[AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a big chapter! I had to split this chapter as its a behemoth. But this chapter will be the turning point for our warriors and the plot device that drives the story from here on. Thank you for the read and taking the time! I hope you enjoy!]

Chapter 3: New Life Festival

Mimzi and Farkas ambled lazily up the Plain District towards Jorrvaskr. The pair were exhausted and beaten from their travels. Mimzi fought to stay balanced on her ankle, which had ceased bleeding and on the mend thanks to the speedy response of the potion. It was the late hour. The 31st of Evening Star. The sky danced in bright green aurora, and streets bustled with night life from the Bannered Mare.

Ulfberth War-Bear stumbled down the streets to his home, Warmaiden's. "Ha-ha! There's a good man! You missed a pint at the Mare!"

Farkas grinned. "Hey! Maybe tomorrow, Ulfberth! Cleared a vampire cave today, I need my shuteye."

Ulfberth called out as they both ventured in opposite directions down the street. "New Life Festival! There will be no shortage of ale, my friend! See you then!"

Farkas chuckled to himself as Mimzi puzzled, "Friend of yours?"

"I'm friends with everyone."

"Wow…" Mimzi uttered, "You couldn't try to be anymore different from your brother, could ye?"

The two stumbled into Jorrvaskr which hailed silence as the members had already crept to bed. They made their way downstairs to the living quarters where Mimzi revelled in the familiar smells of Jorrvaskr that brought a feeling of home. Farkas began to amble to his quarters before turning back to Mimzi. "I had a good run today. You fought good. You didn't kill any vampires, but you know how to handle yourself against some spiders and bandits— that's good enough for me. You're going to do great here."

"Could have done a wee better without stepping on a bear trap but… thank you, Farkas. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too." Farkas pondered, "I wonder if the others made it back yet. Gotta tell my brother I killed eight vampires single handedly today."

"Good luck with that. Have a good night."

Farkas lifted his hand in farewell and pressed on to his room. Mimzi stumbled into her quarters where the other whelps stayed fast asleep. She laid her knapsack and weapons to the floor beside her bed, and slowly peeled off her armour. As she opened the door, a sopping wet Vilkas emerged again with a clean face (yet the black paint along his eyes were stained). He wore only travelling pants, with a drying cloth along his shoulders. Along his bare chest and arms were light burns.

Mimzi gasped, "Oh!"

Vilkas growled, "Again?!" Then pushed himself passed Mimzi.

She crossed her arms, asking petulantly, "What happened to you?"

Vilkas halted and looked back at her before replying, "Burning house. What about you?" He returned gawking down to her swollen, bandaged ankle.

She grumbled in embarrassment, "Bear trap."

Vilkas nearly perked a smile at the answer, shrouding a bubbling snicker. He shook his head mockingly and paced down the hall and back to his room.

Dawn shone over the streets of Whiterun. The townspeople began to open their shops and excited villagers with decorations and festive lanterns to throw over the city in light of the New Life Festival. A celebration of the new year and new life in Tamriel. The Empire's beloved event, only to be celebrated the 1st of Morning Star- entering a new year. The Jarl's maids set up tables among Wind District centre by the Gildergreen for food and drink where the main festivities would take place. Firebugs were released among the tree to dance around before the nightfall, and streamers and ribbons were tasseled along the rails and archways along the Gildergreen sitting area. The city gleamed brightly in decoration and merriment from the villagers, who happily awaited the joys of the beloved festival.

However, up in Jorrvaskr's yard hailed another event. Mimzi was awoken to her shoulder thudding by Ria.

Mimzi grumbled with her eyes still closed shut and a slack jaw. "Hmmph. Delphine, leave me alone. You didn't even let me sleep three hours. You're cracked."

Ria baffled, "Huh? Mimzi, it's Ria. Wake up!"

Mimzi shot up from her bed with her fist raised.

"Woah!" Ria jolted, "You're okay! I'm not Delphine… or whoever."

"Thank the gods." Mimzi huffed, "That bitch haunts me. What do you want?"

"Come to the yard! Quick!"

"What? Ugh, push off, would ya? We got back after midnight."

Ria pulled at Mimzi's arm. "Just, come on! This isn't training!"

She groaned and pulled up lazily off the bed. She followed Ria out to the yard. Mimzi pondered at the quiet empty hall that was usually bustling in the early hours of the morning. Outside, Mimzi awoke to the sight of the Circle beckoning her to the centre of the yard. They stood in a circular form, with room for Mimzi adjacent to Kodlak. Vilkas and Farkas to the left, with Aela and Skjor to the right.

