He found her in their home in Markarth, staring at her old glass armour mounted on a mannequin in the great hall. Stepping up behind her, he sneaked his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
"Here you are, love."
"Vilkas." Her answer was barely more than a whisper.
The green glass of the armour glittered in the light of the candles. She raised a hand to trace the patterns engraved on the breastplate. It had been three or four months since she'd replaced it with a better one, that one made from the scales of the two dragons they had slain near Whiterun half a year ago. Now, her fingers left traces in the dust that had begun settling on the old piece.
"I wore that in Riften."
"I know, my love."
She let her hand fall to her side again.
"What troubles you?"
She shook her head. "I can't tell you."
"Red. I'm not blind. I know you brought Ulfric's army to Whiterun in spring. I know you were there when Markath fell, and Morthal."
His wife sighed.
"You are marching against Solitude, aren't you? Against Elisif."
She stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him. "Yes." Her admission echoed through the empty house.
"Despite what Ulfric thinks of other races?"
The more Vilkas was worried, the thicker his nord dialect became. Usually, she loved it; that special melody of speech that was so different from her own accent. That night, though, it was lost on her.
"What can I do? Let the Thalmor's puppets tyrannise us instead?"
He caught her hands and pulled her close again. "No," he admitted.
For a few moments, she allowed herself to bask in the support he gave her, the feeling of his strong arms encompassing her. Returning his embrace, she buried her face in his chest.
"We're marching at dawn," she then admitted, pulling away.
"Solitude is heavily guarded." His voice was thick with worry.
"Yes," she admitted. "Vilkas." She placed her hand on his chest. "If I don't return… I want you to lead the Companions." Her voice trembled. "Take my place as Harbinger. I've sent letters to Farkas and Aela, to be opened in such a case. They'll know and await you."
Instead of fighting her, Vilkas lowered his head, covering her hand with his. "As you wish, Harbinger."
She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat, forcing herself to continue. "There is one more thing I ask of you. Vilkas, when you put my body to its final rest, take the glass armour."
He raised his head to look at her. "Warriors are buried in their best armour," he objected.
She forced a smile on her face. "It is my best, my dear. Dressed like that, you will know me everywhere. Even… Even in Sovngarde."