When a dragon kills his brother, it is with the certainty they will meet again somewhere on the long expanse of time. Duels to the death are mere footnotes in conversations spanning millennia. Miraak imagined that to an order of creatures so fiercely attached to this concept, the silencing Voice of a Dragonborn must be the ultimate cruelty. A period at the end of an eternal sentence, silence after a word never meant to be final. And how the more agonizing to know this brutal power could only be possessed by the joor.
An ordinary dragon could hardly hope to become anything more than an engaging conversation partner regardless of how many of his brothers he killed, but a Dragonborn possessed the souls of every dragon they had ever eaten. Like a rolling snowball, ambitious Dragonborn could become particularly potent if they are fortunate enough to live in times with numerous dragons willing to test themselves. In his early years, Miraak had been exceedingly fortunate. So minutes after he'd killed his first mortal, Miraak seized on to his dragon with all his will and forced from it the knowledge of the first dovah he had ever consumed: Vonunokaaz, that sea hunter of middling strength who had ruled over Solstheim's eastern coast. The Last Dragonborn had taken Miraak's most powerful souls at the summit of Apocrypha, and the dragon in his head still mourned their loss in its own petty way, but Vonunokaaz remained and the dragon meekly surrendered his knowledge to Miraak after only token resistance.
When Miraak leaped from Valtheim, his arms flailed in the cold air and he possessed all the form and grace of a poorly maintained Dragon Priest; when he struck the waters far below, his body became one fluid muscle singing in harmony with the freezing rapids. He was Vonunokaaz, in every way that mattered except the way that mattered the most: Miraak's powerless Voice was still that of a mortal man. But his limbs moved with the unhesitating certainty of a small god who had explored Skyrim's seas for a veritable eternity. He could spend years under the surface, snatching ignorant joor from their boats and ambushing large prey who came to the riverside to drink their fill. No. Remember the drowning fools who brought you here. Remember your mortal lungs burning from want of air and your mortal heart already freezing. Remember you are no dragon, Miraak Dovahkiin. No longer, and never again. Miraak wrenched control from the Vonunokaaz aspect and surfaced to take a deep breath of air and search the rapids ahead. Rushing water roared in his ears and his leg struck an underwater rock: Miraak hissed in pain and dove back in towards the flash of color he had seen.
Sassafras and the long-haired Nord clung to a tall boulder, but their hands were already slipping on the wet surface. Farther down the river, their rowboat vanished over the frothing precipice. Miraak surfaced between the men and planted his feet against the rock.
"Grab onto my shoulders," he called to them over the sound of the river. "If you hesitate, you will die. I will not return for the weak-hearted."
A drowning person knows no doubt, and will often doom their rescuer to escape a watery grave. These pitiful excuses for mortal life were fortunate their savior was harnessing a dragon underneath his limbs. Though the Wood Elf and the Nord both outweighed Miraak, and even dragons had limits. He encountered significant difficulty in churning his way to the shoreline with both of them holding on to him for dear life. More than once he lost his way underneath a storm of bubbles and found himself swept down the river. Blood screamed in his ears and his chest tightened like a vise. This body is still so weak. The dragon's contempt swelled, and with it grew the possibility Vonunokaaz would retreat into the oversoul. No, no...I am so close. Miraak marshaled his resolve and flew towards the shore with his heavy mortal cargo. He could see the tall grasses and holes left by burrowing mudcrabs. Miraak reached out with the last of his strength, the merciless current pulling at his limbs...until a firm hand grabbed his own and yanked them out of the water.
Gasping for breath on the riverside next to the two bandits, Miraak was once again a man and nothing more. It took him a moment to recognize the Nord who'd pulled them to safety, standing next to a sturdy white horse of the native breed. Vilkas looked to have aged a decade since last they'd met, and a short beard with spots of gray covered his chin. He looked down at the three of them with evident disdain, but Miraak's hand glowed at the memory of his touch. Strange that it was not so with Aela. Perhaps because I have witnessed Vilkas' glorious transformation. My soul more readily responds to the proximity of his awesome power.
