Cyréne vaulted out of the back doors of Jorrvaskr and onto the porch. She shoved a bundle of clothes at Vilkas and then grabbed his hand and jerked him out of his chair, dragging him behind her.
"Come on!"
"Where are we going?"
"Don't worry about it, just hurry up. I'm starving!"
Vilkas sighed, but allowed himself to be pulled along at a jog.
When they left the gates of Whiterun, Cyréne slowed their pace and blew out a breath, "Geeze!"
"Where are we going?" Vilkas repeated. "I thought you were hungry."
"I am hungry," she snapped, "but I'm also filthy and tired, and I'm not going to the Bannered Mare looking like a vagrant and smelling gross."
"And you're bringing me along for this, why?" he frowned.
"Because, we might have to spend the night there, and I'm not sharing a bed with you if you're filthy."
Vilkas stopped in his tracks, nearly topping Cyréne over backwards. "And WHY, would we have to spend the night there?" he demanded.
Cyréne dropped his hand, looked away, and kept walking. "I dunno . . . it just may come up later."
"Cyréne," he said, warningly.
She walked a little faster.
"CYRENE! Get back here and tell me what you've done!"
She broke into a run. "At least he's wearing heavy armor," she muttered to herself. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw a very irritated Vilkas hot on her heels. Damn!
"I mean it, Cyréne! Stop!"
"Catch me if you can!" she called, and darted into the trees.
Vilkas growled and raced after her.
Cyréne veered through the darkening woods and grinned when she heard Vilkas cursing.
"Where are you, Woman?!"
She dug a small sack out of her satchel before setting it down carefully on a rock and then heading toward the small waterfall-fed pool in the distance, stripping off clothing and armor on the way.
Vilkas was vowing to throttle her when he heard a splash followed by a loud shriek.
Moments later he crashed into the clearing, wolf and man searching for danger.
"Sweet Talos, that's cold!"
The wolf huffed in relief and flopped back down in the corner of his mind. Vilkas closed his eyes and counted to 10, and then 20, and then to 10 again. I will not kill her, I will not kill her. He opened his eyes and stared down from the rocky ledge. Cyréne was looking up at him. She was treading water in a small pool with a stupid grin on her face. He stared up at the sky. Idiot.
"Come on in, Vilky-Wilky," she called
"I told you not to call me that!"
"Fine! Stay up there and be dirty. You can sleep on the floor!"
Vilkas spared another glance in her direction. It was a bright night, but the large trees surrounding the clearing shadowed the pool rendering the crystal clear water mostly opaque. Slivers of moonlight filtered through their branches and danced off the small waterfall and the surrounding wet rocks. Cyréne's wet hair floated around her in the water, covering her shoulders and fanning out around her arms. A trail of dark objects on the ground caught his attention; it took a moment for him to realize that it was her leather training armor . . . and her breast band . . .and her smalls.
"Are you naked?" he choked out.
"Well, yeah. That's normally how people get clean. I brought you a towel, it's in my satchel."
Vilkas regarded her, incredulously. "You're naked - in a freezing cold pond, I might add – and you want me to join you?"
He could almost feel her roll her eyes in the semi-darkness.
She sighed heavily. "Don't be such a baby! If you're afraid I'm going to pounce on you, don't worry. Your virtue is safe with me."
"One day," Vilkas ground out, "I. Am going. To choke you."
"Come on!" she teased," I'm not even looking. Are you shy?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.
He stripped off his armor with practiced fingers and dove off the rock. Cyréne giggled when he came up sputtering.
"Shor's Bones! It's freezing!"
Vilkas gritted his teeth waiting for his body to adjust somewhat to the temperature. True to his Nord blood, it didn't take long.
A few moments later the water rippled around him in the near darkness and Cyréne handed him soap, from arm's length. "I'm getting out now. No peeking."
"Please," he scoffed.
"I mean it Vilkas. No wolf vision, no sneak peeks, nothing. I hope you have more respect for me than that."
"Of course I do," he said, slightly offended.
He turned his back to her and began washing. He heard her step out of the water a moment later, and smirked when he found himself tempted to peek.
When he emerged, she was dressed and sitting on a large rock with her back to the pond, combing her fingers through her damp hair. She didn't turn around and he watched her wind the long strands into a loose bun and secure it on top of her head as he toweled off and dressed, and then began to gather their discarded armor.
"Ready?" he said.
"Absolutely! I hope Hulda has some of that beef stew I like."
She hopped off the rock and reached for her armor. Vilkas swatted her hand away. They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat.
"Now. Tell me why, exactly, we may be spending the night at the Mare."
"Wow, look at those stars!" Cyrene breathed. "You know a lot about stars, Vilkas. What constellation is that one?"
"Cyréne"
"What? I really want to know."
He looked up to the sky where she was pointing. "That's the warrior. There's his sword, there's his shield, there's his helmet. Now answer my question."
"Alright," she sighed. "We may be able to go back to Jorrvaskr. It just depends on whether Tilma still has her locked up or not."
"Who?"
"Tilma . . . our maid," she said, as though he were a complete moron.
Vilkas closed his eyes and willed himself not to choke her.
"I know who Tilma is. Who does she have locked up?"
Cyrene shrugged and looked away from him. "I dunno, some freakishly beautiful, crazy woman."
Vilkas stopped walking and stared at her. "What?"
"Oh no you don't," Cyrene said, pushing at him. "Keep walking. I'm dying for food."
"I'll start walking when you explain yourself."
"Fine, I'm explaining. Walk."
They started forward and she continued. "You were all dazed on the porch, so I snuck downstairs to get some clothes to change into and some coin to pay for dinner. When I got to your room, there was a woman sitting on your bed."
Vilkas stopped again. Cyréne grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. "Like I was saying, I said hello and started getting your clothes. She asked if you were with me – which was completely stupid, because obviously, you were not. Anyway, I grabbed your stuff and said goodbye and she started shrieking at me, demanding to know where her husband was. Then she chased me down the hall like a lunatic. So . . . I may have borrowed Tilma's broom and locked her in the sleeping quarters."
Vilkas's mouth dropped open in the darkness. "You may have?"
"I . . . more than may have. I mean, how in Oblivion am I supposed to know where her husband is?" Cyréne continued. "He's her husband. She should keep up with him."
"Cyréne," Vilkas sighed.
"She was really beautiful though, I mean really beautiful. I think she was part Brenton – shiny, dark, curly hair with this really pale skin."
"Cyrene"
"I think her eyes were purple. Like, how is that even possible? I guess that doesn't make up for the crazy part, though."
"Cyréne!"
"What?"
"Please stop talking."
"Ok," she said gently. They walked in silence for a few moments. "For how long?"
"Until we get to the Bannered Mare."