To BDLG: I'm glad you liked Ulfric's dark side, writing dark sides for people is really hard for me to do and takes a lot of effort. Simon: I'm glad you like Legolas and Gim- I mean, Solding and Aenar! To Anonymous: Thanks, it really means a lot to me! To Hylian: Dang it! I knew the Dwemer were normal height, I just forgot when I was writing. To Sargent: I have an outline of all the chapters right now, and I'm hoping to stick with them, but I guess I could add in two or three chapters from the Imperials' POV… possibly.

Commander Tymvir

A red mass loomed in the sky above a castle- Castle Dour. With a single, deafening, roar, pieces of stone flew off of the giant Castle. A man ran out of the castle, screaming "Protect the Palace! Protect the Palace! Protect the Palace, at all costs!" A white, searing flame engulfed the man and those near him. With another thundering roar blowing off more stone from Castle Dour, a dragon landed near the building, with talons as long and sharp as longswords and teeth that could chomp a boat in half with a single snap.

A man rushed out from the Blue Palace, hearing the dragon roar and the people panicking in the distance. His sword was drawn, ready to fight. His son, about 14 or 15, ran alongside him with a mace of ebony drawn. They were both clothed in fancy robes, the kind you would expect nobility and royalty to wear. The older man had a somewhat thick beard, and his robes were a deep blue. The son's robes were the same shade and hue.

"This is your chance, son! Prove to Skyrim that you really deserve to be the son of the King!" The older man, the father, said.

"Yes, father!"

They ran, and ran, until they were in the courtyard of Castle Dour. The father still appeared ready to fight, but the son was visibly exhausted. The father pushed on, though, and encouraged his son too as well.

The boy stood off to the side and caught his breath. The man rushed toward the dragon, and drove his sword into one of the beast's folded wings. The dragon let out a deafening cry of pain, then turned to the man, the King. A malicious glint sparkled from the dragon's eye. He knew this was the King.

"Your dinok, death will bring me pride, mortal."

Before the King could react, a white flame spewed from the dragon's mouth. The man felt terrible, torturing pain. White fire engulfed his vision. He felt his skin melt, his hair burn off. His son was in the line of fire, and he felt the same pain. Both father and son fell to the ground. As soldiers from all across the courtyard cried out for their King, the dragon let out a deep, evil laugh. The vision of the courtyard slowly faded to black until all that could be seen was darkness. There was nothing in this darkness but the cries of pain and sadness, and that wicked laugh. It was enough to drive a man insane.

Spots cloud my vision as I wake. I wipe a bit of sweat from behind my ear. Inside my bare chest, my heartbeat is an audible thump-thump, thump-thump, racing as if it were in a race- and winning. I get the feeling that that was just an ordinary nightmare. I did not see myself anywhere in that dream, and I usually do in my memories and visions.

I slowly sit up. My throat is dry, desperate for water. My bedroll is below me. It is hot in the tent, and I'm guessing it will be no better outside. I grab a canteen of water from a small desk near my bedroll, and gulp down about half of it. It's tepid, which doesn't taste good afterwards, but while I'm drinking it, I don't care in the slightest. When I'm finished with that drink, I slip my armor over my undergarments. I don't bother putting actual clothes under my armor. I'm going to take a bath in a nearby lake, and then I'm going to put on some decent clothes. I strap my canteen to my side so I can gather water at the lake.

When I leave my tent, holding my decent clothes in one hand, and my towel hidden in my armor, the sun is already fairly high in the sky. It is probably around ten in the morning. How did I sleep in that late? I've lost so many valuable hours of my day already sleeping in my bedroll. Oh well, today is supposed to be an uneventful camp day. We're still recovering from the battle with General Tullius' men. Galmar is holding up fairly well. He sustained a few bruises during the fighting, but other than that, he's fine. Albeci, though… I'll get to him later. He's still alive, but… I'd say he's lucky he is. He received quite the beating on the battlefield. I'm fairly sure he's still in one of the medic tents.

I eventually reach the lake. Luckily, it's not in the camp, and actually a bit far, so I'm one of the only people who know about it. None of the other (hopefully) few people who know about this lake are here right now, so I strip naked and bathe in the lake.

The water is cool, and feels nice against my skin, especially with this hot weather. With any luck, it will stay this way. I lay my head back against the ground next to the lake, and close my eyes.

About 20 minutes later, after about 3 or 4 minutes of actual bathing, and the rest of the time relaxing, I step out of the pool. Despite the heat, I still almost shiver. I hurry and wrap a towel around myself. I'm a rather self-conscious person, and I don't like the possibility of anyone seeing me naked, even if the chance is as slight as this. Once I've dried off, I switch into my clothes, and slip my armor on over those. I left my sword and breakfast in my tent. The sword I don't mind, but we've been in this camp for the past three days, and I've found that the lake is a nice place to eat, especially when eating breakfast. I'd like to relax by the lake for a few more minutes, but my stomach is starting to growl, so I fill up my canteen, take one large swig of the cold water, and start walking back to my tent.

