I know the last chapter was a bit short, but it really didn't need any thing else mentioned. Yeah, so back to Ulfric! (Which has also turned out pretty short. Oh well. I promise the next ones will resume normal length.)

Also, I had finished this chapter by the time they came through, a BIG thanks to Puttekara for the favourite and alert, HowYouRemindMe (cool name by the way) for the alert and Aero l'aquila for a review, alert and favourite (you went the whole way!) Cheers!

This is for you guys…

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak

It was a big army Ulfric led. Very big. As Ulfric sat up upon his horse, watching true Nords march past, raising their weapons in salute he felt a surge of pride. He had started this, and it was glorious. Truly, it was. He shifted, looking to the back of their mile long march, his mail tinkling as he moved. He was properly outfitted for war, armoured in plate; on his arms and upper torso with a gorget, and with mail reaching to his knees. It was all black, black as midnight.

He turned to address Hormon Wolf-Pelt, his second-in-the-field, having left Galmar in charge of Windhelm. Of course they had argued bitterly about it, but Ulfric wanted to lead the Nords to Falkreath himself. They had originally meant to make for Morthal, but Galmar had advised against it; it was too close to Solitude and they couldn't attack Whiterun yet, as they didn't have enough men. But I will. With Falkreath's fall, all true Nords will rally to me.

'Tullius is headed for Morthal?' The Jarl asked Hormon, who was clad in a heavy wolf pelt, thus how he had earned his name.

'Yes, my Jarl. That is what the scouts report.'

'Good.' He turned his horse from Hormon and waited to receive the scouts that were racing to his position. He rode to meet them as they drew near.

'Report.'

'My Jarl, Falkreath is mostly undefended. Captain Ralof has reported that Neugrad has been taken successfully.'

Ulfric felt another surge of pride. His plan was working, despite Galmar's doubts. Without that fort, the dog Tullius was the only hope for Falkreath. It was looking good. 'Hormon, here!'

'My Jarl.'

'Tell the Captains of each group to keep formation, but otherwise make for Falkreath. I want it taken within the next few days.'

'What about scouts, my Jarl?'

'For what; wolves?' Ulfric mocked him. 'I thought you killed them? Or did you get that pelt off a dead one?'

'No, my Jarl. But scouts are hardly trustworthy at the best of times-'

'Enough. Send the order.'

'My Jarl?'

Ulfric's grey-blue eyes gave him an icy stare. 'Do it now, Wolf-Pelt.'

'Of course, my Jarl.' He turned with one more anxious look which further stoked the fire of Ulfric's growing anger. He turned. 'Imperial forces are nil, yes?' Ulfric asked the scouts.

One of them leapt to the mark. 'Yes, si- my Jarl.' He smiled, aware of his mistake. 'I used to work in Solitude before I joined. I was actually part of an anti-Imperial effort, called the New Stormcloaks. Perhaps you've heard of them?'

'No, but I should like to here more.' Ulfric decided to humour the scout. Respect was earned by leaders. Loyalty was earned by men. He rode off with the scout at his side, his heart bursting with anticipation. The cold bit into his armour and a smoky grey overcast had appeared, but in a few days Falkreath would fall. And then, so too would Solitude…