Chapter 3
Middas, the 29th of Rain's Hand, Year 202 of the 4th Era
When Daenerys returned to Jorrvaskr a few days later, she was immediately directed to the training ground. As she headed in that direction, all of the Companions began gathering. Many of them stopped to congratulate her on retrieving Wuuthrad.
Farkas came up behind her and slapped her on the back. "About time you got here, whelp. I arrived two days ago. Did you bring the iron doors back with you?"
"No, we left the doors, but we took most everything else." And it would be worth a lot provided she could sell it. In addition to the usual assortment of weapons, armor, and miscellaneous enchanted items, most of the Silver Hand warriors had carried silver swords or greatswords. Most of them were also enchanted for sharpness. They weren't very good enchantments, but silver weapons would quickly lose their edge without magic.
Farkas shook his head. "You know that honor is worth more than gold."
"So, I can keep your share then?"
He laughed. "Now, I didn't say that! Come on, everyone is going to be waiting on us."
Daenerys followed Farkas outside. Sofija and Lydia followed behind her but stayed by the door when they saw that all the Companions had gathered outside. Kodlak Whitemane stood waiting with the Circle gathered around him. Daenerys felt a thrill of excitement. From the mood of the gathering, there was no chance she was about to be thrown out, so they must be gathering to induct her. Farkas guided her to stand in front of the gathered Companions and facing the Circle. He stood beside her. Daenerys held herself as she would while holding court, controlled, and dignified.
Kodlak raised a hand and an expectant hush fell upon the gathering. "Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?"
Farkas promptly replied, "I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us."
"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" asked Kodlak.
"I would stand at her back that the world might never overtake us."
"And would you raise your sword in her honor?"
"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."
"And would you raise a mug in her name?"
"I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories."
"Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."
Every gathered Companion shouted back in reply, "It shall be so!"
Then the celebration began. While the Companions accepted other races into their number, they followed Nord tradition, so it wasn't surprising that the celebration involved drinking, feasting, drinking, bragging, drinking, fistfights, and more drinking. From the way the younger serving maids were eager to be pulled into a warrior's lap, it would likely involve some wenching as well. While Daenerys didn't really enjoy drinking heavily, she knew that not participating would be remembered. She tried to space out her drinking, but every time her flagon was even half-empty a servant promptly refilled it. Before long she was pleasantly tipsy.
To fill the time while the drinking was going on, stories were shared. As she was the one being honored she was asked to recite both the 'battle' of Dustman's Cairn and her attack on the bandits of Fort Greymoor. However, that wasn't enough. They also wanted to hear her tell about her defeat of Mir-Mul-Nir again. She told the stories when they were demanded, but she tried to emphasize the bravery of her followers rather than her own actions.
"Those tactics, you didn't come up with them on the spur of the moment. You've fought dragons before haven't you lass?" asked Vilkas
"Not really. I just know dragons. Before Tamriel I only fought one before." She wanted to take the words back as soon she spoke them because they got too much attention.
"What?" asked Farkas. "You fought another dragon before Murmurmur?! Or whatever his name was? Tell us!"
All the Companions started pounding their fists on the table and demanding the story.
Daenerys set her mead down. She had obviously had enough to drink to make such a slip. Now she would have to say something. Panic and anger made her head clearer. While she hadn't intended to say anything about her past, maybe this was for the best. She wanted to attract Companions to join her cause. This feast was in her honor. Would there be a better time?
"Very well, I'll tell the story." Daenerys stood up as was the custom when bragging about one's deeds. "This is not my story, although I am part of it, and I did do battle with a dragon. This is a story of the Night King. Do you wish to hear the story?"
"Tell!" "Night King!" "Tell us!" "Tell us!" "Tell us!"
Daenerys stepped up and onto her chair to gain some height and began. "I'm no bard or teller of tales, so have patience with me. Before I begin, I must tell you a little about my home. I'm not from Tamriel, Atmora, or Akavir. I'm from a land far beyond. It's a land divided into two continents separated by the Narrow Sea. Essos, the land of the east, and Westeros, the land of the west. Each is smaller than Tamriel, but combined together they are larger.
"In the land of Essos there once lived dragons, but these are not the same dragons that you know of here in Tamriel. They are cousins. Similar in nature, but different, like a wolf to a dog, or a horse to a pony. Our dragons were not immortal beings of Aetherius, but beings of flesh and blood. They laid eggs, grew up, and could die of old age. They were clever and dangerous, but they could not Shout nor could they speak." Although now that she knew dragons in Tamriel had their own language, she wondered if her own dragons had been smarter than she had ever realized.
