"Red!" The shout echoed through Jorrvaskr.
Falka had fallen asleep over some paperwork. Now, she jerked awake.
"Red!" The walls echoed from the yell.
Still drugged with sleep, she jumped to her feet.
"Red!" A third time, the roar literally shook the foundations of the ancient hall. Vilkas was screaming for her on the top of his lungs. Falka was fully awake now, her mind happily supplying horrors that might have prompted his frantic reaction.
"Red!"
By the time the echo had died down, Falka was already racing through the hallway. She crashed into Torvar emerging from the dorm, and sped up the short flight of stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Sick with worry, she arrived in the main hall. The urgency in Vilkas' shout made her expect the worst.
"Red!"
She staggered as she saw Njada and him, kneeling in a pool of blood next to a limp body. Tilma. Her body was sprawled over the short flight of stairs that led out to Jorrvaskr's backyard. Njada, her hands smeared with blood, was pressing some linen against Tilma's head. Next to her, Vilkas was trying to raise a healing spell with shaking hands. Blood gushed from a wound on Tilma's head. Ria and Athis, drawn from their training session by Vilkas' shouts, stood nearby, both of them frozen, still as statues and unable to help.
"Red!" Vilkas hollered again without looking up from the injured woman.
"I'm here." Falka placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm here."
Vilkas cast a brief look her way. His already pale face was white as snow. "Red." Sweat shone on his forehead.
"Vilkas?" Tilma breathed, her voice feeble and slurred. "Did… I… fall?" She spoke with difficulty, and it took her forever to articulate the simple question.
"Yes, you fell," Vilkas told her, "but we're here now and you are safe. It'll be all right."
Njada caught Falka's eye, directing her gaze to the profusely bleeding wound on Tilma's head. For an instant, Njada lessened her pressure against the injury. Blood gushed out and over brow, linen, and Njada's hand.
"I… don't feel… too well," Tilma mumbled.
"Don't you worry, Tilma," Vilkas gently reassured her, "Falka's here, and she will heal you." He tried his best to sound confident, though the desperate look his cast Falka's way told another story.
Tilma's eyelids fluttered and fell shut. Falka let go of Vilkas' shoulder and sank to her knees behind Tilma's head. Her eyes darted over the old woman's body.
"No other injuries." Vilkas' voice was pressed. "Least none that I can see."
Falka nodded, and returned her attention to the head wound. She concentrated, and a ball of golden light formed between her palms. Vilkas watched as Falka directed the golden light towards Tilma's head, letting it wash over the injury. Taking over from Njada, Vilkas took Tilma's head between his hands, making sure not to lessen the pressure on the compression as he did. The linen was wet with blood. He could feel the healing power as it rushed into the old woman's body, some of it going astray and strengthening his own weary limbs.
Moments passed. Nobody spoke as all present stared at Falka's hands and the golden light flowing from them. Someone – Ria maybe – drew a sharp breath as Falka's hands and arms started to shake from exhaustion. With a desperate shout, Falka pushed everything she had into one last gush of healing power, before slumping down on the floor next to Tilma, spent, and panting heavily.
Njada and Vilkas bent over the old woman. And sighed in relief at what they saw. The bleeding had stopped. Though there still was a nasty gash on Tilma's forehead, Vilkas now dared to slacken the pressure against the injury.
"Farkas?" The old woman's voice was barely a whisper as her gaze ghosted over his face.
"No, Tilma." He gently stroke her cheek, relief clearly visible on his face. "It's me, Vilkas." He looked up from the old woman, smiling. And caught sight of Falka, still slumped on the stairs and weak from exhaustion. Concern replaced the relief. "Red?"
"'m fine," she mumbled. "Give me a moment." And, waving at Tilma, she added, "See to her."
Gently, Vilkas gathered Tilma's frail form in his arms.
"Careful," Njada admonished. "Watch her head."
Vilkas grunted in reply, paused, and allowed Njada to cradle Tilma's head in her hands. They stood, and Njada gently secured Tilma's head on Vilkas' shoulder. Ria and Athis – for once not at each others throats – went to fetch water and wrappings to clean and dress the wound.
"Bring everything to my old room," Vilkas instructed them. In his arms, Tilma whimpered. "We'll have you resting in a bed in no time, Tilma," he assured her, not entirely sure the old woman was still conscious enough to hear him. "Red?" Vilkas then inquired, turning to face his wife.
But instead of getting up, Falka had stretched out across the floor, one arm covering her eyes.
"Falka!" His outcry made all the Companions present in the hall turn their heads.
Wearily, Falka peeked out from underneath her arm. Worry already hardened the etches on Vilkas' face, and the sight of her weariness only deepened them. Sighing, Falka slowly sat up and rested herself against the nearest wooden pillar. After a few moments, she drew a deep breath and, steadying herself on the pillar, tried to pull herself up.
"Woah—" she groaned, reeling, and sank down to the floor again.
"Red, you're scaring me." Vilkas took a step towards her.
"Njada!"
The young woman tore her gaze from her Harbinger to look at him. "Here, take Tilma."
Tilma whimpered.
"Vilkas," Falka's voice interrupted. "Just see after Tilma. Njada will help me, right?"
