Here, There, Everywhere Be Dragons

by nodeerskulls

Far away from Rorikstead lies a world of adventure and thrills. The road from farmer to Dovahkiin is long and winding, but Amina's determined to walk it. Chasing dragons, killing dragons, fleeing from dragons…everywhere, including in herself, be dragons.

12. Return of the father

Author's Note:

I made a Skyrim-centric tumblr J Check it out : .com . There'll be lots of screenshots from my gameplay, as well as headcanons, reblogs of pretty Skyrim stuff from other users and my Skyrim Kink Meme Fills.

Anyways, this chapter is all about family – old and new. Family expectations, family ties, and the lessons Amina learns while these all unfold around her.

I'm sorry for the incredibly slow burn of the Amina/Vilkas relationship, but I think they need to learn a lot more before they're ready to be together.

-xx-

She was sitting at a table dining with wolves. They were all very well mannered, and the scene would've seemed almost domestic. Except that in front of them were platters with human heads, and the table was full of black feathers, as if crows had just flown in from above. In front of her was the biggest wolf, the alpha, its fur grey except for its mane, white as snow. At her back was a russet wolf. They each guarded an opened door, and they both beckoned her to follow.

The roar of a dragon. It looked at her with white-blue eyes, and she was immersed in flames.

Amina woke up screaming. Njada, Ria, Athis and Torvar shot up at lightning speed, woken up by her scream, reaching out for their weapons.

"I'm sorry, it's nothing. Just a nightmare."

"If you're going to have nightmares, go sleep outside. Some people don't have the luxuries to sit around because the Circle mollycoddles them." Njada spat, getting back into bed.

"Well maybe if you proved yourself worthy they'd mollycoddle you too, Njada."

"What did you just say to me?!"

"You heard me. If you're so keen to have the Circle kiss your ass, go prove yourself. I did."

"Oh, yeah? How did you prove yourself, bitch? You go to your trial, you don't come back for weeks, and you say you've proved yourself? I say you pissed your pants in fear and returned when no one else would have you."

"You're just bitter because no one in your family would have you back!" Amina spat, and then slapped a palm over her mouth. "Oh Njada, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "

Njada's face was stony. "I should kick your teeth down your throat."

"Now, now, everyone please calm down!" Ria intervened. "We're all sleepy and bleary-eyed…and the middle of the night is not the place for a brawl. Spirits are running high, adrenaline and all, so why don't you two talk it out tomorrow morning, yeah?"

Njada hissed towards Amina. "I'm only doing this for Ria. If it were by me I'd paint the floor with your blood by now."

"Njada, seriously, I'm sorry, that was cruel…"

"Fuck off, Circle's pet."

And Amina did, guilty that she'd bring such a low blow into an argument, and stalked out of the whelp's quarters as fast as she could. The night in Jorvaskrr was crisp and cold, snow seeping in at the edges of the doors, a cold breeze scratching at her bare feet and ankles as she walked upstairs to collect herself.

He entered Jorvaskrr bone-tired, full of snow and carrying with him the smells of winter, settling down his shield and sword without even bothering to look around. And with the first breath he got a whiff of something, a new yet familiar smell, and then the gentle thu'um of a beating heart filled his ears, slow and steady, like a drum in the midnight. He turned his head towards the source.

At first, Vilkas thought he was seeing a ghost. The light shone through the window, illuminating her from behind, and he could only see a vague outline of her features. Her skin looked impossibly dark in the moonlight, and her untied hair shone like a halo.

"Hi." She offered, tentatively, and smiled at him.

He felt as if someone had just slapped him. Vilkas was angry, his lips a thin line. The gall of her! Weeks missing, carrying their secret around the whole of Skyrim, and then coming back like…like…like nothing was amiss, like nothing ever happened! And she smelled so strange too, of new things that she had never touched before, of leaves and blood and a stray. Yes, Farkas had told him all about her promise, and her quest, but the smell of werewolf lingering on her was grating. Vilkas wished, in some way, that she'd never rise trough the ranks enough to make it to the Circle so he wouldn't have to smell that stench on her all the time and have to like it. The smell of fire and brimstone covering her usual smell was enough.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what I'm doing here? I came back."

"How generous of you."

"Are you pissed because I didn't' write? I thought Farkas would explain everything to the Circle."