"Thank…" Sassafras coughed, his hair dripping onto the silt. "Thank the gods you came along, mighty Companion. This vagabond here nearly drowned us. We were walking down the road when he-"
"Save it," his Nord friend growled as he wiped his eyes dry. "This one knows me, Fras. Used to come to all of Balgruuf's little feasts."
"Nelkir," Vilkas greeted him. His gaze ran up and down the leather-armored young man. "Thought I heard you crossed the border down near Falkreath. Mercenaries from Hammerfell, wasn't it?"
"We didn't get along. Surprising, I know. Maybe part of me couldn't bear to leave this land behind. I must have missed the cold, and the mindless fighting, and especially the incredible misery of Hrongar's rule."
The Wood Elf helped his partner stand, and both thieves turned towards the road before Miraak had even collected himself. Nelkir yawned. "It's been great catching up...I can't remember your name, but I don't guess it matters. Hopefully, we'll never meet again."
"Enjoy your travels," Vilkas remarked. "Give my greetings to the werewolf bearing down that road when you see it, and the hunting party led by your uncle behind it."
"That oaf is no kin of mine," Nelkir snapped without looking back at them.
Sassafras grabbed Nelkir's sleeve and glanced over his shoulder at Vilkas. "A werewolf, you say?"
"He's fucking with us, love. Knows he can't catch both of us without a fight, so he's trying to drive us back towards Whiterun where the roads are lousy with Hrongar's men."
Vilkas' brow raised. "Believe what you will. Just pray your uncle finds you first."
"C'mon, Nel. Kishla will know what to do." Sassafras tugged Nelkir towards the western road and Valtheim until the other thief relented with a groan of long-suffering. "Don't be like that, now. Haven't you missed me? Tell me about how much loot you bagged up the river. I've been stuck with those stinking vagrants for days now. Bad news regarding them, by the way, hope you weren't too fond…" The elf's voice trailed off as they passed out of earshot.
"And you. The ghost of Helgen returned to me again." Vilkas' expression was unreadable to Miraak. Bitterness, perhaps? Even that would be preferable to contempt. "On another day that promises blood. A lesser man might think you an omen of ill luck."
"And what do you think?" Miraak struggled to rise with the river mud sucking at his knees.
"I think you're unwise to venture out into the wilds in such a state." Vilkas glanced at Valtheim. He made no move to help Miraak. "Looking for another ruin to squat in? Looks like you've frightened off the resident vermin."
"My name is Miraak." He managed to stand so he could look Vilkas in the eyes. "I am bound for the Eldergleam Sanctuary. Much has changed since last we spoke. This is a quest of honor, Vilkas, not of desperate survival."
"Honor, is it?"
"You need not act so surprised. The Companions do not hold a monopoly on the concept...though it is your company I seek to join."
Miraak was at least grateful Vilkas did not laugh. Instead, he scoffed and ran a hand down his face. "You, a Companion? I'd sooner join the Silver Dawn than let a man like you into Jorrvaskr."
"Then it is fortunate the decision is out of your hands." He recalled another warrior's wise advice. "Unless I am mistaken, nothing is given in the Companions. If I prove I possess the potential to become your shield-sibling, then my actions will speak for themselves. You need only sit back and watch, Harbinger."
Vilkas chuckled, and Miraak hoped it was not entirely out of derision. "It was Aela, then, who set you on this fool's errand. So she must see something in you. But speaking her words will not grant you her strength, ghost. As you've made clear, mere talk is worth little to us."
Miraak murmured under his breath, "That is indeed surprising, considering how fond you all seem to be of endless chatter."
"What was that?"
He was saved from responding by a piercing howl from the eastern road. Another man might have been fool enough to mistake the source as a mere wolf, but Miraak recalled the night Vilkas had stood over his twin and deafened the night with his keen, and knew better.
