2.
The day was as sunny and bright as it could be. The warm winds of the early spring swept over Whiterun and everyone seemed to be in a happy, joyful mood. Even the guards sometimes took off their suffocating helmets and raised the faces towards the light, eyes closed and a careful smile on their faces.
Sura looked over the city. She was at the Skyforge and her blue, bright eyes smiled as a flock of birds flew right over the Jorrvaskr, the great mead hall of the Companions. From the birds, her gaze moved down to the training area and she could see some of the Companions down in the yard, talking, laughing and testing their weapons and skills.
"Girl!" Eorlund Gray-Mane, Skyforge's blacksmith interrupted her thoughts. "Did you come here to work or to have fun? This steel is still not as thin as it should be."
"I'm sorry," Sura turned back to him. "But it's such a beautiful spring day. Did you see those birds, Eorlund?"
"The Companions need their weapons," he grunted. "I don't have time to watch birds. And neither do you. Keep forging, that sword still needs much work."
She smiled but did as she was told and kept shaping the hot steel with her hammer. She liked the physical work in the forge, but to this day she hadn't managed to make a sword or a shield that Eorlund would find satisfying. There always seemed to be something wrong, some crack or defect that he would notice. And he was always right. The swords she made and tested broke easily in the use of experienced warriors and the shield shattered way too soon under the huge pressure or war hammers and axes.
But still, she kept going, kept trying to be better. Like the court wizard Farengar, the Skyforge's smith Eorlund Gray-Mane was hard to please and demanded perfection. And still, both of these men were willing to teach her. When she wasn't learning magic from Farengar, she spent her days in Skyforge listening and looking at the best smith in all of Skyrim showed her what he did and how he did it.
Eorlund Gray-Mane was proud of his work and wasn't afraid to show it. But he was also very stiff and stern and didn't allow any fooling around. The Skyforge was a dangerous place with the hot, boiling forge and was filled with sharp steel weapons. He mostly nagged and complained to her. Always going on about how he shouldn't let her come to the Skyforge, that all she did was waste his precious materials, and that he was wasting his time teaching her because she wasn't able to make anything decent.
But Sura just smiled at his words. She knew it was part of his nature. Eorlund had never asked her to pay anything and he always had some steel ingots in storage if she wanted to try something other than swords or daggers. She would always remember the first time she saw the big, muscular man at his forge, long before his hair and beard had turned grey. She knew she wasn't meant to be a blacksmith, but she liked spending time with the old man. Sometimes, if she was very patient, he shared some old stories with her.
She relived the memories, and for a moment saw him like he was back then, agile and strong, quick and professional. He had perfected his skills, he never made a single useless move and his rough hands - which were filled with calluses, old wounds, and scars - caressed the steel softly and gently like it was his lover.
"Daydreams again?" Eorlund saw her looking at him and stood up from the grindstone where he had been sharpening a thin-bladed steel sword. He lifted it up to his eye-height, looked down the blade to see if it was curved or contorted. He touched the edge of the blade carefully, brought his thumb over it and the softest, slightest touch drew drops of blood from his finger. Satisfied at his work, he smiled.
Then he turned and handed the sword to her.
"This is what I accomplish," he said and now his voice was softer, deeper and gentler. As she took it, she couldn't but marvel at the lightness of the blade and the force of the weapon. It felt like it pulsated in her arms, like it had the mind of its own, ready to strike down anyone who would dare to threaten her.
"Take it to him," Eorlund commanded.
Him? Sura blinked her eyes. Surely he didn't mean...
"You know who's sword that is," Eorlund grunted. "He's down in the training yard. I promised to have it done by today. And take the rest of the afternoon off. I need to clean this mess you made."
"Are you kicking me out?" Sura was astonished. That was extremely strange. Eorlund never cut the days short and sometimes he even kept her at the forge late until the evening.
"For the afternoon, I am," Eorlund nodded. "Now get going."
As she walked down the stone stairs of the Skyforge, the older man looked after her. He had given her the sword for a reason. The cat and mouse play in Jorrvaskr's hallways had been going on for far too long. Years, in fact. He wasn't about to play the goddess of love, but he still remembered the time when he and his wife were young and in love and the memory warmed his heart. If things were up to those two - the shy little cat girl and the smart but way too honorable warrior - nothing would happen, until they were both old and grey and ready to fall into their graves. He chuckled to himself and grabbed the sword she had been working on. Well, he thought and was quite impressed by her work. Maybe she isn't as hopeless as I imagined.
Sura was nervous. She was always nervous when had to deal with him. Never mind what it was about, his closeness made her uncomfortable. The main reason was his eyes. They were grey and seemed cold and unfeeling, but she had seen a flash of fire and passion underneath his carefully constructed shell. His eyes were the most spectacular part of him. She mostly shied away from his gaze but when he wasn't looking, she sometimes stared at him and just admired him.
Now she stood the sword in her hands, grasping it so hard that she felt her own claws dig into her palms. She bit her lower lip, frowned and reminded herself that this was nothing compared to her nightmares. Why was she so nervous? This wasn't the first time she laid her eyes on him, it wasn't the first time they exchanged words. She drew a deep breath and walked slowly to the training yard where the two brothers were clashing their swords. She stopped on her tracks when she noticed that neither of them had any cover or armor over their upper bodies.
She could smell their sweat; it glistened on their skins, and hear the voices of their heavy breathing. The sun drifted behind the thick clouds and a cold wind swept across the yard. The two men didn't seem to notice the change in the weather.
