It wasn't that she thought herself above the leader's commands, but being named Listener pulled at something in Athene's soul. It was a role she'd been given that didn't ask much of anything. She didn't have to give something up or worship anyone. Just go to a place, talk to a person. Accept the adoration of an insane jester. If Athene was being honest with herself, it made her feel important.
She'd fallen in with the Dark Brotherhood because it was the one faction that had welcomed her since arriving in Skyrim. It also made sense, given her temperament. She'd always been a little bit unforgiving. If someone wanted these people dead, it made sense to kill them. If someone wanted her dead she'd have accepted the same—while fighting for her life, of course. But did she have to follow them the way they were? They had never told her she was necessary, they just said she was useful.
Would she ignore the Night Mother? Or would she ignore Astrid?
Tough choice.
On her way to Volunruud she stopped in Whiterun to sell some off the wolf pelts and fence some jewellery. She was also curious because of a comment Astrid's husband Arnbjorn had made about the Companions. While the gruff werewolf had been calling Cicero a witless fool, he'd compared his dedication to the Night Mother to the Companions' dedication to honour. He'd said, "And that group is a pack of their own." And laughed.
Perhaps it was Athene's imagination, but when a werewolf talked about another pack it made her wonder. So off she went to Jorrvaskr to see what she could see.
Jon Battle-Born was in his usual place in the market, lamenting the state of his country.
"Everyone is obsessed with death," he told her, not realizing the irony, considering who he was addressing.
"What do you know about the Companions?" Athene asked. She'd lightened her load of pelts at Warmaiden's and left most of the jewellery with Belethor. Thank goodness the guy couldn't tell a stolen ring from crown jewels.
"They stay out of it, which is more than I can say for most of the people in Whiterun," Jon said.
"It?"
"The war. Stormcloaks, the Empire. The Companions have no stomach for politics that I can see, and I respect them for that."
"Even if they do a lot of killing anyway?"
Jon shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."
Well that was true, Athene thought.
"Have you ever heard about any werewolves in the area?" she said.
He eyed her and then glanced quickly away, towards Olfina Gray-Mane who was shopping across the market.
"Some people think that when night falls they prey on the unwary, right across the plains," he said finally.
"What do you say?"
He shrugged. "It's just more death, isn't it?"
Asking for rumours in The Bannered Mare or The Drunken Huntsman would probably arouse too much suspicion, so Athene contented herself with Jon's non-answers and set herself the task of observing the Companions for herself. They were a tough lot. Most wore heavy armor and equally-heavy battleaxes and swords, and even the archers looked like they wouldn't be able to sneak worth a damn. She'd seen the twins around while she was helping the Jarl with his dragon problem–Vilkas and Farkas, a couple of tough guys she shouldn't really like, but Farkas had grown on her. He was soft in the head but not as rude as the rest of them, and he was the only one who hadn't called her "You, elf."
They all drank in their mead hall and were rarely seen through the rest of town, though they travelled the countryside once in a while to lend a heavy fist or a sword to those who paid. The most honourable in Skyrim, and they were still just paid blades, barely different from Athene herself. It made her shake her head.
The day after her arrival she caught Farkas heading out of the city.
"Going hunting? I could help," she said.
He turned slowly, as if processing her words.
"No thanks. But if you've a good arm you should join the Companions."
She wondered how soft his head really was, that he looked at her and saw a potential recruit.
"Shouldn't you have a shield brother with you? That's just what I've heard."
He shrugged. "I, uh… I have something to do."
And with that intriguing pronouncement he resumed his march to the city gates.
As if she was going to leave it at that.
Athene kept to the shadows and on his trail. She didn't have to try: his armor was so loud she might have stayed in Falkreath and heard where he was going. He wound his way out of the gates and then turned west towards the watchtower. Athene stepped carefully along the side of the road, close enough that she could see the bristles on his beard, yet he seemed totally oblivious.
She knew looks could be deceiving, and hoped she wasn't making a mistake. But what was he doing that he wanted to be alone? What was his something to do?
Worried she'd underestimated him, she hung back and let him stalk on ahead. The road turned and hid him behind a pile of rocks, and she stopped for a minute, figuring she'd pick him up again when he'd gone past.
Then he didn't go past.
Athene blinked, and whispered, "No. Come on…" She ran ahead, soft footfalls barely registering on the dense plains soil, but at the other side of the rocks there was just… nothing. A lone wolf howl burst out from across the road, within a copse of trees, but Farkas was gone.
Gone, except for that wolf. Eyes peered out at her: one solitary creature making his way beneath the moonlight, an enormous wolf by any standards, and then it loped away.
"Fair enough," she whispered. "Good hunting."
She had an answer to her questions about the Companions. Now she just had to decide what to do with it.