Chapter 3: Awakenings

Jergen returned to his quarters, only stopping on his way to check on Vilkas. When he peeked into the room, he could see Vilkas wrapped up in furs on the bed and sleeping soundly. He slipped back out quietly and into his own room, leaving both doors slightly open.

Farkas was now clean and dressed in another of Jergen's shirts. Jergen pulled a chair up next to the bed and did another exam of Farkas's injuries. Brother Gustav had lived up to his reputation as a healer; there was almost no trace of the damage the boy had suffered. His skin was a healthy pink and hIs breathing was deep and unlabored, as if he were simply sleeping and not unconscious.

The priest's words echoed in his thoughts. We will not know the damage until he wakes. If he wakes at all. Jergen's mind began going through the mission again, trying to find something they could have done differently that could have prevented this, allowed them to get there sooner…

No. Don't do this, he scolded himself. You'll send yourself straight to Sheogorath's realm if you do. He rubbed his face and felt some of his warpaint flake off. He grimaced and dusted his hand against his armor before realizing it was just as dirty. Maybe cleaning himself up wasn't a bad idea.

He changed out of his armor and linens into a pair of loose trousers, then filled his wash basin with water. He had just finished washing off the last of his warpaint when he heard a rustle near the door. He raised his head to see a clean and half-awake Vilkas peeking in.

"Ah, you're awake," he greeted Vilkas. "The healer said you're doing better." He reached over and moved the furs to expose an empty part of the bed. "And I think your brother could use some company."

Vilkas didn't need to be told twice. He immediately shot over to the bed and began climbing in.

"Careful, now… gently…" Jergen helped him get comfortable in the bed without disturbing Farkas too much. Vilkas snuggled up to his brother, and for the first time Jergen realized the two boys looked identical.

"You're twins?" he asked.

Vilkas nodded. "Mama's woof cubs." He ran a hand over Farkas's slightly damp hair. "Mama gone now," he said sadly, then put his arm around his brother. "Is okay, Fakas. I heah. We safe."

Wolf cubs. Jergen chuckled slightly at the irony. As Vilkas fell back to sleep, he unrolled his sleeping bag next to the bed. He'd make a better sleeping space tomorrow.

Jergen awoke to the sound of whimpering coming from the bed above him. The boy finally broke. Everything must have caught up with him.

Then he heard another voice, a familiar one comforting someone. "Is okay, Fakas, is okay…"

Farkas was awake, and apparently upset. He lay still, listening to the two. Hopefully Vilkas would be able to calm his brother.

Jergen knew how to fight giants and set a shattered leg bone, but a crying child… he was at a loss. Whenever he'd come across one, he'd been able to find a parent or another adult the child knew and let them handle the situation. He'd occasionally dealt with whelps who'd been overwhelmed with the demands of Companion life, but yelling "Man up, you milk drinker" was probably not going to work here.

Farkas's whimpering soon grew into full sobs and Vilkas's whispering took on a frantic tone. So much for that hope.

Jergen pushed up just enough to peek over the edge of the bed. He could see Vilkas's back and head outside of the furs and curled around something, but nothing else. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Vilkas's back.

Vilkas's head whipped around and Jergen was met with a look bordering on panic. "Hep," he said.

Jergen nodded. "I'll get Tilma." He began to rise.

"No!" Vilkas shrieked. "No Timma!" Farkas suddenly went quiet. Vilkas glanced back at his brother, then at Jergen. "Don't go," he pleaded. "Peas don't go."

Jergen froze where he was. The proud and spirited boy was begging him not to leave, and looked on the verge of breaking into tears himself.

He suddenly remembered another person with that same expression. It had been one of his first rescue missions, and the terrified prisoner had refused to come out of her cage. The advice of his mentor came back to him. "She's a frightened animal right now. She needs to know she has nothing to fear. Approach her slowly, stay calm, and move at her pace, not yours. The more in control she feels, the less frightened she will be."

Jergen swallowed hard, trying to push his own fear away. He settled back down on his knees next to the bed and reached past Vilkas to lift a corner of the fur. He could see a pair of frightened eyes look out of the gap, then disappear into the darkness. Something under the fur moved closer to Vilkas.

"Fakas…" Vilkas began to admonish his brother, but Jergen put a hand on Vilkas's shoulder.

"It's all right. He can take all the time he needs. We're in no hurry." He looked in at Farkas. "Do you know where you are, pup? How you got here?"

His eyes had adjusted enough to see Farkas through the gap. He was clinging to his brother's tunic and seemed unwilling to let go. He hid his face against Vilkas's chest.

