Victory or Sovngarde

Chapter Thirty-Five

With a nod, I returned to Arcadia's door. Once inside, I purchased the proper ingredients and potions to help ease Tyra as she approached the end of her pregnancy. The healers had recommended bedrest as well as drinking blue mountain flower tea. At night, she was to take a spoonful of a weak healing potion mixed with powdered creep cluster for fortitude. It was quite a list, and it would take a master alchemist to produce the medicine.

Once purchased and stored inside my satchel, I offered Arcadia another apology on behalf of my children and left her shop. Outside, basking in the sunlight, I smiled. For a moment, I could forget about the war outside the walls. Safely tucked away in Whiterun, the conflict seemed so far away. I may have been the leader of the army, but my duties had been put on hold as I recovered. Soon, I would have to return to battle. I was needed in the western front. But my men could hold out, at least until I felt strong enough to fight once more.

Then it all came crashing down.

Just as I walked towards Carlotta's stall to purchase the bread, a courier came barreling through the crowds. He screamed as he ran, bellowing "OUT OF MY WAY!" to anyone caught in his path. I spun around, stepping back just before he stopped in front of me. Had I not moved, he would have run into me. The man braced his hands on his knees, shoulders heaving with every breath, while the mass of people gathered around to hear the news.

"Dragonborn, I have... grave news."

Those were the last words I wanted to hear. Straightening my spine, I steeled myself for whatever he would tell me. "What news?"

"Ma'am... the Thalmor... they're on the move."

Whispers passed through the crowd. My throat tightened. The bag of supplies for Tyra weighed heavily on my shoulder. "Moving where?"

"Here. To Whiterun."

I set my lips in a thin line as my heart clenched. This couldn't be true. It couldn't be happening. The day felt too pure, too warm, too mild, to contain this sort of news.

The crowd had fallen silent. Men and women alike froze in place. Expressions terrified, shoulders tense, knees shaking, they looked how I felt. I couldn't show it, though. Not here. "Soldier, go to Dragonsreach and pass this information on to Ulfric and General Brunelli. Inform the Jarl as well." I moved away from the crowd, which thankfully parted for me, and headed straight for Jorrvaskr. I cared not for the gossip behind me. I only focused on keeping my feet steady until I could hide.

I could be scared inside Jorrvaskr. The questions that swirled inside my mind could wait until I found my haven. The pit in my stomach could be released inside those safe walls. The tears burning in my throat could fall once I retreated behind those heavy doors.

The Thalmor are coming. The Thalmor are coming. The Thalmor are coming. The Thalmor....

Happy greetings and well wishes met me at the door. None of the Companions had seen my face. I barely returned their kindness with more than a soft word before hurrying down the stairs to my own quarters. Just a little farther.

The children tried to stop me on my way. I could only walk past them and try to assure them it's all right. "Go to your room, please." The words barely left in more than a whisper. They, thank the gods, did as I told. I took a breath and moved along.

The moment that I was safe inside, I dropped to my backside and gasped. This just couldn't be true. It couldn't be. No. No. The Thalmor couldn't be coming. Not here! Whiterun was safe! It had always been safe! No, no, no, no....

I drew my knees into my chest as my breaths became shallower. Visions of the cell beneath the Embassy flashed before my eyes. I squeezed them shut in an effort to block the horror out, but that only brought it into focus. This time, though, I stood outside the cell, watching as Elenwen needlessly tortured Vilkas. I screamed, but no sound came out, as she laid lash after lash onto his back. I reached for the bars, begging her to stop, to take me instead, to leave him alone.

Something crashed to the floor nearby. A pair of firm hands gripped my shoulders. I opened my eyes to see a shattered vase, bloody handprints, and my husband kneeling in front of me. He held me in place. His clear eyes soothed me as his hands rubbed up and down my arms. He said nothing for a moment, but then took me into his arms and held me until the shaking stopped. Until my breaths evened out. Until the visions of torment vanished. He replaced the stench of piss and iron blood with his earthy musk. That smell of dirt, steel, and something distinctly him.

"They're coming," is all I could manage as he shushed me. "They're coming."

He stiffened for a moment, but then returned to calming me down. "We'll be ready for them. We will."

"They're coming. They're coming." My grip around him tightened. I buried my face into his neck and sobbed. "They're coming."

And Vilkas held me while I rode out the storm.