Turdas, 18th of Last Seed, 4E202
Early the next morning, Aela returned to their rented room from the general goods store, a man's shirt and a pair of socks in her hands.
"Don't say I never did anything for you," she said when she tossed them to Vilkas.
Vilkas rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if she'd used her own money. As he was pulling the shirt over his head, Aela spoke again.
"Apparently, someone made breakfast for us. It's waiting out in the hall."
Vilkas paused with his second arm only halfway through its sleeve. "For everyone staying at the inn, or just for us?"
"Looks like just for us."
Vilkas finished pulling on the shirt, tugging it straight. As far as he was concerned, their clients had already overcompensated them by reimbursing him for the potion and buying them a room. How many more bonuses would he be compelled to accept before this was over?
"These people are too nice," he stated.
Aela nodded. "Sure, but. Free food."
Free food, indeed.
The decorations and dishes from the birthday party hadn't quite been cleaned up in the inn's main hall, but a smaller table had been cleared and scrubbed spotless for him and Aela to sit at. When he emerged, following Aela, he found that the table had been mostly set, with a loaf of still-warm bread sitting beside a butter dish, a jar of honey, a filled water pitcher, and a lidded pot that radiated heat.
Aela cracked the pot's lid, releasing a curl of steam and the smell of something savory.
"Damn. To think, we could have been eating Tilma's food this morning."
Silently, Vilkas had to agree. He couldn't really blame the old girl for losing her sense of smell—and taste—but Tilma's cooking wasn't exactly something to be savored.
Aela plopped down and immediately went for the bread. Seeing no knife, she whipped out her dagger and began to roughly stab off a hunk.
"Oh, I was just going to bring you a knife," came a feminine voice.
Vilkas turned and found Deirdre standing behind him, indeed with a bread knife, some utensils, and a couple of bowls in her hands. He blinked.
"Do you work at the inn?"
She shook her head, walking past him to set down her bowls and utensils. "I just—I asked Delphine if I could … do this. I was up early this morning."
Vilkas blinked again. The birthday girl had made them breakfast? After nearly getting eaten by spiders the night before?
Too nice, he repeated to himself. What was wrong with this village?
He sat down across from Aela and scrutinized the girl. She glanced up from where she was unstacking the bowls, meeting his eyes and inhaling as if she wanted to say something. But she stopped, and focused back on their breakfast, removing the pot lid and sliding a large spoon into the dish. There were dark shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there yesterday.
"When you're ready to leave, if you'd permit, could I walk the two of you to the edge of the village?"
She stepped back from the table and folded her hands together in front of her, oddly proper. "I can bring the second half of the payment for the contract."
Vilkas continued staring at her for long enough that Aela answered. "Whatever you want to do. And thanks for the food, by the way."
She nodded, giving them a wan smile. Vilkas half expected her to do another curtsy, but she simply turned around and walked off, slipping quietly out the front door.
When he looked at Aela, she was already using the breadknife to slather butter all over her misshapen chunk of loaf.
"She's a lot more subdued than yesterday," he remarked.
Aela shrugged, biting off a piece of bread and speaking around it. "Wouldn't surprise me if she's still in shock. You don't almost die every day." Then she paused mid-chew, eyes lighting up. "Or maybe, they really are going to offer you their unwed maiden, and she's just resigning herself to her fate."
Vilkas looked at the table for something to throw at her. There was nothing he could spare without depriving himself of his own breakfast, so he reached under the table with his foot and kicked at her chair. She toppled backward with a squawk. She hit the floor and immediately choked on her bread, hacking and coughing before forcing the food down. She sat up and made a vulgar hand gesture.
"Ass," she croaked.
Mollified, Vilkas began serving himself. Aela righted her chair and sat back down with a huff.
By the time they were done eating, a couple of other guests at the inn had wandered out of their rooms, and the grim-faced man who seemed to manage the place had emerged from a back area to stand vigil at the bar. He called out to Aela and Vilkas to leave their dishes on the table when they had finished.
