Chapter Seven - Meditations and Merriment
Mild smut warning-You've been warned.
The next afternoon found Laurelin and Vilkas cautiously picking their way up the switchbacks leading up the hill. Ivarstead was near, and the Throat of the World loomed high over head, heavy banks of cloud obscuring its flanks. They rode into town and dismounted in front of the Vilemyr Inn. A smiling Bosmer held the door open for Laurelin, his rust-colored eyes taking in every detail of her face and figure.
"A fine day it is, sister elf. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I." He pressed his free hand to his heart and inclined his head, long nut-colored horsetail falling over his broad shoulders.
Laure repeated his gesture and replied, "A fine day indeed, and if the mead is as good as I remember, it looks to be an even finer evening. How are you, Gwilin?" She stepped past him and moved to the side, while Vilkas followed, eying the brawny elf warily.
" A glorious day it has been, yet it pales next to you, Laurelin Vo'Shai."
The tall Nord could smell the male Bosmeri's attraction to his mate and knew that she was aware of this interest as well. When she leaned over and brushed both his cheeks with light kisses, Vilkas made himself turn away and marched to the counter, ordering mead for the three of them. Obviously she knew him from before, and Vilkas knew she liked to chat with other mer when she got the chance. They were, after all, quite far from their homeland.
His mind and heart knew he had no reason to be jealous, but his wolf spirit always had other ideas and growled furiously at the upstart sniffing around his mate. He paid for the mead and a room for the night, then scooped up the three mugs, returning to the fire where his mate warmed her hands and stretched her long, shapely legs. She was smiling and still happily chatting with Gwilin when Vilkas strode up, offering a drink to his mate first, then the next to her friend, who accepted with a wide smile.
"Vilkas love, this is Gwilin; he works here in the village. I met him on my way up the mountain the first time. Gwilin, this sexy beast is my darling mate, Vilkas of the Companions."
"How wonderful! Congratulations. New love is one of life's sweetest treasures." He raised his mug to Vilkas and Laurelin, continuing after a brief pause, "I wish you much joy together!" Vilkas couldn't help but wonder; the man wasn't at all phased by the news and, astonishingly enough, seemed genuinely pleased for the new couple. He'd been sure the mer would pose a threat, but it appeared he was pleasantly wrong.
They ended up sitting near the fire through supper, drinking mead with the charming, almost obnoxiously cheerful Gwilin, and on into the night. Laurelin sat comfortably on Vilkas' lap, his strong arms close about her waist, nose buried into her fragrant hair. Gwilin's bright attitude toward life seemed to work wonders on his mate. She laughed and joked, leaned back to press herself against his chest and nuzzle his neck with lips and nose. Her eyes danced with merriment when she turned to Vilkas much later and asked him seriously, "How can you tell how old a Bosmer is?"
Gwilin snorted and nearly choked on his mead-he had already heard this one. Vilkas shrugged and asked in a resigned tone, "How?"
She smirked and replied, "Chop it in half and count the rings!" Snickering into her mug she ignored the flabbergasted look on her mate's face as he wrestled with amusement and horror. She met Gwilin's eyes over the rim of her mug and couldn't keep it in any longer. Both Bosmer burst out laughing, tipsiness making them rather giddy.
Vilkas had to chuckle as well. He hugged her tight and kissed her long, pointed ear, feeling more than hearing her low groan of hunger. After another round and more jokes and tales, Vilkas stood, sweeping Laurelin into his arms. He bowed to Gwilin saying, "It has been a pleasure to meet you, friend, but now it is time to retire. Thank you for a very pleasant evening."
"The pleasure is mine, Vilkas of the Companions. Take good care of her."
"You have my word. Good night to you."
"Night Gwilin, it was lovely to visit with you again!" called out Laurelin over Vilkas' shoulder as he bore her to their little room.
Morning found Laure and Vilkas climbing, bundled in furs and mittens, heavy packs high on their shoulders. They had paid Gwilin handsomely to take their horses back to Whiterun, along with what gear they couldn't pack up the mountain themselves. They stopped frequently to read the verses on the shrines that dotted the trail up, but other than that, they made excellent time. Both were in superior physical condition and eager to get to the monastery at the end of the path.
