Well, this is actually my first time writing a book, so....enjoy Chapter 1!



It was about an hour after midnight, and Ulfric Stormcloak lay awake. He knew he would have to get up in a few hours, as he was the Jarl of Windhelm, but yesterday's events kept him from falling asleep. He had just learned of High King Torygg's death. Why him? Ulfric thought, why not me? I was the one who destroyed Northwatch Keep and the Embassy and freed those prisoners. One of them had been a young girl, half-starved, weak, and bleeding from torture. It had taken her a few days to recover, but it had taken longer to win her trust. Her name was Astaela, and she was 15 years old and the Thalmor had indeed tortured her for information she didn’t have, but she did have a dream that Torygg was killed by an unknown, shadowy figure, wearing robes similar to a Thalmor mage’s. Astaela wasn’t surprised when she heard of his death, saying that she heard two Thalmor mages talking about it two nights after she had the dream, but was concerned to learn about Torygg’s wife, Elisif, as she vanished the same night Torygg died, and her whereabouts and fate remained unknown. Maybe it's the Thalmor. Maybe they’re behind it. Ulfric took a deep breath. He knew that it was too early to jump to conclusions; the killer could have been anyone - in a Thalmor disguise. Astaela never saw this killer’s face, but she knew the killer was of more elven mage build, so it could very well be one of the elven races trying to start a war.
But it could be something else. Maybe they're scared. Of me. That thought made Ulfric smile a little. He could deal with that. He was aware that people also knew him as the Roaring Bear, on account of his unpredictable temper, muscular build and powerful Voice. They feared him as well, but that fear was amplified when he was having a bad day. On those days, you wouldn't want to be there when his temper blew over. His Voice could destroy whole cities. Not that he'd want to try it.
Outside, the winds howled in their mournful, eerie tones while the snowflakes danced along. The wooden floor panels in the hallway creaked softly as the night guards went about their usual rounds. Sounds like those usually gave Ulfric a sense of safety and lulled him into a deep sleep, but now they scared him. If Windhelm was attacked, the few night guards might not have enough time to react, and the townspeople wouldn't be the only ones in danger.
On his right, Astaela slept soundly, as if she didn’t remember the horror and pain she was forced to experience firsthand. She had straight blond hair that reached down to the middle of her back and bright blue eyes that seemed peer into your very soul. She looked like your average Nordic teen, but Ulfric couldn’t help but feel like there was something more to that. She looks so...innocent. Ulfric smiled, stood up, and snuck over to his desk, and lit the candle with a match. The letter on his desk, barely legible now, still held hints to what it once said between dried teardrops, but Ulfric didn't need to read it again. He knew what it said. Torygg had been murdered in his sleep. The killer - or killers - had taken Elisif and vanished into the night. The Empire does nothing, as if they didn’t even notice the murder and the kidnap. But the people took notice, and they weren’t happy when General Tullius ignored their pleas to investigate, which lead many to believe they were behind it. This was why Ulfric led the rebellion, and probably the same reason why so many fought under his banner. The Empire he and most likely everyone else remembered died during the Great War, when the Emperor signed the White-Gold Concordat with the Aldmeri Dominion. Now, it was possible that the Thalmor were targeting Ulfric, because he leads the rebellion, which leaves him as a suspect in their eyes. But they couldn’t really do anything or prove that he was the killer, because he had left no Thalmor survivors at Northwatch and the Embassy, giving his troops enough time to shove the Legion out of the Old Holds and trap them in Haafingar, not to mention that the only time he was in Solitude was weeks before the murder and kidnap.
A loud creak and a sudden movement at the door jolted him back from his thoughts. Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric’s housecarl and second-in-command, was standing at the door, a look of concern on his face, his heavily muscular body nearly filling the doorframe. Ulfric relaxed a little. “Galmar, I’m fine. It’s just that the recent events have kept me on edge.” Ulfric reassured him, yet Galmar remained. “It’s not like you, you know. Staying awake all night.” Galmar objected. Ulfric didn’t reply; Galmar was right. Galmar and Ulfric had known each other for so long, they were almost like brothers, and they both knew that Ulfric never had much reason to get up at night. If he did, then it was only to use the chamberpot, or check on his three sons, Angrskr, Thrudur and Vidgolf. Galmar entered the room and placed a hand on Ulfric’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find that killer, and what happened to Elisif.” The Jarl nodded, but still appeared concerned.
“You’re right,” he said finally. Galmar grinned. “Well. It looks like we have some planning to do. Best get some sleep.” Galmar patted Ulfric on the shoulder and left the room. Ulfric took a deep breath. Looking around, he suddenly became aware of his own exhaustion, so he blew out the candle and slipped back into bed. He had a plan. And, with any luck, it would convince Balgruuf to join Ulfric in the fight to free Skyrim from a crumbling Empire. And if no one else would do it, Ulfric would.

