Skipping forward again. Sorscha has been to Glenmoril Coven, killed the witches, and retrieved their heads. She comes home to tragedy at Jorrvaskr.

Searching for Memories 4

Witch Heads and Hotheads

The hagravens hadn't stood a chance. Sorscha had barged into the cave of the Glenmoril witches and slaughtered every single one of them in mere minutes. Kodlak probably wouldn't like the way she did it; she had changed to beast form and clawed her way through the cave, a rather poetic end to the chain of events they had started so long ago. Sorscha didn't know how hagravens aged, so she couldn't be certain if these were the witches responsible for cursing the Companions with the Beast Blood or if they were just descendants, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that she now had the means to cure Kodlak: twenty pounds of witch head weighing down her pack.

She also had some other items she needed to unload before making her way to Jorrvaskr. Not only had she looted the chests at Glenmoril, she had killed a dragon on her way back and kept a bone and a scale, as she did with every dragon she killed. That was another twenty-five pounds she needed to drop off. As soon as she entered the gates of Whiterun, Sorscha turned toward Warmaiden's blacksmith shop. Adrianne Avenicci was at the forge, working on a blade, and Sorscha waved at her before going to the door of the shop (Adrianne's husband Ulfberth War-Bear gave her better prices; being pretty had its advantages). The shop was locked, a strange occurrence for the middle of the day. She went around to the forge.

"Where's War-Bear?" she asked.

"Big happenings at Jorrvaskr," said Adrianne. "You might want to get over there."

"What is it?"

The attractive Imperial placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You should go," she said gravely.

A knot formed in the pit of Sorscha's stomach, and a terrible chill washed over her. The meaning in Adrianne's gesture and simple words was clear: something horrible had happened. Sorscha took off running, the weight of the witch heads and her treasure barely noticeable as she darted through the Plains District and up the stairs to the Wind District. The first thing she saw upon reaching the second level of Whiterun was her shield-brother Torvar standing on the lawn over a dead body. As she came around the corner, she noticed Aela was standing there as well. Half the town milled around the bottom of the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr.

"The Silver Hand," said Torvar when she approached.

"Oh, gods," Sorscha said as she scrambled up the steps and threw open the door to the mead hall. She collided with Vilkas as she entered the building. He blocked her way so that she could barely get through the door.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"I was doing something for Kodlak."

"Well, I hope it was important, because it means you weren't here to defend him."

Sorscha pushed past Vilkas, and then she saw him. Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions, lay on the steps that led down into the dining hall, stripped to his loincloth and very dead.

Why was he nearly naked? Was it because of her? Sorscha had an unsavory habit of stripping the armor from her fallen enemies if time permitted, essentially to add insult to injury, and she had rendered a few Silver Hand naked in her raids. Had they done it to Kodlak in retaliation? But his heavy wolf armor wouldn't have been easy to remove. If they had the time to do so, where was everybody else? She was afraid to ask.

Farkas sat next to Kodlak, as did Njada, who was crying. Sorscha berated herself for the involuntary thought, well, what do you know? She does have feelings. Njada had been nothing but a raging bitch since Sorscha had joined the Companions. They had engaged in a couple of fistfights, in both of which Sorscha had wiped the floor with the snide young Nord, but that hadn't stopped Njada's smart mouth. Even in such tragic circumstances as these, Sorscha couldn't think of a single kind word for her.

Vilkas stepped back in front of Sorscha and loomed over her—which was quite a feat, seeing that he was a couple of inches shorter than she was—and she turned her attention back to him. If there was any resident of Jorrvaskr she liked less than Njada, it was Vilkas. He and Farkas may have been identical twins, but there was no trouble telling them apart. Vilkas was usually clean shaven and not as rough around the edges as Farkas. He was also slimmer than Farkas, who was heavily muscled. But where his brother had warm eyes and an easy smile, Vilkas seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. She had only seen him smile once or twice, usually at Farkas or Ria, another new Companion.

"Torvar said it was the Silver Hand," Sorscha said, resisting the urge to take a step back.

"Aye," said Vilkas. "They finally had the courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We were able to fight them off, of course, but not without...casualties."

"Anyone else?"

"Isn't Kodlak enough?"

"Come on, Vilkas."

"No, no one else was killed, but they got away with the fragments of Wuuthrad."

Rage boiled up within Sorscha. Talk about insult to injury. "Where did they go?"

"Driftshade Refuge, near Dawnstar. And we're going together."

Oh, joy. A long trip with Vilkas picking on her the whole way, right on the heels of losing Kodlak.

"I have a couple of stops to make first."

"Make it quick."

Sorscha sneered and stepped around him. She knelt next to Farkas and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn't look up, but he reached up and squeezed her hand. When he released it, she stood and headed for the door. "Let's go," she said to Vilkas.

