The first of my senses that kicks into motion is my smell. I smell wood, everywhere, all around me, surrounding me, covering me. The next sense is my hearing. I hear a few cracks, then pieces of wood stumbling down to the ground, but mostly just silence, and the sound of the strong wind coming in through the entrance of the cave. Next is my sight, as I open my eyes. Before me, I can only see darkness, with occasional crooked, cracked slits of light peering through. You could see the dust lingering in the air, and in the rays of light I could see that the darkness was actually just more wood, broken, large pieces of wood, everywhere. The last feeling to come to me is touch, and I can feel pain all over me, mostly in my back and in my head, though. I feel something trickling down my forehead, something thick and moist that I know isn't just sweat, and the pain in my head seems to come from everywhere, as if hundreds of small people are fighting all over the land of my skull, not just concentrating on one place.
I break the silence with a groan, letting out a heavy breath, wincing at the pain on the inside and outside of my body. I shift, the wood shifting with me, the wood falling or rising, different pieces moving, or slipping off the pile. I start to move my arms, shoving off the massive pieces of wood surrounding me. My hand finally comes to the surface, my palm rubbing against the tough, rough, splintery wood. From there it's only a few seconds till I push the wood pile off and stand up, a wave of cold hitting me. As I look around, though, I regret ever waking up. The blood on the ground is dried, now, but definitely there, and Thorgar's body lies on the ground, decapitated, his head staring blankly ahead, on its side, its tongue hanging out, his eyes blank. Opposite him, just a few feet closer to the entrance, is the Imperial guard, a large hole in his belly, also staring blankly ahead. Next to Thorgar, a few feet away, is who I know is Badnir, lying face-down in the snow, two holes in his stomach. Dried blood covers the area around each of the bodies, and I just wish that I could join them in Sovngarde, wish that I could dine in the great hall alongside them and all the Nordic heroes. But no, I was left alive, and I was left to roam Skyrim alone, my friends killed, their blood shed for no reason whatsoever. I choke for a moment, holding back a sob, but I know that there's no point falling down and weeping amongst their blood now. There's nothing left here. The Whistling Mine was started by a group of friends who were more than friends, who were family but not blood, and became home to them, a promised land that never fulfilled its promise, and now whoever came to this mine would only find traces of dried blood and empty space. I walk over to Thorgar, my body aching terribly, and I kneel down. I'm completely alone now. The fact becomes even more so apparent when I hear my knee hitting the ice, no sound to accompany it. I slip my hands under Thorgar's body, and grunt as I hoist him up, standing up, holding the massive man in my arms, my body on fire under his weight, but I know to leave him here would be a bastardly thing to do. I step over the Imperial guard, my footsteps echoing in the mine as I make my way through the entrance, the cold wind hitting me harder as I step outside into the snow, my boots crunching against the white powder. I freeze in my place as I see Angvid lying in the snow, staring blankly at the deep, purple night sky, a giant hole in his chest. For a moment, I can't move, I can't think, I can merely look at my closest friend lying unmoving in the snow, never to move again, the snow around him flaky and red with his dried blood. The talks we had at the end of the day, our hunts together, him fixing food for the rest of us, all of these images flash before my eyes, and the sob is harder to choke back then ever. But I know he lies in Sovngarde, now, dining in the wondrous great Hall of Valor. My footsteps now are even heavier than they were, heavier than I ever imagined they could be, as I carry Thorgar through the snow. I walk, and I walk, and I walk, ignoring the freezing cold, until I reach the waters. At the waters had always lain a boat, an old, wooden boat, left behind by some traveler and never picked up again. We'd never had to use it, because we lived in the mine, but now was the time for it to come to us. I grunt as I drop Thorgar in the boat, free of his weight, then begin the trek backwards. It's even harder to come back and see them again, but I do it more than once, as I first pick up Badnir, then the Imperial guard, and drop them both in the boat. All that is left now are dried blood stains, and me and Angvid, and one torch in the mine that we would always keep in case we needed it. The silence is stronger than ever as I pick up Angvid, except now I carry him into the mine as set him down against the wall. I don't say a word, I hold back the sob, and I walk to the other side of the room, to the barrel of mead we had been saving for some rainy day. The rainy day had never come. Attached to the barrel was a spout, a handle attached, to pour out the mead. I pick up two cups, filling one, and return to Angvid, setting the cup down on his thigh, resting there, upright, clasping his cold, hard hands around it. I walk over to the barrel and heft it up, bringing it over to where Angvid sits, setting it down on the ground, and I sit a bit next to him, a corner separating us, so I can still look at him. I fill my cup full of mead and I down it in a second. My weary, tired eyes look over at his blank ones. I want to say something, to say some final goodbye that I never got to say properly, but my throat is just so amazingly tight that any single word that escapes would just sent me into terrible, wracking sobs. I drink my cup of mead, my throat tight, unable to taste anything but sadness. I clink our cups together, the sound loud in the empty, silent mine, then fill mine again.
