Chapter 21: To Appease and Appeal

Under Aela's militant direction, it wasn't long before the elation of being able to actually fire a bow wore off, and the aches and pains of standing outside, exposed to the elements and firing continually into the same target took hold.

By evening, my knees shook and my arms felt as though they were burning; each time I drew the bow string back, the heat pooling around my joints intensified. My hands and cheeks were chapped from exposure and my knuckles throbbed, swollen and starting to blister. My stomach ached with hunger and my mind with fatigue; given the lateness of my arrival to Jorrvaskr, there had been no time to stop, or to eat.

I continued to fire, determined to bear the pain. If I even faltered, Aela would pounce, of that I was certain. She would report my failure to Kodlak, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

As for my teacher; my thoughts were divided. A part of me petulantly insisted that I not give a damn what she thought of me, but another more striving part of me laboured under a delusion that I might eventually win her approval. I fell into mechanical routine; firing my bow and enduring her attitude in silence.

"That's enough for today."

Aela's order startled me, though I tried not to show it. I lowered my bow and gave my attention to her. My breaths came and went, heavy and strained. I hadn't realised that standing and shooting a bow all afternoon would leave me breathless, but here I was, gasping for air.

She pushed off the verandah support post she'd been leaning against and moved toward me, shaking her head. "You will return at dawn and continue firing on that target," she spoke loudly and clearly, as though to a child, pointing to the target I had been trying to punish all afternoon. Only a few of my arrows had ever thudded into the side of it.

"All right," I agreed quietly, inwardly wincing at my protesting, weary frame. I would stop by the potion shop and buy something to help, I promised. "Shall I go now?" I turned back to Aela.

"You entered into an agreement with Kodlak. Not me," she snapped, her shimmery eyes, hinted with green and gold, rounded on me. "I don't care how you spend your evenings, as long as you stay out of my way."

"Then why are you teaching me, if you can't stand the sight of me?" I sighed, growing more frustrated as I recovered my breaths. I was tired, hungry, and had been suffering her abhorrence for hours.

Aela narrowed her eyes, as though considering whether my question was worth a reply.

I waited and watched her for any signs of sudden movement; my defiance hardened.

"Because unlike some," she leaned forward and down, until her nose almost touched mine. "I know my place," she hissed through her teeth.

It took all of my willpower to stand my ground. I clenched my jaw to keep me from prolonging this useless – what were we doing, bickering? – and lifted my chin to suffer her glare in silence. Could I Shout at her and watch her tumble across the courtyard? I wanted to Shout at her. I could feel the rush, the power of Fus storming and crashing through my mind, coiling as it prepared to strike.

I pushed it back down. To let it loose on Aela would see me expelled from the Companions, and quite likely be a death sentence.

Her eyes narrowed again, then she turned abruptly and mounted the stairs to the verandah. "If you cannot be here at dawn, do not bother returning, whelp," she uttered without even looking at me, before striding through the back doors and into Jorrvaskr.

I let out an enormous sigh of relief once she had gone, and turned away as I tried to shake off her open hatred.

That's what it was, wasn't it? Aela hated me for playing music for the Companions that night, since she felt it dulled their fire?

I shuddered and mused over how unreasonable she was being; as though I was a threat to her. I walked around Jorrvaskr and made for Breezehome; I would return to the mead hall tonight, but only after I had cleaned myself up and collected my lute.

I had entered into an agreement with Kodlak, and given that I had been training today, regardless of who it had been with, I would make good on my side of the bargain, and perform for whichever Companions could stomach my music, and presence.

I hastened home; a weak smile graced my fatigued form as I realised I truly thought of Breezehome as such.

It was nice to have a home again.

–

While I had forgotten entirely that I meant to stop by the apothecary and buy a potion, as soon as I stepped into Breezehome Lydia took one look at me, frowned, moved to a small set of drawers and withdrew a little red bottle.

She handed it to me and asked me about my first day with a wariness that made plain her disapproval.

I made myself smile, and made light of it; I couldn't bare the thought of her visiting the Companions on my behalf. After downing the potion, she accompanied me to my room so we could talk while I prepared for the night ahead.

