Chapter I
My first fanfiction, which I've actually had sitting on my computer for years. Thought it was time to share! Enjoy!
"I had another dream last night," Kodlak said softly. Vilkas' head shot up; he never understood how this man, who he had looked up to for so many years, could put such faith in such infrequent visions.
Vilkas bit back at the sarcasm that rose in his throat. "A vision… I see. Of what this time?" It would be of no use to patronize the old man. He was far wiser, far braver, and far more in control than Vilkas could ever hope to be. Who knew? After all, maybe Kodlak was right to find some value in it. It was just that his dreams didn't seem to make sense. There was one about the horse rising from a bubbling lake…and the one about the girl carrying the sack of women's heads…oh, and of course, who could forget, the dream in which a dragon swooped in to interrupt a beheading. A dragon! Like some sort of stage play. None of them connected, none of them had come true as far as they had heard (although there had been reports of dragon sightings) and none made sense to Vilkas. Still, Kodlak scribbled them all down in his private journal, glancing over them, sometimes mumbling, contemplating their meanings.
"I hear the doubt in your voice, Vilkas," Kodlak chuckled, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back into his chair. "But I will still tell you what I have seen, and I pray you heed my words well, because they concern you." Vilkas tilted his head at the old man, his ears perking up.
Vilkas and Kodlak often sat outside his quarters at the giant table; it was where Vilkas sought counsel from Kodlak—it was where Kodlak had shown himself to be more of a father than Vilkas had ever known. Vilkas grunted at the old Harbinger, signaling him to tell the story.
"I saw light mixing with darkness—filth and purity. I saw you, bounding through the woods, with a Companion at your side I have never seen before. A woman. Death nearing both of you… The vision was stained red. There is some great danger ahead for you."
"Danger," Vilkas said with a sigh. "Well, I still hear the call of the blood. Perhaps…"
Kodlak interrupted to offer some hope. "We all do. It is our burden to bear, but we can overcome."
Vilkas' dark eyes flashed, and he shook his head. "You have my brother and I, obviously." He was fiercely loyal to Kodlak, and he would give up the blood as long as Kodlak ordered. "But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."
Kodlak smiled warmly, despite the heavy topic of conversation. "Leave that to me."
He stopped, and Vilkas knew why. They both caught the scent of a newcomer coming near. Looking down the hall, a small-framed woman, very young, with pale, red hair, wandered down the hallway. Kodlak and Vilkas caught each other's eyes for a moment.
"A stranger comes to our hall," Kodlak's voice bellowed warmly at her. Her light eyes glistened in the reddish light of the lower halls. Vilkas laughed inwardly. She looked short, scrawny and unable to hold a pickaxe, let alone a sword. Her skin was so white that she looked more suited to be a milkmaid than anything else.
"I would like to join the Companions," she said with confidence. Vilkas was surprised by the strength of her voice—she must have been intimidated beneath that tone she put on. There was an unreadable look in her eyes.
"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you," Kodlak spoke pleasantly, standing up as he did so to circle the newcomer. Looking her up and down, he nodded. "Hm…yes. Perhaps. A certain strength of spirit. What is your name?"
"It's Sofja. I—" Before she could say another word, Vilkas cut in.
"Master, you're not truly considering accepting her?" Vilkas said brusquely. Sofja cast him a frustrated glance, but he didn't care. If they let children into the ranks of the Companions, who would they allow next? Vilkas thought. Dogs? Wolves are enough.
"I am nobody's master, Vilkas." Kodlak muttered with a disapproving tone. Vilkas rolled his eyes, but he didn't speak another word, as Kodlak continued. "And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."
"Apologies," Vilkas mumbled. "But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider. Sofja, is it?"
Sofja crossed her arms, breathing deeply to stifle the anger rising in her throat. Maybe he hadn't heard of her, but the rest of Whiterun would when she kicked his teeth in. If he had only realized the things she was capable of, the things she had done as of late…
Kodlak sat down again, smiling brightly. "Sometimes the famous come to us, sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."
Sofja warmed to the old man as readily as she bristled to the one named Vilkas. As long as she kept her head down and didn't cause any trouble, or get in anyone's way, she figured she could make a life here. As long as no one knew her secret.
"Vilkas, take her out back and test her arm."
Begrudgingly, Vilkas stood and motioned for Sofja to follow him. She swallowed hard and followed silently.
