Author's note:
In this chapter, Amina will face her inevitable destiny! Are you excited? Because I am! Told you you'd get a new chapter soon ;)
Amina and Vilkas didn't even have time to set foot into Whiterun's main road when she was accosted by Farengar. He looked frazzled and on edge, and she swore his fingertips were shining with lightning sparks. Maybe a case of nerves over magicka control? She had no idea, she wasn't a mage anyway, and the bare minimum she knew definitely didn't cover happy fingers.
"You have to go to the Jarl! Right now!"
"What?! What did I do?!"
"Don't be a fool, you've not done anything. There's news of a dragon attack near the Watch Tower, and given the fact that you've helped us with this dragon issue before, the Jarl has requested you personally."
"You want me…to go fight a dragon?"
Vilkas intervened. "No Companions' whelp is going to fright a dragon, mage! Have you gone insane?!"
Farengar glared at Vilkas'. "Jarl's orders, although I wouldn't expect you to understand the finer points of court duty. But, unlike you, your friend has proved her worth and mettle regarding this particular issue. And so, the Jarl is requesting her personally."
"I'm coming with her." He then turned towards Amina. "You go with Farengar, and send word. I'll be assembling the Circle, and we'll join you at the Watch Tower. I'm not letting Whiterun's protection into the hands of a whelp, capable and blessed as you may be."
"No, you will not, Jarl's orders. She will go with the rest of the guards and the Jarl's housecarl and deal with the menace. The Companions should stay inside for the safety of the city. Or would you rather protect your lady-friend than your city?"
Vilkas bristled and growled, baring his teeth, his nostrils flaring. "Don't get smart with me, mage." Amina startled, yet again noticing something oddly lupine about him, bubbling close to the surface, ready to bite.
He then turned to look at Amina, his features softening. She thought she saw a shadow of something pass over his face, something perhaps tender and vulnerable, but it was gone in an instant.
"Very well. Don't go and get yourself killed, whelp. Do us credit, or there will be hell to pay. If I hear you've humiliated yourself on the battlefield, I'll make our usual training look like playtime."
She smiled at him. "I'll stay safe, don't worry. I am…blessed, after all." She touched her neck through the mail of her armour.
"If you're quite done, there's a dragon slaughtering guards that needs to be dealt with." Farengar quipped. Amina shot another smile at Vilkas, and she was off, running after the mage towards the Cloud District.
"Can you imagine, a real live dragon! How exciting! You must bring back samples for me to study if you can get your hands on them."
"Sure, I'll collect some scales while it's too busy to set the whole countryside on fire."
Farengar glared. "After it's dead, of course."
"Well, if it doesn't kill me first, sure."
The situation in Dragonsreach was nothing short of mayhem. The Jarl looked as if he'd aged ten years on count of stress alone, and Ireleth was out and about barking commands at everyone that crossed her path.
"What took you so long, Farengar?! The dragon is circling the Watch Tower!" she yelled at him, her words like a snake bite, sharp and sudden. Farengar scowled at her, but said nothing. You don't mess with Ireleth when she's mad. In the end, curiosity got the best of him: "What is the dragon doing? Were is it now? How exciting, to be able to see a dragon in the flesh!"
"Does it matter what it's doing?! It's destroying the countryside, that's what it is. I'd take this more seriously if I were you. If it attacks Whiterun I don't know if we can stop it. "
"You!" she said to Amina "Follow me. The Jarl requested you personally."
"Why me?" she asked, running to keep up with Ireleth, who was now taking the stairs towards the Jarl's War Room.
"Farengar told him you helped him with something relating to the dragons, and it seems my liege has found that enough to assign you to that. I don't know what you've done, and I don't care, but this trust better not be displaced, you hear me?"
Amina swallowed. "Yes ma'am."
The conversation with the Jarl was brief and hurried, as it always is when it comes to urgent matters. He ordered the guard that came to tell him the news to get some food and rest, and then turned to Amina, who was trembling like a leaf.
"There's no time to stand on ceremony, friend. I have heard from Farengar that you've helped him once with this dragon blight, in as many words as that. I need you to do it again."
