When her eyes opened, her world was blue. Quiet chatter lofted from a few voices. It wasn't silent, but the noises were so different from those of battle it was agonizing. A spoon clinked against a pot and Thorunn's head sharply whipped towards it, mistaking the noise for blade on blade. She relaxed when she saw what it truly was, her head falling back onto the ground meekly.

She'd glimpsed onto four faces, two of which she didn't recognize. One was Thongvor, the other was Kottir Red-Shoal, and the other two were both fair-haired Nords. "She's awake," said one of them quietly.

I'm awake, Thorunn repeated silently. I'm alive.

It was cold here, where ever they were. The wind was chilly and biting and the ground was damp. She quickly glanced down at the grass to make sure it was wet with rain and not blood. She saw that someone had bandaged her thigh, but it was still splotched with bright red from where the wound was open. Above her, the sky was blue, and beneath her, the ground was green, and around her, the air was clear.

"We've lost Markarth." The voice was distant, too far away for Thorunn to sincerely reach it. "The Dominion is nesting there as we speak. There are other survivors, but they've yet to make their way here."

Altair, Thorunn thought. She started remembering names and the feeling of loss. Isha, Vunthar, Kemaan, Eriswe, Rayya, Yngvar the Singer. She repeated the names over and over again to make sure she didn't forget them. She sat up with excruciating struggle and only then became aware of a wound in her side. Her eyes widened. The babe, she thought. The babe doesn't have a name. Wincing in pain, she brought a hand to the Amulet of Talos around her neck and clutched it tight.

"Your child is fine," said Kottir gently. "Does Ulfric know you are with child?"

She nodded, the motion so slight it was barely discernible.

If Kottir responded, she didn't hear it. Nords didn't shy away from battle, no matter the circumstance; pregnant, ill, old, it made no difference. Thorunn's own mother had fought while pregnant with her. Some said that would make the child a strong warrior. Thorunn didn't know if she believed that, but she wanted to.

Her vision was beginning to clear and her head wasn't spinning so badly. She turned her gaze unto the two unfamiliar Nordic faces. Her eyes widened when she saw the leftmost one. "Ralof?"

He smiled, but it was weak. "None other."

He looked different from the last time she saw him two years ago. Older, with a few grey hairs spotting his golden tresses despite only being twenty and nine, and there was a scar streaking his forehead. His blue eyes had lost some of its compassion. He'd lost friends.

Thorunn wanted to return the smile, but it hurt, so she didn't. Eating was even more painful thanks to the wound in her side, so she didn't do that either. She did get some water down, but little else. Hours passed with her silently listening to the news her companions exchanged. It was too dangerous to revisit the battlefield at this point in time, but they made plans to return the moment they deemed it safe. Two days had passed with Thorunn being unconscious, she was told, and they'd moved far enough away from the field that they were nearing Falkreath. Thorunn kept watching the skies, stone-faced and pained, still hopeful that a dark winged silhouette would fly ahead to their rescue...

"O-dah-viing," she caught herself whispering meekly. She was much too weak to Shout, but a trace of the Thu'um laced the words, little more than a vibration in her chest. "O-dah-viing."

The others didn't comment.

It wasn't until evening that the scenery shifted. Three soldiers were coming down the field, one of which was carrying a bloodied unconscious body. As they neared, Thorunn identified one of the figures as Vunthar, and in his arms was the body of Isha. Thorunn checked those names off of her list of remembrance. The other two silhouettes she could not place names to, but she recognized their faces from earlier battles against the Imperials. One was an Orc, towering tall over the humans he walked alongside, the blood coating him like paint. The other was a Nordic woman, dark-haired and tan-skinned. Rare features found in a Nord, but her firm jaw and flared nostrils were still discernible.

Commander Kottir stood at their approach. "Give her to Brugi. He'll do what he can to get those eyes open." he instructed Vunthar. Thorunn presumed the Nordic man next to Ralof was Brugi, whom was undoubtedly responsible for her own bandaging as well.

