A sharp cracking sound rings out across the early morning courtyard, followed by a grunt of pain and a string of curses. It's a foggy and cool morning, the summer rays choking on the beginnings of autumn dew. Colin clutches his hand, rubbing his pulsating finger as they begin to swell from the blow. He shakes his hand in the air, getting blood flowing back to his digits.
"Took your eyes off the blade," Aela remarks nonchalantly, twirling her weapon with practiced ease.
"Again," she commands.
Colin sighs heavily and looks at her with an exasperated expression.
"We've been at this for nearly eight hours. Wouldn't it be prudent to catch some shuteye, then come back to beating the crap out of me?" Colin says, annoyed. "Or at least hand to hand?"
"Eight hours without landing a single hit on me. We continue until you do, or you collapse from exhaustion," she says with a smirk. "You wanted to get better with blades."
"Sure, but this just feels like I'm reinforcing your ego," Colin said, ignoring the pain. It felt like a cracked knuckle, which normally meant he would be unable to use that hand for weeks, but not in Skyrim. Magic truly was a wonderful thing.
"Oh, absolutely. But this isn't about me, this is about making sure you can survive. You're a good fighter with excellent unit tactics, solid footwork, and great hand to hand-" Aela began before being cut off.
"Thanks. You're not bad yourself," Colin said, with a genuine smile.
"…but you're terrible with a blade," Aela finished, raising one eyebrow.
Colin's face fell into a mock scowl.
"I take back what I said," he said with feigned indignance.
Aela chucked and once more twirled her blade. Colin readied himself into a fighting stance once more, beating back the fatigue and irritation and letting a clear and focused mind prevail. Keeping calm, remembering his footwork, eye on the opponent's blade, and focusing on the kill.
"We go till you disarm me, or land a fatal blow without receiving one," Aela said, her tone becoming serious and getting into a fighting stance.
Colin took a deep breath. He could do this. He had asked for intense training, and this was it.
Mama ain't raised no bitch
As soon as he opened his eyes, Aela dashed towards him. He raised his own sword, parrying three blows in quick succession. He followed up with a feint and a downward slash, but Aela was ready. She grabbed his hand and swung her sword downwards at Colin.
Colin caught her hand and head butted her hard, hearing a crack. Dazed, Aela stepped back, blood pouring from her nose. Seizing the initiative, he made a move to swing at Aela's chest, but lowered it at the last second, catching her off guard. She parried it, and with a roar of frustration, lunged at him, swinging hard. Colin ducked, practically somersaulting away as the tip of the wooden sword grazed his back.
Many of his recent fights had been like this—he managed to stun Aela, but couldn't manage to get the kill. Time and time again, she had told him this was about killing, not fighting. One could know how to fight but not how to kill, but if you knew how to kill, then you knew how to fight.
An idea occurred to him.
He dropped his guard on his left, his eyes focusing on Aela's left in hard concentration. Aela fell for the illusion, and exploited the seemingly stupid move, the word "really?" plastered on her face. Colin was ready. He grabbed Aela's wrist and flipped her across his back, the huntress landing hard on the ground. The dummy sword fell from her hand, and Colin brought his down, stopping right before Aela's throat.
The two locked eyes for a second, Colin smirking hard. He extended a hand to his opponent, who accepted.
"Nice…nice going," Aela said, still trying to regain her breath after having the wind knocked out of her.
"Does that count?" Colin asked smugly.
Aela smiled and shook her head.
"Guess I got cocky after killing you the first forty times then," she said.
"Yes, well, they say the forty-first is the one that counts," Colin said.
"Who says that?" Aela questioned
"I do," Colin replied.
Aela chuckled and shook her head.
"You're a little shit, you know that?"
"Oh, absolutely. Part of my charm."
"Mmm. Bet it's quite successful with women."
"Yep. Every time I walk into a bar, it's like, woah, ladies, keep it in your pants."
"Consider me wooed," Aela said dryly. "Seriously, you did well. I wasn't expecting that—the form you did? Never seen something like that."
"What, judo?" Colin said.
"Judo?"
"When I threw you over my back."
"No, not that. The feint with your expression. Interesting tactic. How did you know it would work?" Aela asked, wiping her brow with a small towel.
