I hope that this chapter will provoke some emotion. First, a big thanks to kalimali for the alert, Kayla for the great support (and review), Tt for the review and () for the fishy stick. Er, I'll eat later; thanks.

Next, I've set up a forum on the Thalmor and a poll for you favourite Skyrim Jarl. It will update will time and its live, so you can see the results yourself. Please put in a vote, as it will help me in my next story. Both are on my profile page.

Anyway, here we go…

Ulfric

Images come and go like a summer breeze. I remembered summer. The lakes around Windhelm sparkled like silver and the guardsmen were ready to entertain young boys. I had played with Balgruuf, only Balgruuf back then, who was my Father's ward. I remembered the summer days that came and went, days we spent fighting dragons and leading great armies of Imperial Legions. I was so naïve back then; I hadn't understood the Empire's weakness. I hadn't accepted that the Septim Empire was gone, and in its place; a pretender.

In my youth I wandered the lands south of Windhelm, with Balgruuf, both of us pretending to be Imperial Generals, or better yet, the Emperor himself! We got lost in the woods of Chorrol, hunted by evil bandits who wanted nothing more than to take our lives and with them, destroy the Empire. What I didn't realise though was that it had already been destroyed, taken away from us by the Daedra. But I didn't know, and I wouldn't know for a long time. We would stay there for hours until Father's guardsmen were sent out to collect us back. And it was in the woods of Eastmarch that I first used the thu'um.

Balgruuf and I had been fighting with sticks, and the other Nord boy managed to get the upper hand over me. I fell back and it just came out, built on my fear, shock and surprise. Also, as a darker element, and one I tried to ignore for a time was my jealousy. Balgruuf was knocked off his feet, breaking his arm and with that my life ended. The one I knew. After that it was never the same again.

When Father found out about my new ability he sent me away to train with the Greybeards. I knew I should have been honoured, but I couldn't help thinking that Father had some how found me unworthy to be his heir. I cried the day before, but when I came out the next day I put on a Jarl's face, impassive, while my emotions boiled beneath the surface. A word, a look, a rushed thu'um; they were all ways of releasing these emotions. I would never tell anyone this, not even her, but they were. I know that now. I do. Even so, after I was sent away things became much more focused and consuming, precise to the extent that I lost my foresight. The present became everything.

All things considered the Greybeards life had been a nice one, but it never had the adventure that I craved, and most importantly it was so isolated. I could never show anyone my abilities, never earn anyone's pride. I felt cut off, and I had to escape.

Steel and flesh is the best escape. It frees the soul and lets you unleash the true Nordic qualities that are so important in this life. So important to my Father. I had no choice; I had to prove myself. So I left the dead-end that the Greybeards offered and joined the Legion to fight the war. Of course, I didn't realise that the noble Generals of my youth were non-existent. Take Tullius, who is able, intelligent but utterly emotionless. He doesn't love or feel, and how can you fight for a cause if you don't believe in it? Even the elves must feel something in their Dominion. The Empire used to be like that, ruled by the Septims with the aim of bringing peace, a noble goal fuelled by determination and a will to bring honour to your forefathers. That was their goal, but now… The Mede's are nothing but greedy tyrants. Of course, you could say they have their greed that drives them, but that isn't an emotion. Not a real emotion. Emotions are powerful and control our actions, even against our better will. They are pure, ultimately pure, even if the actions that follow are somewhat less than.

Torygg was not a King, but he was a puppet. He didn't rule with love, or justice; he obeyed the Empire to the end, a heartless Empire, devoid of Talos. Loyalty is important, truly important, but he was slavish. There's a difference.

When I fought him I'll admit he was brave. He couldn't fight me, and yet he did. He stood and raised his sword in defence. I didn't expect it, how could I? But he fought like a true Nord. Only too late did I realise the mistake I made, but again, my foresight suffered for my very nature. I needed to prove that the Skyrim of my youth was gone, and that I did. But I was shunned by the new Skyrim.

I fought in the Great War, trying to win a better tomorrow for all free peoples. In the Battle for the Imperial City I distinguished myself, but still no one cared. They didn't remember me. I protected the Emperor himself and as a result I was captured by the Thalmor.

The pain was intense, but it never reached that of when my Father sent me away. Emotion kills as often as it cures, I soon found. I broke, eventually. What hurt the most? The fact I had failed the Empire? No, but it was important back then. The breaking of my bones, the scars left behind? They heal, as do all things. What hurt most was the sense of failure. I failed everything I held true to. But then, it was over. I moved on.

When Talos was outlawed I wept bitter tears, the first since that cold night in my chambers. At Markarth I tried to make a difference. I fought to save Talos, but it was for nothing. Again failure. Failure; it follows me at every turn. And following it, my Father, and Balgruuf, and Argneir, even Titus Mede. Every action haunts me. But I continue; for Skyrim.

I was imprisoned by the very Generals I looked up to. Aspired to. When my Father died, so too did any hope of redeeming my mistakes. I had tried, but as with most things it proved to be all for nothing. And that was when I realised the futility of one person. I needed more.

I returned home after near on twenty years. I was raised to my Father's throne. I didn't feel worthy of it. I still don't. But I had to take it, and use it.

The Stormcloaks are the vision I had for Skyrim. They are strong, and ready to fight for their beliefs, like I've done all my life. With them I am determined to win a future for Skyrim, and then peace. One day, the greatest war will come. Free men against the elves. We must prevail, or else Nords will be wiped from the Tamriel, even after all that our forefathers did for us. But it doesn't matter, not yet. First I must defeat the Empire, the last embodiment of my failure. With that final blow, I will build a new future for myself. But that is not now.

The breeze comes in through the door, as does the woman. She comes from a dream long forgotten, where boys were boys and the Empire stood for all the free peoples. But not completely forgotten. Not yet.

She stands like she did, when blood covered my sword and the dragon stood proud on my chest. It's an image I liked, loved, one I used to fuel myself in my darkest hours inside the Thalmor cell. It stands for all of Skyrim. It stands for emotion. I told you how important that was, but you never understand until you really feel it. I did, years ago. I never felt it again, but now, now I feel it. It strengthens the body and fuels the blood, something I need.

The blows were heavy, and I didn't expect to survive. Again failure followed me, snapping at my heels. Although this time, my Father wasn't there to witness it. Only my sons…

Blood is powerful. I felt it in Jon, a mere boy to me, and he felt it in her. It intoxicated me, what else could I do? But she was here now. It was her; it couldn't be anyone else. She was older now, but my heart still races when I see her and her walk still mesmerises me. They all think I'm gone, and I might have been. But the tears she sheds at my bedside fuel me. And I will wake. One day. One day soon…