Sundas, 11th of Hearthfire, 4E202

Vilkas blinked at the Nord. The Nord blinked at him. He turned as the Nord leaned sideways to see around him, and they looked at the cell across the hall. Vilkas had barely glanced at it when he'd chosen the one opposite for the bandits. But now, inside the cell, there was a figure getting up from the straw pile on the floor. She swayed from standing too quickly, catching herself on the wall, and despite the familiarity of her voice and her frame, Vilkas could not reconcile them with the setting. It was her dress—the same flattering green one from the day before—that somehow completed the connection in his brain.

His jaw dropped.

"Deirdre?"

She lifted her face, and Vilkas was hit by a still greater shock—and a wrench in the gut. Forgetting the bandits, he strode to Deirdre's cell to get a better look, hoping it was just the poor dungeon lighting.

But no. The left side of her face was blotted with blood-purple and crimson-red skin, bruised and puffy. Her eye was nearly swollen shut. The skin had split open on her brow, a jagged cut that had left remnants of dried blood around her eye socket.

When she saw he was staring, she turned her face toward the wall. The right side of her face was pallid and drawn, and as she wrapped her arms around herself, she was shivering. Vilkas hadn't noticed how cold the dungeon was until that moment.

She looked abjectly wretched. Tired and sad and wounded. Pieces of straw in her hair.

Vilkas was so stunned, Deirdre spoke first. "What are you doing here?"

He blinked rapidly. "What am I—? I'm working, of course." He indicated his armor, but she still had her eyes trained on the wall. "Better question is, what are you doing here? What happened to your face?"

She cringed. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "It's really bad, isn't it?"

Did she need to ask? Didn't it hurt? "You look like you got kicked by a horse."

She nodded, unsurprised. He waited for her to speak again but she just stood there, not looking at him.

"You didn't answer my question. Either of them. What are you doing here?"

She hugged herself tighter. "I—got arrested."

"I can see that," he said impatiently. He grabbed one of the bars of the cell, leaning sideways to try and recapture her gaze. "Hey. Look at me."

Reluctantly, she turned her face. He got a second look at her bad eye and felt the same visceral gut-twist. As a warrior, he'd seen his fair share of black eyes. He'd even seen a worse one on Farkas a few years prior. But Farkas could give better than he got; Farkas could defend himself. Who on Nirn could have felt the need to hit someone as unthreatening as Deirdre?

"You weren't kicked by a horse," he said. "Someone hit you. Did you get into a fight? Is that why you were arrested?"

To his surprise, she nodded. "I, actually … stabbed someone."

Vilkas gawked. Deirdre's shoulders hunched inward.

"You—stabbed. Someone. You."

Her good eyebrow furrowed. She nodded again.

Vilkas ran a hand down his face, looking at her again and trying to picture it. So she wasn't completely unthreatening. She must have used the knife Aela had given her.

"Right. Just tell me, from the beginning, what happened."

She swallowed. "Well. Gerdur and Hod and I went home last night. But when we got home, there were all these soldiers at the house. And they said—and they were Imperial soldiers—and the captain, he said they were under arrest for—T-Talos worship, and because, Gerdur's brother is a Stormcloak."

Vilkas grimaced. He wasn't surprised to hear the Riverwood couple were Talos worshippers; he could have guessed as much. But there were plenty of people whose relatives had joined the Stormcloaks, and none of them were arrested for it. She must have misunderstood something.

She swallowed again, her voice growing thin. "But I tried to tell him they were innocent. Gerdur and Hod don't worship Talos anymore, because of the Thalmor. They really were innocent."

He doubted that, but it was unfair nonetheless. Everyone knew the White-Gold Concordat's ban on Talos worship was just elven prejudice put into law.

He pressed for more. "And then?"

"Um." She looked at the ground. "Captain Kensley said he would talk to me, so I thought—"

Vilkas seized another cell bar. "Captain who?"

Deirdre jumped. Vilkas realized he'd yelled. He lowered his volume. "Did you just say 'Kensley?'"

"Yes?"

"Otis Kensley?" he added. She looked uncertain, so he tried a different track. "Middle-aged man? Imperial, medium height, dark hair? With a beard? Entitled bastard?"

Her good eye lit with recognition. She nodded.

Vilkas stared at her. His stomach began churning with a slow-building fury. He turned around so she could only see his back, trying not to explode. He noticed that the Nord bandit, leaning against the bars of his cell, was watching the exchange with rapt attention.