"Well, I've spent enough time around you to know that you're very perceptive—unnaturally so. You pay attention to even the most minute details in combat, which I bet allows you to predict and counter your opponent. You had to be scrutinizing my expression, and possibly using that to your advantage; when I was frustrated, you let me attack more to exploit my clouded form. If I gave you an opening in my form it would be too obvious, but an opening in my expression? Turned out to be the perfect bait," Colin explained.
Aela regarded him intensely, studying his face hard. For several moments they were like this; Aela with a scrutinizing gaze and Colin staring back at her dumbly. Finally, he could bear the awkwardness no longer.
"What?" He asked defensively.
"I'm impressed. Few can trick me—even fewer can exploit it. Never thought I could learn something new from a whelp, or that he could give me something to think about. It's unique. You did a good job," Aela said.
"Thank you. Means a lot coming from you," Colin replied, taking a seat on the bench. "Fuck, I'm exhausted. How the hell do you have so much energy?"
Aela just smirked, gave a quick nod, and walked back into Jorrvaskr.
"Fine. Don't show your hand," Colin called after her. He sat in silence for several minutes before lying down on the bench. It was comfortable. Perhaps he could just lay here for a bit before going inside.
XXX
He can't breathe. He's rolling on the ground, ripping up blades of blackened grass as he tries to force oxygen back into his lungs. His face is red, his uniform charred in several places, his legs feel like they're on fire. A fish out of water, unable to do anything but open its mouth, flopping around in a panic.
His ears are ringing and everything's blurry.
Every single part of him burns; smoldering slowly as punishment for his sins. It burns and burns and burns and he's in so much pain he can't even think straight.
His eyes are wildly darting around like a cornered animal—pure, unadulterated terror. Not like this. Not like this.
A dark spot appears above him as his chest heaves and he vomits something horrid. It fails to leave his mouth completely and begins to choke his already tortured lungs. Something grabs his arms and drags him back.
It's too much. His body shuts down, fading into unconsciousness.
He does not see the three blackened corpses.
XXX
He awakens with a jolt to find the morning fog gone, replaced by a beautiful setting sun. It's a quiet nightmare, though not by choice; he couldn't scream even if he wanted to. Not then, not now. He thinks it's better that way—less people are disturbed by the ghosts that haunt him; punishment for his sins. They hang over him as a shadow with an interminable reach.
Colin sits up and rubs his eyes. He hears the clash of steel as Ria trains with a dummy, and the thwack of an arrow as Farkas tries his hand at archery. The world around him, at least in the moment, is at peace. He stands up and stretches, letting the still warm rays of the sun burn away the darkness within.
It's a balancing game against an opponent who becomes more cumbersome at a constant rate, and the only way to keep it at bay is with these moments of humanity, of purity, and of goodness. A smile appears on his face as the darkness recedes. He feels refreshed and happy.
His stomach grumbles and he realizes he hasn't had anything to eat all day. Unwilling to risk his good mood on an empty stomach, an early dinner is in order. He grabs a bowl of rabbit stew, and takes it outside to enjoy the evening.
As he takes a bite of the hearty stew, he hears the door open behind him.
"Ah, you're awake. Hope Aela didn't run you too hard into the ground," Kodlak says, sitting down opposite to Colin, his back to the sun. It gives the old man a glow; an ethereal presence gracing the table. The thought is oversaturated with poetic spiritualism, and Colin wonders when he became so dramatic. At least, the optimistic kind of drama.
"Nah, was just tired. You should've woken me earlier—I missed a whole damn day," Colin laments, his tone slightly more accusatory than he intended it to be.
"You needed the rest," Kodlak says in between bites of his soup.
"I'd like to believe I trained hard, but not hard enough to warrant twelve hours of rest," Colin says, frowning.
"Yes, you did train hard. You're improving at a rate that astounds me," Kodlak says.
"Thank you. Means a lot, coming from you," Colin replies with a warm smile. He returns to his stew, feeling content.
The feeling comes crashing down when Kodlak opens his mouth next.
"But that is not why you are tired," Kodlak says, laying his fork down and staring deeply into Colin's eyes.
"What do you mean?" Colin says slowly, resting his hand on the table, a suspicious look in his eyes. Kodlak's gaze seems to penetrate to his very soul, and he hates the feeling of being so exposed.
"You are burdened, I see that clearly within you. Burdened, and dragged down into the darkest pits of your own mind, betrayed by your very soul. You fight it, that much is obvious, fight it with every fiber of your being. The hate, the guilt, the regret, the fear. Hidden, though not to the perceptive eye. I see it written across your face and sung throughout your actions; the story of a man at war with himself," Kodlak says.
