"Balgruuf still wont give us a straight answer." Galmar Stonefisk informed his Jarl, Ulfric Stormcloak, as he followed the younger man down the length of the drafty, sparsely decorated long hall that made up the heart of Windhelm's ancient ancestral seat of power, the palace of the kings. Most of the old castles decorum had been sold to feed the war effort- all that remained in the spacious room were a few antique suits of armor, some mounted trophy weapons, and his fathers vivid deep blue and white banners hanging along the polished stone walls...

"He's a true nord- he'll come around." Ulfric responded dispassionately, unworried- He and Balgruuf had grown up together, both making the pilgrimage to high Hrothgar in their youth. As the firstborn sons of Skyrim's most prominent lords, a lot of pressure had been put on them to do well, pitting them against each other, and forging a rivalry between the two that had lasted throughout their lives. As a result, Ulfric felt he knew Balgruuf better than any man living.

"Don't be so sure of that- we've intercepted couriers from solitude." The old bear informed his liege gravely. " The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun..." Sighing heavily, Ulfric rolled his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be done with the conversation already.

"And what would you have me do about that?" As far as he was concerned, Tullius could send message after message to Dragonsreach, as long as Balgruuf continued to deny the Empire's attempts to Garrison troops within the hold, he didn't care.

Galmar sighed heavily, patience wearing thin- he was eager to begin the fight, and didn't share his friends apparent fondness for the arrogant Jarl of Whiterun- to him, any Jarl who would bow to the whims and wills of the Thalmor over his own people, did not deserve their consideration.

"If hes not with us, hes against us." He reminded his Jarl bluntly, causing Ulfric to wince at the phrase- Many years ago, they had used it in access as an excuse to justify their harsh actions in Markarth, using methods many would call ruthless to ensure that every single Reachmen that had laid siege to the city, had been flushed out and exterminated...methods he had paid dearly for, and continued to pay for to that day.

"He knows that!" He bit back in frustration, finally coming to an abrupt halt as he whirled around to face his general. "They all know that."

The brave Stonefisk checked himself briefly, watching the younger man with wary eyes as he waited for his temper to cool- Like his father before him, Ulfric was quick to anger, and prone to fits of violence, earning himself the nick name "The Bear of Markarth". But Galmar had known the man standing before him for the entirety of his life, and thus, knew what his limits were, and how to skirt them...

"How long are you going to wait?" He continued to pester after the Jarl had relaxed, and resumed his route around the great oak long table placed in the very center of the hall- the wide, high roofed room was so long, and so immense, that it took two hearths to heat the expansive space, placed at either side of the room along the adjacent walls. In its day, it had been the grandest structure in all the Kingdom...

"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message?" Ulfric asked humorously, knowing almost exactly what the old bear would say, even before he said it.

"If by message, you mean shoving a sword through his gullet..."

Ulfric grinned lightly as his expectations were met, climbing the shallow stone staircase to his fathers Throne, only to come to a stop at the very last step- He understood Galmar's haste to a degree- time was coin, and Whiterun would provide them not only with much needed resources, but a strategic advantage against the Imperials should they choose to retaliate.

"Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make for a more powerful statement, don't you think?"

Galmar's eyes lit up at the question, excited by the revelation that perhaps the Jarl had put more thought into the matter than he had realized.

"So, we're ready to start this war in earnest then?" He asked hopefully, excited by the prospect.

"Soon." Ulfric promised, giving his man a pointed look, silently reminding him to be patient. Galmar deflated, looking away- How many times must he hear the word "Soon", before "Soon" would come?

"I still say you should take them all out like you did dead king Torygg..."

"Torygg was merely a message to the other jarls." Ulfric confided seriously, shaking his head absently as he spoke. "Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies."

"Well- We're ready when you are." The general informed sarcastically- They both knew that they were ready. He needed only to say the word, and they would be Marching toward Whiterun by tomorrow- it was his bloody sense of honor keeping them there, waiting...

"Things hinge on Whiterun- if we can take the city without bloodshed all the better, but if not..." Ulfric had to admit, it didnt seem likely- but still, a man could hope.

"The people are behind you." Galmar reassured him firmly- But, Ulfric was anything but sure...As he stood there, standing before the his fathers Throne- the Throne of Ysgramor- anxiety and guilt twisted in his gut- the same feeling that had plagued him since his escape from the Thalmor so long ago.

"Many, I fear, still need convincing..." He admitted soberly.

Galmar snorted in response, causing Ulfric to look back at him strangely.

