Sorry for the long wait if you had been following the story. I had to write bits and pieces at a time, but it's finally here. :) Action scenes make me nervous. I hope I didn't do too badly. XD

Talos' wrath

It was well after dark when Galmar and I finally arrived at the Stormcloak camp near Gjukar's monument. Galmar wasn't much of a conversationalist and the stops we made to give our horses a rest were short. Nevertheless, from the little conversation I had with Galmar, I found out that he had served Ulfric for decades. He was appointed as Ulfric's housecarl when the Jarl was merely twelve years old and fought the Aldmeri Dominion as Ulfric's shield brother during the Great War.

He spoke of Ulfric with both affection and pride. Even when Ulfric was merely boy and he already a capable warrior, Galmar told me, he knew the future Jarl was special. The boy had passion and appetite for knowledge, especially war and history. His hunger for prowess in battle was equally strong and whatever he desired, Ulfric would not rest till he was satisfied. The boy often skipped a meal simply because in his own mind he wasn't improving fast enough with his training as a warrior or he didn't want to close the book he was reading. Galmar at times had to physically drag him away from his pursuits in order to make sure that the boy he had sworn to protect would not miss more than one meal a day.

Ulfric also loved Talos and was fascinated by the power of the Voice. He often told Galmar that he was going to make history one day just as his hero God did and Galmar believed him even though Ulfric had yet to grow a beard. I believed Galmar when he told me he would follow Ulfric into Oblivion. Theirs' is a bond that has developed over decades, a bond growing only stronger with each passing year. They share a history that I am not part of. It endears Galmar to me because I know losing Galmar would leave emptiness that cannot be filled in Ulfric's life. Part of me nevertheless laments the fact that I am not the one who has that special place in the future High King's life.

There is an air of excitement in the camp, an anticipation of immanent battle. Most soldiers have gone to sleep but many are still sitting around fires, sipping mead, talking and singing. Roggvir is sitting next to me and Ralof opposite. Their familiar faces and a bottle of mead make me feel that I have truly become one of Ulfric's soldiers. When Roggvir saw me in my Stormcloak armour, he wrapped me in his arms before I could protest, his embrace so tight that I could barely breathe. Welcome, Sister. It was all he said when he released me, but it was the most heartfelt welcome I was ever given. It makes me glad that he still lives.

A Nord beauty sitting next to Ralof throws her arm over his shoulder and whispers to him. Ralof laughs, his eyes smiling at me, and says, "Tell her."

She laughs and shakes her head. She has been throwing glances towards my direction several times with a half smile. Her chiselled face looks strangely familiar to me, but I cannot remember where I have seen her.

"Tell her what?" I ask.

"Lydia here says you could have been her Thane," Ralof explains. "Balgruuf was going to appoint her as your housecarl."

"Oh." I'm not sure what to say to that. "So, how did you join the Stormcloaks if you were in his service?"

"The Talos mistake." She says and doesn't offer any further explanation as if her answer should have been sufficient for my question.

"The Imperial bastards."

"Cowards, the lot of them."

"The Empire is a disgrace."

A few Stormcloaks make comments one after another, anger and contempt apparent in their tone.

"It's a book written by an Imperial," Ralof elaborates, seeing a confused look on my face. "It says the Emperor didn't agree to outlaw the worship of Talos because the Thalmor demanded it. Apparently he agreed because he suddenly realised Talos wasn't a Divine. It says Talos worship pushes away people from the Eight Divine who deserve their reverence. How convenient is it that he just realised it… because his throne was at stake?"

Propaganda at its worst. I suppress the chuckle that threatens to break out. The book seems to have achieved exactly the opposite of its intended effect. But aside from its obvious inability to conceal its motive, I have to wonder whether the Eight Divine will be even interested in being worshipped. I suspect that they wouldn't concern themselves with loyalty of mere mortals. But Talos, he is likely to care. He was a man once and as such should understand what it is to be loved by men. In life, Talos was ruthless in subjugating his enemies and even those who wished to remain neutral with his Voice and his exceptional talent at war. He wanted to have near him only those who were loyal to him.

"It says… May we find centuries of peace and prosperity with out new Thalmor friends," Lydia scoffs, her eyes cold with disdain. "When I read that, I finally realised the Empire would never again have a stomach for standing against the elves. Ulfric was right. The Empire is nothing but a puppet state of the Thalmor. They don't keep the Thalmor out of Skyrim. They are the very reason the Thalmor Justiciars are here."

"The Empire deserves Talos' wrath," Roggvir says quietly.

"Ulfric is his wrath. We Stormcloaks are his wrath," I reply to him and the words 'storm' and 'wrath' begin to swim in my head. Storm is often seen as Divine wrath and some of the Imperials and many of the Nords in the Imperial army must be fearful of Talos' wrath. Yes, I have a perfect shout to invoke that fear. I just need to plan how to use it. "And the Imperials will come to believe it."

The sky is brilliant blue as the sun climbs up the world. It is a sublime day for my little scheme to work as it shows no sign of the storm that I will let loose on Ulfric's enemies. From where I stand, I can see the hectic movements of soldiers inside the fort, trying to form an orderly line while answering shouts that call out each name. By now, they must know the Stormcloaks are marching towards Makarath. They should also know that there are troops waiting for them at the foot of the mountain. But the Empire and its army are faithful to its set ways and as Galmar predicted, their love for their lists take priority.

