Chapter 36: Keep It Together

"Don't call me that," I mumbled as I pushed past Vilkas.

He replied with a humourless sound that passed for a laugh under the circumstances. "Don't be like that. Kodlak had his reasons and this is no-"

"That's not why I'm here," I rounded on him. I could never be Harbinger to the Companions. Everybody knew I was leaving soon, probably forever. Kodlak naming me Harbinger only threw that reality into sharp relief.

Why did you enrapture their wolves? Are their lives a game to you? You'll never stay with us and it will destroy them. Is that what you want?

Aela's accusation provoked me anew as I watched my shield-brother closely, daring him to call me Harbinger again. I felt stretched thin and helplessly wild.

Of course he could sense how on edge I was. He sighed, closed the door and leant against it, regarding me with solemn eyes. "This is not all as bad as you think," he assured quietly.

Not as bad? He was still a werewolf! How could he accept this - any of this? And why had he not been named Harbinger, as he deserved?

I had expected anger from Vilkas - or something other than this damnable tolerance. My fleeting frustration dissolved; in it's place rose the inexplicable urge to burst into tears. My poor, tormented brothers. What happened to you? Why are you still cursed?

"Yes. It's okay. I mean," I shuddered, making for a chair on the left wall. My words felt thick in my throat; sounded sadder and shakier than I hoped. "It will be okay. We'll...keep searching," I posed, closing my fingers around the top of the chair. "Find some other way to cure you and Farkas," I added quietly; watching as my knuckles turned white as my grip tightened.

Keep it together. They're alive.

"The cure works," Vilkas rumbled. His footsteps drew nearer.

I closed my eyes. There will be a reason, I schooled my irrational, flighty panic, but the sliver of hope I had held onto; the twins had not remained werewolves by choice; was dashed. Keep it together.

"What happened?" I managed.

Wood scraped against stone; Vilkas shifted a chair. "Take a seat," he urged.

I nodded. Yes, I would sit, and Vilkas would explain.

"Please," he added.

I opened my eyes, realising that I had acknowledged but hadn't moved. My eyes focussed on my shield-brother. Vilkas was seated in the other chair, his hands resting in fists on his knees, his face turned up and his eyes on me, waiting expectantly; hopefully.

In a swift, too-nervous action, I sat, folding my hands together; an illusion of calm. A torturous silence settled and lengthened between us, and I wondered what Vilkas was waiting for.

After what felt like hours of silence, I realised he must have expected me to begin.

"Aela told me that you freed Kodlak-" I could bare the tension no longer.

Vilkas groaned and leant forward to press both palms to his forehead. "No wonder you are so frightened of me," he muttered as he sat up and ran agitated hands through his hair. "Aela broke the news," he grated through his teeth.

I sat back; crossed my brows. Well, that explained his silence; he was trying not to scare me further. "I'm not frightened of you, Vilkas," I murmured quietly. "I never will be," I reminded. "I'm frightened for you."

He sat back and shook his head, confused. "I thought you were scared and ashamed of my weakness, but you're not, are you? You're..." he huffed an incredulous laugh; his wariness was swept away by it. "You are worried about me?"

"Of course I am," I hissed, ruffled by his sudden ease. "You went to Ysgramor's tomb to cure yourselves, and have returned to Whiterun with the beast blood still coursing through your veins," I flashed him a hard glance. "And you think it's funny?"

"I am not laughing, I swear to you," Vilkas held his hands out; a placating motion.

An amusement to his tone sent a burst of white-hot rage surging through me.

Vilkas of course smelled my fury; his eyes widened and he reached out to take both of my hands in his. "Calm yourself, sister," he lilted soothingly.

"I am calm," I hushed; a low tone that didn't fool either of us. "But I wish you would hurry up and explain yourself, brother," I murmured pointedly.

"I will," the last trace of amusement left him, to be replaced by the serious, officious mask that I knew so well.

"Have you learned from Kodlak's journal what he believed you are to us?" he began with a question.

I blinked. So it's true. They are still werewolves because of me. I shook my head, unable to trust my voice; either I would burst into tears, or I would snap at him.

"Ah, well," he let go of my hands to sit back and address the ceiling fondly. "Leaving that to me as well, are you, Master?"

"Vilkas," I bit out quickly before he lost focus. I had been reading a little further into Kodlak's journal each night, but I had come across only idle mentions of myself within; recollections of performances and their soothing effect, and my progress in my early days with the Companions, amongst Kodlak's more involved research into the cure.

But, Aela had hinted at what had happened, hadn't she?

"Your wolves won't leave, because of something I've done, is that it?" I asked carefully.

Vilkas half-shrugged. I was surprised that he seemed unaffected that I knew this much. "I wouldn't say it's something you've done, not...consciously..."

I waited, watchful, and after a moment he buried his face in his palms once more.

"Why is this so hard?" he groaned into his hands. "This is going to sound terrible."

"I can bear it, as can you," I replied as steadily as I could manage. "Just - tell me. I need to know how to help you, and if I'm hindering your plight-" I implored.

