If you have not watched Wolfwalkers yet, drop everything and go watch it. Wolf Daddy is now an official trope that I will always fully support. And a heart-felt thank you to whoever left that latest review on this story. You helped bring Felnore back and I daresay we need him and the gang now more than ever.

Fire and smoke. Screams amidst the resounding clash of steel on steel. The melodic chiming of a benevolent Divine being drowned out by the infernal roar of battle. None of it made any sense and yet in some part of his mind that struggled to throw off the weighted blanket of unconsciousness, Felnore understood.

War had come. It had followed him across the world and now it was here.

But where was here?

The effort it took to opened one eye was Herculean. To open the second took a strength of will that belonged to Talos himself. Everything was a blur until it wasn't. Blinking hard against the fog that clouded his vision, Felnore breathed in slowly and held it.

His heart still beat. His limbs still moved. His body was wracked with pain beyond measure. The ache in his gut burned a hole clean through him. He was very much alive, even if in that single moment he wished he was still lost to darkness.

"Make way! We have more coming in! Clear a path!"

Frantic voices calling out and flurries of movement pulled him into the present and forced him to turn his head toward the commotion. Bodies were everywhere. Bloodied, broken, covered in soot and ash. The floor was covered with them. Some still held onto life, though most had stopped moving altogether. Flitting from one lost soul to another were robed figures but there were not nearly enough healers to keep up with the constant stream of newly wounded that were dragged into the building.

Soft cries mingled with the otherworldly melody that herald the healing powers of the goddess Kynareth. Somewhere an old woman was trying to comfort a child as the cries began to fade to silence.

Felnore grunted as an ache settled around his heart. That sound was the one true fear to every parent. Children in pain. Children dying. Nothing could stop it. But he could try.

"Get. Up."

Between clenched teeth, Felnore swore at himself as he forced his body to move. The pain that lanced up his arms and legs pulled the air out of his lungs. He gasped and even that somehow managed to hurt as well. He had to move, he had to find out what was happening beyond the walls of the house of healing that he had been brought to. But his body had other ideas and it took him a few minutes before he realized why.

Felnore stared in confusion at the heavy linen bindings that had been expertly woven over his hands and feet. The thick padding between the layers of bandaging made it impossible to maneuver properly. Nothing could be flexed or bent. Everything from the elbows and knees downward was wrapped tight to prevent any sort of movement.

What was going on?

"By the grace of the Nine, you're awake." A voice worn from overuse pulled his attention away from his hands as a woman scurried toward him. Her figure was as familiar to him as the worried lines that settled across her forehead. The smell of dried herbs and amber that accompanied her did little to dampen the blood and sick that permeated the air in the Temple of Kynareth but Felnore was glad for it none the less.

"Arcadia. What's happened? My girls, are they with you? Are they safe?" Questions buzzed around him like a swarm of angry bees but there was only one answer he wanted to hear. Out of habit he tried to stand, but his knees would no longer support his weight.

"You don't need me to tell you not to move Felnore. You're in a bad enough state as it is. Just lay back and let me look at you."

Felnore was never one to listen to reason, no matter how sound it was. "Never mind that. Where is Eva and Jonna? Did they make it to Jorrvaskr? Are the Companions on the walls? Did Farkas find you before…Arcadia, where are my girls?"

The acidic tang of bile rose in Felnore's throat when the Arcadia's eyes would not meet his.

"What happened?"

To her credit, Whiterun's primary alchemist and caregiver did not flinch at the unnatural tone that edged his words. Another person would have backed away but Arcadia was a woman made of tougher stuff and she had dealt with Felnore in all of his moods, no matter what the lunar cycle brought. She kept the secret of his monthly ailments to herself and as someone dedicated to the healing arts, she made good on her word as his friend and healer.

"I promise you Felnore, I do not know where they are. The alarm was raised and then you were brought here to the temple. Danica, the high priestess, summoned me because she knows that I am the only one who tends to you and the other Companions. I thought you were dead at first. But you Greymanes are a stubborn lot and tough to kill. I did what I could to clean your wounds but...well…if an infection doesn't set in and we can keep the fever under control, you may get to keep your limbs intact."

Her voice faltered when Felnore forced her to look him in the eye. She placed a hand gently on his arm before she spoke the words he was so desperate to hear.

"The Stormcloaks attacked a few hours ago and it has been going on like this ever since. So far, Jarl Balgruuf and the city guards have managed to keep Ulfric's forces from reaching the Wind District and there are Imperial legions outside the city walls pushing the Stormcloaks back. The Plains district is destroyed. Nothing is left but burning ruins and the fallen. Your house is gone. But Felnore, there was time. You gave us time to rally. I am sure the girls made it out and made it to Jorrvaskr before the fighting broke out. I have not seen any of the Companions, but that just means that they aren't among the wounded. Please, believe me. I am sure they are safe. No one in this city would ever allow anything to happen to them. More and more wounded are being brought in but there is hope that this will soon be over. There is rumor that the Dovah-…what are you doing?"

Felnore had heard enough. What Arcadia had told him was the truth as she knew it to be, but it was nowhere near enough. He had to make certain that Eva and Joanna were someplace safe from the fighting. Pain, he could take. Not knowing for certain, he could not. He was going to find his girls in this mess. If it killed him to do so, so be it.

Clenching his teeth from the effort, Felnore used his elbows and battered knees to lift himself onto all fours.

"Felnore! You cannot walk. You don't know what you did to yourself. Felnore, stop!"