Ria chirped in singsong, "It's your initiation!"

He announced to the Companions as they slowly gathered, "Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valour. Who will speak for her?"

Farkas stepped forward. "I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us."

Mimzi beamed a smile as Kodlak continued to Farkas, "Would you raise your shield in her defence?"

Farkas announced, "I would stand at her back, that the world may never overtake us."

"And would you raise your sword in her honour?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall revelled in her stories!"

Kodlak announced proudly, "Then the judgement of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and with courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo, and our enemies may tremble at the call."

Vilkas, Skjor and Aela said in unison, "It shall be so."

Mimzi stood smiling dopily. She clasped her hands together and squeaked, "So I'm a Companion, now?!"

Aela chuckled, "Of course, what was all this for?"

"We heard you fought valiantly next to Farkas in that vampire lair, well done. It was a surprise." Skjor added.

Vilkas smirked, "Not as surprising as that bear trap, right Mitzi?"

Mimzi glared coldly at Vilkas and corrected, "Mimzi."

"Whatever, I was close," he shrugged.

"Well girl! You're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint." Kodlak said aloud as the Circle drifted to their duties.

Mimzi looked back to the Circle and hushed to Kodlak, "Can we talk? Alone?"

Kodlak perked his head and returned a smile, "Of course, young one. Meet me in my quarters in an hour. We can hold discussions then. Congratulations."

Meanwhile, Vilkas and Farkas sat at the benches on the patio, enjoying a drink as they revelled their stories from the day before.

Farkas praised, "So you ran back into the building, anyway? You saved the child? That's great!"

Vilkas smiled, "It made it all worth it. But I'd run into a hagraven nest if it meant escaping Skjor."

Farkas and Vilkas chuckled together. Farkas resolved and asked, "What was it this time? Did Aela keep on about the 'thrill of the hunt'? Did Skjor reminisce about the good ol' days?"

"Of course. They keep it interesting, if nothing else. I finally told them to shut it. I'm proud with what we are doing. Our resolve is… astounding. Kodlak is right, we are stronger when we resist the beast. I mean look at you! Thirty days and you haven't broken a sweat, not once! Your fortitude blows my hair back, I swear to you."

Farkas's contagious grin dwindled to a forlorn glare. He glowered down at the table while turning his drink against the wooden frame.

Vilkas noticed immediately and went steely, "What? Farkas… what?"

Farkas looked up to him with guilt riddled in his eyes. "I turned, Vilkas."

Vilkas went aghast and uttered, "What? You did what?"

"In Movarth's Lair…" Farkas explained, "Mimzi got her leg snapped in that trap, it was me against eight. I didn't have a choice, it was me or them."

Vilkas scowled into the floor with his arms crossed, trying to bury the rage that boiled in his blood. Farkas continued, "I'm sorry. I know what you're thinking, you're disappointed. I'm not a good brother. But I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you."

Vilkas groaned, closing his eyes in disdain. "Farkas, enough."

"I mean it. This is the last time…" Farkas was quickly cut off by Vilkas's rumble.

"Did Mimzi see you?"

Farkas muttered, "What… why?"

"It's a yes or no question, brother. Did Mimzi see you?!"

"Yes, Vilkas. She was stuck in a bear trap."

Vilkas abruptly stood from the table and marched back inside with his fists clenched. Farkas scrambled after him.

He called out in stunned worry, "Vilkas! Where you going?"

The brooding twin stomped downstairs where Mimzi was snacking on a boiled cream treat at a table. Vilkas paced to her and snatched the pastry, throwing it back. He clasped Mimzi by the upper arm and pulled her to his room.

"Oi! I was eating that, ya prick!" She garbled through a mouth full of food as she stumbled against Vilkas's pulling. Farkas ran to keep up.

"Oh no…" Farkas breathed as he scurried to his quarters.

Vilkas pushed Mimzi into his room and crossed his arms.

"What's your problem, eh?" She squawked like a bird, "Can you do anything else but ruin my day?!"

"You know…" Vilkas stated, "You know what we are."

Farkas thudded against the door frame. "Vilkas, come on."

"No! She knows. So now she has to know what'll happen if she opens her mouth." Vilkas growled to his brother, "Out of all the whelps you could have revealed your wolf to, it had to be this one?!"

"Uh." Mimzi slurred, "This is none of my business. Wolf? What wolf? I don't know what yous talking about, and it'll stay that way. Right, I'm off then!" As Mimzi went to push through the brothers, Vilkas pushed her right back. She groaned, "You can't just keep me here and threaten me!"