"Then let them die with their false kings." The old bear suggested bluntly, unworried- Their cause was legitimate and they had almost half of Skyrim at their back- in truth, the only person who still needed convincing, was Ulfric himself. Discontented, The Jarl shook his head in response.

"We've been soldiers a long time- we know the price of freedom." He explained doubtfully. "The people though- they are still weighing things in their hearts..."

Exasperated, Galmar held his hands out and looked around them pointedly at the barren room- Like the rest of the country, it had been stripped clean of its finery and laid bare in the wake of the current political and economic struggle.

"What's left of Skyrim to wager?" He asked rhetorically.

"They have families to think of..." Ulfric argued stubbornly- but he knew he was losing this battle, and so did Galmar.

"How many of their sons and daughters follow our banner? We are their families." The old man insisted vehemently, surprising the Jarl with his eloquence.

"Well put, friend." Ulfric admitted humorously, a thoughtful look in his icy eyes. "Tell me, Galmar- why do you fight for me?"

Turning around, Ulfric faced his general fully, looking down at him from his place before the Throne- At first, the Stonefisk seemed insulted by the question- as if his loyalty had been called into question.

"Id follow you into the depths of oblivion- you know that." His words were passionate, and filled with righteous indignation- but Ulfric only shook his head, dismissing the older mans words immediately.

"Aye- but why do you fight?" He reiterated plainly, earnestly seeking a more detailed answer. " If not for me, what then?"

Galmar's features hardened, and his thick white brows furrowed as he recalled a lifetime of struggles and bloodshed.

"I'll die before i let Elves dictate the fates of men...Are we not one in this?" Had Ulfric forgotten all that they had suffered at the hands of the Elves? Was he losing sight of their purpose?...The Jarls own expression hardened at the question- because his reasons were deeper than that.

"I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil." He clarified passionately, bass voice rumbling like thunder across the echoing hall. "I fight for their wives and children, whose names i heard whispered in their last breaths- I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces! I fight for my people, too impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves!" As he continued, his words became louder- memories of the war came flooding back, stoking his inner fire.

"I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight...because I must."

Galmar took a moment to absorb his speech, nodding absently to himself in agreement- Perhaps Ulfric had not forgotten their suffering, after all...

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric, and that's why you will be the high King- But, the day when words are enough, will be the day soldiers like us are no longer needed..."

The ghost of a smile passed over Ulfrics features then, not quite touching his eyes- He tried to imagine a world like that, without war and hunger and suffering- a life where he could have a family, and they could be happy and safe...

"I would gladly retire from the world, were such a day to dawn..."

Soberly, Galmar Stonefisk nodded in agreement- in all his years he had never known true peace- the idea seemed almost impossible to him.

"Aye- but in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

. . .

. . .

"I was told to see you about a new weapon?" Idrissa asked Eorlund Greymane timidly, once again interrupting his labor at the ancient, immense Skyforge atop the steep, winding hill that overlooked the training yard- The elder man paused his endless hammering, holding up the blade he was crafting critically as he searched the glowing metal for imperfections, before thrusting it into the trough of water to his right, forcing the glowing material to solidify as it rapidly cooled. The hot metal sizzled and steamed as it hit the cool surface of the liquid, where he left it as he turned to her, wiping the sweat from his brow before finally acknowledging her.

"Ah, So you've officially been raised into the companions than, i take it?" He assumed conversationally, eyes alight with incredulous humor as he fixed her under his grey green stare. She blushed, a small smile twisting her lips despite herself as she looked up at him beneath her lashes, not sure if she should be flattered, or miffed by how impressed he sounded.

"Aye, i made it." She affirmed, unable to keep the pride she felt from seeping into her voice. the old blacksmith chuckled, shaking his head disbelievingly before answering her initial question.

"Aye lass, I can fashion any kind of weapon you want- finest forge in Skyrim, right here before you..." As he spoke, Eorlund gestured to the wide, circular stone forge before them, carved out of the eroded hillside- the flames that licked up from the glowing coals were blue and green, reacting to the mineral compounds within, and burning hotter than any other forge in all of Tamriel.

"I need a sword- something light weight, so i can move swiftly, yet still strong and sharp enough to deal a fair amount of damage." She explained, thinking back on her experience fighting with her clumsy, oversized greatsword.

"Ah, a blade eh? Sharp as Fraelia's tongue..." He exclaimed, seeming to consider her attributes critically. With a practiced eye, the experienced smith sized her up, getting an idea of what kind of blade would best suit her small stature- She was right. A Greatsword would be too heavy. She would wear out quickly swinging it around in battle... Perhaps a one handed blade, or a bastard sword?

