I got back to Whiterun just as the market stalls finished opening up. I was trying very hard to stop thinking about Hadvar, so of course, he would show up everywhere. I tried to distract myself by picking up every possible flower and butterfly I came across. I must have looked like a frolicking child rather than an aspiring Companion, although I did not feel girly or innocent at all. Maybe that had been it? Lying about my age? Had I played my "innocent respectable young lady" part a bit too convincingly? Was that why Hadvar had insisted on a "making sure I was safe"?

Or maybe it was just an excuse because, let's face it, physically-imposing handsome soldiers get all the attention in such little villages, where they can pass off as worldly? Back home, no doubt he would not have thought me as ladylike as he did – as he said he did, at least! So what if he had rejected me? Had he really rejected me? He had wanted to make me promise to drop everything and follow him to Frozen Solitude.

As soon as I walked through the doors of Jorrvaskr, I dropped my things on the dresser next to my bunk, and began training my one-arm skills with fury. Ria was already there with Aela, doing beautiful things with a dagger. Apparently they had expected me a day sooner, which was… a strangely sweet thing to hear. Having never had a proper family home, I'm not used to hear of people welcoming me or waiting for me. Silly things that throw me off guard. Kind of like when Hadvar would hold my hand to help me up stairs. No, not like that. No!

I smiled at them and started hitting one of the dummies as if it had stolen my coin purse – and then some more. I know it sounds silly to be so upset over a man you've known less than two weeks, but call me conceited if you want: I'm not used to being refused. If he had taken me right there, and then refused to greet me the morning after, I would not have cared half as much – regular man behaviour towards presumed dock harlots, as far as I'm concerned. But to kiss me and then leave because of "tomorrow"? Tomorrow we all get killed by that black dragon.

Fortunately, this weird capsized ship was beginning to feel like home. I began understanding the hall's inside jokes, putting some coin when the brawls were on, congratulating and envying each other's success. I won my first nickname (baby whelp), got my first set of leather armour fitted, was sent on minor jobs.

One evening, four days after returning, Skjor entered the whelp's dormitory and strode towards my bed.

"So, baby whelp? Your time, it seems, has come. Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honour of the Companions demands that we seek it out."

"Honour. Right. Of course. So I'm going, yes?"

"A smart one." Does this man ever smile? "It will be your Trial. Carry yourself with honor, and you'll become a true Companion. Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He'll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint. Or to get him killed. Meet him upstairs at first light tomorrow, as it's quite a trek from here."

"Right, I'll be there, sir"

"Don't call me that. This isn't the legion. And what on earth is that big stone there? Been exploring tombs, baby whelp?" He pointed at the Dragonstone, which I'd forgotten about.

"Oh, that, damn, that's the Jarl's. His mage told me to go seek it, I need to bring it to him."

"You should do that on the way back tomorrow. It's no good to forget assignments from a Jarl, even if they are for mages." The local distrust for magic, again. "Stendarr knows why that strange man wants a dusty stone…"


By the time Farkas finished telling me what a Wuuthrad was and why it was worth retrieving, we were way past the last farm, energetically trekking down the plains. For such a large man carrying a massive set of heavy armour, Farkas was remarkably fast, although the length of his arms and the width of his chest gave him an air of brutality that he seemed to embrace.

Unlike Hadvar, who tried to compensate for his obvious strength with soft gestures and a mellow voice, Farkas was rough-spoken and unapologetic – but quick to hug, quicker to laugh, and almost always smiling. If something happened and it came to sprinting for our lives, his much larger legs would see him to safety sooner, but I knew he wouldn't leave me. Heh. What a strange comfort.

"So how come you and your brother ended up Companions? Ria told me you were the youngest members in history."

"Did she? I did not know that. My brother's the one who likes history. You should ask him."

"How old were you?"

"When I became a companion? 23. Ten years ago, flying by. But we'd always been at Jorrvaskr, it's all I can remember."

"And I thought two months as a whelp would be too much!"

