A few things:

1. I have not finished writing this story.

2. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.

3. I am taking liberties, so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.


She was right about not wanting to hear whatever it was the Greybeards thought had gone wrong.

"I doubt it's because of that," she said, and Arngeir sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but it is the only explanation I can think of," he said. "Your Thu'um must be harnessed at least once a day, or whenever you use it again, you will suffer from a bad reaction to it." He lifted his shoulders. "It's an unfortunate truth."

"I just don't understand how it's possible!" Cry exclaimed, and she was surprised when the whole of High Hrothgar seemed to shudder, a bit. She lowered her voice, and continued: "I mean… it's a natural thing that I can do, isn't it? I shouldn't be having an… allergic reaction to it whenever I use it again after not using it."

"I understand your confusion," Arngeir said. "Allow me to explain, as best as I can: a dragon's Thu'um is an extraordinary thing. It allows them to turn words into magic, at an incredibly rapid rate. Something inside of them turns these words, and the knowledge behind them, into whatever the word means, and this magic can be used for a number of things. Because you are the Dragonborn, I imagine your Thu'um is more akin to a dragon's, than it is to a human's. This means that, like a dragon, you can turn words into magic, in an extremely short period of time. And… without releasing that magic, it can build up to a dangerous level inside of you, so dangerous, in fact, that it can affect you, when you finally decide to release it."

Cry blinked at him. "So, what you're saying is that I need to release the magic at least once a day so that it doesn't get angry with me?"

Arngeir nodded. "In simplistic terms, yes."

"Great," Cry muttered, and then she threw up her hands. "Just great!"

"Why is this an issue?" Arngeir asked her as she paced away from him. "Surely you have an opportunity every day to use your Thu'um, do you not?"

"Not as of two days ago, no," Cry said, and then she hung her head. "I joined the Companions, and I'm not going to tell them that I'm the Dragonborn." She hesitated, and then, deciding that she didn't want the Greybeards knowing she was working with the Blades, waved her hand. "There'd be too much fanfare, you know? So… I'm trying to keep it hidden, but if I have to use my Thu'um every day…" She trailed off, and shook her head, pressing her hand to her forehead. "I won't be able to do that. It's impossible."

"You'll have to," Arngeir said. "Your Thu'um is strong, Dragonborn, stronger than that of any human's, at any rate. If you do not use it every day…"

"I'll get blasted apart from the inside?" Cry guessed, and he was silent for a moment.

"Most likely."

"Great," Cry mumbled, and then she let out a groan and sank to a squatting position on the floor. This was the last thing she needed, on top of everything else, the stress of knowing that if she didn't release the magic her Thu'um created on a regular basis, she was at risk of, quite literally, being ripped to shreds by her own ability.

Wonderful. Perfect. She was so glad to be the Dragonborn.

"Fine," she muttered at last, and she stood up again. "I'll figure it out, I guess." She looked at Arngeir. "You wouldn't happen to have any locations of Words of Power, would you?"

Arngeir smiled a bit, and gestured for her to hand over her map. She did so, and he walked away, leaving her alone in the main hall of High Hrothgar. She glanced around for a moment, spotting Master Borri crouched on the ground in front of one of the many pillars.

After hesitating a moment, she walked over to where he was, and settled down next to him, sitting rather than crouching.

"Dovahkiin," he murmured, and, once again, High Hrothgar shook around them.

"Hi," she replied, folding her knees up to her chest, and looking at the pillar. "I know you don't talk, but that's okay. Sometimes it's better to just listen." She paused, and then she sighed. "I think… I think I'm getting close to finding out what's going on with the dragons, and how to stop them, but I'm kind of at a standstill, and I'm just… wasting time, until I can figure out what to do next. I don't want to call it wasting time, because I've joined the Companions, and that's a good thing, because they're an honorable group of warriors but… I feel like I'm using them, and that I'll never really be able to respect the opportunity I've been given."

