Chapter 4
Vilkas wandered vaguely in the forest, as naked as the rest of the animals. It was only a few minutes' walk until he arrived in the town where he left Marcurio, but he'd sooner walk into a spike-filled pit than show himself in that town. People weren't exactly accepting of you when they knew you were a werewolf.
He needed to see Marcurio- soon. He needed to know how he was doing. He needed to know he was alright, that they could keep going. He needed to know he didn't kill an innocent man- that he didn't kill the man that would have- and has- risked his life for his own.
He wouldn't mind being naked, if it had not been so damn cold. His armor was still in the summit of a volcano, though. He decided that he'd visit Marcurio come nightfall, where shadow would hide him and he could sneak in. Yes, that would do. Until then, he'd... wander.
He barely heard someone talking, and snuck closer to the source.
"...never enough gold... just need one good haul..."
Vilkas had seen enough in his days to know it was a bandit. He stopped sneaking and simply walked towards him, to the dirt path.
It took the bandit a moment, but when he spotted him he drew a dagger.
"You picked a bad time to get- huh?! He's naked!" He yelled back at an accomplice.
Vilkas punched him in the face and took his dagger. He rebounded with a startled look.
The bandit was just standing there, bewildered. Vilkas lurched forward and thrusted the dagger up his stomach, and twisted. He pushed the bandit off the dagger, leaving his arm sticky with warm blood.
Vilkas faced the other bandit, who looked just as bewildered as the first. The other looked to his accomplice, bleeding on the ground, and looked back to Vilkas. Vilkas took one step towards him before he started running.
"Damn right." He muttered. He kneeled down and stripped the man of his fur armor, mildly stained with blood, and dressed himself.
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The next few hours until nightfall were the longest Vilkas ever experienced. But finally the sun set; and the sky was left with the aftermath of warmth, blue and purple painting the west and fading into the black he'd known too well.
Vilkas moved swiftly into the moonlit town, hugging the walls of houses and shops. He stopped when he spotted a villager, then grabbed his dagger and advanced on him stealthily. When he was in his personal vicinity, he grabbed the man by the collar and pointed the dagger to him.
"Where did they take him?" He held the man's face close to his own.
"I.. I don't..." He stopped when he realized who was holding him, "He's staying at Aurel's, the town doctor."
Vilkas gave him the face. "Where the hell is that?"
The man pointed a little further down the street to a tall house.
"You didn't see shit." Vilkas said before throwing him back and setting off.
He crouched around the corner and into the back door. He found himself in a living room, and snuck across it to the staircase.
On the second floor there were several bedrooms. He tried the first, being careful not to make noise. It was empty.
The second was a bathroom.
In the third was a man sleeping in a small bed to the left of the room. Vilkas entered the room and closed the door quietly. As he walked to the bed he saw long brunette hair spread across the pillow.
He saw the face of the man he'd almost killed several times, and knelt beside him.
He put his hand on his shoulder and gently shook. "Marcurio. Hey."
Marcurio squinted at him. He recognized Vilkas and could only look at him for a moment.
"What... Vilkas!" He tried to sit up but grunted in pain, and dropped himself again. "What are you... what's going on? Why am I-"
"-Shhh. No one can know I'm here." He said in a low voice.
"No it's okay. Aurel's not here."
"The dragon nearly killed you. I took you here... You shouldn't remember it."
"Aurel said a werewolf dropped me here..." He looked into the other man's eyes.
Vilkas shyed his eyes away. "I had to. I can't show myself here anymore."
He looked down to his leg. "Is it feeling alright?"
Marcurio moaned painfully. "Aw hell... no. It's not."
Vilkas felt a surge of guilt well up. Could he not even protect his partner? "I'm..." The word 'sorry' almost formed at his lips, but didn't quite escape.
"I.." Vilkas grunted awkwardly, and he couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "Don't die."
A somber smile came to Marcurio's lips. "I won't."
Another silent moment passed.
"Look" Marcurio broke it, "You're going to need someone to back you, because I can't."
Vilkas felt another surge of guilt.
