Chapter XXVI – Testing Your Mettle
Aeyrin didn't tell Bishop what she intended to do in Whiterun.
Under the pretenses of the logical action of returning the sapling, which has weathered the grueling journeys to and from the Greybeards' monastery, they set off on the familiar road to the west.
The events of the other night were painfully sobering to her.
She realized how much of her own happiness she staked on her relationship with Bishop and the constant turmoil and doubt were becoming too much to handle. She needed to focus on her purpose in Skyrim and on controlling her newfound powers. For that, she needed something else to hold on to, so that she knew she had a place to return to in the foreign land, even if they were to part again.
She needed to find a new home and new people around her – her future with Bishop was too uncertain.
The Companions' offer was always tempting to her and she knew what he thought of them. She was sure he would not wish to join their ranks alongside her, if nothing else then for Karnwyr's sake.
But they seemed to be a close-knit group – one that was happy to welcome her, even before they knew she was the Dragonborn.
Bishop kept throwing her furtive glances, silently walking beside her.
They haven't talked about that night in Ivarstead. In fact, they didn't talk about much at all, aside the necessary plans for the road.
Aeyrin wanted to return to the comfortable friendship they shared before the morning at Nilheim but it seemed like nothing she could say would accomplish that. Bishop, on the other hand, for perhaps the first time was unable to discern what the elf was thinking, staying quiet rather than fanning the flames and making things even more uncomfortable.
They made camp some distance from the river, by the mountainside.
Bishop escaped the suffocating silence, at least a little, to go on a hunt, taking maybe longer than necessary, rushed only by the approaching darkness. He did notice before that his hunts were becoming more and more swift, he was more concerned with catching a prey quickly, rather than waiting for a larger one, only to return to the camp to Aeyrin sooner.
But everything felt so different now.
When their meal was ready, he sat himself beside her out of habit, only to notice her scoot away immediately. Was it really that horrible? She did send him away. Sure, he provoked her purposefully, but she was still the one who told him to leave. Was he supposed to wait for her obediently, not even knowing if she was ever coming back to him? Why was she acting like he betrayed her trust? They never promised each other any fidelity.
He took a deep breath.
Everything he would say, she would no doubt see as an excuse, but staying silent obviously didn't help either.
He didn't look at her, only stared into the fire as he willed himself to talk.
"You know… it didn't really mean anything," he sighed.
Aeyrin looked up from her food, a strangely surprised look on her face. "I know," she stated that matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
What was it then? Did a meaningless fling while they were apart really bother her that much?
"Then why are you…?" his voice rose in frustration, but he didn't finish the question. He didn't even know how. He shook his head instead.
Aeyrin looked in his eyes, her words deliberate, now painfully aware that he didn't understand why she was upset at all.
"Because I want it to mean something."
A realization dawned on him. Did she really think that their own relationship meant as little to him as a drunken one-night-stand?
"That's different…" he shrugged, not really sure how to explain it. He knew he wouldn't leave after, like he usually did. But he wasn't really sure what to tell her either. It was quite possible that they got sick of each other after some time, but would that make it meaningless for her?
Aeyrin nodded thoughtfully before responding. "Right. Because we're friends. That's why it's better this way…" she sighed with resignation, putting her bowl away and heading towards her bedroll, ending the conversation there.
'Better'… how was this better than before?
It was uncomfortable and frustrating.
…
They made their way to Whiterun in a similarly somber and tense mood.
Bishop considered drowning his frustration at The Bannered Mare but for some reason, it didn't feel that tempting anymore.
They earned a few coins by selling their collected loot and headed towards the temple of Kynareth.
Danica was surprisingly upset, not behaving like a priestess of Kynareth at all. Aeyrin's speech of renewal only made her sour – she hoped their symbol would tower in the center of the city, inspiring the faithful. Instead, she got a tiny sapling that could take as long as centuries to grow to the majestic size of the current Gildergreen. Not to mention, the temple would have to petition the jarl to remove the dead tree.
