"Lady, we meet in the most unlikely places," Aric said as he stood from the table where he sat in The Stumbling Sabrecat, "what possible reason could the Gods have to reward this humble establishment to such an extent that they would send two women as beautiful as yourselves here together?"
Old Gods, give me strength, Gwenyfe thought to herself upon finally seeing Aric in the flesh, only an arms distance away, as the blood fled her head and traveled to other parts of her body, Vala did not lie, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
"You are too kind, sir," Vala replied shyly, as her heart did it's utmost to beat out of her chest, "I did not think you would remember me."
"I remember every detail of you, Lady," he answered, his smile bringing so much heat to her face that she thought it would ignite, "making allowances for the absence of a horse beneath you."
Vala and Gwenyfe laughed together, and it did not go unnoticed by the other occupants of the small tavern that they sounded more like young maids than seasoned warriors adorned in well used armor, each of them equipped with a silver sword and two small silver throwing axes.
"My name is Aric, Lady," Aric said to Gwenyfe as he made a slight bow. He smiled slightly when his eyes latched onto hers, which only exacerbated her dizziness.
"My name is Gwenyfe, sir," she replied with a bow, on unsteady legs, exactly proportioned to his, while keeping her eyes fixed on his.
Aric's eyebrows went up at the unmistakable lilt in Gwenyfe's voice, and his reply came only a second or so after that.
"Creidim gur as The Reach thú, a bhean," he said to her in the brogue of his youth which, even after so many years, still rolled off his tongue as naturally as drawing breath.
Gods help me, I cannot breathe. Gwenyfe thought as she was momentarily struck speechless at hearing her mother tongue spoken with the thick accent of the western highlands of High Rock. This must certainly be a dream.
"Tógann tú mo anáil uait, a dhuine uasail," she answered truthfully.
Vala had no idea how to penetrate this wall of words, and her first attempt was not what she would have wished, even though it was quite effective.
"How go the modifications to your home?" she asked before thinking to herself, did those vapid words truly just leave my mouth?
"Slowly," he replied as the three still stood at his table, his meal and drink still unfinished, "the giant comes by on occasion for a closer view of the progress before returning to his flock."
The word giant drew the attention of the other occupants of the tavern to three warriors again, but seemed to slip the notice of the Reachman woman who was still gazing at the Thane of Many Holds.
Speak to me again in that beautiful voice, Gwenyfe was thinking just as the door to the tavern opened.
Soran had waited outside for the agreed upon time, the time that they all believed was sufficient for Vala to make introductions and ask Thane Aric to meet with the Harbinger of The Silver Hand. It required almost no time at all once Soran had entered the small tavern to realize that they had misjudged the amount of time required quite badly.
"I am neither courier nor spy," Eofel had said to Hellina and Soran as they all sat in his office on the second floor of the main house. It was the first time in her employment that they had asked her to perform a task that she felt must be declined, "especially where it involves my adopted sister. I know you do not mean to do so, but you insult me by even suggesting such a thing."
Neither Soran nor Hellina had considered the request something that could produce any sort of protest, especially from the young woman who seemed, up until that point in their acquaintance, to be quiet pliable.
"Can you, when you and the Archmage's daughter Sara speak next, ascertain where and when we might find her father? We have a proposition to put to him, and we cannot do it in Whiterun," Soran had asked her in as reasonable tone as possible. Her response was as swift as it was unexpected.
"We did not mean to insult you, Eofel; we apologize if we did so. But it seemed a simply request, nothing to put anyone's honor at risk."
"Then why do you not simply ask her yourself? She will stay with me for at least another day, and you have already had ample opportunity to do so," she asked with a directness that Hellina had not observed since she had first spoken to the young woman.
Soran and Hellina looked at each other. No words were passed; Hellina simply shrugged her shoulders, which Soran interpreted correctly.
"I will explain everything to you if you wish; but if I do so you will move into the ranks of the fully initiated members of our group. I have know several Healers, and all of them prefer to leave politics in the hands of others. The hands of a Healer should remain clean of what at times is a dirty business."
"Tell me why you wish to know, and I will decide for myself if it endangers my honor or my soul. But if she asks me why I inquire, I will not lie. And mark me, if I feel in my heart that your reasons are dishonest, or dishonorable, I will pack my things, and Sara and I will leave forthwith."
Gods, where did she learn such melodrama at such a young age? Hellina thought to herself as Soran hid a smile.
"I believe we are firmly on safe ground, Eofel; we three have nothing to fear in that regard."
"Please accept my apology for our poor attempt," Soran said to the man who sat across from him at the small table in the small tavern in Fort Dunstad which, by whatever circumstance, was currently under the control of Stormcloak forces, "we thought that a familiar face would ease your mind."
"It was kind of you to think of my state of mind, sir, and I am certainly glad to see the lady again, and meet her sister-in-arms," Aric replied as his glance went briefly to the two faces that looked back at him as they both gained color, "but it was not necessary. With very few exceptions I do no one harm that does not first attempt to harm me."
"We know that you were one of those present in Dustman's Cairn when a good number of our comrades were killed," Soran said, "it is for that reason we were concerned."
Aric thought for a moment, his mind drifting back across the intervening years, before he spoke.
"That I was there that day, and that some of those deaths of which you speak were by my hand, I admit freely," he said, "I would have had it go otherwise. I had inadvertently trapped myself behind a grating when it began, and so was in no position to do anything other than watch as the first of your men and women died. Afterwards, as we progressed deeper into the cairn, it had a life of it's own. You understand me, I am sure. Had any of your men simply stood aside they would not have been harmed; not, at least, by me."