The healing potion made me feel a lot better about the day, and I cheerily explained how Aela had managed to teach me the proper way to stand for my frame, and of how I had been shooting at targets for the whole afternoon.

Lydia's caution warmed in the wake of my animation. "If only I had skill with a bow," she shook her head regretfully. "Then I might teach you, and you wouldn't have to go back there tonight."

"I don't mind," I tugged open the drawer full of clothes, pursing my lips and turning back to Lydia as I raised my eyebrows pointedly at her. "How much do I owe you, by the way?"

She glanced to the drawers, then back to me. "Don't start," she appealed.

"No, I insist," I turned back to the clothing, my eyes roving the garments for something to change into. I withdrew a simple, warm brown dress and a white under-tunic, holding both up against my body briefly to check the size. They would fit. "I will not use my friends."

"You're not using me," she tutted, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. "I'm your housecarl, remember? It's my job to arrange these kinds of things for you," the amusement was back in her tone.

Unlacing my vest, I cast her a pleading glance. "There is a line between organisation and..." I searched, shucking the brown garment off my shoulders, "exploitation. I must pay you for them. When I sell what's in there," I nodded toward my pack, "I will be able to pay you back your loan, too."

Lydia scoffed. "There are more important things in this life than money."

"I know," I conceded quietly, not wanting to offend her as I dragged the sweaty training tunic over my head. "But it would make me feel better about living in your house-"

"Which I would not own if not for you," Lydia pointed out.

I rolled my eyes, "-if you would allow me to repay you. Somehow," I added hurriedly. "If you don't want gold, then in some other way."

Lydia considered while I stretched out of the leggings and threw the under tunic, then dress over my head.

"I know - you could write a song about me?" she smirked in satisfaction.

I flashed her a doubtful glance as I adjusted the skirts and said nothing. The dress was heavy and warm, made of thick, scratchy wool and the undertunic was longer, silkier and absolutely required or I would have been itchy all night. I tugged the white sleeves through, so they extended the cuffs of the brown, and adjusted myself so the neckline was even.

"Very pretty," Lydia commented as she stepped into the room. "I knew that colour would suit you."

I stared down in interest. "Does it?"

"Yes," she laughed. "It brings out the blue in your eyes," she smiled sadly.

I gave her a sad smile in return. The same blue as father's.

She cleared her throat. "Let me help," she adjusted the shoulders of the dress slightly, centring the necklace I had thrown on that morning before heading to court, then untucked the Passero seal from the undershirt, so it rested on top of my clothes.

I let her work and watched her attentive movements. I was more grateful than she could imagine that she cared, but I was uncertain of how to show it. Perhaps I could write a song about her, some day, and perhaps if I was lucky I would somehow do her justice.

"There," she dusted me off and took a step back, smiling with satisfaction, though her eyes were still sad. "If only soldier-boy could see you now," she laughed.

I arched an eyebrow, suppressing a flush. "Soldier boy?"

Of course, I had mentioned Hadvar to Lydia, but I was certain I had not hinted at any more to our relationship.

She smiled too knowingly for my liking but teased me no more, and returned to the door way. "Lucia kept your lute safe in her room, by the way. I hope you don't mind," she mentioned fondly. "She desperately wanted to play it, and promised she would be careful. It might be a little out of tune."

"It's no trouble," I unbraided my hair and decided to leave it loose for the performance. If Lydia thought the dress looked well on me; that Hadvar might appreciate it; perhaps I could play a more romantic bard tonight. "It's a practise instrument, so the strings are always bound to be a little out of tune. I'll give it to her someday, when I can find another worth playing," I gathered the low shoes from the bottom drawer and a pair of stockings from the top.

"Please," Lydia hesitated. "...teach her how to tune it, before you do," her reply was dry.

I laughed and promised I would. Once shod, I was ready, so I retrieved my lute from Lucia's room (it was very out of tune), bade Lydia good night, made her promise she would not wait up for me, and left. I bundled myself into my coat and scarf, then slung the instrument over my shoulders.

It was twilight, and while there was no breeze for once, a chill to the air clawed through my clothes and seeped straight into my bones.

