Chapter Five-Broken
With Brynjolf noticeably absent from the underground hideout of the Guild, Laurelin found herself in the Flagon or Cistern almost exclusively for the next few days. She read reports, examined the ledgers, wrote missives to various contacts throughout the realm, and arranged for a few new ventures to be funded. All while waiting for Bryn to return.
He had left everything neat and complete, and she didn't find much that truly required her attention. So she played the games with her Guild mates, enjoying the confidence and skill that had spread throughout the once sullen, under-appreciated members. She strutted about the Cistern wearing dozens of purses with small amounts of gold in some, wooden token for drinks in others. Everyone tried to make off with as many purses as they could grab without detection. What they stole and got away with, they were allowed to keep.
Hiding her anguish over hurting Brynjolf, in addition to her hurt feelings about a few of the accusations he had leveled at her, wasn't easy. Good thieves were observant, and none failed to notice that Laure and Bryn were not vacationing together as they usually did. Still she tried to ease any worries with the mask of a merry den mother, all smiles and delight. Only some of it was feigned; she loved her brothers and sisters in crime and truly wanted to see them prosper.
Delvin and Vex were the only two that came right out and asked, sniffing out the trouble between their Guild Master and her second in command.
"He's coming back, right?" Vex demanded sharply one night, over a mug of dark beer.
"Of course. He needed a break, from what I understand. He'll be back when he's ready."
"He better, if he knows what's good for him."
Laure flicked her gaze from Delvin to Vex. "He didn't like some of the news I brought him, and I can't stay long unfortunately. I need to leave as soon as we hear back from our people about my tail. I'm sorry; I wish I had better news."
"So are you ever coming back for more than a day or two?" When Laure just lifted her shoulder a little sadly, Vex threw up her pale hands in disgust. "Maybe you don't, but I do remember the last time one of our masters got ahead of their self and nearly destroyed the whole thing single handed. Reassure me this won't happen again."
Delvin finally spoke up, "Now now, Vex. You know the Boss'd never betray us. Don't go comparin' her to the likes of Mercer. Look around and see what we've all done since our previous guild master left us broke and stabbed in the back." He stared Vex down, continuing, "You and I both know how many jobs boss here ran for us back then. Ran. On her own two feet. How many times you run across Skyrim, pet?" he asked, turning to Laure.
"Far too many times. Dozens at least," she admitted. "Unfortunately, this Dragonborn business is keeping me busier than I would like. It's a difficult thing to balance, but I can protect the Guild more from a distance. If I'm still blatantly working with the Guild, I can't use my status to help anymore. If I remain discrete, I can continue to aid our endeavors. At this point, given the leadership you two, Bryn, and Karliah provide, I think it's better that I remove myself from publicly being associated with the Guild."
Vex smirked and retorted, "Too good for the likes of us, says our illustrious Guild Master."
"I didn't say that," objected Laure with a frown. "No need to go putting words into my mouth."
The beautiful Imperial thief leaned back, draining her mug before forcefully planting the vessel on the battered tabletop. "What can I say? Just reading the scene, 'boss.' Can't say I like the script." With that she stood up and went back to the bar, talking with Vekel while she got her mug filled.
Delvin leaned over and murmured, "Don't mind her, pet. You know Vex, all piss and vinegar, all the time."
"Don't I know it. I'm going to get some air; see you soon." Laure drained her own mug and slipped out of the Flagon, heading up into the chilly night air.
* * *
After nearly a week hiatus, even Laure was wondering if Bryn had plans to come back to the Guild. She had briefly met with Maven, played every game with the lads and lasses, practiced her quite rusty pickpocketing skills, done everything in her power to keep her mind from drifting to the missing ginger-haired rogue. Her own pain was somewhat diminished to a sharp ache down in her heart. She knew Bryn would recover, realized he had been surprised and overwhelmed by the news she brought to him, and was trying to respect his need for time by not tracking him down, as much as she wanted to.
