Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
"Farkas. Stop."
Silence. Then, just a few seconds after, it began again.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
"I said knock it off, you're gonna break it."
Pouting, his brother stared up at Vilkas with sullen eyes. As the sun faded beneath the horizon, the two young pups stood side by side, waiting for the doors of Jorrvaskr to open and welcome them back in.
The Companions had pushed the brothers outside in order to discuss important matters, deeming them too young to listen to such plans. Even though Jergen, their father by choice, had practically raised his children in Jorrvaskr amongst the Companions, they were still young and inexperienced, and even the most skilled wolves in the pack didn't know all the secrets of the guild. Vilkas was cunning; he understood why he and his brother weren't allowed to stay and listen. But it still sparked a flame of anger inside him.
Time drifted slowly, and both brothers only grew more and more impatient. Gripped tightly Farkas' his hand, was a small wooden sword. It was a gift from their father, which was only given so that the two boys would stop touching the real swords that the actual Companions used. Vilkas glared in agitation as his kin repeatedly slapped the pointed end onto the stone ground. It was the habit of a boy with little patience. And a habit that drove Vilkas insane. He doubted that his father would approve of how his brother's use for the weapon either, considering he made it by hand.
There was no telling for sure if Jergen truly was their father, but neither of them cared. He had plucked the brothers out of the hands of a necromancer, an experience that Vilkas didn't think we would ever forget, and had saved their lives, becoming their hero in the process. Even when he had no reason, no incentive to help them, he took both kids under his wing and brought them back to Jorrvaskr to the Companions. And it was an act that they would never forget.
But that was years ago, and Vilkas had grown and matured from then. He learned to handle a blade, memorized the heroes of history, even crafted his own armor. He was no longer a victim that needed saving, he was a warrior. Which was why it irked him to not stand by his father during the meeting. Lack of experience or no, he refused to be treated as a child.
Farkas on the other hand, seemed only interested in his next meal. When his stomach wasn't grumbling, his mouth was, and Vilkas found it to be exhausting. His mind was more simple, and easily satisfied. He never questioned Jergen's decisions, or anyone else's for that matter. He was happy to live, and didn't feel the need to know every detail like his brother did.
He spoke in his usual blunt and uninterested tone, one that Vilkas had grown accustomed to hearing. "I'm bored."
"I know, you've said it a million times. Now be quiet, I want to hear what they're talking about."
"But the meeting is taking a long time."
"I know, Farkas. Now shut up."
He silenced himself, much to Vilkas' surprise. Instead of whacking the sword onto the ground, he sat down, resting his head in his hands. Breathing a sigh of relief, Vilkas turned away from his brother to press his face against the door. It was muffled and hard to comprehend, but he could hear soft voices from inside.
"-dangerous decision, do we really want to get involved?"
"This is our home, you filthy milk-drinker! We've a duty to defend it!"
"I'm not suggesting that we abandon our kin, but this is a big decision, and one that can lead to death."
"Bah! There are peasants fighting in this war! They need real warriors! They need Companions!"
"And what about the guild? Are we to ignore our duties as well?
"Of course not. We'll need members to stay behind and deal with the contracts we receive… as well as the children."
"Will they be okay with this? Will you?
"My sons are strong, they may not understand now, but the will in time."
Vilkas gasped, pressing his ear even harder against the door. But the rest of the conversation was lost in the tumult around him, as Farkas returned to striking the ground with the now nearly blunt and splinted sword. Exasperated, he turned to his brother with venom in his voice.
"Farkas, stop! They're talking about us!
He plucked the sword out of his brother's hands, which slipped from his own grasp to slide down the stairs of Jorrvaskr. Farkas huffed as they watched it bounce off of each stone step down to the bottom. He blinked once, twice, then turned back to Vilkas.
"You threw it, so you have to go get it."
Vilkas shook his head, his scraggly hair sticking on ends. "Forget about the sword, there's something going on in there! Something big! Didn't you hear me?"
He shrugged, uninterested. "They always talk about us. But we talk behind their backs too, so jokes on them."
