The constant buzzing and throbs of pain in his temples forced Vilkas to finally accept that he was awake. Gods, how much had he drunk last night? Too much. He groaned as he rolled to his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, unwilling to leave the comfort of his bed just yet. The gentle, sweet scent of fresh rushes wafted through the down of his bed and pillow, and he smiled softly, despite himself.
Ara had done an excellent job of cleaning his room, from what he could remember of having seen it in his drunken stumble to bed hours before. Previously, he would have had to pick his way carefully through, so as not to trip over anything, a feat that had taken all of his considerable willpower to accomplish; he'd despised letting his room become a complete, utter, rather shameful, disaster, but the look on her face when he'd told her it was her job to clean it had been worth it.
The fresh rushes had been a surprise though, and, as he had fallen asleep, they had lent to a rather pleasant illusion he was out on the prairie, beneath the stars in the rare warmth of a summer night, instead of the cold basement of the mead hall he called home. He clung to the fading vestiges of the illusion, inhaling as deeply as his pillow would allow him, and absently wishing that the illusion, and the dream that had been borne from it, could be real.
But it couldn't, and a growl of discontent rumbled in his chest. The she-wolf – Ara, he chided himself – was not his, and never would be, save for in his dreams. There, it didn't matter that she used magic, or that she bested him at every turn; in his dreams, he could allow himself to be appreciative of her willful pride, so like his own, and of her continual ability to turn his machinations around on him – without having to admit that it only made his longing for her more intense. Because dreams weren't reality. No, the reality of it for him was much worse.
The nameless, faceless woman that had haunted his dreams for so long was no longer faceless. No longer nameless. He knew her name, and the sound of her voice. Knew the true feeling of the tickle of her breath on his ear, and how she felt beneath him, and atop him – though, admittedly, those had come about in drastically different situations than his fantasies twisted the memories into. The reality of it was that she was everything he imagined. And more, he thought, almost bitterly; he had been hopelessly unprepared for her stubborn, willful nature, or for her intelligence and pride that rivaled his own in their intensity.
She had arrived back in Whiterun well after him, hours after his conversation with Kodlak, all those weeks ago, and the memory of the look on her face when he'd found her and told her she'd be stuck in Whiterun to train and follow orders nearly made him chuckle to himself. And he would have, except that he then remembered how her face had darkened just before throwing a satchel of coin at him – a portion of the gold from the troll pelts she'd salvaged, he'd found out later – and storming away.
He had had little idea that her slight display of rebellion was a precursor to what would happen in the weeks following; there was no way for him to have known just what he had started, not really. Which, it had started innocently enough, he reasoned with himself. He had bade her sort and stack armor and weapons as punishment for hitting him in the face with the sack of coin, ensuring she knew that she was to clean and oil them all first, and it had taken the better part of three days for her to finish everyone's. He'd been right pleased with himself, thinking perhaps she'd gotten the idea that insolence wouldn't be tolerated. That is, until he'd gathered his armor to set out on a job with Farkas.
He'd detected the bottlebrush pollen she'd mixed with the oil too late, of which, she'd known full-well the reaction it would elicit from his wolf; indeed, he'd been too busy sneezing and coughing to make it out of Jorrvaskr let alone go with his brother on the job – unless he was willing to wear something other than his favorite set. "Is your armor satisfactory?" The memory of her doe-eyed question and his brother and other shield-siblings laughing hysterically at him made his jaw clench involuntarily in irritation, and he hissed through the pain that erupted in the base of his skull because of the action.
But, as if to add salt to the wound that that had left in his pride, he'd soon found out he wasn't the only one she'd messed with, just the only one she'd been nefarious towards. Farkas had rather liked the effect her mischief had caused; when the mages from his and Farkas' contract ignited the volatile ambergris and oil mixture she'd used on his twin's greatsword, they'd met their end at the flaming blade of an angry Nord. Even Kodlak had been amused, more at Vilkas' once again damaged pride than anything, but the old man had then sat with Skjor and the others to discuss practical ways to use the trick to the Companions' advantage. Vilkas didn't disagree with the utility of such a trick necessarily, but that's exactly what it was, a trick, and his irritation at her had soared.
