Being a Companion mean a few things. Such as being dependable, strong, and perfectly fine with a bit of unexpected bloodshed every now and again. However it meant more to be the Harbinger ...or his replacement. Skjor, with his one weary eye, had taken on the task after Elriah had gone galavanting off to find their lost village-idiot.

Usually Farkas would deal with taking over, as he'd repeat whatever Elriah told him to, but he was gone too. Which from the sound of it was a damned good thing. Farkas would be able to talk sense into his idiot brother, and hopefully take care of the situation. But as the luck of the Companions would have it, their cofferes of sensibility had all but ran dry.

With Aela back, Skjor had more than enough time to hear about the half-blood terror they'd found. None of it was good, he'd decided. He'd drawn his own conclusions. But dealing with that would have to wait - because now he was left as the glorified baby-sitter. Not of the companions however, more than usual, but the townsfolk.

"What if a dragon comes back..?" The farmer asked again. His mud caked face falling with worry. "Without the dragonborn-"

"-We will be fine." Skjor groused. "The companions have taken down their fare share of dragons. We can do it again." What he didn't add was the fact they'd only helped kill a single dragon. Which in itself was a fair share as far as he was concerned. "If one of those scaly beasts show up, we'll be ready."

The farmer didn't look too convinced, but gave in with a shallow nod. Dirt flecked off as he moved. "As long as your sure..."

"And I am." Skjor nodded. Without another word he promptly close the door - but with the heavy weight of the wood, it sounded more like a slam. He waited there until the sounds of the farmer's steps faded against the cobblestone.

However as he turned to look at his fellow companions, another fist pounded against their door.

The resulting glare was enough to send most of the gathered Companions scattering, refusing to watch as their game turned violent. The Companions had taken bets on just how long it would be until their Skjor would punch a townsfolk - but as the calm rageful look took over the man's face, they'd been quick to abandon their previous amusement.

Aela was the only one who stayed. The shield-sister shook her head, already knowing what was about to happen. If she had a coin for every time she swore upon their founders name, she'd be rich. So much so shed even be able to buy enough common sense to drop on the idiots she called family. Because no matter how much she adored the Companions...there was just no putting up with the lot. Especially now that Elriah was out looking for their equally idiotic brother.

And as it stood, Skjor wasn't much better off.

The old warrior had volunteered to take care of any legal or official issues that passed through their doors. With the Harbinger away, it was a matter of when until a nosy farmer, guardsman, or townsfolk asked on the Jarls behalf of Elriah's whereabouts, not if. Even with the lack of dragons, Whiterun couldn't seem to function without the dragonborn in its walls.

"But what if another dragon comes by!"

Skjor's hand was all but breaking the door handle as he stared down at the worried barkeep. "Then sell your drinks and pray to whoever that it doesn't catch you on fire first!"

"But-"

"Now if that will be all-"

"What if-"

Aela couldn't help but wonder what the poor bastard would have said it it hadn't been for the door slamming in his face. She hummed tiredly, elbow braced against the table as she held up her head. "Well, that went poorly."

Skjor shot a glare her way. "He's still alive isn't he?"

"Exactly." Elriah would have had their heads for such jokes, but with the two of them alone it was of no consequence. "I'm starting to think you're growing soft, old man."

"No, I just don't want my ass roasted over skyforge for kicking a guard down the stairs."

"Mm," Aela nodded in agreement. She made no attempt to hide her amusement as she sipped at her mead. "Some guards might thank you for the honor."

Skjor huffed, pulling a chair for himself. "Then tell that to our harbinger." His eyes fell downwards as he took note of the fresh scent of blood. Tilma had tended to Aela's wounds just an hour prior, which was why Aela was the only one still in the main hall. The new bandages held firm, clamped tightly around Aela's leg, making it hard to bend. The stairs were possible, her stubbornness provided, but more surprising fact of the injury however was how the old bandages had been unceremoniously dumped into the main fire.

Skjor crinkled his nose. "Did she have to do that?"

"She refuses to allow wolf blood in 'her' hall." Aela shook her head.

"Hers?" Skjor grinned. "Elriah better hurry back home before she claims herself the new Harbinger."

