Chapter Nine-Secrets and Strays
Bright, persistent birdsong woke Laurelin. She was tangled in the furs with Vilkas, skin clammy and sweating, mouth tasting like a dragon had crawled in and died. She tried swallowing and decided the dragon had been an undead dragon. A drunk undead dragon. Eyes still closed, she felt around for the water pitcher and eased it up over her mouth. Drinking deeply, she wished she had paced herself a bit more during her all-night talk with her mate.
True to his word, he had listened and poured drink after drink while she had told him the long story. After a certain point, it all became quite fuzzy. She was pretty sure he had taken it well. Well enough to come back to bed with her, and if the stickiness wasn't all just from drunken sweats, well...
"Confessions sure take a lot out of you," observed the mer quietly, dangling the empty pitcher over the side of the bed.
"Sure do, some more than others," a deep, rusty sounding voice replied from the vicinity of the floor. Laure yelped in surprise, eyes flying open, then squinching shut once more, and she lost her loose grip on the pitcher. Slowly she cracked her eyelids, letting in slivers of the world.
"Ow! Why'd ya do that?" Farkas sat up, rubbing his forehead, where a sizable red welt was forming. Even sitting on the floor, his shoulders rose well above the mattress, and she couldn't help but notice they were bare. "You dropped this." He lifted the pitcher up and rested his massive arms on the straw then laid his head down.
"Farkas, why are you naked? And on the floor of my bedroom?"
"You don't remember making me strip before I got to hear your story?" Laure shook her head, a slightly horrified look on her face. "Huh, well you made us all get down to our smalls, said something about it being easier if we were all naked, then you ranted about theater and bards for a while. By the way, I'll take up the lute again; just stop harping at me about it."
"Aww, Farkas you made a pun! I'm proud of you. Now tell me what the fuck happened last night. Did we-" She quirked an eyebrow at him and bit her lip.
"You wanted to, but we all decided since you were so drunk we shouldn't. That was quite a tale though."
"Um, what exactly did I tell you?"
"How you met Brynjolf, became a member of the Guild. Your old Master betrayed you all and tried to kill you when you learned the truth. How you became the Master and run it now. You did tell Vilkas earlier there was one thing you absolutely couldn't reveal, but it seems like you told us both pretty much everything we wanted to know. You were still talking when you passed out."
"So you slept on the floor? Why didn't you climb into bed here?"
"Your bed is big Laure, but not big enough for all three of us in a drunken stupor. A few hours on the floor isn't going to kill me. How's your head?"
"Pounding. I think something died in my mouth while I slept."
"You should get my brother to make his hangover cure when he gets up. Works wonders the next day." He heaved his massive bulk up, stretching stiff muscles with loud pops and cracks. Setting the water pitcher on the nightstand, the big man skimmed his fingers through his tangled hair. "What do you have to eat here? I'm starving."
Laure began wiggling out of Vilkas' arms. He clutched her closer for a few seconds then released her with a groan. She slid off the bed and onto the floor that Farkas had just occupied before reluctantly scrambling to her feet. Farkas offered her a hand and they slowly went downstairs to clean up and put together something to break their fast.
Vilkas came down a while later, yawning and rubbing the smeared warpaint around his eyes. "Three hangover potions, aye? I'll get started right away." He disappeared into the lab, coming out a quarter of an hour later with a jug of something in hand. Laure and Farkas were just finishing up making some food, so they all sat down to chase away the worst of the hangovers they were all feeling.
Vilkas' concoction worked wonders, and within a short time, the headaches and shakes were receding, bellies full of nourishing food further helping them all to recover.
"Well, love, when you tell a tale you certainly don't hold much back do you? That was quite a story. Thank you for sharing it with us; it's good to know the truth about your past. It was troubling to know you were keeping things from us all this time." Vilkas had his chin propped up oh his fist, eyes half shut.
"Hmm, I didn't want to lie to you or keep the truth hidden any longer; sorry it took me so long." She stood up and began clearing the plates with the help of both brothers. Vilkas folded his arms about her when they had finished, pulling her to his chest.
"I love you, Laurelin, and now hopefully there will be no dark secrets to worry about, aye?"
"Aye, love." Except that one...
