The battle approaches. Let's dive back into Jon's messed up mind for some more self regret. I think this is a pretty cool chapter myself and I enjoyed the conversation with Balgruuf and Jon, but I'll see what you think.

Which brings me onto the fact that you could review to tell me what you think! Yeah.

The thanks; To Blade Agent99, thanks for the review! Well, it's all good then. I'm glad you like Aretino, but don't… Esbern is very cool. Like seriously cool. I mean, very cool. Nope, no Daedra has possessed Nelkir. It is simply guiding him, but not controlling him. Nelkir can ignore it as he wishes. It's just that Nelkir is happy (a rare thing, I know.) Thaena knows all right. I know what you mean. Love is not something I like to break, but characters and Empires, I'm very good at. But that can wait for later. Don't worry, I'll keep Nelkir action going while navigating the river of love. To Delphine hater, thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked it. The plan is to get Thaena and Nelkir together. Whether they will is a different matter. Marco was there, but Farmin wasn't in the group. There are mercenaries on Silver-Blood's side, and a few on Balgruuf's. About 10,000 a piece. To Spartacus1244, thanks for the Story Favourite and Favourite. To That Guy (nice name) for the reviews! I'm glad you like both Nelkir and Jon! Thanks to everyone who posted a review and all that. Seriously, it's brilliant. So, thank you for all the support.

I hope you like this. Just to sate you; it'll be an Idgrod chapter next (where political intrigue will make things very dangerous) and then a Thorek chapter (always fun), and then the battle itself (but I'll keep the POV to myself. Feel free to take a guess; I don't think it's a huge mystery.)

Jarl Jon Stormcloak

Jarl Jon Stormcloak rubbed his eyes as he stared into the middle distance. It was late evening, the hour that everyone was packing up and preparing for sleep. He barely even had tiid, time, to register the sounds of horses, and the footsteps that were dying outside such were the depths of his thoughts, even as the darkness outside crept forward. They, the King and the other Jarls, were to meet Thongvor Silver-Blood tomorrow in a last ditch attempt to try and end the war. It had occurred to Jon that this might be the solution to his problem; the problem that haunted the dark corridors of his hahdrim, mind, even now. His death.

Jon might have made the decision to go to war, but that by no means meant that he was prepared to die. His very being was repulsed even at the thought of it and sent up desperate signals of self-preservation, ones that Jon was finding steadily more difficult to try and resist. He couldn't possibly not dir, die, though, or else Alsfur would die, and then… what then? He was his son. If he couldn't die for him, what could he die for? I was prepared for death in order to defeat Alduin, his mind told him guiltily. I had accepted it, for what? For Skyrim? For its people? And yet, he couldn't muster the courage to die for his son? Guilty, degrading thoughts assaulted his mind when these thoughts crept in. Feelings of self-disgust, and pity. It made Jon sick, but he couldn't throw off this desire to live, and that made it worse. Likely, any other father would give up his life in an instant, but here he was, still struggling with his conscience, with his love, four months later.

When things got like this, Jon found that it was best to get some fresh su, air. He stood heavily and pulled on a heavy fur cloak over his shirt, and braved the night air outside. It was sharp; the cold bit into his flesh like Alduin's claws. It wasn't a pleasant feeling; every time he thought about them digging in, shivers of icy fear crawled under his flesh.

Jon sucked in the air as if his life depended on it. It burnt his lungs with his fus, fiery, coldness though and he started coughing and spluttering. When he was done, Jon felt even worse. He had realised quite suddenly, possibly only a month ago, that he really did need Ysold. She was like his healer; she took care of him. She had tried to stay with him for as long as possible to nurse his wounded pride and broken body from the events in Whiterun, but soon enough they had left for war. Jon Stormcloak had left with Alsfur, his secret burden, as his only support, and found he wasn't enough. Alsfur did his best, but he was no Ysold, and Jon was no friend in war. In truth, as much as he despised himself for it, Stormcloak saw Alsfur as the cause of all his problems. It had soured their relationship to the extent that they could barely stay in the same room for more than a few minutes, and rarely talked with each other out of choice.