And here it is!

Chapter 2

General Tullius swore. Recently, he had sent sent his best scouts (who were also his last) to find Ulfric in hopes of ending the rebellion and bringing the civil war to an end. The one standing before him was the only survivor of the failed search, and the last scout left. The others had been killed, the scout had told him. His group hadn't even set one foot outside the barracks before being attacked viciously by angry protesters. He barely made it back inside alive. More and more people had sided with the rebellion. Three holds, Whiterun, Falkreath, and the Pale, all had sided with Ulfric. Imperial soldiers were ditching the Legion to join the Stormcloaks, with Rikke being the most recent he knew of. The provinces of High Rock, Hammerfell, Morrowind, Black Marsh and even parts of Cyrodiil had already freed themselves of Imperial rule or currently doing just that. And Ulfric lead the whole thing.
“What’s Ulfric up to, anyway?” Tullius asked, “How is he even getting this many followers? And how is he even able to handle this much pressure?” The scout thought about this for a moment, before saying, “Well, Jarl Ulfric does have a way of knowing what people truly want and voicing them…”
That made the general freeze. “...So you’re saying that he can get people to realize what they want with just a speech?” He slowly turned to the scout, a look of fear on his face. “Yeah….” Tullius swore again. He was 27 when he joined about fifty years ago - fifty years! - yet now, in the midst of a war that could topple an Empire, he was beginning to question his allegiance to…. No. He couldn’t. Not now. But it was undeniably there, deep in his heart, a doubt that….
“General?” The sudden interruption made Tullius jump. The doubt he felt sent a chill down his spine. There was something different about the scout as well. Or was it just him? Tullius hadn't slept in days, and his vision was beginning to blur a little. “I’ll speak to them.” Tullius growled, and stormed to the door. “Wait! General, no!” The scout’s cries fell on deaf ears as Tullius swung open the door and stepped outside.

Two more chapters....


Ulfric’s schedule continued normally, which would be fine for him, if it wasn't adjusted on account of war. He was used to the wartime routine; planning in the war room, sending messages to the officers, sending soldiers this way and that. He's been through this before. But now he had the extra burden of locating and bringing the murderer to justice and returning Elisif - or her remains - to Solitude. So far, neither had shown up anywhere. The remaining 8 Jarls were meeting in the war room at Dragonsreach, in Whiterun, the very heart of Skyrim. Snowflake was there as well, clinging to Ulfric's side, his arm wrapped around her, her gaze full of pain, grief and fear, avoiding everyone else’s. They all stood around the map, trying to figure out their next move.
"Don't you guys think it's been too long?" Skald asked. "I mean, Elisif could be dead by now."
Balgruuf glared at him. "That's why we're looking, dammit! Everybody needs to know what exactly happened to her!" Everybody was tired and on edge, but Ulfric and Balgruuf, both being fathers of three as well as Jarls, showed it more. Their fuses were much shorter now, ready to blow any minute. "We should start looking around Haafingar. It's likely they'll both be somewhere there." Korir remarked, pointing to the map.
They all gave this some consideration. "Seems reasonable, but we'd have to send soldiers with the scouts. It's not likely any of them will be greeted peacefully." Igmund replied. "It could still technically work, though."
"Are you kidding?! We're fighting a war on two fronts!" Ulfric yelled. "All of our soldiers are tied up somewhere!" It was undeniable fact; in spite of the revolution and deteriorating Legion, Cyrodiil had declared war on Skyrim, only to met with the same declaration from the other provinces and much resistance from within, putting the Imperial City under a massive siege. The Imperial soldiers in Solitude was putting up a fight as well; what remained of the groups stationed around Skyrim were now cornered in Haafingar, killing every Stormcloak soldier they came across, and with the death toll in the city supposedly rising every day, something needed to be done before Solitude was destroyed, and that something was Elisif returning to Solitude one way or another. A courier busted in, out of breath, holding up an important-looking letter. Balgruuf took the letter and, as he read it, the look on his face changed from frustration to shock, soon replaced with happiness. "You guys. Solitude surrendered! And the soldiers over in Cyrodiil managed to reach the city!" This news was welcomed with cheers. The remaining 8 Jarls of Skyrim could now worry less, as the search for Elisif and the murderer could carry on there was now war on only one front: the Imperial City itself, the very heart of the crumbling Empire.

