4E 202, Labyrinthian War Camp
Gerron Ironbreaker
Gerron stood at the head of the long table, his massive arms braced on either side, leaning over a detailed war map.
The whole of Skyrim was depicted with great precision—its holds, rivers, mountain passes—though most of the detail was concentrated around the jagged sprawl of Labyrinthian.
Kiera stood at his right with her arms crossed while Serana occupied his left. Her expression was composed, though he noticed that the tenseness of her shoulder had visibly lessened.
Her crimson-red eyes now had a silver tint to them, a mark of Meridia's blessing perhaps?
Gerron was busy pondering the next course of action, as all the commanders began to give in their reports of the losses sustained.
Legate Taurinus cleared his throat and began the grim tally.
"Of the three thousand legionnaires, approximately a thousand are confirmed dead. Another fifteen hundred sustained injuries of varying degrees."
Gerron nodded slowly. That was… better than what he originally thought. Considering they had been sandwiched between two overwhelming enemy forces, their losses could've easily broken entire legions.
"The new weapons and armor from Shor's Stone had saved many of their lives." Taurinus grunted out. "Many blows that would have been lethal were instead shrugged off. It was good steel, Jarl Gerron."
The corner of Gerron's mouth tugged upward, just barely. "I'm glad to hear it." His gaze shifted to the Harbinger of the Companions and leader of the Whiterun Contingent, "Vilkas."
"Whiterun's losses were worse." Vilkas folded his arms, face as stony as the walls. "At least two-thirds of the Hold Guards are gone. Most fell under the vampire's charm. They were butchered before we could break the spells." A pause, brief but loaded. "Fourteen Companions fell."
A faint exhale passed through the tent, a collective pang of respect.
Isran's gravelly voice cut in. "My Dawnguard had sixty fighters with me. I lost twenty three. Could've been more if we hadn't taken down Harkon fast. All but one of the war trolls made it out, and all of the hounds survived."
Gerron dipped his chin in acknowledgment. "And with all of my Shor's Guards dead… that's at least seventeen hundred souls gone."
Not a single person looked surprised. Saddened, yes. Worn, absolutely. But surprise left no room in war.
"While it's quite the cynical take, we also can't take away the fact that today was a major victory." Serana interjected smoothly. "The Night of Convergence wiped out Harkon's court almost entirely, with only a few dozen lesser vampires scattering across the mountains and whatever force he left back in Castle Volkihar."
Isran snorted loudly at that.
Serana continued, "We slew Vokun and Volsung. That's two Dragon Priests dead and four more dragons brought down."
"The Mythic Dawn also suffered heavy losses." Kiera followed immediately. "They lost Calixto, the man now kept in chains with at least half a dozen elite Legionnaires watching him at all times. Ruma and Raven Camoran are dead, along with two dozen of their best cultists."
A murmur of satisfaction rippled across the table. Gerron nodded at their assessment, and it wasn't all the good news they received.
Aela had saved a potential ally from Mankar's grasp in one Aranea Ienith, the Priestess and Champion of Azura, from the clutches of the Mythic Dawn.
According to the brief conversation Gerron had with her, Aranea had claimed that she was captured by Calixto a few months ago.
Despite the fact that she had been kept in captivity for that long, the woman still carried herself with poise. She mentioned how Mankar Camoran was interested in the prophecy, specifically her ability of Clairvoyance.
"Perhaps listening to it might prove useful. Lady Nocturnal spoke her own version of the future," Karliah said lightly. "I'm curious to hear Azura's perspective."
Everyone agreed, and so Aranea was asked to come to the tent.
She bowed her head in greeting the moment she entered with Hadvar escorting her. She recited Azura's Prophecy.
By the end of it, Gerron and Kiera shared identical groans.
Their annoyance was obvious. The prophecy stated that the Dragonborn and the bearer of the Forge Eternal shall be the ones to shine the brightest in the coming conflicts.
Isran let out a balk of laughter while Serana chuckled. The both of them knew just how much Gerron hated prophecies, especially ones that prop him up to be this grand champion.