Not begrudging him the time he needed off from his duties, nor the time he took to come to terms with the new aspect of their relationship, Laure made sure everything ran smoothly in his absence. She just hoped he came back soon. She needed to get on the road, track down the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, or more precisely, travel to Riverwood and meet whoever had taken it from the tomb.
During the time Bryn was gone, several of their contacts sent word: None were able to track down the slightest bit of information on whoever was watching her. Biting her lip as she read the last missive, Laure cursed softly and dropped the letter onto the desk. This was the sixth message back with the same answer.
While she was standing there with palms pressed hard into the edges of the desk, several cries of greeting rang out. Glancing up, she saw the tall, well muscled form she recognized so well stroll into the Cistern from the Flagon. Clad in his faded black armor, he strode in, hood slung low over his eyes. "Miss me much, lads?" he drawled to the room in general. His eyes never met Laure's, as he moved about the room, chatting easily with Cynric and Sapphire, giving Thrynn a friendly pat on the back.
Laurelin finished tidying up the desk while he moved about the room, knowing he would make his way over when he was finished. She was surprised when he stopped at the cookpot that always had something bubbling away in it, and served himself a bowl of stew rather than come around her way.
Several of the thieves noted how he sat with his back to her and hadn't even nodded a greeting to her. Quiet looks flashed back and forth between them as Bryn sat down and began methodically spooning the contents of his bowl into his mouth, hood still up, covering his eyes.
Laure ran out of things to shuffle around on the scuffed desktop, so she moved around it toward the table where Bryn sat. Abruptly, he stood up and walked away, leaving his unfinished bowl where it sat. She moved to intercept him, not content to let him continue avoiding her now that he was back. As if realizing suddenly that he couldn't evade her for long down here, he came to a stop, shoulders back, hands on his cocked hips, head tilted. The posture was so familiar, Laure wanted to launch herself at him and squeeze him hard. She opened her arms, hoping to see the flash of his smile and wicked green eyes, have him tell her that he understood, and they were as they always were, remarkable friends and partners.
As she stepped closer, arms wide to embrace him, to apologize for hurting him, he turned away, sidestepping, finally addressing her for the first time since he had returned.
"Sorry, lass, I've important things to do. We'll speak another time." With that he moved away, sauntering over to the short hallway that lead to the practice room, without a backward glance. Dumbfounded, Laure stood with arms outstretched, shock keeping her frozen harder than the effigy of Nocturnal at her back. Finally lowering her arms, she ignored the sad, confused looks flying between the thieves nearby and marched past, resolutely trying not to burst into angry, hurt tears in front of them.
* * *
Once outside the Cistern, Laurelin made directly for the nearest city gate. Her thoughts were spinning in turmoil around her head. Why are you surprised he is pushing you away? she asked herself. But we had an understanding! He was never hurt by any of the others! But you never went and formed an emotional bond with them, let alone mated your spirit wolf to another werewolf. It was too much. I tried to show him some of the benefits and he called me a monster. Yes, now he reviles you for your actions as well as your blood. That isn't true, he does not revile you. Why should he? I never made promises I couldn't keep. In his heart, he couldn't keep that same promise. He tried. She argued back and forth with herself.
She picked up her pace as the guards pushed the gate closed behind her. Soon she was trotting, heading away from Riften, an undefined urge to hunt pulling her onward. Although she had nothing more than the armor on her back and a small dagger, the wolf growled in the back of her mind, what use, your tiny fang of iron? Use your own fangs, wet your claws with blood...
Laurelin realized that the full moon was upon her once more as she raced into the night. She had barely noted the shift in the cycles, tucked away in the Cistern as she had been. Trying to keep it together for the sake of everyone else. Heart pounding, blood hot and demanding in her veins but not quite ready to surrender to her change, Laure ran, biting back the relief that would come by changing, the welcome lack of worry, guilt, pain. She ran, letting her mind wander over the course her life was taking, where she was headed, but all that was fogged. Too many paths forked just in front of her. All she had wanted and planned for was broken beyond repair, but that did not leave her without hope. The course had changed to be sure and wasn't the road she thought she would be on, but her life and her mate were still ahead of her. Vilkas!
