Though she was the last to go to bed, Althea was the first to wake and enter the mead hall, other than Tilma who was already preparing breakfast for the Companions.
"Good morning, dear," the elder woman said as Althea approached the table.
She mumbled a soft, "Good morning," in response without so much as a passing glance.
Her mind was reeling with thoughts and worries about what the day would hold. After dropping into a chair, Althea placed her elbows on the table and let her head fall into her upright hands. There were several concerns that ate away at her: Aela returned sometime in the night and no doubt would still be angry, Njada most likely would continue pushing for lycanthropy, the secrecy of the lycanthropy had to be ensured, and there was still a bag of disembodied heads buried outside the city walls. What was she going to do with those? What did Kodlak need them for?
The sound of footsteps carried up the stairs and the whelps followed by Farkas soon gathered around the table and took their own seats, though none sat next to Althea. Torvar tried to start a conversation with Njada, but she wasn't listening nor willing to speak. She sat with a disgruntled look on her face, staring at the cooking pot Tilma was using, occasionally glancing up at Althea. The rest remained silent, and Torvar soon gave up his attempts at small talk when it became clear no one was in the mood.
Aela emerged some time after everyone had settled and Tilma was beginning to serve breakfast. Much to Althea's surprise, she sat down next to the Dragonborn. No words were shared between the pair, but the tension that existed the night before had decreased by that simple action. Everyone ate their food wordlessly and remained seated even after finishing, as though they were waiting for something. Althea sensed this, but she didn't know what they were expecting. A speech of some sort? More rules? A fight between her and Aela?
"We have to carry on," she said after finishing her plate and pushing it away. She straightened in her seat and looked up at her shield-siblings. "Obviously things are... different, but we have to accept what happened and what the rest of you now know and not let it change what we are. We still have jobs that need doing. People are still asking for our help, and we're going to give it."
Althea paused when the scent of the only Companion not present at the table traveled up from the stairs a short time before he appeared. His eyes were dark from the absence of sleep and the dark locks that were usually parted down the middle were a bit disheveled as though he merely ran his fingers through it after waking. He rubbed his one of his eyes while taking the open seat between Farkas and Althea.
Despite being a bit concerned about Vilkas, Althea continued speaking, trying to talk the Companions up though she herself felt drained. She pushed for the whelps to take on a few of the jobs they'd received. It took some persuasion since they wanted to talk more about the beast blood; Athis was interested on a purely academic level, he was interested on comparing reality to the myths for some reason, and Njada it seemed wasn't convinced the Circle was serious about the discontinuation of the passing of lycanthropy. Eventually, they gave up trying to get anything more from the Circle and paired off to take the jobs. Athis quickly took Ria as his shield-sibling, apparently not wanting to be stuck with Njada while she was still in a foul mood. Torvar never cared who his shield-sibling was, so he had no qualms against going with Njada.
Althea divvied a few of the requests between the two pairs, making sure the various jobs were relatively near one another. After they received their assignments, the whelps went downstairs and gathered their belongings for the trips. The Circle still had some things they needed to take care of, and Althea didn't want the whelps around the bother them. She was genuine in her push to continue being the Companions that they were known to be, and the requests for help couldn't go ignored, so she took the opportunity to resolve both issues simultaneously.
"We need to talk about what happens to the Companions now," Althea announced, turning her attention to those that remained at the table.
She stood up and motioned for the other Circle members to follow her, and she led them outside and into the Underforge; Eorlund was on top, filling the otherwise silent city with the clangs of his hammer on metal. Though the whelps would soon be leaving, she didn't want to risk them overhearing something before them, nor did she want Tilma or Brill to hear. She wasn't sure what exactly would be said, but she felt it would be better to keep it in private, just in case.
The grating sound of stone on stone told the four of them they were alone.
