A/N: Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. Do you realise I've been writing this story on and off for 3 years (!)... rest assured I do have an ending in mind, but I have no idea when we're going to get there :D It means so much to me that people have stuck with me and are enjoying the story. I nearly had a heart attack today when my computer told me my story file had corrupted... at 117,000 words! Needless to say I've done a backup now. Phew!

Farkas turned to see Myrna making her way down the steps from the door, and his heart soared with relief to see Vilkas following behind her. Neither seemed too worse for wear, a little tired and rough around the edges perhaps, but no more than that. Farkas released Njada and beamed, throwing his arms wide as he welcome the pair back into the fold.

"Aha, the wanderers return at last!" he laughed. "I hope whatever business you had went well?"

"Well enough, thank you Farkas," Myrna smiled, removing her gloves and travelling cloak with her pack. "Are there places for us to join you for dinner? I'm starving."

"Of course, of course... Move down everyone, make room for your Harbinger," he made a shooing gesture and they shuffled down the bench, leaving a space that was just wide enough for the two to sit down, which they did after carefully laying down their weapons.

Food was passed around, a brief toast was made, and it was as if they had never even been away. Myrna tucked into the soup with enthusiasm; it was far from the best she'd ever tasted, but after two days on travelling rations it was delicious.

Vilkas soaked his bread in the soup, watching his Shield-siblings continue their meal as if the disturbance of five minutes ago had not even occurred. "Very well, I shall ask, since apparently no one else is going to. What on Nirn was going on before we arrived?" he asked, turning to his brother who merely shrugged in response. Casting his eyes further down the table, the looks Vilkas received ranged from blank, to guilty, and then to outright defiance when he came to look upon the face of Njada Stonearm.

"Something and nothing," Farkas replied, refilling his brother's mug with a generous helping of mead. "It was all in hand."

"It did not look like nothing. It looked like a brawl to me." Vilkas stared hard at Torvar, the only one among them who had at least the grace to look the slightest bit ashamed, though the redness of the man's cheeks indicated he was already well into his cups as per usual.

Myrna looked up with vague interest, glancing between Torvar and Njada. It was well known that the pair had been... fraternising in recent weeks, and Myrna was curious as to what had happened to turn their relationship sour. It was hardly a match made in heaven, for the simple fact that neither of them had what you might call a winning personality. She turned to Vilkas, who had now fixed his stare upon Farkas as he waited for an explanation. Myrna sighed inwardly. It was late. They were tired. Why could he not just let it go?

"If Farkas says it was nothing, it was nothing." She said smoothly, reaching for another bottle of ale. "So stop being such a misery guts and have a drink."

She raised the bottle, nudging him in the arm as she brought it to her lips. Surprised at the sudden contact Vilkas blinked at her for a moment, his own features breaking into a smile as he saw the teasing grin on her face. He raised his mug to her, and the whole congregation took this as a sign that it was time for another toast - not that they usually needed any persuasion in that regard.

"What's all this?" Tilma was forced to raise her voice over the chorus of cheers as she struggled back up the stairs into the mead hall, the pot of gravy tucked under her arm. "We'll be needing another order of mead from Honningbrew with the way you're going on. What-"

It was a good job Jovan had already risen to take the pot from her, or the housekeeper would certainly have dropped it. Upon seeing Myrna and Vilkas she scuttled towards them as fast as her arthritis would allow, throwing her arms about them in turn.

"Why didn't you send a message to let me know you were coming back?" Her tone was meant to be chiding, but her beaming smile betrayed her delight in having the warriors home. "I would have cooked something special for you!"

"This is fine, Tilma," Myrna assured, gesturing to her empty soup bowl and the chicken bones on the side of her plate. "Any hot meal goes down a treat after being on the road for days."

"Aye, whatever were you thinking of... creeping off into the night like that? Some of us do worry, you know. What were you up to?" Tilma reached across the table for another piece of chicken and placed it on Myrna's plate, regardless of whether the Harbinger wanted it or not. Sensing the matter was not up for discussion, Myrna picked up her cutlery and began slicing meat from the bones.

"Oh, this and that, exploring... Hunting bandits..." Myrna replied, ignoring Vilkas' pointed cough as she said the last. It was at least partially true - they had killed more bandits than anything else in their travels. She would leave out the necromancers and draugr for the time being. "What about you, Tilma? Have you been keeping well?"

"Me? Well I keep taking my potions," the old woman chuckled. Farkas and Vilkas exchanged a silent look of concern. "I've been very well, dear. And things have been well here too, aside from the business with Melras."