Where he and Alsfur had separated, it seemed that he and Balgruuf had grown closer. Their friendship had been forged in the fires of kein, war, and now that they were in one again, it was being re-forged and sharpened, created from the shattered remains of the last. It was satisfying; Balgruuf was an able commander, and an astute personality. So, why had he made such a bad King? Perhaps it was because power wasn't formed on a battlefield, not really. It was simply a path to power. Balgruuf had had a chance to make his mark in the court, with the people, through his decisions but he had wasted it. Could I have done better? Certainly I have better people surrounding me. It was enough to keep Jon up at vulon, night, and something he been thinking about a lot recently, especially after Paarthurnax's angry disappointment in this regard. Would they be fighting this war if I was king? Maybe, but then, maybe not. In any case, his thoughts had left him with a clear impression of what needed to be done; they had to make peace tomorrow, if Skyrim was to survive. And himself…

Jon trudged through the camp, ignoring everyone, lost as he was in his own thoughts. The ground was dry, and it rustled under his boots as he passed by dark tents. It was like wandering through a moonlit forest of memories; one glance and they came flooding back. Jon turned his attention from the 'trees' and looked up at the sky; it was peppered with stars. He remembered the nights he had spent with Ysold, when they were young, watching the sky under Rorikstead. Those had been the same stars that had dogged him through his childhood, and as he crossed Skyrim, spilling blood for anyone with enough money. Jon stopped, and stood, watching them. He pursed his lips as he tried to recall the faces of the others in his mercenary group, the 'Dragon Blades.' But time was a greedy thing; it stole the memories for itself. All he remembered now was his first kill, sos, blood, death and pain. There had to have been more to it, hadn't there? But Jon wasn't too sure; like Mother with Ulfric, Ysold had saved him. He blew out a breath, and foggy steam burst from his lips like the thu'um. Jon sighed and trudged on further into the night. It was only then that he noticed Ralof, following him like a shadow, but Stormcloak didn't feel like talking to him now, but he didn't want to be alone, so instead he said nothing. Jon continued on gloomily, until he came to a hill overlooking the camp.

He climbed it quickly, but when he reached the top he was surprised to see Balgruuf. The King of Skyrim was standing on the edge of the grassy ledge, surveying his army. His zahkrii, sword, hung at his side, but otherwise he was un-armoured and uncrowned. His grey-blue eyes were sombre. Jon glanced at Ralof and dismissed him; it was time that he and Balgruuf talked again, as they had in the old days, and he wanted to do it alone. The Housecarl strode off without a word, and Jon turned his attention to his king.

Balgruuf's silver hair stirred in the ven, wind, and his strong jaw was set. He worked it slightly from side to side, as if in great concentration. He probably was though; his crown hung on the outcome of tomorrow.

'Jon Stormcloak,' Balgruuf began, not looking back at the Jarl. Jon didn't bow, or nod, instead he stood next to the King, as equals. Wind-Shifter nodded at this. He was still insightful. 'This is all wrong, isn't it?'

'What do you mean, Balgruuf?' Jon asked grimly. He thought he already knew.

'You and me. This position. Why are we like this?' Jon stayed silent, and he turned to him, eyeing him with a degree of hostility, demanding an answer, but before Stormcloak could speak, he started talking again. 'What hope did I have at playing king? You are the Dragonborn.' As he said these words, his voice lost his edge. It was an admission, which surprised Jon a little.

'No one could have known what mistakes we were making all those years ago,' Jon agreed. His voice was too harsh to provide any comfort, nor would he want to give any; Balgruuf was a man, and a king, not a boy.

'If I could go back, I would put the crown on you. You, and no one else. I think you'll find the other Jarls would do the same.'