"Kodlak had a plan," Althea began. "He sent me to bring back the heads of the witches that gave the Companions the beast blood. I still have them, but I don't know what he was going to do with them," she explained, placing her hands on her hips and letting her shoulders slump forward.
"I do," the smaller of the twins replied. "He told me of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death, using the Glenmoril witches' heads. He didn't tell me you were to get them though."
His face fell when he realized she had been chosen over him for the task, but he took some pride in knowing Kodlak shared his plan with him and not her. The night before brought a much needed understanding between Vilkas and Althea, but he couldn't help the petty feelings that would no doubt linger for some time. Perhaps they would never truly fade.
"You've heard the legend of the Tomb of Ysgramor?" Vilkas asked the others. "'There, the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel.'"
Aela scoffed, "That doesn't help us. We can't get into the tomb without Wuuthrad."
"We have all the pieces, though," Althea said with a hint of excitement in her voice. Kodlak may still have a chance.
"Yes," Vilkas reaffirmed, matching the Dragonborn's energy. "We'll repair it, and we'll save Kodlak."
"Even if the fragments are strong enough to be pieced together," Aela countered, "what do we do once we're inside? Why do we need the witches' heads?" She questioned all that was being said, but not with disdain; her tone was that of genuine concern.
Vilkas paused for a moment, recalling what Kodlak had told him.
"There's a basin deep within the tomb," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest as he racked his mind. "It's supposed to allow Companions access to their souls through some sort of link between Ysgrammor and all of the Companions, dead or alive. I don't know why such a thing was a created, but Kodlak thought that this basin was the key to ridding the beast blood."
"Where do the heads come in?" Aela asked before giving Vilkas a chance to pause for breath.
"I'm not sure," he answered. "Kodlak didn't explain the rest of it. I don't think he knew himself. I can only guess we put them in the basin, but I don't know."
Althea sighed. Her earlier excitement began to diminish after Vilkas explained the basin. The Companions disregarded magic as a tool for the weak: why would they use something that required magic powerful enough to reach Aetherius? Still, if there was a chance to cure Kodlak, they had to take it.
"When do we leave?" Farkas said, anticipation wrapped around his words.
"We still need Wuuthrad," Aela reminded him.
The entrance to the Underforge opened, halting any further words, and revealed the old blacksmith on the other side. He stepped through and approached the Circle, holding a large and heavily embellished double-headed axe. One of his hands was wrapped around the shoulder while the other held the belly of the handle. His grip was firm but respectful; he knew the legacy he carried. Four pairs of eyes stared at the weapon in both shock and awe. The legendary weapon wielded by Ysgramor was only a few feet away from them; seeing it in pieces, even when those pieces were mounted on the wall in the position they belonged, was nothing compared to seeing it repaired.
After giving them ample time to bask in Wuuthrad's glory, Eorlund spoke. "The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered. The flames of Kodlak have fueled the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and now, it will take you to meet him once more." His attention turned to Althea. "You helped gather the shards and bore the last to me personally," he began, raising the axe toward her. "You should be the one to present Wuuthrad to Ysgramor."
She hesitated, doubting whether she was truly worthy of carrying such a weapon, but she knew Eorlund would allow her no argument. Her fingers replaced his and she took the axe from him; it wasn't as heavy as she was expecting, but still, no dainty-armed priest would be able to wield it.
"Prepare for the journey to Ysgramor's Tomb," Eorlund demanded. "For Kodlak."
"For Kodlak!" the twins and Aela shouted with a newfound energy before heading out of the Underforge and back into Jorvaskr.
Eorlund followed behind them, but Althea remained. She turned and went through the tunnel that lead past the walls of Whiterun, grabbing the shovel Brill left against the stone wall before leaping down from the hidden landing. Her eyes scanned the ground for any sign of upturned dirt, and it didn't take long to find. Brill wasn't neat with his work. Placing Wuuthrad on the ground felt as though she was defiling the weapon, but she had nowhere else to put it and pushed the concern from her mind. A light breeze picked up as she began digging, causing little bumps to form on her skin that seemed to grow with each scoop of dirt she tossed to the side. Brill hadn't buried the witches' heads very deep, and it took little time to unearth the foul smelling bag.
