Cakewalk
Shea'a AzIrial, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, sat with her long legs drawn up, chin resting on her knees. In the dim light of the little antechamber, she kept close watch over the Nord sleeping at her side. Periodically, her fingers would check his pulse, feel his forehead.
They had successfully moved him and made him as comfortable as possible, but shortly after, Farkas had developed a raging fever. He had tossed and turned, until Vilkas had finally given his brother a swallow of the mead dosed with a small amount of paralysis poison. The light dosage had stilled the slowly recovering man's restlessness, and now he slept somewhat peacefully, riding out the vestiges of the fever.
The Dragonborn was nestled in the arms of her mate, having finally fallen asleep holding Farkas' hand across the small gap between them. Vilkas lay awake still, unable to sleep and shake off the dull terror that had gripped him when Farkas lay broken. Eventually he disentangled himself from Laurelin and slid out from under the bedroll they shared, tucking it around her shoulders tenderly.
Shea'a watched from the corner of her eye as the warrior tucked a lock of her pale hair back and sat staring at her hand clasped in his brothers.
"Is it difficult sharing her affections?" she asked finally.
"Only when I'm being an idiot. She has so much love in her heart. It's her greatest strength, the ability to love and forgive. Look, I'm not really in the mood to discuss my relationship with you right now."
"Apologies for prying. Your brother saved me earlier. That chaurus must have been up above us when we left the tower. It jumped me when no one else was looking. If he hadn't been helping me, he probably wouldn't have fallen. If he hadn't acted—it was a selfless deed and he nearly paid the ultimate price. I'm so sorry, perhaps you're right and I am a danger to this expedition."
Vilkas took in what she was saying and rolled it around in his head. Part of him wanted to leap on her confession, that she had been responsible for his brother's fall. But the other part realized how difficult it must have been to make her statement, and he had to give her credit for it. Not to mention he couldn't rationally blame her for being the target of a creature that none of them had detected. "Arch-Mage, I'll be honest with you. I don't like magic very much, and you make me incredibly uncomfortable with your possible ties to the Dominion. However, I cannot deny that you seem honest enough in your desire to help in this absolutely insane undertaking, nor can I argue that in your own way, you've been resourceful and contributed to the cause. You did your level best to save my brother, and on top of it, you are mature enough to admit your mistakes. Question is, have you learned from all of this?" Vilkas gestured to the room around them, encompassing his mate and brother.
"Indeed, I have much to think on. You and your twin surprise me. Why would strong, Nord warriors like yourselves follow a mer? The Companions aren't historically known for their tolerance for the elves."
"She has a way of sneaking into your heart, defenses and preconceptions be damned," said Vilkas with an ironic smile. "Back to what you were saying though. Are you suggesting you don't wish to continue?"
"Not that at all, truthfully. I would dearly love to continue, but at this point, I'm not sure how the three of you will feel about that."
Vilkas stood and paced the small room. "At this point, as you say, I doubt very much we're going to delve further. My brother will need some time to heal, and I know Laurelin; she'll want to be at his side while he recovers. As will I. Any ideas how long until he's able to function as before?"
"None, unfortunately. I've never even heard of such a thing being attempted, let alone succeeding. That was quick thinking on your part."
"Perhaps," agreed Vilkas. "We were grasping at straws, but I've carried the blood for a long time, and taken grievous injuries that healed quite well when in beast form."
"I swear, your secret is safe with me." Shea'a didn't know what else to say. He nodded his acceptance, but said nothing more, clearly not wanting to talk. She barely knew this man, who could be reasonable one moment and raging the next. But her curiosity burned. She just couldn't put the pieces together. Werewolves and the Dragonborn, Dwemer ruins and the nearly hopeless search for an Elder Scroll. Somehow she had landed herself in the middle of legends in the making, and this man was one of the main players. This Nord, warrior, scholar, who willingly followed a mer into the mists of her destiny. Okay, now you're being whimsical, Shea'a. Rein that in before you get carried away, she thought wryly.
Farkas stirred next to her just then, his pale eyes shadowed but alert. He cleared his throat and rasped out, "Can I get some water?"