"I'm fine," Colin says forcefully, attempting to shut down this conversation before he loses control.
"Lie to me all you want, but do not lie to yourself. You can pretend it doesn't exist, you can try to justify it, you can try to run from it. You will never be able to hide from it," Kodlak said, tilting his head slightly upwards.
"What is this 'it'? The hell are you talking about?" Colin snapped.
Kodlak sighed.
"The darkness within you. Something happened to you, or perhaps a series of events, which left a mark on you, one which has not yet healed. But you have convinced yourself otherwise," Kodlak said.
"Convinced myself? Convinced myself? Of what? That I met the basic fucking expectation of dealing with your own shit?" Colin snapped.
Kodlak pursed his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.
"Why do you want to die?" Kodlak asked, his face softening.
The retort was snuffed out in his throat as the words struck deep into him, piercing the walls he didn't even know he had until that moment. Colin was paralyzed save for the slight tremble in his hand, so subtle one could be forgiven for overlooking it. He kept the stoic mask as his thoughts swirled around in a haze, unable to be grasped.
It was the truth that had stunned him, and the lack of an honest reply that scared him. He felt it but had not been able to put words to it, perhaps because the notion was so perverse in human nature, until this very moment. Back then, finding a quick answer had meant the difference between life and death, a lesson he had taken after one too many mistakes and drilled into himself; one tool out of an essential set that he owed his life to.
Being forcibly confronted, having no way to stop the memories from resurfacing, circling his mind and tormenting it while not seizing control; it hurt. All of it. Colin stared down at his plate, eyes glazed over, lost in the memories. They sat like that for several minutes.
"I wonder sometimes if it's all a dream. Because if it isn't, and I truly am in a whole am in another world, then their deaths were meaningless. All my men, myself, did our sacrifice matter? I see that damned Peninsula in everything and when I close my eyes it's like I never left," Colin said softly, eyes unfocused. Kodlak knew little of the context, but he let Colin speak. This was not to sate his own curiosity, but to help a broken warrior.
"It was so beautiful before. Been there once, before it all. Massive cities with every quaint little attraction under the sun. Me and a buddy went out to the bars, got drunk and took a few girls home—I think they liked the fact that we were Americans—and I remember thinking how I would love to spend more time in Korea. I got my wish just some odd five years later, when the War broke out. Shipped right off to Korea fresh out of the academy, stupid and excited for the adventure. Wizened up real quick.
"I ended up finding that bar again, completely by accident. The battle had wreaked havoc on that city. Imagine, buildings as tall as mountains made of glass and steel exploding and collapsing. Me and my unit were tasked with defending a street. Same street, same bar. It was a ruin of its former self. Roof was gone, a wall caved in, and here I am, firing shot after shot remembering that night five years prior. My men, my brothers and sisters, we held for as long as we could. Managed to push up just a bit. We were finally relieved sometime just after midnight, beaten and exhausted. Half my platoon was dead. Saw several of them die myself. One even begged me to save him. Not like I could do anything except hold his hand 'cause the bottom half of him was ripped apart. I don't blame myself for their deaths—there was nothing I could have done differently. That time, at least. By the end of the first week, it was just me and five others left from our once fifty strong-platoon.
"You never got any meaningful rest because something would always explode right next to you, or collapse, or some poor bastard would take a round and start screaming. Luck would have it my tent was near the medical tent. You could still hear the battle. We were gonna be pulled back, but the enemy broke through our lines. All available forces needed to respond, including my five man platoon. We were running, and I was thinking to myself whether or not this would be the last one. Sure looked like it. As we got close to where we needed to be, a bomb fell out of the sky. Exploded right next to me. The air was ripped from my lungs, and I was sent flying as the heat burned me all over. Started throwing up bits of my own stomach.
"Only reason I made it was someone else managed to drag me to safety. Me and Jenkins. She died shortly after, but somehow I survived. Went back stateside for six months. Recovered. Got a new platoon. All of them were kids, really. I was the eldest. They had that same excitement I once had for the adventure they were about to embark on and it made me sick. But I had to lead them. Went back to that hellhole. Went to less intense zones, but it wasn't exactly a high bar. The kids learned real quick that it wasn't a game.