She had missed him intensely during her stay in Riften. Even in the aftermath of her falling out with Bryn, she had thought about him, worried, fantasized. She couldn't help herself; she longed to feel his strong arms wrap around her, to gaze into his beautiful silver-gray eyes, lose her mind in his kisses.
Vilkas! Her mind cried out, instinctively reaching out for his comfort while still trying to come to terms with how much Bryn turning his back on her hurt. His voice kept repeating parts of their last conversations. We'll speak another time. Monster. Important things to do. Beautiful monster. No time, bloody werewolf...hardly know you. Blood thirsty, man-eating monster. She tore on through the woods, racing heart setting the pace for the swirl of her heated thoughts, while she tried to keep the wolf at bay. The wolf that demanded she give in to the call of the blood, to the alluring moon song. Hunt! Demanded the wolf inside her. Release us and hunt.
She opened her clenched jaw to shout out a denial and a howl escaped instead. Her joints itched and burned as her control over the beast started to slip, then his sonorous, warm voice filled her mind, I won't let go! She came to a halt, gasping for breath, creating clouds of fog that swirled about her before drifting out to dissipate in the cold air. She fell to hers knees, hands buried in the grass while she came to terms. Yes she loved Brynjolf, but she was not in love with him. He had successfully broken through the sheer walls of chilly indifference she had protected her self behind for long decades. She would always feel somewhat indebted to him and be thankful for his love. But she had not lied to him nor willingly toyed with his emotions. She had never been so cold-hearted, even when she first met him. Yet time had a way of altering everything. Bryn may never forgive her for hurting him, but she would still treasure her memories; and maybe, just maybe, some day they could move past the weird awkwardness of the present.
The searing pain in her bones was becoming overwhelming, but Laure finally felt ready to embrace her change. Struggling to undo all the buckles in her haste, Laure managed to get out of her boots and most of her leather cuirass before the fur started sprouting. Her snug leather pants were suddenly unbearably tight, the stitching on the sides popping free in quiet rips. She hastily unbuckled the last strap of her chest armor and yanked it open, tearing the tough leather with her growing claws. The trousers gave and fell away in large scraps, to be joined by the cuirass seconds later.
She didn't give more than a moment's thought to how easily this change had swept over her body; instead, she lifted her snout and bayed her sorrow and grief to the bright moons, her howl tapering off to a low, rumbling growl deep in her chest. Rising up to her full height, she roared again, mind calling across the leagues to her mate, to her moon-brothers. Swiveling her head, she let her nose lead her northwest, toward home. Toward Vilkas. Claws tearing the soil, she set off at a gallop. Vilkas.
She let her nose and the moons guide her, lead her back to where she would find others of her kind. She raced onward, taking down and feasting on any beast foolish enough to linger on her path. Her hunger was unspeakably powerful; and with each kill, after she had gorged on their hearts, she found herself salivating for more. She prowled over mountains, through forests, trying to sate her insatiable thirst.
The smell of old blood, charred wood, broken stone and hopes drifted across her nose, overlaid by the scent of men. From a nearby outcropping, Laure sniffed, saliva running over her jaws. In the ruins of Helgen, a number of bandits had taken up residence. She howled, listening for a moment to the sounds of the bandits' terror as they skittered about, arming themselves.
She backed up, tamping down her hind paws, then launched herself up the wall, scrambling easily up the sides, claws tearing deep into the charred timbers. Sitting astride the wall, she howled again, watching in satisfaction as those who had been rushing toward her turned and fled. It was more satisfying that they run. Blood pounding hot and urgent in her veins, she leaped off the wall and into the place she had nearly lost her head not so long ago.
