The wolf and the lioness - Falkreath Blitz (Patreon)

Cirilla Targaryen, Close to Falkreath – Skyrim

"Another patrol, they don't seem to have seen us, it is the third in the vicinity of Falkreath, my Lady," said one of the warriors as they watched the hasty blockade that Ulfric was building on the border with Cyrodiil, blocking the way to Markarth.

"How far are the regiments from Igmund? We have to destroy those defenses to allow them to pass," Ciri said calmly. She was squatting, observing the terrain with great intensity.

"The cavalry left Markarth at dawn. We have taken care of the scouts we saw, although it is always possible that we have lost some. Even so, we will have the element of surprise for the capture of the city at night. Our last obstacle is this outpost," said Skold, one of Solitude's veteran guards.

Ciri could detect the heaviness in the warrior's voice, although she couldn't judge him. Her mother was in the city, and with the Stormcloaks in charge...

The fall of Falkreath had been a severe blow to the campaign, extending a war that was practically won. With the capture of Winterhold and the blockade of Windhelm Bay, the attrition would begin to wreak havoc on Ulfric's civilians.

Ciri only shook her head, still remembering that night at the Blue Palace, when Jon confronted the jerk Siddgeir about his stupid actions.

Flashback

"I demand that the Imperial legions be mobilized towards Falkreath to drive the rebels out of my city!" snapped the arrogant and frankly totally stupid Jarl, who was in the center of Solitude's throne room.

Elisif was seated on the throne, looking at him with a face mixed between disbelief and inordinate fury.

"Do you demand? Do you demand?" Elisif whispered, and Ciri knew the queen too well to detect the level of her fury.

Jon and Tullius, wisely, took a step to the side, giving space to the apoplectic Norse.

The imbecile Siddgeir nodded his arrogant and stupid face again, ignoring the magnitude of the trouble he was in.

"Let the Imperial troops fulfill their function and move towards the ruins of Helgen. I will take command of them personally and lead them to victory," he exclaimed, to the disbelief of all the members of the room and the resignation of his uncle.

"The Imperial legions are putting pressure on Windhelm. The blockade has been successful and was compromised by your stupidity. I will not sacrifice the lives of my men for your stupid ego," said Tullius with total coldness and indifference.

Siddgeir frowned, but tried to change his strategy.

"Never mind. With Solitude's guard and the Winter Lord under my command, I can liberate my home from the rebellious tyranny and—"

Before he could continue spewing nonsense, Jon interjected, his hand gleaming with low-powered lightning, designed to inflict agonizing pain without really permanent damage.

With the skill of a saber-toothed tiger, her husband unleashed the painful spell on the clueless and arrogant Jarl, filling Siddgeir's body with something he was not used to.

Pain.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHG!" he cried, in a voice more apt for a young devotee of Mara than for a ruler of Skyrim, and no one, not even his own uncle, intervened in his defense.

No one was stupid enough to meddle in the affairs of the Lord of Winters.

Jon kept his corrective spell until Elisif raised her hand elegantly, her cold eyes focused on the pathetic sight of the young Jarl trembling on the palace floor.

The lightning stopped, at the same time as the queen stood up, her graceful and powerful bearing, her cold and calculating gaze, looking at Siddgeir like an insignificant skeever.

"The noble troops of Solitude, supported by Markarth's heavy cavalry, will free Falkreath from Ulfric's yoke, while Tullius mobilizes a battalion to reinforce Whiterun. Jarl Jon and Lady Ciri will attack and conquer your shire. However, you will not return to occupy the position of Jarl," said the queen coldly and purposefully.

At these words, Siddgeir gained courage from the loss of his privileges and said:

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT! I..."

However, in his fury, he made the mistake of getting too close to Elisif.

Solitude's guard intervened instantly. Two guards took Siddgeir's arms, and to Ciri's disbelief, the imbecile kept screaming that he was a Jarl and that he was due respect.

Elisif looked at Tullius, who looked at her with a face between caution and pride.