Vilkas took a few minutes to re-don his armor—Aela already wearing hers, as she didn't actually have much beneath it—before the two of them stepped out of the inn. They found Hod and Deirdre sitting on the bench by the door. Hod, staring contemplatively out over the street, held a coin purse in his hands. Deirdre had nodded off with her head on his shoulder.
Seeing them, Hod nudged Deirdre. She jerked awake, alarmed, until her eyes fell on the Companions. She jumped to her feet. Hod followed suit at a more sedate pace, and just the way they were standing there—Hod behind her in preparation to send her off—made Vilkas, for a hair of a second, wonder if the man was actually about to offer her up to go home with them.
"My wife is already at the mill this morning," Hod informed them. "So I brought the remainder of your fee. I can't thank you enough—especially for saving Deirdre."
Aela subtly nudged him in the side.
"Just doing our job," Vilkas said.
Hod smiled. He handed the coin purse to Deirdre, who gave him a grateful look.
"Well, she says you're going to let her walk you to the edge of the village. I'll leave you to it. If you ever need anything and you're in the area, stop by."
Vilkas nodded. Although he couldn't imagine what he would ever need from the owners of a lumber mill—he wasn't about to build a house anytime soon—he said, "Will do."
Hod raised his hand in parting before turning to hop off the side of the porch. The Companions and the girl watched each other for a few heartbeats before Deirdre took a breath.
"Whiterun will be this way, then." She walked past them and pattered down the porch steps. Vilkas ignored the looks Aela kept throwing him and followed.
They walked in silence for a few feet before Deirdre turned around and began to walk backwards, facing them, holding her hands and the coin purse behind her.
"I just—I thought I should thank you, myself, since I wasn't well enough last night," she said, looking briefly at Aela but focusing the brunt of her words on Vilkas. "My memories got a little fuzzy after I got bitten, but I think I do remember being carried back. If you hadn't been there, I would have died. You saved my life."
After a long, earnest look at him, she lowered her eyes and turned forward again. She slowed her pace so he and Aela drew even with her, Deirdre between them. Vilkas eyed her. She was apparently sixteen, which made her an adult. But she was childishly open and easy to read, even now. He could clearly see that she felt sorry for his troubles, and embarrassed that she'd in part caused them, and shy. Guileless people like this, open books—he didn't know how to respond to them.
He cleared his throat. "Thank Gerdur. She's the one who hired me."
Aela scoffed. "He's just being awkward. He means to say, 'you're welcome.'"
Vilkas gave her a dry look. "Once again. I don't need an interpreter, Shield-Sister."
"And I say you clearly still do, Shield-Brother."
The corner of Deirdre's mouth pulled up, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. She gestured between them.
"You're not really brother and sister, are you?"
Vilkas drew back as if she'd brandished a hot iron. "Of course not. Everyone who joins the Companions is called a Shield-Sibling. My only sibling by blood is my brother."
"And I have absolutely no family to speak of," Aela added breezily.
"Oh. I didn't know that. I mean—that all the Companions are called siblings."
"That's right. Just one big, happy family, isn't that right, Brother?"
Before Vilkas could retort, he saw a figure approaching out of the corner of his eye. Deirdre stopped dead. He and Aela drew up short a step ahead of her, the three of them facing the man obstructing their path.
"Deirdre, I need to talk to you."
It was that stupid bard again, Sven. He looked agitated—extremely so. The bridge of his nose sported a nice bruise, but was otherwise not in bad shape. He was also pointedly ignoring the Companions to stare down the girl between them.
Visibly tensing, Deirdre took a step back. Vilkas and Aela traded glances. She hadn't been there last night when Hod punched the guy, so she was even more out of the loop than he was.
Deirdre's reaction only seemed to frustrate Sven. He held out both hands in supplication. "Please, just talk to me. Are you really angry with me?"
"I don't want to talk to you," Deirdre said quietly. Both Vilkas's eyebrows shot up at how openly hostile she sounded. He watched as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Go away."
