Chapter Three –Unexpected Failure
Laurelin and Vilkas approached Ustengrav stealthily on foot, having scented several bandits camped nearby. Agreeing to take them by stealth had been easy; they both understood that when dealing with potential magic users, fighting smart often saved your hide. Their scouting revealed four armed men, one of whom was wearing black robes.
"So nice of him to paint a lovely bulls-eye on himself, don't you think?" Laure murmured to Vilkas. "Him first; both of us, aye?" Vilkas nodded and scooted to the side, giving them both the room they needed. Carefully lining up their shots, both arrows flew nearly simultaneously, punching through the mage's robed chest and throat.
While the remaining three bandits lurched to their feet, Laure and Vilkas calmly feathered two more. One dropped to his knees, hands clutching the barbed shaft sunk deep into his gut, sobbing. The other two charged, yelling, "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're dead!"
Shouldering their bows, the two Companions drew their blades, finding their footing in the ankle-deep snow. They let the bandits rush them, then Laure and Vilkas flashed into action. After a brief flurry of blows and parries, both outlaws fell to the ground bleeding. Laurelin rummaged through their pockets, muttering to the corpse she was looting, "Who will be so much easier to rob when he's dead?" She snorted and moved to the dead mage while Vilkas finished the third man, who was still breathing.
She came away with a handful of potion ingredients, as well as a healing potion and an enchanted necklace. By the time Vilkas joined her, it was all tucked away. They fetched the horses and hobbled them outside, then made their way down into the tomb, Laure leading with notched arrow.
Inside, they crept across a large chamber, listening to the voices ahead. Laure started to unsheathe Dawnbreaker but noticed how even the tiniest bit of the blade out of the sheathe lit up the shadows they hid in. She decided to wait a moment longer, and before they could act, the two mages left down a side tunnel. She shrugged to Vilkas, who rolled his shoulders and gestured to the tunnel with his sword tip. They crept down, and before too long, shouts and the sound of combat had them rushing quietly through the passageway. Listening in amazement, they heard the two mages being taken down by a handful of draugr.
Shrugging again, Laure finally drew Dawnbreaker, letting its radiance warm the passageway, and slipped around the corner, her mate a step behind. Dawnbreaker turned out to be both a blessing and a bane. While it tore through leathery draugr with ease, catching them on fire, some of the undead creatures turned and fled as soon as they were struck by it's gleaming edge. Not to mention it surrounded some with a dark aura that sometimes caused the undead to explode violently. Laure flinched back the first time that happened, watching in amazement as a flaming corpse with a dark purplish aura encircling it fled ahead of them. Laure and Vilkas realized that half the remaining foes in Ustengrav probably knew they were coming now.
Nothing to be done for it, they raced through the corridors and chambers quickly, slaying everything that moved before it had a chance to run further into the tomb. Strangely though, they noticed that quite a number of the draugr had already been cut down.
Examining the precise cuts to one of the corpses, Laure and Vilkas had no way to tell how long ago these had been destroyed, the dried, leathery flesh giving no clues, only that whoever had wielded the blade was a master. This didn't seem to be the work of the mages they had heard earlier but a third party.
Cautious once again, they delved further into the depths of Ustengrav, slaying the odd handful of draugr on the way but never any significant numbers.
They came into a vast, foggy chamber with tall trees growing up from the bottom, far below the ledge they stood on. Light shone down from giant rifts in the ceiling, illuminating several stone arches flinging themselves out into the moist air. A few shimmering rainbows danced in the mist kicked up by a tall waterfall, spilling down to the bottom. Laurelin shot down a handful of skeletons from above, and they made their way down a sloping ramp to the bottom, where she had seen the now familiar curve of a rune-covered wall.
Once more, Vilkas watched her back as the world went dark for long seconds, the ancient knowledge she was absorbing sinking into her mind, to slumber. She now knew she needed to slay more dragons and absorb their souls to unlock these useful Words of power she kept finding. As her mind rolled over the thought of deliberately hunting dragons for the purpose of gaining power, she felt conflicted. Power was a useful tool, but not one she wanted to become too accustomed to. It corrupted almost with out exception in her experience. It would be so frighteningly easy to take it with the best of intentions. So many throughout history had, only to lose themselves wholly.
