Chapter 24: Rites of Passage

Thus truly began my time with a people I would consider family, no matter how my path wove in and out of theirs over the years to come.

Kodlak told me what he knew of the curse, and each night when I asked how his research progressed, he revealed a little more to me. His knowledge of the supernatural was remarkable, given his reticence on the subject. Once I had learnt about the witches of Glenmoril and Kodlak's research into the severing of one's body from its invading lycan spirit, he went on to tell me about the bane of the Companion's existence, hindering their progress at attaining what they required to bring an end to their internal torment; the Silver Hand.

It had been the Silver Hand who had injured Farkas on the twins journey to retrieve a fragment of Wuuthrad (which it eventuated was an ancient battle-axe, sacred to the Companions and a critical component of the exorcisms they wished to conduct). The fragment had been laid as bait; Vilkas had become trapped, Farkas had been cornered. He had shifted into a werewolf as a last resort, breaking his own oath to refrain from letting the beast take hold of his frame, but it had been a move that had saved their lives.

The Silver Hand were werewolf hunters. When Kodlak first spoke of them, I assumed they followed some holy mandate, similar to the Vigilants of Stendarr, but as he explained their methods, of which capture and torture seemed to rank higher than eradication, my thoughts darkened.

They were nothing more than a cruel rabble of bandits who thrived on oppressing that which they perceived to be different.

As to the cure for lycanthropy, Kodlak advised that until Wuuthrad could be reassembled, and the bolt hole of the Glenmoril witches uncovered, there was simply nothing any of us could do to further its progress. He assured me he would let me know the moment he believed I could be of some assistance.

Aela and Skjor remained absent from the warmth and camaraderie of the mead hall. Two days lapsed with no word of their whereabouts, at which point Kodlak sent Farkas out to locate them.

Privately, at one of our night time vigils, Kodlak told me that the task of finding them was better suited to Vilkas. As Kodlak's second in the hierarchy observed by the wolves, Vilkas could ultimately order their return, and they would have to obey. But Vilkas was still bearing the effects of his recent transformation, after abstaining for such a time, and Kodlak did not wish to let the man out of his sights, until he could be certain he had recovered his calm.

That left only Vilkas to train me by day. He pushed me to work beyond the realm of comfort, but never to the point of breaking; simply made me give my all to the task at hand. If I had not known better, I would have wondered if he did it for selfish reasons; perhaps reluctant to leave my side in case that which soothed the beast was snatched away when his back was turned. I did know better of the professional Vilkas though, and saw his presence for what it was; he considered it the Circle's duty to teach me to defend myself, and after all we had witnessed and said in the underforge, he would ensure it.

The morning after that fateful night, once the sun peeked over Whiterun's walls, I had gone to Breezehome briefly to change and make small talk with Lydia, making light of everything and telling her my performance had carried on for so long that I had opted to sleep in the dorm. I hated lying to her, but spun what story I had to, to protect the secret I now bore. It was vital that none came to learn of the truth about the Circle, or they would be run out of town, if the Silver Hand didn't descend on Jorrvaskr first.

I had then returned to the training yard with my bow clutched firmly in my hands, ready to shoot targets, and attempt to let go of my lingering anxiety.

Vilkas had other plans for me, it seemed. He met me, rising from the step on the verandah, holding a pair of short training swords, similar to those I had seen Farkas and Ria training with at times.

My brows furrowed. "Good...morning, Vilkas," it was almost a question.

He nodded a greeting. "You can put your bow away for now," he offered the handle of one of the short swords. "You can hit a stationary target well enough. This morning we're going to work on your arm, try and build up some muscle in those limp, stringy things," he tried for banter, waving at my arms, but his voice came a little mechanically, a little uncertain, as though he lacked the heart or will to jest.

I played along. "I'll have you know, the soul of a dragon flows through these limp, stringy things," I set down my bow and returned, frowning at the sword in my grasp. I doubted I could ever use such a thing in actual battle, but then, why would anyone ever wish to be so close to an attacker?

"Oho – come then, little dragon," he stepped down to the centre of the courtyard, turning back with a smirk on his face and tormented melancholy in his eyes. "Teach me how a wyrm strikes with steel."