Sven's jaw clenched. He looked down and seemed to be thinking frantically for a way to turn her feelings around. His head flew up. "You shouldn't be angry with me. Hod's the one who sent you running into the woods."
Deirdre's mouth popped open. She stepped forward impulsively, voice rising. "I only ran into the woods because you—"
She cut off. Her face turned red and her mouth snapped shut. The way her eyes darted nervously from Aela to him and rapidly to the ground seemed telling.
Vilkas started putting it together. Something had prompted her to run into the woods. Sven blamed Hod, but Deirdre and Hod blamed Sven. Sven had been acting possessive of her the day before, and, now that he thought about it, hadn't she and Sven left the party together prior to her going missing?
"Look, I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong," Sven said, all but confirming Vilkas's suspicion. "I was just trying—You make it hard to control my feelings." He placed a hand over his heart. "But let me make it up to you. Please?"
Deirdre's face turned even redder, if possible, the color spreading to her ears. She shook her head vigorously, lips pressed together as she kept her eyes trained on the ground.
Sven gritted his teeth. Proving the depths of his idiocy, he surged forward and snatched Deirdre's arm off her chest, knocking the coin purse to the ground. "What kind of game are you playing? You can't lead me on for weeks just to turn around and say no, you litt—"
Vilkas's hand came down on his wrist. Hard. Sven jumped, head swiveling to Vilkas like he'd forgotten they had an audience. The fingers holding Deirdre went slack under the pressure of Vilkas's grip; she recoiled out of reach. Sven tried to jerk free. Vilkas's hold was unbudging.
"I believe she said she didn't want to talk to you," he said coldly. "And you're blocking our path."
Sven looked cowed for a moment. He steeled himself and stood up straighter, attempting again to wrench away. "This is none of your—"
Vilkas released him with a rough shove, sending him tottering several steps back. Now Sven looked furious. Vilkas pointedly held an arm in front of Deirdre—partly to piss him off even more, and partly to signal that he wasn't allowed to touch her again.
"What is this?" Sven demanded. "What's your problem?"
"I'm looking at it."
A muscle in Sven's jaw flexed, his hands curling into fists. "If you're trying to get anything out of her by playing hero, you can think again. Apparently, she's nothing but a tease."
This was too much for Aela. Sven wasn't paying attention to her until she seized his arm, twisting in such a way that he was flung to the ground on his knees. She applied pressure and he yelped, forced lower lest she break his arm.
Deirdre grabbed Vilkas by the gauntlet.
When Sven began releasing a stream of obscenities, Aela pushed further on his arm, forcing him to cut off and hunch still closer to the ground, teeth grinding together.
"If I have to listen to another word out of your scum mouth, I'll break this arm and then your face," Aela bit out. "I know your type, friend. And this isn't going to turn out well for you if you keep this up."
She gave Sven a chance to reply, but for the first time, he wisely remained silent. Aela snorted.
"That's what I thought."
She released him, tossing his arm away with disdain, and stepped back toward Vilkas and Deirdre to plant her hands on her hips. "If I ever hear of you touching this girl again, you're going to regret it. Now get lost."
Sven, fuming, waited several seconds before getting to his feet, holding his arm with the other hand. He raised his eyes to Deirdre once more. Her grip on Vilkas tightened.
"I said beat it!" Aela barked.
Sven curled his lip and pivoted, steps rigid with fury as he stomped to a building directly off the road. He flung the door open, walked inside, and slammed it shut behind him.
"Gross little creep," Aela growled. Vilkas silently concurred.
He felt the slight weight of Deirdre's hand leave his arm. She crouched to retrieve the fallen coin purse, which had opened a bit and spilled some of its contents. He and Aela watched her gather the few loose coins back into the purse as she drew in a thick, wobbly breath.
Vilkas stepped back. "Are you crying?"
"No," she cracked, punctuating the lie with a sniff.
Aela leaned over and punched him in the arm, expertly hitting the one space his armor didn't cover.