"Take it upon yourself to discipline this fool. Send him to forced labor. Sons of Haafingar will risk their lives for his stupidity. May his pathetic life serve for the benefit of the region," ordered the Jarl, looking directly at the general, making it clear that it was an order.

And Tullius bowed his head respectfully.

"As you command, Queen Elisif," he said, his tone totally respectful.

Ciri looked at Jon, who was looking at the queen with pride. The lioness could understand it. Elisif the Righteous was transforming into the queen she was always meant to be.

"Jon, my love, we have an invasion to plan," Elisif said, with a softness reserved only for the Lord of Winters.

The young sorcerer nodded, stepped forward, and began to explain the plan of action.

They had a lot to do.

Flashback End

The plan was simple. Ciri would be the battalion commander to liberate Falkreath. She would lead a small group to the pass between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, eliminating all enemy resistance.

Giving free passage to Markarth's troops.

The silver lioness had been hunting Ulfric's patrols and scouts for five days. At this point, she was sure that the commander suspected something was up.

The words of two of his archers brought her back to reality, the planning of the attack on the last checkpoint.

"Two hundred soldiers, high positions. Those archers will decimate the infantry in seconds, and those palisades are huge. Not even Markarth's war steeds can pass them."

Those words made Ciri frown, remembering all her years of training, not only as a combat sorceress in the Mages Guild, but also those beautiful and distant years with her father in Kaer Morhen, where Geralt not only taught her how to fight,

but to hunt.

And the most important rule of any hunt was always preparation. The fight began before the first blow was landed.

In a direct engagement, the small group of fifty warriors would be decimated by the enemy camp.

However, Ciri's boys were not simple warriors. She had chosen them because they all had something in common with her.

They were all hunters.

Ciri would have liked to have Aela's hunting skills, but the redhead had traveled with Jon to defend her home, as had Lydia.

Something that Ciri totally respected. If she had had the powers or abilities she had now, when her beloved Cintra was attacked...

The lioness shook her head. It was no time to lament about the past. Cintra was conquered, her grandfather died in battle, and her grandmother, Calanthe, denied Nilfgaard the pleasure of executing her.

A lioness to the end.

Ciri's intrusive thoughts were interrupted by hearing a particular bird song.

The silver lioness held her breath and counted.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Fifteen... The signal for the attack.

The cavalry was on its way.

"Well, guys, you know the plan. We have studied this land rigorously. I will take care of taking away the enemy's advantage," said Ciri with determination, making everyone present nod solemnly.

Everyone nodded. Most of them prepared their bows and arrows, of more than acceptable quality, the best steel Solitude could buy. Elisif had spared no expense for this operation.

Others took daggers and throwing knives, including some javelins.

All full of determination, nodding towards the silver lioness.

"Perfect. Good hunting, guys," said Ciri, while inhaling hard, channeling Aetherium's blessing into her breath, and as she exhaled,

a dense cloud of smoke emerged from her mouth, which began to spread rapidly through the last checkpoint before Falkreath.

Quickly, all the soldiers dispersed. The thinnest and most agile climbed the branches of the huge trees, hidden thanks to the spell of the silver lioness, while the rest began to sneak towards the palisades of the place.

"Let the hunt begin," Ciri whispered, as she put on her hood and cast her cloaking spell around her,

leaving the forest in total silence...

For the moment.

Captain Darrik Silver Fist, First Markarth Cavalry Regiment – Skyrim

The heavy steps of the horses' hooves made the earth tremble. They were in fine weather, and apparently the silver lioness was as efficient and lethal as the rumors said, Darrik thought as he watched another group of dead explorers by the side of the road to Falkreath.

When news of Jarl Siddgeir's stupidity reached the city, many shook their heads at the frankly stupid decision to leave the geographical safety of Falkreath and try to besiege Riften, the rebels' most protected and fortified city after Windhelm.

The inevitable happened. The imbecile Jarl was defeated and exiled, while the connection between the capital of the Empire and the province was occupied by the enemy, something that evidently had to be corrected as soon as possible.

And boy, did Queen Elisif not disappoint, Darrik thought with pleasure, remembering the severe punishment meted out to the humiliated Siddgeir, who had lost titles, lands, and all the dignity he once had.