Her nose scrunched in disgust when the scent attacked her senses, and she fought the urge to gag as she hurled the sack over her shoulder. After spending a few moments kicking a majority of the dirt back in the hole, she gathered the shovel and Wuuthrad in her free hand with a bit of difficulty and retraced her steps back into the Underforge. A loud clang echoed through the tunnel when the shovel was dropped, and the smell grew stronger in the enclosed space. She couldn't return to open air quick enough.
The other Circle members were waiting in the main hall with their packs ready to go; they each looked at her expectedly when she entered.
"Do you have the heads?" Vilkas asked.
"They're outside," she answered, gesturing toward the door behind her with her thumb. "Let me pack my things and we can go."
The air around them was filled with a strange mix of fear and excitement; they were going to be the first Companions in generations to gain entry to the Tomb of Ysgramor, but they were doing so to free Kodlak, and they worried they would fail. There was little but sporadic small talk between them during the first day of travel; it had been easy-going so far, and little more than wild animals crossed their path. When it became too dark to travel safely, they stopped for the night and set up camp. The area was flat and clear of trees, which always made Althea uneasy; without the cover of trees, Althea felt too exposed, and though there wasn't much chance they'd be attacked, her worry did not wane. It did not help that, given the smell, a farm was nearby.
Nothing like the smell of manure to get you through the night. She set to work pitching her tent, as did the others.
They didn't bother with a fire; there was nothing to use as kindling, and it was still deep in the summer season. It wouldn't get too cold. After stripping their armor, the four of them sat in a circle, as if an imaginary fire prevented them from sitting in any other formation. Sheer habit. Silence filled the space between them as they kept their mouths full of bread and cheese. Tomorrow, if they did not face complications, an inn in the Pale would give them a decent meal and a proper bed to rest. They would not be so lucky the rest of the journey, however, until they reached Winterhold, and the warm weather would not hold the same power.
For the night, though, they ate in peace and were comfortable.
"I'm glad you came back, Aela," Farkas said, his words muffled by the chunk of bread still in his mouth. "I think Kodlak would've wanted us to do this together."
"Well, I..." Aela paused, clearly uncomfortable. "I gave it some thought and you two were right," she admitted, looking at Althea and Vilkas. "I'm still bothered by your decision to stop sharing this gift, but Kodlak, he... he should have his wish fulfilled." She offered Farkas a small smile even though it was difficult to see, and added, "And Kodlak would want us to do this as a family."
Althea smiled, despite the jab at her proclamation the night before. Family. She always viewed the Companions as a family, but there was something reassuring about hearing someone else feel the same, especially someone who viewed sentimentality as a distraction, a weakness.
Farkas held his water skin up, toasting, "To Kodlak."
"To Kodlak," the others repeated, holding theirs up with him.
The Circle soon retired to their respective tents, planning to wake early and continue traveling as soon as they could.
Althea lay awake for a time, as she normally did. Sleep never came easily to her. Farkas's snoring did little to help things; she envied his ability to pass out in such a short time. She wasn't sure if Aela had fallen asleep yet as the huntress was as silent sleeping as she was hunting. Vilkas was still awake. He seemed to toss and turn just as much as she did, but eventually, he too was emitting snores of his own; his were much softer than his brother's, like a fingertip brushing against burlap.
She tried to focus on his sounds to drown out Farkas's, and to give her a rhythm to count with. Her mother used to tell her, if she couldn't sleep, then count. She asked to what number, but her mother said as high as she could. It wasn't until two-hundred sixteen that she fell asleep.
Kodlak sat across from Vilkas in his study, speaking with him about the difficulties of denying the call of the beast.
