"Oh, yeah?" jeered Embla from the training yard. She planted her hands onto her hips, one skinny fist tight around the hilt of her wooden sword. "Well, you fight like a crippled skeever!"

Her cousin, Bria, laughed at that. She'd inherited her father's ability to laugh everything off. "I do not! It is you who fights like a baby!"

Embla gasped. "Take that back."

Bria smirked, raising her own wooden sword. She flicked a lock of her golden-blonde hair away from her sweaty face, icy eyes locked on her opponent. "Why don't you get over here and make me?"

For a girl who was a little over eight months younger than Embla, Bria had a lot of spunk and tenacity. Strong as a sabre cat, just like Farkas.

Growling, Embla charged, sword raised, and started sparring with Bria again.

"You'd think they'd learn," I said, turning away from their mock-fight. I glanced at Tyra, who was busy bouncing her son Kaleir—or Kale, as he was affectionately called—on her knee. The poor lad was three years younger than my children, and not old enough to play with them just yet. Although he certainly did his best, running after them and his big sister as fast as his chubby toddler legs could carry him.

"I know," Tyra said. "But they're children. Competitive ones, too."

"They get that from their fathers."

We shared a laugh, and as if on cue, our husbands walked out.

"Something funny?" Farkas asked as he sat next to Tyra. He smiled at Kale, brushing his hand over his son's head.

Kale reached for Farkas, chubby hands outstretched. "Da!" he cried, giggling at his own cleverness.

Farkas took his son into his arms. He made a much better father than I had ever thought he'd be. Although, anyone who was as kind and tenderhearted as he was would make a wonderful parent.

"How long have they been at it?" Vilkas asked, sitting next to me and pointing at Bria and Embla.

"Quite some time," I said. "They paused to insult each other, then went right back to fighting."

"They're both very good," Tyra said. "For their age. When I was Bria's age, I was learning things like cooking and cleaning. Not sword-fighting."

"And when I was Embla's age, I was helping pick vegetables to sell. Or learning how to till earth and sow seeds." I sighed and leaned into Vilkas's side. "I am thankful that our children will not have that life. It was hard, unforgiving work."

After watching our girls spar for several minutes, we couldn't help but start cheering for either one. Vilkas and I rooted, of course, for Embla, while Farkas and Tyra cheered on Bria. We had a friendly rivalry between us, always bragging on which of our children was the best swordsman. It was bound to happen; it couldn't be helped. We didn't let it come between us, though. We were still the best of friends, as were our children.

In the end, they called a draw. Both were too tired to keep fighting, but too stubborn to admit defeat. Begrudgingly, they shook hands and strapped their wooden swords to their waists. Then, they linked arms and skipped up the stairs to us.

Bria gave Farkas a tight hug around the neck, then she kissed Kaleir's head. "One day, Kale, you'll be big enough to fight with swords," she said, holding her brother's hand around her finger. "I'll teach you when you're big enough."

He smiled. "Bri! Bri!"

While Farkas, Tyra, and Bria cooed over Kale's cleverness, Embla sat down on Vilkas's lap, leaning against his chest. "Did I do good, Papa?" she asked as she hugged him tightly. "Did I?"

He patted his hand on her back, smiling at her. "Of course, my little one."

"You think Eorlund will make me my own set of armor soon? And my own real sword?" She smiled brightly, excitement in her eyes.

Vilkas gave me a short look, then turned back to our daughter. "You're still a little young for a real sword. And you don't need armor since you won't be leaving the walls." He brushed his hand over her mop of curly raven locks. "But don't worry. You'll be old enough soon."

She beamed. "I can't wait!"

I smiled. "You'll have to, little one."

Her face fell. "I know. I just wish I didn't."

We fell into silence as we watched two other members, Torvar and Eirik, spar. While Torvar was one of the older members who still hasn't risen to the Circle's ranks, Eirik was a new whelp. He'd come to us just a few weeks prior, seeking his fortune with the Companions. He was a young lad, barely into manhood, and still had many boyish qualities. His auburn hair was shaggy and fell at jagged edges across his forehead and over his ears. He was clumsy, often tripping over his own feet or dropping his sword while sparring. But he was a fine warrior, strong and able to defend himself. He had a good heart, and fire burning in his blood. Something that we Companions had always held to.