Nearly a month later, Sofja leapt up the steps of Jorrvaskr, the home of the Companions, and the place she learned to call home. One of the best things about the Companions was the free bed they offered, and ever since she'd killed a dragon in the name of Whiterun, she'd pushed herself into her training so ferociously that her bed was her only solace. She had no friends among the Companions; people still spat in her direction and gave her sideways glances, always calling her 'whelp' or some such nonsense. But she needed to keep her head down.
The young, lean woman with fiery hair, during her short time with the Companions, had done little that measured up to killing a dragon. A brawl here and there to intimidate an uncooperative associate and a kidnapping were nothing compared to learning that she was, in fact, something called Dragonborn. As a Nord, Sofja knew the term. What it truly meant, however, remained a mystery. The Dragonborn was a man of legend–a person who lived in fairy tales. She said the word over and over in her mind, but she still could not match it to her own body and spirit. As soon as she had discovered that well of power within herself just over a month ago, she decided to join the Companions, to learn to protect herself from any man or beast who would try to challenge her. But how could it even be true? Often, she wondered if it had all been some fantasy, or some sort of misunderstanding, and perhaps the Greybeards called to someone else from the skies that day…
Sofja shook her head trying to dispel the thoughts clouding her mind. She pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Jorrvaskr and made her way towards the stairwell that would lead her down to the private rooms, where she could finally think. If she were the Dragonborn, then surely she was worthy enough to be a member of the Companions. However, after coming a few short weeks ago, she had felt nothing but disapproval.
Despite how cutthroat the Companions seemed, Kodlak Whitemane, their Harbinger, insisted they would become her brothers and sisters. He was quick to offer her a spot among them, believing there to be some sort of fire in her heart. He seemed the only one who believed in Sofja—unlike Vilkas, the dark-looking man who always had a sad fire burning in his eyes. He took every chance he could to taunt, insult and correct her.
What was even more unsettling was that he, along with the other members of the Circle, walked around constantly on edge, as if they were hiding something. It made Sofja curious. The Circle of the Companions wasn't just an exclusive group for older members…something separated them from the rest. Made them different. And she couldn't stand not knowing.
She bounded down the steps towards the living quarters with all these thoughts clouding head, and clumsily ran smack into the chest of none other than Vilkas, sending them both tumbling down the stairs. A moment of shock passed as Vilkas and Sofja hit the bottom, lying motionless on the cold ground and tangled in each other's limbs. Sofja's tunic tangled over her arm, and she could feel the frosty stone forcing goose bumps on her back. At that moment, she would rather have tried to ride on the back of a dragon than accidentally push Vilkas down the stairs. Daring to open her eyes, she saw Vilkas' swearing mouth hovering directly above her, his arms on either side of her head. She opened her mouth to apologize, but it was of no use.
"I—" She began. He shoved a finger against her lips, resting his elbow on the pavement and bringing his face even closer to hers.
"Don't. Breathe. A word," He sneered, looking down at her chest. She was bare except for her undergarments, which not only made his eyes widen in shock and embarrassment, but also made Sofja laugh nervously in her throat. Seeing him squirm with discomfort pleased her.
"You think this is funny?" He said, a smirk forming on his mouth as he violently tugged the tunic down over her stomach. "Just remember what you are, whelp. Stay out of my way before I put you out of my way, permanently." His accented voice was cold, but he was still smirking.
Before she could retort, a cold, smooth voice echoed down the stairwell. Moving her head to the side to see past Vilkas, Sofja noticed the thin outline of Aela the Huntress, her arms crossed in front of her chest defensively as she stood on the top step.
"Honestly, Vilkas, you won't meet my cousin at the tavern for ale, but you'll throw yourself on any new pup that finds herself alone in a dark corner. Despicable," she teased. Her words were meant to make fun, but they bit like the jaws of a hungry wolf. Since Sofja had joined the Companions, she knew there was some rift between Aela and Vilkas. On one side there was Aela and Skjor. It was rumored they were lovers, although Sofja heard that was looked down upon within the Companions. Then again, the two of them didn't seem to care much for rules. On the other side, there was Vilkas and his twin brother Farkas. The rest of the Companions seemed to live their own lives. Vilkas' face turned crimson as he threw himself away from Sofja's body.
"I wouldn't share a dalliance or a drink with any member of your family," Vilkas spit back at her as soon as he was on his feet again. "And this one is nothing but trouble." He shot a look back down at Sofja. "Watch where you're going next time, will you? Or I'll have to take up arms just to defend myself against your clumsiness." With that, he bounded past her away from the living quarters. Before Sofja could get up, Aela drifted down the steps like smoke and grabbed her arm. Sofja sensed something was off; the gesture was kind, no doubt, but Aela was not kind. From what Sofja knew of her, Aela had proven herself to be a conniving, deadly young woman.