"It is our burden to bear," the old man said. "But we can overcome."
Vilkas sighed. "You have my brother and me," he replied. "But I don't know if the others will go along quite so easily."
"Leave that to me," Kodlak assured him.
The younger Nord silenced any other concerns he had when the scent of a stranger reached him from down the hall. A young woman with pale blonde hair pulled back in a long braid and a slightly larger-than-average build clad in simple leather armor approached the pair. She walked with a confident stride and bore the look of someone who would not stand for a refusal; as she got closer, however, Vilkas noticed a glimmer of anxiety hidden in the gold lining her pupils, surrounded by shades of deep green.
A glare was given and nothing more by the young werewolf. He did not trust her. Something about her felt wrong, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand, but he did not act. He couldn't. He was frozen, helpless.
She opened her mouth to speak, but it wasn't mere words that came out. Sheer power burst from her throat in a tongue he didn't understand and sent him and his Harbinger flying into the wall. Her voice continued sending wave after wave of pure energy, but she no longer spoke. It was just a constant scream. He fell to the floor after the initial impact, but Kodlak was stuck, like some unseen force was holding him against the wall. One at a time, the stone blocks crumbled until there was nothing but a black as dark as the Void in their place.
The strange woman's voice suddenly halted, but Kodlak remained, still being held in the air. The darkness behind him slowly began turning into a forest of which Vilkas had never seen. Trees thicker and taller than anything seen in Skyrim, and animals only imagined by children wandering through grass greener than Whiterun's in the month of Second Seed. A lithe man who would easily loom over Farkas walked up behind Kodlak; his face hidden behind the skull of a deer. He was bare save for a wrap around his waist.
His hand reached out toward the Harbinger as he stepped closer and closer. Thin but strong-looking fingers wrapped around Kodlak's neck, digging into the skin with his nails. Blood ran down and disappeared under his armor. He couldn't speak or make any attempts against the deer-headed man; no sounds escaped him, and his hands merely passed through his attacker as though he was a ghost.
Vilkas clamored to his feet and lunged at towering man, but just like Kodlak's hands, he went through him and landed on the ground. The grass around him grew and wrapped itself around his limbs before dissolving and turning into a large wolf. It held Vilkas down with all of its weight and snarled in his face, baring its unnaturally sharp teeth.
He looked toward the woman whose appearance shifted; her armor was now that of the Companions, and her eyes silver like his and paired with dark circles. A great building stood in the distance behind her, beyond a bridge made of impossibly large bones; the sky above it was a myriad of swirls of colors and held no clouds, but a white sun.
Out of desperation, he called out to her for help.
Without hesitation, she rushed toward them, unsheathing her blade. She unleashed a fury of attacks against the deer-headed man, but to no avail. Her attention then turned to the wolf, but before she could even attempt to free Vilkas, he shouted for her to save Kodlak instead. The woman obeyed and turned back around, taking a deep breath. Like before, she shouted in a strange language and let out a wave of force, causing the man's deer skull to fly off his head and shatter against a tree.
He cried out in pain and released Kodlak, letting the Harbinger fall to the ground as he frantically covered his face. The woman bolted forward passed Kodlak and at the attacker, delivering another series of blows with her sword, but this time they struck. He didn't have time to defend himself before he fell the ground, staining it with a putrid discolored blood-like liquid.
Kodlak's body was still slumped on the ground, completely unmoving, but the woman ran passed and toward Vilkas. He offered no protest this time as she drove her sword into the head of the giant beast; it turned into a black mist and faded away. After helping him up, the two returned to the fallen Nord just as the grass grew around his limbs like it had with Vilkas. They each grabbed an arm and dragged him toward the bone bridge, breaking any hold the grass attempted to create.
The lifeless body coughed and gasped for air; after a few moments, Kodlak's breathing became normal and he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Vilkas let out a sigh of relief and turned to the woman. "Thank you," he said between his heavy breaths. His eyes suddenly narrowed and he reached for his sword. "You attacked us first. Why?" he asked, his tone sharp and his body ready to attack.