"Ow! Son of a—"
"Moron," she hissed. "You don't just ask people if they're crying!"
Deirdre drew in another breath that didn't shake so much, dabbing at her eyes with her hand. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I just didn't expect him to—I'm just angry."
She pulled the strings of the coin purse closed with one vicious tug. She stood, looking down at it in her hands. "And—And I'm not what he said. I didn't ever—"
"'Course not," Aela agreed.
Deirdre hesitated. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I should have been able to—I should have punched him."
"Well, why didn't you?"
Deirdre's head flew up in surprise. She raised a hand to her chest. "Me?"
Aela blinked several times. "Isn't that what you just said? Yes, you. Why didn't you punch him?"
The girl seemed flummoxed. She looked at Vilkas as if she expected him to back her up. "Because I … Because he's stronger than me?"
She genuinely sounded like she was asking.
"And so that means you're totally defenseless?"
Deirdre's brow furrowed. "No … ?"
"Well all right then," Aela concluded. "Next time, punch him. Better yet, stab him."
"Stab him?" Deirdre repeated, incredulous. "That could kill somebody!"
"If someone is attacking you, they choose to run the risk of being attacked back," Vilkas put in. He looked her in the eye. "That's the way it works. And you're not liable for what happens to an attacker when you defend yourself."
She searched his eyes as if weighing his words. She pursed her lips and looked away. "I'll bet you've been strong your whole life, haven't you, Vilkas? You were a tall child and you grew into yourself early. Didn't you?"
Vilkas crossed his arms. "What of it?"
Shaking her head, Deirdre held up one of her hands, curling the fingers into a loose fist. "It's easy to tell someone to fight back when you're big and you're not scared of anything. But I'm not big and strong. I haven't grown at all in the last year. I'm short."
The bitter way she said "short" almost made him chuckle.
"For someone who's presumably been smaller than average her whole life, you sound oddly bothered. You'd think you'd be used to it by now."
She frowned and glared at her fist. "I'm not used to it. I hate it."
Vilkas got the sense they were approaching some sensitivity he didn't want to deal with. He looked to Aela for help.
The woman sighed. She crouched, reached into her boot, and pulled out her second dagger, smaller than the one she wore on her hip. She strode forward to take Deirdre's hand, prodding her fingers open and turning it palm-up. She laid the dagger in it. Closing Deirdre's fingers around the handle, she met the girl's confused expression with a dry grin.
"I'll bet," Aela said, "you're more capable than you think you are. Short or not."
Deirdre silently examined the weapon in her hand.
Aela said, "Look. This is Skyrim. Just about everyone is going to be bigger and stronger than you. But you can't just resign yourself to being helpless. Fight back."
Deirdre pondered. "I don't know how to fight back."
"Well, for starters, you can get used to the idea that you might have to stab the next asshat who tries to hurt you." Aela pushed Deirdre's hand with the dagger closer to the girl's body. "So you're going to keep this and you're going to wear it everywhere you go, so people know you don't take shit lying down."
Vilkas watched the conflicting thoughts filter over Deirdre's face. Finally, she nodded.
"I can wear it at least. That much, I can do."
Aela smiled. "That's a start. Little steps, little girl."
Deirdre's mouth twisted into a pout. Aela laughed. Vilkas rolled his eyes.
"We should get a move on," he said. "We're wasting daylight." He started walking away, trusting the two women would catch up. They did.
"'Course, you've also got that brand new bow they gave you last night," Aela remembered as she came abreast of Vilkas. She reached back to pull a lagging Deirdre up between them. "But that's not going to be as useful in a pinch as a blade."
"No, I imagine not," Deirdre agreed.
Aela asked, "How long have you been shooting? Are you any good?"
For the first time, Deirdre puffed up with something akin to pride. "I'm very good. Faendal says I could get second at the Whiterun archery contest."
Aela brightened. She threw a knowing look at Vilkas. "Second place? What happened to first?"
