Tirdas, 26th of Last Seed, 4E 201
"Oh, hey. There you are," Farkas's voice boomed across the otherwise empty hall as Kjell emerged from the stairway into the upstairs half of Jorrvaskr.
Kjell groaned quietly and nodded to Farkas as he entered the hall. He moved to a nearby table and eyed a bowl of fruit and a platter of sweet rolls and honey nut treats, unable to decide on anything. Never in Kjell's life had he spent any length of time eating as richly as the Companions did. Meat – and nice cuts of it – available at every meal every day, pies and sweet rolls, rich cheeses, plenty of butter and salt and spices and seasonings... it was taking his stomach some getting used to.
"Rough night?" Farkas asked, watching. He seemed to pick up on Kjell's uncertainty, but not the cause for it.
"Not used to sleeping in such close quarters," Kjell shrugged. "I'll acclimate."
"Ah, right," said Farkas. Kjell wondered if he knew what the word acclimate meant. "By the way, if you're looking for something to do..." Farkas ventured.
"Go on," Kjell answered, looking up at him.
"We got some trouble right here in Whiterun Hold," Farkas said. "Nothing we can't handle," he added with a vague note of pride.
"I thought I still had to train and prove myself worthy," Kjell said sarcastically.
"Not from what I heard," Farkas answered honestly.
"Hah. What sort of trouble, then?" Kjell asked warily, finally skipping the fruit and sweets and settling on a small piece of plain bread. He briefly wondered if Farkas was supposed to be so transparent about whatever he'd heard from Vilkas about his training.
Farkas handed Kjell a bounty note. A simple bandit camp. From what it seemed based on the note, Kjell had dealt with the likes of this before. He'd probably be fine.
"Nothing but a bunch of lowly bandits," Farkas said, and Kjell thought he heard a try at reassurance in the larger man's gruff voice. "And the pay is good."
"I'll handle them," Kjell agreed confidently.
"I knew you could be counted on," Farkas said gladly, clapping Kjell on the back. "Uh... sorry," he added, as Kjell stumbled forward a step from the force of his friendly pat.
Kjell finished eating the bread and was off without fanfare. He checked with a guard at the city gate for the rough location of the encampment indicated in the note, called Silent Moons.
"When you're out of the city, take the road west till you come to a broken watchtower," the guard advised, "then hike north from there, and be mindful of the giant camp in the area."
Easy enough, Kjell figured, although by the time he reached the watchtower he was wishing he'd eaten more than a little bread before heading off. Despite being informed of the giant encampment in the area, Kjell was surprised to see it. He'd seen plenty of things in his life, but one thing he hadn't seen up to now was a giant encampment. He didn't know what he expected, but it seemed sparse and spread out. Kjell skirted the camp, giving it a wide berth and hoping that as long as he kept his distance, the giants would want as little to do with him and he wanted to do with them, and in practically no time he had passed by the giants and put them behind him.
The Silent Moons camp was indeed an easy job, as Farkas had predicted. Kjell was well practiced and slipping in and out of a place unnoticed, and was a solid shot with a throwing knife, of which he still had three that he had taken from Helgen. He had the place cleared of bandits by early evening.
All in all, it was a successful first assignment. Kjell supposed this Companions gig wasn't so bad after all – although he was left wondering where his head had been when it was time to make preparations. Bandit camps meant loot; he should have brought his knapsack, or at least some practical way of carrying things. The camp was rife with potions both useful and valuable, as well as coin purses, jewelry, and other valuables (clearly stolen, not that Kjell minded). For now, he shoved these items into a burlap sack found among the bandits' things, promising himself that he would bring something better to carry things in to the next such job.
Finally, munching on a small wedge of cheese from the bandits' food stores, Kjell set off back for Whiterun. From here, he could see the city rising up above the plains. So, rather than head straight south back to the road by the watch tower, he decided to just hike straight back toward Whiterun. This would save time, and wouldn't require him to pass by the giant camp again. There were areas when even the low hills of this terrain got a bit steep, as well as a stream that Kjell had to cross, but these obstacles were easily cleared.
Kjell even made it back into the city before the shops closed, which he was pleased about, as it allowed him to unload the loot he had picked up before returning to Jorrvaskr. He didn't really know how the Companions felt about this sort of thing, but either way he knew he didn't want to share the extra coin with them. The one item he couldn't unload was a sword, of all things.
"I'm telling you, I won't buy it for any more than 20 septims," Belethor, the shopkeeper, insisted.
"Are you insane!?" Kjell exclaimed. "This sword is a family heirloom, and it's enchanted. It's worth way more than 20 septims!"
"Family heirloom, huh?" Belethor challenged. "And what does the enchantment on this sword do, exactly?"
"Uhh..." Kjell trailed off. Damn it, think of something, anything! Kjell had always been great at bullshitting in these situations. Why was he suddenly drawing a blank?