Danica refused to pay for their service, but Aeyrin didn't care. She didn't do it for the money and she was sure that she has done the right thing.
Bishop grumbled a bit, but surprisingly wasn't that upset at the lack of reward either. A smile crept to his face unknowingly when he remembered their trip to the Eldergleam Sanctuary, swiftly replaced by a singe of anger at the current situation.
They left the temple and stopped beside the dead tree.
Bishop ushered her towards the inn for some food and sleep but Aeyrin shook her head at him sheepishly.
"Actually… I was hoping to visit somewhere else before we go," she inclined her head towards the longhouse near the tree, Bishop narrowing his eyes angrily.
"Seriously?! Why? If you want to kill giants and bandits you can do that without them. Besides, I told you, there's something wrong with them," he folded his arms across his chest, pointedly looking at Karnwyr, who gave a low questioning whine.
Aeyrin knelt down by the wolf, scratching him by his ear affectionately: "You wouldn't attack me, would you?"
He barked back at her happily, she was really convinced that he understood everything they said.
Bishop scoffed in response, his arms still folded stubbornly.
"Do you want to come with me? To hear what they have to say?" she gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow but quickly pulled back after to keep a certain distance between them.
Bishop sighed in resignation: "Fine, but only to look around that place and see what's wrong with them."
…
The interior of Jorrvaskr was surprisingly rowdy.
There was a crowd of warriors in black armor gathered in a rough circle, hooting and laughing.
The Dunmer they met back at the farm was in the center along with a blond-haired Nord woman, their fists raised in preparation for a brawl as they circled each other. The cheers of the warriors around them suggested that their fight was friendlier than one would suspect. The archer woman with long auburn hair that they saw before was leaning on a wall only a short distance away, looking over the crowd with a bored expression.
There were long tables with myriad of food all over the hall, the plates were full, suggesting that the fight broke out right in the middle of their evening feast.
"You came," a familiar voice interrupted their scrutiny of the environment.
One of the dark-haired warriors that helped them fell the dragon appeared beside them. He gave them both a warm smile in greeting.
"I hope you left your pet wolf outside," he laughed heartily, earning an angry glare from Bishop.
"He's not a pet," he grumbled between his clenched teeth, doubting his own words judging from his friend's behavior as of late. But he was still sure that Karnwyr would be more than happy to sink his teeth into the man's throat given the chance.
The warrior shrugged in response, smile still plastered on his face.
"I'm Farkas, in case you forgot. It's an honor to have the Dragonborn in Jorrvaskr," his smile turned to Aeyrin only. Seemingly ignoring Bishop's presence, Farkas gave her a friendly slap on her back but his hand didn't retreat as he draped it over her shoulders, leading her towards a stairwell at the back of the room.
"Come, Harbinger will be glad to meet you. We told him a lot about your prowess," his hand refused to leave her shoulders as they walked through a long hallway past some bedrooms.
Bishop's glare threatened to burn a hole into the back of Farkas's head, remembering how in the past few days she was unwilling to even sit or walk near him while she let that lummox paw at her at will.
It took him way too long to notice the woman with auburn hair by his side, giving him a detached appraising glance. When she noticed him looking at her, she gave a warm smile in response – a horribly fake one, that is. Maybe Bishop's face betrayed the displeasure at being there, or maybe the camaraderie, that they tried so hard to exude, was fake all along.
The old man and Farkas's brother Vilkas greeted them excitedly.
The old Harbinger introduced himself as Kodlak Whitemane and the huntress as Aela. They spoke for some time about honor and other stupid shit like that, Bishop was more concerned with the glances that the two brothers threw at Aeyrin from time to time.
Aela was looking at her curiously too, smiling all the while but Bishop couldn't shake an uneasy feeling he got every time he noticed her. She had a strange glint in her eyes.
They all pointedly ignored Bishop's presence, fawning over the Dragonborn. It didn't surprise him, he had no interest in their little guild anyways.
