Tirdas, 23rd of Hearthfire, 4E 201
"Mind you," Kodlak continued, "it's no business of mine what each Companion does in the name of honor."
"Sorry, what?" Kjell said dumbly, as all the thoughts rushing through his mind came crashing to a halt. So this wasn't about his past, after all.
"This sneaking around," Kodlak specified – clearly referring to the secret jobs Kjell had been working with Aela. "It doesn't befit warriors of your standing. Aela knows better, and so should you."
Warriors of your standing. The words stayed in Kjell's mind. He would never have thought of himself that way – as a warrior. But, then, it suddenly occurred to him, hadn't he proven himself? Hadn't be been proving himself, time and time again, to be just as good a warrior as any of the Companions?
"In any case," Kodlak said, coming to the point, "I have a task for you."
"You do?" Kjell asked, raising his eyebrows. Of all things that could have happened here, he hadn't expected that.
"I do," Kodlak confirmed. "Have you heard the story of how the Companions came to be werewolves?"
Kjell thought about it. Skjor and Aela called it a blessing from Hircine. But…
"Vilkas said it was a curse laid upon the ancient Companions," Kjell said.
"The boy has a nugget of truth," Kodlak said, with a fatherly sort of tone in his voice. "But the reality is more complicated than that. It always is." Suddenly, Kodlak sounded weighed down and weary.
"So what is the truth?" Kjell asked. He could feel himself getting sucked up even further into the Companions' tangled lives, but he couldn't feel himself caring not to.
"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old. But this matter of beastblood has only troubled us for a few hundred," Kodlak explained. "One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven."
"Witches..?" Kjell repeated.
"Yes," Kodlak confirmed. "They live in seclusion to the southwest, in Falkreath Hold. Their deal was, if the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord Hircine, we would be granted great power."
"I see," Kjell said, "and this 'great power' involved becoming werewolves."
"They did not believe the change would be permanent," Kodlak added. "The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived." Kodlak sounded pained, and betrayed, as if this had all happened to him directly rather than to a predecessor.
"But… aren't you more powerful?" Kjell asked. He was caught in the middle, between Kodlak and Vilkas or Aela and Skjor.
"The witches didn't lie, of course," Kodlak conceded. "But it's more than our bodies. It seeps into the spirit."
"What do you mean?" Kjell asked.
"Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds," Kodlak explained. "For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for all eternity."
An image of Aela flashed in Kjell's mind.
"And that is their choice," Kodlak added. "But I am still a true Nord, and I wish for Sovngarde as my Spirit Home."
"Is there any cure?" Kjell asked. The idea hadn't dawned on him before now. But if they could find a way, they could not ease Kodlak's mind – but, Kjell immediately thought, they could cure Vilkas as well.
"That's what I've spent my twilight years trying to find out," Kodlak said, "and I've found the answer. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us."
"Do you think they'll cooperate..?" Kjell asked uncertainly.
"No," Kodlak replied simply. "They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. So I want you to seek them out."
"Ahh," Kjell said, "so this is my task, then."
"Go to their coven in the wilderness, and strike them down as a true warrior of the wild," Kodlak instructed. "Bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."
"Am I to do this alone?" Kjell asked.
"Aye. You'll have no Shield-Sibling this time. But the spirit of Ysgramor goes with you, to restore the honor of his legacy."
Ah, yes, excellent, Kjell thought sarcastically. The spirit of Ysgramor. Just who I can count on to really watch my back out there.
"I'd like to take a day to rest and prepare," Kjell said.
"Of course," Kodlak answered. "I'll furnish you with a marked map tomorrow. You'll be off Turdas morning."
. . .
Kjell made his way to the shared sleeping quarters to get some rest, as the night was late and there was no real preparation to be done in the dark, with no shops available. When he made it back to his bed, he found a note tucked discreetly into his blanket. That was definitely not here before, Kjell assured himself.
Amazing how something as simple as a slip of paper can triple your heartrate, Kjell thought to himself, suddenly feeling exposed, afraid someone might be watching him. There were no candles lit inside the room at this hour, so he tiptoed out into the hallway. He hadn't been quite so deliberately silent on the way in, but something about a secret message made Kjell feel jumpy. He cast three or four careful glances down either end of the corridor before unfolding the paper with shaky fingers and hungrily reading the message inside.
Kjell,
Meet me tomorrow night.
We really need to talk.