But I found it invigorating. As I walked, my anticipation for the night's performance wove through and warmed me, and I mused over which piece I would sing first. At once, my fingers itched and I yearned to play, even the silly practise lute.

What about Aela and Skjor, a small, anxious voice queried? They will not suffer you filling their sanctuary with songs night after night.

I bit my bottom lip, assuring myself that it would not be my problem, though I wondered how Kodlak might have gotten around their animosity toward me, and my music.

–

Jorrvaskr was warm and lively, in stark contrast to how I had found it late the previous night. I recognised most of the faces within the hall, though didn't know their names with the exception of Njada, and I didn't particularly want to walk up to the fierce woman. Returned from their jobs for the day, the bawdy crowd were regaling one another with their exploits while eating their dinners and drinking what smelled like quite a lot of ale and mead.

I smiled as I stood on the top step of the inner hall and watched them, temporarily taking off my lute so I could shed my scarf and coat. Did they know that I was technically one of their number yet? Would it bother them that I was? None of whom Kodlak had called the Circle were present; himself, the brothers, Aela, or Skjor, and with a thud to my chest, I hoped that the latter had gone out for the night already, again. Perhaps that was how Kodlak had dealt with the problem – he had assigned them some sort of night duty?

Surely not, I scoffed as the unfairness of such a situation settled on my shoulders. This is their home.

"Oh! Look who's back!" the Imperial woman who I'd briefly spoken to my first time in the hall saw me and called out. Only a couple took notice of her; the Dunmer and a Nord man with flushed cheeks.

"It's our little bard!" the Nord man called out, slurring his words and raising his tankard to me in toast.

Blinking in surprise at his level of inebriation, given the early hour, I turned and descended to the woman.

"Hey, show some respect, you fool," the Dunmer shoved the Nord's shoulder. "She's the Dragonborn."

I didn't hear the drunkard's reply over the Imperial woman's greeting, but felt several sets of eyes turn toward me at the word Dragonborn. So, word had reached the Companions of that already.

"Welcome back," the Imperial woman didn't seem to care; her smile perhaps even more encouraging.

"Thanks," I smiled gratefully. "I'm Celeste," I held my hand out to her. It was time I knew their names, if they were to be my colleagues for the next month.

"I know," she laughed, but extended her hand to mine. "I'd wager everybody in Whiterun knows your name by now. I'm Ria," she added warmly.

We shook. "I look forward to working with you, Ria," I released her hand.

"Working with? Did you...join us?" her pleasant eyes were shining with amusement, and not the sheen of drink.

I nodded, maintaining my smile and ignoring the inquiring eyes of those around me for the moment. "Yes. I've exchanged arms training for nightly performances-"

I was cut off by a voice I hadn't heard before. "You believe music to be compensation worthy of what the Companions can teach you, girl?"

I knew who had said it before I had turned to face the older, grey-haired man who had glared at Lydia the first day I had approached Kodlak. He wasn't openly glaring at me, but it was clear that he wasn't all that thrilled by my arrangement. I gave him a straight-faced look, unwilling to be intimidated by him, as I recalled that he had enjoyed my music as much as the rest, the previous time. "Kodlak believes so. Speaking of which," I dismissed the man, turning back to the friendlier Ria.

Ria tilted her head toward the downstairs area, casting me an apologetic look. "On you go, then, but don't be too long – I want to hear what you'll be singing tonight!"

A few affirmations from several of the others rang out at her words, and I flushed my gratitude as I thanked Ria and turned away, descending the stairs to the lower level as they returned to their dinners and discussions.

Once again, the stark contrast in tone of the levels of Jorrvaskr gave me reason to pause once I was within; the upper being all warmth and merrymaking, and the lower being so much more...solemn.

"- am relieved that you are both returned safe, regardless, Vilkas," Kodlak's voice travelled down the hall to me.

I raised my eyes. The hulking frames of both brothers were before Kodlak; the larger of the two sitting on the flagstones with his legs extended, while the smaller, with his back to me, was kneeling over his brother's outstretched legs. Kodlak was in his chair, but his focus was on the pair, and none of them noticed the door to upstairs closing softly behind me.

"But at such a cost when we had abstained for so long, and to expose-" Vilkas griped regretfully, with bitterness lining his every word.