Vilkas was hoping to gain admittance to the halls of the Greybeards for the first time, and Laurelin was eager to return the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and perhaps get a few more questions answered. The seven thousand steps wended their way back and forth across the face of the mountain, sometimes disappearing entirely under drifts of snow, other times scraped clean by the fierce winds that lashed The Throat of the World. Ice wraiths and trolls posed no problem on the way up, so they found themselves climbing the slick stone steps up to the tall embossed doors before the sun set. Stamping the ice from their boots, the two Companions quietly pushed into the austere domain of the Greybeards.
Master Arngeir met them in the foyer, his voice speaking softly but still carrying the rumbling echoes of his powerful Thu'um. "Greetings to you Dragonborn, you return at last. Have you brought the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to us this day?"
"Aye, I have. My apologies for taking so long. There were, ah, complications. Matters in the world below flow ever on and don't wait for such as myself. Much as I might wish they would." Laurelin unwrapped the horn and passed it over to Arngeir, who stroked its curved surface with two fingers before tucking it away in his robes somewhere.
"Excellent. Now who is your tall, fierce-looking friend?"
"This is Vilkas of the Companions, he is my mate and protector. I trust he will be treated as I would and welcomed here." She smiled politely, but her eyes bored into Master Arngeir's, letting him know she wasn't willing to argue on the matter.
The old man hesitated for the briefest moment, this man was clearly a man of war, yet Arngeir could see the hopeful cast of his features, the awe as he glanced about the dimly lit halls. With an inward shrug he relented. "Of course, as long as he respects our customs and traditions, your mate will be welcome here. Now, if you will follow me, there are a few matters we should attend to." He gestured them to follow him into the central hall, where the other three monks were gathered. "Master Wulfgar will now teach you the last word of the Unrelenting Force shout. Vilkas, if you could stand over here please?" Vilkas moved to the spot indicated by Arngeir and watched with trepidation.
Laurelin positioned herself and without hesitation, Wulfgar waved his hands and whispered something, a whisper that thundered about the narrow hall. Bright runes appeared on the floor, looking as if they had been chiseled from pure energy. She paced around the runes, eyes drinking in the lines, her mind instinctively channeling the knowledge of the dragon souls she had absorbed to decipher the meaning. The light flowed into her, dimming her vision for a moment before she understood completely the context and usage of her new insights. She knew it frightened the Greybeards, the ease with which she learned these things. Concepts they had studied for decades, endless hours of contemplation and study. The blanking of the mind to meditate on a single word. And here she was, able to comprehend in a few heartbeats what they had worked so hard for.
Yet she could not find it in her to apologize. She was using her abilities as she was intended to, out in the world, facing dangers uncounted. These men chose to sequester themselves away from the world, keeping their great power to themselves. No matter-in her mind-that they said it was to venerate the Gods only that they learned the Way of the Voice. They had great power and refused to use it, not even for the so-called greater good. They had given up their ability to choose what to do with their Thu'um and allowed the gods to dictate the path they trod.
Laurelin deeply respected the gods, yet she knew choice was one of the greatest gifts and burdens in life. She couldn't fully respect nor trust people who gave their freedoms away. She believed the gods put each person on a path and said, "Follow that path." But what she also believed was that the path curved and forked many times, each fork a decision made. Some may be good, some painful, yet all had a lesson. To sit at the feet of the gods and say, "I won't follow that path, for fear of making a mistake or pain," was the grossest stupidity Laurelin could think of, and an outright rejection of the experience life offered. Joy and pain were the warp and weft in the tapestry of life.
"Dah." she murmured quietly, though it still rattled her teeth. She looked up and past the shoulders of the monks and met Vilkas' eye. Some joys so completely overwhelmed the pain that it became just a brief diversion from happiness.
When the four monks gathered around her for a formal recognition of her being the true Dragonborn, Arngeir suggested, "Vilkas, you may wish to wait outside during the ordeal to come."
Vilkas bristled at the thought. "What she endures I will also," he replied stiffly.