The clashing of steel and the grunts of men filled the training yard as the two Companions sparred. Torvar parried a blow, while Eirik feinted a jab at the blond man's chest. He twisted his blade and slammed the flat end into Torvar's side. Eirik raised his sword again, but Torvar yelled for him to hold.

"Fair match," the older man said, rubbing his fingers against his side. "You've bested me yet again."

Eirik sheathed his sword and helped Torvar to his feet. "You are a worthy opponent," he said with a grin. "Thank you for the match."

"Next time won't be so—"

Before Torvar could finish, an earth-shaking road pierced the sky, and massive wingbeats caused dust to fly all around the training yard. A gigantic shadow passed over the training yard, and the two men pointed at the sky.

"Dragon!" Eirik cried.

I jumped to my feet and rushed to the yard. With the sun shining in my eyes, I couldn't tell if this dragon was friend or foe. I certainly hoped not the latter.

"Dovahkiin!" he called, voice familiar. "I need to meet with you!"

"Odahviing!" I called back. I hadn't heard from him in so long. Not since my last visit to him and Parthurnaax, which was before the twins were born. "Where?!"

"By the old watchtower! Hurry, Dovahkiin!"

And with two massive flaps of his wings, he turned and headed west.

I spun on my heel and rushed inside. I had to don my armor before I met with the dragon. Even if I didn't think there would be danger, I didn't want to go unprepared.

Vilkas and Embla followed close behind me as I headed downstairs. Jergen joined them when we passed the children's room. I knew they had questions, but none seemed to want to ask them.

I walked into my room, beginning to armor up by first grabbing my boots. After the twins were born, I had Eorlund fashion me a new set of armor, since my previous set was destroyed by Miraak. I'd asked if he'd be willing to make some changes to the traditional design, and he'd agreed. Instead of the duller, more tarnished look, my new Harbinger armor was polished to look like silver. The boots had wolfskin insulating the insides, and black leather straps securing the front plate to the back.

Next, I worked my way up my legs. Unlike the old design, there was quilted black leather protecting my thighs. Although you rarely saw it, since I had a skirt made of black wolfskin falling to my knees.

The breastplate had remained almost unchanged, although it had been polished up like the rest of the plating. The shoulder plates were smaller, allowing me better range of motion when I swung my arms, and they were lined with wolf's fur. The gauntlets had silvery steel on one side, and wolfskin on the other, black straps keeping them in place. The same quilted leather covered my biceps, defending me from any quick jabs or mild blows.

The biggest change that had been made to the armor was the helmet. I had never liked the design of the old one. It was clunky and hard to keep in place. This one fit much better. It was silvery steel, like the rest of the armor, and had metal wolf ears on the top. They were folded back, like an angry wolf would pin its ears to its head. The helm also had a face mask that was hinged, so I could push it up or down. The mask itself was shaped like a wolf's snarling nose, giving the entire armor an intimidating effect. While I didn't much care for face masks, I agreed that the Harbinger armor needed a helmet that protected better than the old one had.

"Mama, why do you need your armor?" Jergen asked, his face shadowed with fear. He must have heard the dragon's roar, but didn't know what it was.

"Are you going to fight that dragon?" Embla asked. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Tears of fright.

I knelt down in front of both of them, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. "You need not fear for me, little ones. I do not go to fight. That dragon, believe it or not, is an old friend of mine. I will return soon."

"Mama—" Embla gasped, and her tears spilled over.

"It's all right." I wiped away her tears, then gave each of them a kiss on the forehead. "Now I must go. I will return soon."

I stood, and Vilkas took both my hands in his. "Be safe," he said.

"I will be. I promise."

We shared a gentle kiss, then I grabbed my sword and strapped it to my waist. Once it was secure, I picked up my wolfskin cape and fastened it around my shoulders. I pulled my helm onto my head, gave my family one last look, then took off running down the halls. I had kept Odahviing waiting long enough. He wasn't a very patient dragon.