A hiss from Farkas brought an end to his brother's criticism, and Vilkas' tone changed.

"Keep still, Farkas," he insisted, and not for the first time, by the sound.

"Are you certain I can't have Tilma fetch you a potion-?" Kodlak offered.

"No," Farkas grumbled. "No magic. Just stitch it up."

"A potion isn't technically magic, Farkas-" Kodlak tried in a kind, patient voice.

"Then you have to sit still," Vilkas said at the same time, punctuating his words by pointedly extending a hand to his brother's chest to steady him.

I had been standing and watching them unobserved for too long, but I had stilled upon hearing the timbre of their discussion, busy in what appeared to be Vilkas stitching up a wound his brother had sustained on their mission.

Slowly, my eyes trained on the brothers and Kodlak in case they suddenly detected me, I reached my hand out for the door, silently opened it, and then slammed it swiftly. I followed the sound by smiling widely and falling into step toward them. "Good evening, Harbinger!" I called pleasantly down the hall.

Kodlak raised his eyes; Farkas, while wincing, glanced my way; Vilkas turned his head. All three sets of silvery eyes looked alarmed.

I halted again, glancing to each of the brothers. "Oh! You're back," I commented, my brightness, and smile, faltering at the caution in their gazes. I felt like a fiend; my words sounding rehearsed even to my own ears.

A silence followed my forced greeting, but Vilkas was the first to turn away, lowering his eyes back to his brother's leg. "As are you," he drawled.

I frowned, turning my eyes to Farkas instead, glancing over him in concern as though realising for the first time that he was hurt. The larger brother was watching me still, his look now more comfortable.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly, broaching the final few steps to join them, since I had not at once been ordered away, but made sure to keep Vilkas' back between whatever wound he was seeing to and me.

He nodded, smiling fondly. "Nothing a few meads won't fix. Nice to see you ag-," he startled with an; "Ow!" and a mutinous look to his brother.

"Keep still!" Vilkas commanded, growling out the last.

"Celeste," Kodlak drew my attention to him; I tore my eyes from the spectacle before me to rest on the Harbinger. He was sitting up in his chair now; his hands resting on his knees. His sobriety made me wonder if he was angry with me. "How was your first day's training with Aela?"

"What?" Vilkas whispered, aghast. His head shot up, his attention at once removed from his brother to stare at Kodlak.

Faltering and casting Vilkas a glance, I made myself speak. "It was fine. I mean," I reconsidered, widening my eyes as I felt both Vilkas and Farkas' silvery gazes turn on me; the questions that I felt there informing me that Kodlak hadn't told them of my recent induction into their ranks.

You're a Companion. Act like one. I let out a long exhale, realising that it would serve little purpose to whine and complain to Kodlak about Aela's methods. Was I a child who needed him to fight my battles for me? "It was fine," I settled evenly, meeting the Harbinger's eyes with determination.

"I am pleased to hear it," the evenness of Kodlak's reply, and the approving nod of his head spoke volumes; he was pleased, I felt, that I had replied thus to him. Perhaps today, he had been testing me, I realised suddenly. And while I had no desire or ability to meet with Aela's approval, I felt lighter in knowing that I had earned some of Kodlak.

"You...are one of us?" Vilkas uttered. I glanced to him; noticing that the warpaint around his eyes had run and mingled with grime that had created trails down his face from sweat. I blinked in surprise when I saw something of distress in his silvery gaze.

I frowned at the look; I had not considered that he might oppose my appointment, given he had appealed to me to take up a contract with them. "I have," I answered simply, with a nod, reasoning that if he took umbrage, he could talk to Kodlak about it later. He would understand the reason for my change of heart, once he learned that I was Dragonborn.

I turned back to the Harbinger, and offered him a small smile, determined to remain serene. "I am here now to fulfil my part in our agreement," I unstrapped my lute from my back and cradled it, ignoring the astonished gazes I felt drifting over me to focus on the man I was talking to. "Where might I set up for tonight, so that I don't disturb those who are not in the mood for music?"

