Vilkas couldn't say how long he'd been staring at it in the near-darkness of their bedroom. Three vertical lines, curled at their bottom ends like fingers or branches, and hanging from a horizontal forth line. He'd always imagined it to be some sort of symbol, maybe the sign of a clan or insignia of rank. Something mysterious that added to the exoticness that had intrigued him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her: the slight curve in the thicker horizontal line on her forehead that vanished behind her hairline; the three lines trailing down from there, across the lid of her eye and her cheekbone. Now that he knew what it meant, he didn't know what to make of it.
Falka shifted in her sleep, making two of the remaining beads she used to wear in every strand of her hair click against each another. He listened to her breathing as she slowly drifted out of her dreams.
"'kas?" she mumbled, still half asleep.
"Hey."
"'re broodin'."
"'m not."
Falka sighed and grumbled something too low even for his sharpened hearing to catch into her pillow. Finally accepting that sleep wouldn't come, Vilkas got up from his chair. He leaned over the sleeping woman, placing a kiss on her cheek. "Go back to sleep."
She sighed contently, and buried herself deeper under the blankets and furs.
The snowstorm that had raged over the plains of Whiterun during the night had abated, leaving masses of snow behind. Vilkas pushed open the door to Jorrvaskr's back yard, only to find everything behind the patio buried under a thick, white blanket. Masser still lingered, its rays finding their way through the thinning clouds, glittering on the fresh snow. A brief thought of Alfie and Gwen and their crops crossed Vilkas' mind. Grumbling, he grabbed a shovel and set to work.
In the early light of day, he cleared a path from the Gildergreen up the stairs to their mead hall. The snow was heavy, and the hard work a welcome contrast to the dark thoughts that had robbed him of the night's rest. Snow flew in high arcs as he cleared the path along the hall and up to the Skyforge so that Eorlund would be able to get there when he came in for the day. Vilkas' foul mood followed him across Jorrvaskr's premises, fuelling his movements with extra force. By the time he had cleared the area around the forge, he was panting heavily and drenched in sweat, his muscles burning from the heavy work. Looking up from his chore, he found the smith studying him from across the forge.
"What's put you in such a mood, lad?"
"Eorlund," Vilkas greeted the old smith. "'s nothing."
Eorlund cast a look around, taking in the heaps of snow now bordering the cleared pathways. "Looks like a big mount o' nothing."
"'s a long story."
The old smith nodded at him with a knowing look. "'n that case – me thinks the stairs up to Dragonsreach need clearing, too."
Vilkas glared at him.
"On t' other hand, you got your lady waiting for you."
Peering down into the yard, Vilkas saw a hooded figure standing there, seemingly shivering despite the thick fur cloak she wore. Vilkas thrust the shovel deep into the snow, and made his way down to meet her.
Falka watched as Vilkas waded through the thick layers of snow that still covered Jorrvaskr's backyard. She shivered, despite the many layers of wool and leather she wore. Vilkas, it seemed, did not heed the coldness at all. He wore a deep frown on his face, a line furrowing his forehead.
"Hey," Falka greeted him.
"Hey." Vilkas studied her for a moment, taking note of the worried look on her face, her uptight stance. "Couldn't sleep either?"
She shook her head, burying herself deeper inside her thick cloak. A muscle on her face twitched as she stared at him. "You are mad," she stated finally.
"Aye."
Falka sighed, hesitating for a brief moment. "I am sorry for Shouting at you last night."
"Red—"
"I know I should never have, but…" She let her sentence trail off, half-heartedly extending her arm his way.
"Hey." Vilkas caught her wrist, pulling her close. "That's not what's robbed me of last night's sleep."
Falka slumped against his chest. "I do not know what had gotten into me."
"I do," Vilkas grumbled. "But don't berate yourself over that. I knew you wouldn't hurt me. And besides," he added as the woman in his arms remained silent, "it made me look incredibly brave in front of my brother."
"Mornin'."
"Good morning."
"Mind if I…" Farkas gestured at the empty seat.
"No, not at all."
"Thanks." He put down his mug of cider. "Back in a mo'."
When Farkas returned, he was carrying two plates laden with food. There was a still steaming pie, chicken legs, a bowl filled with nuts and dried fruits, and apple purée.
