10: Driftshade Refuge

What was supposed to have been the entire Circle wound up just being Vilkas and Lysandra. Eorlund had been the one to put a stop to everyone going, stating in his sometimes insulting, take no prisoner's manner that the Silver Hand might come back. They would know the Companions would be at their weakest with the Harbinger dead and perhaps even lost enough in their grief to do something stupid. Such as the entire Circle leaving the rest of the Companions alone and at risk.

The journey took nearly the entire day, and that seemed to please Vilkas. She quickly learned his pleasure was derived from the fact that they would have the cover of night to launch their attack in.

"We'll rest a few hours and then go in." He announced in a soft whisper, gesturing for her to stop.

Unused to walking such distances, Lysandra was pleased to hear that and immediately dropped to the ground, not caring if she was sitting in snow.

"Imperial…" He rolled his eyes and the only reason she could see it was because they were practically glowing. "Here." He pulled his fur cloak –something she had been curious to see him sporting- off his shoulders and lay it out. "Wouldn't want you to catch ill, puny woman that you are."

Given that this was a rather considerate gesture, she ignored the insult and rolled onto all fours before sitting on her knees and reaching back to wipe the snow off herself. Once settled on the hide, she hugged her knees to her chest. "What's the plan?"

"You sleep and I will wake you when it is time. We'll discuss a plan then."

"I don't think I can sleep, Vilkas." Not when they weren't too far off from a fort full of Silver Hands who would not think twice about butchering them.

He settled besides his, eyes fastened on the stone building. "Perhaps some mead?" He offered, a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

That was just mean and she almost punched him in the arm. When she had woken up this morning, on his bedroom floor no less, she had had the most horrible hangover. Much to her chagrin, he had seemed just fine. Moody as usual, perhaps a bit depressed, but fine. If not for Farkas taking pity and offering her an herbal potion meant to alleviate the worst side-effects from a night of drinking, she probably would have found a corner to curl up in and die.

"No?"

"You're not even remotely funny."

"I suppose not." He glanced down at her, frowning slightly. "How did the battle go yesterday?"

"With the dragon?"

"Did you fight many battles yesterday?"

He was really getting quite good with the sarcasm thing and Lysandra did punch him this time around, injuring her knuckles and just causing him to snort in derision.

"Obviously, it went well, you are alive."

"It… was… How do you describe a fight? Against a dragon no less?"

"Exhilarating. Fierce."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I would actually use terrifying and hot."

"You sound like a coward."

"Am I one?"

He considered that, finally shaking his head. "No. You're no Nord, but you're more than just a spineless Imperial. Perhaps someday I will even call you warrior."

Scowling, she looked away from him. One moment he could almost pass as kind and the next she wanted to throttle him. "What else are we here for?"

"Fragments of Wuuthrad. Try to rest and quit talking, you'll draw attention to us."

"To damn cold to rest." She grumbled, smirking slightly before leaning into him, nudging him before pulling away. "You could always turn into a dog and I could use you for heat."

He bared his teeth at her, not finding that as amusing as she found it.

"Or not."

The plan had been: she fired with her bow from afar while he cleared the area surrounding the fort. She had joined him in circling, trying to count how many there were and listening as he very quietly explained weak points in their armor. Those were the spots she needed to aim for, even if it wasn't a killing shot, it could be an incapacitating one.

The plan had gone: she had aimed too high and wound up overshooting. Which had alerted the sentries to their presence and forced Vilkas to rush the would-be killers.

Scared out of her mind, Lysandra dropped her bow and took off after him. She was more afraid of him dying because of her mistake than her dying because of her being an idiot. Considering she had somehow managed to live through a second dragon attack, she figured ultimate irony would be taking an arrow to the knee, crawling away and then dying of an infection somewhere in this forsaken, cold country. Talos knew she wasn't going to die a hero's death, or even one that would be mildly interesting –obviously, she had lived through two dragons, no hero's death for her.

"Behind you, Imperial!" He shouted when he seen her coming.

So they were back to Imperial… Lysandra barely had time to register that thought as she whipped around, drawing her sword in a very unsmooth motion. "Thanks, Nord!" She shouted back, barely managing to save her own life while taking another.

"You look like you bathed in blood."

Vilkas looked up from the fragments of Wuuthrad he was wrapping in a cloth and eyeballed her. "You do too."

Curling her lip, Lysandra looked down at herself, knowing no amount of scrubbing was going to get all this blood and gore out of her armor. They had gone throughout Driftshade Refuge from top to bottom –literally- and cleared out every Silver Hand they came across.

They had also come across several caged werewolves. Lysandra had reluctantly mentioned freeing them only for Vilkas to scoff at her, muttering something about them being 'feral' and likely to attack as soon as they were loose.

That had been cemented when she had gotten too close to the bars and was met with a clawed paw –or hand, what did they call them?- darting for her head. Vilkas had pulled her out of harm's way and then informed her that there were easier ways to die.

"Now what?"

He reverently eased the parcel into his satchel and tucked it beneath his armor, staring at her.

Lysandra watched as the remaining blood lust faded from his pale eyes only to be replaced with sadness. She inwardly cringed at her own gaffe, knowing what came next. Next they returned to Whiterun to pay their final respects to Kodlak and a hard lump formed in the back of her throat at the thought of seeing him… dead. "Vilkas, I-"

He simply shook his head as he walked past her, halting in order to place a heavy hand on her shoulder. "We should go."

She nodded, feeling him squeezing gently before letting go.