Author Note: Hi everyone. Sorry for the long delay. Work and school kept me away from Skyrim. Thanks again for your views, faves and reviews. It's very much appreciated!

...

That night Vilkas tossed and turned in his bed. The beastblood would not allow restful slumber.

...

Vilkas found himself walking down a path in the wilderness with Farkas at his side. His brows creased in confusion. Where are we? What are we doing here? He had trouble clearing the fog from his mind. Vilkas remembered a fierce battle. He and Farkas had been surrounded by hundreds of Silver Hand warriors. He remembered the sound of men yelling and dying around him and the taste of steel and blood. His consciousness slipped down into darkness and then suddenly they were here. Something was strange about their surroundings. The grass, trees and even the rocks seemed somehow too vivid. He looked up at the skies and admired the amazing aurora there, swirling with impossible colors.

As they reached the end of the path they came to a bridge constructed from the bones of some great beast. Guarding the bridge was a Nord warrior as tall and strong as a giant. Beyond the bridge of bones was an impressive stone mead hall with a roof so tall it seemed to touch the heavens.

It was just like in the old tales. Vilkas could hardly believe his eyes. "By Ysmir!" He exclaimed, turning to his brother. "That's Tsun and the bridge to the Hall of Valor. We're dead!"

Farkas just shrugged. "Had to happen sooner or later."

Vilkas sighed. Even in bloody Sovngarde nothing seemed to faze his brother.

Farkas looked towards the Hall of Valor with a more serious expression in his eyes. "We'll probably meet Ysgramor in there. Do you think we'll see Jergen too?" He asked.

"I don't know," Vilkas answered honestly.

He followed his brother's gaze. Light and warmth beckoned to them from the stone building's large windows. From within, Vilkas could hear the voices of thousands of heroes raised up in songs of valor. It filled his spirit with fierce joy.

The brothers made their way to the bridge and Tsun greeted them by unsheathing a wicked looking axe. Before they could earn passage over the bridge by testing their mettle against Tsun, the air was pierced by a deafening howl.

Vilkas was filled with dread as he turned to see a great wolf spirit approach them, its red eyes gleaming like fire. He and Farkas raised their swords and were prepared to fight, but to no avail. They were no longer men, but spirits. The great wolf swept them away from Sovngarde like mist blown away by wind.

Vilkas and Farkas were now surrounded by a lush green forest. A warrior stood above them, holding a spear and crowned with the skull and antlers of a great deer.

"Welcome to my hunting grounds," The Daedric Lord Hircine greeted them. He laughed cruelly as he sensed resistance from these two souls. "Do not struggle so. You were mine from the day you drank of the blood and accepted my gifts. There is no need to fear. In time, all concerns will fade and you will forget that you were ever men. You shall be my wolves for all eternity."

...

Vilkas shot awake in a cold sweat and sat up in his bed. Since the day he chose to forgo the transformations, he was plagued by unsettling dreams. They weren't always nightmares. Sometimes he dreamt of running across the plains, strong and free in his werewolf form. Although his Nord soul yearned for Sovngarde, Vilkas wondered if he truly had the will to give up the powers granted by the beastform.

Vilkas threw off his fur blanket with a curse. He opened his bedroom door and crossed the hallway to his brother's room. He knocked and was answered by a grunt from within. Vilkas opened the door and made his way to the bar Farkas kept in the corner. He poured himself a nice tall mug of mead from one of the kegs.

Farkas lay on his side in his small bed, comfortably entrenched under a mountain of fur blankets. "You been having nightmares again?" He asked.

"Aye, the usual. I dreamt we were denied entry to Sovngarde," Vilkas answered.

"Kodlak will find the cure before we have to worry about that, you'll see," Farkas reassured him.

Vilkas respected his brother's more optimistic and trusting nature, but he could not share it. He wasn't certain their Harbinger would find the cure in time. Any day they could die while out on a mission.

