The ceremony was tense, but thankfully short. Cyréne and Vilkas didn't look at each other and though the others noticed the tension, they ignored it. When the last words were spoken Kodlak held up his hands for silence and nodded at Aela. The Huntress stepped forward with something in her hands and paused in front of Cyréne.

Kodlak began speaking again. "Cyréne, you are the first in hundreds of years to join the ranks of the circle without joining your blood with ours."

"You have chosen weakness over strength," Skjor said. "But, you've chosen it honorably in order to protect our secrets."

"At the same time, you have also chosen strength over weakness," Farkas added. "The weakness we know will not affect you."

"And so we give you this," Aela said, "as a symbol of our joining."

There was a pause, as they waited for Vilkas to say his part. When he didn't speak Aela opened her mouth to finish for him, but Farkas put his hand on her arm to stop her. He looked expectantly at Vilkas, who maintained his stormy silence.

Farkas spoke too low for Cyréne to hear him, although the others could hear him clearly. "Brother, do not let your anger cloud your judgment. You won't be able to undo this if you regret it later."

Vilkas's jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, his anger palpable.

The wolf pushed at him.

Even through her own anger, Cyréne couldn't help but be deeply hurt. Vilkas was her shield-brother, he'd taken her on her first mission, he'd sworn to stand by her, but now . . . there was only silence. She swallowed the lump in her throat, stared at the ground in front of her and waited for Aela to say his part.

"May our strength carry you through your weakness, and may your strength carry us through ours."

Their eyes met as he said the words. For the briefest moment, they knew each other again. He finished speaking and the moment was gone.

Aela stepped close to Cyréne and opened her gloved hands to reveal a long delicate chain. Suspended on it was an intricate charm of a wolf sitting in tall grass howling at the two moons. The wolf's eyes were tiny sapphires – everything else was made of silver.

Aela secured the necklace around Cyréne's neck and gave her a lightning-quick hug. "Welcome, to the Circle, Sister."

Even Vilkas walking away couldn't suppress Cyréne's smile.

"Thank you, it's beautiful. I will wear it always."

Skjor laughed and clapped her on the shoulder as he headed inside. "Enjoy yourself, pup. Tonight is for drinking – leave everything else until tomorrow!"

"Well spoken!" Kodlak agreed. "Even this old warrior plans to join the celebration tonight." He embraced Cyréne and then followed Skjor.

Farkas swept her into Jorrvaskr in a breath-stealing bear hug. The hall was full of people. Cheers and calls for a speech went up as soon as they entered. Farkas stood Cyréne up on a chair and handed her a huge tankard of mead.

The room quieted. Cyréne looked around for a moment and then spoke.

"Companions, friends and those of you just here for the mead, (the crowd chuckled). I am honored to stand before you tonight as a member of this family. We are brothers and sisters bound by honor, strengthened by battle and tested through time."

She turned to where the Companions stood beside her. "Companions, I give you my vow. I will stand at your backs so that the world may not overtake us. My sword is always ready to meet the blood of your foes. You are my family and I can think of no greater honor than to pledge my faith to you."

She turned her gaze back to the guests. "I say to you now, words worthy of the Legendary Companions, words that have echoed through these halls since the time of Ysgramor himself: "Let's drink!"

Loud cheers rang out and bards started to play.

Farkas lifted her off the chair into another hug and set her on the floor. "Let's drink, Sister!"

Cyréne found herself laughing as Athis congratulated her and immediately started asking her to deal out shitty jobs to Torvar. Njada was next to offer her congratulations, followed by Torvar himself. Cyréne looked around for Ria and finally located her hovering over Vilkas as he nursed his mead.

"Get used to that sight," Njada said in her ear.

"What him drinking, or her hovering?" Cyréne asked with a grin.

"Hmph! Both," Njada replied. "Although I've no doubt her hovering will turn to her throwing herself at him, sooner or later."

Cyréne just shrugged in response.

She looked up to see Kalv and Lydia standing by the door. They were both smiling at her and finally she was able to make her way to them through the throng of people. She'd noticed Lydia's eyes wandering to Farkas, so she dragged him over with her and the two of them were soon moving to the table together.

"Congratulations," Kalv said as he embraced her.

"Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me."

"My pleasure! I think everyone in Whiterun is here!"

"What kind of armor are you wearing?" she asked, running her fingers over the unique chest plate. "It looks like something out of a legend."

Kalv guided her into a corner. "Well, that's because it almost is. It's the armor of the Blades."

Cyrene looked at him in shock. "The Blades? You mean the former body guards of the Emperor?'