Miraak hummed. "You were not lying about the werewolf, then."
The Harbinger cursed and turned to his horse, and bid it to flee into the patch of woods hugging the riverside.
"Come," Vilkas ordered and made haste down the road. Miraak followed without question. His reverence for Hircine's chosen did not extend to a wish to view them from the inside. They soon reached the heavy wooden door of Valtheim's southern tower. With the rusted portcullis down over the road, it was the only way to pass through without crossing the river.
"Damn it all," Vilkas threw his shoulder into the door, but it would not budge. "Those craven thieves must have barred it behind them."
"Sofie," Miraak called. "Lucia? Let us in, if you can. The Harbinger stands with me, but a werewolf nips at our heels."
The door opened so suddenly that Vilkas almost fell inside.
"Werewolf, huh?" Lucia had torn off the bloody sleeves of her priestess robes, and her hood had fallen so her long hair hung wild around her shoulders like a crown of pine needles. "Sounds about right, for the day we're havin'."
"Priestess," Vilkas greeted her distractedly, glancing over his shoulder.
"Get on inside, then, I don't wanna get eaten."
Miraak felt far more comfortable on the other side of the door, though he was surprised to find the tower so well-populated. Sassafras and Nelkir sat in a dusty corner in front of a bare bookshelf, their hands and feet bound with familiar-looking rope. They were also gagged, he noted. Thankfully.
"You retrieved our supplies, then?" He asked Sofie, who stood over her captives with one arm in a makeshift sling. The other held her bloodthirsty axe.
"Yes. Our mule is whole, as am I."
"Sofie," Vilkas spoke when he saw her. "Good to see you on your feet again. Though it looks like fate has not been kind to you."
"A superficial injury. He was a poor shot."
Sassafras made muffled noises at that until Nelkir jabbed him with his elbow.
"Even so. What are you doing out here, with a priestess and a ghost? He spouted some drivel about the Eldergleam Sanctuary and proving himself."
"His name is Miraak," Sofie replied. She knelt to check the bindings on her prisoners. For whatever reason, she refused to meet Vilkas' eyes. "And what he says is true. He's going to retrieve a new Gildergreen sapling for Danica Pure-Spring. Aela gave her blessing. I agreed to come along to make sure he conducted himself honorably."
Somehow Sofie's explanation sounded less genuine to Miraak every time he heard it. What does she truly want from me? He drifted to the door and kept watch through the peephole. The road looked clear, for now.
Sofie and Vilkas continued their conversation in low, troubled voices. Miraak started at a tap on his shoulder, but it was only Lucia handing him his spear and cloak.
"Didn't mean to scare ya. Though best thank Kynareth that jump into the river didn't send ya straight to Sovngarde. All your limbs still attached?"
"I believe so." Miraak squeezed the spear shaft in his fists. Though he'd only truly possessed it for a matter of hours, its weight was comforting. "Is Sofie being honest about her wound?" He was finding it more and more difficult to get a grasp on these Companions. Might he too be expected to lie about life-threatening injuries, merely so he might raise a useless sword in combat?
"More honest than she is about most matters, anyway," Lucia said softly, glancing back at her friend still speaking with Vilkas. "'Course if it was up to me, she'd be halfway back to the city by now...but that ain't the way of these stupid glory-drunken warriors, as I'm sure ya noticed."
"You've known her to lie before?"
"I dunno if I'd call it lyin', exactly…" She sighed and leaned against the doorway. "There's no ill intent in it. Me and Sofie grew up rough. Orphans, middle of a war, Thalmor grabbin' people from their beds and dragons snatchin' 'em from their farms. We both had to make a choice, eventually. Face up to what we went through, or bury it deep so it'd never hurt us. Get angry, or get quiet. S'pose you can guess which roads we chose."
"Which path is best?" Miraak asked, thinking of his damaged mind. Is that what the scavenger had been for? Burying the pain?
