Child (Book 2)

Chapter 21

In the weeks that pass, I bury myself in the war effort. It seems that Galmar finds it useful to use me as a spy; No one suspects a little Breton to be a Stormcloak, gods forbid the Dragonborn. In the Reach, I blackmail the steward with his amulet of Talos, and a few days later we take their fort. In the hold of Hjaalmarch, I deliver false orders to the Imperial captain, and we take another. I'm promoted to the rank of Snow-Hammer, and again to Stormblade, the same rank as Galmar, with new bear-hide armor to match. Ulfric has written to me many times about how much Sofie asks when I'll return again, and it's nearly unbearable to resist, but I can't leave the soldiers now when we're almost ready to strike Solitude.
For three weeks, the entirety of Fort Snowhawk waits like sitting ducks in the freezing cold swamps of Morthal for a courier we're expecting from Windhelm. It makes me anxious, and perhaps all the more stern towards the soldiers in my command. After four months as a soldier, war has become a sixth sense. I've studied our maps enough to know exactly where the Imperial camps are, how long it would take them to get to us, when they move their troops, and what we could expect from each of the nine camps if we were to run into one by accident; however, we can't just function independently from Ulfric. The couriers are usually Unblooded, and the fastest runners we can find. However, this one seems especially slow. From what I can tell, Ulfric is waiting for the perfect opportunity to take Fort Hraggstad, the last remaining fort in Imperial possession. Once it's ours, we can march on Solitude. We can't afford any losses now, so we must wait for the right moment. However, Galmar and I worry that if Ulfric waits too long to give the order, the Emperor may send in reinforcements and we'll lose territory again. Just like the battle at Whiterun, we must simply hope that Ulfric knows what he's doing.
One day a courier finally arrives while I'm training with a few Ice-Veins on the dummies. They immediately take this as a queue to drop their bows and run for the poor terrified boy, anxious to get letters from their lovers and families. I believe it can wait.
"What do you hag-born hooligans think you're doing? I'm not done with you! Pick up your bows!" I shout, channeling my best Galmar impression. They scamper back to their bows that they've dropped in the snow and aim at the targets, waiting for my signal. I go down the line and adjust their aim and their stance. Really, I'm impressed; the adjustments I make are minor. I don't let it show. At the end of the line is Tolvana, the young Nord girl who assisted at the battle for Fort Neugrad, now Fort Roggstad. Her stance is perfect, her aim off only by a little.
"Very good, Tolvana." I mumble. I look to Galmar for his approval, but he is busy corresponding with the courier.
"Fire!"
The arrows thump into the target nearly at the same time, piercing the center. I smile to myself, proud of the soldiers I've trained. We're ready, I know it. Galmar knows it too, but does Ulfric? I wish he could tour the camps, but he insists that after his capture at Darkwater Crossing the day we first met, he can't risk it. But surely he could now that he holds most of Skyrim in his pocket, couldn't he?
I head into the Stormblade's tent where Galmar is sorting through the letters we've received. For him, a letter from Ulfric and a few new maps. For me, three letters. The rest are letters for the other soldiers. I hand them out, and I notice that in the pile is a letter to Tolvana from Ralof. The lucky fool is stationed at our camp near Solitude. I've noticed the pair sending a lot of letters back and forth, and I've especially noticed Tolvana's excitement at receiving one from him.
I've received three letters, more than most. One is from Ulfric. I try not to jump and giggle like Tolvana, but I almost can't help it. The second, from Marcurio. I silently pray that for his sake, it's a wedding invitation. The last, to my shock, is from Vilkas, and my blood freezes. We've not spoken or even seen each other once since that day in Ysgramor's tomb; while I've done my best not to think of him, I can't say I've been entirely successful. Still, it's getting better; at least I don't agonize anymore over every word that passed between us, everything that could've gone wrong. Despite all of my reservations, I open this one first.