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Chapter 9

"What are your thoughts on the others?" Kodlak casually asks.

We are once again looking at my old ratty map. This time we are plotting out alternate routes from Solitude Hold. The Legionnaire presence in the Hold has doubled: it has us greatly worried.

"I've only seen Aela at the full meetings or the evening meals: too solitary. Vilkas comes across as nasty and confrontational: you will not get many recruits. Farkas is nearly the opposite: friendly and soft hearted, but not fierce enough to turn away the undesirables." I answer haltingly.

Kodlak chuckles but it is a tired sound. He is thinking of his successor.

"You want to go to Sovngarde, then?" I half ask half state.

"Yes. Hircine's realm holds no fascination for me."

I shake my head. "I think I understand. My father was a worshipper but he never pushed me into becoming a follower. I think I would have resented him and the Prince if I had been forced like you where."

He gives me a puzzled look. "I confess I do not know what kind of afterlife Khajiit believe in..."

I shrug. "Neither of my parents were traditional believers." I cross my legs and lean back into my chair, preparing for a lengthy discussion. "The main religion of the Khajiit is kind of a feline version of yours. When we die we return to the embrace of the Mother Cat."

"What did your parents believe?" He asks cautiously.

Again I shrug. "As I said, my father was a devoted follower of Hircine, much like The Huntress, though I do not think he was a Werewolf. My mother on the other hand was a thief, and so was a loyal disciple of Nocturnal; Mistress of Thieves."

Kodlak grunts with distaste.

Deadra worship is a touchy subject at the best of times so I am not offended by his attitude.

"I am evenly split between the two." I admit quietly.

"You have no preference?" He questions archly.

"No..."

"You sound unsure."

I sigh. "I entered into service with both willingly enough." I recall. "But due to... unique... circumstances with my old guild I seem to be tied more strongly to Nocturnal at the moment. I am unsure about the whole thing, but I have no choice: what is done is done."

Kodlak is frowning seemingly in concern.

"Not only that but I've wondered... what if my husband – Mara willing – wishes to go elsewhere? And I would hate to never see my parents or Kara again." I finally voice in an embarrassed whisper. I worry too much methinks.

His surprise is plain on his face. "You've thought about it a lot."

I grimace. "You do not see many old thieves. Our line of work is dangerous: either you're killed on a job or you waste away in jail. Few make it past their early forties. I have a will."

"So do I." Kara states solemnly.

Kodlak and I jump nearly off our seats in surprise not having heard the usually noisy woman.

"Now if you two old men have finished philosophising I'd like to know what you've come up with." She asks with her usual cheery demeanour.

Breath in, two, three – thwack.

- Dead centre between the eyes.

Breath out, two, three – draw.

"Whoa that is one mean looking bow."

I jerk, startled, but carefully lower my half drawn bow and turn to the intruder with the familiar voice. I am unsurprised to lock eyes with a casually dressed Farkas.

There is a pregnant pause as we eye each other up. He leans in a cavalier manner against the side of Breezehome – arms crossed and bulging, legs crossed at the ankles, head cocked to the side – completely un-armoured for once, long dark hair tied back – which I like the more I look, with his moon-blue eyes languidly taking me and my bow in.

He is handsome in a rugged hairy way. Most Nord men are strangely fastidious about their hair but Farkas just seems to keep his head hair back from his face, and the lot of his face neat and short. Not even symmetrical.

"Named it?"

I have a total Sheogorath moment and think Farkas is talking about his facial hair.

He blinks slowly, a slightly puzzled mien to his face, and then he laughs and gestures to the bow.

Oh. I feel a hot itchy blush burst onto my face. I once again am thankful I'm a furry Khajiit.

He still laughs brightly as if he can see the blush.

"It's Deadric right?" He asks with great interest. "Can't say I've seen too many of those."

I laugh ruefully. "I found it in Arcwind Point."

Dark furry eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. "Not an easy place to get to."

I feel a grin stretching my lips. "Ah we were bored; went for a stroll." He stares sceptically. "Heh, seriously I'm closer to the truth than you might think. Kara wanted to see if there was a word wall and I was bored enough to follow."

He shakes his head and shrugs himself upright. I watch as he heedlessly meanders forwards into my makeshift training area, obviously emboldened by my response to his conversation. I wonder if he came to talk to me on his own initiative?

I hold up my almost forgotten bow for his studious inspection. His blue eyes are scarily intense as they take in the red and black weapon. Anything Deadric is imposing in appearance – be it weaponry or citizenry – and it took me a good long while to get truly comfortable wielding this bow, but I can say that now it's my favourite, even over my old 'first' bow.

"Wow." He comments dryly. "Looks heavy.