* * *
The bandits soon found that hiding behind walls and barricades did nothing to prolong their lives. They were the prey being stalked and taken down one by one. Few had ever seen a werewolf, and none had ever heard of the pale, blue-eyed creature that stalked them now. They tried to organize defenses against it, but it never attacked from the direction they thought it would.
The huge wolf creature would melt out of the shadows one moment, maul one of their number, and slip away before the rest could even react. They quickly came to realize it was toying with them, slowly reducing their numbers and strength. It left the torn bodies behind, sprawling limp on the stones, a grim reminder of the fate of them all. Several of their number were barricaded up in the tower, but they had exhausted their supply of arrows early on and now were reduced to shouting and cursing, trying to spot the menace and warn their fellows down below.
It bayed again, the force of the call enough to shake the timbers, near enough to startle the five remaining men and women into flight, despite their intentions of standing and fighting. The bloodcurdling roar tapered off to a low rumbling growl, and suddenly moonlit fury landed in their midst. A handful of broken-off arrow shafts stuck up from its pale hide, and here or there a dark smear of its own blood dampened its fur, but it seemed unfazed by the defense put up by their best mage-now dead-and some of their best fighters. Even the chief of the group felt his knees go weak when it looked them all over and huffed in a way that could not be mistaken for anything but what it was. A chuckle of amusement.
* * *
Laure couldn't help herself. These people who preyed on those weaker than themselves now knew what it was like to be preyed upon. She reached up and deliberately pulled each arrow out of her flesh, feeling it begin to knit shut again nearly immediately. When she had all of them, she flung the broken, bloodied shafts out in a flat arc. The bandits flinched and dropped back, weapons ready, all of them praying fervently for salvation.
She decided she would finish these remaining bandits off and then she would be nearly home. Pouncing with both claws onto the nearest, she tore out his throat with one bite, then leaped to the next. Spurred on by the taste of their blood, she tore through the remaining foes with furious glee. Her urge to feast on them was fierce but she managed to restrain herself.
The bandit chief stood before her, steel sword and shield between her and him. The breeze was picking up, the sky beginning to lighten in the east, when a familiar scent wafted across her sensitive nose. The smell of home and comfort. Distracted a moment, she didn't notice the man in front of her step forward and attack. Laure caught the blow on her forearm and received a heavy hit from the shield on her shoulder. Attention dragged back to her last foe, she howled straight into his face, watched him go white, shoulders pivoting to turn and flee. She caught him in both claws, lifting him easily, even with her wounded arm, and squeezed his throat.
Two answering howls echoed just outside the walls, and still Laure tightened her grip, ignoring the flailing of the man's arms and kicking legs. With a grunt she squeezed, feeling tiny bones being crushed and giving, then gave a little twist, and the bandit chief's head popped off in a gout of blood. She stood panting, holding the neck of the twitching corpse, and watched as two shadows leaped the walls and stalked toward her, sniffing.
Inky fur covered the thick hides of the two werewolves approaching, but she knew their scent. She held out her latest kill, offering them the heart that had just stopped beating. They both shook shaggy heads, not wanting any of it. Laure dipped her head, sniffed, licked the sweet, salty blood. She would eat this heart and feel no remorse.
Before she could feast though, a heavy body hit hers, slamming her back, making her drop her prize. His hugely muscled body bore her to the ground, where they rolled together. Laure felt rage boil to the surface in an instant, brought her defenses back up, she snapped furiously at his throat. He was a giant of a werewolf, easily pinning her wrists and body to the ground, an angry snarl of his own slipping past glinting white fangs. She struggled under him, tried to knee his groin, flip him off- anything, but he was immovable. His growl echoed loudly, mixed with her furious snarls, as he slammed her wrists and upper body against the ground, buried his muzzle under her neck, jaws closing menacingly around her throat.
She whined, tail curling up between her legs as she submitted; feeling those razor sharp teeth pressing into her jugular, she went limp and turned up her throat. His jaws finally released her, and he gave her one last shake and a hard stare before pulling away. Laure whimpered piteously, then shuddered. Pushing her beast back behind its barricade, her natural shape quickly returned.
