A.N.: Hi again. Just the usually, thanks to Branwhin for beta-ing the chapter. Thanks to everyone who fav'd, reviewed etc. etc.

Chapter 10: Surprise

Farkas sat quietly as he waited for the Bosmer to reappear, sipping at his mead. From the corner of his eye he could see Njada and Athis' fight wrapping up as the woman managed to land a hit that floored the Dark Elf. A smirk crossed Njada's lips in response and she sauntered away smugly, leaving the Mer groaning on the floor. The sight crossed a grin to cross Farkas' face and he snorted into his mead. Red eyes glared back at him in response.

He opened his mouth to comment when he heard a noise that made his attention snap away from the elf. A soft click alerted him that the door to the sleeping quarters had opened and he looked over. A moment later, Vilkas' unkempt brown hair came into view on the stairs. His face was set into a scowl, his steps heavy, angry. Jaw set, he stomped his way up the stairs and out of the back door to the training yard. More importantly to Farkas, however, was the Bosmer trotting behind, trying to keep up with the Nord's long strides.

He looked mildly alarmed, no doubt taken aback by Vilkas' bad temper and Farkas frowned, wondering where the strong looking warrior who had entered Jorrvaskr not long ago was. He disappeared out to the training yard behind the smaller twin and Farkas stood. Obviously Kodlak felt the elf was worth testing. Vilkas seemed to disagree. Vehemently.

Farkas smirked to himself at his brother's bad attitude before following them out to the training yard. He wanted to see how the little elf handled himself. Behind him, Athis groaned, climbing to his feet to follow the others, apparently having the same idea. He managed to catch up with Farkas as he emerged into the early evening's pale light.

"You think he can handle himself against your brother?" The Dunmer asked, his voice rough from the blows to his torso.

"You did. Don't see why he can't."

Athis scowled in response.

"What? Because we're both mer? Bosmer and Dunmer are completely different, I'll have you know."

Farkas shrugged

"You're all elves to me."

Athis muttered something under his breath as he moved to sit down to watch the fight, perching atop a nearby barrel. In the middle of the yard, the two males were squaring up, the newcomer drawing his sword. The blue-green of the glass blade caught the evening sun's rays, reflecting them onto the ground.

Farkas settled himself onto a nearby bench, picking up a boiled crème treat and nibbling at its edge. Out on the yard, Vilkas was plucking a training sword from a weapons rack, hefting a shield in the other hand. From the set of his shoulders, Farkas could tell Vilkas didn't reckon much of the elf. Probably thought this would be over in a matter of minutes.

He thought for a moment to warn his brother to perhaps not be so flippant about the little elf. But then he knew the response would be a roll of his eyes, no doubt assuming that Farkas' lesser intelligence was making him worry more than he should. He held his tongue, watching as the elf rolled his shoulders, preparing for the fight.

Nibenor swallowed as he eyed the Nord in front of him, heart pounding furiously in his chest. He could feel nervous tremors running through his limbs and he took a deep breath, straightening his back and shoulders.

Despite his much improved skills in combat, Nibenor was still not what he would call a natural fighter. He was an archer at heart, but that didn't always cut it, and he needed the support of others, not to mention the training. Which was his main reason for joining the Companions. He hadn't anticipated that he would have to spar with the moodier of the twins though. And despite the fact that he had fought dragons, trolls, draugr and all manner of creatures, he still felt small and uncertain.

He took a step back, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. His strength came from his speed and agility and that was the only way he was going to win this encounter. Swallowing again, he looked at his opponent, setting his jaw. He wasn't confident, but he could pretend he was and that, for now, was all that he needed.

Farkas' eyebrows lifted as he watched the two in the yard beginning their fight. Within a few minutes he thought that he should have perhaps said something to his brother after all.

The little elf was fast. Very fast in fact, his compact size allowing him an agility and speed that someone of his brother's size, or bigger, could never have. His muscles, still lithe, didn't slow him down any, only giving him the opportunity to hit harder, hit faster.

It was obvious that he knew he couldn't beat the Companion in a contest of strength. Instead, he employed a tactic of dashing in for a series of short, sharp blows before retreating to a safe distance. The tactic stirred a memory of an argument Athis and Torvar had had about the advantages of speed over strength. Ten bleeding wounds or one clean cleave.

And it wasn't hard to see that it was frustrating Vilkas to no end. His relaxed, almost mocking stance that he had held before had changed to the defensive. His teeth were gritted, lips pulled back in a scowl, shoulders hunched. His eyes had narrowed almost venomously. Even armed with a one handed sword, rather than his preferred greatsword, he was unable to make any sort of counterattack.

Farkas nodded to himself, impressed by the little elf watching as Vilkas found the time to get a swing in. The elf jumped backwards nimbly, all but dancing out of the sword's reach. And then he was on the offensive again, diving in and slashing, carving lines into the battered surface of the iron shield. There was a certain roughness to his movements though. An uncertainty, perhaps instinct or panic. Most warriors appeared strong or formidable with their powerful sword strokes. In the case of the quicker fighting style, such as Athis', there was an elegance and lightness in the speed of their movements.

Nibenor's blows were jerky. Sloppy. They were badly timed and badly aimed and it appeared to be only the sheer volume and moderate force of them that was keeping Vilkas at bay. Perhaps, Farkas thought, this was why he had come to them. Maybe he wanted to learn from them, learn how to fight properly, instead of using haphazard flurries of sword swipes.