"Melras?" Myrna replied, peering around the table to search for the Bosmer, who was conspicuous by his absence. Myrna's heart sank at once. "Where is he? What happened?"

Sensing the panic in her voice, Farkas spoke up. "Nothing like that, Harbinger - he lives. Seems the boy wasn't cut out for being a Companion, so he left us. It happens."

Relieved, Myrna allowed herself to release the breath she had been holding. If Melras had been killed following her orders she would never have forgiven herself. Still she felt a pang that the young elf had left them so soon - he might not have been the best recruit among them, but she thought he had shown promise.

"Don't feel too sorry for him," Torvar slurred, sloshing mead down the front of his armour. Ava had been passing him drinks whenever Njada was not looking, so the blond Nord had consumed plenty and more since the Harbinger had returned and created a distraction. "Thanks to that little wretch I nearly bit the dust."

Vilkas raised a sceptical eyebrow. In his opinion Torvar looked no worse off than he did normally.

"Really? How?"

Around the table eyes collectively rolled as Torvar began to launch into the tale they had heard nigh on a hundred times over. Thankfully Farkas saved them from hearing it again, cutting in before the man could answer.

"I'll explain it to you later," he said firmly, and with a look not unlike a pout at being so interrupted, Torvar returned silently to his drinking.

When the bowl came round Tilma ladled a large portion of gravy onto both Myrna and Vilkas' chicken, smiling warmly as they tucked in again. "It is good to have you back. I'm baking sweetrolls for afters, so make sure you leave room!"

Worried looks shot around the table as the housekeeper made for the kitchens; the horror of the salted sweetroll experience still fresh in their minds. It was Ria that went after her with an offer of help she would play off as innocent, and for which the rest of the Companions were entirely grateful.

Vilkas lay upon his bed, the open book upon his face shielding his eyes from the lamplight. Back in familiar surroundings its was surprising how easy it was to slip back into old habits; going to bed with the intention of reading only to stare at the words while his mind wandered away with itself. Somewhere down the hall came a hoot of raucous laughter which was quickly shushed, although the person doing the shushing somehow managed to be even louder than their noisy comrade in doing so. Vilkas listened in the darkness as several doors were banged, furniture walked into and loud oaths made, followed by peals of laughter that most likely came from an intoxicated Ria. The whelps were making their way to their beds far later than was usual. As was also becoming habit of late, the Companions' humble dinner had turned into something of a feast to mark the return of their Harbinger, and as Tilma had predicted an order would need to be placed with Honningbrew Meadery to restock Jorrvaskr's cellars. Vilkas would attend to that himself in the morning, for he was sure no one else would have the wits for the task when they rose for the day.

Even he had quaffed more cups of mead than he had intended, mainly at Farkas' insistence. Vilkas' cup was barely half-empty before his brother refilled it again, gently pressing him for details about the real reason he and Myrna had been away for so long. Vilkas assured him that all would be revealed tomorrow, when the Circle could convene out of earshot of the whelps. He couldn't help but chuckle when Farkas admitted his doubts that they were simply hunting bandits. It was a flimsy explanation at best, but one the whelps had seemed happy enough with to not question.

As the night wore on, Vilkas had been surprised at how well the Harbinger was keeping up with the drinking and merrymaking going on around her. Though they had slept a little in the ruins, with no wagons available to give them a ride their journey home from Morthal had been on foot and therefore exhausting. It had been quiet too. Vilkas had kept his eyes on the horizon as they walked, the soft thuds of her leather boots on the road the only indication that Myrna was still there beside him. For hours neither of them spoke, and when Vilkas turned to look at her he saw the Harbinger's face was set, deep in thought. Whenever she noticed he was watching her she would immediately paste on a watery smile, but Vilkas was not fooled. Myrna was worrying... about the writer of the note, about Alduin, about everything, and though he shared her misgivings Vilkas would not voice them aloud. If the Harbinger wished for his counsel, she knew she could ask him for it, and if she did not wish to talk he would not force her to. He wished she would say something, however. It was simply not like her to be silent for so long.

