I wrote this one fast. Er, it's interesting. In any case a big thanks to HereLies for the amazing review, which, as always was long and cool. Loved reading it. A big thanks to HowYouRemindMe for the review. Thanks for complimenting my Paarthy! Me and RaptorZeroOne both bowed to Paarthurnax in his review and I got a great laugh and interesting comments from Decepticon-Girl079. It was great!

I wrote this like lightening because things only get more interesting! Here you go guys!

Imperial General Tullius

Imperial General Tullius coughed out snow and snot. The storm still smashed into the Legion, devouring the men and choking the world in a smothering blanket of white. Tullius had an epiphany on the seventh day stuck in the storm; perhaps this is what death looked like?

It was certainly lifeless enough. The tents were struggling under the weight of the snow, and some had collapsed. No one moved, duties had been scrapped two days ago, and the men just sat in their tents, trying to stay warm. The bulk of the food had run out a few days ago and the men were on tight rations. Tullius' speech had earned him the personal loyalty of the legionnaires and given them a morale boost, but he knew that it couldn't last that much longer.

They had been stuck in the storm for nearly three weeks, a mere three days from Solitude. Despite Tullius' attempts to move them forward, it had been to no avail; the Legion could hardly move, let along have the energy to toil to make a passage through the snow.

The butcher's bill had been stacking up steadily, with an average of about twenty men dying a day now. As a result, the Legion had lost over four hundred men out of the one thousand five hundred that Tullius had brought on campaign, not including those lost in Falkreath. Everyone was feeling the strain now, and tensions were high. Most of the time, the General stayed in his tent, trying to conserve his energy.

There was movement at the door and Tullius reached for his sword. Recently, discipline in the Legion ahd started disintegrating and there was nothing Tullius could do about it, so instead he played by their rules, and tried to wait out for a rescue. He wasn't even sure that Quintus had made it through; it was more likely that he hadn't, but he had to hope. He could do nothing else.

Legate Cato came through the flap, warily, as if he expected someone else to be inhabiting Tullius' tent. When he saw the General he pushed it aside and stepped in, bringing a generous flurry of snow behind his tall frame.

'Are you alright, sir?'

'Well enough. You?'

Cato's face was gaunt, his hair limp, but he put on a smile. 'Good.'

'Come here then.' Tullius motioned a stool next to him and Cato sat. Tullius looked him over; clearly he was tired. His limbs were thin and they shook slightly, but whether from cold or exhaustion Tullius couldn't tell. Maybe both.

'What's it like out there?'

Cato made a face. 'Not good. The men have started to get in fights over food and other supplies. There was a death earlier.' Cato said this quite calmly, but Tullius could see that he was shaking a little. The boy was obviously more scared than he let on.

'Hey, look at me.' Cato focused his green eyes on Tullius. 'They will pay, and we will make it out of this. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'That's the spirit.' Tullius smiled. 'Now, how about I tell you a story from my time in the Great War. It was 173, maybe 174, I forget. I was a tribune back then, serving in Hammerfell-'

'Sir!' A man burst through the door.

Tullius stood, the story forgotten. 'What is it?'

'There's a fight, sir, out in the tents.'

'Take me there!' Tullius commanded. 'Legate, are you coming?' Cato nodded and rose to follow Tullius.

The group made their way into the sharp cold and devastating snow. Tullius heart was pumping. He had no fear of the legionnaires, but these men were no longer part of the Legion. They were half mad and he couldn't blame them; circumstances had caused the men to do strange things. Tullius no longer knew them, and he wasn't sure what they would do when arrived.

During the storm he had kept to his tent, his officers claiming that it was no longer safe for him outside. At first he had protested, but when one of them had been jumped and killed, he had taken their word for it. It was mess outside and Tullius was reluctant to face it, but this time he had no choice. He had to make a stand eventually.

Fear rose up his throat, making his head fuzzy and unclear. He wrestled it down, lengthening his stride. The sooner it's over, the better.

The men led him round the corner, to the fight. It was worse than Tullius had imagined; a man lay bleeding on the ground, stabbed through the chest. Another's hand lay next to him, the flesh ripped and spraying dark crimson over the white snow.

Tullius looked up to find the culprit, but was instead met by a close brawl, where knives flashed and one man had a sword. It was chaos. Tullius chest tightened with fear, but he breathed deeply and roared; 'STOP THIS MADNESS!'

The men turned and looked at him, comprehension dawning on their faces. Tullius took the advantage; 'You're on a charge. You, you and you. Go, now.'

The men looked like they were going to move, their expressions uncertain, but then a Nord pushed his way through, a bloody sword in his hand. 'There are no charges. And now,' he raised his sword, 'there are no officers.'

Tullius looked more closely at the men and noticed they all carried an officers badge or belt of some sort. Realisation dawned on the General; this was no fight. It was murder.

He should have been scared, but his anger rushed up and he stepped towards the Nord. 'No officers, huh? I'm the fucking General, and you will be executed at dawn. Move,' Tullius voice was steel but the Nord sneered.

'You move. It's your execution after all.'

Tullius drew his sword. 'I'll do it here then. Come on!'

The Nord advanced but Tullius was grabbed from behind. He struggled against his captor, only to see his own guard leering over his shoulder. Cato moved forward, throwing the man aside, but then it all blurred together.

Cato was helping Tullius to his feet when the Nord advanced. He swung his sword and Cato dodged suddenly, thrown off. The Legate pulled at his own weapon, but the man shoved him, knocking Cato's sword to the ground. He slashed at the Legate, who jerked back, but another traitor threw him into the Nord and bright red splurged from his throat as the sword cut across it, showering Tullius. He blinked it out of his eyes as Cato's spasming body fell next to him, blood being choked up from his mouth onto the dark snow.

Tullius reached for his fallen sword, but a metal boot crunched down on his hand and he screamed. The Imperial tried to draw his dagger with his good one, but another legionnaire kicked it away and brought his own down into Tullius' neck, then his chest, punching through his tunic. Red covered his torso and throat; the colours of an Empire. Horns blared and another dagger slammed into Tullius. The cold covered him and the General's world turned black.

Write a review, please. I'm sorry for the ending, but ah, it had to happen eventually. You can rage hate in a review! No, you'd rather come round my house and kill me. Yeah, er, at least you don't know where it is. Yet…