"That's a trap," I smirked back, descending to stand before him; my sword lowered. "Dragons can't lift steel; they can only be caged by it."

A flash of compassion flitted through his silvery depths. "I would wager they can be taught, if needs must," he sighed .Taking a step forward, he fell into a stance beside me, not unlike the one used to shoot targets. Lifting the training sword before him, he glanced across his shoulder, suddenly all business. "Do what I do."

I nodded; checked his feet and hands and adjusted my own.

"Hold there," he relaxed his stance and stepped back to assess.

I held, my eyes trained forward on the dummies and targets against the wall. I made myself measure my breaths, so I wouldn't move about too much.

He walked around me, ducking to check each limb critically, then stepped into my field of view and asked; "How long can you stand like that?"

"I'm not sure," I evaded, uncertain of what was expected, and my arm was beginning to feel heavy. "What do you think, as the one with the experience here?"

Vilkas crossed his brows. His eyes fell to my sword arm, which - mortifyingly - trembled a little now.

A single eyebrow was raised. "Do you feel strong, and steady?" he tried again.

Exasperation flit through me. I had no idea of how to properly wield a sword. Of course I didn't feel strong.

I made myself answer, since he was my teacher. "I do not," I admitted quietly.

"What feels wrong?" he prompted.

"The sword feels too heavy," I said in a rush.

"And your balance?" he continued swiftly. He crossed his arms; took another step back, and glanced over my feet.

I shook my head, looking down to my boots for myself, in case my answer was writ there. "I don't know."

Two slow steps and he was beside me pressing the toe of his boot gently into the back of my knee.

I pitched forward and hastily lowered my sword arm, reaching out wide to regain my balance.

"How about now?" he asked flatly.

Righting myself, I shot him a dark look, and again shook my head. "Will you teach me the right way to stand?"

Vilkas uncrossed his arms, turning the handle of his short sword and clasping his fingers around it deftly; repositioning his feet into the stance he had previously begun with.

A smattering of envy snaked through me at his ease and confidence.

He raised his arm and threw me another glance. "This is my starting stance when I use a short sword."

I moved to copy him.

"But my frame is different to yours," he stopped me. I watched as he effortlessly swung the blade a few times, making dull whooshing noises in the air. "My centre is higher; my legs are longer. My arms are accustomed to lifting and swinging greatswords that weigh as much as you do."

I took a deep breath, realising finally that he was trying to teach me something more than a starting position; a theory behind the practise. "You want me to work out what's comfortable for me?" I guessed.

He nodded and stood tall; the shallow cut on his cheek stretched as he smiled. "Quick as a whip," he intoned, lowering the sword and relaxing his posture.

I rolled my eyes, uncertain if he was making fun of me or not, and shifted my feet so they were back in position. I closed my eyes, and thought about how they felt. They were too far apart; I shifted them in closer. A push from either my front or back would overbalance me, so I dipped a little, bending my knees slightly, so I felt more firmly rooted to the ground.

With a deep breath, I shifted my awareness up my body, turning by the hip a smidgen, rolling my shoulders until they fell into a comfortable place. I raised my arm, disheartened that the muscles ached at once from the weight of my sword, and opened my eyes.

I turned only my head to regard Vilkas, so I wouldn't lose what I'd come up with.

He was standing back but his faraway expression obscured his features, making him to scowl.

Somehow I knew he was remembering the previous night. I cleared my throat. "Are there no lighter swords I could begin with?" I asked.

He shook his head and his gaze cleared at once. He walked around me again to evaluate my stance. Stopping before me, he tilted his head uncertainly, then ducked down and reached out; large hands fell to my hips. He eased them forward a little; straightening my back in the process.

"Thank you," I murmured.

His expression was stern again, and he nodded to my sword as he rose. "What are you going to do about that, then?"

My eyes fell to the weapon; as long and wide as my arm, blade edges dulled to thick bluntness. I grimaced, recalling how Hadvar had used a short sword as he'd battled our way out of Helgen Keep. I'd stayed hidden while he had fought, mostly, but when I had caught a glimpse of the grisly action, I had been too anxious to take note of his form.

