Guys I am so sorry it's been so long! So if anyone is reading this, bravo! You might just be reading the end! But because you guys have been so great, and because I planned at least 30 more chapters we can't wait 30 years for, do you want me to post a chapter with spoilers, outlining all the future plot points and resolving it all.

It'll be fun and amusing! I'll inject some humour into the commentary, do over your favourite characters and explain the ending and my thoughts on what was going to happen and my ideas. Like a behind the scenes. And if there is a particular moment you really want to read, say the final battle, I'll ever do my best to write it for you with enough requests.

So, basically enjoy, I'm sorry for the delays, god the delays, and tell me if you want Season's End – Behind the Scenes with BDLG, including the epic finale and everything that would have happened. (With added humour and interesting tibits and commentary!)

Nelkir

Nelkir entered the Emperor's tent, coming face to face with Hadvar. He grimaced, and turned away.

'The Jarl Stormcloak; we were just waiting for you,' he said.

Nelkir avoided blushing; no one in the army really took him seriously. His display in front of the Thanes had been impressive but he was still very young and had yet to display any of the qualities they expected from a son of the Dragonborn.

'What do you want?' he asked, not quite managing to keep the sour tone from his voice.

'Talos,' Hadvar reminded him, glancing at the Emperor.

'What do you want, Talos?' Nelkir corrected himself coldly. If the Emperor actually noticed any of White's slight impertinence, he didn't show it.

'Bad news, Stormcloak,' he announced. 'The Thalmor have entered Skyrim.'

Nelkir blinked. 'We knew that was going to happen.'

'We did,' Hadvar replied dryly for the Emperor, 'but we didn't expect them to appear a mile from our position.'

Shock pounded Nelkir's mind, like a horse shot by an arrow and falling to the ground. 'A mile?' he repeated in disbelief.

'And here I was thinking Nords couldn't be frightened,' the Emperor noted sarcastically. 'I was expecting more.'

Anger rose in Nelkir's gut, and his response gave away his emotions a little more than he would have liked. 'What do you expect me to do?' he snapped.

Hadvar raised a warning eyebrow, but the Emperor, as always, seemed totally immune to any sign of disrespect or stray emotion. 'I was told you had a soul of a dragon; you can breathe fire, teleport or something? I was hoping you would be able to counter their magic,' he explained, but this time there was an edge to his voice. It was anger. Only then did Nelkir pay attention to the people in the room. The Emperor's generals were anxious, some were pale and even Hadvar looked tightly draw, like he hadn't slept at all. Well, nor have I! Nelkir thought, annoyed.

'You thought wrong, Talos,' White said, the anger in his stomach biting like a knife.

'Clearly.'

Hadvar interrupted the standoff. 'We need to retreat then,' he said firmly, attempting to cut off all argument. 'At least until I think of something to do in the meanwhile.'

'Do it then, Prefect,' the Emperor said, still staring darkly at Nelkir. 'Get us out of their range until we can fight them.'

'And what happens if they use magic again?' one of the generals asked.

'We'll just have to hope Stormcloak has found his tongue,' the Emperor said.

Nelkir's heart sank into his chest, his anger boiling away to fill his mind with anxiety and even an unwelcome touch of fear. He left the tent in black despair.

They spent the next week running. It was called an organised retreat, organised while morale still existed within the army, but they were running. They all knew it. The Imperial Army itself, with its hardened legionnaires, held up the best. They had fought and beaten the Thalmor at the Imperial City. They knew they could win, as long as they followed Hadvar Victor, as he was being increasingly known among his troops, the old Imperial name falling away, their Nordic General. That left the Eastmarch Nordic troops, and a few others, the survivors of battles during the Civil War. That all seemed so long ago now. While originally enthusiastic and invincible, the Nords in the army knew a retreat when they saw one. They knew what was happening and it grated on their pride to not stop and face the enemy. As each day passed, their morale grew lower and fear began to sweep into their ranks. It led to fighting between bannermen, and fighting between the Imperial army and the Eastmarch men. Things were looking grim.