Kodlak's eyes seemed amused by my words. The corner of his mouth twitched, but his reply was as measured as ever as he gave me another approving nod. "Tonight, you may fill the mead hall with your offering; tomorrow the training yard. The night after that," he motioned around the expansive hallway beyond us, "the living quarters will be your arena. Those who do not wish to partake in your melodious gifts have been advised the same."

"Thank you," I bowed my gratitude, sensing that the brothers were exchanging a glance now, and felt relieved that their heavy, searching eyes had finally left me. "I shall return to the mead hall and prepare at once, if that suits you," I added as I lifted my eyes to him.

Kodlak chuckled. "Music is not an undertaking to be scheduled and disciplined," he shook his head fondly. "Go and sit with your shield-siblings, on this, the first night of your affiliation. Take some dinner, and drink if it facilitates your needs and wants. You may begin whenever it suits you, little dove."

I felt rather differently on the matter to him; music was a discipline and furthermore, it was my job, but I saw what he was trying to say. There was no rush, and he wished for me to feel as though I was one of them. I smiled and was about to thank him, but Farkas spoke up.

"You're going to sing for us again?" he asked; the flatness of his drawl making me turn to regard him uncertainly. Surely, Farkas wouldn't oppose me, too?

But there was a trace of a smile on his face, despite his brother's grisly employment, so I reasoned away his tone as being the norm for him. My eyes flickered to Vilkas' hands, working furiously with a thick needle and thread to close a lengthy gash in his brother's knee. I glanced directly back up to Farkas, wishing I hadn't looked down, as I swallowed away the nausea I felt at the sight of the open wound.

"I am," I made myself say; made myself forget the sight. If it didn't bother Farkas, it shouldn't bother me. I nodded, to confirm. "Tonight, and every night from now, until you grow weary of my songs," I gave him a half-smile.

He grinned widely then, shaking his head. "Doubt that'll happen any time soon, shield-sister."

"I may hold you to that some day, shield-brother," I gave him an obliging smile in return, unable to keep my gaze from drifting down to Vilkas again. I had not expected such silence from him upon my return, and it was a little unsettling.

His focus was entirely trained on the wound before him; one hand holding the skin together, while the other guided the needle point through the flesh.

I looked away again. He is somewhat preoccupied, I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself. "All right, then," I cleared my throat, in the hope that it would settle my stomach. "I shall begin within the next half hour, if you wish to join us upstairs," I told Kodlak.

"I look forward to it," Kodlak's reply was genial; enough to once again make my pride swell.

I left them where they were, walking down the hall in the silence. It wasn't until I reached the door that I heard the rumble of their voices again; though this time, I was unable to make out any of their words.

–

I saw nothing of Aela or Skjor that night. I was almost wholly relieved; with a small tendril of guilt in pushing them out of their home winding its way around me to ruffle my contentedness.

The easy-going Ria had introduced me to the rest of their number, undertaking the task as though by being the youngest and newest member of the Companions before I had arrived that it was her duty. Once we had done the rounds of the entire table, and I had forgotten more than half of the names I had heard, she offered me a seat by her and, with wide, expectant brown eyes, asked me to tell her about what had happened at the Western watchtower the previous night.

"Oh," I eased into the chair at the main table, resting my lute in front of me and raising my eyebrows as I wondered over what to tell them. I hadn't expected to be asked about the incident – though of course, they must have heard something of it if they all knew that I was Dragonborn.

Bards tell stories as frequently as they sing them, I reminded myself; the words not my own, but one of my teacher's. I shrugged inwardly; while I preferred to make music, I had recalled the events of the previous night enough times already to be prepared for this task.

So I told the story, once again able to disconnect myself from the circumstances, to turn the retelling into a performance in itself. I had Ria's undivided attention from the first sentence, and it was not long before I had drawn the attention of the rest of the Companions; even the gruff Vignar Grey-Mane, which happened to be the name of the older man who had questioned the worth of my abilities. His name I would not forget, nor his allegiance; even I knew that the Grey-Manes were staunch Stormcloak supporters.