It doesn't matter what Hadvar did, I reminded myself. What feels right for you?

More support, was the immediate answer, so I raised my other hand and fastened it over the hand already wrapped around the practise sword's handle. My arm steadied at once.

"Very good," Vilkas actually praised me. "Now you're listening to your needs," he stepped up and raised his practise sword, albeit with only one hand, out toward me. "What difference does it make to a sword if you wield it with one hand or two? None. What is the old adage?" he asked me, with a quirk to his tone that I caught as an awkward kind of amusement. "It is not the size that matters, but how you use what you have been given?"

I spluttered a laugh, surprised at that coming from the serious Vilkas, who was famously smaller than his twin. It pleased me to see the furrows in his brow had smoothed out; his grimace was gone, and he actually seemed to be enjoying our training session.

Perhaps he was here for his own benefit as much as mine? Perhaps, as with my nightly performances, training me was the type of distraction he needed in the light of day, to drive away the demon.

I smiled at the change in him, and felt stronger in myself. It was a relief to see I was not a burden.

"Now we can begin," he murmured with a barely perceptible tilt to his head, bearing a challenge I felt might actually be able to meet.

–

Vilkas worked me each day from dawn til dusk, giving me fifteen minute reprieves here and there to take some food and water, or while he saw to business.

With Aela and Skjor missing and Farkas now away seeking them, the majority of the Circle's tasks fell on Vilkas' broad shoulders, but he bore it without a trace of enmity. Every couple of hours a civilian would approach, or a courier would arrive with a letter, asking for assistance and handing him a bag of gold. Once departed, he would log the job and payment in the 'accounts' book I had seen him reading at breakfast the morning after I had first played for them. In the afternoons, other Companions occasionally returned from their jobs, giving Vilkas a casual report of the outcome, and asking for their cut of the pay. Even more occasionally, one of them would return with a book or scroll, and Vilkas would pay them and send them in to Kodlak. I had to assume the Harbinger had sent them to retrieve something pertaining to his research for a cure, though wondered how the Circle had managed to keep the details of what they were attempting to do from the as yet unenlightened ranks.

I had a feeling Vilkas liked to be deferred to, and while he was busy, and distracted, Kodlak let him take control of the day to day proceedings. The Harbinger spent his days and nights researching, his nose buried in books to further his understanding of their curse, and documenting all that he considered to be relevant in his journal, as a guide, so that when the time came to act, they were prepared.

As for my occupation, the difference between learning to shoot at targets and learning to wield a sword was literally staggering. Vilkas insisted I not lose what I had already learned with the bow, so he would palm me a handful of arrows as the sun inched toward the horizon each day, and tell me I could leave once each had landed in the centre circle. Thankfully, I'd never had to remain long past sundown, and was surprisingly pleased to think that perhaps using a bow might someday come as naturally to me as playing the lute did.

When it came to short range training, I was not so pleased with my progress. My muscles protested against every twist and turn while Vilkas taught me the slow, dance-like forms, and begged me to stop at every clang and clash when he instructed me to practise fighting against him.

My night routine remained as it had from the start of my time with them, and for the moment I didn't have to worry about angering anyone with my music. After loping home and taking a brief dinner with Lydia and Lucia each night, to be sure that I saw them sometimes, I would peel myself out of my training garb, and prepare to take the stage. I looked forward to my nights with the Companions, as in the role of a bard, I felt at my most useful.

Some nights after my performance, if I was weary, I would retire to the dormitory, and others, when I felt more alert, I would retreat to the living area and spend time with Kodlak. I loved listening to him speak as much as he seemed to enjoy my singing; he had an enigmatic, intelligent, sonorous voice.

I'd sit and listen, learning what he had discovered that day, or hear stories of his past, when he had been a bodyguard for a fancy, pompous Lord in Hammerfell. Sometimes we'd discuss the particular songs I had performed that night, and their effectiveness, though generally he was reluctant to acknowledge the creature lurking within's hold so directly. Occasionally, we would talk about my childhood. I never brought it up, but when Kodlak asked a question here and there, I was not opposed to sharing.

