#vwriting

“He’s right,” Althea agreed.

Kodlak had a plan, a way to possibly be free from the wolf’s blood, but he never shared it with her. The only thing she had to go on was the bag of bloody witches’ heads that, given the scent of rot and decay, was just beyond the cavern they stood in.

Althea continued, “Kodlak knew of a way to get rid of the beastblood. He had-”

Aela interrupted her shield-sister with a scoff, “Being moon-born is not so much a curse as you two might think. I thought you of all people would know that, Althea.”

“This isn’t about what I want or what you believe,” the Dragonborn shot back.

Vilkas joined in the argument, his tone sharp. “He wanted to be clean.”

The pair exchanged a brief glance, a look of mutual understanding.

Vilkas looked back at Aela, hardening his expression before continuing. “He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde, but all of that was taken from him.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about that,” Aela sneered, matching his expression, with her arms crossed over her chest. “All we could do was avenge him, and you and Althea took care of that for the rest of us.”

The arguing continued between the three with Farkas piping in occasionally, much calmer than the rest. Voices raised to level that managed to push through the cracks in the stone door, drawing the attention of those who remained to pay their last respects; their voices and scents crept closer to the Underforge, but it wasn’t enough to deter the Circle from containing their bickering.

The scraping of stone on stone echoed through the Underforge, halting the Circle’s quarrel; Eorlund stepped through and approached the group. The emotions he had been hiding during the eulogy were beginning to break through, pulling at the wear near his mouth and eyes, aging him. He stopped between Vilkas and Althea and placed a hand on the dark-haired Nord’s shoulder.

“Let it rest for tonight,” he spoke in a soft yet authoritative voice. “Join the others in Jorrvaskr and mourn as a family.”

“They’ll have questions,” Vilkas replied, looking down at the stone floor. “They saw Kodlak turn.”

Aela dropped her arms to her sides. “They’ve already started asking questions. Athis and Njada especially.” 

“All the more reason for you to join the others,” the blacksmith remarked. “This loss and discovery could divide the Companions, and no one here could stand to lose the rest of their family.” With a light squeeze on Vilkas’s shoulder, he added, “Go. Except you, Althea.”

Wordlessly, the others obeyed, leaving the Underforge after the door had opened. Eorlund led Althea to the exit and waited until it closed behind them to speak.

“Did you and Vilkas retrieve the fragments of Wuuthrad?” he asked.

The young woman nodded.

“Good,” he replied. “I’ll need to prepare them for mounting again. There’s another piece that Kodlak always kept close to himself. It’s in his chambers-”

A sigh and a drop of Althea’s head interrupted Eorlund.

“I-I can’t go…” Her voice hitched in the slightest on the last word.

“Althea.”

His voice drew her attention from the ground and into his weathered face. The worry lines that marred the Harbinger’s were mirrored in Eorlund’s, surrounded by hair only a few shades lighter than Kodlak’s. The eyes were different; where Kodlak had held compassion, Eorlund carried determination. Determination to keep moving forward, to not let loss of life hold back from living.

“You cannot carry Kodlak’s death as if it were your own,” he told her. “You cannot avoid all that reminds you of him.” A small smile accompanied his next words, “You’re better off attacking it head on, as you’ve done with everything else. The Companions will need you, lass. They’ll need your guidance.”

The Dragonborn remained silent but held Eorlund’s gaze, wide-eyed with up-turned eyebrows, finding it hard to believe that she could lead the Companions. She couldn’t keep the previous leader alive, how could she possibly take his place?

He continued speaking after giving her time to absorb his words.

“Your time will come,” he said. “The gods have blessed you from birth. The soul of a dragon carries strength, and you will find it.” He paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. “For now, I’m asking you to get the fragment from Kodlak’s room. I’m not sure I’m the best one to go through his things.”

She didn’t understand what he meant by that, but she didn’t question it. Rather, she offered a sigh of resignation and nodded.

Leaving the blacksmith to tend to the remains of the pyre, she entered Jorrvaskr and found the rest of the Companions gathered around the hearth that lit the main hall. Their voices a contrasting chill against the heat of the fire. A mix of grief and anger; the whelps were confused and demanded answers. The Circle offered no such satisfaction.

