[i][h3]Prologue[/h3]
Windhelm, 5th of Frostfall, 4E201[/i]

A great cheer rose from the Ruby Ranks as Windhelm’s outer gate splintered open, submitting at last to the power of the battering ram that had been assaulting it for thirty minutes. Among the phalanx that now swept into the city was Captain Hector Sibassius, sword in one hand and the standard of the Imperial Dragon in the other. He glanced up at the fluttering banner, finding comfort in the familiar sight, and mouthed a quick prayer to the Eight Divines. This was it. 

It had been snowing heavily since the night before and General Tullius had seized the opportunity to attack the city under the cover of the blizzard. Hellish conditions to fight in, but it meant that the sentries on Windhelm’s walls didn’t see the Legion approaching until they were already on the bridge that crossed the large moat surrounding Windhelm itself. Protecting themselves from Stormcloak arrows with their shields over their heads the Legionnaires had quickly set up the battering ram and began the siege. Standard tactics so far, but the reason Hector knew for certain that they would win the war today was the unique force multiplier that General Tullius had told them about in his speech the day before -- the Dragonborn had sided with the Empire. 

Hector had heard the great dragon Odahviing overhead during the siege but the snowfall and low, heavy clouds had prevented him from actually laying eyes on the monster. A shadow had passed over them accompanied by a loud [i]whooshing[/i] sound and a terrible roar that made Hector’s skin crawl. The idea, as Tullius had explained it, was that the Dragonborn and his dragon mount would attack the city from the sky during the siege as a distraction. Hector had understood that to mean that the Dragonborn and Odahviing would lay down some dragonfire here and there, swooping in and out of sight -- just enough to divert the Stormcloak’s forces without putting themselves directly in danger. The sight that greeted Hector as they entered Windhelm spoke of an entirely different story.

Windhelm was on fire. Entire houses went up in flames, burning so fiercely Hector had to avert his eyes. Citizens were scrambling through the streets, some covered in horrific burns, others merely in soot and ash, wide-eyed and terrified. Stormcloak soldiers were among them, but -- in typical Nord fashion -- Hector saw no fear as they turned to look at the Imperial soldiers. They bellowed their challenges and their infamous battlecry, [i]’Victory or Sovngarde!’[/i], and charged with wild abandon. Before Hector had recovered his composure and managed to shout orders in return he became embroiled in a frantic melee. He ducked low to avoid the swing of a battleaxe and returned the favor with a swift thrust to the gut. The Stormcloak dropped to the ground with a gurgle, barely audible over the incredible noise of the battle, and another stepped in to take his place.

“To me!” Hector shouted at the top of his lungs while he backpedaled away from the frothing Stormcloak warrior, his powerful voice cutting through the din. “Rally to me, soldiers of the Emperor!” Within seconds ranks were reformed around the Captain, the banner flapping wildly in the inferno’s winds, and the desperate and unorganized Stormcloak charge was repelled. The fact that the gates had been breached had now sunk in among the civilians and the streets around the Imperials became deserted as they fled to other parts of the city. 

Far above, Hector heard a human voice shout something in an incomprehensible language, swiftly followed by a bright flash and a furious peal of thunder. The heavy snowfall inexplicably turned into a torrential downpour, smothering the flames in heavy rains, as lightning began to strike all around them. Hector could see that the Legionnaires were struck by fear and awe at this display of the Dragonborn’s unnatural power. “Steady, men!” he yelled and raised the standard higher. “The Dragonborn is on our side! The gods favor us today! In the name of the Emperor, forward!” The soldiers cheered again, solidified their ranks and began a swift march in the direction of the Palace of the Kings, passing the burnt-out Candlehearth Hall on the right side. That said, Hector couldn’t help but flinch at the tremendous noise and shocking impacts of the lightning storm, and when one of the bolts struck the ground so close to the battalion that it threw him off his feet he cursed loudly. Was the Dragonborn insane? What kind of man unleashed the power of Skyrim’s thunder with such disregard for the ordinary mortals he was supposedly fighting alongside? Hector angrily asked himself these questions as he climbed to his feet, the leather soles of his boots struggling to find purchase on the wet stones, but pushed them aside. Now was not the time.

Another Shout came from the skies and Hector clenched his jaw, fearful of what magic would follow this time. Much to his relief, however, the lightning and the rain ceased and the clouds broke. Suddenly the soldiers were bathing in sunlight and they came to a halt, looking up with wonder, smiles on their faces. Hector realised it had been a calculated strategy all along -- raze the city to break the defense, douse the fires with rainfall before Windhelm burned to the ground entirely and then clear the skies. “Praise the Dragonborn!” one of the soldiers yelled and the others swiftly echoed the sentiment. 

[i]What if we had been struck by lightning?[/i] Hector thought, looking up at the blue sky himself. The dragon and its master were nowhere to be seen.