Vilkas seemed to have noticed it too, noticed the lack of control in the elf's attacks and, watching carefully he waited to make his move before swinging his sword in a horizontal arc. It caught the elf in the ribs, flat of the blade crashing against his side as his sprightly nature deserted him for a moment.

He landed awkwardly, ankle twisting, looking up to see Vilkas advancing on him, taking advantage of his falter. The dull iron blade swung down, hard and fast and Nibenor's reactions were only a second faster, the green blade of his sword halting the dull silver's descent. And Farkas could see the effort it took to catch that blade and hold it. What was a glancing blow to Vilkas was a heavy strike to the elf and his arms struggled to resist the force, muscles tightening as they absorbed the shock.

Through luck, or skill, or a burst of strength, the Bosmer managed to shove Vilkas' blade away long enough to roll out of its reach. He staggered up right, falling automatically into his defensive posture, sword ready to block as deep brown eyes narrowed.

Vilkas pulled himself back into his own defensive posture, staring back into those dark eyes. He stilled for a moment before straightening and nodding to himself. The iron sword was slid back into its sheath. It took another couple of moments before Nibenor did the same.

Farkas wondered if, perhaps, the Mer couldn't quite believe that he'd managed to pass. Or perhaps even live. He smiled, kindly this time, as he watched his brother approach the little elf. Behind him, there was a sharp bark of laughter and he spun on the bench to look at Athis, still perched precariously on his barrel.

His facial expression seemed to be somewhere in the region of surprise and sadistic pleasure. An expression that, on a Dunmer, was more than a little disturbing. Especially when those red eyes were so dark with mocking mirth.

"Who'd have thought Vilkas would be beaten by a Bosmer?!" He jumped off the barrel, the bruising on his chest of a little concern to him at the moment "I've got to tell Aela about this!"

He disappeared back into Jorrvaskr a moment later and Farkas shook his head slowly. His brother was not going to be pleased about this. Athis would be wiser to keep his mouth shut. But then, the Dunmer never did. He always pushed the limits, always said what everyone was thinking but no one would voice. It was annoying, but it was just as well that he did it. It tended to solve a lot of problems in the long run.

With a quiet chuckle to himself, Farkas turned back to his sweet, licking at its dissolving edges. At the sight of his brother stomping back towards him he used it to hide his smile. The Wood Elf had disappeared though and he glanced around in confusion as his brother crashed down onto the bench, sitting next to his brother. The wood creaked under their combined weights.

Farkas pulled the dissolving sweet from his mouth, earning a look of mild disgust from his twin.

"Where's the elf?"

"I sent him to Eorlund, to get my sword sharpened for me. He may as well start making himself useful."

"He's in then?" Farkas asked and he couldn't quite hide the hope in his voice.

Vilkas looked at him suspiciously for a moment before nodding.

"Aye. For now, anyway. I don't reckon he'll last long with us though."

"You don't think he'll make a good Companion?"

"He smells like magic and trees and...potions. He's a scrawny excuse for a warrior. He's not a warrior. He can't possibly bring any honour to us."

"Maybe he'll surprise you," Farkas replied, his words muffled by the remains of the boiled sweet in his mouth. "Just because he's different from us, doesn't mean he can't be a good thing. And...we let Athis join."

"This isn't about him being an elf, brother. I don't give a damn whether he has pointy ears or round. What I care about is that he's not strong enough to take a proper hit. How can he defend someone if he can only just defend himself. And he's not our type," Vilkas sniffed "Besides, Athis can take a hit and has a decent amount of strength. The Wood Elf flits around like a damn butterfly. He might make a good thief, but he's no Companion."

"You really think he's going to be that bad?"

"I do."

"You let him join anyway?"

Vilkas shrugged.

"He might be able to run errands well enough. Until he realises he's not going to get anywhere with us, anyway. He'll quit after a while. Might as well make some use of him," he paused for a moment as if considering what he was about to say "...and Kodlak puts some merit in him."

"Well if Kodlak..."

"Kodlak," Vilkas interrupted "has a feeling about him. That doesn't mean that the elf's going to be any real use. Just a whelp, who can do the jobs that we don't want to."

"You're harsh." Farkas grumbled, swallowing the last of the boiled crème treat and licking its sugary remains off his fingers. He didn't understand what his brother's problem was. What did it matter if he wasn't the usual candidate to be a Companion.

Vilkas lifted an eyebrow.

"And you're too soft," there was an edge of annoyance to the words as Vilkas spoke them and looked at his brother, though there was no malice behind them. He stood up abruptly a moment later. "Now. I need to go and tell the others that we have a new member. For the moment."

He strode away back into the warmth of Jorrvaskr.

Farkas sighed, shaking his head and looking out over the training yard. Evening was beginning to settle in more fully now, the sky starting to show the signs of sundown. From just under the porch's lip, he could see the red embers of the Skyforge colouring the grey stone red. He caught voiced faintly, Eorlund and what was no doubt the elf, discussing something.

For the moment, he wasn't too concerned what it was, though he found himself eager to meet the elf properly. It'd be interesting to know more about him, to see what he was like. To see if he really was the Dragonborn.

But that'd be for later. The elf needed to sort himself out first and that would take some time. He reminded himself to be patient and, with his mind made up he stood up and made his way back into Jorrvaskr. There were surprisingly few people around, most retiring to their rooms before the evening meal was served. A good idea, he thought and made his way down into his bedroom. He could use a nap and really wanted to avoid Vilkas and his poor temper.

For now there was the promise of a moment of quiet before the excitement of the new member was let loose. And, if he was lucky, there might even be a honey nut treat in his room to enjoy.

Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you thought.

Same time next week :)