"Pay no attention to him," Aela offered. "He's the least fun of the group. By the way, Skjor was looking for you earlier." Aela's eyes flickered, and it gave Sofja pause. She noticed that Aela was still holding her arm, and tightly so, even though Sofja had made it to her feet moments ago. Sofja nodded curtly and pulled away, leaving Aela standing in the darkened hallway.
Sofja slammed down into her cot on her stomach, her face away from the door. Her eyes began to swim in visions of fire and smoke. She imagined herself again standing next to the Housecarl Irileth of Dragonsreach, shouting at each other as a man lay burned at their feet.
"I told you, the arrows are the only way to kill it from a distance!" The dark elf bellowed. "If you had just used the equipment I offered, Rin would not have had to die. Selfish girl, you are useless!"
"You asked for my help, so take it! I'm the only one alive who has any experience with dragons!" Sofja bellowed back, angry tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Magic does just as well, and if you'd listened to me about how to place the men, the arrows could have—"
Their eyes ascended to the heavens at the sound of a shrill scream – it belonged to the dragon. They quickly scattered from each other as the dragon landed on the ground fifty feet away, shaking the earth. Sofja flew behind a boulder, quivering with anger. She knew Irileth was right, but this was no ordinary foe. For the sake of the gods, Sofja had never seen a dragon in her life besides Helgen, and heard little of them. How could she be expected to kill one?
Fit with anger, Sofja flew towards the creature, her sword extended and her hand burning with fiery magic. Before it could release its scorching breath on her, she catapulted herself upwards, barely managing to grab the dragon's neck. It flung its head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge her, a tiny pest, but Sofja would not give up. She dug her fingers into its scales and prayed to the Nine for protection. Without another moment's hesitation, Sofja slammed her blade into the dragon's skull, and she pushed on the hilt so hard that the blade emerged through the other end of the creature's jaw. The dragon cried out, the life leaving its body, and Sofja clung to the dead creature as it slumped to the ground. As Sofja fell, a golden warmth surrounded her, filling her ears as if she were being pushed under water to drown—
A very loud knock at the door sent Sofja flying out of bed and into a fighting stance. When the dream cleared from her eyes, she saw a confused Vilkas standing in the doorway holding something. She had been dreaming. Her heart was beating so quickly she could feel it shaking her limbs. Lowering them, she could do nothing but offer a sheepish smile.
"If you want to fight me so badly, say so and we can move to the yard to have a proper duel, pup," Vilkas sneered, crossing his arms in front of him. Despite the way he held himself, she could sense some warmth in his voice.
A silent beat passed as they stared at each other.
"I-I'm sorry. I was dreaming."
Vilkas seemed lost for a moment, but before Sofja could remind him of his purpose, he jolted into formality again. "Is this yours? I'm afraid you may have lost it when you tried tackling me down the stairs. Unfortunately, it's damaged, but it's nothing Eorlund can't fix." Sofja approached Vilkas' outstretched hand to see a small, flat piece of metal hanging from a broken, silver chain. Her hand immediately flew to her throat, grasping for her mother's necklace.
"Yes, that's mine," she said in a defeated voice. She reached out to grab it, but Vilkas quickly pulled his hand away, holding it over her head. Sofja shot him a look of impatient confusion.
"I will take this myself to Eorlund. He may be the best blacksmith in all of Skyrim, but that doesn't mean he can't fix jewelry, too. Even though this was your fault, I feel as though I should right it," he said. Sofja folded her arms in front of her.
"It's really unnecessary," she said in a low voice. "I—"
"Why does it say 'dovah naal zin' on this?' He asked quickly, taking a step towards her. "What does that mean? Is it dragonspeak?"
She shook her head. Sofja had said the words over and over to herself since she had received the necklace at age thirteen, but she never knew, and neither did her father, a lover of dragon lore. For some reason, this past month, the words began sounding more familiar each day.
"I don't know the language, it sounds like something the Greybeards might speak..." She paused. Wasn't it? It was on the tip of her tongue. "That has been passed down through my family for centuries, though, so please handle it with care." Sofja put her hands on her hips and shot him a dirty look before he bowed his head and left. Sofja turned back to her bed before she heard a knock at the door again.
"What do you want now, Vilkas?" She said. When she turned, she saw the hard line of Skjor's mouth instead.
"You still need to prove yourself, whelp."