Could they have possibly misunderstoond Farengar and thought she had fought a dragon?! Godsdamnit, but that was just her luck. She had retrieved a stone from some bandits and a handful of undead draugr, not fought a beast the size of a house! But if she told the Jarl that now…she'd seem cowardly. And weak. And every one in the Companions was now aware that he had requested her, and how would it look if she went back with her tail between her legs? She felt like crying. There was no way out of this. Either getting maimed by a dragon, or dishonor. And she certainly hadn't walked all the way from Rorikstead to make a fool of herself.
"I need you to go with Ireleth and fight this dragon. But do not think I have forgotten the service you did to Farengar with the Dragonstone. Come back to us, and you will have a reward that matches your courage. Now go!"
Before Ireleth could sprint away, he grabbed her arm. For a moment, Amina thought she was witnessing an embarrassingly intimate scene, even though there was nothing particularly intimate about the gesture. He leaned closer to the dunmeri woman, and told her: "Ireleth, this isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with. Come back alive, and in one piece."
"Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution." He let go slowly, and they looked into each other's eyes for a split second.
Amina felt everything else afterwards was a rush. She couldn't remember the details, just that at one point she was still in Dragonsreach, and that in the next she was barreling through the countryside towards the Watch Tower.
The tower had been reduced to a pile of rubble and cinder. What was left of it was on fire, and littered with corpses. The smell of burning flesh was so pungent that Amina turned green and almost started dry heaving. She put her scarf over her nose and mouth underneath her helmet and knotted it tighter to not have to deal with the stench. How many lives had been lost already? And in this horrible manner, too! Amina felt angry and saddened that so many of the wonderful people of Whiterun had been lost. Children, fathers and mothers, cousins, brothers and sisters, fellow Nords fallen just because those wretched creatures wanted to dominate mankind.
She'd show them who dominates who, she thought, sneering. Mankind wasn't made to be burned and trampled, and this dragon…however strong it may be, she'd find a way. The Jarl and Farengar had hope in her. The Companions were waiting for her to come back victorious. Her mother and father were waiting for her come spring time, and she promised Erik she'd visit, too. She was Amina Windborn, damn it, and she'd show the divines that they didn't misplace their trust.
She, Ireleth and the rest of the guards huddled behind a rock. They were all looking towards Ireleth for more instructions. The guards were readying their bows and swords, checking their shields for weak points, and trembling in their uniforms. Nobody had seen a dragon before outside of legend books…so no one knew how to fight it.
"No sign of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like it's been here. We've got to figure what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking about somewhere."
"Hopefully it's not." Said one of the guards, to which Amina snapped at him: "And if it's not, what then? It goes and burns down a village full of children while we all count our blessings. Someone else's problem, eh? We should deal with it right now."
Ireleth looked at her with new eyes, nodding approvingly. "She's right. If we're to fight anything this size, and in flight, we have the best terrain for it. The other cities would be even less prepared than us to deal with."
"I'll go first." Amina volunteered. "This way, I'll attract its attention and you can pelt it with arrows from afar."
"Brave words from someone trembling like a leaf. But good idea." She then addressed the rest of the guards: "Men, I want a perimeter formed around the watchtower. Take cover around the rocks and cock your arrows. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT engage at close range. And keep your shields close to you. They may be the only things between you and dragonfire."
A roar broke the night in half. Amina swallowed, and gripped her scimitar and shield tighter. No backing away from this now. The men scattered about, readying themselves in their proper positions.
She could see it now. It was circling the tower, taunting them. She had no idea dragons could speak. It peered down at them, and made a throaty sound, almost like a laugh.
""I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!""
It launched itself towards the tower, blasting fire. The guards took cover. Ireleth nodded to Amina.
Amina ran towards the Watch Tower, in plain sight of the dragon, and yelled at it:
"Hey, you scaly bastard! If you want a fight, come get me!"
The dragon laughed again, and swooped down towards her, raining fire on her and the ground. She ducked behind her shield. She could smell her own scorched armour and singed flesh were the shield couldn't protect her, but the fact that it did manage to keep her half safe emboldened her. She got up, ignoring the heat on her legs, and ran towards it, towards the stream of fire pouring from its mouth.