"Who's this Kensley person, then?" he asked.

Vilkas gave him his coldest glare. The Nord held up both hands and retreated into his cell.

"Ain't none of my business," he said quickly. "I get it, I get it."

"Vilkas?" Deirdre peeped.

He took a deep, deep breath, preparing himself. He turned back to her. "Was Kensley the one who hit you?"

"Yes. Because I stabbed him. But …"

"But he did something first," Vilkas guessed. "He put hands on you first."

She stared at him, no doubt wondering how he knew that. Quietly, she said, "Yes."

"He said he would talk to you. But he didn't really want to talk?"

She shook her head.

"And then what did he—"

No, he'd better not ask that. He probably didn't want to hear the answer, and Deirdre probably didn't want to describe it.

But she was shaking her head again. "I stabbed him before he … did anything really bad."

That was a small relief. At least it was safe not to assume the worst. Because if Kensley had done the worst, Vilkas would have personally ensured he was a dead man. Imperial captain or no.

But he's only a captain now, Vilkas thought. That's a huge demotion.

Still not enough, he countered. Look at what happened.

"And that's why he had you arrested," he finished, tamping down rage as he answered his original question. "What happened to Gerdur and Hod?"

Both her voice and her lip quivered. "They took them back to Helgen. That's where Captain Kensley came from."

Vilkas growled—actually growled, by mistake, and Deirdre gave him a funny look. They'd only booted Kensley to Helgen? That was barely outside of Whiterun Hold. Balgruuf had promised them Kensley would be taken care of. Was this taken care of?

It wasn't logic that made him lift the warden's keys to the lock on Deirdre's cell. He'd unlocked it and shoved the door open without a second thought, reaching in to try and snatch the girl by the arm.

She darted out of reach like lightning. Vilkas froze. She'd moved so suddenly, even she seemed surprised. But the rigidity of her posture did not relax, and she stared at him in wordless apprehension. Like an abused little animal backed into a corner, its hackles raised.

Oops.

He stepped back and held up his hands, a mimic of the Nord bandit. "Sorry. I'm sorry. That was—stupid."

She didn't agree aloud, but the reproach in her eye said enough.

Vilkas tried again, keeping his feet planted while extending his hand—not grabbing. "You don't belong in here. Otis Kensley can't just arrest you for not giving him what he wanted."

Her eye darted from him to the direction of the warden's office. "You're letting me out?"

"You can come to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak will help you."

She hesitated. "I'll get in more trouble."

"Deirdre."

She met his gaze. He extended his hand a little further. "I'm promising you right now, the Companions won't let that happen. Jorrvaskr is the safest place in Whiterun. Possibly in all of Skyrim. Neither Jarl Balgruuf nor the Legion would be stupid enough to test that. And Aela would flay me alive if I left you here to appease Kensley."

She considered him, seeming torn. He made a coaxing gesture with his fingers.

"Come on. We've even got breakfast."

The suggestion of a smile passed over her lips. Her eye did another run from his hand, to the exit, to his face, and she inhaled before reaching out. Her fingers were cold.

As Vilkas brought her into the hall, the Nord bandit rushed up to his cell door. He stomped one foot, appalled. "Hey, that ain't fair!"

The Dark Elf leapt to his feet from the back of the cell. "Yeah, what gives? Playin' favorites? Thought Companions were s'posed to be honorable!"

Vilkas replied with a rude hand gesture. He led Deirdre toward the warden's office as the bandits' shouts filled the dungeon.

Bursio was using his bread to wipe up the egg yolk on his plate when they came through the doorway, and he shoved this last bit of food into his mouth as he looked over.

"Took you long en—" He cut off. His full mouth hung open.

"Bandits are locked up," Vilkas said shortly. He tugged Deirdre toward the exit.

"Whoa, whoa!"

Bursio gulped down his mouthful and scrambled up, lurching around the desk to reach for Deirdre. Vilkas stepped between them.

"I'm taking this one," he stated.

Bursio gaped. Vilkas was certain something like this had never happened on his watch before. "You're—Are you crazy?"

"Sane as ever."

The guard's mouth flapped open and shut without sound. He tried to go around Vilkas and Vilkas again stepped to prevent him. Bursio's normally easygoing face began to turn splotchy red.

Vilkas held the keys up and set them against Bursio's chest, deliberately pushing him back in the process.