The old man was the only one who actually addressed Bishop at times and nodded his head to him whenever he was talking to the both of them. Bishop decided to make it clear that he had no interest in joining, if only to spare the old man the effort of directing his doubtlessly fake kindness at him. The suspicious glances of the brothers and the huntress were certainly more refreshing.
To his surprise, the Harbinger seemed a bit disappointed when Bishop made his intentions clear.
Well whatever, as if he cared for a stranger's moods.
He shook his head and focused back on the two brothers, exerting themselves with warm smiles and friendly pats on Aeyrin's back.
They were so transparent.
…
They headed towards the courtyard as Vilkas was telling her all about the history of the Companions.
Everyone was so friendly. It was so different from the all too common derisive glances of citizens or the racial slurs.
It was also a lot different from her first experiences with Bishop and his grumpiness.
The warriors made her feel welcome immediately.
She did think on Bishop's words for a split of a second: They all make nice when they need something, then everyone just cares about themselves. She chased the thought away immediately. She refused to let his skewed view of the nature of men influence her. She met countless nice people who never asked her for anything in Cyrodiil, and over the course of their travels in Skyrim too – like Balimund or Lynly.
"Are you a Stendarrite?" Aela curiously interrupted Vilkas's speech, peering at the amulet around Aeyrin's neck.
"You could say that. I was raised as cleric at the chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol," Aeyrin smiled in response, brushing her fingers against the amulet fondly.
Aela's eyes seemed to go wide, a strange smile appeared on her face: "That's... great. We never had a priest among us. Let alone a Stendarrite," she grinned, "I'm glad you will be becoming one of us."
Aeyrin pondered why her religious opinions would be of any importance to the Companions. Besides most people venerated the Eight in one way or the other, it was hardly anything unusual. The grin on Aela's face made her strangely uncomfortable, but she decided to ignore it.
It was likely Bishop's paranoia rubbing off on her.
Vilkas ushered her to don her armor before their sparring match, grabbing a whetstone to sharpen his claymore.
Aela and Farkas sat at one of the tables at the courtyard, soon joined by other Companions from inside the Jorrvaskr.
Bishop leaned against the building's wall impassively. The man's already seen her fight against a fucking dragon, this was a pointless show. Likely he was hoping to defeat her in one on one combat – perhaps to assert his dominance in their guild, or maybe to impress her. Whatever, it's not like he would manage either.
"Normally, pup, I would hold back a little for a new recruit. But… since you're the almighty Dragonborn, I think we can make it a real fight," he grinned at her, making her shuffle her feet a bit uncomfortably.
She didn't like how much they fixated on her being the Dragonborn. She just wanted to be one of them, not their token hero of legend.
She readied her mace, Vilkas obviously waiting for her to make the first move.
His claymore was made out of strangely dark steel, looking sturdier than a regular steel greatsword. His armor was also of a much higher quality then hers, that much was certain from the first glance. She did have one advantage though – she was fast in her gear – the plates only covered integral spots, leaving her sides and joints clad only in chainmail, allowing her free movement despite the weight of her armor. Unlike Vilkas, she did not feel like she was walking around in a metal cage.
Aeyrin charged the Nord with her shield raised.
She knew it was a predictable move, easily countered, but he didn't know how dexterous she was. The only time he saw her fight was against the dragon and by the time the brothers arrived, Bishop and Aeyrin already had things somewhat under control.
Vilkas smashed his claymore into her shield expectedly, the force of his blow stopping her charge in an instant.
She quickly ducked under his blade, twirling around and smashing her mace into his armored back before he could react, forcing him to double over from the impact.
The man recovered quickly, smirking at her and readjusting his grip on his greatsword. He heaved, aiming it at Aeyrin's un-plated flank.
She managed to dodge his blow only barely, the force behind it immediately obvious. She needed to keep moving – if he were to actually hit her, he would without a doubt stagger her, if not knocking her out outright.
She dodged a couple more swings but didn't manage to get close enough to him again.
The fight dragged on and she was starting to get tired – likely exactly what Vilkas intended.
