So much new stuff, and so much "What?"
Several days later, Cry let out a breath as she paused outside of the large tent that had been set up for Galmar Stone-Fist within the Stormcloak's encampment just outside of Whiterun. He, as well as Ulfric Stormcloak, had agreed to talks, but only with her. Ulfric would not be present, but he trusted Galmar and Cry's sister to make wise decisions following the talk.
Cry'd had little hope for anything otherwise.
All the same, she'd sent Vilkas to Dragonsreach to see if he could reason with Balgruuf, to convince him to allow the Stormcloaks to take the city peacefully. Whiterun didn't need to bleed because two Nords refused to cooperate with one another.
She hoped he be able to get through to the stubborn Jarl, although she didn't have high hopes for that, either.
"Crayla, are you going to continue skulking about outside, or are you going to come in and actually talk?" a gruff voice called from within the tent.
Cry exhaled at the name Galmar had used for her. She pushed her way into the tent, and found him standing on the opposite side of a table with a map of Skyrim lying on top of it. Her sister, all 5 feet 8 inches of her, stood by his side. Her gray eyes glimmered warmly when she saw Cry.
"You know that I don't use that name anymore, for my safety," Cry said to Galmar, who shrugged.
"Crayla, Cry, Night Murderer, Night Warrior, Dragonborn… they're all the same person, little warrior." He leaned against the table with both hands. "You've asked me to hold off to talk terms, however, not to discuss your many names. So talk terms."
"Whiterun cannot be taken through bloodshed, Galmar," Cry said, carefully.
"If 'through bloodshed' is the only way it can be taken, then it will be taken 'through bloodshed'," Galmar responded dryly. "We were always going to take the city. It was your Jarl's prerogative as to how. He chose 'through bloodshed'."
Cry let out a breath. "You could talk to him."
"Ulfric sent his axe, and Balgruuf returned it," Galmar said, eyes narrowing. "As far as I'm concerned, the Jarl has no desire to talk."
Cry had known Galmar since she was a child, and she knew he was stubborn. That didn't mean he wouldn't get on her nerves.
"I just don't want to see my city bleed for your war," she muttered, and looked at Faisley. "Sister, you must feel the same, despite your loyalties to the Stormcloaks. We grew up here."
"Under the very jarl who would rather risk the lives of his citizens, than hand over his city," Faisley said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sister, but this is the only way."
Cry closed her eyes for a moment, and then she glanced at Galmar again, with a small smile. "I can't convince you to just go home either, I take it?" she asked, only half-joking, and Galmar shook his head.
"Not even for you, little warrior."
"I'm not so little anymore," Cry commented.
"He's never stopped referring to me as 'little queen'," Faisley said, giving Galmar an affectionate shove with her shoulder. She looked at Cry again. "I doubt he'll stop even when I am Queen." Cry frowned at her, and Faisley smiled a bit. "You know we've sort of been betrothed since I was born."
"I'd always assumed it was a joke. You never met as children," Cry responded, and Faisley offered her a shrug.
"It was a joke. And then…" Her eyes got a faraway look to them, and she let out a slow breath. "I love him. Honestly."
"Faisley…"
"I know," Faisley said before Cry could go on. "I do. But…" She trailed off, and looked at Cry again. "I know you must have some sort of understanding as to what I'm trying to say."
Cry didn't, really, since Faisley had had plenty of time to reach that feeling of affection. Cry had met Vilkas only a year and a half ago.
Still… even though when she'd first met him, she'd had no thoughts of them even becoming friends, let alone becoming one heart... now Cry couldn't imagine life without him. She supposed that was what Faisley felt for Ulfric. Hers just didn't seem as right, because their wedding had might as well have been written down on paper by their parents. Vilkas and Cry had found one another on their own.
"I'm happy for you," she said quietly. "I really am. But… I can't condone what you plan on doing to our home, Faisley. I'm sorry."
"You won't fight with us, then?" Galmar asked, and Cry shook her head. He let out a disappointed sigh. "We'll miss you on our front lines then, little warrior. You would've been an imperative contribution."
"Any other battle, maybe," Cry said, "but not this one." She dipped her head to them both. "Perhaps we'll talk more when this is over."
"Don't disappear on us again," Galmar said.
"Honestly, Sister," Faisley agreed. "We're going to need you."
Cry merely smiled in response, and then she turned and ducked out of the tent.
Back in Jorrvaskr, she found Vilkas already sitting at the mead hall table, meaning his meeting hadn't gone over well, either.
"We did our best," he said when she sat down beside him.
"I suppose," Cry replied, resting her elbow on the table, and her chin in her hand. She glanced over at him, and found that Vilkas was already gazing at her. "What?"
"You told Farkas about Faisley," he said. "Why now?"
