The girl, skipping through the innumerable slush-filled puddles that dotted the streets of Hjarlchen in early spring, was obviously of mixed blood. Her stature, overly large eyes, and elongated ears all shouted this to the world. In many places in Skyrim, this would have led to the child being a victim of bullying and possibly even violence. This was not the case in this particularly town. Being a vivacious, outgoing little thing even at five years old, she was surrounded by a flock of children ranging from slighter younger to several years older. Bright green eyes, large in a perfect heart-shaped face, sparkled as she laughed in a surprisingly low-pitched rumble that she had certainly inherited from her mother. That laughter died when she finally saw her mother watching from the shadowed doorways of the inn across the street from the antiquities store that her father owned. Her mother didn't think that she had a particularly fearsome expression on her face but, after a single shocked moment, the group of friends around her daughter fled except for a single orsimer maybe a year younger. In fact, he even stepped in front of her protectively as the adult stopped in front of them.

"What manner of stories are you telling your friends, Oleana, that this one thinks you need protecting from me?!" She asked in an overly scandalized voice but there was no keeping the smile off her face at the orsimer boy's confusion.

Her daughter scrunched her face cutely before shoving the tusked boy rudely out of the way, "Rokrog's just bein' a dummy, mama! All the boys are scared of you even though I tell 'em you're the best mama around. Better than all their mama's even!"

"Now, now, my little Olly," she gently admonished her daughter, "It is good that you have pride in your mama and would seek to defend her honor but it shames you to do so at the expense of others."

"Yes, mama," Oleana hung her little russet-haired head and, without prompting, apologized to Rokrog, "Sorry, Rok."

"Is okay," Rokrog swatted her in the arm before cocking his head in the manner of a child listening for their mother's call. Oleana's mother could hear nothing distinguishable in the clamor of shops closing up for the night but young ears were wondrous things. "Sithis spit, I gotta go, Olly! Mama's callin' me for dinner and she really gets strunus! See ya 'morrow!"

The young boy ran off with jackrabbit speed and Oleana's mother didn't know which surprised her more; the nimbleness or the casual use of dovahzul. Her breath caught in her throat when the boy ran full speed towards a horse drawn carriage, probably owned by some jarl come to try to buy the services of the Muzfaasnu from the kohnarik to further their own ambitions, and the driver didn't seem to care one whit if he ran over some crazy orc-boy. Oleana's mother was about to scream a warning in her best nordish battlecry when Rokrog, with a joyous shout, dove between the wagons wheels and slid on his belly safely out the other side. He was up and climbing over a fence between two private dwellings before the the anxious mother could close her mouth.

"That idiot! His mama really will be strunus when he gets home all covered in filth!" Her daughter made the cutest little huffing noise that she would later be told by her husband was the same noise that she made when frustrated by others perceived lack of sense.

"Really, Olly? And how do you think your own mama will react when she sees the dress she bought you only three days ago covered from the knees down in mud, blood, and Talos knows what else?"

Her daughter's mer eyes widened in dismay before her father's full-throated laughter came from the doorway to his shop.

"Well, I think her father would say that her mama is probably secretly proud of the fact that her daughter is not some 'simpering, pampered little thing' are the words I believe were used."

"If her father doesn't come here and kiss her mama, I think he'll regret spilling all my secrets!"

He was an Altmer and, despite being tall even for a Nord woman, she had to tilt her head back for him to deliver a kiss that still made her tingle from her head to her toes.

"Stop, please, before I soil myself further with vomit! Bad enough that you two made another baby!"

"Oh, you can't fool us," Bralios rubbed his wife's distended belly fondly before scooping his first born into his arms. "You're super excited to have a little brother or sister to set the best example for since you're so smart-," he kissed one cheek and got a giggle in return, "-and strong-," he kissed the other cheek, "-and brave-," he finally planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Like mama?" Oleana asked almost shyly.

"Yes," Bralios answered with a wide smile at the woman in question, "Just like mama."

She turned away in embarrassment and was greeted with a terrible sight. Somehow, impossibly, the town was now a raging inferno. The heat washed over her and sweat seemed to burst from every pour. Before she could turn back, a heavy blow to her upper back sent her crashing to the ground. She tried to catch herself but only ending up turning to the side so that she didn't land directly on her stomach. When she looked back, she screamed in shock and horror. Bralios was motionless on his back, head turned so that his bright green eyes stared at her lifelessly, and there was a Thalmor blade protruding from his sternum. Oleana had her hands shackled behind her back and a Thalmor agent stood before her in all his aloof disdain.

"This one," the agent ran a talon-tipped gauntlet down the same cheeks that her husband had kissed only seconds ago, "This one will make a fine flesh-mistress for my lord. They say mongrels with nordish blood have the least shame. Fine stock."

The desperate mother reached for the shortsword at her hip with a snarl but found her hands suddenly held by other Thalmor agents as a shapeless shadow held a Daedric dagger high above him.

"Now let us see what you have in here!"

She screamed as the knife came streaking towards her unborn child.

"No!" Lydia Niskren sprung into a seated position on her field mattress as the shout faded.

Her heavy linen shift was soaked with sweat and her bladder uncomfortably full. She could only thank the Nine that she hadn't soiled the bedsheets. It happened with far more frequency during a nightmare after her fourth child had been born and, despite everyone telling her it was a normal thing, it was still a source of deep humiliation.

Lydia nodded to herself when she found that the magelight globe that provided the majority of light for her sleeping quarters had been refreshed already and the portable stove was emitting just the right amount of heat to ward off the chill of early spring nights. A large brass tub was filled with steaming water behind a privacy screen a few feet to the right. As usual, her kiir'kinbok were performing their duties in exemplary fashion.

After relieving herself in the lidded chamber pot, Lydia settled herself into the tub with a sigh. For a moment, bitterness so potent she could feel it in her throat threatened to choke a sob of frustration from her. She should have been relaxing in her family's bathhouse back in Hjarlchen and listening to her twin daughters complain about their troubles with boys, how horrible their teachers at school were, and giving them the advice she wished her own mother had been around to give her. A tiny smile made its way onto her face as she pictured the round face of her youngest child, her only boy, as he swung his practice sword around. The boy didn't even have ten winters under his belt and he was already swearing up and down that he would be Muzfaasnu just like his hero Rokrog. Lydia even laughed as she remembered the first time Mikron had made the pronouncement and the crestfallen look on her husband's face. He had always hoped that one of his children would take an interest in antiquities trading but all four seemed to take after their mother's more martial nature.