"As you wish. Let it be known you might be...damaged. I would not see you come to harm needlessly. Only the Dragonborn has the strength to withstand our combined Voices. Those not trained or born with the soul of the Dovah could be slain, for such close proximity to the power unleashed can kill. Do you still choose to stay?" Vilkas nodded but stepped closer to the doors, his silver eyes never leaving Laurelin.
He watched as they raised hands and voices, and in a few heartbeats his palms were clapped tightly over his ears, as the Greybeards chanted in mind shattering unison, "Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok." He didn't know what any of it meant, but he was glad it was a short ceremony, and soon over with as he picked himself off the floor. Three of the monks turned back to their meditations immediately, but Arngeir lingered, sensing that the mer woman would of course have questions that needed answering.
Laurelin looked a trifle dazed, but whole and unharmed as she asked the first thing she could think. "What were you saying? I'm pretty sure I didn't understand any of it."
" It meant, 'Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.'"
"Ysmir? Me? How can that be?" Her lips curved into a disbelieving smile.
"The title is yours, Dragonborn. How else may I aid you this evening?" His smile was kindly, and she knew he was sincere, but she could tell he wished to return to his devotions as quickly as possible. Still, he would have years more to devote to the gods. She had been trotted all over Skyrim in search of the blasted horn, and she intended to get as many answers as she could out of the monks before she made the long journey back down to the lowlands.
"Vilkas and I brought fresh supplies up for you. Perhaps we might sit and refresh ourselves while we speak; there are many questions I have."
"Of course," came his careful response. "It will be a pleasure to take a meal with you, Dragonborn. Please, follow me." Laure and Vilkas picked up their packs and followed the monk into modest living quarters, where Arngeir began preparing a simple meal. Laure and Vilkas helped him prepare food for themselves and the other three monks, while Arngeir answered Laurelin's prodigious list of questions to the best of his ability. Vilkas asked nearly as many questions as his mate did over the course of dinner and after as well.
When they turned in for the night, Vilkas was still not ready to sleep. Everything he had heard tonight seemed to swarm about in his head like bees, a huge swarm of edgy bees. The enormity of the situation seemed to be growing and piling higher. Laurelin rested her head on his chest, her arm across his waist, one leg thrown over his as they laid back on the small bed.
Much of what had been confirmed and revealed to them this night had a familiar feel. He had read enough histories to know that the reappearance of Alduin, the World-Eater, was a cataclysmic event. Along with many of the other dragons, and their Dragon Priests, Alduin had ruled with terror and blood. Defeated ages ago, many had thought he was destroyed. Yet now, over a millennium later the monster was back. Returned to Tamriel and raising other dragons from the dead.
The ongoing debate amongst some academic circles seemed just that: academics. Whether Alduin really was the divine Akatosh, or an extension of the will of the divine didn't matter. What he saw was the other hand, that offered redemption. He kissed the top of her head softly.
They snuggled close together, tired and excited, still anxious for answers that Arngeir was unable to give. Both were drifting near sleep when Vilkas found himself saying into her hair, "On my life, I love you, Laurelin Vo'Shai. Ysmir or not, I will do whatever I must to help you in your tasks. If you would accept my sword and service."
"Accepted with gratitude. Now, get some sleep love, we can talk more in the morning." They drifted off to sleep some time later, fingers laced together over Vilkas steady heart.
In spite of her intentions to stay only a day or two, she and Vilkas stayed in High Hrothgar over a fortnight. They continued to ask as many questions as they could of the four old men who lived in seclusion so high above the world.
Laurelin was more than a little put off by the attitude the monks had when they learned Alduin had returned. It boiled down to them shrugging and saying it was all according to the will of the gods.
Laure couldn't help but remind Arngeir that Akatosh must not be entirely keen on the end of the world, as he had awakened her powers to fight back. He had grudgingly agreed, but she thought it was mostly because the peaceful old man didn't want to introduce strife into his domain.
When they weren't pestering the monks, she and Vilkas strolled about the heights, seeking the rare vistas that opened up during the infrequent lulls in the storms nearly always raging around the high walls. Together they meditated, sitting with legs folded in front of them, knee to knee for hours. He was essentially eavesdropping on her meditations, but he found it gave him a better understanding of her burdens and powers. With the ancient dragon souls adding to her meditations, the things ruminated upon were often far beyond his ken.