Skjor meant it too. Tilma had been their main caretaker well before Elriah had come along. She knew full well of the werewolves that lurked there, but saw them no differently than her own children. The only time she did was when it came to their blood. But never that of a human Companion. Wolf's blood was always destroyed.

"Hers," Aela confirmed. Soon both companions found themselves smiling. For the first time since her return, there was no talk of the burnt werewolf nor their missing shield-brother brothers.

And to be honest, Skjor was happy for the change.

"I take it you still plan to run the training exercise?" Skjor grumbled. He'd fetched himself a tankard of mead, as well as a refill for Aelas. He didn't expect thanks as he poured it into her cup, nor did he get any. Just a nod. He sat down, grunting from old injuries.

"Run? Oh no," she shook her head. "I'm going to take after you and bark orders from the sidelines until the bastards get it right." She grinned as Skjor gave a small growl.

"Finally giving in to your scrapes?" Skjoy motioned to her bandages.

"To an extent." Pride took over her expression as her smile turned devious. "I want to see who forgets i'm worth my sword."

There it was. Skjor's head went back as he laughed, fist coming down hard on the worn and very well dented table. "Ah, I see! Let them think you've gotten rusty-"

"Then proceed to wipe the ground with them," Aela confirmed. Her smile fell. "...Make an example out of them."

Ah. Skjor gave a sound of agreement as he sipped. He'd known it'd only be a matter of time until she brought the burnt werewolf again. Though he'd hoped for longer. "Still thinking on what to do then." There was no bother asking for what was so obvious.

"If Vilkas brings him here…"

"Then he'll finally act like a wolf," Skjor reminded. "If he shifted for this bastard then maybe he'll pull his head out of his ass and start treating the gift as a gift."

Nodding, Aela relaxed. Her chair had been padded with an old boar skin - under the direct order of Telma. "That's the only good I see in that outcome."

Silence fell.

Skjor had seen enough to know that Vilkas was a selfish ass. He'd once begged for the beast blood - only to now treat it as a curse. The one eyed warrior refused to say it outloud, but he had no doubt the bastard would be dragging this 'Husk' along with him.

And Skjor liked that just fine.

Did he want the Silverhand's pet in their home? No. But he knew he could at least use him for what it was worth. To try to make their brother see reason. That, and if their enemies were using fellow werewolves to fight, then this burnt one would be the first step in finding out how to deal with them.

Aela watched, hand still cradling her cheek. She wore no armor, instead taking advantage of the tunic and comfortably baggy trousers she'd been gifted by Elriah himself. Years back, he'd added to each member's wardrobe, saying they needed to look the part of a warrior guild, and not just a bunch of drinkers. Even if the townsfolk never saw them out of armor, their old mead and bloodstained tunics were happily left forgotten. And better yet, he knew better than to gift Aela a skirt.

"Care to share?" She finally spoke. Skjor blinked, frowning as he realized he'd been staring at his mead. She continued. "We both know I'm happy for suggestions."

"And I'll be happy when you heal up," Skjor grumbled back. "If this 'Husk' shows up at our door, I don't want you, or any of the companions," he added, "Injured. Too much risk."

Aela made no comment, and nodded. She rolled her eyes as she noticed Tilma looking through the window as she passed by, making sure she was taking it easy. "Maybe we should let Tilma handle him."

Again Skjor found himself laughing, followed by an amused chuckle from Astrid herself. He shook his head. "I can honestly say that could be our best approach. She's terrifying with that ladle of hers." Every companion had been hit by it at least once, usually after straying into her kitchen uninvited. "Maybe she'll handle it herself. Make some stew that sends him off to the hunting grounds." He shuddered, remembering her 'healing' stew she'd forced him to eat many many times before.

The supposed joke was met with a raised brow from Aela. "Could that work?"

Skjor paused. "...It could," he admitted slowly. "Once we're done with him, we could slip something in. Deathbell perhaps." The herb made some small changes to the taste, but left no scent of poison on the corpses when digested. They'd learned that after an assassination attempt that had almost claimed Athis's life some years before. "No one would know the difference."