On the rare night that I returned to my bed at Breezehome, Vilkas would accompany me to the front door. I had the notion Kodlak had requested the service of him, though I had never asked either to provide me an escort.

But I was grateful for his presence. I knew it would take some time for me to become comfortable walking alone through the streets at night again, even with Skjor and Aela disappeared.

So rigorous was my new training routine that it was a whole week after I had discovered that the Circle were werewolves that I found the time to write Hadvar my reply.

I had spent in total two productive, but strange weeks in the company of the Companions, though given the long hours I kept with them, it felt like much, much longer. I no longer panicked at the pace of my progress, for I had meant it when I had told Kodlak I would remain with them until they were cured. At some point, I knew I would need to explain this to the Jarl, but I hadn't figured out how yet, as telling him about the primary residents of Jorrvaskr being werewolves and that I had vowed to assist them cure their curse was out of the question.

The sun had sunk minutes ago, and having fired the required arrows into the target, I took my leave to prepare for the evening's entertainments. Night would not take hold of the city for another hour or so, and the streets were still busy enough that I didn't feel uncomfortable traversing them for myself.

I unlocked the door to Breezehome, but no hullos met my entrance for once; I found it empty of my friends. A scrawled note on the kitchen table told me that the pair had been invited to the Valentia's for dinner. I knew, from my nightly chats with them, that Lucia and Mila Valentia were fast becoming essential to each other's company and happiness.

Finding myself alone for the first time in a while, I went straight to my room and cleaned up as best I could without a bath to soak in. There were baths in Jorrvaskr that I was at liberty to use, but for those outside of the Circle they were in a shared, public bathroom, and I did not feel that comfortable with my shield-siblings yet. I had only visited the facilities in the dead of night twice, after my colleagues were asleep. As Circle members, Kodlak and Vilkas could request a bath be brought to them, so I didn't have to worry about those restless souls walking in on me.

Tonight I dressed simply in a creamy white undertunic and a straight blue apron-dress, for I was to perform in the mead hall and wouldn't need to worry about the elements. The blue of the dress was the colour of the sea, so I accessorised with the necklace Alvor had made with the swirling etchings that reminded me of the ocean swells.

I unraveled my hair from its braid and stared at my bookshelf; not really seeing the bound titles as I loosened the curls and unsnarled where they caught.

Thinking of the ocean sent my meanderings to the Sea of Ghosts, which I had been able to see for most of my childhood from my bedroom in Proudspire, and then, as tended to happen when I allowed my mind to wander, I found myself wishing to know where Hadvar was at that moment. I could imagine him taking his dinner with his colleagues around a fire pit, surrounded by thick snow as twilight faded and the stars brightened above. Was his base camp near the sea? Perhaps he was standing on the border of his garrison, a warmed mead in his hand, looking out over the rippling water to the horizon - and wondering how I fared?

I sighed, and as silly as I felt my girlish musings were, they still gave me cause to pensively smile. Warmed by the idea of reaching out to him, I collected my writing materials and descended to the kitchen table to answer his letter by the light and warmth of the lonely hearth.

As soon as I had settled myself, the words poured out of me as though they had been prepared in my mind for days, just waiting to be set free by my pen.

Dear Hadvar, I began.

Night is descending and I am for a rare moment, myself, whole and alone, by the fire in Breezehome. Lydia and Lucia are out, visiting friends, and soon I will leave too, bound for Jorrvaskr as Celeste the bard, leaving Celeste the striving warrior in training behind me.

How do you fare in your snowy northern camp? It is an interesting task the Legion have put you to, and I wonder why they are concerning contracted soldiers with a task usually undertaken by treasure hunters and grave robbers. Dare I ask how your race to find the artefact before the Stormcloaks goes, or would that be restricted?

I frowned at my words as I read them through; they sounded snippy. I worked to resolve it.

I have been on the receiving end of both draugr and Stormcloak attacks, so you must excuse my tension. I fear for you, and not because you aren't entirely capable of facing both, but because I loathe to acknowledge that anybody or anything is endeavouring to bring you harm.