"For four months we fought, into the winter season and beyond. The things I saw, we saw, the things I did, we did—I can never cleanse my hands of that. I learned to kill without mercy or remorse, straight up executing or ordering the execution of surrendering soldiers. We killed unarmed people, justifying it to ourselves in ridiculous ways at first, but after a while, we just didn't care. I started to go crazy, really. One day I was filled with hatred and rage, another complete apathy, and another cynicism.
"These kids, some of them the nicest, kindest people you'd ever meet in your life, became cold blooded killers. Their youth was ripped from them violently, leaving them bereft of any sense of normalcy. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no clear victory in sight. In fact, things were heating up. Imagine, all of Nirn and every sapient being inhabiting it, split into two factions, dead set on annihilating the other. By the third month I just didn't care. Not for myself, but for my men; they kept me going.
"I can't get away from it. It follows me everywhere, and somehow, I want to fucking return to that! I want to be back there, fighting and killing for reasons long lost to me. I feel compelled. Like I have to, else my mind turns on itself. It feels like I'm a fish out of water—all these normal things, social gatherings, civilian life, have become alien to me. At first, I thought I escaped it. There were still the nightmares, but it didn't affect me in such a bad way. But when the novelty of Skyrim wore off? I feel hollow. Restless. Irritable at the smallest of things, comforted only by a strong drink but even then I see myself back there. Walking down a street? I'm right back in Seoul, walking on the side with my gun raised, looking for where the next shot would come from. Can't enjoy anything anymore because it doesn't feel like I'm actually there. Still in Korea. The click of the door closing is a weapon being reloaded, a laugh is a scream, the scraping of a utensil is the tanks running over cars. I can't escape it. In Korea we would fantasize about what we would do when the war was over. Well, now it's over—at least for me—and I can't seem to leave it all behind and enjoy the things that make life worth living. It's like I never left. I have know idea what the fuck I should do, except that I need to buckle up and push forwards."
Colin stopped speaking and swallowed, a pained look on his face. Though many of the terms he had used were unfamiliar to Kodlak, the old warrior knew what he was talking about. One warrior to another, Kodlak understood, and now his vision was clear.
"Describe to me this cup," Kodlak said nonchalantly, his eyes betraying sincerity and sympathy.
"What?" Colin replied, confused and slightly hurt.
"Trust me. Describe every minute detail; leave nothing out," Kodlak said, pushing his cup forwards to Colin. Colin frowned but accepted the cup, studying it warily.
"It's a…cup," he said, bewildered.
"You can do better," Kodlak replied with a kind smile.
Colin sighed but decided it wasn't worth the effort to deny the old man his game.
"It's made out of wood. Brown, looks like cedar," he said, placing the cup down on the table and folding his arms. Kodlak continued to look at him expectantly, so he reluctantly obliged.
"Got many markings; a weathered cup. Chip is missing off the top, and it's not perfectly round. Based on the markings, I'd assume it was carved by hand—an amateur one. Seems that liquor has seeped into the wood, darkening it in some places. Smells strongly of alcohol," Colin rambled.
"Very good. Now this fork," Kodlak said.
"Made out of steel. Four prongs, one slightly bent. Handle has a beaded engraving on it," Colin said with a sigh.
Kodlak picked up and handed to Colin several more objects, which were reluctantly described. When they reached the final object, Colin didn't have the energy to be frustrated.
"Now," Kodlak said, clearing his throat. "Tell me about Korea."
Colin opened his mouth but paused, closing it and looking off to the side with a frown. Whenever he thought of Korea, it brought an intense wave of pain and anxiety and cynicism. Horrible memories would flood his brain. And they did, but this time it was different. They were muffled and weakened ever so slightly, but enough to be noticeable. Kodlak studied Colin's face, seeing the confusion and turbulence within his mind.
"When we live in the present, we learn to let go of the past. Study the world around you; there's much beauty to be discovered," Kodlak said.
"What do you mean?" Colin asked.
"Your consciousness is stuck in between the past and the present. A time of war and a time of peace, and war can much more easily win out in the mind. It's not about forgetting and pushing past whatever burdens you may face—it's about learning to slowly let go," Kodlak replied, leaning back in his chair.
"We still fight. Aela's been telling me that soon we're going on an expedition, and I don't think what I'm learning is exactly peaceful in nature," Colin said sardonically.
