For the love of Talos

It was cold that night. Roggvir clapped his hands together over the fire, his stony features staring emotionless into the darkness beyond the walls of Solitude.

"You've got quite the audience tonight Roggvir," came the voice, rough from a long, hard life but laced with kindness. It's owner stepped into the little circle of light around the brazier, into Roggvir's world.

Roggvir glanced up, a brief smile flicking over his lips, before turning back to watch over the gate. "Aye, Noster. Jarl Ulfric's lot. Here on some business with the High King." Below the wall where the men sat a small troop of soldiers milled about, draped in the deep blue of Windhelm.

Roggvir gestured towards the fire, though his eyes remained on the soldiers "Come, friend. Sit, it's bitter cold."

"Gods bless you Roggvir" the veteran shuffled closer to the flames, pulling a small wooden bucket over to act as a chair "Seem a little...restless, don't they?"

Roggvir had to admit, it was odd. The men had refused the offer of shelter within the city itself, preferring to 'camp' between the outer and inner main gates while Ulfric himself visited the blue palace with only his loyal bear, Galmar Stone-Fist, and a handful of other guards. Ulfric had been some time, yet the men he left behind had made no effort to set up any tents, cook any food or even remove their helmets. Instead they wandered around the small square, hands on blades.

"Roggvir"

The beggar's voice had gone cold, coming out with a slight croak. In the half light, he almost took on the appearance of a battered old scare-crow, arm stretched out towards the palace. There was Ulfric Stormcloak, charging through the city upon a horse he had not entered with, blade raised above his head.

"Roggvir, the gate"

The gate below him was open. Through it, Ulfric's men had seen their Jarl's approach. Chaos ensued.

A scream erupted as arrows pierced several guards patrolling the walls, animalistic roars as men of Windhelm leapt upon men of Solitude who were still trying to work out what was happening. Ulfric was approaching fast.

An arrow caught Stormcloak's horse in the eyes, sending both mount and rider toppling to the ground. A flash of red and a guard with a wolf emblazoned upon his shield was over him, greatsword in his grasp.

"Roggvir!"

The guard's head snapped sideways as the Stone-Fist's stone fist clattered his jaw, the spiked gauntlet drawing spurts of blood. Roggvir turned and pulled a lever, shutting the gate below him, the hinges screaming as two of Ulfric's men struggled in vain to hold it open.

Galmar was pulling his warhammer from the guard's mangled head when the Jarl reached the sealed passage. "My Jarl, what is the meaning of this? Your men spill blood of the King's men, of their brothers and sisters of Skyrim!"

"And I have spilled the blood of the King, brother"

The words were a dagger in the belly. Roggvir was instantly drenched in cold sweat, all sound of the skirmish gone, only Ulfric stood.

"I challenged Torygg to a duel, brother. The old nord way. He is dead, his men wish me the same."

"Why?"

"Freedom. For Skyrim. For the Nords. Because I must."

Noster looked helplessly between the two men, locked in each other's gazes. It was then that Galmar Stone-Fist came hurtling towards them, a host of Solitude guards behind him. "Open the damned gate, for the love of Talos!"

Roggvir opened the gate.