Being among her Shield-siblings seemed to be a tonic to Myrna. When the sweetrolls had been eaten (and surprisingly, enjoyed) she had taken to her duties as Harbinger again immediately, looking over the pile of messages Tilma had brought for her at the table and scratching out replies with a quill while she drank her ale with the rest. Once Torvar had finally imbibed so much mead that he had to be carried from the hall, Myrna risked enquiring about the circumstances behind Melras' departure. As Farkas told the tale Myrna listened with keen interest, pausing him only to ask questions of Eva and Jovan, the only newbloods that now remained. Eva flushed bright red when the Harbinger praised her bravery, and when she complimented his impressive kill-count Jovan merely grinned, running a hand through his mane of floppy red curls in feigned nonchalance. Vilkas narrowed his eyes at the lad. In their absence he had been attempting to grow out his beard, presumably in an attempt to look more of a man than the boy he undoubtedly was, and had thus far only achieved a somewhat patchy fuzz surrounding his upper lip and part of his chin. As soon as the opportunity arose Jovan had moved to sit beside Myrna under the pretence of helping her with her correspondence, sitting far closer to her than was necessary to affix wax seals to the missives. It was at this point in the evening that Vilkas drained his last cup and said his goodnights. He did not want to witness the boy's feeble attempts at bootlicking, nor listen to his insipid remarks for one minute longer.

At last all was quiet in the lower halls, and Vilkas thought it was about time he tried to sleep. Myrna had decided they would head to Riverwood the next morning, as soon as they had spoken to Farkas and Aela, whenever the Huntress returned. It had come as something of a surprise to Vilkas that he had not noticed the full moon's approach this month. When he had been a wolf he had always felt the call of the Hunt in his veins far before his brethren had; it was an ache that began deep in his bones, his lust for blood tugging at his heart with increasing urgency, willing him to Change - to run and chase and fight and kill for his pack. Fighting through a tomb full of traps and bonewalkers had proved something of a distraction from the phases of the moons, and Vilkas assumed the jealousy he felt towards Aela and her Change was due to habit and nothing more. Whatever the cause, he had bigger things to worry about at present.

He was about to put out the lamp when there was a knock at the door. He thought at first to ignore it; to pretend he was already asleep and make whomever it was on the other side wait until the morning if they wished to speak with him. Then they knocked again and, reasoning that it might in fact be Myrna, Vilkas decided he should answer even if he did not rise from his mattress to do so.

"Yes?"

"It's me," said Farkas through the door. "Can I come in?"

Vilkas sighed and set down his book, feeling slightly disappointed. "It's open," he replied. When he saw the bottle of brandy Farkas had with him, Vilkas raised an accusing eyebrow. "If you think you can butter me up with that you've got another thing coming. I'm not telling you anything before tomorrow."

Farkas did his best impression of appearing wounded, though his grin never left his face. "Always so suspicious, Vilkas. I just came to see if you fancied a nightcap, but if you're going to be like that perhaps I'll go to bed..."

His teasing grin mirrored Vilkas' own, and Vilkas stood up to be enveloped in his twin's embrace. They clapped each other on the back heartily, the sound of their deep laughter filling the little room as Farkas closed the door behind him. Vilkas searched for some cups, but never one to stand on ceremony, Farkas took a deep swig of brandy straight from the bottle and passed it to his twin as he sat upon the bed. Vilkas sniffed the bottle and took a tentative sip, resisting the urge to spit as the burning liquid touched his tongue.

"Hell's teeth, where did you get this swill from, Farkas? It tastes like skeever piss!"

Farkas shrugged and accepted the bottle again. "It's from Cyrodiil, I think. It's no Nordic whiskey, but it has a nice kick if you can get past the taste."

Vilkas thought it prudent not to mention he had consumed an entire bottle of Nordic whiskey to himself at the Vilemyr, as Farkas would no doubt want to know why he had not brought some back for him. His brother was right, however. Now the acrid taste had faded from his tongue the warmth of the spirit has begun to fill his insides, the strong alcohol pleasantly soothing to his tired mind and its troubling thoughts.

They swapped the bottle back and forth between them, much as they had when they had been lads pilfering bottles from Jorrvaskr's cellars. Tilma had always turned a blind eye to their petty thievery, and they always paid for it in the yard the next day. If he suspected they were hungover, Kodlak would work the twins twice as hard, turning a deaf ear to their pleas for mercy as he made them run laps around the city walls in full armour. Being teenagers, and therefore knowing better than anyone else, it took a long time for the lesson to sink in.

Farkas was only capable so much reminiscing and small talk. By the time half the bottle was gone and with the subject of his adventures with Myrna off the table until the next day, the larger of the twins found himself struggling to keep the conversation going. Before long he had fallen silent, his tongue working inside his cheek with the question he was not sure if he should ask. Vilkas knew that look, and had already assumed Farkas had not paid a visit to his quarters for the sole purpose of fraternal bonding.

"Out with it Farkas."