She reached him, and bashed its head with her shield. The dragon roared, baring its teeth, its back arching, tail swiping the ground. The earth shook, and Amina almost lost her footing, but she managed to slash at it once. The dragon went to bite her, but she ducked underneath its head and right under its belly, slashing at the softer scales there, then rolled over to the side to avoid its legs.
"Worthy enemies. Your defeat brings me honor!" it taunted, taking flight. Once again, it blew a firestorm towards her, but she ran towards the inside of the tower and ducked behind the stone just in time. The fire narrowly missed her, incinerating the inside of the tower and singing her arms. The metal on the left sleeve of her armour started to melt, and she screamed. She discarded it before it started cooking her. She took off her half-melting helmet as she ran up the stairs of the tower, her legs getting scorched by the floor that was on fire.
She could hear the guards screaming, the whistling of arrows, the roar of the dragon and its taunts. For a single moment, she felt like time was stretching in eternity, as if it had slowed just for her to think about what to do. She drowned a healing potion to soothe her burns. She'd go to the roof of the tower, she thought. She'd distract its attention and fight it there, bow and arrow and then sword when it got too close. This would distract its attention from the guards and Ireleth. And they'd shower it with arrows. And maybe she'd make it out alive, with some luck.
She touched Kynareth's mark on her throat. She swallowed. The end of the stairs was close. She could feel the night breeze on her bare skin, and she felt oddly vulnerable with only half her armour. The dragon was with its back at her, almost at the same height as the tower.
She cocked three arrows to her bow, a trick learned from Aela. She took aim. 'Wind guide me.'
The arrows hit their mark, right at the back of the dragon's head, embedding themselves deep into its flesh. It roared, and its wing flaps when it turned towards her made the whole tower shake. She could feel herself lose her footing, but gripped tight.
Their eyes met, gold against hazel. The dragon laughed.
"Yes, joor, fight me! Fight courageously!"
"Joor your mother!" Amina yelled back as the dragon spat fire towards her. She sent an arrow in its eye, and it screamed in pain, flapping its wings violently, sending her on her back and close to the roof's edge. The guards took this opportunity to pelt it with arrows. Enraged, the dragon decided to deal with them first, and then the pest on the tower. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction of being the distraction she obviously wanted to be.
It roared at her, and turned its back to dive towards the ground and Ireleth and the guards. Amina paled, seeing her plane gone to bits. She could almost see tens of men getting killed because she failed to be a distraction. She saw that most of them had gotten out in the open, away from any cover whatsoever, emboldened by the fact that her fight with the dragon had bought them time.
So she did something incredibly brave…and incredibly stupid. She threw away her bow. She ran towards the ledge of the tower. She took a deep breath…and she jumped several feet down on top of the dragon's back, who was still hovering mid-air and blasting fire at the garrison. It roared in surprise, thrashing about its head, but Amina held tight to its head ridges.
The dragon then soared towards the sky almost to a vertical to shake her off, and seeing that that did not work, it plunged to the ground, spiraling in place, its wings held tight against its body. But Amina did not let go. It reared up right before reaching the ground, the shockwave and air displaced by its wings almost throwing Amina off.
At that particular moment Amina realised that jumping on top of a dragon was a very, very bad idea.
She got up, holding herself in place just with her knees, riding its neck as if it were a horse. Its hide had already scratched through her armour pants, and she could feel it tearing her skin, the blood flowing freely. She winced. She had no time to dwell on shredded skin. She had a dragon to slay. Or at least incapacitate in some way so others could slay it.
With a yell, she plunged her scimitar deep into its skull, pushing through scale and flesh and bone until she felt she could push no more. The dragon roared in pain, and screamed "Dovahkiin?! Noooo!". Amina felt its whole body loosen up…and then she realised they were still in mid-air.
She screamed, the dragon roared one last time, and they plunged towards the earth head-first. She jumped from the dragon right at the last minute, to make a tower-height fall just a few feet tall one. The dragon's impact made the earth quake. It looked at her for the last time, one eye bloody and the other fogging over as it lay dying.
