The Bannered Mare never stood empty, but it always quieted down by the morning. A few travellers who chose the tavern to rest for the night now quietly ate their breakfast; the only sounds that broke the silence were chewing and clinking of cutlery. The innkeeper wiped the bar clean and threw daggers with her small, hazel eyes at Vilkas as he didn't move his elbow away. The companion's eyes were glued to the wooden staircase, but his mind was elsewhere.

He shook his head. What was he even doing here? Vilkas felt like he was making a fool of himself. He should've left an hour ago with Ria, not waiting here for a woman who obviously had more secrets than he could ever imagine. Who in their right mind would break into a dangerous, ancient Nordic tomb out of boredom? While Vilkas didn't get scared easily, ancestral places like Bleak Falls Barrow could make the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He had been inside plenty, and he learnt he can be never sure what he might find. Unless it wasn't absolute necessary, he rather avoided them.

It became clear she cared little to none about the reward, and it made Vilkas wonder. She was either up to something or she really wasn't afraid—not even a bit. Both possibilities made his skin crawl.

And yet he was there, standing in the main hall of the Bannered Mare, trying to figure out if he completely lost his sanity. The truth was – even though he didn't admit this to himself – that curiosity drove him. It always did, even when he was afraid, even when he wanted to give up. He liked to learn, and Méra caught his attention.

And this is going to be your doom, you pathetic idiot, Vilkas thought bitterly. If he had to stay there alone any minute longer, he would surely change his mind and leave. But before he could, Margrethe walked down from the first floor.

Vilkas approached her just as she reached the end of the stairs. "Where's she?"

The blonde arched an eyebrow. Her kind smile from yesterday became more cynical, but it changed little in her gentle features. "Good morning to you too. She left by the time I woke up."

"Fuck," Vilkas grumbled quietly. "I really am an idiot."

Margrethe giggled as she just caught his words. "You probably are."

Vilkas marched across the inn, shaking his head and internally scolding himself for being so stupid. He tore the door open, finding himself face to face with Méra. She was in her armour again, her features inscrutable as always.

"I thought you already left," Vilkas said, trying to keep his tone neutral. It annoyed him that she didn't even look surprised he was there, without Ria, just as she told him last night.

Méra walked past him and into the tavern. She only stopped at the innkeeper to buy herself a goblet of wine, before she turned back to him. "I told you I want to go with you."

He waited until she downed her drink before he spoke again. "So you haven't changed your mind."

"Cheer up a little," Méra rolled her eyes. "We're going to spend some time together."

"Yeah," Vilkas growled, following the woman out of the building. "That gives me no reason for cheering. Still don't know why you want to come."

Méra didn't stop as she said, "I told you that too. I have nothing better to do."

It wasn't a lie. Last night, after Margrethe fell asleep, she had time to think. This is what Méra wanted to avoid – this is why she hoped the blonde woman would exhaust her enough to doze off easily. She was tired, but she couldn't just switch her brain off.

She thought back about everything that had happened to her since she killed the fake emperor. She died, and she came back. Astrid betrayed her. She lost her family. She couldn't find her place in the Dark Brotherhood anymore—in the place that a few months ago meant the only home for her. She escaped from a dragon. Isran died. She met Ulfric again. She met her brother again, even though a few years ago she swore, if she ever saw him again, that would be so she could kill him.

It wasn't the first time in her life when there was nowhere to go, but the first time when she really felt everything was taken from her. What was the point of leaving Skyrim? Starting over somewhere else? She didn't want to start over, not anymore. She didn't want to find a new place, make new friends, fall in love, just so she could lose everything all over again. One way or another, she lost everyone she had ever loved. How many more she could take?

They didn't talk much until they almost reached the top of the mountain. The howling wind made the weather even colder, the sleet burned and stung their face. Méra pulled her cloak tighter around herself, cursing under her breath.

Vilkas shot an amused grin at her way. "Not fan of the cold?"

"I hate it," Méra mumbled quietly, like she was angry at the snowy rain. She glanced at him, almost enviously, knowing his beast blood kept him warm.

