A/N: Hello again possums. Sorry for the delay again, as predicted college and work are kicking my shapely behind into touch at the moment. As always thank you for your kind words and reviews, I appreciate every single one of you xx
They left as soon as they had packed their things, which took longer than it should have since Myrna had to search the floor for the many items that had fallen out of her pack when she dropped it. Vilkas watched with amazement as she crammed potion bottles, books, and packages of cured meat (still untouched) into the little bag, which was full even before she stuffed the grey robe inside. Lastly she picked up a roll of parchment, passing it to Vilkas for his inspection. It was a map, with a black ink marker indicating their next destination: the ruins of Ustengrav.
As the founder of the Greybeards and most powerful of the mortal Tongues, the legend of Jurgen Windcaller was known to all Nords throughout Skyrim. Myrna was now to enter his tomb and retrieve an artefact for the Greybeards – a horn once belonging to the great man himself. Vilkas did not see the need for such a test; surely Myrna had proved herself to be truly Dragonborn during her training at the monastery. He did not raise the issue with her, however. Myrna was determined to fetch the horn and he was not about to stand in her way.
Taking possession of the map Vilkas plotted their route for them. They would head first to Morthal, stock up on supplies in the town then make their way across the marshes to the tomb. Myrna seemed happy enough with that arrangement, though she had balked at the suggestion that they should make a stop in Whiterun as they passed by. Vilkas thought they should return to Jorrvaskr, to let their fellow Circle members in on the fact that their Harbinger was also the legendary Dragonborn. Myrna was not ready to have her secret known just yet, and besides, she had been idle in her duties for long enough as it was.
Wilhelm had been sorry to see them go. In fact the barkeep had been looking pretty sorry for himself altogether; a long night of drinking having taken its toll. He thanked Vilkas again for his help in dealing with Tomas, going so far as to refuse the coin Myrna offered for their bed and board by way of payment for his assistance. He shook their hands firmly, and as a parting gift gave them each a small venison pie made with the leftover meat from the buck Vilkas had killed. Since their supply of ration biscuits had run out they were both very grateful, making promises to return to the Vilemyr some day if their business ever brought them back to Ivarstead.
The storm had left the village coated in a blanket of deep snow, already slushy and starting to melt as the afternoon sun climbed higher in the sky. In spite of the snow the villagers were out in force tending their land, doing what they could to save their crops from total ruin. Instead of merely staring at the strangers as they passed by, this time calls of "Hail Companions!" greeted them from all directions, some of the village folk even going so far as to address Vilkas by name. Vilkas merely nodded at the myriad of smiling faces, his long strides clearing a path in the snow for Myrna to follow. Myrna was not sure what had happened in the time she had been away that had made Vilkas so popular with the people of Ivarstead, but she resolved that she would find out someday.
Once out of the village they retraced their steps on the path towards Whiterun, walking in the shadow of the great mountain as it loomed overhead, its summit shrouded as ever by thick white clouds. Neither of them spoke as they walked, the atmosphere between them strained by sombre silence and broken only by the song of birds and the rustle of wind in the trees. Vilkas longed to have the old Myrna back, the Myrna who would find conversation even in the banal, who would whistle merrily as she trod the path alongside him. The Harbinger kept up with the pace he set without trouble from her injuries, her eyes fixed determinedly ahead and ever on the horizon. Vilkas got the distinct impression she was trying not to look at him, and considering recent events he did not much blame her for it.
The last of the snow had melted by the time they reached the Valtheim Towers. The bandits there had either been caught or moved on, and with nothing to hinder their progress Whiterun was soon before them. At a fork in the road they turned north, heading towards Whitewatch Tower. It felt strange not to be going home to Jorrvaskr; to pass by the odd shape of the upturned ship's hull that served as a roof as it stood out against the others visible beyond the Whiterun city walls. Vilkas wondered how the whelps were faring under the guidance of Aela and his brother, and how Torvar's hunting expedition with the new bloods had gone. An image of Jovan trying to take on a bear single-handedly crossed his mind, and for a moment he thought to make mention of it to Myrna before deciding against it. If the Harbinger wanted to make conversation with him then she would have done so by now. Instead she remained silent beneath her hood, seemingly deep in thought. Vilkas sighed inwardly. It promised to be a long, quiet, uncomfortable walk to Morthal, until a sudden rumbling behind them made them both turn around. A cart approached them at tremendous speed, forcing them to leap to the side of the road as the driver struggled to control the unruly horse.