Lucia blew out a breath of air. "I'll tell ya when I find out. All I know is I've been tired for too damn long. And Sofie...probably the person she hurts most with her lies is herself. Keepin' all that hurt bottled up inside yourself is dangerous. Ya noticed those burns on her hands? They aren't from fightin' no atronach. I've never been brave enough to ask what happened to her fingers."
Before Miraak could think of a suitable response, Vilkas shouldered past them and pressed his eye against the peephole.
"Soon," he murmured. "He's close now. Sofie, and...Miraak. I want you up on the second level, looking down at it."
"I don't have a bow," Sofie reminded him. "Could maybe fix up this broken crossbow, but it'd take a little while."
"I don't want you to fill it with arrows. That would drive it into the river or woods. Remember, this creature is trying to flee, not attack. Nothing's more dangerous than a cornered beast. We want to keep the werewolf in one place for as long as we can until I can figure out what to do with it."
"Stab it with your sword, duh." Lucia looked incredulous. "Ya never killed Daedra before?"
Vilkas pointed at her. "Take the thieves into the side room and bar the door. If matters turn bloody in here, they'll get in the way. Everyone needs to move, now. We don't have much time."
Lucia shook her head but followed the Harbinger's command. Sassafras and Nelkir vanished behind a door with their irritated captor. Miraak followed Sofie. When the door to the second level shut behind them, he realized they were alone together for the first time since they'd met. He drifted towards the loophole facing the eastern road. It was difficult to turn his back on Sofie, but it wasn't as if he could have defended himself regardless if she wished him dead.
He took a deep breath of the fresh river air. Nothing moved on the road below, save for a few fallen tree branches stirring in the wind. The river's waters lapped hungrily at the bank.
"Where's Farkas?" Sofie whispered, a few feet behind him.
"We ought to focus on the task at hand," he replied, not turning. "There will be time to sort out our various personal conflicts after the werewolf is dead."
She continued as if he'd never spoken. "Tell me what happened at the Guardian Stones. I want to know how my brother died. Don't try to lie. You're not good at it."
He twisted his head to scowl at her. "So finally my question is answered as to why you volunteered to help me on this journey. I thought the Companions to be an honorable company, but you act under false pretense. I suppose you intend to abandon me once I answer your questions? Leave me facedown in the dirt to be fed on by mudcrabs, after I have exhausted my usefulness? What confounds me is why you taught me to use a spear. Simple self-preservation, perhaps, in case we ran into more bandits than you could handle."
"I'll not leave you, Miraak. I said I'd help you, and I will." She leaned forward, searching his gaze, and Miraak's skin crawled as if tentacles were slithering up his body. "Your eyes. There's something familiar in them."
"No." He turned back to the loophole. "No, you must be mistaken." Only now did he understand the danger this woman represented to his ultimate goals; for he, too, had recognized something in her he thought best left forgotten in himself. "I...I see the werewolf."
"Do you?" Sofie didn't sound convinced, but he shifted aside to let her see for herself. "Oh. I suppose you do."
The shaggy manbeast bounding towards Valtheim was not nearly as impressive as the Vilkas of his memories, but Miraak still watched jaw agape as the lumbering creature stopped in the middle of the road to sniff the air. Even from his high vantage point, Miraak could smell rank fur and sweat. Large yellow eyes searched the environment beneath a heavy brow ridge, and the werewolf sniffed so fiercely with its long dark snout that Miraak was sure it knew the location of every living soul within twenty leagues.
Its head snapped towards the loophole. Miraak gasped, and Sofie's fingers tightened against the rough stone. The werewolf stared at them and hooted and howled like a moon-dazed monster. Slaver dripped from its quivering snout to splatter on the cobblestones.
"I think it's trying to frighten us away," Sofie murmured. "So it can climb the tower and slip through the loophole."
"A ridiculous notion. No werewolf could fit through a gap so narrow."