"Look, you can fight me if you want, but I'm taking her."

Bursio snatched the keys. "Under whose authority?"

Deirdre's grip on his hand tightened. He could feel that she was nervous, a scared animal again.

"Since when was Otis Kensley allowed to make arrests in Whiterun Hold again?" Vilkas argued, gently maneuvering Deirdre out from behind him. He pointed at her face. "You gonna tell me the Jarl would approve?"

Bursio's mouth flapped some more. He looked at Deirdre, at Vilkas, at their joined hands, frantically spinning the wheels in his head. He whirled and strode to the desk, dragging the log book across it and flipping to the most recent page. He read down the log and his face paled.

"Son of a bitch, you're right. Kensley. In Whiterun."

Vilkas nudged Deirdre toward the exit. "Right, so I'm taking her. You can tell them I threatened you if you have to."

"Son of a bitch," Bursio emphasized. He threw shut the log book.

Vilkas gestured for Deirdre to open the door, and she complied. Bursio did not move to stop them, but he was glowering as if he wanted to.

"I better not lose my job for this," he warned.

Vilkas didn't reply. Fact was, though he liked Bursio, he didn't give a skeever's ass if he lost his job. If it came to that, he'd be better off not serving under a Jarl with no honor anyway.

They walked into the sunshine of a cool fall morning. Vilkas drew the door shut behind them, keeping hold of Deirdre's hand only because she was still gripping his so tightly.

"Are you going to get in trouble?" she murmured, as he led her up the road. "He was mad."

"He can eat shit," Vilkas snapped. He immediately regretted it, because she lowered her head and fell silent like she'd been reprimanded. He fell silent too.

But, despite how bad Vilkas was at directing his anger, Deirdre stuck close to him the entire walk to Jorrvaskr. She ducked a bit closer every time they passed someone, trying to use him as a partition between her and anyone who took notice of them. And several people took notice. It wasn't commonplace to see a Companion with a jumpy little girl clinging to his hand, much less a girl with a black eye. Vilkas hoped his reputation was good enough not to give anyone the wrong idea.

But reputation or no, neither of them liked the attention. He kept them walking at as brisk a pace as her short legs could manage without drawing even more eyes. When they made it up the steps to Jorrvaskr, Vilkas kicked the door open and pulled Deirdre inside.

Across the room, on the other side of the sitting area and the sparring pit, Tilma was setting a round pot on the long dining table. She looked up at their entrance, confusion evident when she saw the girl.

Vilkas ignored her, drawing Deirdre left to a set of stairs that led down to the living quarters. Deirdre dared a glance at the old woman before they descended too low for her to be visible.

"Who was that?" she whispered.

"Tilma. She's our … She cooks and cleans and gets after us."

He pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs. The door to the regular dormitory stood across from them; he turned right, walking down the carpeted length of the corridor, passing the table and chairs set on one side, passing the entryways to the individual rooms for members of the Circle. He stopped at the door at the end of the hall—Kodlak's office.

He rapped on the door. Hopefully the old man was already awake.

"It's open," came the mellow, resonant voice. Just the sound of it took the edge off Vilkas's ire.

He let himself in, bringing Deirdre before him and releasing her hand. He poked her in the back to prompt her toward one of the empty chairs angled around the desk in the far left corner.

Kodlak was sitting at the desk, an open book in his hand. He wore a dull blue cotton shirt and hadn't yet twisted the usual braids into his long gray hair. His weathered face lifted as they came in, and his white-green eyes—the lightest of anyone Vilkas knew, paler than dried mint—fixed themselves on Deirdre. He set down his book.

"Well now," he said, heavy eyebrows rising. "A stranger comes to our hall."

Deirdre had stopped behind one of the chairs, arms crossed over her chest, holding a hand to the base of her throat. She seemed to be arguing with herself whether to meet Kodlak's stare head-on or to turn and hide her face, because she did one and then the other.

Vilkas grabbed a chair and seated himself, pointing from Deirdre to the second chair to command her to copy him. She sat gingerly, her hands clasped in her lap.

"This is Deirdre, from Riverwood," Vilkas began, gesturing between her and Kodlak.

Kodlak made a sound of recognition. "The birthday girl with the spiders," he recalled.

Vilkas took a preparatory breath. "I just sprang her from Dragonsreach Dungeon."