"True. But our hearts are at peace. They get angry sometimes, and yearn for a fight, but they know when to rest. We don't kill with wanton abandon, we kill those that threaten us and our way of life, though are not opposed to striking first. We do not hold onto the past, and that lets us go forth in peace," Kodlak said, pausing briefly to let the words sink in before continuing.
"It is my hope, that as a member of the Companions, you will learn to let go and calm the bitterness inside. This will not happen overnight, nor will it be easy. It is a journey, a journey of the mind and soul. Your pain is strong and coiled tightly around you, but it will only serve to make a more impactful lesson. Have faith, Colin, and live in the present."
With that, Kodlak got up and cleared his place, letting the message sink into the younger man's mind.
XXX
The market was thankfully less busy at such a late hour, but he at least hoped the bar would be open, because right now he needed a drink. Whenever he felt overwhelmed and confused, he went for a drink. In fact, it seemed like all his coping mechanisms were drinking and compartmentalizing—not a very good way of dealing with things, but it had kept him from going insane so far.
The difference this time around, was that he wasn't confused in a bad way. He wasn't trying to forget, he was trying to remember. Kodlak's words had struck at something larger than he could've ever thought. The small sparks of hope that he long thought incapable of giving him his life back were beginning to flare; though it was miniscule, it was noticeable, and that was huge.
As he walked along the cobblestone path, Colin examined every little detail of things that he came across. A flowerpot. A cart. Some lose stones. Blades of grass. Dead leaves. With each one, he found himself a little more at peace with the memories. They still felt traumatizing and gargantuan, but now there was a chance to chip away at the control they had over him. A long path, one in which he likely would not be as optimistic as he was now, but it was a path forward where there had been none.
Colin reached the doors of the Bannered Mare and entered, finding it surprisingly empty, save for the bartender. Hulda, as Colin had learned from the few conversations they shared, had watched over this tavern since she could walk, though the tavern itself was much older. Many thought it to be built shortly after Jorrvaskr was founded.
He feels the warmth wash over him, driving away the cool night with the crackle of a fire and the quiet squeaking of a mug being cleaned.
"Colin," Hulda acknowledges, giving him a slight nod. They both know why he's here.
"Hulda," He curtly replies, flashing a token smile.
A mug of beer slides right in front of him as he takes a seat. Hulda has some tobacco left, and he has some slips of paper, so Colin fashions a few crude cigarettes before diving deep into his self loathing. There's a difference this time, because he's not completely hollow on the inside. It's confusing how each puff and each sip are no longer to numb himself, but rather now the source of wisdom that he thinks will help him comprehend peace. Gone is the overbearing self pity, replaced by hazy wondering and drunken theorizing. It's a refreshing change.
It's even more reaffirming when he finds the power to quit after his fourth glass and go home. As he stumbles back out into the cool night air, he's happy.
He's alive.
He's at peace.
Though he's sober enough to know that this is a fleeting experience, it feels good nonetheless.
XXX
There was the snapping of a branch, and Colin looked up as the trees were brushed aside. A large hulking figure emerged, muttering to itself incoherently.
"I presume that would be the giant?" He whispered to Vilkas, the latter rolling his eyes.
"Whatever gave you that idea? Maybe that it's giant?" Vilkas replied sarcastically.
Colin looked back at the giant, feeling stupid.
"Ok, yeah, that was…" Colin said, sucking in air between his teeth.
"Retarded?" Farkas piped up, a bit too loudly. He was rewarded with a slap to the back of his head from his brother.
"I was going to go with asinine, but yeah, that works too," Colin replied with a chuckle.
"Both of you! Shut up!" Vilkas hissed.
Colin held up his hands as best he could from his prone position, giving a slight shrug while Farkas muttered under his breath.
"I don't see why we can't just shoot it with an arrow. Be a lot easier," Colin said, putting his hand on his sword in preparation. It was a fine thing, crafted in the Skyforge and gifted to him. He was genuinely surprised with both the craftsmanship and that it was free of charge. Swords had to have a name, according to Eorlund, so Colin, feeling uninspired, named it Pointy. Its full name was Pointy Son of a Bitch, though Eorlund would only engrave the word pointy upon the blade.
"Because it is easier. Arrows are useless if your opponent comes close, so you need to learn how to handle a blade. And learning to handle a blade means killing beasts with it," Vilkas replied sternly.
"Joy," Colin replied joylessly.
"You remember your lesson on giants, right?" Vilkas asked.
