Thanks for both the reviews! To SimonStormcloak, thanks, I put a lot of work into the dragon attack. To ejthepinoy, I'm not just a Stormcloak supporter! I'm a pretty big fan of the Legion as well. To BDLG, thanks, the draconic probably took me around 10 minutes to do.

Hours pass by without words, as we watch our wounded leader, lying near dead on the ground. Ulfric hasn't even mustered the energy to say one more word, since he cleared the smoke. How long ago was that? 3 hours? 4 hours? I don't know. Either way, the smell of rotting corpses is really starting to stink up the ruined camp. I accidentally take a big whiff of the stench, and nearly puke.

Galmar stands up, and exercises his arms and shoulders. I notice my own have started to get stiff, so I do the same.

"Next time, we should bring some healers along with us," I suggest to Galmar.

"I agree wholeheartedly."

The next few hours pass by uneventfully, with a few of us eating meals, and with the lighter number of men, we get quite the feast, at least compared to the rubbish we have been forced to eat.

As I look into the sky, I notice it is almost morning. The moon is low, nearly invisible from this point in the mountains. A faint glint of light crosses the dim sky, heralding the sunrise that is bound to come soon.

I stand near the rubble of my tent, trying to sort through the meager possessions I brought with me. I find a spare shirt, dark green with a large rips near both the areas around the left shoulder, and lower right abdomen. I toss it aside, and find another shirt, this one a dark blue, resembling the color of the Stormcloaks. It has suffered no injuries, so I fold it up and keep it next to me.

I find a pair of pants, with a rip near the left knee. I fold those up to, next to my shirt.

Finally, I find a slip of paper notifying me that my house bills are due soon. Damn it! I think. I read over the note, checking the information.

To the honorable Commander Tymvir,

Your house tax of 200 septims are due on the 15th of Frostfall, by sundown. Failure to pay these taxes will result in the repossession of your belongings, which will be returned to you after the taxes are paid.

Windhelm's Steward,

Jorleif

What day is it now? I wonder. Come on, come on… wait… it's the 13th of Frostfall. Great. Now when I get back, I'll have to pay a visit to the Palace of the Kings, and single-handedly take all my possessions back, after I pay my taxes. Or I could hire help, but this job isn't well-paying to begin with.

I hear an inaudible grunt from the crowd, and I hide my belongings. I stroll back over to the group of men surrounding Ulfric, and surprisingly hear my leader mumble a few words.

"Damn dragons… Can't attack Markarth… must get back to Windhelm."

Well, no surprise there. If we assaulted the mountain city now, the guards would simply laugh at us. Galmar begins talking with Ulfric, and I walk over to the edge of the peak, and sit down.

I survey the city once again, checking for any weaknesses in the city.

The stone masonry that guards the City of Stone does its job well. It looks flawless from here, flowing into the side of a mountain that effectively prevents anyone from attacking a good portion of the city. The battle inside Markarth would be a suicide mission as well- the stone pathways lead uphill, with several good points for archers to pick us off.

I give up hope, and walk off. I'm still in shock from the dragon attack- the behemoth that attacked Helgen was as dark as night, yet this dragon had glistening orange scales, completely unlike the other beast.

As a faint breeze tugs at my clothes, I shiver a bit. The altitude at which we were camped was definitely cooler than the ground, no doubt about that.

As I reach Ulfric, I see him struggling to stand up, assisted by Galmar and a soldier whose name is unknown to me. Ulfric's armor was definitely affected by the blast, with ash streaking from his right shoulder to the upper left abdomen. A bit of armor has been completely ripped off on his left arm, revealing a grisly and bloody mess of what used to be his limb. What wasn't charred and black, was so bloody the arm itself was nearly invisible.

As he struggles to take a first step, his body trembles out of weakness. His foot hits the ground, then he trips, and his nose smashes against the rocky surface. A grunt escapes from him, and then he shows his face.

There is a serious nosebleed, the red liquid trickling down his face from his left nostril. As it reaches his lips, he spits out a mix of saliva and blood, coloring the ground before him a red hue. A little more droops from his chin, and he wipes his face with his hands.

"Someone, get me a piece of cloth, or something I can stuff my nose with," Ulfric weakly orders.

I wordlessly run off to find my dark green shirt I tossed earlier. After not too long, I find it, next to a pile of ash. There is still a small ember burning the stuff that presumably used to be a tent.

As the smell of burning ash enters my nostrils, I make a crude cut on the shirt, a little below the collar. The inscision was supposed to be circular, but instead almost looks octagonal. I pick it up, and ball up the green cloth.

I jog back to Ulfric's position, and hand him the cloth. The flow of blood stops when he stuffs the fabric in his nostril. "So, when do we leave?" I ask.

"As soon as we can all walk again," Ulfric laughs. The chuckle is a faint sound, indicating the weakness he obviously faced.

I walk back to the edge of the mountain, to take another look at Markarth, this one to purely admire the architecture of the ancient city.