"No," he cut in. "Don't say that. You saved us," with a deep sigh, he sat up; smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "You hinder nothing. I'll tell you," he fixed me with an apologetic expression, before muttering with a rush of defeated air; "All right. Kodlak said he should have realised when he first saw you in his dream..."

I maintained Vilkas' gaze but wracked my brain for the relevant passage from our Harbinger's journal. Vilkas waited; I assumed he required a response; confirmation that I recalled the relevant portion. "In his vision, I stayed your hands and kept you from attacking his wolf, then I held my hand out to him. Why should that stop you from curing yourselves?"

Vilkas frowned, tilting his head. "By...controlling the will of a werewolf...?" he continued uncertainly, glancing over me with wide eyes. He murmured; "You truly know nothing of it? How...is that possible? Don't you feel it-?"

I straightened in my seat, acutely uncomfortable by his intensity; by what he seemed to expect me to intrinsically understand. Obtusely, I realised that I wanted to feel what he spoke of if it would help me save them. "I know that my music quiets your beasts. We have spoken of this, Vilkas," I added crossly. "Can you just tell me what I need to know, without all this," I searched for a word, settling finally on, "anticipation?"

"All right," Vilkas raised his eyebrows, looking away swiftly. "I am no bard, but I will tell you as simply as I know how. Lycanthropes serve Hircine, in life and in death, yes?" he flicked me a glance.

I nodded. The speed at which he had shifted from one sentence to another told me he was now on the roll he needed to be on to get this out; I just had to listen.

"During his research, Kodlak found a book - an account by a werewolf who could control his beast through the disciplined suppression of his urges and by ensuring that his hunger was assuaged before the time of change," Vilkas' focus drifted to the flagstones, but he seemed to look at nothing. "The control brought him inner peace that, once realised, he strived to teach to other werewolves that he liberated," he shrugged helplessly and huffed, dragging his eyes upward, to meet mine. "He grew to love what he had once seen as a curse; calling it a gift, and appreciating it for what it had given him; better sight, hearing and smell, through which he could drink in the full bounty of nature's wonders."

Again, I nodded for him to go on. It was certainly interesting, but it did not tell me what I wanted to know.

Vilkas returned my nod and proceeded. "In renouncing the hunt and training his beast to not want it, he had denied the purpose for which Hircine had first created werewolves. In a way, this severed the wolf, spiritually, from Hircine's dominance, during the man's lifetime. During death of course," Vilkas drawled, ironic suddenly, "he was as doomed as the rest of us are."

I bit my bottom lip; he wasn't doomed. He could be cured. He clearly still wanted to be cured. Why didn't he cure himself?

Listen, I commanded.

Vilkas sat back, breathing a long exhale as he regarded me speculatively. "When Kodlak, Farkas and I swore to suppress the beast, it was...not easy," he admitted warily. "There was no glory of nature or inner peace to be found. I can't speak much for Kodlak or my brother and their war with their beasts. Kodlak kept much to himself while he was there for me, and Farkas...is not the type to put his struggle into words," Vilkas raised his eyebrows. "We each found our own way to cope," he frowned again.

Another pause; another faraway stare. Vilkas closed his eyes; suppressed a shudder.

"What did you experience?" I asked quietly to move him forward.

After a breath; "It is...difficult to explain," he raked a hand through his inky hair; a frustrated motion. "Days and nights have always...blurred, since I took the blood, but when I denied my wolf the days...slowed down," he searched; shook his head, irritated. "I felt every second of every minute, of every hour, acutely. Time would mock me, refusing to pass, trapping me in my own head as I begged the next second to come, and then the next, and the next. Tension, anxiety, a propensity to lose my temper far easier than before," he raised his eyebrows at this, "and, my head buzzed, ceaselessly. The beast was furious, snarling and butting up against my forehead wherever I turned, demanding that I acknowledge it instead of seeing what was truly before me."

It sounded horrible. I reached forward, touching his knee gently; my offering of wordless comfort. Vilkas' eyes shifted; from staring at nothing, to where my hand lay.

"But you are stronger than it. You learned to control it," I reminded him softly.

"No," Vilkas looked away. "There was no relief, until...you arrived," his eyes flickered up, wary and uncertain.

I smiled sadly and squeezed his knee. "All right. I arrived, and my songs calmed your beast. I'm glad, Vilkas. Really," I added hastily, when he half-laughed and glanced down. I ducked, trying to make eye contact. "I am pleased that music helped ease your suffering, and helped you all see a way forward through the chaos."

"But it's not your music," he looked up under his lashes. "It's you," he growled. "Something about you," he added quickly, resting a large hand over mine; tentative as though afraid that both his touch and admission would make me flee. "Kodlak believed it was because you are dragonborn," he murmured, turning my hand slowly in his, inspecting it. He frowned at my palm as his other hand drifted to rest beside it, and his eyes flickered between the two, searching for something in our hands.

I had read of what he spoke, in a way, I realised. Kodlak had written of some...subconscious hold that I had over the twins. Had I been meant to take more from that throwaway line than I had?