He ignored Arcadia's panic and shrugged off her hands as she tried to push him back onto the bench that he had been laid out on. Had Jenassa been there, he would have been flat on his back with a Dark Elf sitting on his chest in half a heartbeat. But Arcadia was a healer, not a trained assassin. She attempted to restrain him, pulling him down, but he used her as a crutch instead and hauled himself onto his bandaged feet.

The pain that lanced up his muscles was crippling. Her warning about losing a limb or four may actually hold merit. But that wasn't going to stop him.

"Either help me, or get out of my way." He growled in her ear as he took a second to catch his breath.

"Ugh, Felnore, you stubborn man. What do you plan on doing? Limp across a battleground like a perfect walking target? Do you really want to make orphans of your girls? Will that make you happy?"

Arcadia growled right back but did not let go as Felnore leaned into her when his left leg buckled from the added pressure. He hissed to prevent from crying out as stabbing pricks of white-hot agony burrowed into his other foot. One step, and then another, and then another. Arcadia did her best to support him as he doggedly hobbled toward the open entrance of the temple. Felnore was forced to stop at the doorway when a large man with a mane of white braided hair came into view. Broad shoulders and the scowl of a cave bear set him apart from the rest as he entered the temple with a wounded member of the Battle-born clan slung over his shoulder like a hefty sack of grain.

"What is the meaning of this?" Eorlund Gray-Mane, the legendary Skyforge blacksmith and Felnore's own relation, dropped his burden into the waiting hands of some acolytes before he rounded on the disabled duo. Arcadia just rolled her eyes and motioned at Felnore without saying a word.

"Gods be praised, it is good to see that you live but you should not be standing. Even I know this. Listen to the healers and do as you are told for once. The call to battle runs deep in our blood, but you are of no use to anyone in your condition. You could not lift the smallest of hammers. How are you to fight the Stormcloaks? Arcadia is a woman who knows her business. Listen to her. Don't be an ass or you'll be on it."

If there ever was a man in all of Skyrim that Felnore feared and respected in equal measure, it was Eorlund. The man was god among blacksmiths and could speak to steel in ways that only the Divines themselves knew how. Felnore's size had always set him apart from the other Companions, but Eorlund was a Gray-Mane as well. He carried himself with the weight of his years working the Skyforge. It would only take a single blow from his fist and Felnore would be knocked into Oblivion for a week.

The two men regarded each other before Felnore sighed, his shoulders rounding as his back pressed into the heavy wooden doorframe.

"Fine. But I ask a favour. Find Eva and Joanna. They should be at the mead hall. And when you do, keep them with Fralia. I don't want them anywhere near here. I don't want them to see this." He watched as another wounded man, an Imperial soldier, was carried past on a make-shift stretcher. Bloody patches of blood followed in his wake from the ragged stump where a leg had been cut clean through.

"I was at the Skyforge when the alarm was sounded. I did not seem them enter Jorrvaskr nor did I see anyone leave. Avulstein and Olfina gathered up as many children as they could and brought them up to Dragonsreach before the Stormcloaks attacked. Your daughters will be there if they are anywhere. But I will find them. You have my word."

Eorlund was never the sentimental type but he knew full well what Felnore daughters meant to him. What wouldn't a father do to protect his own? It was a question that he constantly mulled over with his hammer and tongs whenever his mind drifted to the unknown whereabouts of his missing son. But no was not the time to dwell on such matters. Missing children needed to be tracked down and more wounded needed to be pulled from the wreckage of the Plains distract.

That should have been the end of it. Or would have had a sudden increase in the fervor of combat not sent a chill through the air. All eyes turned to peer through the open doorway as the resounding cry of retreat went up.

"THEY'VE BREACHED THE BARRICADE! FALL BACK TO THE CLOUD DISTRICT! RALLY TO THE JARL!"

"The Divines help us all." Arcadia whispered a quiet prayer as a shiver ran down her spine.

The scowl on Eorlund's face darkened dangerously as he stepped out of the temple and hoisted a massive double-bladed war axe into his hands. His word would have to wait until he had cleaved through enough Stormcloak skulls to make them regret having ever set foot in Whiterun.

"Barricade the doors. Anyone able-bodied enough to wield a weapon, do so." Eorlund barked the command before he slammed the entrance doors shut and planted himself next to the Gildergreen tree that grew tall in the city's center. Anyone trying to reach Dragonsreach or the temple would have to pass the nexus point that was the great tree and around Eorlund came a horde of city guards, round shields held at the ready to push back the rising tide.

Inside the temple, a grim sort of determination fell upon occupants. Doors were barricaded, the first time in the temple's history, while the wounded that could be saved were carefully moved into corners. The dead were quickly stacked against the main entrance. In death, they would help to hinder the enemy if the doors should be compromised. The ethereal chimes that brought healing to the spirit took on an ominous tone as everyone tensed and waited.

Through all this, Felnore took up space in a corner and tried to thread together what little information he had been given. Some things did not add up while others made no sense. Frustrated, exhausted, and in constant pain, this was nothing new to him. But the weakness he felt came from within. The constant undercurrent of dread from not knowing whether or not his daughters were safe or burnt to death in their beds made his skin crawl. His shoulders shook, unnoticed at first, as sweat pooled along his hairline. He swallowed, his throat raw, as the tremors began to settle in his hands.

"Felnore?" Arcadia had turned to ask him a question when her eyes fell on the bright crimson stains that blossomed through the white bandages.

Felnore did not register why her face had suddenly gone pale. When she moved toward him, time slowed as reality tilted sideways. He thought he heard his name being called. But from a greater distance, a shrill faint scream of a terrified child burrowed in his ear before everything went quiet.

"Eva?"

Darkness took hold of him then and the world faded into nothingness.