"Alright." he decided after a minute. "return on the morrow, and it will be done."

Idrissa grinned broadly, already excited by the prospect of having a new weapon forged by Eorlund Greymane himself- if only Brinjolf were close, so that she might share the reward for her achievements with someone who truly cared...

"Thank you!" She told him, dipping into a quick curtsey before turning on her heel to scurry down the winding slope back to Jorrvaskre. Eorlund shook his head incredulously as he watched her go, wondering just how something so small could have managed to find a place amongst Whiterun's heroes as she disappeared down the hillside- She had spirit enough, he supposed, recalling the long list of members both living and dead, whom he had witnessed enter the ranks of the Companions... Spirit or not though, a maiden that small would need all the help she could get- perhaps he would make her a little something extra for her efforts...

. . .

. . .

The following day, Idrissa emerged from the cellar as usual to break her fast before her first sparring lesson with Vilkas that day- only today, she took a spot at the main table, joining the other apprentices for a change...Conversation halted as she claimed the open space at the opposite end of the bench, making her anxiety flare- but she refused to let her discomfort show as she ripped her hunk of bread in half, dunking it deliberately into the yolk of her eggs and popping it into her mouth before taking a sip of fresh, cool water.

The surprised group of companions exchanged obvious, questioning glances, wondering what exactly prompted their new, introverted shield sister's desire to join the group when she had spent every morning prior eating as far from them as possible- Idrissa looked up, meeting their gazes briefly, giving them a curt nod and smile as she chewed, before refocusing the meal before her. After a few moments, their conversation slowly resumed.

"...anyway, all im saying is, one day when you and I are on the circle, we can change the way things run around here." Torvar was telling Athis, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in response.

"I dont think thats how the circle works..." He informed his friend doubtfully- members were very picky about who they allowed inside the ranks of the Companions inner circle. You had to prove yourself worthy thrice over before they would even consider you- and thrice more before allowing you to join.

"Tch- They lord it over us though, all the time!" Torvar complained in response, resenting the authority of the guilds superior warriors.

"Young warriors are smart to listen to older ones- they've lived." Athis retorted wisely, unimpressed with the hot headed nords plight- he knew the man was ultimately just jealous, and resented taking orders from anyone. Idrissa nodded absently as she swallowed a mouthful of honeyed ham, agreeing with the elf.

"...Why did you join the companions, Athis?" She asked then, interrupting their conversation once more- Now that she was an official member, she had decided that perhapse it might be a good idea to attempt to get to know her shield brothers and sisters a little better.

"...Fortune and glory, friend. Fortune and glory..." He stated simply, after a brief pause. "I never thought they'd let me join the Companions, but then, theyre letting anyone in these day it seems..." Nora looked back down at her food, ignoring the subtle blow to her pride as she considered his answer. Moments later, the training yard doors opened, allowing none other than Eorlund Greymane to enter into the meadhall- his grey eyes found hers quickly, and the apprentices went silent as they watched him approach the table, paying them no mind as he came to stand before her, holding a long bundle wrapped in a tanned doeskin.

Politely, Idrissa stood up from the table to face him, eyes wide with excitement as she waited for him to speak- she knew what was in the lengthy bundle. Proudly, the blacksmith unwrapped his gift, revealing the mid sized bastard blade of bright, skyforged steel that he had custom forged for her the previous day.

"It is my honor to present to you this sword- may it serve you well in the wars to come." He said, offering his blessing as he presented the weapon to her formally, holding it lengthwise in the palms of his outstretched hands for her to take- it twinkled and shone in the light of the hearth, the glow of the flames reflecting prettily off its polished surface.

Swallowing hard, Idrissa reached out gingerly to accept it, allowing him to place it in her own hands at last- it was a lot lighter than her greatsword, and the blade was skinnier as well, making it more a more practical choice of weapon for one such as herself. The hilt was also thin, and curved slightly to better fit her smaller hands, and weighted just so, so that the weapon was perfectly balanced with the tip.

"Thank you..." She breathed, unable to help the wide smile that broke out across her features. "Its perfect- does it have a name?"

"Your very welcome lass- a Blacksmith is always pleased to hear that his work is appreciated." He responded graciously, satisfied with her reaction. "And as for the name- that is for you to decide." Dimpling up at him, Idrissa thanked him again, looking forward to being able to practice the new weapon.

Athis, Torvar, and Ria watched in stunned silence as the famous smith politely dismissed himself, giving her a respectful nod and a friendly smile before making his exit. The hall remained quiet for several moments after he had gone.