"We did not have a legend of a Dragonborn. Dragons were tamed by men in Old Valyria. They built an empire that lasted thousands of years until it was ended by the Doom of Valyria. Only one noble house survived, House Targaryen. With just three dragons Aegon Targaryen conquered all of Westeros, but that is another story. You wanted to hear of when I did battle with the Night King and his dragon…"
Daenerys paused. Where to start the story? Everyone was listening to her raptly. "It was a time of civil war. The kingdoms were divided. Most of them acknowledged the authority of the rightful queen, but an usurper held the capitol. War had waged for years, the people and land weakened by it, and that is when the Night King chose to strike.
"The largest of the kingdoms of Westeros was simply called 'The North'. The Kingdom of the North is a land much like Skyrim, wild and untamed. The Northmen are so much like Nords that they could be your long-lost brothers. They are known for being stubborn, independent, and fierce in battle. They are not meek followers, but they can be led by those who earn their respect.
"But in Westeros there is a land beyond 'the North', a land like Atmora, almost always frozen and inhabited only by the Wildlings who will call no man king and the White Walkers. The White Walkers are akin to draugr lords, but they have the power to raise the dead and have them serve their will. Not necromancers as you know them. They could raise all the dead, and their leader was an immortal thousands of years old. A being called the Night King. Like all White Walkers his skin was cold and frozen with glowing eyes of blue. The White Walkers were held back by the Wall. The Wall was hundreds of miles long and hundreds of feet tall and it was a barrier both physical and magical, but in the midst of the civil war the Night King breached the wall and marched south with an army of the dead killing every living creature in his path.
"In the fortress city of Winterfell, the living gathered to make their last stand against the armies of the dead and the Night King. What remained of the Northmen gathered there, but they did not fight alone. The knights of the Vale, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki horde came to stand beside them. I came as well, and with me I brought my two remaining dragons."
She smiled at the gasps of breath. "Yes, I commanded dragons. The last three dragons in all the kingdoms: Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. Dragons that I hatched and raised. Dragons I fed from my own hand. Dragons that I rode through the skies and into battle." She couldn't help feeling pain at the next part. "But Viserion had already fallen to the Night King in a battle beyond the Wall. The Night King did it with a single spear hurled with such force that it pierced dragonscale doing a mortal blow, and in death the Night King claimed him. Viserion was a dragon of fire. When he rose from the dead under the command of the Night King he became a dragon of ice."
Everyone was listening with rapt attention from the servants to Kodlak Whitemane. So intent were they on listening that they weren't even drinking.
"The battle of Winterfell is a saga all its own. Many a brave man died that day fighting the army of the dead, an army that would die and rise to fight again under the power of the Night King. In that battle every man that fell, was lost to the Night King, rising to fight against the living. It was the last stand of the living against the dead, but I saw little of that battle. My battle was in the skies. I rode Drogon into battle. My nephew, Jon Snow, rode Rhaegal. It is a battle like none I have ever known. It happened on an overcast night. We were three dark shadows playing hide-and-go-find in the skies above Winterfell.
"How to describe that battle? Listening, feeling, watching for the blue flame of Viserion, and wondering if instead he would find me. Hearing the cries of the men below. Sometimes I paused my quest for the Night King to strafe the dead with dragonfire. Which helped the battle but betrayed my position. I watched as Viserion did battle with Rhaegal, and they mauled each other like two cats in a bag. My feeling of victory at knocking the Night King off Viserion and blasting him with dragonflame… He was a creature of ice, and a Seer had told us that dragonfire might have the power to defeat him. However, the seer was wrong. The Night King stood there amidst the flames, untouched, unharmed, and called more of the dead back to life."
Perhaps she should have lied and claimed that she killed the Night King, but she couldn't steal the credit from the true hero. "I told you that this was not my story. Yes, I fought against a dragon, my own child. I tried to kill the Night King, but I failed. The armies died in their thousands. The walls of Winterfell were breached, and the dead poured into the city, and even the power of a dragon at my command did little to stem the flood of the dead.
"We did have another plan. We knew that White Walkers were vulnerable to dragonglass, which you call ebony in Tamriel. The kiss of an ebony weapon would cause a White Walker to shatter like glass. We hoped that an ebony blade could kill the Night King as well, but no one could stand up to him in combat. Wherever he went out strongest warriors died, then rose again to serve the Night King. We tried ebony arrows, but he snatched the arrows out of the air. Such was his power. He killed even the strongest men with contempt. No one could even lay a blow upon him. The fortress fell and was overrun. Everywhere the dead were overcoming the living.
