The Stormcloak Queen - A skyrim Fanfiction

[3]The imperial towers

To fight in the war I'd lied about my age point blank, to anyone who'd listen frankly. I was far too young to be carting myself off to Cyrodil to fight with the legion, and this was something I knew myself at the back of my mind but I'd set my mind on the prospect firmly and at this point it was too late anyway.

You had all the time in the world to contemplate wether or not you made the right decisions in life when you were huddled in the back of a merchants caravan trying to beg, borrow and barter your way to the front lines. This particular ride had cost me my fancy jewellery, but I told myself there would be piles of jewellery on the corpses of the elves when I killed them and anyway, I had more at home in Whiterun.

That was if there was still home to go to after I snuck out of the city in the middle of the night. A proper little lady doesn't fight, mother had always told me. I was going to grow up and marry some Jarl, or Thane or General or something like she had done. She was the daughter of the Jarl of Whiterun, then the sister of him, and now the Aunt and all she saw for me was something similar. I saw myself with a war-hammer in my hand and armour on my back. Maybe that's why I was so much closer with my father.

She'd warned me off signing up to fight every chance she got, talking a big game of the consequences I'd face and how they'd never want me but at the end of the day when a tall nord with a gleaming weapon storms up and demands to fight, you give them an assignment and tell them to get to Cyrodil. This is war after all.

By the time the caravan stopped to let me out, somewhat near the imperial camps I was beyond thankful for the purchase my feet had on hard ground instead of the constant shaking of the cart. I had started to feel ill around the border and the climbing heat as we drove futher south did nothing but make the situation worse as I sat and cooked in my armour. How do you fight a war in heat like this? Even under the blanket of night the air felt heavier and hotter than even the warmest summer day in Whiterun.

I would have turned back home at the first opportunity if it wasn't for the sight of the camp at night. Each tent had a torch and each torch was just a flicker on the horizon when I first saw them. All twenty thousand torches, like a mirage in the distance calling me forward. It was a sea of fire and my gods did I want to swim. If I'd been older maybe I would still have turned around and left when I saw that but fortune favours the brave and pities the foolish.

The looks I got from the officers in the camps did little to settle me to this life I'd consigned myself too frankly. It was almost as if they knew I was a fraud, a liar. A little highborn girl here to play at war. I hadn't seen twenty summers, not even close but I liked to think I was still worthy of this.

"War-hammer!" A familiar voice rang out across the camp, rattling across the tents loud and brash. "Nothing like the palace you're used to is it?"
"I suppose it has its own charms." I grinned in response the hulking figure of the man emerging from the shadows. Galmar Stonefist was a man I'd probably recognise anywhere, although like Ulfric Stormcloak he was always going to be one of the men in my mind that should always be framed in the snow and slate of Windhelm. He looked out of place in this heat, his tunic half open, armour nowhere to be seen and even in the warm light of the torches I could tell he was burnt to a crisp by the sun. That wasn't something they ever had to worry about in Windhelm, the cloud was always to thick to catch the sun there.

Galmar was another whisper of the past, an older boy who'd loved to tease the little girl, until she'd learned to wield a hammer or even just her fists, back when we'd wheel through the snowy streets screaming and laughing with all the children, highborn and lowborn alike while my father and The Great Bear sat in the palace, back when my father had been his housecarl and one of his most trusted advisors. I hadn't been back to Windhelm regularly like that in many seasons. The city felt too much like Ulfrics.

"Nice hammer." He commented, working his fingers over the intricate carvings on the head. "This is Skyforge steel?"
"Greymane promises me he spent a month on it." I giggled. "It was a name day present."
"Has it tasted blood yet?" He grins knowingly. "Or just the straw of your training dummies?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"

He walked forward in a manner I assumed meant I was to follow, and of course I did. I was like a lost pup in the winding maze of tents, a girl away from home for the first time trying to act so much bigger than she was. Galmar represented a sliver of home to me and I'd cling to that for as long as I could.

"You know fine well what it means." He said, the grin on his face dying. "How are you here?"
"Same way you are."
"I doubt that. Who did you bribe?"
"Who says I had to bribe anyone?" I retorted, stalking through the camp with Galmar at my heels, like a little pup, or a wolf ready to eat me.
"I do Freya. You're a child."
"Am I though? My deployment says otherwise."
"They will eat you up on the battlefield. You know that?" He snapped, grabbing my arm and forcing me to spin and face him. His hands were hot and rough, their callouses scratching my wrist ever so slightly but his eyes were soft, his dirt covered face pleading almost.
"What are you Galmar? My brother?" I hissed, anger filling my chest. "Oh no, the dominon killed him, or captured him or whatever, didn't they?"

He let go of my arm.

"Let's go get you some food Frey. We can talk more about this later."