In a brief moment of inattentiveness, his blade smashed into her mace, knocking it out of her hand, sending it flying across the yard.
Vilkas gave her another smirk, leaning his sword's tip on the ground, twirling it around with one hand with a smug expression on his face, sure of his victory. He was certain that she stood no chance against him without a weapon.
She quickly realized herself and lunged at the Nord, shoulder-first, aiming at his stomach. The layer of plate didn't matter, it was a painful gambit, but no one ever expected it.
As expected, the sword tumbled from his grip as he staggered backwards, but his reaction was too quick.
Normally, she recovered fast enough to elude her attacker and either deliver a finishing blow, or get away.
This time, however, she couldn't.
Vilkas's arms gripped her shoulders immediately, steadying himself against her small frame.
Her knees threatened to buckle as she felt the full force of their collective weight, but soon enough the Nord recovered his footing.
A second later he slammed his body into her, pinning her below him to the ground. His hands moved to her wrists immediately, one of his knees pressed against her thigh, subduing her movements.
His face was right in front of her, their heavy breaths mixing together.
Vilkas gave another satisfied smirk.
She expected him to grab her throat or to flip her over and restrain her arms to signal his victory, but he didn't.
It seemed like he was waiting for something.
"Any last defense?" he chuckled into her face, his eyes fastened on hers.
That's when she realized what he was waiting for. Did he want her to Shout? She aimed her gaze upwards, looking at the full courtyard of Companions, expectantly watching the scene unfold. They were all there for this – to see the Dragonborn Shout.
Didn't they care what would happen to Vilkas? Didn't he care?
No of course not… the novelty was too tempting.
And once she did that, they would expect it from her all the time. She couldn't control her Shouts properly yet and she refused to use them recklessly until she did. Definitely not against friendly targets.
At first it saddened her a bit that they would only see her as the Dragonborn, but then the anger set in. Was she just an attraction? She was like a subdued animal, prodded for a reaction.
She refused to be played like that. She refused to give them what they wanted.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered to Vilkas, hoping her performance was sufficiently convincing. She looked deep into his dark eyes, and took a deep breath without exhaling. He did exactly what she wanted.
His smirk wavered and his grip on her loosened slightly. He was bracing himself for the Shouting – something he had no idea what could do to him.
Aeyrin took advantage of his hesitance immediately, lodging her free leg around his waist and putting all her force into flipping him on his back.
Vilkas didn't anticipate any of that and the maneuver was far easier than she thought.
She gave him a smirk in return as she straddled him. His eyes went wide at her ruse. She knew, however, that the second he realized himself, she would again be no match for his strength.
She quickly got up from her position and grabbed his claymore from the ground nearby, aiming it at his throat before he managed to get himself up.
The silence stretched into a long moment.
Nobody said anything for a while, Vilkas still with unbridled shock on his face, while all the other companions gathered around the yard watched in anticipation.
It was like the time has stopped.
Then a loud yell interrupted the uncertain silence: "Ha! Vilkas got beat by a little elf!"
Everyone's attention turned to the Dunmer in surprise as he laughed mockingly.
"She's the Dragonborn!" Vilkas growled, still on the ground, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"She didn't do anything Dragonborn-y, you netch-fart. And you got beat by her even without weapons! With that armor on!" the Dunmer now roared in laughter, a few of the other Companions joining him uncertainly until the whole courtyard was laughing along.
Aeyrin looked down at Vilkas who shook his head with a slight smile, apparently capable of taking his defeat in stride. She dropped the sword aside and outstretched her arm towards him.
He grasped her hand and helped himself up, draping his arm across her shoulders and squeezing amicably. "That was a clever ruse, pup," hi winked at her, a hint of disappointment on his face.
Did he really want to get Shouted at? What was wrong with people?
"I don't know what you're talking about," instead of a teasing smile, she gave him a level look, hoping the message would get across. She was not going to be their 'pet Dragonborn', Shouting for their entertainment.
Vilkas nodded slowly, searching her face, then gave her an understanding smile: "Fair enough, pup."