Her first stop was Breezehome. She ran upstairs to her room with Vilkas hot on her heels. She thought about telling him to wait downstairs, but she wanted him to see what she was unloading. As Sorscha entered the door to the bedroom, she said, "Hello, Lydia," without even looking over. The chair in the corner of her room was her housecarl's favorite place, gods knew why. She would sooner sit up there at the table, munching on bread, than relax in the living room by the fire. It didn't bother Sorscha. Lydia was there alone most of the time; she might as well be comfortable.

Sorscha liked Lydia but didn't know her well She hadn't bothered to try and make friends with the housecarl because she was still making a half-hearted attempt to remain aloof and detached with the people of Whiterun, at least until she found out who and what she had been before she had lost her memory. It was a friendly village, so it was difficult—even more so with Lydia, who lived with her—and her resolve to keep them at arm's length was failing, but for now she would persevere as best she could.

"Greetings, my Thane," Lydia said when they walked into the room. "Vilkas."

"Lydia."

Sorscha dropped her knapsack on the bed and dug around for the bone and scale, which she held up to show Vilkas. "This was part of the reason for the delay," she said, then dropped the pieces into her foot locker.

Vilkas just stared at her.

"What?"

"I'd heard rumors, but I thought that was all they were."

"Well, now you know." She retrieved the heads, which were wrapped in a burlap sack she had found in the cave, and threw them into the chest as well, then she picked her pack up and slung it over her shoulder. "We're off, Lydia."

"Fight well, my Thane."

After a quick stop at Warmaiden's to sell a couple of items, Sorscha and Vilkas left Whiterun and headed north. Sorscha remained silent, too angry to attempt idle conversation. Even a couple of hours after her return to Jorrvaskr, she was furious—at the Silver Hand for attacking the mead hall and killing Kodlak, at the dragon for delaying her, and at Vilkas for being such an ass about it. Sorscha didn't understand it. She hadn't done anything to get on his bad side, but he had decided to dislike her, and he did everything he could to make her life difficult. Vilkas believed she spent too little time at Jorrvaskr. There was work to be done, and she wasn't around to do it. She came and went, what with working for the Thieves' Guild, fighting dragons, and running errands for what seemed like every citizen in Skyrim. She didn't mind doing favors for people; it gave her an opportunity to talk to them, ask questions, and search for clues as to where she was from, but it did keep her busy. In fact, it had just been coincidence that she had done the job for Kodlak when she did. She had been on her way to Solitude to question some shifty Argonian who was trying to help put the Thieves' Guild, which was already in dire straits, in even more trouble. She had only stopped in Whiterun to drop some things off at Breezehome and to give Aela an item she had retrieved for her, and Aela had directed her to Kodlak. Sorscha wondered how Vilkas would have treated her if she had shown up days or weeks after the Silver Hand's attack.

Sorscha used her general annoyance at Vilkas and the way he had talked to her at Jorrvaskr to fuel her anger, and she held onto it, nurtured it, so she could use it against the Silver Hand at Driftshade Refuge. Vilkas, however, wasn't finished haranguing her. Just as they reached what Sorscha liked to call the "snow line," the place where the tundra of Whiterun gave way to the snowy landscapes of The Pale, Vilkas said, "You never did tell me where you were."

"You're right. I didn't."

"So where were you?"

Sorscha stopped and stepped in, crowding him. Vilkas took a step back, but she followed and pressed her face so close that their noses were almost touching. "You want to know where I was? I'll tell you. I was at the Glenmoril Coven, killing hagravens. I brought their heads back because Kodlak thought they could cure him."

Vilkas stepped back again and said, "The Glenmoril...by the Eight!"

"But I guess I took too much time, huh? Oh, and by the way, there are Nine."

"Is something on your mind, Sorscha?" Vilkas snapped, his eyes blazing and rage flaring in his scent.

"Aye, something's on my mind. You have been hostile with me since the first time I walked into Jorrvaskr. You've insulted me, picked on me, ordered me around, and today you had the gall to imply that I was to blame for Kodlak's death. Do you think I didn't wonder that very thing? I returned to Jorrvaskr what, less than an hour after the Silver Hand attacked? Had I not stopped to battle that dragon, I might have made it back in time to save Kodlak. Or, I might have made it back in time to fight, he would still have been killed, and you'd find some other reason to blame me. But I had to kill the dragon, because he was heading in the direction of Riverwood, and I didn't want to see another village burned to the ground."

"Another?"

"I was at Helgen." Vilkas's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sorscha cut him off. "Just tell me, Vilkas. What is it? What did I do to make you dislike me so?"

Vilkas sighed and turned away. He took off his helmet, leaned against a nearby tree, and ran a hand through his hair. "Farkas mentioned something about Helgen, but I hadn't realized you were there when the dragon attacked."

