"No!" Agitated, Vilkas got up and started pacing back and forth.

"I have no choice."

"I don't like this, and you know it!" He stopped for a moment to point an accusing finger at her. "You're the Harbinger of the Companions, and—"

"—and we never involve ourselves in politics. I know, Vilkas."

With two swift steps, he crossed the space between them. "And yet, you still do." He glared at her with an intent, icy stare so forbidding it hurt.

Falka broke eye-contact, letting her head hang low. She had tried to be calm, had forced herself to stay objective while bringing Vilkas up to date on her plan. But his repeated refusal to see beyond the Companions and their traditions was costing her her last reserve.

"Do you think this is what Kodlak wanted?"

"No, he would rather have me hiding down here while Skyrim burns!" Falka snapped bitterly. "What a glorious band we would make, sitting it all out while all around us the people we could protect die!"

"So you'd rather turn us into mercenaries instead, is that it?"

Anger flared up inside Falka. "That is how low you think of me?" She nearly gagged on her words. A Shout – raw and powerful – burnt in her throat.

If possible, Vilkas' stare became even colder.

"I never expected you to think me unfit to be your Harbinger, Vilkas."

"I never—"

"Said so? No, you never did. But do you think I am not able to read your tells?" Falka hissed. "You said so just now, and you did so when Calla brought that blasted letter!"

"You've got no idea," Vilkas snarled.

"You are right, I do not! So if you haven't got anything else to say—" Falka paused and got up. Turning to leave, she added in bitter disappointment, "Thanks for not having my back, Companion."

"Wait!" Vilkas' voice was hoarse.

Falka halted. "If all you have for me are more misgivings, please spare me."

"Wait, Red! Can't you see how dangerous this game you're playing is? For all of us, not just you? Do you really want this?"

"It is exactly why I am involving myself at all!" Falka, her voice hard as steel, spat at him.

Vilkas stared at her with gnashing teeth, but did not respond. Falka held his gaze, waiting for him to speak. She took a deep breath, and with it she felt the anger that had burnt through her only moments ago subside. A pang of regret bore into her chest instead as her eyes traced the familiar angles on Vilkas' face. For the sake of what they shared, she asked in a soft voice, "Do you remember the night Whiterun fell to the Stormcloaks?"

Grudgingly, Vilkas grunted an affirmative.

"'nd do you remember the advice you gave me back then?"

"Aye," he reluctantly confirmed, crossing his arms before his chest.

"Then do you not think it is time to heed your own counsel?"

Wearily, Vilkas let his gaze drop to the floor. He sank down on his vacated chair, rubbing his face with one hand. "'s not as easy as that, Red," he spoke at length.

Falka huffed a humourless laugh. "Is it? Contrary to my position, that is?"

Vilkas grumbled an incoherent reply.

"So what would you have me do instead, Vilkas?" Falka pressed on. "Shun my duty to the people of Whiterun?"

Reluctantly, Vilkas shook his head. "Of course not."

"Pass on the duties of the Harbinger, then?"

He hesitated.

"And then what? Do you want—"

"No," Vilkas vehemently cut her off. "I don't, and you know that. It's just…" He threw his hands in the air in defeat. "Damn it, Red, you're not making this easy for me. And that I do understand your motivations all the better since Calla brought that damned letter doesn't make this any easier, either!" And in a low tone, he added, "'t only makes it worse."

Dejectedly, Falka hung her head. "I know. But neither are you. Or do you think I wanted any of this to happen?"

"Hey. Come here." Vilkas stretched out his hand, and pulled Falka close.

"I am not going to give up, you know."

"I know. Still." He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her against his chest. With his head buried in her hair, Vilkas took a few deep, steadying breaths. Slowly, the tension in his body uncoiled, and Vilkas released his death-like grip on Falka. Shifting them both so he could look her in the eyes, he continued. "Listen, Red. I'm afraid I won't be able to forgo my worries entirely, but—"

"I never—"

"But I'll try and stop fighting you in this matter. It is a good plan after all. I only worry people will see it as the deed of the Companions' Harbinger, not their Thane's."