"It's torrid screeches brought forth another swell of flame as its shadow cast by the moons rolled over Bryor and I like an inky wave; the heady force of its wake striving to expose us from our cover," I spun, glancing up from my audience at the sounds of movement beyond the table. It was Kodlak and the two brothers, making their way from the landing to the table. Farkas was limping slightly, but was unattended, and his nurse seemed appeased of the tension I had felt exuding off him downstairs.

Smiling; pleased that they had appeared, I returned my attention to the assembly before me.

"A volley of arrows was fired at the briefly exposed wyrm's belly before it was lost once again to the pillars of rising smoke; its razor-toothed maw hissing a chilling soliloquy from its temporary refuge; 'Hin kinboku fent mahfaeraak aus fah daar gein sizaan sos; your children shall forever suffer for this one's lost blood," I glanced up again to nod my hello to Kodlak and the brothers, as they each took their seats, then continued. "Unbeknownst to the dragon, I could hear everything it said, and immediately told the guards around me that our plan was working; we were winning, slowly but surely."

The tale was nearly at its end, and I began to feel nervous as I drew nearer the point in the story where the soul of the dragon would be absorbed. Not because I didn't want them to know of it; I knew that they already did, but because I was hesitant to describe the experience. The event was, in retrospect, both quite beyond words, and somehow deeply personal.

My narrative wound down; the dragon had been slain. I paused, in their eyes for effect, but inwardly shuddered as I reached for the right words. The mead hall was completely silent.

I lowered my eyes, a gravity pressing on my heart as I recalled the next moments for myself. Speak, I commanded myself. Perform.

"The weight of a dragon's soul might be compared to the explosive death of a sun whose final luminous beams, eschewed of their worldly form, coalesce and reform to design a new life," I sighed, determining to keep direct mentions of myself out of this part.

I made myself look up, glancing with a small smile to Ria beside me, and shook my head. "I daresay you know as well as I what happened next."

"Tell us."

I glanced across the table, my eyes finding Vilkas, who had spoken. I crossed my brows at him, my curiosity rising at the tone accompanying his words; not commanding, but beseeching. The Nord had wiped his face clean of the grime I had noticed down stairs while he had seen to his brother, and only a trace of his black warpaint remained; the lack of it, combined with his earnestness, making him appear younger all at once.

I inclined my head to him, still surprised by his display of what verged on vulnerability before his peers. "As you wish, shield-brother. The soul of the dragon settled around a single foreign word in my mind, that I had learned from a wall in a dark dungeon, a day earlier. It was a word that I had first heard spoken by Ulfric Stormcloak on the night that...changed the life of every man, woman and child in Skyrim," I chose my words carefully, remembering how Kodlak had cautioned me against openly appearing for the Legion, and I didn't dare turn my eyes from Vilkas, to check Vignar's reaction. My blood boiled at the dishonour and my eyes flashed; it was my job as a bard to speak the truth; to call murder for what it was!

My heart hammering at the injustice of my position; of having to dodge the truth delicately, I focussed on Vilkas, for it had been he who wanted to hear this after all, and determined to complete my performance. "The guards who had taken down the dragon realised what had happened to me, before I had," I spoke very quickly now. "They asked me to shout; to show them the power of the dragon's tongue. So I showed them."

I rose, picking up my lute and glancing away from the mounting emotion I saw in Vilkas' eyes; as though he could possibly empathise with me on this matter.

"Now, I feel like a song. What shall it be? All six verses of 'Mead, mead, mead'?" I asked my audience with a forced smile.

I heard a hearty 'here here!' from Torvar's – the drunk one's – direction, but Ria reached toward me; her hand landing on my arm gently.

"Can you show us?" she asked quietly; her tone enthralled.

I looked to her; her wide eyes reminding me of Dorthe or Lucia's, which assuaged the last of my mounting resentment.

I smiled. "I had better not," I raised an eyebrow at her. "It would make an awful mess of your dinner table, and I don't want to create more work for Tilma than she already has."

Ria cracked a smile at this, letting her hand fall back to the table. "Another time, then?"

I assented to this, for now, determined to move on to my lute. "Certainly, if an appropriate time presents itself," I bowed to the Companions; the traditional welcome and farewell of a trained bard. "Excuse me, while I tune my instrument, shield-siblings. I shall be ready to continue tonight's entertainments forthwith."