For her part, Laurelin hoped he would be able to withstand the powers of the Voice when it was being wielded in close proximity to him. She really didn't want to accidentally hurt him with her Thu'um.
While they were high up in the monastery, their daily regimen of exercise and sword play was out of the question. The monks would not appreciate such a noisy disturbance to their daily activities, and the air was so thin up here that vigorous exercise was challenging anyhow. Laurelin took to doing complex stretches and light strengthening forms that flowed together like a slow dance. Vilkas watched from a nearby chair as Laure pushed up into a backward arch from the floor, then lowered her forearms to the ground, making a triangle of them. She swung one leg up, so her toe pointed to the ceiling, before bringing her other leg up to join it. Vilkas couldn't help but appreciate the control and balance she had, not to mention the flexibility. He had enjoyed that part already many a time.
She glanced over at him from her inverted position, hair brushing the floor and smiled, "You could join me; loosening up all your stiff muscles would do you some good."
"I could never twist myself up the way you do, love."
"Oh, don't say 'can't' to me."
"I didn't, I said 'could never' if you recall-"
"It means the same thing. Come here, I need some one to anchor me for this next one." She beckoned him over, and he found he couldn't refuse her. He found himself flat on his back, pressing her hands up with his own while she began teaching him what she needed. At first he was cautious and unsure and caused her to unbalance and then fall over him in a giggling tangle. But soon he understood what she was doing and focused on remaining steady for her.
And so it began. Before very many days had passed, they would get up in the morning and warm up, work out lightly, then meditate the better part of the day away. Later, after a meal, they worked out some more, Laurelin often poised on Vilkas' strong hands or shoulders, while she went through intricate postures that required utmost concentration, balance and trust.
So wrapped up in each other were they that they barely even registered when the Greybeards would sometimes stop in the doorways to watch the exercises. Their mouths did not speak, but with minds woven together the way they were, words were not needed. They shifted and flowed together with little conscious thought, muscles pushing and pulling in unison.
Ultimately, it was the waxing moons which brought their thoughts back to the more pressing matters of the world below. The growing restlessness of the beast blood reminded them that though they could stay up here longer if left to their own whims, time wasn't waiting for them. They were both needed. Relaxed and centered, the two Companions bade farewell to the four monks, leaving extra supplies in the kitchens, while the location of another word of power was marked on Laurelin's map. Bundled up once more, they began the long, slippery descent, intending to cut off much of the trek by not following the seven thousand steps all the way back to Ivarstead.
Happy to be on their way again in spite of the tranquility of the monastery, Laurelin packed some snow into a ball and tossed it at Vilkas, watching it slide into his scarf and down his neck. Knowing she was in for it, she lit off down the hill while he was still spluttering about the dampness. Seeing her fleeing however had his wolf growling, Catch her! and he was off, leaping down the stairs and swarming through drifts of white, determined to give her a good rolling in the snow. One way or another.
Vilkas caught up to her a quarter mile down the trail; however, she had scrambled up to a narrow ledge and was pelting him with snowballs, her laughter breaking the quiet morning tranquility. He returned her barrage of snow from down below, until she finally jumped down herself, out of snow and chilled. Racing past him as he was bent over to scoop up more ammunition, she gave him a little push, causing her poor mate to over balance and topple on his side into the snow. Cursing now, he bounded up and took off down the hill again. He finally cornered her under a small tree, it's needles heavy with accumulated snow.
Laurelin was crouched under it, the bole between herself and Vilkas, while they eyed each other, breath steaming out in pale clouds. Vilkas crooked a smile her way and with one finger pointed up. Laure glanced up, and as she did, Vilkas shook the tree gently, loosening a large clump of snow. It fell directly on Laure's face and head. She fell back, laughing and cursing good naturedly, brushing it from her eyes and hair.
"Sneaky bastard, what was that for?" she laughed, knowing full well she had asked for it.
"No need to cast aspersions on my legitimacy, now. Here, let me help you up." His hand extended, he leaned over to help her to her feet. On her feet once again, Laure began shaking the snow from her clothing. He thoughtfully helped brush her clean, then once the worst of the ice had been wiped off, put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her pink cheek. Laure let her eyes drift shut in contentment, and that was all the time Vilkas needed.