Vilkas growled. "Now you listen here, whelp. You thought – I say you didn't think! This whole mentorship and Dragonborn business is getting to your head, making you think you're special and extempt from the rules of basic courtesy. You can't just go around frolicking in the countryside without letting us know where you are and what you're doing."

"I was helping someone! I thought Farkas-"

"Farkas isn't your personal courier! Of all the three weeks you were gone you could have not spared the minute to let us know when you'd be back?"

"I wasn't aware that being with the Companions meant having a second set of parents."

His lips set in a thin line. "The Companions are a family. And if you don't understand that, then maybe you don't belong here. Maybe we've wasted preferential treatment on a useless whelp. Dragonborn or not. You're just a fluke, 'Windborn', and no amount of divine intervention will fix your flightiness and irresponsibility."

"Why are you being so cruel?! I just didn't think it was necessary to write!"

"You didn't think it was necessary when you were out and about knowing our secret?!"

"Oh…so that's what it is actually about. You thought I was going to toot the horn about your furry problem. I understand now. Well don't worry, I won't tell anyone, if that's what you were so worried about. I thought me running errands for a werewolf would be proof enough of that. And here I thought you might be worried…that we might be friends."

Vilkas recoiled, as if slapped, but quickly regained his composure.

"If that's how you treat your friends, I don't care to know how you treat your enemies."

Amina looked back at him, fists clenched. "Is that all? I'd like to go out and have a breath of fresh air."

"You'll freeze to death!"

"What do you care?!" she yelled, and shoved past him, opening the doors wide to a flurry of snow, running down the steps towards the market and on and on until she was nothing more but a moving dot on the horizon.

Amina didn't stop until she reached the gardens of the Temple of Kynareth. They were still beautiful even under all that snow, the purple of lavender peeking through even mid-winter, as if sustained by some other force. She was wearing only thin night clothes, but ever since Mirulmnir, she didn't feel the cold quite the same.

Was Vilkas really right? Had she been thoughtless and inconsiderate by not writing? She didn't think that anyone would be bothered by her silence as long as Farkas told them where she was, but maybe…as Vilkas said, she hadn't treated them as they ought've been treated. And maybe they cared for her and she had made light of that feeling, running away to save someone and ruining friendships in her wake. He was right, she should've wrote at least a letter, and told them she and their secret with her, were alright, and where she was, and how she was doing. And truthfully now, wasn't this her habit? To go on some adventure and leave family wondering? She had done so with her parents, and then with the Companions…

Amina buried her face in her hands and sat on the steps of the temple.

"I heard you fighting with Vilkas."

Amina whipped her head around, and Njada was there, sneering at her.

"You don't deserve the special treatment you get. Nor how they've been calling you friend so fast."

"I know. I've been horrible."

Njada tossed a bear fur at her, and it hit her right in the face like a slap. "Cover yourself up or you'll freeze to death."

"Look Njada, I'm sor-"

"This isn't forgiveness. I still don't like you. But there's a difference between not liking someone and letting them freeze to death because they're stupid. The first is natural; the other is cruel." She turned to leave.

"Njada?"

"What now?!"

"You know, your family…they just couldn't handle how awesome you were. Too caught up in their own ideas of how you should be. You're better off without them."

"That's easy to say when mommy and daddy are waiting for you back home in Rorikstead. You know nothing. And you hearing it gives you no right to talk about it, to me or to others, so shut up or I'll break your mouth until you do."

Njada left, leaving Amina in the cold with just a bear fur wrapped around her. She had half a mind to go to Erik, but last he had seen him was with Mila and Carlotta, and she didn't want to interrupt whatever they were doing.

When the first light of dawn broke out over Dragonsreach, Amina headed back to Jorvaskrr. Aela was probably already up for archery training, and later she'd have to go over to the Jarl and claim her reward. She hoped it was a pile of gold and jewels. Gold and shiny things always made her feel better.

-x-

When she came back, she barged in and tossed off her uncomfortable fancy shoes from her feet, running down the stairs and not stopping until she reached Kodlak's study.

"What's got you so agitated, lass?"

"The Jarl told me the Greybeards want me to go to The Throat!"

"Ah…yes. Did you not hear how they shouted for you? For the Dragonborn?"