When I turned my back to the Companions, intent on retreating to the table I had played at last time, I let out a huge breath of air. I was relieved that nobody called me back, or questioned me further on the thu'um, or the dragon.

While I tuned the lute, Kodlak took control of the rabble, standing to advise the Companions gathered of a cause for celebration that night; the successful return of Vilkas and Farkas, and a fragment of 'Wuuthrad'. Whatever Wuuthrad was, Kodlak naming it had some effect on the others; there was cheering and congratulations aplenty.

I smiled at the scene then, relieved that their attentions were elsewhere for a time, and half-listened while I turned the keys into their proper positions.

When Kodlak finished his speech, there was some energised merrymaking for a time. I was not quite ready to begin, but soon would be, and from the sidelines of their jubilant carousal I settled on which song I would play first.

I knew now that my hasty assumption that I could play the romantic bard wouldn't do; those before me wouldn't be satisfied with soft, wooing songs full of yearning and tragedy. They were warriors, returned home and full of adrenaline roused by the day's endeavours.

As was I, if I was honest; and there was only one suitable avenue for me to take to appease both myself and my crowd: adventure.

Once my lute was ready, I didn't delay, or even try to find a pause in the Companion's revelry. They would calm down and listen, eventually, I knew. I struck out the opening chords of Those Who Stood at Chalman Keep, noticing movement to my right and smiling thanks as Tilma settled a jug of water and a cup on the table behind me with a kind smile and wink.

Then I turned back to the room, and sang:

"Gather 'round, proud warriors all,
Silent now and standing tall.
Bow your heads to those who sleep,
Beneath the ground of Chalman Keep."

A comfort settled over me; a crescendoing relief that started at the tips of my fingers, and drifted out from me, across the room. As with my first performance for them, the Companions grew more interested with each song, and neither stopped nor requested any songs of their own.

My gaze often drifted around the room, interested in how they took my choice of theme. Torvar had fallen asleep on one of the benches by my third number. Vignar sat beside him, nursing a tankard and frowning thoughtfully, but not disdainfully, as he regarded me. Ria had moved to the floor, her legs curled under her as she calmly leaned against the edge of a bench seat, and to my surprise, Njada had joined her, leaning back against a barrel. Atthis – that was the Dunmer's name, wasn't it? – had simply turned in his seat to watch, his hand tapping out the rhythm in time to my melodies.

They enjoyed my offering, of this I was certain. But of the Circle; of Kodlak, Farkas and Vilkas? I was reaching them. I could both see, and somehow feel it. Kodlak listened and watched ardently, his eyes misting with what I could only place as a relieved sort of pride; the lyrics perhaps reminding him of his youth, and adventures he had created for himself in that time. Farkas grinned openly but there was no trace of a leer in his smile or gaze; no, his expression was one of appeased relaxation. Vilkas seemed soothed by the performance, though as ever, his shell seemed the most unwilling to crack. As the night wound on, he grew more visibly tranquil, until what I saw in his silvery eyes scared me.

It was a look I had seen in others, so I knew at once what it was. Most recently I had seen it in Bryor's eyes, after what had occurred at the Western watchtower. It was devotion, plain and pure, and I dared not look at him again, once I realised it, for I felt that I had done little to deserve that level of regard. I was not at one with the champions of yore, for all my ballads about them.

I played and sang for hours, regaling stories of wanderers and knights, villains and victims; stories of Tamriel's true heroes of legend, who had won the honour of remembrance through hard work and sacrifice. I was guided by a profound ache to meet that which was expected of me; a yearning, to be enough.

A/n: So glad to see people are enjoying this story! If you are interested in my style and haven't seen it yet, I have another (completed) Elder Scrolls fanfic on my account, To the Last Septim. It's a novelisation of Oblivion (ESIV), and Celeste would not have existed had it not been for that story. I'd love to know what you think of it, too, as it took several years to complete and I still find it difficult to remove myself from the characters that were built within.
As for this chapter...as a dialogue-driven writer, Vilkas is a cause for vexation, who speaks when he shouldn't and remains silent when he should. But that is in keeping with his character, I suppose, so I'll let it slide for now.