"Didn't know what you'd like," he said as he slid into the chair next to the courier.
"No, that's…" The girl smiled at him. "Thank you." She paused, and a small frown marred her brow. "You know, I don't even know your name."
"'s Farkas."
"Nice to meet you, Farkas. I'm Calla."
Farkas returned her smile, taking the time to study her attractive features. A delicate nose, sparkling eyes, a full mouth— Self-consciously, he returned his attention to the food.
"Thank you for… speaking on my behalf last night."
"'t was nothing. Did you sleep good? Apart from," – he gestured with his tankard of cider, – "you know. That."
"Yes, I did. Thank you so much. I'm so glad I didn't have to ride off into that snowstorm again." She shivered, and took a deep gulp of her own hot cider.
Farkas nodded, absently chewing on his food.
"I'm sorry I brought you such bad news," Calla broke the spreading silence.
"'s not your fault." Farkas swallowed. "'m just ashamed you had to witness that…" He broke off, fishing for the correct word.
Calla chuckled, and Farkas found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her.
"So she's your Harbinger then?"
Farkas nodded.
"I should've known it was her. The way you guys remained silent and all."
"'t was childish of her, not taking the blasted letter." He took a deliberate bite of the pie, chewing thoughtfully. "'s no apology 'nd all; she's really hard trying to fill Kodlak's shoes, but…"
"But?"
"But she's got a lot of baggage to carry 'round. Wouldn't wanna change places with her." Again, the scene from last night played before his eyes, and he saw her Shouting at his brother. "'nd I think she's afraid to fail Vilkas, somehow. Not that she ever could."
"Your brother."
"Aye."
"And the other woman that was with you, who was she?"
"Aela. The Huntress."
"Last night, I thought she was your Harbinger."
"Aela? Nah."
A frown spread over Calla's face.
"What?"
"Nothing." Calla shook her head, shooting a quick, reassuring smile his way. "Just that I'm stupid. When I took the job, it was all hush-hush and quick, girl, ride hard, and I didn't even stop to find out who to deliver the letter to. Apart from the Harbinger of the Companions, of course." She buried her face in her hands. "By Olaf, that's so embarrassing!"
"Nah." Farkas awkwardly padded her on her arm. "Falka won't mind, so don't you worry about that."
"You're sweet, Farkas. But it's a beginner's mistake, and I should know better than to make those." After she'd taken another bite of the pie, Calla continued. "It's funny, how the things we know are only a twisted version of what's true."
"Huh?"
"Take you, for example."
"The Companions?"
"Nah, silly. You. Farkas!" Only then did her brain catch up with what she'd just said. Calla bit her lip.
Farkas' brow furrowed. "What'd you know about me?"
"Uh." Calla squirmed on her seat. "You know… Just the things people say about you." With a puzzled frown on his face, Farkas' eyes followed her every move. She took a long swig of her cider, hiding her colouring face behind the tankard. As a pupil of the Solitude school, of course she knew most of what Solitude's Bards had to say about him and his brother. But she'd be damned if she repeated that in Farkas' presence. "That you grew up here in Jorrvaskr," she evaded his question. "Which isn't usually the way Companions get recruited, is it?"
"Nah, of course not," Farkas regained his balance. "Take them for example." Eagerly, Calla followed Farkas' line of sight. "Athis and Ria. Athis joined almost five years ago, while Ria arrived…" Farkas paused for a moment, thinking. "Summer before last. And Njada," he directed her gaze to a woman sitting in a corner on her own. "She's been with us almost as long as Athis. Our best with a shield. Njada Stonearm they call her."
"And he?" A young man, barely old enough to be called a man, had just come up the short flight of stairs from the lower part of the hall.
"That's Leif, our youngest. Only joined a few weeks ago. He's still learning to hold a sword, but he'll make a decent fighter once we're done with him."
At that moment, a cold breeze of air gushed into the hall. The huge pair of doors to the backyard opened, admitting the oddest couple Calla had seen in a long time.
Farkas' gaze followed Calla's eyes. "And that would be my brother Vilkas and his wife Falka," he commented, suppressing a sigh.