Farkas wrapped the two of them in his own arms and squeezed gently. "That is so sweet you two! Love wins again!" They were still standing there together when the front door opened and Lydia walked in, whistling a little tune.
The tune stopped and the housecarl immediately wanted to know, "Why are the three of you hugging naked in the kitchen?"
Weeks passed quickly for Laurelin, so quickly she could hardly keep count. Vilkas had been called away again, so she and Farkas continued her training as much as possible between dragon attacks.
They were happening everywhere now, and Laure felt driven to hunt them whenever possible. Sometimes the dragons burned and left; other times they lingered, claiming territories near their former burial sites. She often found the giant creatures guarding the curved stone walls inscribed with words of power, new words of her Thu'um.
At home, she read as many of the histories of the Dragon War as she could, seeking clues, some hidden insight as to why she had been chosen. She continued to search, even though the results remained unsatisfactory.
In her spare time, she trained relentlessly, seeking that harmonious union between blade, body and mind. Farkas worked her ruthlessly alongside Torvar and the others, not easing up on her because of her status, nor their friendship. Now that he had fought dragons himself, he understood that she truly needed to be in top form if she wanted to survive, so they went for long runs with heavy packs on their shoulders, further encumbered by wolf armor-he scolded her for wearing leather one time-and her new giant ebony sword.
Slowly her endurance increased, and her muscles settled more easily into the forms and patterns of swordplay. Still she worked herself to weariness every day, not content with mediocrity.
One morning, Vilkas and his twin sat on the back porch of Jorrvaskr eating breakfast together while Laurelin worked out. Her skill with all of the weapons she used was increasing rapidly and her confidence growing, every action more fluid and instinctual. Vilkas watched with a critical eye as she moved through various traditional forms and exercises, slowly at first, then building in speed. Her muscles, while not nearly as huge as the twins', nor even Njada's, were sculpted and remarkably strong. Vilkas had to admit she was getting damned good with that new blade of hers.
At least he was thinking that until her saw her suddenly curve her sword around her body, rolling the back of the blade around her neck, metal armor shrieking slightly as her elbow pivoted over head and dropped. Suddenly the blade was lashing out from a completely unexpected angle, while her whole body ducked and spun under her stabbing blade, putting her effectively behind an imaginary foe she had just stabbed in the chest.
"What on Nirn is that woman doing? Did she just...that's dangerous!"
Farkas flicked his eyes from the mesmerizing display to his spluttering brother and back to the fluid movements of the elf. "Don't worry, brother-she's got this. We've been working on some stuff while you were out on all those jobs. I've been helping her with her armor, how to use it to her advantage. Some of this stuff she comes up with on her own; I think she adapting her own style to the weapons. I swear, she's making it into a dance." His bright gaze was still following every curve and arc of her blade.
Vilkas noted some of the hunger that Farkas looked at Laurelin with. He sympathized, actually. "Still a little smitten?"
"Yeah, you could probably say that. Ever hurt her, and I'll rip your balls off." Farkas leveled a serious glance at his older brother, before serving himself another helping of food. Vilkas barely seemed to hear the threat.
He stared at his mate, in awe of her precision, noting-not for the first time-how her attacks used her speed, momentum versus strength, blade flashing out in flat, tight planes around her body. She continually rolled the tip of the darn thing around her body, using it to hide her intentions, draw the eye away from her true attacks when they came. And for all the flightiness of it, he could see how she would make it effective. Each move was balanced and flowed into the next like water. "You know how easily she could do that herself, brother."
"Sure, but I'd want to help. Or watch. Just be what she needs, all right?"
"It's what I strive for myself."
Farkas humphed and cleared his throat, calling out to Laurelin. "Hey why don't you show off with the short ones now? Vilkas hasn't seen that stuff yet."
"You gonna spar with me brother, or do I get to work up a sweat all by myself?
"I'm still eating. Go on, show your man the new moves we figured out! I'll warm up after I finish this plate."
She shrugged, sheathed the ebony greatsword, and drew two scimitars. She stretched elaborately, then slowly began warming up, adapting to the different shape and weight of her new weapons.