"No. But a man could."
Oh. It had been easy to forget it was not a mere beast that confronted them. A thinking mind existed behind those monstrous features, and that made the werewolf all the more dangerous. "So what happens if we refuse to leave?"
Vilkas' voice rang out over the quiet road in a pause between the werewolf's piercing howls.
"Peace! I know you've no interest beyond escaping from the rotten souls making haste towards us."
Sofie blinked. "Is he...treating, with a werewolf?"
"It seems so." Miraak bit the inside of his cheek. These Companions did so confound him. Sofie had cut down several men without a second thought, but now her Harbinger negotiated with a Daedric monster as if their positions of strength were in any way balanced. It appeared far simpler to bar the doors and wait for Hrongar's party to take care of this little obstacle.
The werewolf fell to all fours and turned its attention to Vilkas. Not even he was stupid enough to have left the protection of the tower; more likely he had stuck his head outside the door.
Vilkas continued: "Revert to your human state, and we will grant you a safe passage."
"Oh," Sofie said under her breath. "Now I get it. Convince it to change, so we can kill it with a single blow. Clever."
"Not an honorable tactic, is it?"
Her look of confusion was so immediate and genuine that Miraak felt ashamed for having posed the question. "What does honor have to do with it?"
The werewolf panted and looked back over its broad shoulders. Then it sprinted towards the tower.
Vilkas cursed and slammed the door. Miraak jumped when the werewolf threw itself against the entryway with all of its unnatural weight, again and again. Wood splintered like ancient parchment.
"Help me find something to drop on it," Sofie said, already looking around the small chamber herself. "Something heavy or sharp, preferably."
"But Vilkas ordered us not to attack." Miraak frowned. "He was quite clear about keeping the werewolf in one place, and not driving it away. You would disobey his orders?"
She paused in her search to look at him strangely. "Vilkas is not my master. I'll always take his advice, but I'll not be a slave to his whims. Not any longer."
"I truly do not understand." He sat back on a crate and held his head in his hands. The beating of the werewolf against the door below matched the pounding in his skull. Nothing is given in the Companions, he had said himself only minutes before. Evidently, that also extended to the commands of the most powerful warriors in their ranks. Would Vilkas not punish Sofie for acting against his directives? Even kill her, possibly, to serve as an example to the other whelps?
Before Sofie could find a suitable object, the werewolf ceased its assault. Vilkas had resumed his appeals even before Sofie and Miraak reached the loophole to look down at their enemy.
"You're running out of time," Vilkas said. His voice came through startlingly clear. The door must have been in poor shape at this point.
Sofie must have come to the same realization because she rushed down the stairs with her axe at the ready. Miraak followed after her into the lowest chamber where Vilkas was speaking to the werewolf through a fist-sized hole in the battered wood. He'd drawn his sword, but his shield remained on his back.
"We can protect you, as a man," Vilkas spoke, an almost pleading note in his tone. "But as a beast you'll never pass through this keep. Not alive."
Miraak moved to his side to look through the hole.
The werewolf wavered on its powerful hind legs, obviously exhausted. It looked up at the wide blue sky and sighed before falling to all fours again. Was that surrender in its eyes? Had this hunter of Hircine's dominion truly been cowed by nothing more than Vilkas' words?
The Harbinger opened the door and took a step outside. Sofie grabbed his shoulder, her eyes never leaving the crouched werewolf, but Vilkas shrugged her off.
"That's it," Vilkas spoke softly. He gazed at the werewolf so intensely - but why? Why would he bother himself with this wild manbeast on the run? If Sofie was right, and Vilkas wanted to trick the werewolf into transforming before killing it, why had he left the safety of the tower?
Incredibly, Vilkas sheathed his weapon and approached the werewolf. Miraak moved to join him, but Sofie stopped him with a raised arm.
"Too late now," she warned in a low voice. "No way we could kill it before it reached him."