"Nord women usually take it better," Vilkas said, a little satisfied he finally found a weak spot.

However, Méra only smirked. "A gentleman would offer to warm the lady up, you know."

"I guess I'm not much of a gentleman, then."

Méra rolled her eyes, but remained silent. The companion stopped her at the snow cowered ruins, listening carefully. After a minute of silence, he finally turned back to her; his words quiet.

"There are at least four people up there. I'll go ahead and try to talk with them. You go left and—"

He couldn't finish his sentence because Méra already made her way up on the stairs, pulling her sword out of its sheath. Vilkas called after her, trying to make her to stop, but she acted like she didn't even notice him.

Vilkas was right. There were five people at the entrance of the tomb, three men and two women. Judging by their shabby armour, they were bandits, and not even from the skilful ones.

"Where are you going now, sweetheart?" A man asked as Méra reached the top; his weapon at the ready.

She stopped. "Into the barrow. Since I had a great night, I give you a chance to let me in."

The laughs didn't surprise her. She got used to being underestimated, and while it could annoy her in most situations, it came handy in a fight.

By the time Vilkas reached the top of the stairs too, Méra already killed two bandits. He wanted to help, but it didn't seem like she needed it. He stood there, almost mesmerized as he watched the way she handled that sword. Clean, quick, and lethal strikes, precise but light movements. It almost reminded him of some kind of dance.

"Let's get something straight," Méra said after all the five bandits lied dead around her, walking to Vilkas while she wiped the blood off her katana. She just single-handedly killed five people and she didn't even look tired. Vilkas shook himself out of his daze. "You might be in some kind of special position with the Companions, but you are not the boss of me."

She turned towards the door, but Vilkas' voice stopped her. "You're not accustomed to following orders, are you? Well, let me get something straight, too," Vilkas said in a low voice, stepping closer to her. "You asked to come with me and I agreed."

"I didn't ask and you never really agreed."

Vilkas took another step closer, ignoring her words. "You're not doing me a favour for being here. So if you want to work with me… you do as I say."

He didn't wait for an answer but walked past her, opening the grand iron doors of the barrow.

"Fine," Méra said in a mocking voice, rolling her eyes as she followed him.

This burial mound was no different than the others. Dark, dusty, ancient traps and riddles at every corner. Vilkas was experienced and quick-witted, but around halfway through the tomb he had to admit that if Méra wasn't there, he would have easily walked into some traps. She was exceptionally good at finding clues and tracing marks.

It was still the way she fought that amazed him the most. After killing enough bandits, Vilkas couldn't keep the question in anymore. "What kind of technique is that? I've never seen anyone wielding a sword like you do."

Méra twirled her katana slowly. "Akaviri martial arts."

"Akaviri," Vilkas snorted, but he fell silent quickly. He remembered now that he saw the kind of sword she used, but only on the pages of the oldest books. It was an Akaviri weapon. "And where did you learn that? Because there are barely any books left about the Akaviri. Let alone their martial arts."

Méra cast her eyes down as memories filled her mind, about all those hours Serana had spent with her, trying to teach her how to correctly use her katana. "Maybe I've found something better than books."

While her face didn't tell much, Vilkas noticed a tiny shift in her voice. He had a million more questions, like where did she get that sword, but his thoughts were cut off by a long, high-pitched shriek; someone was screaming for help. They exchanged a quick glance before fastening their steps, reaching the end of the tunnel quickly.

Vilkas went to the entrance and peeked in, only to pull back a second later. "Great. There's a giant spider in there."

He would already pull his sword out to march in, but Méra grabbed his forearm. "Wait," she tugged on his gauntlet to pull him back a few steps.

"We have to help that man."

"Yeah? And how do you plan to kill that spider?" Méra asked, pacing around the tunnel and searching for something on the ground. Inside these ancient halls, everything was scattered around; it didn't take long until she found an arrow.

Vilkas arched an eyebrow. "Not with a single arrow."

Méra shot an annoyed look at him from the corner of her eye, standing under a torch to look through the small pouch that was hanging from her hip. A moment later, she pulled out a small vial with a black liquid.

