A/N: I wrote and rewrote this chapter so many times, for some reason it was a real struggle. As always love and appreciate all those that are taking the time to read, fave and review. I'm a few chapters ahead of updates with my writing, and I hope you'll be pleased to know I'm finally writing in some romance *gasp*. I'm sorry you're having to wait so long for it, I base this story on how I played the game so I always have that in mind when I'm writing, and sometimes it takes me a while to get everything to "fit". Have a lovely weekend and I hope you enjoy x
Riverwood was no more than a stone's throw from Whiterun, but there was no telling where they might be going from there. Their business in the Underforge concluded, Vilkas headed for his quarters to gather his things before meeting Myrna at the city gates, as they had agreed. He swapped his beaten and worn blanket for one that was drier and smelled a great deal better, drew a cloak from under his bed and folded it to place in his pack, and was in the midst of selecting a new book for the journey when it became apparent that someone was watching him.
Farkas had appeared in the doorway of his room, and proceeded in expressing his concerns that perhaps it was not the best idea for Vilkas to continue accompanying Myrna, given the conversation they had shared the night previously. He had offered to take Vilkas' place, reasoning that the strength of Ysgramor was almost as good as the smarts, and gently suggesting that time spent apart from her would help his brother come to terms with his unrequited feelings for the Harbinger and give him a chance to move on. Vilkas knew Farkas only had his best interests at heart, but he could not bring himself to agree with him. If he remained at Jorrvaskr while Myrna went away he would surely go mad with worry - it had to be him by her side; there was no way around it. Farkas had not sought to argue his point any further then, knowing from bitter experience the futility of argument when Vilkas' mind was made up. With nothing more to be said, he enveloped his twin in a forceful hug, with a demand that Vilkas send regular messages to let the Circle know he and Myrna were safe.
After collecting his newly-sharpened sword from Eorlund and a packet of rations from the market, Vilkas set off for the gates to find Myrna. The Harbinger had been ready and waiting for him, and couldn't resist chiding him good-naturedly for being late. Vilkas felt his spirits lift at the sight of her smile. He was a fool to be so in love with this woman, he could tell himself over and over yet it did no good. She felt comfortable enough in his presence again now that she was able to look at him for more than a second, for which he was thankful, yet every time those beautiful brown eyes made contact with his he felt as if he could die on the spot. There was something in the look she gave him sometimes, in that teasing half-smile that lit up her features... Was it madness to think she might care for him yet? Vilkas thought it probably was, but Sheogorath take him if he could stop himself from hoping.
Riverwood was much the same as it had ever been. Vilkas had not visited the village for some time, and even then mostly as a thoroughfare to the larger town of Helgen, yet despite dragons and the civil war it seemed very little had changed. Small thatched houses stood either side of muddy track that served as a road; it was not much to look at, but the village contained everything its little community needed to go about their quiet lives. The blacksmith was hard at work hammering at his forge, a young boy was trying desperately to shepherd errant chickens back onto his family's farm, and in the distance the whirring of a saw could be heard slicing logs at the mill across the river. It was not quite as provincial as Ivarstead, given its close proximity and trading route to the city of Whiterun, but the locals seemed happy enough keeping themselves to themselves. The arrival of two newcomers raised more than one eyebrow as they passed.
Myrna glanced around, breathing in the sweet, pine-scent that was carried on the breeze from the surrounding forests. It seemed as if she had last been here in another life; before war, love and the strangeness of her fate had so changed and jaded her. A time in which she had simply been glad that her head was still attached to her body, and that she had escaped the fires of Helgen without being burned or eaten alive by the monstrous black dragon. She had not appreciated the quaintness of the little village by the river; for at that time it had been nothing more to her than a stop on the way to the city, where she had planned to hide herself from the Imperial Army in plain sight. It was a truly lovely place, tucked away from the bustle of Whiterun and nestled in the foothills of the mountains. Perhaps I should have stayed here, she thought grimly, allowing Vilkas to steer her in the direction of the Sleeping Giant Inn.
They were about to walk up the steps to the door when a voice broke through the relative silence.