"There's an old friend of mine hiding in an abandoned farmhouse outside Markarth. His name's Alowyn. He dropped out of the college when I did, and he's being hunted, too. He should be with a man named Tolfdir. Go there, talk to him, tell him what we're doing. He'll be glad to help. Oh and..."
Vilkas looked at the comely mage again, and wondered how long he had. He wondered whether he would ever see him again if he left now.
"Don't die."
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Vilkas found his horse at the town's stable and saddled it. He mounted and took one last look at the humble town, realizing how lucky he was to have found it, before setting off.
He'd been traveling nonstop for the last two weeks, which had seemed like months considering everything that had happened, but never took time to admire the beauty of Skyrim. The stars that would guide him west shone brightly, illuminating everything under them and casting a silver glow to the landscape. But for now, he needed to go back to the volcano summit.
After a few minutes of riding, he stopped at the embed door to the passage. He moved much more quickly through it now that it was cleared. Hell, he sprinted through it. The night was still young and he was full of energy. He had forgotten how easy it was to run without his armor and couldn't help but imagine how Marcurio felt most of the time...
He remembered enough so that the loops and drops of the passage no longer confused him. This made it all so much easier to find the dragon's lair again. After a while he met with the stone 'door' they both pushed aside. Vilkas may have only 'the smarts of Ysgramor' but he was still very strong. The door slid open smoothly. Before him he saw the bones of the dragon and wondered how it could detiriorate so much in just a few days.
He stepped forward and saw the odd sword still stuck in the dragon's skull. He drew it out with several cracks. What was with that sword? It looked like nothing he'd seen before. He took it with him, and decided to figure it out later. Then he walked around to its jaw and retrieved his own sword.
He stepped up the rocky ledge, certainly in no hurry to see what he saw. Blood stains everywhere deepened the guilt that had been building up. Vilkas had seen hell and back in his days as a companion but never suffered anything like that.
He stripped and changed into his own cold armor, then picked up Marcurio's bag, the tongue secure in it. Somehow, with his sword in hand and wolf armor donned, he felt more like himself again.
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Vilkas lingered on every stone step before Jorrvaskr. He could only look at it, the upturned ship as a roof, the windows he had refused to look away from for endless nights. The shield-siblings probably thinking he had died.
He summed up the courage, and climbed the rest of the stairs. He placed a hand at the wooden door, drew his breath, and pushed it open before he could let the fear get a hold of him. Farkas was sitting at the table to the left and didn't notice him come in. Vilkas had no idea how he could even go about talking to him, so he slowly stepped to the table and pulled a chair out.
Farkas turned to look. His eyes wide, he was lost for words.
Vilkas hadn't felt such disgrace in his life.
"Vilkas..." Farkas turned angry. "Where in Ysgramor's name have you been?"
He grinded his teeth and gazed into the fire. He didn't want to lie. Not to his brother- but he had to.
"There's a... woman." He blushed at the thought, even.
Farkas looked at him suspiciously. "Why wouldn't you tell us?" He smiled crudely. "Ha! You're redder than a babboon's ass!"
Vilkas sighed. "Met her in Riften. She's really... something. Can kill just about anything with that magic of hers. Has a real attitude, though." He kept his gaze blankly.
Farkas gave a hearty laugh. "But what woman doesn't? What's she like? On the outside, I mean. Surely she's beautiful."
"She's Imperial, quite tall. She's got this long brown hair, too. And these golden eyes. And her laugh..." Vilkas smiled. He wanted to hit himself.
"So that's it. Out o' town courting a lady. Had us all worried for nothing." He nodded vaguely. "That's good, brother..."
A quiet spell took over.
"I need to rest, Farkas. Came here all the way from Riften today." He got up and pushed his chair in, heading for the stairs.
It was pretty late, so the rest of his shield-siblings were asleep. He sauntered to his room and took off his armor.
He had almost forgotten how his bed felt. He rested his head on his arms and stared at the ceiling. What had he just said? It made sense enough to tell Farkas he was in love- it seemed like a good enough cover- but why did he keep thinking of the mage? He... hated him. Right?
He tried to let it go, and eventually drifted off...
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He had a lot of questions, gasps, and angry faces in the morning. He just told them the same thing: he was in love with a lady. One of the remarks, he noticed, were downright rude.
