Several months earlier…
-oOo-
Everything was crystal clear, snapping into focus as each second ticked by.
Her heart hammered a steady rhythm in her ears like the beat of a war drum pressuring her onwards.
Her breaths were smooth, even, controlled… focused.
Every movement was powered with precision, accuracy, artfully crafted from her years of training.
She dodged with ease under the blade of her assailant, the metal whistling a mere inch above the crest of her forehead. Her wrist snapped out in return, her own hilt cold as ice in her gloved palm as she twisted her steel forwards. The tip dug into the soft flesh of the bandit's exposed stomach, easily breaking the skin and delving deep into his gut.
He grunted, eyes widening in surprise as pain registered in his senses, his hands clumsily dropped his daggers to find refuge in her own blade. His actions were weak, feeble, utterly useless as he attempted to remove the sword from his torso.
His lips parted, a final sigh escaping past them as his body slumped, pitched and sagged to the stone floor. She pulled her weapon free at the last moment, a grimace drawn tight across her facial features. "You should have known better than to attack me," she muttered.
The fort grew quiet save for the howl of the wind through the narrow passages and the clatter of rain droplets from the ramparts outside. The man at her feet had been the last. His eyes were already glassing over, the life force sliding away from him in pursuit of Sovngarde. Perhaps the Gods will have more patience for you than I did.
Upon cleaning her blade she knelt to the bandit's side and snagged the jailor's key from his pocket. She had come here for a purpose, but getting the chance to deliver justice to a gang of slavers in the process was always a welcome bonus.
She could still taste the iron laden blood on her tongue as she took the steps into the lower level of the fort, her booted feet padding against the cobble and dirt, belt jingling in the slightest with each step. Dust caked her leather armor, clung to the silver clasps and buckles, embedded under her fingers as she used them to unlock the cage door.
This wasn't the place for slaves. It wasn't the place for anyone.
Before her laid a shivering woman, head bowed forwards, hands clasped above her head. "P-please, don't hurt me," she whimpered, words spoken with trembling voice.
"I have come here to free you," the first woman assured. "But we must go quickly, before reinforcements arrive."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! May the Eight bless you!" the second replied, standing. "You truly are wonderful, the best fighter ever!" Her rags hung around her loosely, the stench of body odor wafted off of her quivering frame.
"I appreciate the sentiment but we must flee. Hurry!" the first cocked her chin towards the door, towards their exit. Gratitude can be saved for later!
The second nodded obediently and crept from her cell, her body slender and skeletal, dark circles curling under her eyelashes, cheeks gaunt and sunken.
As the second reached the stairs she faltered, turning to her savior, a question in her irises. "Are you there?"
The first crinkled her brows together. "Sorry?"
The once-slave's tone altered, morphed, became deeper and gruffer. "Lass, pull your head out of the clouds." The world pulsed, wavered around the edges, fogged over.
"But I-…" No, this isn't right. What is happening?
"Narillian!"
Narillian gasped, eye lids fluttering as she blinked several times. The fort and its grimy walls disappeared, fizzled out of existence and in its place was the tavern. The howl of the wind silenced, the rain ceased… and returned the clank of glasses and the tune of a song across the rafters.
Ognar grunted beside her, nudging her with his muscled shoulder. "Delphine almost caught you." The woman in question was indeed making her way towards the pair though her eyes were settled on her male counterpart and not the day dreaming server to his right.
Narillian straightened and tugged at her crinkled apron, glancing towards the barkeep with a sheepish grin. "Thank you. Again."
"No problem, lass. Where were you this time?"
She simply shook her head in response, white golden curls jostling against her cream colored tunic. "Doesn't matter. It wasn't real anyhow." It never is…
And likely never will be… Not as long as I'm stuck here.
Her eyes rolled, a scold on her tongue. Stuck isn't the right word. Not truly. Just… everything had grown so monotonous. So mundane. Dull. She was in a rut and going nowhere. Destined to wait tables and bus dishes until she grew old and her hair grayed.
Speaking of…
The bustling of the Sleeping Giant Inn was a near constant in Riverwood, a known fact made even more prevalent as the evening hours dwindled on. Glass mugs slammed onto tables, clay plates shuffled between patrons and servers, dirt crusted boots stomped against the creaky wooden floorboards as they kept pace with the rhythm of Sven's lute; the bard's gaze trained on Camilla much to Faendal's chagrin. Hardy laughter boomed from a bench near the fire pit as stories were traded back and forth, as bets were made, as men and women joined in yet another round of 'Ragnar the Red'. The fifth round tonight.
