Victory or Sovngarde

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Thalmor marched. News of their advances reached Whiterun every few hours. Couriers from the western front brought dreadful missives of the warpath burned behind the Aldmeri forces. Forsworn hideouts were razed until they were nothing more than dark ash. Miners were driven from their homes, their tools stripped and used to make more weapons for the Dominion. Rorikstead had been demolished, though the civilians had thankfully evacuated before the march arrived. Now, the Thalmor were practically on our doorstep. We had little time to prepare a city not suited for invasion.

But by the gods, the soldiers worked. Pulling everyone out of the eastern territories, we had a formidable army ready to face death and smile. This was our last chance. If we were defeated, we would have no forces left to expend, no men and women to fight.

It truly was victory or Sovngarde.

I watched from the gate as my men finished the wooden ramparts atop the walls. The forests between Whiterun and Helgen had been plundered. It was sad, staring towards the base of the mountains and seeing bald spots in the tree line, but we didn't have a choice. Day and night, soldiers worked in shifts to prepare. Spikes were carved and shoved into the ground. Walkways were erected for bowmen to perch upon. Even a system for booby traps was established over the bridge and gate leading to Whiterun. On the day of battle, plans were made to raise the drawbridge and fill the stream running around the city with oil. We would do everything we could to stave off invaders from all sides.

With the fortifications nearing completion, the citizens began to evacuate. Shopkeepers boarded up their windows. The priests locked the doors to the temples and tombs. Dragonsreach became a fallback fortress, should the need arise. Jorrvaskr, too, shored up its defenses. There was little space to house every soldier once the inn filled up, so many had taken to setting up tents behind shops, in the streets between barricades, and in Jorrvaskr's training yard.

Food stores had been filled in the event of a siege. Knowing Elenwen, there would be no siege. She would want to end this quickly. Still, we had to be prepared for anything. The Thalmor would be.

As I watched the construction, Vilkas approached me from the direction of the stables. My heart clenched. It was time. "They don't want to go," he said as we walked towards the numerous carriages lined up in a wagon train. Bound for Helgen. Bound for safety until the storm passed. We had to keep our citizens safe.

In the very first wagon in the train sat our children, Tyra, Farkas, and their little ones. Farkas had his hand on his wife's belly, stroking it and whispering to it. Tyra wept and ran her fingers through his hair. Beside her, the children reached for their father.

Jergen and Embla almost leapt out of the cart when they saw us approach. We stopped them, climbed in next to them, and held them in our arms.

"Don't send us away," wept Embla as she clutched my cape in her hands. "We'll stay under Jorrvaskr and won't make a peep! We swear!"

"We have to keep you little pups safe," said Vilkas. "It won't be for long. Helgen is safe. You'll have your Auntie Tyra there, and Bri and Kale, and Tilma. It'll be like home."

"But you won't be there!" said Jergen. He sat up and fixed us with a harsh glare. "You're staying here! You're sending us away instead of coming with us to keep us safe!"

I placed a hand on his head and shushed him. "We have to, son. We have to protect you." Then, as difficult as it was, we pulled ourselves away from our children and hopped out of the carriage. "Take care of your Aunt Tyra for us, okay? You can do that. Be brave, little ones." I kissed them each on the head as Farkas said his final goodbyes to his family. I then turned to Tyra, walking forward and jumping onto the hitch at the back of the wagon. She bent forward, I pulled her into me, and kissed her on the head. "May the gods protect you, Tyra. I know they're watching over you and your baby."