"Well, don't worry. I've gotten over it."

"How does one get over something like that?"

"Okay, so maybe I haven't."

"The nightmares."

Sorscha shrugged in response.

"I heard your cries in the night and knew you were troubled, but I didn't know the extent of it. I'm sorry if I have been too rough on you, but I don't dislike you. I just see potential in you and push you to do your best."

"But I do my best. It's that or die. Or get somebody else killed. I have too much on my conscience already without having to live with that."

Vilkas put his helmet back on and stood to full height. "Shall we continue on?"

When Driftshade Refuge came into sight, Sorscha ducked behind a bush, and Vilkas crouched with her. "I can smell your anger," she said. "I know you want to rush in and slaughter every Silver Hand you come across, but Vilkas, we have to keep our heads. We can't go in there in a rage, because if we do, we won't come back out. They've killed two Companions now, and I don't want to be next, so play it smart. Stay low and let me take out the unsuspecting with the bow."

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he sighed, nodded, and said, "You're right. I will follow your lead."

Vilkas's response surprised Sorscha, but she didn't mention it now. Instead, she stepped out from behind the bush. A Silver Hand was standing guard on the roof, and Sorscha shot him down easily; but another, an Orc, came around the building and attacked. Vilkas snarled and engaged the bandit, who wielded a huge warhammer. Sorscha kept her bow trained on the Orc in case he got the better of her shield-brother.

Shield-brother. It was the first time she had thought of him that way.

Vilkas defeated the Orc, and they entered the keep. He let Sorscha have the lead, but he had plenty to do, himself. They came across six or eight Silver Hand, only two of which was Sorscha able to sneak up on and shoot. The other attacks resulted in bloody melees that made too much ruckus for Sorscha's comfort. The more noise they made, the less likely they would be able to sneak up on anybody.

In an ice-covered cellar, they found a caged werewolf. "Do we release him?" Sorscha asked.

The werewolf growled at them.

"He's out of his mind," said Vilkas. "Can't you smell it? He's completely feral. He's been subjected to torture for so long, he's imprisoned in his beast form and he's lost his humanity. If we free him, he'll attack."

"Well, we can't just leave him here. He'll starve to death."

"Then we kill him. Mercifully."

Sorscha nodded and drew her flaming sword. The werewolf looked her directly in the eye, stepped toward the bars of the cage, and nodded. He evidently wasn't as far gone as Vilkas had thought, but he wanted this. She sighed heavily and thrust the blade through the bars to pierce the werewolf's heart. With a groan, he fell to the floor and perished. Sorscha reached through and removed the blade.

"Go and hunt with Hircine, brother," Vilkas said sadly. "Let's move on."

Deep in the bowels of the fort, they came upon a set of stairs that led to a room where three Silver Hand sat at a table. They snuck onto a balcony overlooking the table, and Sorscha saw the fragments of Wuuthrad laid out before the thugs. She assessed the men. Two Nords, one Orc. One of the Nords was wearing steel plate armor similar to that the Skinner had worn at Gallows Rock. He must be the leader; they always seemed to be dressed better than the others. Sorscha figured she could take out one of them while they were sitting at the table, leaving the other two to fight hand to hand. She aimed for the one in the steel plate. The arrow hit, but it only bounced off his armor, so they had three to contend with. Sorscha dropped her bow and drew her swords.

The bandits rushed up the stairs and attacked. The Orc came at her with a warhammer and hit her hard, sending her stumbling backward. Fortunately, Farkas had taken the time to train her how to use her armor to protect herself, and she took no more than some nasty bruises. She managed to stay on her feet and engage the other Nord, who attacked her from the side. Raising the flaming sword to knock his blade upward, she shoved the other, non-enchanted blade under his raised arm, and he shrieked and dropped. Sorscha barely had time to remove the blade before the Orc swung the hammer at her again. She ducked and took a wild swing with her two swords, making negligible wounds in his legs with each of them. He backed off with an, "Oof!" giving her time to reset.

From the corner of her eye, Sorscha saw the Silver Hand in heavy armor chopping away at Vilkas with a war axe. Vilkas managed to get a swing with his greatsword, making his opponent stagger, but the heavily-armored Nord was back on him in a second. Sorscha didn't see any more, because the Orc came back at her with a vengeance, slamming his hammer into her breastplate and jarring her to the bone. She would need more than just a couple of swords to dispatch this one. "Krii!" she Shouted. The Orc faltered, grunted, and came at her again, but the Marked for Death Shout had weakened him. One more strike with her flaming sword—again, only at his shoulder—and he fell to his knees. She finished him off with a stab in the back and turned to the others.