"Kodlak reasoned," Vilkas paused. He traced a line on my palm softly as he continued. "He reasoned that we had struggled with our vow because, like the werewolf we had read of, we had suppressed the hunt. We had denied our wolves access to Hircine, but we had not filled the void with the serenity of solitude, as the one we hoped to emulate had. Our wolves were far from sated; they were lost and hungry, and that made them furious. It was like we had caged them, and were teasing them. They wanted to run with their master and feed, and wanted Hircine to guide them. With no access to its master, the werewolf we had read about had found nature; almost worshipped it. Denied Hircine, desperate for purpose, our wolves gravitated toward a different solace, when she appeared. And who better, than a dove with the soul of a dragon to tame the beasts?" he asked reverently.

I closed my eyes, unwittingly shuddering as Vilkas continued to inspect my hand. I had understood that they had found my presence soothing from Kodlak's admissions, but I truly had known nothing of this. He was comparing the role of Dragonborn to the likes of the Daedric Princes.

"After Kodlak realised what had happened to us, or our wolves, he said it was why Aela and Skjor reacted the way that they did to you," Vilkas went on. "Because they had not given up the hunt. Your presence was an offence to their wolves' master; a challenge to Hircine," he continued more gruffly. "But instead of luring you away and killing you, they saw a strength in you that had tamed us, and tried to turn you into one of them. If you were serving Hircine, Skjor and Aela thought that we would follow you back to the pack."

It was easier to think and speak with my eyes closed so I kept them shut as I found my voice. "Vilkas, even if what you say is true, it doesn't explain why you didn't cure yourselves. You would have been freed of both Hircine's, and..." I swallowed, not wanting to say my; "...the dragon's influences, in both life and death."

"If it helps," I felt Vilkas shifting, and then he let go of my hand. "I didn't truly understand Kodlak's theory either, until we travelled to Ysgramor's tomb."

My eyes flashed open. If it helped? "Tell me what happened at the tomb."

"Well. It was during the journey, I suppose," he raised his eyebrows, sitting back more comfortably and crossing his arms. "As we travelled north, the wolf began to protest," he shrugged. "I had expected as much, but...the anger, the fury, and the urge to shift grew stronger the further we journeyed from Whiterun. The further I took it away from you," he met my eyes fleetingly, then dropped his gaze hastily.

I should have gone with them, I thought instantly. "Did this happen when you went to Falkreath alone?" I asked.

"No," Vilkas swallowed, nodding to the floor. "Perhaps because the wolf knew that I was returning, and it was contented to this end. But to travel to Ysgramor's tomb was to take it away from you for eternity. It was to deny it its solace all over again."

I sighed and shook my head in desperation. "What does it want of me?"

"Let me finish," Vilkas smirked, his eyes sparkling. "The wolf...it's clever," his lip curled in distaste. "As we travelled north it forced questions upon me; reminded me of what had happened in the underforge, at Driftshade, and at the Nightgate Inn. It forced me to consider what would have become of you, had it not been part of me. This made me ask whether it has control over me any longer, or if I have gained enough through your presence to use the wolf as I need its...gifts."

Oh, Vilkas. My breath shuddered. "It got desperate because it knew you were about to remove it," I hazarded. "It made you think these things, Vilkas, to manipulate you."

"No," Vilkas corrected, giving me a hopeful half-smile. "I know my beast. It doesn't play games, and the truth is far simpler. It has sworn fealty to you, or the dragon that the Divines put in you, if that makes it easier for you to accept. It wanted to keep you safe. It – we – still do."

An uneasy itch made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Surely the loyalty we had toward one another was not purely borne of this connection the werewolf had created? And if it was, what would become of us, this bond we had, when they were cured? Would we even know or like one another? It was something I had never thought about but the thought of losing Vilkas and Farkas turned me pale with dread.

That's not fair, I told myself sternly. You cannot suddenly want your shield-brothers to remain werewolves so that your friendship will remain what it is.

"Why did you listen to it?" was all I could voice.

"I didn't, at first," Vilkas shrugged again. "So it got more demanding, then desperate, begging that I return. It clawed at my mind as it had before you arrived, and when its pleas were ignored, its howls bounced around my skull. I let it rage at me," he drawled. "But...when we reached the tomb," he sat back wearily, "I looked upon the great statue of Ysgramor in the entrance to the resting place of the Companions of old. I placed Wuuthrad in Ysgramor's arms, and heard the antechamber beyond unseal," he adopted that faraway expression, reliving the experience. "And I could go no further."

I held my breath; my eyes were wide. When he didn't continue, I let the breath out in a rush and asked, "Why not?!"

Vilkas shook himself free of the memory; blinked at me uncertainly. "The beast forced me to remember all we experienced together in its efforts to bring me back to you. I did not fear for you or wish to return cursed, but my mind was now consumed with fresh remorse over what we had done in Driftshade, and grief for Kodlak, Ria, and Skjor. I could not face my ancestors, or my mentor, so weighed down."

"But that's what it wanted!" I insisted forlornly. "You let it beat you!"

"I didn't – and, it hasn't," Vilkas replied certainly with a tilt of amusement. "It wanted nothing more than to return to Whiterun and protect you."

I glanced to the ceiling in exasperation, not so certain as he. A lucid creature, when confronted with death, or something as good as death, would do and say whatever it needed to, to remain alive.

