Minutes after Dar'epha's statement, only three of the group remained in the Sleeping Giant inn: Gylhain, Antario, and Kara. The latter two because it was dangerous for them to travel, being wanted by the Thalmor, the first because she believed that if the dam were to break, someone would need to be on hand to hold back the tide.
If the Thalmor were really constructing a gate to Oblivion—and Dar'epha believed it could be nothing else—then they would need all the help they could get to stop them. To that end, Gylhain had written a series of letters to give her companions, calling in favours from everyone she could think of.
Vash went to Winterhold, to gather what mages he could. Those who were more suited to direct combat, he had said, would be his top priority. His journey would take the longest, but could prove most crucial in stopping the Thalmor.
The shortest journey was Falin's, who was only going to Whiterun and back. She sought aid from Jarl Balgruuf and Commander Caius, as well as the Companions of Jorrvaskr. Gylhain had made a home in Whiterun, had revitalised and helped the town in uncountable ways. If any one place would come to her aid, it was Whiterun, despite recent bad experiences.
Kureeth had been sent to Solitude, to deliver requests to High Queen Elisif, Captain Aldis, and the Imperial Legion—specifically the Dragonborn's old commander, Legate Rikke. Despite no longer being an active member of the Legion, Gylhain felt sure her old war comrades would help if she asked.
Finally, Dar'epha headed to Riften. The more battle-inclined members of the Thieves Guild were her targets, as well as the fearsome Mjoll, and anyone else she could convince Jarl Maven to give them.
After seeing the four off, Gylhain returned to the long table inside the inn. She sat opposite Kara and Antario, the latter staring at her with an unreadable look.
"What is our course of action," said Antario, "if the Thalmor should open their gate to Oblivion before our aid arrives?" His tone was sceptical. He had an inkling of what the answer would be, but was not entirely convinced that anyone could reasonably propose such a solution.
"Then I'll hold the line myself," replied Gylhain. Her face was firm and she leaned both elbows on the table. "You're both welcome to join me."
Kara rose to order another drink. Antario exhaled; the Dragonborn had answered just as he had expected. Another question had been nudging at his mind for some time now.
"If it is not a particularly rude question . . . where are you from? What place produced such an extraordinary figure as the Dragonborn?"
Gylhain half-smiled. "I'm from Skyrim," she said.
"But . . . forgive me," Antario went on. "Your features would indicate a parentage located within High Rock. Were you born in that land?"
Gylhain's half-smile disappeared. "It doesn't matter where you're born," she said. "I became who I am when Alduin landed in Helgen. Skyrim made me the Dragonborn."
Antario shrugged and pretended it wasn't of interest to him. There was nothing in the tales about who the Dragonborn had been before Helgen. She appeared to have burst forth fully formed on that day. Kara returned to the table, mead in hand.
"Not sure I belong here anymore," said Gylhain.
Antario frowned at Kara before speaking. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You are a hero in this province. You have saved countless lives, accomplished feats most would deem impossible—"
Gylhain cut him off. "And what thanks do I get?" she spat. "A pat on the back, a ceremonial sword, honorary titles. Then it's onto the next problem, the next bloodbath. The people of Skyrim can't solve their own problems. Well, maybe soon they'll have to."
"You're not thinking of leaving?" asked Kara, too quickly.
"Maybe," said Gylhain. "Don't know where I'd go."
"But what about the gate?" asked Kara.
"I'll see this through," said Gylhain. "I always see a mission through. But the people of this province grate on me. Many are ungrateful, more are scum. There are times when there seem more criminals than citizens. I see no reason to stay and help them with their petty, self-serving problems anymore. I've already saved their world enough."
"Your friends will miss you," said Antario. "Dar'epha cares for you greatly. Vash's respect for you is immense." He looked for a moment at Kara, hesitant.
"They're capable enough," said Gylhain. "I'm sure they can cope on their own."
"It is not about whether they can," retorted Antario, "but whether they want to."
Gylhain shrugged. In truth, it was her friends, most notably Dar'epha and Vash, which had given her pause. In the end she had realised that not even they could keep her in Skyrim. They would understand her need to leave if anyone would. But she would miss their company. All good things had to come to an end, she thought bitterly.
The afternoon rolled on, and eventually Falin reappeared, half a dozen figures trailing after her into the inn. Gylhain knew them all, and while disappointed at the low number, she rose to greet them all individually.
Irileth, Dunmer housecarl to Jarl Balgruuf, had been present when Gylhain had killed her first dragon. She had stood by as the beast's soul had been torn from its broken body and absorbed into the Dragonborn. Uthgerd the Unbroken, Nord warrior, burdened by past crimes, still carrying her heavy two-handed sword on her back. She and Gylhain had adventured together for a short while, years ago now, back when she'd been younger, untested. Seemed an age ago to both of them, but she had come with aid, in memory of that time. Gylhain shook hands and thanked both of them.
"I would've brought some guards with me," said Irileth. "But Balgruuf can't spare any. Proventus went on and on about how an Oblivion gate wasn't possible." They shared a bitter grin; Balgruuf's steward had always annoyed both of them.
