Once again, I donned my armor. Once again, I strapped on my sword. Once again, I rested my helm over my head. And I hoped it would be a long time before I would have use of my armor and sword again.

Eirik was passed out on his bed in the whelps' room. He had a pitcher of water and an empty cup by his bed, and his face was buried into the furs of his bed. Out cold and hungover.

I sighed and left him be. With the loss of his best friend, I feared that Eirik would lose himself to his grief, leave us, or even worse, take his own life. But if he was still unconscious, then I could give him counsel when I returned from Dragonsreach.

Many of Whiterun's citizens were bustling about, helping repair the damage that the Stormcloaks had done. Men carried pieces of the broken wooden barriers, women swept the cobbles. Remaining guards and a few Legionnaires carried the remaining bodies away.

"Harbinger Dragonborn?"

I turned to the Legionnaire who had called to me. He was a burly Nord wearing leather Imperial armor, the armor of a foot soldier. He wore no helm on his head, and his light brown hair was unkempt, other than two identical braids dangling from either side of his head. Unlike most Legionnaires, he wielded a massive, two-handed battle axe. Not an Imperial weapon. Despite just fighting—and barely winning—a battle, he had a small grin on his chiseled face. I had to admit, he was handsome. And also somewhat familiar....

"What do you need, sir?"

He chuckled. "Don't call me 'sir,' please, ma'am. I'm Benor. My friends call me Ben."

Now I understood why he looked familiar. "Benor... yes, I remember you." I balled my hand into a fist. "You punch like a girl."

"How... wait, you're—"

"That scrawny Nord girl who came through Morthal, looking for any kind of job. You told me that I had to prove I could fight before I could start looking for a job in 'your town.'"

"You weren't even eighteen yet. The townspeople didn't let me live that down. I'm sure that, if I were still there, they'd remind me of the time a kid knocked me flat." His grin widened. "Small world, huh?"

"Indeed. What was it that you wanted?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping. I know that Legate Brunelli has a tendency to be... thankless, for lack of a better word, so I just want to thank you on her behalf and the behalf of the Legion."

I bowed my head. "Why did you join the Empire's fight?"

At this, his cheeks started to flush. He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "Because... I wanted some action. Nothin' much happens 'round Morthal. I wanted to travel, make a difference."

I raised an eyebrow and suppressed a snort. That could not have been the full truth. He was hiding something, but it was not my place to know or ask. So I left it at that. "You'll have to excuse me, Benor. I'm late for a meeting with the Jarl."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you." He looked up then. The redness had gone, but his dark eyes still held a nervous sparkle. "Thank you again."

"It was an honor." I ducked my head once more, then headed to Dragonsreach. I had kept the Jarl waiting long enough. It was time to meet with him. See what he needed.

When I found him, he was pacing back and forth in front of that same table I had left him at. He still wore his steel-plate armor, although he had donned his circlet of gold again. His sword was no longer at his hip, but had been laid on the table. He looked up when he saw me. "You've come."

"Yes. I apologize for the delay."

"No need, Ylva. You needed to see your family, get some rest." His face grew somber. "Honor your dead."

"I appreciate the time you gave me to do those things." I sighed. "But now it's time to discuss other things. You wanted to meet with me. Why?"

"I want your advice."

"My advice? Shouldn't you be asking your steward for advice?"

"Proventius, while a good man, does not possess the wisdom that you do. I want to know, do you think I did the right thing for my people? Siding with the Empire?"

"You want an unbiased opinion. Your steward would not give you one."

"You're right. He is an Imperial by both blood and soul. He would never say anything against the Empire."

I sighed and nodded. "Fair enough. Did you make this decision for your people or yourself?"

"I keep asking myself the same thing." He began to pace all over again, hands clasped at his back. "Did I do this for my people? Is this what's best? Or did I choose this side because I feared what would happen should I not? I love Talos. I want to be able to freely praise him, give him his due honor. But we need the Empire. We are the Empire. Without it, our beautiful land would fall into chaos."

"The Empire of old, perhaps. I love Talos, too. Nothing the Thalmor or White-Gold Concordat say or do will change that. I will always be a Nord, and always stay true to my patron Divine. That being said, I believe the Empire is not strong. I think it is crumbling. It has been crumbling since the Great War."

"Are you saying I should have sided with Ulfric and his rabble?"

"No. But they are not completely wrong. If it were up to me, I would think that Skyrim should stand on her own. I think we are strong enough. But I am not in charge. I know nothing about leadership or politics. I think that you made the right move at this time. You thought of your people and only your people. That in itself is always the right choice."

He stopped pacing. Took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. "And what if the Empire wins?"

"That will be a bridge that you and the other Jarls will cross when it's time. Do not borrow trouble, my lord. It benefits you none."

He smirked. "Are you sure you don't want to be my Thane? Dragonsreach could use you. I think I would trust you with my throne."

I scoffed. "Please. Keeping ten warriors—" I stopped myself. No longer ten warriors. "I mean, eight warriors in check is hard enough. I couldn't imagine running an entire Hold." A grin turned up one side of my lips. "I'll leave that to you, Balgruuf."

He laughed. "I thank you for the advice."

"I'm thankful that people still trust me. I know that many Nords will now hate me for what I have done. Siding with you, with the Empire, has made me a criminal in their eyes. No longer worthy of respect."