"I did…but it was so weird that for a moment I thought me and Erik must've imagined it. Truthfully, Erik said we should ask around about it, but I…"

Kodlak glared at her. "You decided to ignore it until it went away or resolved itself." He sighed, and sunk into his chair. "Amina, you must make peace with this sooner or later. You can't reap the benefits of you being Dragonborn one day, and ignore your duty the next. What have we been specially training you for, if not to fill the shoes of your title?"

"I know, I just-…I'm scared. I've been on the road for nary a season, and I feel unprepared and…like a babe swinging a blade, still. I mean, in the autumn I was still in Rorikstead, planting turnips and chasing chickens. Now, only a few months later, I'm supposed to be this hero of legend…and yet almost everyone in this hall is better than me at fighting, and would do a much better job."

Kodlak sighed and motioned for her to sit. "It's not always prowess that makes a hero, Amina, otherwise the gods would've chosen the strongest Orc berserker they could find." He then poked her torso where her heart was. "What makes a hero is their heart."

"And what's in my heart, Master? Fear and greed and feelings that I can't quite understand yet."

"This is what's in all of our hearts, lass. It's what makes us human."

"I've been meaning to ask…how come you're all werewolves?"

"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old, but this matter of beastblood has plagued us for only a few hundred. One of my predecessors made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven, but did not look beyond the perceived advantages this bargain offered, or at the consequences therein. The bargain was that if the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power."

"Hircine did say something about you…hunting in his grounds."

"You have met Hircine?" Kodlak asked, pale and wide-eyed.

"Yes, during the quest my werewolf friend sent me on. I had to hunt his aspect, and when the beast fell, Hircine appeared in front of me. He wanted me to hunt the werewolf, SInding, for his glory. He was angered that Sinding tried changing his condition and stole his ring from his altar. I refused him, found Sinding, and together we faced the hunters and made them the hunted. I…I thought at first that I was resisting his wishes, that for once, I was not a plaything, but after it all happened, I realised it was nothing more than a puppet show, and that we did his bidding regardless by 'turning the hunt inside out'. "

Amina raised her hand in front of her, and the ring shone brightly in the candlelight.

"You've kept the ring on your person?"

"I didn't know what to do with it. But nevermind that, what happened next to the Companions?"

"They became werewolves, and they did not believe the change would be permanent. "

"The witches lied?"

"No, but the Companions didn't ask either. They thought it would be just a bodily change, but it's more than that. The disease, you see, affects the spirit also. Upon death, werewolves go to Hircine's Hunting Grounds. For some, like Aela and Skjor, this is paradise. They want nothing more but the thrill of the hunt and the freedom of hunting. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord, and I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home. I've spent my twilight years searching for a solution…but it has yet to present itself."

In that moment, he looked ten years older, and Amina suddenly realised how much older Kodlak was than all of them. He was probably past his 60th summer, and at that age, for a warrior, Sovngarde beckoned louder and louder by the day. Time was running out, and she could feel the old man's hurry in finding a solution.

"But couldn't the Companions just…stop turning each other into werewolves when they realised it wasn't all that they imagined?"

Kodlak shook his head. "And have the ire of Hircine befall us? You've seen what he can do when he feels slighted. And after a few generations, it became norm. The secret had to be kept, and what better way to ensure the Companion's safety than to make others endure it as well? Had they run away and exposed us, they would've exposed themselves. It would've been suicide."

"Does that mean that you'll make me a werewolf, since I know your secret?"

"I wish not, dear child. But we are a Circle divided, and some may see it as necessary. Vilkas and Farkas agree with me that you should not take the beast blood, but Aela and Skjor…" He sighed. "No matter. We will worry about this when you return from training with the Greybeards."

"You're letting me go? Just like that?"

"Yes, though I have the impression you'd rather me forbade you to so you'd have an excuse to stay her."

Amina smiled sheepishly, and got up and hugged him. The old man startled, and pat her awkwardly on the back.

"I'll miss you, Kodlak. Who am I to ask for advice, and who would be so patient when I'm afraid?"

Kodlak patted her head. "Go get ready lass. The Greybeards are expecting you."

-x-

Goodbyes were always entirely too bittersweet. That's why, she thought, she stole away into the night rather than fight her parents and say goodbye properly when she left. But now she was forced to say goodbye, especially since Vilkas' like about treating her friends poorly.