His powerful arms scooped her up in an instant and propelled her unceremoniously into the nearest drift of snow. He laughed as he pounced on her while she struggled to regain her feet and pinned her, lips brushing past her ear, teeth grazing the soft skin at her throat. She struggled under him, alternating between trying to capture his lips and rub his face in the churned snow.
For the entire fortnight they were up at High Hrothgar, they had refrained from making love. It was just something they had done out of respect for the monks and the teachings they were there for. Now with wolf spirits playfully near to the surface, two weeks of randiness was swiftly catching up to them.
His chilled fingers were already working at her armor as he picked her up again, this time to press her up against a boulder, out of the snow. She was playfully slapping his hands away, at the same time her long fingers tugged at the buckles of his own armor.
"This really isn't the best place, love," she moaned as his fingers slid down her thigh, hitching it up over his hip.
"You would prefer it back in the snow bank then?" He moved to spin them back to the drift before she cried out in alarm.
"No! Damn, now I wish we hadn't left the tent with all the other stuff!" His big hands were pulling the laces of her pants, tugging the waist open and down. His lips warmed her throat, teeth nipping hungrily while his fingers roamed the soft skin under her clothing. She pressed herself closer to him, rubbing eagerly along his front, her own fingers slipping into his trousers to stroke his hard length.
With a groan of frustration, Vilkas lowered Laurelin's feet to the ground and spun her, so she faced the rock they leaned on, and pulled her hips back to his own. "I wish we had the means to do this properly, but lacking those niceties, I think I'll just bend you over. Any problems with that, love?" he breathed into her ear, leaning over her backside as he yanked her pants down.
"Why are you still talking? Fuck me, before I freeze my arse off" gasped Laure, bracing herself and tilting her hips up, white bottom presented appealingly to Vilkas. He always enjoyed taking his time with her, bringing her to a sweating, heaving frenzy, but it was bitterly cold up here. Furs and sensuality could wait for later. Now, he just needed to bury himself inside her.
Freeing himself from his pants, he pressed up against her, hands tight on her hips. He could feel the warmth of her thighs along his bare skin, the slickness of her folds gliding along his shaft. With a small grunt, he pushed himself inside, burying himself completely. Her snug walls folded and clamped eagerly about him. His fingers bit deeply into her flesh as he slid back out. Her head had flown back and the low sob of pleasure that came from her throat goaded him on.
The world was torn away, and all he could see was her bare backside and glimpses of his manhood as it slid in and out of her. Her body rocked against his, forearms bracing her against the stone. His blood pounded in his ears, making her small cries of pleasure seem to echo from a great distance. Growling, he leaned forward, rampant wolf spirit urging him into a frantic pace. His teeth bit hard into the nape of her neck, stifling his loud moans.
Bucking against him and rolling her hips, Laure felt him piercing her, pushing in as deep as he could. She could see her snow-covered boots barely touching the ground, each thrust pushing her up into his chest. When his fingers curled around to her front and lightly pressed the tiny nub he sought, she cried out and shuddered into climax without warning. She writhed against him as the sudden intense pleasure robbed her of coherence, only able to moan his name and plead.
He growled again in satisfaction behind her, and plunged into her a handful more times before grinding his pelvis against her backside one final time, feeling his seed spill out, deep into her. Her tightly clamped walls hugged him closely, her head hung limply between her elbows, knees trembling and knocked together. Waves of pleasure rolled over both of them for several moments, before the chill caused Laure to shiver, and remind them both that they were out in the wide open with their pants down. It had been short, too short, but a welcome release for the both of them that should tide them over until they reached Whiterun.
Pulling apart and loosing the warmth of their close bodies almost hurt, but they cleaned up as best they could, hitching clothes back into place with shaky fingers. Laure gave Vilkas a smug grin and rubbed his cheek with her long nose.
"To be continued?" she queried.
"Of course. Let's get going, hot food and dry clothes sound wonderful right now." Together they started down the steep slope once more, jogging quickly whenever possible.