She is right. With a single bound, the werewolf could fall on Vilkas and swipe off his head. Miraak watched, fear bubbling in his gut, as Vilkas came face-to-face with the bloodthirsty creature. The thought of never again beholding Vilkas' beauty wrenched Miraak's heart. What are you doing, you fool?
"Peace," Vilkas said, reaching out his hand. "Peace, brother."
It stretched its body until its snout formed a point extending to just shy of Vilkas' reach, like a dog sniffing a strange new person that had entered its home.
The werewolf was crushed to the cobblestones with a bone-shattering crunch. A heavy silver chain fell across its shoulders and a massive Breton snapped into existence with a pop like a fresh bottle of wine. Vilkas gasped and scrambled backward and the werewolf howled in agony. Another silver chain wrapped around its hind legs. Miraak clasped his hands around his ears without realizing he had done so.
"Cheers, Vilkas!" Montrose sat astride the werewolf as if it were a bull to be broken. His gleaming silver plate was nowhere to be seen; the Silver Dawn's commander wore only a sleeveless shirt and a thin pair of cotton trousers. "I was wondering where you'd run off to. Harbinger of us all, indeed."
Hoofbeats on the cobblestones. From around the bend in the road came another knight, Jarl Hrongar, and a sturdy-looking Nord in steel plate riding with a child. The boy squealed when he saw the writhing werewolf trapped underneath the chains.
"Is it real?" He asked, rocking back and forth on the saddle like a swaying pendulum. "Is it real, pa?"
"Aye, Bear." Hrongar looked at Montrose as if he were a god. "Never should have doubted you, knight. You promised us a performance, but Shor's bones, to capture one of these cursed creatures alive? My heart brightens to see the Silver Dawn living up to all your talk of conquering Whiterun's evils."
Bear goggled at the groaning werewolf. "Can we keep it? Elone and Holmar won't b'lieve me that I saw it."
Montrose shifted on top of the beast. His bare muscles glistened with sweat, but he showed little sign of exhaustion. "My apologies, little friend. These monsters are too dangerous to be kept breathing. But I did swear to give you all a show, didn't I?" His dancing eyes darted to the Imperial behind Hrongar.
The man smirked. "You want the ten-incher, Francois? That'll keep it screaming 'till midday."
"Oh, yes." Montrose clapped his hands together. "I give you Calpius Quarkus, everyone, the man who shares my mind."
Quarkus tossed a long sheathed dagger to Montrose.
The Nord woman holding Bear spoke: "Usually I'd say, give me a straight fight over all this sneaking around with chains and potions. Then again, not even I'd want to tangle with those claws up close. This is the best way to kill a werewolf?"
"Oh no, esteemed Uthgerd." Montrose licked his lips as he pulled the dagger whisper-quiet from its sheath. "This is merely one of my favorites."
Vilkas shook the shock from his posture and glared at his adversary. "Thought knights were supposed to be principled. This is what you call honor? Sneaking up on your foe and wrapping them in chains so you can stab them in the back?"
Montrose studied the werewolf below him, the dagger twirling in his off-hand. "What is honor to an abomination, dear Vilkas? If not for these chains, this aberration of nature would tear us all to pieces. Even young Bear would not be spared. A werewolf knows nothing of loyalty or integrity. Nothing of love or hate. It is a base creature of ravenous appetites; a violent, hungry pit roaming our fair countryside in a mindless crusade to fill a bottomless hole with the blood and flesh of the innocent. There is only one way to answer such savagery, Harbinger."
The dagger started working and the werewolf howled with all the unholy strength of its progenitor demon. Miraak found himself standing beside Vilkas, unable to tear his eyes from the writhing, bleeding mass pinned underneath Montrose.
"Even a monster deserves a clean death," Miraak spoke quietly, so only Montrose and Vilkas could hear. "Not to be ripped to pieces while it still draws breath. For the sake of the boy. He need not see such things."
