Arms crossed over my chest, I watched as little spots of blue danced over the distant plains by the Pelagia Farm. Even without my formerly enhanced hearing, the rebels' shouts reached my ears in an incessant, loud, and indistinguishable jabber. Like a nest of blue hornets they buzzed, going about their tasks, readying for the assault.
"Look," Vilkas said from his place at my side, pointing to the four towering war machines. "There are the catapults."
I suppressed a shudder. These soldiers were willing to tear this city apart, just to gain an advantage in this war. This beautiful city, home to farmers and families. To blacksmiths and beggars. To priests and people.
"By Talos, this is wrong," I said, shaking my head. "The citizens have no place to flee. They have resorted to taking shelter in the crypt below the Hall of the Dead. They've had to take shelter among corpses just to escape this." Even if it were not ladylike, I spat over the edge of the wall. "These rebels are willing to stop at nothing. Ulfric's siege must be put to an end. The wildfire he has started must be stopped here. With us. With this city."
"I agree." He nodded towards Jorrvaskr, where the others had gathered at my request. "Best give them their orders now."
We climbed off our spot on the wall and jogged up the path towards our hall and home. All the Companions stood on the front steps, their weapons drawn. Eirik even had an arrow notched in his bowstring. They all shared a look of anticipation as well as determination. Their fear had been abandoned and replaced with the thrill of a fight.
"Listen up," I said as I stood at the bottom of the steps. "Aela and Eirik, you know where you have to be. Stick together, and don't let any Stormcloaks past you."
They nodded, then took off towards the Skyforge.
"Athis and Njada, I know you've had problems in the past, but you need to put them aside and work together. Watch the other's back. I need you at Dragonsreach. You'll be the Companions' last line of defense for the Jarl, should any rebels make it that far."
They took off sprinting up the hill and into the Cloud District. I could not help but notice Njada almost push Athis into the small waterfall that ran all the way down to the Plains District.
"And for the rest of us?" Torvar asked, gripping the blade of his sword tight.
"We shall remain down here, in between the gates and Jorrvaskr. If you see a group of Legionnaires that require your help, help them. Boost morale wherever you go. And stay together. Understood?"
"Yes, Harbinger," they all echoed. Torvar and Ria began to jog down the path towards the Plains District. Farkas sheathed his weapon, framed Tyra's face in his hands, then pressed a loving kiss to her lips. It lasted only a second, but I knew how much that kiss meant to them.
"I have to get something, but I'll be right back," he said, rushing back into Jorrvaskr.
I stepped up to Tyra, noting the fear in her eyes. She held her hands over her stomach. Her face was twisted in worry as well as fright. I had never seen her more afraid. Not when Farkas took two weeks to return from a simple hunting trip, not when Kaleir had almost fallen down the well in the marketplace, not when Bria broke her arm after she tried to climb up the Skyforge's lower wall.
"Tyra?" I asked, stepping closer. I rested my hand over her arm. "Are you all right?"
"What? No, I'm fine." She swallowed hard and blinked several times. "I'm all right."
I furrowed my brow. "No, you're not. You're hiding something. From Farkas." I touched my other hand to her shoulder. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
She nodded, and a tear fell from her eye.
I blinked once. "How far along?"
"Not long. I just found out yesterday." More tears slipped down her face. "I couldn't tell Farkas. If he knew, he wouldn't let me fight. I can't just sit inside Jorrvaskr, knowing my husband wouldn't have anyone to watch his back." She took ahold of my wrists, squeezing them tightly. "Please. You cannot tell him. He already sees me as so fragile. If he knew I was carrying another child—"
"It is all right. Your secret is safe. Just promise me you'll be careful. For your sake, for Farkas's," I gently pressed my palm to her armored stomach, "and for your unborn child's."
She nodded. "Thank you."
I returned her nod as she wiped the tears from her face. "You will be all right, sister. You are brave and strong. You are Tyra Ice-Daggers."
She smiled. "Yes. I am."
Just as Farkas returned from retrieving his helmet from Jorrvaskr, a long, low note sounded from the plains. It sounded like—
"A war horn," Vilkas said, his face solemn. "It has begun. The Stormcloaks are on the move."
-------
Sweat flew from my hair as I spun, my sword clashing with a blond man's battle axe. He snarled at me. Pressed all his heavy, Nordic weight behind his weapon. Tried to push me into the ground.
I hated to do what was necessary. I wished it could have been any other way. "Forgive me, brother," I grunted, then Shouted, "Fus, ro DAH!"