Farkas observed as Vilkas scowled into his mead. He knew his brother's habits well. Vilkas would think too much about things until he worked himself into a foul mood. There was one way to shake him out of it.

"Hey, how about we go outside and get some practice in before breakfast?" Farkas suggested.

Vilkas grunted his assent.

They would feel better after hitting each other with swords.

Skjor leaned against the back wall of the practice yard and watched with a stoic expression as Farkas and Vilkas beat the crap out of each other.

The brothers had been at it for nearly an hour. The clash of metal rang out as they swung and blocked with their longswords. Sweat poured down their faces as they circled each other with identical expressions of intense concentration. Skjor could tell that Vilkas was beginning to tire. The brothers were skilled swordsmen, but Farkas was massive and Vilkas had always been the smaller of the two.

Skjor's battle scarred face broke into a smile of pride as he watched them and remembered. It seemed like yesterday that they were children, sparing with wooden swords in this very spot. Skjor had often trained them. Sometimes he pulled them off each other and gave them a stern talking to when sibling rivalries flared into battle. When the brothers became the youngest ever to join the Companions at age 15, Skjor was there. Just two years later they were initiated into the Circle. Skjor helped them take the beastblood and guided them through their first transformations. Skjor, Kodlak and Jergen all had a hand in raising the boys to be the men they were today.

Vilkas finally raised a hand and said "Enough!" Both brothers looked exhausted as they put their swords back on the rack. They took a seat at the benches on the stone patio and both tossed back some ale to quench their thirst.

Skjor walked over to join them at the benches. "Not bad," He nodded to them. "You still need to improve your speed Farkas, and Vilkas keep working on that stamina."

"Aye." Both brothers intoned.

"Got word from that mage, Arniel, the one who's been tracking down the shards of Wuuthrad for us," Skjor said.

Both brothers looked up intently.

"What has he heard?" Vilkas asked.

"Seems one piece has been in Whiterun Hold all this time, right under our noses. Dustman's Cairn." Skjor answered.

"I know that place. Time to go put some undead to rest," Farkas said eagerly.

"There's more," Skjor added. "An informant of mine tells me the Silver Hand recently sent two dozen men to that area with digging equipment."

Vilkas swore at this news and Farkas' expression darkened.

Over the last decade, the Silver Hand had boldly stolen several shards of Wuuthrad from sites all over Skyrim. This hated enemy had taken the Companion's most treasured relic, the axe of their founder Ysgramor. It was a humiliation that could not go unanswered.

"We'll take back what is ours, or pry the shard from their dead hands," Vilkas said with conviction. "I wish I didn't have that Forsworn job to go to tomorrow. I'd leave tonight for the cairn."

Skjor fixed his good eye upon Farkas. "I'd like you to take the job this time Farkas," he said. "You took Ria out for her testing and did well. I want you to do the same with the newblood. Take Lily to Dustman's Cairn and see how she fares."

Farkas nodded his agreement, but Vilkas let out a huff of disbelief.

"You don't like the girl," Skjor said.

"She's a thief," Vilkas stated. He shook his head. "We must be truly desperate for recruits. Shall I go to the dungeons of Dragonsreach and pick out a few more?"

Skjor smirked at this. "So what? Thieves, pirates, bandits…she wouldn't be the first Companion that we've had over the centuries who's had a past. What matters is if they live with honor after they join. I haven't noticed anything missing from Jorrvaskr since the girl arrived, have you?" he jested.

Vilkas would not give voice to his concerns, lest Skjor accuse him of fretting like an old woman. Several horrible scenarios crossed his mind. Everyone knew thieves were incapable of loyalty and only cared about coin. What if Lily tried to sell his brother out to the Silver Hand once they got to Dustman's Cairn? Or, perhaps she would just try and make off with all the loot after shooting a poisoned arrow into his back. Vilkas feared that his trusting, good natured brother may blunder right into danger.