When it came to Aela, there was a rare smile that always made Skjor worried. Usually he'd see it before Aela would run headfirst into battle, with little chance of them winning. But now he saw it as Aela nodded. It was just as fearsome. Though not for the reason.

"You realize Elraih might accept him into the fold," Skjor warned. His tone was quiet, even though no one was near enough to overhear. "You'd be taking the life of a fellow Companion."

Aela shook her head. Her warpainted eyes hardened dangerously. "No," she started slowly. "We won't let it get that far."

We. Skjor nodded wordless, but in full agreement. No companion had murdered another since the founding times. Anyone who did would be executed themselves.

"I refuse to let some silverhand wardog pretend to be something he's not." She vowed, quiet as rage shook her voice. "No, we'll take care of him before that can happen. Before he becomes something he's not"

"A monster?" Skjor finally spoke. "Sounds like he's already well past that."

"No," Aela shook her hair. Her eyes rose to meet Skjor. "Anything but dead."

Skjor said nothing as he drank, watching as she looked away. Husk would be dealt with, he knew that much. Still, Skjor couldn't help but feel that things would get much worse before they could fix the mistake that was the wardog.

He prayed to Talos that he was wrong.

Husk was certain anything he'd eaten in the past month was about to pay him a visit. A shame really. The lump in his throat felt like it was moving - writhing about like a swallowed fish that got stuck halfway. His stomach was none the better. Even looking around made it worse, but keeping his eyes closed made his head swim. There was no winning this fight, but the rare streak of stubbornness lead him on.

Standing just off to his side was the man he fully blamed. That much was clear as Husk shot Vilkas a tired, and rather vengeful, glare. "...Perhaps drinking isn't your strong suit," Vilkas tried to jest. "I'm certain Elriah can make you something that will help-"

"If it has to be swallowed - I refuse." Husk gagged out the words, sitting on the edge of the bed. Laying down only made his stomach try to escape further, white as the day he'd been found. The edge was clearly the closest thing to relieve they were going to find. "Urgh ...how do you manage?"

"Years of practice."

"If drinking is a part of being a Companion," Husk swallowed, forcing a small grin "I may have to pass."

A rare smile crinkled the edge of the warrior's eyes. "I'm sure we can make an exception."

Husk didn't answer, however there was no time for silence as someone poked their head around the old door.

"Runt's still alive?" The voice belonged to none other than Farkas. There was no shortage of wonder in his voice, though his face didn't share the same as it contorted in a wince. "...That bad huh?"

"I can't imagine it being worse," Husk growled quietly.

Farkas invited himself into the quarters, frowning. It was no Jorrvaskr. The inn was still better than any camp they could pitch, however. And with the dragonborn at their side, the prices were all but non existent. "You've been through worse," The mountain of a man tried to remind helpfully.

Vilkas shot him a glare.

"Maybe," Husk huffed, giving a sour look of his own, as he tried to keep from vomiting. "But at least my throat wasn't …" He trailed off, eyes staring forward as he tried to fight the urge that had taken hold so suddenly. "Vilkas, you said an exception could be made?" The halfling started "That-"

Before Husk could utter another word Farkas shoved the bucket back under his face - which turned out to be the perfect time. Vilkas looked away, trying to block out the sounds of Husk's dinner and drink coming back up. The large warrior had moved with such quickness, even without the armor. Each of the men wore simple tunics, though in Husk's case it was to prevent any questions from the inkeep.

"Better?" Farkas asked. With surprising care he grabbed a nearby rag, handing it to the half-elf. Husk accepted eagerly, wiping his mouth with a disgusted grimace.

"I...think so." Husk gagged at the rancid taste. He paused. "...That was awful," he decided aloud.

Farkas laughed. A wide grin took over as he stole the bucket away, and made a quick toss of the contents out the window. He shrugged, returning it. "Always better out than in."

"I think you've been spending too much time with your husband," Vilkas huffed. The fact that his brother was so attentive was almost amusing in a way. His brother had taken quite well to Husk. Far more so than even Vilkas himself had expected. "Who you should probably fetch."

