3rd of Frost Fall, 4E 203

As a warrior, I was used to seeing carnage and blood. Gods know I had dealt my own fair share of pain to others, some of whom didn't even deserve it. I also had my fair share of injuries. I had to sew myself back together once. Blood had never bothered me.

Until I saw it gushing from my sister-in-law's gut.

I stood there, as if frozen in place, as Ylva's armor was ripped through by some invisible blade. I could only watch as her blood left her body in a river of scarlet. Down her belly it ran, into the snow at her feet. The white powder was soon turned to an ugly, crimson slush.

Vilkas dove forward and caught Ylva before she collapsed into the slush. He held her in his arms, cradling her head as he dropped to his knees.

"Oh, gods, Ylva!" He got her turned on her back, hands ripping at the straps of her armor. Usually so careful with arms and armor, now he tore at the leather with reckless abandon. Once he got the front of her breastplate off, he cast it aside, his hands hovering over the widening red stain on Ylva's tunic.

Tyra held onto me as we watched the scene unfold. Dumbstruck, I could do nothing as the Skaal crowded in to get a glimpse of my brother's panic. I pulled the little Nord into my side, biting my lip to keep from screaming.

"Ylva, please!" Vilkas held Ylva by her shoulders. "Don't leave me! You promised! I can't lose you!"

Tyra turned her face into my arm as Vilkas let Ylva rest against the ground again. He leaned forward and pressed his ear to her chest. I watched, clinging to Tyra, as his face fell. His eyes grew distant, his jaw slackened, and his shoulders sagged.

Tears of my own welled in my eyes. I had seen that look on his face before. That look meant that...

Oh, by the gods, no.

"Gods, please," murmured Vilkas as he sat on his heels, head bowed. "Please don't let this be. Please." He looked and sounded like he was praying, and I wondered if I should be praying, too.

As the reality of Ylva's passing sank in around us, as Tyra wet my armor with her tears, the villagers began to disperse with murmured condolences. They kept saying something about the "All-Maker," and that my brother shouldn't grieve.

If I hadn't been so overcome by my own grief, I would've been bashing people's heads in. Even I knew that was one of the most insensitive things they could've chosen to say.

As they left, Vilkas scooped his wife into his arms and held her against his body. He buried his face in her hair, and his entire body began to to tremble. I bit my lip again, still fighting back tears of my own. I had never seen my brother cry like this. Not when news of Jergen's death had reached us, not when Skjor was felled, not even when Kodlak died.

The snow began to fall faster, the wind picking up. It whipped my hair and stung my face. It wouldn't be good to stay out here much longer.

I pried myself out of Tyra's grip and approached my still-kneeling brother. He seemed to have no concern for the weather.

"Brother," I said as I laid my hand on his shoulder. He didn't move or even acknowledge me. I tightened my grip on his shoulder. "Brother, we should get inside."

He picked his head up then, blinking rapidly. His warpaint had smeared all over his face, dark tear tracks streaking his cheeks. He looked at me first, then at Tyra, who had come closer while I was trying to get his attention.

I knelt down next to my brother and held out my hand. "I can help you carry her—"

"No. I've got her." He shook his head and cradled Ylva in his arms, like an infant. Her head fell back, mouth agape and blood dripping past her lips. I cringed and turned away.

The woman who called herself Frea told us to take Ylva into the bedroom she had stayed in before. Vilkas led the way, jaw set and eyes forward. Tyra and I followed close behind, my arm over her narrow shoulders as she continued to weep.

"This can't be," she said, her voice thick with her tears. She coughed a little, but it did nothing to help her voice. "This isn't happening. Gods—" Her words were lost in her sorrow.

I did my best to shush her, putting my arms around her as gently as I could manage. She turned her face into my shoulder and kept weeping.

We reached the room, Vilkas moving to the single bed in the corner and laying Ylva on top of it. Her head fell to one side, hair covering her face, and Vilkas knelt to fix it. I watched as he traced his thumb down the length of the scar on her cheek. The tender care on his face, and the sorrow that pooled in his eyes made my own tears finally spill.

"Ylva..." he said, voice cracking. "Gods, I am so sorry. I swore I would protect you, and I failed. I am... so very sorry."

I wiped the moisture off my face and swallowed. "What we we going to do? We can't bury her here. She doesn't belong. The rest of the Companions deserve to mourn with us."

Tyra laid her tiny hand on my arm. Her normally-shiny gray eyes were dull with grief and puffy from crying. "Farkas, not now. He's grieving."

"We all are."

"I know, but we need to leave. Let him have time alone."

I nodded. "All right." I then stepped behind my brother and gave him a firm clasp on the shoulder. I opened my mouth to speak, to say something that I knew would comfort him, but my throat had closed up. I could only manage a shaky "I'm sorry" before I left the room.

I waited outside the door for Tyra to come out, listening to her comfort my brother. She came out moments later, sniffling gently. Together, we moved to the small fire burning in the large main room. We sat side-by-side on the floor next to it, saying nothing.