Chapter 4

Tullius woke up to the sound and smell of seawater. It was early morning. Sitting up, he soon realized he was outside Ravenscar Hollow, his armor severely dented and his body sore and badly wounded. He limped over the the water's edge and splashed some in his face, memories of the sudden mob attack flashing through his mind. The attack had been sudden and quick; one of them had knocked him out before he could even think of defending himself. Tullius instinctively looked down to his hip, where his sword was. Missing. Damn. He looked around; still, no sign of his sword. They must've taken it, he thought. There were a few deer and horkers around, along with some trees, and he knew that he could possibly survive here, if he had the tools. But he was in no shape to return to Solitude to retrieve them or to make them himself. Besides, he didn't even know if he'd survive another attack like that. He stared at his reflection in the water and he saw a dark spot on the side of his head. He touched it, and withdrew blood-tipped fingers. He must've hit in the head really hard. Waves of regret and pain washed over him. I should've joined Ulfric earlier. Painfully, Tullius stood and started to limp away from the water, towards the nearest path or town. He needed to do something, but his head injury prevented him from knowing just what he had to do or even seeing straight, not even realizing he was being watched by two shadowy figures lurking in the forest, monitoring his every move, waiting for the right time to strike.

Chapter 5

The day started off slow. Which Ulfric was grateful for, because he needed the time to think things over. He had been trained in the Voice, which allowed him to deal damage without having to draw his sword, thanks partly to the Greybeards, the monks who live in silence near the top of the Throat of the World. The Greybeards believe the Voice was to be used in worship of the Divines, which is why they live so high up, an attempt to be more attuned to the sky. They never speak, as their voices were just as powerful as the dragons’. Ulfric, having been trained under them, had seen its true power while he fought in the Great War, so he had every reason to believe that the Voice was a power that can't - and shouldn't - be taken lightly. It stayed with you for your entire life. There was nothing you or anyone else could do to drive it out. Ulfric knew this well - he could still feel the power within him, storming, churning within his very soul, even though the last time he used it was years ago, during the Markarth Incident. It had grown stronger since then, to the point where it was rivaled only by Master Arngeir, who was the only Greybeard who could Speak without having the whole place shake or crumble.
Astaela seemed to be better, and was walking in and out of the palace. The guards informed Ulfric that she spent time around town, cleaning the stables and feeding the horses there, or helping the Dunmer out in the Snow Quarter (known unofficially to some as the "Gray Quarter" from the number of Dunmer refugees living there), or hanging around the market (either watching the blacksmith do his craft or making a small trinket of some sort), or on the docks helping the sailors and the Argonians with whatever they needed help with. She didn't seem to mind the refugees; neither did Ulfric. They kept to themselves, though Rolff, Galmar’s younger brother, liked to get drunk and pick fights with them. Nobody really liked Rolff. Not even Galmar. "Bane of the Stone-Fists," he would say, with an annoyed and frustrated look in eyes, "he drinks too much for his own good."