Shea'a handed over a cup of water, letting him take the cup himself. No sense in injuring his dignity any more than it already was. He gave a grateful nod and slipped his other hand from Laurelin's.
The Dragonborn awoke with a small start, then she smiled when she saw Farkas awake and drinking something. "Hey, so good to see you awake. Do you need anything? Anything at all?"
Farkas nodded, "There is something you could do for me," and reached for his pack, but Vilkas was there right away and handed it over. He thanked his brother and rummaged slowly with one hand, until he drew out a shining red apple. "I think it would help me recover faster . . ." he trailed off, with a weak smile, offering her the fruit.
Laure giggled, swiped the apple from him, and tore off a huge bite. "The things I'll do because I love you," she groused around the mouthful. She chewed the bite she'd taken quickly and swallowed, then took out her knife and began coring and slicing it.
"Unbelievable," muttered Vilkas, watching her dotingly feed his brother.
Shea'a, not really understanding, just watched them all, quietly but satisfied.
"So what's our next move?" asked Shea'a when they had all rested awhile. They had decided that even though Farkas was out of immediate danger, they needed to let his body recuperate as long as possible before he should attempt to stand or walk. That meant moving him somehow so he could be in more suitable conditions, and they still needed to decide how and where.
"You two stay here with Farkas. I'm going to go ahead a ways and see if I can find a better way out of here. Somewhere down here is that lift that goes up to the surface." Laurelin was already buckling on her helm, and the look in her eye left no room for arguing. Vilkas didn't like it of course, but he knew she was right, and he didn't want to leave his brother unprotected.
"Be safe, love."
"Thanks, I will. Be back soon." She kissed both the men and slipped away.
Farkas looked to his brother who was staring after her. He drew something from his pack, knowing they all needed a distraction. "So, who's up to play cards. Loser carries my ass home."
Vilkas snorted. "So we need to gamble for that now?" He pulled his gaze from the empty doorway and drew out a handful of gems. "Let's up the stakes shall we?"
"Sounds good. I may actually win a hand or two, what with Laure not around to cheat. You in, Arch-Mage?" When she nodded, he dealt her in, and Vilkas deposited a small pile of gems in front of her.
Laure crept through the twisted passages and fallen chambers of Alftand, slaying by stealth when she could, or using the devastating combination of her Voice and sword and shield when she was detected. When she found the lift finally, she had to battle the last of the prior adventuring party. At long last, the piercing brightness of daylight washed over her through the bars of the enclosure around the lift.
Seconds later and she was edging out past the gates and running almost blindly up the hill. Finally skidding into the Nightgate Inn, she was able to buy a sled and rent their only horse. She trickled a glittering assortment of gems onto the counter and asked for every spare hide, skin, fur, or blanket they had, as well as as much spare food and drink as she could pile on the sled. Topping off her purchases was a length of coarse, sturdy rope, just in case. An hour later she was coaxing the horse up the narrow canyon. It seemed an eternity before they made their slow, cautious way down.
Laurelin found herself biting her nails as she gazed at the tired horse. She worried that trolls, dragons or any number of predators could make short work of the animal. She had more than enough money to pay the owner for its loss, but the poor beast was the only way they had to move Farkas at the moment.
She weighed the possibilities in her mind and finally decided, "Fuck it," and led the horse, sled, and all onto the lift and closed the gates behind her.
The horse objected and reared up when the lift began descending, but Laure calmed it by simply using the ability all Bosmer had, soothing and dominating the confused creature. She locked the horse and sled into an armory and backtracked to where she had left the others.
Vilkas greeted her with a soft exclamation of relief. "I was beginning to worry. Are you well? Did you find a way up?"
"Aye, found the way up; it's quite a ways further in, though. There are a sled and horse waiting at the bottom of the shaft, and I bought supplies, furs, food . . . how's he doing?"
"Well enough, I suppose. He's resting now." They both turned to the meager bed they'd been able to make for Farkas. He was curled up on his side, head pillowed on his massive arm, eyes covered by a dark fall of his hair. Shea'a still hovered nearby, dozing lightly.