Jon nodded, the crushing reality returning. All the suleyk, all the power, had been within his grasp. He had only needed to… reach out, and take it. But he hadn't; he had crumbled, and fallen. And now, ten years later, maybe eleven now, here they were, on the verge of a war.

Balgruuf's voice tore through his prison of regret. 'We meet Silver-Blood tomorrow,' Balgruuf told you, with the voice of a man who was admitting a hard truth, his tone despondent.
'Yes, we are.'
The King frowned. 'You could say a lot more, Jon.'
He nodded slowly in agreement. 'I could...' Jon fixed Balgruuf with a piercing stare; 'but what would that achieve?'

The King became gloomy, and sighed. 'Nothing, I suppose.'
'Save the words for tomorrow, and the swords for the day after,' Jon declared melancholy. 'Yes, ahrk fin zahkrii fah fin sul,' he muttered again.

Balgruuf ignored the draconic with an upturned eyebrow and frowned, working his jaw again with agitation. 'You don't think we'll get peace?'
Jon had known it since the day he agreed to go to war, despite his desperation to make it true; his death was set in war, so there had to be a war. 'Nid. No,' he added for Balgruuf's sake.
'Silver-Blood is a surprising man.'
'Which is why we stand here, fighting for your kingdom... again,' Jon added with a thin smile.
Balgruuf frowned again, as he was wont to do in Jon's presence. 'You're as cold as winter, and as dark as my nightmares.'
Ysold would disagree with the first one. 'Not as dark as my dreams, Balgruuf,' Stormcloak replied dryly. The King didn't disagree.
'Can we win the battle then?'
Jon was tempted to say no. It was in the tip of his tongue, but Balgruuf's face was desperate. Stormcloak decided to humour him, once. 'Maybe.'
The King sighed, frustrated. 'Give me some hope, Stormcloak.' He turned away, rubbing his hands. 'I don't want to know what torments your serfs are subjected to,' he grumbled.
'Peace, for one,' Jon told him. The look he gave Balgruuf was hard.
The King's eyes flashed with anger, but as they were, a King and a Hero, Balgruuf had no authority over him. He changed the subject less gracefully than he could have. 'We could fix this land, if we win this war, Jon.' Stormcloak gave him a blank stare and the King continued. 'I want to marry my daughter to your son,' Balgruuf announced abruptly.
Jon smiled wryly. 'I'm not sure that's a good idea.'
'Why not?' the King asked, baffled.
Stormcloak shrugged. 'What's she like?'

'Gentle, wilful, good looking.'
Just Alsfur's type. He smiled properly. 'It seems a good match.'
'So, you'll agree,' Balgruuf asked, almost anxiously.

Jon regarded him with a scrutinising stare. His eyes danced with light, and the silver rims glowed silently. But Balgruuf needed not worry; Jon just nodded.

The King let out a sigh of relief, and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. 'You and me, Jon. We will win back this Kingdom.'

'It that it, Your Majesty?' Jon wanted time to think now, and he had other things to do besides before the night was out.

Balgruuf looked a little disappointed, but he forced a smile and nodded. 'Get your rest, Jon. Tomorrow will not be an easy day.'

Stormcloak nodded in agreement. Regardless of the outcome, it was going to be a very hard day. He inclined his head and strode off, his feet crunching on the dry grass. It wasn't long before his impending death worked its way back into his thoughts, but he managed to throw it off. Jon made his way to Alsfur's tent, his mind set.

It was dimly lit, but Jon could see only one figure through the fabric, hunched over. The steady scraping of a whetstone echoed through Stormcloak's ears. He didn't knock; instead he just strode in, and stood over his kul, son, who was honing Kodaav's edge. Jon decided that he needed to talk quickly, before any tension could build between them again.

'You're wasting your time,' he began curtly. Jon winced; it wasn't the best start.

Alsfur looked up, startled. 'Father?'

Jon brought up a stool and sat, frowning a little as he decided how to proceed. 'The blade; you don't have to sharpen it.'