The overabundance of warmth eased into Narillian's sore muscles from her spot next to the bar, released the tension between her shoulders as she gently rolled them. It was safe here, calm, relaxing. It may not be home, but its close.
It's comforting, or as close as we are going to get to it. No matter how mind-numbing it has become.
The added smell of freshly baked bread and honeyed mead helped, even if they did make her stomach rumble in protest. Finish the shift and then you can eat.
"Another round!" hollered Hadvar as his Uncle came to sit beside him, waving towards her as if to remind her of her duties.
She bobbed her head in acknowledgement before grasping the pitcher from the counter beside Ognar. "What is it?" he was muttering to Delphine, the owner of the tavern.
"Are you even listening?" she quipped, a frown engraved onto her features making them look harder and fiercer than they already were, if that was even possible.
Ognar winked at Nari before replying, "Hard not to." Yes, I catch the irony in Delphine's question.
"I said the ale is going bad. We need a new batch. Did you hear me?" Delphine repeated.
"Yep, ale is going bad."
She puffed out a sigh through pursed lips. "I guess you don't have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a fresh batch in soon."
Ognar chuckled under his breath before turning to Narillian. "This one is good, lass," he tilted his head towards the pitcher in her hands. "Checked it myself."
Narillian offered a lopsided smirk. "Must you get on her nerves?"
"It's my favorite pastime, what can I say?" he replied, gaze pivoting back to Delphine as she ladled stew into a customer's bowl. "Someone needs to keep her on her toes, someone other than yourself. Now, go on, get going. Don't need you getting in trouble for standing around while we have people waiting. You're already on her list."
Narillian took his advice and made her way back to Hadvar, filling his and his Uncle's cups. She had been caught in one too many day dreams for Delphine's liking. The woman would likely never fire her, but Nari didn't want to risk angering her either.
Pulling her mind from her own thoughts, she greeted, "It's good to see you again, Alvor."
"Likewise. Sorry I have not been to visit more often, the forge is keeping me busier than normal." He paused, taking a swig of ale before continuing, "Though, I hear you have had your fair share as well. My nephew says you've been improving with your swordplay. Those twin brothers of yours may have some catching up to do."
She flushed in the slightest. "Thank you. Though, honestly, I am practicing against straw dummies with a wooden sword. I hardly see how you can say I am improving," she gave a pointed glare to Hadvar who rebutted with a sheepish grin. Always embellishing. She knew she was nowhere close to the woman in her dreams, no matter how much she wished she was.
I will never get that chance. Never.
"You could probably take down a skeever if you really wanted to," Hadvar tried to argue.
His uncle seemed to agree with, "I do not doubt that. Give yourself more credit, lass."
A retort was on her tongue when the door to the tavern opened once more, allowing a puff of the cool night air in along with another patron.
Hadvar noticeably bristled. "Hell, you could, at the very least, handle him," venom oozed into his voice on the final word.
"Hadvar," Alvor chided with a whisper.
"I speak only truth, Uncle. That traitor is weak in comparison to Narillian. He has no spine, no backbone. No honor."
"That traitor used to be your friend. We are still brothers in Skyrim regardless of who we stand for."
"I could never call someone who stands with Ulfric my 'brother'."
Nari watched as Ralof eased himself into a chair next to the hearth and looped a brotherly arm around Gerdur. Stormcloak. That's what he was. Though whether she believed him to be ally or foe, she wasn't certain. Skyrim was not her homeland and she was not interested in getting involved with the Civil War when she knew so very little.
Either way, Ralof and Hadvar had equally welcomed her family to Riverwood five years ago… picking sides between them made her gut twist with discomfort. Why can't things go back to the way they were?
Because everything good must always come to an end.
And she was foolish for thinking otherwise. A lesson she should had learned already.
"Narillian," Delphine's voice rang above the rest. "Can you handle the new table?"
New… table? Her mind groggily caught up to the present.
Her gaze shifted across the enclosed space. Ralof was still speaking to Gerdur, Hadvar was deep in dispute with his Uncle, Sven and Faendal were in the midst of some rather haughty staring contest, the local drunk Embry was wedged into a corner mulling over the mead in his clammy hands. Fordnar and his pup, Stump, were settled by the main door, the young lad playing with some contraption. And… seated around the roaring pit in the center of the tavern indeed rested several new faces.
Faces she had never seen before.
