He can't count the number of times he's heard tourists passing through Whiterun complaining about Skyrim being 'too cold.' The khajiit, especially, who he knows are used to deserts and rainforests, claim that Skyrim summers are downright mild. But to Vilkas, born and raised in Whiterun, the midday sun is positively boiling.
They've spent the majority of their trip travelling along the White River, and the longer they ride by the water's edge, the more often he glances at it wistfully, longing to strip his heavy armor and go for a swim. He's already shed as much armor as he dares, but he can't bring himself to risk losing his heavy iron breastplate and leg armor. Beside him, on a dappled grey mare that Vilkas recognizes as one of Riften's trademark steeds, Mayenor lounges comfortably in brown leather armor and a matching hood that shades her eyes from the harsh sun.
As the heat begins to grow unbearable, a turn in the road reveals the buildings of Riverwood up ahead, and Vilkas lets out a long breath of relief. Not only is he eager to get inside and cool off, but his growling stomach reminds him that dawn and his breakfast are several hours behind him.
"We'll stop in Riverwood," he grunts to Mayenor, breaking the silence that had reigned since they'd left the city. "Get some lunch. Rest the horses." Mayenor doesn't answer, just nodding her head to indicate her understanding. Vilkas watches her from the corner of his eye and frowns. She looks completely at-ease, resting in the saddle as though she's accustomed to spending countless hours on horseback, and he wonders, not for the first time, what exactly she does during her long absences from Jorrvaskr. She's a little different every time she returns to the mead hall; sometimes a new scar decorates her pale skin, and sometimes a new confidence shines in her green eyes. She's doing something when she's not with the Companions, and, if her secrecy is any indication, she's doing something big.
They tether their horses with the guards' outside of town, then head for the Sleeping Giant Inn, both walking a bit stiffly as their legs adjust to supporting their weight once more. The town guards nod to Vilkas, recognizing him as a Companion, but the people on the streets ignore him, instead calling greetings to Mayenor, who grins and waves to them. He's surprised to see her so cheerful and even more surprised to see them so familiar with a girl he hardly knows, despite calling her Shield-Sister.
"May?" Vilkas turns as he hears a woman's voice from across the stream that winds through the town. As he watches, Mayenor trots toward the lumbermill as another woman runs across the bridge that connects it to the rest of town. The women embrace on the porch of the blacksmith's shop, and Vilkas, curious, steps over to watch their reunion.
"How are you?" The strange woman asks, holding Mayenor at arm's length and looking her over, beaming. "It's been so long! We were afraid something had happened to you…"
"I'm fine, Gerdur," Mayenor insists, her own smile rivaling her friend's. "What about you? Bandits still giving you troubles?"
"After you stormed in here and showed them what's what?" Gerdur laughs. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of them!" Mayenor's friendly smile flicks into a cruel, toothy grin.
"Good. I thought I made myself pretty clear. Now, where's that idiot brother of yours?"
"'Idiot'? I'm hurt, May." Vilkas bristles when a blond man brushes past him and pauses before the women. "I think I'm a fool, at worst." Mayenor laughs and breaks away from Gerdur to throw her arms around the newcomer's neck. He hugs her around the waist and lifts her off the ground, spinning her around and making her shriek with surprise.
Vilkas feels his already-sour mood fouling as he watches the exchange. He's always thought of Mayenor as a mysterious figure, someone that no one knows very much about, and that makes him feel better about the fact that he knows almost nothing about her except that he loves her. But apparently she's only a mystery to him; clearly, these people know her better than he'd thought anyone could.
"Who's your friend?" Gerdur's giggling question brings Vilkas from his thoughts, and he sees that they're all looking at him now.
"Vilkas," he says by way of introduction, offering a hand to the man, who shakes it firmly.
"Ralof," he supplies, eyeing Vilkas critically. "You look familiar. Have you been through here before?" Vilkas nods.
"A few times, on patrols for the Jarl before he stationed guards here."
"The Jarl?" Ralof looks surprised. "You've friends in high places, then."
"Vilkas is a Companion," Mayenor cuts in. "We work together on occasion. Now, Gerdur, I would absolutely kill for some of your frost mirriam tea right about now…" She begins to steer the other woman toward the road, leaving the men to fall into step behind them.
"A Companion, hm?" Ralof muses conversationally as they follow the women past the Riverwood Trader and along a path leading to what Vilkas assumes is Gerdur and Ralof's home. "You're lucky to be traveling with Mayenor."
"You know her well, then?" Vilkas tries to sound casual.
