Pain Is The Poison
written by Ran_196242
Hello, everyone. This is my first fanfic for Skyrim. The story revolves many elements inside the game, but mainly about the Companions and my OC Dragonborn, named Fane Friduwulf (he's a Bosmer btw).
My story has the inclusion of the great Ciderhouse mod by katixas. I dunno why but my character was just so happy cooking and working there, I told myself the place would be a perfect place to build up some of the character's personalities.
I am NOT supposed to write this near my deadline for my graduation project at all… but I couldn't resist, so boom! If you want to see how does Fane look like in my own concept and in the game, feel free to tell me so I would reveal him in my profile stuff.
Not sure if this would turn out to be slash or not =_= it's 4 in the morning and my brain has ceased to function. I'll update the full details later when I have spare time. But in the mean time, please enjoy what you'll find below, further edits will be made after I'm done with all school projects. :3
Constructive feedbacks are strongly needed. :D I have been writing for 5 years in both languages I know, (Vietnamese and English), but my writing skills still requires a lot of experiences. For those who doesn't like what they see, please leave for no further annoyance. It is rude to bash people's creations, for they have spent real efforts to write, and the point of writing fanfics was to satisfy the author initially.
Chapter I:
Vilkas knew it was normal for many travelers to come to Whiterun, at times as dark as the thickest ink in the bottom of its container like this. The Civil War had seem to end, but the reaching hands of the power-lusting Thalmor still crept under the control of the Empire.
At least those who wandered to this city didn't come in noisy, uncontrollable groups with their panicked eyes darting from place to place anymore, unlike the time when the World Eater's appearance destroyed Helgen completely. And its sole purpose was just to find the Dragonborn.
It had been five years since he first heard about the name among the guards of Dragonsreach, and the one bear the name had gained some major reputation all across Skyrim for his dragon-slaying and his role battling for the Imperials' victory in the War, though never once had he seen the face of the hero.
It was almost ironic for someone that had lived in Whiterun all his life was unable to encounter the infamous warrior when he was staying in the city, and he didn't care much about that either. Vilkas just thought simply that fate just don't let them two to meet, or their time to know each other had not yet to come.
The member of the Companions was just thinking idly like that when he saw from the steps of the Bannered Mare, the gate was opening to greet a small shadow entering slowly into the street. The faint light from one of the guard's torch was lifting up the silhouettes of the person, no, not man, but mer, wearing a thick cloak that could have been protecting him from the earlier rain a few hours ago.
"Hey Vilkas, retiring yourself from the mug so early? "
" Just needed some air after all that ale snuffed all my senses, Aela. But I'm planning to head back to Jorvaskr soon enough."
The Huntress wasn't quite sure if Vilkas was drunk like he said or not, but she wished he wouldn't leave the party so early, it was about time Torvar hold his drinking abilities against Farkas. It had been a good while since they could relax, her final words she told him before getting back with the cheery atmosphere inside.
When Vilkas was finally alone again, he didn't realize that the stranger he was watching from afar had come closer, and was walking toward the inn's door. He just stood there and tried to divert his eyes another way, but some strange curiosity made it hard for him not to look.
He never liked elves, and though the hatred didn't root from the Thalmor like of many others, he just felt unfamiliar with those pointy ears, their magic and spells, not to mention the disturbing lack of the whites in their eyes. He didn't deny how the mysteries of their lands and cultures fascinated him, for he had this desire to gain knowledge more than just how to swing a sword at the enemy. He never knew any Elf personally to help him with his small research, except Athis and his vague memories of the eruption in Morrowind, but then, the books were all of his resources.
"Excuse me."
Another deep trail of thought and it made Vilkas lost his awareness of the surrounding the second time. The traveler was already standing in front of him, down at the very first steps up to the Bannered Mare, where Vilkas has unintentionally became an obstacle.
"Can I get inside? "
He didn't reply but moved away for the elf to walk up the stairs and enter the crowded place. He was too busy catching a fleeting image of pointed ears, some blond hair uncovered by the hood, the purple henna on his forehead and a pair of very weary, sad eyes. For the first time too, he was curious. He didn't know the elves were capable of having such emotions in that pitch dark orbs, and despite not knowing if the elf was looking back at him, the final whisper from his mouth bid Vilkas words of gratitude.
"Thank you."