Farkas remained silent, as he usually did in situations such as this, while Vilkas and Aela argued with the others. Words blurred together into a wavering hum in Althea’s ears; she didn’t care what was being said, even when their angered voices turned toward her.

Her steps didn’t pause even as she reached the top of stairs that led to the living quarters. The buzz in her ears waned as she swung the door shut behind her and ventured down into the hall. Althea’s boots dragged against the wood and rugs as she trudged toward Kodlak’s room. Each step seeming in place, as though she weren’t moving forward.

She never remembered it taking so long to reach Kodlak’s quarters. Of course, almost every other time she’d gone to his room, she was in a huff after an argument with Vilkas or had been called into his room to be lectured.

The familiar scent of canine that each of the Circle members shared was abundant toward the end of the hall where the Circle’s rooms were held, but the faint aroma of embers and citrus became apparent when she reached Kodlak’s study. His bedroom was hidden just behind the door that stood to her right, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it yet.

Instead, she moved to stand in front of his desk. Her fingers brushed over the map Kodlak had laid out, stopping at each ink mark he had added; she would never have the chance to ask what each mark meant. On each side of the map was a book; Song of Hrormir on one side and Great Harbingers on the other. She picked up Great Harbingers, running her hand over the well-worn cover and the cracks ingrained on the binding. The pages flipped through her fingers, releasing the faint smell of dust and must that books seemed to gather, no matter how well they were taken care of. Althea put the book back down with a soft, airy thud.

A heavy sigh filled the otherwise silent room as she turned around and gripped the handle of the door, bringing herself to enter his room. The door opened with a quiet creak and revealed Kodlak’s neatly kept room; his bed made, his books aligned perfectly along the small bookshelf in the corner, and a few of the weapons he collected displayed on a rack on the wall. His scent was stronger here, trapped in the blanket and clothes; normally a comfort when distraught, but now only offered Althea more heartache.

He didn’t have many places that could house the fragment Eorlund sought; there was the dresser, but it seemed dangerous to hold a sharp piece of metal among clothes. Her eyes fell on one of the nightstands next to his bed before she began digging through the drawers. 

She found the fragment wrapped in softened hide, resting on a leather-bound journal. The search was quick and easy; too much time spent digging through his belongings would tear at her chest. With a silent thought of gratitude to the gods, Althea pushed the drawer shut and hurried out of the room.

The voices from the main hall grew louder as she climbed the stairs, but she didn’t pay them any mind. Again, they called out to her, but she continued past them, stopping only to grab the hilt and sack of shards before returning outside.

Her heavy steps followed the path to Skyforge where Eorlund was waiting for the last of the embers to burn out. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at the hearth; his back was to her, but she felt that the air around him was charged with grief, and it seemed to weigh on his slumped shoulders.

“Eorlund,” Althea spoke softly, stepping closer to the old blacksmith. “Here.”

He took the fragments before looking up at her and offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, lass.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I can handle it,” he replied. His eyes moved to the lights escaping through the windows of Jorrvaskr before he spoke again. “How are they?”

She sighed and shook her head in exasperation. “They’re just… arguing. There’s no mourning, no comfort for one another.”

Glancing down at the forge’s hearth, she moved to mirror Eorlund’s earlier stance with her arms crossed. “I don’t understand why they seem completely unaffected by Kodlak’s death.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Eorlund squeezed reassuringly. “They’re confused and don’t know how to feel,” he explained. “The Companions will be forever changed by this death and this revelation. They need a direction and someone to take them in that direction.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” she mumbled in response.

“You need to hear it, girl.” His hand fell from her shoulder and grasped the metal held by his other hand. “The Companions will either live or die here. If you don’t guide them, they’ll destroy themselves.”

“Kodlak isn’t the first Harbinger to die,” Althea remarked. “Why should this death be any different than those before?”

“The Companions have been an army, a drunk rabble, a common mercenary group, a band of noble warriors,” he began. “Kodlak, in his time as Harbinger, turned the Companions into a family.”

Althea closed her eyes and raked her fingers through her hair. “That would explain why we’re so dysfunctional.”

He ignored her comment and continued speaking. “They need a powerful voice to keep their emotions from getting the better of them. Be that voice.”