"Her dual wielding is amazing with those things. Just wait, brother. You'll see!" Farkas said around a mouthful of food. Vilkas was forced to agree. The wood and straw practice dummy she set to work on was quickly reduced to small bits of tinder, and she sheathed the swords before coming up to the benches for a drink of water.
"I think I see the basis of the two-handed moves. It was a modified form of fighting with a quarterstaff, aye?" Vilkas asked as she plopped herself down finally. She nodded while swallowing down a huge cup of water. "It looks pretty, but you leave yourself open to far too many attacks with all that looping and twirling."
Wiping her mouth, Laure explained, "Aye, some of it is a modified form of staff fighting. My grip most of the time is similar to what I would use if in close quarters-one hand near the hilt, the other at the back, acting as leverage and direction. Less using small arm muscles and using more of the momentum and making shorter, more directed strikes rather than broad heavy swings. When I roll it across and around my body, it gives me a little extra momentum and confuses the shit out of whoever I'm fighting. I'm still working on it, not sure how practical it would be in real battle. I've been sticking to the tried and true for real fights. What do you think of the scimitars? Those are fun to play with, so...curvy. I think they're sexy."
"Once again, you were leaving your self open with some of it..."
"Oh come on, you're probably the only person who would notice, brother," retorted Farkas, shoving his empty plate aside.
"Notice it and take every advantage of it, aye. I don't like seeing her leave herself open like that."
"Vilkas, it's all just an experiment; don't worry, I'm not going to get myself killed doing something reckless." She leaned over and offered her lips for a kiss then helped herself to the leftover venison still sitting on the table. "Besides, it's fun, and the expression on your face right now is worth it." She smirked his way before heaving herself up to head inside for a quick bath before she began going through the messages that had arrived this morning.
Vilkas watched her leave, admiring her posture and grace as she disappeared. His brother's gravelly voice dragged his attention from the doors.
"Come on, let's you and me warm up. She'll give us no end of grief if she bests us because we're being lazy while she trains her ass off."
Vilkas shrugged and hopped off the bench, grabbing the nearest practice blade. Farkas joined him and they began their own dance with blade and shield.
Sweat lazily seeped down his forehead, skillfully running around his eyebrows and into his eyes, burning and distracting him from the latest feint and followup his brother had struck with. Blinking furiously, Vilkas absorbed most of the heavy blow on his shield, the force still rattling up his arm. "Nice one, Farkas. Hit me hard enough and I might just fall over," grunted the shorter twin, not giving his sibling time to respond. His own blunted blade swept down and out, and driving Farkas' arm wide, and Vilkas stepped in close, causing the big man to hop back a few steps to take advantage of his enormous strength and greater reach. Vilkas gave him a little shove with his shield to see if he could cause him to over balance, but the surprisingly agile Farkas managed to keep his balance and he punched out with one massive fist, straight to his brother's armored gut. Both reeled for a moment, grinning nonetheless.
Looking down at his bleeding knuckles, admiring how quickly his body began knitting the split skin back together, he casually remarked to his brother, "I'll miss that part at least."
Vilkas straightened, eyes wide. "Are you really?"
"Thinking."
"Positive?"
"Not yet. Don't tell her, please." They had inadvertently lapsed back into the silent communion they shared, one where it wasn't even necessary to think whole words, the thoughts became so attuned it was automatically just shared, known like each thought came from one whole person. If Farkas was thinking about curing himself that was up to him.
When she walked out a few moments later, Vilkas was still staring at his brother with concern. Laurelin was chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she read the folded note in her hand. Somehow she managed to dodge the chairs and practice weapons strewn about, never looking up.
"Vilkas," she called out, "we just received an urgent message from Falk Firebeard in Solitude. It seems they are still having problems and it looks like it's much worse than we both thought. Look at this." She handed over the letter and paced around him while he read. Harbinger,
Over the last few days we've had some disturbing information come to light regarding the events at Wolfskull Cave and the summoning and binding ritual you interrupted there.
Given your involvement with that event, I'm asking you to return to Solitude to help us once more. I'm wary of putting all the details in print; please come see me at the Blue Palace.
Sincerely,
Falk Firebeard
Vilkas read the note again, then folded it before handing it back to her. "Looks like we should get up there; do we have time before Delphine has that invitation to the Embassy?"