"Fire and Ice," Calla mumbled. Intrigued, she couldn't help but watch as the two crossed the hall and helped themselves to some breakfast. Little gestures and movements spoke of the familiarity and intimacy between them. Feeling like an intruder, Calla averted her eyes, focussing her attention on her breakfast. Next to her, she could feel Farkas shift uncomfortably, a reaction that made her curious. Cautiously, she cast a discreet look his way. Annoyance was written all over his face as he chewed on his food.
Farkas noticed her gaze. "'s not right of them to behave like that," he strove to explain. "They're our Harbinger and Master-at-Arms, they're supposed to act as a model to the rest of us."
The Dunmer next to him smiled, remembering what she'd just witnessed. "Maybe they can't help it?" she ventured.
"Nah…" Farkas objected, then paused to re-assess his judgement. "Hmmm. Do you think so?"
Calla cast another discreet look across the room. "From where I am standing, I guess not."
Farkas thought about that for an instance, then drew a deep breath. "Oi! You're scaring our guest, idiots!" That made everyone in the hall jump. Everyone except the two he had addressed. All the reaction he got from Falka and Vilkas was a rude gesture.
Once Falka and Vilkas had laden their plates with food and filled two tankards with cider, they made their way across the hall towards where Farkas and their guest sat. Calla was hard put not to stare too openly as the pair approached them, busying herself with the rest of her pie instead. The bards definitely had no idea what they were talking about.
"You're scaring the whelps again," Farkas rebuked the couple once greetings had been exchanged.
"Nothing they haven't seen before," Vilkas retorted, and from the sound of it Calla knew it wasn't the first time the brothers had this exchange.
"Do not worry, Farkas, it is not contagious." Falka brushed off the hood of her thick cloak. She pulled off her gloves and took a seat. "I think I owe you an apology for last night, Calla."
"It's nothing," the young woman tried to wave her off. "In fact, I think so do I. I should have recognized the Harbinger of the Companions when I saw her."
"So we are even, then," Falka smiled at her, and to Calla's surprise she looked genuinely relieved. "If you are not in a hurry, I would like you to stay for another day or so. I have a few things to see to during the day, but I would like you to join us for dinner tonight."
Much to Farkas' dismay, Calla had to reject the invitation.
"You're going back to Windhelm?"
From behind his tankard, Vilkas could see the disappointment on his twin's face.
The young woman shook her head. "Nah. I'm travelling back home. To Solitude."
"Solitude?" If possible, Farkas' expression grew even more dejected.
"Aye. I work at the Bards College."
"You are a bard then?" Falka looked up from her breakfast.
Calla smiled. "In the flesh. Barely out of training, but still."
"So you must have been in Windhelm to write a song for the new high king, then?"
"Red." Vilkas placed a hand on Falka's arm, casting a placating look her way.
"No, I wasn't," the other woman denied, not heeding Falka's glare. "I was just travelling through from Winterhold. I frequently travel the route and take letters to fill my purse—" Calla froze, checking the warriors' reactions. She'd long ago learned that Nords had a natural aversion to magic, only second to their aversion to milk-drinkers. But the expected reprimand didn't come. "I'm studying at the College," she finally added.
"Ah, Winterhold," Vilkas nodded knowingly. "Good school."
Even Farkas' grunt sounded appreciatively rather than displeased.
Calla's eyes once again grew wide as saucers. "Don't tell me you're doing magic!" she exclaimed.
"Nah," Vilkas laughed, echoed by Farkas' slightly deeper laughter. "Not really. Apart from a meagre healing spell, that is. But Falka here's quite a decent mage."
"Aye," Farkas huffed a laugh, "always setting my brother on fire."
Once they'd finished their breakfast over a lively discussion about destruction spells, Calla got to her feet. "As much as I'd like to linger– the storm has blown over and I really have to get on the road again."
The smile on Farkas' face fell, and was replaced by a downcast look.
"It's a dangerous journey for one person, all the way to Solitude," Vilkas reasoned. "Especially now that the snow's covered the roads…"
"I hope it'll be better once I've reached the rapids behind Rorikstead," Calla shrugged.
"That is Forsworn country." Vilkas' voice was grave.
Calla remained silent.
"I could go with you," Farkas hesitantly spoke up. "If you want, that is."
The young woman's face lit up with a smile. "I'd greatly appreciate that, Farkas." She hesitated. "I take it you know how to ride a horse?"