They started walking just after dawn, stopped just long enough to fight the battle of Farkas's life, and started walking again. His pack feels like it's tripled in weight since morning—because it has. Seventy-five pounds of bones and scales drag down on his back and shoulders. His legs scream as he climbs the steps of Jorrvaskr.

But none of that keeps him from stopping his new bride just outside the door.

"What is it?" she asks.

He shifts the weight of his pack on his shoulders and the rest of his weight on his feet. Realizes he's fidgeting and stands up straight. "Should I carry you?" he asks uncertainly.

He's not sure if that will offend her. But the Dragonborn, the Harbinger of the Companions, the deadliest warrior in Skyrim, laughs and stretches her arms out to him. "Why not?"

Both of them are wearing full armor and packs and weapons that are almost as tall as they are, so they spend the next few awkward minutes trying to figure out how to do it. Luckily it's dark. Eventually Matilda holds Wuuthrad up in front of her body like a draugr, Farkas swings her into a bridal carry, and they take turns fumbling with the great doors of Jorrvaskr before he finally manages to shove a foot in the doorjamb and kick one open long enough for them to get through.

"They're back!" Aela's voice yells, and a roar goes up from the table. They make it two steps before a powerful frontal blow to the legs sends him staggering back against the door. He looks down just in time to see two paws plant themselves on him.

"Down, Meeko," Matilda orders. The dog sits, still wagging his tail with pure joy. Farkas sets her down and they make their way to the table. Everyone else has long since finished dinner, but Tilma rushes to bring what's left on the serving dishes to them—pheasant, cheese, baked potatoes, and his favorite honey nut treats. Neither of them even bothers to heat the food back up. They half-drop their things on the floor next to them and tear into it.

"How were your travels?" Ria asks when they've had enough to slow down.

Matilda pours ale for them both. "Oh, relaxing. Stayed in some charming little inns—"

"We slew a dragon," Farkas says.

Not much impresses these warriors. He's not much for bragging, but it still feels good to watch that stop their drinks midway to their mouths. Their chairs scrape on the floor as they crowd around to hear him better. "Where?" Athis asks.

"Kynesgrove."

Njada pounds her fist on the table. It's the Companions' way of calling out a tall tale without risking a punch in the jaw. "You just happened to pass that way at the right time?"

"Shut up, whelp," Aela says. "Ice brain here's never told a lie in his life."

"Maybe they planned what to say."

"She's the Dragonborn. She can probably sense them."

Farkas pulls one of the scales out of his bag and lets it rest on the table with a thud. That shuts them both up. Aela grabs the nearest bottle of ale and tips the whole thing into Njada's tankard until it spills onto the table. Punishment for guessing wrong. Njada drinks it all in one go and slams the tankard defiantly on the table.

"Tell us about the battle," Ria says eagerly when she finishes.

"We stayed in Riverwood overnight and reached Kynesgrove late in the afternoon," Matilda begins. "It was snowing, windy, bitter cold. The two of us made it up the ridge just in time to see Alduin descend on the burial mound of the dragon there—Sahloknir."

"I know that name," Vilkas says. "The warchief Jorg Helmbolg was said to have killed Sahloknir in the First Era." Torvar reaches over and pounds the table right in front of Vilkas, who snaps back, "I've been reading the old dragon lore."

Matilda nods. "He did. Alduin resurrected Sahloknir as we watched. First the blackened skeleton rose from the earth, then fragments of scale, dragonskin—it came to life again and spoke. And it took to the skies, spraying jets of fire and setting the trees and grass on fire."

"How big compared to a mammoth?" Aela asks.

"Twice the size."

"Couldn't do anything until it got close," Farkas says, picking up the tale. "Armored almost everywhere. Every arrow I landed just made it angry." There's more honor in telling of your shield-sibling's deeds than your own, but he doesn't know what to call her now. The Harbinger? Matilda? My wife? Better just avoid it. "She shouted it out of the sky. Then we could get in and attack its weak spots."

He leaves out the sound of it—her voice, but as if a hundred others were joining in—and the massive burst of wind that seemed to fly out from her. The way he stood stunned, couldn't stop staring at her even as the dragon went sprawling in midair and crashed, almost hit him as it skidded along the ground and dug a trench of mud and snow with its body as it went. All the times they'd fought together, he'd never heard her shout before.

Matilda starts talking again. He likes the way she tells stories. She uses her hands almost as much as her voice, waving her tankard around to show what the dragon was doing. He wants to touch her but thinks maybe he shouldn't. When he starts listening again, she's saying, "Farkas threw himself forward and drove his sword into the exposed flesh beneath the dragon's right wing, bending all his weight into the blow until his blade struck scale—and then earth. The dragon roared and spat fire."

