4E 174 - Whiterun
Vilkas was always the blocker.
No matter how much he begged, he was always the one holding the shield.
He stumbled, taken aback by the blow his brother had dealt. As Farkas tried for a second attempt, Vilkas raised the shield once more, barely managing to parry the strike. His brother paused to admire his block.
"Not bad. Keep it up and you'll be as good as me" Farkas complimented, yet failed to fool his sibling.
"Don't patronize me, brother. It's already been made clear that you got Ysgramor's strength and I got his smarts" Vilkas retorted playfully. Farkas furrowed his eyes as his brother prepared to attack.
"Brains aren't everything" he reminded, promptly blocking Vilkas' hit.
"In your case, they're nothing" he mocked, earning himself a disheartened glare from his shaggy-haired brother.
"Horker turd" he grumbled. Vilkas rolled his eyes at his brother's pettiness. They were supposed to be eleven, but the two of them still acted like eight year olds. Sure, he may have had the intelligent advantage. But he still enjoyed the little scraps they got into every now and again. It reminded them of when their father used to be there. After leaving for Cyrodiil to fight in the Great War, he had trusted the brother's to look out for one another. And they had done so for the last four years, spending most of their time training in the courtyard like they were doing now.
"Do you think father will be impressed with my block?" Vilkas asked nostalgically, causing Farkas to briefly cease his attack.
"Of course he will. And when he comes home, he'll be able to show us all the new skills he's learned. He may even train us to use great-swords" Farkas presumed excitedly, eager to hear the tales their father had to tell when he returned.
"The big ones? I highly doubt that since we can barely lift them" Vilkas rebutted.
"It doesn't mean we can't try. Besides, I think I'm growing some more muscle" Farkas stated gloatingly, rolling up his sleeve to show a small bump protruding from his bicep.
"I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong" Vilkas mocked again. But before Farkas could even supply a comeback, a familiar voice caught them both off guard.
"Boys, come inside now" a tall Nord with brown hair and a long beard called from the open doorway. This was Kodlak Whitemane, right-hand man to Askar, the Harbinger of the Companions.
"What's wrong?" Farkas asked, lowering his sword beside him. Vilkas did the same and cocked his head at the man, his graying hair hinting that he was in his mid-sixties.
"Skjor's returned" Kodlak answered, sighing as he saw the twins' faces light up with joy. His heart broke as he dreaded what they would soon learn. Dropping their equipment, the two of them ran inside, expecting their father to be there waiting for them with Skjor. Farkas couldn't wait for him to see how much he'd grown. Vilkas on the other hand wanted to tell his father about everything that had happened whilst he'd been away.
However, as they made their way around the large fire-pit in the center of the mead hall, they slowed their paces, concerned by the single soldier standing at the entrance, a small satchel hung over his shoulder. Askar stood with him, the two of them were whispering something out of earshot. Approaching them, Vilkas and Farkas froze at the sight of Skjor's face. A bloodied bandage was wrapped around his head, covering where his left eye would have been. Upon seeing the boys, Skjor forced a smile, kneeling down to reach their eye level.
"Farkas, Vilkas, the two of you are a sight for a sore eye" he greeted, causing the two brothers to let out a small chuckle each.
"What happened?" Vilkas asked, unable to look away from the battle scar Skjor had acquired.
"That's actually why I'm here. I have some bad news" he revealed. Farkas looked past him, expecting his father to enter the hall at any moment.
"Why can't our father tell us? He's with you, right?" he questioned. Skjor looked to Askar for support, but all the old man could offer was a nod of confidence, gesturing for him to get it over with. Sighing, Skjor turned back to the twins, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.
"Boys, the Thalmor attacked the Imperial City where me and your father were stationed. That's when I lost my eye. I was lucky to get out of their alive" he explained. The twins however could already tell where this was going. And neither of them wanted to believe it.
"Did...did our father make it out?" Vilkas asked, stammering slightly. Without saying a word, Skjor reached into his satchel and retrieved a necklace. Their father's necklace. It was a tattered piece of string with two gold wedding rings hanging from it. Their parents' wedding rings. After their mother had died during childbirth, their father had kept it on his person at all times. It never left his neck. His mouth agape, Farkas reached out with a trembling hand and took it from Skjor's grasp.
"I'm so sorry, boys" he sympathized, lowering his head in remorse. He had been regretting this after he saw Jergen die in battle. Since then, it was as if somebody had hung a chain of guilt around his neck. What if he could have saved him? Maybe he could have brought him home to his sons. But these foolish hopes of what could have been dissipated as he saw the tears arise in Farkas' eyes. His fingers recoiled, causing the two rings to be lost in his clench. Vilkas was surprised as well as devastated. Never in his entire life had he seen his brother shed a tear. Not even when he had put a small spider in his bed for a joke.
"Farkas..." Vilkas trailed off, his voice cracking as his own tears began to surface. Farkas clamped his eyes shut, angrily throwing the necklace to the ground and running back out into the courtyard.
"FARKAS!" Vilkas called out, reaching down to pick up the necklace before going after him. Skjor watched as the two of them left, raising a hand and dejectedly holding the bridge of his nose. Askar placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself, Skjor. They just need some time to grieve" he consoled, looking over to the door the boys had exited out of.
Vilkas could only watch in shock as his brother began beating his sword against the stone walls lining the courtyard. With each strike, a loud cry left Farkas' lips, his expression of anger failing to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks. Vilkas ran at his brother, taking hold of the weapon before he could damage it even more.
"Farkas, what are you doing?!" he asked, futilely trying to pry the weapon from Farkas' hands.
"What does it look like? I'm trying to break the damn thing! I don't need it anymore!" he answered heatedly. With a final pull, Vilkas was able to take away the sword, holding it out of his brother's reach for good measure.
"But you can't give up on your training now!" he insisted.
"WHY NOT?! FATHER'S NEVER GOING TO SEE IT! SO, WHAT'S THE POINT?!"
Vilkas shoved the sword against his chest, the blade pointing upwards between their gazes. Farkas raised an eyebrow at his brother's sudden act.
"The point is that you can't just give up. What do you think father would say if he could see you right now?" Vilkas questioned, allowing Farkas' hand to slip around the grip of the weapon and lower it to his side.
"He wouldn't say anything, Vilkas. He's gone"
"No, Farkas. He's not. Not as long as we have these" Vilkas retorted, holding out his hand. Farkas studied the necklace, the string hanging from his clenched fist. Slowly reaching out, Farkas also took hold of the string, suspending the two rings between them.
"We made a promise to our father to take care of one another. If we break it now, we'll be dishonoring his memory. He'll live on through that promise. As well as through the rings" Vilkas stated, managing to put a grin on his brother's face.
"You're right. I can't give up. Not now" Farkas agreed, his smile reflected in the face of his twin.
"Promise?" he asked, making sure he had gotten through to him.
"I promise"
And they kept that promise.
They still do.
Even now, as the Civil War rages on and Alduin returns to bring a new reign of death and destruction, the two brothers still carry the memories of their parents. Mentally and physically.
Nobody knows, but the boys secretly have their own individual necklace hidden beneath their armor. Each one holding a ring which defined them the most.
Vilkas keeps hold his mother's, because of how he inherited her intelligence and caring spirit.
And Farkas looks after his father's, to ensure that he will always be with him in battle and to see how he has progressed in combat.
This secret will never be revealed.
Preserved between these two Companions.
Two heroes.
Two brothers.