“Since when was I the voice of reason?” she asked, despite her tone, she was genuinely curious. “I thought I was the hot-head.”

He chuckled softly, “That title is between you and Vilkas.”

Althea looked up at him, her eyes held by his aged, stormy blue gaze. She still didn’t understand why the duty was falling to her and not Vilkas; he was as every bit devoted to the Companions as she, and his thoughts were logical as often as hers, and his emotions clouded his judgements just as heavy as hers. Was it her status as Dragonborn? She hadn’t done anything remarkable with it; beyond meeting with the Greybeards and using her Shouts in battle, her dragon soul seemed to have little meaning.

“Go,” Eorlund ordered. “Go to your family.”

Shoulders dropping forward, Althea released a sigh and turned to leave. There would be no answers given by Eorlund, just more words of “duty” and vague reasons why that duty was hers. Effort spent prying was effort wasted.

Althea ventured back to the mead hall, hearing the still-heated voices outside the door. After setting free an exasperated groan, she pushed open the door, unleashing the full force of the Companions’ argument.

With a deep a breath, the walls shook as she let out a single word.

Her stomach was still turning from the day’s events; the deaths weren’t new to her, but losing control over her lycanthropy was. She’d come close a few times, the incident with Vilkas the night of Kodlak’s death being one of them, but she always managed to regain herself. Though, this time…

A few guards were posted outside the fort, but they’d been dealt with without a problem; Aela’s “voluntary” archery lessons for Althea served their purpose. The inside was empty until they passed the first corridor; there were a couple more of the Silver Hand, and they put up a better fight but still fell short. It was the same pattern: fight a few, walk a bit, fight a few more, until they reached some makeshift dining hall.

A few of the Silver Hand were bragging about Kodlak’s death, arguing over which of them landed the killing blow. Althea sensed Vilkas stiffen as they listened.

“I killed the sonofabitch,” Vilkas hissed. “He didn’t last long enough to pull the sword from Kodlak’s body.”

Vilkas tightened further, and Althea could feel his tension coiling. She moved to grab his arm but wasn’t quick enough.

He launched himself forward, and he carried her voice with him; she shouted his name, drawing the attention of whoever didn’t yet notice Vilkas. They came in like a swarm, rushing toward Vilkas just as Althea did. Her shouting, her hesitation, it gave the Silver Hand a head start. A few reached him before she had, and his rage left him vulnerable.

He fought those in front of him, defended himself, but one came in from behind. Knocked forward by a shield, Vilkas stumbled to the ground. The attacker moved to bring down a fatal blow, but Althea reached him first. Claws lashed out at the swordsman as her armor straps tore from her changing form, her armor falling piece by piece.

Vilkas scrambled to his feet and used Althea’s unintended distraction to attack those closest to him. Althea continued fighting while turning, the pain of her change fueling her attacks. With a deep growl, Althea lunged at Vilkas’s initial attacker and tore into him with her claws before driving her fangs into the exposed part of his neck.

The air quickly filled with the scent of blood and animal as Vilkas and Althea continued the fight. With her increased speed and strength, Althea took control of the battle, ripping through their foes with ease. In what seemed like a few breaths, her pale fur was drenched with blood, and the hall was filled with mauled bodies.

Althea’s wolf form stood over her last victim, a bit slouched and unsure.

“Althea,” a voice said, soft and raspy.

Her piercing gold eyes shot to its source. Not an enemy, not prey.

Vilkas sheathed his sword into the scabbard on his back and approached Althea; he kept his movements slow, well aware of the unpredictability of her wolf. Her gaze followed as he drew closer, but it blurred when the adrenaline of the fight and her sudden turn began to wane. Knees buckled under her, and she collapsed to the floor, chest heaving with a low growl as the pain set in.

The guttural sound turned into a pained cry as her body began transforming. Torso first, then her limbs and head; the process back taking longer. Althea wrapped her hands around herself, her fingers digging into her sides as the change finished and the exhausting ache throbbed throughout her now-bare body.

Metal scraped against stone, drawing her attention to Vilkas who knelt in front of her. He reached out for her arm and pulled it through a large tunic, draped it across her back, and pulled her other arm through.