"And she's a mage? And and Imperial! Why would you love that?" Aela scoffed, once.
Once he breakfasted and bathed, he decided he'd set off again.
"Why so soon?" Farkas barked, "Is she that important?"
Vilkas turned to face him, one hand on the door. He thought for a moment.
"Yes." And he left, headed for Markarth.
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No more stops, he decided. He only had two more weeks until the Silver Hand's attack on Jorrvaskr. Marcurio had helped him as much as he could, but he needed to move on. He still served the duty of protecting his home; he owed them that much after the lies.
As he left the tall walls of Whiterun on his horse he sighed. It was going to be a long ride. Lonely, at that. But he stopped himself from wondering what it would feel like to be riding there with Marcurio behind him.
He made it to a wide river after hours of riding and was too exhausted to continue. He set up a fire and lay next to it. The stars weren't shining as brightly as the night before but he could care less. It didn't take long for him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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When he got to thinking about it, Marcurio's instructions were pretty vague. An "abandoned farmhouse outside Markarth." He traveled all to the city's tall doors and didn't see anything along the way. He searched the area again, but ventured south this time. He saw an old house surrounded by stretched of field and a broken fence. That had to be it.
He dismounted outside of the small house. He went to knock, but realized he had no clue what to even say to him. What, 'Oh hey, nice house here. Mind risking your life coming on an adventure and trying to defeat the whole mage branch of the Silver Hand with me?'
He thought it over for a moment, and knocked. A moment passed. The door creaked open a bit, but no one showed themselves.
"Whatchu want?" A deep voice answered.
"I'm Vilkas. I need to talk to Alowyn. Marcurio sent me."
The door opened fully, and a short but smoothly handsome Redguard man stood before him. He urged Vilkas in, and shut the door.
Inside an old man with a long beard sat by a fire. Alowyn pulled up a couple chairs and Vilkas took one.
Alowyn looked Vilkas over and said, "You know Marcurio? You don't seem like the kinda guy he'd make friends with."
Vilkas thought for a moment before replying, "-And you don't seem like the kind of man that would practice magic."
He nodded.
"Why did Marcurio send you?" The elderly man on his other side asked.
Vilkas took a deep breath. He didn't want any of his friends to know about what happened. "He and I are-were traveling together. The Silver Hand wants my blood and his, so we made a deal to protect eachother and defeat the mage branch of the Silver Hand together. We were fighting a dragon in the Eastern Mountains when it got him by the leg. He made it out, but nearly bled to death. He's at a town to the east, in the care of a doctor. Before I left, he told me... to seek you out. He said you'd accompany me."
Alowyn raised his eyebrows. "Will he make it ok?"
"Maybe. I can't know yet."
The other man spoke up. "Did he happen to mention me? My name is Tolfdir."
Vilkas remembered this. "Yes. He did."
"Say... that is quite a remarkable thing you two set off to do. Are you sure you are prepared?" Tolfdir had a look of genuine concern.
Vilkas sighed. "We know that they will attack in two weeks. We've been preparing for a while now."
Tolfdir looked hard at thought.
"Hmm... Where did you say he was?"
"I'm not sure what it was called, just a small town near the Eastern mountains."
"Would you mind taking me there?" He wore a kindly expression.
"...What? Why?"
Tolfdir smiled politely. "I can heal him, for a price."
Vilkas couldn't believe what he heard. "I don't have much money."
Tolfdir shook his head. "I need not money, sir. I only ask that you two carry out your task, defeat the Hand Mages, and sever the alliance between the Silver Hand and the College of Winterhold."
Vilkas didn't need to think this over, not if it meant getting Marcurio back. "We will. I give you my word."
The old man smiled again and looked to Alowyn. "You should prepare our things. We will leave as soon as possible, if that is okay with you, Vilkas."
"Yes. Of course." Vilkas hadn't felt this good in ages. He was genuinely happy.
Alowyn packed up their things quickly and headed out the door.
And so the elderly mage, his secret student, and the warrior began their journey across Skyrim, sure to save the life of the man Vilkas would not live without.
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Author's Notes: Hey guys! I just wanted to say how much I enjoy writing this and hearing your feedback. Thanks for reading and as always, reviews are encouraged!