Lydia raised her head at the sound of bells that signaled someone had just entered her tent and a few seconds later a voice called, "General, I'll place your breakfast on top of the stove so it does not become cold. Would you like some privacy?"

"You've seen me as I was born many times, so no, I want to know if the army is prepared. Bring my plate to me and I will eat as I hear your report."

A tall, figure with arresting jade eyes in a perfectly heart-shaped face stepped around the curtain with a plate filled with sausage, scrambled eggs, and hash browns held before her. Lydia knew that, despite the girl being a hair shorter than herself, the kiir'kinbok had just turned sixteen at the beginning of the spring season. She resisted the urge to tuck a strand of burnished gold that peaked out from her freshly polished steel helmet back into place. It was always the random streaks of blonde in her otherwise auburn hair that managed to escape what binding she placed on her head. Oleana had never appreciated her mother fussing over her even when she had needed fussing over.

Lydia took the plate from her daughter and began to eat even before the girl stood at attention in her studded leather armor. The General of the Stin Lahvu, what many were calling the forces that had gathered around the Vodhamin Geinne, listened intently as her daughter gave a nearly perfect report on the readiness level of the army. It would undermine the aura of professionalism that Oleana was trying to project if she started smiling fondly at the woman her daughter was becoming so Lydia put on her sternest frown as she admonished her.

"Very well done, kiir'kinbok, but you failed to mention the status of the Uthdov."

"They have not reported in yet, general," Lydia could see a bead of sweat run down Oleana's cheek as she carefully kept her eyes forward.

Lydia sighed, "What you mean to say is that Blaise and Krilrelfaas have not returned and you do not wish to bring shame upon your childhood crush." Oleana's golden skin fairly glowed as she blushed at being caught in her poor attempt at subterfuge. "You leave me no choice, kiir'kinbok. You will no longer be responsible for relaying my orders to the Uthdov and you will also be removed as senior kiir'kinbok for the remainder of this campaign. Have I made myself clear?"

Oleana's mouth dropped open in that subconscious gesture she had never entirely rid herself of, "But, mama, that's not fair! I-"

"Do not address your General so freely!" Lydia snapped and steeled herself against the rush of maternal shame that her daughter's suddenly watery gaze caused within her. She continued in a softer tone. "I am not doing this because I wish to cause you distress but because you are not completing one of your duties in a sufficient manner. You are letting your feelings for the Uthdov's commander interfere with your duties and I can not have that in my kiir'kinbok. Do you understand where you have erred?" Lydia waited a moment for her daughter's nod before continuing, "Good. Then demonstrate to me that you will not let our relationship, or your closeness with the kohnarik's family, affect your duties and I have no doubt that you will soon be senior kiir'kinbok again."

"Yes, general."

"Hand me a towel. I'm finished with my bath and it is past time to go to war."

Oleana dutifully retrieved a coarse towel and turned away as Lydia stood to dry herself off. The chastised young woman moved to stand beside her armor, resplendent on its figurine, as Lydia slid on decadently soft cotton underclothes from a chest conveniently near the stove. Next came the heavy burgundy linen padding that would protect her from the ruinous chaffing that anyone wearing heavy armor was prone to. Finally, her kiir'kinbok assisted her in donning the stalhrim armor that her kohnahrik had personally forged for her. She closed her eyes as her great horned helm was slowly lowered onto her head and took a slow, deep breath.

"Go and tell Nunin Stoneshield that he is now the senior and to spread the word that I will address those soldiers in one hour's time."

"Yes, General."

After her daughter left the tent, Lydia went to her weapons rack and removed the stahlrim longsword. There were several weapons on the vertical rack but, unless the battle went terribly wrong, there would be little need for them; if it did, they would do little to sway the outcome. She knelt before the small altar to Talos as was her custom before engaging in any battle.

It has been an eternity since I had a reason to pray to you on the eve of glorious battle; even so, I know you are not one for long, grandiose pleas for your favor. Instead, I only ask that you watch as we fight for our way of life and that you welcome all who fall in the defense of freedom into Sovngarde.

As she awaited the appointed time for her last rallying speech to her soldiers, Lydia quietly meditated in order to better organize her mind for the coming conflict. The time passed quickly and, just as she felt as though her mind was as the calm surface of a reflecting pool, the flap of her tent was pushed open. She turned her head slightly to see the stocky redguard Nunin standing at stiff attention before her. It always bemused her how her kiir'kinboks, trained by Muzfaasnu one and all, could move like sabrecats normally but turned into mannequins when she fixed even a mildly appraising eye on them. Nunin did cut quite the imposing figure in his utilitarian leather and chainmail armor. He was girded for war as though he might join the Muzfaasnu in the field. Shortsword, long dagger, rune-etched Glass round shield, and the hilt of a longsword peaked over his shoulder beneath the shield on his back. He was almost as protective of Lydia as her own daughter.

"The men have assembled, General."

Nunin was also a young man of few words and swift action. It also made him few friends among the other kiir'kinboks and commanders which was why Oleana, with her bewitching charm, had been senior kiir'kinbok.

"Then let us go," Lydia said as she stood and buckled on her swordbelt.

The sun was just barely above the horizon when Lydia emerged from her island of solitude and entered a camp that seemed completely barren except for the low murmur that any large gathering of people produced when they weren't trying their very best to be silent. She was pleased to see that the lanes of travel were clear of debris and the tents in her immediate area still seemed well-kept.

Then morale is still high despite our forces being outnumbered three-to-one. Good.

Her kiir'kinboks, four strong in all, had prepared her mount, an old mare that maybe had two more good riding years in her, but had left off the heaviest of her tack. There would be no glorious charges into the field for Ice on this day. Years ago, Lydia would have scoffed at Nunin when he knelt down to give her a boost as she mounted but she was feeling her age more with every day that passed and so she put her foot in his hand stirrup with a grateful nod. Once her feet were settled in actual stirrups and Nunin had mounted his own warhorse, Lydia advanced at a slow trot through the camp.