The pain in his head lessened somewhat as a swell of smugness rose from his belly. He'd assuaged his annoyance with her by making her assist Tilma after that, citing that the old woman and her few helpers already had enough to do without Ara's additional mouth to feed and body to clean up after. That, he mused, had worked out brilliantly. He'd found multiple ways of stymying her, giving her this, that, or another order or mess to clean up no sooner than she'd returned from one of her own jobs; he'd even half expected Ara to hit him when he'd informed her she'd needed to tend his room so Tilma could tend dinner preparations the night previous.
He'd ate and drank and made merry with his brother and shield-siblings, uncaring of how many hours passed before he'd even noticed she had still not come up to join them. A brief moment of curiosity had him wondering why it had taken her so long, his room wasn't that large, after all, but he pushed it away as he cracked an eye. His room was dark, thankfully, as the stab of pain that shot into his head would have been ten-fold worse had there been much more than the soft glow coming from beneath his door.
It was still early enough that most were still asleep, he knew, his keen hearing picking up the light snores of his brother across the hall, and the light shuffling of books and thick vellum pages as Kodlak no doubt continued his study of… whatever he was researching at the moment. He'd had Ara fetch a couple of books from the Jarl's court wizard, Vilkas remembered then, also remembering he'd forgotten to ask Kodlak about that. No matter.
Ara had been sent on many little 'nothing' jobs, mostly errands, or intimidation contracts for people who were causing problems for others, though Aela had given her a few other animal den ones as well. In fact, now that he thought about it, she'd done whatever had been asked of her, and performed remarkably well, always; he'd been won't to acknowledge it, given that he was constantly peeved at her.
But Vilkas pushed the errant thoughts away and eased up slowly, waiting for the spinning in his head to calm before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He said a silent prayer of thanks for his enhanced physical capabilities as he rubbed his face in his hands, for without them, he'd be feeling a lot worse than he…
He stopped suddenly, his face still half-covered; he wasn't sure why he had chosen then, of all times, to recognize exactly how many aspects of his life his wolf touched. He tried to shake the disquieting thoughts away, causing the world to tilt a bit too far for his liking, but it also served to rouse him from said thoughts, and he managed to get himself undressed without throwing up. The water in the basin was an off shade of gray by the time he finally finished washing, and he briefly considered reapplying the dark warpaint he'd just scrubbed off. Ah. He reached for a clean pair of trousers absently, his mind again turning to thoughts of his wolf, and of Ara, and of his frustration at his inability to control said thoughts and the wanton desires that they often brought forth.
He huffed down onto his bed, realizing with slight chagrin he'd grabbed a shirt instead. Agh, my head… drank more than I thought. He slid the soft cotton over his head, groaning inwardly as the light perfume of flowers assaulted his nose. Tilma must have accidentally washed some of his clothing with the girls', since the old woman knew he most certainly had no desire to smell of daisies. He stood, opening his wardrobe wide and sliding the neatly folded pants into a basket; he'd have Ara re-wash th-
His eyes alighted on the small, white bud that fell gently from the wardrobe into the basket, and he suddenly understood. Wait, why are my pants in…? He glanced at his shirt before dropping the basket and forcefully pulling a drawer of his dresser open. Shirts; in the dresser, where his pants should have been, and pants likewise where his shirts should have been. He glanced around his room as if with new eyes. Nothing was where it should have been; his books stood in a neat row on the shelf on his wall, while the plates and cups that should have been in their place now resided on his bookshelf; his quills and vellum on his night table as opposed to at his desk, which was where his shield rested among unopened bottles of mead. He didn't bother looking to see what she'd hung on his shield rack. Damnit!
"ARA!" He bellowed, sliding pants on and throwing his door open. He stumbled backward as the brighter light of the hallway shattered his mind through his eyes, and he was forced to stand there, holding his head and leaning against his doorframe until the worst of the pain subsided.
The slight groan of a door indicated Farkas' presence before he spoke. "What's wr-" but the words stopped, half formed in his brother's throat, and Vilkas looked up to see his brother looking both confused and highly amused as he rested his cheek over his hand on the edge of his door. "Didn't think you one for flowers, Vil."