Kodlak said nothing at first. His visage hardened as he stared Vilkas in the eye, almost as if he were peering into his mind to watch the actual events as they'd played out. Vilkas tensed, forcing himself to hold the eye contact.

Finally, Kodlak rumbled, "That had better be a creative way to tell me you paid bail."

Vilkas fought the instinct to fidget. Deirdre, not as resistant to the Kodlak-stare, focused on her knees.

"I didn't pay bail. I broke her out and took her without permission. But—" and he rushed to say this next part, before Kodlak could grow stormier— "I had a good reason, and I think the Jarl would agree with me."

Kodlak's frown deepened every line on his face. He sat back and crossed his arms. "Then you'd better tell me this reason quickly. So when I have to apologize to the Jarl for you breaching his trust and breaking his laws, I can convince him to keep you out of the dungeon."

Vilkas hastily explained what had happened, addressing Deirdre a few times to see if she'd chime in, but she remained mute. Kodlak looked at her whenever Vilkas did, his severity fading into disquietude.

When Vilkas finished, there came a moment of silence. Kodlak stroked his beard, gazing hard at Deirdre. She must have sensed this, because she managed to curl into herself even more, as if trying to become too small to see. Vilkas couldn't blame her. Kodlak Whitemane was intimidating even if you'd known him all your life.

Kodlak said, "This isn't a minor thing, Vilkas. I doubt the Jarl will disagree with your motives, but I also doubt he can let you get away with it without consequences."

Vilkas threw his hands up. "What am I getting away with? Kensley can't even make arrests in Whiterun Hold."

"That's up for debate. The Legion probably disagrees."

"Well then the Legion is wrong. But it doesn't even sound like the Legion ordered this; it sounds like Kensley's scheming to get back in their good graces. He doesn't have the right to—"

Kodlak held up a hand. "It's not our argument. Regardless, I have to talk to the Jarl. Sooner rather than later."

He gave his attention to Deirdre. "You've been very quiet, lass. In fact, you haven't said a word."

They watched her lips press together in a pale line. Vilkas was torn between pity and disapproval—you don't just not answer Kodlak when he's speaking to you.

Instead of being insulted, Kodlak softened his tone. "It would help if you could tell me about this in your own words. I know you're probably shaken, but I promise I don't bite."

Deirdre raised her head. Kodlak nodded stoically. "Unless someone deserves it."

Vilkas snorted. Deirdre glanced at him and back to Kodlak, who'd cracked a small smile. The unblemished side of her face flushed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"No reason to be sorry. Is everything Vilkas just told me accurate?"

She started to nod, thought better of it, and said, "Well, mostly. Sir."

Vilkas held back another snort. Sir? he echoed, watching Kodlak's eyes crinkle.

"You can call me Kodlak. Can I call you Deirdre?"

"Yes, s—Kodlak."

He nodded. "Good. Now we're not strangers. Tell me what you mean by 'mostly.' Is there something else I should know?"

Vilkas had the same question. Surely she'd left out relevant details.

Deirdre rubbed nervously at the dip in her collarbone. "I didn't tell Vilkas what Captain Kensley said when—in the house."

She glanced at Vilkas contritely.

"What house?" Kodlak asked.

She closed her eyes, collecting herself. Haltingly, she described the events of Gerdur and Hod's arrest in greater detail. When she told of how Kensley had invited her into Gerdur and Hod's empty house, Vilkas propped his elbows on his knees and rested his clasped hands against his mouth, to keep from growling again. That sounded like Kensley, all right. He was not surprised.

What did surprise him, and Kodlak too, was her account of what Kensley said in the house. He felt his eyes widening with every second.

Kodlak interrupted her. "Just a moment. Are you saying an Imperial officer knowingly arrested your family under false pretenses?"

She went very still. Her gaze stayed glued to her hands in her lap.

"Deirdre?" Vilkas urged.

Her voice sounded far away. "You don't believe me?"

"I didn't say that," Kodlak replied. "I just need us to be very clear. There's a grave difference between an officer who made an arrest on real suspicions, and an officer who deliberately framed innocent people. And for him to admit it to you outright …"

But this is Kensley we're talking about, Vilkas thought. He thinks he's untouchable.

A shiny film appeared in Deirdre's good eye, the one Vilkas could see, just to give him yet another hit in the gut. "He said no one would believe me."

Vilkas looked at Kodlak accusingly, silently saying, Now look, you made her cry. Kodlak's eyebrows knitted.