Lydia's small procession barely made it a hundred yards before people began to take note. All the people that kept an army moving, quartermasters, farriers, armorers, weaponsmiths, etc., stepped forward to watch her go with equal parts hope and dread in their eyes. They knew this was the battle that would decide the fate of all Skyrim. She knew they wondered if the invincible General and her Dovahkiin-trained army could turn the tides of destiny once again. For her part, Lydia projected an air of cool confidence that came from that still reflecting pool she had cultivated in her mind.

"General," they called softly to her and bowed their heads in respect.

Lydia kept her eyes forward as she rode only because bowing her head in turn would cause a serious cramp in her neck after the thousandth time. She had little trouble appearing pompous to save herself pain. When they cleared the edges of the camp, Lydia was greeted by the sight of over ten thousand men and women waiting for her to give them words that would put steel in their spines and fire in their bellies. A nervous knot of anxiety settled in her stomach and yet she knew her face looked even more like a marble statue than before. Never had she been more thankful that her features became a blank slate instead of sweat rolling off her whenever she was even the slightest bit nervous.

Again, the soft calls of "General" greeted her as she walked Ice down the pathway her soldiers had left open for her. The simple truth that their General had seen them through several engagements with minimal losses gleamed in their eyes. Many of them had started out as green recruits last winter and, by the time the killing season had come again, they were true sons and daughters of Skyrim. That they all looked at her with such faith and reverence filled her with chill dread that she would not live up to their expectations. She closed her eyes and sought her pool of serenity again. To her inner delight, it came to her quickly and the anxiety became a muted thing easily ignored.

Lydia dismounted in front of the speaking platform in front of her assembled army. Several prominent figures in the allied army waited for her there. Arch-Mage Tolfdir stood with both hands on his staff and looking as though a strong wind might blow him over any moment. The Harbinger of the Companions, Ria Flamehand, stood in blood-stained studded leather armor with her hands resting on the pair of broad-bladed shortswords at her waist. Legate Grognir, resplendent in shining heavy Legionary armor that looked as though it had never seen an honest battle, seemed to bask in the reflected awe that the soldiers were projecting after Lydia's arrival. She nodded to each of the three respectfully before turning to address the army. She leaned forward just slightly and forced her hands to remain relaxed at her sides as she began to speak into the softly glowing azure crystal that would amplify her voice so that all of her soldiers could hear.

"For those of you who do not know, I am General Lydia Niskren, and I have a confession." Lydia took a bracing breath before continuing. "Last night, I dreamed a most terrible vision of the future. The Thalmor were burning everything and everyone I loved in this world. Upon waking, I despaired for the lives of my family. I despaired for all your families!" Lydia thrust her right hand out and, fingers splayed wide, gestured at the soldiers in an arc before her. "After all, everyone knows Skyrim can't survive this war alone. Not without the bretons or the redguards coming to our aid. We are hopelessly outnumbered three-to-one on all fronts. We fight the enemy that defeated the mighty Imperium! Some would say that hope is a fool's dream."

Lydia threw back her head and began to laugh as though she had just spoken the most amusing sentence to ever exist on Tamriel. Soon, in fits and starts, the army began laughing themselves. She knew that more than a few of them were laughing through knee-shaking, gut-twisting terror but that was normal. Now, she would try her hardest to put that steel into their spines and fire in their bellies.

"That is my response to despair; to fear. Those that claim we have no chance did not walk among you, my brave warriors, these last few weeks. They have not seen the determination in your eyes and the fury in your hearts. When I walked through your ranks just now, I did not see men or mer, I only saw my brothers and sisters. I only saw a free people that will not meekly submit to the yoke of tyranny!" A throaty howl of barely suppressed rage rippled through the crowd as the Nords among their number sounded their approval of her words. "My honored kohnahrik, the Dovahkiin, once said that it does not matter to the gods how you begin, only how you end. He may no longer be with us but he is always with us. I will only ask one thing of you, brothers and sisters, that each of you give the gods an ending the likes of which will echo through the eons! What say you?!"

The roar that arose upon that field seemed as though it could do nothing else but echo through the ages.

Maddhol Marzda had never believed all the veterans stories about watching their shieldmates pissing themselves before a battle. It seemed just another way for the oldsters to brag about their past exploits. Now, as her bladder seemed intent on wriggling its way out of her body, she had to admit that there may have been some truth to those stories. She would be damned if she soiled herself in front of her tah. Right now her tah marched with the rest of their company, close to a thousand men in all, in the middle of two other columns of heavy infantry companies. She had thought the steady, rhythmic pounding of boots on the worn cobblestones of the Imperial Highway would settle her nerves but her heart still felt as though it wanted to jump out of her chest.

A gentle hand patted her on her left pauldron and she almost started. She turned slightly to find Tomas, the tallest person in the tah by virtue of being just a tad taller than Maddhol, holding out a skin of water. It was then that she realized how dry her mouth was and that she had begun to drool a little from the corners of her mouth where her tusks protruded over her lips.

"Thank you," she said as she took the skin with a nod.

The orsimer soldier undid the cork by the expedient method of pulling it with her teeth. As the soothing water ran down her parched throat, she cursed herself for forgetting her own waterskin back at camp. Her tah's lead trainer had drilled being prepared into their heads a thousand times. She handed the waterskin back and chuckled as she imagined the heavyset Imperial's bloodshot eyes bulging with barely restrained ire.

Maddhol turned her head even more to ask. "Do you think we're almost there?"

"Yes," Tomas' reply took her offguard for a moment until he pointed to the horizon.

Maddhol squinted against what looked like a second sun just cresting the horizon.

"What in Oblivion is that?" She blurted out in shock.

"That would be forty thousand fucking bastards that need to be escorted to the afterlife!" The booming voice of their tah'kinbok came from her left so suddenly that she nearly dropped her spear. "And we're the grunts that're gonna do it! Now, shut your mouth, and march! Yoriik, I said!"