"Oh, I'll try for first," Deirdre said. "But Faendal says there's always someone else who gets a perfect score every year. He said she promised to make this her fifth year winning in a row."
"Sounds like someone needs to knock her off her pedestal," Vilkas said.
His tone must have given Deirdre pause. She came to a realization with a gasp. She whirled on Aela.
"It's you, isn't it? I should have known!"
Aela held up both hands. "You caught me."
"But don't let her record discourage you," Vilkas said, drawing surprised looks from both of them. He nodded solemnly. "At the rate her head is swelling, she soon won't be able to hold it up to aim."
They blinked at him in unison. Aela let out an indignant cry. Deirdre threw a hand over the giggle that burst from her mouth.
"You're just jealous because you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn," Aela rejoined.
"Maybe if the barn were the size of your ego."
Deirdre laughed again, prompting Aela to give her a playful shove.
"Don't laugh at him. He's not funny."
"I'm sorry," she lied.
"Yeah, right."
By the time they reached the edge of the village, Deirdre's earlier gloomy disposition had dissipated, and she was cautiously trading jabs with Aela. The three of them stopped just before the point where the road turned into a small stone bridge over the river, and Deirdre finally handed her coin purse over to Vilkas.
"We really can't thank you enough," Deirdre insisted. "And I owe you my life. I won't forget that."
"It's nothing," Vilkas said.
Deirdre shook her head. "It's something. But I won't push you."
Aela extended a hand and Deirdre reached to take it. "And I'll be looking for you at the archery contest. Put up a good fight for me, will you?"
"I'll do my best."
Aela gave her hand a firm shake. "You'd better."
They parted, Aela returning Deirdre's last wave goodbye as she and Vilkas crossed the bridge. On a whim, Vilkas glanced back just once more, to see her lone figure still waiting at the end of the road, gazing at the dagger in her hand. She looked up in time to catch his gaze. She smiled, and it struck him just how small she looked, framed by the bridge and the wide, muddy road.
He acknowledged her with a final nod and turned away, falling into step beside Aela.
The walk to Whiterun was nothing special. But upon reaching the south entrance to the city, the Companions found a small crowd of people standing around it, buzzing with discontent. The gates, for the first time in years, were shut tight.
Vilkas and Aela shoved their way through the throng to the gates themselves, where two city guards stood rigidly at attention.
"What's going on here?" Vilkas asked.
Behind him, a reedy voice cried, "I say they've been hitting the skooma!"
A few others called out in agreement, while the rest broke into nervous murmurs.
One of the guards thumped the butt of his spear against the cobblestone ground. "These are real reports we're getting, people! We're just following orders and being cautious!"
"Cautious of what?" Aela demanded. "We've been out of town since yesterday. What's going on?"
The second guard spoke. "The city's on lockdown until the Jarl gives the all-clear. We've been getting reports since last night that—that the dragon from Helgen has returned."
Vilkas went still. The date occurred to him. Yesterday had been the anniversary of Helgen's destruction.
The first guard continued. "At least three different settlements have been attacked so far. All smaller towns. No walls, and no guards stationed to protect them."
Vilkas recalled that last image of Deirdre, standing smiling at the edge of her quaint village. Riverwood had no walls, either. The Jarl afforded them no guards. And it was so close to Helgen.
They'd left her with a dagger. A dagger. As if that would mean anything against a dragon. Not to that little person, in that little village, who'd already survived one dragon attack.
Vilkas turned and moved back through the crowd, to the crumbling battlements that used to make up an old part of the city wall. He climbed the partial scaffolding until he reached the top, then looked out over the plains surrounding Whiterun. His eyes traced the road that wound southward before curving around the base of the mountain that loomed above Riverwood. The village was just out of sight.
He could picture what it would look like all too clearly. A distant plume of smoke, rising up from the foot of the mountain like a death flag. They would see it too late. The village had no protection.
He turned back around and marched to the gate.
"My Shield-Sister and I have business with the Jarl."
Author's Note:
Vilkas out here completing the Dragonborn's quest objective for us.