"Farkas, I'm so sorry I attacked you! Can you forgive me?" She cried as soon as she was able to speak. His hulking beast form came up and crouched beside her. He met her eyes and she saw the fury was gone, replaced by the pale sparkle of amusement in his eyes. She pushed a hand into the fur of his mane, scratching and rubbing his jaw. He nuzzled her softly and gave a content growl. Vilkas finished prowling the ruins for live foes and returned, loping back to where Laure was wrapped in their brother's long arms, sharing his warmth. His transformation back was complete by the time he reached them again, and he collected his love into his embrace and held her tight.
"What was all of this about?" he asked, using his chin to gesture out to the ruins about them, not wanting to use his hands when they felt so good holding her to him.
"The moon, the blood. And things didn't go well in Riften. It started out with me just hunting animals, but something about the bandits, and being here, it tipped me over some edge I didn't even see." She shuddered. "I was about to eat them all..."
"Good thing I stopped you then. Bandits never taste good anyhow." Farkas rumbled from behind them, back in his own still towering form. "Nice to see I was right; you're beautiful in your beast shape. Not that I don't think you are beautiful in human shape. Um. I mean elf. You know. Mer. Look, I'm just going to go put some clothes on..." he turned and marched away, leaving his twin and Laure biting back their amusement.
"I think a few of the women around here might have clothes you can wear," Vilkas ventured.
"I'll just wear one of your spare tunics if you don't mind, who knows when these ones last bathed. They could have fleas." She winked and grabbed his hand, tugging him along.
"Says one werewolf to another," Vilkas muttered quietly. Not so quietly that his mate couldn't hear and laugh. They caught up with Farkas not far down the hill, and if anyone saw two large Nord men flanking a tall Bosmer woman as they strode naked down the mountainside, few would ever admit that somehow, nothing scared them more than the bare, unarmed, unconcerned trio.
* * *
Farkas and Vilkas had dropped their packs within sight of the river. Gathering up clothing and gear, the three Companions made a small camp by the rushing water draining from Lake Illinalta. Vilkas dug in his pack for an undershirt, which Laure pulled over her head and wore like a short shift.
"What were you two doing all the way out here?" she asked the twins while they donned their own clothes.
"We were both restless, and since it has been a long time we hunted together, we decided to head out," Vilkas replied, lacing up his trousers.
"He was pacing and chewing off his fingernails." Farkas interjected.
"Something was pulling me out, aye, beyond the normal call of the moon. I think I understand though. How far away were you when you changed, Laurelin?" He sat down behind her, pulling her close to his chest, and she settled in, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart.
"A few miles outside of Riften, I think. Not exactly positive." She pulled his lean, powerful arms closer about her shoulders, nuzzled his arms, inhaling his distinct scent.
"I think I was feeling the call of your wolf spirit to mine, then. I never realized it could reach so far. If indeed that is what I was feeling."
"I was missing you, I wanted to see you. I was heading home when I got sidetracked up there." she admitted.
"To Breezehome?"
"Aye, that too." Even though she was clad only in a thin shift, with his arms around her, she felt as warm as if she wore furs. She caught a glimpse of the tiny curve of Farkas' lips. "What is on your mind, brother?"
"You two just look sweet together. It makes me happy to see Vilkas smile like he is now." Vilkas may not have realized it up to that point, but his lips had indeed been lifted up into a near perfect match to Farkas' smile. He sat back, cradling Laurelin close, not trying to conceal his content smirk.
They camped out by the river, the three of them napping several hours in the growing light.
* * *
Laure stretched, feeling warm and cozy. Farkas had taken first watch, then snuggled into the furs when Vilkas got up, slowly disentangling himself from Laure's arms and legs, trying not to wake the exhausted Bosmer. In spite of his caution, Laure grumbled, then flipped over and tossed a leg over Farkas, who caught her thigh in his giant hand and held in in place, one arm snaking under her shoulders to pull her closer. Sighing contently, she drifted back to sleep cuddled up with her shield-brother while Vilkas kept watch.