That's it? Kjell thought. He knew this note was from Vilkas, and he knew where he could find Vilkas in the evening; no more information was necessary. But still, Kjell wanted it to say more.
Quietly, Kjell folded the note back up and snuck back into the room, toward his bed. He slipped the note into his knapsack for safekeeping; it didn't seem like the kind of thing you just discard for anybody to find, but he also didn't think it warranted destruction, so there it went.
It felt like there were a thousand things Kjell needed to talk to Vilkas about, but as he lay on his bed trying to think about them he couldn't put his finger on even one specifically. And he wondered what Vilkas had to say to him. Although they had steadily become more tolerant of each other – even, Kjell dared to think, become friends – Vilkas wasn't always easy to read. Kjell was never quite sure exactly what Vilkas thought of him.
Eventually, despite his mind continuing to race, Kjell slipped into a light sleep.
. . .
Middas, 24th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
Despite being the last to go to sleep, Kjell was the first in the shared room to wake up. He quietly dressed and slipped out of the room to head up the stairs.
The sky was still dark when Kjell stepped outside to the back of Jorrvaskr, a now familiar place to sit and think. He was surprised to find Aela sitting on the veranda, tankard in hand.
"Up early, or up late?" he asked her casually. There was a cask of mead on one of the tables on the veranda. Kjell found a cup that looked more or less clean inside and took a pour.
"Late," she admitted.
Aela seemed tired, and although Kjell hadn't known her all that long, he had the distinct impression that it was unlike her. The loss of Skjor had hit her hard. It made Kjell wonder a bit about the exact nature of their relationship. For that matter, he wondered about the other Companions. Surely they couldn't all just be aromantic loners… right?
As Kjell took a sip of his mead, an image flashed through his mind of Farkas, several years older, with a wife and kids. He snorted a laugh into his drink and almost choked on it. Aela glanced at him questioningly, and he felt somewhat bad for disturbing her peace out here. Farkas would make a good parent, though – Kjell thought so, anyway.
"I notice you're still living after your conversation with Kodlak," Aela noted.
"Yeah," Kjell said. "He told me about how the Companions became werewolves."
"And no doubt advised against any further endeavors of ours against the Silver Hand…" Aela ventured.
"Actually, not really," Kjell said. "Not directly, at least. He just told me that sneaking around was unbefitting."
"Not when you're hunting," Aela muttered.
"You're right," Kjell agreed. "But why not let the rest of them in on it? Just because they don't see… it… as a gift like you do, doesn't mean the Silver Hand aren't their enemies too."
"Perhaps you're right," Aela said, downing the last of her mead and standing up.
It seemed as though Aela had mustered up some determination. She turned and walked, confidently and with purpose, into Jorrvaskr. Kjell finished his own drink, before taking a walk to clear his head and kill time until the shops opened up for the day. He had planning to do.
Having consulted the map Kodlak shared with him, Kjell had figured this would be at least a two day endeavor, if not a bit longer. Once the shops and stalls were open for the day, Kjell began collecting the equipment he'd need. Aside from making sure to get enough food, healing supplies, and lantern oil, one thing Kjell invested in this time was a small tent. Sure, he'd gotten by just fine without one, but it occurred to him that making a multi-day trek didn't have to be as uncomfortable as it often was. Lastly, Kjell made sure his daggers were sharp. After that point, there wasn't much to do except wait for evening. He hadn't even seen Vilkas today.
Why am I always most efficient when I have time to kill? Kjell lamented to himself, looking over the map for surely the millionth time. At least I'll know where I'm going tomorrow. He was sure he had memorized every single step of the route he planned to take to get to the Glenmoril cave.
. . .
When the evening was getting late and the moons were well into the sky, Kjell took his lantern and quietly left Jorrvaskr. He made the walk to the gates of Whiterun, remembering the place outside the city that Vilkas had showed him. The memory of kissing Vilkas played over and over in Kjell's mind as he walked and wondered what Vilkas was going to say and how this was going to go. Kjell wasn't even sure what he wanted. Or, for that matter, what he expected.
Coming to the place with the hot spring, Kjell found Vilkas sitting on a flat rock next to the water, knees to chest, gazing into the pool. He looked lost in thought. Kjell wasn't sure what to say. He stood awkwardly for a long moment, before taking a conspicuous step forward, deliberately noisy to announce his presence. Vilkas looked toward him.
"You came," Vilkas said. He sounded surprised.