Cry rolled her eyes. "She walked up to him in the training yard, and he managed to make the connection between our appearances. Divines know how." Vilkas chuckled, and Cry smiled slightly. It faded after a moment, and she looked downwards.
"What is it?" Vilkas asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
"It's… it's nothing," Cry dismissed. "Don't fret."
"Darling, the only thing I can do is fret," Vilkas said. He reached over and took her hand. "Talk to me, please."
Cry lifted her eyes to his, and as soon as she saw the worry and willingness to listen within his own, she broke. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she pulled her hand from his in order to cover her face.
Vilkas gaped at her in surprise for a moment as she began to sob, and then he quickly scooted his chair closer to hers so that he could wrap his arms around her, and cradle her against him.
"Easy," he soothed. "Is whatever's making you cry something I can kill? Because I will do it, if I can."
Cry managed to shake her head, and she inhaled sharply between sobs in order to try and relax. Vilkas silently held her until her sobbing had subsided for good, and then she pulled out of his arms and looked at him.
"I think… I think I need to tell you," she whispered, and Vilkas frowned at her.
"Tell me what?"
"Everything," Cry answered. "About… about me. Everything that you don't already know, because I never told you, never planned on telling. But…" She let out a shuddering breath, and went on: "But you deserve to know, Vilkas. All of you do. And… and I must tell you."
Vilkas stared at her for a moment, and then he nodded. "All right," he said. "You can tell us tonight, then." He tilted his head. "But, Cry… you understand that we don't care about who you were before."
"You might after you hear what I have to say," Cry murmured. She met his gaze with her own tearful one. "I did some bad things, Vilkas. Unforgivable things, by you all, at least. I was… I was a bad person."
"But you're not anymore," Vilkas said slowly.
"And that's all I'll have left after I tell you about my past," Cry said. She stood. "I'm going to go find Farkas and Aela, and tell them that we'll meet in the Harbinger's quarters this evening, after the others have gone to sleep."
Vilkas nodded, and watched as Cry headed for the training yard. When she'd gone, he turned his gaze to the mead hall table, frowning to himself. What could she possibly have done that would make them think less of her? It was in the past; it didn't matter any longer.
Right?
"The Harbinger may have done some bad things, but she is still the Harbinger." He glanced up at Tilma's voice, and saw that the old woman was sweeping in the corner. He briefly wondered how long she had been there, but before he could ask, she spoke again: "She is still the woman you love."
"You're right," Vilkas said. "And nothing could change that." All the same, there was that niggling doubt in the back of his head that whispered, Perhaps.
Later that evening, Cry poked her head out through the double doors of the Harbinger's quarters one last time before she closed them softly, so as not to disturb Njada, who'd moved into Skjor's old room after she'd been promoted to the Circle. Still, as a Companion who was not close to Cry, she didn't think Njada needed to be present when she told the others about her past.
Deciding that it was best to get it over with, she turned and faced her Companions, all of whom were seated at the small table in the corner of the room. Aela stood against the wall with her arms crossed, and the twins sat in the chairs at the table.
Cry let out a breath and walked over to them, pulling up a chair of her own in front of where they all were. "Thank you for choosing to be here rather than be asleep," she said to them, smiling a bit.
"Right, but, what are we here for?" Aela inquired, her head tilting.
Cry looked at Vilkas, who she was hoping would keep her steady throughout all this just through his presence and eyes. He gave her an encouraging nod, and Cry exhaled again before looking between Aela and Farkas.
"I'm going to tell you about my past," she told them.
"We don't care," Farkas said immediately.
"I know you don't," Cry responded, "but I do, and all three of you have the right to know." She turned her gaze downwards. "Just… know that this was a long time ago, and I'll do my best to give enough background so that you won't be completely disgusted, but… that'll mostly be on the three of you, and how you decide to look at it."
She closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair, dislodging memories that she had pushed and locked away so long ago. Memories that she hadn't thought she'd need to relive, now that she was where she was, but… she was going to relive them because of where she was, and because of the people she was with. She cared about them all too much to keep it from them any longer.
So, with that in her mind, she opened her eyes again, and started to tell her tale, which was a tale of a young girl with a different name, and one who'd done some bad things for the people she'd cared about most in the world.
I was born on the 12th of Hearth Fire, in the 176th year of the fourth era. You all know that, but you might not know that was the same year Ulfric Stormcloak created a militia of Nords to help Markarth's jarl at the time take back the Reach from the Forsworn.
You also might not know that that was the year the Nord militia became the Stormcloak army, and you definitely don't know that my father was one of the army's generals, alongside Galmar Stone-Fist, and a young, young Ulfric Stormcloak. He was only twenty at the time.
After the Markarth Incident, as it is fondly known as, my father returned home occasionally to help care for me and my elder sister, Faisley, with permission from Ulfric himself, although he was mostly away, seeing to Stormcloak business or ensuring that the Forsworn were truly out of power in the Reach.
