Vilkas was caught off guard by the exquisite nature of the manor, and he suddenly felt very foolish for being so blindly proud of Breezehome. He wondered if he had even impressed her just a little by buying that small home.

She seemed to sense his thoughts as she stripped herself of her armor and laid her sword on the grand dining table. "It's spacious," she said, "but sometimes I find myself craving something cozier."

Something within him swelled; she was trying to ease his mind. However, a pressing matter was gnawing at him, and as much as he was worried it would make her defensive so soon after they had made up, it had to be addressed.

"Hadvar," he said, watching her tense. "When will you speak with him?"

"He...expressed a wish to stop by tomorrow morning," she replied. "Let's talk no more of that, hm?" When he didn't answer, she added in a lower voice, "Please."

"Alright." He walked up behind her, surprising her with his closeness. "You've been favoring your left side recently when you handle things. Is your right arm giving you trouble? Was it injured in the fight with the dragon?"

"No, I'm fine," she assured him. She rolled her shoulders again. "My muscles are just...overworked."

She had barely finished her sentence before his large hands found the dip in her shoulders where they seemed to fit almost perfectly. Her breath hitched in shock and she asked, "What are you doing?"

He didn't bother to address the question; the Companions would, if the occasion demanded it, give their shield-siblings a muscle rub or massage to ease the tension of a long day of battle. This was no different. At least, that's what he reminded himself when she leaned back, boneless against him.

"Is this an extension of your apology?" Her voice held an amused lilt to it.

"If I say yes, will you stop talking?" he said, surprised at the roughness in his own voice.

She laughed lightly, and he continued. He focused the attention on her right side, feeling the knots in her muscles begin to loosen beneath his palms. Her skin was cool to his touch and her hair brushed against his chin. She released a heavy sigh of contentment, and he grew bolder as he bent his head and whispered in her ear, "This would work better if you were lying down."

She moved out from under his hands, turning to face him. As she stared into his eyes—something she'd only ever done the night of their wedding, he realized—he was overcome with a strange desire. Not to bed her, necessarily, though that urge had indeed always been there; no, a desire for something much more emotional. Something more inherently true.

He tried to shake it from his mind and instead, he found himself tilting his head down to kiss her. The kiss was sweet, brief, and sparked him like static shock at first contact. His fingers curled lightly around her chin when she moved to pull away. He wanted nothing more than for her to yield, for this to change something, for a relationship that any normal man truly would want. Her hands settled on his broad chest, and for a brief moment he thought he'd won. Then she was pushing with those feminine hands, and twisting her head away from him, and he knew she had only given in for the brief moment that it took to gain leverage against him.

"Are your emotions toward me truly so fickle, Vilkas?" she asked quietly, touching her fingertips to her mouth. "Or does it only matter that my flesh is warm?"

He scowled at her accusation, though he tried as hard as he could not to get angry with her. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she sounded insulted or even, by the Nine, hurt by his action.

"That's not why I did it," he blurted, brows drawn together. Very eloquent, old boy, you're a regular silver-tongued devil.

"Then why?" she demanded. Her shoulders were strong, and he could practically see the tense knots in her muscles reforming as she stiffened her posture. "A few hours ago we were more cruel to each other than the most barbaric of creatures."

"And I regret what I said to you then." He sighed. "Is it so hard for you to believe that I wish for this relationship to work out? I do, Aveline, I wish for a happy marriage more than I think I've wished for anything." Vilkas chuckled, eyes darkening slightly. "I think I've even wished for it more than I wished for a cure for my previous...state."

At this confession, her eyes widened. "Is that...so."

"Aye." He stepped towards her, arms open in a sign of surrender. "I'm done holding my grudge against you, Aveline. I've reached a decision. There is no getting around it: we are married. We will be together for the rest of our lives. We may not have gotten along as Harbinger and second, but we worked together as partners nonetheless. Let us at least attempt to translate that partnership into our marriage, before we give up on happiness completely. I am willing to try." Before I resign myself to my fate, allow me this chance to change it, to aim for the thing I want from my life.

