Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim.
I wanted to make a fanfiction that wouldn't follow the story line too closely, as personally I find that too boring to read. Instead, I wanted to fill in the blanks and maybe change things around. Inspired by such songs as Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, You are the Wilderness by Voxhaul Broadcast and numerous Florence and the Machine tracks. I would also like to thank my best friend Stacey, the grammer nazi, for being my beta.
The majority of initiates who came pleading to join the companions were unknown to anyone - like children, they were unseasoned, but seeking something more than themselves; wishing to be part of the pack. After earning their favour, these newbloods would be torn up from their roots, like wood or ore; they were shaped, polished and honed into fine weapons to be admired and feared, yet as Farkas stood under the wooden awning at the back of Jorrvasker, leaning against a beam that had seen many shoulders in it's time, he realised this rite of passage would be somewhat different from others. The woman who stood central in the courtyard was Whiterun's Thane, and the bards had been singing of her triumph over the recently returned dragons. Vilkas had his sword and shield up, taunting the woman for having a bow slung on her back.
"Pick up a real weapon," he mocked her, dark hair falling to cover his eyes.
The Thane's auburn head tilted, regarding his brother with a quirked eyebrow and an analytical expression, before turning to walk towards a weapon rack. Taking her time, she carefully placed an exquisite looking bow and quiver on the ground, before picking up a one handed sword from the rack at random. She rejoined Vilkas in the center, her feet shifting, knees bending, ready to charge or defend. The slimmer brother frowned and goaded her into attacking.
The women moved then, a small quick thing, feinting an attack to his right, forcing Vilkas to swiftly shift his shield in that direction. She spun then to the left, and bent low, sending the pommel of her sword into the back of his left knee which was now exposed. Vilkas grunted as his leg buckled and the joint hit the stone floor. Now behind him, she brought the blade of her sword to rest against the side of his neck. Farkas twitched, instinctively wanting to move to protect his family.
"And how do we test your strength if you resort to those sorts of tactics?" Vilkas snorted, no worse for wear but as bitter as he usually was.
"If you are testing me, shouldn't you know all of my abilities?" She asked, not seeming concerned with the welcome she was getting.
Farkas was of two minds; on one hand, he agreed with his brother and thought that every warrior should know how to wield a true weapon with strength, but he also admired the woman's speed, dexterity and strategies. If you could get an opponent that was larger than you on their knees, no matter the method, was that not favourable? And indeed, the woman was a short Imperial, not built like sturdy Nord women.
She moved her sword away from his brothers flesh, and made a light motion on his back as if to say 'get up'.
"I'll not have my name dragged through the mud because of this," she commented lightly, readying herself . "We shall try again, and I'll show you my arm."
"And what is your name?" Vilkas questioned, rising and dusting off his sore knee.
"If you had paid attention instead of judging me when I was talking to your leader, you would have heard it. It is Rowan."
Both of them were breathing heavy by the end. Vilkas had been stubborn, and tried to test Rowan to her limits. Other recruits would have received his approval half an hour ago, but she kept coming, her stamina plentiful as she bashed down upon his iron shield over and over, switching the angles of her blows constantly to keep him guessing.
She opened her stance once they were done, letting the sword drag on the floor slightly as Vilkas gave her the newcomers speech . After relaxing, she put the sword back on the rack, retrieved her weapons from the floor before returning and dutifully taking Vilkas' sword for sharpening.
As Farkas followed her movements up to the Skyforge with his pale eyes, he considered her form. She was short in stature, which may have explained why she was light on her feet. From what he could make out under her fur and leather armour, she had a slim torso and shoulders, and hips that flared, with sturdy legs to support her.
"Brother," Vilkas spoke, seeking his attention. Farkas turned his gaze and regarded him, eyes automatically scanning for injuries despite him having witnessed the test.
"Looks like she won't need too much training. Her sword work needs some looking at though, it's clear she's too used to using that bow," Farkas noted with furrowed brows, hoping his twin wasn't too sour over the events.
"Kodlak saw her potential. I just thought she was a politician thinking she was entitled to glory she does not deserve."
Farkas knew his brother prized his intelligence, to the point where he would berate himself for being wrong. He placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder, shaking it reassuringly. "Nobody can know everything, brother," he smiled before directing them both towards the warm fires and cold mead inside.