As I look down at the city, a terrible vision slowly unravels itself. Marching out of the city, are soldiers of the Imperial Legion. Marching towards us.

I take a step back, and see my friend Ralof standing nearby. "Ralof!" I exclaim. "I haven't seen you the whole time we've been on the mountain. Where have you been?"

"Scouting. I saw the dragon last night, and headed back as quick as possible. Still took me… what, 5 hours to get here. This mountain is steep. How's everyone doing?"

"Just fine! Oh, and be careful not to step on that burnt corpse next to you," I remark sarcastically.

Ralof's eyes widen. "How's Ulfric? Is he alright?"

"He's having trouble moving. By the way, are you aware that there is a crap ton of Imperial soldiers marching towards us?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Due to the dragon attack, the Legion found out about our presence here. They're coming to sweep out the survivors," Ralof reports. "I came to tell Ulfric."

"Well then, what are you standing around here for? Go report to Ulfric!"

With that in mind,Ralof runs off to report to our leader, and I follow him, hoping to find Galmar.

When we get there, Ulfric is taking a few wobbly steps, trying to keep his balance. I spot Galmar next to Stormcloak, overseeing him. I nearly run into Stone-Fist, but manage to stop at the last second. "Commander Tymvir!" he exclaims. "What's the hurry?" A bit of a worried expression crosses his face, and I recount the story of Ralof scouting, and the legionnaires that are about to attack.

"Do we have tar or oil to pour?" I inquire.

"No, we don't. There was a shortage of both right before we left from Falkreath. We couldn't afford it. And before you ask, we have almost no archers. Almost all of them died last night."

"But we still have a few, correct?"

"Yes, but we have a limited supply of arrows. We're going to have to be strategic with them if we want to have any to use on the way back to Windhelm."

Great. Now not only are we almost out of archers and tar, we only have a few arrows to use, and those have to last all the way back to Windhelm. Unless…

"Galmar, can we go to Falkreath instead of Windhelm?"

"No, sorry. We barely have enough guards there as it is. We can't afford reinforcements from there."

"Awesome," I mutter sarcastically.

I walk away, and call out for my men. "Men of the First Battalion, gather here!" I order.

I see my soldiers report in, and I am disappointed. The dragon attack severely weakened our numbers. I'm also extremely worn out and tired, so I won't exactly be playing my A-Game either. "Men, the Imperials are going to attack! We need to defend the mountain, and hold our ground, at all costs!" I've never really been a skilled motivational speaker, so I just said was was necessary.

As the men scramble to obtain their weapons, I watch the approaching Imperials. How many are they sending? One hundred? Two hundred? It looks somewhere between those two numbers, so I'll just go with one hundred and fifty men. There seems to be a fair mix of swordsmen and archers, as well as a few men at the front lines carrying pikes.

Damn,I think. The pikes will push us back and corner us. And if we want to get past them… we'll have to go around them, into the mass of Imperials. Or, instead, we could use the few arrows we have available to stop them before they can get up the mountain. Normally, climbing up a mountain to attack us would be suicide. But in this state…

I take a pebble and chuck it off the mountain. Then I get an idea. Looking around the camp, I see quite a few large stones, almost like miniatiure boulder. "Men, gather up any large rocks you see, and move them near the edge of the mountain!"

As I say that, I can hear Galmar in the background, rounding up the Second Battalion.

I run over to Stone-Fist. "Galmar, who's going to lead the Third Battalion?"

He shrugs. "Eh, Ralof, I guess. I mean, it's worked before, right?"

It seems to be a rhetorical question, because he immediately calls over Ralof. "Ralof, you're in charge of the Third Battalion while Ralof is gone.

"Well, that was rather sudden," Ralof notes.

"Yes it was. Now go gather your men."

"Yes, sir!

I run off to assist my men with the rocks, as Ralof gathers his newly assigned men.

I see a huge rock, this one most likely a boulder, accompanied by three of my men. Even with them helping, it is still barely budging. I decide to assist them, taking hold of one of the few open spots. Turns out, one more man was all this really needed. We make quick progress, and store it with the rest of the stones.

The stash of rocks has become quite large, enough for the job. The Imperials, down on the ground below us, have just started scaling the mountain, trying to get to the camp. "Men of the First Battalion, no more boulders! We have enough!" I order.

I stand near the edge of the mountain, waiting for the Imperials to get to a sufficient height. This was looking like a failed surprise attack, considering how quiet they were.

I'm not even sure they knew we are prepared right now. They probably think we're resting, in order to recover from the dragon attack. Of course, we haven't had a whole ton of rest, but the rocks and height still give us an advantage.

I stealthily peer over the mountain, and see they are about halfway up. That's a long way down… too bad for the Imperials.

"Roll the boulders!" I order.

We push them off the edge, and they roll down the mountainside. Imperials fall, down to their waiting deaths.