Vilkas was on his hands and knees, barely alive and covered in his own blood, and the Silver Hand leader had his axe raised over his head, ready to administer the killing blow. From this angle, he would decapitate her shield-brother before he could even attempt to get out of the way. Sorscha rushed him, swinging her weapons fiercely and slicing into his throat with one, then the other. The attack didn't decapitate him, but it did lethal damage, and the Silver Hand fell to the floor.

"Get the...fragments," Vilkas said as he collapsed.

"I'm going to take care of you first." She knelt next to him and unfastened the leather straps of his armor. She pulled the plates away and lifted his blood-soaked tunic, and she gasped. The axe had managed to get through the narrow gap between armor plates and gouge deeply into his side, shredding muscle and penetrating all the way to Vilkas's ribcage, which threatened to push through the grisly opening. Blood flowed freely from the laceration. "Sweet Mara, how am I going to do this?" she muttered. She hoped her healing spell was strong enough to put him back together long enough to get him to a healer.

"This is gonna hurt," Sorscha said as she pressed the laceration closed, but Vilkas didn't react. "Vilkas, are you with me?" she asked him.

"I'm all right," he croaked, although she knew he was far from all right.

Sorscha fought panic as she struggled with the wound. How long ago had it been since she had warned him about keeping his head? It was only a couple of hours; it seemed like years. Holding it closed as best she could with one hand, she readied her healing spell.

"No," he pleaded when her hand began to glow. "No magic."

"Oh, just shut up." She released the spell, and he didn't protest again. She watched as the magic knit the muscle back together, but she ran out of energy before the outside started to mend. She groaned in frustration and reached for her pack. As she was digging around for a magicka potion, Vilkas started to sit up.

"Lie back down," Sorscha said. "I want to do this again."

"I'm fine," he said.

Sorscha glared him in the eye. "Lie. Down."

"You can be such a bitch."

"So can you. Now, mind me."

Vilkas chuckled and lay back down. Sorscha drank a potion, readied the spell again, and aimed the glowing orb at his wound. It still didn't heal him completely, but it was enough. After resting a few more minutes, he was able to struggle to his feet.

Sorscha went to the table and retrieved the fragments of Wuuthrad, then looted a nearby chest, and they were ready to go home. Though Vilkas wanted to get back as quickly as possible, Sorscha made sure they took their time as they made their way back through the fort and started trudging through the snow toward Whiterun. She had done a fair job of healing him, but the wound was grave, and she didn't want to take the chance that it would break open while they were out in the elements.

After a while, Vilkas said, "You saved my life. Thank you."

"You'd have done the same."

"No, I couldn't have healed you like that. Farkas and I have always had no use for magic. We were...hurt...by magic as children, and we've been afraid of it, even healing magic. We may have been wrong. I was definitely wrong about you."

"I thought you said I had potential."

"Potential, yes, but I still underestimated you. You're young, and you're pretty. There are no lines on your face, no scars, as if you've led a sheltered life, so I thought you might be soft."

"Perhaps I'm just really good at what I do."

"Perhaps. You're much more skillful than I imagined. And you're a natural leader; do you know that?"

"I don't feel much like a leader. Everybody's always telling me what to do."

He chuckled. "It has been my experience that the leaders get ordered around even more than the followers. The good ones, anyway. I believe I should have listened to my shield-brothers when they talked about you. Aela admires you, and coming from her, that's quite a compliment. In Farkas's mind, you can do no wrong."

"He said that?"

"Essentially. He watches you all the time, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"When you're in the room, he never takes his eyes off you."

"He's just observant."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is," Sorscha said pointedly. "You don't give him enough credit."

"Perhaps you're right. But that still doesn't discount the fact that he's in love with you."

Sorscha's heart leapt. She had known something was there. With the enhanced senses of the Beast Blood, she could smell his desire, but hearing it out loud, and so distinctly, was something entirely different. She couldn't deny that she had feelings for him, too, but the fact remained: she didn't deserve a man like Farkas. He was honorable, forthright, even kind-hearted. She was a thief. He had told her she had honor, but sometimes she wasn't even sure what the word meant.

"I would never hurt him," she said, "but I don't think it would work between us."

"If it's because he's not smart"—

"No, it's not that. Never that. I just don't think he'd love me if he knew more about me."

Vilkas shrugged. "Farkas has an open mind, and not much bothers him. You might be surprised."

Sorscha wanted to think Vilkas was right, but she knew what she was, even if she didn't know who she was. Farkas deserved better than that.

They arrived at Whiterun and went up to the Skyforge, where Kodlak's funeral was just getting underway. Farkas watched Sorscha through most of the ceremony. They made eye contact at one point, and he smiled at her.

No. She wouldn't let it happen. She couldn't. He'd get over it, and so would she.

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC

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