Kiera was the same way.
Savos just shook his head at the words, mirthful. The man still blamed himself for Morokei's escape and he couldn't hide the somberness in his expression if he tried.
Gerron knew the Archmage had a history with Labyrinthian. The experience no doubt dredged up some bad memories for him.
Gerron didn't pry. The man had enough burdens without Gerron adding more weight to his mind.
When Keeper Carcette spoke next, it was with tired assurance. "We've counted approximately twenty-four hundred injured. With White Phial potions, we'll heal nearly all of them. No fatalities expected." She paused briefly. "However, six hundred of them were crippled will no longer be able to serve as soldiers."
The Keeper was put in charge of all medical and triage forces. No one complained when being put into command of the accomplished healer.
As she reported the results, her restored arm flexed faintly. It was a small victory, but a needed one.
The curse from the wound caused by Mehrunes' Razor had rendered her left arm immobile, but with Gerron's tincture, the wound has healed as the curse was suppressed.
There was a muscle imbalance as her arm hadn't been used for at least half a year, but a woman of her experience would get that sorted out easily.
Gerron nodded firmly, "Make sure to spread the word that all soldiers who were wounded enough to no longer be combat able will be given work within the camp if they still choose to serve. Otherwise, I have a signed decree from the Emperor himself—each will receive a thousand gold pieces for their service."
Taurinus inclined his head, a satisfied smile on his face. "Yes, my Jarl."
"With that, we have one last thing to discuss." Kiera stated. "Krosis and Morokei managed to teleport away the moment the latter got free. Before that, Morokei was capable of unleashing a beam of pure magic powerful enough to break through my ward."
Savos grimaced, "Indeed, it seems his time in captivity did not diminish his strength in the slightest."
Isran leaned forward, frowning. "How'd you stop him last time?"
Savos pursed his lips. "Through sacrifice. It is not a method that we could rely on to defeat him for the second time. Especially considering he won't be alone this time."
"How many others are left?" Vilkas chimed in.
Serana answered evenly, "Four. Morokei, Krosis, Otar the Mad, and Nahkriin."
"Only four, eh?" Isran muttered. "We've fought worse odds."
"Indeed we have." Kiera chuckled.
Gerron cleared his throat, steering the meeting forward. "I've received word from General Tullius and Jarl Ulfric. They have their armies sweeping across all of Skyrim hunting down the dragons who chose to roost on mountain peaks and abandoned towers. From the reports, they've killed at least 22 dragons this past month. Since then, the attacks have slowed."
"According to Paarthurnax, Alduin is most likely conserving his forces to see if he could enact strikes on locations with a higher potential of recovery." Kiera stated. "Which means he won't be targeting hamlets or villages anymore, but most likely the cities and larger settlements."
The announcement had everyone tense and let out a breath.
Gerron can't help but feel a sort of apprehension and fear. Despite knowing that he had prepared his people as best as he could, there was still that lingering fear that Shor's Stone might be the next target.
After all, Shor's Stone might not be as grand as Whiterun or Solitude as of yet, but it had become the heart of their war industry. Almost all of the arms and armor that supplied the army came from there.
"Legate Taurinus," he ordered, voice firm. "Send word to Tullius and Ulfric. Have them prepare for assaults on the major cities. Protocols, safehouses, ballistas, archer regiments, everything."
The Legate nodded at the order.
Gerron then looked to the Dawnguard.
"Even if the threat of Harkon's court was neutralized, the many vampires that escaped could still pose a threat if we leave them to fester."
"Agreed." Isran agreed. "I'll have Durak and Gunmar lead hunting parties with war hounds. In the meantime, Sorine will return to Fort Dawnguard to oversee more production on the heavy crossbows." A smirk crossed his face. "Those beauties punch harder than anything short of a ballistae. They'll help in killing the damned flying lizards."
Aela snorted. "You're telling me. Those crossbows pack more of a punch than bows of dwemer make."