They were clad in strange armor, steel in the making with the face and embodiments of a wolf melded into the metal. Their arms bristled with toned muscle and a plethora of scars and scrapes, each likely able to tell its own story. Their weapons varied from gruesome greatswords to masterfully crafted bows and shields. War paint dotted their faces in swooping arches and sharp angles. Who… who are they?
She could almost hear the kiss of their blades, the battle cries on their lips. Warriors. Might ones, if she had to guess. And what are they doing here?
"You jest, Aela!" boomed a bald headed man, a smile flitting across his lips as Narillian made her way to their table, easily stealing her focus even as she poured ale into their waiting mugs. "There is no way you took down two bears on your own." Two bears? On her own? Were they warriors?
Narillian could picture: two ferocious beasts with claws marred in crimson blood, a swift and agile ranger with bow stretched and arrow notched, locked in combat.
"Vilkas will vouch for me," the fiery red haired huntress in question countered, pointing towards a male nord across the hearth from her, a shield tied to his back and blade sheathed on his hip. "He was there."
"Don't drag me into this," the man named Vilkas replied. "I don't want to get on Skjor's bad side."
Another nord to his left… a twin perhaps, the two looked nearly identical in every way aside from height and stature, added, "And I had to hear about it for months afterwards."
"Whelp," Aela muttered. "You act like the added training did not benefit you, carrying on like a new pup." Then, quieter to Nari as she grew closer to her. "Just give us whatever the barkeep is serving. We are not picky eaters." Nari gave a bob of her head in understanding, waving towards Ognar and Delphine.
Vilkas snorted. "He had me head to Secunda's Kiss and kill a giant. A giant!"
"Farkas was with you," Skjor interjected before taking a sip of his spiced mead and giving a nod of appreciation to Nari who had filled it. "The two of you were more than capable."
"My brother," Vilkas said deliberately as he looped an arm around his twin's shoulders, "Is indeed capable. But it was a giant. And he had his friends to help. Including a mammoth." By the Nine, did they actually fell a mammoth and a giant?
Again Narillian's mind flashed: twins charging into battle, sun glistening off of their steel-crafted weapons. It would have been a sight to see.
"Sounds like a lot of whining to me," Aela quipped, rolling her green eyes.
"Let's see you handle a giant on your own then," Farkas challenged, a dare of sorts.
"Next time we see one, you're on, Icebrains." The huntress extended a hand which the taller twin took, giving it a hardy shake. The deal was struck.
"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn," Delphine greeted as the conversation ended, stew pot in hand. "What do we owe this pleasure? Wasn't expecting to see the Companions this far South."
Wait… did she… no, these were the Companions?
Companions… as in the Companions? The Companions that lived in Whiterun? Those Companions?
The Companions that felled beasts and saved damsels in distress? Here? In Riverwood? Brave fighters of all that was right?
The bald one, Skjor, answered, "We had a mission in Falkreath, figured we would stop here before returning to Jorrvaskr. Rest up for a night," then he paused before continuing in a louder voice, "See if we could find some new recruits."
The tavern fell quiet. Narillian's heart shuddered.
Recruits.
To join… the Companions?
Fate, is that you? Are you throwing me a bone?
Skjor went on, "Of course, it is not easy work and we would test your metal before allowing you to travel with us back home. But all are welcome to join."
Hadvar stood from his positon aside his uncle. "Where could we meet you?" He could not hide the excitement in his tone, the way his eyes shimmered in the candlelight. Like many others, he could not deny himself the chance to stand toe to toe with some of the greatest warriors in all of Skyrim. Boasting aside, it would be a wonderful learning opportunity for him.
Vilkas replied, "By the river on the northern edge of town leading out of the village. We will make camp there. Training will start tomorrow at sunrise."
Ralof joined his once-friend. "Anyone can attempt?" he requested clarification. Though the two may never speak, Ralof and Hadvar were still very much the same… in every way.
Vilkas bobbed his head. "That is correct."
Faendal hesitated from his perch near the bar. "Do you take archers as well?"
"We take any and all," Aela responded. "As long as your heart is strong and your will is true."
Anyone? As in… well, anyone? Narillian felt her breath hitch. Could this be her chance? Her mind's eye flashed to her daydream, to the woman who wielded a sword like it was an extension of her arm, who fought for the wellbeing of those around her.
Quiet murmuring fell across the Sleeping Giant Inn.
The Companions themselves returned to their idle chatter, recalling tales of adventures from the past.
But Narillian wasn't hearing any of it.
No… She was already planning.
She would be there tomorrow.