She first said goodbye to the rest of the whelps after packing her things.. Then she turned towards the back courtyard, where she knew the rest of the Circle were training. They usually trained together in the mornings, while Kodlak trained on his own at the crack of twilight and the whelps whenever they wanted.

She stood in the doorway. Farkas had turned to her immediately, regaling her with a toothy smile and a wave. Aela and Skjor ignored her, intent on their sparring. Vilkas was doing his best to not even acknowledge her existence.

Amina took a big gulp of air. " I'm leaving to train with the Greybeards."

Aela and Skjor stopped sparring, Farkas looked at her quizzically and Vilkas looked like he'd just been slaped.

"Greybeards?" Farkas asked "Who are they? Why are you leaving?" He looked saddened, like a kicked puppy. "Is it because I scared you, I-?"

She went to him and clasped his hands into hers. "Oh, you big oaf, no, I'd never leave because of you guys being what you are. You're my family now, I'll never leave. You're my brother, Farkas, werewolf or not." She then let go once he understood.

"The Greybeards live at the Throat of The World, and apparently they can teach me how to harness my Dragonborn powers, and how to Shout and use The Voice."

Skjor grunted in approval. "You go there and you learn, lass. Gods know you need it, considering the shoes you have to fill." He then slapped her shoulder. "You go make us, proud, you hear? Or else." He growled. Amina laughed, then turned to Aela, who smiled at her. "We'll be waiting for you with more training when you get back, sister. Don't let your archery skills dull."

She then turned to Vilkas, who was glaring daggers at her. "Vilkas, I-"

"What? You expect a goodbye from me? Maybe some more praise to go with the rest? You won't get it. Just leave." He spat at her, and then stalked out of the courtyard and back to his quarters.

Aela rolled her eyes, while Skjor firmly declared that he was staying out of it.

"Don't mind him, sister. His pride is still hurt that you didn't write to him." Aela said.

Amina felt her eyes well up with tears. Farkas then approached her, and snaked his arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, sister. You know how my brother is. He's just upset that he hasn't heard from you in so long. And your apology last night felt hollow to him. Or so he told me. He actually really missed you. We all did. Well, at least me and Aela did. I don't know about Skjor."

Aela rolled her eyes. "Skjor barely knows her, Farkas."

Amina still looked put-out. "Should I go apologise to him again, Farkas? I still think he's being a big baby about it all."

Farkas shrugged. "I don't understand why my brother is upset half the time. But yes. Probably would do you two good."

Aela smirked. "Aye, apologise and make-out."

"You guys are terrible." Amina said, as she went back inside, searching for Vilkas. She found him inside the library, buried between dusty tomes and reading a book so intently that his glare could make the pages catch on fire.

She knocked on the doorframe.

"Go away, Windborn."

"I am. For a long while. And I've come to make peace before I go."

"I'm not interested in your peace, little girl."

"But I am. So I'll sit here and pester you," she smirked, grabbing his book and sitting in front of him on the table, "until you give in and forgive me."

"Annoying me won't make me forget your childishness."

He made to get up and leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Vilkas, please. I've already said I'm sorry, and I am, really. And besides…I already miss talking to you. And I won't do that for a long while when I'll be on The Throat. And I'd like to leave with your forgiveness, and when I do leave…I'll write. Often!"

Vilkas groaned. "Why do you insist on winning my friendship so much? Haven't I made it clear enough that I don't want anything to do with you? I'm training you because I have to, escorting you because I have to. You running around without any thought for the Companions cemented this opinion more than enough."

"Somehow I think those words are hollow, Vilkas. I bet you got bored without me. The more you resist my friendship the harder I'll work at becoming friends with you. You're just saying this because you're upset I didn't write. Farkas told me so, and he knows you better than anyone."

Vilkas threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! I am upset you didn't write, you insufferable little minx! I was worried sick about you, because I know you always get mixed up in gods knows what! I thought you had run away in fear and that you were disgusted by us! And I am upset you're not taking being part of the Companions seriously, and I got bored without you! Happy now?"

Amina smiled at him and grabbed his hands in hers. She rubbed his fingers, feeling his fire-hot skin underneath hers, tracing each callous with her fingerpads, then the knuckles and the strong tendons leading up to the wrist. Vilkas stilled. He could hear her heartbeat, wild and warm in her chest, and he could smell her scent, fire and brimstone and grass and berry pie all mixed into one, and her sorrow was wafting through the air, pungent and tasting of petrichor, as all sadness does.