I grin. "Not at first, but after an hour? Yes, it gets quite heavy. I've been using it for four years now and I cannot keep it at full draw for more than a minute at a time, which means it is very powerful – but slow." I elucidate.

He nods along like he is used to Archery talk.

There is a slightly awkward pause where he glances around to try and find something to talk about. This once was a small garden type area behind Breezehome, but Kara has no love of flowers, not even alchemy, so she kept it clear. I've put up a target and a dummy I borrowed from Jorrvaskr and shoved a wooden bench against the back of the house as a resting place.

"Are people giving you trouble?" He growls.

I shake my head quickly. "Not so much, but I don't exactly feel welcome." I admit quietly. I begin to unstring the bow – carefully – so I do not have to look at his expression, or give away the slight hurt I feel.

"You're trying to help." He states in frustration.

A sad smile makes its way onto my face – drooped ears and whiskers. "Thank you for your support. It means much." I say with all my furry gratitude.

His mouths opens – to argue – but I reach up and softly pat his cheek, stopping him mid breath, which is then let out in a gusty sigh. He captures my hand in his own and squeezes sturdily in friendship.

My stomach flutters like with butterflies.

I pull back a little, feel very self-conscious, and I do not miss the quick flash of loss flit across his face, but I turn away and say nothing. "Besides I wouldn't dare use this around so many people." I blurt a little hastily to cover my feelings.

This takes him by surprise. "But in battle-?"

"I use this for sneak attacks or if I'm alone." I explain smoothly. "I carry several other bows if I'm accompanying someone else." Guilt bubbles in my stomach. "I accidently shot a travel companion once. He had to give up mercenary work because his leg was so badly shattered."

"Oh."

Yet again there is another awkward pause. Brilliant.

"Thank you." He says at last.

My curiosity is greater than my awkwardness so I fall for the conversation opener. "For what?"

He shuffles a little on his feet but his eyes are steady on mine as he explains himself. "For helping that time I was injured... as a werewolf." His lips pull down in a not quite frown. "Don't think I would have made it to morning without those potions."

I shake away those bloody images. "Of course." I dismiss easily. "I am glad you survived. I did try to find you the next day, but you were long gone." I explain.

"Yeah we heal pretty fast usually... if we aren't hurt too badly." He states.

"What happened?" I ask before I can stop myself. "I mean werewolves are tough and quick; as far as I know there's not much that can do so much damage." I blurt to try and cover my callousness. I have fought alongside a 'wolfed up' Kara - but only a handful of times because in her bloodlust she has trouble differentiating friend from foe - and she always came out of those fight in pristine condition.

He frowns truly. "The Silverhand."

That stirs a faint memory. "Kara talked about them once... something happened with one of your old members?"

Farkas growls low in his throat. "Skjor went off alone and the Silverhand killed him."

"Ah yes. She was upset." I recall. "So the same thing nearly happened again?" I guess.

"No. Well yeah. I mean Skjor went looking for a fight with them. I was just running." Farkas scowls at his feet. "I shouldn't have gone alone." He concedes.

"So it's the Silver? Kara has been leery of the stuff." I note aloud. He nods.

"Its burns." He states with a bodily shudder.

"It must have been agony." I mutter in horror. I cannot even imagine pain like that.

"Have you ever been set on fire by a mage?" He asks.

I growl. "Several times."

"It's like that, but worse." He confirms. I cringe my shoulders up. "What about Dragon Fire?"

I blink in surprise. "You've never encountered one before?"

We have migrated onto the low bench I set against the wall.

Farkas is hunched forwards resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh I have but they were all Frost." His Nord blood must have been useful then. I know Eruandur could ignore the Fire ones better.

"Well as you might imagine it is a lot hotter than mage fire. We've only ever been signed, thankfully, but that was painful enough." I answer.

The Nord frowns moodily at the ground. It is a strange twist of his usually happy features that leaves me unsettled and wishing for his bright smile back. "Kara went back to Helgen." He states.

My stomach squeezes. "You went with her?"

"Yeah. Nothing but rubble and burnt up bodies left. And bandits."

"I never went back. No point. I suppose for Kara it was really the start of a whole other life."

I sigh. It seems more than four and a bit years ago. More like forty.

"You don't miss it?" He asks suspiciously.

I laugh throatily. "You want to know if I have itchy fingers. Idle hands are the Deadra's playthings?"

He has the decency to blush which highlights his scar. I must ask about that later.

"No. Another reason I am glad to go. It was just reflex. A useful skill I couldn't let rust."

Farkas grunts stupefied.

I smile weakly. "Archery is my first love."

We are silent as that confession lingers in the yard with us.

"You're sticking around then." Farkas states knowingly. "You're going to follow Kara again." He answers when I cast him an arch expression.

"That was my plan, at least for a little while." I confirm.