"Beautiful battle, Dovahkiin." It said, and closed its eyes, its whole body collapsing with one huge sigh. Amina got up, not believing her luck. She approached the body as to get back her scimitar, who was still firmly lodged in its skull.
The dragon burst into flames with a shockwave, setting the grass and ground on fire around it. Its scales were gleaming gold and red, turning to cinder and dust carried over upwards by the wind, shining like stars in the night air. Its flesh was consumed by flames, its wings turned to bone. Its eyes were the last to go. When the rest of the dragon turned to bone, only its eyes remained as flames burning inside its sockets. And then the flames were put out, and a great golden wind surged upwards towards Amina, pushing and probing at her.
It enveloped her and lifted her up in the sky, burrowing into every pore, snaking inside her mouth, her eyes, her nose, making her whole skin glow like lit from within. She felt like her whole self, her whole world, was on fire, as images and feelings and thoughts and words flashed before her eyes, settling in her heart and making her feel like she was reborn through flame. The wind released her and she fell to her knees, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf in the night wind. She felt like she was cooking in her armour, as if she had some sort of fire within her now that she could never get rid of…and so many memories that weren't hers were swimming in her head, that it took a bit of time for her to separate her own from them. She felt tears sting in her eyes.
Ireleth rushed to her, and helped her up. Amina leaned into her, struggling to regain her breath. She felt like she was boiling from the inside out, her armour confining. There was a fire burning inside of her now, and she felt like she'd never be cold again, just uncomfortably warm, skin burning for the rest of her days.
One of the men came up to them, face blackened by soot, eyes shining.
"I can't believe it! You're…Dragonborn!"
"Dragonborn?! As in 'The Book of the Dragonborn', that Dragonborn?"
"Yes! That's what you did, isn't it? You absorbed the dragon's power?"
"I don't know if…its power…but I think I absorbed something…I don't really feel like myself anymore."
"There's only one way to find out. Try to shout. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training."
Shout? But she had shouted a lot of things at different people loads of times, and nothing had happened. She'd shouted at Vilkas, and she'd shouted at Erik, and she'd shouted at her parents the night she left. She had shouted at bandits during fights, and she'd shouted taunts back at the dragon that was now nothing more than a pile of bones. …perhaps she shouldn't be shouting in the Northern Tongue. She searched her brain for the kaleidoscope of information she had absorbed, shifting through images and thoughts and memories until she found it. The word, the one she had seen at the word wall, the one she now understood…
She shouted.
From her mouth poured an unrelenting force that pushed away the rubble and brick of the tower several feet into the air, kicking up dust and sending grass and flowers flying away violently in the wind. Amina clapped her hands over her mouth quickly, eyes widening.
She had just…shouted! In Dovahzul, the Dragon Tongue! She was Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, The One They Fear!
Oh gods, that meant she had to deal with every dragon in existence from that point onward, just like she read in the books Kodlak gave her. She had barely made it out alive out of the fight with this one! Would she lose a bit of herself every time? Would they all be absorbed inside of her, making her feel guilty? She had killed before, but there was nothing as total, as cruel, as extinguishing a life just like she did. She ate their soul, and made it her own, and erased their existence forever. She paled at the realization.
"Dragonborn, are you alright?" the guard asked her, grabbing her by the arm when he saw she turned green and started swaying.
She barely avoided him when she started vomiting.
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Farkas heard the door slam before he heard the sobs. And if he could ignore noise, he couldn't ignore crying. He hated when women cried. It made him feel powerless and helpless in making them feel better, and he was better suited for wiping blood than tears. He could romance them, make them laugh, but stopping tears was something he never managed to learn how to do.
He sighed, and put down the heavy armour book he was reading. Vilkas was fast asleep. Farkas groaned. Gods damnit, he was not equipped for this. But someone needed comfort…
Truth be told, everyone had needed comfort today. One of their own, sent out to fight dragons alone. Jorvaskrr was a pack, they were family, godsdamnit, and packs don't let their weakest go fight monsters.