Nelkir rarely emerged. The feeling of power, of joy, he had experienced when he had killed that dragon was gone. He couldn't summon anything. He couldn't feel any power building at his throat. Only despair. Magnus, (it's been along time. This is really Assur remember. :p) his mysterious, silent figure, attempted to coax something out of him, but to no avail. The days turned into a week and men began to be picked off by Thalmor scouts as they shadowed the army, like a snake in a cave, waiting to strike.

The only piece of news came when a Khajiit was thrown to the ground in front of Nelkir. Tor Blackmoore stood over it, with his son at his side, Nikulas. An arrow had been shot straight through it's eye.

'It appears that we're dealing not with Thalmor, but with cats,' Tor said grimly.

'So where are the Thalmor?' Nelkir said, standing in his tent, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders in the early hours of the morning.

Tor shook his head. 'I'll send out our scouts, but I fear we have no idea where they are now.'

'If they were even here,' Nelkir remarked. His brain began to tick over, but stopped, clogged by despair and doubt.

He had the same dream that night. He was standing on the stone area, the ruined temple, facing off against the black nightmare that was Alduin. The dragon's eyes were as red as blood, shimmering with burning heat. His scales ate the night, and as the sun dipped he seemed to grow larger. Fear rooted Nelkir to the spot, taking away his ability to speak or do anything.

'Hi los nid Strundaam. You do not even know what it means to be a dov,' Alduin said, his voice deep and filled with malice. He laughed, his teeth as huge as a sharks, glittering with poison and blood. 'Rek fen dir. There is nothing you can do.'

He leapt, and Thrya jumped in front of him, taking the blow as always. Alduin ripped into her and then tossed her aside, laughing. 'Come on Jundovdez, I want to see your thu'um. That is polite. We greet each other with a thu'um, do we not?'

'But I can't shout!' Nelkir tried to tell him.

'Then I will begin!' He rose up, preparing himself in a movement that blotted out everything.

'Zek voth hi zeymah,' another voice said. It sounded like Alduin, but was different. Lighter somehow. 'Dovahkiin banished you. You are not wanted here.'

Alduin turned and bared his teeth. 'Dur hin vrii vax. Hoe dare you come into my presence again!'

'Begone World Eater, your time is not come again yet,' the other voice said, stepping forward to reveal itself as that white scaled dragon Nelkir swore he had seen before. Alduin snorted, and shot one last glare at Nelkir.

'Fine, teach him what you will. It will not save him. I promise you, the boy will die. It is ordained.' Alduin took off in a great flurry of air which whipped back Nelkir's hair, disappearing into a blood red sky.

The white dragon turned to the bastard, and said only one thing. 'Get ready.'

Nelkir woke with a start, shook awake by a man. 'My jarl, you need to wake up! They are coming. It's all men to arms.'

Terror proved to be a fast waker. The bastard shot up, reaching for his cloak, only to find the man standing next to a set of shimmering armour expectantly.

'What is this?' Nelkir asked.

'Jarl Stormcloak's armour, my jarl, the Dragonborn.' He looked at it in awe, and White nodded sharply.

'Fine, make it quick.' He still felt uncomfortable being related to Jon, indeed most people in the camp wanted to doubt it. But there was proof in his voice, his hand on Kodaav, whatever that meant. There was no denying it.

The man was quick, strapping on the leather jerkin first, then the gambon and lacing the thick leather at the back. Then he pulled on the mail, fitting it over Nelkir's head, attaching greaves to his legs, and then the impossibly light armour that covered his upper chest his extended down his right arm. A bracer of the same steel went onto his left arm with a pair of leather gloves following suit. Finally, the man went to attach his sword belt, but Nelkir held him back.

'I can do this bit myself.' He took the sword Kodaav, and a matching dagger and pulled them around his waist, fastening them tight. He took up his helm from the man and smiled at him. By tradition, it was the Jarl's Housecarl who would ready him for battle, but Nelkir had no Housecarl. He stepped outside and instantly Magnus was by his side, his face shadowed by a hood.

'Get ready,' he said quietly and Nelkir remembered what that dragon had said in his dream. He felt a little bit sick.