"Now thats a handsome blade- i prefer the smaller, quicker blades myself." Athis complimented after several moments had passed, breaking the silence in appreciation of the swords fine craftsmanship. Across from him, Torvar sighed heavily.

"Aye, your quite fond of saying that- I prefer hammers and axes myself." He interjected conversationally, appearing unimpressed. Ria stayed quiet, eyeing Idrissa discreetly from her spot at the opposite end of the table as she picked at her breakfast- she had underestimated the small, silver haired nord, and unless she wanted to find herself back at the bottom of the totem pole, she might have to step up her game.

. . .

. . .

High noon found Idrissa with the rest of the apprentices in the training yard. It was a cloudy day, and the atmosphere was relaxed, filled with the metallic singing of metal on metal as each member participated in the daily training regimen overseen by Kodlak Whitemane, who sat quietly beneath the thatched shelter upon the patio, beside a small table stocked with the Harbingers favorite wine, and a plain wedge of cheese. His bright, sharp grey eyes missed nothing as he sat, observing their progress diligently, while listening to the radiant conversation taking place in the yard.

"You might do well to take up a new weapon- vary your style a bit." Athis was suggesting to Farkas as they faced each other down, occupying their own little corner of the yard- Vilkas had yet to grace them with his presence that day, leaving Idrissa to whack idly at a wood built practice dummy as she awaited his arrival with increasing anxiety- Ever since she had petitioned to join the guild, she had been met with nothing but resistance from the contemptuous man, so she was dreading having to train under him...

"Tiny blades dont hurt enough." She overheard Farkas object, shaking his head. "A sword needs weight."

"Its called a shortsword, you oaf- its quicker, sharper- and it can cut through a whale like a razor." He explained, giving his blade a quick flourish- it was several inches longer than Idrissa's own blade, elven forged and plated in gold.

"But whales eat Razorfish." Farkas countered, causing the other man to smirk.

"And they always come to regret it- Perhaps a larger foe would prove difficult to dispatch with one or two blows, but ten little cuts?..." Athis trailed off suggestively, confident he had made his point- but Farkas only grinned, considering the thick steel broadsword he wielded in his hands confidently.

"Ten?" He asked strangely, eyes alight with wicked humor. " I'd only need one to cut you in half..."

Athis grimaced, regarding Farkas's thick, towering figure objectively before amending his argument.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

. . .

Upon his arrival to the training grounds, Vilkas stood by quietly for several minutes, watching Idrissa's form as she hacked and slashed at one of the wooden dummies erected near the back of the yard- and he had to admit, he was pleased to see she knew how to keep busy in his absence.

"Straighten your posture, and spread your feet further apart- you'll be less easy to knock over that way." He critiqued, startling her with his unexpected voice. She tensed before turning around stiffly to face him, eyes quickly scanning his body language to glean insight into his mood...his facial muscles were tense, and his quicksilver eyes were wary, but she didnt sense any of the hostility he usually exuded during their few, tense encounters.

"Nice of you to join us." She remarked smartly, relaxing a little. The tall, lean muscled nord shifted his weight, lips twitching as he held back an amused smirk in response to her tone- she was annoyed with him, which for some reason, he found amusing.

"My apologies- it wasnt my intention to keep you waiting." he apologized diplomatically, eyes alight with humor. "...As you know, I am to be your mentor. You can come to me with any questions you might have about your training, or the Companions- i know our history just as well as old Vignar by now- except i can remember it..."

Idrissa did a double take as she registered the unexpected joke, unsure of how to respond to his sudden change of attitude. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she turned her gaze back to the sword in her hand, deciding it may be best if they got down to business.

"Should i be holding the blade closer than a small one?" She inquired studiously then, experimenting with the balance of her new weapon- with her greatsword, she had come to find that holding it closer allowed her more control over the large blade, but it could prove difficult to balance a strike. This blade was different- it felt more like an extension of her arm, its light weight allowing her to hold it with one hand, granting much needed speed and mobility.

" Smaller swords arnt like broadswords, where you hack and hammer at your opponent. you want to be swift, and precise- think of it like...like using a sewing needle." He explained, mentally groping for examples she might better understand. Idrissa made a face at the analogy, peeved that he would assume she was familiar with the domestic skill simply because of her gender.

"I guess it just comes down to footwork then..." She concluded, idly experimenting with her grip on the custom made hilt. Pleased, Vilkas nodded a distracted affirmation as he watched her eye her weapon thoughtfully, adjusting her hand placement on the shallowly curved hilt- it was longer than most bastard sword hilts usually were, to give her more room to adjust the placement of her grip, allowing for more range when attacking.