“Come on,” he prompted as he helped her to her feet. “Here,” he said, handing her a pair of trousers.

Though shaky, Althea managed to stay upright with Vilkas’s hands on her shoulders as she pulled the pants on. They too were big and would’ve fallen if she attempted to move; her fingers tried to pull at the strings on the waist, but she didn’t have the strength or stability to tie them.

Gentle but strict, Vilkas pushed her hands away and tied the strings himself. His hands then moved to her open tunic, pulling each side and buttoning them together.

“I don’t need you dressing me,” Althea spat meekly.

Vilkas rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like that didn’t steal the breath from your lungs.” His voice softened and sounded almost concerned. “I’ve never seen a turning that quick,” he added. “Lift your foot.”

Despite wanting to object, she did as she was told, and Vilkas slid a boot on each of her feet.

“Where did you find these?” she asked.

“It always surprises me what they leave in random boxes in places like this,” he replied. “I found them while you were turning back.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice still holding a trace of weakness. “Did you find the shards?”

He scoffed, still kneeling as he gathered her bits of armor that had fallen. “They were thrown across one of the tables,” Vilkas snarled. “I put them in this sack. Do you think you can carry it?” he asked, motioning to the burlap by his feet that she hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sure I can manage,” she sneered.

She let out a sigh when he began piling her armor into a separate sack.

“Eorlund’s going to be pissed.” No doubt the armor was damaged during her turning; she’d likely get a lecture about not removing her armor first… not that she had planned on turning.

“All right,” Vilkas said, returning to his feet with her armor thrown over his shoulder. “We should go. Can you walk?”

“Yes, I can walk,” she replied indignantly. “Just… slowly.”

A noise outside her tent drew Althea from her thoughts and back to the present. Vilkas’s scent paired with smoke wafted in through the tent flaps, pulling Althea up to a sitting position. Glancing outside, an orange glow outlined Vilkas’s silhouette as he sat by the fire he’d started while she was lost in the events earlier. Avoiding Vilkas was still on her mind, but the warmth of the fire was too alluring.

The crackling grew louder as she stepped beyond her tent. Vilkas turned slightly at the company but didn’t look at her until she sat a few feet beside him. Embers had already settled below the fire; Vilkas had been sitting out for a while, but she was too lost in her own head to have noticed.

A few moments passed, and neither spoke. The silence weighed heavily on her, and apparently Vilkas felt the same.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Althea sighed. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just tired.”

He hummed softly in response.

“Thank you,” she added, “for finding clothes and carrying my armor.”

“Well, I… I acted foolishly,” he stammered. “Rushing in without thinking. I could’ve died, so… thank you.”

She said nothing in return and simply adjusted her seated position, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“How did you do it?” Vilkas asked, his voice quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“When you turned,” he said. “You fought while turning. And it was so fast. All of us are stopped in our tracks when we turn, and it takes time for it to finish. How did you…?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, shaking her head. “I just—I ran after you. I saw you were in danger, and… it just happened. I guess I’d lost control.”

“Huh,” Vilkas responded. “Well, I’m, uh, I’m going to try and get some rest. We need to get back to Whiterun as fast as we can.”

“Right,” Althea agreed. “Kodlak’s funeral. I imagine they’re waiting for us to return.”

He nodded before pushing himself to his feet, hesitating like he had something to say, but he kept it to himself and disappeared into his tent.

Without the company, the snapping firewood seemed louder, but it was calming. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, embracing the smoky scent and near-overwhelming heat. Kodlak’s funeral wouldn’t provide nearly as much comfort; she didn’t even want to imagine the smell. To keep distracted, Althea grabbed the charred stick Vilkas seemed to use to stoke the fire; she dripped it into the flame, kicking up sparks that floated a few seconds until they vanished.

While she continued playing with the fire, she hummed softly to the tune of a childhood song. She didn’t have heart to sing the words, and eventually even the humming became too much. Soon after, Althea retired to back into her tent and grasped weakly at sleep.

The rest of the journey back to Whiterun was a repeat of the first night; sleepless nights and silent conversations. Relief was immeasurable once they reached the city.