"I-" I force the word out, scratching my throat out, the word a small, tired squeak, "I know you're-you're drinking mead in Sovngarde, brother, the b- the best mead, much better than this shit we have here," I continue, chuckling at the last part.
I look at him again.
"I never said goodbye to you guys. Never got to have a final feast, some final send-off, nothing. Now I'm alone," I say, and I go silent from the last part. I snap out of it a bit, and continue, "But we aren't the only people in Skyrim. I'm going to find the bastard who paid for your ticket to Sovngarde and I'm going to rip off his limbs and spread his blood across the walls of his house, brother. I'm going to send him down to whatever eternal torment his beliefs will send him to, but trust me, no matter what god he follows, whatever god the bastard worships, he'll go to hell, but I'll make him suffer and bleed and scream like a pig before I send him down there, brother."
I drink my mead, emptying the cup again, and fill it up.
"I'm going to join you in Sovngarde, brother, I'm going to be killed in battle. My blood will sink into the earth, a spear or a sword through my belly, and soon, but not before I rip off the head of the man who sent you to Sovngarde. I only hope you have time to hear me up there in the Hall of Valor, hope you still have time for the little people like us," I say, chuckling sadly again at the end. Every part of me feels so heavy.
"And if somehow, if somehow that bastard makes it up to Sovngarde, I'll follow him right up there, clinging to his bloodied, bruised soul, and I'll make his afterlife an eternal torture," I say. I look at Angvid again, the tears welling up in my eyes, and I say, "I promise you that."
Silence spreads like a wave through the cave as a tear breaks out of my eye, slipping through the dirt and grime surrounding it, and I wipe it away, putting down my cup of mead and setting down Angvid's, standing up then kneeling down and picking him up. His body was never as muscular or as large as Badnir or Thorgar, but somehow his weight is the heaviest, and I know it's just my soul that's heavy. I walk over to the side of the cave and pick up the torch, setting down Angvid by the pile of sticks where the fire used to be and rubbing a stick against the torch until finally it lights. Then I pick up Angvid again and I walk out of the mine, and to the waters again, setting him down in the boat. I put the torch against the boat, spreading the fire from the torch to the wood of the boat, the grime and dirt of my face gleaming against the fire, sweat finally starting to trickle down my face. It's not a perfect send-off, a warrior should be put in a wonderful, beautiful ship, not a rackety boat, and he should be sent to see in an amazing blaze with his lover and his dog, not his mead-buddies, and he should be sent with all his gold and jewelry and riches, but we never had any of those, except one stick of iron each. Angvid, Badnir, and Thorgar each have theirs, and I set mine down on Badnir's chest. The last remnant of The Whistling Mine. The fire spreads further on the boat, starting to catch on their bodies, and I step behind the boat, lifting my leg up and kicking it off, the boat splashing into the water and moving forward. I kick it again to get it moving steadily, and it does, then I merely stand there, once again ignoring the cold, watching with my tired, weary eyes as the fire becomes giant, smoke lifting up in the sky. It's not perfect, but I know Thorgar and Badnir would love me for giving them such a send-off, and Angvid would be happy to be on his way to Sovngarde, with his friends.
The fire continues off into the night, slipping across the dark, beautiful night waters, gently, the fires thrumming, strong against the wind. There is nothing left of The Whistling Mine but blood stains and ice, now. There are no men, there is no life, there are merely marks of its end. I am no remnant of The Whistling Mine because I'm already dead, I'm merely a ghost with flesh and a want for blood of a certain man.
