He was a talker. That was a shame.
They lay together in a wolf den, rocks overhanging the little sheltered area in the foothills north of Falkreath. They'd run for miles and finally stopped and fought long enough to shift the previous occupants of the den on their way before collapsing into the dirt as if it was the most comfortable bed. Filthy and exhausted, Athene could barely think straight and there was nothing she'd rather do than sleep. Well, almost nothing. Farkas' hard body next to hers wasn't without its merits even covered in the grime of the hunt. But then he'd wanted to talk, and then he hadn't shut up.
He told her more about the Companions, his friends and family in Jorrvaskr and the bond they shared with blood, and as wolves. He told her about the Harbinger, Kodlak, with awe and respect in his voice. He didn't know exactly where he and Vilkas had come from, but they'd been raised as warriors and he loved the role. He'd never questioned he was exactly where he should be, and Athene found that certainty impressive.
All she had to do was murmur or express agreement to keep him talking, which was fine because she was officially too tired to do anything else. But then he said, "I've heard of you, you know."
A stone settled in her chest. He must have felt her stiffen because he moved a little away and the loss of his warmth was shocking.
"Heard of me how," she growled.
"The guards in Whiterun say you're Dragonborn. They say when you killed that worm at the Western Watchtower you took its soul, like a hero out of legend."
"And they whisper this nonsense behind my back as I pass?"
"Only because you yelled at them when they said it to your face."
Athene tried to shrug, but the gesture was lost since she was lying down. She said, "Legends are legends because they happened a long time ago and they're too amazing to be believed."
"So you didn't absorb its power?"
"I... absorbed something."
"And you Shouted? Like Ulfric Stormcloak? Like the Greybeards teach?"
"Apparently."
"That's amazing. Too amazing to be believed, maybe."
She punched his arm.
"Ow." He grabbed her hand, and held it—No, dropped it again. Little elf hand, big Nord fist. Athene shifted onto her side and closed her eyes.
He wasn't to be deterred. "You should go see the Greybeards. Maybe they can teach you more."
"I'm not a great student."
"It sounds like you don't have to be. And anyway, you might not have a choice. If you are Dragonborn, these things have a habit of happening whether you want them to or not."
He started to tell her a story Vilkas had told him, about a long-ago champion in Cyrodiil, slaying a unicorn to obtain the hunting god Hircine's blessed hide. Athene had time to wonder why these Nords cared about an Imperial hero before she drifted into sleep.
She woke and left Farkas while he was still dreaming and twitching like a dog by a fire. It had been a great night, but she was sore and confused. She walked slowly through Falkreath hold, avoiding the town and coming to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary via the hills, out of sight. There was no reason to delay, as her assassination had been a total success, and no one else knew how she'd spent the night. But delay she did, and it was afternoon before she touched the black door.
Gabriella waited in the entryway as if she'd heard her coming.
"Yes yes, you did it," she said, brushing aside Athene's success with a hand wave. "There are more important things right now. There's been an incident. Cicero. Veezara..." She paused.
It was too much to wait to hear which of her friends was hurt or dead. Athene pushed past her and ran once again.