"Exactly- when you have a big, heavy weight swinging around your upper body, your lower body has to compensate, or youll fall right over- short swords are more dexterous by far, but still, it all comes down to footwork..." stepping closer, he reached out as he spoke, grabbing the end of her swords hilt firmly, using his free hand to adjust the positioning of her fingers deliberately into the correct spot just above the center of the hilt. "If you hold it here, you have better control over your weapon- when you get better, you will be able to adjust the positioning of your grip as you strike, allowing you more range to compensate for the diminished length of your blade."

Idrissa swallowed hard, attempting to banish the butterflies that had erupted in her core in response to his touch as her brain scattered momentarily. Feeling self conscious beneath his scrutiny, she heaved a heavy sigh, looking away longingly toward Aela as he studied her expression- The auburn haired huntress was practicing her hand to hand skills with Njada a safe distance away. Silently, Idrissa brooded over Kodlaks decision to pair her with Farkas's evil twin.

"Why cant i train with Aela?" She inquired forlornly. "Youve made your opinion of me clear- surely anyone else would be a better option..." To her surprise, Vilkas's lips twitched into a subtle smirk at the mention of his former hostility toward her.

"Because, you wanted to learn how to wield a blade- Aela's never used anything other than her bow, and a dagger." He informed matter of factly. "Besides- ive remained civil thus far..." Truth be told, his prior behavior toward her had been a result of his own fears regarding her lack of transparency- they were on the brink of war with the Silver Hand, who had already managed to wipe out several other packs in their quest to commit mass genocide against his species, and she had come to them out of nowhere, a little girl with next to no experience, with no clear motive as to why she had chosen to join the guild in the first place...He had seen her as a possible threat, fearing her to be some sort of spy for the hunters, there to infiltrate and destroy his family from the inside. Even now, he still wasnt sure- but she had managed to make it in, despite his best efforts to dissuade his master from giving her a chance. Now, his only hope was to try to remain indifferent, and watch closely until he could pick apart her puzzle, and dispel the mystery surrounding her true character.

Averting her gaze sheepishly, a blush crept up Idrissa's cheeks. "Its just...I think our fighting styles are more similar." She tried to explain politely, though he didnt deserve the curtesy.

"well- you can either get better with a bow, or try to learn from me." He stated blandly, not seeming to care either way. Idrissa grimaced in response- there was almost no room for improvement where her archery was concerned, and she was more than proficient with a dagger...

"It just feels so...different, than what ive gotten used to..." She admitted then, feeling discouraged- how was she supposed to learn anything, if his very presence unnerved her so deeply, she could scarcely think around him?

"It will feel that way for a while, but eventually youll get used to it, and then youll get better. After that, a shortsword will feel as familiar as that sewing needle." He said, attempting to reassure her despite the friction between them.

"Ive never held a sewing needle." She informed him tersely, unable to help herself. Hearing the irritation in her tone, Vilkas's smirk grew into a grin that reminded her greatly of his brother, Farkas- and it was so strange to see him smile, that she was brought up short for a moment, dazzled by the way the expression transformed his chiseled features.

"ofcorse not- my mistake..." He apologized smoothly, trying to sooth her ruffled feathers. There was a moment of awkward silence then, as the two gauged each others demeanor, but after a minute the tension diminished, and Idrissa broke the silence to ask the same question she had asked Athis earlier that morning.

"Vilkas?" She began meekly, looking down as she spoke. "Why did you join the Companions?"

Vilkas blinked, unprepared for the personal question regarding his own motives, and the sound of his name on her tongue. Without thinking, he gave her a sharp look, withdrawing reflexively despite himself.

"Thats a rather personal question, dont you think?" He asked, immediately regretting it- Kodlak had always reminded him growing up, that trust was earned- if he wanted to learn who she really was, he was going to have to open up a little first, to demonstrate his own trustworthiness...

"Sorry- You did tell me to ask if i had any questions..." She reminded sourly, looking dejected. Vilkas sighed, reading the disappointment on her face, and briefly pondering the question for a few moments, before reluctantly granting her an answer- much to her surprise.

"To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us here as happy pups, running around biting knees." He started, eyes growing far away as he recalled his distant childhood. "I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit. We were brought here by a man named Jergen- whether he was our father or not, i dont care. He left to fight in the great war and never came back, so hes not my problem anymore... We've been here as long as either of us can remember though- so try to show some respect."

Brows furrowing, Idrissa ignored the antagonistic remark, dismissing it as a defense mechanism to cope with his discomfort of opening up to her- his way of keeping her at an arms length, so to speak.

"If youve been here your whole life, how do you know this is truly where you belong?" She asked seriously. "What does it mean to you, to be a Companion?"