Vilkas has known his wolf for a lot longer than you, a snide voice in my head berated.

"So, Aela and Farkas entered the tomb," he resumed. "And I remained sat by Ysgramor's feet with my thoughts, and my desperate wolf, for company. And then, without realising I was doing it, I started singing," he chuckled.

I blinked; for a beat I wondered if the journey had driven him mad. "What's so funny?"

He met my eyes, unable to contain his mirth. "It was the diamond sword song that you sang when we were by Lake Yorgrim on our way to Driftshade. Do you remember?"

"Vilkas!" a nervous laugh burst out of me; I hadn't expected that. "Of all the songs!"

"I know," he cut me off, shaking his head in baffled exasperation. "I stopped singing, wondering if it had been the wolf's doing in a fresh effort to remind me of you, or if I had sung it of my own choosing. And, that was when I knew," he said, with more conviction, "that I could not be cured that day."

"I don't understand," I frowned.

Vilkas regarded me with that apologetic look again, but this time it cut me to my core. I had to look away as tears welled in my eyes and I stared at the odd, glowing, egg-shaped baubles on Vilkas' dresser so I wouldn't have to look into those sorrowful eyes that knew me better than I seemed to know myself.

He replied quietly. "I realised that I could no longer tell where the wolf ended, and I began," he said in a murmur. "For the first time in my life, my desires aligned with the wolf's; the desire to keep you safe. And, I was scared," he admitted, with a huff of incredulity. "Scared that if I dragged the wolf from my soul, right then, it would take a part of me with it. A part that I would regret losing."

I had to look back to him. My tears retreated but I couldn't keep my frown from him. He was worried about the same thing I had wondered moments ago; who would Vilkas be, once his wolf had gone?

"And Farkas?" I asked. My voice cracked unwittingly, for I could not bare to ask the other question hanging between us.

"He came back not long after I realised...what I realised," Vilkas trailed off, pausing thoughtfully. "He sat beside me and said nothing, but I could sense his conflict, his sorrow. After we sat in silence a while, he said that he missed you. That he wished you had come with us after all. I knew then that he and his wolf felt the same as I and mine, and that Kodlak was right."

I waited for more, but Vilkas merely turned his eyes up to the ceiling, as though by doing so he could observe our beloved Harbinger in Sovngarde.

"Aela freed Kodlak on her own," Vilkas' disappointment was plain. "Of all the people to conquer his wolf for him, and stand before him at his last..." he trailed off.

My heart thudded and my eyes widened. Before I could form a coherent reply, Vilkas glanced back down to me. "Aela told us what happened after Kodlak's wolf was defeated. There was a moment, before he ascended, where he stood before Aela and thanked her. Then he named you Harbinger, and disappeared."

A cold nothingness formed within me. I stared as I tried to accept it; Aela had gone against everything she believed in and fought Kodlak's wolf for him. She had been the only person to hear Kodlak name me Harbinger. She could have ignored his words; Divines, she could have emerged and named herself Harbinger, and nobody would have fought her for it.

"You understand why he did it now, don't you?" Vilkas asked.

It felt as though he was speaking to me from a great distance, or perhaps that his words were drifting to me through water. My mind would not let go of Aela. Aela, who openly despised me and blamed me for this...bond that had been unknowingly created between myself and their wolves. Yet, she had still relayed Kodlak's wishes. I had misjudged everybody to some extent since I had entered Jorrvaskr, but I had misjudged Aela worst of all.

I must have shaken my head, because Vilkas spoke up again.

"He did it to protect us," he said gently; his accent a quiet rumble.

I swam back into focus and stared at him, shocked. "You said he named me Harbinger after he had been freed of his beast," I reminded blankly. "He knew that the cure worked. He ascended to Sovngarde believing that both you and Farkas would be cured next. His wolf was gone, so it hadn't made him protect me," I grew louder and the words came fast. I was still so terribly confused. "In what possible way does naming me his successor protect us?"

The questions began to surge out of me. "How does naming me Harbinger protect anybody? I can't stay with you – the Companions, I mean – we don't want to say it, but we all know it!" I stood, my eyes brimming with tears, clouding my vision.

Vilkas held his palms toward me. "Calm down," he urged; his eyes wary. "Kodlak loved us. He loved you. His decision makes sense, just think."

His look, and the fear I caught behind his silvery eyes frayed and threatened to unravel the tenuous knot that had been twisting inside of me since that night at the Blue Palace. I realised with terrible clarity that soon, so soon, I would be alone again. But it was worse than before; my sister was now very probably my enemy, the man I loved had disappeared and was now very probably dead, and I was destined to leave this family I had stumbled into, who did stupid things for stupid reasons that I didn't understand, but who were driven by loyalty and protection, and love. I loved them, and I didn't want to leave them, like this or at all, dragons be damned. Thick, suffocating grief coalesced over me and I wavered, crashing to my knees as Vilkas pitched forward to catch me under my arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm – I don't want to make this about me, I swear," I paled, terrified by the force of my realisation. I stared up to Vilkas; stared at the scar on his cheek that he had gained the first time he had saved me. It was thin and barely noticeable; paler than the rest of the skin around it, like a delicate strand of spider's silk brushing his cheek.