"Hail, Stormblade!"
Myrna froze. She knew that voice. She and Vilkas whirled around to find a blond Nord grinning back at them, wearing the blues of a Stormcloak Captain. Without waiting for a reply he strode forward, seizing Myrna in a tremendous embrace that lifted her feet clear off the ground. At once Vilkas drew his sword, ready to defend his Harbinger until he realised Myrna was laughing.
"Put me down, you great oaf," she chuckled,"or Vilkas here is like to cut your head off!"
"As you say ma'am," the blond man replied, setting her back on her feet with a grin. Myrna beamed back at him despite herself. Ralof of Riverwood had changed as little as his home town; perhaps there were a few new scars, a crease or two around his eyes, but that was it. Vilkas eyed the man suspiciously, still holding his sword aloft. He noted the sudden flush of pink in the Harbinger's cheeks, the way her hand lingered slightly on the man's chest as she pushed him away from her with a laugh. They seemed rather more familiar with each other to be merely comrades, especially when the laughing stranger brought Myrna's gloved hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, making her laugh all the more. Cords of jealousy twisted in Vilkas' stomach, turning his innards into a web of knots. He had never before felt such utter loathing for a man that he did not even know the name of. Was this soldier, this grinning blond fool, the man that Myrna loved? What could this man possibly have, that he himself did not? With eyes as dark as his mood, Vilkas reluctantly returned his blade to his shoulders and awaited proper introductions.
The Soldier's eyes fell upon the wolf emblem that adorned his distinctive armour; clearly taking the measure of him too.
"You're running with the Companions now?" he asked, shifting his gaze to Myrna suddenly.
"I am," Myrna replied, then, remembering herself, added "This is Vilkas. Vilkas, this is Ralof - a dear friend of mine. We served together in the Stormcloak army."
So much Vilkas had gathered already. The man - Ralof, offered his hand, but Vilkas folded his arms instead of shaking it. Myrna shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, her scowl a silent reprimand for his rudeness. Ralof simply shrugged, apparently unperturbed.
"By the Nine, disappeared after Solitude... I woke and you were gone, fled into the night like some thief on the lam. What happened?"
Myrna shifted, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. "I don't even know that myself, Ralof. I just had to get out of there. I was given a discharge, to leave then seemed as good a time as any." She hesitated, trying to hold back the burning question in her mind. "Are they looking for me?"
"Not officially," Ralof replied. "Galmar sent a message to the commanding officers, that should we hear word of your whereabouts to contact him at once." He regarded her shrewdly, watching her expression for clues to the unfinished story. "What did you do, Stormblade? What have you to fear from returning to ranks?"
"Nothing," Myrna replied at once. "I have done nothing wrong, I just... can't go back now. Not any more. Please, Ralof. We are friends, are we not? Please don't tell anyone you saw me here."
There was a pause as Ralof considered. There was more to the story, any fool could see that, and twice the soldier opened his mouth to ask something before thinking better of it.
"Very well. You have saved my life on more than one occasion while we served together; so I will keep my silence for you - this time. We miss you in the ranks, Myrna. Well, I miss you, anyway. Drills just aren't the same without you showing the boys how it's done."
"A lifetime ago, it seems," Myrna smiled. She stood on her toes to plant a kiss on her former comrade's cheek. "Thank you, Ralof. I appreciate what you're doing for me. I have business here I must attend to, but I hope we will meet again soon in less... mysterious circumstances. If you're ever visiting Whiterun, you must call at Jorrvaskr for a drink."
At this offer the man grinned again. Vilkas found himself disliking him even more; that sideways smile of his was very close to a smirk; cocky and too self-assured. He made a mental note to inform Tilma that the doors of Jorrvaskr were barred to strangers for the foreseeable future.
"Aye, I may do that," Ralof replied. "Well met then, Myrna of the Companions." He made a brief salute, which she returned, then continued on his way up the street towards the cottage that belonged to his sister, Gerdur.