"Perhaps we ought to start small, then," she responded hesitantly. She was watching his face carefully as if he were a caged animal and would lash out at the slightest prompting. He nearly winced. Not that he could blame her—that had certainly been his quick reaction lately.

"Small, wife?" He forced an easy-going smirk. "You were the one throwing yourself at me so early into our sham of a marriage." Nice attempt at a joke, calling your wife a shameless hussy. Great way to kick off the new attempt at getting along.

"Yes, small," she snapped. "Perhaps we ought to start with the descriptive terms you use in regards to our union."

Now he really did wince. "Yes," he coughed, "you're right, that would probably be best."

An awkward, strained silence filled the space between them. His gaze drifted down to her hand and his lungs tightened uncomfortably at the lack of wedding band on her finger.

"Why do you never wear it?" he asked, his voice more vulnerable than he intended. Is she ashamed that she stooped so low in her marriage, "scraped the bottom of the barrel" in a sense? Is it because she intends to be unfaithful and she won't have to answer as many questions if she doesn't wear it? "It isn't purely to hide it from the soldier."

"I wear it." Her response was quick, almost defensive, and his eyes flashed to her face.

"Don't lie to me." He held none of the malice or hiss that he had earlier that day. "Jarl Balgruuf appeared at our door after you left to come to Solitude. He was...surprised to hear of your marriage to me. He told me himself that you don't wear his ring in his presence."

"I wear it," she repeated, albeit quieter than before. "You've seen me wear it. I just wear it...selectively."

She bit gently into her plump lower lip, taking it between her teeth in a thoughtful gesture he knew well. She made this same face when she was contemplating her duties as Harbinger.

"It's not what you probably think," she murmured, looking down at her finger. "The rings...Maramal provided them, as I'm sure you know. He provides most all wedding bands for couples. Tradition of Mara and all that. However..." She looked to his ring now. "I feel they're too...generic. It says nothing of us, which I know means little on its own due to the nature of our marriage. That said, the rings mean nothing, symbolize nothing, not to me. There are hundreds of pairs of gold bands just like these. Why wear it when you're not around for others to see my union is to you? What's to stop it from meaning I've married the fish merchant down the street with the same gold band?"

He felt an odd, displacing sense of relief at her words, though his concerns plagued him still. Some of his insecurities had smoothed over the longer she spoke, and he found himself nodding with her voice. "I understand," he said. Indeed, he could see her point in all of it. The bands were simple, generic, universal, common. He could see where the appeal and subsequent connection would be lost.

"It is growing late," she said, turning away from him. "Allow me a moment to change and I shall make our dinner."

"Aveline—"

"Tonight, if you would like, husband," her eyes seemed to shine like jewels, multi-faceted in the dim manor lighting as the moon lifted itself into the sky, "we could perhaps try sharing a bed."


Vilkas' body was strung tighter than a bow string. Every one of his nerve endings was on fire, and sleep wasn't going to come easy. He was too much on edge. How could she rest so peacefully? He was staring stubbornly at the ceiling, but his gaze continually slid to her slender form beside him. Her hair hung around her face in an unrealistic, messy perfection. Her face was calm, lips curved in a slight smile. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. One hand was tucked beneath the pillow, the other lightly curled on the sheet. She looked oddly fragile.

He rolled onto his side, the tug inside him urging him to touch her. This pull towards her had only gotten stronger the longer he fought against her. He didn't want to feel like this, not when it was so obviously one-sided. He would only hurt and embarrass himself.

He reached out tentatively, allowing his fingertips to ghost up her side, along her arm, the angle of her jawline. He sighed. What had she done to him?

His fingertips dragged back down and started their trail anew, brushing her skin. They swept across her bare shoulder, and the sleeve of her nightgown slipped away from her skin completely. He inhaled sharply. I'm in trouble, he thought, the pad of his finger trailing over her jawline again. His thumb touched her lower lip and her mouth parted slightly. He had to contain a groan. Deep trouble.