"I think we do, plus she can reach us up there if she needs to. I'll head down to the house and load my pack. Farkas, are you coming? I think we could use your blade for this one."
"Love to," was his simple reply as he turned to the back doors, intending to grab his armor, weapons and backpack. "Meet you down at Breezehome."
Vilkas and Laure trotted through town, but rather than head straight for home, she veered across the street to the Drunken Huntsman and pulled the door open. Vilkas followed her in and they were immediately greeted by Elrindir, the Bosmer co-owner of the small establishment.
"Ah... how my heart soars to look upon a sister Bosmer. Please, how can I serve your hunting needs?" The mer behind the counter exclaimed when she stepped through his door.
Laure smiled over at the handsome Bosmer, hand over her heart as she nodded. "Good morning, Elrindir, how fares business?"
The strawberry-blonde-haired mer frowned a brief moment before answering, "Well enough on my end. Anoriath still thinks we should just give up the business and go back to hunting in the wilds. He hates standing at the stall hawking meat to the townsfolk."
"I wouldn't want to do that myself, so I sympathize. Any word from home lately?"
"Aye, we had letter from our father not long ago. Things are still difficult in Valenwood. The Altmer still have their fists closed around the nation...but this isn't why you came here today is it? How may I help you? You need my entire stock of ebony arrows, don't you?"
"Nothing less, my friend. How many do you have for me today?" She stood with hands on hips while Elrindir shuffled around in the stockroom. She nodded to the Dunmeri warrior, Jenassa, sitting nearby. Jenassa lifted her mug and nodded in return. A moment later, Elrindir returned, setting a cloth-wrapped bundle on the counter.
"There we are, two dozen of my finest ebony tipped arrows. I even managed to get the white goose feathers you like." Laure and Elrindir haggled a few moments over price, then a large purse of gold was slid over the counter, and she scooped up her purchase with a smile.
"Always a pleasure, Elrindir. Perhaps when Vilkas and I return from Solitude we might share a tankard and a meal?"
"It would be an honor and a pleasure to dine with you, Laurelin. Safe travels until then." He watched the unusually pale Bosmer woman leave with her Nord mate. The smile drifted off his face and a petulant frown pulled his lips down. Such a shame the most attractive Bosmeri lady in Skyrim had bonded with a Nord. Still, Nords had a rather shorter life expectancy than mer, so one never knew...
Vilkas waited until they were behind the closed doors of Breezehome before mentioning, "That Elrindir is more than a little interested in you."
"Of course he is. I'm considered exotic by Bosmer standards. Most of us aren't as pale as I am."
"Are you going to pursue anything with him?" Damn! Blurted out like a teenage boy before he could stop himself.
"Vilkas, he is certainly one of the more handsome Bosmer in Skyrim, but I have no intentions of 'pursuing' anything with him. He's just a friend. A gorgeous friend...now that you mention it. . . maybe . . ." She turned to him and slid her long arms around his neck. "I jest. Nothing to be concerned about, love. You keep me quite happy and satisfied." Her teeth nibbled his lower lip playfully before she pulled out of his arms and began packing a few items into her knapsack.
Farkas joined them moments later, ready to get on the road. "Are we walking, riding? I forgot to ask earlier." He helped fold and roll the large tent they had purchased not too long ago into a manageable bundle, then dropped it by the front door with the other gear.
"I think riding would be good. Less time on the road, and let the horses carry the tent and gear," Laurelin replied from the alchemy lab where she was rummaging through a chest for bottles of healing potions. Soon they were grabbing a quick bite to eat, then heading out the door, calling their goodbyes to Lydia around bites of venison chop.
Half an hour later saw the three Companions astride their horses, gear safely stowed. Farkas and Vilkas flanked Laure in an instinctive protective position, and they trotted swiftly up the west road toward Solitude, midday sun shining down on them through scattered high clouds.
By late afternoon, the clouds had darkened and dropped lower and lower, threatening rain. They were approaching Rorikstead, but none of the three wanted to stop yet, so they pushed on, in spite of the approaching storm. When the first tiny drops pattered down, they pulled out heavy, fur-lined cloaks and kept riding, hoods pulled low.