Myrna watched him go, finally allowing her shoulders to relax once the man rounded the corner. It was fairly obvious now that this had not quite been the happy reunion the Harbinger had made it appear. Vilkas fought back the burning questions that came to his mind, things he had pondered upon ever since Myrna's return to Whiterun from serving in the army. Why had she left Solitude so soon after the battle? Why exactly was she so determined not to return to the ranks of the Stormcloaks? Of course she had her responsibilities as Harbinger to think of, but Vilkas did not for a moment believe they were the only reason Myrna was so loathe to rejoin her former brothers and sisters in arms. And another thing, a shameful question, one he had no right to ever ask her but he was desperate to know all the same... just what was the nature of her relationship with this man - this smirking fool who called himself Ralof? As he watched Myrna twisting her amulet of Talos between her fingers an image of the pair of them leapt into his head, of their bodies entwined together, naked and sweating...
Something of his thoughts must have shown upon his face, for Myrna turned to him again, her expression weary in her defiance. "If you needed to know, Vilkas, I would tell you. Just... Leave it, all right?"
With that she ascended the steps, yanked open the door of the inn and stepped inside without waiting for him to follow. The door banged shut behind her. Vilkas stared at it for a moment before moving. If Myrna and Ralof had ever been intimate, it had clearly ended badly, and he should have probably been ashamed that that thought cheered him remarkably as he made his way into the Sleeping Giant Inn.
The Inn had the same air of familiarity as all the inns in Skyrim seemed to; the large firepit and mead-stained stones added to the atmosphere of homeliness, a place where generations of Nords had come to drink away the cares of their day be they farmer, soldier or Thane. Vilkas eyed the animal skins and cow-horn sconces that adorned the walls and came to the conclusion that he had been here before, once upon a time. He might have even tumbled a bar wench or two within these walls; it was hard to remember anything of that ilk from when the wolf's spirit was within him.
If he had been with a woman here, it was certainly not the one behind the bar. She was tall and robust-looking, yet not a Nord. Her light blue eyes were pinched closely together above a pointed and slightly hawk-like nose, and her cheekbones were high and as refined as those of an elf. She might be second or third generation, but Vilkas knew a Breton when he saw one.
"Drink?" the woman asked as he took a barstool next to Myrna, who was already savouring the remnants of what had a few moments ago been a large cup of mulled wine. Vilkas blinked at her. It was more of a demand than a question, and he got the distinct impression the woman's patience was wearing thinner with every second he took to respond.
"Nordic Mead," he replied. "Warm, if you please."
The woman's eyes narrowed as if he had made some outlandish request, then she stomped off into the kitchen and, after a muffled argument with a man inside, came back with a bottle that let off a fine sliver of steam when she uncorked it with her knife.
"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn," she announced with an air of impatience. "I'm Delphine. That great ox in there is Orgnar. Give us a holler if you need anything."
And with that she collected a broom and began sweeping, a job that was apparently supposed to be Orgnar's if her muttering was anything to go by. Vilkas took a sip of his mead. It tasted rather old, perhaps even on the cusp of turning bad, but it would do. Myrna seemed to have fewer qualms about her wine, for she poured herself another cup from the bottle, flipping a gold Septim onto the bar by way of payment. The Harbinger seemed very tense, and perhaps with good reason... though the Sleeping Giant did not seem to be harbouring any gangs of would-be assassins within its walls. In fact he and Myrna appeared to be the only patrons, for all the doors to the guest rooms were wide open and empty aside from a selection of mismatched and time worn furniture.
Vilkas chanced another glance in Myrna's direction. Beneath a curtain of hair that had escaped from her bun, the Harbinger's face was set, her eyes staring into the bottom of her cup as if there was something more in there than the dregs of her wine. It was a look she had taken to adopting on many occasions since returning to Jorrvaskr, though Vilkas thought it had been happening less in recent days. Seeing Ralof again had stirred something in her, a train of thought that was best left unvisited. Vilkas wished he could say something to cheer her, to bring a smile to the lips that the wine had darkened. If nothing else, there was the matter at hand to distract her with.
"What is the plan, Harbinger?"