His brother had come back, angered, and had paced Jorvaskrr's halls until late at night, when he realised waiting up had no other effect than set him on edge and scaring off anyone who tried to approach him. Farkas could see it in the way his jaw clenched and in his twitchiness that he was almost losing control. Kodlak seemed oddly at peace with the situation, and when Farkas asked him, he just told him that he knew Amina would survive. How he knew that was beyond Farkas' understanding, and when he went to tell Vilkas, his twin started mumbling about the old man listening more to dreams than common sense. Aela and Skjor were out hunting, and Farkas thanked the gods that they weren't there to see Vilkas pace the halls. His brother would never hear the end of it.
In the end, Kodlak ordered every single one of them to bed, from whelps to Circle, and every single one of them had obeyed. At least the day had ended, and perhaps it had even been Amina who'd returned from her battle. He felt light and optimistic. Yes, maybe it was just Amina, unsettled from the fight.
He made his way down the hall. His footsteps were clunky and heavy, making the floorboards groan. The sobs were soft, stifled in a try to not be heard, but Farkas didn't have normal hearing, and so he heard every sniff and gasp. His eyebrows raised when he noticed the sounds came from the broom cupboard. Whoever was crying could've chosen a better place, but Farkas didn't think much of it.
He knocked.
"Go away!"
Ah, so it was Amina. He opened the door. She was huddled between two brooms and a bucket, her knees drawn to her chest, her forehead resting on them as her whole body was wracked with sobs. Her armour was discarded in a corner, drenched in blood. Her own skin was speckled with blood and dirt, and he could make up a few burn marks in the dim light.
"Go away." She said again, her voice hoarse.
He closed the door after him, and he kneeled in front of her, rubbing her arms with his hands.
"It's just me, Amina. Just Farkas."
Her head whipped up, her eyes wide and scared. She was trembling like a leaf underneath his hands.
He kneeled in front of her , and he wiped her tears with his big hands, his meaty fingers clumsy but kind. With his sleeve he wiped off the wetness on her cheeks. It comforted Amina, this gentleness, and she allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, sobbing against his chest.
"What happened, Amina? What hurt you? Tell me. I'll go bash their skulls myself."
"Was it the fight?"
Silence.
"Is it my brother?"
A strangled laugh. "No, Farkas, not Vilkas. He can't make me cry. It's…something strange, awful. You wouldn't believe me unless you saw it."
He snorted, caressing the top of her head. "Try me."
And so she told him. Of Mirulmnir Allegiance-Strong-Hunt, the dragon, usurper, killer, murderer, for now she knew what he was and what his name was. That fury in the sky now had a name and a history, and feelings too, rage and love and pride, thirst and hunger for things Amina could never understand, and she felt them all inside of her.
She told him of the way Mirulmnir burst into flames once she gave him the killing blow, brilliant and blazing under the night sky, his scales like hot coals and gold mingling, and how his soul had risen from the ashes and laid claim to her. How it entered her and set her aflame. How she had discarded her armour because she felt like she was boiling from the inside out.
How she now had memories of every atrocity and deed Mirulmnir had blighted the earth with, alongside with his thoughts and feelings. How he had pillaged and killed for his brethren, how he had risen under Alduin and how he fell over the land and took it by force and fire. How Alduin had won every single battle and made them all serve in the greatest army that ever was. How he had felt the most alive during battle, and how he had fallen in one. How his spirit had lain dormant and his bones had molded thrice over. And how he was resurrected, his purpose renewed, his resolve found again, and how he had fallen yet again, and his grief at failing, at never seeing the sky he so loved again. At being consumed, trapped, absorbed by a puny mortal, a girl little larger than his jaws. How this was not his fault, for dragons thought that being strong meant being right, and by that logic, they were entitled to the earth and sky. How he did not like Alduin, not at all, but he was strong, and the strong commanded. And when the strongest dragon shouts, you listen.
Mirulmnir had died, but she felt him live on, live through her, his memories now hers, forever. She understoond the dragon tongue now, their claw writing, their customes and their thoughts…
"They called me Dragonborn, Farkas!"
