"I can't believe it!"

Erandras shook his head, tugging on one of his pointed ears in thought as he stared at his older brother. Several emotions flickered over his face. Some were good. Very good. And others were... not so good. Not at all. For a moment, all he could do was stand there and gawk, lost utterly for words.

"You're serious, aren't you? You are because you're doing that thing with your hands again. Whether or not I see it." His voice quivered slightly, vibrating down into his sweating hands. He couldn't keep them still at the images playing through his head. Through his memories.

The wood elf glanced down at the bow in his hands and then back at his brother. And he repeated for good measure. This couldn't be happening! Not to them. Nothing happened to them. Or rather, nothing ever happened to him, but this involved him as much as it did Endras.

"So you're this-this... 'Dragonborn' legend? That's been told and retold for hundreds, if not thousands of years? And you never TOLD ME?"

He had to sit. With an almost drunken stagger, he moved to a chair before the fire, billowing air like it was his last breath. It made him sick, it did. His brother was the freaking legend everyone was talking about! And he hadn't even known! This had serious trust breaches.

A warm pressure rested on his shoulder. Endras' hand. Erandra turned to look at his brother. The older Bosmer had an angular face, something that Erandra envied. His eyes glittered red, framed by splattered black warpaint. The blond hair them fell around his shoulders was a great contrast, something that had always bothered their mother.

"Well, you're my little brother, Ran. I wanted to protect you. The less you knew, the better."

Erandra shrugged the hand from his shoulder, turning back to stare into the bright fires of the hearth. It wasn't about rejection, but rather a need to think without the pressure of his brother's touch to sway him one way or the other. He was a man now, by all accounts. He didn't need Endras to protect him anymore. But then, he felt exactly as Endras did when it came to Cirwen. He'd die for her.

"Endras, I don't want your protection. I'm old enough to take care of myself," Erandra grunted, standing once again. His legs were still shaky from the news.

"Heck, I'm a Companion now! I'm sure I can take on a few bandits who come looking for 'the Dragonborn's Brother'." Instinctively, his chest puffed out in defiance, his brows coming together in an all serious expression.

A sudden scuffing caught their attentions, both Bosmer turning to peer at the staircase. Slowly, a dark head appeared, rising with each sleep-laden step that the Nord took. Into the firelight emerged a tired looking Vilkas who wore only his skivvies and an irritated frown. However, he all but ignored the elves and went about his business in the mead hall, picking up seemingly random food items.

"We'll continue this later," Endras murmured, taking his leave of Jorrvaskr. Erandra followed his brother with his silvery eyes before his attention returned to Vilkas, who had plonked himself in a chair opposite of him. Neither said a thing for a while as Vilkas wolfed down his food. It was a comfortable silence, yet Erandra couldn't dodge the question hanging in it.

"Your brother?" Vilkas finally grunted, tearing a chunk of meat from his serving of venison. His dark eyes remained fixed on his plate, although it was evident that he was listening to the Bosmer.

"Mm, bastard he is. Turns out he's the bloody Dragonborn."

Vilkas almost choked as his eyes darted up to Erandra's face. He gulped down a mouthful of mead from a nearby bottle, forcing the lodged food down into his stomach.

"You're serious?"

"And he lied to me about it. Said he didn't know anything about it."

Again, silence fell around them. It was somewhat awkward this time as Vilkas continuously stared at Erandra, almost weighing him up with his eyes. The bosmer rubbed at his red-coated eye, suddenly yawning at the late hour.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed! Can't fight evil-doers if I'm half asleep," Erandra laughed nervously, quickly rising to his feet and scurrying off to the staircase. Vilkas's eyes followed, narrowing the further Erandra got.

"Yeah, night, Whelp."