Falka smiled sadly. "It is a risk I have to take. But I cannot close my eyes on everything that happens here either."

Vilkas cupped her cheek in his hand. "Which is one of the reasons I love you."

"And why you fight me so hard?"

"Probably," he admitted.

"Tell you what." Gingerly, she brushed his lips with hers. "Stay my grumpy old wolf—"

Vilkas opened his mouth to protest, but Falka silenced him. "Stay my grumpy wolf," she amended, "and make sure I will not betray the Companions. It would take one worry off my chest."

"I think I can do that," Vilkas nodded, and Falka saw his lips curl ever so slightly. She answered with a smile of her own, cupping Vilkas' face between her hands."I am not doing this to spite you, you know?"

Vilkas nodded.

"And I do not intend to sell the Companions to Ulfric. Or anybody else. But do not expect me to leave my entire past behind, either."

A muscle on Vilkas' face twitched, and a shadow briefly crossed behind his eyes. Falka pressed her forehead against his. "Even that," she breathed, reading his thoughts.

"'s quite a feat, to digest the news of your wife's intended execution."

Falka let her hands fall to her side. "Let us not talk about that now," she entreated. "I do not have the energy for it." She forced a smile on her face. "I am still here, and that is what counts, aye?"

"Aye, that counts. For the moment." Hungrily, Vilkas captured her lips with his, his hands crushing her against his body. Desperately, Falka dug her fingers into Vilkas' hair, eagerly returning the kiss.

Despite her best arguments and the bulging bag of gemstones – more than half of what she and Vilkas had amassed over time –, it took Falka the better part of the following day to persuade Jarl Vignar that his people had other ideas about who should again be Jarl of their city. Falka did not appreciate her job as messenger, but with the combined force of Whiterun's traders and healers behind her back, it was her duty as Thane of the city to do as they bid. And just like herself, the old man in the end had no choice but to comply.

"Then let us see if Balgruuf is still alive," Falka sighed as she and Vilkas set out from Jorrvaskr's gates the morning after Vignar's resignation.

"Alive and sane," Vilkas, falling in step with her, corrected. "And not still holding a grudge against you."

"Thanks, Vilkas, that is the support I needed."

"Anytime, Red."

Abruptly, Falka froze in mid-step. "By Kynareth."

"They really mean it, don't they?" Vilkas mumbled.

They started walking again, down the stairs into the Plains District.

"All the merchants are here," Falka observed while her gaze swept over all the people that had gathered on the marketplace. "Look, even Fralia and Olfina."

"By Ysgramor."

"My Thane," Carlotta was the first to greet her once they reached the bottom of the stairs, echoed by many of the other traders who had gathered to see them off.

"You see how important this is for the city? How I cannot fail them?" Falka asked her companion through gritted teeth.

"Honestly, I never imagined them to be so unanimous."

Falka huffed a mirthless laugh. "Me neither. Let us hope it is not too late."

"If this had not been such an important mission, Belethor never would have persuaded me."

"Belethor persuaded you?" Vilkas, trudging through waist-deep snow, wondered.

"Do not ask," Falka sighed from behind. "How can anyone travel in this blasted weather anyhow? Any sensible person would stay inside until all this" – she gestured at the blinding white blanket of snow stretching from horizon to horizon – "has melted away. But no, Ulfric has to hold his kingsmeet in the bloody middle of the bloody winter! And I have to travel to Solitude the day after the worst frigging snowstorm of the century has blown across the country."

"You know, I don't even want to know." Vilkas didn't even heed her trademark rant about the weather.

"About Belethor's persuasions? You have no idea, my dear."

Vilkas turned to face her, a searching look on his face. With all the snow and heavy clothing Falka wore between them, even his wolfish senses couldn't give him a hint of the game she was playing at.

"Oh, come on, I was only pulling your leg," Falka smirked at him from inside her hood.

"You can take point if you keep this up." With a casual flick of his hand, Vilkas sent a shower of snow Falka's way.