"We do believe you," Vilkas said aloud. "It's just a—It's just such a shitty thing to do it's hard to want to believe it. But I wouldn't put it past Kensley."

Deirdre turned insistent. "He really did say it. He took the amulet of Talos out of his own pocket and showed it to me."

"I said I believe you," Vilkas repeated. Though admittedly, on that account, he hadn't before. Very few people who claimed to have given up Talos actually had. And even Gerdur and Hod, supposing they'd thrown away any amulets or destroyed any shrines, likely worshiped him in their hearts.

Kodlak cleared his throat. "But as for the other accusation, how do you know her Stormcloak brother didn't come to Riverwood after the attack on Helgen? Or Ulfric himself? Riverwood would have been the nearest village to seek refuge in."

Deirdre stilled again, then hardened her voice. "Because I sought refuge in Riverwood after the attack on Helgen. And there wasn't anyone else there."

Kodlak looked surprised. Vilkas remembered he and Aela hadn't thought to mention Deirdre's origins when they'd recapped the events of the Riverwood contract; of course he would be surprised.

Kodlak stroked his beard again. "I see. That would make you an eye witness. I wonder if Kensley realized that."

Deirdre blinked, her turn to be surprised. Vilkas hadn't made that connection yet either.

"After he told you the real plan," Kodlak said, "what did he do next?"

At the look on Deirdre's face, Vilkas felt a swell of dread.

She was reluctant. Her words came out more fumbling than before. Kensley hadn't even managed to do very much, if Deirdre was telling the whole story, but it was enough that Vilkas had to stand from his chair and pace away, just picturing it. Even in the retelling, her voice betrayed her fear.

She got to the point of Kensley punching her and Vilkas stopped pacing to focus on a sabre cat skull mounted to the wall. He imagined it was Kensley's face and imagined bludgeoning it. The way the nose would crack and the blood would spurt under his knuckles.

"Vilkas," Kodlak warned.

Vilkas curled and uncurled his fingers, fighting the need to turn them into fists.

"You're making her nervous."

He turned to see Kodlak was right. Deirdre had tensed up again, leaning in the other direction like Vilkas was emitting something noxious. He ran his hands up his face and into his hair.

"Balgruuf said he'd get rid of him. This shouldn't have even happened!"

"Yes, but you still need to control yourself."

He huffed and slouched back against the wall. "I am controlling myself."

Deirdre tried to correct her body language now that it had been called out. She deliberately addressed Vilkas. "Why does everyone already know Captain Kensley? Why isn't he supposed to be in Whiterun Hold?"

Vilkas threw a meaningful look at Kodlak. Kodlak grimaced.

"He used to be the Imperial Legate for Whiterun," Kodlak said. "There were bad rumors about him—usually to do with women. He was also known for his ego, but he was a competent Legate. And then he … made advances on Aela."

Deirdre's jaw dropped. She looked to Vilkas for confirmation.

"She beat him bloody. Tied him up like a criminal and dragged him to the Jarl. Balgruuf took her word for what happened and kicked him out—we thought. Apparently, he just got transferred to Helgen."

"Suffice it to say, the Jarl won't be pleased to hear Kensley dared put you in his own dungeon," Kodlak added. "But Vilkas didn't have the right to break you out, either. This could potentially become complicated."

He tugged on his beard, thinking. He analyzed Deirdre's face. "I want to offer you a healing potion, but—I think it should wait. I'm positive the Jarl will want to speak with you. It would be better if he could see the evidence for himself."

Deirdre lifted a hand to her face, looking uncertain. Vilkas recalled the last time he'd offered her a healing potion; she'd been reluctant due to the cost.

"You don't want to walk around like that for the next few weeks, do you?" he asked.

She pursed her lips.

"No, you don't. We have plenty of potions in Jorrvaskr."

After a moment, she nodded. "Thank you. I didn't expect—I thought I'd have to wait for Captain Kensley to get me out. The lieutenant said I should accept his offer if I didn't want to go to a work camp. I didn't know … what I'd do."

Vilkas closed his eyes and concentrated on taking a slow breath. Control yourself, control yourself, control yourself—

"I think I have the full story for the Jarl," Kodlak said. "Unless there's anything else you want to add?"

Deirdre shook her head.

"Good. Then I'm going to get dressed. While I'm doing that …"

He looked at Vilkas—grimly—and said, "Someone should wake up Aela."