"Course I do. Slow and clumsy, but they've got a lot of power behind their attacks; blocking is useless, you should only dodge," Colin recited.
"Good. You're going first," Vilkas said.
"Wait, what?"
"Did the old man not tell you? You are to slay this giant. We are only to intervene if you are getting your ass kicked and are two seconds away from being red paste," Vilkas said nonchalantly.
Colin looked at him, waiting for Vilkas to concede to the joke. When it became apparent that Vilkas wasn't joking, Colin muttered a series of colorful four letter words under his breath.
"If I die out there, I swear I'll come back to haunt your ass," Colin said, eyes closed and hand massaging the bridge of his nose.
On the bright side, you aren't going up against bullets or shells…just a big ass guy with a club the size of a tree.
Colin stood up and exited from the treeline, walking slowly towards the giant. Stealth would be too hard—the clearing offered zero cover. He'd thought about using the bonfire to obscure himself, but it was too risky. Relying on his agility seemed like the safer option, or so he told himself. Regardless, it was too late now. The giant had spotted him and risen from its seat by the fire, wielding a club and a menacingly curious gaze.
As Colin came within ten meters of the giant, it roared and charged him, bringing the club down with ludicrous force. The ground shook where it made impact as Colin rolled away, brandishing his sword. The giant snapped its head towards Colin, who flourished his sword arrogantly.
"You no leave here alive!" It bellowed fiercely, swinging its club once more. Though it's swings had a lot of power behind them, they were slow and ungainly. Colin easily leaped to the side, a strategy finally formulating with newfound experience. Taunt the giant into a powerful swing, wait for the blow to land harmlessly and then make a quick strike, jumping away afterwards to avoid a retaliatory blow. Rinse, repeat.
"Heard your mom had to put a bag over your head before kissing you goodnight!" Colin yelled, loving the feeling of adrenalin pouring through his veins. He could afford to be cocky.
Or so he thought.
The giant's next swing came deceptively fast, catching Colin off guard. He dived out of the way, but the end of the club hit his sword, sending it flying into a nearby bush.
Colin hit the dirt hard, grunting in pain as he scrambled to get up.
XXX
"Should we help him, brother?" Farkas asked, casually leaning against a tree.
"No. Not yet, at least. Give the whelp another five minutes," Vilkas replied, tearing off a piece of bread he had packed with his teeth.
The duo watched in silence as Colin leapt around, avoiding strikes but not making any real progress. He was tiring himself out—he'd have to fall back soon.
As Vilkas rummaged around in his bag, he heard his brother speak up.
"Wait, what the hell is he doing?" Farkas asked. Vilkas looked up to his brother, confusion at seeing the bewilderment on Farkas' face turning into sheer disbelief as he gazed at Colin.
"Idiot!" Vilkas exclaimed, picking up his sword and charging out into the clearing.
XXX
Idiot!
The rational part of his brain told him that this was a stupid idea. The Colin part, however, signed off on it without so much as a second thought. He was now committed to this plan, unable to back out. Vilkas' yelling, the giant's roaring, his heavy breathing all became muffled as he slid under the giant's legs, using one of his two knives to slash at the giant's ankle.
It roared in pain, and furiously swung at Colin. Colin, however, gave the giant no time or quarter; speed was crucial. Springing up behind the giant, he launched himself onto the beast's back, plunging his daggers on opposite sides of its spine. He found footing on the giants behind, and began to climb his way up, plunging the daggers in like an ice pick. In and out they ripped, tearing small chunks of discolored flesh.
The giant shrieked and fell to its knees, dropping the club and trying to yank the pest off its back in vain. Colin climbed up the giants back, finally able to reach the giants neck. With aching hands and sweaty palms, Colin ripped out the right side dagger and sank it right into the carotid artery.
The giant thrashed about wildly, throwing Colin to the ground as it gurgled and stumbled about. It's hands were clutching its throat in a desperate attempt to stop the ungodly amount of blood that was pouring out of its neck. After just a few seconds, the monster sank to its knees and then crashed to the ground, twitching several times before going still.
Panting, dirtied, bloodied, and bruised, Colin pushed himself upwards with shaky legs. With each breath he took, sucking down air, the anxious feeling within died down like the last flames of a fire. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling grime and sweat stuck to his exposed skin. He heard the scrape of a footstep behind him as he took a seat, stretching his arms backwards and rolling his neck.