At the sound of his voice Myrna started, blinking herself out of her reverie. She had almost forgotten they were here for a purpose, and that she could not simply to drink herself into the arms of Shor as she wished she could at that moment. Ralof had said that Galmar Stone-Fist was looking for her... Galmar took his orders directly from Ulfric himself, which meant he must be looking for her. All at once she had felt giddy and sick, elated and dismayed... She hoped she had managed to save face in front of her Stormcloak comrade, but Vilkas of course knew her far better than that. But why was Ulfric looking for her? Did he wish for her to fight for him again? Or was it for some other purpose - the hope she had clung to like a lovelorn s'wit for months until her senses finally returned to her? Myrna pushed her hair back from her face and smiled at her Shield-brother, despite knowing he would not be at all fooled by the cheerful expression.
"The note said to ask for the attic room. I can't see that this place has one, but there might be one in an outbuilding or something. I will ask that woman - Delphine, when she comes back."
Vilkas nodded. "Very well."
They went back to their respective drinks, sipping quietly as they watched the Breton woman going about her business. She swept the floor, mopped the tables, stoked the coals of the fire - nothing remarkable, though Vilkas fancied she was sneaking furtive looks at them both when she thought he was not looking. Suspicion was not unheard of among small town barkeeps... it could simply be that the woman feared they would steal something if she was not watching them, though as time went on it seemed more as if she was making an assessment of them both, so Vilkas made sure to be on his guard. After the woman made another trip to the kitchen to nag her associate she finally abandoned the broom and headed for the bar, and Myrna was able to make her request.
"Excuse me, madam Delphine," she said sweetly. "We would like to rent a room."
In the middle of wiping the inside of a pewter flagon, the woman stopped and blinked at her. "Well you can," she said, after a moment of pause. "But it is only just past noon."
"Oh I know that," Myrna replied, a sideways smile curling at her lips. "It's just, we could use some rest... Perhaps in your attic room? We do not wish to disturb anyone, if you know what I mean?"
With that she placed her hand on Vilkas' knee,at the precise moment that the warrior had taken a full mouthful of the questionable mead. He hoped that he had managed to disguise his near choking as a minor fit of coughing, but the barkeep did not seem convinced. She narrowed her bright eyes, relenting only when Myrna's hand had travelled further up his thigh than anyone could deem proper. Vilkas knew it was only play-acting, but he could not convince his body of the insincerity of her touch. Once again he thanked the Divines for his kilt and the sins it could hide from the world.
"I see," said Delphine, drawing her eyes away from the scandalous display before her. "Well, we do not have an attic room, but if your husband and yourself can make do with the room on the left, I assure you it will be well suited to your purposes."
Husband. Yet again someone had made an assumption about their relationship, however this time it suited Myrna not to argue. "Much obliged. What do we owe you?"
"Ten Septims," said the barkeep, putting down her cloth. "This way."
They slid off their stools and followed her to the room she had mentioned. It was as she said, on the left, and furnished with little more than a double bed and a dilapidated wardrobe, neither of which seemed large enough to harbour Thalmor assassins, at least. Myrna took some gold from the purse at her belt, and upon receiving it the woman made a hasty exit, as if afraid they were likely to go about their business right before her if she lingered. Vilkas might have laughed, if Myrna had not seated herself heavily upon the straw mattress of the bed, slumping over her knees with a frustrated grunt that gave way to a sigh of despair.
Vilkas did not know where to begin. Her anger he could weather, confusion - he could offer advice, if there was some to give. To see her so downcast tugged at his heart, and he wished it was in his power to cheer her. Farkas could have managed it, were he here. Perhaps she should not have been so stubborn and allowed his brother to trade places with him, as he had asked. With no other option, Vilkas maintained his respectful distance and cleared his throat.
"Harbinger...?"
"I'm sorry," she announced, sinking her face into her gloved hands. "I should never have done that. I should never have touched you like that after you... It was beyond inappropriate." She paused, taking a deep shuddering breath. "I just thought we might be more believable, if we pretended to be a couple."