I briefly touched it, acknowledging my impact, the chaos I had wrought upon their lives. My knees and feet left the ground; I was being lifted, and Vilkas was saying something. I commanded that I listen.

"...in shock. We didn't allow ourselves time to grieve his loss and you have suppressed it for too long," he muttered. "And, Harbinger, this time, it is about you," he added, a little louder.

I was falling. No – lowered. Vilkas supported my back and knees. I was laid on something warm and soft in places and scratchy in others.

"I'm not your Harbinger," I murmured, wondering where I was; blinking as I looked up to the criss-crossed wooden beams of the ceiling. Jorrvaskr. Oh. Good.

"Enough of that," Vilkas detangled his arms from under me then pushed my chest, urging me to lie down. "You are safe, so our wolves are at peace. We can discuss what must be done another time. Let me get you some water."

My head landed on softness, and the smell of Vilkas surrounded me.

"No," I scrambled to sit up, pushing aside – what was this, bedding? Why was I in bed? "I'm –" I searched, realising Vilkas had simply brought me around the screen to his bed. My cheeks pinked – I wasn't that feeble, was I? – and with more effort, I sat up. "I am well. Please," I met his eyes. "This is no time to be immobilised by grief. Vilkas," I pleaded, reaching forward to catch his hand. He let me take it; his brows knotted in concern.

My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I understood that there would be no going to Windhelm; not directly at least. I had to take the twins to Ysgramor's tomb. "I will take you and Farkas back, if your wolves need me to be the one to do it. We can leave at once," I aimed for steadiness.

Vilkas' frown deepened. "But, what of Windhelm – of your sister, and Hadvar? It is my fault that I am still a beast, and I vowed that once returned-"

"You vowed that once you were cured, you would take me," I cut him off earnestly, squeezing his hand for emphasis and resting my forehead on our clasped hands. I closed my eyes and once again found it easier to voice my thoughts while I wasn't looking at my shield-brother, into those soulful, silvery eyes. "I have made vows too, brother," I whispered. "And I will not put my needs and wants before yours any more. No matter the cost."

I could feel the blood pulsing through his veins where my fingers were pressed to his wrist, but my shield-brother remained otherwise immobile. I clenched my eyes to suppress my tears, acknowledging that I might be condemning Hadvar to torture, or death. I swallowed the lump in my throat rising to choke me as i made myself think about curing the twins instead, because it was the only certainty I had. "If music bound me to your wolves, perhaps that will be the key to freeing you from them," I managed.

"It...wasn't your music," Vilkas reminded in a gravelly voice. He cleared his throat. "You can't...sing the wolf away."

"I'm not afraid," I glanced up, blinking back my tears with more success this time. I offered him a hopeful smile, though I felt closer to remorse than relief. "I know your wolf, Vilkas, and it – he, has always protected me. He won't hurt me. And if Farkas' wolf feels the same as yours, it won't hurt me either."

Vilkas offered no protest, though it was clear he was not happy with my decision. Perhaps he said nothing because he knew if he wanted to be cured, there was simply no choice.

"Who will watch over the Companions while we are away?" he asked quietly.

The solution was simple. "Aela, of course."

"Aela?"

"Why not?" I challenged. "She will be the only remaining member of the Circle. The management of Jorrvaskr is as much her responsibility as it is ours."

Vilkas closed his mouth; considered, then nodded grimly.

"All right," I stood, pleased to note I was steady on my feet. "Give me an hour. I will arrange matters with Aela and return to Breezehome. My armour's there," I explained.

"The Legion armour?" Vilkas shook his head. "You don't need to wear that any more. You're one of us. Eorlund was under instructions to make you wolf armour, while we were away. Why hasn't he given it to you yet?"

"He – what?" I blinked. Eorlund Grey-Mane generally avoided speaking to me, and I assumed that he shared Vignar's almost instinctive wariness of anyone who sided with the Legion, or Jarl Balgruuf for that matter. Had he been making me armour without my knowing of it?

"It doesn't matter," I shook my head as Vilkas frowned. "Thank you for arranging that. I'll visit Eorlund after I clear the way with Aela, but I will still need to go to Breezehome – oh!" I remembered very suddenly that I was under orders not to leave Whiterun. "Vilkas – what about the Jarl-?"

"I will speak to him."

I bit my bottom lip, cursing Jarl Balgruuf's protective streak. "It will be better if I speak to him."

"I'll come with you, then," Vilkas offered at once. "Farkas too. We'll face him together."

Nodding, worried about what reason I could possibly offer the Jarl without telling him the finer details of our journey, I made to exit Vilkas' room. It was time to act. "Okay. I'll talk to Aela, you talk to Farkas. Meet me at the Skyforge, and we'll go to Dragonsreach before we leave. Lydia will be there, and I want to say good bye to her before we go. If I'm granted permission to go," I muttered the last.

Vilkas opened the door for me, and the darkness that had plagued us when I had first entered his room seemed to have entirely lifted.