"I'll admit, for a second I doubted your chances of survival. I'm glad to see my doubts were in vain," Vilkas said, his face as serious as ever. It was comically contrasted by his brother, who sported a massive grin as he slowly clapped upon approaching Colin.
"Well, well, well. I must say, that certainly was a show. Been a long time since we had a whelp that could actually fight, even longer since we had one that could kick ass," Farkas said, patting Colin on the back.
"Tough sonofabitch," Colin replied with a chuckle, leaning forward and stretching.
"Yes, Nordic giants are known for their ferocity. This was a big one too. Well done," Vilkas said.
"Thank you. I do try," Colin replied.
"Try? Try? If that was you trying, I wonder what you putting your all in would be," Farkas said. "You might hope to come within range of my greatest tales yet."
"Ah. Modest as ever," Colin said, rolling his eyes.
"Well, seeing as you're well enough to quip with this knucklehead, I'd assume you are mostly fine?" Vilkas asked.
"Yeah, just a few bumps and bruises. I'm fine," Colin replied. Farkas stuck out his hand, and Colin accepted it, slowly getting up.
"Best get going. We have to formally induct you tonight, and I'd loathe to miss that," Farkas said as he helped Colin up. The trio began to walk towards where they had left their packs, leaving the still warm corpse of the giant where it lay.
XXX
Farkas stumbled down the stairs drunkenly, horribly butchering some tune he'd heard at some tavern from a bard who had quite a pretty rack. His stomach was full of meat and mead, all his needs satiated by the feast. He was content; it had been a good night, one full of merriment, laughter, and friendliness. The inductions were always a fun affair, but this one surpassed all others.
The whelp—no, Companion that had recently joined their ranks showed a hell of a lot of potential. So much so that privately Farkas was jealous, not that he'd ever admit it, even to himself. Colin was fun, and someone he was proud to call his brother. A good warrior, a better tactician, charismatic, and could match Farkas shot for shot. Not only that, but he was similar to Farkas in his lighthearted demeanor and risky stunts. What more could he ask for in a brother?
There was something behind the eyes, something that had been desperately hidden. They all had their demons, and Farkas figured Colin would open up when he was ready. It didn't seem to affect the way he functioned, so it wasn't worth paying much attention to.
As he walked down the hall to his room, drunk and very tired, he heard the sounds of heavy breathing. Short, quick and powerful breaths that could were so quiet one could be forgiven for missing them altogether, should they not have the gift that Farkas possessed.
"Shtop fuggin this late! Go outside, damn people!" Farkas drunkenly called out. When the panting did not cease, Farkas waltzed over to the whelp's room, eager to find one of them balls deep in another because that would be so, so, so funny. Perfect blackmail material.
The room was dark, and it took Farkas a second for his eyes to adjust. Squinting, he was surprised to find that it was Colin who was making those noises.
"Hey," Farkas whispered. He received no reply.
"Hey, Colin!" He whispered again, once more receiving no reply. Farkas drew near, stopping when he was practically on top of the bed.
Colin had fallen asleep without even bothering to change or throw on covers. He was shivering slightly, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Farkas drunkenly scrutinized his new brother for several moments, silently observing. Whatever Colin was dreaming, it was not pleasant. Evidently far from it.
Oh, well. Farkas was too drunk to do anything about it now.
He gently patted the arm of his brother, silently offering his support to the unconscious man. As Farkas reached the doorway, he looked one more time back to Colin, before taking a deep breath and stumbling into his own bed.
Tomorrow will be a new day.
Author's Note:
Hi. Yes. I know. LATE.
No excuse (except for playing New Vegas), had it nearly completely done but then had writer's block where I could see how I wanted it but putting it into words seemed like an insurmountable effort. Admittedly, I did panic when I saw the date and rushed this chapter before it was fully marinated, so apologies if it doesn't meet the standard.
One thing I really need is feedback. And ideally, a beta reader. But really feedback. Seriously, do not hold back—what you liked, what you didn't like, what was cool, what was stupid, and so on. I would also love for you all to submit suggestions, because although I have this story planned out, there's definitely room for additions.
Chapter 10 or 11 is when Serana comes around, and I really, really, really want to write that. Seriously, I think I'm more impatient than you. The next few chapters might come out a bit slower, but I aim to have the first Serana chapter done by the end of May, worst case scenario end of June.
Yours,
amc555