"It is one of the deadliest poisons in the world," she explained as she coated the tip of the arrow with it. "One drop would kill a giant."

A crease furrowed Vilkas' forehead. "And you're carrying that in your pocket? Do you at least have an antidote?"

"It only kills if it gets into the bloodstream. And once it does, you wouldn't have the time to take any antidote."

They tried to find a bow as well, but there was none nearby, and they didn't want to waste more time. Vilkas offered that he would go in with the arrow to kill the spider, but Méra refused it.

"I'm smaller and faster than you," she said, and she was already inside before Vilkas could stop her. She ran towards the beast and reached it before it had a time to react; she dropped down and slipped under the creature. Everything happened very fast: an ear-splitting screech came from the spider as she stuck the arrow into its abdomen, but only moments later it already collapsed. Méra barely had time to crawl out from under it.

Vilkas walked around the spider, kicking it in the head to see if it was really dead, before he stopped next to Méra. "That was nice."

"Oh, did you really compliment me?" Méra asked with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. "Be careful or I'll begin to think you actually like me."

"You don't have to worry about that."

"Yeah, yeah, that was really nice," the man who screamed earlier cut them off, bound in webs. "Now would you please cut me off?"

Méra pulled her dagger out and walked closer to him. He didn't look like a bandit – he wore no armour but mismatched, dirty clothes; a filled knapsack fell off his back. Strange, she thought. Thieves were usually too coward to go to dangerous places like this.

"What are you doing here, thief?"

The Dunmer laughed nervously. "I'm—I'm not a thief! I'm just an adventurer. Now help me before another spider comes."

Méra cut him out of the webs, but grabbed his tunic before he could flee. She kept the ebony dagger against his neck.

"Méra…" Vilkas said warningly, taking a step closer. "Let him go."

"You heard him! Let me go. Please! I did nothing—"

"Shut up," she snapped. "I'll let you go after you tell me why you are here."

She could practically feel him shaking in her grip. "Just for the treasure. If you let me go, I'll tell you how to get in there—"

The man yelped as Méra held him tighter; the tip of her dagger digging into his skin. "You tell me now, or I'll kill you right here."

"Okay, okay," he sobbed desperately, just before Vilkas wanted to interfere. "There's this key in my bag. A claw. You have to use that to open—"

Méra cut his throat before the man could finish his sentence. His dark eyes widened and he fell on his knees, choking on his blood after she let him go. "Thank you," she said nonchalantly, snatching up the rugged knapsack.

"What the fuck?!" Vilkas shouted as soon as he was over his surprise. "You just killed an innocent man!"

"Oh, yeah, I bet he was innocent," Méra said sarcastically, continuing her search. "He was a damn thief and he would have run away as soon as we let him go."

"And does it mean you had to kill him?"

She merely let out a tired sigh as she pulled something out of the bag, something she hadn't seen before. Judging by its weight, it was solid gold, not just coloured as one. It shape like some kind of claw with symbols on the bottom.

"I've seen this before," Vilkas stepped closer, momentarily forgetting about his anger. "In the Riverwood Trader. Last time I went there the shopkeeper's daughter told me it has been stolen and the thief killed her father."

A slow smile appeared on Méra's lips. "Well. It's seems he wasn't so innocent, after all."

Vilkas took the golden claw out from Méra's hand. "You couldn't know that."

"I actually can," she said while they made their way deeper into the barrow. "There are no innocent people in this world."

"Oh, really?" Vilkas didn't look at her, and Méra had to fasten her pace to keep up with him. "Let's say you're right. It doesn't mean you have to kill them instantly. This is what prisons are for."

"Prisons," she scoffed, putting her dagger back into its sheath. "You put them into prison for six months? For a year? And then they can continue what they did? That's not a solution."

"Neither your eye for an eye principle. If we did that, people simply cease to exist."

"You talk like you've never killed anyone."

Vilkas halted and turned towards Méra so suddenly she nearly lost her balance, and that said something. She felt her back bumping against the stone wall, and the companion was so close to her she could see the rage in his blue eyes.