I told myself that it was deciding upon a course of action that had relieved him, and not merely the presence of the dragon within me. Knowing how I effected the twins made me uneasy, though I wasn't entirely certain why. Perhaps it was because I still didn't understand what being dragonborn meant for myself.

And despite his appearance of calm, I had to remember that the curse was still upon my shield-brothers, and that dragonborn influence or no, it was my job to lift the weight of it from them entirely, for good.

–

"I'm taking the twins back to Ysgramor's tomb."

Thunk. The fletching on Aela's arrow trembled from impact, embedded in the dead-centre of the target.

My shield-sister gave me a sideways glare; the side of her mouth twitched, but she said nothing and drew another arrow.

I smiled hopefully, though she had already turned her eyes back to her quarry. "While we're gone, would you manage the accounts?"

Aela hmphed and lowered her bow. "You would trust me with Vilkas' precious book?"

"And the money box, yes," I fumbled at my neck to draw the keys up from their chain. "Here," I unthreaded and held it out.

She glanced from it, to me, and back to the key again; her eyes bore a trace of wariness. "Why aren't you afraid of me, Celeste?"

"Should I be afraid of you?" I posed.

"Yes," her yellowy-green gaze whipped up; weighed me. "We tried to kill you."

"I have made peace with that," I reaffirmed my offering. "I understand why you did it."

"You what?" she snapped.

"Will you take the key or not?" I fired.

After a pause, she idly extended her hand. "How could you possibly understand-"

I sighed and dropped it into her open palm. "Vilkas explained everything. I wish Kodlak had done so, then I might have..." I stopped, glancing to the warrior as a sudden surge of guilt tore through me. Then I might have saved Skjor. "But the past...is in the past," I concluded quietly.

"Yes," Aela murmured, staring at the key in her hand. "And we have every day, every hour, every second, to answer for our actions," she added pensively.

It was a strangely candid, wistful comment from a woman who I'd only ever heard speak in snarls and snaps. I nodded and pushed on, for there was still much to do.

"I will fix...this," I promised carefully. "What I did to them, I mean," I added, when Aela glanced up.

She nodded, though her mind seemed elsewhere. "Yeah. You do that."

"Okay," I pipped brightly and stepped past Aela. "So long, shield-sister. We'll be back in a week, I guess."

"And what of Windhelm?" she asked. "Your sister, and the soldier?"

I stilled. Why had Vilkas told Aela about them?

"They will have to wait," I murmured, unable to mask my regret. I couldn't meet her eye; didn't bother turn back to her, and instead made myself take step after step away, toward the Skyforge.

It didn't matter if Aela knew of Giselle and Hadvar. She had every right to know about my affairs, seeing as I knew her all of hers.

She didn't reply, and I told myself to be heartened by our talk. She hadn't accused or yelled at me; we had actually managed to have a civil conversation. I breathed a sigh of relief as I ascended the ramp to the Skyforge.

–

Eorlund Grey-Mane had made me a suit of wolf armour, but the quiet, grizzled old smith rumbled that he'd been waiting for Vilkas to return before giving it to me. When I asked why he hadn't mentioned it, he seemed confused. Further questioning unearthed that Eorlund believed it was supposed to be a surprise.

While I waited for Farkas and Vilkas to join me, I inspected my armour. It was made of expertly-shaped darkened steel, padded with warm, black furs. At the neck of the breastplate was a small, finely-carved depiction of a wolf's head; my fingers glanced over its cold nose briefly in delight; I huffed a little laugh. The kilt was short, making it easier to move in (Eorlund assured me) and constructed of the same stiff, sturdy black fur as the padding, overlaid with panels of steel and etched with curling patterns. Grinning as I ran my hand over complimentary swirls on the shoulder plates, a warm satisfaction took hold and I thought that yes, this was the strong, functional armour I had been searching for.

I put it on straight over my training garb. It was heavy, but surprisingly flexible, even after securing each buckle down the side of the breastplate. Eorlund handed me a weapons belt, padded with the same dark fur, holding two new daggers forged of Skyforge steel.

"It fits...really well," I commended, extending my arms and glancing down, wishing I had a mirror to see the whole ensemble properly. I had always expected steel armour to feel cold and uncomfortable, but the padding in this both warmed and cushioned me.

Eorlund passed over a pair of steel-plated fur bracers, then stood back, crossing his arms and regarding me speculatively. "You wear it well enough," he assessed tersely, then nodded beyond me. "Boots are over there, lass."

I had become quite attached to my Legion boots as they were well and truly worn in, but I didn't want to offend the smith. While I pulled on the matching boots, I caught sight of the twins ascending the ramp, both with packs on their backs.

The witches heads, I realised with a sickening lurch. To distract my nausea, I took in their preparations. They weren't as heavily armed as they had been the previous journey, and Wuuthrad was strapped to Farkas' back this time. Vilkas carried my lute over one shoulder, and my bow over the other.

They know what to expect now.

I grinned as a sense of adventure swept over me. Hooking my Legion boots over my arm, I jogged to meet them at the top of the ramp.

"What do you think?" I spun.

Farkas' face blanked in surprise and his eyes flickered over me. Vilkas caught his arm urgently.

