Family.
A word with so much meaning, yet could also mean so little. They had meant the world to me, then. In a twisted way, they still do. I look in my mother's eyes and see hatred answer my weakness. The grip on my dagger's hilt tightens. My ears were still ringing with her last words. She knew. All along she knew and she didn't even try to hide it. She had hated me from the beginning and I was too blind to see it. I had mistaken spite for harsh education, mistaken doting my sisters as their success and my failure. But no, I was destined to fail, destined to fall. She had waited years, decades, but her hunger finally betrayed her. Famished for vengeance, she struck at the first opportunity. And now it cost her everything.
"You're no daughter of mine," the elder woman spat on the floor at my boots. Her hands were bound and her wrists bloodied from struggling with the rope. The once proud Tova Shatter-Shield knelt before me, her old hatred now unveiled.
As a child, I was desperate for her approval. I was desperate to prove I was worthy of the Clan name. Where once there was fierce pride and an unrelenting force driving me forward, there was only emptiness. As if someone had carved out my heart and replaced it with ice shards, I felt hollow and cold. I raised the dagger above my head, and I could see Tova's eyes go wide, a silent plea hidden in them. The dark blade sank effortlessly into her flesh and the warmth left her body in a sickly spray.
My sister screamed and wailed as our mother's lifeless body collapsed in front of her, and suddenly, I was back in bed.
There was no blood, no dagger. But that empty hollow feeling remained and I lurched into a sitting position. I was sweating profusely and felt my supper climbing its way up from my stomach. Desperately I tried to control my breathing and it came out in soft pants. I shut my eyes to focus, but all I could see was the shock and hatred in my mother's eyes. The sobbing and crying returned, and I looked down the hall leading out of my room. The fire had been lit in the hearth on the floor below. I threw the covers off as I tried my best to chase the horrible nightmare from my thoughts.
"Friga? Friga is that you?" I croaked; my throat felt unbelievably tight. I walked down the hall towards the steps to the first floor, the wood creaking. "Friga?" I called again, but only more cries and whimpers reached my ears. I reached the landing that opened into the dining room, lit by purring flames in the hearth. From the dining room, one could see the front door normally. Where that door would be, stood a man—a guard. He had removed his helm, holding it between his burly hands, awkwardly playing with it. I steeled myself and approached. "Who are you?" I said none too nicely.
The man turned a mournful gaze to me. "Ah," he said softly. "Lady Muiri, we did not mean to wake you." I could see my entire family had gathered. My parents sat together, with my mother Tova's face buried deeply in my father Torbjorn's neck. And only one of my sisters, Nilsine, who had collapsed on her knees before the guard. Instinctively I glared at the guard as I rushed to Nilsine's side, and hugged her protectively.
"What did you do?" I growled before I turned my attention back to Nilsine who hadn't reacted to my touch. "Nilsine, did he hurt you? Are you alright?" My older sister shook her head softly before letting out a few more sobs. She curled into my embrace and I couldn't help but hug her tighter. I turned to my father questioningly, and his eyes had the same mourning in them as the guard's.
"Muiri, it's Friga." I heard my sister cry softly in my shoulder. "Friga, she's..." I felt my heart sink as Nilsine couldn't finish her sentence.
"Lady Muiri, I'm afraid your sister, Friga … She was murdered, tonight." I shut my eyes tightly and held onto my sister. As horrible and shocking as the news was, I couldn't help but be worried for Nilsine. They were twins. One of them being gone...
I turned to the guard, mustering as much of my courage. "By whom?"
The guard's fingers tightened on his helmet and I could hear the strain in his voice. "We haven't found the killer yet. But we will. I swear it on my honor as a true Nord." The guard turned to my father, then. "Friga's body has already been brought to Helgird for preparation. You are... invited to pay your respects as her clanmates."
I followed the guard's gaze on my father who simply nodded silently in reply. The guard turned on his heel then, strapping his helmet back in place. I couldn't help but notice the tension leave his body some as he left our home. I had no reason to doubt his sincerity, but the former left a souring feeling in my gut.
"Father," I started. He raised a hand to silence me.
"Not tonight, Muiri. We go to Friga. It's the least we can do." His voice was gruff and I could tell he was doing his best to hold on to his composure. My eyes lingered on my mother who still hadn't said a word, quietly shaking in his arms. He slowly shook his head at me, and I returned my attention to Nilsine in my own arms.
"Nilsine, let us go prepare. We need to wish Friga well on her journey."
"And what would you know of that, girl?" my mother hissed cruelly. I knew she was hurting the most. But nothing prepared me for the look she was giving me. The nightmare that I'd woken from came to mind. Rushing images of violence and loathing and gore prevented me from speaking, and my mouth hung open stupidly.
"Tova!" My father's voice boomed. He gently, but purposefully pushed my mother at arm's length. "She was Muiri's sister, too. We're all going to see Friga to Sovngarde." My father looked to me. "Together."
