Two days after Farkas and Calla had ridden off to Solitude, Vilkas woke from his sleep in the middle of night. Some strange noise had roused him. He sat up, straining his ears, trying to discern its origin. Now though, it seemed the hall was silent again. At his side, Falka shifted in her dream. Absentmindedly, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Vilkas?"

"Hush."

"What is it?"

"Thought I heard something."

Falka sighed, and snuggled closer to Vilkas. For a few moments, they waited in silence.

"I cannot hear anything. Maybe it was Tilma?"

"'s too early," Vilkas shook his head.

"Torvar then, returning from the Mare?"

"Nah. Something else. More… I don't know."

Falka yawned heartily. "Whatever it was, it is gone now."

"Maybe you're right," Vilkas mumbled, pulling her into his arms.

"Of course—"

And then, an ominous moaning spread through the hall. It started somewhere in the roof, then gradually spread throughout the entire building.

"What in Kyne's name was that?" Falka whispered.

"No idea." Vilkas shook his head. "I'll go take a look." He got up and shrugged into a pair of trousers.

"Do you want me to come, too?" Falka asked from underneath the pile of blankets and furs.

Smirking, Vilkas cast a look her way. "I think I'll manage," he dead-panned, pulling his trusted dagger from its sheath.

Sighing in relief, Falka buried herself deeper under her blankets. On bare feet, Vilkas slipped out of the room. Falka strained her ears to catch any noise, but once Vilkas had left, everything was silent again. Until an agonising groan split the silence. Slowly, it travelled through the ancient walls, moaning and creaking eerily. A feeling of uneasiness filled Falka, and she slid deeper under her furs.

Only moments later, Vilkas returned. "It's the hall," he stated, dropping his dagger on the small table.

Falka peeked up at him from underneath her blankets. "What?"

"The hall's roof. The snow's too heavy for it," Vilkas explained, his voice muffled as he shrugged into a shirt.

Falka groaned. "More snow? Is it sill snowing?"

"Aye."

"And the snow is too heavy for the roof?"

"Aye."

"Ugh. How can one settle here?"

Vilkas huffed a laugh, leaning across the bed for a kiss.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Leif!" Jorrvaskr's Master-at-Arms burst into the dormitory currently occupied by Torvar – at least on those nights he found his way back home –, Athis, and the Companions' most recent member, Leif. "Get your sorry arse out of bed! I want you up on the roof and shovelling snow! Now, before it comes down!"

The young man was awake instantly, frantically groping for his clothes in the sparse light falling through the doorway.

"Shor's balls! Vilkas! Is that necessary?" Athis squinted at the other man from behind his fingers.

Another loud, tormented groan interrupted Vilkas' reply.

"Not the bloody roof again," Athis sighed.

"Aye, the bloody roof again. So if you don't want the hall to come down on all of us, you'd better join Leif up there."

By the time Athis and Leif had finally cleaned most of the heavy snow from Jorrvaskr's roof, it was already mid-morning. The wooden structure had stopped groaning and moaning for the moment, though the thick and heavy snowfall made it clear another shift would become necessary later on. Tired and wet, the two men returned into the hall where Tilma had had the foresight to prepare a hot and hearty breakfast especially for them.

"Ah, this smells delicious! Tilma, you're the only caring soul among this bunch of heartless slave drivers," Athis sighed theatrically as he sat down in front of the filled plates.

"I'll show you slave driving!" Within a moment, Vilkas was towering beside the Dunmer, an impressive scowl on his face.

"Oh come on, Vilkas, don't take it so seriously."

"Does this look like a joke to you?"

Exhausted, Athis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course not, and you know that. What's gotten into you anyhow?"

"The bloody roof's gotten into me, you stupid—"

"Please! It's not as if we didn't have to do it last winter. And the one before. And – oh!, surprise – the one before that, too!"

"Watch your mouth, or you'll be up on the roof again by midday."

"I'll be up there anyhow, so let me enjoy my food in peace. Falka!"

Falka, wrapped into her trusted, thick fur cloak, halted on her way across the hall, only now noticing the three men gathered at the table. She cast a puzzled look their way. "Yes?"

"Ah!" Frustrated, Athis threw his hands in the air. "You didn't even notice, caught up in your own affairs as you are! Just you finish your food in leisure, Leif, and don't let anybody keep you from that."

Shoving the confusion over Athis' outburst out of the way, Falka proceeded down into the lower part of Jorrvaskr. There were more important matters to worry about than a quarrel among Companions.

"Aela?" Falka hovered in the other woman's doorway. "Can we talk?"

The Huntress was currently lying on her bed, a book in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other. With a wave of her hand, she invited Falka inside.

"I hope I am not interrupting?"