Tah Yolanda was a burly Nord woman a little over six feet in height that the gods had chosen fit to give the voice of a dragon. Maddhol's voice, proud orsimer that she was, wasn't even as low and gravelly. Their tah'kinbok, for all you could almost swear she did breathe fire, was a respected veteran in the company. She had been one of the youngest recruits in the original company that the Dragonborn had formed into the Vodhamin Geinne and now proudly bore several scars across the torso as a reminder of those years.

All the respect in the world didn't stop a rude comment from the broad-shouldered Nord in front of her, "Someone really needs to give that old sabrecat a piece."

Maddhol snorted audibly as she noticed that he had waited until the tah was out of earshot before sassing her. "She's not even really that old," Maddhol defended her tah. "Besides, you're just mad she wouldn't let you touch her with a ten foot pole."

She smiled as Ulfgar's shoulders heaved with laughter, "You could let me have my fantasies, Maddhol. 'Specially since you haven't seen fit to allow me any... privileges."

Maddhol felt her face becoming flush at this latest innuendo from the man. Normally, she would have hurled insults at him to hide her shame but she couldn't do that in the middle of a march. Besides, after several months of this during their training, she was starting to suspect he was doing more than jesting. It was an impossibility that he seriously found her attractive. All of the female orsimer in her clan had always said human males found orsimer women intimidating and unattractive.

"If we live through this, I'll take a walk with you," Maddhol's mouth was moving before her brain could stifle the errant thought.

Ulfgar's perfect cadence faltered slightly and she could see him resisting the urge to turn his head.

"Truly?" His voice sounded as though a long cherished dream had suddenly come to life before his eyes.

She couldn't help her nervous laughter as she answered, "Truly."

"Then, my beautiful lady, you have given me all the reason I shall ever need to survive this battle and see you on the 'morrow!"

A full, toothy grin spread across Maddhol's face at Ulfgar's attempt at sounding gallant. The man, really no older than Maddhol's own twenty winters, had grown up on a dirt-poor farm not twenty miles from her. His gallant words always sounded ridiculous but, for some reason, they were all the more endearing for it. Further discussion was prevented by the strident horn call that signaled a halt to the march. The cries of the tah'kinboks made sure that all complied.

"Vuth! On the spot, you mangy curs! Vuth!" Tah Yolanda bellowed out of nowhere directly into Maddhol's ear.

The three companies came to a halt very quickly and the simultaneous grounding of several thousand spears fairly shook the earth. Little time was wasted as the horn signaled again for battle formations. They had drilled for this battle for nearly a month and, before the thought of what it could mean for her health could sink in, Maddhol found herself sandwiched between Tomas and Ulfgar in the very thin frontline. Their shieldwall was only two soldiers deep in long lines across the Imperial Highway. Three companies of archers were taking shelter behind them. It was a perfect line to break with the kind of mounted battlemage cavalry charge the Dominion favored. As the opposing army came to a halt a little more than a mile away, Maddhol's hands began to shake on the shaft of her spear. Her armor, steel plate and chainmail, suddenly felt as though it would crush her under it's weight.

"I can't believe you said yes! I wasn't sure you had taken me seriously!" Ulfgar shouted into her ear to be heard over the clamor of their more enthusiastic brothers and sisters taunting the enemy.

Maddhol turned to the fool in disbelief and, even through the eyeslits of the ridiculous horned helmet he claimed was an heirloom from his great-grandfather, she could see the sincerity in his clear green eyes.

"I hadn't but I do now! Is this really the time to be speaking of this?!" She demanded as a strange, crystalline chiming came from the opposing army and she turned back to find a long line of horsemen coming to a halt in front of the Dominion footsoldiers.

"I figure we had best get it on of the way so that, if we meet in Sovngarde later, I'll know you made a promise!"

"I told you that we have to live through the day, you great idiot!"

It was a curious thing that Yolanda was close enough to be able to tell the two were arguing, as usual, and yet she wasn't doing a thing to stop them.

"You did but then I realized... in Sovngarde we're more alive, more ourselves, than we ever are on Nirn. So, my orsimer flower, if today is the day that I walk Shor's Hall, then I will wait as long as it takes."

Maddhol couldn't contain her laugh, "What makes you think you or I will be welcome into so great a place? And how do you know I won't go to Malacath?"

"Ha! You have too much of a Nord's spirit, my lady! If any of us will be welcome in the Hall, it will be you! It is only I who must show his valor today!"

"Why must you always do this!? Can you not see those puffed up elves charging us down!?"

"Spaan!" Tah Yolanda bellowed just a second before Maddhol heard the horn call for it.

"Your hands," Tomas said in a resonant way that made the words reach her over the general din of pre-battle.

"My hands!" She shouted as she lowered her overly large, round Glass shield before her.

"They've stopped shaking."

"Wha-?"

It was only then that she noticed her hands were steady and her weakness had been forgotten amid familiar quarreling.

"Never let others decide what is and is not possible, little one," Tomas told her before shrugging his shoulders and nodding his head slightly. "Now, prepare yourself. It will be a long day. A good day."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, the angry whistle of hundreds of arrows passing overhead drew her attention. She watched with a dry mouth as magical shields appeared above the charging riders. A few of them went down when arrows hit the horses or their magicka supply failed them but the majority charged through the arrowstorm as though it was a gentle summer rain. There was time for one more volley before the cavalry would be too close to drop arrows on their heads.

"Gevild!" Tah Yolanda cried from down the shieldwall. "Gevild!" She drew the word out each time she said it and the sound further steadied Maddhol's soul.

They must have been within two hundred feet when the cry finally went up.

"Ronah! Ronah! Ronah!"

Maddhol dropped her shield and aimed the small hand crossbow she had been concealing. As she had been trained, Maddhol aimed for the center of her target's breastplate and pulled the trigger. Thousands of crossbow bolts hurtled the distance to the cavalry charge and ignited into white-hot arrows of magical fire. The orsimer hurled her crossbow down and picked up her shield without taking her eyes from the hated altmer that contemptuously put a hand up to block the projectile with a magical shield. Maddhol's stomach rolled as the bolt shattered the shield and turned the arm into runny slag before mercifully pitching the lanky altmer from the saddle. As the cavalry charge ground to a halt and many of the survivors seemed dazed, Maddhol was squeezed even more tightly between her comrades as they created holes in the shieldwall for archers to pass through. In short order, the entire two thousand strong mounted battlemage force had been decimated.