Vilkas could tell by the way she looked him in the eyes as she awaited his answer, that the question was important for some reason- that she truly needed to know, as if it held some sort of personal significance to her somehow. Perhaps he should have thought harder about his answer before giving it, but for some reason the question itself seemed to grate on his nerves, like an itch he couldn't scratch- What did it mean to him, to be a companion? He thought he knew, but with each year that passed, their purpose was becoming less and less clear to him, and it was something he had been pondering endlessly himself.

He paused then, scoffing dismissively at whatever thoughts were bouncing around inside his head.

"Youll hear some of the brighter faces around here talk about honor, and glory..." He began dispassionately with hard, steely eyes. "Ive got nothing against it- but for me, the promise of coin is what feeds my blade- Wherever someone in Skyrim doesnt feel up to defending their own honor, we take up their burden. Thats always been enough for me."

The lie fell easily from his lips, and as he watched, Idrissa nodded, ruminating on his words carefully as he studied her reaction.

"You seem disappointed." He observed, quicksilver eyes growing dark as his mood began to shift once again. Looking back at him, she gave a sad smile.

"I am." She admitted honestly, bringing him up short. "For some reason i was hoping i might not be the only one in life thats never satisfied with where, and who they are."

A thoughtful silence passed between the two then as Vilkas reflected silently on her words, not knowing quite what to say. Feeling strangely bereft, Idrissa turned back toward the straw and wood practice dummy, beginning to swing at it half heartedly as she got used to the grip. Her movements were too stiff though, and she wasnt leaning into her strikes properly- surely, if she crossed blades like that, she would lose her weapon and her footing, as well as her life...He watched quietly for a few more moments, before heaving a long sigh, stepping close behind her. Reaching down, he adjusted her position with a firm, yet gentle hand on her hip, ignoring her quick intake of breath as he reached around with the other arm to cover her hand with his own as she held the sword out, ready to strike the again.

"Look- its all in the swing." He told her softly, guiding her movements with his own. "Let me show you..."

gentle yet firm, he guided the angle of her swing, holding her to him as he pivoted, adjusting their footing to compensate for the force of the movement so that they wouldn't stumble. Surprised by the sudden close contact, Idrissa swallowed hard, peeking up at him quickly with wide, unsure eyes as his warmth pressed against her back side. "Now you try." He said then, stepping away to allow her some room.

scatter brained and light headed, Idrissa swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she breathed to regain her composure. When she was ready, she repositioned herself in front of her target, keeping her stance wide and strong as she prepared for round two, trying hard to mimic his movements, remembering to pivot into her swing as she brought the sword down in a wide arc that struck the dummies shoulder hard- the movement jarred her wrist and elbow painfully though, causing her to wince as she recoiled in pain.

"No, your still being too ridged- you want to think of the blade as an extension of your arm, rather than a tool used for hacking and slashing." he explained critically, studying her movements closely. Frustrated, Idrissa gritted her teeth, forcing herself to swallow the haughty retort that bubbled to her lips before she could speak it and ruin the fragile peace between them- he was just teaching her, she reminded herself maturely, switching hands so she could shake out her aching sword arm.

The heavy sound of the wooden doors to the mead hall opening drew their attention toward the porch, where old Vignar Greymane emerged with his man, Brill, in tow. In his narled hands was clutched a rolled parchment, tied and sealed neatly with the unbroken blue seal of house Stormcloak. He went to the harbinger directly, dutifully delivering the letter to his perceived master as he looked out across the training field below them, to where their fellow members of the circle continued to drill the apprentices diligently.

Vilkas eyes narrowed slightly as Kodlak opened the letter, reading his posture and expression carefully as he read- If the jarl of Windhelm was reaching out to the harbinger of the companions now, it could only be for one thing...The old mans face gave away nothing as he finished reading, passing the note back to Vignar with a stoic expression- the other mans eyes hardened, his thin lips pinching beneath his silver moustache as he too read the message- once, than seemingly twice- before re rolling the thin peace of parchment back into a neat roll, and tucking it safely inside a pocket within the right breast of his fine woolen tunic.

"Wonder what that was all about?" Idrissa asked out loud as they watched the elders rise from their seats together, before disappearing back within the warmth of Jorvaskre.

"I dont know..." He responded thoughtfully, a determined glint flashing in his silver eyes. "But i plan to find out." Jaw set, Vilkas moved away from her then, taking long strides toward the porch before following the others inside, leaving her to resume her training alone once more as their shield siblings continued to progress around her. She watched him go incredulously, deflating as he disappeared behind the large, heavy double doors.