"I'm not saying it isn't enchanted," Belethor said. "But enchanted doesn't always mean valuable. If I don't know what it does, I'm not spending more than 20 septims on it. Final offer, take it or leave it."
"Whatever, man," Kjell scoffed and snatched the sword up off of Belethor's counter. "I'll find a buyer who knows quality when he sees it."
Everything else having been sold, Kjell quickly strapped the sword to his back and hoped no one would say anything about it when he returned to Jorrvaskr. Farkas rose the moment Kjell entered the hall, as if he had been waiting for him. Behind Farkas, at the tables, several of the Companions snickered at his eagerness.
"I've taken care of the problem" Kjell said dutifully.
"And I've already received word that the client is satisfied," Farkas said. "You've done well for yourself, and for the Companions. You've certainly earned your rest tonight."
Kjell joined Farkas at the long table, near Ria and Vilkas. He even felt surprisingly... proud, to have earned Farkas's praise. He sat across the corner from Vilkas and gave him a triumphant look.
"Hear that? I've done well for the Companions," Kjell said smugly.
"Yes, on a job that any idiot could have completed," Vilkas rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, well from what I hear, you're the one who put in a good word for me on my training," Kjell said, his voice low so only Vilkas could hear him.
Vilkas narrowed his eyes in annoyance, giving Kjell the side eye. Kjell even thought he saw Vilkas's face turn a little red. Or was that just the firelight?
"Maybe I was just hoping you wouldn't make it back," Vilkas said. "It'd save me the annoyance."
"Of getting outsmarted?" Kjell asked. "I guess you're not really used to that around here..."
Vilkas turned his head and openly shot Kjell a glare. But, Kjell noted, looking back at Vilkas with smug satisfaction, Vilkas apparently didn't have a reply.
As much as Kjell was enjoying getting under Vilkas's skin, however, the day had been tiring. So, after a few bites to quiet his stomach, Kjell retired to the shared sleeping quarters. Being the first to turn in for the night made it easier to fall asleep. Or maybe it was the fatigue. Either way, Kjell was out almost as soon as his body hit the bed.
. . .
Turdas, 28th of Last Seed, 4E 201
The early part of the morning began like any other. But the training ground was interrupted midmorning by Farkas, who walked up to Vilkas nearly unnoticed in the midst of the lesser Companions sparring with each other. He muttered something close to his brother's ear, and Vilkas nodded, before Farkas disappeared back into Jorrvaskr.
"Kjell and Torvar!" Vilkas barked. "You're to go meet Farkas at the stables."
"Now?" Kjell asked. "What for?"
"Yes, now," Vilkas said, "for I told you to."
"Maybe we're finally getting rid of them," Kjell heard Njada speculate loudly.
"I don't remember telling the rest of you to stop!" Vilkas snapped, as Kjell and Torvar walked off.
"Wonder what this is about," Torvar said.
He sounded glad to be out of the training session either way, which didn't surprise Kjell. Torvar was always complaining about having to train and not being allowed to work real jobs yet. Kjell had overheard many an argument about it between Torvar and either Farkas or Vilkas – whichever of the two happened to be around at any given time.
"Why do you even stay?" Kjell wondered aloud.
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" Torvar asked. He sounded a little suspicious.
"You're always arguing about training and whether or not Farkas or Vilkas or Skjor or whoever thinks you're 'ready' to fight. You could just as easily be a bounty hunter or a mercenary if the fighting is all you're after. So why not just do that?" Kjell reasoned.
"Look," Torvar said, taking on a pragmatic tone. "A man of my station has many debts. Being a Companion means when I have trouble, I always have someone on my side. We have Shield-Siblings to keep our backs as dangerous as our fronts... I think."
Kjell looked at Torvar pointedly, but said nothing. But his gaze clearly made Torvar uncomfortable, and the latter was obviously relieved when they finally walked down from the city gates and reached the stables. Farkas stood at the edge of the road next to a two-wheeled dray cart.
"What's that for?" Kjell asked as they approached.
"Got a very important job for you two," Farkas said. "We've placed an order with Honningbrew Meadery down the road. You're going to go pick it up."
"Important job, huh?" Kjell asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Great!" Torvar exclaimed.
"You'll need this cart," Farkas continued. "You should be getting five barrels, and they've already been paid for."
"What about a horse?" Kjell asked, noticing that the cart was conspicuously unharnessed to any type of livestock.
"Well, I guess if you need one..." Farkas started to say.
"No, of course not!" Torvar answered quickly, eager to impress. "We're Companions, after all. We're strong enough to handle it."
"Great," Farkas said, and before Kjell could protest, he was on his way back toward the city.
"No horse, huh?" Kjell said, turning and glaring at Torvar, watching it slowly dawn on the other man how heavy this cart was going to become once it was loaded up with five barrels of mead. "You are pulling this thing then, not me."
Most of the walk from the stables to the meadery was shared in silence. The two arrived around midday. Torvar was babbling something about tasting the mead before they set off back toward the city, when something caught Kjell's eye. Beside the door to the meadery was a mark carved into the wood, a shape that looked like a diamond separated by a T.