"Don't say what you're about to say," he urged in an unimpressed tone.

"I wasn't-" Farkas drawled swiftly, flashing his brother an innocent look.

"You were," Vilkas shot him a warning.

Fondness for the pair swelled within me, and I stepped onto my toes to wrap my arms around them, drawing them both down for an awkward hug.

"Thank you," I laughed as they spluttered and protested. I was so grateful that I had come to Jorrvaskr, despite the cost, for there had been so much gained.

Farkas ended up laughing as he asked, "For what?"

Leaping back, I continued to grin. "For everything."

Vilkas' cheeks pinked; he tried to cover by flashing his brother an unimpressed look. "Here," he passed me my coat and scarf, then un-shouldered my lute and bow. "I'm not your pack horse."

"I would never presume such, Harbinger," I traded him for my Legion boots which he stowed in his pack; he with a grimace and huff, and I with another laugh.

We took our leave from Eorlund, advising the smith that we would be gone for a few days on business. It was a vastly different departure from their last; no summoning the Companions to listen to a pretty speech or air of solemnity.

And I was relieved, if I was honest. There was a chance that when the Companions next assembled, the news that Kodlak had named me Harbinger would be revealed. It was an announcement that I wished to avoid at all costs, despite Kodlak's motive and whether it made sense or not to the Circle. Distanced from Jorrvaskr, I reasoned that I would be able to talk to Vilkas further about it, and once he was cured, perhaps I could convince him to accept the role, as it always should have been.

I wound my scarf around my neck and threw my coat over my shoulders. Between the new armour and my woollens, I would be toasty warm on our hike north. As I shouldered both my lute and bow, my heart glowed in my chest. I was actually excited; I was on the brink of leaving Whiterun on an adventure to cure two of my favourite people in the world.

Since when had I yearned for adventure? A handful of months ago, the notion would have been absurd; I had preferred to remain in Solitude with music as my escape.

But the prospect of this journey, this escape, thrilled me in a different way. My confidence soared with each step we took closer to the Jarl, and by the time we entered the great doors of Dragonsreach I was convinced that there would be no reason the Jarl could give to keep me here that we couldn't counter.

"Celeste?" Lydia's tones drifted toward me from the side entrance.

The three of us turned and faced Lydia as a wall of plated armour. She glanced at both brothers in turn, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You two are back! Does that mean," she flashed me a quick glance. "Are you planning on leaving for Windhelm now? Because the Jarl-"

"No – not yet," I waved my hand toward her. "There is some Companion business to attend to in the north, before Windhelm," I left it at that.

Lydia frowned; suspicion flared in her mossy eyes. She stepped forward, reached for my hands, and said carefully, "Now might not be the best time to interrupt the Jarl. He's been in the war room all morning."

"Then it is the perfect time to approach him," I squeezed Lydia's hands reassuringly. "For whatever he is discussing up there will lend him perspective," I lifted my eyebrows hopefully.

"I agree," Vilkas interjected. He glanced along the immense hall to where the Jarl's throne was empty, beyond the roaring hearth. "Time is our enemy, and soon Celeste will have to leave to fulfil her duty to the Greybeards. He cannot keep her shut up in Whiterun until that time," he murmured.

Lydia's eyes widened, then she glanced back to me. "Is everything all right?" she asked quietly.

I smiled, nodding. "It will be."

Lydia glanced away, exhaling to the floor as she released my hands. "All right. Can I come with you on this...business?" she asked in a tone that made plain she already knew what the answer would be.

I motioned for her to walk with us, but shook my head. "Companion business. It's a...delicate affair," we resumed our path. Lydia fell into step beside me, and the brothers followed behind us.

"I can be delicate," she defended. "And the Jarl will demand to know more than that," Lydia mumbled.

"There are promises that must be kept," I evaded. It would put the twins and Aela at risk of being run out of town if I told anyone, even Lydia.

"He will understand why she must go, when he learns that Kodlak named Celeste his successor," Vilkas spoke up.

I cringed; Lydia whipped around to face him. "He what?"

"No – not that, not now," I shot him an imploring look. "I'm not your Harbinger."

Vilkas lowered his eyes and smiled knowingly.

"But - Aela said you'd been named-" Farkas began uncertainly.

"That doesn't matter," I raised my eyebrows to him. "Your brother is rightful Harbinger, and everybody knows it."

"That's not how it works," Farkas crossed his brows. "The old Harbinger picks the new one."

"If Kodlak-" Lydia tried to get a word in.

"Good," I pipped, cutting her off. "Then as your Harbinger, I name Vilkas my successor, effective immediately."

"Celeste," Vilkas drawled warningly.

Farkas looked to his brother dubiously. "Can she do that?"

"I just did," I fired quickly, forcing a smile and lowering my head to Vilkas. "Lead us, and I will follow," I vowed.

There was a pause disturbed only by the crackle of the flames in the hearth.

Vilkas' sigh broke the silence, and he murmured, "We'll discuss it later."

"As you wish, Harbinger."

"Celeste-"

"Ah! Lady Dragonborn!" another voice interrupted.