Skjor, having watched the whole scene play out humorously from his seated position on the shallow stairway leading up the stone porch, chuckled heartily, catching her attention as she stood near the rows of practice dummies lining the back wall of the field. Realizing she was being watched, Idrissa blushed, turning away from him back toward the practice dummy to avoid his unsettling gaze as she stifled her sense of embarrassment at being ditched again.

"Arse-hole..." She mumbled ungraciously below her breath.

. . .

. . .

"The empire has no place in Skyrim- not anymore..."

Vilkas could make out the sound of Vignars gruff, gravely tone easily through the door of Kodlaks Study as he listened carefully to them argue- he knew all too well what the Jarl of Windhelm could want, and if Ulfric Stormcloak was calling them to arms, than he wanted to know about it.

"...I understand why you would feel that brother," Kodlak started, careful not to invalidate his shield brothers opinions as he formed his explanation- But Vignar didnt seem to be hearing any of it. "But, its my duty as harbinger to advise you against-"

"-for thirty years i served the legion as a commander in the great war- when the empire surrendered to the Aldemeri dominion, they shamed us all! Skyrim needs a high king who will fight for her- and Whiterun needs a Jarl who will do the same! Ive taken your advise long enough- this time, its your turn to listen to me- The war is coming to Whiterun, and when it does, i intend to do my part!" He insisted vehemently, drawing a concerned look from his man, Brill. Hearing Vilkas's heartbeat accelerate outside, Both pairs of steely eyes turned toward the door, alerted to his presence.

"Vilkas...Please, enter." Kodlak requested solemnly, ever patient with his personal protégé. Obediently, Vilkas pushed open the heavy double doors, looking around the cozy, candle lit study occupied by the guilds most senior members accusatorily.

"Whats this about?" He asked sternly, shoulders tense.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Kodlak seemed to buckle slightly beneath the weight of his responsibility, and honor as harbinger- He had been hoping that the peace in Whiterun would continue, and he would not have face the problem at hand...

"...It seems the war is coming to Whiterun- and Ulfric Stormcloak demands to know for which side the Companions intend to declare." He informed dutifully, resigning himself to the reality before them. " He has made it very clear, that not making a decision, is as good as making the wrong decision...Vignar here, wishes to bend the knee."

Suspicions confirmed, Vilkas balked, swallowing hard.

"Forgive me, Master- but this is a matter that needs to be brought before the council." He insisted quickly, understanding the gravity of their situation. " Our shield siblings deserve to know the full extent of whats at stake here, and to make their opinions known before a conclusion can be met. "

"Well said." Kodlak acquiesced reluctantly- and in the shadows cast by the candle on his desk, he suddenly appeared drawn and tired, each line and wrinkle becoming frightfully exaggerated in the dim, flickering light. " I'll leave it to you to call the council together- we will meet in the under forge, at midnight..."

Satisfied, Vignar Greymane gave the Harbinger a stiff bow, before turning around to shoulder briskly passed Vilkas- giving him a pointed look on his way out- He did not need to use words, to convey his expectations to the boy; Should it come to a fight, he would expect every one of his shield siblings to take up the mantle of the Stormcloaks, and fight the Empire...No matter what Kodlak said.

. . .

. . .

"Thank you all for coming tonight- I apologize for interrupting your daily routines..."

"Whats this about, Kodlak?" Aela questioned curiously as they gathered in the ritual chamber housed beneath the Skyforge, build out of the sturdy remains of an ancient Guard tower, that had been torn down during the founding of Whiterun- Congregating around the centrally located ceremonial font, each member looked to the Harbinger faithfully for answers.

"As some of you might have noticed, we received a courier today, from Windhelm- It seems Ulfric intends to take Whiterun, and would have us swear fealty to him in exchange for our amnesty- I have called you all here today, to allow you the opportunity to voice your opinions on the matter, so that we may come to a...decision. I would remind you that i am not your master, but a mere advisor on the subject. i can only council you, but as always, each Companion is there own, and may do as they please..."

He paused briefly, allowing his pupils to absorb the meaning of his words completely, before proceeding. "As you all know, Vignar Greymane is a senior member within our ranks, and has some strong views on the matter, due to his loyalties to house Greymane- and thus, will be the first to voice his opinions...Vignar, if you would?"

Nodding, Vignar Greymane stepped forward proudly, clearing his throat before launching into his pitch, having spent the afternoon perfecting it.

