Warnings: Brief Violence

Word Count: 1,210

Chapter 4: To be a Companion.

The fist collides with Erin's cheek, and three growls ring so clearly and fiercely that Aela has trouble keeping herself in her seat. This is what she had been afraid of; the elf is not an argumentative person by nature (not a talkative person, really), but his personality and demeanor and situation puts some of the recruits on edge, and not all can recognize the markers of an aged elf. She never feared anyone actually being able to do any real damage to Erin. She did, however, fear what kind of damage he might do if he fought back.

It's clear from that first hit, however, that Erin has no intention of fighting back. His head snaps to the side unnecessarily, though likely to preserve the integrity of Njada's hand. Elves, as oppose to humans, only grow tougher as they age, into bones as hard as iron and skin as supple and strong as leather, and Erin is much older than his appearances betray. Aela can see Skjor and the Twins lurch forward before they catch themselves, and she starts counting how long it will take for the entire gathering to devolve into brawling.

It never comes to that. Erin meets Njada's eyes with a kind of cold poise that is befitting of him. His words are soft, but they carry over the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the night when he asks, "Are you happy now?"

Njada is taken aback. Of course she is; a strong-willed Nord woman, firm in her beliefs and never questioning herself, probably never though Erin to be anything other than a snobbish, stuck-up elf. But he is not. Aela could tell that from only a few minutes being around the whelp. He is icy in his calm, fiery in his spirit, shocking in his strength and ancient in his knowledge and in his wisdom. He is a Nord in a Dunmer's skin, Aela likes to think, though without the general distaste for magic and love for dogs.

The tension dissipates. Njada takes a seat across the fire from Erin, still looking irked but looking less so. The elf blinks at her, rubbing absently at the spot where she'd hit him, and nods. The Twins and Skjor settle back down, though Vilkas looks like he's about ready to tear the poor girl a new one. Aela does not blame him. In fact, she is about ready to do the same; what Njada did was rash, impulsive, even for a Companion.

("And what does he have to offer the Companions?" Njada will ask later when Aela confronts her about what happened. "He is an elf and an outsider. I don't even know why Skj- you all allowed him entrance in the first place."

Aela will remind her gently that they are all their own master, that she had no place to judge what Erin had to offer the Companion, and that what he has to offer will be proven in due time. Njada will sneer contemptuously, will turn and leave, but she will take Aela's words with a grain of salt.)

Midnight finds Erin on the edge of the cliffs, long after all of the fires have died. Green fire- magic fire, clearly- swirls around his fingers as he makes it dance through the air- a bird, so detailed that Aela can see the edges of feathers and the facets of its beak. It rises so that the entirety of its body can be seen at once, wings curling upward so that their very tips touch. There is a whoosh of air as it bursts apart, the sparks dissipating into the night.

"Vilkas would kill you if he saw you doing that," Aela points out, dropping into a crouch beside the elf. "He hates magic with a passion rivaled by very few men I have met."

Erin shrugs, a grin on his face, and he conjures up a bit of fire again at the tips of his fingers. At a distance, the color had seemed flat, but up close Aela can actually see a small gradient of color- lightest at the center, and darkening as it progresses towards the edges. The emerald color burns strangely against the starry night sky. It is peculiar, unnatural, and yet utterly beautiful, and Aela says as much (though perhaps not in so many words).

Erin smiles. A flick of his fingers sends the fire in the shape of a rose, then a mouse and a sat to chase it, then a miniature wolf that circles and leaps around them, and Aela watches and laughs with the joy of a child.

The early hours of the morning find Skjor at his desk, papers scattered in front of him. Some are his own handwriting. Others are that of a scholar who had passed through Whiterun a week or so earlier- the day before Erin had been found in the Temple of Kynareth, in fact. The scholar had claimed his notes proved that a piece of Ysgrammor's great axe, Wuuthrad, lay in Dustman's Cairn not far from the city. He seemed a fool, but it was up to Skjor to decide if it is worth investigating.

"Do you think there could be a chance?" Aela asks. She had been lying on the bed, trying to read a book about a ranger and his fictional journeys. It had amused her for a bit, but she had lost interest about three chapters in and had taken to watching her pack-mate instead.

Skjor shrugs, and it is a tired, disheartened thing. "There's always a chance, Aela," he says. "The question is whether it is worth putting our time and effort into when there are other chances, or if it is worth the possibility of missing a crucial piece." The Huntress slumps against his back, playing with the edges of paper over his shoulders. "I don't know about this one," he admits. "There is a good chance that it's there. There's also a really good chance it's not."

"Then send the whelp after it," Aela suggests, sliding away and plopping down on the bed. "He's well enough to travel and fight now, he's not really needed around the hall, and he's already proven he can take care of himself. Ask Vilkas about his sword, poor thing. Or talk to Uthgerd at the inn. The elf handed her ass back to her on a silver platter, and he wasn't even well enough that Vilkas let him have his armor back yet."

Skjor nods slowly. Aela can see the wheels churning in his mind. In her opinion, Skjor thinks far too much about everything. Instinct has never led the she-wolf wrong, and it is instinct that she will always trust. Skjor is her opposite, disregarding instinct in favor of logic, always thinking things through. To some, it is surprising that they fit so well together. To Aela, it is no surprise at all. It is because they are so different that the fit so well. They are balanced.

"This will be his Proving," Skjor finally decides. He sets his quill aside, sets his notes into the desk, and joins Aela on the bed.

Tomorrow, Erin will leave for Dustman's Cairn.