As one, we turned toward the newcomer. The court mage, Farengar, approached from his office with open arms and the faintest hint of an amused, but welcoming smile. As ever, his eyes were shrouded by the shadow of his hood.

Why was he so happy to see me. "Do you need something?"

He smirked openly as he drew to a halt before me. "As it happens, yes. I have been making steady progress on my translation of the dragonstone, and I was hoping to run a few words of it by you to determine whether or not I am on the right track-"

"-but my Jarl, perhaps it is time to accept the General's request," another voice from the direction of the staircase leading to the war room came, capturing my attention. Proventus Avenicci's agitated, earnest tones resounded as he clattered into view before the rest of his party. "Any response we make will result in offence-"

"It's all happening in Dragonsreach this morning," Lydia muttered in an exasperated, sing-song voice.

"If Ulfric wishes to challenge my brother's rule then we should meet him, in the old way, before any other," Hrongar cut the Jarl's steward off pointedly.

"And finally, they emerge," Farengar intoned quietly, moving toward the throne; his need of me seemingly forgotten.

More pairs of booted feet descended the stairs; the Jarl, Irileth, Hrongar, and a few guards in their wake. My eyes were on the Jarl; my purpose temporarily swept aside by the gravity of what I was hearing.

Was the Jarl about to choose a side in the war?! What had prompted this change so suddenly? The Jarl made directly for his throne and wordlessly took his seat. His party assembled around him, but the guards parted, drifting toward the exit; they must have been dismissed.

"Jarl Balgruuf, Proventus is right," Irileth's voice rose over the multiple footfalls. "Ulfric will see even this tradition as a mark against his right to rule."

Only one guard remained before the Jarl, but I noticed then that it wasn't a Whiterun guard, but a Legion officer. So that was why they had been discussing the war. The General must have sent another entreaty to Whiterun.

"With respect, Lady Irileth," the Legion officer spoke, "Ulfric Stormcloak has no more right to rule Skyrim than you or I. I am for our Jarl's proposal; if Stormcloak refuses the old ways, he dishonours Skyrim, and we will have both our answer, and a clear conscience."

My heart skipped a beat and the blood drained from my face. I recognised the lilting accent, the quiet confidence beneath it. I grabbed the nearest arm to me with some urgency as my eyes widened in shock. But how?

"What is it?" Lydia whispered urgently; it had been her arm that I'd grabbed.

"Quaestor Reidarsson," Irileth sighed sharply, "I would advise against using my words against me."

"Sometimes it is better to be clear, Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf droned. "Ulfric will not misinterpret me," he added with gruff certainty.

"I believe you are correct," Proventus said, his tone defeated.

I barely heard him over the erratic thump of my heart beating in my ears.

"That's him, isn't it?"

I startled, glancing to my left to meet Vilkas' all-too-knowing eyes. The steady certainty to his expression made me shiver.

"Who?" Lydia hissed from my other side, detangling my hand. The Jarl spoke again, but couldn't make sense of his words; my mind had fogged.

Quaestor Reidarsson, Irileth had called him. He was here; he was alive.

"It's Hadvar," Vilkas supplied with a nod toward the throne, or rather the man standing before it.

"That's Hadvar?" Lydia whispered incredulously.

How had he survived the attack on the Pale camp? Why hadn't he written to let me know he lived?

"I am at your service, my Jarl," the officer with Hadvar's voice spoke. "The General bade I await your response. Given the timing of the report we intercepted, he urges you to act with the swiftest discretion."

The sound of his voice brought me back to the now. I focused on Hadvar; the sound of his voice, the back of his head. Under his helmet I made out a hint of that brownish, reddish hair, turned burnt orange by the hearth fire behind him. I could see the tip of his nose, but no more of his face, from where we had stilled. His Legion armour looked different; there was more steel and less leather than there had been when I had first met him.

Is it him?

My feet moved; I hastened to the landing; my coat and plait swished behind me in my wake. I circled the throne to get a proper look at his face; to be sure that I was not losing my mind.

Halting beside Irileth, I stared, vaguely aware that Lydia, Farkas and Vilkas had all rushed after me, to settle behind me. I felt the eyes of Proventus and Irileth on me at once.

Jarl Balgruuf realised that I was with them then, too. "Ah, Thane Passero. This is a pleasant surprise – I had not expected you until dinner time."

And then he turned his attention from the Jarl to me. My frantic heart flipped as our eyes met, and I caught surprise in the stormy-grey that had saved me what felt like an eon ago.

It was Hadvar.

A/n: phew, that was a bit on an intense chapter to write. I'm really interested to see what you think; was it too much? Not enough? Too obvious what was going on?
Thanks again to those who have recently joined the story and reviewed - particularly since I've had to slow down on my updates. Shoutout to originalmagicalartist - I am so gratified that you are enjoying Celeste's journey and your lovely review made me blush furiously considering I get so much joy out of penning her tale. And regarding the questions a few of you have on Giselle's status (on all regards); I can't say much at this point without giving anything away, but things are really not as they seem so, um - please, trust me!
Oh, and the book Vilkas refers to in his explanation to Celeste is titled Our Curse and Our Glory by Querbolus Primus, if you're interested.