"Aye. She saved my life. I'd be dead and burned in Helgen right now if not for her." Vilkas looks sharply at the Nord.
"You were in Helgen when the dragon attacked? She was in Helgen when the dragon attacked?"
"She didn't tell you?" Ralof seems surprised, but after a moment of thought, he shrugs. "I don't really blame her. I don't like to talk about it, myself. A thing of nightmares, that was…" He shudders. "The Imperials picked her up near the border to Cyrodiil when they ambushed us. Thought she was a Stormcloak, like us." The blond's face darkens as he remembers the day. "She was kneeling in front of the executioner's block when the dragon showed up. If it had been even a minute later…" He shakes his head and falls silent.
"Are you telling stories back here?" Mayenor stands at the door to the house, and her tone is pleasant, though a glint in her eyes betrays that she's suspicious of the men's conversation. Ralof brushes her words away with a wave of his hand and steps through the open door, but Vilkas pauses beside her.
"You never told me you were at Helgen," he says lowly, and she fixes him with a piercing stare.
"I wasn't aware we were friendly enough to talk about the good old days," she retorts, then turns on her heel and stomps into the house. He follows.
The house is smaller than it had seemed from the outside; with the livestock roaming out front, Vilkas had failed to notice that the house was, in fact, little more than a one room shack. Nonetheless, the fire in the hearth and the smell of home cooking makes the small space cozy and inviting, and Vilkas feels oddly comfortable as he settles into a seat at the table. Cheeses and cooked meats are piled in the middle of the table, and Vilkas eyes them hungrily, once again remembering how long it's been since he last ate. He hopes Mayenor's reunion with Ralof and Gerdur will be brief so they can hurry to the Inn and get some lunch.
As though sensing Vilkas's hungry thoughts, Gerdur pushes a wooden plate toward him, gesturing for him to get his share of the food.
"Eat," she says, pouring what he assumes is the frost mirriam tea Mayenor mentioned into four tankards.
"I couldn't impose," he declines politely, and she offers him an appreciative smile.
"Please, I insist. Any friend of May's is a friend of ours." Beside his sister, Ralof gives a solemn nod of agreement, and Vilkas only hesitates for a moment before deciding not to mention that he and Mayenor are far from friends. As he spears a salmon steak with his pocket knife, Mayenor helps herself to the siblings' food, as well.
They eat quickly, and, though Vilkas had been looking forward to a tankard of cold mead, he finds himself surprisingly rejuvenated by Gerdur's tea – a secret recipe, she'd told him with a wink when he'd mentioned he liked it.
"Oh, you must be roasting in that armor," Gerdur tsks after she and Mayenor have cleaned up from the meal, eyeing Vilkas with a hand on her hip. "Ralof, get him some of your clothes so he can get out of it for a little while, at least."
"We won't be here much longer-" Vilkas begins to protest, but Gerdur cuts him off with a dismissive wave.
"Nonsense. We haven't seen Mayenor since First Seed. You have to stay for the night."
"Actually, we need to get to Falkreath by nightfall," Mayenor says quickly, before Vilkas and Gerdur can get into an argument. "But we're making good time. A few hours of rest can only do us good." She looks at Vilkas from the corner of her eye, a catlike grin tugging at her lips. "I'm sure Vilkas will agree."
He doesn't agree, and she knows that, but she can also tell that he isn't eager to face the heat of the day again. After a moment's indecision, he nods grudgingly, and her triumphant smirk sends a shock of affection through his chest. Jealousy has been clawing at his mind since the moment Ralof and Mayenor embraced, and now, seeing her lounging so comfortably next to the other man, he finds himself struggling not to hate his perceived competition.
"C'mon," Ralof grunts, standing and stretching with a groan. "Let's get you something lighter to wear. No need for you to stink up the house with your sweat." He claps Vilkas on the shoulder, his manner friendly, as he says this, heading to the far corner of the room, where he bends over a chest. Vilkas reluctantly follows him, accepting the cloth tunic and leggings Ralof offers to him. "You can change over there," he says, jerking his head to a secluded part of the house, where a large bed is tucked away from the main living area.
"Thanks," Vilkas mumbles, moving over to the bed as Ralof returns to the table. He changes slowly, listening hard to the others' low conversation.
"So? Tell us about Big and Brooding over there," Gerdur says, voice barely above a whisper.
"There's nothing to say. We work together, that's all," Mayenor replies, and somehow her candor about their lack of a relationship stings Vilkas's pride.
"He's handsome, though, isn't he?" Gerdur continues.