"Aye- it is as i said before." He began resolutely. "The Empire lost my respect the day they surrendered to the bloody elves- There hasnt been a true high king in Skyrim, since king Borgas died in the first Era, and Skyrim needs one now, more than ever..." looking around him pointedly, he regarded each and every one of them carefully, with obvious respect. "I may be a Companion, but i am a Greymane first, and as a True son of Skyrim, i will not stand by and allow the elves to demote the Gods of my people, nor dictate the fates of men...No- i intend to fight for my kin, and my country- and if you're all the Nords i think you are, you will too!"

"here here." Aela exclaimed in agreement, moved by his speech.

"Well than, Aela- since you seem so eager to agree, perhapse you will enlighten us next on your reasoning?" Unabashedly, Aela stepped up, taking the opportunity to speak in stride.

"Im sorry old man- I know you say its best to stay out of politics, but im worried that a bunch of snowberries are out there, covering themselves in glory while we stay out of it." She explained bluntly, shaking her head as she spoke. "Our goal as Companions, is to bring honor to ourselves, and to our Shield Siblings- If we remain neutral, or run away, we dishonor ourselves... But of course, I will follow your lead, as ever..."

Snorting derisively, Skjor shook his head beside her, looking visibly annoyed.

"Have you people forgotten that we're already fighting a war?" He asked incredulously, reminding them of the looming threat of the Silver hand. " Have you forgotten about the Silver hand, and how they slaughtered not one, but two of our sister packs? I care not for this war- there is no glory to be had in the squabbling of Jarls!"

"Aye, There are always good reasons to fight- i just wish this war had them." Vilkas spoke out, voicing his agreement. " Who cares who worships what dead god? give me something to make me draw my sword!" Beside him, his brother nodded solemnly, of the same mind.

"I feel the same- Empire, nords- Talos? who cares? Its all too confusing- just tell me who needs bludgeoning, and where i need to go..."

"Icebrain..." The huntress insulted teasingly beneath her breath, despite their acute hearing- he shot her a dirty look, before Kodlak interrupted the exchange with his booming tenor.

"Thank you all for speaking- and now that everyone has made their position known, Its time for me to voice my own thoughts on the matter..." He gave each of them a long, lingering look, before his gaze landed upon Vignar, who stood still as a statue as he waited for the Harbinger to speek.

"Jorvaskre has vowed to remain neutral, since before the time of the last great war- And for a good reason... The Companions are a brotherhood- our shield siblings have come to us from far and wide, be they elf, Imperial, or nord- and to take a side would pit brother against brother, and sister against sister. This is why i urge you not to take a side. If you must fight- i would ask that you do so as tradition has taught us- to fight for our family- for Jorvaskre, to keep us whole..."

Bristling, Vignar seethed visibly.

"You speak of Tradition, Kodlak, but you forget that the Companions were founded by Ysgramor in the name of waging war- It was he alone who fled Skyrim after the Night of Tears, sailing back to Atmora to assemble the first Five-Hundred...The Companions stopped caring about Tradition long ago, the day Terrfyg made a pact with Hag-Witches, and cursed us all! Hircine be damned! When i die, I intend to join my people in Shor's Hall- not spend eternity in some thrice blasted Hunting Grounds!" With that, Vignar turned heel and stormed off, still blustering angrily as Kodlak watched him go with sad eyes, followed by a lasting silence.

"What should we do, when the Stormcloaks finally lay siege to the city? The walls wont hold them back for long..." Aela wondered alloud, feeling a pit form in her stomach as she imagined the crumbling exterior walls, and rickety wood built palisades- Baalgruph had set builders to improving the state of the cities defenses, but they didnt have nearly enough time to secure the walls before Ulfrics armies moved in- and when they came, they would come in force...

"we will erect a burier, lock our gates, and should they attack, we will fight to defend our home- Baalgruph respects Tradition, and will understand the reason for our position, in the end..." Kodlak assured her half heartedly, knowing full well that it was weak advise.

"Should he fall, Ulfric may not be so understanding." Skjor interjected smartly.

"No." The harbinger confirmed sternly, closing his eyes tightly as he shook his silver crowned head. " He has made it very clear that if we are not with him, we are against him- barring this in mind, i would not blame you if you chose to accept his offer, and bend the knee, However- I personally would rather die for what i believe in, than live out my life in dishonor..."

The room went quiet then, as each member soaked in the risks, and began to weigh out the options in their hearts. They had been blind sided, lured into a false security by the rapidly dissipating neutrality declared by Whiteruns Jarl- And now, they would have to face their own feelings on the war, and decide which values they held above others...before it was too late.

Family, Duty, or Honor?...Which were they to choose? No doubt, it would take time to sort out- but how much time did they have?

. . .