The cheer that went up would surely echo through Sovngarde for years to come.

An earth-shaking crystalline thunderclap brought instant silence to the cheering army. All at once, as though a tide had unexpectedly surged, a full third of the Dominion's infantry began closing the distance at a dead run.

"They'll be exhausted by the time they get here! Easy meat!" Someone bellowed and Maddhol, as she had since they had first drilled together, looked to Tomas.

"No, they won't be. Their armor will be spelled to give them inhuman endurance. When it fails, many will die, but that's why there are no altmer in this wave."

The signal horn began blowing a series of calls in rapid order. As she had been trained to do, as they all had, Maddhol found herself once again tightly packed in a shieldwall. Behind her, the archers fired their arrowstorm and, despite raising their elven shields, scores of the enemy fell racing to lock blades with them.

"Gevild! Gevild!" Yolanda repeated herself in the steady cadence that had an oddly effective calming quality.

The suddenness with which contact was made startled a strangled cry from Maddhol as her vision filled with the bloodshot eyes of a helmetless Imperial almost a head shorter than she was. The reflected light off his shining golden breastplate threatened to blind her before her spear thrust out ever so slightly and the charging berserker skewered himself directly in the throat. Maddhol took one step forward to shieldbash his feebly twitching body off her weapon. There was no time to reflect on the fact that she had just willfully taken a life as a howling redguard leaped over his fallen comrade to lock shields with her. This enemy was even shorter than the last one but was possessed of the strength of madness.

"No one will move! No one!" Incredibly, Tah Yolanda's voice rose above the tumult of battle and the howling of the madman trying to batter his way past her Maddhol's defense. "Dah zek! Krii!"

The command and the act rippled through the ranks of the shieldwall. Maddhol braced her rear leg and convulsively pushed her shield forward with all of her bodyweight behind it. Without the press of bodies, she was sure that the redguard in front of her would have been thrown off his feet. As it was, it gave her just enough breathing room to slide her spearhead into the gaudy elven chainmail. Her aim had been perfect and bisected his liver. Now he was howling for a different reason as he fell beneath the boots of his fellow slave-soldiers. Five more times, Tah Yolanda called for them to kill and they did so each time, a new foe always within the reach of their spears, before the horn signaled for a retreat.

"Zek steg! To the beat!"

Great drums began to sound out behind them and the middle of the shieldwall began to bow inward as they seemingly retreated out of step with the rest of the formation. The enemy must have assumed that the middle of the shieldwall was the weakest point because Maddhol suddenly felt as though every enemy she felled was replaced by three more. They came at her in howling wave after wave. She did not know what bolstered her confidence more, Ulfgar's stereotypical Nordish battle glee or Tomas' businesslike demeanor. Regardless, she felt as though no one could move them from their position unless they allowed it.

After what felt like an eternity of creeping backwards as she blocked and stabbed, the clear high notes of Keyinne cavalry horns rose above the din of the battlefield. The response from the tah'kinboks was immediate.

"Vuth! Vuth! Vuth!" Tah Yolanda's voice carried to Maddhol as clearly as if she was standing next to her. The middle of the shieldwall, now the bottom of a shallow "bowl", came to a halt nearly as one. When the Keyinne horns signaled a charge, Tah Yolanda's voice thundered with Nordish delight. "Dah Zek! Krii!"

Maddhol felt as though she were carried upon an inexorable wave of carnage. The motions were mechanical and precise; a true testament to the harshness of her training. Thrusts to the throat, lower belly and thighs were only broken by the occasional foe locking their shield with hers before being overcome. What they had been told was proving to be true. The basic infantry soldier of the mighty armies of the Dominion were barely trained thralls taken from the "lesser" races. Maddhol would have felt pity for them if they had been less busy trying to spill her lifeblood into the muck they strode through.

Then, as though they had come to the edge of a fogbank, the enemies thinned out so much that Maddhol could clearly make out Keyinne in their leather-and-mail as they ruthlessly moved in pairs to cut down isolated Dominion footsoldiers.

"I knew today would be a glorious day!" Ulfgar shouted before raising his head to the sky and unleashing a bellow of sheer joy that quickly turned to horror, "By the Nine!"

Maddhol raised her own head to the horizon as a shadow fell across the battlefield. Her jaw slowly fell open in disbelief at the wall of impossible, impenetrably dark clouds that raced across the sky with unnatural speed. As though gathered by fell intent, thick, grey rainclouds began to gather above them to blot out the sun. Shouts of astonishment, as well as curses upon the foul magick of the Dominion mages, rang across the battle.

"Shor's bones!" someone screamed so loudly as to barely be understandable but, when Maddhol caught sight of what caused the shout, her own insides began to curl inside her.

Maddhol had never seen a Dominion warship but she had heard descriptions of them before. As tall as a keep, with sails fit to block the sun's light, they bristled with ballistae, archers, sea soldiers and mages. A true Dominion war galley was the most feared vessel on the sea. When the narrow front of the ship first pierced that darkness, it's shining gold lacquer easily discernible despite the lack of light to reflect, it caused a ripple of reflexive fear through their ranks. Thankfully, as twin blooms of light burst to life on either side of the ship's jutting bow, the army's officers were not.

"Spaan! Spaan! Spaan!"

Maddhol was almost in position when what felt like a giant's hand swatted her on the back hard enough to put her face into the ground, which had become a bloody mire, as a blinding light flared behind her. Oddly enough, there was no sound. She reached up to feel beneath her helmet and realized that she had stupidly dropped it.

You'll never become a General if you can't even keep your helmet on, fool, she harshly rebuked herself as she rose to her feet on wobbly limbs.

There was a dampness on her jaw, just beneath her left ear, and she touched the spot only to discover it was her own blood leaking from her ear. A hand clamped down on her right shoulder and she turned with a defiant shout that she barely heard. What she was going to do when she had lost both spear and shield was not something that she ever considered. It was only Tomas and she pushed him roughly for startling her.

The great tumult of the battlefield seemed to rush to her ears all at once. The screams of the injured and dying echoed throughout the area amidst the panicked shouts of those that had avoided harm. Maddhol cast her gaze for Ulfgar and nearly threw up from the sudden spike of anxiety that rose when she instead discovered the barely recognizable burned body of Tah Yolanda only a dozen feet away from where she herself had fallen. With a firm press of her lips, Maddhol went back to searching for her friend.