She's not telling the part when he underestimated the reach of the tail and it slammed into him. Got stupid trying to avoid the flames. The blow threw him face-first to the ground like a rag doll. If he hadn't had steel plate and padding, he'd have a broken back right now at best. He spat dirt and snow and fumbled for a grip on his sword. Waited for the dragon to slash a claw into his unprotected head and spill his brains out, steaming.

"And then she sank Wuuthrad's spike into one of its eyes," he says.

Matilda drinks, and her free hand comes to rest on his knee. He likes that. It feels comfortable. He sets his hand on hers, slowly—she's still the Harbinger—and lets it stay there.

She doesn't say anything, though, so he decides he should add some description. "The dragon screamed. My ears rang for an hour. It was flailing around, still spitting fire. That was when I understood how you fight a dragon," he adds. "In and out. You have to avoid its attacks and wait for your chance."

"That must have been a challenge," Vilkas drawls. "You'd rather just stand there and bash things."

"Aye." But Matilda was the one who did that this time. Her usual careful movements were gone and she just faced the dragon down. The way you'd face an equal, eye to eye. He explains, "She jumped up and brought Wuuthrad down right in the center of its skull. Used her weight to pin the head down."

"And then Farkas plunged his blade into the skin along the neck and dragged, cutting its throat until the beast was finally dead."

The first thing he noticed was the heat. The corpse was glowing orange. Burning. "Move!" he remembers yelling. But Matilda didn't react. She was just standing there, watching the flames leap up right in front of her, like she was paralyzed. The dragon's body started to curl up black at the edges, disintegrating. Melted the snow all around it. Sent ash floating through the air. He'd hurled himself at her and both of them had slammed into the filthy wet grass with the full weight of their armored bodies, but something was still wrong. Matilda was—glowing, and then there was a wind, and as he watched, the wind went into her, and—

"It's all right," she said. Maybe he didn't look convinced, because she repeated it. "It's all right, Farkas. It's just the dragon's soul."

Just the dragon's soul. Hours later, he's still dumbstruck by how easily she said it. That was how she must've felt locked in that cell the first time she saw him transform. She must have been remembering the same moment, because she said, "I hope I didn't scare you," just the way he had, and then laughed at her own joke. That was what had convinced him it really was all right.

And then the innkeeper from Riverwood(!) turned up and wanted to talk to her. Neither town has carts for hire and she didn't have a horse; she'd've had to walk all day right on their heels to get there then. He tried to ask Matilda about it, but she whispered that she'd explain later and the two of them wandered off down the hill in the direction of the inn, leaving him standing around in the clearing. A few people from the village were rushing up the other way by then, carrying water and throwing buckets of snow to put out the flaming trees. He helped them for a few minutes until it was clear they could handle the rest on their own. Then he turned back to look at what was left of the dragon.

The skeleton was lying on its side, one wing crushed underneath it. The skin and muscles had burned completely away. It made it easy to work the tip of his sword under one of the armored scales still protecting the spine and pry it off. At first he was worried his sword would break, but with some work, he managed to drive it between the bones and separate them and carve one out. Two more bones and scales made a good-sized pile on the ground—the limit of what he could fit in his pack—and he jumped down to collect them. He wiped as much blood as he could off them on the grass nearby.

Matilda and the innkeeper(?) appeared back over the ridge around the time he finished. "What are you doing?" Matilda asked.

He held up his trophies. "For armor. The Dragonborn should wear dragon armor."

She laughed and made a joke. He doesn't remember what it was. But he does remember what the probably-not-really-an-innkeeper said: "The Dragonborn's husband." And she clapped him on the back. "Hope you're as tough as you look. You'll need to be."

"Quite a tale," Vilkas is saying. Farkas nods. He's still thinking about what that woman said, though. He doesn't know why that stuck in his mind so much. But he's tired, and full, and warm, and his family is gathered around him and his dog is napping peacefully at his feet and he's still holding his wife's hand. So he doesn't puzzle over it for long.

He lets the others' jokes bounce off of him when they finally get up and make their way to bed. Tilma laid out the water for washing in Matilda's room—the Harbinger's room—but he carries the bucket back to his and they stay there, half on top of each other because his bed's too narrow for them to be side by side. Still feels wrong to sleep in Kodlak's old bed.

They make it two nights more before he starts to hear grumbling from the other Companions, and Vilkas takes him aside. "Brother," he says. It takes him longer than usual to choose his next words. "Newlyweds should have their own house."