"What?" Vilkas had to squint through his pain and irritation, but Farkas just reached forward and plucked a tiny daisy bud from the cloth covering his shoulder, holding it in front of him as if it explained everything. "Where's Ara?" Vilkas growled, swatting his twin's hand away before pulling his shirt over his head angrily and tossing it to the ground as he stormed into the hallway. Maybe he could find her before anyone else saw, or smelled, him.
Of course, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with her yet, as was so often the case with the infuriating woman, but he barged into the whelp's dormitory anyway. "Ara, I swear to Ysmir…" the door slammed against the endposts of the bed nearest, though his snarled words were still clear above it.
"What in the actual fuck, Vilkas?" Myrrh glared her displeasure, kicking the door away from her bed and back against his arm as Njada and Leah sat up groggily.
"Ooh, all cleaned up for the new girl!" He ignored the comment, unsure which of the women in the room had made it. No, he was intent on finding his quarry and even his wolf, surprisingly, ignored the wafts of arousal he began to detect.
"Where is Ara?" His voice radiated the fury he felt in his chest as he glanced from bed to bed, hoping to spot her long chestnut locks or fiery eyes. But he was met instead with muddy browns and pale blues, a few amber and green ones, or, in Myrrh's case, decidedly murderous looking rust ones.
"She left, early." Vilkas spun around to find Ria, her sleep-swollen eyes betraying obvious desire as she, too, sat up, and Vilkas realized the final assault to his pride with some trepidation; he had stormed into a room full of women, half naked, trousers still unlaced, and smelling of daisies. He managed to restrain the flush of crimson surging to his cheeks until he'd safely stalked from the room, leaving the giggles and hushed whispers, and licentious snarks, behind him as the door clicked closed; but his frustrated sigh sounded more like a groan as he sank into the seat opposite Kodlak outside the Harbinger's room a few moments later.
"I take it things haven't quite worked out the way you pictured, eh boy?" Kodlak didn't look up from the smooth vellum pages of the book in his hands, which Vilkas was thankful for, as he couldn't keep the withering expression from his features. The best laid plans, he sighed dispiritedly.
"What are you talking about?" He tried to collect his scattered composure and piece together what little was left of his pride.
"Don't play stupid with me boy, it was never your strong suit," Kodlak's eyes were scathing as he looked up from the tome in his lap. "You have done more than the simple instruction I gave you weeks ago. Regarding our newest recruit." Kodlak hadn't needed to add the last bit, Vilkas had known what the man meant immediately.
"Aye, I suppose I have," he growled.
"Whatever your reasons for your actions, only time will tell if you've yet realized your miscalculations of her, or yourself," Kodlak said dismissively, returning to the pages before him, and Vilkas grumbled under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest; apparently it wasn't enough for her to best him in front of everyone that first day, he just had to keep making things worse for himself.
"Where is she?" Vilkas finally asked, feeling as if his voice was out of place against his Harbinger's concentration. "Ria said she left-"
"To see the Jarl's steward. It seems, despite your best efforts, she has earned a bit of her own reputation in Whiterun. She was summoned to Dragonsreach," Kodlak, again, did not look up from his book.
"How so?" Vilkas winced at the heavy sigh the older man gave as he eased the book closed and set it to rest on the table beside him, and Vilkas frowned a half-hearted apology for interrupting even as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"The precious little time she's had to herself has been well spent," Kodlak explained vaguely. "Adrianne and that girl that's always in the market, I can't recall her name, both speak very highly of her. And to hear Farkas tell it, Hulda has a new set of little hands to wash tankards while Whiterun has one less citizen sleeping in the streets. Merrick even heard from a guard that she managed to sort out Uthgerd," Kodlak gave a wistful chuckle.
Vilkas felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, the black eye and split lip Ara had returned with just days ago suddenly making more sense, but it was quickly overtaken by a more uncomfortable emotion. Uthgerd had, at one time, been a hopeful candidate for entry into the Companions, and Vilkas frowned at the sore memory; she had killed Reid during her testing, albeit accidentally, and had been swiftly refused because of it, and Vilkas knew that she still bore a grudge against the whole of the guild. That Ara had gone up against her, even if it had been outside of her Companion duties, made his stomach twist in a way he wasn't accustomed to. "Doesn't explain why the Jarl wanted to see her," he said curtly, pushing the feeling away.