'I like to,' Alsfur said forlornly. 'It gives me a sense of purpose. It makes me feel ready.'

That brought back memories and Jon smiled. 'I remember my first battle. It was at Whiterun. Surrounded by hosts of men, thousands.' He nodded, relishing the feel of it. 'We were all so scared. It was your mother who made me ready.'

Alsfur groaned. 'Father, I don't need to hear more of your sex stories.'

Suddenly Jon was laughing, sudden as a storm, smiling at his son's immense discomfit. 'I didn't mean it like that,' he chuckled. 'What I'm trying to say is that it's normal for you to be worried. To be scared.'

Alsfur's eyes shone with hopeful relief. 'Really?' He turned away, his brow furrowed. 'I thought it was just me.'

Jon shook his head. 'Everyone feels fear on the eve of battle; from the man-at-arms to the King.' He leaned in closer. 'Alsfur, even I am scared.'

The younger Stormcloak shook his head. 'Really, you?'

'Why not?' It felt strange, but it suddenly clicked. Jon knew what to say. 'You know, I've never told you about my days hunting Alduin. To your credit you never asked.' He sighed, digging up deeply repressed memories. Jon rubbed his brow. Alsfur was silent; his eyes guarded. 'Being a hero is not what you think. It wasn't easy, it still isn't easy, in fact,' Jon reflected. 'It was heartbreaking work. Perhaps I didn't realise that at the time, but Alsfur,' he grasped his son's shoulder; 'I lost. Alduin broke me. I was defeated the first time I tried to fight him. I was scared, and not ready.' He traced the scar that cut a jagged path down his cheek and under his jaw. 'See this; the price of failure. It hurts…' Jon fixed Alsfur with a penetrating stare. 'But remember. Being a hero, or a good Jarl, it isn't about doing it perfectly the first time. It's about having the courage to get back up from the utter brink of defeat, and marching on. It doesn't matter what happens, but if you keep getting back up, then you can't lose. And that brings me onto the reason for my visit.' Jon reached behind him and pulled out a large horn, made of gleaming white ivory, and banded in silver. Draconic runes lined the shining metal. 'Here, I want you to have this. I always used it in my battles, and it always brought my men back from the brink of defeat. It is a very special horn; the horn of Jurgen Windcaller.' He ran his hands over it; 'a horn made for leaders.' He held it out to his son. 'Take it.' Alsfur did so carefully, and Jon stood. 'I have one more gift for you. I want you to take my armour.'

'The skyforge steel?' Alsfur asked incredulously. 'Eorlund Graymane made that for you. The armour of heroes!' His mind was clearly racing; Jon was surprised to see how defiant he looked now. 'I won't take it. It's yours.'

'Alsfur-' Jon began.

'What would I tell mother, if I did take it? I've already taken your sword, now your horn. I would never forgive myself if I took your protection.'

Jon eyed him carefully. In truth he was pleased to see the same fire he had always prided himself on in his convictions. 'As you wish. Good night, Alsfur.' And then he left, his mind reeling. It was over so quickly. Jon could almost sense Alsfur's eyes on his back. Stormcloak shook his head, trying to dispel dark thoughts, and the building fear, until he reached his tent. Ralof was waiting outside.

'How was it?' he asked softly.

Jon frowned. 'I don't know. I feel like I'm trying to protect everybody.'

Ralof chucked. 'That's because you always are.'

Stormcloak looked down, thinking, more musing in truth. That's Ralof's thing. 'Right. I'll see you for the battle tomorrow.'

'We're just going to talk. There might not be a battle,' Ralof pointed out.

'Of course, how could I forget,' he agreed, taken aback by his own defeatism. 'Get some sleep,' he told his Housecarl before entering his tent. Once there he slumped down, and the ved, black, thoughts started to strangle his mind again. His throat felt tight.

Please review! Let's get up to the magic 400! But thanks for the support and I hope that was good.