The familiar scent of the other Companions carried past Jorrvaskr, accompanied by many others’ as well as the rich smell of freshly cut wood. A pyre had already been prepared atop Skyforge’s embers, waiting patiently to be relit and claim Kodlak’s body.

Althea’s and Vilkas’s return must have been seen by someone and the Companions made aware, else they would not have set up for the funeral. To do so without the two Companions Kodlak was closest to would have been an insult to all three.

Aela stood outside the mead hall to greet the pair.

“We’ll perform the service as soon as you two are ready,” she told them. “The other members are waiting.”

Althea nodded and walked passed Aela with Vilkas following behind. She dropped her belongings on the floor a few steps from the door and took the sack of Wuuthrad shards to the nearest table. The hilt still hung on the wall, but it looked so naked without its blade, even in broken chunks; she’d deal with piecing it together later, or someone else would. It didn’t matter.

The stairs creaked, and Telma poked her head up from the living quarters.

“There you two are,” she said, approaching them. “Here, take these, and I’ll take that,” she ordered, reaching for the pack Vilkas still carried while handing them each a wet cloth. “You shouldn’t attend a funeral with dried blood and dirt on your faces.”

“Thank you, Telma,” Vilkas said, giving over his belongings.

The two returning Circle members ventured up the steps of Skyforge after cleaning up, joining the others that already surrounded the pyre. Many other citizens of Whiterun joined in the final farewell but maintained a respectable distance away, keeping close to the walls of Jorrvaskr and allowing those most dear to Kodlak to be by his side.

The fallen Harbinger’s body was clothed in fabrics he probably would’ve deemed too frivolous and expensive at first but would’ve accepted for such an event. Deep hues of blue paired with white and black embellishments showed the authority and respect he held as Harbinger, and the silver wolf’s head adorning his chest served as a reminder that he was and always will be a Companion.

Althea stood between Aela and Vilkas, not that it mattered; nobody would’ve dulled the ache that filled her chest once the flames were lit. Tears stung her silver eyes and threatened to spill over onto her cheeks; she tried to hold them back, but it was a struggle. Kodlak would not wish anyone to weep for him. He’d want them to celebrate the life he had lived and remember each lesson and lecture he shared. Her efforts proved useless; it was too much denying the tears for the man that welcomed her into her family. He was her mentor, her friend, her father, her Harbinger. And he was gone.

A eulogy began from the saddened lips of Eorland; his voice was steady and strong, but this was a great loss for the old man as well. Althea listened to each word, letting them fill her ears until there was no room for the crackling of the fire.

The acrid scent that always followed a pyre filled the air, but she did not flinch, despite it burning her heightened senses.

“Who will begin the rite?” Eorland asked after finishing his tribute.

From the corner of her eyes, Althea saw Vilkas raise his head to speak, but Aela spoke up before him.

“I’ll do it,” she announced, approaching the pyre.

The fire reflected in her eyes, but seemed chilled compared to the burning emotions that stormed around her pupils.

“Before the ancient flame,” she spoke in a voice as solid as Eorland’s.

“We grieve,” the Circle members said in unison.

The Companions had few words to memorize beyond their initiation rite, but that was one of great joy; adding another to their family was cause for celebration. Reciting words for a loss was disheartening, and though Althea understood its purpose, she never imagined she’d have to use them.

Althea’s voice cracked on the last word, but her red-rimmed eyes held onto Kodlak’s burning body, as if waiting to see his soul rise from the flames.

“At this loss,” Aela continued.

“We weep.”

“For the fallen…”

“We shout.”

“And for ourselves…”

“We take our leave.”

Despite the last words, no one moved for a time, save for Aela who returned to stand with the other Circle members. They remained circling Skyforge, watching the flames eat away at the Harbinger.

Althea looked away from his body and up toward the sparks of fire the broke away from the mass, carrying bits of fabric and wood; they should’ve been leading Kodlak’s spirit to Tsun, the great watcher of Shor’s Hall, but his spirit was bound to Hircine’s realm. It was wrong. It was all wrong. He didn’t belong there, he didn’t wish to be there, but his chance to follow his heart’s desire had been stripped away simply because she’d taken too long.

Her thoughts had consumed her so, she jumped when Aela spoke.

“His spirit is departed,” she announced. “Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge, to grieve our last together.”