They rushed to the Emperor's tent, men streaming past them, delivering messages and making noise. Swords were being sharpened and horses saddled. Fires were being snuffed out and only then did Nelkir realise it was the middle of the night, but the camp was in chaos. Death was descending on them.

Looking around, Nelkir's eyes began to pick out the landscape around them, noticing a set of steep hills and cliffs that rose from the ground, filling the sky. His eyes picked out the damp soil at their bases, made that way by a light shower of snow, and the flat ground that surrounded the rocky cliffs. There was a gorge ahead with mountains on either side. Suddenly, he had an idea. Nelkir had been told to be ready, and now he would be.

White entered the tent as a Jarl, striding in confidently. He was surrounded by Imperial Generals, but his presence made them step back a bit. The Emperor frowned at his arrival, and even Hadvar looked uncertain, not quite sure what he was seeing.

'We only have two hours, don't we?' Nelkir said abruptly.

'Yes, Stormcloak,' Hadvar agreed. 'That's correct.'

'We can't keep running either, can we?'

The Imperial Prefect nodded. 'No, we can't.'

'I have a plan, but I need your best archers, and all my men,' Nelkir said firmly.

Hadvar didn't blink at this request. 'What do you suggest?'

White almost felt surprised at the ready acceptance, but he maintained his composure and forced a smile. 'I plan to use the mountains around us. If you look at them, they are built with jutting out ridges, areas from which men can fight if they are careful. They are also close together.' Hadvar nodded but didn't say a word, while the Emperor looked on impatiently. 'If you lead the main army through those mountains, and try and hide, or run, do what you think is best. Find a good defensive position. Meanwhile I'll hold them off. With Imperial bows, from that height, we could theoretically slaughter anyone who attempts to pass. I have no doubt that they will try and fight us, as opposed to pass. We might just be able to win from that position.'

'Might?' Hadvar queried. He didn't look sceptical though, just grim.

Nelkir got right to the heart of it. 'The Nords are getting disillusioned and afraid. They can't run any longer and they want to fight.' The Jarl spoke before he could be interrupted. 'I'm not saying that this is the best thing to do. Retreat has been our only option and the Imperial army knows that. But the Nords don't. We only really have one chance left now.'

Hadvar nodded; he knew what we going on and was saavy enough to have been seeing it happen for the last couple of weeks. 'It's victory or death.'

'Just like at the Imperial City,' Nelkir agreed.

The Imperial Prefect nodded. 'Talos Emperor, is this acceptable?'

He pursed his lips. 'You can have half of our archers.'

Nelkir bridled at that. 'But-' Hadvar cut him off with a sharp look, and the Nord stepped back. 'Very generous, Talos,' he said with some measure of sarcasm.

'Go then, Jarl Stormcloak. Go and enjoy your death,' the Emperor said ominously.

The wind rushed through the cliffs, with a groan like some god was attempting to dissuade Nelkir from his current path. The young Nord wondered if Shor and Kyne were actually watching him now, waiting. He knew it all came down to this moment. So did the gods it seemed.

Nelkir and his newly gained men were all resting on the side of the cliff, on the many ledges that jutted from its side. There were two of these moutains and they flanked a gorge, tight and cramped. The mountains were like a natural castle; anyone who tried to get between them would be set upon by rain made of arrows, huge stones and boulders. It would be a massacre for the unprepared. For the Elves, well, it would be a warm up.

'I think you've made the right decision,' Magnus said. He came to sit next to Nelkir, his long robes hanging off the edge of cliff. The other Nord nodded, his face obscured by his hood.

The bastard shrugged. 'I felt like I had to do something. I'm supposed to be a Stormcloak and yet so far I've only followed Imperials on a march up and down the country.'

Magnus shook his head. 'I think its time for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself,' he said bluntly.

Nelkir was hit with a pang of guilt. 'This will begin setting it right.'

'Or, you know, we'll all be dead,' Magnus said.

'That too,' the bastard agreed evenly. 'But I'm hoping for another scenario.' He glanced out to the Nordic plains stretched out in front of the gorge as it turned from a rocky sea into the smooth grasses of the tundra. A shadow was appearing on the horizon, but it wasn't the one Nelkir expected. He felt a tugging tightness at his throat, an unusual feeling he hadn't recognised before. He rubbed his neck nervously. His eyes were glinting with silver now and he could just about recognise the shadow appearing in the distance. It was thousands of bodies, marching in a rough, unorganised line.