My Breton heritage was no secret. My true parents had died when I was but a babe. Clan Shatter-Shield were old, and powerful friends. They adopted me when they had heard of the accident that orphaned me. I had no memories of my life in High Rock. Windhelm was my true home. But still, I was no Nord. A reality I was cruelly reminded of at every opportunity, by some more than others. My mother Tova was no exception.
I cast my disappointment and the hideous images from my mind as I helped Nilsine to her feet. "Come," I spoke softly, and Nilsine nodded wordlessly. Her sobbing had finally subsided. I lead my sister upstairs to her room. Since I had seen her last night, she looked as if she had aged years. Her dirty blonde hair hung loose, undone from its normal ponytail. The bangs fell messily and gave her a rather haggard look unbefitting her. She had our father's square face, but our mother's cheekbones. Normally her most prominent features, they now gave her a sickly look.
I grabbed her brush from the stand and gently began to stroke Nilsine's long hair out of her face. "Friga wouldn't want to see you like this." I gently hummed the soft song I remembered Friga would sing whenever I had a nightmare. She had had a beautiful voice, but I knew I didn't share her talent.
"You're awful at that," Nilsine whispered mockingly.
"Hey!" I snapped playfully, continuing to brush her hair softly. I continued to hum out of tune while I worked. I began to braid Nilsine's hair in their mourning shape. We were seeing Friga off to Sovngarde after all. A warrior's sendoff was a crucial part of the ceremony to come. We were not saying our goodbyes, but asking the heroes of old to welcome her in the Hall of Valor. Her worth would be measured by our respect. For her, we would be strong. Stronger than we'd ever been so that we too may join her one day.
"Done. Will you help me do mine?" I asked Nilsine as I inspected my work. She nodded softly. I didn't have as much hair as Nilsine or Friga. I had always wanted to be as different from my sisters as possible. They had kept their hair long and flowing, while mine was short and stubborn, ending just below my ears. I had kept one long bang on the left side in accordance to Nord custom. Father had insisted. As Nilsine worked on my braid, I remembered fondly that discussion.
"Everyone tells me I'm no Nord, so why should I dress and act like one!"
"You're as much a Nord as I am, Muiri. You're a Shatter-Shield, always have been. Now quit whining like some milk drinker. You're my daughter." My resolve melted away almost completely at that. For all the trouble my mother would give me, my father had a way with words. Though few, they always found their mark and soothed my every fear.
"I don't want to be like Friga and Nilsine. I want to be a woman in my own right. I want to represent Shatter-Shield my way." I said, stubborn and wanting to make a point.
"You are, lass. And I couldn't be prouder of you. But tradition has its place, too. Keep at least enough for a single braid. Only a true Nord warrior can send me off to Sovngarde. And I won't sit still on my pyre without you being there, too."
"Don't joke about that, Papa." The thought of my father dying crushed my heart.
"I am serious, Muiri." He grasped my shoulders and kneeled so that we were at eye level. "One day I'll be gone. And I want you to make sure I go to Sovngarde. The same for your mother. And your older sisters. It's the burden of the young. One day you'll be the matron of Clan Shatter-Shield and you'll understand with children of your own." I looked away from my father sadly, but with a hand he cupped my left cheek and forced me to look at him. "This is important, child." I threw my arms around his neck in a tight hug as tears left trails on my cheeks.
He held me tightly, then. Tighter than he'd ever had before and kissed the top of my head. "You'll be just fine, Muiri. You're strong. A true warrior, and woman." He pulled back and patted my head softly. "Clan Shatter-Shield is truly blessed to have you. Lead us well, War Matron."
"Done," Nilsine said softly, snapping me out of my reverie.
"Thank you. I'll let you get dressed, and meet you downstairs."
My sister nodded wordlessly.
The walk to the Hall of the Dead was quiet. Only the crunching of the snow beneath our boots could be heard over the crackling of my father's torch. No one walked the streets, especially not after the murder. My sister's murder.
Her body had barely grown cold and already I discussed it with a distance that frightened me. That hollow pit in my stomach seemed to wrap my heart in its cold embrace, and I briefly wondered where the fire my father was so proud of had gone.
We'd all adorned our ceremonial armor and weapons, and I felt my hand suddenly grip the hilt of my blade tightly as we stood outside the Hall's doors. Yes, there it was.
As we made our way down the stairs to my sister's body, I found my hand ached from the force behind my grip. My arm began to shake from the strain when we finally saw Friga. She had been cleaned and dressed in armor similar to our own. I felt my jaw clench tightly as Friga, the spitting image of Nilsine, her twin, lay cold and unmoving on the ceremonial slab before us. And something in me came roaring to life.
Pray to all the Nine and the Daedra, whoever you are.
Helgird began the ceremony and we all bowed our head in silent prayer.
I will find them, Friga. I swear on my honor as a true Nord, if not in blood then spirit, I swear your death will be avenged.