"I'll miss you. All of you. But mostly you since you're so insufferable. Whom am I to have battles of wit with?" She said, and tightened her hold on his hands.

Vilkas said nothing, uncomfortable with the turn the night was having. She was far too close to him, and her scent was invading his senses, and the steady drumbeat of her heart seemed to have purged his brain of everything else inside of it. What an odd, awful feeling this was, caring for a friend like this woman. He'd never had a friend like this, weak and strong at the same time, and he knew she could hold her own but the desire to protect her sometimes paralyzed him on the spot. Friendship with women was odd, he surmised. Aela didn't count, not really, since he had known her ever since he was a child and regarded her as yet another brother. And Ria and Njada were always amiable, but kept their distance because of his moods. But Amina? New and frail and curious and intensely annoying, and he never knew how to handle her because she seemed fueled by his moods, bending and twisting by how the wind changed and how his reactions did. He sometimes wish he had the easy going manner of his brother, who had many friends in every town and settlement they passed, warm and caring with all, at ease in the presence of strangers and shield brothers alike.

Vilkas sighed. "I'll…probably…miss you too." He said, and her smile lit up her whole face.

"Then you forgive me?"

"I must be stupid, but yes, yes I do forgive you. But next time you're not getting off so easily."

She sighed, and gave him a bittersweet smile, rubbing her thumb across his palm. "Then…is this goodbye?"

"For now, at least. I assume you will return, given your pitiful display earlier?"

"Eventually. I don't plan on being coped up there forever. From what I've read, because I'm Dragonborn, whatever they'll teach me I'll learn faster, in months instead of years. So I'll probably be back by summer time, if all goes well."

"You'll be gone more months than you've been here. Typical." He scoffed.

"You're upset because you'll die of boredom."

"Aye. Maybe."

"I dislike prolonged goodbyes." She sniffed. "I'll see you come summer. Goodbye, Vilkas."

She quickly pecked him on the cheek, and made to leave.

He grabbed her hand and caught her before she fled. He looked at her with a certain softness, his gaze like a caress, giving her a small smile, a gentle expression she'd never seen on his face before. He brought up his hands and brushed away the stray hairs on her forehead, running his fingers through her hair and then letting them rest at the bend of neck and shoulder left bare by her armour.

"You take care of yourself out there. You come back in one piece, you hear me?"

She could feel the heat of his fingers seeping into her skin, and she knew she'd probably feel that touch like a burn mark even after he removed his hands, returning to that spot with her own to make sure that that tenderness wasn't imagined, as brief as it was.

She nodded.

"Goodbye then." He said, and let go of her, returning to his books, leaving her alone in the doorway, confused and flustered.

-x-

She had been gone for over two weeks, and Vilkas knew that by now she was probably in Ivarstead, if not already half-way towards High Hrothgar. He sometimes looked out of his window at the mountain peak in the distance, shrouded in clouds, and wondered whatever it was that she was learning there, and what change will it bring to her. At night he could see the mist riding down the mountain, swift and gentle, flowing over the tundra, and he could picture her descending with it, surrounded by fog and brimstone, smelling of new and wonderful things, her heartbeat as he always knew it.

Unfortunately, the fact that two weeks had passed meant that Jergen was closer and closer to Jorvaskrr, and that set Vilkas on edge. He grit his teeth even at the thought of seeing him again. He couldn't understand Farkas' dull acceptance of their abandonment, of him leaving like that and never returning, as if it was alright to leave and renounce all fatherly duties when they had become of age. True, he was not their father, but he might for all intents have been, replacing their dead parents all in one.

Their true father Vilkas remembered vaguely, and Farkas not at all, even though his brother remembered their mother more. Farkas remembered that it was their mother who first taught him the first notes on a flute, and Vilkas remembered their father farming wheat and making small weaved baskets out of the stalks, which he'd sell. They don't remember where this was, or where their family farm once stood, just that they were farmer's boys with farmer's dreams that ended up becoming two of the best warriors Jorvaskrr had ever seen.