Montrose looked up, his eyes shining rapturously. Even as his dagger remained pinned in the werewolf, he appeared to consider Miraak's proposition.
"Oh, very well. Everything's tickety-boo. Thank your mate, Vilkas. But watch closely, because this is for you. Only for you. It can be right tricky to find the heart in a changed abomination. That's the first technique we teach our initiates: how to reach the heart. Are you watching?"
"Yes," Vilkas breathed, the word more motion than sound.
The point of Montrose's dagger traced soft lines across the werewolf's side, like a lover's drowsy hand. "Purifier Songbird knew this art best. Against man or beast, or both...his aim was always true." The dagger sunk into the werewolf, and it gave one last shuddering whimper before falling still. As before, the green fire in its eyes faded to a flat dullness.
It took all of Miraak's strength to maintain his grip on Vilkas' arm as the larger man strained against him like a warhound at the end of a rope. Montrose observed them unabashedly, his perfect teeth shining dragonbone-white.
The commander sent Calpius Quarkus back with Hrongar and his family to show the rest of the hunting party how best to skin a dead werewolf. Calpius struggled at first to lift the heavy carcass from the road, but Hrongar readily dropped from his steed to help the knight move the creature.
"How come it didn't turn back?" Bear asked, still on his mother's horse. They trotted slowly behind Hrongar and Calpius as they held the werewolf aloft and returned down the eastern road. "How come it didn't, how come?"
Uthgerd appeared to think for a couple of seconds. "S'pose the chains stopped it. Sound about right, Callipers?"
Calpius' strained smile did not entirely reach his eyes. "The chains lock the beast into its form, right, but it's a common mistake to think any were-creature reverts to human form-"
She grunted in affirmation. "Was the chains, like I said. Now I've never faced off with one of these bastards, but a werebear...nah, you probably don't wanna hear about the werebear, do ya?"
"Werebear! Werebear!"
They passed out of sight and Miraak and Vilkas found themselves standing alone with Montrose across darkening bloodstains.
Montrose cleaned his dirty hands and chest using a large rag Calpius had provided. It was like watching a cat lick itself clean after eviscerating a rodent. "Pardon me, sir 'Clean Death'... have we perchance met before?"
Miraak cleared his throat before responding: "Fin Lein Dah Daal."
The commander froze. "I...beg your pardon?"
"The world pushes back. Words you spoke to me in Dragonsreach, many moons ago. Surely you didn't think you were the only people in Skyrim who could speak dovahzul?"
Montrose grinned and resumed his gruesome grooming routine. "I was assured it was a dead language."
Vilkas interjected hoarsely, "So your company uses it as some manner of coded communication? Strange, that. I could have sworn I heard you regaling Hrongar with talk of respecting our native ways, and yet our sacred tongues are a plaything for your knights."
Miraak was relieved to see a defiant brightness returning to Vilkas' haunted eyes, even if his verbal attack lacked any real grounding.
Montrose's grin did not waver. "Now you're yanking my toe, dear Vilkas. I sincerely doubt the esteemed sons and daughters of Skyrim grow up hearing praise of the dragon tongue. Now, if you wanted to go back a few thousand years, it might be a different story. Which makes it all the more interesting our mutual acquaintance here seems to possess at least a partial understanding...excuse me, but I didn't catch your name."
"Likely because I did not provide it. If you must know, I am called Miraak."
"Oh oh oh, but a dragon name, as well! You must have had bloody traditional parents, mate. Now you can't blame me for asking, but are you in need of steady work presently? With your existing knowledge, I'd be willing to grant you-"
Vilkas interrupted, "You're wasting your breath. He's one of ours."
"Truly?" Montrose asked before Miraak could do so himself.
"Aye. Miraak here is on a quest to restore the Gildergreen to its former glory. When he succeeds, he'll be welcomed into Jorrvaskr as our newest whelp."