"I never attacked you," she replied. Her voice was deep and smooth but still feminine, and did not emit the power it had earlier.
"You... screamed!" he shouted. "The walls disappeared! You brought that thing and it attacked Kodlak!" His knuckles turned white as they gripped the handle of his sword.
"Is that what you saw?" she asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over chest. "I think that's what you wanted to see."
"What? No! That's what I saw!" he retorted. "Why would I-"
"Because that's what you've always want to see!" she shot back, throwing her hands up and letting them fall against her thighs.
"I don't und-"
"Since the day I walked in here, you've done nothing but give me shit," the woman raged.
"You just walked in!" he countered. "I don't know who you are!"
The anger dissipated as quickly as it came; she looked at him and smiled. "You know who I am," she said in a slow and gentle voice.
Her sudden change in disposition startled him and her assurance that he did in fact know her only confused him further. Her tone, however soft, was spoken with such absolution, he knew she was telling the truth; he was not so easily swayed, but for some reason, he just knew. He looked down at her and gazed at each of her features; her almond-shaped silver eyes, her nose with the slight bump in the bridge, her high cheekbones, her rosebud lips.
"Althea," he whispered, as if scared to say the wrong name.
Her smile grew into one that bared her teeth and crinkled the corner of her eyes like he just fulfilled some long-kept promise to her.
"Althea," he repeated, louder this time. He grinned back, close-lipped, and stepped toward her. His hands found themselves resting gently on each of her cheeks while his fingers disappeared into the hair that loosened during the fight. "Althea."
"Your eyes are blue," she marveled, reaching up and wiping his usual warpaint from his eyes to ensure it wasn't some trick of the light.
"What?" he astonished.
He pulled away from her and knelt down in front of Kodlak. His eyes danced back and forth between his Harbinger's, unable to comprehend the hazel color now looking back at him. Standing up, he wheeled around to face Althea again and lifted her chin to keep her still.
His face fell into a frown. "They're still silver," he murmured. "Why? Why didn't yours change?"
Althea remained silent, and all the joy vanished from her face; she looked sad and exhausted. A hand from behind appeared on her shoulder, followed by another on her waist. Aela looked at him over Althea's head and smirked. Her fingers slowly elongated and turned into black smoke-like wisps, yet seemed solid at the same time. They wrapped around Althea's body and forced Vilkas's hands away.
"Don't do this," he plead. "Aela, please."
She sneered and the dark tendrils tightened their grip before flashing backwards and disappearing into the otherworldly forest. His name echoed from beyond the trees, in a scream that didn't have time to escape before she was gone.
His body shot forward into a sitting position as his breaths came in short and heavy. He was drenched in sweat and his eyes burned as they struggled to focus on his surroundings.
"Vilkas! Goddammit, get up!"
He knew that voice. Your eyes are blue.
"'We'll get on the road first thing in the morning,'" the voice said in a mocking tone. "Yeah, right."
The flaps of his tent were tore open, letting in the early slivers of sunlight. Althea looked ready to scold him, but she stopped when she saw his disheveled and disturbed form.
"Shit," she muttered. "Are you okay?" Her voice was the embodiment of concern, and for some reason, it made his throat ache.
It took a few moments to find his voice, but he managed a soft, "Yeah. It was just..."
"A bad dream?" she finished for him.
Vilkas met her worry-filled eyes and offered no answer. They're still silver. He tore his own from her and looked down, feeling ashamed, but he didn't understand why.
"Okay, well..." she began. "We're going to head off soon, so maybe the road will get your mind off whatever it was."
A deep sigh passed through his slightly parted lips as he nodded.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she repeated, growing more concerned the less he spoke.
He rubbed his eyes and nodded again. "Yeah. Just a bad dream."