"When all seemed lost a lone warrior maid charged the Night King from behind having fought her way through to him. He heard her and turned swifter than a serpent striking. He caught her by the right hand before she could strike. He thought her helpless. He paused for a mere moment to gloat. In that moment she dropped her dragonglass blade from her right hand, caught it in her left, and stabbed him in the heart. Thus, ended the Night King. With his death the souls of all in his thrall were released, and the dead lay still once more."
"Her name was Arya Stark. She is the hero of that battle, not me. Her bravery saved every man, woman, and child in Westeros, perhaps in all the world. If you ever tell this story, speak her name, let it never be forgotten." With that Daenerys sat down. The telling of the story took more of a toll on her than she had expected.
"Arya Stark," said Vilkas as he stood and held up a flagon holding it the air but not drinking yet. "May her name never be forgotten."
One-by-one each of the Companions stood up, lifted their mug, and said her name. "Arya Stark."
The last to rise was Kodlak Whitemane himself. "Arya Stark. May her name never be forgotten." He drank and all the Companions drank with him.
The celebration continued, but Daenerys wasn't much in a mood take part in it. The telling of the battle brought all the memories of her past life back to her, and she was no longer in the mood to celebrate. As soon as she was no longer the center of attention, she took her leave. However, as she departed Kodlak Whitemane approached her and asked for a few words. She obviously couldn't turn down the Harbinger, so she followed him to his table outside his room.
Kodlak settled into his chair and motioned her to sit in the other. "That was some story. You know it will be all over Whiterun within a week."
Daenerys nodded her head as she sat down. "Of course, but there are already so many rumors about my past. I'm the long-lost descendant of Tiber Septim, an Atmoran, an escaped slave from Akavir, and many more. Those are the tame ones. The truth might as well compete with the fiction, although many won't believe it."
Kodlak nodded. "You have the right of that. It's a remarkable story. The Night King is the most believable part of it. The part about you riding a dragon, that will be disputed."
Daenerys shrugged. "They will believe what they believe."
"What interested me was what was left out of the story. Who was the rightful queen of Westeros?"
Daeneys met Kodlak's gaze. Beneath his war-like exterior was a sharp mind. She looked behind her and saw only Lydia. "Before I came here, I was known as Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Uncrowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."
"That's a mouthful," said Kodlak. "I'll just keep calling you Daenerys."
Daenerys laughed and was surprised that it came out as a high-pitched giggle. "Yes, it is a mouthful." And she was already collecting more titles: Thane of Winterhold, Thane of Whiterun, and the Dragonborn.
"Yet, you didn't claim those titles. Wise of you. They also don't matter here. You're one of us. All equal."
Ah, was this why he wanted to talk to her? "I know. I value that equality. Being a queen is surprisingly lonely."
"Is that why you wanted to join the Companions?"
"No, that was an unexpected surprise and a pleasant one. Being part of this brotherhood feels good." She looked back at Lydia. "No complaints about your service, Lydia. I value your faithfulness just as much."
Lydia nodded. "Thank you, my thane."
"Then why did you join?" asked Kodlak.
"I had two reasons. First, I'm expected to kill dragons. I was lucky with Mir-Mul-Nir, but I can't rely upon luck. I need skilled warriors. I was hoping that some Companions would want to help me." She had no problem admitting it to Kodlak because she was sure he already knew.
Kodlak nodded. "I'm sure some will. Although they won't swear to you."
Daenerys shrugged. "I don't care if they swear as long as they can follow a plan in a fight and don't get others killed."
"Some won't like that. Most will have no problem with it. Be sure you put it to them just like that. That following the plan is about not getting others killed, and they'll listen."
"I will."
"And your other reason for joining?"
"Legitimacy. I'm not the brawny axe-swinging Dragonborn the Nords of Skyrim expected. I'm a short magic-wielding outsider."
"But the people love you. You could challenge Jarl Balgruuf to a duel, name yourself Jarl, and the nobles and the people would do nothing but cheer." His spoke like he was setting a trap and waiting for her to take the bait.
Daenerys shrugged. "Perhaps I could, but it's not that simple. The people never stop expecting more from their heroes and their rulers. For now they chant my name, but that wouldn't last if I sat on a throne and did nothing more about the dragons. You're also assuming that I want a throne."
"Don't you?" asked Kodlak.
"No, I don't." Daenerys was surprised to find that was the truth. It felt like either the gods or circumstances would take that choice from her, and she would be forced to take a more active role in politics, but that was a worry for another day. For now, leading her small company of followers and trying to kill dragons was more than enough for her. "Now, I would like to ask a question. You've backed me all the way. Why did you want me in the Companions?"
"Because," said Kodlak. "The Companions were originally the greatest heroes of Skyrim and not just the greatest warriors, because fighting dragons is something that great heroes should do, and because the gods obviously stand behind you. You are the hope of Skyrim. If you are not fit to be a Companion, none of us are." He fell silent for a moment and then continued. "And because of the beastblood."