Borri did not say anything, and she had not expected him to, so she kept talking, without realizing it, almost: "And there's… there's this man, in the Companions. I don't know him well, at all. Obviously not; I just arrived at Jorrvaskr two days ago. But… he's already become a thorn in my side. He was really kind, the first night. I mean, this was after he'd insulted me during my test to see if I was worthy or not, and then after he interrogated me for information about my past, but other than that, he was nice, and I thought that maybe I'd be able to get along with him. And then, yesterday, I went to ask him about a job, and he yelled at me. But, later on, when I returned from a different job, we had a good conversation about reading.

"I don't know. He's going to cause problems. I just… I'm not too sure what kind of problems, yet, and I don't know if I want to find out, either, but I can't exactly not find out, because I'm in the Companions. I made a commitment. And I should stick to that commitment, right? Even with these doubts about not appreciating the opportunity, and this man?"

Borri was silent, but Cry wasn't really speaking to him anymore, anyway. She was talking to herself, mostly, about Vilkas and the Companions, and as she sat on the floor next to one of the Greybeards, talking it all through, she decided that there was no reason she couldn't appreciate being in the Companions while also being the Dragonborn. There would always be dragons to fight, and there would always be a job for her to do for the Companions. And so what if she had to use her Thu'um on a regular basis? If she was always on a job, she would just be able to use it then, away from Jorrvaskr and anyone that she didn't want knowing about her ability.

"I guess it'll all be fine," she said, quietly, and then she nodded. "Thank you, Master Borri."

She stood up, just as Arngeir returned with her map in hand. He handed it to her. "I have marked a few locations we have heard the whisper of a Word come from," he told her. "You may return whenever you wish to see if we have heard more."

"Thank you," Cry said, and she slid her map away into her pack again. "I appreciate the help."

Arngeir bowed slightly to her. "Dragonborn," he said, and then he turned and walked away. After a moment, Borri rose, and went after him.

Cry let out a sigh, and cast a final glance around High Hrothgar, before she turned and pushed her way outside. She had already dealt with the job in Ivarstead, which meant that she could head straight back to Whiterun, if she chose.

For whatever reason, however, her attention turned east rather than west, in the direction of Riften. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Brynjolf, the thief she had shared a night with barely a week ago. She wondered if he had already forgotten about her, and decided that he most likely had.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She should get back to Whiterun, tell Aela that she had completed the job. If she didn't get back soon, Aela would ask what had taken so long, and the last thing she needed on top of everything else was to come up with an excuse.

She started down the mountain again, pushing thoughts of both Brynjolf, and, subconsciously, Vilkas, out of her mind. She did not need to be thinking about men, with everything else that was already fighting for her attention. She had Words of Power to look for, and she had jobs for the Companions to do. She was busy enough, without having to deal with affairs of the heart as well.

Not that thoughts of Vilkas had absolutely anything to do with affairs of the heart. Aside from the fact that he was definitely attractive. She didn't mind looking at him. That was about as far as it went, however. There was no reason for it to go any further. He was kind of awful, first of all, and she'd barely met him.

Cry huffed to herself, and forced Vilkas out of her head. Stupid, attractive male warriors. Maybe the Companions had been a bad idea after all.

She made her way back to Whiterun, because she was beginning to feel the effects of travel. She thought she needed a good night's rest, and then she could take on another job and head for the closest Word of Power to wherever the job decided to take her.

Unfortunately, as soon as she returned to Whiterun, and Jorrvaskr, Farkas was waiting outside for her.

"I have another job for you," he said, and Cry exhaled a breath.

"Can I have an evening to myself?" she asked him. "I just got back from a job for Aela."

Farkas examined her for a moment. "Fine," he said, and then he shook his head, walking away. "Whelps."

Cry rolled her eyes, but pushed her way into Jorrvaskr. The mead hall was mostly empty, probably because everyone was spending the rest of the evening outside. Cry went to the table, and picked through the scraps that remained of dinner, trying to find something to eat.