The voice soft and sounded sincere. There was some difference in the scent that traveler emitted too: sweat, blood and steel cloaking the faint but lingering smell of a forest after the rain, that earthy smell Vilkas grew fond of whenever he was on a hunting trip. No sign otherwise told him the elf was a magic user.
But that doesn't matter to Vilkas. He cleared his mind of the images of the foreigner and took a walk back to Jorvaskr.
The next morning rose the Companion up from his desk, since lycanthropy did not allow any member within the Circle the right to sleep. He was looking back at the small specimens of poisons he had gathered from his battles, and while trying to jostle down what he remembered about the symptoms of an infected victim could show, it was already time for breakfast.
Strangely, he noticed while walking through the halls to check up if the whelps were still sleeping, but their chambers were empty, and they were all at the mead hall, along with the Circle, and their Harbinger, Kodlak.
"It was true, Harbinger. We were all there, save my brother. Once the stranger came across Mikael, he suddenly started to sing that song about the Dragonborn."
Farkas was simply telling what he saw. He might had been drunk last time due to the competition last night, but the others were present too, and their statements were connecting to each other, like how familiar Ysolda was treating the traveler, and how everyone was eyeing him continuously, leading to conclusion that the Elf who entered the Bannered Mare was indeed the hero people had spoken of.
Vilkas was standing midway of the staircase, his suspicion grew. The Dragonborn? An Elf? The one that was capable of inhuman acts and the Voice of the Tongues? It sounded almost like a joke, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh at that irony.
"Vilkas, dear, can you move for this old me to clean the stairs?"
He was so deep in thoughts that he forgot he was blocking Tilma, and that embarrassed him a bit. It was the third time he let his mind wandered off, just because he was thinking about that stupid elf in town. With his minds distracted so badly like this, the nickname "icebrain" that his brother was labeled by others in the Circle could change the bearer to him.
Vilkas ate his breakfast in silence, while the others were talking enthusiastically about the new face in town. Njada Stonearm was much unconvinced by the rumors, she left early to find the source of them to ask him directly, bringing her axe along for no reason. Kodlak was attentively listening to all, simply smiling at the usual atmosphere that occurs in the mead hall when there was enough food, mead and ongoing stories.
Farkas saw the weird look in his twin's eyes, so he turned his concern to his older brother.
"Is something bothering you brother? Anything I can help?"
Vilkas shook his head, his free hand patting Farkas's back, while stating that he was okay. He had a close look at that traveller already. His frame too small and lean, his voice too soft, and those eyes were not hard enough to those of a warrior. And all this time he thought that the hero was supposed to be a man who stands tall and proud, with masculine features, whose voice would quake the ground as he speaks. What he felt was simply disappointment, if the hot-headed Nord woman would return and bitterly confirmed that the elf was indeed the mighty Dragonborn.
"Damn that milk-drinker Mikael. He tricked us into believing that some damn cider brewer was our hero! Lucky him I only broke his LUTE in half, not his bones."
Then Njada came back in, almost crashing the door with anger with the truth she had discovered. The small talks rose again even after breakfast, upon hearing that it was just some trick that bard made up to gain himself some beatings out of everyone fell for it, he sighed in relief, that the traveller was just another mortal being.
Many people in Whiterun knew about the Elf and his Ciderhouse near the two farms on the outskirts of the city. He had been running the place for three years, hiring a manager and some helpers to watch over it when he was absent. He made good cider, so anybody who were his clients knows his face, and how they loved him for negotiable prices and fair trading. He also was a frequent adventurer, searching for new additional seasonings and good brewing techniques. Fane Friduwulf was his name.
As the matter of fact, the man could use assistance from somebody that knows a bit of potion mixing. His research had gone into a dead end, with his inability to identify whatever was used to coat the arrow he collected from the dead merchant inside that Dwemer ruins. Vilkas couldn't venture any further into the place, since he lacked the key, and the discovery, though glorious at first, had now hastened him so greatly.
By noon, he made his way to Arcadia's Cauldron. Things could go slow after clearing off that bandit den some days ago, before someone send their words of need to them again. It was the perfect time for him to try his fullest to crack the mystery and put a written label on the bottle.
With a sack carrying many empty bottles, a few with unidentified filled ones, he was hoping the alchemist would give him some light on the process of knowing them. The shop wasn't a big one, and the supply came quite abruptly due to the weathers and all the mishaps could the bandits, giants and wild beast bring to the carriage wagon. But Arcadia was helpful, and her shop couldn't do any better for the man.
