¤ Five Years Later ¤
4E
Year 187
Last Seed
"Rrarrgh!"
Lŷke roared and swung her dual axes at Farkas' chest; nimbly he dodged backwards and she was as always, impressed by the gracefulness that the hulking young man was capable of.
He countered her blow with a swing of his huge double-handed greatsword- the edge of the blade grazing her leather training armour as she danced away from him and then back to his side where she landed a swift blow to his ribcage.
Her brother grunted and charged at her again, this time sweeping his sword in a single downward blow, which she barely ducked away from. The two of them had been in the training yard for over an hour and neither one showed signs of weariness, though from time to time Lŷke heard her opponent's stomach gurgling fiercely.
"Farkas! Lŷke!"
Skjor's gruff voice interrupted them and with sinuous grace they both spun to face him, weapons poised for the next blow.
Farkas looked up in concern, "What is it Skjor? We were training."
"I know that ice-brain." Skjor replied, exasperation heavy in his tone, "You're both wanted inside. C'mon."
The two exchanged a glance and Farkas shrugged, slinging his sword on his back and lumbering towards the verandah and the doors. Lŷke jogged alongside him; at 15 she was nearly 6'0 and as sinewy as any young shield-maiden. Her hair; which had once been long to her back was now cropped to her shoulders, like her brother's.
She was a handsome young woman; always wearing a look of earnest seriousness, covered in scars from sharpening blades, and crossing them with Farkas and Vilkas.
Neither of them yet knew anything of beastblood and Lŷke herself had not a single changing.
Kodlak had theorized that this was because her body was not yet mature enough to manifest the blood, but there was no doubt that she was moon born. Her sense of smell, hearing, and sight were sharply attuned to every little small disturbance.
She could hear the blood rushing through the veins of everyone around her and pick out the slightest skitter of a rat's paws on stone. She'd been this keen since the day she arrived and no one questioned her abilities.
Farkas held the door open and she slipped past him into the warm interior of Jorrvaskr, inhaling the sweet smell of mead and the pungent smoke from the fire-pit that sat in the center of the banquet table.
Lŷke expected to see Jergen and Vilkas back from their latest job and she was prepared to greet her father happily, eager to show him the dagger which Eorland had helped her to forge while he had been away.
But what she saw upon her entrance was far from what she had expected; Vilkas stood to the left of the door, staring down at his boots in silence. Kodlak was crouched beside an inert form on a makeshift travois and Aela was beside him, both looking grim, and between them lay the body of Jergen Dark-Wolf.
The smell of mead and fire had at first concealed the scent of death that lay heavily over her father and mentor's body but now the air was pungent with it. She gagged; overwhelmed by both the smell and her own emotions, and Farkas reached out clumsily to grab her shoulder and keep her from falling. She was grateful to have him to lean against, her face pale as milk as she stared at the corpse.
It felt unreal.
The way that her excitement had curdled into horror so swiftly.
Surely she was dreaming?
But no, the smell of death was strong, it had been over a day since Jergen had fallen and the stench was overwhelming.
Lŷke moaned and closed her eyes against a flood of tears.
"How did it happen?" Farkas asked, his rough voice breaking the silence of the gathered Companions.
Here everyone looked to Vilkas and he looked up at the gathered with gleaming eyes, the dark war paint which he usually smeared around them was running so that his tears looked like liquid darkness.
His anguish was palpable, she could hear it in the hitching of his breath and see it in his usually composed features.
"We were hunting a group of brigands near Dawnstar. He was killed by a man who was going to stab me in the back." Vilkas sounded as if he were forcing back a sob. "It's my fault, I should have been watching his back. I was his Shield-Brother, I-"
"Enough Vilkas."
Kodlak spoke commandingly and the young man fell silent, staring downwards again even as Kodlak spoke on. "Jergen did not die because you failed him in some way. Jergen died a warrior's death, honorably. Tonight and for eternity he feasts with the 5,000 and with Ysgramor in Sovngarde. And we will celebrate his life and his fire with a feast in his honour."
"I'll have the pyre erected." This was Brill, a middle aged man whom Vignar had brought to the hall not but a couple of years ago, he had a secretive past which none but the oldest Companion knew, but he seemed like a good enough man to Lŷke.
