I've just had a guest review, my first btw, thank you muchly!, and a previous reviewer both ask for sequels.

Unfortunately I can't promise anything but I do have some ideas. I'll try my best to get something done.

Chapter 17

"Farkas?" I murmur.

Not again. Please Mara not again.

"Sen! We need to go."

I sag in relief when his large frame storms through the undergrowth.

"Come on Sen." He urges. When I don't move he tugs me forwards somewhat gently. I can feel the sticky residue of blood on his hand.

"What happened?" I ask.

He growls. "Got spotted. The first two pulled their weapons. The other pair is out cold."

Alarm raises the fur on my neck; Farkas has yet to put his cloak on. "Did they see your face?"

"Don't think so, but we'd better get going. Don't wanna hang around when they wake."

While we had been whispering together Farkas had divested me of his borrowed gear and strapped Wuuthrad to his own back and I had secured the Shield to my horse's saddle. Both horses have been thankfully quiet so far.

Finally free of the weighty objects this one jumps lithely onto her smelly beast. Farkas' mount is far less graceful but we have no time to even smile about it.

We push our horses at their full speed – how I wish we had the swifter Cyrodiilic steeds – for several hours, even racing dangerously through Dragonsbridge. There were shouted admonishments but we were gone too quickly to hear them. Also we pass two Guard patrols along the road but between our speed and the darkness they do not seem to take notice of the weapons we carry.

I persuade Farkas that sleeping in a cave a little ways from the road would be safe enough but he insisted that we sleep in shifts just in case. My plan is to run on as little sleep as possible to keep ahead of the news – at least until we get to the relay point.

We manage to shave off two days from our journey with our hard riding and we gain an extra day in Markarth hold due to the lack of Forsworn. This one likes to think that they had learnt not to mess with us.

Currently we are half a league away from Broken Tusk Camp running on little more than four hours sleep a night. Our horses too are exhausted. At least our food supplies are not running low (gods do I hate salted meat!).

This night is another chilly one not helped by the thick clouds overhead. Only the wolves are out tonight – little else can see in this darkness and the sabre-cats will be seeking shelter from the coming rain.

I spot Vilkas and Ria in the light of the large bonfire the giants make long before they spot us. The pair looks quite cosy leaning side by side against a boulder. I presume from the silence that they have dealt with the resident giant.

As arranged this one lets out a piercing whistle similar to that of a bird of prey.

Ria jumps in the air in fright and almost end up on her face which sets off Vilkas' temper. He is giving me the stink eye right up until he spots the familiar long handle over his brother's shoulder. I hide my grin as The Vicious One is rendered speechless.

I pass the shield off to the ever excitable Ria while the twins exchange Wuuthrad and a rather heated discussion. There are less frowny faces than normal which I take as a short-lived victory. I certainly expect no verbal thanks from any but Kara and Kodlak.

Farkas and I watch in silence as our relief rides away into what remains of the night. Now we are to find a cave to catch up our sleep.

The next morning we wake to the piercing frightened whinny of a horse.

We bolt from our shallow cave right into a threesome of feeding wolves; my horse died sometime during the early hours. Farkas' mare is nowhere in sight.

Farkas gets a nasty bite just above his knee as he puts the biggest one down. My arrow fells the blooded one. The last is taken down by Farkas again. I spot a fourth that seems to have been crushed under a horses' hoof.

"You go find the horse." Farkas orders. "I gotta sort this bite out. Careful – gods knows what's out there now." He warns seriously.

I dismiss his concern with a fleeting smile.

I follow the single bloody hoof print off a little ways to the South to find Farkas' mare standing nervously next to a tiny pool of water. The work horses of Skyrim are nearly as fearless as their master – and just as bloody strong – they rarely bolt unless they are feeling ill, are injured, or facing a dragon.

To my gratitude the horse perks up in recognition and allows me to lead her back to our camp. I prefer walking but loosing most of our gear would have sucked Drauger balls.

"So what happens now?" Farkas asks as I sit by the camp fire. A hunk of dark meat is sizzling away in the single pan we brought. Horse – yuk.

I shrug. "Our adventure ends I suppose." I answer. "I am not sure Tullius would bring his forces to Whiterun; he is trying to court the Jarl, yes?"