Isran smirked. "High praise coming from the Huntress herself."
Aela's grin was borderline predatory. "I only praise those who earn it, big man."
Gerron shook his head good naturedly. There was a weird tension between those two ever since they returned from the field. 'Well, whatever it is, it's their business.'
He was hardly one to judge, not when his gaze betrayed him by drifting toward Serana. She caught it, smiling softly.
Gerron forced himself to refocus.
"Until the Blades locate Alduin's lair," he declared, "or the Thieves Guild uncovers the Mythic Dawn's headquarters, our campaign in Labyrinthian officially ends."
A mixture of relief, dread, and anticipation swept over the room.
Whatever came next… would be the final stretch.
…
4E 202, Thalmor Embassy
Legate Rikke
Rikke marched at the center of the Imperial column, her shield slung across her back, her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword as the wind howled cold across the Haafingar cliffs.
Fifty Penitus Oculatus in their stark black armor led the way with Commander Maro at their head, and another hundred and fifty elite legionnaires followed, a mix of centurions, battlemages, and hardened veterans hand-picked by General Tullius himself.
Rikke was the one who led them.
Their mission was simple; escort the Emperor and keep him alive.
At least, it should've been simple, but nothing was simple when the Thalmor were involved. Especially after what they had discovered.
The Penitus Oculatus had wrung Ancano dry. After a long period of interrogations, the man finally let it slip.
It certainly wasn't easy , the Thalmor Mage had a surprising amount of willpower. But A month of twisting his perception, of illusions that stretched minutes into days and days into years, had broken the Altmer mage's stubborn mind.
Ancano thought he had been kept in captivity for two years. It had barely been a month.
And what he confessed had been damning.
Attempts to assassinate the Dragonslayer after news came out that he supplied the Stormcloaks with weapons. The assassination order turned to kidnapping when the man rose as a new Master Enchanter and proof of his peerless talent in artifact crafting became public knowledge.
Attempts to subdue a wandering Moth Priest and use him for the benefit of the Dominion. Practically enslaving him for the use of Elder Scroll readings.
The most damning of all of course, was the plan to kidnap and capture the Dragonborn herself. All in the bid to learn the ways of dragon taming.
Rikke shook her head at all of it.
It was enough to pull the Emperor from his supposed vacation and drag him here in person, flanked by elite guards and an executioner's scowl.
Rikke kept her eyes on the man as they approached the Embassy gates. Emperor Titus Mede II rode at the vanguard with Commander Maro a shade behind him, the red-and-gold imperial cloak whipping in the wind.
The Emperor's expression was a blank mask of steel. He had been that way ever since he heard Ancano's testimony.
They were truly lucky that the attack on College of Winterhold ended in failure. Rikke can't imagine what would've happened had they succeeded.
From Ancano's testimony, they knew the main culprits to be Ancano himself, Justiciar Aralor, as well as the Grand Ambassador Elenwen.
Ancano was already captured and Aralor had died by the Dragonslayer's hand, while Elenwen had most likely been turned and charmed by the Vampires, now serving as their thrall.
While the true culprits have all been punished in their own way, the Emperor still needed to come here. To enact justice on the Thalmor for their crimes.
The Thalmor Embassy was constructed right at the end of the Great War, after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat. It served as the main base of operations for the Third Aldmeri Dominion here in Skyrim.
Looming like a gloating crown atop the cliffside, it was built right on one of the peaks of the Haafingar Mountains.
Its walls were pale stone, elegant and angular, deliberately positioned to look down on Solitude as if the Dominion were constantly reminding Skyrim who truly held authority here.
Rikke always hated that.
As the Imperial host approached, the gates creaked open. A dozen Thalmor warriors with their resplendent elven armor strode out with forced composure, but Rikke noticed the stiff posture, the twitch of alarm in their golden eyes.
And then Estodil appeared.
The highest-ranking Thalmor official left in Skyrim—by default, after Elenwen's disappearance—wiped a bead of sweat from her brow as she bowed shallowly.