Magnus was staring at Nelkir carefully when he turned away. 'What is it?' he asked.

'Men, I think. It seems the Elves have finally caught up with us.' That was good; the Imperial forces had entered the gorge with more than enough time to traverse it. 'It's beginning isn't it?'

Magnus nodded. 'Nelkir, the next hours will be tough. But you can do it, I know it. I've seen it…'

The bastard turned to look at him strangely. 'You like to be mysterious, don't you?'

He smiled from beneath his hood. 'I am inclined to be mysterious, Nelkir.'

Nelkir sighed and turned his attention away from the incoming horde as footsteps sounded behind him. He stood to find himself face to face with two Imperial officers. Well, more chest to face with them. They were considerably smaller than Nelkir and they realised it. Irritation was plain to see across their faces.

'Have you seen it?' one of them asked sullenly. His name was Cassius Lentins and he was a sour man, plain and angry.

'I have eyes,' the bastard replied coolly.

'Strange ones, aye,' Cassius muttered. His companion let out a little squeak. That was about the most he said in Nelkir's short experience of the man.

The bastard's silvery eyes flared dangerously. 'I assume you want to discuss battle plans?'

Cassius nodded stiffly. 'Look, Stormcloak, you may command the Nords here, but these archers are mine. Imperial forces led by an Imperial. I'll hear what you say, but I'm going to fight as I see best.'

Anger sparked in Nelkir. 'Don't you see the enemy? They're right there,' he said, pointing. 'Take a good long look because we need to find a way to defeat that horde.' They were getting ever closer, banners becoming visible and individual shapes appearing among the dark mass. 'You know why we're up here, and that's because we need to hold this pass!'

'I'm not a green boy. I know why we have archers up here,' he said angrily. 'But they're my men and I'll do what I want with them. You don't get a say.'

'I do if we want to live.' The other officer squeaked pathetically. By this time Nelkir's Thanes were appearing, coming to see what was going on. Noise started racing among the masses as the enemy were spotted properly. Several Nords bellowed excitedly, pulling on their helms and buckling on sword belts.

'What are your orders, my Jarl?' Tor Blackmoore asked, coming forward in front of the other Thanes.

Nelkir looked at Cassius, smirking a little besides himself. 'I am the one in command of the fighters, Legate,' he said pointedly.

The Imperial scowled. 'Of course we're going to fight with you,' he growled. 'But they are Imperial men led by-'

'An Imperial, yes,' Nelkir agreed. 'I know. I only ask for your cooperation here. We're the first of several human allies that need to fight together to save ourselves. We can't bicker, but must set an example, right? An example to the Redguards and Bretons, so when they join us we're an army. Not countries. Cyrodiil is gone, for now. Skyrim will follow it, as will the rest of Tamriel if we don't put aside our personal allegiances and recognise the real problem here. Them.' He pointed down the slope, as the army of Khajiits began to reach the range of the Imperial longbows. They were changing and hissing, unconcerned by the lovely open gorge they should be entering. They were aiming right for Nelkir's army, perched as it was upon the cliffs like a bird's egg, ripe for taking. There no elves, to Nelkir's surprise.

'Ready your arches, Legate,' Nelkir commanded firmly. 'Thanes! Get all your men ready along the cliff line. It seems that they're coming right for us, so I figure we give them the greeting they're asking for!' His Thanes nodded approvingly and moved off quickly. The bastard turned to Magnus, who nodded.

'Spoken like a true Stormcloak.'

The first grapple lodged itself into the cliff, its claws tightening into the rock supernaturally. Nelkir drew Kodaav and cut down, severing it but more sprang up. All along their rocky bluff, grappling ropes were spring up, followed by the yowls of khajiit.

Imperial arrows flew down into the masses which were forming all along the bottom of the steep, muddy cliffs. They punched into fur and leather armour, ripping apart arms and chests. The khajiit fell, but more kept coming.