"No, your not getting the point." He prodded his brother in the stomach, "This isn't some stupid game. They were talking about leaving Jorrvaskr, and something about fighting too!"
Farkas blinked. "Leaving? To where?"
Vilkas shook his head. "Dunno…"
They stood in silence for a while, letting the tension sink in. Silently, Farkas took his brother hand. They watched their wooden sword on the ground below, feeling numb.
Without warning, the doors of Jorrvaskr opened, and Jergen stepped out. Blinking in surprise, He quickly recovered and smiled encouragingly at the boys. Vilkas caught a glimpse of some of the other companions, looking somber as they went into the other room. Only the two boys and their father were left.
"Well well, look at my two boys! Having fun out here-"
"Where are you going?" Vilkas interrupted.
He laughed meekly. "I see nothing gets past you too."
"You didn't answer the question." Vilkas felt a wave of desolation slowly surfacing inside his mind. Jergen was avoiding the answer. Which meant bad news. Taking a deep breath, he clasped both kids on the shoulder, suddenly somber.
"I don't know what you've heard, but it's time you learned what's going on. Let's go inside."
Vilkas dragged his feet as he made his way inside, as if he could actually slow down time by not walking. Farkas noticed his brothers movements and began to do the same. Jergen shook his head with a slight laugh. Vilkas didn't find it funny in the slightest.
Finally, he stopped and turned. He knelt down to embrace his children, letting out a heavy sigh. The brothers hugged back, confused. Vilkas felt anxious, his heart pausing at the thought of bad news.
"I am so, so proud of my boys. One day you'll be all grown up and leading the pack." He laughed, ruffling the hair on their heads with a steady hand. "You'll make fine Companions." His voice was bitter-sweet, but his face was full of sorrow. Vilkas heard himself sniffle.
"Vilkas… Farkas… You both have brought me so much pride. And it pains me to say this. But there's no use in delaying the news… I'm leaving.
There they were, the first tears. Vilkas looked down, vision blurred as droplets fell from his eyes and onto the wooden floors. This was why. Why all the secrecy and the meeting. Their father was leaving. For good. He felt sobs ricochet through his body. Why hadn't they told him sooner?
"I know you're young… And I know that war is something that not even grown men fully comprehend. But just know that this is something that I need to do. As a warrior, as a Nord.. and as a father. And one day, when you're older, you'll understand why I left today. I have to fight. For Skyrim."
"No!" Vilkas' tears turned to gushing streams. "No! I won't let you leave! You can't do it!"
With cries of anguish, he swung at his father's chest with shaky fists. Jergen didn't try to stop the blows, just stared down helplessly. Farkas didn't move an inch, eyes casted downwards.
His father's words were quiet but strong. "People are dying, Vilkas. I won't let their deaths be in vain. There are times where we must make hard choices in life, and this is one of them. You know I love you and Farkas more than anything, but this isn't something I can just turn away from. I won't let those damn Thalmor take our home!"
Jergen sighed, standing. But when he reached out to touch Vilkas, he turned away. Scowling through the tears, he pushed through the doors of Jorrvaskr, leaving his father in shock. He ran around the building to the back, slumping down against the stone wall. He had stopped crying, but the pain was still there.
He didn't know what time it was, just that the sun had set and father was long gone. Vilkas didn't feel like going back inside. He didn't want to face the reality that his father was gone, and chances are would never come back. He wanted to collapse.
Suddenly, he felt a hand wrap around his. Looking up, Vilkas sniffled at his brother Farkas. Without talking, he sat down by his side, a small wooden sword in his hand. Vilkas smiled as he dropped it in front of his feet.
"I got the sword for you. Even though it was your turn."
"I know, Farkas. Thanks."
Vilkas sighed, gingerly picking up the sword. The only thing left of his father. Swallowing his grief, he looked towards his brother with a grin, happy to have a brother by his side, no matter how different they were. He handed the sword back to Farkas, who went back to the process of hitting the stone floor repeatedly. And for once, Vilkas found the sound to be soothing.