Kodlak nodded, "Aye. It should be tonight. Aela, find Tilma tell her to prepare a bath for Vilkas and get on tonight's banquet. Lŷke, Farkas, take Vilkas to his quarters. I'll see to Jergen."
As they all set out to complete the instructions given them, Lŷke and Farkas walked over to Vilkas and stood before him quietly for a moment.
"I'm sorry brother."
Farkas said in his clumsy manner. And when there was no response from his twin the man hugged Vilkas in an awkward manner, clapping him roughly on the back before releasing him a moment later.
Vilkas looked up at both of them and took a deep breath.
"Let's go down." He murmured, pushing past them and leading them towards the stairwell. It was just like him to take charge of them like that, he was a natural born leader. Hot-headed and fiercely loyal, he was nearly as strong as his brother but smarter and more well spoken. Since that day five years earlier it was rare that they did not go together on a hunt, or a job. Jergen had rescued the two of them from a band of necromancers when they were very young, only a couple of summers old. He was the only parent that they had ever known and she felt their loss, because it was hers as well.
He was the only father any of them knew.
In a haze of disbelief and shock Lŷke followed behind Vilkas and Farkas down into the living quarters of the mead hall, all three of them were silent as they moved through the corridor and towards the room that the twins shared across from Jergen's.
Once there Vilkas began to remove plates of armour from his body, revealing under the chain and cloth many cuts and bruises from his and Jergen's battle with the brigands, the flesh around the healing wounds was an ugly yellow colour but there was no outwards smell or other sign of infection.
"Would you like me to have Tilma make a poultice for that?" Lŷke asked quietly as her brother finished removing his armour and mail. The boy looked up at her with a grimace of annoyance,
"If I want a poultice I'll ask her myself. Go away whelp, and leave me be."
Lŷke stiffened and clenched her fists, "Well if you're going to be such an ass I will."
She spun around on her heel and stormed out; feeling hot tears of anger and sadness prick her eyes. Never before had her feelings been so jumbled before and she took out her range of emotions by angrily slamming her fist into the dining table across from her bunkroom, which she had at one point shared with two other wannabe Companions who had left the mead hall in disgrace a couple of months before.
To her surprise the wood of the table splintered and cracked under the force of her blow and the contents therein were jolted violently into the air before crashing back down in disarray. She stared at this mess in a moment of shock before bursting into tears and throwing herself down on the bench of the table, her face buried under her crossed arms. If Skjor, or Aela came across her like this she would undoubtedly receive a severe upbraiding about the indignities of a warrior showing emotion, or some such.
But neither came, instead, sometime after she had begun to cry, she found herself smelling the scent of Vilkas's unwashed, bloodied skin.
"I'm sorry Sister. I- I didn't mean to upset you..." the young man sounded shame-faced and for a moment Lŷke was determined not to raise her head from her arms. "Please Lŷke... I'm just... I can't believe that he is gone..."
This broke the girl's resolve and she flung herself impulsively out of a sitting position and wrapped her arms securely around Vilkas' waist, "I loved him!" she cried.
"We all did little sister..." instead of pushing her off as he would have when they were much younger he in turn embraced her, hugging her tightly against him as if she were a life preserver and they were adrift on a raging sea.
The funeral was held atop Skyforge, as Jergen had been a distinguished member of the Circle. His body was laid atop a pyre built in the midst of a bed of burning coals, washed and dressed in the wolf-armour that was the customary dress of those accepted into the ranks of the Companions.
Kodlak, Aela and Skjor stood directly before the pyre with Vignar, Brill, Eorland, a priest from the Temple of Kynareth, and the three whelps standing directly behind them. All of them bore torches and all of them stared into the glowing embers of the forge in grave silence.
This silence reigned for a few moments and then Kodlak began an ancient funeral rite, his voice deep and solemn "Before the ancient flame; we grieve."
"We grieve."
Came the echo of the assembled Companions. And so continued the rites, proceeding through: "We weep." And finally, "We shout!"