My cohort nods thoughtfully. "Could he arrest Kara?"

I scoff. "For what? He iss his own witness. There is very little to link Wuuthrad's disappearance to Kara anyway aside from there being some of her fellows lingering around the city. Circumstantial." I pause. "I suppose he could try to stop her leaving the city..."

Farkas gwaffs. "Isn't he supposed to be smart?"

I grin. "I am not so sure; he did steal from the Companions you know."

The Nord outright laughs.

By the time we get back to Whiterun the news of Wuuthrad's triumphant but mysterious return is getting old. Not old enough for people to stop speculating about it, but old enough that the citizens are not bothering the Companions about it anymore.

In the Boat-hall the mood is nothing less than buoyant.

The axe sits proudly in its wall sconce while the shield has been mounted on a specially made plaque in the harbinger's quarters. It will be a lovely surprise for Kodlak when he gets back.

I turn away first in time to spot Vilkas and two of the newest recruits disappears clutching bags of gold. Farkas takes longer to move. From the corner of my eye I note the shiny wetness of his eyes. I wonder what this means to him?

It is pretty obvious that the others think of the waraxe as nothing more than a founding artefact, they were more concerned with their honour and competency as viewed by the rest of world; they do not seem to hold the weapons in their own right. If that makes sense.

I mean when I brought the restored Crown of Barenziah to the thieves they practically fell over themselves to wrench it from me; they recited the stories word for word with a reverence that would frighten others, and I found out later that more than half did not know that the Paragon actually benefited them at all.

This is not so with Wuuthrad.

Finally Farkas turns away from the wall. His face is in his normal cheery demeanour.

"The Jarl is afraid." Aela intones seriously from our left. She motions us to a smaller side table to sit in conference. "He came here yesterday and demanded we stand with his guards – he fears Tullius will invade like Ulfric plans to." Her amber eyes glitter predatorily.

I frown in concern. "It seems unlikely..." I answer slowly.

"Unlikely he would take Wuuthrad too." Farkas points out.

We all frown at the table as the truth of that statement sinks in.

"He and Stormcloak could turn Whiterun into a battlefield; they're both desperate for the city." Aela spits out angrily. "Our actions may have just forced Tullius' hand in this. Maybe it would have been better if we had broken neutrality." She growls.

I am about to reply when the doors are flung open. The words die on my tongue as a couple of crates of drink precede Vilkas into the hall. A cheer goes up from everyone but Aela and I. One crate is full of sweet treats.

The discussion is suspended for now.

Two drinks of mead later – should I say two for me, four or five for the rest of the hall – I am giggling hysterically, woes forgotten, as the twins sing a dirty ditty. Aela too is grinning stupidly now totally relaxed.

This is supposedly just a 'pre celebratory party' but things are looking to get noisy.

Two more meads later the room is spinning too quickly for my liking. I watch on in lazy interest as two of the 'whelps' – a High elf maiden and an imperial – jump up and begin to take clumsy swings at each other.

"Pfft amah- armatures." I scoff.

"You think you could do better?" The Vicious One barks from further down the table.

I give him the stink eyes. "Suuure."

"C'mon then!" He roars bounding to his feet. He stumbles. I grin sloppily as I stagger to my feet.

The two opponents back off as Vilkas and I tumble into position. This seems to be pretty normal behaviour – I do vaguely recall Kara telling me she ended up in a fist-fight the first time she entered the hall.

If Vilkas hits me I will be out. But that is a pretty big IF. I feel myself grin with all my teeth.

I sway lightly on the spot as I eye the large Nord up. I belatedly realise he is not in armour.

His left fist comes out in an uppercut;

I dodge the first swing,

His right comes straight at my face;

I duck the second,

His left come back out

The third doesn't even come near me.

I snap out a right hook that manages to connect, the tiny sober part of my mind registers in surprise.

Vilkas, clearly beyond drunk, staggers to one side and collapses face first onto the dirt floor.

The room still frantically. The sober part of brain notes this could end badly.

A snore rips from him.

Hearty cheers erupt around me much to my satisfaction. Yet another mead is pressed into my hand and I take a sip.

It's the last thing I remember.