Aela snorted. "Nah. Book's crappy anyhow." She threw the book in question down on the bed. "I don't understand the bards' fixation on twins anyhow. How would it be better—" She chuckled. "Unless you might be able to enlighten me?"

Falka raised her eyebrow, a smile playing around her lips. "Really, Aela?"

"You're right, forget it. So what can I do for you?"

Instantly, her guest's mien grew serious again. "I need your advice."

Aela took a gulp from her beer, silently waiting for Falka to continue.

"I have been thinking about this for some time now, but since the courier – Calla – brought this letter the other night, I am afraid I cannot put this off any longer."

When Falka had finished, Aela stared at her in silence for some moments.

"What does Vilkas say about it?" she finally asked.

"He does not know," Falka mumbled self-consciously.

"But you will talk to him eventually, won't you?"

"Of course! Only – he is not the most impartial person when it comes to politics, so I am asking you first. You know the Companions as well as he does, you have to know—" Falka bit her lip. Forcing Aela to form an opinion by begging for her help would not bring the desired result. "I would greatly value your opinion," she finished instead.

Gathering her thoughts, Aela took another deep draught from her beer before she answered. "I value the Companions' neutrality just as much as Vilkas does. But," she continued over Falka's attempted interruption, "I do love this city, too, and it pains me to see how it suffers. So…"

"Yes?"

"I say go along with it. You're Whiterun's Thane, and the city needs you." Aela smiled at her. "Go save it."

Falka echoed her smile. "Thank you."

A few hours before nightfall, the hall's roof was again creaking and moaning, shaming any draugur and alp by its display. Supported by Njada and Ria, Leif again found himself shovelling heavy, wet snow off the old woodwork.

"I don't see why Falka can't simply melt all the snow," Njada grumbled under her breath as she climbed the ladder. "It's not as if she doesn't know at least ten fire-spells."

"And pack the roof in solid ice?" Vilkas shouted after her. "It's high time you did something for the Companions instead of the other way round! Get to work!"

"Sheeesh," Njada rolled her eyes. "What's gotten into him?"

"Wish I knew," Ria muttered from above her. "Come on, let's get this over with."

With a deep frown on his face, Vilkas returned to his and Falka's living quarters. He sank down into the chair behind the desk, sighing. For the moment alone with his worries, Vilkas buried his head in his hands. Another sigh escaped his lips, and he raised his head to look at the wooden ceiling.

"How long are you going to hold out, old scoundrel?"

The hall did not reply. In the end, Vilkas got up and started rummaging through their chests. Briefly, he contemplated waiting for Falka, but he hadn't seen her all day. With no idea on when she'd return home, he opened the next chest. Under a heap of leathers waiting for its destiny, his search eventually turned up a small leather satchel. With a satisfied grunt, Vilkas returned to the desk. Once he'd undone the laces, dozens of gemstones fell from the leather bag and spilled across the table. With pursued lips and a frown on his face, he glared at the colourful stones.

"Woah. Trying to impress the ladies, Vilkas?"

Glancing up, Vilkas found Torvar leaning in the doorframe.

"Impressing your lady, then?" Torvar rephrased his question.

"Someone has to pay for your expanses," Vilkas snapped. "What d'you want?"

"Njada sends me. Says the roof's clear for the moment, but if you want it cleared again during the night you'd better not ask her."

Vilkas bit back his angry reply, dismissing Torvar instead. "And tell Athis to keep an eye on the snowfall!" he shouted after the man, then continued glaring at the gemstones.

"They will not dissolve, I promise."

Vilkas' head shot up. Falka stood in the doorway, wrapped in her thick fur cloak. Despite the small smile she had for him, she looked tired.

"They are genuine, I checked. No use glaring at them like that."

She crossed the room to greet Vilkas with a kiss, then continued on into the other room to change into dry clothes.

"Gah, how can it be snowing again anyhow?" she complained once she was back with him.

"'s only First Seed," Vilkas shrugged absently. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"It is. It should be spring by now—"

"'s not what you should worry about," Vilkas interrupted her.

"What is, then?"

Vilkas stabbed his index finger into the air. "The roof. The wet snow's too heavy for the old woodwork."

"Ah. Is that why you had them up there all day?"

"Aye. It'll hold for now, but… You noticed?"

"Of course I did. But that is not the solution to the problem, is it?"

"No."

"Is that where the stones come in?"

"Gems. Aye."

Falka pursed her lips. She stared at the precious jewels lying on the table. Vilkas had ordered them by their value, and they were now arranged in five neat heaps.

"What's wrong, Red?"

"I need them."

"All of them?" A frown spread over his face.

"I do not know for sure yet, but maybe yes."

"Red?" Vilkas searched his wife's face for any indication of what was going on. "What are you up to?"

Falka tore her gaze from the glittering stones on the table. The look in her eyes made Vilkas' stomach clench. "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

Falka shook her head.