The wind was soon screaming over the hills, tossing leaves and branches about, while the occasional lightning strike flickered in the dimming light. Still, Laurelin and the twins pushed on, murmuring encouragement to their mounts when claps of thunder boomed and rolled over their heads.
Visibility was reduced to nothing and they were soaked before Vilkas called out, "We're like to ride off a cliff in this if we continue. We should make camp somewhere and dry off." His words were drowned out in the howling wind, but Laure and Farkas both reined their horses in and began searching for a suitable place to camp. They found what they were looking for in a small overhang tucked away in a narrow canyon, not far from the road.
They staked out the horses, then hurried to put up the tent under the overhang. Soaked and shivering, Laure tried several times to start a fire with her damp tinder before irritably cursing and Shouting it to life.
Farkas raised a brow but said nothing, simply grinned his brother's way. Vilkas hurried to secure the tent and push the miraculously dry furs inside. They made a pile of wood nearby to begin drying out, then huddled into the tent, casting aside wet armor and underclothing, snuggling deep into the warm furs. They munched dried meat and shared several bottles of mead for supper, none of them much feeling like cooking in the storm that still raged overhead.
The fire hissed and steamed when the rain hit it, but thankfully it stayed lit. Warmed finally and feeling restless, Laure slipped out of the tent and stood naked in the rain a moment before calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to take a look around; I'll be back soon." The twins watched her almost shrug herself into her beast shape then bound into the night with a soft growl.
"One of us should go with her." Two pairs of silver-gray eyes met.
"You go, Vilkas. I'll keep the fire going and watch our shit."
Vilkas crawled out of the tent and by the time he was up, he had called his wolf forward and he leaped away, calling to his mate. Farkas laid back, fresh bottle of mead in hand, eyes on the fire. His jaw clenched lightly as he fought down the urge to follow.
They were back a relatively short time later. Vilkas dropped the limp carcass of a doe on the ground near the fire and sank down, and down, until he was a man again, rain streaming off his sleek, muscled form, dark hair plastered over his face. Laure stayed in her beast shape, eyes glowing dangerously in the firelight, towering over Vilkas.
"There is a sizable encampment of bandits over the hill at Robber's Gorge. Feel like a hunt, brother?"
"Sure." He scrambled from the furs and into the wind whipped rain. His hair flew in his eyes, but he didn't bother pushing it aside. He just called his beast and started moving, the shape bursting forward in all its excruciating, rapturous power. Vilkas let his wolf forward once more and they stalked into the darkness.
If asked, Laurelin would have grudgingly admitted that she loved taking out bandit camps. It almost always made travel safer for a while, they usually had decent loot to share out, and they earned the favor of the local jarls. It also gave her a chance to let the beast blood run rampant for a short time. So often it raged quietly within her to be let out. She was a hunter, and she enjoyed stalking the terrified bandits through their encampments while they hid or shouted hollow battle cries.
The dozen or so bandits that had set up crude rockfall traps and wooden platforms stretching over the roadway found the boulders brushed aside by powerful claws or hurled back with crushing force. The pale one leaped up the scaffolding and began tearing it apart, ignoring the stinging arrows that thudded into its hide.
Was it a whole pack of werewolves? The bandits couldn't tell in the darkness with the slashing rain and howling. Wind or wolf? Both! They were everywhere, and the wiser bandits quietly fled to the river and jumped in; letting it carry them away and hopefully survive rapids and falls, rather than face this group of blood-thirsty menaces.
The walkway fell to the ground, taking an archer with it, down to the waiting maws below. The last archer. Looking around, wiping the rain from his eyes, the chief realized the snarls and screaming had stopped. Lightning flashed and the nightmare of three werewolves encircling him flickered and was gone in an instant. He gulped and raised his sword.
"Come and get me then, filthy beasts!" he spat to the darkness.
To his surprise, a remarkably human voice laughed out, "I don't know about you guys but in all this rain I feel pretty clean!"
"Soap would still be appreciated, though, and dry towels," came another voice, this one human but not so raw as the other.