I picked up a stick and began poking at the flames. I couldn't believe it. She just couldn't be... dead. She couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

"How could this happen?" asked Tyra as she stared into the fire. "How, Farkas? She's supposed to be invincible."

I didn't trust myself to speak. My throat still felt so thick.

"Farkas?"

I stopped poking the fire and looked at her. Her eyes reflected the dancing flames, and yet she still looked so cold.

I cleared my throat. "What is it, little Nord?"

"Will Vilkas be all right?"

I turned away. For once, I didn't know if my twin would be all right. In the past, whenever he had been injured or sick, everyone else worried, but I never did. I knew he would pull through, and he always did. But I didn't know now. This loss may be the thing that finally breaks him.

"Farkas?"

I jolted up and gazed at Tyra. "What?"

"Will he be all right?"

"I... I-I don't know. I really don't know."

She was quiet for a moment. "Farkas?"

I sighed. "Yes?"

"What are we supposed to do now?"

I closed my eyes and turned away. I couldn't keep talking; my throat was becoming blocked again.

I jumped as a small hand rested atop my forearm. I glanced at her, my brow creasing, as she tightened her hold.

"We'll be all right, won't we?"

With a shuddering sigh, I nodded. "The Companions are always all right."

She blinked, more tears falling from her eyes, and scooted closer to me. She curled herself underneath my arm, her face turned into my shoulder, and began weeping again. I held her tightly, shushing her and fighting off tears of my own.

-------

Hours passed by, and still Vilkas remained in the room alone. The woman named Frea had gone in there briefly, then come back out. When she passed the fire by which Tyra and I sat, she told us that Miraak had been defeated, and that Ylva's death wasn't in vain. She told us that Ylva had died to save the world, and she had succeeded.

I didn't find any real comfort in that.

How long were we to stay here? Our job had been finished, and I didn't want to tarry here any longer than necessary. I was ready to see home again, and I hoped that being home would help Vilkas with his grief.

Although, it might do the exact opposite and make him sink further into depression.

Well into the third hour of his solitude, Vilkas suddenly rushed to the doorway and signaled to Tyra. "Tyra! Fetch some bandages! And water! And healing potions!" His face twisted with urgency. "Hurry!"

Without question, Tyra shot to her feet and began to scurry around. She gathered the bandages and water basin first, then found our small satchel of healing potions. She grabbed it and rushed back to the room.

I sat there with a confused look on my face. What on Nirn was that all about? Vilkas doesn't say anything, or even show his face, for hours, and now all of a sudden he's barking orders to Tyra?

Then, I heard Tyra start squealing, which made me jump to my feet and dash into the room. I started to ask what had gotten into everyone, but I stopped when I realized the answer was right in front of me.

Ylva was sitting up on the bed, face pale as snow, eyes shadowed by purple bags, but alive all the same.

With Tyra still jumping up and down, I pushed past her and made my way towards Ylva, arms spread wide.

But Vilkas stopped me in my tracks. He stood between me and the bed, hand held up to push my arms down. "Not yet. She's still injured."

My heart sank a little. I didn't want to hurt her. I just wanted to hug her, make sure she was real. "I understand."

Vilkas nodded and turned his back to me. He plucked a healing potion out of the bag and held it to Ylva. He put his hand on the underside of the bottle as she held it to her lips. He helped her drink the potion, telling her to take it slowly, as her face twisted. It was no secret that she hated potions of any sort.

After the bottle had been drained, he set it aside and grasped the hem of Ylva's tunic. He slipped it up, over her stomach, until her wound was exposed.

"By the gods..." breathed Tyra, her silvery eyes wide with shock.

I gaped at the rip in her flesh. It was the worst wound I had ever seen. The gash ripped from the bottom of her sternum all the way to her navel. It was wide, too, easily as wide as my thumb.

Vilkas signaled for Tyra's help with the bandages. Seeing that he didn't need me, I left the room. Without the sight of her ghastly wound in front of me, my excitement came back. Ylva was alive. She had somehow come back from death. This was amazing news that had to be shared.

I rushed outside in the clearing weather. The Skaal villagers present turned their heads and gave me odd looks. Frea approached me, her straight brows knitted together.

"What is this, outlander?" she asked.

"Ylva is alive," I answered. "She's alive!"

"She's what?" asked another villager. I believed he was the blacksmith.

"Ylva is alive! She came back!"

It didn't take long for the words to circle around the village in excited chatter. No one could believe it. Of course, no one was upset about it, either. Why would they be?

With my news delivered, I ran back inside to see Ylva again. I met with Tyra just outside the room, where she stopped me.

"Leave them be for now," she said. "They deserve some time alone."

I nodded, leading her away from the door and towards the fire. "Can you believe this?"

She shook her head. "I can't. It doesn't seem possible."

"Who cares if it's possible? She's alive. That's all that matters, right?"

She nodded. "That's all that matters."

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I figured it was time for Farkas to have his own short story. When it's time for him to have another one, I promise it won't be so sad. Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a comment and vote if you did!

Love and sweetrolls!
~ WG 💙