When she awoke, there were several fat salmon roasting in the coals of the fire next to a few blackening potatoes, and Vilkas was oiling and cleaning his armor, humming softly to himself as he worked. From where she lay, still pressed close to Farkas, she watched Vilkas through hooded eyes. His square jaw was relaxed, lips pressed together, but not in his usual hard expression. He would work intently for long moments, then lift his gaze to the hills, let it skip across the river to a pair of deer, or linger on a cloud formation a while, before returning to his task.
Her own gaze roamed over his wide shoulders and broad chest, taking in every sculpted line of his finely muscled physique with appreciative eyes. Following the curve of his back, down to his narrow hips, skimming over his long legs...
"Are you going to get up or lay here and eye-fuck my brother all day?" Farkas asked softly, sleepy amusement evident in his voice, while his arm tightened around her.
"He's gorgeous. I think I'll eye-fuck him for a while. At least until he starts getting all grumpy."
"Shouldn't be long then," observed the younger twin. He was enjoying the feel of her fingers curled into the hair of his chest under his shirt.
"I can hear the both of you," the brother in question chimed in, a small smile twitching across his lips.
"See, not long at all." Farkas moved to sit up as his older brother threw the oily rag at his brothers face. Farkas slapped it aside and sprang from the furs, launched himself at Vilkas, where they tumbled to the ground, wrestling, slapping, laughing and calling names.
Laure watched in amusement. With them both unshaven, hair wildly askew, and in street clothes instead of armor, the two laughing men looked even more alike than usual. Reaching forward, she snagged a whole salmon and sat back, plucking small morsels of delicious, hot fish and savoring them, all the while eye-fucking the twins from the comfort of the furs. Simple pleasures made life worth living.
* * *
"Want to go back up to Helgen with me?" she asked the twins later. They had tumbled and wrestled for the better part of an hour, only stopping when they finally found themselves in the wet gravel and sand, right at the river's edge.
"Why do you want to go back there?" Farkas wanted to know immediately.
"I feel like maybe it wasn't an accident I ended up there. I would like to go up and see it with clearer eyes and mind than last night."
"I suppose you are right. I'm ready when you are. But Farkas or myself should be heading back to Jorrvaskr soon," Vilkas intoned. His hair was wild, face flushed still from his impromptu wrestling match with Farkas. He was strangely content, but he knew it was time to get back to work.
The three of them loaded up the little gear they had and started the hike back up to Helgen. The last time Laure had been through its walls, it had been full of families and commerce. Before the black dragon had descended, and brought ruin in its wake. Now its walls were charred and broken, the only lives lived there were those of lawless rabble who preyed off those unwary enough to stumble in.
"I was never supposed to be here," she murmured, looking up at the tumbles of stone and blackened wooden beams. It had been less than a year since that fateful day she had rolled through it's gates, bound and dazed. "How much different would my life be right now if I had crossed the border a day later, or sooner, or in a different place? Would it have mattered? Perhaps I might never have learned of being the instrument of the gods. Maybe it would have only delayed the eventual knowledge until it was too late." Vilkas' warm fingers wrapped around hers, giving comfort. Together they walked back in, looking around the empty settlement. Farkas was already turning over bodies and examining dropped weapons.
Laurelin had never come back to the scene of a battle the next day in spite of her years of combat and travel. Vilkas wandered a short distance away while Laure circled the corpses she had created. She still felt no remorse for killing them. They lived outside the law, which didn't bother her so much as the nature of the life lived. She had come across enough travelers dead or wounded by the roadsides to know that the bandits took what they wanted at sword point, and only if one was very fortunate did the victim escape with life intact. Still, the looks on these men and woman's faces as they had died put her in a strange mood. Being here put her in a strange mood.