"Of course," Kjell said. He sounded unsure.
Vilkas returned his gaze to the water and seemed almost to shrink into himself. Kjell slowly walked over to the flat rock, set his lantern down, and sat to the left of Vilkas. Close, but not too close.
"You wanted to talk," Kjell said.
"Yeah," Vilkas said. "But… now I don't know what to say."
"There's kind of a lot," Kjell admitted.
"When did you know?" Vilkas asked.
"Know what..?" Kjell replied.
"That you were… uh..." Vilkas trailed off, like he didn't know how to say it.
"Attracted to men?" Kjell supplied. How miserable that has to be, Kjell thought, to feel so ashamed of a part of yourself that you can't even begin to speak of it. He turned his body to face Vilkas.
Vilkas only nodded, maintaining eye contact with the pool.
"It's okay," Kjell said gently, skipping the question entirely and placing his right hand on Vilkas's shoulder. The answer wouldn't help here anyway; Vilkas was clearly still struggling with accepting this about himself. Knowing Kjell had been certain at a young age would only make him feel more confused.
"Why did you leave?" Vilkas asked. "When I… you know."
"Kissed me?" Kjell said softly. "Honestly… I wasn't sure what to think of it then."
"Hmm," Vilkas hummed, nodding. "And? What do you think of it now?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
"I think I wish you would look at me," Kjell murmured, scooting his body closer and reaching out with his other hand, placing it lightly against Vilkas's right cheek.
Finally, Vilkas turned his head. He brought his right hand up over Kjell's left, gently, barely holding it. Vilkas's face looked stunning in the lantern light. For a moment, the two simply held each other's gaze, each taking the other in. Slowly, Kjell started to lean forward – his face gradually inching closer to Vilkas's, his left hand stroking Vilkas's cheek as it came down to his chin and gently guided Vilkas to him.
When their lips met this time, Kjell felt something indescribable well up inside him. It was like time itself had come to a stop, and all there was left was Kjell and Vilkas. One kiss became two, then three, four, more, countless. Kissing became caressing, touching, exploring one another. Both lost track of the world around them, and neither cared.
Kjell was vaguely aware that in this moment, he had no desire to leave – for anything, anywhere. He would forget the fence, forget the Thieves Guild, forget the Companions, forget Kodlak and the Glenmoril Witches – all without a second thought, if he could stay here like this with Vilkas for the rest of ever. Kjell was also vaguely aware that he considered this a problem.
Regardless, neither Kjell nor Vilkas wanted to stop or go back. Soon they had begun pawing at each other's clothing, slowly removing it, piece by piece. Vilkas removed his top, and Kjell couldn't keep his hands off of Vilkas's body. Vilkas began kissing and sucking on his neck. Kjell slipped off the rock into the hot water, and Vilkas soon followed suit.
Kjell took Vilkas's hands in his and pulled him close against his body. He cupped Vilkas's face in his hands and brought it down to meet his lips again. Vilkas's kiss had started out shy and uncertain, but now was unyielding and territorial. His hands ran down Kjell's back and he pulled Kjell into him. They stayed locked in embrace even after they left the hot spring, gently exchanging kisses and caresses at the edge of the water for hours that never felt long enough.
It wasn't until the first hints of sunrise started creeping up from the horizon that Kjell and Vilkas reluctantly made to head back to Whiterun. They had been together all night, but it hardly felt like it.
Heading back was making Vilkas tense, and Kjell immediately picked up on it. To his dismay, the moment they left the relative privacy of the tree cover around the hot spring, Vilkas was rebuilding the walls around himself. Kjell reached out and touched Vilkas's arm, and Vilkas pulled away.
"I'm sorry," Vilkas said. "It's just… no one can know about this. At least, not right now…"
"Yeah, I get it," Kjell replied.
He wasn't lying; he did understand. While not illegal, this kind of relationship still came at a heavy social cost. Kjell was an orphan, then a thief; he had always been an outcast among outcasts and never had to care about how his love life appeared to people with status. Vilkas, he knew, was different, and letting anyone know or even suspect this could cost him more than just his social standing; if the Companions took it poorly, it could cost him his family.
Before they got too close to the city, Vilkas stopped abruptly. Kjell looked at him questioningly.
"Would you… I mean. Could we… be together again?" Vilkas tripped over his words, still struggling to verbalize this part of himself.
"Yeah," Kjell said after a moment. "I think I'd like that."