Laure knelt by Farkas and pushed the hair from his face. His brilliant silver eyes opened and he smiled when he saw her at his side, glad to have her back. "Hey, you ready to get out of this dump?"
"The sooner the better."
Shea'a used her magic to move Farkas when she could, and they painstakingly maneuvered the stretcher through the halls until Laure finally spotted the room where she'd left the horse. After that, they loaded up the sled and made for the surface. In short order, they were all blinking in the late afternoon sunlight. They wasted no time and began the long trek over the pass, hoping to make the inn before nightfall.
When they got to the inn, Laure bribed the owner, Hadring, to let her "borrow" his horse a while longer, with the promise to see that the animal was returned. She bought a bowl of hot soup for Farkas and headed back out to where the twins and the Arch-Mage were waiting. She handed over the soup and turned to the road, blowing into her chilled hands.
"Where now?" asked Vilkas, taking her hands in his and warming them.
"We head home. The horse should be able to pull the sled through most of the snowy parts here in the mountains. After that, maybe we can rent a farmer's cart or a carriage if we see one."
Farkas called out from his comfortable nest of furs, "Talking about it isn't going to get us far."
Knowing he was right, they made their way to the road, Laure leading the horse, Vilkas and Shea'a a few paces back, making sure that the sled didn't tip Farkas into the drifts lining the path.
The journey was long, but uneventful, and finally they all arrived at the gates of Whiterun.
Farkas insisted on walking in, over the vehement protests of the other three. He slowly hobbled through the gates, discretely supported by his brother and Laurelin, and followed closely by Shea'a. Rather than make the long trip through town and up multiple staircases to Jorrvaskr, they headed straight for Breezehome.
Once inside, Farkas collapsed heavily into the nearest chair, cold sweat beading on his face. Vilkas and Lydia moved her bed from upstairs and set it close to the fireplace, piling the furniture up to the side to make room. Farkas was levered onto the bed, and thus began his long convalescence.
Farkas recovered, slowly and painfully. It was frustrating to him to need other people to perform simple tasks for him because he didn't have the strength. It had been decades since he'd been so helpless, and he despised being so dependent, forced to sit by on the occasions that Laure and his brother were called out to slay the odd dragon. With little else to do, he read, occasionally played his lute. Whatever he did during those times, he was alone with his thoughts, and he did a surprising amount of that while laid up.
Nevertheless, he made progress and was soon able to amble about Breezehome for extended periods, then on strolls about the city.
Shea'a had been given rooms at Dragonsreach and spent long hours in conversation with Farengar. Mostly she kept to herself, trying to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. Too many people mistrusted her.
Laurelin and Vilkas had done their best to keep the finer details of Farkas' injury from everyone, only saying he had been gravely wounded but was alive and recovering well. Jorrvaskr seemed a more somber place than usual without his presence, but Laure and Vilkas ruthlessly kept everyone in line and focused.
Laurelin sat at Kodlak's desk, writing letters to her family in Valenwood. She still thought of it as his desk, even though he had been dead nearly a year. So much had happened between then and now that she sometimes had difficulty keeping her memories and thoughts in order. So she wrote, in journals, and in letters to her children, and her sister.
"Harbinger."
Laurelin looked up with a smile when she heard Farkas' voice at her door. "Farkas, come in," she put away her quill and stood to greet him with a gentle hug. "Have a seat."
He strode in, looking healthy, chest muscles straining the laces of his shirt deliciously. Baggy, wide-legged trousers and high black leather boots completed his garb. Laurelin curbed her impulse to rip those clothes right off of him. When they were seated, she offered him an ale, which he accepted.
"Not as fine as your spiced mead, but beggars can't be choosy. Tell me, why the formality, dear one?"
Farkas shrugged his heavy shoulders, "Just seems right sometimes. I came here a lot when I needed someone to talk to, when I couldn't figure things out on my own. It's where Kodlak always was, at least in the later years."
"What's on your mind? You know I'll always help you any way I can."