"Oh, dear, you don't need to do that."

She jumped at the voice, and then turned to see that Tilma, the maid, was standing behind her, looking worried.

"I can make you something, if you're hungry," she said, and Cry quickly shook her head.

"I can make my own food," she told the maid. "Really."

Tilma chuckled. "I'm sure you can, my dear, but it is my job to make food for you." She moved to the cooking pot that was hanging over the large fire pit in the center of the room. "Do you want anything specific?"

"No, anything's fine, thank you," Cry said, feeling awkward. She had never had someone cook for her, aside from when she was a child, and it was her mother's job to make sure dinner was ready every evening. Even then, however, Cry had learned how to cook by helping in their farm house's tiny kitchen.

So, settling down at the table in the mead hall, and watching as Tilma bustled around, gathering ingredients and tossing them into the cooking pot, she felt strange. She would usually be doing everything in order to have dinner, and here she was, doing nothing but watch as someone else prepared it for her, and her alone.

It was… unnerving, almost.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" she asked, and Tilma looked over at her in surprise.

"You want to help?"

"I'm used to making my own food," Cry explained. "It just feels odd to be sitting here watching someone else do it."

Tilma smiled. "It is not every day that one of the Companions offers to help this old woman cook," she said. "Never, in fact. But, if you would like to help, I wouldn't mind."

Cry nodded in agreement, and stood again. She assisted Tilma by retrieving ingredients when they were necessary, and by keeping an eye on the food while she walked away to sweep at the floor. Eventually, it was done, and Cry spooned some of the stew out on her own.

"Thank you," she said to Tilma, who merely smiled at her.

"I appreciated the help."

"Anytime," Cry responded, and then she settled down at the table to eat.

Eventually, the doors leading out into the training yard opened, and Vilkas poked his head inside. "Tilma," he said, and the old woman sighed tiredly.

"Who made a mess this time?" she asked, picking up a spare wooden bucket and dropping several rags into it.

"Njada and Athis got into it again," Vilkas replied.

Tilma huffed a little, but marched past him through the door, which he held open for her. Once she was out of sight, he turned to look at Cry, who quickly turned her gaze downward, so that he wouldn't notice that she'd been watching him.

"How was your trip?"

Cry blinked down at her bowl of stew. That was a question she hadn't expected from him. She glanced up. "It was fine, I suppose," she said, carefully.

Vilkas nodded. "I haven't made my way east in some time," he admitted. "I've been too busy with my tasks here."

"Oh," Cry said, and she raised her shoulders, stirring the stew around. "Uh, there's really nothing new to look at, if that's what you want to know."

"Hah," Vilkas laughed. "No, not necessarily. I just - never mind." He paused. "Kodlak wants to speak with you, whenever you have the time."

Cry felt the color drain from her face. "Did he say why?"

Vilkas shrugged. "Probably a formal welcome to the fold, is all."

Cry let her shoulders fall. "Oh, all right then. I'll see him once I'm done eating."

"Vilkas, come help us lift the table!" came a call from outside.

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder. "A moment, you bunch of idiots," he shouted back, and then he faced her once more. "We should talk more, about the Rift, when we can."

"Sure," Cry responded, and she smiled a little, "although you really should head out there yourself, if you find the time. Maybe you could take on a job yourself."

"Vilkas!"

Vilkas growled in his throat, but ducked outside. The door closed behind him with a solid thud. Cry eyed the door for a moment, wondering what that had been all about. Vilkas's mood swings were going to give her whiplash, and also make it extremely hard for her to not think about him.

She finished with her stew quickly, knowing that Kodlak awaited her. She headed down to the living quarters, passing by the shared room as she walked down the hallway. She got the distinct feeling that whatever conversation she would be having with Kodlak would end with one or the both of them knowing something more about the other than they had previous.

She doubted that she would know anything more about Kodlak, but that he would know a boatload ton more about her.

Galmar sat you through those interrogation lessons, remember? she asked herself. It's best to tell the truth whenever possible; it makes it easier to hide whatever needs to be hidden.