Let's not talk of battle. Tell me of the Pale? Is it as beautiful as they say? My mind conjures images of plush snow on a rocky, ragged coastline and murky waters expanding ever-northward. You stand there, in my mind's eye, in your armour and a cloak to stave off the extreme chill, with your face turned east as Masser rises beyond.

You must correct me where I am wrong, or the bard in me will write your story for myself.

I sat back, satisfied that by this point, he would be smiling. I wrote on:

I regret to inform you that no, I have not achieved any more accolades. My duties as Thane amount to zero. Perhaps, as you said, the Jarl was merely collecting me before the buzzards descended. I am not offended if that is his reason; far from it. I am grateful. Jarl Balgruuf's determined neutrality in all matters relating to the war lend me alibi to turn down either army, should they approach me. Neither have, by the way, but it has only been a fortnight since I, and those at the watchtower, learned what I am. For now, I am as happy and safe as any other citizen of Whiterun.

Except for the two werewolves who tried to kill you, I reminded myself darkly.

I sat back, staring at my scrawl and wondering how I could possibly talk of the Companions without drifting anywhere near the Incident and what it had revealed. I trusted Hadvar, but I did not want to put to paper that which might be intercepted and read by other eyes. And surely, the truth would only worry him further, and he did not deserve that.

I wrote on, and found a path:

Training with the Companions is hard, but I know that their efforts make me stronger. They started me on sword training this week - which I am tremendously useless at - but my teacher has told me it will become easier as I learn to trust myself. I suppose I can liken training my body for battle to training my hands and voice for performances, if I squint at the disciplines, though I am under no illusion of which I was born to do.

At this, I found myself at a loss for what to say. I didn't want to prattle on about the sky again, as I had in my last, but my mind kept centring on matters which I was not at liberty to divulge. With a jolt, I realised that Hadvar must have felt the same way, when trying to decide what he could and couldn't tell me of the Legion's activities.

This made me laugh; we longed to talk but were unable to write much of what we experienced, in case it fell into the wrong hands.

I disliked being untruthful with him, so I changed the subject entirely.

I propose we carry on as we might if we lived in the same city, and get to know one another through our letters. Don't laugh at me like I know you are!

Because I knew he would laugh at this, just as he had when I had asked his surname; it was so baffling to remember that we were barely acquainted.

While you held me close on the bridge, I longed to have more time so I might know you better. It's the reason I proposed we write to one another, so that distance might not sever us from whatever we formed over that strange and wonderful twoday, and so when next we meet, it shall not be as two strangers who once shared a kiss, but as longstanding, firm friends, ready to see where our life's adventures lead us next.

I wanted to groan aloud – it was far too wordy – not to mention presumptuous and exposing. I tried to assure myself that he would understand and see that beyond the flowery phrases, I was simply nervous to ask him to write of what would naturally occur during any conventional courtship. If he lived in Whiterun - if there was no war - I would have already learned all about his life, his family, his goals, his likes and dislikes, and so on.

Was there protocol surrounding a situation such as ours? I had no idea, but then, I had never felt about anyone the way that I did about Hadvar, either. It was absurd to think that I had known my shield-siblings for much longer than I had known Hadvar; had spent day after day in their acquaintance and now knew many of their secrets and traits, as they did mine. But despite the allure of a strong, patient, broody warrior with a dark secret to hide, and despite admitting that, again traditionally, the twins were quite good looking once you got past their war paint, none of my shield-siblings made my heart flutter and sing in the way that my memories and thoughts of Hadvar did.

Shuddering a breath to steady myself as I pushed my hair over my shoulder, I got back to my task at hand.

So. Shall we regale one another with the stories of our childhoods? Or perhaps smaller - are there questions you have of my past, which I might answer, to build a better picture of who I am?

Deciding that I could write no more until I knew whether or not I had made a complete fool out of myself, I signed off. Hadvar could ask the first question, if he replied and consented to the whole...question and answer thing.