"She's known as well as you or me throughout the city, except people call her by her name instead of her title as a Companion." His brother's voice was accompanied by a set of clothing, that did not smell of daisies, hitting him in the face. What's with people throwing things at my head? He scowled. "And people call me icebrain." Kodlak gave a small smirk as Farkas took up a seat near them, and he rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance.
"And you have no idea what about?" Vilkas' returned his attention to Kodlak, ignoring the face his brother made at him.
"No," Kodlak assured him, raising an eyebrow at his unusual insistence, "but I'm sure she will enlighten us when she returns."
"Well, us¸ maybe," Farkas indicated towards himself and Kodlak. "Him I don't know about." Vilkas wanted to wipe that damnable grin off of his twin's face, but Kodlak spoke before he could formulate an appropriately scathing response.
"Daisies, was it?" Kodlak's tone served to sever the tension and he glanced over at the old man, sliding the shirt on in an effort to disguise the embarrassment welling in his chest, but he winced again under the old man's knowing gaze as he adjusted his sleeves.
"Aye," he responded.
"Suits him, yeah?" Farkas' words were slightly garbled through a mouthful of the apple he'd snatched from the tabletop, but he could hear the barely disguised rumbling in his brother's chest and his mood soured further. He loved and trusted his brother beyond all others in the world, but he knew very well that Farkas also thoroughly enjoyed the way Ara continued to foil his efforts to get back at and embarrass her, in turn embarrassing him instead, and he honestly couldn't get over how his brother found such easy comradery with her.
He and Farkas had always shared the same opinions of magic, or so he'd thought, but Ara's magic use didn't seem to perturb his brother in the least. In fact, it seemed almost the opposite, as he found her with him almost as often as he saw her with Aela. But it wasn't just Farkas' acceptance of her magic that irked him about his brother spending so much time with her; he'd never admit it to anyone, he'd scarcely admitted it to himself even, but he was envious of the way his brother always managed to sidle in with people so quickly. And with Ara, it was ten-fold worse.
"I think Vilkas' pride has suffered enough this morning," Kodlak said, giving him an appraising glance. "Mayhap having some time away from here would be good, for the both of you. That is, if the Jarl has a contract for us, which I suspect he does."
"You aren't going to send her?" Vilkas didn't even try to hide his blatant surprise, though he agreed wholeheartedly with her not being sent on a longer contract.
"She's already far surpassed the other whelps with a bow. And she's taken to the longsword better than most expected." Farkas' expression as he said so dared him to argue the point, and he heard Kodlak grunt his admission. "Aela and Merrick are gone, as are most of the senior Companions…" Farkas didn't have to finish. Skjor was there, but he wouldn't go with a whelp. Not unless he knew she had the blood… no. No. That was a road he wasn't going to go down with the old wolf. Not yet. Not at all, if he could help it.
"Aye. But there's still you and me," Vilkas had meant it to be sarcastic, but had failed miserably in the delivery, drawing a groan from Farkas and a heavy sigh from Kodlak. "What? How is it you can say she's ready when she relies so heavily on her magic use to complete jobs?" Vilkas really wanted to know. He didn't have proof, but she'd returned from so many of her contracts thus far without so much as a scratch that he couldn't accept she didn't.
Any reply Kodlak or his brother offered was lost to him as her scent hit him; lilies and ash. Yet, surprisingly, despite the sweet sting of the scent, it didn't split his head like the perfumed blossoms earlier had. "Because I don't use it on people who don't deserve it." Her voice washed over them a moment later, sending shivers of heat down his spine to his stomach, and causing his wolf to press wantonly into his subconscious when she appeared in the doorway. Damnit. No.
"Ah, our sister returns," Kodlak's voice was rather animated as he turned to the young woman at the same time Vilkas looked up at her; he'd half-expected to see the same dismissal her voice had held, but her face was instead impassive, pleasant even, as she regarded Kodlak; Vilkas was immediately suspicious. "Seems the Jarl kept you waiting," Kodlak gestured to the chair beside Farkas.