He and three of his compatriots went flying into Belethor's shop wall. The two Legionnaires who were close by pounced on the Stormcloaks, ending their lives with a few jabs of their shortswords.
I turned away from the grisly scene, wiping blood and sweat off my brow as I looked towards Torvar and Ria's group. They seemed to be holding their own, with the help of a half-a-dozen Hold guards. I had no idea where Farkas and Tyra were, but I trusted they were all right.
The battle had gone into the night. The burning homes illuminated the streets as the clashing of steel on steel and the shouts of pain or triumph filled the normally-peaceful town of Whiterun. The rebel forces were dwindling, but they were not giving up. They must have been ordered not to retreat. Otherwise, they would have run long ago.
"Are you all right?" Vilkas asked as we jogged to the next group who might need our help.
"I am fine," I grunted.
"You don't sound fine."
"I just don't like killing these people. They are only fighting for what they believe—"
A flash of steel caught my eye, and I ducked just in time to avoid a deadly blow to my neck. A redheaded woman who had lost her helmet glared at me, her sword gleaming in the firelight.
"You, Harbinger," she spat, venom lacing the title. "We have long respected you, but you might as well be one of those faithless Imperial dogs. You have disgraced the Companions' name!"
Before she could raise her weapon against me, she had an Imperial sword shoved through her belly.
As her body fell, Marina stepped into the light, her blade stained crimson and her armor spotted with blood. Strands of her hair fell into her face, and the ends stuck out under her helm.
"You're welcome," she said, wiping her blade on the Stormcloak's armor.
"I would have been fine," I growled.
"Sure, you would've." She nodded towards the city's entrance, face grim. "The rebels have taken the gates. We need to mobilize in the streets. Stop them before they reach the marketplace."
"Too late for that." I used my sword to point all the way to the Gildergreen. "They've almost passed Jorrvaskr. If I may offer a suggestion, move your troops to the foot of the stairs leading to Dragonsreach. The rebels can't be allowed to reach the palace."
"I understand that. If you see any Legionnaires, order them up to Dragonsreach. If they give you trouble, tell them that I need them."
"Understood." I gave a slight nod, then Vilkas and I ran down the path leading in between the guards' barracks and the Drunken Huntsmen.
We were met with fierce opposition. Only a few Legionnaires stood in the middle of a Stormcloak circle. The rebels with longer weapons teased them, poking them but not killing them. They laughed as the Imperials tried to mount some sort of defense.
I growled under my breath, my dragon blood pumping in my veins, and used a weak Shout to catch their attention. They all turned to me, eyes wide with awe, then their expressions changed to scowls.
"False Nord!" one screamed. "You dare claim to be a daughter of Skyrim? You are not worthy!"
"No, it is you, the ones who torment men in such a cruel way, that are unworthy."
"For Skyrim! For the Nords!" all the rebels cried before launching themselves at Vilkas and me. I raised my blade in front of my body, preparing to take on this angry horde.
The one leading the charge let out a shriek of pain as a blade of ice slammed into his shoulder. His comrades did not stop charging, but they looked around for the hidden assailant as they drew closer to us.
Before they reached us, three had fallen to Tyra's daggers. By then, she and Farkas had joined us, fighting off the remaining rebels with the help of the injured Legionnaires.
Once my blade was stained crimson and my armor was speckled in dead men's blood, once the last man fell to my sword, I turned to the remaining Imperials and ordered them to Dragonsreach. They did not question my order, and they hightailed it to the palace.
Outside, the sounds of battle raged on, but the four of us took a moment to catch our breath. Farkas had a deep, bleeding gash bisecting his right arm, and Tyra had a long cut across her cheek. Both were covered in blood—although I was sure that almost none of it was their own—and both looked weary.
"Your arm," Vilkas said, pressing his gloved hand over his brother's injury. "What happened?"
"Small rebel with a little sword," Farkas said, wincing. "He was the one who gave Tyra that cut."
"I suppose it's safe to say where he is now," I murmured, knowing how protective Farkas was over his wife.
"Yeah, Oblivion." Farkas pulled away from his brother's touch. "I'm fine, Vilkas."
"You'd better be. We still have a battle to win."
Our groups split up, Farkas and Tyra heading behind Adrianne Avenicci's shop, Warmaiden's, and Vilkas and I racing for Jorrvaskr.
When we came to the Wind District, we found many bodies littered all around the Gildergreen. Most had arrows in their backs, and most wore blue Stormcloak armor. It was not a sight I ever thought I would see. It was enough to make me sick.