"Not to mention the temperature leaves much to be desired. Why did we leave our nice warm furs again?" This voice female, harder to hear. Lightning flashed again, and the bandit caught a prolonged glimpse of three figures, two huge Nord men with pale skin and dark hair, the third a slender elf with short pale hair, a broad grin on her creepy face with its white eyes.
"It was your idea to come out in this, Laure."
"Ah, that's right. So, you're the last man standing. I figured, for fun, you can choose who you want to fight, blade to blade. If you win, you live. Otherwise..." she trailed off.
"You. I'll fight you, little bitch." He kicked a fallen sword toward the naked woman. He blinked when the giant man behind her laughed.
"Oh, wrong answer, asshole."
"Oh, I don't know brother, she'll make it cleaner and quicker than I would be inclined to," chimed in the other.
Gulping now, still unable to see in the darkness, the bandit readied himself for her attack. She was naked; all he needed to do was get in a good blow to her torso...a shield flew out of the darkness and crashed into his side, but he kept his blade up, and was glad he did. Her attack came an instant later, steel flickering in toward his eyes, and he just managed to deflect that cut. The flurry of strikes that came next left him bewildered, they seemed to come from all directions. Damn elf wasn't standing still. Twice more he managed to block her strikes, the last one still leaving a long, bleeding cut up his forearm. Lightning flashed again and he blinked at the sudden light, and realized the elf wasn't in front of him any more. Lunging forward, he twisted, trying to face her before she got him in the back. Too late his sword moved to intercept hers, and he felt the cold punch of steel to his side, the searing pain of metal sliding back out of his ravaged flesh. His legs crumpled beneath him, and he sprawled in the mud. His next sight was the three naked werewolves gazing down at him.
"Well, he tried to fight well. Brave facing us in the dark like that. Pity, he might have made a good Companion if things had worked out differently."
Blood pooled slowly about him, leeching away the warmth in his body. The female who had killed him asked, "Worth healing him and seeing if we can clean up his act?"
"Such as this one rarely ever truly change their ways, love. Best let him die; he knows our secret."
"I fight... for you...save. Swear!" gasped the bandit desperately.
Golden light sprang up near his face and the wet features of the elf hovered in its nimbus. "Swear to not lift weapon against man, mer, or any thinking creature except in defense of life and I will do my best to save you."
He could only gulp and stutter out, "I sw...wear by Ysg...gramor, p..please!" The light intensified and warmth suddenly filled his chilled shaking limbs, the pain ebbing away slowly. Her face still hovering in the light, concentrating while healing energy flowed into him and knitted the jagged tear in his side.
"If he starts telling people about our condition, it will destroy us, Laurelin! What are you thinking?"
"If he betrays us, I will hunt him down and kill him myself. He swore and I think he means it. Don't you, what was your name?"
"Keiran, please, I won't tell anyone, I swear!" The helm he wore had been knocked loose when he hit the ground, and now that he wasn't about to bleed out in moments he fumbled to take it off his head completely. Her pale hands reached out and eased it away. Dark red hair spilled free of his messy braids, damp with sweat and rain.
"Well Keiran, get used to being called whelp. You've just asked to join the Companions."
"Wait, you're the Companions?"
"Aye, this is Vilkas, and his twin Farkas; they'll be training you. You do as they instruct you, or I shan't be responsible for the beating you get. I am Laurelin."
"You may address her as Harbinger or Dragonborn," interjected Vilkas, still not entirely pleased with this turn of events. He uncorked a bottle of healing potion and passed it over to the wounded man.
"Dragonborn? And Harbinger? By the gods, what is going on here?" wondered Keiran deliriously as he carefully swigged down the potion.
"You have been given a second chance by our inconveniently soft-hearted Harbinger. Don't squander it," advised Vilkas. Farkas had remained silent but watchful, ignoring the rain that still coursed over his naked form.
Keiran shuddered as he remembered the glimpse he'd gotten of them in beast shape, towering, muscled forms heaving as steaming breath roiled between long white fangs, clawed hands dripping water that ran off the damp fur of the long-haired manes down long powerful arms.
"Make no mistake, you borrow each day of your life with your good behavior. If you betray us or go back on your oath, I will hunt you down and end you. Understood?" The mer who was Dragonborn and Harbinger, and not as soft as the shorter twin made out, leaned over and caught his gaze in the dim light.