She moved closer to his warmth and he hesitated before allowing his hand to rest on her shapely hip. She was the wrong woman for him, and he knew that, but it was easiest to pretend when she was like this. They could potentially get along well, could be a great team as husband and wife, but she didn't love him, and he...well, he didn't know how to feel about her. If he gave in and allowed himself to feel any connection to her at all, really, she would destroy him. He threw himself to his other side, the bed shaking slightly, and pulled as far away from her tempting body as the edge of the bed would allow.


He must have dozed off at some point, because when he next opened his eyes it was early morning and he was alone. He looked to the empty half of the bed and stifled a sigh. If this was how those barmaids had felt in the mornings after, he regretted every one night stand. And I haven't even slept with her.

He was tense, stressed, at the end of his emotional rope; a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, You could use a good tumble between the sheets. A life of celibacy was not a life for Vilkas. However, his honor meant more to him than his sex life, and he would continue to be faithful.

Not if she keeps sleeping beside you looking like a ripe apple that you can't quite reach.

His eyes burned with strain and those few hours of sleep he actually received. He threw the covers off of himself, moving sluggishly as he dressed himself in civilian clothes. The bedroom door was cracked open, and as he stepped out of the room—into another room, a living area that was easily the size of the master bedroom in Breezehome—he stared up at the skylight. She had appeased his mind, mentioning that she liked the cozy feel of Breezehome, but had she really meant it? He had always been a quaint man himself, dreaming of that little farmhouse, but he wasn't opposed to living in a lavish house like this. A manor.

He'd never had anything fancy, expensive, or extravagant. He had never seen the draw of being outlandishly rich—he was a strong believer that it made men complacent and useless. That said, he had felt the occasional selfish want of that particularly fine engraved greatsword, had felt the appeal of a living space larger than the single bedroom of Jorrvaskr. For years he had looked upon Breezehome as the model for his ideal home. Now, after everything he'd previously dreamed of had shattered, he suddenly wondered what it would be like for his children to want for nothing.

There it was again. Children.

Vilkas found himself wandering the second floor, moving away from the bedroom towards the only other door. The door was locked. He pulled at the handle with a frown, jiggling it a little to see if it was simply stuck. When he realized this was not the case he sighed in defeat and left it, giving it one last glance over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs.

Aveline's voice floated up to him as he reached the top of the stairway, bouncing off the stone walls. He began his slow descent down, waiting for her words to be clearer. Who was she talking to?

"Tullius isn't thrilled at the time you're taking to consider his proposition."

Vilkas' fists clenched; he recognized the voice. That damn soldier. He had forgotten that Hadvar was to make an appearance that morning.

"War is a dangerous thing for children to play at."

Vilkas nearly rolled his eyes at Aveline's obscure response. Honestly, the woman wasn't ancient, clearly Tullius was her elder—His thoughts were interrupted by Hadvar's boisterous laughter. Well he was certainly in better spirits than he had been yesterday. Had he and Aveline already had their talk? Had she told him of her reason for marrying? Or had she lied and claimed to simply be in love with someone else?

"You speak as though Tullius is unaware of the nature of warfare." Hadvar's tone was good-natured.

"No," Aveline said. "I merely meant myself and the people I lead."

"Referring to yourself as a child? Do my ears deceive me?"

"Amusing, Hadvar. I'm quite serious. Alduin is a different beast than Ulfric—"

"You defeated Alduin."

"I cannot use the same methods to win a war, I'm afraid. Tullius says that simply knowing they are facing the Dragonborn will sliver Ulfric's forces, but I am not so hopeful. As for the Companions..."

"From what you've told me of them, they would gladly follow you into battle."

"A majority would, yes." Her voice lowered fractionally and Vilkas inched further forward. "That is what I am afraid of, Hadvar." She became very quiet, mumbling what sounded like complete gibberish—

"Aveline, you're doing it again."

"Hm? Doing what?"

"The Dragontongue, you're speaking their language again."

"I am? Forgive me. Sometimes it can feel more natural than my first language."