She felt Vilkas slide an arm around her shoulders, his concerned voice in her ear asking, "Are you well? You were swaying, as if you were about to faint."
Laurelin glanced up to him, her vision clearing finally. "Aye, I'm fine now, thank you, love." She glanced around and at a whim decided to check behind the waterfall. She waded out and ducked behind while Vilkas inspected the dull runes still chiseled into the stone wall. Behind the waterfall was a short passage, the end of which housed a wooden chest. I knew it, she thought to herself, moving forward as she reached for a few lock picks.
Vilkas turned when he heard her wade into the water, giving the runes one final look before stepping to the shore, wondering if he should follow her when a hoarse Shout echoed around him, and his mate flew out of the half submerged passageway, head spinning over her feet as she skipped over the small pool. She slammed into the shore finally and lay stunned, half submerged.
Vilkas saw red, barely heard his own roar of fury as his sword appeared in his hands and he leaped toward a tall draugr that was stalking out of the sheeting water. He blocked a rapid succession of blows, growling with each strike, until he saw an opening and cut out the left leg from under his foe, then the right. When the draugr dropped, Vilkas simply chopped straight down, through the horned helmet, through the skull, finally wrenching it free. Since no further enemies had joined this one, he sheathed his sword, splashing through the shallows to where his lovely was just staggering to her feet.
Still furious, he spun her about, bellowing, "What in the name of Ysgramor were you doing? You could have been killed just now!" She was staring up at him, eyes wide in shock and pain, her hand clamped to the back of her head. Seeing a thin rivulet of scarlet tracing down her forearm, he calmed himself with an effort, trying to slow his racing heart.
"Caught me by surprise is all; I'll be fine." She groaned, moving her hand from her head, inspecting the blood on her fingers a moment. Vilkas gently turned her about and inspected her wound. It was a nasty bump, with a short jagged tear perforating the already bruising flesh. "Hit my head on the way out, I think. It's pretty narrow in there." She mumbled into her chest as his fingers probed the edges.
"Can you feel my fingers?"
"Oh yeah. Gently!" Wincing, she drew away. "If you don't see any rock shards in there, I think I'll just heal it up now."
"Go ahead; I didn't see anything in it. Unless you want me to dig around some more?" He gave her a hard smile, even though he wanted to just crush her to him, or shake her, now that he was sure she was going to live. A few moments later, the flow of blood had stopped, and she had a shiny new pink scar on her scalp. After she washed the blood off her hands and hair, they climbed back up.
Crossing another narrow span higher up, they encountered more draugr, these still shambling about in mockery of their old duties. Laure was starting to recognize the different types of draugr and which ones meant trouble. These were the easy kind, falling to Dawnbreaker and Vilkas' glass greatsword in seconds.
They had a bit of trouble with the puzzle of the gates that led into the next corridor. Three successive gates barred the way, the mechanisms being placed far from the wall, and each gate only stayed open a short time before closing again. After a few unsuccessful tries, Laure activated them all and counted how many heartbeats she had until each one closed. When she had it figured out, she turned to Vilkas, saying, "You go first, I'll follow. Stand by the gates, and when they open, run through. I may need to wait until you are through and do the cycle once more, but it should work if I use my Thu'um." He nodded and went to the wall. Once Laure activated all the mechanisms, he dashed through. She decided to wait as the first one would close in seconds. When all three had closed, Vilkas waited on the far side while she lined herself up. Once more, she opened the gates and dashed forward, using her Thu'um to shout, "Wuld," flying forward in a blinding rush in order to get through before the last one closed. They slammed down behind her and Vilkas caught her arm as she stumbled slightly on a loose stone.
Looking up into his now smiling, bright-eyed face, she announced, "I'm ready to be done here. Let's go back!" Vilkas glanced over her shoulder and shook his head.
"I think we're near the end by now. No point in going all this way just to turn around at the finish line."