'Shit,' Nelkir muttered, his throat beginning to tighten. Magnus watched from next to him looking impassive. He carried a metal mace, but he looked like he had no intention of using any magic. His cool eyes betrayed his worry and fear. Nelkir couldn't say that he didn't understand that.

In his distraction, another hook flew up and punched against his leg. It didn't break the skyforge steel, but Nelkir fell to the ground, dropping Kodaav. The blade skidded to the edge of the cliff and began to teeter off. Nelkir made a dive for it and grabbed it, stopping it from falling away into the abyss. His throat was tightening so painfully now he swore he wouldn't be able to speak.

Nelkir pulled the sword towards him and pulled himself up, only to find himself face to face with a khajiit. It swung down it's sword with a screech, but suddenly a mace shot out and smashed it in the face. Magnus grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

'You okay?' he asked, eyes roaming the battlefield madly as more khajiit pulled themselves up, pouring into the imperial ranks.

'No,' Nelkir growled. 'No, I'm not. We need to retreat further up.' He raised his sword, waving it above his head. 'UP! RETREAT UP! NOW!' Nelkir ran forward, swinging Kodaav in a wide arc along the rocky cliff face, severing half a dozen ropes. Screams matched those from dying men as the khajiit fell away. Nelkir started grabbing men and forcing them up the cliff, until everyone started moving, covering their backs as they went.

Nelkir glanced up at the archers waiting for his signal from their position on the next of the rocky bluffs above the current one they fought on. 'Loose your arrows!' he cried. They responded immediately. Arrows thudded into the khajiit warriors , giving Nelkir's men a chance to scramble up the muddy path to the next level of cliff face. Stormcloak run after them, throwing himself up the muddy goat path, the only way to reach the next point without a grapple.

Nelkir pulled himself onto the next rocky ledge, breathing heavily. 'Oil!' he called. Men came forward and started drenching the goat path. Oil cascaded down into the khajiit's who were just beginning to climb the path. 'Light them up,' Nelkir ordered coolly.

A man ran forward, sparking his flint off the rock and into the volatile oil. It leapt up, raging across the ranks and cliff face below them. Khajiit, what with their fur, caught fire like hay. The screams of the dying pounded against Nelkir's ears, as his throat tightened further. He watched as they melted, skin burning and blistering. Nelkir raised Kodaav, looking at the unbloodied blade. That would soon change.

The next hours passed in a blur. He slammed down with Kodaav, blood flying everywhere as the men hacked at the warriors who tried to climb their cliffs. He glanced across to the other side; the men were holding on the opposite cliff faces. The khajiit were trapped between a rock and a hard place. They either moved forward, dying in the space between the cliffs, or defeated the force that would massacre them. Yet they kept coming. They were fierce and worthy warriors, but the ground was against them, and the imperial men and Nords were desperate.

Nelkir ripped Kodaav out of another khajiit and paused for breath as he heard a sound roaring across the cat ranks. 'MANE. MANE. MANE!'

He looked down and saw a massive carriage being carted along at the very bottom of the cliff. It was golden wood, and resembled leaves and trees bundled together to force a kind of perfect sphere. His enhanced vision let him see what was happened, as he stared down at the figure which emerged. Both armies paused, as they beheld the Mane of the Khajiits. He was their religious leader and emperor. His own mane was so long it trailed out of the carriage. It looked like he could barely walk. He was a stout cat, but had beautiful golden fur. He was helped onto the top of his carriage, where he sat in a chair Nelkir hasn't noticed before, lost as it was among all the intricate finery of the carriage.

The carriage was large enough to act like a platform and another khajiit stood next to the Mane. He was golden furred too and fit. He wore silver amour and his own hair was long, but strictly bound in a braid. The Mane's son, a prince of the khakiit, Nelkir would guess.

'Surrender!' the Mane called. His voice was heavily accented, but also like a music. It was a rather pleasant sound. 'We are many, and you are few. I think you die soon, hmmm?' he called, looking up from his throne. 'Many of you are dead already. There is no more cliff to retreat up. It is over.'