A fence? Kjell thought, nodding absently to whatever Torvar was saying. This, he supposed, could be a good thing. Staying in Jorrvaskr in a shared quarter with no privacy, Kjell had been wondering how he might get in touch with the guild, without risking getting found out by the Companions. He couldn't out himself now in the presence of Torvar, of course. He didn't want to have to answer questions. But, surely, he could make his way back to the meadery on his own on occasion, without arousing suspicion that he was anything other than a bit of a lush.
By the time Kjell was out of his own thoughts and back in the real world, he was inside the meadery with Torvar. They were at the bar counter, and the owner, a man named Sabjorn, was looking at Kjell expectantly. Meanwhile, one of his employees was setting a plate of food down in front of Torvar.
"Sorry, what?" Kjell asked.
"Do you want lunch," Torvar said after a long swig from a bottle of mead. "They got food here."
"Right," Kjell said.
Kjell allowed Torvar to indulge in a break for a meal and a drink. Then Torvar proceeded to have a few more... The mead here was sweet, and Kjell did prefer it to the Black Briar mead he was used to – virtually the only mead to be had in the Rift.
Eventually, though, around two hours past midday, Kjell had had enough. He didn't want to waste time here with Torvar any longer. Finding this shadow mark made him feel that he had things he needed to do, things he needed to plan. He was getting anxious for it. So, practically dragging Torvar out of the meadery, Kjell (with the help of Sabjorn's employees) got the dray cart loaded up with the Companions' order so he and Torvar could be on their way.
The walk back to Whiterun was considerably slower, hauling five barrels of mead. Kjell maintained that Torvar was at fault for their not having negotiated a horse, and should therefore shoulder the full burden of pulling the cart himself. But, in a matter of feet, Kjell felt obligated to step in and help if he wanted to make it back to Jorrvaskr ever. So, pushing from the back, he helped Torvar and the cart trundle along. It was well into the evening when they arrived at the city.
"How in Oblivion are we supposed to get this up to Jorrvaskr?" Torvar asked defeatedly when they finally managed to get the cart up to the gate.
"One step at a time, I guess," Kjell said with a sigh. He regretted letting Torvar do as much drinking as he had back at the meadery – he was sure it hadn't improved Torvar's athletic prowess.
"Look, why don't you go up ahead to Jorrvaskr and see if you can get anyone to come down here and help us," Kjell said sensibly.
"No way," Torvar insisted. "You've already gotten to run a real job. I can't have them thinking I can't handle this."
"But you can't handle this," Kjell said.
"What do you know? We haven't even tried it yet," Torvar argued.
Annoyed, Kjell helped Torvar push the cart as far as to the first set of stairs leading up into the Wind District. Torvar hesitated. Kjell had no intention of moving this cart up the stairs with only Torvar for help.
"Alright, you've had your try," Kjell said. "I'm going to ask for help."
Before Torvar could protest, Kjell moved lightly up the stairs to the Wind District and up to Jorrvaskr. He entered the Companions' hall only to be met directly by Skjor.
"There you are," the older man said. "What took so long? Where's the delivery?"
"Torvar took so long, and the delivery is on a cart down in the Plains District. He's had too much to drink, and we need help getting it up here."
Skjor rolled his eyes. Kjell, largely annoyed at having to deal with Torvar despite the welcome discovery he made at the meadery, looked up at Skjor as if daring the man to chastise him. "I wasn't the one who thought it was a good idea to send him on this errand," Kjell added.
"Alright," Skjor relented. "I'll send some more people to help."
Kjell went back down to where Torvar was waiting with the cart, and surely enough, several minutes later the help had arrived. Between the five of them, Kjell, Torvar, Njada, Ria, and Athis managed to get the mead barrels up to Jorrvaskr and get them inside. Farkas met them excitedly.
"Great work, everyone," Farkas said gladly. "Let's get one of these barrels tapped."
Farkas did just that, and poured a tankard of the new mead for each of them in celebration of... the new mead. Kjell was glad enough for it. The mead from Honningbrew was light and refreshing. But he didn't care to be inside the hall with the rest, so he exited out the back doors. He sat on the steps leading down off the veranda, facing out toward the training yard. There was Vilkas again, in his usual spot.
"So was it your idea to send Torvar to the meadery for me to babysit, or did your brother decide who went on that errand?" Kjell asked conversationally.
"Which do you think?" Vilkas asked, chuckling as though he hadn't even thought of that.
"I think it was you," Kjell said. His tone was flat, but his expression was playful.
"Come on," Vilkas said. "You really think I would choose inefficiency, just to get under your skin?"
"I flatter myself, I know," Kjell said rolling his eyes. "But yes. That does seem exactly your brand of petty."
Vilkas scoffed, but he, too, was wearing a playful expression. He looked at Kjell mischievously. "Okay. Maybe you're right."