Maddhol nearly went right past him as she walked slowly through the disheveled ranks. Fortunately, she noticed a particular pair of boots with sabrecats carved into each calf. She'd always thought the designs ridiculous but Ulfgar had fallen in love with them at first sight.

"Ulfgar?" She called in a trembling voice that rose into shrill hysteria as she fell to her knees in her frantic scramble to his side. "Ulfgar! Ulfgar!"

Rolling him out of the pile of mud that covered most of his body, hot tears began to fall as she took in the bloody ruin that was his face. There were several huge gashes in his face and head that were even now oozing far too much blood. Even so, those emerald eyes that so filled her with laughter slowly opened and his mouth, improbably, curved into a small smile. Ulfgar lifted his left hand and traced a line down her cheek with his finger.

"Do not cry, my flower," His voice, normally so full of life, was a shadow of itself as he spoke the familiar endearment, "I told you... we shall meet again in the Hall. I'll... wait... for you."

Then his eyes closed and Maddhol screamed. She screamed so loud and so long that she thought her voice would break. It didn't and only a hand clamping down on her shoulder was enough to cut the sound off with the abruptness of an arrow to the throat. The orc warrior looked up through blurry eyes to see the unmistakable outline of Tomas. He nodded at her and, just like that, the fog that had shrouded her mind cleared as though a summer sun had blasted it away. Her grief was there and, just beneath that, a rage the likes of which she had never felt before.

"They killed him, Tomas. They killed him," Maddhol barely recognized her own voice as it bounced around her head with a resonance she had never known.

"He has not yet been called to Sovngarde, Maddhol. I will do what I can but you must hold the line. They are coming."

Tomas pointed back towards the impossibly flying ship and Maddhol growled low in her throat at the second wave of infantry that the Dominion had sent. She could see the tell-tale silver and gold armor of Dominion Takers amongst this wave even through the gray pall that had been cast over the battlefield. The two were not the only ones that had noticed it either. Many of her fellow walking wounded were beginning to limp their way back to their own lines. That would not do.

"Take him," She boldly ordered Tomas and he knelt beside Ulfgar with barely a nod. Taking as deep a breath as she could, Maddhol bellowed, "Vuth!"

The earth seemed to tremble slightly but that had to be the small army that was charging their position. Whatever it was, the retreating soldiers stopped as their hard wired responses to the command overrode their self-preservation instincts as their training had intended.

"Spaan! Spaan! Spaan!" She shouted and took her own advice by gathering up a shield and intact spear before planting herself in the middle of the road. Maddhol didn't spare a glance at anything but the line of approaching infantry. She only spared enough attention to roar, "Spaan!"

Slowly, far too slowly in her opinion, she was bracketed by strangers on her left and right side. They had all received the same training though and it could work. She never looked back to see how many had joined her until an unfamiliar voice began to shout.

"Who's in command here!? Why are we forming a shield-wall!?" The voice sounded young and inexperienced so she turned to find that the light infantry had finally decided to show their faces. She had heard that they were led by a fresh-faced vukein'kinbok and the rumors had not been wrong. The man looked no older than twenty winters and had an expression of barely controlled fear on his helmless features.

"There are enemy incoming! We are all that stands between them and the heart of Skyrim! Here we will stand, fight, and go to Sovngarde if Shor calls! Now... Spaan!"

With that said, Maddhol turned back to watching the approaching enemy who was now approaching at a slow trot. Soon, she knew, they would break into a full charge with the Takers among them unleashing point-blank Destruction spells to try to break their lines. She smiled as she felt the presence of another shield-wall being placed behind them. It was as thin as their own, just a little over a thousand, but they would be a hard stone in the foot of the Dominion. Even a single stone, in just the right place, could topple a giant.

"Who are you, soldier?" The voice of the vukein came from directly behind her.

"Maddhol," She spoke gruffly, an itch forming just beneath her skin as the road beneath her boots began to vibrate with the approaching soldiers. "Gevild! Gevild! Gevild!" The cadence of the words came to her as naturally as walking thanks to Tah Yolanda screaming commands at them so often. That boiling cauldron of rage bubbled closer to the surface as she saw a flash of Yolanda's charred remains.

"Are you a dragon-rider?"

"No, I'm just a soldier."

A roar, unmistakable to any mortal that had lived in Skyrim the last decade, turned every head to the sky. The Stin Lahvu watched in sudden hope while the Dominion army looked in only the casual hostility of brainwashed fanatics. A quartet of dragons soared overhead in a diamond formation as they streaked towards the flying Dominion battleship. A ragged cheer went up through the ranks but Maddhol was so focused she had only spared the dragons one casual glance. Now the enemy was sprinting towards them with manic cries of suppressed fear and bloodlust. The tell-tale glow of magicka in the hands of Takers appeared throughout the ranks and were just as suddenly flushed out by crossbow bolts that flew past the small gaps purposefully left in the shield-wall. Maddhol nodded slowly and hunched her shoulders as she prepared to take yet another charge on her shield.

When contact came, it was with the same jarring suddenness as before but this time, Maddhol's heart exploded with rage. It was all she could do to keep it contained and wait until the Dominion had once again bunched up before she uttered a command she had thought she would never have to.

"Dah Zek! Krii!"

A tingling sensation filled Maddhol from head-to-toe as her spear sank into the torso of one of the big, bestial Khajiti the Dominion used as shock troopers. The bastard tried to tear her spear from her hands but a shield bash did for him as she smoothly stepped back into line. She killed every thing that appeared in front of her until the vukein'kinbok grabbed her shoulder.

"They're flanking us, Maddhol!"

"Fuck! Trade places, hold the line!"

Maddhol and the unknown company commander switched places nearly seamlessly. The orc shield-maiden was seconds away from commanding the rear shield-wall to reinforce either end when the sound of charging horses dragged her attention away. She watched in awe as none other than General Niskren reined her horse to a stop in front of her. Maddhol met eyes with the intimidating legend for several seconds before Niskren nodded.