A door shut, forcing Ulfric out of his thoughts. A Nord woman had entered, fair-skinned, dark brown hair reaching her shoulders, clad in Daedric armor and armed with a sword, arrows and a bow of similar make. She had the walk of a strong and experienced warrior, adventurer and mercenary. She bowed upon reaching the throne. "Have you come to ask about Elisif?" Ulfric asked. "It's my understanding that the scouts could use some help." The woman lifted her gaze, interested. "Ah, yes, I have. I'd like to help in any way I can." Ulfric considered this, then smiled. "Well! You're the first to volunteer. Stand. I'd like to get a good look at you." She stood. Even her stance reflected her adventurous ways; her hand was hovering over the hilt of her sword, ready to fight at the first sign of trouble. But there was something else, something in her eyes that made Ulfric consider the fact that she might not be the simple adventurous interloper he had initially thought her to be. "In case you're wondering," the woman spoke up, rather reluctantly, "yes, I'm Dragonborn."
Ulfric's eyes widened. "So that was the feeling I was getting!" Ulfric yelled. "You're Dragonborn! Of legend!" The woman appeared surprised. "You can.... sense it? This kind of power?" "Yes," Ulfric replied. "I was trained with the Greybeards when I was young. Was to be one of them, but the Divines seemed to have better plans for me. Now, tell me, Dragonborn. I'd like to get to know you a little bit more. What’s your name?" The woman paused for a second, before answering, "My name is Leah Shadowfall." Ulfric gave a small smile, one of content. He had received letters that a Nord woman by that name could be trusted. And also a rather powerful ally. The conversation continued, watched by Astaela, who stood in silence, back to the tall gothic window, the bluish light flooding in from it giving her a mystical yet dark aura.

Tullius was growing weary of his isolation. Nobody would grant him access into any city or town. He could return to his home province of Cyrodiil, but that was too dangerous, what with the war and all. He was well aware that the Imperial City was under a massive siege, and the entire province was under the bloody grip of a revolution. It appeared that the whole of Tamriel was undergoing a revolution. What was next, everybody banding together to destroy the Aldmeri Dominion? Ulfric surely would have everyone do so, as he viewed the Thalmor as his mortal enemy, and would undoubtedly put himself on the front lines if war were to break out. Tullius’s wounds have multiplied with no relief in sight, and he sat in front of the fire in his camp near Gjukar’s Monument. His paranoia was growing, and the voices it brought would not let him sleep for any length of time. They tortured him, told him to kill and destroy everything that passed him by - bears, deer, goats, even caravans and guards. This wasn’t how he wanted his story to end. Not until he could atone for his past. And that would mean either joining Ulfric and fighting under his banner or seeing the day a new Empire was forged, lead by none other than Ulfric Stormcloak and his roaring Voice. Tullius knew this now, for Ulfric had seen and done more in his 58 years than Tullius had in his entire 77 years walking on Nirn, and Ulfric could do so much more with the time he had left than Tullius could. That was why he so desperately wanted to reach Windhelm - to witness the power Ulfric held and bow to it, to willingly help the rebellion destroy the remains of a dying Empire. A single Legionnaire stumbled into Tullius’s camp and passed out nearby, but he didn’t bother going to aid the soldier. It could be a trap, for all he knew. But where would her accomplices hide? This was a flat tundra, with very few places to hide, save a few rocky crevices and bushes and the monument itself. But then again, it didn’t hurt to have someone around when you’re wandering by yourself in a harsh and seemingly desolate area. His mind made up, Tullius limped towards the passed-out soldier, only to find that she had died, killed with some manner of heavily poisoned short blade. The soldier's wounds festered violently, even though they were at least a day or two old. Tullius's own wounds bled a little and oozed with pus and still gave him great pain with every slight touch or movement. He was in no shape to fight anything, so he headed back to his camp and collapsed near the fire.