I picked up my pace after I left the city's walls. Even from this distance, I spotted the great dragon's scales gleaming like liquid copper in the sunlight. And even from this distance, his perturbed tone of voice reached my ears.

"Stay your blades!" I called, out of breath from running so hard. "He is a friend, not a pincushion! Leave him be!"

The three guards that paced nervously in front of Odahviing sheathed their blades and all looked at me. "Harbinger Dragonborn," one said, "this thing nearly crushed us! What were we supposed to do?"

"Move out of the way," Odahviing said, voice booming. "I had no desire to crush any mun today. I only desire to take counsel with the Dovahkiin."

"Leave us," I said to the guards. "Please."

They seemed more than happy to get out of Odahviing's striking distance. One even murmured something about me having lost my mind. I let it slide.

"Drem Yol Lok," the great dragon breathed, bowing his head. "It has been a long time since we have spoken, Dovahkiin."

"Drem Yol Lok," I said in return, pushing my face mask up. "Yes, it has been too long. I have been rather busy as of late."

"The birth of your children, yes, I know. Congratulations, Dovahkiin."

I ducked my head in thanks. "Is something wrong, Odahviing? Have the Blades harmed you or Parthurnaax?"

The way I left things with the Blades was nowhere near friendly terms. Delphine and I had a shouting match which ended with me using the first two words to my Unrelenting Force Shout to drive her over a table and into Esbern. After cursing my, my descendants', and my ancestors' names, she'd told me never to come back, unless I had killed Parthurnaax. I hadn't seen her nor Esbern since that day, and that suited me just fine.

"No, the Blades have not harmed us. There is something more. Something that concerns us dov not."

"Then what is it?"

"I have spotted a massive army approaching. They look ready to go to war."

"They're coming here? Who are they?"

"They brandish the Stormcloak bear and wear blue armor."

Ulfric was sending his armies to march on Whiterun? They were going to try to take the city? After all this time.... My heart pounded in my chest. My children lived in the city. A battle like this—

Gods, what is that man thinking?

"When will they arrive? How much time do we have to prepare?"

Odahviing bowed his head. "Not long, Dovahkiin. They will be here within a day's time. They waste no time marching."

Only a day. Not much time for preparations. "I hope that the Jarl has called for aid. There is no way we can defend the city with just the Hold guards."

"I believe that the Legion is on its way to reinforce the ranks. You should ask your Jarl."

At least we had that hope. I gave Odahviing a thankful nod. "Thank you for bringing me this news, old friend. You did not have to, but you did. I am in your debt."

"When you chose to spare my life? No, Dovahkiin. It is I who remains in your debt." He unfurled his massive, leathery wings. "Perhaps you will not wait as long to talk again? Shall I tell Parthurnaax to expect a visit soon?"

I laughed and patted his neck. "I fear not, old friend. There is much I still have to do. My children cannot be left by themselves, and my husband would never be able to make do without me."

"Then I wish you safety until we meet again."

"Calm skies, my dovah brother. May the wind be at your back, and the sun light your way."

"And may your Thu'um remain strong. Farewell, Ylva."

"Farewell, Odahviing."

He gave his wings two flaps, creating gusts of wind that nearly knocked me flat, and vaulted into the clear sky. He let loose a roar, then turned to fly east, towards the Throat of the World.

Once he was but a dot in the air, I raced down the path, running as though I had wings on my boots. I had news to deliver to the Jarl. He had to know about the army headed towards us. We needed to prepare.

As I sprinted, I thought about how the Companions would help. We would have to. We were honor-bound to defend Whiterun from any and all opposing forces. That didn't mean I liked the idea of killing my fellow Nords, who were only fighting for what they believed in. If their cause hadn't been headed by a pompous man such as Ulfric, I might have joined their ranks. And now I would have to fight—and more than likely kill—many of these soldiers.

Gods, please show me the right path. Give my guidance and wisdom for the battle that is yet to come.

I shot a glance to the sky, hoping that the gods were listening to me.

-------

A/N: Once again, I owe a name to Emerald_Parrish. She came up with the name Kaleir and I must thank her for it. So thanks, girl!
~WG 💙