"For Mara's sake Orrick, get that animal reigned in," the driver's wife chided as the horse, a brown mare, frothed and reared on her bridle in temper.
"I'm trying, woman!" the man called Orrick yelled, the front of the wagon rising up and threatening to tip each time the horse reared. Barrels and sacks slid off the back, scattering the road with fruits and vegetables before he could calm the enraged beast. "There now," Orrick soothed, finally daring to loosen his grip on the reigns as the horse found comfort in munching the apples that had rolled beneath her feet. His attention turned to the Companions, giving them an apologetic grin as they dusted themselves off. "Sorry about that, friends, didn't hurt you did we?"
Noting the look on Vilkas' face, Myrna thought it best if she answered before he did. "Not at all, sera. That's a spirited animal you've got there."
"Spirited?!" the wife repeated incredulously, "She's bloody wild is what she is. Told him not to pay for that one, she was too cheap, had to be something wrong. Obviously she was never broken in properly."
"Ah she's fine," her husband replied, hopping down from the cart to check the horse's shoes. His manner suggested this was an argument they had had many times before. The wife huffed and muttered something barely audible to herself, but there was one word that caught Myrna's attention.
"You're heading to Solitude?" she asked, approaching the man as he began gathering up what he could of his fallen produce.
"Aye," Orrick replied, glancing up at her from his work. Myrna fixed him with her most charming smile, hoping that it would be effective enough with her swollen lip.
"Seeing as you almost ran us over, I don't suppose you'd consider giving my shield-brother and I a ride?" she asked sweetly. "Only as far as far as Morthal, mind."
Rubbing his hand through his stubby grey beard Orrick considered, looking first to her then to Vilkas and finally to his wife, who did not bother to disguise her disapproving glare. "Aye, why not?" he said, smirking insolently at the woman's obvious irritation. "Give me a hand with these barrels and I'll take you wherever you like."
With that Myrna turned to Vilkas with a triumphant grin, a hint of a sparkle in her lovely brown eyes. It was the first time she had looked at him properly for hours, and the sight of her smile caused his heart to leap up to his throat. Before he could smile back she had already set to work, gathering up the errant fruit that lay scattered on the road while the driver argued with his wife about whether or not this diversion would make them late. Vilkas watched her out of the corner of his eye as he took the job of returning the heavy barrels to the back of the vehicle. He had to hand it to her; Myrna definitely had a way with people – if it had been down to him he would have given Orrick a piece of his mind for having almost run them down, after which the man would not have been at all likely to offer them a lift. This would save them the best part of a day's travel, and even if they were forced to endure the driver and his wife bickering all of the way it would be worth it.
The man rolled the last barrel over the ground towards Vilkas, giving a low whistle to indicate his awe as the warrior heaved it into the wagon with very little effort. "You're a big lad," he said, looking him up and down appraisingly. "That sword you got there, that's Skyforge steel, ain't it?" Vilkas nodded, and Orrick's attention fell to his armour, the famous wolf's head insignia on the breastplate answering the rest of the man's questions for him.
"Ha! You was wrong, Bóthildr," he shouted to his wife. "They're not criminals, they're Companions!"
Bóthildr shot him a look that exhibited how little she cared about this new revelation, glaring down her beaky nose as Myrna shouldered the last of a sack filled with carrots. The brown mare whinnied, seizing the Harbinger's cloak in her teeth and pulling her backwards, causing Myrna's hood to fall as a few of the orange vegetables tumbled back to the ground. As the horse polished off her ill-gotten prizes Myrna laughed aloud, patting the animal on the back before joining Vilkas at the back of the cart. He offered her a hand, and after a moment of hesitation she took it, allowing him to pull her aboard. She seated herself on a wooden crate across from him, trying and failing to avoid his gaze as Orrick replaced himself in the driver's seat next to his wife.