"This cannot go on much longer," I said, leaning against the broken trellis that ran around the outside of the square.
"You're right," Vilkas said. His gaze scanned the carnage around us, face as cold as the icy color of his eyes. "How many lives have been claimed by this war? Hundreds? Thousands? And how many more have been ruined by those deaths? How many mothers have wept for their fallen sons? How many daughters mourn for their fathers? How many wives have wailed at the night sky, begging the gods to bring their husbands home?" He nodded to a pair of soldiers who had died in each other's arms. One wore Imperial armor, and the other Stormcloak. Each had fallen on the other's sword, and their still faces were twisted in disbelief and regret. "How many lifetime friends have slain one another on a battlefield just like that? How many have fallen on each other's blades?"
"Far too many to count, Vilkas. We can pray that the gods will end this conflict soon."
As if on cue, a horn sounded in the distance. A higher-pitched, more urgent horn than the one that had signaled the attack.
"The Stormcloaks have sounded the retreat," Vilkas said, although he did not sound happy or relieved. Emotionless. Almost... dead. "The Empire has won."
We watched as the remaining rebels in the city retreated through the open gates. No one attempted to stop them; the Imperials were too busy celebrating their hard-earned victory.
Instead of celebrating, I let my Skyforge sword slip from my hands and fall to the cobbles. I fell with it, landing gracelessly on my backside. I discarded my helmet, tossing it to the side, and leaned my head back against the trellis. The fight was over. Whiterun was still ours.
Vilkas plopped down next to me, letting out a heavy sigh. He leaned his head close to mine and closed his eyes. "I'm getting too old for this."
"You are not." I could not help but chuckle. "You're not even to your fortieth winter yet. You're still young."
"I certainly don't feel young now."
I reached my hand over and laced my fingers around his. "You'll be all right. The battle is over. We made it through."
Vilkas opened his eyes as Eirik and Aela approached us. Their quivers were empty, and Eirik's fingers were raw from shooting so many arrows, but they bore triumphant smiles. They both sat down next to us, taking a well-deserved break.
It did not take long before Athis and Njada joined us. They were unscathed, and Njada did not look too happy about that. She kept wishing she could have been a part of the battle, but Athis was happy to do his part. He and Njada had quite an important job, protecting the Jarl and all.
They only four missing now were Torvar, Ria, Farkas, and Tyra. I wondered where they were. Perhaps they were helping with tending to the wounded. Or helping round up the dead.
"I suppose my brother is late, as usual," Vilkas muttered, forcing himself to his feet. "I'd best go find him. Make sure he hasn't gotten himself into any trouble."
He did not have to go anywhere. Only a few seconds later, Farkas came dashing up the stairs towards us, a look of fear on his bloodstained face. He skidded to a stop only inches in front of his twin, having to grab Vilkas's shoulder to keep himself steady.
"Brother?" Vilkas asked, bracing Farkas. "What's happened? Is Tyra all right?"
"She's fine," Farkas panted as I stood. "It's... Torvar and Ria. They were wounded. I think.... " He swallowed hard. "I think they're dying."
And just like that, our fatigue was forgotten as we bolted down the steps, Farkas leading the way to our downed friends.
He led us to the small field of grass behind Warmaiden's, where many bodies littered the ground. In the middle of a gruesome circle knelt Tyra, her hand on Ria's still face. The little Imperial was covered in blood, all of it seeping from a wound through her stomach. Beside them, Torvar gasped, his eyes locked on the starry sky. Blood stained his lips and beard, and his normally-neat blond ponytail was in disarray, strands poking out and laying in the grass around his head.
I dropped to my knees next to him. I took his hand in mine and let him squeeze the very life out of it. "Torvar? Talk to me."
"Is... is Ria still alive?" he asked, choking on his own blood. In the dim light, I could hardly see the ugly gash in his chest, the large, scarlet circle expanding over his armor. Could hardly see the unbridled concern in his face. "Tell me she's all right."
I shot a glance at Tyra, and she gave me a small nod. "Ria's alive," she said, more to Torvar than to me.
"Someone get a healer!" Farkas said, looking at the whelps. "They need—"
"Farkas, honey, it's too late for that," Tyra said, her voice thick with tears. "It's far too late."
I gave a somber nod. "She's right. It's too late." Biting the inside of my cheek, I turned back to Torvar. "What happened?"
"She... she took a sword for me. She shoved me away and took the blow." A gurgling sound escaped his throat. It took me a few seconds to realize he was laughing. "How backwards is that? A lady takin' a stab for a drunkard like me?"