Nelkir frowned. 'Not yet it's not,' he muttered. 'Archers!' he called. Men pushed forward with bows, looking bloody and determined. 'You know what to do.'

They nodded, nocking arrows. 'Careful lads,' Cassius Lentins called, his forehead bleeding. He looked at Nelkir grudgingly, who then nodded. 'Now!' the Legate shouted. Arrows whizzed down, like a black wave of water. Khajiit leapt forward to protect the Mane, and Nelkir knew it was pointless. They could fire all the arrows they wanted, but it would never hit the khajiit emperor. He looked at Magnus, who was bloody and white faced.

'Magic?' Nelkir asked hopefully.

'No, never,' Magnus responded, looking sad. 'I won't.'

'Why not!' Nelkir asked fiercely. He strode over to him and grabbed the front of Magnus's armour. 'We're about to die here, and you won't. That's it? That's all you have to say?' he growled.

Magnus looked angry. 'No,' he whispered. 'I know what going on. I'm no fool. But when I say no magic, I mean it. It's not a little game I'm playing. I refuse.'

'But why?' Nelkir asked, pleading. 'Do you want us to die?' he said, stepping back. 'You want me to die?'

Magnus shook his head. 'I can't fight you're battles, my Jarl. I've seen the future, but there can be no future without you. Without some kind of Dragonborn.'

'Jon was the Last Dragonborn!' Nelkir told him angrily. 'Stop pretending he isn't dead.'

Magnus's mouth tightened. 'He was the Last Dragonborn. But who ever called you Dragonborn, Nelkir son of Dragonborn?' The men were watching quietly, as the khajiit began to chant down below. 'There are no more Dragonborn. But we have his son. You have some of his power, if not all of it. You know you can end this,' Magnus told Nelkir.

White paused, thinking. 'How?' he asked.

'I didn't absorb the dragon's soul,' Magnus pointed out. 'You did.'

Nelkir turned away, thinking. His throat was tightening to such an extent, he could barely breath. His vision began to spin and he turned, feeling unsteady. Then he saw the bow.

'Give me that,' he said raspy. The archer passed Nelkir his bow and some arrows. White threw them all to the ground, save one. He was never the best archer, but he could hit a general direction. That's all he needed.

He sheathed Kodaav, and stared at it. 'Bear,' he translated. The draconic words sprang into his mind. 'Dragonfire…' He imagined dragons flying over the armies, blowing them apart with their fire. Jon could have done that. He never did, but Nelkir knew he could have destroyed armies with a single breath if he had ever tried. Nelkir couldn't, but he didn't need to destroy an entire army.

White strode to the edge, arrow nocked. He stared down at the Mane's monstrosity of a chariot. Anything could burn, with enough heat. How hot was dragonfire?

'Dovahyol,' he whispered over the arrow. Fire shot up the shaft, mixing with blue and silver energy. The colours of Nelkir's eyes. The silver wasn't quite as bright, nor the blue as stunning. But he could feel the power in the thu'um. His throat untightened and he aimed the arrow at the Mane. His bodyguards stood around him.

He released the arrow.

It travelled down, through the air. It felt like an eternity, but as it flew, the fire around the shaft grew into a monstrous fireball. The khajiit realised what was happened and they tried to move the Mane. Ironically, it was his most prized attribute that was going to kill him. The arrow thudded down and exploded, incinerating the Mane in a roaring fireball. His son leapt away before it hit, but the Mane went to meet his ancestors. And the khajiit ran.

Nelkir smiled grimly as panic broke among their ranks. Fire spread across the khakiit, spreading like a wildfire. The explosion hit enough to make this possible. It was over.

Nelkir smiled. 'Son of Dragonborn,' he muttered. 'Dragonson.' He nodded. 'I think I like that,' he muttered, as the world below him burnt.

I hope was decent! I'd ask for reviews but I've really failed you so I won't ask for them. HOWEVER, tell me if you want the plot revealed and the behind the scenes chapter! I actually promise to have it out within a month, guaranteed if there is a enough interest within a month of course!

Post in the reviews and tell me what you want to know and characters you want behind the scenes gossip on! I'll even go over lore and little bits like how Dragonborn work in my Elder Scrolls universe. :D