Farkas found them a few miles out of town, sweating, filthy and more sated than they had been higher up. His knowing grin split his handsome face as he jogged up to where his twin and Laure lay sprawled in the flowers. "Couldn't wait till you got back home huh? I know how that is. Or rather, I would like to know how that is. Still need to find that girl though. Hey Laure do you have a sister?"
Laure grinned up at her towering shield-brother. "Aye, but Kirra'lei prefers women. The few male lovers she has taken were mostly for sport. My son would be all over you though."
"Your son likes men? I thought he has children."
"He does, on both counts. He likes women too."
"Family dinners must be interesting, " mused Farkas, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated a family where the relationships seemed intricate beyond his understanding.
"You might be surprised how normal it all would seem. We tell stories and joke, talk about our day, all the mundane things. So, a young Bosmer lad is at the dinner table, and complains to his Da, 'Da, I don't like my little sister!' The boy's Da looks at him with a frown and says, 'I'll hear no arguments, just eat what's on your plate!' Laure grinned up at Farkas, shielding her eyes with her forearm.
Farkas took a moment to think it through then realized, "Oh, Bosmer are cannibals, his sister was on his plate! Laure that's just awful!" He was chuckling nonetheless.
"Just a joke sexy-man, I would never feed my children to each other. So why don't Bosmer eat jesters?"
"Because they taste funny?" ventured Farkas. Laure clapped and pointed his way.
"You got it! I suppose we should get dressed again love, we're almost home." She nudged Vilkas, who was drowsing in the warm afternoon, his tunic thrown over his otherwise naked body. Farkas leaned over and scooped up a few discarded items of clothing, handing them over to Laure with his smirk back in place.
"Okay, last one, Farkas. What two words do Bosmer never say to each other?"
Farkas thought about it a moment and shrugged, "I dunno, what?"
Vilkas chimed in from his spot on the ground where he was struggling into his breeches, "Eat me. You told that one in Ivarstead. I think your memory is slipping."
"What were you saying, beloved? My poor old ears couldn't hear a word you said. Something about a mummy in shipping?" Laure was sliding back into her own clothes while she and the twins bantered back and forth. It was a joy to see Farkas again, smell his comforting, sexy scent, hear his rough voice. They finished dressing and set out once more, crossing the rumpled foothills and the tundra before the sun had fully set. The guards pushed the front gates open as the first torches were being lit. Adrienne was just shutting down for supper, and Lydia was waiting at the front door.
"I heard you might be back tonight. There's hot water in the tub, and supper is almost ready." Lydia cast her eyes up and down, taking in her Thane and Vilkas' rumpled, filthy state and sighed. "Looks like we'll need more water. Come inside the lot of you; there should be just enough time to clean up before it's time to eat."
Laurelin grinned to herself. It was good to be home again.
Vilkas was called away to the Reach a few days later. Several weeks of paperwork had piled up in their absence, but Laure didn't mind. Most of it was taken care of before midday, shortly after Vilkas departed. She meandered about town for a while, listening to recent gossip and rumors, before stepping into Breezehome.
Farkas came by while she was unpacking the items purchased earlier. He sat himself down, listened to her humming to herself while she worked. He glanced around Breezehome, finally taking note of her lack of personal belongings in the small house. "You've been living here how long now?"
Laure shrugged, "Months. Why do you ask, brother?"
"Well, shouldn't you have more stuff? You're always coming back to town with loads of things you find, but there is nothing like that here in the house."
"Farkas, I sell most of it and everything of value or interest that I keep is put away in the chests. I don't have much else here. Almost everything I own is at Honeyside, in Riften."
"Oh, I just thought by now you would have made it all girly or something." The big man scratched his ever present stubble with his finger nails, as his silver eyes roamed the tiny house.
"Or something?" she asked, grinning over to her shield brother.
"Well, yeah. You know, women like flowers, and lacy things over the windows. Stuff like that."
Laure laughed merrily, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Dear one, I'm hardly ever here, and when I am, why would I spend hours moving this plate here, arranging these flowers in this jug, making sure that statue is facing just so?" She hugged him tightly. "In Valenwood, we don't decorate at all. Our homes are high up in great, walking trees. Imagine the shattered crockery, the broken trophies!"
"They walk?" he asked incredulously. "How?"