She squared her shoulders, and knocked on the partially closed door of the Harbinger's sitting quarters.

"Come in, youngling," Kodlak said through the opening.

Cry pushed the door open wider, and stepped into the room. Kodlak sat at the corner table, much like he had been the first time she'd met with him. He was reading, but he lowered the book as she closed the door back to its original position.

"Good to see my request was relayed," he said, and he gestured towards the other chair at the table. "Come sit. Have you eaten?"

"Just now," Cry answered, moving to do as he asked. She settled down in the chair, eyeing the room over as she did so. She hadn't really given herself the chance to do so, the other time she'd been there, but now she saw that it was lived in. The shelves were full of books, rolled parchments, and decorative vases. The rug on the floor was well worn. The display cases were all locked securely. The room was nice, and very clearly a home. She envied Kodlak for possessing it, almost.

"What did you want to speak with me about?" Cry asked, deciding to get the conversation started.

"Ah, nothing serious, lass," Kodlak assured her. "I only wanted to congratulate you on your successful first fight, and welcome you to the Companions."

Cry offered him a small smile. "That's what Vilkas thought. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Kodlak said, returning the smile. "I'm glad to hear that Vilkas is being civil towards you. It's not every day that a whelp beats him into submission."

"It really wasn't like that," Cry said. "I swung at his shield a few times. He didn't even fight back."

"Nor was he supposed to," Kodlak agreed, "but it is unusual for him to so willingly ignore a challenge as the one you posed."

Cry frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Vilkas told me that you seem to know how to handle a weapon," Kodlak answered, not really answering her question. "He said that you may have been able to take him in actual combat, if that had been the case." He gave her a cursory look. "It gives one cause to wonder where you learned to fight, and why you have decided to bring your skills to the Companions."

Cry took a moment to process her answer before giving it. "I had… a teacher, when I was younger," she explained. "My father knew a man who was skilled in battle, and he thought it wise for me to learn from him. As for why I'm here… I had free time."

"Hm." That sound most likely meant he was unconvinced, as did the expression he wore. "Well, I suppose that free time is gone, now. How many jobs have you been given?"

"Three? I'm not sure, actually." Cry laughed a little. "All I know is that, apparently, Farkas has another one for me. I was hoping to get some sleep first, however."

"I don't think anyone would fault you for that," Kodlak agreed, smiling again, and Cry relaxed a bit. "I shouldn't keep you here any longer," he continued, returning to his book. "Perhaps we'll speak further at a later date."

"Sure," Cry said, and she stood up again. "Good night, Harbinger."

"Sleep well, lass," Kodlak returned, his eyes on his book.

Cry exited the sitting room, closing the door behind her. Once it was shut, she let out a breath, and closed her eyes, briefly. At least it hadn't gone badly. She hadn't gotten that feeling that it had, at any rate.

More than anything, she just wanted to go to sleep. As she headed towards the shared room, however, she heard the sounds of raucous conversation, and she got the distinct notion that rest, there, would be fairly impossible.

She grunted to herself, and started up the stairs to the dining hall instead. Maybe she would get some use out of Breezehome, after all.

As she walked towards the doors that would take her out into Whiterun, she passed by where Aela and Skjor were sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the room. Both looked over at her, curiously.

"Where are you off to, whelp?" Skjor asked, not unkindly, although his gruff voice made it hard to tell.

Cry paused, one hand on the door. "I own a home in the city," she explained. "I thought I'd get some rest there, rather than downstairs. Everyone seems to be wide awake, and since I have another job waiting for me in the morning -"

Aela cut off further explanation with a wave of her hand. "Got it," she said. "Just make sure you're back here bright and early."

Cry nodded in agreement. "I will be. Thanks."

She exited Jorrvaskr, but not before she noticed Vilkas sitting on a bench, watching her with a curious, and not exactly trusting, look in his eyes.

Cry elected to ignore it. For now.