I leave the choice to you. If you don't like the idea, forget I mentioned it, and write of whatever you choose, for I would rather receive word of anything from you than nothing at all.

My time is up, and I go now to Jorrvaskr to play and sing for those who have (generally) accepted me as one of their own.

Write again when you can, and ask what you would know before we meet again; for I am certain that some day we shall.

Celeste

I folded the letter and stuffed it into my coat pocket before I could throw the papers into the fire (Tilma had returned the garment to me days ago, informing me she'd washed it; Vilkas must have passed it to her). I would hand it to the coachman tomorrow morning.

And when we meet again, I posed?

We may have promised each other nothing except that we would write, but we had not even attempted to mask our longing or the sense of steady, building devotion. When we next met...I idled, staring at the flames writhing in the hearth, recalling the grasp of Hadvar's hands and press of his body to mine as we had kissed.

My cheeks flamed and my belly twisted; at once, I turned away and childishly blamed both hunger and my proximity to the hearth for the heat to my cheeks. I grabbed an apple and took up my lute, then left Breezehome. I ran along the emptying cobbled streets, drinking in the indigo sky and the glittering stars as the smells of Whiterun drifted on the crisp evening breeze; wood fire, roasted meat, and a brief tang of the wildflowers that bloomed on the plains beyond the wall.

It might be years before we were able to meet again, I mused sadly. And by then, Divines knew who we would be, or what we would want of each other.

–

When I entered Jorrvaskr at a run, I stilled in the entryway. There was no banter, no brawling, no laughing – no people. But there was food and drink aplenty – a veritable feast, every surface of the u-shaped tables covered in platters of grilled meats and vegetables, breads and cheeses, boiled fruit treats and cauldrons of stew, and bottle after bottle of mead, ale and wine.

I frowned, wondering where they all were. Had I forgotten I was to perform outside tonight?

I made my way across the mead hall and past the mouth-watering smells, to exit the other side. Perhaps I could coax everybody back inside, to the food, so I wouldn't freeze in my lighter attire.

The door opened; I peered out, trying to shield myself from the wind. They were gathered in the courtyard, and there was a bonfire lit, but there were still no sounds of merrymaking to speak of. Those that were speaking were quiet; so quiet that I couldn't hear more than a murmur. Crossing my brows in confusion, I stepped outside and held my arms against the chill.

My shield siblings, my teacher and my Harbinger were standing around the pyramidal bonfire at regular intervals, some holding flaming torches of their own to add to the light of the blaze.

My eyes widened in horror. What was this? Had somebody died?

The door clicked shut, and those nearest the verandah turned; Njada, Athis and Ria. Njada regarded me with her usual vaguely unimpressed stare, but both Athis and Ria's faces lit up.

"She's here," the young Imperial woman spoke warmly; her eyes and smile trained on me. The strains of conversation died down.

"Good," came Kodlak's voice directly, loud and genial. Those standing around the bonfire parted and the Harbinger ascended the steps to me. He looked as he always looked, with grizzled beard and hair, wearing his steel armour with its tiny carved wolf at the throat of the chest piece, but something about his manner made him seem taller and more commanding than usual.

I watched him closely; a sharp warning at this unusual ambush flared within me.

His gleaming eyes twinkled with pride as he approached, however, so I smothered the caution hastily and made myself smile; allowed myself to be consoled by his warm, familiar ease. He would smell if I feared them, and it was plain that nothing sinister was afoot, merely something unanticipated.

Kodlak held his hand out to me. "We have some business to attend to, little dove," he said in a low voice filled with contentment. "I apologise for not having initiated you officially earlier," he added quietly, apparently so the others wouldn't hear. "My mind has been occupied of late, and it was not until this morning that Vilkas recalled you had not been given the honour and welcome that you have earned."

I gave him my hand and let him lead me down to my colleagues in mute wonder. Initiation? Into the Companions? Was I not already a Companion? Was anything expected of me during this ceremony?

Kodlak positioned me close to the bonfire, then returned to his post. I turned so the blaze was at my back; my eyes flickered to Vilkas, by Kodlak's side. My teacher looked as straight-faced as ever, but for a hint of smug amusement in his eyes.