"It's alright if you don't. You weren't exactly awake for most of it." Jergen tried to keep his voice low and soothing, as if he were dealing with a wild animal. Hopefully the same tactics worked for taming children. Jergen turned his attention to Vilkas. "I think he's most comfortable here near you for right now."

Vilkas suddenly let out a squeak and pushed away from Farkas, trying to free himself from his brother's grip. Farkas gave a wail as his brother tumbled out of the bed and onto the floor. Vilkas scrambled back to his feet, a wet spot on his borrowed nightshirt. Jergen's nose twitched at the strong smell in the room..

"Now I have to get Tilma," he sighed. "Your brother just wet the bed."

"I understand. Thank you, Sister Danica." Jergen watched the acolyte leave, her dark blonde hair bouncing as she walked. She glanced back with a smile that brought a smirk to Jergen's lips. Jergen closed the door and headed downstairs to the Harbinger's quarters.

"About time you checked in," Askar chided as Jergen entered. "I told you to let me know the instant the boy awakened."

"I know. The priest did not lie about their needs. They do not like being alone. Kodlak is with them now."

"We cannot allow the acolyte to come here to visit them again."

"Has she done something, Askar?"

"Not yet. But I see her sniffing about, the curious looks. She will start asking questions we don't wish to answer."

Jergen understood. He had overheard some of the comments from villagers about how the whelps received healing from the temple, but the Circle never did. Some thought they were too tough, others thought them too arrogant. None would understand the truth.

Askar's snicker drew back Jergen's attention. "Speaking of sniffing around, I hear one of the boys marked his territory."

"Thankfully it didn't get past the furs. He hadn't had much to drink - probably for quite a long time."

Askar immediately sombered. "The acolyte said that, did she?"

"More than that. You didn't see the conditions they were kept in, Askar. They were treated like animals… no, worse than animals." Jergen's stomach turned over at the mere memory.

"So what did the acolyte say?"

"Farkas…" Jergen took a deep breath. "He's lost about two years. He'll need to relearn how to walk, how to talk… and that's after he's regained his strength. He has a long journey ahead of him."

"His kin will have their hands full, then. Were you able to find anything out about them?"

"They lived with their mother. No other adults, including the father. Whether he's dead or left, I don't know. The mother's dead, probably at the hands of the necromancers."

"If that's the case, we won't find a body. They'd have raised her again. Her body would be ash now."

Mama dust. Oh dear gods. Jergen could scarcely breathe.

"What is it?" Askar looked concerned. "You just went pale as the snow."

"The boys saw it. Vilkas said their mother was dust."

Askar closed his eyes and sighed. "No child should see that. But they likely witnessed worse than that. The mages were followers of Molag Bal. You know what he represents. If the gods are merciful, the boys will forget everything after they are reunited with their kin, including their time with us." Askar turned to his desk and began to pull papers. "We'll send word to the other holds with their descriptions. Hopefully their kin comes forward soon - travel will be difficult until the spring thaw."

"They're twins, dark hair and pale eyes. Look just like each other." Jergen paused. "Kodlak mentioned their names are rather unusual. If the family followed the old customs for naming children, they would be named for an ancestor."

"Good point. I'll tell the stewards to pass the word to those who follow bloodlines as well as the older families, the innkeepers, and the city guards."

Jergen raised an eyebrow. "The guards?"

"Of course. Haven't you noticed?" Askar chuckled. "The guards gossip worse than old women. Which reminds me, Eorlund's wife dropped off a package here today."

"A package? She couldn't deliver it to Eorlund herself?"

"No, the package is for the boys. Don't look so surprised; a child screaming in the middle of the night is bound to get attention. Between that and the guards on duty when you arrived, well… seems they took up a collection of odds and ends. She left it near the front door."

Jergen hauled the crate downstairs to his room. As he turned the corner towards his room, he could see Vilkas near the door. "Miss me, pup?" he called.

Vilkas quickly disappeared back into the room. When Jergen stepped in, he could see Tilma sitting on the bed, feeding Farkas the herbal chicken broth she'd specially prepared for both boys. Farkas was propped up into a sitting position by furs and eagerly opening his mouth for each spoonful with no trace of fear. Vilkas was standing near Farkas, watching Tilma carefully.

Kodlak was sitting in a chair across the room watching with amusement. When he saw Jergen, he stood.

"Any problems?" Jergen asked, setting the crate down on a nearby dresser.

"None. Well, once I proved to Vilkas that Tilma wasn't trying to poison them with the broth." Kodlak shook his head. "Boy's terrified of losing his brother," he murmured.

"After what they've been through, I can't say I blame him. Farkas looks more comfortable."