"Not exactly," she said, giving a small smile to the old man but ignoring the offered seat. "Sorry it took so long, but Eorlund stopped me on my way in," her apology was soft, and she frowned slightly as she produced a weapon from behind her back and held it out to him; Vilkas had completely forgotten he'd given it to her the day before to take to the smith. His eyes narrowed as he glanced lightly from her to the sheathed blade, and then to his brother and Harbinger, who also seemed to be regarding her with cautious confusion. "Eorlund says you can return to splitting hairs with it, but asked me to tell you to 'remember the importance of where' before you do."
Damnit. Kodlak just smirked as Farkas snorted his amusement, and labored coughing followed immediately as his brother fought not to choke on the fruit he'd been chewing; Vilkas snatched his sword from her hands before sinking back into his chair with a huff. "Hm," he scowled. "Do you even know what that means?"
"It means you should be more attentive when you're demolishing the dummies outside," she said flatly, unimpressed by the surprise, and subsequent glare, on his features. "Unless I misinterpreted the book you gave me to read?" He'd also forgotten he'd given her the book, to be honest, and his wolf growled within him, frustrated at his own arrogance this time. You dolt.
"Good. I'm glad you read it," he said dismissively. Nice save. His pride would survive this yet.
"Ahem, mmm," Farkas finally managed to clear his throat, garnering a chuckle from Kodlak, and sat back against his chair with a heavy sigh. "So, what did the Jarl want?"
"The guards have been pestering him about a cave to the east. He's tired of listening to them and would like whatever it is dealt with. Though he seems to think it's nothing," she worried the rounded hem of her tunic between her fingers, carefully avoiding looking directly at Kodlak, and Vilkas suppressed a chuckle; several of the guards had pleaded to him about the cave as well. "Apparently, the last guard to pester him said something about strange looking animals and sounds, but it seems like a bit of incensed superstition," she sounded almost dismissive, and Vilkas saw his opportunity.
"But if something were to come of it without us heeding and at least checking it out, it would be our fault," he managed to sound irked while lacing the words with the suggestion that her dismissal was obviously in error – which it rather was – and he sat back in his chair, supremely satisfied when her cheeks flushed crimson in embarrassment.
But she handled it well, leveling her fiery eyes at him the next moment. "Of course you're right, Vilkas." Fuck. He growled low in his throat, trying to cling to the anger he felt at her managing to handle his jab at her with grace. But his heart was pounding, his stomach roiling as heat flared from the way his name sounded on her lips, she'd scarcely said his name at all now that he thought of it, and he was beyond thankful when Kodlak responded before he tried to.
"Indeed, no matter our thoughts on the validity, we are still obligated to take a look," Kodlak gave him a warning glance before a kind expression returned to her, and his stomach dropped; he knew the look in Kodlak's eyes. "I know Vilkas has been hard on you these last weeks, but you have performed well," the old man paused, glancing at him again, "mischief aside." Farkas snickered at the trembling corner of the Harbinger's mouth, and Vilkas sunk lower in his seat.
"Thank you, and I meant no offense," Ara shifted her weight from foot to foot almost nervously.
Kodlak only nodded his acceptance of her apology. "Go and prepare yourself for travel girl, you'll be leaving soon. Find Vilkas when you're ready." He glanced at Farkas before continuing, "you too." The old man gave a tight smile to them both, nodding their dismissal as Farkas rose from his seat silently.
Vilkas bit the inside of his cheek when Farkas' arm found its familiar spot on her shoulders as they walked away, and he forced himself to look at his Harbinger as his wolf growled against the back of his mind. "You're sending three of us?" Indignant surprise mixed with the anger in his stomach, making his head spin. Farkas is not a threat, he tried to calm himself. He's your brother, and she's not yours.
"No Vilkas. You were going to clear out the old Fort on the road to Markarth. Or did you forget in your haste to wake the girls?" Kodlak's tone was dismissive, and Vilkas very nearly began to sulk like a berated child. He managed to hang onto a thread of his anger, however, and leveled his gaze at the old man.