"That explains your tired look, friend. That long of a search for such a cause..."
"I just don't know how long it could take... But it's a relief to hear something from you. The potion could exists..."
Vilkas came across the conversation before knocking at the door of the Cauldron. He wasn't mean to eavesdrop, but his heightened senses of a werewolf was being nosy, and he stood there, still wanted to keep on listening.
The first voice was Arcadia, no doubt. She was showing her deep concern in her Cyrondillic accent. And the second one, which sounded exactly like what he heard yesterday outside the Bannered Mare, was comforting her in a less distressing tone. Vilkas knew it was Fane, but he and his identity didn't quite connect in his mind.
The door suddenly swung opened, and it made Vilkas startled, he couldn't duck the panels in time. It shoved him to the hard ground, the sack hung on his side fell along, made a broken crash on impact.
The slap of the door gave Vilkas quite a blow to his nose. He shot his eyes up to find the Elf at the other side of the door while his hand was rubbing the aching area. In daylight, the elf looked less mysterious, with his cloak removed and the simple clothing he had on his body. He has slightly golden skin, blond hair loose on two shoulders and the eyes were reflecting the light of the shining sun. His apologetic smile was appearing, with a hand reaching out at the man, offering help.
"Are you alright? Though I do find you quite occasionally barring me from the way, mister."
"I am not alright, you clumsy elf. Now get out of my way and go back to brewing your stupid cider."
Vilkas was so unnerved by the smile, and when he found out his precious bottles were then nothing but shattered glass, he spat poison right back at the traveler. He even shoved the helping hand away while managing to stand up on his own feet.
The change was instant on the Bosmer's face. His eyes darkened, ears turning red. He wanted to say something in defense but couldn't quite find the right words. However, he seemed to noticed the leaked sack on the ground next to the Companion, and something went through his mind right after. Through the small gap by the corner of the door, he slipped by Vilkas and took his leave without any lingers.
Vilkas was mad, but maybe he let his angered wolf controlled him for a moment there. He remembered sad, haunting black eyes, and it was wrong to make it reappeared by insulting him so badly due to an unintentional accident. His research was ruined now, he mumbled, but he turned back to see no Fane, but everyone with judging eyes.
He was so tired of his own untamed self already.
"That was very rude, Vilkas. Fane didn't mean to hurt you, or to break your bottles."
Arcadia stood there and had been watching everything happened. She crossed her arms and look at the man, similar to a mother wanting to scold her wronged son of his actions.
" I don't know... He didn't even apologize. And it was the only specimen of that poison I could extract from a broken arrowhead!"
"He isn't the sorts to getting into troubles, I can tell you that." – it was then her voice softened as she retraced her memories. "In my hardest times with this shop, he helped me looking for ingredients, and he still does if he have the time. Fane is a good elf, Vilkas. One way or another, he would try to atone."
Arcadia shown Vilkas to her back room, where she keeps her unused supplies of alchemy ingredients. Following the direction of the alchemist's pointing finger, Vilkas could see there are many packs, though small, but many containing herbs and such, were stacking in the room corner. He wouldn't think the woman would lie either. His embarrassment was welling up, making him ashamed of his rudeness.
"And for whatever you need from me today, I won't be helping you unless you both apologize. At least, try to get to know each other. You might as well as becoming poison buddies in a way."
Her joke lit up the dead embers of Vilkas' hope of his research back to a small fire. He figured out that a cider brewer would have some decent alchemy knowledge, saving another fact that the elf himself would go on searching for many seasonings for months just to find a perfect combination with his recipes. He must had known many poisons to avoid mistakenly mixing them into the drink too.
"I will talk to him when I feel it's appropriate."
"The sooner, the better. Fane never stays put in one place for too long. Maybe in a day or two, he would make it to Solstheim already."
Vilkas took note of Arcadia's last words before leaving with the ruined sack wrapped in some thick piece of old cloth she gave him. He took it home to soak it in a bucket of wine to sterilize it, then head his way to the Bannered Mare to buy his first cider bottle.
He just hoped the popularity Fane gained from this drink wasn't because he put some moon sugar in the brew and made everyone consuming the drink turned into addicts. He grew fond of the flavor too, after the third sip, down to the sixth time chugging the second bottle.