Snow flurries float through the air when Vilkas has finally had enough. He's grown moodier with each passing day that Mayenor's been gone, and it's gotten to the point that he barely even leaves his room—and when he does, it's only to beat the shit out of training dummies. It's not even Mayenor's absence that tears him apart—it's that she didn't say goodbye. And he feels like an absolute idiot for caring so much about such a simple courtesy, but damn it all, it's destroying him from the inside out.
And then there's all the turmoil in Skyrim to make it worse. Rumors of the Dark Brotherhood's resurgence had started up shortly after Mayenor's disappearance, and he has a sick hunch that she's got something to do with it. He's seen her kill; he knows she's got what it takes. It doesn't even bother him that the woman he loves may have taken in with a band of murderers; what scares him more is the thought that maybe she hasn't. Mayenor has made more than her fair share of enemies throughout her time in Skyrim, many of them influential and demented enough to summon the Dark Brotherhood for assistance. And, though Mayenor is an excellent fighter, nothing can stop a Dark Brotherhood assassin.
So he goes to Aela's office late one night, determination tightening his jaw. He knocks, and, after a moment, receives an exasperated enter.
"Ah, Vilkas." She greets him with one eyebrow raised. "Shouldn't you be drunk by now? It's well after dark." Her words make Vilkas scowl: though he'd once been respected by his fellow Companions for both his fighting prowess and sound mind, he's becoming something of an in-house joke now. He'd turned to the bottle following Mayenor's disappearance, and he's had some trouble turning back: he's sober about as often as he is happy these days.
"I'm leaving," he grunts, deciding to ignore her comment. This gets her attention, and she sits up straight in her chair.
"What do you mean, leaving?" She asks slowly.
"I mean what I said. I'm leaving. You'll have to find someone else to run the Jarl's errands with Farkas. I won't be here."
"And… Where are you going?" He doesn't answer, and his silence clearly states that it's none of her business. Nevertheless, she nods, brow furrowing. "It's May, isn't it? I've been worried, too. I know she's been gone longer than this before, but something just doesn't seem right."
"How did you know?" Vilkas asks after several moments of silence, once he's gotten over his surprise. Aela answers him with a wry smile.
"You're not the first Companion to love someone who will never love you first," she says simply, and Vilkas thinks of Skjor. Though he, at least, stays in one place, he's every bit as distant as Mayenor.
"Go find her," Aela says quietly, interrupting Vilkas's thoughts. "I'll tell the others you're on a job. But what about Farkas? He won't know what to do without you here."
"He'll have to figure it out," Vilkas replies solemnly. His brother was the main reason that he had waited this long to go looking for his wayward love, but he had finally decided that it was time for Farkas to find his own way. Vilkas had other matters to attend to.
"When will you leave?" Aela asks.
"Dawn." She nods.
"Do you have any idea where to look?" Vilkas's lips twist into a grimace as he thinks on his one lead: Brynjolf.
"I know where to start."
The guards greet him as he leaves in the grey pre-dawn light the next morning, and he nods vaguely when they all ask if he's off on another mission for the Jarl. He departs with the customary "godspeed, Companion" ringing in his ears and turns his mount toward Riften. The Companions are rarely asked to handle problems in the Rift, and it's been years since Vilkas has traveled this road, and somehow the knowledge that he's doing so of his own choice, free of a Companion contract. He's never ridden from Whiterun his own man, and it's a feeling he could get used to. Maybe he can understand Mayenor's fear of commitment, after all.
He trots up to the gates of Riften with the afternoon sun making its way toward the horizon to his left. He leaves his horse at the stables beside the main gate, then makes his way toward the inn nearest the gate: The Bee and Barb. It's not a large inn, nothing like Jorrvaskr or even the Bannered Mare, but it's cozy and well-attended by the locals. He steps up to the bar, taking a seat in an empty stool, and looks into the moist eyes of the Argonian barmaid.
"One of your best," he says, the weariness from a day of travel evident in his voice. She smiles politely at him and turns away to retrieve his drink; he notices the dagger strapped around her waist. The streets of Riften, he knows, are much more dangerous than those of Whiterun, and he takes a moment to decide if this woman is looking to protect herself or deal some damage. When she turns back with a bottle of Blackbriar Reserve, though, he remembers that he doesn't care.
"I was wondering if you could give me some information," he says as she begins to move away. She stops and turns back to look at him.
"That depends, landstrider," she says quietly, her voice carrying the signature raspy hiss of her species. "What do you want to know?"
"I'm looking for someone," Vilkas continues, taking a gulp of his mead to fortify his nerves: the last place he wants to be is in Brynjolf's town, surrounded by Brynjolf's people. "His name is Brynjolf. Do—" Before Vilkas can finish his question, the Argonian woman snarls so fiercely that his fingers twitch toward the dagger he's taken to hiding up his sleeve—another habit picked up from Mayenor. Quickly, another Argonian appears at Vilkas's side.
"Apologies, landstrider," he says hastily, eyeing his kinsman. "Keerava has—quite a temper at times. What can we help you with?"
"I'm looking for a man named Brynjolf. Do you know him?" Again, the thief's name brings a frown to the Argonian's face.