Galmar offered me his horse as I was adamant that I could not take any of Ulfric's soldiers with me. I had to refuse his kind offer. I know that the lightening that will accompany the storm can not harm me but otherwise it is an indiscriminate power that I will be unleashing. I know this because last time I tried it against a hoard of Forsworns, I nearly killed a sellsword whom I hired temporarily. It was only thanks to my healing magic that he still lives. I have no control over its destructive force. The only thing I am certain of is that its scope is limited and the storm will not harm my brothers and sisters in arms while they stay where they are now.

Standing still, I watch the Imperial army finally leave the formidable Fort that casts ominous shadows over them. They march towards me in good order, a sign of a disciplined army, and I can hear my heart pounding in nervous anticipation. I draw my sword and hope that they will stop when they recognise my armour. I need to address them and it's going to be better if they are still while I talk.

"Halt." An Imperial officer comes forward from behind and the troop heeds his command. He stands in front of them and looks down on me from horseback. He is only twenty feet or so away from me and I know that distance is next to nothing when he is riding. Flight at this stage is not an option.

"What do you want, rebel? Or shall I say Breton witch? If you finally came to your senses and want to surrender, drop your weapon."

I see my reputation precedes me.

"In the name of Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim, and in the name of Talos whom you so shamelessly betrayed, I demand your surrender."

There is a brief period of silence that belies disbelief on my audience's part. It's soon replaced by sniggers and mocking laughter. It seems that I failed to sound or look menacing. It doesn't matter. They aren't going to be laughing for long.

"Then send my regards to Ulfric. Archers, forward."

I raise my sword and point it skyward. And when I shout to the clouds, I am no longer myself. I am the vessel for Ulfric's wrath.

"Strun, Bah!"

The sky darkens instantly and heavy droplets of rain fall upon the clueless Imperial army. An archer screams and drops his bow as lightening strikes.

"I said forward," the officer shouts impatiently at the archers who are now reluctant to carry out his order but his voice sounds distant and weak compared with the roaring thunder.

The Imperials' discipline is nevertheless a force to reckon with and the archers, though their mind must be desperately seeking the safety of the stone fortress that they left behind, move towards me with their bows drawn. The sight makes me want to charge, my warrior instinct at war with my self-preservation. I must not find myself surrounded by them when the storm eventually clears. I make a slow retreat, watching another archer fall and then another, followed by simultaneous screams of two Imperial infantrymen. I need not run. Not yet.

"Attack. All of you. Atta…"

The officer is the next victim of the destructive power of my making which is now in the full force. Hot white light flashes everywhere, maiming and blinding those who were trapped in the storm. The Imperials, those who probably managed to hear the last command of their dead officer, charge at me at alarming speed, their swords and bows drawn, but they are no longer orderly, no longer moving as one unit. This time I run towards them, eyeing the horse that was carrying its dead owner.

I swing my blade left to right and then right to left, ripping open the armour and tearing flesh of the first Imperial I come in contact with while lightening taking care of the one behind. I do not linger to finish off my fallen enemy. Their visions and hearing are impaled enough to make them easy targets. Instead, I listen to the singing of my blade and admire the beauty of its dance as I swirl and thrust upon those who managed to place themselves between me and the now visibly hysterical horse.

"Retreat!"

The Soldiers do not care who issued that command. It is what they need to hear and they are running towards the fort as fast as their legs can carry them. I know the storm cannot last long now but they do not. So far, my scheme has worked beautifully.

I slowly approach the white horse so as not to frighten it further, all the time making a soft soothing sound. This horse isn't part of my plan. I was going to turn around and run downhill as soon as my enemies started to retreat in all earnest. It is an opportunity, which should give a comfortable distance between myself and the Imperial army when the inevitable chase comes. It is a gamble I take and I hope it pays off. I hope I am not wasting my valuable time.

"It's all right. I am not going to hurt you, I promise." I repeat the words like a mantra to the horse as I try to reach its mane for gentle strokes. It does not relent to my plea, eyes still wide with fear and shaking its head furiously. I wish I could use my Voice to calm this stubborn animal, but it is not ready. It isn't going to be ready for another shout for some time. I am beginning to have serious doubts over the wisdom of seeing a horse stricken with grief and fear as a potential ally. But it is a little too late to give the idea up now.

The storm has cleared just as swiftly as it began. The sun is out once again, heralding my doom.

"Get her!"

In my haste to get away, I attempt to grab hold of the reign before the horse is ready and the animal bolts away, leaving me no choice but to rely on my own feet to escape the angry army. Or is that option still available to me?

As I turn away from the fort, I see corpses all around me, but there are still many more soldiers alive than dead, and I'm close, far too close, to those who want nothing more than savage vengeance for their fallen comrades.

An arrow misses me by a hair's breadth. With a sinking feeling, I realise that if I run, I'm going to die like the horse thief who met his shameful death in Helgen. I turn back and draw both my swords this time and let them surround me. My healing magic isn't going to save me. There are too many of them who are determined to see me dead. I remember reading Lord Red Eagle fought and slain a thousand invaders before his death. Without my Voice, I will not be able to achieve that feat. Not even close. But I will not go down like some animal destined for slaughter.

I begin to dance the timeless song of death. Swing, thrust and pull. Swing, thrust and pull. There are fears in my enemies' eyes, which make me feel as though I am invincible. I am a storm. I am lightening. Only, my head is spinning and no matter how quickly I move I cannot protect my back. Pain is dull and distant when you are drunk on a battle lust. Nevertheless, the dizziness from blood loss is growing. This battle is not going to last long. And to quicken that end, one of my enemies manages to connect his boot to my thigh, forcing me to the ground. Then I hear it, the sacred shout of Akatosh.

"Tiid, Klo, Ul."

The last thing I see before losing consciousness is a pair of huge black wings sweeping down like lightening from the sky.