The Elder Scrolls IV: Whiterun - Chapter 8

Hrotti was standing with the archers of the Whiterun guard when the gateway suddenly burst. The flickering energy that was the portal to Oblivion flared and shot upwards, shattering the top of the arch which surrounded it. The defenders at the front of the formation took a step back at this unexpected occurrence. Those who held shields raised them to block the shards of rock that had splintered off the archway. Hrotti notched an arrow, though she did not take aim until she had something to aim at.

She looked up, following the blazing beam emanating from the gateway. It dissipated into the sky, which immediately began to lose its unnatural red colouration. As the storm clouds faded, the sun shone through once more, basking the city in its golden evening light.

By the time Hrotti turned her attention back to the gateway, or rather, what was left of it, the portal was gone. Only some of the black rock remained to mark the place where the Oblivion Gate had once been. A single figure had appeared in front of these ruins, kneeling between them and the defenders. He held a sword in his right hand while his left clutched a dark orb. His armour was badly worn and covered in ash, but even then Hrotti recognized it, as did the other Companions.

“Terrfyg!” Freya called, breaking rank and rushing over to him.

He stared up at her, taking a moment to catch his breath before speaking, “Is this...Sovngarde?”

Freya shook her head, “You’re back in Whiterun, Shield-Brother.”

Hrotti, Shelaz and Gunnar all made their way through the crowd. Terrfyg looked around, his eyes settling on each one of them as he slowly took in his surroundings.

“I’ve returned,” he muttered. “But...how? I never made it back to the gate.”

Terrfyg’s puzzled gaze moved downwards to the black orb in his hand. It lingered there for a moment before he snapped to attention. His head turned right, then left, as if frantically searching for something or someone.

“Are you alright?” Hrotti asked.

“The others,” Terrfyg said, either ignoring the question or never even having heard it. “Did any of them return?”

Shelaz shook her head, “You’re the only thing to come out of that portal since the wave we last fended off together.”

Terrfyg sighed, his gaze drifting down again, “They’re gone, then.”

“All of them?” inquired Gunnar with disbelief in his voice.

“I watched Holskar and Ulfdir fall. And the three mages. The Harbinger and Everild- I didn’t see them die. If they haven’t come through the portal..." he trailed off.

The remaining Companions stood around Terrfyg in silence, trying to process the deaths of so many Shield-Siblings. Hrotti was the first to react as she had known them the least well; among the fallen, Everild was the only one she had begun to form a friendship with due to their recent travel together, while the other Companions had fought beside and drank with the deceased countless times. Noticing that Terrfyg was still on his knees, Hrotti offered him her hand and hoisted the warrior upright.

Back on his feet, Terrfyg took a few unsteady steps towards Gunnar, “I’m sorry about your mother. I offered to take her place, but she wouldn’t have it.”

The young white-haired Nord clasped a hand on Terrfyg’s shoulder, “I know all too well how she can be. I would never blame you, brother. Tell me, did she die with honour?”

The older Companion nodded, “Last I saw of Ragnhild, she had climbed on top of a massive Daedra, something shaped like a dragon from the songs of old. She brought the beast down from the sky, likely falling with it.”

“A fitting end for a Harbinger of the Companions. She would have it no other way.”

“It may be a good death for a Harbinger, but she was the best one among us to be Harbinger,” asserted Terrfyg. “It should have been me who gave my life. I’m not as wise as she is.”

“You’re a good and honourable man, Terrfyg,” Freya said. “You’ll guide us right.”

“With what’s left of us to guide,” he replied, gazing solemnly across the battlefield. “Let us collect the fallen and rest, now that the immediate threat is over. Ragnhild, or perhaps Everild, may return yet.”

The Companions gathered the bodies of their Shield-Siblings. Hadmir and the guards who survived the fighting unscathed helped them carry the fallen to the Hall of the Dead, and in turn the Companions aided in moving the wounded and deceased of the Whiterun guard. As the priests of Arkay prepared the bodies for their funerals, Hrotti and her fellows returned to Jorrvaskr.

They dined in silence that night. There was no boasting of great deeds in battle, no singing of honour and glory. Though the Companions had closed the portal, those who remained knew that the cost was high- too high. The mead hall was as quiet as the Hall of the Dead they had just come from.

Hrotti sank into one of the beds in the sleeping area after their meal and drifted off in an instant, exhausted from the fighting and the haste-filled journey back to Whiterun that preceded it. The next day, they built the funeral pyres. Out of the remaining Companions in the city, only Bakir and Svangar did not help as the two were still recovering from their injuries in the Temple of Kynareth.