"Don't worry about them. You are still wise beyond your years. We should all aspire to be like you."

I rolled my eyes. "Gods forbid. The world doesn't need more of me running around." I stood up straight. "Is that all?"

"Yes." He leaned against the table. "I still have to meet with Legate Brunelli. She has some things for me to sign or seal. Things that she needs to bring before Tullius. Then she and her troops will return to their respective camps." He sighed. "I can't say I'll miss the Legion walking through my city. Their presence makes people nervous."

"It won't last forever." I gave him a salute, which he returned with a nod. "I'll take my leave. Should you need anything else, you have but to ask."

"Thank you, Ylva."

I turned on my heel and left. I needed to get back to Jorrvaskr and check on my Companions. Eirik was my biggest concern. I cared for all of them, and knew that this loss affected them all, but Eirik was just a lad. A lad who had lost his best friend, his mentor, no less. That was not something one could just get over.

It was no surprise that I found him at the table, drinking even more alcohol. He stared at the bottom of his tankard, eyes glassy and unfocused. Others such as Aela and Njada sat at the table and ate, but otherwise, the room was empty.

I sat down next to Eirik and took an apple from the bowl in front of me. "How are you feeling?"

Eirik scoffed. "I just lost my best friend." His words slurred together. Already drunk. "You tell me how I feel."

"Eirik," Aela warned from her place at the table. "Remember who you're addressing."

I held up a hand in her direction. "I can handle this, Aela."

She nodded, then motioned for Njada to follow her out of the dining room. They headed outside, going to train, I assumed.

"Eirik, I know this is hard, but this," I pointed to his cup, "isn't going to fix it."

"You never talked to him about his drinking problem." He took another swig of mead. "You let him be."

I set down my apple. "No, I did talk to him. He didn't listen very well. Besides, I can't make any Companion do anything. I'm not a leader. Not a general."

"You could've fooled me."

I furrowed my brow. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. You say you're just an advisor, but you boss us around like we're children. And you expect us to just go with it. What if we've had enough of that?"

"Eirik, you're drunk. You don't mean anything you're saying."

"Oh, yeah?" He stood up, tankard discarded. He readied his fists. "You think I'm joking?"

"I think you're confused." I stood, too, backing away ever so slightly. "I think you should go lie down and sleep this off."

"What if I don't want to?" He glared at me. "What if I like this?"

"Eirik—"

He took a swing at me, and I ducked just in time to miss it. He stumbled as his momentum caught up to him, nearly falling into the fire pit.

"Eirik, what are you doing?" I dodged another of his swings, but his other fist caught me in the side. My armor rang with the impact. He cursed out loud, then lunged for me.

I rolled away, and Eirik sailed over my head. He landed against the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He shook his head, touched his bleeding temple, and shot to his feet.

"Gods, you're annoying." He glowered at me, fresh blood trickling down his face. "And I never should've joined the Companions. They're nothing but glorified mercenaries."

"Listen to yourself! Do you think Torvar would want you to say that?!"

"I don't care! He's gone! And he's never coming back!" At this, I noticed the tears welling in his eyes.

"Eirik—"

"Shut up!" He ran for me again, but this time, I struck back. One blow to the back of his head, and he dropped like a rag doll.

Heavy pairs of footsteps thundered up the stairs. "What in Oblivion is going on?!"

I turned to see both Farkas and Vilkas standing by the stairs, shock on their faces. They looked at me, then at the still form of Eirik at my feet.

"Ylva, what in Oblivion happened?" Vilkas asked as he came close to me.

"He was drunk, not making any sense. He was trying to fight me. I couldn't let it keep going."

"Did you do this?" Farkas asked as he knelt next to Eirik. He pointed to the small wound on the side of Eirik's head.

"No. He fell against the stairs after he tried to tackle me."

"When he wakes—" Vilkas scowled and balled one hand into a tight fist.

"You won't do anything." I laid a hand on his arm. "I'll handle this. Don't worry about it. He just needs to sober up."

Farkas wasted no time throwing Eirik over his shoulder. "I'll get him downstairs."

I nodded once. "Thank you, brother."

With that, Farkas turned on his heel, making Eirik's head bump against the table. I winced, Farkas gave me a sheepish look, then he left the main hall.

"How was your talk with the Jarl?" Vilkas asked, leading me back to the table.

"It was nothing, really. He just wanted some advice from an unbiased standpoint. Where are the children?"

"Asleep in their room. Poor things are exhausted." He chuckled and helped himself to a half-loaf of garlic bread. "And I am not much better. It's been quite some time since I've been in such a fight."

"I know." I rested my elbows on the table, then placed my face in my hands. "I'm used to fighting small pockets of people, not an army. The last real fight I had was... Miraak."

"Seven years ago." Vilkas let out a low whistle. "Has it really been that long?"

I nodded. "Skyrim has been safe since then. Other than this civil war, this land has been at peace. But now I fear that it will soon be threatened by chaos again."

"You mean the Thalmor?"

"Yes. However this war ends, whichever side wins, Skyrim will still lose."

"Then what are we to do?"

I shook my head. "Gods only know."

Vilkas took my hand in his and gently entwined his fingers with mine. "Don't borrow trouble, Ylva. It benefits you none."

I laughed a little. "I just came back from giving the Jarl that very same advice."

"Well, then." He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "You should listen to yourself more often."