"I do understand you," Soran answered, "it is not in our nature to simply stand aside. We have pledged our lives to recovering every fragment of Wuuthrad. They would never have given it to you without a fight."
"It is strange, is it not, that two groups who have pledged themselves to the same goal would be at such odds," Aric said, "it sounds silly now, when I say those words out loud, given how often this fort changes ownership between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. Skyrim itself is being torn apart by two groups who have pledged themselves to the same goal."
"That is true, but I do take your meaning," Soran said, "how much of the history of the conflict between the Companions and the Silver Hand do you know?"
"Very little," Aric replied.
"I assumed," Soran began before starting again, "we assumed that was the reason you declined the offer to join the Inner Circle. We assumed that you learned of the cause of the schism that broke the Companions into two groups, and that you disagreed with Terrfyg's choice to trust the Witches of Glenmoril Coven, and accept their offer."
"It happens that you are correct," Aric answered, "I believe it was a grave error to trust the witches. Had Terrfyg been thinking clearly he never would have trusted them. I believe something clouded his judgment that day, and he paid a high price, as did everyone who followed him from that day to this one. But that is not why I declined their offer."
"May I ask what was your reason?" Soran asked.
"The Witches of Glenmoril Coven offered this gift, this curse - call it what you will, as a means to gaining power," Aric said after a moment of silence, "if the offer had been made to me twenty years ago, I would most certainly have accepted. I was still young, and brash, and conceited enough to believe that the world owed me much. I am somewhat older now, and I have learned that we are owed nothing, and being owed nothing, it is best to desire nothing. I do not seek power. I seek only a land where I may raise my family in peace. And for that blessed duty, I am enough; the Gods have seen to that. What strength, and skill, and life I have within me right now, at this very moment, is sufficient for my purpose, and my destiny. And since this moment that we inhabit is all that we are truly guaranteed, I require nothing more."
Neither Soran and Aric noticed the two women as they fell in love with this man that spoke of peace, and family, and destiny. Neither woman was aware of the new bond they shared between them as Aric, Thane of Many Holds, bewitched them with his calm, steady voice, and his thoughtful words.
"Is that how you were recruited to fight this plague of vampire attacks?" Soran asked, "to further your wish for a land at peace?"
"You have excellent sources of information," Aric replied with a smile as his eyes glanced again at the two woman who had not taken there eyes off him, "you know I declined the Circle. You know I struggled to end the vampire attacks."
"It so happens that we have been allies in that struggle," Soran said, "we have spent several years fighting vampires, as well as were-beasts and the other threats that find their way to the towns and villages. You fought night walkers at Bloodlet Throne. You were not alone."
"Bloodlet Throne," he said as his eyes focused once again on Soran.
"Yes. We were there. We were the second group that was attacked just as your group was attacked," Soran said, "one of your party was killed, I recall, and another was bitten. How did she fare?"
"We brought her to Falion quickly," Aric replied, "and she recovered quickly."
"I am happy to hear so," Soran said, "it will sound strange, but I still dream of that night, and the sounds of her sobbing stay with me for some time after I wake."
"I does not sound the least bit strange," Aric answered, "I have similar dreams about similar encounters."
They were both quiet for a moment before Soran spoke.
"We ask you to join with us, to lend your strength to our cause," he said, "we are the pure incarnation of Ysgramor's vision, you must see that. It does not matter who resides in Jorrvaskr. Terrfyg, and all who followed him, left the path set down by Ysgramor, we did not; we remained true, and remain true to this day. Our quarrel is not with the Companions, neither singly nor collectively. Kyrnil Long-Nose would understand my position were he here. He returned honor to the Companions through blood. I would seek a bloodless path if possible. Join us. Help me find another path. Help me return honor to the Companions."
Aric took several breaths to consider and, as he drained his mug and set it back on to the small table that separated the two men, and his eyes once again met Soran's, the Harbinger of the Silver Hand knew what the answer would be.
"I cannot join you, sir," he said, "as much as I admire you, and your cause, and as much as I agree that you have remained true to the vision of Ysgramor, my self and my family are too tied to those men and women who reside in Jorrvaskr for me to ever abandon them. But I bear your group no ill will whatsoever, neither singly nor collectively.
"You answer makes me sad, but it does not surprise me," Soran said after his own brief pause for breath. "You are a man of honor. Were I in your place, my answer would probably be the same."
"It appears that neither of us, nor our comrades, willingly stand aside," Aric said, "neither do we abandon our sworn brothers or sisters, however troublesome they might be."
Soran considered the Thane's words and, as his mind flew briefly to Krev and his private band of brigands, he could not deny the truth in them. Each of their groups had troublesome members, members whose actions dishonored anyone associated with them.
"I should tell you plainly that I am aware Kodlak Whitemane searches for a cure for the curse of Terrfyg," Soran said quietly, "we would aid him in his quest, in any way that is within our means. I give you my solemn pledge, that his quest is now also mine. Any information I may find that would aid him I will forward to him through you. If he ever has need for our strength in pursuit of this cure he has only to ask."
"It is a very generous offer," Aric replied, "but, even knowing as little as I do of you, your offer does not surprise me. You are a man of honor."
Soran did not know why those last words, that he himself had only moments ago spoken to the broad shouldered, dark haired, gray eyed man across from him, should affect him to the extent that they did, but he required a moment to be certain of his composure.
The moment passed quickly though, and Soran stood and offered his hand to Aric - Companion, Archmage, and Thane of Whiterun, The Pale, and who knew where else.
"I hope I do not ask too much if I ask that we part as friends," he said.
"You ask no more than what I myself ask," Aric said in reply as he extended his own hand in kind before his eyes traveled to the two women who sat a short distance away.
"Iarraim oraibh ar fad é," he said.