"Fine, but I think we should eat, I'm starving. Healing spells don't do much for an empty stomach." They rested a bit, then moved on after filling their bellies. They had to slay several large Frostbite spiders-which made both of them think of Farkas-and pick their way ever so cautiously across a vast, fire-trapped floor. In spite of their caution, both were irritated and lightly blistered when they came to the other side.
"Roast." Laurelin announced as, once again, she patched them up as best she could and they continued, quite ready to get out of the stale, dusty air of the tomb.
"What was that? We just ate!" Vilkas asked, not sure what she was referring to.
"Roast. I'll call her Roast. Don't give me any line about it being undignified to ride a horse named Roast. Just leave me a little humor and you can tell people her name is 'Prize of Sovngarde' if you like."
Vilkas rolled his eyes behind her but refrained from making comment. It was, after all, her prerogative. It didn't comfort him, however, to know she was only half jesting, naming her horse thus. If anything happened to the mare, he was sure she would make full use of whatever was left. He couldn't help but feel amused at the bit of irony he saw. Warrior and werewolf, Vilkas had seen much bloodshed in his time, but his lady was sometimes almost too blasé about certain aspects of life. There was nothing squeamish about Laurelin.
They entered the burial chamber finally, shying back momentarily when several large, carved dragon edifices rose out of the channels of water flanking the central walkway. When nothing actually threatened them, they only tensed more.
Straight ahead was an elaborately wrought sarcophagus, a hand seeming to punch out of the very center of the peaked lid, palm upturned, fingers lightly curled, as if to hold something. As they edged forward, a sinking feeling hit her gut. Stone sarcophagi lay open, draugr cut down where they rested. Nearing the main tomb, she saw a slip of paper resting in the upturned palm of the hand.
She snatched it up, reading with disbelieving fury blazing in her eyes. "Fuck me sideways!" Someone else had gotten here first.
Laure emerged from the crypt, cursing softly, Vilkas right on her heels, a glum expression pulling his features downward. "Well, love, that was a total wash. Sorry to drag you all the way down there for nothing." She re-read the note, frustration pulling her normally smiling face into a scowl. The absurdity of the situation was beyond belief. To fight their way through a dusty, moldering tomb, reach her objective, and discover someone had beaten her there and was playing games now made her want to run the offending party through-after she knocked them around with her Thu'um for a while.
Vilkas turned to look out at the afternoon, a neutral expression now masking his previous one. "Would you like to head straight to Riverwood to meet this mystery person, or should we stop in Whiterun?"
Laure pushed her dirty hair off her dirty face, thinking quickly. "Actually, whoever it is can just cool his or her heels. I don't fancy being led around like a bull with a ring through it's nose. I don't urgently need to obtain that horn." She started loading her gear and the spoils from the tomb into her saddlebags. "We can head back home, I'll rest a day or two and decide where to go from there."
"How do you mean 'decide where to go from there'? You still need to get the Horn from whoever took it. The Graybeards should have it, not some thief."
"I think that can wait a while, but I'll think about it on the way back." She slung her saddlebags over Roast's back, securing them quickly before scrambling into the saddle. Vilkas mounted his own bay, turning his head to Morthal, where they would probably take a room for the night.
Someone was toying dangerously with the Dragonborn, and she didn't appreciate it in the slightest. The inner wolf growled and paced, more than ready to spill the offender's last drop of blood. Laure herself didn't feel too inclined to deny that impulse, yet she did. With an effort, she shoved down her anger and smiled at Vilkas as they galloped toward town. At least they were both still alive and whole, which made the day, in the end, a victory.
"So you got all the way to the bottom of the crypt and the Horn wasn't there? Why are you surprised someone else beat you to it? How many ages has that thing been sitting there?" Farkas chuckled into his cup. "I would have been more surprised if it was still there. At least whoever took it told you where to find them. Considerate, that."
"Very considerate, aye. I'm still not as amused as you are, Farkas. Someone has too sharp an eye on my whereabouts and business than I'm comfortable with. I need to find out who's doing this before I walk into a trap." She couldn't help but think back on the time a few years back when she had led Mercer Frey, someone she was supposed to trust, into Snow Veil Sanctum and been set up by him. Not that she'd ever trusted him anyway. His cold gaze, the way he spoke to you as if you were already dead and therefore a waste of his time had always kept her on guard around him. Everything about Mercer had been a lie. If only she'd listened to her instincts, maybe she'd have a few less scars.