"The very same."

"I thought all of the agents were killed during the Great War," she said, eyes wide.

"Almost all of them – tell you what, now is not the time to discuss it, but promise me another outing before you leave tomorrow, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Deal!"

He nodded and moved away from her as well-wishers pressed in on them to congratulate her. From the across the room Vilkas watched as Kalv started up an easy conversation with the person standing next to him.

As they often do, the hours passed quickly among friends and soon it was well after midnight.

Vilkas had been drinking more steadily than most all night. Ria was chattering on about something beside him, and a barmaid had somehow made her way onto his lap and was pressing herself against him. Vilkas nodded when appropriate and occasionally turned his head to give the willing bar-maid a smoothly spoken line. But for the most part, his attention was glued to Cyréne and the Dragonborn.

No matter where the man went, he always seemed to be aware of Cyréne's exact location. To the casual observer the Dragonborn wasn't being obvious, but there was nothing casual about Vilkas's attention and the wolf caught all of the other man's possessive cues to the men around him. A hand on the small of her back, a word or two whispered in her ear, the occasional warning glare to any male that got to close.

When the throng cleared a little, Cyréne got a wide and unwanted view of the barmaid on Vilkas's lap stroking him under the table as she pressed her almost exposed chest to his face.

Vilkas saw the pain flash in her eyes and his heart twisted in his chest. He felt the sting of guilt and regret. It hurt, and there was nothing he could do about it now. It was destined to hurt for a long, long time. He didn't want to be here again, feeling betrayed and discarded, no matter how he'd arrived, so he turned his attention to the woman on his lap, the one that wanted him – or at least part of him, even if it was only for the night.

Cyréne turned her head as Vilkas whispered in the woman's ear and the two of them got up from the table. When they disappeared downstairs, Cyréne took a shaky breath and let out a heavy sigh that was slightly tinged with anger – mostly at herself for giving a damn, but also at Vilkas for pushing them farther down this road. She thought suddenly about her parents and how easy hurting each other came to them – she'd run to escape it, but now – she was them. She felt her spirits dampen and she longed for freedom.

"That's who did it isn't it?" Kalv questioned as he returned to her side.

"Who did what?"

Kalv wasn't buying her memory loss.

"Please, don't do anything," she said anxiously. "I assure you, I repaid him for it."

Taking her by the elbow, he guided her out onto the back porch. There were a few guests milling around and they clapped Cyréne on the shoulder and toasted her loudly. Once they were able to disengage themselves, the two of them made their way to the lookout post on the other side of the training yard. Cyréne was almost in tears.

Kalv looked down at her, worried. "I won't do anything, Cyréne, not tonight,"

"Not ever!" she demanded.

His jaw tightened but he gave her a clipped nod. "Is he the reason you're leaving?"

"I don't want to talk about this, not tonight."

"When then? You're leaving tomorrow. I don't even know when I'll see you again."

"Why is this so important to you?"

He exhaled and pushed a hand through his hair. "I don't know, but suddenly everything that has to do with you is important to me."

Cyréne pulled his hand from his hair and held it.

"Kalv," she said gently, "we've only known each other a few days, not even that long really. And, I am leaving. I don't see how this could work."

He gave her a pained look. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," she nodded.

"For the first time in months, for the first time since I stumbled across the border into this nightmare of being the Dragonborn, I feel like I know what I'm fighting for. You, in these few days, have given me something to hold onto. I don't know how to explain it to you, and I should be a better man than to lay it on you like this, but . . ."

Cyréne's eyes were wide. She moved her hand to his cheek, "but . . ."

He took a breath and covered her hand with his, "but you're the calm in the storm I'm facing. You take away the chaos. When I'm with you, the world makes sense again. I don't want to be without you."

Cyréne looked at him in confusion, "So, you what . . . need me?" Everyone needs me.

"Yes"

"So that you can save the world?" Tell me that you want me.

"Yes"

"Ah, no pressure there," she said with a wink.

He turned his face and kissed her palm. "I w—"

His words were cut off as he snatched her to him and pulled her to the ground between his body and the stone wall, his arms sheltering her head. "Are you alright?" he said urgently.

"Yes, I'm fine. What's wrong?"

Still holding her close, he nodded toward where she'd been standing. There was a red and black feathered arrow dripping with poison embedded in the wooden post. If Kalv hadn't pulled her down, it would have impaled her throat.

Cyréne's heart hammered in her chest. "Is that what I think it is?" she breathed.

He nodded and scanned the training yard trying to determine the safest route inside, "the Dark Brotherhood."