"I haven't. But if she's going to that cave then why tell her to find me?" He growled, earning a heavy, disheartened sigh from his Harbinger.
"Vilkas, I have not the words to rouse you from the discontent that has settled in you," Kodlak stood wearily, his expression simply tired and betraying the proud warrior's current frailty, "but words have never been able to do that for you, have they?" Kodlak's expression changed to one of thoughtful kindness. "Whatever it is seems to be centered around that young woman," he indicated after Ara with a slight nod, "so perhaps time away, without the burdens your shield-siblings place upon you to worry about, you might resolve it. You and her will clear the Fort, and Farkas will investigate the cave." Kodlak paused, glancing after Ara again. "Unless you think you will need your brother's help at the Fort? The missive did not detail numbers."
Vilkas could only stare at him; a smattering of Forsworn could easily be handled by two wolves… not that Kodlak knows she's a wolf, he reminded himself. There was also the matter that he had decided to forego shifting – which Kodlak did know. By Ysmir… fuck. Vilkas groaned inwardly. What exactly was the old man playing at?
Taking his silence for denial, Kodlak gave a small smile. "I suggest you gather your things and tell her where the two of you are going then," he huffed, stretching his stiff limbs and giving him a last glance, "lest she up and leaves without you."
Vilkas was caught between a smirk and a scowl then; somehow, he could picture her doing just that.
Ara threw her pack on the bed, huffing down beside it dejectedly as Farkas watched from the doorway, and she fidgeted with the strap on her armor as it dug uncomfortably into her chest, lost in her own muddled thoughts.
"What's wrong? Thought you'd be elated to get out of Whiterun for a while," the large man's brow knit together in cautious confusion, but she was grateful for his words. She knew that she was just restless, and she wished desperately that she could tell Farkas why; there was nothing expressly keeping her from doing so, but she really had no idea how he, not to mention his pack, would react should her secret be revealed, though she was only too certain how their broody alpha would. Even so, it was getting harder to hide; her limited, short contracts were of such a nature that she hadn't the opportunity to shift, and beyond that, training had kept her so busy, and Vilkas had kept such a close eye on her, that she hadn't even had the energy to sneak away for a hunt or run otherwise, and her wolf was dangerously restive.
She got the distinct impression that Hircine was becoming truly displeased with her as well, if her nightmares were any indication. They had taken a decidedly darker turn, she knew, but she could only ever remember fire and darkness, silver eyes, followed by red, and then blood and death. Her death, always, but she never saw the source. She'd wake each time with a terrible weight in her chest and questioning her own abilities and senses; questioning her own spirit. It was unnerving on the good days, and nearly crippling on the bad; she'd woken even earlier than usual that morning because of it, and she had been lucky to manage to stem Kodlak's gentle questions for how tired she was.
"Hey." Ara started when Farkas grabbed her chin lightly as he knelt down in front of her, turning her face to him. "What's the deal?" His brows were still knit together, but she shook her head, letting herself fall forward and resting her forehead against his shoulder.
"Just tired, I guess," she said disaffectedly. "I haven't been sleeping well."
"You aren't the only one," he said absently, stroking his large hand over her hair, and she sat back up, eyeing him warily. "Don't give me that look. As if you didn't know I'm exactly like my brother," he raised his eyebrows in an off-handed form of placation. "It's always made it more difficult to sleep."
Ara swallowed hard as uncomfortable thoughts swirled in her mind; she'd not had such… distressing, nightmares before arriving. Was she already being affected by the alpha in Vilkas? By the unrest in his pack? Her stomach lurched at the thought; she needed to change the subject. "What has? The blood, or being his twin?" Her question and wry grin earned her a genuine laugh from Farkas, and he pulled her up with him as he straightened. "No but really, why aren't you as grumpy as your brother then?"
"I'm not grumpy, I just have little patience for whelps who don't listen." Right on cue, Ara thought with a light smirk; he had an uncanny knack for showing up precisely when she was thinking of him. Or did she think of him because she knew he was near? No. She shook her head against that rather disturbing thought before letting her forehead fall against Farkas' shoulder again. She wasn't surprised that Vilkas made no comment about her and Farkas' topic of conversation; she knew that the twins' shared everything. Well, nearly everything.