When I make it back, it's been almost an hour since I originally left for the lake. This is normal, as it's taken me about the same time the past two days. Randomly, a thought of Eiruki pops into my head. I quickly dismiss it; after my torture in Markarth, I realized how heavily I was dwelling on the past, and I have taken large steps toward getting over her. Of course, no matter how deep I try to hide it, there will always be that one guilty thought in the back of mind, that tells me- You killed her, Tymvir. You killed Eiruki. Survivor's guilt, I think they call it.

Inside my tent, I grab a pork sandwich from the same small table where I grabbed my canteen. I quickly eat it, ready to start my day. I don't notice the taste, as I'm thinking about the impending battle for Dawnstar. Although I wish that Dawnstar had never been taken, I'm almost glad for Skald's death. He was an old man with the personality of a rash teenager. If he had known the first thing about strategy, or if he hadn't sent all of his men to the front lines instead of guarding his city, this could've been avoided. But no, he just had to give away all of his valuable men. And Ulfric just had to go along with it. I decide to pay a visit to my friend Albeci in the medical tent.

I make it there uneventfully, although I had to drink quite a lot of water due to the heat outside. At least it won't be getting that much hotter.

The medic tents in camp work like this- for every 30 tents, there is one medic tent. They are easy to spot due to their gold coloring, after the second color in the Stormcloak banner. Each one has a single healer working in it. It's really not that bad, as there are usually only a few injured soldiers per 30 soldiers. Sometimes a healer, after a particularly bad battle, can receive around 15-20 soldiers, just because of pure bad luck. When that happens, usually a healer with no or few patients will come to assist, and will move any patients they may have with them to the new tent. Any Stormcloaks that have no hope are usually killed with a sword in the heart while they sleep. The healers don't like to waste their magic and medicine on lost causes.

In around 5 minutes, I reach Albeci's tent. I rap my hand against a metal pole outside- here in the camp, that's the equivalent of knocking on someone's door. I hear a female voice call out "Just a second!"

I wait, and soon enough, a Nord woman with chestnut hair and crystal blue eyes steps out through the flap. "Commander Tymvir! Come right in, we're not very busy right now."

I follow her lead, and inside, I see two stretchers. Albeci is on one, and a man whom I do not know is on the other. Albeci is awake, but barely. He has a black eye, ruffled up hair, and not to mention quite a few bandaged cuts and scars. Only a couple are visible, but I know he has more under his clothes. The ones I can see include one on his left cheek, another on his right shoulder, and a very small one on his upper right forehead.

After the duel Galmar and I had had with Tullius, Albeci had tried to get involved in the outbreak of fights that occurred right after the duel ended. He was attacked by six or seven legionnaires. After he killed three or four, leaving three soldiers left, he was nearly killed when he was ambushed by another legionnaire. He was saved in the end by a few Stormcloaks that happened to spot Albeci's attackers. This was the story I heard from Albeci yesterday. It was around three in the afternoon, and he feeling extraordinarily well at the time. Well, as extraordinarily well as one can be when they're barely alive.

I walk to his stretcher. "How are you holding up?" I ask him.
"Okay, I guess," is his reply. There's a hint of grogginess in his voice.

He continues by saying "I should be somewhat better by tomorrow. At least, that's what the healer said." The grogginess becomes a bit more evident.

"That's great! Are you wanting to get back in the fight yet?"

"Since when have I stopped? Damn right I want to fight!" He chuckles a little, but it's a weak chuckle, and it almost seems like Albeci had to put effort into it.

"Ah, that's the spirit. I'll check up on you again tomorrow, alright?"

"Seems fair to me. I'll be seeing you, then." His eyes close as soon as he finishes the words. The healer said he needed lots of sleep, and he's been rather compliant with the order.

I walk outside, and take a deep breath. I turn my head up to the air. Force. Fus. "Fus!" Unsurprisingly, I see nothing leap from my mouth.

I decide I'm going to do something I haven't done yet- swim in the lake. I'm not an expert swimmer, but I know a few basic strokes, just enough so that I don't drown.

I scratch at an itch in my beard, which is starting to evolve from a small, wispy beard, to a full-fledged beard. I cut my hair the other night, and now it is fairly short, but it's a crude cut, considering I couldn't find my razor blade, so I had to use my sword. There's no way, though, that I would cut my beard with it. I like to be clean-shaven, though, so I make a mental note telling myself to locate it tonight.