"You are not a drunkard. You're a brave warrior." I adjusted my grip on his hand. "You helped us win today. Whiterun is safe, because of you and Ria."
"Ylva, she's fading," Vilkas said as he dropped to his knees next to Ria. He pressed two fingers to the side of her throat, his face growing somber.
"Ria?" I asked, finding a way to sit between her and Torvar. I laid my free hand on her shoulder, and a warm, sticky liquid soon coated my palm. Her blood soon coated my palm.
"You... you think that—" She paused to cough up even more blood. "Do you think that I will find Sovngarde? Even if I'm Imperial?"
"If anyone deserves Sovngarde, it is you." A tear slipped from my eye, and I made no effort to hide it. "The gods will receive you well, Ria. You are the bravest of us all."
"Just... doing my... job." Her gaze shifted to the sky. Her breathing became shallow. She closed her eyes, and her hand fell from Tyra's grasp. One last breath left her as she faded from this world.
"She has departed," Aela said. She spoke with a heavy tone, voice full of emotion.
Next to me, Torvar sucked in a sharp breath. "Guess I'll know... soon enough if she... made it into Sovngarde." I could not help but notice the tear squeeze out from his eye. "If Shor will have me. I've... heard he... he is picky with who gets to come into his hall."
"You deserve it, Torvar," I said, turning away from little Ria's lifeless body. "You fought well. You have always been a great warrior. You deserve it."
He chuckled, more blood spilling from his lips. "I'll see you there, then. Maybe... we can share a cup of ale when you find yourself in Shor's Hall, huh?"
I offered a smile. "Try not to drink all the mead before we get there, all right?"
"I'll try my best to restrain myself." He blinked, and his eyes clouded over. His gaze shifted to a point just past me, and he smiled. "There she is."
"Who?"
"Ria. She's waiting for me in Sovngarde." He grunted, and his grip on my hand loosened. "Better not keep her waiting."
More tears fell to my cheeks. "Say hello to Kodlak for me."
"Will... do."
He breathed out, and did not breathe in again.
I sighed, dropping my head and laying his hand over his still chest. "Rest in peace, brother. May we meet again in Sovngarde." I rose to my feet. "Get them to the Skyforge and start building their pyres. We must honor them as soon as possible."
Farkas stepped forward, ready to carry Torvar away, but instead Eirik pushed past him. "I've got him," he said, then hefted Torvar over his shoulders. "Stay with your wife." Without another word, he began to trek back to Jorrvaskr.
Vilkas cradled Ria in his arms. Her head fell back, but I stepped forward and helped her head rest against his chest. I laid her hand over the wound in her belly, trying to hide the gaping, bloody hole in her armor. As if she were just sleeping. After I did that, Vilkas followed Eirik's path to Jorrvaskr.
Farkas dropped to his knees next to Tyra, wrapping his arms around her as she wept her heart out against his shoulder. He shushed her, rocked her gently, rubbed his hand over her back. As tough as she was, Tyra always did have a heart of gold. She cared for so many and she cared so deeply. I could not imagine how hard this was on her.
Behind me, Njada sniffed. Athis murmured something that sounded like a Dunmer prayer. Aela stayed silent, but I could sense her anger. It did not take her long to stalk away from the scene and make a break for Jorrvaskr.
Just as her footsteps retreated, another set approached. I turned to see a young man—no older than eighteen winters—wearing a suit of Imperial armor. His disheveled brown hair framed his skinny face, and he wielded no weapon. Instead, he carried a torch and a courier's bag at his waist. He must have been an Imperial message boy.
The lad cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Harbinger—I mean, Dragonborn—I mean—"
"What is it, boy?" I asked, spinning to face him.
"The Jarl has requested your presence. He wishes to see you immediately."
"Tell the Jarl I am busy—"
"No," Tyra said, voice shaking but strong. "You need to go."
I turned to face them, seeing Farkas nod as he continued to console his wife. "She's right, Ylva. You should go."
Athis and Njada nodded as well, and I sighed with defeat. I faced the message boy again, then jerked my head towards Dragonsreach. "Tell the Jarl I will be there shortly."
"Yes, Harbinger—Dragonborn... ma'am." Face turning red in the torchlight, the lad turned and bolted back up the path he came. I wondered how he ran so quickly for someone with such scrawny legs.
"When you return to Jorrvaskr," I began, facing my friends once more, "tell Vilkas where I have gone. I will not take long with the Jarl. As soon as I am finished... we will mourn our dead."
With that, I turned and began marching towards the marketplace, feet light and heart heavy.