"I'll be careful. I won't use magic. And I won't get anyone killed." She didn't look at Vilkas as she recited the words she'd said to him every time she'd prepared to leave on a job.
"Oh, I know," Vilkas' nonchalant acceptance surprised her, and she rolled her head to look at him, leaving her temple against his brother. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he gave a smug smile. "You'll be coming with me to Fort Sungard while Farkas investigates the cave." She stiffened slightly, both at the words and because Farkas' hand had suddenly moved to the back of her neck, drawing a rather surprising reaction from her wolf as his thumb brushed beneath her ear.
"The Forsworn?" Farkas' voice was a rumble in her head, and Vilkas gave only a curt nod, his eyes on her. He was an expert at portraying a detached outward façade, but she felt his restlessness within her, mirroring her own. This is going to be a disaster, she realized; she wouldn't let him stop her from finally shifting while they were away, though she tried not to think about what exactly that conversation was going to sound like just then.
"Are you ready?" Vilkas gave her a slight appraisal, to which she nodded, but Farkas drew her into a hug before she could turn away.
"Stay safe, even if it means using magic," his words barely stirred the hair around her ear; he did not want his brother to hear, apparently, and she nodded as she stepped back. "I mean it," he cupped her face, his thumb stroking down her cheek, "Forsworn are dangerous. Don't let his foolhardiness get you guys into trouble." Power tickled across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake; whether it was from Vilkas or Farkas, she didn't know, but she was suddenly thankful for the long sleeves of the tunic beneath her armor hiding the evidence of her reaction.
"Forsworn?" She glanced between the two men as an eager anticipation rapidly took root in her stomach, pushing the other emotion away. Forsworn were usually accompanied by a hagraven, and if not, would have information as to where the nearest one was; even if it didn't lead her to the Glenmoril hags right away, she had but to follow the trail long enough and she'd find them. Maybe it won't be a complete disaster, she thought. Maybe she could salvage everything yet.
"The Fort is on the main road to and from Markarth," Vilkas explained, rubbing his temple and rather obviously avoiding her gaze, "and since trade is Whiterun's main source of coin, we've been asked to deal with the Forsworn harassing the caravans."
"Forsworn are no problem," she drew Farkas' hand away and gave him a small smile, despite the decidedly dark tone she heard in her voice. "I'll be just fine."
"I don't suppose I could talk you into not whistling?" Vilkas looked sourly at her as he pulled the saddle from his horse. The shrill pitch her mouth made had driven a spike deeper into his brain with every trill; it was near dusk, and he'd put up with it since they left Whiterun near midday, he was done. But, not surprisingly, she didn't seem to care, and simply rolled her eyes at him as she, too, pulled the saddle from her own horse.
"Are your hangovers usually this bad?" She had the gall to smirk at him as she asked, which, of course, made him scowl anew at her. "Why didn't you at least drink a healing potion? Or, gods, even another ale?"
"It wouldn't be this bad if I hadn't had daisies overwhelming my senses when I woke up," he snarled at her, causing his horse to shy away. Damnit. He grabbed the halter, leaning his forehead against the dun-colored mare's thick neck as he stroked along the horse's soft hair. He wasn't sure if he was trying to soothe the mare or himself, but was sure that he was failing either way, as the mare stamped impatiently in response to his wolf still growling against his mind.
He wasn't at all prepared when the heat of Ara's body registered against his, but his instincts and speed at least allowed him to grab her wrist before her slender fingers wound their way through his hair. "What are you doing?"
"Just let me help, please?" Her voice was soft, contrasting the hard expression in her eyes, and his grip faltered. "You're becoming unbearable." Of course, he frowned, she would have to add the little barb.
"Then stop being irritating," he scoffed back at her, but he was unable to hide his surprise when she vehemently resisted his attempt to pull her hand away.