"Hold the line here. We'll sweep the flanks. Do what you can to break their formation. The Uthdov will take care of that cursed ship." With that said, the General galloped away to the left side of the shield-wall.

She didn't even ask who I was, Maddhol had a moment to wonder before a thought occurred to her. It was insane and would probably end with her death. When she thought of Ulfgar's most likely fate, death didn't really seem that bad an outcome.

Soon, Maddhol had two dozen soldiers, a mix of nords and redguards chosen for their robustness, standing around her. She explained what she was going to do and could only smile tightly when no one refused the duty. A trio of men made a three-tiered human stairway just against the shield-wall. Maddhol, in the same fit of battle-madness that had come up with the plan, removed her chestplate to lighten her load. The nords grinned among them grinned and followed suit while the redguards shrugged but did likewise. As Maddhol hopped on the first man on all fours, then the man hunched over with his hands on his knees, Tomas' voice filled her head. It was a single word in dovahzul but it resonated in her chest and head with heat.

Maddhol landed on top of a screaming Dominion shoulder and ruthlessly shield bashed him away as the word exploded from her throat, "Fus!"

Some unseen force tossed aside everyone in the immediate area. There was suddenly a ten foot clear space in front of her and the others used that to land in. Her men formed into a semi-circle as they waited for the last to arrive. The Dominion soldiers looked fearful and Maddhol knew why. She had no idea how it had happened but she had used a Shout. She had thrown a Word of Power out as easily as she could swing a sword. Her throat felt as though someone had poured acid down it but that was quickly fading.

"Sovngarde awaits!" Moddhol screamed as a red haze fell over the world and she charged forward.

The berserk warrior hurled her spear and managed to pierce the thigh of one of the Takers that had been trying to hide himself in the mass of bodies. She drew her sword on the run, hunched below the rim of her shield and barreled into the mass of soldiers. There was no time for the long slashes so often sung of in ballads. It was why the swords the heavy infantry used were modeled after the Imperial shortsword and Maddhol used it to deadly effect. She moved economically, using her oversized shield to expose an enemy's flank and her blade would flick out with viper speed. Then, in the blink of an eye, her sword became stuck in someone's gut. Instead of retreating, Maddhol screamed through a manic grin and hit a Dominion puppet so hard with her shield that she was sure his head split. Her world was blood and pain and death in those moments. Somewhere, far below her consciousness, she was appalled at how alive she felt.

A bright orange glow from her left was her only warning and she barely got her shield up in time to block the fireball. It was a powerful one and, after so deflecting so much magical force in so short a time, the protection runes finally gave out. She could feel the heat through the shield and so she plucked it of and hurled the red-hot thing into a charging Imperial's face. Then she saw it as though Talos himself had planted it there for her. A warhammer, its head as black as night, glittering wetly despite no rain falling from the sky, was standing with a quarter of it's haft in the bloody ruin that had become the ground. Maddhol ran forward and snatched it from the ground with one quick jerk.

The blood-drenched warrior spun with her new weapon and swung at the raised elven shield of her next victim. There was a tremendous crunch and the redguard's broken body was sailing through the air. Maddhol had received only rudimentary training in using a warhammer but this could not have been an ordinary warhammer. It danced in her hands, as light as air, and her body seemed to just know how to move to achieve maximum results with it. Before she knew it, Maddhol was surrounded by eager Dominion soldier's trying to bring down this madwoman in their midst. One unlucky fool received the flat of the warhammer's head to his stomach and was blown backwards so hard that he took down several of those behind him. When there was another red-orange glow coming for her, Maddhol turned and batted it away into the ranks on her left. She grinned at the stunned expression on the face of the Taker.

"Fus!"

Her thoughts, focused almost exclusively on the Taker, produced a profoundly different effect this time. Barely any others were touched by the Shout but the Taker was carried dozens of feet into the air as he pinwheeled limply. The mass of enemy around her seemed on the verge of charging her all at once but none of them seemed able to summon up their earlier fervor for battle. Maddhol gripped the warhammer near the head and patted it into her open palm.

"Did you not hear me!?" She shouted hoarsely thanks to the still lingering effect of that latest shout. "Sovngarde awaits!"

"Sovngarde awaits!" A familiar cheerfully bloodthirsty voice she had thought to never hear again sang out and frantic activity in the wall of bodies in front of her was all the impetus Maddhol needed to charge forward with a glad cry.

When the last of the bodies between them had fallen and their Stin Lahvu brothers and sisters swarmed around them, Maddhol could only stare at Ulfgar's face in disbelief. He had a nasty scar that ran across his face, from cheek-to-cheek, and that intersected another that ran down the left side of his face. To her astonishment, both looked as though they had been healing for months instead of less than half an hour. She was in Ulfgar's strong arms in the blink of an eye and he even lifted her off the ground slightly.

"Did you think I would lay there and let you have all the glory!?" Ulfgar laughed as she grinned tiredly at him. "They're going to write a song about this! 'The Stand of Mad Maddhol'!"

Maddhol laughed, her bloodlust finally sated, as she found it difficult to to keep her eyes open, "I'll pray to the Divines that no one calls it that."

"Here," Ulfgar pressed a potion bottle to her lips and she dutifully drank it down.

Unsurprisingly, the stamina potion brought her back to full wakefulness in the blink of an eye just as General Nisken rode up with a strikingly beautiful altmer girl following her. Both of the women and their mounts were liberally splashed with blood.

"Good to see you're still alive, Maddhol! The kohnahrik himself could not have done better because that's exactly the sort of mad stunt he would have pulled," the older woman's face pulled into a quick grin at that before it sobered. "Organize your heavy infantry for an organized retreat, Maddhol. We don't have much time."

Maddhol turned in the direction of the Dominion's army and her face fell as she saw a dozen smaller airships floating close to the ground. They were firing into the air at the Uthdov as the valiant riders and their dragons tried to buy them time.

"I'm just a soldier, General Niskren. I only did what I had to."

Tomas' voice came from her right as the large redguard put a hand on her shoulder, "That's all any of us can do."

