Dreaming.

There was blood all around the room. It dripped down the walls, ran into indentions in the floor. The smell was unbearable, weeks of human decay, urine, feces and hot blood.

A cup was being proffered to him.

"Drink," he was commanded.

Farkas had no choice but to obey as the cup was pressed to his lips. As the coppery blood passed his lips, he fought an urge to vomit and lost. He'd eaten little, but bile came up and flushed the blood in his mouth out with it. He crumpled to the floor dry heaving and sobbing. His brother could do nothing to help him. Vilkas was caged in the next room.

Farkas' captor swore and flung the goblet against the cavern wall where it shattered and left a bloody trail to the ground. The man kicked the child as he lay on a heap on the floor. He kept kicking and kicking...

Suddenly Farkas awoke. The first rays of sun came streaming in the window. He was in a firm bed at Jorrvaskr. Not that terrible cave. His brother's snores reminded him that he was not alone. That dream of the attempt to force a blood ritual onto him was only a dream and memory; A memory that was now four years in the past. The boys were now 14 years old and still living at Jorrvaskr. No trace of their parents had been located. It was a wound that might never heal fully, but they were counted as family at the Jorrvaskr so they would never be without a home and family.

Wiping his bleary eyes, Farkas climbed out of his tangled sheets and crossed the room to the basin. Tilma had left him some warm water in the washbasin. It was still half warm, at least. So he washed his face and dressed quickly for breakfast. He did a quick headcount at breakfast to see how many Companions were up. He was dismayed to see that Jergen was STILL not back from his latest job. He was supposed to be taking care of some bandits in the Rift with Arnbjorn.

Tilma walked by with a pitcher of sweet fruit juice to set on the table. Farkas poured himself a little before speaking.

"Did Jergen or Arnbjorn get home last night?"

"No dear. It is unlike them to be so late. It's already been twice as long as they anticipated the job taking."

Farkas didn't need to be reminded. Jergen was like a father to him. He'd been training the boys up in hopes of making Companions out of them one day. That was their life's ambition. To not know if Jergen would make it back was as crippling a blow as losing his first set of parents again.

Vilkas trudged up the stairs and plopped irritably into the chair beside his brother. He was not a morning person, but what adolescent is, really? The boys ate quickly and helped Tilma clear the tables before heading outside to chop firewood. An hour into the task, Farkas finally spoke.

"I'm worried about Jergen."

"Try not to worry. He's capable. He's in the Circle, and he's with Arnbjorn," replied Vilkas sternly.

"Do you think Kodlak will send a search party for him and Arnbjorn?"

"I think not. He is a proud Companion who needs no rescuing!" Vilkas said definitively.

As it turned out, a search was not necessary. A clamor arose from within the building, interrupting them. They dropped their axes and the twins raced in through the back door.

Kodlak had returned, and Arnbjorn. They were carrying something- no, someone. Farkas' heart sank as his worst fear was realized. It was Jergen. His long blond hair was soaked through with blood. His armor was all in shambles and blood-soaked. His green eyes were open in a fixed gaze at the ceiling, unseeing.

"No!" Vilkas cried and ran to the man they viewed as a father.

"Stay back!" Kodlak roared with a ferocity they had never seen. "If you touch this blood you will live to regret it."

Vilkas stopped. "Is he going to make it?" But he already knew the answer.

Arnbjorn shook his head sadly. "Lads, he tried to hold on, but he passed as we entered the city."

Skjor had turned from the broken body to address the boys.

"It will be best if you go to your room. I will be in to speak with you shortly."

They obeyed, with stunned silent and with pale faces.


Skjor sighed as he threw the last of the rags into the fire. No chance of any of Jergen's beast blood contaminating anyone. The inner Circle had prepared the body, and Eorlund was going to oversee the cremation at the Skyforge.

Now Kodlak Whitemane had the very uncomfortable duty of finding out just what happened. Arnbjorn had retold the story at least ten times, and no one could make sense of how this had happened.

"We arrived in Riften according to schedule. We freshened up our supplies and headed further east where we were told bandits had set up in the mountains. When we got to the mountains, we found not bandits, but Silver Hand. They had silver weapons. When they attacked, our flesh could not heal, even with potions. There were so many of them. We beat a hasty retreat but they'd followed. We found a friend of yours, and he lent that horse. I brought Jergen to the plains. He begged me to get him home with his last breaths. Then there you were at the stables, Kodlak. And we carried him in as he died."

Kodlak shook his head. "I know, Arn. I'm sorry. I'm just failing to understand how a report of bandits ended up being a trap by the Silver Hand."

Arnbjorn huffed. "It's simple enough to me. They sent a phony report in and got some goon to offer us the coin to take care of it. We don't exactly pre-screen offers."

"The Companions have never turned down a job!"

"And look where it's gotten us. We've lost TWO Circle members in the past months. Remember, Anise?"

Kodlak sadly recalled the flame-haired huntress, who left behind a husband and daughter after falling to Silver Hand members two months ago.

"Well Arnbjorn, what do you propose we do about it?"

"We admit some new members. We test their mettle. We expand the Circle to include more than me, you and Skjor. Then we bring the hunt to the Silver Hand. We should focus only on eliminating those cruel werewolf murderers. While we at it, we should get the Vigilantes of Stendarr too!"

"Easy, Arn. You're letting yourself get carried away. But I do think you're right about one thing. It is time for some new blood."

Skjor tried as best he could to comfort the twins, but they, to his surprise, didn't want to approach the topic. Following their lead, he left to see if Eorlund's pyre was ready.

It was. And Tilma, divines bless her, had arranged for all of the Jorrvaskr's alcohol to be out. Tonight's memorial would be a celebration of Jergen's life. His kindness, his heroics, all would be fondly recalled. It was time for strong mead and tales of their fallen friend.

The boys were not normally included in such activities due to their age. Skjor felt that this time was different.

"This won't make the pain go away. Only time will help that. But you can forget tonight if you want."

He splashed whiskey in their cups and set the bottle in front of them.

Farkas looked curiously in his cup before chugging it. Vilkas sipped his and pulled a face.

"Aye lads, it's an acquired taste. But you're nearly 15. You've had a big dose of heartache, and it's time to quit being a milk drinker."

Farkas clenched his muscles, offended. Puberty, and the past few years of hard, self-imposed training were looking very good on him. A milk drinker he was not! Vilkas chugged the rest of his cup and poured more as if echoing his sentiments.

"Easy son, wait till after the service before you end up deep in the cups. That should be starting now."

"Come, Farkas," ordered Vilkas, setting down his cup. "Jergen would want us to see him off to Sovngarde."

He led his brother to pay their final respects to the man who had saved them and given them a home and a family.


Author's Note:

Can anyone guess who Anise is supposed to be?

That's right! Aela's mom! I wanted to make sure she exists as dead, so Aela can join. She says in game that all the women in her family were Companions, but her mom never lived to see her make it in.