They also remember the fire and the screams as they, when travelling by carriage, got caught between two feuding necromancer convocations. Their father had fought bravely, only to die in flames. Vilkas held onto Farkas then, and shielded his eyes, and forced himself to watch so he could know what to hate for the rest of his life. And then his mother had jumped to help his father, only to be slapped back by one of the necromancers and impaled on an ice spike. Vilkas still remembers how the magic lights of fired spells glinted off the ice and blood, so bright, so damning.

And then they'd been grabbed, locked in a cage, transported god knows where, faraway from everything they ever knew, and even then Vilkas held onto Farkas, who was crying. And Vilkas still watched, hating, with tears in his eyes. He watched as they harvested their parents, as if they were nothing more than cattle. How they split them open and extracted their organs one by one, and the veins, and then the skin, good for whatever foul ritual they planned to do. And then they looked at the both of them, and said that the children they should keep. They'd never experiment on children and it would be interesting, they said.

Days passed, in which the brothers were forced to travel with the necromancers, silenced by a spell, starved and beaten into submission. In that moment Vilkas decided that when he grew up, any necromancer that'd cross his sight would get killed with his bare hands.

And then Jergen came, blazing with fury and wielding a warhammer taller than both boys stacked together, and he had killed them all. He then saw the cage, and with tears in his eyes, grabbed a hold of the boys and took them with him. He had seen many, many cruel things in his lifetime, but never had he been so affected as he was when he saw those two pups, scared and starved and dirty. He never wanted to see such expressions on a child's face again.

The smaller one had the hardened look warriors do after seeing all the horrors they could, and his face was hard-set in such hatred and sadness that it shook Jergen to the core. Vilkas, as he said he was called, then buried himself in books the moment he stepped into Jorvaskrr, and dutifully trained ever since the first day, imitating what the others were doing even if none of them were giving him the time of day.

For a long while Jergen thought the other brother, Farkas, was a mute. He was stronger and bigger than his twin, but never spoke nor cried. When Jergen took him to the temple to get healed, he realised that Farkas was a mute by choice. The moment Danica's hands were lit with magick, he screamed and kicked and lunged at her, ready to topple her to the ground. Even then, Vilkas remembers, Farkas was more simple-minded, more prone to black and white thinking, to acts of fearlesness. Their fear of magic had lingered well into adulthood, although now they both pretended it wasn't so.

Jergen took them in, much to the protests of the current Harbinger. Jergen wasn't, by far, an ideal father. He was a mercenary at heart, after all. But he cared for them and loved them and taught them how to be good men, how to be honourable and how to fight. He'd take them with him on jobs and show them how to prevail against all obstacles. When they came back, they'd stop by the Bannered Mare for a piece of pie, every single time without fail. Vilkas and Farkas bloomed into his care, from scared children to strong young men, and when they were of age, into the best pair of fighters the Companions had seen in the last century.

And one day, when The Great War came, he up and left in the night, and never came back. [Until now, at least.

A knock on his door. Erik was standing in his doorway, chest puffed out and a smile wider than a mountain pass.

"I take it you're in?" Vilkas asked, smirking.

"Ayep. Even cracked Aela's shield. Just a hairline, but it's still a crack. She still scares me, though."

Vilkas laughed. "That's part of Aela's charm. She's as bright and as dangerous as a forest fire." He then continued. "Have a seat, friend. How come you've not escorted your cousin to the top of The Throat? I wouldn't've pegged you for anything but over-protective."

"She said it was a journey she had to do alone. I think she just didn't want me to see how scared she was. I've known her for so many years already that I know when she feels lost and afraid."

Vilkas frowned. "I would've gone with her, but…"

"She didn't ask and you didn't offer. I know enough of your stubbornness by now to have predicted that with my eyes closed. You two simply can't get along like regular people, it's getting ridiculous."

"We have an odd friendship, aye."

Erik snorted. Vilkas arched an eyebrow at him, but the younger man said nothing and just smiled at him, as if he knew a secret that Vilkas didn't. He had half a mind to growl at him, but decided to let the matter drop, at least for now.

"So, what now?"

"Well, you should ask us for jobs. You can get jobs from all members of the Circle, except Kodlak. He deals with mostly guidance and training, so if you need any advice, you should go to him."

"Or I could go to you, since you're my friend and all."

Vilkas chuckled. "Perhaps, but he's more experienced in all matters of life."

"Fine, friend. Now, give me a job. Something exciting in faraway lands."