My father had grown up in Windhelm, had been raised as a ward to Ulfric's grandfather after my own grandparents' deaths. Ulfric's father and mine grew to be the best of friends, but, in time, my father understood that he needed to make his own way in the world, and he moved to Whiterun, where he fell in love with my mother.
A year later, Ulfric was born to his parents, and several years after that, Faisley was born to ours. Despite the fact that the two never met, my father and Ulfric's father joked that Ulfric would marry Faisley one day, so that the long standing bond between the two families would finally be solidified.
Ulfric was sent away at six to the Greybeards. I believe that he communicated with Faisley through letters as he got older, although she never confirmed or denied this. All I know about that is the betrothal the two fathers had joked about has become reality, and if the Stormcloaks win the war, and Ulfric is pronounced High King, my sister will be his queen. I'm not sure how I feel about it all, to be quite honest, but… I do trust my sister, and I'm happy for her if she's happy herself.
I digress… Ulfric's father died when Ulfric was eighteen, after he'd been fighting in the Great War for quite some time, and he returned to Windhelm to take his place as jarl. My father and Galmar, also a close family friend, were there to help assist him, to give him council.
The plan to liberate Markarth from the Forsworn in order to gain free worship of Talos in the hold was their idea through and through. My father was always a Nord before anything else, that much was apparent, but he was caring, and devoted to his family as well. Whenever my mother needed him, he'd return home from whatever task he'd been given.
He was trusted with very important things, given his history with Ulfric's family. He was the one, in fact, who ensured that the Forsworn's king, Madanach, was thrown into prison in 4E 181, since the Silver-Blood family didn't want him killed. My father figured prison was the next best choice, and what better prison than Cidhna Mine?
My father had never made such a dire mistake, and he would come to pay for it in the years that followed.
4E 183 was the year I lost my parents to the Forsworn who came seeking revenge, on the order of their king. They attacked our home in Whiterun in the dead of night, threatening to kill me and ravage my sister unless our parents went with them. What other choice did they have?
Faisley pleaded with Ulfric afterwards, begging him to send battalions into the Reach to search for them. He complied, but by the time they'd been found, it was much too late.
They'd tortured them, destroying first their wills, and then their bodies. My mother was missing her hands, and my father… he had been burned, badly. Their bodies were returned to us, mutilated, and as a symbol of what the Forsworn were capable of.
And I decided, seeing my dead, mutilated parents at the young age of seven, that I was going to kill every. Last. Forsworn
Galmar had been training me to fight since I was able to walk. He called me "little warrior", just as he called my sister "little queen". He seemed to be determining our futures with his nicknames.
I waited until I was ten to begin my attacks. I left my home in Whiterun, leaving Faisley a letter explaining what I aimed to do and to not try to find me, and then I was on my way to Markarth.
I started with the first camps that I found, since I was unable to pinpoint the locations of the ones who had taken my parents. I snuck into the camps in the black of night, and I used the darkness and the silence to creep into their tents and slit their throats. The last Forsworn in the camp left alive would receive a stab to the heart, so that I would be able to hear them scream, just as they'd heard my parents scream while they tortured them.
Word spread quickly throughout the Reach about me. I became known at the 'Night Warrior' by those who appreciated what I was doing, and as the 'Night Murderer' by those that did not. I ignored it all, and I went on killing, not willing to stop until I knew for sure that it was over, or until something went horribly wrong.
Which, eventually, something did.
I don't know how, but I missed one. One stupid Forsworn, who managed to see me, and what I was doing, and reported it to Madanach. Needless to say, Madanach did not want me to stay alive much longer after that.
It was Galmar who heard it first, that I had a price on my head, and that I was being hunted by every Forsworn in the Reach, now that they knew who I was. He warned Faisley, who in turn warned me through one of the few letters she sent during this period. She urged me to leave Skyrim, to lay low until it was safe to return.
And so I did. 4E, 191 found me leaving my home for foreign land, fifteen years old and without a clue as to when I'd be able to return home.
Destiny found a way of telling me, however, in the form of an Imperial patrol that captured me and readied me for the headsman's block.
We all know the story from there, but the last bit is how I ensured my safety for sure.
Ten years had passed since I'd left, and I had to assume Madanach and the remaining Forsworn had forgotten all about me, but I needed to be positive.
So, I went to Markarth, got myself arrested, and killed Madanach in Cidhna Mine, ensuring my safety, and the end to all Forsworn activity for good.
And now I'm here, safe and happy with the way everything turned out, but I have a lot of blood on my hands, and it wouldn't have been right to continue to hide that blood from all of you.
Cry glanced up, looking into the faces of all her Companions, and finding different expressions on each of them. Aela seemed to be indifferent, which didn't surprise Cry so much. Farkas's eyebrows were drawn together a sure sign of confusion, and Vilkas… his face now showed nothing of the same encouragement it had before she'd begun her tale. Instead, he was merely gazing at her, eyes vacant of feeling.
