Companions: Athis

Disclaimer: Bethesda and ZeniMax have made something awesome. I just like to play in it.

Notes: If you've read anything else I've written, you may notice some slight discrepancies between what the universe gives us and my interpretation. Sometimes I make changes for better story-telling effect, and sometimes it's because I believe the in-game source may be considered unreliable and the "truth" may be somewhat different. I will use this ability to change things judiciously, but if that bothers you, read something else.

No matter what he did, it seemed Athis was always inadequate.

His feet were heavy as he walked down the stairs to the bedchambers beneath Jorrvaskr. Each footfall echoed in the stairwell, a low, plodding sound that echoed the thundering bellows of shame in his head.

Defeated by a damn wolf. It just wasn't right. He should be better than this.

He opened the door and looked down the hall. No one was there, thank goodness. He'd seen Torvar and Vilkas sparring in the yard, and inside the hall, Njada and Aela were drinking.

"Back so soon, new blood?" Njada had jeered at him as he walked by. He wanted to turn, to challenge her, but before he could, the thought struck him that there was no point.

He would just lose, just as he had to that freakish wolf that was still terrorizing the Western end of the hold. Something had been wrong with that animal.

They should have sent Aela, she was the hunter, he reflected sourly as he trudged down the hall. If only this hadn't been his test. If only it had been something else, something – anything – he'd been prepared for…although he wondered now if he'd just been setting himself up to fail from the beginning. If the fortune and glory of being a Companion had always been out of his reach.

The hall was wide, dim, and the torches flickered. It was warm down here, and felt safe, and the pleasure it gave him made him still angrier with himself to think that now he would be kicked out.

There hadn't been a back-up plan; he wasn't supposed to fail. Somehow, for some reason, he'd thought that if he could just get to Whiterun, proving himself would be easy, and then he'd have a family, and a bed, and the shot at triumph that he'd always dreamt of.

He couldn't go back to Windhelm to live in that squalid stone pit they called the Grey Quarter; he hadn't the magical ability to attend the College at Winterhold, and thieving held no allure. What did that leave? Farming? He had no desire to spend his days pulling endless weeds or fretting over each frost – leave that for the Nords, or for those too afraid of the world.

That was the problem, perhaps; his ability, and he'd never learned to fear.

But all that time, all those years spent training with a sword – could this really be it?

Perhaps he could find work as a mercenary. But no one would want to hire a mercenary that couldn't even kill a stupid wolf. The story was probably out already; Njada Stone-bitch had probably already shared it with the rest of the Companions, and even if he wasn't told to pack up and get out, they'd taunt him forever about his first failure.

He'd reached the door at the far end of the hall and stood there for long moments. His breath was hot, shameful. It smelled of onions, he realized after a moment. But what did that matter?

Failure smelled of onions. That seemed fitting, somehow.

He was going to have to leave. They'd never let him be a Companion now.

From the other side of the door, Kodlak's voice sounded, "Come in, young man."

Athis opened the door and walked through, shutting it quietly behind him. Farkas was sitting next to the old man at a small table in the corner. The younger man's face was grim beneath the black paint around his eyes, but the older man seemed calm, almost beatific.

"I'll just be going then. I'll think about what you said," the big man stood. There was an inexplicable waft of wet dog as he strode past Athis, and then he was gone. The door closed quietly behind him.

"Have a seat," said Kodlak. Athis moved to the chair Farkas had been sitting in and took a moment to look around. He'd never seen Kodlak's sitting room before, and it was filled with treasures; here a giant's toe and a bunch of deathbells, and over there a display with beautiful, finely-wrought daggers inside.

What a pity he would never get to look around this place again, Athis thought absently. There was so much he would just have to wonder about.

"I take it from your face that the assignment didn't go well," Kodlak began. Athis hadn't even realized it, but as he tuned in now, he realized he was scowling.

He nodded, unable to meet Kodlak's eyes in his disgrace.

He was going to cry. He couldn't cry. Companions didn't cry.

"I failed," he finally said. His voice was flat. "I managed to drive the wolf off the homestead, but I failed to kill it. It will likely return."

Kodlak nodded, a small, enigmatic smile on his face. "So the wolf lives," he said, after a moment. "Ah, well."

And then, without considering it, Athis voiced what had been bothering him: "I lost. To a dumb animal. I'm sure you'll never let me be a Companion, and I don't blame you. But there was something unnatural about that wolf."

Kodlak crooked a wry eyebrow at him, and Athis somehow felt it was safe to continue, even though saying it seemed absurd.

"It was too big. And too smart. And I swear it walked on two feet." He paused. "Do you believe in werewolves?"

At this, Kodlak burst into laughter. Despite his chuckling, Athis didn't feel the old man was laughing at him.

"You may have failed at killing the wolf," the Harbinger said, filling a mug with a bottle of ale. "But you did return." He offered the mug to Athis, who took a long drink from it. The ale was frothy and warm and had a distinctly hoppy flavor, the way most ale in Whiterun did. He longed momentarily for the stouter, darker flavor of the drinks in Windhelm, but that was foolish.

He'd be back in the New Gnisis Corner Club with a mug of the house special before he knew it. No point in pining for what he'd have soon enough.

"It takes a lot of courage to own up to a failure," the old man said, taking a sip from his own mug. "The kind of courage we seek in our Companions."

He couldn't be hearing this right. Could he?

"Sir?"

"You came back here even though you did not succeed in your mission. You returned to Jorrvaskr though you knew in your heart that you would be discarded. I say that takes a singular amount of courage, the kind we seek in our Companions."

Athis took another long drink of ale. He couldn't be hearing this right. It was a dream. The wolf had bitten him and now he was bleeding out in a row of crops, and in his blood loss he was hallucinating.

Some hallucination, though. He could taste the bitterness of the hops on his tongue, could feel the scratchy straw seat of the chair against his calves, could feel the ache of tired muscles in his legs. Would he feel all this in a dream?

Probably not.

"You're telling me I can stay?" He finally met Kodlak's eyes.

"I think you have the courage of a Companion, yes. Why don't you head to the yard and spar with Farkas." Kodlak's face became more serious. "We need to be able to count on you in the future."

Athis drained the mug. His heart was soaring, his feet couldn't stand to be still.

He was a Companion.