"You're a whelp still, Erik, so no excitement for you. Your first job is in Ivarstead, coincidentally. Bears have been plaguing the village for the past few months, and the villagers want them gone and done with. Make sure to bring back the pelts for Aela."

"Aye, aye, captain!"

Vilkas ignored him, and looked out the window at the Throat of The World.

"You ask the villagers if she got there alright." Vilkas said, and Erik stopped in the doorway, yet again that secret smile on his face.

"I would've done it anyway, but of course."

-xx-

Farkas practically bounced down the stairs of Jorvaskrr, which, considering his size, was quite an impressive sight. He caught Jergen in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground. Jergen laughed, astounded at how big Farkas had gotten. Where had the boy he knew gone? Before him stood a man taller than him by a head, and twice more muscled. True, Jergen was never a juggernaut, but he felt that Farkas' arms were the size of his thighs. It was just a little intimidating.

"It's good to see you, father! How have you been?"

"I've been good, Farkas. Seen all of Tamriel by now. Do I have some stories to tell you boys! Speaking of boys, where's your brother?"

Farkas shrugged, and kicked off some dirt with his shoe. "Doesn't want to see you. He's upset you didn't write. Or visit."

"And you aren't?"

"I was, when I was younger. Not anymore. Figured it would be harder for us if you wrote. We would've missed you more. Been more sad."

Jergen looked guilty and rubbed Farkas' shoulder. "As intuitive as ever in matters of the heart, Farkas." A beat of silence. "I'm sorry, you know. It ate away at me, more and more everyday. I didn't know if you boys were alive, or dead, happy or sad, and it…the more the years passed, I felt it eat at me. And so I came to see how you two were doing."

"We are doing fine, father. Part of the Circle, now."

Jergen looked at Farkas with sad eyes. "Are you now? I should tell you I'm proud, but…not with the price you paid. Not like that. But I am proud you both were strong and cunning enough to rise through the ranks like that. Speaking of rank, how is old Kodlak doing?"

"Harbinger now, with Vilkas following in his footsteps." Aela answered, hearing the commotion outside and coming out. Jergen ran up to her and picked her up in a bear hug.

"Aela, it's so good to see you! How are you? Where's Hedvige?"

"Mother's been dead for quite a while now, Jergen."

"Oh. I'm sorry, lass. She was a good woman. Best damn hunter I've ever met."

Aela nodded stiffly. "We'll hunt together again in Hircine's Grounds, sooner or later. No matter. Come in, Kodlak's excited to see you, as is Skjor."

Until the night they reveled in Jergen's come back with mead and good talk, but no matter how much Jergen glanced at the doors of the living quarters, Vilkas wouldn't come.

Jergen told them of his journeys and what he had seen. He had walked through all of Tamriel, and took ships towards the parts of Nirn that weren't, his wolf eager for new scents and new hunting grounds. He had seen and tasted all the delights the world had to offer, and now had come back to see his adoptive sons before beginning to travel once more just to see how the world had changed. And in truth, he had missed a little the way the moons were so clear in Skyrim, and the night air so crisp for hunting. But still, there were wonders out there, and he told the whelps and the Circle all of them in detail, long into the night and until morning broke and his wolf got restless for a run.

He told them of how he lived foraging, scavenging and hunting at first, and how he came upon a Khajiit caravan one day and travelled the whole of Skyrim with them up until the Cyrollidic border. He had seen all that Skyrim had to offer, from the icy plains up north to the forest of Falkreath, the Dwemer ruins of the reach and the aspen forests of the rift. He had seen every city there was to be seen, had hunted every prey, and even though he initially had wanted to make this just a two years trip across the country, he soon grew even more wrestles.

His wanderlust flung him across the border. He then told them of the wonders of the Empire's seating country, Cyrodill. Of the Imperial City with its White-Gold Tower and its walls one in another like a marsman's target, of Bruma the snowy which reminded him so much of Skyrim, and then of the other cities, but most of all the port city of Anvil, which he liked so much he made it its home for a whole year. The air always smelled of sea and salt, and even if there were not many hunting grounds in the nearby hills, he sometimes swam in werewolf form and dove for fish and other catch to satiate his hunger for the hunt.