"Oh, right." Farkas stood, no longer kneeling at Husk's side. "Don't worry about making a mess. Elriah always pays them good." As if he himself hasn't just left a mess sitting right outside their window. Husk didn't even want to imagine the look of horror on the innkeeper's faces when they'd find the bucket's contents. At the reminder of what had just been discarded- Husk promptly added more.

Farkas winced, large hand helping to hold back Husk's hair. "My brothers right, I don't think drinking's for you."

"Agreed," Husk wheezed. Companion's be damned, he couldn't imagine anyone subjecting themselves to such torture.

Thankfully they'd only just made that mistake the night before.

Elriah had managed to drag the lot of them towards the nearest town, though they waited until night fell to slip through the gate - which was no more than a gap in the village fence. After tending to an injured half-elf in the woods, their leader was in no state to entertain and questions. Not without a rare share of violence, which had made Farkas decide for them that they would instead wait.

It was rare for him to speak up. No one argued, agreeing it was for the best. People tended to flock to their Harbinger enough on a good day, but with an injured man in their midst...the rumours would have reached Whiterun well before they ever did.

Which had again caused Farkas to step up, going as far as to pay the inkeep for his silence and that they wouldn't be disturbed. The look on the mans face however, was priceless.

Four days ago they'd arrived. But now, the second it was clear their new Companion felt ill, Athis had made a quick escape. Voching to find their Harbinger. It had been well over an hour.

Red eyed and exhausted, he looked to Farkas. "Any idea where to look?" Ever since the gift of a book, let alone the promise of a home, Husk had managed to form a small friendship between himself and the Harbinger. Though there were still constant reminders. Such as to say Elriah's name. However there were others that made the Companions look away. Reminders that without fail left their harbinger frowning. The most common was how Husk would wince whenever Elriah would turn too quickly towards him. Even during normal conversation.

It was clear that the Silverhand's had left their mark as permanent as the scar on the werewolf's face. Still, Husk showed trust in their Harbinger when it came to healing.

"Said he was leaving to find a courier," Farkas frowned. "And supplies."

Vilkas nodded. So their leader decided to face the townsfolk. Clearly he'd slept well then, giving him time to relax after the previous hell of the road. "Sending word to Jorrvaskr?"

"And Vignar."

Both Vilkas and Husk looked on in surprise, though only the former spoke "Vignar...?"

Farkas looked to Husk first. "Sort of a Companion. Retired a while back. Now he handles the coffers." There was an edge of respect to his voice. "You'll probably meet him first. Retired or not he still lives in Jorrvaskr-"

"Aye," Vilkas interrupted. "Now why is Elriah writing a letter to Greymane if he's already sending one to Jorrvaskr?"

"To tell him when to expect us back."

That...Vilkas paused as a frown took hold. Elriah didn't want the rest of the companions to know when. Or at least he didn't want Aela to know. "That so."

"Yeah. Told Vignar to see about finding out if Fralia," he looked to Husk again, "That's Vignar's wife. She's a jeweler-"

"Aye and?" Vilkas pressed. "What's that-"

Farkas responded with a glare that actually made his brother pause. "Like I was telling Husk, she's a jeweler. So she's used to working with Silver."

Husk nodded, worry turning his lips into a frown of his own. However, he caught on to what Farkas was saying, even before Vilkas could. "To see if she can remove my collar," Husk answered, eyes lighting up.

"Exactly." Farkas echoed with a smile as he finally looked back to Vilkas, who was beaming himself. "She knows the metal better than anyone else. Sure Eorlund, hold on," Farkas held up a finger before turning back to the bed. "He's our blacksmith," he explained.

Husk only grinned further and nodded. "I assumed."

"You figured that out already, huh?"

"You told me about him back in camp," Husk reminded. "He made your armor."

Farkas nodded, blushing slightly in embarrassment. He'd forgotten he'd already told Husk about him. Or the long talk the whole group had about what weapons and armor Husk should learn to weild.

"Anyways," Farkas mumbled. He cleared his throat before looking back to his brother. "He doesn't work with Silver 'cause of us. But his wife dose. She might not have the tools to cut through Husk's collar, but she can tell Eorlund exactly what to do."

Vilkas could only nod. Since they'd showed up at the Inn, the group had little time together. But clearly their Harbinger had given some thought to their situation.