He returned his attention to his surroundings as the battalion resumed its march, joined by reinforcements that had entered the city behind them, their ranks swelling. The damage to the city was severe. Many of these buildings were ancient, Hector knew, and it would take years to rebuild. [i]A large price to pay for rebellion…[/i] It felt wrong. An ordinary siege would have worked too, eventually, and with far less damage. The soldiers were singing as they marched through the deserted streets, evidently not concerned with the same questions Hector asked himself, but their voices fell flat as they came upon dozens of charred corpses packed tightly in one of the alleys. The walls were black with soot. Looking up, Hector saw deep gouges in the rooftops of the houses. Had Odahviing landed there and roasted these people alive, caught like mice in a trap? It certainly looked like it. 

“Great gods of nowhere,” a soldier muttered. “I’m sure glad that dragon is with us. Poor bastards.”

They didn’t encounter any further Stormcloak resistance until they were almost in the Palace’s courtyard when, suddenly and without warning, fur-clad warriors bellowing their last assaulted them from all sides. The Legion responded by forming a circle immediately, shields raised and swords at the ready. Hector found himself protected by a wall of soldiers eager to defend their commander. 

“We’re surrounded!” a voice yelled behind Hector. 

“Good!” came the reply. “That simplifies things! Attack!” Hector recognised the voice as belonging to General Tullius and glanced over his shoulder to see the man on horseback, his face as austere as ever, eyes scanning the battlefield in assessment. 

Another great cheer rose from the Imperials as they counter-attacked, the circular phalanx spreading outward as they challenged the Stormcloak’s ferocity with their own. Hector handed the Imperial standard to another and drew his own shield, eager to get into the thick of it himself. He led the charge towards the courtyard, rubbing shoulders with Legionnaires on either side. This is what he had been training for his whole life -- an honest victory purchased with honest blood. He blocked a blow from a Stormcloak woman with his shield and struck her down with a powerful slash. 

“For the Emperor!” Hector bellowed. “For the Emperor!” his men replied.

The courtyard was swarming with Stormcloaks, evidently ready to die defending the Palace’s gates -- Ulfric would be inside, of course. The Legion carved a bloody swath into them, superior numbers and cohesive unit tactics overwhelming the Stormcloaks, though Hector had to admit the Nords fought like men possessed. He saw many of his comrades killed by the berserk warriors before they were laid low, but one especially slaughtered Imperial after Imperial without being defeated -- a towering Nord clad in bear-fur, wielding an axe so big Hector wondered if he could even swing it. It was an awe-inspiring sight, so much so that the ranks of the Imperials receded whenever he charged forward. 

His name was Galmar Stone-Fist. The Dragonborn killed him instantly.

Descending from the sky with such blistering speed that Hector barely had time to leap backwards, Odahviing landed in the courtyard with an earth-shattering [i]boom[/i], crushing several Stormcloaks beneath his claws. The Dragonborn, clad from head to toe in thick armor that looked like it was made from bone, slid from Odahviing’s back and onto the ground. Ethereal magic swirled around him in the shape of a dragon’s horns and hide and he carried a greatsword in his hands that made Galmar’s axe look like a child’s toy. The Stormcloak general turned his back towards the Imperials to face this new threat, the Dragonborn and Odahviing having landed between him and the Palace. He opened his mouth to say something, no doubt to issue a challenge, but the Dragonborn cut him off with three curt words that were immediately followed by a huge plume of fire. The Imperials fell even further back, desperate to stay out of the flames’ reach, and Hector almost tripped over his own feet. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of Galmar was a pile of black bones.

A few tense seconds of silence followed. The Ruby Ranks parted for General Tullius and his horse, who joined the Dragonborn and dismounted. The two exchanged a few words, too quiet for Hector to hear. Meanwhile, Odahviing towered over the remaining Stormcloaks, who -- their spirits finally broken -- sank to their knees and laid down their weapons. The dragon growled. 

Tullius turned back to the gathered soldiers. “Praetorian guard, with me. Legate Rikke, secure the streets. Captain Sibassius, take your men down to the docks and lock down the Argonians. Captain Ordaun, you are to set up a perimeter around the city…” 

Hector saluted and turned on his heels, his men following close behind. He did not need to stay and see what the Dragonborn would do to Ulfric Stormcloak. As they left the courtyard Hector glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the Dragonborn Shout the Palace gates apart with such force that they disintegrated into a thousand pieces on impact. The sheer volume of the thu’um made Hector’s stomach drop and he winced. Now he truly understood how the Nord hero had destroyed Alduin and the vampire lord Harkon. 

As they marched for the docks Hector heard the men eagerly talking among themselves in low voices. They were young lads, all of them, and Hector assumed they were merely impressed and excited by witnessing the Dragonborn’s might at work. Hector could not help but concern himself with the ramifications of having such a powerful monster do the Empire’s dirty work. What kind of message did it send that the Empire struck down rebellions not just with a decisive military victory, but the near-destruction of a prized and ancient city? 

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Hector muttered.