"Ugh, really? Would you just put aside your pride for one gods-damned minute?" She seethed at him, her harsh words slicing through his already addled mind and drawing an involuntary wince from him. He stopped his rather lazy attempts to pull her hand away, but she didn't pull it away of her own accord either. The silence between them then was an awkward one, and stretched for several moments, before he finally deigned to release her wrist. It's like Kodlak said, he reasoned with himself. None of his shield-siblings were here to judge his actions one way or another, so why shouldn't he let her help him relieve some of the pain she herself had contributed to?
A tense sigh and light nod were all the acquiescence he was willing to give, and he nearly reneged when she stepped closer and her hand wove through his hair, joined by her other one opposite. Every one of his nerves was on fire, his wolf in rapt attention just beneath his consciousness, cautious, and yet yearning in a way he didn't expect, though he should have. But if she detected his turmoil in any way, she didn't give any indication, for which he was extremely thankful, and it was only a moment before her hair began to flutter softly. Similar to how it had the last time, the warmth that began in her hands eased its way into him, and he sighed unconsciously as it overtook the throbbing in his temples.
A spasm of pain made him hiss, but he made a snap decision to lean into her touch as it subsided, pushing past his reservations and self-doubt; at that moment he only cared that she did not move backward. The almost-forgotten sensation of cobwebs of tingles had replaced the previous cobwebs of pain as the warmth of her hands and her magic pushed his ills away - along with his good sense.
She was not that much shorter than him, so his lips had no trouble finding hers, and it was… nothing like he expected. She didn't recoil, didn't pull away, but nor did she react otherwise beyond a slight tickle of power kissing across his skin, which the wolf in him recognized, but that he refused to allow an answer to. His tongue flicked instinctively against her lips, and he was altogether surprised when they parted, granting him entrance to the sweet heat of her mouth. He was tentative and clumsy at first, afraid that if he pushed too much or too soon she would pull away, which was compounded when her actions mirrored his in their doubt. It seemed as if she wanted... something, as much as he, but was afraid of what might happen should she admit that want, should they both admit it.
Mere seconds passed, adding to the minutes that invariably followed, until time raced itself to a standstill; but uncertainty slowly bled to tentative acceptance, and her hands finally tensed to grip handfuls of his hair while he lamented his gloved gauntlets, wishing he could feel her skin beneath his fingers as he cupped her cheek. The freedom that came with the first of their respective barriers being breached saw them exploring each other's mouths, and, after excruciating patience on his part, she slowly grew to respond, reacting to his actions with her own light nip or soft sigh, but only after he initiated. After he prompted for them.
He had no expectations of her, and had no illusions about the invariable trouble that would come of it; he'd accept the consequences of the mistake he knew it would turn into, but he would do so later. Just then, he busied himself memorizing the way she tasted, vying to file it away even though he also already knew that it would forever be imprinted in him, the way her scent was. But a light, seemingly unprovoked whimper snapped him out of his reverie, and he mustered the courage to pull away, to look at her. Her hands moved to rest over his on her face, the question blatant in her eyes, and it was then he realized what exactly that whimper had been. But their moment was past, so he simply rested his forehead against hers. "Ara, I-"
"Are you alright?" He started, jolting out of his thoughts as Ara groggily sat up from her bedroll adjacent his perch by the fire. "What is it?" Her sleepy expression was laced with genuine concern, and he felt his chest grow tight as his stomach knotted painfully. "You're… you seem shaken," her words were gentle, which only served to intensify his feelings of unease. Of inadequacy.
"Mm, I'm…"Just wishing for things that could never be, he winced internally, some alpha I am. "I'm fine." Liar. The truth of his thought sat uneasily against his meager reassurance to her, and he figured she wouldn't buy it; but she said nothing, and he saw her lay back down, though her eyes remained lazily fixed on him. He sighed lightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. She had done nothing but offer to soothe his hangover, which he had refused of course; he certainly hadn't kissed her. Hell, she'd not come within arm's reach the entire time they set up camp for the night, let alone given him his chance to... Stop it, he scolded himself.
He stifled a groan as he rubbed his face in his hands; dreams he could accept, could handle, but waking fantasies? Even tame ones… he'd end up getting himself killed, or someone else. Or her. No, I'm not alright at all.