The funeral was held on the second day after the battle, when the wounded were well enough to attend. The pyres were arrayed behind Jorrvaskr in the courtyard where the Companions trained. All the practice dummies had been removed, and in their place stood ten pyres for the ten fallen warriors. Six held bodies atop them, clad in the armour they wore upon death. The other four were for the members of the Circle, lost beyond the gateway to Oblivion.

That did not prevent their Shield-Siblings from building pyres to honour them as well. In place of their remains, any of their armour that could be found, old or replacement pieces, were put on the piles of wood. The Harbinger’s pyre held steel armour she had used before the Stalhrim was gifted to her. Holskar’s displayed simpler hides he dressed in when the situation did not call for his trollbone armour, which was expensive to maintain. Representing Ulfdir was a second suit of chainmail he kept in reserve, identical to what he wore into the portal. Everild’s pyre was adorned with the iron armour her father forged for her upon first setting out on her adventures, something the Breton knight kept after all these years.

Many residents of Whiterun came to pay their respects to the departed Companions. Both the Gray-Mane and Battle-Born clans arrived in their entirety, being family and friends to Ulfdir. Hadmir Battle-Born brought with him the guards who stood in the defensive formation to honour those they fought alongside, and the surviving members of the Mages Guild who played a part in the battle also attended the ceremony. A fellow bard sang for Katrida, a respected colleague he had apparently studied together with in Solitude.

The last guests arrived when the pyres were already lit. They were two women, one seeming to be in her fifties, the other visibly younger, but not quite young. Both were dressed in robes, with the ones worn by the older of the two being more elaborate and trimmed with fur. Attention diverted from the burning pyres to the latecomers, though it was not due to their tardiness, as Hrotti learned when Terrfyg stepped forth to speak with them.

“Jarl Jsashe,” the Companion addressed the older woman in the fancier robes.

“Harbinger Terrfyg,” replied the Jarl.

“I am not Harbinger,” Terrfyg corrected her. “Ragnhild never had a chance to appoint her replacement.”

“You are the last member of the Circle left, are you not?”

“Yes, which makes me most likely to be chosen as the next Harbinger. But first the Companions must get together to make the choice, like your moots.”

“I see,” the Jarl nodded her understanding.

“Why are you here?” Terrfyg asked, doing away with the pleasantries and cutting to the chase.

“The same reason everyone else is, I imagine. To honour the dead.”

“And you do that by arriving when the funeral is already underway?”

“I’m a busy woman.”

Terrfyg did not accept that excuse and continued to question her, “What about during the fighting, when your city was under attack? Where were you and your spells then?”

“I am a Jarl, not a soldier,” Jsashe took a step forward, staring down the Companion. “My guards held the line alongside your warriors, did they not?”

“Hadmir’s guards, not yours. They just happen to serve the Hold in which you seized power.”

“Seized power?” the Jarl narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

All those present at the ceremony had turned fully to Terrfyg and Jsashe now, with a rough circle forming around the conversation. Terrfyg looked at the crowd and gestured at them.

“We’ve all heard the rumours of your involvement with the Horme. You’re a sorcerer and you have no love for the Imperials. How do we know you didn’t have a hand in the Prince’s death and opening that portal to Oblivion?”

The Jarl laughed, “And you believe those rumours? Thank Jhunal you’re not Harbinger. You’re even more of an icebrain than I thought.”

“These rumours sound pretty convincing to me,” Terrfyg stated, crossing his arms.

“Just because something is convincing doesn’t mean it’s true. Why would I open a portal to Oblivion in a city where I’ve already, as you put it, seized power?”

“Maybe seizing power is only the first step in your plan. Maybe you want to hand Whiterun over to the Daedra.”

Jsashe scoffed, “Not everyone who dislikes the Cyrodilic gods is a worshipper of Daedra. I simply wish to prevent the loss of our own traditions due to the influence of Imperial culture. I have no ill will against the Empire. But this is neither the time nor place for such a discussion.”

Terrfyg opened his mouth to continue the argument, though he paused at that last sentence. He glanced back at the blazing pyres behind him, then at the still living Companions around him, whose eyes were affixed on the most senior of their number left.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I still don’t trust you, but now is not the time to argue about it. I apologize. These last few days have been a difficult time for our guild, and we are not at our finest.”