This is really good
Keep it up!

Chapter 7

Elisif was safe. Ulfric, Astaela (who is now a fully-fledged Sakura Mage, an incredibly rare and excessively powerful mage with the ability to absorb the magicka from normal mages, living, dead and undead, and enchant weapons and armor without having to use soul gems, and use her own aura to manipulate the world around her, kill any opponents, and directly control the flow of magicka, which can also interrupt spells and stop a mage's supply of magicka from regenerating, despite any enchanted robe, cowl or trinket that does otherwise) and the Dragonborn, Leah, had found her at Ravenscar Hollow. She was shaken up, but not badly hurt. The message had been sent around, so that everybody knew Elisif was safe at the Palace of the Kings, Ulfric's palace, where she would stay until the murderer was caught and publicly executed. Everybody was exhausted and relieved that Elisif was fine, but they knew that now was not the time to rest. The war in Cyrodiil raged on, as the Thalmor decided to enter the war on the side of whatever fraction of the Empire remained about a month ago, but now that army was crippled. The Sakura Mage had used her deep magicka reserves to destroy the entire Thalmor navy with a massive tsunami and wash all the port cities of Sumerset Isle away with the flood that followed. Ulfric wanted to go to the Imperial City himself to use his Voice to shout the Legion and the Dominion to submission, but that would be too dangerous, even for him. Elisif had said that her captor and her husband's murderer were both Thalmor mages, but she couldn't remember their names, so Ulfric went into isolation to meditate and listen for any whispers that might indicate their location. Astaela willingly volunteered to aid the search by searching the Ether in an attempt to find them. Ulfric and Snowflake remained both in the same room, locked away in isolation until the killers were found.

Chapter 8

Tullius felt and looked almost like a zombie. No sleep and little food and water atrophied his mind, and massive, infected, pus-filled scars riddled his body, yet he continued on his path to reach Windhelm. He was close, he knew it. He just had to survive the next few miles and he would be fine. His old armor was too dented, so he got rid of it in favor of leather armor. He also found a good steel sword on his travels. The freezing winds bit and tore at him. Snow nearly blinded him, rendering him unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. Tullius suddenly knew why Nords were so tough and strong; they had to be. They had little choice. Winters in Skyrim were the harshest in all of Tamriel. If Nords were to survive just one, they would need all that strength. A sudden gust blew into Tullius’s face, stinging his frostbitten hand. The road was empty, yet he felt like he was being followed. Or was it just him? He could no longer tell. His body was racked with disease, and his mind was going crazy. He kept seeing the faces of of his friends he knew were already dead. They would flash in front of him for mere seconds, but would vanish when he blinked. Tullius was now at the bridge leading to the city gates of Windhelm. The faces of the dead began flashing in his vision with more frequency, each one preceding an ever-growing sense of foreboding. Two figures stood beyond the bridge, both clad in Thamor mage robes. Am I...safe…? he thought. Tullius started to run as fast as he could, which was nothing more than a stumbling fast-walk, in an attempt to get closer. Then things went into slow motion. The first two arrows missed the Thalmor mages, and Tullius realized that they were bound. A third arrow zipped towards Tullius. He tried to dodge, but the arrowhead managed to bury itself in his shoulder, bringing the familiar sensation of poison burning through his body. Tullius’s vision began to darken. He tried to find who shot him, but it was too late. The eternal darkness took General Tullius as he fell into the snow, and there was nothing else.

Final chapter!