Kodlak stepped forwards at this finally declaration and threw his torch into the forge, the flames licking upwards, greedily devouring the wood of the pyre. And then in procession the other attendees moved forwards to add their own fire to Jergen's last flame, his 'children' leading the rest.
As Lŷke cast her torch into the fire she stared up at Jergen's pyre with heat scorching her cheeks, praying a silent prayer for her mentor's soul before she moved on behind her brothers.
"Members of the Circle, we gather at the Underforge to grieve our loss." Kodlak stood off to the side as the Companions walked quietly down the steps of the Skyforge, and Lŷke was acutely aware of his study of her and the twins, but she made up her mind to pay this close attention no matter.
A feast was indeed prepared by Tilma the Haggard. According to Vignar she had been serving the Companions since she was a small girl, her father having been a distinguished member of the group before he was cut down in battle many years earlier.
Despite the delicious smells that rose from the table Lŷke found she could not eat more than a bite or so of her meal; her heart was too heavy for feasting. She saw that Farkas was basically inhaling his own meal on her right and on her left Vilkas too was eating heartily, and both were swilling mead as if it were water.
It wasn't long before the Circle returned to the hall, taking their customary places at the table with Kodlak, the man Arnbjorn and Skjor at the most prominent places among them; each eating as heartily as the rest. Soon stories were being told of Jergen's many heroic exploits and his great-heartedness.
Everyone spoke merrily or with a veil of merriness, and Lŷke realized that this was the way that the Companions coped with loss, through joviality and drinking.
She could see that when Kodlak was not telling a tale or laughing at something that another at the table had said he was staring gravely at both she and the twins, or into the fire-pit where the flames leapt and blazed much like Jergen's own pyre.
Overcome with emotion Lŷke stood abruptly and raised her mug into the air.
"For Jergen! Who was a father to us who hadn't!" she thrust the mug higher, splashing mead over the brim of the tankard.
"For Jergen!" the assemblage roared in return; and then each threw back their drinks, chugging the alcohol and then cheering again loudly as they finished their drinks.
There were many more toasts before the night was finished and they trooped off to their separate quarters, leaving Tilma to clean up the mess and prepare for when the drunkards stumbled from their beds the next morning.
Lŷke was among the first to leave the table, yet instead of going to the sleeping quarters she wandered out of the hall and up to the Skyforge, where Jergen's pyre still burned magnificently. As she reached the top of the forge she sat unceremoniously on the ground a few feet from the blaze, her arms folded across her chest, despite the heat that emanated from the roaring flames she was shivering under her tunic.
"What are you doing here alone little sister?"
Aela's inquiring tone snapped Lŷke to attention and if she hadn't been inebriated she might have jumped to her feet. As it were she just turned quickly to face the woman, vaguely disdained for not being able to hear the woman approach.
"I couldn't stand the revelry anymore. That isn't how I mourn, and I can't stand not seeing him there. It feels wrong.
Aela walked closer and then sat down beside her, "Warriors die Lŷke; it's just apart of this life. He was a strong man, and he died in combat. He died how he would have wanted to die, fighting for the honour of the Companions."
Lŷke didn't answer, instead staring into the crackling fire.
She smiled, "I remember when I first came here, Jergen wanted to test my arm."
"I remember that you said you had been practicing with a wooden sword since you were three. He wanted to see if you had a warrior's heart. And I seem to remember that you gave Vilkas quite the thrashing in the training yard. He was proud of you; sometimes I think that you brought him more honour than his boys did. Farkas and Vilkas might as well have been born into this life, but you adopted it as your own. He wouldn't want you to sit here sulking at your loss, he would want you to remember him and to let your loss make you stronger."
The girl glanced over at her elder and surveyed her gravely for a moment before nodding, "You're right Aela."
The woman nodded, "Come, let us hunt. The moons are shining and my blood boils for the chase."
She handed Lŷke one of the longbows she had brought along, which Lŷke had also failed to notice in her inebriation and sorrow. "I hope you remember what I've taught you."
"Of course Aela."
"Good, then let us be on our way. The night is still young and I can feel the changing of the moons in my blood."
"For Jergen?" Lŷke suggested, and Aela nodded solemnly.
"For Jergen little Sister."
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