Part I: To Part The Sea
Jorrvaskr's the only place he's known as home. Fragments of memories swirl somewhere in the deep chasms of his mind, but he isn't certain if they're lucid dreams peaking from his imagination of what was home before Jorrvaskr. But for the sake of simplicity, he claims this ancient mercenary hall as the only place he's ever known as home. The wilderness falls a narrow second, but only creatures truly call the wild a sanctuary. And he's the sort of man to denounce the beast calling coursing through his blood. So he keeps it at arms-length.
New blood amongst this vagabond gang of mercenaries isn't unusual. They've turned away renowned fighters and adventures, seeing their heart's intentions are unaligned with that of the Companions. It took a certain type of warrior to befit this group. But it wasn't impossible. Given the right array of skills and desires, the Companions could suit a select of individuals.
But she was...different, to say the least.
Vilkas didn't comprehend as to why Aela was distantly captivated by the young Nord, like the fondness of a she-wolf with her growing cub. Hadn't it been The Circle member who extended invitation to the Nord when her group had encountered her in the wilderness? Ludicrous, Vilkas scoffed, the Companions didn't march around handing out invitations into this elite group. But Ria and Farkas, of all people, also spoke highly of the fiery Nord that now sat in their mead hall as a Shield-Sister. What did they really see in her? Better yet, why couldn't he, Vilkas, muscle down the idea that she belonged?
Even Kodlak wanted her here.
So the young Nord, the one who smelled like northern sea salt and coal, was a Companion and there was no debate Vilkas could conjure to reject her position amongst their pack. She deserved the right to call Jorrvaskr home just as much as he did.
He does his best to swerve the dilemma altogether, keeping to himself. He has never been the social creature amongst the Companions, keeping his nose buried in books when not out on missions. And so, the words between him and the young Nord come few and far in between. He prefers it that way. If she was truly worthy of the Companions, she'll earn his extension of friendliness first and foremost.
Nights are the most difficult time of day. He doesn't sleep well, hasn't in a long time. None of those who carry the beast blood ever will. The likes of Aela and Skjor spend their nights hunting in the wilderness to feast away the ache of sleeplessness, for reasons that Vilkas admonished. While he pleas with the Gods for a night of peaceful slumber, it never comes. So he resigns.
He's grown fond of escaping to the yard outside of Jorrvaskr. Most nights, the sky is clear and the stars dapple the dark sky. Perhaps part of it is the coursing of the beast within his blood, and perhaps part of it is his own wonderment, but Vilkas finds a soft comfort underneath the pale face of the moons. On occasion he'll climb up to Skyforge to be closer to the sky, the dying embers of Eorlund's forge still glowing faintly. His brother has teased him about his nighttime wanderings, telling him he's better off trying to catch a wink of sleep than dragging the exhaustion out further. But he doesn't see the difference of misery whether it's tossing around in bed or wallowing under the starlight.
Exiting Jorrvaskr tonight, he catches glimpse of a form inhabiting the training yard. Under the glow of the moonlight, Vilkas sees the wisp of red hair. There's two members of the Companions with a fiery mane of hair, and one of them is Aela, who wouldn't be around Jorrvaskr this time of night.
Asena stands in the yard, her back to the mead hall and eyes tilting towards the star-dappled sky with a glow of mysticism. She's Aela's protégée. The woman Vilkas would prefer to avoid on any given night. But his bed doesn't offer any comfort, and between the two options of skulking back to his room and entertaining a conversation with the newest blood of the Companions, he chooses the lesser of two evils.
He makes his approach obvious, but she hardly wavers at the sound of his footsteps drumming against the steps. He halts, standing even to her, eyes elevating to meet the same sky she gazes at. What does she see up there? What does she think on this night, while the crisp air of Whiterun drifts across the training yard?
There's a wind of silence before he sees her purse her lips. "The sky is clearer farther north," she mentions wistfully. Her voice is smooth, a bit of nostalgia dipping at the end of her sentence. For a moment, he questions whether there's a waver of longing across her facade, but no longer could he question that notion, the blankness that fills Asena's face befalls it again. She's a bit of a mystery. Doesn't talk of home. Doesn't mention a bit of a personal life. Not even Aela, the most trusted warrior to the young Nord, knows much beyond Asena's desire to fight and protect under the honor code of the Companions.
"The winter nights were always the clearest," she continues now, attempting to overcome the bitterness of the drifting silence. "Sometimes, I'd sit outside my house and try to count the stars. My nose froze before I got very far."
He notices she's trying to keep the conversation rolling, and decides to humor her. "What's the most stars you counted?" he questions, his tone neither friendly nor hostile, but more along the lines of flat and lacking interest.
She shrugs nonchalantly. "I can't remember," she responds with crooked frown, "but it hardly scratched the surface of how many stars are out there."
A breath of cool wind batters at the duo. It buffets Asena's long, free-flowing hair. Vilkas can still smell the trace of coal on her. She's never revealed her former home, but the man could draw assumptions from the small details she's disclosed. A northern-born Skyrim Nord. Anybody from the northern fringes of Skyrim were winter-hardened people. They knew only cold and the long desolation winter brought upon them. There wasn't much that broke them. Hard to break the spirit of someone whose already been broken.
And maybe it's the fearlessness, coupled with the undeniable oath of loyalty the Nord yields that wooed Kodlak into extending Asena an invitation to the Companions. The young Nord has much to learn in combat - and Aela personally is seeing to that task. But, perhaps, there's something to be made of Asena. Vilkas hates to admit it, but the facts still lay rock-solid despite his biased scrutiny.
"I should probably be off to bed," Asena resigns, stifling a yawn. "Aela keeps me busy every day."
Vilkas nods, grunting softly to himself. The girl would worship at the feet of Aela if she so desires. It's amusing, and almost endearing, Vilkas decides.
The Nord pauses, eyebrows squinting over her icy blue eyes. "Is there something you desire to say?" She demands, her tone laced with defense. He made an overstep on that response, and the girl is swift to rise to the defense for her mentor.
He shakes his head, holding out his hands innocently. "Don't worry, I'm not criticizing you."
Asena huffs. "But Aela?"
Here we go, Vilkas muses to himself. He draws in a steady breath, knowing the girl won't leave after he's already dug this rut. Carefully, he formulates his explanation as to not abhorrently offend the fresh-blooded Companion. "Aela is undeniably a talented and devout member of the Companions, following her lead is not a poor idea," Vilkas says, his voice hitching for a moment as he continues, "But do not be afraid to be your own person, Asena."
There's a flash of uncertain that takes to Asena's eyes. A fleet second passes where she stands there with her mouth poising to reply, but no words emitting from her.
"I'm not afraid of wolves," she states firmly after contemplation, jaw tightening a bit. For a moment, her blue-eyed gaze reveals that there's more under the surface she desires to say on the subject. But she draws in a steady breath, exhaling with a grim smile. "Good night, Vilkas," she reckons instead, turning towards the mead hall and ducking away.
At the door, he catches her taking a glance back before disappearing into Jorrvaskr. He stares where she once stood, realizing he hasn't taken a breath since she left his side.
Their encounter feeds him with so much more about Asena, yet he gazes into the void where she once stood and realizes he can't put his finger on the red-maned Nord. And he's not entirely sure he ever will.