There, he met a ship's captain in need for crew, and with him he sailed to Alinor, selling fine silks and jewelery. Human traders were only allowed in the ports, but even those bare glimses of the island were like seeing the gods' work. The city was like made of glass and insect wings, a hypnotic swirl of swirling towers and staircases stacked high upon each other, connecting impossibly high towers with domes shining like the stars, as if made of diamond. The light of the sun caught every angle of the city, making it shine and gleam as if through a prism, sparkling diamonds across the ground, blinding Jergen until he yearned for nightfall. But even at night the twinkle of the stars shone so bright that the city and its port were permanently basked in light.

From Alinor the ship sailed to Valenwood, who was the exact opposite of Alinor. Where Alinor's cities were sculpted and provided a stark contrast to its plains, Valenwood was a mix of mer and nature, where cities were nothing more than parts of the forest, and forests were the outskirts of cities. When he stepped of the boat, he left off a sea of water and entered an ocean of endless green, a maze of wooden treehouses and foliage, half-hidden cities contained between the twists and knots of the coastal mangroves, and beyond, the jungle forest. The seamen hadn't dared go past the port for fear of the woods and its natives, but Jergen wasn't a man, after all. He made their woods his home, and lived in a Bosmeri village near The Walking City for a few months before moving on.

There he went to the sugar-coated jungles of Elseweyr, Valenwood's neighbouring province. He met there one of the travelers from the Khajiit caravan, who traveled with him through the whole of the country, showing him its sights and wonders, and its many delights. The Khajiit varied in shape and size, from the Alfiq who looked like house cats, but were as intelligent as a man, to the Ohmes who looked just like humans but tattooed their faces to resemble their folk, to the Senche who are not as smart as the rest of their kin and used as battle steeds, but still respected and loved, and many other forms dictated at birth by the waxing of the moons. There he found out that in Cyrodill the Khajiit were Suthay, but in Skyrim the Cathay travelled due to their sturdier consistence, and he soon began to have an eye for them, distinguishing the different type of Khajiit as if here their kin. There he discovered moon sugar, and for a short while, skooma, and in a struggle to purge himself of this addiction he travelled to Black Marsh.

He found Black Marsh unhospitable and exotic, beautiful and dangerous, like walking to the edge of a cliff and being halfway off it and seeing the whole beauty of the world balancing on its edge with you. He travelled on foot through the marshes and the swamplands, swimming in werewolf form more often than not, and he felt at home there, with its lizard folk and his trees, alive like no other werewolf had ever felt, running and hearing the hist trees whispering among each other and quieting when he returned to his man form. He didn't know if the hist talked, or if his werewolf ears understood the vibrations and twitches in the bark in a way that his human years could not, but he found it beautiful and unsettling.

He then made his way to Morrowind, a sea of red and purples, dotted with house-talls mushrooms which sometimes served as homes for the Dunmeri and filled with strange creatures unlike he'd ever seen. The architecture was unlike all the rest he'd ever seen, ever-changing depending on which Dunmer House built it. He made his way across the province and stayed in Blacklight for a couple of years, learning the customs and history of the Dunmer, the rise and fall of the Tribunal, the death and birth of the Nerevarine, and he fell asleep to their songs, rapid like a forest fire, with drums and lutes and clapping and dancing that stirred the sands into a whirlwhind of motion.

And then he took to wondering again, and so close to Skyrim, he decided to return and see what had become of his sons, and of his former pack mates.

But there was just one son waiting for him. He could smell Vilkas' anger through the door, could hear him pacing, but he didn't knock. He had assumed his sons would be upset, Vilkas especially. He was always the one that held grudges longer and harder, while Farkas just went with the flow, rarely got upset and forgot affronts easily and sincerely.

Jergen sighed as the first rays of morning light came through the windows and splayed across the table. The rest of the Companions had gone to sleep, tired after so much revelry and story telling, and he was left alone with Farkas.

"He'll come soon, father. You know he always does, eventually."

Farkas was prophetic, because in that moment, Vilkas opened the door and marched straight towards the table. He sat on a chair and stared hard at Jergen.

"Why did you come back?"

-xx-

Author's notes:

I tried to keep this as lore accurate as I could regarding how the various regions looked. Jergen is well travelled, after all :)

Next chapter we'll go back to Amina and her adventures. For now I wanted to focus more on the world and people around her. There's more to a story than the protagonist, after all.