As I'm about to leave the camp, I see a figure near the horizon on my right, in the camp. As it moves closer, I realize it's a Stormcloak. He's bleeding from a wound in his upper right chest, that looks like it just narrowly missed his heart. He's gasping for breath, and he falls forward on his stomach when he reaches me. He looks up. "Command…commander…trolls are attacking!"

Trolls? Really? At least now I'll have something to add excitement to my day. The man's face is pained, and there's a splotch of dried blood on his right cheek. If he doesn't get medical attention soon, he'll surely die.

I look around. The camp is just as busy as ever, with men scattered here and there, so I call over two men.

"Yes, Commander?" One asks.

"Get this man to a medic tent, now!"

"Sir, yes sir!" The two men say simultaneously.

I run off in the direction the man came from. I'm frustrated by the fact I didn't get to swim, as I was planning, and this is war, so crap will happen… but trolls? Trolls are about the last thing I would expect attacking a camp.

The man has a blood trail- a dark red, still drying stream of blood paints the ground in a wobbly line. I do my best not to step in the blood. The pool is shallow but long. As I near the end of it, I hear a roar, obviously from a troll. I hear a scream, and I see a body fly out from between two tents. I run that way, sword drawn, and stop near the body.

The dead Stormcloak was an older woman, of about 30. Her face is a mix of tangled and matted hair and dark red blood. I hear another roar. I turn left, and I am horrified by the sight.

I've heard lots of stories about trolls, but I had never actually seen one until now. It's a brown, hulking mass with three black dots for eyes. Its claws are straight and sharp as knives. It has bared teeth, and two terrible fangs poking out of its mouth. Spikes that look like obsidian shield its shoulders from incoming attacks. It is, perhaps, the scariest thing I have ever seen.

It doesn't look very smart, but it was smart enough to take advantage of my momentary petrification, and it leaps at me. I see its claws fly toward my face, but I dive to the right just in time to dodge the attack.

I quickly roll and get back on my feet, but by the time I'm standing, the troll is already about five yards away from me, and getting closer quickly. I draw my sword, quick as lightning, and let it come. When it gets close to me, it starts launching attacks at me with its black claws.

I hear a clang as the claws collide with my sword, and we both stumble back. I can see a few more Stormcloaks running outside, ready to join the fight. As they sprint towards my location, I block another blow from the troll, and smack the side of its jaw with the side of my sword. It stumbles back a few steps, and then another Stormcloak, a male about my age, with shaggy brown hair, tries to stab it in the chest, but the troll recovers with just enough time to block.

It loses its interest in me and stabs the other Stormcloak again, right in the chest. It pierces his armor with a shattering sound, and soon a red stream oozes out from him, crawling down the troll's claws. This stab looks like it cut right through the man's heart. He didn't do much to stop the troll, but at least he delayed it for a moment.

I charge at the troll while it's distracted, and leap into the air, and stab in between two of the obsidian-like spikes on its shoulders. Blood stains my own blade now, but this troll is far from dead. It shakes off the pain, and I yank my sword from its shoulder. It lets out a nasty grunt, and swipes my cheek with its claws. I feel a short bout of blood gush from the wound. I swear, I obtain a new scar with every passing day.

I put a hand to my cheek, and run off. I make sure not to run too far off; I still need to kill this thing, as I would never let a beast that powerful terrorize the Stormcloak camp.

I fall to my knees, and the world takes a small turn. I now realize that the troll struck me in one of the scars the torturer in Markarth had inflicted upon me. Every cut there hurts so much more than most other incisions enemies have made on my body.

I look toward the troll's direction, but I'm too late. I feel a massive force collide into me, and I go flying. I hit a wooden beam supporting a tent, and I hear a crack, that I hope is coming from the wooden beam. I fumble for my sword, pain thudding throughout my head and cheek, along with my upper back (which was also unfortunate enough to make contact with the wooden beam). I finally grasp it as the troll gets too close for comfort. My hands are shaking; I'm losing far too much blood. I look at my hand, and see it has gone pale.

I roll out of the way as the troll tries to stab me, and the world spins again. Using both of my hands, I swipe my sword, and it slices into the back of the troll's left thigh. I lodged it deep, and it will take the troll a moment to shake this one off. I let go of the sword, crawl a yard or two. And slowly, ever so slowly, get up to my feet. Everything feels unreal, especially when I walk.

I see the troll knock the sword aside.

Then I know I have the sword in my hands. How I got it, I'm not sure.

I see my sword sticking through one of the troll's three, small eyes.

I see it lying on the floor, dead.

Then I see myself in a medical tent.

Sorry for not having a chapter up in a while! I can't believe I did this twice in a row, but here are my well-arranged excuses (yay for not taking responsibility!): I've had a lot of homework, they came out with a new update for Minecraft 360, and I've been practicing my guitar!
Now, review! I command it! If you don't, I'll send a troll to your location O_O