A/N: Hello folks!
This story is actually a repost from a previous account (full of my old 15-year-old crap) to this lovely new one (yet to be filled with my more grown up crap!) It also comes with a full set of copious edits, formatting changes and other little things that bother no one else but me.
CHAPTER ONE THE MISTAKE
"So, you're here to join us, the Companions, I see!" the boisterous bear of a man named Kodlak Whitemane cried loudly, waving a welcoming arm gesturing her further inside.
She stared, wide-eyed, not entirely sure how to reply.
When someone described Jorrvaskur to Finwe Elkoss as a "mead hall", she expected something closer to the Bannered Mare. A bar, perhaps, or ladies in tight clothing serving ale to tables, a stage maybe for bards or theater.
But not this.
Off to one side, a scrawny girl in torn, repaired, and torn again armor brawled bare-fisted the Nord way with a Dark Elf who seemed too pointed, too cunning and moved too quick. In the center of the room, surrounding a blissfully warm fire pit was a huge table piled high with food and enough meat to populate a small forest. A woman with her face painted in dark green slashes chatted up a pair of identical looking men, twins, Finwe supposed. One of them must have made a funny remark, because all three began to laugh hearty, full-belly laughs.
"I- I need to speak with Eorland Gray-Mane. That's all," she stammered.
"Ahh, but first thing's first, new whelp, how about we take you out to the training yard and see about that arm of yours?"
"What-? Uhh, no, that- that probably won't be necessary, you see, I just have a question about my armor-"
But Kodlak didn't seem to be listening. "Vilkas!"
One of the twins looked up. "Yeah?"
"Take this one outside and let's see what she can do."
Vilkas frowned, but stood up anyways, "Alright. Come on, whelp."
Finwe was panicking. Test her arm? Unless it was raised to cast a spell, that would be useless. Desperately, she scanned the room for a weapon, any weapon before the others realized she didn't actually carry one on her. At last, her eyes fell on a greatsword, the steel glistening in the firelight.
Gently, she picked it up, seriously underestimating its weight as she nearly dropped it before resolving to grab at its second grip, above one of the handguards. Why were there two grips, she wondered. Maybe it was like the staff Endon the bosmer failed to teach her? She switched the positioning of her hands, one grip facing up, the other down and took an experimental swing, just narrowly missing nicking her right knee.
Okay, maybe it doesn't actually work like that, but it'll have to do.
She straightened and threw her shoulders back the way the green-painted lady did and tried to stride out of the room with feigned confidence.
What in the name of the Divines have I gotten myself into?
She took a swing left, then another right, a pair of butcher-chops with the massive slab of steel in her hands, in a way she hoped was threatening and cool-looking.
Vilkas looked more confused than anything.
"Well, come on already! Hit me!"
"Ooookay! Here it comes!" she warned, before bringing the sword down with a mighty thrust.
One step to the side, and the sword came down with a clatter, cutting a deep scar in the dust.
"Too slow," he said, "And you don't need to project your hits like that."
"Alright!" she cried, renewing her grip on the leather, before whipping the greatsword up and left, which was far too easily dodged, then right, which was knocked lazily out of the way.
"Have you even held a sword before?" he asked incredulously, the truth dawning on him
"Umm, well," Finwe stammered, "I've never held one like this before," she admitted.
"What do you normally use then? A war axe? A one-hand blade? We have plenty you can borrow if you need to. Even a bow and arrow is fine by us, our archers do just fine."
Aela smiled and nodded with pride.
"Well, I uhh- I- I use magic!" she blurted out, then suddenly gasped with shame.
"You what?"
"I'm a magic user," she admitted shamefully, hanging her head "A wizard. I fight with magic."
"You." Vilkas stomped over to Kodlak, angry with him for some reason, "If you think this- this enchantress could become one of us, you are sadly mistaken. There is no way you can allow a sorcerer into the Companions."
The Harbinger brushed past Vilkas, training his dark eyes on the girl instead, "I'm sorry to have put you on the sport like that," he apologized, the pity and shame heavy in his voice. "I didn't realize that you were here to train from the basics. Why don't you head inside and we'll get you set up with a sparring sword, Farkas will show you what he knows."
Finwe nodded, humiliated.
Finwe went inside and retrieved a blunt, wooden stick that only bore a passing resemblance to the greatsword she'd just attempted. By the time she'd headed back out, Farkas was already doing stretches in the training yard, innocently showing off his muscles to a group of girls gathered on the porch.
Thankfully, he didn't seem angry or upset that he was essentially showing her what a Nordic child would know of a sword.
Maybe he's given this kind of training before?
"Hey, I killed a bear yesterday," an Imperial named Ria cheerfully exclaimed to the woman next to her, "Did you kill anything today?"
Probably not.
"Are you coming or not, pup?" Farkas called.
Pup, that was new. Below 'whelp', she supposed.
"Alright. First lesson. Stick 'em with the pointy end."
A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to leave a review!