"And a Companion. It's nice to see you with someone respectable for once, instead of that smooth-talking Imperial." Vilkas gets the impression that Ralof isn't fond of Mayenor's friend, and he struggles to remember if he's ever heard any of his Shield-Siblings mention her spending time with an Imperial.
"Whatever happened to him, anyway? We used to see you two riding through here all the time, then suddenly… Nothing." Gerdur pauses, then continues gently. "Did you two have a fight?"
"I don't want to talk about him." The coldness in Mayenor's voice surprises Vilkas.
"I never trusted him," Ralof mutters, and Vilkas hears Mayenor sigh.
"Drop it, Ralof."
"He was always so full of himse-"
"Drop it," she repeats through clenched teeth, and Vilkas emerges on the tense silence that follows.
By the time Mayenor and Vilkas finally manage to slip away from Gerdur and Ralof, the sun is hanging far lower in the sky than when they'd stopped, and the sight puts Vilkas in a foul mood that lasts him for the next few miles of road. It's not until the road splits, one way leading farther into the Tamrielic wilderness and the other toward the blackened remains of Helgen, that he comes out of his stupor to glance at Mayenor. Her mouth is set in a grim line as she dutifully nudges her mare toward the burned town, and Vilkas maneuvers his own horse to draw even with her.
"We can go around," he says, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "The road splits again a few miles ahead. We can get to Falkreath that way."
"That's a waste of time, and we're pushing nightfall as it is," she replies, determinedly avoiding his gaze. "We'll just ride around the outside of the walls. There's too much debris to go through the town, even if the gates weren't locked." She urges her mount onward and pulls ahead of him as the road narrows into a small dirt path that hugs the town's wooden walls; Vilkas takes advantage of the silence to peer through the cracks in the walls, catching glimpses of the devastation.
He hadn't frequented Helgen even when it was intact: he and Farkas rarely left Whiterun and its surrounding areas, and Helgen had never been a particularly attractive destination for them on the occasions they decided to explore their homeland. Nonetheless, they'd passed through the town on their way to Falkreath, much like he and Mayenor were now, and he remembered the settlement as small, but orderly. Now, however, the buildings that had once been home to fierce Nords are lying in charred piles splayed across the cobblestoned roads. Only the keep, which had been built with rocks from the river, remains standing.
Mayenor rides quickly past Helgen, scarcely looking up from her horse's neck until the town is behind them. Once the road widens again, Vilkas rides beside her once more.
"What was it like?" He asks. Based on Ralof's reaction when talking about the incident, he knows she's likely reluctant to relive the attack, but his curiosity gets the best of him. When she jerks her gaze to his, he can tell he should have stayed silent.
"Terrible," she grunts after a moment. "The whole situation was terrible. First I got picked up by a bunch of soldiers mistaking me for a Stormcloak, then I was nearly executed, only to be saved by a dragon." Her brows furrow into a frown. "I'd only seen dragons in storybooks as a kid before then, and those old drawings don't do them justice." She looks up and locks gazes with him, looking solemn. "They're much, much worse."
He doesn't press the subject. Something in her eyes, in the shadows that darkened her gaze as she recounted her story, warns him that he's gotten all he will from her. They've never had an actual conversation, never swapped war stories, never gotten to know one another, and the fact that she had been willing to share her story with him, however brief it may have been, sends hope creeping across his mind. Most of their interactions begin with an argument and end with a fight; today, seeing her away from Jorrvaskr and out on the open road, he's beginning to realize that she may not have as many winters under her belt as he does, but she may have experienced just as much in her years.
They don't speak again until the sky is turning pink with the approaching dusk. It's been many years since he's travelled to Falkreath, and he had apparently underestimated the amount of time it would take for them to reach the Hold. Now that night is fast approaching, he's beginning to feel anxious; there have been reports of vampires attacking travelers as of late, and he doesn't want to fall victim to one of their raids. He's about to voice his concern to Mayenor and suggest they ready their weapons when she breaks the silence.
"It'll be dark before we reach the Hold," she informs him, steering her horse next to his so they can talk quietly. Apparently she shares his concerns about being attacked. "I know where we can stop for the night. It's just outside the town, and we'll be safe there." She doesn't wait for an answer, instead kicking her horse into a trot. He follows her, shoulders tense as he peers into the woods on either side of the road, alert for any sign of danger. After a few minutes, Mayenor guides her horse off the main road, skirting alongside a pond and glancing back to ensure he's still following. They travel through the trees for a moment longer before emerging in front of a large manor house.
Once they're past the woods and in the clearing, Mayenor dismounts, leading her horse to the two-horse stable that sits on a hill across from the manor. Dumbly, Vilkas follows, staring in awe at the lavish home.