"Perfectly, Harbinger."
"You'll keep first watch with me, whelp," said Farkas as the four of them approached the smoldering remnant of the fire they had built earlier. The big man tugged his trousers on after briefly drying himself off, then shrugged into a dry tunic and cloak.
The "whelp" hunched down near the fire and fed in several sticks, blowing strongly onto the dull coals until it flared back to life. The rain had slackened off, though the wind continued to scream around them.
Laure and Vilkas dried off in the privacy of the tent, then called out to Farkas, "Wake us when you're ready to sleep." Farkas grunted his acknowledgment and settled down, ready to keep a close eye on the new "recruit," such as he was.
They were both quiet for a long time, until the red-haired former bandit asked, "May I inquire as to our destination? Will we head back to Jorrvaskr soon?"
"Nope. We're on our way to Solitude on a mission for Jarl Elisif. I'll tell ya, what you did back there earlier was brave, and I respect that. But if you in any way endanger my brother, my Harbinger, or any of the other Companions, or breathe a whisper of what you saw tonight to anyone, you will wish you had simply bled to death instead."
"I gave my oath, and I mean to keep it. I don't intend to give you any further reason to kill me. I very much want to live." Keiran met Farkas' gaze and managed to not flinch away from the piercing gaze the man across the fire leveled his way.
"Good. Just what I want to hear. Back it up with your actions and you'll do fine with us. Where are you from?"
"Markarth. I couldn't find work outside of the mines. I left with grand ideas of dubious origin and found myself homeless, penniless and allied with louts and murderers before I could blink. Or so it seems. Truth be told, a part of me was ready for that life to end."
"Huh, sounds familiar. Look, for the most part the Companions don't give a shit what you did before, once you prove yourself. If we can count on you to have our back in battle and try to conduct yourself with honor, well let's just say we try to keep an open mind about stuff. None of us is perfect, and that isn't really the goal. Once you are a Companion, you are a brother or sister for life. We will have your back, drink you under the table, and carry you home when you can't walk. Your enemies are ours, and we expect the same of you. Don't worry, you seem smart, you'll learn it all quick."
"I'll try not to ahh...disappoint you. All of you. How many whelps are there?"
"You're the only one right now. Means you get all my attention." Farkas grinned across the fire and uncorked a bottle of mead. He downed half the bottle then passed it over. "Welcome to the Companions." Keiran the whelp accepted the bottle with a small smile, privately wondering what he'd blundered into, and finished the bottle, a toast to the new life he was borrowing. For now-he had every intention of earning it back.
"Know how to skin a deer, whelp?" The rough voice of Farkas jerked him back to where he was.
"That I do. I'm even a fair cook, or so I've been told."
"Great. You and me can skin this while my brother and the Harbinger rest a while."
Laurelin had her leg thrown up over his thighs, her head rested just over his heart. His arm curved around her shoulder and under her elbow, bare fingers traced the curves of her hip while he listened to his brother talk to the new member. Her fingers slowly curling through the hair on his chest let him know she wasn't fully asleep yet. She too was listening.
"Why?" he whispered into her hair.
"Something. He just didn't seem the same as the others. Ask me later when I'm less sleepy," she whispered back. Her fingers stole into his and he felt her relax against him, asleep finally. Vilkas laid awake a while longer, hoping her decision to spare the new whelp outside didn't come back to bite them in the ass. The redhead had given his word and hadn't lied, yet he knew that could change swiftly; the hearts of men were easily swayed by circumstances.
"No more strays," he whispered.
"Mmkay...I'll eat them...pass me a fork?" she muttered in her sleep.
Many thanks to everyone who reads, and especially to those who leave me reviews! I'll say again, comments and questions are welcome, I love talking to people about Laurelin, Vilkas, all of them, and often in talking I am inspired and come to better understanding of their characters. As of today, I have over 3500 views for all my stories-OMG that boggles my mind! I don't know how many of you have read it all, but I humbly ask you continue to do so, there is more coming, and I am thinking about re-working a number of the initial chapters of the first book where, I admit, I was in a hurry. Thoughts on this? Cheers! ~Pyreiris~