"I've killed many. I did what I needed to do to save myself or save others. But I've never killed if it wasn't necessary," he took a half-step back. "You? You take other's lives without a blink of an eye."

Méra pushed him out of the way with her elbow. "Next time when I kill a homicidal thief, I'll cry above their corpse."

"Is everything a joke to you?"

Huffing out a breath, Méra stopped. "You think I'm a shitty person. You're probably right about that. But thinking you're better than me because you killed less people than I have? Killing is killing. The bandit you murdered? He was probably the hero of his daughter and for her, you're the monster. Grow up and stop thinking in black and white."

Neither of them talked in the following hour. Vilkas tried to keep his anger at bay, but the pill was even harder to swallow when a tiny part of him understood she might be right. Méra simply got tired of trying to make people see that everyone had both light and darkness inside of them.

They reached a hall where carvings covered both walls around them. Vilkas lifted the torch in his hand and took a closer look at them, while Méra walked to the circular door. It had symbols too—the same symbols she saw on the golden claw. An owl, a bear, and a moth.

Vilkas reached her a few seconds later. He didn't say anything to her while he switched the rings to the right symbols, or while he put the claw into its place and watched as the door slowly sank into the ground.

His silence reached the point when it started to annoy Méra. "Did I touch a soft spot earlier?" she asked while they walked into another chamber. More than enough natural light came from above where the wall caved in, so Vilkas put the torch down as they didn't need it anymore.

"How about we don't talk about this anymore?" he slowed his steps down and looked at her. "Let's agree to disagree."

Méra nodded, but didn't say anything. The cave they stepped into was loud from the waterfall, but somehow, it was more disturbing than the silence in the other halls of the barrow. Méra held her breath back when she heard the familiar whispers, and as they walked deeper she saw what she knew they would find.

She held many secrets but this one might be the only one she had never told anyone. The first time she heard the whispers from the wall with the strange carvings was the first time she stepped into the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. When she questioned Astrid about it, it seemed like she had no idea what Méra was talking about. Two other times when she came across them, she was with Serana. Since she showed no sign of hearing anything, Méra saw it better to stay silent. It never meant anything good when someone was hearing things that no one else did.

"A Word Wall," Vilkas' voice brought Méra back from somewhere deep, after she involuntarily let the whispers take control over her. She looked at the companion with a questioning look.

"I've seen some of these before around Skyrim," she said. "What are they for?"

"No one really knows," Vilkas replied, running his fingers across the words. They were so perfectly carved; he knew no chisel could make such a perfect work. "Scholars believe they were built by Nords who lived in the time of the dragons. They learned their language and somehow put the words up here. As you can see, after all these years, they still look flawless."

Méra furrowed her eyebrows, taking a step closer to the wall. "So you say these runes… they are dragon language?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Can you pronounce them?"

"No one can," Vilkas replied with a questioning look. "Well, maybe a few fanatics like Farengar can. Why?"

She didn't give an answer but shook her head; she wasn't sure about what to say anyway. Most of the time, Méra tried to forget about why she heard what she heard from these walls, why she was the only one who saw the runes glowing, why she could suddenly understand their meaning. For a while, and up until now, she even considered it had something to do with her being the Listener. But the Night Mother never spoke to her in the dragon language.

They found the artefact they were looking for, buried in a tomb with several other valuable gems and carved stones. After they picked them up, they soon reached the end of the barrow.

"Finally," Méra groaned as they stepped out, fresh air and warm sunshine hitting her cheek. Vilkas followed her down into the valley where she washed the dust off her face in the river.

"I'm taking this back to Riverwood," Vilkas raised his arm with the golden claw. "Do you want to come with me?"

Méra stood up with a smirk. "Oh, are we here now? You're asking me to go with you? I'm really starting to think you don't hate me at all."

Vilkas sighed, putting the claw into his bag. "That clever mouth of yours will get you into trouble sooner or later."

"Come on," Méra tutted. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"I've never said that," Vilkas replied, shaking his head. He still wasn't sure it was a good idea to be around her, but one more day couldn't hurt.