"I do not mind," Vilkas answered, his voice level. Myrna looked up at him, her expression one of disbelief, and he could not hold back the rumble of a chuckle that sounded deep within his throat. "Truly, I don't. In the line of duty, I can think of worse experiences. And it it helps at all, I thought you were very believable."
Myrna looked away sharply, feeling the blush in her cheeks. She could not smile, would not smile. Their business here was serious, and so should it remain.
"Well whatever that woman believes about us, it seems like it's all for nothing," she sighed. "There is no attic room. The horn isn't here. This has all been a waste of time - whoever wrote that note has played us both for fools... But what I can't understand is why?"
With that she rose to her feet, pacing from one end of the room to the other, tearing open the wardrobe and finding it empty save for a pair of moths that fluttered towards the feeble candlelight as they made their bid for freedom. Myrna hadn't known what exactly she had expected to find within, an answer, or even a clue. The sight of nothing was infuriating. The whole damn quest was infuriating. Myrna slammed the door back with a grunt, whereupon it bounced back on its rusty hinges and sprang open again. Myrna was about ready to tear the thing apart when Vilkas caught her arm, turning her to face him.
"Does it matter?" he asked, holding her gently but firmly. Not a hug, but the best he could do. "The Greybeards may have sent you to fetch that artefact, the horn... But what does it even mean, when you think of it? You are the Dragonborn, Myrna. The hero of Skyrim! Do you think Alduin cares about a warhorn, a stupid piece of ivory, when it is you that stands between him and the end of all things?" Myrna's lips parted, but if she had a mind to argue Vilkas would not grant her the opportunity. "I know when the day comes, you will fight, Myrna. You will fight and you will win."
His eyes told her he believed it. Myrna swallowed hard. If someone had told her six months ago that she would be she would be in this position, with Vilkas of all people providing words of comfort she would have laughed and told them they were mad. So much had changed between them in these last few weeks; whether for worse or for better she could not say. She owed her life to this man twice over so far... If it were not for him she would have failed in her duty long ago. He gave her strength simply by being there; her faithful Shield-brother, friend and confidante even though she knew he desired more than she could give.
She didn't dare look up to meet his eyes. Instead she focused on the shape of his jaw, handsome and strong beneath the dark stubble that already adorned his skin. Vilkas was so different from Ulfric Stormcloak, both in looks and in character. They were almost polar opposites, surely she couldn't be attracted to both of them... And yet...
Without meaning to, Myrna allowed her eyes wander to his lips; remembering their softness, and how gentle he had been when he had kissed her. Had she been too hasty in spurning his affections? Myrna shook herself mentally, wrenching her gaze away before she was tempted to do something stupid - something they would both likely regret in the end.
She should never have had that second cup of wine.
Vilkas realised he still had hold of her, and though he loosened his grip on her wrist he could not bring himself to let go. The way Myrna had been looking at him, those beautiful eyes gazing up at him from beneath their dark lashes, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth, biting down ever so slightly... She was so close he could smell the sweet fragrance of her perfumed soap upon her skin; and in that stolen moment he had perfectly forgotten the very reason they were there.
The turn of the door handle alerted them both, the grim reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a wave. Whatever confused feelings lay between them now, they were sitting ducks here in this room, well and truly backed against the poorly-mortared wall. Within a blink of an eye both Companions had drawn their blades, ready to strike at the intruder as soon as they crossed the threshold of the door; be they man, mer or something other.
Delphine the barkeep regarded them coolly, looking for all the world as if she had not noticed the weapons pointing in her direction. She stepped into the room with her blonde head held high, clutching something tight in her hands as she ducked under the blade of Vilkas' sword. In these close quarters Myrna could see the woman clearly, see that the lines upon her face were not just those of age but scars of battle. The flesh that showed beneath her simple blue dress was much the same, marked with long-healed slashes and welts that were silver against the pale whiteness of her skin.
Myrna allowed her arms to slacken, her blades falling to point aimlessly at the stone floor. Delphine was no more a country innkeeper than Myrna was herself.
She was a warrior.