"Whose house is this?" He asks, moving his horse to occupy the stall next to hers.
"We'll be safe here," she replies, not looking at him. "There's plenty of food and drink inside, and a couple of beds. All without spending Companion coin." She unbridles her mare as she speaks, placing the tack on a waiting pummel and gesturing for him to do the same. Vilkas grooms his steed quickly, keeping an eye on Mayenor the whole time. The ease and comfort with which she moves around the property makes him suspicious, and Ralof's earlier comment about her Imperial friend comes into his mind unbidden. The owner of this manor is, without a doubt, wealthy; is he Mayenor's mystery associate?
They enter the manor without knocking, and Vilkas lingers in the entryway while she moves into the main hall. She ducks through a door to her left, calling for Vilkas to make himself at home. He's examining a glass sword mounted on the wall when the manor doors open again. A Redguard woman, wearing a cloth hood and holding a line of dripping fish in one hand, enters. As soon as he gaze lands on Vilkas, she drops the fish, pulling dual, curved swords from sheaths before Vilkas can think to react; instinctively, he pulls his own greatsword over his shoulder, falling into a fighting stance.
"You shouldn't be here," the Redguard warns, gripping the hilts of her swords tightly.
"I was about to say the same thing," Vilkas returns, wondering what Mayenor has gotten them into. As if hearing his thoughts, the Nord girl rounds the corner and sees the pair.
"Rayya! There you are!" She sighs, putting a hand on her hip as she eyes the scene before her. The Redguard blinks once, then sheathes her swords and bows her head to Mayenor.
"I didn't know you were back, My Thane." Her tone, which had been so threatening only moments before, holds a reverent quality.
"How many times have I asked you to call me by my name?" Mayenor groans. "I was trying to find you so I could tell you I'm here. And I see you've already met Vilkas." She casts a bemused glance at the man, who still stands with his sword drawn. "Put that thing away," she chides him. "Vilkas, this is Rayya. Rayya, Vilkas. Any questions?"
"My Thane?" Vilkas arches an eyebrow at his Shield-Sister, who averts her gaze from his.
"Milady is Thane of Falkreath," Rayya supplies. She's retrieved her fish and now walks past the pair into the main hall, where she stokes the fire under the cooking pot. "And of Riften and Whiterun. I am honored to serve as her housecarl."
"To be fair, Jarl Balgruuf only made me his Thane because I warned him of the dragon attack," Mayenor mumbles, fidgeting under the intense stare Vilkas is giving her.
"And then defeated the dragon at the western watchtower," Rayya retorts, and Mayenor lets out a soft sigh.
"I had no idea of your position." Vilkas inclines his head toward Mayenor respectfully, and when he looks up once more, she is scowling at him.
"Being Thane doesn't change who I am," she informs him, voice laced with annoyance. "If I was a whelp to you before, I should be a whelp to you now. I don't need or want your phony respect."
Out of the corner of his eye, Vilkas can see Rayya watching them while she prepares the fish to be cooked, but he hardly notices her. Instead, he fights not to grin at Mayenor, not to pull her into a bone-crushing hug. She's clearly a more prominent figure in Skyrim than he or any of his fellow Companions had realized, but she's still the stubborn, willful woman-child that first dared hope to join the warriors of Whiterun.
Mayenor breaks eye contact with him when she apparently hears a noise from the room beyond the main hall. She puts a finger to her lips, indicating for Rayya and Vilkas to be quiet, and draws a dagger from a hidden sheathe under her right sleeve. Silently, she creeps toward the noise, eyes unblinkingly focused. Rayya stands from her position near the fireplace and draws her swords; across the room, Vilkas once again unsheathes his sword, following the women toward the back rooms of the house. He can't help but think that, considering Mayenor has sworn the house was safe, he's spending a lot of time with his weapon in-hand.
"What the- Are you fucking kidding me?" Vilkas and Rayya lunge into the back room when Mayenor's screech rings out, but Rayya immediately lowers her blades, looking annoyed, when she spots the problem. The back room is small, more of a passageway from the main hall to the next room than anything else, and it holds a small, square table. Seated in one of the chairs is a man with red hair and a bright grin; both women are scowling down at him, but their obvious displeasure only seems to heighten his amusement. As Vilkas watches, he levers himself to his feet and steps toward Mayenor, who folds her arms across her chest and gives him a look of intense irritation. He ignores it, grin softening into a smile that, to Vilkas, seems startlingly affectionate.
"Hello, lass," he murmurs, stopping a scant few inches in front of Mayenor. "I've missed you."