"You'd do well not to mention that name in polite company," the male says lowly, and Vilkas shakes his head.
"He's no friend of mine. He has information I need, that's all. Please, just tell me where I can find him."
"The sewers," Keerava spits, scaly lip curling in disgust. "Precisely where his kind belongs."
"The Thieves Guild headquarters is located somewhere in the Ratway—the sewer," Keerava's companion adds, and Vilkas notes that he is certainly the calmer of the two. "I wouldn't suggest going down there, though. They're not the most civilized bunch." As he says this, he lowers his voice and flicks his gaze across the room to a dark-haired woman. Though she's looking away, Vilkas can tell she's been listening.
"Is she…?" He asks, and the lizard man nods. Vilkas downs the rest of his mead in a few deep gulps, then thanks the pair and heads for the door next to the dark woman. Before he can get to her, she slips out the door before him, and by the time he gets outside, she's disappeared. He curses under his breath, knowing she's gone to warn Brynjolf and his men. He turns back and retreats into the inn.
"She's gone to warn them I'm here," he tells the Argonians, grimacing.
"Going down there now would be suicide," Keerava says. "Tell him, Jei." The male nods solemnly.
"Stay here for the night. When Sapphire tells Brynjolf you're looking for him, he'll come find you. He's too prideful to resist a summons." Vilkas nods his appreciation, then follows Talen-Jei up the stairs by the door and to a small bedroom. He offers the man a few septims in exchange, but the Argonian shakes his head. "Not from you, Companion. It is our honor to host you." Vilkas looks surprised. "Keerava may not recognize the wolf armor, but I lived in Whiterun for a time. You are welcome here."
"I didn't realize the Companions held any respect here," Vilkas admits, something akin to a smile tugging at his lips.
"You're an honorable group, and honor is something Riften desperately needs. Besides, one of your number did me a favor once. I'm forever in her debt." At this, Vilkas whips his gaze up to meet Talen-Jei's.
"One of us? In Riften?" He asks, feeling his pulse quicken. He knows Talen-Jei can only be referring to Mayenor.
"Yes, a young girl. Mayenor. She used to live here, though I haven't seen her in a long time. Her housecarl says she's off adventuring."
"She has a house here?" Vilkas presses, tone intense. Talen-Jei looks taken aback by his fervor.
"Yes… Honeyside. Across the canal. It's a beautiful home, I hear. The Jarl was very happy Mayenor decided to buy it. To have the Dragonborn living in Riften… There's hope for this city yet." As Vilkas's jaw drops open, Talen-Jei pauses to listen to the murmur of voices from downstairs, then excuses himself and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Vilkas drops onto the mattress.
Mayenor, the Dragonborn? All of a sudden, it all makes sense to him: that she survived Helgen, that she killed the dragon at the Western Watchtower, that she always felt something pulling her home to Skyrim—even the fire than burns behind her eyes. It's all because she's Dragonborn. That is why she came home to Skyrim; that is why she finds it impossible to settle: she has a destiny to fulfill, and until she does, she'll never be able to sate the wanderlust that controls her.
Vilkas takes a few minutes to ponder the dots he was somehow unable to connect—her prowess with magic, the feeling of quiet power that radiates from her—before remembering the more pressing news: that she had a house within the city, and, what's more, a housecarl that might know where she is. With that in mind, he sets down his pack and stands, stretching muscles stiff from riding, and heads back down the stairs, careful to take his money with him. He doesn't trust this city.
He finds Honeyside relatively easily after getting additional directions from Talen-Jei, but he hesitates outside the door. What if Mayenor is in there? What would he say to her? How angry she'd made him, how he was an alcoholic now thanks to her, how he missed everything about her more than he'd ever imagined possible? And what if Brynjolf is in there with her? What if they've gotten back together and he had just been a distraction while her arm healed? And if she's not there? Then all his worries and fears will live on until he does find her.
Finally, he knocks.
A redheaded woman dressed in full armor answers, looking suspicious. "Yes?" She asks.
"I'm looking for Mayenor," Vilkas says, deciding not to beat around the bush.
"The lady is not in, and hasn't been for quite a while." The woman hesitates, then gives Vilkas an anxious look. "Do you know where she is? Is she safe?" As soon as the question leaves her lips, Vilkas feels his heart drop. The housecarl doesn't know any more than he does, meaning she'll be no help to him.
"I don't know," he sighs. "I was hoping you could tell me."
"I haven't seen her since she and Master Brynjolf fought," she says, shaking her head. "I haven't even seen him around, really, except selling his wares in the marketplace." She snaps her mouth shut, eyeing Vilkas. "I've said too much. I don't know where My Lady is; goodnight."
Vilkas doesn't even wait for the door to be slammed in his face before he turns to trudge back to The Bee and Barb, at once disappointed and encouraged. Though he doesn't know anything more about where Mayenor might be, he at least knows that she and Brynjolf haven't been together—not at her house, at least, and that's as good a place as any to start. He falls to his bed as soon as he gets back to the inn and, tired from a day of travelling and disappointments, soon falls to a restless sleep.