She paced the sitting room of the Harbinger's quarters, sipping a mug of Farkas' excellent mulled mead. It was delicious as always, yet she hardly tasted the sweet, spicy brew as her thoughts focused on the issue at hand. Vilkas sat near his twin, scanning the short note once more. Laure knew what it said by heart, and in fact had nearly thrown it in the fire in a fit of anger, just so she would never need look at it again.
Dragonborn-
I need to speak to you. Urgently.
Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.
A friend
She remembered her short stay in Riverwood after the dragon attack on Helgen, and from what she could recall, the Sleeping Giant Inn only had rooms on the ground floor. Someone wanted to get a look at her before making a final approach, that much was clear. Why though, was not evident to her. To get a good clean shot at my unsuspecting back? Well why not? Surely not everyone was pleased to have a mer Dragonborn prancing about, mucking up the game being played. Ulfric? Would he do this? A friend wouldn't have me go through this song and dance.
"I need more information before I trot off and get into something I'm not prepared for. Vilkas, I'm leaving you in charge for a week while I go to Riften. I know some people who might be able to give me a few clues. Think you can handle it all?" She winked at him over the brim of her mug.
"Take Farkas or one of the whelps with you, and I'll cover everything here."
"No whelps, this is maybe more dangerous than we think. And you need Farkas here; I want them all training hard. Don't worry," she reassured him upon noting his scowl of displeasure, "I haven't forgotten how to get by with out a shield-sibling, love. I'll be back before you know it."
Vilkas' scowl deepened, and looked as though he was ready to argue, but the words were never uttered, as she interrupted quickly, continuing to plan. "Between you two and Aela, I would like to see a daily schedule of training worked out for everyone. Now is not the time to be sitting about on our hands. We need to be sharp and alert. Anyone have ideas about how to get Torvar to sober up a bit? He's a liability to us as of now."
Farkas chimed in, "I could try talking to him. He's not unreasonable, just...pickled."
"Brother, if talk could sober that man up, it would have happened years ago," intoned Vilkas, sensing now wasn't the time to bring up his unhappiness with Laurelin leaving without a shield-sibling. "No, I think we need to break his habit of waking up and downing a few pints first thing. Keep him engaged and busy with work, so he doesn't have time to drink as much. That would be a start, at least.".
"Good, we can start with that and work on a deeper plan when I return." Laure glanced up as Aela sauntered in to join the conversation. "What do you think, sister?"
Aela tucked a strand of deep red hair behind her ear, answering, "I agree, Torvar as he is right now needs some work. He has long felt as though he is the most underrated of the Companions, but when he is sober, he is a capable fighter. Sober him up somehow and give him direction, and I think he will come around. I'll help out any way I can."
"Good, thank you, Aela. While you're here, I have a personal favor to ask you."
"Shoot," the huntress said, her eyes narrowing as she caught a whiff of the Harbinger's brief moment of anxiety.
Laure hesitated for a moment, then began slowly, "This is a difficult time for us. I'm new at the job, and not able to be here all the time. I need to be able to leave for weeks at a time maybe and come back to as few surprises as possible. So what I want to ask you personally, Aela, is that you not—ah-offer the blood to any one else. I intend to start recruiting new whelps as soon as possible, and the last thing we need is a bunch of new bloods going moon-crazy in town."
Aela scowled, "I'm a little insulted you think I would just run around offering the blood to every babe in swaddling clothes that wanders in, sister."
"It's not like that. I'm just asking you to refrain, or make sure that the remaining circle here has some say in it. We need to solidify and strengthen our position, not introduce more instability and madness. Shit, I'm over two hundred years old and could barely contain myself at times, and it remains a challenge. All I'm saying is, we need more warriors right now, not wolves."
Aela nodded slowly. "What you say has merit. I won't turn any more of the whelps. We should consider, however, that someone may come along and be perfect for the blood. If such a person came along, I would not hesitate for very long before approaching him or her."