So they buy one. It's a small house in the Plains District, next to Warmaiden's. Farkas can't remember living anywhere other than Jorrvaskr, but he likes the place from the minute Matilda unlocks the door and laughingly suggests she carry him through it this time. It's a good size for two people and a dog. It's barely a minute's run from the Companions' mead hall. You could crowd a few shield-siblings around the fire for drink and song. The furniture is well made and simple. It's how a house should be.

"A good house," he calls down to her from upstairs. "You chose well."

She calls back, "It was the only free house in town! But let's say it's my good taste."

"What should we do with the spare room up here? Armor stands?" he asks, pushing the door open.

There's a loud cough from inside the room. Immediately Farkas's sword is in his hands. A woman jumps up from the chair, picking up a shield as she moves and spinning around to block his blade with a loud crash.

Matilda rushes up the stairs behind him. "Farkas, you remember my housecarl, Lydia."

He does, now that her name has been brought to mind. Other than at the wedding, he never got a good look at her; her armor's more familiar than her face. Still doesn't explain what she's doing in their house, though. "Uh. Sorry," he says, awkwardly sheathing his sword.

"Honor to you, my Thane's…husband," she answers. Farkas guesses there's no term for that. No one ever accused him of being good at reading faces—never had to be, when he could tell what people were thinking by smell—but even he knows unimpressed when he sees it. "This is my room. As housecarl to the Thane, it is my duty to live by her side as long as she maintains her residence in Whiterun."

Not literally by her side, Farkas hopes. He shoots a look at Matilda, who's keeping her face utterly neutral in that way she has. "Lydia," she says, "could you go into your room for a minute and shut the door? I want to test something."

"Of course, my Thane." Lydia immediately obeys. Matilda grabs him by the hand and pulls him into their bedroom, then shuts that door as well.

"You didn't tell me she was gonna live here," he mutters.

Matilda grimaces. "She didn't exactly give me a chance to say no. But we can argue about that later. Here's what I'm worried about right now."

Without warning, she pushes him to the wall and kisses him hard. He groans involuntarily, and it isn't until she starts pounding the boards over his shoulder with one fist, gently at first and then harder and harder, that his brain catches up and he thinks to wonder what she's doing.

"I can hear. Everything," Lydia's voice calls miserably from the other room. Meeko barks.

"Right," Matilda says. "That's the first thing, then."

Once Matilda sweet-talks Ria into donating her entire bear pelt collection and they line the walls and floors with it to dampen the noise, it turns out that married life suits Farkas better than he thought it would. He likes sitting out back and cleaning their armor together, and showing her how to make bread. He likes hunting and sparring, just the two of them, packing a lunch of smoked meat and cheese and leaving the city before first light. He likes coming home when the day is done and sitting by the fire with her, scratching the dog's ears or playing the lute. He likes the way she curves her body around his as they fall asleep. Even the housecarl's living with him doesn't bother him—much.

It's the waiting he hates.

Barely a week after they buy the place, he finds himself in High Hrothgar, pacing the dark stone hallways. Matilda is out in the courtyard being shouted at by the Greybeards. Every so often he thinks he feels the ground shake underneath him, but they won't let him within earshot. He killed every troll he could find on the first day and there's nothing else to fight this high up. Too cold to wander around outside for no reason. With nothing else to do, he even cracks open one of the few books sitting around, but he can barely read the archaic script and the damned dust makes him sneeze. So he paces. At least it's exercise.

People have told him all his life he's the patient brother, but he doesn't feel like it after two nights with his feet hanging out of an old-man-sized bed. By himself. In the same open hallway as all the others. Listening to old men snore. Trying not to think of his new wife in the next bed. Her soft hair. Warm skin. He wakes everyone up stumbling outside to stuff snow down his neck, but the good thing about a vow of silence is it means no complaints.

They leave on the third morning. He's glad to be with her again. But on the way home, trying to keep his eyes on her back through the swirling snow as she leads the way down seven thousand steps, he thinks, it will always be this way. Places he can't go. Not just the Greybeards, but Ulfric's war room, some Jarl's court, a cave full of spiders. He needs something to do other than pace.

The night they get home, he picks up the shield he restored just before they got married and studies it. It's a good piece, he decides. And just like that, he announces, "I've decided to open that shop. Buy and sell whatever's needed."

Matilda looks up from trying to see how many pieces of armor she can cram into the cupboard next to the fire. "That's wonderful. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I want to do this myself," he answers.

"Then I look forward to it," she says with a smile, and goes back to wedging a pair of steel gauntlets inside a helmet inside a cuirass so she can fit it all in.

She doesn't say anything else. Lydia, eating a loaf of bread at the table, doesn't say anything else. He doesn't say anything else. Meeko keeps on snoring. Wouldn't seem like anything's changed, to look at them. But it has. He's a shopkeeper now.