Slowly, and without a word, he stood and left the room, closing the doors behind him. Cry closed her eyes and placed her face in her hands. She should have guessed that Vilkas would be the one to take this news the hardest. No one wanted to learn that their spouse had been a murderer as a child, no matter their reasons.
"So… you killed all those Forsworn because of what they did to your parents." Cry nodded in response to Farkas's statement, and she heard him huff. "So, what's the problem, then? You were avenging your family."
"I became a barbarian," Cry murmured. "That's the problem."
"You could argue that we're all barbarians," Aela commented after a moment of silence.
"Not in the way I was," Cry replied, she lifted her head and shook it. "Vilkas certainly doesn't see it that way. He's… he's probably disgusted by me."
"I doubt that's the proper word," Aela said.
"Disappointed," Farkas supplied, and Cry glanced at him. Farkas nodded. "He's disappointed in you, but it's coming from the fact that he's disappointed in himself."
"What do you mean?" Cry asked blinking.
"Think about it for a moment," Aela said, catching on to what Farkas was implying. "After Kodak was killed, what did you and Vilkas do?"
"We… we went to the head Silver Hand camp and… killed them all," Cry answered, her voice growing soft. "Oh…"
"And Vilkas hated himself for weeks after all that, because he hated what he'd become in that moment: a savage," Aela finished, Farkas nodding along. "I think he's disappointed in you because, even though it was in the past, the idea of you choosing to ravage apart a group of people terrifies him, because you're supposed to be his soft cloud in this world of awful fuck."
"But… Vilkas must know by now that I'm anything but a 'soft cloud'," Cry said, and Farkas shook his head.
"You're softer than he is, and that's why he loves you. You can be his aggravation, but you're also his relaxant." He shrugged. "It's strange to think about, but it's true."
"And so, hearing that his 'relaxant' was such a brute as a child must have altered his views of you," Aela concluded. "Despite your reasons, he doesn't want to imagine you in such a position as he was after Kodlak's death, because that was when he hated himself the most."
Cry exhaled, and rose from her chair. "Thank you, both of you," she murmured. "Your council is always seamless, and I appreciate it greatly."
Aela merely dipped her head, then leaned away from the wall, stretching. "Just understand that your past doesn't mean anything me me. You're who you are, and I like you as you are. Even though your archery could use some work." Cry nodded, smiling, and Aela moved past her. "I think I'll go for a run, and think about a couple things. I'll see you two in the morning."
"Be safe," Farkas called after her as she left the room and closed the doors behind her, he then looked at Cry. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I think so," Cry responded, "but…" She trailed off and glanced away. Farkas frowned at her, and waited to her to continue. "Should I try to talk to him?"
"I wouldn't," Farkas said, rising from his chair. "Give him time; he'll come to you."
Cry nodded, and Farkas gave her a pat in the shoulder as he passed by and out the door. Cry remained where she was seated for a moment, and then she shook her head to herself, and went to retrieve her traveling pack and armor.
After getting changed, and packing her bag, she left the Harbinger's quarters, blowing out all the candles on her way. She paused a moment, looking back at the darkened room. She then bowed her head and turned away, closing the door softly behind her,
She crept down the hall and up the stairs to the mead hall. Just when she thought she was going to leave with no explanations, someone cleared their throat from behind her.
She turned and found Farkas sitting in a chair at the table, a bottle of spiced mead open in front of him, "When I said 'give him time', I didn't mean 'leave'," he said, and Cry sighed.
"Just for a while, Farkas. I'll come back. I always do, don't I?"
"After Vilkas has to go get you," Farkas answered.
"I'm going to join the Stormcloaks," Cry told him, and Farkas blinked at her. "Don't tell him."
"Are you going to -"
"No," Cry answered. "I've already made that decision, but… I can't stay here, not while Vilkas is trying to… do whatever it is he's trying to do. He needs time, time away from me."
"You were away for a week, and he nearly lost it," Farkas reminded her.
"That was before his views of me dramatically shifted." Cry hiked her pack higher on her shoulder. "I'll be back; I promise."
Farkas grumbled to himself, but nodded morosely. "You'll be back, or you'll never hear the end of it from me."
"Harsh threat," Cry said, smiling, and then she blew him a kiss. "Keep him safe for me." With that, she turned and left Jorrvaskr, leaving Farkas to wonder how he'd gotten so tied up in her and his brother's personal lives,
He didn't like it one bit.
Well, would you look at that? Perfect ending to lead into Hainin's FanFiction, which I'm in the process of completing as we speak.
I feel better about this one, now that it's all in the same tense, and a few inaccuracies have been fixed.
Stick around for the tale of vampires and assassins, friends. It'll be a good one, too.