"Like this!" Laure pantomimed a few long, slow strides, her arms waving slowly overhead in mimicry of branches swaying side to side.
Farkas roared with laughter, his silver eyes lit happily. "Gods save me, my best friend is an insane, cannibal elf!"
Laure dropped her arms and kissed his nose, "Don't forget the Thu'um, dearest."
"Yeah, there's that too!" he agreed readily.
"Let's go round up Torvar and take a short trip up to Riverwood. I need to check in with Delphine, and this is a good chance to see what improvements he might be making."
"Sure, sounds great. So she's the last of the Blades? I thought they had been wiped out years ago."
"It sounded to me like she's been in hiding nearly half her life, for fear of that very thing. She seems to believe the Thalmor are behind the reappearance of the dragons, but I think that's pretty out there myself. I just want to see if she has any new information since I've seen her last. Go fetch Torvar and let's get moving."
"So you want me to crash a dinner party at the Thalmor Embassy. This should be wildly successful. When is this event supposed to take place?" queried Laure. Delphine jerked her gaze from Farkas and Torvar, who were sitting by the fire, back to the elf.
"The next one should be within the next few months. That gives me some time to arrange for an invitation and cover story."
"I trust I can come up with my own cover story; you just get me an invitation."
"Fine, I'll send word to Jorrvaskr as soon as I get the date and invitation. We'll make further plans then. With luck, we'll find out what the Thalmor are up to. Until then, you might try to keep a low profile. Be safe, Dragonborn."
Laure didn't fail to notice that the Blade warrior still called her by her honorific. To the Bosmer, it seemed as though Delphine only saw her title, her abilities. Not the person. It wasn't something she was going to let herself be bothered by; she had just begun noting how people often used her title before her name. Shrugging inwardly, she sat down next to Torvar and Farkas, letting them finish the savory stew they were enjoying.
"All taken care of, Laure?" Farkas asked around a mouthful of food. Not that he needed to ask; he could hear perfectly well. Whatever he needed to do in order to maintain appearances in public.
"Aye, we can head back home as soon as you're both ready. How's the stew?"
"Delicious, sure you don't want some, Harbinger?" Torvar was sopping up the gravy from the bottom of his bowl with a crust of bread.
"No thanks, there are far too many carrots in there, I can see from here. You guys knock yourselves out." She grinned at her shield-brothers, feeling content. A few answers had been found and she was back home, able to devote some time and energy to her duties with the Companions, knowing that further answers were pending.
Her only complaint currently was the absence of her mate. They had spent two amazing weeks near the top of the world, communing deeply, building a physical connection that had nothing to do with carnal pleasures and everything to do with the silent affinity they both felt. In a remarkably short time he had become an integral part of her life, and when they were apart, she felt every mile between them. Knowing he would be back soon made the separation just tolerable.
Farkas and Torvar finished eating, and in a few moments the three Companions were walking back toward Whiterun, alert for danger but still laughing together, Torvar and Laurelin seeing if they could throw Farkas into the river but ending up soaked themselves while Farkas stood on the banks, dry and warm, chuckling. Laure had to concede that nothing less than all three words of her Unrelenting Force shout would budge the big man if he didn't want to move. Torvar agreed.
"It was fun to try, though. Maybe if we'd got him by surprise, or from behind." Torvar still battled daily with his desire to drink all day, but he was making small improvements, imbibing less, doing more work, eating regular meals. Weapons practice twice a day with Farkas was improving his muscle tone, and his eyes were slowly clearing of the haze that had fogged them for so long. He was nearly a month into his recovery, and Laurelin, along with the twins-and in fact all of the Companions-were proud of his commitment to drink less and be a more productive part of the group. They all knew it was the hardest thing to ask of him, but he was taking every day as it came, with the support of his shield-siblings. As it turned out, Torvar sober was a surprisingly clever, sensitive man.
Dripping and giggling, Laure and Torvar waded back out of the river where they had been flung, ready to dry off in the sun. Bandits and dragons and Thalmor spies be damned, it was a fine day to be alive.
Hello again lovely readers! If you like what you are reading I would love to know! If you haven't already, please follow/fave. Cheers, ~Pyreiris~