Farkas was so tired.
His back ached from lying on the steps with Vilkas, his head ached from all the crying, his eyes burned from lack of sleep.
He didn't want to sleep. He was afraid of what his dreams would bring.
It was morning now, the intruders left hours ago. There was a smell of cooked meat that hung in the air. They briefly considered leaving but they dared not leave. Instead, they agreed to wait until morning, both to make sure the intruders are long gone and to stay just in case someone came for them.
Farkas lifted his head at the sound of a horse's gallop approach the house. Vilkas sat up and Farkas followed.
The horse slowed outside the house and there was a thump as the rider jumped off his horse.
"Brynja?!"
It was a man's voice. The voice was deep, gravely and rang with concern. It was the opposite of the voice they heard yesterday. Vilkas stood and when Farkas joined him, Vilkas wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders protectively and Farkas' arm automatically raised to wrap around his twin's waist.
The man's footsteps grew closer, " Brynja? Bry- Gods! Brynja!"
The footsteps ran towards where Farkas knew his mother lay. A part of him hoped that they were wrong, that his mother was merely unconscious. His hopes were dashed when the man spoke again, his voice sorrowful, "Oh, Brynja. I'm sorry I was late. May you find peace in Sovngarde."
Farkas closed his eyes, fighting back tears again. Vilkas' hand squeezed his shoulder.
"Vilkas! Farkas!"
The twins tensed and held their breath.
"Where are you, boys?" the man called, then his voice lowered, as if speaking to himself, "Divines, please let them be alright."
Farkas looked at his brother and was met by a questioning look. Farkas gave a slight shrug, just enough to tell his brother he didn't mind revealing their location to the man but not enough to dislodge his twin's hand from his shoulder. Vilkas nodded and lifted his head to watch the wooden boards above them.
"Boys!" The man shouted again.
"We're down here!" Vilkas yelled back, his voice hoarse.
There was shuffling and the rug was pulled away. The trap door creaked open to reveal their savior. Farkas squinted through the bright flood of morning light to get a good look at him.
He was big and bulky, built like a bear, covered in steel armour and brown furs, with a sword hilt just visible from over his shoulder. His hair was dark, long and looked tousled and windswept. The man sported a well groomed beard and a scar that slashed across the bridge of his nose and left cheek. Piercing silver eyes came upon their huddled forms and his bearded face expressed relief.
"Thank the divines you're both alright! I'm here to take you somewhere safe."
The twins exchanged another wary look, a silent discussion passed between them.
"Come on now, boys. I promise I won't bite." he assured them gruffly.
Vilkas' hand fell from his brother's shoulder and Farkas' hand moved to take Vilkas'. They squeezed each other's hand briefly in solidarity. Then slowly, warily, walked up the rest of the steps towards the stranger.
"Go right out the door, don't look back." The warrior instructed as he ushered them out, blocking Farkas' view of his mother's body.
The stench of smoke and burned meat was stronger outside of the cellar. The place was a mess. The furniture was overturned and books were torn and thrown across the room, sending paper everywhere. Their mother's favourite chair lay in pieces and there were bloody footprints on the floor.
Vilkas tugged on his hand and dragged him towards the door and, as they were walking out of their home for the last time with the man not far behind, Farkas caught a short glimpse of his mother's body. Bloody, scorched and lifeless.
The twins stood, hand in hand, watching the stranger readjust the saddle on a massive horse. The man had informed them as they walked away from the house that they were riding to the town of Whiterun and should be there by mid afternoon.
"Who are you?" Vilkas finally asked the question they had both been wondering.
"My name is Jergen. Did your mother ever speak of me?"
Vilkas and Farkas shared a look to check if the other recognized the name, then replied in unison, "No."
The man, Jergen, sighed and muttered something Farkas didn't catch, "I'm an old friend of your mother's." He told them simply.
"Alright," Jergen motioned them forward, "Come here and I'll help you up onto the horse. You first, Vilkas."
Vilkas let go of his twin's hand after giving it one last reassuring squeeze and shuffled forward. Jergen lifted him with ease, setting him down behind the saddle's pommel. He waved Farkas forward and when he obeyed, Jergen grabbed him gently but firmly under the armpits and lifted him up to place him behind his brother. Farkas wrapped his arms around his twin's waist, seeking comfort in having his brother close.
Jergen pulled himself up behind Farkas and his muscular arms reached around the twins for the reigns.
"Hold on tight now." he warned them before spurring his horse forward with a slight nudge to the flank and the horse took off towards what would be their new home, leaving their old one behind.