"Hahahaha but you didn't even do two weeks!"

"So where you born at Jorrvaskr? Was your mother a Companion?"

"Well, no. Mam and da' passed away, but I can't remember them. Then we got taken in by this group of dark mages. Jergen, he was a Companion too back then, he got rid of the necromancers and brought us home to Jorrvaskr. He got killed by a gang of spriggans a couple of years after that, but Kodlak kept us around. He's been great to us, like a father, really." There was a strange calmness to the way he told that story – clearly he wasn't greatly troubled by it. Nonetheless, it was a shocking tale.

"Wow. I'm really sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Turned out well in the end, didn't it? We could've ended up Thieves Guild or worse. Instead, we got a warm home, and now a honourable profession."

His optimism was as wholesome as his laughter, to be sure. We kept walking for a few more miles in relative silence, as we were approaching giant territory and it was best not to disturb them. Eventually, we left the plains and began approaching the hills, and he decided it was safe to chat again.

"Silly question."

"Ask away" I said, thinking it was only fair he'd ask about my childhood. I was ready to lie.

"Someone made you angry while you were doing the Jarl's bidding. Who was it?"

I looked up at him, startled.

"Where did you get that from?"

"You came back ready to destroy our dummies. I may be the ice-brain twin, but I know rage. So this person…"

"Man. From Riverwood."

"Is he why you're in Skyrim?"

"Oh, no. I met him here."

"What happened? And yes, I know I'm being nosy."

"Well, so long as you know…he did nothing – it was more about he wouldn't do. He was full of sweet words and gentlemanly gestures, but when it had to count for something, nothing. One day he's full of compliments over my sword skills, the other one he's upset or scared or I don't-know-what that I joined to Companions, worried about who'll protect me. I got angry. It's no big deal." It felt good to vent, even if in the vaguest terms possible.

"Sounds like the boy can't make up his mind. And he's jealous."

Farkas looked around, scratching around. Neither the choice of words nor the inflection went unnoticed.

"You can say that, yes."

"But you're thinking about him."

"I'm not about to leave and run off with him."

"Good. Because then you'd be wasting our time with this whole Trial, but you don't look like the type. You're still a whelp, and a foreign one too, nobody knows much about you. We all want to know what kind of warrior you are. The way I see it, what you say doesn't matter, it's what you do that counts. Like with that boy: if he values you, he must prove it. If you're too much for that boy, then prove it, and if you're strong enough to get a spot with the Companions, then prove it and get the fragment of Wuuthrad."

I briefly wondered how long he had prepared that speech, or at least part of it. Then I realised he had hit two key points there: first, Hadvar clearly had unresolved issues with the idea of women protecting themselves – and had a strong tendency towards "all-or-nothing" deals; and second, I'd grossly misused my opportunity with him at making a new identity. Set on painting myself as a sweet noble girl in unfortunate circumstances, I had been unable to play my part convincingly as well. Not a mistake I'll make again.

"Farkas?"

"Yes, little whelp?"

"Next time someone calls you ice-brain, I'll hold them down while you hit them. And don't you dare believe them."

He smiled.

"Fair dos, little whelp. Now, we're less than half an hour away, you may want to have your shield ready."


Sira's actions included three shames. Alivar had been the first, but she had excused it as revenge for her broken heart.

What had happened to Restita, on the other hand, was harder to excuse. A fellow apprentice at the seamstress' workshop, Restita was clearly soon to be made her superior – partly thanks to her liaison with a local married aristocrat, who began commissioning extravagant suits through her. Sira felt more deserving of any promotion and needed the extra money more.

The opportunity to bring her down presented itself without even looking for it: as she measured a new gown for that man's wife, Sira casually complimented her exquisite perfume – and then mentioned how Restita's new "patron" had just bought her a whole bottle. Some nights, Sira still woke up drenched in cold sweat, wondering if Restita realised who sold her out before the hired thugs shoved her into the ocean.