"Just bring your candidate to us first, before you tell anyone else. To be strong, we need to communicate and come to a decision together, especially when speaking of something as weighty as the beast blood. Now, I have one final suggestion I would like to make to you all before I take this to the others. In the past, we took almost any reasonable job that paid well. Fine, that worked well in the past. However, I for one feel that some of the jobs we have accepted in the past give a certain stigma to the Companions, and I would like to see these jobs stop. They are not honorable, and leave a bad taste in my mouth."
"The bully jobs, aye?" asked Farkas quickly. Laure nodded and beamed at her shield-brother. "Thought so, never liked them much either, but gold is gold."
"True, but I would like to raise the bar with our organization and not skulk around underneath anymore. I feel involving ourselves as muscle in petty disputes is beneath our goals. I think we should be involving ourselves with the issues that matter, not punching out farmers because they made too many late deliveries-or whatever the problem is. We are an ancient, proud order of warriors, not common thugs. We should look to that. I want to see young men and women of all races lining up to become a Companion-finest, noblest of all warriors in Tamriel. But we need to earn that back first. This is one small change we can begin with. Are you with me?"
Farkas pounded his fist on the tabletop, a fierce grin spread over his stubbly face. Laure glanced at Vilkas and saw him nodding his quiet approval. Last she looked to Aela, who shrugged and smiled, "Well spoken, Harbinger. You just might be wiser than you look!"
"I wouldn't go that far, sister!" laughed Laure.
After having supper in Jorrvaskr with everyone and announcing her proposition to the skeptical fighters, Laure and Vilkas excused themselves, returning to Breezehome after a short walk through the cloudy night. Lydia greeted them at the door, then retired when she saw the tired, tense looks on her Thane and Vilkas' faces.
Laure released the hand she had held all the way down from the mead hall, grabbing a few bottles of mead, then headed up stairs to their room. Vilkas followed her up, watched as she undressed, then flopped down on the bed with a sigh. She propped her head up and took a long swallow of her mead, then lay back.
"You still wish me to take one of the whelps with me, aye?"
"It would make me feel better about not coming along with you." He sat on the edge of the bed, loosening the straps and buckles of his armor.
Laure sat up and slipped up behind, helping undress him with her deft fingers. "What if I took Lydia? Then I could send her back here once I arrive in Riften. My housecarl there can continue if that would make you more comfortable."
"Lydia is a fine fighter, and sworn to your service, so aye, that would make me more comfortable." He dropped his head as she began kneading away some of the tightness in his shoulders and neck. "You have never mentioned being a thane of Riften before. When did this happen?"
"Years ago. They practically threw the title at me once I helped wipe out a band of Skooma dealers."
"That was you? We heard about it here even, how the entire den had been taken out in a single night. We thought maybe it was the Brotherhood." His head popped up and he swiveled his bright eyes her way. "You're not with..."
Laure laughed and playfully bit his shoulder. "Darling, I despise the Brotherhood. I've never been, nor will I ever be, an assassin. Not this life, or any other. You have my word on that!"
Vilkas relaxed and sank back with his head cushioned in her lap. "When do you leave?" Silver eyes framed by inky warpaint drifted closed as she stroked his forehead lightly brushing stray hairs to the side.
"A day or two at most. Truth be told, I feel ready for a week of just lying in bed. Maybe have food brought up when we need to replenish our energy. Making use of that deposit I put down for Lydia at the Mare..."
"Who would bring the food if Lydia is at the Mare?" Vilkas teased, eyes still closed, knowing she was giving him a meaningful stare. "Of course, this First Minion of the Dragonborn would be honored to not cook her meat for her. And pour the mead. Would you like a bath while we're imagining things, love?"
"Of course, but who's imagining things? As soon as I get back, we're kicking Lydia out until the whole bag of gold I dropped on Hulda's counter is gone. It was a heavy bag." His eyes flew open to meet hers, filled with mischief and hunger.
"I could match you, coin for coin..." was his husky reply, which made her laughter ring out.
"Deal." she finally managed.
Hello lovely readers, thank you again for taking the time to read my humble work. Thank you as always for the support, faves, follows, and comments. I hope you enjoy. ~PyreIris~