He took a deep breath and shifted in his chair. He ran his fingers through his long hair and looked everywhere but directly at her. Finally he met her gaze and began slowly,
"I want to be cured of the blood, Laure. I think it's time. I almost died, and I thought that was it for me, off to the Hunting Grounds for eternity. I don't think I should waste this second chance I've been given. I spent a lot of time thinking about all the things Kodlak said, and I think he's right. I need to live my life as a man and if I'm lucky, go to Sovngarde when I die."
"I see." Laure was only slightly surprised at the request; she had anticipated that he might be approaching her about it sooner or later. "Of course, I would be happy to help you, if that's what you really want. But is there more?"
He hesitated a long time before speaking. He hadn't just been thinking about the afterlife when he was on his back. This life, the one he was living now, had replayed endlessly in his dreams and thoughts. Things he only really acknowledged that he wanted when he realized how close he'd been to being denied them. "Laure, it's killing me. Being near you, wanting so much to reach out and touch you. Hearing your heartbeat, the smell of your skin-gods! I could spend my whole life following you, and that would be a wonderful life. But that fall made me realize, the dreams I had when I was laying there, thinking about all the things I never really thought I wanted-" he broke off and nervously gulped down his ale.
He studied his boots, trying to frame his thoughts, and found it difficult now that the moment was upon him. Laure saw him wrestling with himself and poured him another ale, which seemed to help. "I realized that as much as I love you, I can't offer you what Vilkas can, and he deserves to have someone as wonderful as you to himself. I also realized that I want that for me too, and I'll never have that with you, not really. I want a wife and a family, and that would be so confusing and complicated for us all I think if we continued like we are."
Laure sipped her ale, listening intently to what he was saying to her, knowing it was tough for him to voice such matters. "It's okay, love. I understand. You want what most any man wants."
"It's not okay, Laure. I need you to tell me I don't have a snowball's chance in Hammerfell with you. Tell me you'll be with my brother, that you don't love me like that so I can move on. Otherwise, I'll spend my whole life waiting for another chance to make you my own."
Laurelin gulped, blinking furiously. She opened her mouth to reply, but her throat had dried up and her thoughts skittered madly about, now a painful jumble. To say she loved Farkas would be an understatement at the least. She adored him beyond words, and harbored a friendly lust for him that hadn't faded since beginning her relationship with Vilkas. She knew he cared for her and loved her deeply; that was never in question. But she realized he needed more, and she just couldn't promise any of the things he desired, no matter how much she wished she could. But he needed this thing of her and she couldn't deny him.
Farkas had her hands in his, folded lightly, warm and powerful. His bright eyes reflecting the light. He needed to hear it from her, no matter how much it hurt the both of them. His firm lips pressed together as his entrancing, damned beautiful eyes pleaded. "Say it . . ."
She tried to say it, she truly did, but her lips refused to cooperate, her teeth were locked together. "Farkas, you don't ha—have a snowball's chance in H—ell. Hammerfell. Gods, I'm so sorry, dear heart!" she gasped at last.
"Sounds about right," he responded sadly, kissing her fingers softly.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Farkas. I'm sorry."
"Naw, you didn't hurt me. Stop apologizing. I've had an amazing time with you, and I never wanted to come between you and my brother, but when you both offered, there was a part of me that couldn't help but see if maybe I'd win you for my own. But that wasn't right of me."
She realized that he was excruciatingly devoted to her, and had she wanted to, she could have strung him along for the rest of his life, kept him hoping for one more chance. She cared for him too much to even contemplate it. Farkas deserved to have every one of his dreams realized, and she couldn't help but wonder again at the inherent goodness he embodied. Yet again he was stepping out of the way of his brother, so to speak.
"Does he know what you're planning?" she asked after a moment of silence. "You know how much he likes surprises."
"About as much as I like spiders, I know. Yeah, we talked about it, and he agrees, says he'll go with me to the tomb if I want."
Laure sat back and drained her ale, refilled it, drained it again. Finally she belched softly and said, eyes watering, "Well, I'm glad I still have those witch heads bobbing in brine back at Breezehome. That's a whole lot of 'b' words. When do we leave?"
Farkas smiled, teeth gleaming in the light, "I think we have one more hunt to go on first."
"Now you're speaking my language!" she replied, eyes glinting with anticipation.