Yngol Barrow. A place very few were willing to enter, and those who did either didn't make it out alive or ran off at the first sight of the Drauger, but many of those dusty old bonewalkers were pretty easy to defeat. Or maybe it was something about the eerie glowing orbs that scared people off. They’re completely harmless, Snowflake assured them. Yet now, standing amongst them, Ulfric found his doubts slowly slipping away, replaced with a strange, childlike curiosity. They tweeted softly, rolled around, bounced ahead, and even bumped into each other. It was almost like watching children play. Those criminals were nearby, and they could feel it. Snowflake was carrying a bow and some arrows, along with a sword and a dagger, but continued to wear her normal robes. The blades were there just in case her magicka reserves ran dry, she explained. It was very rare for Snowflake to rely on physical weapons; her magicka reserves were deep, and she could tap right into the Veil and bend it to her will. It was rather useful against mages, as it interrupted spells, magicka regeneration, and even deplete a mage of their entire magicka reserves. She could even raise the dead and summon familiars this same way. It was fascinating to watch, but they couldn't be distracted right now. They were now in Yngol Barrow's Hall of Stories. The mages stood facing the door, unable to open it. One of them turned around and, upon seeing Snowflake, dropped to his knees, hands above his head. The other one noticed, and did the same. They either gave up because they knew that they didn't stand a chance with Snowflake around or because they just couldn't take it anymore. But it didn't matter. They were arrested and guided back to Windhelm for their execution.

Ok, you guys can comment and ask me questions and all.

I like the fanfic so far it's really good

Thanks. I finished it, actually, but I'm still making a few edits here and there.

A fellow Skyrim fanfic writer!!!!!!!!!

Hahaha! ^^

I love how you got everyone into Skyrim's storyline by starting somewhere other than where it originally begins! This is amazing!

If I may ask, have you put this up on another site somewhere??

No, but I did write this on my Google Drive account.


I did put a symbol or two in the book, I will say that much. Who - or what - it is is up for the readers to guess.

Ok, here is the final part of the fanfic. It does have kissing in it, but nothing more than that. You have been warned.



Ulfric leaned against the desk in what he considered to be his private sanctuary - a hidden room that only he and Galmar had the key to. Some of the guards knew about it, but were not allowed to enter unless Galmar wasn't there with him. The room was rectangular in shape, and just large enough to accommodate Ulfric and his council. It contained a few simple furnishings, a few beds, a desk, some chairs, a table, and two bookshelves chock full of books. The room was underground and had two secret passages leading out of it - one leading to the rather extensive cellar, the other being an escape route leading to a cave several miles away. A door on the other end of the room opened to a hallway that lead to the barracks. But it wasn't the room or its furnishings that troubled Ulfric. It had been 6 weeks since the execution of the two Thalmor mages and the death of Tullius, and the events following both incidents had been sudden and, at many times, unexplained. He found himself asking the Dragonborn, Leah Shadowfall, for aid more often, and what surprised him the most was her willingness to help. Most of his men were out fighting the war in Cyrodiil, and the few that remained in Skyrim were already pretty busy keeping the people safe. In Windhelm, it had been blizzarding all week with no end in sight. Not only that, Ulfric was now High King, which burdened him even more.
Ulfric sighed. He was well aware that there were three guards in his sanctuary with him. It was late at night, but Ulfric didn't care at this point. Even if he did, he couldn't sleep. Not tonight. Not when this feeling of desire pulsed through his body. He found himself attracted to Galmar, but was scared to admit it. He had no idea how Galmar would react, even though they had a mutually strong respect for each other. Ulfric bit his lip and tensed, just as Galmar walked in. "Galmar..." Ulfric whispered. Galmar noticed the look on Ulfric's face, and told the guards to give them privacy, which they did. After the guards exited the room, Galmar walked overto Ulfric. "Ulfric, what troubles you?" Galmar whispered, gently holding Ulfric's hand. "It's...just..." Ulfric's breath caught. He suddenly didn't know how to admit his feelings for Galmar. Do it. Say it. "I'm not sure how to say this, but I..." Again Ulfric's breath caught in his throat. "It's okay. I understand." Galmar said, and pressed his lips against Ulfric's before he could protest. The kiss was soft and only lasted a few seconds, but Ulfric didn't need further confirmation: his feelings were mutual. But at the same time, Ulfric craved more than just one kiss. He craved something more...intimate. Galmar must've felt the same way, as his lips just hovered over Ulfric's. The two held each other in a tight embrace. Their lips drew closer, and it all went dark.

A really creative and enjoyable read! :lovestruc