"How...fortunate, for him." Montrose straightened and tossed the dirty rag into the grass without looking where it fell. "Though it seems an extraordinary trial merely to gain admittance. Little wonder your company remains so small."
Before Vilkas could respond, Montrose's face brightened and he moved past them. Miraak turned to see Lucia and Sofie approaching. The bound thieves waited in front of the tower doors, still firmly gagged and restrained.
"Oh, capital! How wonderful to see you again, priestess." Montrose bowed to Lucia. "Please express my apologies to Danica for missing her daily services this past week. I've been growing personally acquainted with Kynareth's fine work while out hunting with Jarl Hrongar."
Her brow twitched at the mention of Hrongar, but Lucia's smile in response to the knight's greeting appeared genuine. "Don't worry about it, Francois, I hardly got time to attend them myself these days. Err...she wanted me to thank ya, for all the help the Dawn has provided lately. Almost feels like we got our heads above water, now."
"I trust S'argo has been serving you well? He's always been so vocal about his love of charity."
"Oh, S'argo is a wonder! The little 'uns love the big fella, and he's so strong he can move all our donations in only a few trips."
Montrose rested a hand on Lucia's shoulder. "Come, my girl, let's sit down for a spell. I hope you're feeling better, after our last conversation?" They wandered towards the tower, speaking in quiet voices.
Sofie, ignored by Montrose entirely, moved to join Vilkas and Miraak as they observed the unsettling exchange.
Vilkas murmured, "Your priestess has certainly become fast friends with...Francois, was it? I suppose he must seem some great work of art to the ignorant eye."
She shook her head. "Whatever you're thinking...it's not like that. Lucia doesn't care for men in that way."
"Whatever it is, I don't like it." Vilkas sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Events are moving too quickly now. Sofie, I want you to return to Whiterun with Hrongar and his party. Tell Aela I don't want any of us to leave the city until my return."
Sofie's eyes hardened. "I've been stuck in Jorrvaskr for a month, and now you're going to trap me there again? I'm a whelp, Harbinger, but I didn't join yesterday. If we all stand as equals, then who are you to put limits on our movements?"
"I know well the limits of my influence, girl. This is in all our best interests. Tell the others I plan to hold a grand feast on the evening of my return. A night to be remembered in our history for decades to come. I want everyone in attendance."
"To celebrate what?"
He smiled wearily. "Have we ever needed an excuse to take to our cups and sing into the small hours until our legs give out beneath us? Tell them it's in honor of Hugs-the-Shadow's proving...and Miraak's joining."
Miraak spoke, disbelieving: "You meant what you said to Montrose, then? You want me to become a Companion?"
"As you said when I pulled you from the river, what I want has little to do with it. Though are you truly up to the challenge, ghost? Montrose offers you power and prestige merely because you can speak some cursed language. I wouldn't blame you for choosing the easy path. We have a rough road ahead of us."
The situation was growing more and more incredulous. "Now you plan to accompany me?"
The Harbinger sighed. "Yes, fool that I am. I'm not yet ready to return to the city." He whistled, and soon his white horse trotted towards them from a break in the trees. "Sofie, you're released from your promise to this man. I will shoulder that burden. Besides, your wound needs to be looked at by a properly equipped healer. I've seen shield-siblings lose limbs over lesser injuries."
"I'm fine," she protested. "But...I will do as you ask, Vilkas. If only to carry your message to Aela. Miraak."
"Yes?" He responded faintly.
"I would have gone with you. To the Eldergleam Sanctuary, and back. It's...important to me, that you know that. Especially if we are to become shield-siblings. Please keep Lucia safe for me."
"I…" Before Miraak could unscramble his brain and form a response, she'd swept past them towards the hunting party.
"Come," Vilkas called, already walking off towards the tower to retrieve their missing third. Miraak rushed to catch up. His eyes lingered on the werewolf's blood, but the Harbinger pointedly ignored the sight. "Let's not let this cool weather go to waste."