd used so many times announcing the arrival of an emissary or a diplomat.
Tullius laughed drily; half-way through, it turned into a hacking cough. She'd never heard him sound so old. "You don't say, Legate."
Two old friends, Rikke thought. Two old friends, and a stranger.
***
"Ulfric. Stop," Rikke said. Her stomach sank at the sight of his eyes. She saw no anger in them; only cold resolve, and a hint of sorrow.
"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?"
"You're wrong, Ulfric," she said. "We need the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will fall to the Dominion."
"The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died," said Galmar Stone-Fist.
She shouldn't be disappointed - the Stormcloaks had never listened to reason before; why would they do so at the moment of their victory? Arguing with Ulfric was pointless. But she could buy time. Perhaps the Thalmor would send aid. Perhaps the remaining loyalist soldiers would rally the people of Solitude to Tullius' side. Or perhaps the heroes of Sovngarde will ride in on a dragon's back to save us. You're a fool, Rikke, she told herself. Still, she couldn't give up. She was a Nord; and Skyrim was her home. She would fight until her dying breath to save it from destruction.
"This is what you wanted, Ulfric? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you want?"
"Damn it, woman, stand aside," Galmar growled. "We've come for the general."
"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in."
No aid was coming. There was no-one left to come. Tullius' men were shattered; the townspeople were dead, or fleeing; and the Thalmor were biding their time. The Dominion weren't going to help the Empire hold Skyrim. They'd swoop in after the fighting was done, maybe even take Solitude for themselves when the Stormcloak victors were celebrating, good and drunk in the early hours of the morning.
"Rikke," Ulfric said. "You don't have to do this."
"You've left me no choice," she said. "Talos preserve us." She raised her sword, and advanced.
***
Rikke doubled to the stone floor, a hand clutching a deep slash across her side. Hot blood spilled through her fingers. She could feel the ragged edges of her own ribs, the rough ends of bone torn apart by Galmar's axe, and her vision blurred. Behind her, Tullius fought on, and the sound of his blade clashing with the Dragonborn's rang in the background.
Tullius had seen her go down, heard her cry out as Galmar's axe sliced through flesh and bone. The shame of that was worse than any pain. Rikke wished she'd stayed silent, that Tullius hadn't seen her fall. If he thought her still alive, he'd have hope, fight harder. Rikke knew her general better than anyone else did. She had watched Tullius descend into a shadow of himself as first Whiterun, then Falkreath, Markarth and Morthal fell to the rebels. Nothing she had said or done could save his morale from its downward spiral, compounding loss after loss in the civil war.
Tullius is no Nord, she thought, watching detachedly as her blood splattered onto cold grey stone.