Both sides of the civil war had high-placed officials here that day, at this random town, had opportunities to help the Dragonborn, regardless of them not knowing she was such. Instead, one side had tried to chop off her head while the other had left her to run with bound hands through an inferno. Her steps carried her to the chopping block that, curiously enough, was still sitting in the courtyard where they had all been gathered.
Farkas watched with some concern as she dropped to her knees in front of the block, and laid her head on it. Her eyes were trained on the top of the now-leaning tower not far away. "He landed right there, the black dragon. His eyes burned with hatred, and he looked right at me and Shouted. He saved me, that dragon did. The headsman was about to cleave my head off with a great, bloody axe. All I could see was a bloody axe and then there he was, nightmare incarnate. Do I thank him or curse him?" She sat up and pointed to the charred skull in front of the block. "That could have been mine. He died well, speaking of his ancestors, not begging for his life." The enormity of the precious few seconds that had changed her life was overwhelming.
"It must have been terrible, thinking you were about to die and not being able to do anything about it," Farkas observed in his gruff voice. "I don't remember ever being that kind of helpless, although Vilkas remembers before Jurgen found us. He doesn't like to talk about it much. I don't think I would care for it either."
Squatting down beside Laure, he wrapped a long arm around her. "What's really on your mind?"
She laughed sharply. "Other than dragons awakening for the first time in centuries, being chosen to slay them and having my life turned upside-down? Why nothing, dear one."
"Not that. Something other than that and the blood has you down. I can tell.
"Come on, lets look around and see if we can find you some clothes. I'll even help wash them, if you want. You can tell me what's on your mind while we loot. I mean pillage. You know what I mean."
Laure couldn't help herself. The poor lad really just wanted her to feel better. She smiled and allowed herself to be steered around, looking for clothes without too many tears or gashes that would fit while she filled him in on some of her time in Riften. They made a small pile of clothes and another of valuables they would divide up. Vilkas continued looking over the ruins, delving into the buildings of the keep while Laure and Farkas sat down and began stitching up trousers and tunic for her to wear.
"It's a good thing you both carry these little sewing kits in your packs," she observed, swiftly sewing up a long tear.
"Never know when you might need to sew something up on the road. We learned a long time ago it was learn to sew or go naked sometimes. It was tough to convince the town guards I was mugged for all of my clothes. So all this was really just over a guy, huh?" the big man grunted as he threaded a needle.
"Well, that would be the short version, but largely, aye." She bit the thread with her sharp teeth and nodded. "He didn't have an easy time when I showed him my beast form."
"Why'd you show him that?" came Farkas' blunt query.
"I...we...I thought he needed to know. We were such close friends. I didn't want to keep secrets from him."
"'Him' was this Brynjolf you told me about, yeah?" Laure nodded, focused on her stitches. Farkas continued, "I knew I didn't like his city boy smell. Goes to show, you never can trust a thief."
Laure froze, eyes wide. "Thief?" she asked carefully. His bright silver-gray eyes met hers, a serious frown knitting his brow.
"You heard me. I know a thief when I smell one. He reeked of lies and sour milk. I'm glad you don't smell like him-like that-anymore." He tossed her the trousers he had been taking in and stood, stretching his arms and shoulders. Laure was at a loss for words, so she slipped into her makeshift clothes, thoughts swirling madly about her.
If Farkas knew that Brynjolf was a thief, then there was a spider-silk thread slender chance that Vilkas didn't know as well. She groaned in dismay at the thought.
"So did he scream like a little girl when you changed?" he wanted to know, a slightly malicious look gleaming dangerously in his eye.
Laure chuckled, "No, dear one. He actually took that part remarkably well. It was when I told him about you and Vilkas that he became upset."
"Well that's stupid. Any idiot can see you still care about him. Milk drinker needs to learn how to cope. Didn't you tell him about the good stuff?"
"I tried, sweetness. I wanted to reassure him, but everything came out wrong, I guess. Truly, I think he could have accepted it all, until I told him we hunt together."