The soldiers who survived (who, by the way, still outnumber us) are making more progress than I would have liked. Following the boulder drop, they seem to be moving even faster.

The first wave of boulders we dropped down was by far our strongest counter-assault. The second wave is not nearly as strong, but we do manage to kill off most of the pikemen. The second wave exhausts us of our boulder supply, and the Imperials are near the top.

A grappling hook latches onto the top of the mountain, where we are, and a few more soon attach themselves to uppermost section of the peak as well.

"Cut the hooks!" Galmar orders.

Men draw swords, and I do as well, as more and more hooks latch onto the mount. We can't quite keep up with them, but we manage to cut a few Imperials down.

Then they start pouring over. The few remaining pikemen are the first ones up, and they quickly push us back. There are maybe 5, or 6, pikemen. As we start to surround them, they form a circle, and impale a few of our men.

More Imperials charge the camp, pushing us back further. I dodge a blow to my head, stab my assailant in the chest. His limp body falls near me, blood spattering my boots and lower left pantleg.

We hve a few men guarding Ulfric, hiding with our leader. I imagine he would not be too happy about cowering, but he doesn't have much choice. I decapitate another swordsman, and notice not a single pikeman has fallen, but they make sure to leave a trail of bodies near them as they move.

I decide to charge the pikemen, and pray to Talos that I survive this.

I immediately manage to lunge at one of the men's right calf, and he stumbles over. I draw out my sword with as much force as possible, and immediately decapitate him.

Takina a quick glance around, and ignoring the smell of corpses I notice there are now no more Imperials that are climbing up the mountain, but the ones that have already made it here can just barely outnumber us.

Two pikemen simultaneously take a stab at me, but I roll out of the way. I stab one through the eye, and he swiftly dies. I turn around and kick the next man in the stomach, then when he bends over, I stab him in the back.

Two of the three that are left try to stab my chest, and the third lunges at me. I leap back, and the pikeman who lunged at me hits the ground. I quickly stomp on his neck. The last two take another stab at me, and one of them manages to impale me in my left bicep, and the pain is immense. I take a step back, and they don't relent. They take a few more stabs at me, each of which I barely dodge. I leap back, and flee from them.

They decide to once again focus on the other soldiers, instead of me. Instantly, I regret fleeing from them, despite my injured arm. Now their path of destruction will resume, even though they are severely weakened.

I kill a few more Imperials, but the drain on my energy is getting worse and worse. I take a look at my left bicep, afraid of what I would see.

Blood streams from my wound, a circular red form in my arm. It trickles down to my forearm, at which the flow stops, either dropping to the ground, or wrapping itself around my forearm.

I turn my attention back to the battlefield, and see Ralof struggling to fight off three Imperials. I see him get kicked to the ground, and I charge the soldiers. I stab one between the shoulder and the neck, decapitate another, and impale the last one through the chest. They never had the time to fight back.

Ralof stands up, and thanks me for saving his life.

"No problem," I say.

I follow him back into the battle. The Imperials are gaining ground fast, and we are nearly cornered against the natural wall of another, higher mountain bordering this one. The two remaining pikemen,I notice, are Orsimer, or Orcs. How did I not see that? I ask myself.

Their eyes are red, and they spin around like a hurricane, obliterating all in its path. I decidethey might not make the best targets right now, and instead focus on the other soldiers.

Ralof and I cut through the soldiers in the thick of combat, and several enemies die by our hands.

We find ourselves surrounded, stuck in the center of the enemy force. Maybe cutting towards the center wasn't very smart.

Around 8 men attack us at once, most wielding swords, all prepared to kill.

Ralof blocks a blow, and I impale a man's stomach. My comrade takes a blunt blow the knee, and he staggers. He nearly gets stabbed in the neck, but I decapitate his would-be killer with a swift horizontal strike of my sword. "Hey, Ralof, you getting hungry yet?" I ask as I deflect a blow.

"Yeah. Looks like we might have to skip breakfast!"

He laughs, before his smile turn into a still impression. A sword plunges through his stomach, and my friend falls over, convulsing.

"No…" I whisper.

My sword activates, and I quickly dispatch the rest of my opponents, the smell of fire and smoke polluting the sky. The whole thing is impossible for me to remember, but I remember picking Ralof up…

Carrying him away from the fire…

Laying him down away from the smoke…

The life leaving his eyes.

My heart drops. One of my best friends, dead. We will meet once again in Sovngarde one day, and that gives me peace.

I close his eyes, briefly before I get struck in the back of the head. I fall down, unable to move. "Don't kill him. He has important information about the Stormcloaks. Bring him with us. Oh, and knock him out for good measure.

I feel another blow in the back of my head, and I drift off to the land of dreams.

The end of this chapter was a bit sad for me to write, but people die in war, and I had to reflect on that. Anyway, review this story people! Because if you don't, I will track you down. MWAHAHAHAHA *cue evil music*