The relief she felt at the sight of familiar faces worked better than the healing poultices. Altair, Kemaan, Rayya, Yngvar the Singer, Eriswe, she chanted. Vunthar laid the small elven body before the Nord in question and collapsed no later than that, sighing heavy with relief.

"The fighting is still going on," he heaved, brushing some dirt off of his boots. Those boots had been his whole reason for joining the Stormcloaks. Thorunn deemed that curious. "Lot'a dead bodies out there. Not all of them Stormcloaks, though." When he grinned, he flashed two missing bottom teeth that had been there before the battle.

"We sent word to Ulfric," Thongvor input. "He'll send reinforcements, he will. He won't leave us to the wolves out here."

He will, Thorunn thought, but she said nothing. He will because he knows we've lost.

A soft chime-like sound emitted from the healing magic Brugi inflicted unto Isha's comatose form. There was a nasty gash starting at her collarbone and cutting through her armor down to her breast. A rogue had done that, no doubt. A warrior stabs, a rogue slashes.

She didn't know what they were going to do now. Their army was disbanded and Markarth was lost. Thorunn had suffered losses in her life, but none so great as that of a battle. Losing tasted sour, and she feared this was only the beginning of the end. What if siding with the Stormcloaks hadn't been the right decision? She was certain her reasons for doing so were justified, but was it enough? The Empire had been the fine line standing between Skyrim and the Aldmeri Dominion's ire. Certainly, the Empire being in Skyrim was temporary in itself, but perhaps they'd annihilated that line much too soon.

It seemed her greatest enemy was doubt. The Forsworn's help was out of the question now that they couldn't reach them and there was no way the mercenary bands Thorunn had recruited would reach them in time. As for Hammerfell, that was up to Ulfric. Thorunn sincerely hoped they would come around. The Redguards were their last hope.

"We can't just sit here," Thorunn said finally. It was the first time she'd spoken since her whisperings of Odahviing.

"We can't go back, either," replied Kottir.

"I didn't say we were going to," she snapped. "We should continue East into Whiterun. I have friends there that could... give us an edge." As in shift into man-eating werewolves and wreak havoc unto the elves and beyond. "Then we'll go back. We cannot count on Ulfric to keep wasting men on us. I am going to be the queen, and I won't be one who depends on her husband for every limb." And she wasn't going to leave their brothers behind. Vunthar said the fighting was still going on, which meant the Stormcloaks were still standing, however many.

And she'd die before she ran away from battle.

"She speaks true," said the Orc. His voice was orotund and loud with a heavy accent. Thorunn imagined it was like that even when he whispered. "I joined these Stormcloaks for glory. There is no glory in fleeing." He got to his feet, and Thorunn had to crane her neck to look up at him. She'd never seen a man so tall and buff. Instead of Stormcloak armor, he wore nothing but a skirt of animal skins and a harness around his shoulder. "I am Mulnak Ufthel of Dushnihk Yal. Honored I am to meet you, Dragonborn."

He extended an arm and she took it, starting to hoist herself up when he cut her short and lifted her to her feet effortlessly. A sharp pain seethed through her wounds and she stumbled, only for him to catch her and steady her balance. When she looked up at him, he was smiling, his jagged fangs sharp in his prominent underbite typical of the Orsimer. "As your subject I steady you when you stumble," he said. "I will give you my strength as long as you give me battle."

"There will be no shortage there," she quipped.

"Glad I am to hear it." In one fluid movement, he had his arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms without so much as a grunt. Thorunn yelped in shock, eyes widening at this abysmal display, but relaxed as she realized what he was doing. He turned to face the others. "To Whiterun!"

Slowly, the men started getting to their feet. Vunthar took Isha into his arms again, the same way Mulnak carried an indisposed Thorunn. With their hearts bare from the loss of their friends, and red, red blood covering their broken bodies, this ragtag band of Stormcloaks made way to Whiterun.