His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Dragonborn? And what will you do about this?"
"I don't know. I reckon once word goes out, everyone will want me to fight every damn dragon that flies overhead. But I don't want to go around attacking random dragons. And gods know if I'll become a political puppet. I just hope this doesn't get out of Whiterun."
Farkas snorted. "Sweet dreams. In a week's time, everyone will know. But until then, be yourself. Don't start acting differently because people've given you a different name. You're still Amina, the whelp. At least for us. You're home."
"Am I really, Farkas?"
"We'll be with you, whatever happens. And I know just the thing to take your mind off it."
"Oh?"
"Skjor says you're ready for your whelp trial. The one that will make you an official Companion. He said I'm to be your shield-brother. Will probably tell you tomorrow. Dragonborn or not, everyone's equal here. Don't expect special treatment."
Amina laughed, and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Never expected it, Farkas."
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Morning found her in the whelp room, still hurt, but well-rested. She opened her eyes to the morning sun and the noise coming from the rest of Jorvaskrr. She found the clash of swords and the soft thump made by arrows hitting their mark so soothing now. Before, she'd not given much thought to it, but now she knew: it was the sound of her second family. As long as the sound was there, all was well, and she was still herself, and she'd never be alone. Under those furs, and in the halls of Jorvaskrr, and with the rest of the whelps and the Circle, she was just Amina. Not Amina Windborn, nor Amina the Dragonborn, just Amina, the little runt who made her way to the Companions from Rorikstead and still had much to learn. She was safe.
She quickly put on a tunic and breeches, and went to get some breakfast. She felt like she hadn't eaten in days. She still felt warmer than usual, so the cold floor underneath her bare feet felt like a blessing.
There was nothing left on the table, so she made her way to the kitchens to beg for some scraps from Tilma. She wasn't in the mood of going out to the Bannered Mare to eat, and face the world. She definitely didn't want to see some of the guards that had been with her yesterday night and see their awed looks and hear their praises.
Tilma was fretting over the soup she would serve at lunch, but when she saw her she stopped immediately.
"Is there…anything wrong? I just came to get some bread and cheese."
"My daughter, she's a guard, and she was yesterday with you. She told me all about what happened. She told me you were very, very brave. You do the Companions honour."
Amina groaned, blushing furiously. "Please, let's just…not talk about this today, alright? I…I want to avoid it for as long as I can."
Tilma smiled. "I understand that, sweet child. Are you afraid?" No answer. "There's no shame in being afraid, darling. Everyone is afraid."
"A Companion isn't supposed to be so afraid she vomits after fighting."
Tilma laughed. "Oh, you've not seen the things I've seen." She winked at Amina. "I've tended to the warriors of Jorvaskrr for the last 30 years, and believe me, each and every one of them was deathly afraid at some point, and each of them shows it differently. Aela bites her lip, Skjor sweats, Farkas screams like a girl, Vilkas paces and trembles, Kodlak bites the knuckles of his thumb… and you vomit."
"That still makes me out like the biggest milkdrinker out of the bunch."
Tilma laughed again. "Well, you're the newest. Have patience. There will come a day when you'll be able to keep your stomach in place when afraid. But until then, let's fill it, hmm?" she said, and handed her a plate with bread, cheese and a steaming hot piece of berry pie.
"Berry pie! My favourite! Gods, it was worth fighting a dragon only to be able to eat this again!"
The older woman winked. "I know. Aela told me it was your favourite, and asked me to bake some for the Companions to eat at lunch. She and her mother have the habit of eating their feelings, so when she heard you were out fighting dragons she decided pie was in order when you came back."
Amina smiled. She'd never felt more grateful for Aela than she did in that moment, with a mouthful of pie and berry-stained lips.
"Now, you finish eating, and go on to training. Everyone's dying to ask you questions."
"And I'd rather die than answer them. It's still very confusing to me."
"Darling, life in general is very confusing. You'll just have to learn how to deal with it."
"Bah!"