"You mean that the Circle is made up of werewolves?"
"Yes. Farkas reported back that you and your followers witnessed him fighting as a werewolf. How much did he tell you?"
"Not much. That it was a gift. That it went back centuries. He didn't want to talk about it."
Kodlak nodded. "Let me tell you the whole story. It started hundreds of years ago with a previous harbinger. He was a good but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power. He didn't know the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived. The truth is that not everyone can control the beast. Some lose control. They let the best win, and they become like the feral werewolves of stories. We put those down, but that's not the worst part. Even if we master the wolf, Hircine claims our souls. We don't go to Sovngarde. An eternity in the Hunting Grounds awaits us when we die. Skjor and Aela don't even care. An eternity of hunting prey appeals to them."
"I didn't know that." That the afterlife was proven to exist had been shocking enough to her when she learned it. However, there was a great difference of opinion about what happened to your soul after death. Some claimed that all you needed to do was be faithful to the gods, and they would guide your soul to Aetherius. The Nords believed that how you faced death mattered most, and only the worthy would enter Sovngarde. She had heard that Daedra claimed the souls of their worshipers. She also heard the Daedra claimed the souls of the wicked. However, what Kodlak was describing didn't seem fair. Get bitten by a werewolf and Hircine gets your soul? Although the world wasn't fair. Why would the afterlife be any different? It wasn't something that was pleasant to dwell upon. If she was judged based upon her deeds, she was in for an unpleasant afterlife. On the other hand, she had already been judged. The gods had already set her a task, at least that was what Grandfather had believed.
Daenerys shook her head. "Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment. So, is there nothing that can be done to free your soul?"
"I have been searching for a cure for a long time without success. Perhaps if we could find the Glenmoril witches, but I'm not sure where to find them, or even if their coven still exists. They have a deservedly unsavory reputation. They may have been hunted down and destroyed."
While Daenerys understood that finding a cure was a matter of urgency for Kodlak, what did it have to do with her? Oh, of course. "And you think that I can help cure you?"
"Perhaps. I don't know how, but clearly you are sent by the gods. I don't mean to lay another burden upon you, but you don't plan to stay in Whiterun long do you?"
"No, another week, two at most."
"Then just keep your ears open. Maybe the gods will lead you to the Glenmoril Coven, maybe you will find another way. Maybe I'm an old fool."
"No, you might have been fooled by Hircine, but you are no fool." She had no clue how she could possibly help, but it was just one more thing to add to her list. "If I can do anything, I will. What have you tried? I would expect that the Temple of Kynareth would be the first place to start." After all, Kynareth was the goddess of nature and most directly opposed to Hircine.
"I tried. I've spoken with the High Priestess, Danica Pure-Spring, in confidence. She suggested that we repudiate Hircine, forsake his gift, and remain human. Vilkas, Farkas, and I are trying to follow that advice, but the wolf still has its teeth sunk into our souls." Kodlak went on to describe how he sought a solution in alchemy and enchanting without success. "If there is a cure, I believe it lies with the witches. Nothing else has worked. I also believe you will succeed where I have failed."
Daenerys sighed. "If I can help, I will, that's all I can do. I can't perform miracles."
Kodlak started laughing. "You already have. Destroying that dragon with the handful of men you had? That was a miracle. The gods have chosen you Daenerys of the many titles. They brought you here for a reason. Or haven't you looked at the sky lately?"
"I've seen the bloody comet." She sighed. "I'll try, but I don't know what I can do. I'll ask Faralda, but she's a Mistress of Destruction. I doubt she'll know much about curses like this one." But maybe she would have heard something about the witches, or… "You know, I may have another lead. Have you heard of the dark cabal of magicians that have holed up in Ilinalta's Deep?"
Kodlak sat up straighter. "No, I have not. You think they may be the Glenmoril Witches?"
"No," replied Daenerys with a shake of her head. "But where do they corrupt mages recruit their followers? Perhaps they might know about the Glenmoril coven. If I take any prisoners, I'll ask."
"Good, good. It's a thread, but if we pull enough threads we'll unweave the tapestry. You give a tired old man hope. The gods have guided you here, and they will continue to find you. You'll find the scent, and then the trail, and we will break the curse upon the Companions." He wearily pushed himself to his feet. "But not tonight. I'm a tired old man and I need my rest. Goodnight, Daenerys."
Daenerys stood and nodded back to him. "Good night, Kodlak." She watched as he left to his room. "Come on, Lydia. I should get to sleep as well. I have to be up at dawn tomorrow to practice." And she needed her sleep. She had an awful lot to get done in the next few weeks.