I came to Skyrim looking for a new life. Granted, the original plan for that burned alongside Helgen – but I was still getting a chance at a clean slate. Once inside the Cairn, I set out to prove it all. I slayed each one of my shames with each draugr I ripped apart, determined for once to prove myself to be whatever it is I wanted to be .

Rather than joking about feats of bravado, I became one, jumping first on every room, sneaking up on every enemy we encountered. Instead of pretending to be a trustworthy partner, after I locked myself in that cage, I stood my ground, looked at the werewolf defending me in the eye, and sent a healing spell his way. I proved my agility in front of a frostbite spider and my ruthlessness with all the Silver Hands we slayed.

At last, we arrived at the deepest chamber to pick up the fragment. The strange whisperings from Bleak Falls Barrow returned. It felt wrong to simply grab the fragment and leave. Farkas noticed my reluctance and nodded, saying I deserved the honor. I staggered up the stairs towards the altar, taking the piece almost as an afterthought – the wall right behind was calling me. The blinding blue light engulfed me once again, and I woke up inside a tent.

That was really nice of Farkas, to get me out and set up a tent while I regained consciousness. Embarrassing, too.

"Ah, you're awake at last. Feeling up to the trip back home?" He said, nonchalantly.

"Yes. But what happened? The lights... how come they didn't affect you?"

"It's not me they trapped."

"They trapped me?"

"I think… I don't know. You suddenly went into this trance, tripped on your way to that wall"

"Yeah, that I remember. It's the whispers from Bleak Falls, it was the same all over again."

"What whispers? This had happened to you before? Are you serious? Anyway, you got all stuck in front of the wall and these blue lights came out the carvings, and into you somehow… I'm not sure what I saw, really."

"It had happened once, when I was getting that stone for the Jarl's mage. It doesn't matter, really, maybe fatigue?"

"Sure, baby whelp. Fatigue. We all have our secrets, I guess." What secret was mine though? That I faint in front of walls?

"Well, I didn't want to bring this up, but you're a werewolf. What's up with that? Anyone else knows? Is it a Companions thing?"

"No. But it's a Circle thing. It is a secret to everyone, though." I'd heard about the Circle already, the high-ranking members who acted as Kodlak's personal advisors.

"Well, I won't tell anyone. Explains the wolfish grin."

He chuckled.

"Thanks. For healing me, too. Silver swords are a problem. We should get back to Whiterun – we'll have something nice to celebrate you, you'll see." He seemed excited over it – clearly much warmer than his brother.

Stamina restored and all, we basically jogged all the way back to the city. I could see Farkas was happy that I had passed the test – or perhaps just relieved that I wasn't horrified at his lycanthropy. We sped past the gates and sprinted all the way up to the Gildergreen. Panting, I stopped.

"Ok, you win! Let me breathe, please. I still need to drop the Farengar's stone at Dragonsreach first."

"Ha! I keep telling Athis, there's more to speed than toothpicks and leather smallclothes. You think it will take long? I'll wait here, if you want."

"No, I don't think so. I'll just hand it over and collect my gold. Farengar's not a chatty type."

There, another unfulfilled promise. I ended up making Farkas wait way more that I should've – although it was completely not my fault. I was just done pocketing my money when the jarl's very own housecarl, a springy looking Dunmer called Irileth, barged into Farengar's studio with news of a dragon.

I had no chance to escape, say no, or stop by some potions. It was decided – under a rather ridiculous reasoning, if you ask me – that I was the closest thing to a dragon expert the city had. I was promised the city's gratitude, for which I cared little. I wanted to run to Riverwood and ask Hadvar to take me with him anywhere, so long as I'd be safe from the monster perched atop the Western Watchtower.

I barely had time to register Farkas's strange expression as he saw me ran down the stairs into the Plains District. I could feel all eyes on me, the only one in the party not wearing Whiterun's uniform. I would never live out the shame of running away, I realised. I would lose the respect of the Companions and the market folk and everyone. Was this pride worth dying for? Was this what dying with honour was supposed to mean?