She pecked Tilma on the cheek, thanking her yet again for the pie, and stormed towards the training grounds, picking a random sword and shield on the way. Her thoughts were too muddled for the meditative practice of archery, too agitated. A good sparring session with whoever was available would be perfect, and she could lose herself in a flurry of motion and noise, and she could forget about this whole Dragonborn business.
She groaned. She needed to talk to Kodlak about it. It probably was no coincidence that he had given her a book about the Dragonborn legend. The old man probably knew it from the start, or perhaps just speculated it, but nonetheless she owed him a good re-telling of what had transpired. And she also wanted some advice.
The sparring yard was lively and filled with people fighting, wrestling, and trying to good-naturedly maim each other. As soon as she opened the doors to the courtyard, Vilkas' head snapped towards her. He looked at her as if it was the first time he'd ever seen her, with wide eyes and an unreadable expression on his face.
By the Gods, she was alive! She had a faced a dragon…and lived! He knew from Tilma, who knew from her daughter, that she was alive and well, but to hear and to see are two different things. She was a sight for sore eyes. He felt as if he was rooted on the spot, looking at her for a moment that seemed to stretch indefinitely. She was smiling, dimples on her cheeks and berry stains on her lips, her steps light, her eyes alight. She looked like a leaf dragged in by the breeze in their den of wolves. His eyes raked over her, taking in the new wounds and scars: burn marks on her legs and arms, scratches on her face, new callouses on her fingers, his eyes fixating on each and single one of them. She had faced a dragon and survived!
Her scent, though, it was different. His nose caught it, floating in the air around them, almost as if it were the only thing on the breeze. He ignored the other smells, sweat and steel and anger, and focused on hers, fire and brimstone and berry pie and grass. Gods, but she smelled unlike herself, like legends and fairytales. There was a new squareness of her shoulders too, better posture, a wider stance, more dominant, stronger, surer. How did that appear from one day to the next?
She sensed his gaze, and turned her head towards him, her smile widening. She made her way towards him, and he felt as if he were rooted on the spot, his sword at his side.
"So, I came back. Have I done the Companions honour?"
He swallowed, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. "Aye, this time you have."
"This time?!"
"One never knows with you. You're a walking disaster."
He was expecting a frown and a witty quip, but instead she laughed. "Gods, it's so good to see some things never change." She then cocked her head, a movement that reminded him of a bird, and she said: "Promise me you'll never change, Vilkas. No matter how good I get, or what people call me, promise me you'll still stay as sour as ever."
Vilkas' eyebrows shot up. She continued: "You're practically insufferable and I half-hate you, but life wouldn't be the same without you. Promise me."
"What's wrong with you?"
She shrugged. "Brushed with death, yesterday. Makes me appreciate even the most annoying things in life, such as you."
"You've 'brushed with death' other times as well, so I repeat: what is wrong with you?"
"I'll tell you only if you promise."
He rolled his eyes. "I promise."
"Good. Farkas already knows, so I figured he'll tell you, too, so you know…I decided it best that I tell you first. You'll find out sooner than later, anyway. And Kodlak told me to speak to you whenever I have questions, and if I encounter a strange creature in my travels…"
A beat of silence. He could feel Aela's eyes on them, while the other whelps trained without giving their exchange much thought. But Aela heard even the softest whispers, and was attuned to the slightest changes of bodily language, a perfectly bred predator.
"A strange creature? Do you have questions about dragons?"
She bit her lip, and looked sideways before returning her gaze to his, open and vulnerable. He could see her slight tremors, the smell of fear and embarrassment on her skin. Her hands came to rest on her other arm, and for a moment she looked smaller than she was.
"Vilkas…what if I'm the strange creature?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I…let's talk about this with Kodlak and the rest of the Circle, please. I wanted to avoid this for as long as possible, but Tilma told me to not be afraid…and I'll ask for help and advice while I still have my wits about me, and you guys are the best of the best." She then laughed awkwardly, and added "And you guys can stop me if I ever try to run away."
He grabbed her shoulders, gently, as if he were touching a skittish deer. He noticed how small she actually was, her head level with his chest, and he had the sudden urge to comfort her, to tell her that it was alright, whatever she thought she was…she was among her kind. They were monsters, too.