Caught between Vilkas and Falka, all Njada could do was stammer her agreement. Vilkas watched as she helped Falka stand, then turned and left.
When Falka caught up with him, Vilkas had already placed Tilma on the bed in his old room. More exhausted than she would have admitted to be, Falka sank down into the nearest chair. Njada hovered in the doorway, inefficiently wiping at the dried blood on her hands. With a feeble voice, Tilma complained about the chill in the room. Vilkas pulled a thick blanket from a chest, wrapping it around Tilma's frail body.
"Send for Danica," Falka at last broke the silence.
Puzzled, Njada looked at her, eyebrows raised high. Even Vilkas diverted his attention from Tilma to cast a worried look at his wife. "Red?"
"Send for a healer."
"No, no healer," the old woman muttered. "'m fine. No healer." She had difficulties speaking, and her voice sounded foreign, slurred and slow.
Falka caught Vilkas' eye and tellingly nodded in Tilma's direction.
"I know," Vilkas sighed. He sighed, then nodded his agreement. "Get Danica, Njada."
"Red," Vilkas woke Falka some moments later. Tilma's wound had been cleaned and bandaged, and Vilkas was kneeling in front of Falka now. "What's wrong with you?" Concern shone in his eyes.
"The healing," Falka mumbled.
"The healing?" he echoed, his brow furrowing. "Come here."
Vilkas pulled her up from the chair, only to take it himself and pull Falka back down with him. She huddled up against his chest.
"I never saw you get so drained from healing an injury before."
Falka shook her head. "That wasn't it. Something else drained me. Tilma…" She paused, shaking her head again. "I can't describe it. It's just… it completely dried me. Look." Her hand described the gesture Vilkas had come to know so well over the last year. But this time, no ball of fire sat on her open palm at the end of it. She tried again, but in vain. "To the last drop."
"That why you sent for Danica?"
Falka nodded. "Something else drained me."
"By the gods," Vilkas sighed and pulled her closer.
A knock on the door brought them back to reality. Danica had arrived. While she carefully examined the old woman, Vilkas filled her in on Tilma's accident.
"You healed it?" Danica queried, gently inspecting the injury. Tilma moaned.
"Aye." Falka told her what she had told Vilkas earlier.
Danica narrowed her eyes at Falka, then again bent over Tilma's body. A few moments went by, then Danica's hands were immersed in golden light. The entire room was washed in the radiant brightness, bathing everything from walls to furniture in amber hues. Danica muttered to herself as she let her power wash over Tilma's still body. Vilkas and Falka exchanged a worried glance.
"You're right," the healer finally admitted. The room returned to its usual, much dimmer illumination as she let the energy on her palms dissolve. "There's more than the laceration to attend to." She held up a hand, choking off Vilkas' intended interruption. "But let me finish my examination first."
"She needs to rest," Danica stated. She had finished Tilma's examination and had joined Vilkas and Falka in the Harbinger's small apartment for a beer.
"But she only stumbled over the short flight of stairs," Vilkas shook his head in disbelief. "Surely there can't be that much harm done."
Danica shook her head. "I am afraid her fall today is not the cause, only the outcome." She looked him in the eye. "She's old, Vilkas. I am afraid her heart… it's not as strong as it used to be."
Vilkas looked at her, distressed and for once lost for words. "Her heart?"
The healer nodded. "It is weakening."
"So she's dying then?"
Danica shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can't say for sure. I tried strengthening her as best as I could, gave her something to help her relax. The loss of blood has weakened her severely, much more than it would have weakened one of you. It was good luck you treated the wound so efficiently. Otherwise… she might have bled to death today." She sighed. "But she did not, and she might still have some years before her. If she recovers from this."
"What are we to do?" Falka asked.
"Here." Danica placed a small bottle on the table. "This should help her."
Falka picked it up and held it against the light. "What is it?"
"An extract made of Fly Amanita, Mora Tapinella and Scaly Pholiota, mostly, to strengthen her heart. A spoonful thrice a day should suffice, I'd say. And she should drink a lot. Tea from Juniper berries and lavender would be best."
Falka and Vilkas nodded at the healer's instructions.
"And most importantly, she needs to rest. Don't let her get up anytime soon. And once she does, she must not work as hard as she did before." Danica took a swig from her tankard to let her message sink in. "She had tended Kodlak during his illness, am I right?"
The two Companions nodded.
"I thought as much," Danica sighed. "How long has he been gone now?"
"Almost a year," Vilkas hesitantly supplied.
"And now that he's been gone and all the responsibility's fallen from her shoulders…" Danica did not finish her thought.
They sat in silence for some time. Vilkas was staring at some point in the distance, lost in thoughts. Danica finished her ale, studying him and his wife.
"Where's Farkas?" she finally spoke up.
"In Solitude," Falka answered her. "Do you think…"
"Maybe…," Danica sighed, "you should send for him. Maybe…" Helplessly, she shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you more. Tilma's an old woman. She's been fit as a young lamb for so long, but now, I fear, age has finally caught up with her." The healer sighed again, then finished her beer. "I should be going now." Danica stood. "I will drop by tomorrow to see after Tilma again. Until then, goodbye."