Siddgeir the Jester, everyone called him, even the humblest of farmers.

Solitude's order was simple. Markarth would send cavalry to crush Ulfric's infantry before they consolidated their hold on the region. Meanwhile, the Lord of Winters would give relief to Whiterun, which was being attacked by Ulfric in person.

Darrik hoped that the Jarl of Solitude would do Skyrim a favor and finish Ulfric in combat. They would get rid of a huge headache.

"We're approaching Falkreath, Captain," said one of his boys, as they left the plains of the Reach behind and entered the dense forests of Falkreath, the place where their horses would be most vulnerable.

And therefore, they were completely dependent on the silver lioness.

For a while, everything looked calm. They found the road clear and remnants of enemy patrols.

Until...

"Fog? But it was the fucking sun just now!" said one of the boys in disbelief. The dense cloud took away their visibility almost completely, forcing them to slow down.

"We are too exposed. Shields up, attentive to the heights," Darrik said, as they dispersed throughout the area, all with nerves on the surface.

And then, they began to hear screams, curses, arrows being thrown...

Death and destruction.

"Shields up!" Darrik shouted, preparing for the worst.

However, when his boys drilled deeper into the dense fog, they found no enemy soldiers, only destroyed watchtowers, charred palisades,

and blood, lots of blood.

"No, no, NO, MERCY! AHHHHHHHGG!" shouted an obviously terrified Stormcloak, quite young, perhaps barely eighteen years old, begging for mercy that was not granted.

From the heights, arrows fell with lethal precision, while, in the middle of the field, something invisible moved among the terrified enemies, who looked around for the culprit, only for a fountain of blood to emanate from their necks with precision and lethality.

It was not the work of an assassin,

but a butcher.

And all the rebel soldiers were their prey.

Darrik did not even have the time to order his men to attack the camp. The lioness's attack was a massacre. More than a hundred soldiers, all defeated.

All dead...

"By Talos!" cursed one of his soldiers, as he watched the fog disappear, leaving a hundred soldiers dead, with the terrifying image of the Lioness of Solitude, looking around while cleaning her sword.

Gradually, more soldiers emerged from various parts of the camp, and archers came down from the trees. The poor bastards had been lambs to the wolves.

"You must be Darrik of Markarth," said the lioness, walking towards the cavalry elegantly. Her green eyes were so intense as she wiped the edge of the most beautiful sword Darrik had ever seen.

"I am, my Lady. We have come from Jarl Igmund. We received Haafingar's order to reconquer Falkreath, have you heard?" said the old man, Thane, sincerely, making the rest of the riders attentive.

Ciri walked to a makeshift tent with a huge chest inside. With a gesture, the silver lioness ordered her soldiers to loot the place, while taking a curious book from inside.

"My husband is mobilizing a surprise to Whiterun. Winter will fall on the Jarl of Windhelm sooner rather than later. However, we must block the escape of the army. Jon and his battle automatons will be the anvil, and we will be the hammer. But for that, we must liberate Falkreath," said the lioness, while putting away a book with evident desire.

Darrik caught a glimpse of its name: Aetherium Wars, whatever that meant.

"It's time to go, boys. We ride to Falkreath and from there to the meadows of Whiterun. Let the blood of Ulfric's dogs wash over the stones and hills of Skyrim!" shouted the lioness, while riding one of the riderless horses with elegance and practice.

Darrik raised his sword and shouted. That language, he understood. With the Stormcloak dogs dead, the cavalry would pierce the invaders like butter.

The liberation of the city was assured.

Right?

Unknown, on a nearby hill

Human cavalry lashed the settlement of the pathetic humans with the ferocity of a dragon, the screams and blood feasting on the senses of the world's predatory apex.

"The orders?" asked the sophisticated voice of the leader.

"Lord Harkon's daughter is close to the silver lioness. The orders are to capture her," said the bloodthirsty elf, watching the massacre with desire.

"Hunting!"

And in an instant, the twelve figures of the night disappeared.

They had a lioness to hunt.