"Ow!" she shrieked, and shielded her head with her hands. Another fountain of wet snow hit her across the chest. "Vilkas!" Then, a pair of strong arms encircled her, and the next instant she found herself in Vilkas' embrace. "'m not sharing you with Belethor." Falka felt his stubble scratch across her skin. "Never." She leant into Vilkas' embrace, and the next moment they were both falling. Falka shrieked as she tumbled headlong into the cold snow, echoed by a grunt from Vilkas.

"That's for scaring me with Belethor," Vilkas smirked and closed the distance between them.

"I clearly remember mentioning this urgent mission just now," Falka commented eventually.

Vilkas grumbled in protest, but allowed Falka to get up anyhow.

And jerked her back onto their impromptu bed of snow an instant later. "Wait!"

"Ouch!"

"Hush. Can't you hear?"

Falka remained silent, but cast a confused look Vilkas' way. "What?" she mouthed silently.

"Soldiers," Vilkas replied the same way. "Four," his fingers added. And, "Coming from the north-east."

Cautiously, Falka raised her head. There, not too far away, were three Thalmor soldiers, their golden armours shining brightly in the sunlight. They were escorting a prisoner, and they were coming their way.

"They've seen us," Vilkas observed from next to her after a moment. "No more use in hiding." Slowly, he got up, never letting the soldiers out of his sight. Falka followed his example, stepping up at Vilkas' side.

"Look what have here," one of the soldiers addressed his two companions. "A noblewoman and her bodyguard?" He pulled to a halt.

"They look more like a pair of lovers on the run to me," another of the soldiers – a Bosmer, by the sound of his pronunciation – commented. "Tell me, do you know how to use those shiny weapons you carry? Or did you steal them from your betters?" His companions guffawed loudly.

Vilkas shifted his stance, lowering his centre as he did. One tug at the belt that held his sword, and the hilt of the huge weapon on his back tilted forward and into easy reach. With his other hand, he pushed Falka further away from the three men. Partly covered from the soldier's line of sight by Vilkas' mass, Falka readied her own weapon.

Suddenly the prisoner, daring to raise his head, inhaled sharply. None of the three soldiers noted his reaction, but Falka's fine hearing had caught the sound. Briefly, her gaze flickered towards the hapless man, catching his eye. The prisoner's eyes widened in recognition. And she recognized a fellow Stormcloak soldier.

"Ah, now I got it!" exclaimed the soldier, the one who had spoken first. "She's the mistress, and you're the master!"

Behind Vilkas' protective shield, Falka hissed angrily. Sparks started to dance in the air around her, and she felt her Thu'um burn in her throat.

"Looks feisty, your maid. But I guess someone like you likes them that way, don't you?"

Vilkas glared at the man, flexing and un-flexing the fingers of his right hand.

"Hey, Nord," baulked one the two other soldiers – this one clearly an Altmer –, "my companion asked you a question! Answer him!"

A low, threatening growl escaped Vilkas' lips. The anger and rage he could feel radiating off Falka intensified. He could smell the flames dancing around her as well as the hot, raw power of a Shout burning in her throat. Vilkas caught the prisoner's eye. "Duck!" he shouted, and spun away from Falka.

"Yol!"

By the time Vilkas finished his sidestep, his sword was already in his hands.

"Toor!"

The prisoner had let himself fall into the snow at Vilkas' warning, but the three Thalmor soldiers received the full brutal force of Falka's Shout.

"Shul!"

It was a bloodbath. They were passable warriors, all three of them, which had most likely led them to become so careless and reckless in picking a fight. Met with the combined force of the two seasoned and well attuned Companions, though, they had finally met their masters.

"Companion? Milady Stormblade?" the prisoner hesitantly returned from the safe distance he'd withdrawn to during the fight.

"I am no Lady, soldier," Falka answered him. "Are you hurt?"

"No, St– Stormblade. Thanks to your aid and yours, too, I am well enough to return to my station." He bowed his head in farewell. "Stormblade. Companion. Safe journey."

Shielding her eyes against the sunlight with her hand, Falka watched the Stormcloak's receding form. "I just hope Farkas and Calla had an easier trip."