"They're armed to the teeth, 'Hild," he said, grinning as he took the reigns from her once more. "No brigands are gonna even think about stopping us now, not with this pair on board."
The woman sneered, turning in her seat to stare hard at Myrna. "What happened to your face?" she demanded, her eyes shifting to Vilkas accusingly.
It was Orrick who spared his wife from Vilkas' scathing reply. "Divines have mercy woman, what sort of a question is that?! To think you've been lecturin' me on mindin' my manners... you best watch your tongue, or the nice young lady might ask you what's wrong with your face next." He shot a wink at Myrna, who stifled her laugh with the back of her gloved hand as Bóthildr huffed indignantly at her husband's sudden nerve. With a pull of the reigns they set off on the road once more, the well-fed horse trotting along merrily and setting a brisk but comfortable pace.
Vilkas watched as the Harbinger rummaged in her pack and drew out a small health potion, which she uncorked and sipped as the cart bumped and rattled on the uneven highway. With her hood down the sun bathed her face, the golden light diminishing the contrast of the bruises on her fair skin while the potion did its work, easing her aches and bringing a whisper of colour back to her pale cheeks. The tangles had been brushed out of her hair, which now fell over her shoulder in a single thick braid, exposing her slender neck to the sunlight's caresses. Vilkas was relieved to see the bruises left by the Orsimer giant's hands were long gone – the only thing around her neck now was the chain of her amulet of Talos, the pendant concealed somewhere beneath the leather of her cuirass.
When she caught his eye Myrna smiled, a shy little smile before she quickly looked away again. Vilkas assumed correctly that she was avoiding making lengthy eye contact with him, lest her attention lend false hope to his affection. Against his better judgement he had done what his heart had been begging him to do for so long - declaring his love for the Harbinger, letting his actions speak for him where his words had failed. That she had then turned him down came as no surprise, yet the pain of it had been nothing like the soul-crushing agony he had imagined. Though obviously disappointed, his heart finally felt free, relieved of the burden of keeping his feelings secret from the beautiful woman sitting before him. She did not hate him for it, which had been the outcome he had feared above all others. Her coolness towards him now would not put out the fire she had kindled within him. He was hers, in whatever capacity she wished, content to stand at her side as her shield-brother if he could not be her lover. What Vilkas longed for most was for her to be normal with him again, for her to laugh and smile and poke fun at him the way she had before. Perhaps in time that would happen, but for now Vilkas respectfully averted his eyes from her face and concentrated on the passing scenery instead.
Hours passed in relative boredom. The sun though pleasant was strangely dull compared to Skyrim's usual changeable weather, not even a cloud able to break the monotony of the vast blue skies above. Still Myrna enjoyed the warmth, able to catch an hour or two of sleep with her head resting upon the side of the cart. That she could sleep at all seemed like a miracle to Vilkas; the journey was anything but smooth, and neither was it quiet once Orrick and his wife resumed their incessant and petty arguing over anything they could think of. He reached into his pack and withdrew a book – a battered copy of Songs of the Return, hoping that by reading he could block them out and lose himself in the legends of Ysgramor. It worked for a short while, until the cart hit a bump in the road and shuddered, the impact causing a barrel to topple over with a loud crash. Orrick shouted an apology to which Vilkas scowled but said nothing, allowing Bóthildr to give her lengthy opinion on her husband's poor driving skills as her sentiments closely matched his own. He glanced over his book to check on Myrna, who was somehow still asleep, her amulet of Talos clutched tightly in her hand as she dreamed.