And neither did she. She was only wearing her blacksmith's apron and a thin, woolly dress. Her fur kept her warm but suddenly cold shivers ran down her spine. She wasn't trembling because of the coldness. As she looked at them - at him - a strange warmness spread throughout her body. Her heart began to beat faster and she didn't notice how her tail moved nervously from left to right, again and again.
For a moment, it looked like the taller, stronger, bulkier man was winning. He laughed at his brother and the sound echoed throughout the yard. It was deep and warm and filled with affection. He swung his sword around, took a few steps towards the other man and charged forward. But where he was incredibly strong and powerful, his brother was quick and agile. All he had to do was take one, small step aside and the charging bear lost his balance. At the last moment, he tried to correct his move, but it was already too late. He crashed into the ground, his sword flew away from him and he was too tired to get up and continue the battle. His brother walked to him, reached out his arm and pulled him on his feet.
"You need to think before you charge, Farkas," he said to his brother.
"You know me," Farkas laughed. "I never use my brain when I fight."
"And that's why you can never beat me," Vilkas smiled, shook his head, walked to the stone wall that circled the yard, grabbed a soft cloth and wiped the sweat from his forehead and chest. He grinned to his twin brother and only he noticed the woman standing across the yard, squeezing a huge sword in her hands.
Farkas said something to him, but he had no idea what he was talking about. His blood still ran high because of the battle but her presence excited him in a different way. Farkas' words didn't reach his ears, all he heard was some distant mumbling that drifted through his brain like the background music at the tavern.
Countless times he had seen her but it always affected him like this was the first time. Her fur was as white as the winter snow in the mountains. Only a few dark stripes dotted it - two on the tail and one above her right ear. Once again he wondered where those stripes ended. He wanted to follow them with his finger. Trace them and find out how far they continued. Were they just a bunch random curves and whirls, or did they form any noticeable patterns? Her eyes captured his gaze and he simply couldn't break away. They were the bright, cool shade of blue. Like the mountain streams that poured down to the valleys below. Like the sky high above Skyrim, they were wild and untamed.
Farkas noticed that his brother wasn't listening to him. He followed his gaze and as he saw the woman, he shook his head, rolled his eyes, and a knowing smile rose on his face.
"Hey, kitty cat!" he yelled at her and waved his hand. "What do you intend to do with that big sword? Have you finally come to cut my poor brother's heart out and claim it for yourself? It's about time!"
Sura couldn't help but giggle at his remark. Vilkas nudged his brother with his elbow and frowned. Farkas just laughed, he never stopped teasing her and he sometimes called her a "kitty cat". It was a pet name, not an insult, there was nothing offensive in the way he said it and she quite liked it. Suddenly the mood in the training yard was much lighter, her hard grip of the sword loosened and she walked to them. She greeted them both and her sparkling eyes gleamed with laughter. She handed the sword to Vilkas.
"Eorlund sent this," she said. "I believe it's your new sword."
"Looks sturdy," Farkas said and before Vilkas had the chance to even hold the blade Farkas grabbed it from Sura and smiled to his brother.
"Let me test it out for you."
He turned his back on them and charged against the training dummies. It wasn't long until another man joined him and they continued their sparring together.
An awkward silence fell between the Nord and the Khajiit. They suddenly noticed that no one paid attention to them and they had a chance to talk if they wished to. At first, Sura was looking down at her own feet but as she lifted her gaze, his eyes darted somewhere else and neither knew what exactly to say. She could smell his skin, the sweat, and the leather and feel the warmth that was radiating from his bare chest. If she would just lean a little closer, she could almost touch him.
Vilkas cursed silently. Why was this woman so close to him and still so far away? He had watched her as the years passed by, as she grew from a little, lost girl to a beautiful, grown woman. She started to work in Skyforge with Eorlund - which was unheard of, Eorlund never took an apprentice, and still, there she was, day after day, from early morning until late in the evening. So close to him that he could smell her, the faint scent of lavender and tundra cotton. Whenever she was there, he couldn't concentrate on anything so he usually kept to himself, delved into books or went to an occasional mission or two. He went anywhere, did anything so he could avoid her presence. Anything, except face her because of moments like this when he felt like mumbling idiot with nothing interesting or intelligent to say. But today, it seemed that some higher power led her here, right next to him.
Sura felt him shift on his feet and all of a sudden she was afraid that he might leave. She quickly raised her eyes to look at him, to ask him not to go. Momentarily she wondered where such courage came from, she was usually so nervous and edgy around him. A silent whisper or more like a warm gust of wind pushed her little closer to him and she was relieved to see that he wasn't leaving. He was still there and now her eyes locked into his. She had never seen them so close. The dark war paint made his grey gaze deep and intense. There was something he wanted to tell her, something that words were not able to convey. And she could almost read that something from his gaze. She knew she could, if this moment just lasted a little longer if she had a little more time to look deep into his eyes.
He could have dived into those beautiful, blue eyes and died happily. Absentmindedly he raised his hand and touched her cheek. It was unexpected and sudden, but she couldn't help but smile at him and without even knowing it, she leaned a little closer.
And as he lowered his head to maybe kiss her, maybe to say something whisper, maybe even to just hug her, she could almost block out the bad memories, the nightmares and even the familiar footsteps that were on their way to disrupt this strange, rare moment.