Vilkas crept closer, careful not to get caught but curious to hear as Hadvar's tone changed. "I understand why you didn't tell me, Aveline, really I do."

"Hadvar, I thought we'd addressed this."

"We have. It's settled, I've accepted your reasoning. I just wanted to instill this in you one last time: I would have left everything behind to be with you."

Vilkas bit the inside of his cheek harshly to keep from growling as he reached the bottom of the stairs and stalked closer to the rooms. He could now peer into the kitchen where Aveline sat with Hadvar, and he was loathe to see how closely they were seated to each other. She reached out and touched the soldier's hand, her eyes gentle.

Vilkas hated how soft her expression was.

"I know you would have," she said, "and that isn't what you deserve. You're a skilled soldier and strategist. You have the potential to take Tullius' place as general. I wouldn't want you to waste yourself, Hadvar." She moved her hand to his face, her touch light on his jaw. "Especially not on someone incapable of returning even half your affections."

"You care for me, don't you?" The man was grasping at straws. What could possibly be done now about it? She was married, to someone else, to Vilkas. She was his wife, not the soldier's. Why was Hadvar being so adamant about her feelings?

"I care for you deeply, Hadvar, but I do not love you. You have and always will deserve more than what I would be able to give you." She dropped her hand from his face.

"I would have made you happy, Aveline. Can you honestly say you are happy now?" Hadvar continued brashly.

Vilkas watched her face from his hidden place, unwilling to hear the answer. He knew the conditions of their uneasy truce, but he knew it would still pain him should she say outright that she was unhappy with him. She took a deep breath. "If this was indeed a mistake, and the consequence is my unhappiness, I will gladly bear that weight if it secures your own contentment. Marry someone who deserves you, Hadvar."

"I love you, Aveline."

It took every ounce of his self control not to launch himself at the bold, uncouth man opposite his wife. His wife. His wife.

"Do you love him?" Hadvar asked next when she didn't respond.

Dread filled Vilkas' lungs. What would be her answer? Would she answer?

"You saved my life and for that I am eternally grateful." Aveline pushed her chair backward, standing gracefully. "You will forever be someone precious to me. It pains me to no end knowing that I have hurt you in this way, but please Hadvar for both our sakes, speak no more of love."

"Very well, Aveline," murmured Hadvar in the tone of a defeated man. "If that is what you wish. I will not apologize or be ashamed of my feelings for you, but I will talk of it no longer. Will you promise me at least to pay me one last visit before you leave?"

"Of course, my friend." Aveline smiled at him, and he took her hand, placing a light kiss upon it. He held on for longer than was necessary and, before he let go, Vilkas heard Aveline whisper very distinctly, "Dahmaan mahfaeraak."*

Hadvar was smiling at her as she uttered the words. "You've said that to me at every parting and at the end of every letter. When will you tell me what it means?"

Aveline only smiled cryptically and said, "You will come to know it soon."

Vilkas pressed himself flat against the stone wall as she escorted the soldier out of Proudspire. With a wave, she closed the door and allowed her hand to linger on the doorknob.

"Vilkas." Her voice rang clearly through the home. "I assume Kodlak taught you better manners than to eavesdrop on unmistakably private conversations."

He flinched guiltily in the dim light and stepped out, not bothering to wonder how she had seen him. "I'm not apologizing for it."

"No," she said, her hand falling from the door. "I didn't imagine you would." She walked to the kitchen table where she and Hadvar had been sitting. Vilkas hadn't noticed the golden wedding band on its surface until she picked it up and slipped it onto her ring finger. "I'm heading for the Temple, husband. Would you care to join?"

The Temple? The Temple of the Divines? Aveline was going to pray? Had he been sucked into some other world?

She didn't wait for his answer, leaving the door open as she exited, and after another moment of incredulity he jogged after her. The heavy door of the manor swung closed with a thunk behind him.


A/N: Sorry this took me so long. I know many of you are getting frustrated with Aveline but thank you for sticking with me. Her transformation must be gradual and, therefore, realistic!

*Remember forever - Dragon language