"So, city boy doesn't hunt eh?"
"Not if he doesn't have to, no."
The gleam in Farkas' eyes was positively wicked now. "That's the problem. He knows you hunt, how much you enjoy it. It's part of who you are, and as a limp-wristed milk drinker, he knows you two don't share this one thing. Now you've gone and found a whole brotherhood of hunters. A brotherhood he has no part of. You won't ever share that with him. I bet he feels he's losing you to the Companions." He stopped his rambling when he realized Laure was gaping at him with wonder.
"What now? Fur in my ears still?" His fingers shot up to pat around his head, searching for stray tufts of fuzz. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. They stayed that way, standing cheek to cheek, watching over each others shoulders, hearts pressed near, until Vilkas strode back into sight.
A pair of leather boots dangled from one hand, a clinking sack from the other. "I think I may have found footwear for you, love. I hope they fit."
She sat down to try them on, and it turned out they fit passing well. Dressed and shod again, Laure turned to see what else Vilkas had brought with him.
He upended the sack, crouching on his haunches. "I think these are enchanted," he said, picking up a pair of steel gauntlets and a silver circlet with moonstones set in it. "I also found this." From over his shoulder he drew a long, tooled leather and silver chased tube. He passed it over to Laure who pried the cap off and drew out a gleaming ebony bow.
"I thought you would be best carrying that; bows are your strong suit, not mine." She blinked happy tears away as she examined the beautiful weapon.
Farkas looked the bow over, whistling low and appreciative. "This is masterfully made. Hey!" He jumped to his feet, striding to the pile of scrounged items to dig briefly through. "I found these; they probably went with that bow!" In his hand was a full quiver of matching ebony arrows, which he lightly tossed her way before dropping back down onto his haunches.
Laure examined the arrows and found them soundly made. While she checked the fletching, Farkas rumbled on, "I think I saw the chest you got the bow out of, brother. Couldn't find a key so I left it."
"I couldn't find a key either, Farkas, so I improvised." He paused a moment and said with a small smile, "with a warhammer." Laure and Farkas fell over laughing together, wiping tears away when they noted Vilkas' confused, mildly irritated expression. "I've plainly missed something. What is so bloody funny?"
"Never-ahaha-a bloody thief around when you need one!" Farkas cried out, clutching his sides.
Vilkas, understanding they were laughing about something else and not him, smiled and waited patiently for the mirth to play out. They would tell him when ready.
* * *
A little while later, the laughter had died down, and Vilkas found himself wondering about something else. Finally he asked carefully, "So, did you leave Roast at Riften? Or did something happen to her?"
Laure chuckled at his cautious manner. "Roast was alive and well, getting fat in the stables when I left. I suppose I could send a letter and have Iona bring her around to Whiterun."
"No need, there are a few jobs that need doing out that way, I'll have one of the whelps bring her back when they return. Should we stop in Riverwood on the way back?"
Laure shook her pale head. "No, I would rather go in prepared, at least have my armor and weapons. Another day is hardly going to matter at this point."
"All right then, we should get going. The stench of this place is appalling." Vilkas crinkled his sharp nose as another whiff of the odor in question drifted by.
"I would like to gather as many of the bodies as possible and burn them before we go. I don't feel right leaving these out for the scavengers. They may not have been good people, but they were people, and deserve this much at least."
Farkas and Vilkas didn't try to argue with her. Instead they helped round up every body they could, then built a huge fire. Laure set the skull of the Nord who had died just before she was led to the block on the top of the pile. It was a small gesture, but one she felt she needed to make. It was late afternoon before the flames had died back, small breezes stirring eddies of ash here and there. Finally, the Bosmer woman turned, ready to depart.
"Let's get back home; I need a mug, a bath and a hot meal." She looped her arm through Vilkas' and slapped Farkas' broad shoulder. "You sexy beasts ready?"
"Been waiting on you." Together they headed down river, back toward home.