"Aye. He took to Tilma as soon as she offered him food."

Jergen snickered. "Like most of the warriors here, then."

Kodlak laughed in agreement. "I should get some food myself. My stomach's growled loudly enough to frighten the boys a couple of times. Can I help you carry anything, Tilma?"

"Oh no, I should be fine." Tilma began to add the bowl she was holding down onto a tray with other dishes, but Farkas let out a cry of protest. "It's all gone, dear," she told him, showing him the empty bowl.

Farkas whined and opened his mouth again.

"I'll get you more soon," she promised as she placed the bowl and stood, picking up the tray. Farkas whined again and leaned in her direction. Vilkas caught him before he fell over, quickly pushing him back into position.

"Fakas, no," he scolded. "No moe."

Farkas slumped back into a sulk.

Tilma and Kodlak left, leaving the three alone once again. Jergen partially closed the door and pulled the crate down to the floor next to the bed.

"Seems the people of Whiterun heard about you. They sent presents." He pulled the covering from the top of the crate.

Vilkas stepped closer to the crate and pulled out some red cloth. It unfolded into a girl's dress. Vilkas's face changed to a look of disgust.

Jergen bit back a laugh. "I guess they didn't hear you were boys." He spread the covering out onto the floor. "We'll sort through it together. Anything we don't need can go here, and those can go on to someone else."

Vilkas tossed the dress onto the covering and continued digging. Jergen knelt down next to him and began to pull out clothing, holding it up to Vilkas to see if it was the right size. Anything too small or for the wrong gender went into the discard pile, while the proper size or bigger went on to the bed.

"It will be good for you to have your own clothing. You two have gone through half my shirts already." Plus it would be less things that their kin would have to provide.

Vilkas tossed a small bundle over to the discard pile. He began to pull something out of the crate, but it got caught on some clothing.

"Here, let me help. Looks a bit tangled." Jergen moved aside the clothes and Vilkas pulled out a well-used wooden sword.

Jergen caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun to see Farkas beginning to tumble out of the bed. He managed to quickly lunge and catch Farkas before he hit the floor, twisting to let Farkas land on him instead.

"Felt left out, did you, pup?"

Farkas whined and reached for the discard pile. Jergen's brow furrowed in confusion, but he moved Farkas closer and shuffled around some of the clothes. A doll fell out of the pile, and Farkas whined louder as he reached again.

Jergen picked up the doll and held it in front of Farkas. "This?"

Farkas cried out and made a grab for the doll. Jergen put the doll into Farkas's arms, and Farkas snuggled down happily, holding the doll as best he could.

Whatever makes the boy happy for now, I guess.

He turned to see Vilkas swinging the wooden sword wildly. "Whoa, whoa, boy." He caught the sword mid-swing. "You'll break something brandishing it like that." He readjusted Vilkas's grip on the hilt. "You have to have more control. Keep your wrist loose and let your shoulder do the work. You won't tire as easily." He guided Vilkas through a simple cut down and forward with the sword. "This is the first move most warriors learn with this type of blade."

Vilkas pointed to Jergen's greatsword. "And dat one?"

"That one's more about power - standing your ground and using your strength. Right now, you're quick and small, which works well with a smaller blade. Once you get older and bigger, you might fit that one better."

"How big?"

Jergen laughed. "At least as big as it."

Vilkas took another look at the greatsword. His face fell into a disappointed pout.

"Tell you what," Jergen said, readjusting Farkas in his lap. "Maybe later I can teach you a little about using a sword like that wooden one. It'll help you build muscle, which will make you stronger. If we can get another, it might help this one as well." He tousled Farkas's hair, and Farkas let out a squeal followed by a giggle as he tried to move away from Jergen's hand. "You two could practice together."

Farkas dropped his doll, and fumbled trying to pick it back up. Vilkas looked down at Farkas doubtfully.

"Well, once he regains his grip strength." Jergen scooped up the doll and deposited it back in Farkas's arms. "Eyes on the prey, not the horizon."

Vilkas looked back up at Jergen with a confused look.

"It's an expression we use here. It means you should worry about what's in front of your nose" - Jergen reached over to lightly tap Vilkas on the nose with his finger - "and not what's around the corner."

Vilkas rubbed his nose, looking somewhat insulted. "Don't do dat."

Jergen gestured at the sword. "If you get better with that, I won't be able to. You'll block me before I get close. Do that move I taught you." Vilkas pulled the sword into position, and Jergen reached over to tap Vilkas's nose again. The sword move hit Jergen's arm, moving it down before his hand made contact. "See?"

The look on Vilkas's face said it all. The boy was hooked.