Maddhol turned her head slightly to look at her friend and her jaw dropped as his image wavered before her eyes. When the strange effect passed, Tomas' full head of tight braids were gone and a scar had appeared on the right side of his face that bisected his eyebrow. The most startling change though was that his eyes had become liquid pools of mercury that felt as though they pierced right through her. General Niskren emitted what sounded suspiciously like a girlish shriek before she and her kiir hurled themselves from their saddles. Both rushed Tomas and enveloped him in a hug. Maddhol and Ulfgar shared a look as if to ask themselves if they were really witnessing the legendary General Niskren sob like a broken-hearted lover.

"I thought I'd never see you again! You've been gone for so long! Why did you leave us!? Why!?"

"I am sorry, my friend. There are rules that govern the mortal world. The most important one is that it is for mortals. I went away because I was told that I had grown too powerful to be considered one any longer and so I left. And, after I do this, I think they will call me to Aetherius."

"We need you here, Uncle!" The kiir was definitely not a redguard so the title she used for the Dragonborn, for who else would talk to General Niskren in that manner, was another mystery on top of a growing pile.

"And that is precisely why I must go, Oleana." Tomas' face hardened as he easily pushed the two away. "Reform the surviving men. Retreat as fast as you can. That is an order from your kohnahrik. Go!" The earth seemed to rumble on his last word and General Niskren nodded with tears running down her face.

The two women mounted their horses and galloped off without another word to spread the word to the scattered remnants of the Stin Lahvu. Tomas raised his voice to the sky and a dragon's roar erupted from his mouth with such force that everyone nearby instinctively covered their ears. When it was over, Tomas calmly turned to her and Ulfgar.

"Well, Tomas, seems like you've kept a few things from your friends, yes?" Ulfgar grinned tightly but Maddhol could feel his limbs trembling since he had yet to release her hand from his. "Well, if you think I'm going to be bowing and scrapping just because you're the kohnahrik, Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, and whatever else, you've got another thing coming. We've dug too many shitholes together for all that."

Tomas laughed explosively for a moment and that caused another slight tremor in the ground.

"I am going to miss you, Ulfgar," Tomas clapped a hand down onto Ulfgar's shoulder and shook gently. "Never change, friend." The legend that had become myth in the last four years placed both of his hands on Maddhol's shoulders. "You have the gift of the Voice, Maddhol. I felt it the first day we met. Go to Hjarlchen when this war is over and they can teach you to control it. I have given you many Words but they will be locked within you until you are ready for them. I know that you will honor my trust in you. Now, gather your men because they are yours now. I will take care of those abominations."

"I will honor you, my friend, and we will toast each other in Shor's Hall."

Tomas smiled as a dragon came to a landing behind him and yet another sobbing figure ran at him.

"Go," Tomas told her gently and turned away.

It was strange how command came so easy to Maddhol. She had never wanted the responsibility but, having it forced upon her, she only had to recall what she had watched her superior officers do to know what to do. When she had studied them enough to do that, she had no idea. The remnants of the heavy infantry companies were marching behind the light infantry, with the archers in the middle and the Keyinne survivors flanking them all, when the Uthdov began soaring over them back to the camp.

"Nine above!" Someone close shouted and, almost as one, the entire army turned to witness the impossible.

A shining red light, dark as blood, had ascended high above the field where Ulfgar had nearly lost his life.

"What is that?!" Ulfgar shouted.

"It's the Dragonborn!" Someone answered in awed hysteria.

"He can fly?!"

"He is a Divine!"

It seemed as though all of the airships fired on him at once but the explosions never came. Instead, each of the rolling balls of fiery destruction simply faded away. Then, there was a streak of reddish light across the sky as the Dragonborn shot towards the largest Dominion airship. Maddhol's jaw dropped as the ship became wreathed in that same strange reddish-glow before slowly rising even higher into the air.

"What's he doing?" Ulfgar whispered next to her.

There was no time to respond as a horn sounded for them to fast march. The entire army fell into nearly a trot in their haste to escape. Suddenly, all the songs and tales of the Dragonborn's exploits had taken a deadly reality. Sure, it was thrilling and inspiring to hear about the Dragonborn destroying entire islands and castles but entirely another to be so close to it.

The first thing they were aware of was the light that filled the area as though a second sunrise had occurred. Maddhole turned and had to shield her eyes for a moment as she watched a tremendous gout of darkness rise high in the air. Then the ground began to shake beneath her.

"Spaan," Tomas' voice seemed to come from everywhere despite how quietly it was whispered.

Her shout was not quiet, "Spaan! Spaan! Spaan!"

Now that she knew she was Gifted, Maddhol understood why sometimes her words had such an immediate effect on people. The remaining heavy infantry formed a solid shieldwall that was backed by their light infantry brothers just as the blast wave reach them. Thankfully, there weren't very many trees along this stretch of road. Maddhol was not sure how well any of them could have stood up to a shrapnel storm. After long seconds, the wave was finally over and Maddhol poked her head up to watch the top of the column of what she assumed was pulverized earth spread out so that it somewhat resembled the world's largest mushroom.

Maddhol raised her shield and warhammer to the skies and roared. No one was more surprised than her that it sounded like a young dragon. Ulfgar just grinned at her and joined in. Soon, the entire army was cheering their victory and the demigod that had given it to them.

"Hey, Maddhol, you haven't forgot that promise have you?!" Ulfgar reminded her with a huge grin that did interesting things to his newly acquired scars.

"No, you oaf! As soon as we get clean, I'm going to make your eyes cross!"

Ulfgar's eyes widened comically and he began to bellow, "Stop cheering, fools! We have to get back to camp! Back to camp! I need to get back to camp!"

Translations-

Strunus- Stormy, Angry

Dovahzul- Dragon's Voice (Speech)

Niskren- Unbreakable

Kiir'kinbok- Title given to those that are the equivalent of a medieval knight's squire.

Stin Lahvu- Freedom Army

Uthdov- Order of the Dragon

Tah- Pack

Tah'kinbok- Commander of a tah.

Vuth- Stop

Spaan- Shield

Gevild- Steady

Ronah- Fire

Dah zek. Krii.- Push back. Kill. (Command for the shieldwall to disrupt the enemy formation as a single unit.)

Zek Steg- Back step. (Command for a tactical retreat.)

Keyinne- Horse Masters (Elite medium cavalry of the Stin Lahvu.)

Vukein'kinbok- Company commander; equivalent to a captain.