She was the one who had the gall to request reinforcements from Jarl Elisif back in the Blue Palace. Rikke remembered the haughty tone she used when she spoke with the Jarl of Solitude.
That tone was nowhere in sight now.
"Emperor Titus," Estodil greeted, voice steady but a shade too high. "We… were not expecting your arrival. Had we known, we would have prepared a grander welcome."
"That's quite alright," Titus Mede said as he dismounted, boots crunching against the gravel. Commander Maro mirrored him silently, the Oculatus forming a tight ring. "This is not a social call, Delegate Estodil."
The Emperor unleashed a sharp smile, one that sent shivers down Estodil's back. "Let us have a conversation, there is much to discuss."
Estodil's throat bobbed. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. This way."
As the Emperor and his closest guards were escorted into the main keep, Rikke raised her fist. At once, her legionnaires fanned out. Pairs of soldiers took up positions near exits. Battlemages surveyed the walkways and high balconies. Archers found vantage points.
Rikke scanned the embassy like it was a battlefield.
Twenty archers on the walls.
Three Justiciar patrols.
Two towers with clear lines of fire.
Barracks on the west wing, likely housing the remaining militia.
Diplomatic quarters on the east side, noncombatants, on paper.
The embassy could house at least a thousand people, basically a small village in and of itself.
By treaty, only six hundred soldiers were allowed in Skyrim soil at all times… and after Elenwen marched half her force to their deaths at Northwatch Keep, that number should've been smaller.
"I count at least two hundred soldiers," murmured Captain Marius beside her. "The rest are either diplomats… or pretending to be."
Rikke didn't respond. Her jaw tightened. The Dominion was playing games again.
Just like before.
Just like always.
Nevertheless, the details of the conversation between the Thalmor and the Emperor was not something Rikke was privy to.
Her job was to simply make sure no dark plots were enacted.
There was no need to make camp since the Emperor intended to depart the same day. He still meant to attend his cousin Vittoria Vici's wedding, and Rikke privately hoped the ceremony would be less stressful than this confrontation.
She doubted it.
Even in a place supposedly filled with "allies," every legionnaire's posture was tense. Every eye sharp. Every hand near their weapon.
The Thalmor had crossed too many lines, in too little time.
If the Thalmor sprang a trap—if they so much as twitched wrong—Rikke knew exactly what would follow.
Tullius would march two entire legions north the moment he heard the Emperor was attacked. Both legions fully clad in the Dragonslayer's ebony armor. And the Embassy would burn.
Rikke took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the mountain wind on her armor.
This was not yet a battlefield, but it was always the tenseness prior to a fight that robbed one of all their energy.
The need to remain vigilant at all times, the knowledge that a slight misstep was all it took for the horns to blow.
Whatever happens, she would be ready.
…
End of Act 4
…
AN: Act 4 ends with a bang!
I'm really happy with how this act turned out, a majority of it being the battle of Labyrinthian, aptly named in history books as the Night of Convergence.
It wasn't the longest act with only 21 chapters, but quite a lot of plotlines I've been planning from the start of the fic finally got a proper ending.
It encompassed Gerron's rise as the Jarl of the Rift, with Shor's Stone being raised as the proper capital of a Hold. The Daedra and the Divines also had a major presence in this arc, starting with Kiera stopping the dream cloud that encompassed all of Dawnstar and meeting Vaermina for the first time.
Then we had a major focus on the College of Winterhold, specifically the Eye of Magnus and its partner artifact, the Staff of Magnus.
Labyrinthian kicked in, which ended up with the defeat of two major antagonists (Calixto and Harkon), along with Serana's rise to be the Champion of Meridia.
Morokei and Krosis escaped, along with the introduction of a few new plotlines.
Alduin had an encounter with the Ideal Masters, and Nelkir is moving in the background with Mephala handling his strings.
We also have the wedding of Vittoria Vici coming up, which should be pretty interesting.
Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this one. It's been a blast. Can't wait to see you guys on the next one.
Cheers!