Athis had been charged with gathering the main bulk of supplies. As bad as it sounded, being a darkelf usually kept people from asking him why a Companion was in town. Which was perfect for now.

Farkas had stayed mostly in the inn, as had Elriah, but he had yet to leave their room at all until now. They'd both gotten their own room while the others shared. Athis had made it clear he wanted to be there as 'extra' defense for their new charge, and Elriah had allowed it.

Vilkas didn't approve, given Husk's history with Darkelves but...to his surprise Athis and Husk had actually managed to talk more. The Companion spend the first night telling Husk of the wonders of Whiterun, and more on how they would get there. They weren't quite friends, but Husk could easily start a conversation now without the usual look of suspicion.

Supposedly they'd bonded over pointing out the fact that he snores - which Vilkas refused to believe he did.

Speaking of, Vilkas himself had taken to being the errand boy. With Husk under watch, he himself had taken care of getting the right herbs for Elriah. Because their Harbinger had not wanted to be seen yet by the villagers, and give up any chance of privacy.

But clearly that had changed if he was looking for a courier.

Farkas nodded proudly. "He wants to wait a while before getting it off. But as soon as your healed? We're taking a trip to the skyforge."

Husk's eyes were still wide with excitement. "Isn't that right behind Jorrvaskr?"

Farkas shrugged. "I say it's more next to it, but yeah. That's the place. Has a giant eagle or something carved in the rock above it." He paused before adding, "We put bodies there to burn 'em."

"...Oh." Husk gave an odd look, but asked nothing further.

Vilkas shook his head. He wasn't about to start talking about every companion they'd burned there. "So," He looked down to the bucket. "I see your stomach finally ran out."

Surprised, Husk glanced down. "Guess you're right." Relief made his shoulders fall as he finally took the bucket from his lap - only for Farkas to take it and throw the whole damn thing out the window.

"I'm not sure you should have…" Husk started.

"Better than walking it through the whole inn." Farkas shrugged. Husk nodded, unable to find anything wrong with that. "Speaking of, you should probably eat something small. I'll go tell the inkeep to-"

Before he could continue, Vilkas pushed himself off of the wall. "I'll do it. I could use some fresh air anyways."

"Be careful," Farkas warned.

Vilkas only raised a brow. "Of? This village has nothing but farmers and drunks. The only danger is stepping on a lost rake."

Farkas continued to frown. "And a lot of women."

Husk...tilted his head, clearly confused. "And that's a problem?"

"It might be hard to believe, but my brother has a lot of 'admirers' out there," Farkas joked. His frown finally vanished as Vilkas rolled his eyes. "It'll be hard to get anywhere with them around."

Vilkas was about to respond, but found himself stuck dim as Husk spoke instead.

"I don't find that hard to believe." Husk leaned back, happy to be bucket free. He'd said it so casually Vilkas wasn't sure what to say. "The silverhand's said it themselves, actually."

That finally made him speak. "Aye...?" Confusion brought his brows together. His arms crossed, as did Farkas as they both stared at him bewildered.

Husk nodded. It didn't take long for him to realize that they were waiting for clarification. "Well," he started. "Women like you, and from the sounds of how many brothels you've visited-"

Farkas lost it. He couldn't stop laughing as he looked to his white-faced brother. Husk continued to explain that the silver hand thought they could assassinate him by using a woman, but Vilka didn't hear a damned thing over the laughter of his brother and the roaring of blood in his ears. He was quick to leave the room - but Farkas stayed behind.

"My brother visits brothels?"

Vilkas groaned. His one and only secret had just been given away by Husk - to his damned brother. The companion had decided long ago that he wouldn't start a family until the Silverhands were gone. Still, he had needs. And most women were more than happy to help out a Companion - let alone one as decent looking as himself.

As bad as it sounded it was less risky to have sex with a prostitute than a nice village woman. That way if there ever was a child they'd never be able to prove it was his. He hated the fact that he had to plan around the chance of a bastard, but he was certain he didn't have any.

And now he was certain he wouldn't have any respect left once Farkas told Elraih.

He'd never get to live it down.