The Companions were always occupied in some sense or another, but Jorrvaskr had rarely been bustling with this much activity – and aggravation – before. Today just seemed to be an unlucky day for many of Skyrim's residents, and, as usual, it was up to them to resolve disputes, kill bears, blah blah blah. The list seemed to be endless.

A particularly grumpy Vilkas walked into Jorrvaskr after killing the third sabre cat that day (seriously, couldn't people kill it on their own?), only to be shoved towards the door again. "No resting," Aela huffed, "There's plenty of work to do. Hannah is gone at Riften, and I doubt even the Divines know when she's coming back, so you're going to fill in for her."

He dug his heels into the ground and glared at her. "I covered for her last week, if I recall correctly. Can't you get someone else to do it?"

She returned the look with a venomous gaze of her own. "Stop being a wimp," she snapped, "Listen, you're not the only one who's tired, so suck it up and go wipe out Silent Moons Camp. You're starting to piss me off already."

Aela easily went from being agitated to becoming downright murderous, and to be honest, Vilkas was afraid of her when that happened. He sighed in defeat, pushed the door open, and when it had closed behind him, mumbled, "Fine, I'm going, you redheaded, dog-scented psychopath."

It was known throughout Whiterun that Vilkas possessed little to no gymnastic abilities. However, as he started down the steps that led to the plaza, he somehow managed to find his inner acrobat. Leaping into the air, he spun in at least seven different ways, threw his arms outward, and cried out in happiness.

Maybe that isn't the right word – 'terror', 'surprise', and 'total and utter ijustfelldownthestairsohmygo d' are more appropriate. Either way, the face-plant that followed was slightly glorious and very painful indeed.

A strong pair of hands was already yanking him up. "You should be more careful," Hannah said. "I nearly tripped too. Didn't you realize that my foot was right in front of you?"

He stood and frowned. "Yes, but I was already seven feet in the air when I thought of it," he said. "By the way, we need you to go kill some bandits so I can go lay down."

She shot a look at him that dripped with distaste. "Hey, hey, not so fast. I'm not in the mood to do anything right now. I have problems of my own."

"As do I."

"Yeah, but I'm not exactly concerned about you right now."

"Are you ever going to stop arguing with me?"

"Depends. Are you ever going to stop arguing with me?"

His voice was a low growl as Vilkas answered, "This is getting us nowhere. Clearly we're both not in very good moods, so let's just get this over with. I'm going to the camp."

She was already climbing up the steps. "That's nice. Maybe Aela will let me break up a brawl or something."

He immediately pulled her back and began dragging her away. "No, she won't," he said simply, "because you're coming with me."

Killing bandits was usually an easy job. However, the mere trip to Silent Moons Camp was enough to make Vilkas think that maybe, just maybe, they might end up with axes in their backs. Hannah was keeping herself busy by emptying bottle after bottle of mead, and the Nord was a few short steps away from drinking one as well. However, the second they reached the top of the hill, the elf threw yet another bottle to the side and pulled out her bow. With careful precision, she plucked an arrow from its quiver, fit it to the bowstring, and fired. She's drunk, Vilkas thought. There is no possible way that she can still be sober after that much mead.

The projectile spiraled through the air and embedded itself in the tree a good seven feet away from the bandit. Yes. Definitely drunk.

With a generic war-cry, the man whipped out his sword and charged toward her. She attempted a nimble leap from harm's way – and it would have worked perfectly, had she been sober. Alas, she was the complete opposite, and by the time Vilkas had rushed to her rescue, she already had a deep gash in her shoulder and blood was trickling from her lip.

In one harsh motion, he pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the opposite direction. "You can't fight when you're like this," he snarled. "We're heading back to Jorrvaskr. Now."

She stumbled a little bit, but managed to catch herself on a tree. "Y-yes I can," she said indignantly. "Just give me a shecond to emit my sword-"

"Equip your sword."

"Yeah, that."

"No." He began to tow her down the hill, ignoring her slurred protests. "You're not going to be killed by anyone but me, because I can assure you that I'm extremely close to it. You're not doing any work for us until you can stop tripping over your own feet."

The force of her voice hit him before the sound did. "FUS RO!" And then she was up and running, her limbs flailing spastically as she reached for her sword. Which she immediately used to bust open a door and poke at a bandit chief.

The battle itself wouldn't have been very difficult, but with some variables thrown in – such as alcohol – Vilkas was surprised to find her nearly unscathed, save for a few cuts. Her opponent, however, was less fortunate, and happened to be lying in a pool of crimson. Hannah grinned. "Look, Vilkas, I did it all by myself! Aren't you proud of…"

She keeled over at that moment. It was obviously the drink, that much was evident, but now the man was burdened with the challenge of taking her home. Bending down, he gave her a few somewhat-harsh slaps to the face. "Hannah," he hissed, "Hannah, you idiot, wake up. I am not going to carry your unconscious body all the way back to Breezehome."

She didn't answer him. In fact, she was in such a deep sleep that she hardly stirred when he slapped her again. "By the Divines, Hannah, wake up."

Again, there was silence.

"…I really hate you right now. You'll be lucky if you don't end up with my sword in your skull after this." With that, he threw her grudgingly over his shoulder and began to walk.

One moment she was gripping this man's hand like her life depended on it, and the next, she was watching him burn alive. She saw the horror and pain flash in his eyes before he collapsed in a fit of screams, flames consuming his body with a ravenous hunger. She was too shocked to react, even as she caught a glimpse of the fire licking at her arm.

Someone grabbed the back of her tunic and pulled her down the steps, catching her roughly. Ralof's hand came down over her sleeve multiple times, leaving a mess of burnt cloth and skin behind. Hannah grimaced as her flesh started to blister in painful, inflamed knots. "The dragon," he explained, leading her away from the ruins that used to be the second floor. "It looks like this tower isn't safe anymore."

Her stomach turned with one glimpse at the dead Stormcloak. She said, "I don't think anywhere is."

"Is she still asleep?"

"I would have thought she was dead until I checked her pulse. She's out cold."

"I told her to leave the mead at home!"

"You're her housecarl. I would be extremely surprised if she took your advice to heart."

Lydia scowled. "What do you mean by that?"

"She's stubborn as a mule," Vilkas said simply, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "If she can't listen to me, then I doubt she'll ever listen to you. The elf is mad, I say. The only way she can ever be considered sane is when she's either sleeping or dead." He tore off another chunk of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. "Does she take you on quests often?"

She leaned back into the armchair, letting out a deep breath. "Not really," she answered.

"Then start going with her," he said. "I don't think anybody needs the Dovahkiin to get herself killed because she had one too many drinks."

"She'll murder me if she doesn't get alone time," Lydia mumbled.

"The idiot will get murdered if she does."

A nimble hand flew down and swiped the bread from him. Hannah tossed it from hand to hand, saying, "Idiot's a strong word, don't you think?"

Lydia sighed, but from either relief or stress, no one was sure. "Good to know you're not in a coma. How are you feeling?"

She jerked her arm away as Vilkas attempted to grab his snack back. "I'm going to go take a walk."

The Companion's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "It's dark outside."

"Indeed it is."

"Perhaps someone should go with you?"

The expression on her face suggested that she'd just been insulted. "No, I like being alone. I'll see you two in the morning." A grin materialized on her face. "Also, thank you for the bread. It smells delicious."

"I'm sure you know where the door is. Use it," he huffed.