Gylhain turned to the Companions of Jorrvaskr. Aela had come, Harbinger now for several years. The brothers Farkas and Vilkas, both of whom Gylhain had helped cure of their lycanthropy. And Ria, who had been a raw recruit when Gylhain had left, but was now on the verge of being admitted to the Circle. A reminder, Gylhain realised, that lives continued even in her absence.
"More would have come," said Aela. "But there are some who hold a grudge for you leaving like you did."
The two embraced regardless. Histories uncountable linked them. "When this is done," said Gylhain, "I'll return, give an apology to anyone who asks for one."
The newcomers sat and ordered drinks, Orgnar thrilled with the new custom. Soon Kara had drawn talk out from Uthgerd, and Antario's smooth words made Ria giggle.
The light outside was fading when Dar'epha returned, grinning from ear to ear. She'd dragged her recruits through the shortcut south of the Throat to save time. Straight from the Guild were any who could fight and weren't out on jobs: Brynjolf and Karliah, who had accepted the mantle of Nightingale where Gylhain had not; Cynric and Niruin the archers; Etienne Rarnis, who Gylhain had pulled from the dungeons beneath the Thalmor Embassy; Rune and Maul, the brawlers; and Sapphire, who stuck close to Dar'epha. Two non-Guild members had come, Mjoll the Lioness, another previous adventuring companion of the Dragonborn's, and Iona. Gylhain thanked them all.
"Delvin and Vex send their regards, lass," said Brynjolf. "They'd come themselves, but someone needs to keep the Guild running."
"Sit yourselves down," said Gylhain. "Orgnar will get you all drinks."
Mjoll looked around the now considerably more populated inn.
"We still waiting on more?" she asked.
Gylhain nodded. "I've got more people coming in from Solitude and Winterhold, hopefully."
Mjoll looked thoughtful. "I'm here for you, not for them," she said, indicating the pack of thieves.
"Thank you," said Gylhain. They clasped wrists. She pointed out a pair of Nord women already in conversation. "Why don't you introduce yourself to Kara and Uthgerd? You'd probably get along."
Mjoll nodded apprehensively and moved off. Karliah slipped up to take her place.
"Good to see you. Been a while since you've been down in the Flagon," she said.
"I'll be back soon," Gylhain promised. "For one last time." Karliah gave her a strange look, but said nothing. She moved away to get herself a drink.
Vash was next, an hour later, the last rays of the sun vanishing over the mountains to the west. He'd brought Faralda, the College's resident expert in Destruction magic, as well as J'zargo and Brelyna Maryon. Vash apologised for the lack of battle-oriented mages, but Gylhain waved it away. Mages were worth a dozen good fighters, she said, quietly so as to anger the fighters.
Finally, under the cover of darkness came Kureeth. His face was rent with a deep frown, and Gylhain was about to ask the source of his distress when he said, "I had to talk."
Gylhain thanked him, and he moved quickly to find Falin. Kureeth had, somehow, managed to find Jordis the Sword-Maiden, Gylhain's old housecarl, and drag her out of retirement to fight alongside her old Thane once more.
"This is a one-time thing," Jordis assured Gylhain. "I can't be away from the children more than a day or two."
Kureeth had also brought Legate Rikke, along with five soldiers of the Imperial Legion, all of whom Gylhain addressed by name. Vodus, Miles, Hulgar, Casscia, and Raddin. She had fought beside all of them at some point during the campaign.
Gylhain did a quick head-count. Thirty-three, including her original comrades and herself. She hoped it would be enough. She was heading for the bar when Iona cornered her for a conversation she'd been hoping to avoid.
"Angi isn't with you," demanded Iona.
Gylhain scuffed her feet against the floorboards. "She stayed in Valenwood," she murmured, hoping the conversation around them would let the words vanish altogether.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing! I . . ." She wondered what she had done. What either of them had done. "We both realised that . . . that my life isn't the sort where you can have someone along that you can't bear getting hurt."
Iona shook her head. "You can have whatever sort of life you want," she said. "And you did, til you gave it up." She paused, grinding her teeth. "I'll fight with you, Gyl, but don't come back to Honeyside. Way I see it, this is on you."
Gylhain stepped back. There was nothing she could think of saying. She shook off the past and climbed up onto the bar. She said nothing, but gradually the gathered comrades noticed her and grew quiet, all eyes upon her.
She drew out the silence for a moment, scanning all had come to her aid. A varied, mostly disreputable bunch, but a skilled one. If only the rest of Skyrim was filled with such good people as these, she thought.
"My friends," she began. "Thank you all for coming so soon. It is a debt that most likely can never be repaid."
"Happy to help!" shouted Farkas. There was a round of ayes and nods.
"You've helped us all out, lass," said Brynjolf from near the front. "It's time we returned the favour."
Gylhain nodded solemnly. "But it is not a favour for me," she said. "It is a favour for everyone in this province. The Thalmor are massing in Helgen, seeking to open a gate to Oblivion. To unleash hell on Skyrim!"
Silence fell over the crowd again. A smile spread across Gylhain's face; this would be a fight to remember, provided any of them survived.
"Well I say," she said, leaving a dramatic gap, looking out over the assembled warriors, rogues, and mages, from all walks of life, all corners of Skyrim. "I say that we unleash hell on them!"