Farkas knew he should tread carefully. He was not good with words, and he hoped he could pose the question that had been puzzling him for weeks with enough tact to not cause offence. It did not help that Vilkas was looking him straight in the eye. "That day you left," he began, taking a deep breath, "when you went after Myrna... Why were you so angry, when she promised she would return?"

Vilkas' eyes fell to the bottle in his hands guiltily. Was there even an explanation he could give or his behaviour that did not sound truly pathetic?

"I don't know," he replied honestly, taking another sip. "I suppose I was worried she had upped and left us again, as she did when she went to war. She was working so hard, becoming a good Harbinger - better than I ever thought she could be. I thought she was turning her back on us, on Kodlak... I know now I was mistaken."

"And you've been hunting bandits, this whole time?" Though he was trying, Farkas could not keep the incredulous tone from his voice, and a wry smile crossed Vilkas' face upon hearing it.

"It is not my tale to tell, brother, or I would let you have the truth now. Myrna will tell you herself tomorrow, as soon as Aela is herself again. Just know that her reasons for going away were good ones. She is more than just our Harbinger... she is more than any of us could have ever believed possible. Kodlak was right. Myrna is..."

He trailed off, looking down at the bottle once more. The treacherous spirit had loosened his tongue; he had revealed far too much, spoken far too freely, and he could practically hear the cogs turning inside Farkas' head as he processed the information. When his brother spoke next, however, Vilkas was not at all prepared for what he said.

"You love her, don't you?"

Vilkas sat bolt upright as though stung by a shock spell, almost spilling the brandy onto the floor. Farkas took it from him, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth at the sight of his brother's reaction.

"Love? Wha- what do you mean?" Vilkas blustered indignantly, but the smile on Farkas' face grew ever wider.

"Myrna," he replied simply. "You love her."

Vilkas' stared at his twin, his mouth hanging open as he mentally scrabbled for the words to deny the claim. Just because he was speaking highly of Myrna when before he had found little cause to, was it automatically to be assumed that he was in love with the woman? For every second he was silent he condemned himself further, and one look at Farkas' face told him he knew the truth. He could not lie to his brother, and could hardly deny his feelings towards Myrna now when he was certain that they were written all over his face. Vilkas leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands dejectedly. "How long have you known?"

Farkas shrugged. "A while. You forget I know you better than anyone. I've seen the way you look at her. No woman has ever gotten underneath your skin the way the Harbinger has... you don't yell at someone like that unless you care about them."

So Farkas had guessed his feelings before Vilkas had even understood them himself. And no wonder - he and his brother had forged their bonds in the womb, and neither could hide anything from the other for long. Suddenly a horrible thought crossed Vilkas' mind. "Does anyone else know?"

"No, just me," Farkas assured. "I'm no gossip. Your secrets are my secrets, though if you keep glaring daggers at Jovan like that they might not be before long. The boy hasn't a hope in Oblivion there - you know it, I know it... I think even he knows it, to tell the truth. The Gods do love a trier, though."

"Aye," was all Vilkas could manage. He couldn't help but feel irritated by Jovan's constant clumsy flirtations with the Harbinger, even though he knew Myrna would stop the boy in his tracks if he put so much as a toe over the line. After all, what Vilkas had done himself was far worse. He reached for the bottle again, forcing down a large gulp of the disgusting liquid in the hopes it would silence the nagging voices at the back of his mind; the ones that seemed bent on reminding him of his mistakes.

Taking stock of the slump of Vilkas' shoulders, Farkas removed the bottle before he could drain it completely, moving up the mattress so he was sitting comfortingly close to his miserable twin. Vilkas stiffened against the arm he placed around his shoulders, then finally relaxed. Hiding his emotions had been exhausting, more so than the entirety of his journey with the Harbinger thus far.

"Does she know how you feel?"

And there it was - the crux of it. Vilkas took a deep breath. He was not used to this - being so open about the longings of his heart, but then he had never felt this way before about anyone. "Aye, she does. Something happened on the moun- er, well, I did something stupid. I kissed her."

"Ha!" exclaimed Farkas triumphantly, slapping him on the back. "And then?"

"Nothing," Vilkas replied. "It was a mistake, I overstepped my bounds completely, misread everything... I'm no good at this, I don't know what I'm doing." His head fell back into his hands, his knuckles pressing into his closed eyelids. "It hardly matters. I think she has someone else."

Farkas considered this, scratching his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Since she's been back from the army I haven't seen anyone, and you'd think Myrna would have mentioned..."

"You'd be surprised of the things Myrna doesn't think to mention to us," Vilkas replied bitterly. Farkas met this announcement with a frown of confusion. "You'll find out what I mean tomorrow."