And I understood; he'd known this was going to happen tonight, and had said nothing to warn me, deliberately.

I shot him a narrow-eyed look but said nothing, for the air felt too solemn, and turned my attention back to Kodlak.

He had started speaking. He addressed the Companions and welcomed me into their number, talking briefly of how I had proven my forbearance, courage, and loyalty. He asked who would speak for me; Vilkas stepped forward, and met my expectant expression with a faint smirk.

They ran through what sounded like rehearsed words spoken again and again over the course of time; perhaps they had been said to each and every one of my colleagues circling me, at similar initiations. Knowing this didn't lessen the impact of those words; rather, it meant somehow more to be welcomed into their ranks, officially, in the same manner that those with strength of arm and steel had been.

The ceremony was short, closing with Kodlak talking of mountains echoing the beat of our now unified hearts, then each of the Companions around me intoned a closing, somewhat final, "It shall be so."

It was over; my shield-siblings stepped from their places. Some retreated to Jorrvaskr with barely a smile, and others came forward to meet me with words of congratulations and grins. Nothing had been expected of me other than to stand within their circle and hear their practised words.

I met their hugs and handshakes gratefully, and once they had returned to the mead hall with Torvar calling out (drunkenly, as usual) for me to hurry up and get inside so we could begin celebrating, the only two members of the Circle present approached me.

Genuinely moved by the gesture, I gave Kodlak and Vilkas an honest, appreciative smile as they closed the space between us. They could have foregone the ceremony entirely and I would have been none the wiser.

"There," Kodlak inclined his head in a shallow bow. "As it should be," was his quiet, simple greeting.

The pride in his eyes made my own fill with hot tears, and I shot forward, throwing my arms around him. "Thank you!" I whispered to him fiercely.

The Harbinger laughed, gently squeezing me briefly before withdrawing to place both hands on my shoulders. "No tears, now, Celeste," he instructed. "I still expect to enjoy several hours of music tonight."

I laughed and nodded earnestly, my tears scattering, unshed. "It would take more than a flood to stop me from fulfilling my duty to you, Harbinger."

With a smile, under which I saw his relief, he told me he would see me inside, and departed for the mead hall.

That left only Vilkas, stood back from my exchange with Kodlak. His arms were crossed but his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and his eyes were still too smug for my liking.

I stepped forward to meet him. "You planned this," I accused, trying not to laugh as I pushed his arm; the shove had no effect on the wall of muscle. "Why didn't you say something?"

His smile widened as he uncrossed his arms; the rare expression made him seem younger. He settled a hand on my shoulder. "You have been working hard, day and night," he told me, ignoring my question, but then, I hadn't really needed an answer. "And," he added, with a shake of his head and a chuckle – another very un-Vilkas reaction, "you have managed to make yourself essential to several of us."

When he lifted his head, I saw pride in his silvery depths, too. "It was time for you to be recognised."

I smiled, and offered him a more sober, "Thank you."

His hand fell back to his side as he half shrugged. "Given that you have decided to stay with us for longer than a month," he continued, in a less sentimental tone. "It seemed wrong to exclude you from the tradition."

Nodding, I hugged my arms again, shivering as a stiff, icy breeze swept over the walls and pushed straight through me.

Vilkas seemed unaffected by the temperature, as usual, but he noted my discomfort. "Come on, shield-sister. Let's get inside, to the feast. We have a long night ahead of us," he added, with a bit of a sighing laugh.

Hastening up the steps to the verandah, I agreed. "Yes," I posed thoughtfully, biting the side of my cheek to hide my amusement. The thought of a celebration made my chest flutter with excitement - more so that it was for me. "I'm very much looking forward to your – what was it?" I cast him a glance; raised an eyebrow. "Song in triumph as the others revel in my stories? You never told me you could sing, Vilkas."

He barked an unimpressed laugh, and urged me onward. "Pray that I'm never drunk enough to honour you in that way," he drawled.

A/n: thanks as ever for the encouragement and reviews! A bit of an exposition-y chapter setting up for some more action - hope it isn't too boring given the pace of the previous few.