Something about that amulet suddenly piqued Vilkas' curiosity. Though Tiber Septim had been Dragonborn himself, he did not think Myrna's attachment to the item was entirely rooted in religious devotion. Many times he had seen her threading the chain between her fingers, deep in thought, a far-away look in her strange brown eyes. That amulet had been given to her by someone... someone dear to her heart, the memory of whom seemed to give her strength in her moments of weakness. Vilkas shifted as jealousy needled him, the imagined face of Myrna's mystery love appearing in his mind, the Stormcloak soldier's handsome features taunting him in a gloating smile. If not a soldier, then there must be another man somewhere. Myrna was a beautiful woman, and women had needs just as much as men did. Vilkas thought the man who held her heart was a fool indeed to have ever left her side, no matter what the circumstances might be. If he thought he there was even the slightest chance he could make her happy, Vilkas knew he would fight until his very last breath to do whatever it took.
The cart jerked to a sudden stop as Orrick pulled up the reigns, the brown mare stamping and tossing her head indignantly at being forced to halt when she had just begun enjoying stretching her legs. It took Vilkas a while to realise where they were, his attention so ensnared by his book and the adventures of the crew of the Krilot Lok that he had not noticed the mists surrounding them, indicating that they had arrived in Hjaalmarch some time ago. Swamp mist swallowed the best of the evening sunlight, giving the air a greyish tint, the strange songs of the bog creatures echoing weirdly all around them.
Myrna awoke finally, shaken from sleep by the juddering of the wheels. She yawned and stretched, blinking at their surroundings, for a few moments unsure if she was truly awake as the dreamlike mists swirled about them. The sight of Vilkas before her reminded her where she was, of their quest, and forgetting herself she smiled sleepily at him as he stowed his book in his pack.
"The town of Morthal, such as it is," Orrick announced, turning in his seat. It was difficult to see him through the fog, but Myrna guessed that beneath his bristly beard the man was smiling.
"Much obliged," she returned brightly, hopping down from the cart. The ground beneath her feet was wet and muddy; she might have slipped if she had not caught herself at the last second. Vilkas stepped down more carefully, apparently already aware of the change in the road surface. "My thanks to you as well, Bóthildr. I hope the rest of your journey to Solitude is a safe one."
The woman did not reply, though Myrna heard her mutter something about 'missing the market'. Orrick took up the horse's reigns, and after a few moments of uncertainty the cart's wheels turned in the mud and they were moving again. Orrick's cry of "Well met, Companions!" disappeared with them into the mist.
Myrna stared out into the fog, unable to see anything but the space ten feet around them where some strange plants nestled against the sides of the road. The rest was a thick grey mass, interspersed with dim lights that might have been torches but could as easily have been wisps. Trying to tell the difference was straining her tired eyes. Hesitantly she peered up at Vilkas, hoping that he had a better idea of where they were than she did.
"Er, where is Morthal?" she asked sheepishly.
"There," he replied, pointing at a collection of faint lights nearby as if it should have been obvious.
Myrna swallowed. "Aha. What's it like there?"
"Backwards," he said honestly, shouldering his pack. "Do you need any supplies while we're here?"
"Not particularly," she said, reaching backwards to check her quiver. "I have enough arrows, I think."
"Shall we go then?"
"Yes, let's get this over with." Her hand went to her amulet on instinct as she thought for a moment. "Ustengrav is north...east from here, which would be... that way."
"That way," Vilkas corrected, trying not to laugh at the confusion on her face.
"Really?" Myrna stared in the direction he was pointed, then towards the sun, a fuzzy glowing orb sinking lower in the sky through the mist above. "How long was I asleep?"
"Long enough," he answered. "You missed a lot of squabbling." His tight-lipped smile died as he looked down at her. "Are you sure you want to do this today, Myrna? Morthal has an inn, if you need to rest while."
"I can rest when I'm dead," she replied, far too flippantly for either of their liking. The gravity of her situation came flooding back to her, an unwelcome reminder that her death might come to her far sooner than she had once believed. "Sorry," she said quietly. "But I need to do this. Today. I can't waste any more time."
Vilkas set his jaw and nodded. "As you wish. Let's go."
Myrna started out in the direction Vilkas had pointed, taking two steps off the path before finding herself ankle deep in sticky, muddy water.
"On second thoughts, perhaps you should lead the way," she said sourly, watching a fat toad crawl nonchalantly over the toe of her sunken boot.