“Perhaps you have some sense in you after all,” the Jarl commented. “Come to me in Dragonsreach tomorrow and I shall prove to you that I had no hand in the deaths of your friends.”

The remainder of the funeral went without incident, with the Jarl and the other robed woman observing quietly. When the pyres had burnt out, the visitors began to depart. Before long, it was only the Companions and the priests of Arkay, who were gathering the ashes to place within the Hall of the Dead. Terrfyg called his Shield-Siblings to him.

“I’ll support you as the next Harbinger,” Gunnar spoke first. “It’s what my mother would have done.”

“As will I,” Freya joined in.

Terrfyg shook his head, “That’s not why I wanted to speak with you all.”

“Should we not choose a new Harbinger?” Shelaz inquired.

“I suppose we should. Though I gathered you here to discuss our newest recruit,” Terrfyg said, turning his gaze on Hrotti. “What she has been through is greater than any Trial we can give. She has fought by our side in the most dire battle the Companions have faced this era. There is no Circle left to offer judgement, but as the last of the Circle, I believe she is ready to join us. If there are any who think otherwise, speak now.”

“I would gladly fight beside her as a sister, today, tomorrow, until the end of our days,” stated Freya.

“She’s one fine archer,” Bakir said. “Not the greatest swordswoman yet. I’m no good for much more than training now, so I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to remedy that. Well, hand, that is.”

“I’ve seen how fast you are with your blades,” replied Hrotti. “Even with a single one, you’re more than a match for most warriors. I welcome any training you give me, of course, but I’m sure you’ll be capable of taking on contracts too.”

“Supporting her brother,” Gunnar observed with a smile. “Now that’s how a Companion should be. I’d be honoured to raise my axe in her defense.”

Shelaz and Svangar both offered nods of approval and Terrfyg stepped forward, “Hrotti, daughter of Kirstild. You shall be the latest to carry a legacy that has lived on through Skyrim since Ysgramor himself. By the will of your new brothers and sisters, you are now one of us.”

Freya walked up to Hrotti as well, setting a hand on her arm and regarding her with a wide smile, “Welcome to the family, sister.”

It had been almost two weeks since Terrfyg first asked her to join, but even then, Hrotti didn’t think she would truly make it into the Companions. She thought it was simply a stroke of luck that she had impressed a few of them with her marksmanship. She was a humble hunter, not a warrior. It felt surreal when she first arrived at Jorrvaskr, dining with the greatest warriors in all of Skyrim. Hrotti was convinced they would soon realize she was not of the same caliber as them and the dream would end.

The Hrotti from the previous week would have been surprised at Terrfyg’s announcement. The last few days fighting for the very survival of the guild and mourning the losses of that desperate stand made her realize what the Companions were truly about- a family. Skills, as Bakir had pointed out, could be developed. Personality was something far more difficult to change, and Hrotti had been fitting in well with the others. They felt like family.

“Thank you,” Hrotti smiled back at Freya. “Thank you all for accepting me.”

“Now that you’re a full Companion, you will need a weapon fit for one,” Terrfyg said. “I assume you want a one-handed blade?”

Hrotti nodded, “Yes. The one Freya gave me was broken during the battle. Another blade like that will do.”

“I’ll have one made for you from Skyforge steel,” promised the Orc smith.

“Now that I’m a full Companion,” Hrotti repeated Terrfyg’s statement, “I also want to pledge my support for Terrfyg as our Harbinger.”

“Aye, me too,” Svangar chimed in.

“There’s no better choice-” Bakir began before being interrupted by Terrfyg.

“We should decide this when the others are back, so we can talk it over together.”

“Only three of us are away,” Freya pointed out. “If everyone here decides to support you as Harbinger, their return won’t change anything.”

“I support it,” stated Shelaz. “That makes all of us.”

“Very well,” Terrfyg relented. “Though I will still ask the others if they are fine with this when they return. And if Ragnhild or Everild should re-emerge...”

“We all want them back,” said Gunnar. “Especially me. But it’s been two days. We know the chances of that are low. You’re our Harbinger now, Terrfyg.”

Terrfyg did not appear particularly resolute. He was not standing at his tallest and Hrotti saw his hand fidget with the pommel of his sword. The man was clearly still uncertain about his new position. Yet when he responded, he spoke with conviction, perhaps true, perhaps falsely mustered to inspire the ones he was now meant to guide.

“I’ll see us through these dark times, Companions.”