"Sure I can, I'm doing it right now, it's easy. Our blood is a curse that has been passed on through generations. We keep it from everyone, even Ria, Torvar, Athis and Njada. Not even ol' Vignar knows. If anyone were to find out, our hall wouldn't exist. Ysgramor's legacy destroyed, just like that. So if you want to keep breathing, you'll keep that flapping gob of yours shut. Understand?"

"Farkas already gave me the spiel. So thanks for the rude reminder," she replied aloofly, "Can I go now?"

Vilkas growled and stepped away from the door, "Get lost."

Mimzi glared down Vilkas as she paced out the doors and back to the hall.

Farkas groaned, "That wasn't needed. She's good. She's not going to say anything."

"Does Kodlak know?"

"No. Not that I know of, anyway." Farkas grumbled, "Just give it a rest. Why do you have to be like this all the time?"

Vilkas glared at his brother, his innocent eyes staring back in concern. He muttered dejectedly, "You turned. It's fine. Leave me."

Farkas huffed as his eyes waned. He turned out of Vilkas's room, who slammed his doors shut quickly after. Farkas left troubled of his brother's reaction. He felt the cold sting of resentment that Vilkas held for his own. He couldn't help but fall into deep remorse of his confession. That if he had kept it secret, Vilkas could still be out in the patio with him now. He yearned for the capacity to understand him. As much as he wanted to pound down those doors and implore to his brother, Farkas left Vilkas to stew— praying his time alone would resolve the resentment.

As Mimzi swiftly left the encounter she turned right into Kodlak's quarters, who sat diligently writing notes as he pried over old books. He peeked from his letters and greeted Mimzi with a welcoming grin, "Hello, Mimzi. Please, take a seat."

She sat to the table chair to the other side of Kodlak. His warm, auburn eyes stared intently. "What troubles you?"

Mimzi stated, "I know about the werewolf thing."

Kodlak grew a shocked glare before resolving back to his tranquil state, "Ah. So, you've come to learn things before your time then. No matter, yes, it's true."

"Why are you werewolves?"

Kodlak explained, "Many years ago, my predecessor, Terrfyg, made a bargain with the unnatural forces of witches. It was a boon to grant us immense strength, only to be used for a short time."

"A boon?"

His eyes turned weary. "Yes. At least he thought. However, we were deceived. The witches were devout followers of the Daedric Lord Hircine, the god of beasts. They traded our souls for his favour."

"How does that explain what you are now? If this happened in the past, then why are you a werewolf? Better yet, why is the Circle? Aela and the twins are pretty young."

Kodlak sighed, "Sadly, there were a time I too seen the beastblood as tremendous power. I agreed to turn when my time for the Circle came. Skjor was turned by our latest predecessor, and his feelings on the blood has never wavered. He believes it is and always will be a gift, rather than a curse. He turned the boys, Vilkas and Farkas. Aela was turned quickly after she joined, and they rose to the ranks of the Circle together. We have had the greatest thrills as beasts, and it has grown our bond to the family we are today. But my heart grieves for the mists of Sovngarde. I am old, and the hunt no longer brings me satisfaction as I look to the horizon. When I die, my soul is forsaken to the Hunting Grounds, Hircine's realm. A wretched plane of Oblivion where our beastforms are permanent. We will spend eternity engaged in the hunt. This is not the afterlife I choose. So, I seek a cure."

Mimzi eyes glazed over and asked, "You're searching for a cure for yourself?"

"And the boys…" Kodlak said, "Vilkas and Farkas. We agreed the three of us to withdraw from our transformations together. However, holding the beast at bay is a triumph in itself. So I'm not surprised Farkas gave in. Then again, he has great fortitude, almost as if he's completely untroubled. Vilkas, on the other hand, cannot control his wolf. He's falling deeper into temptation and when his threshold finally cracks, he will turn. I fear he will lose complete control."

Mimzi asked boldly, "Is that why he's such a radge?"

Kodlak chuckled, "Vilkas has always been rough around the edges. However, the call of the beast is causing him great pain. So yes, he's lashing out due to the blood. If we don't turn, we can't feed. It creates a sickness in our minds and spirit that can only be cured if we hone our blood. It's a curse, and a terrible one, at that."

"And by feed does that entail people? Innocent people?"

"We do not feed on the lives of good people. We try not to harm those we protect. But, if there is a bandit camp that needs purging, or a Forsworn cult or witch covenant? We'd always take those opportunities to feed."

"But you don't anymore?"

Kodlak shook his head. "No. Not for years. My boys joined me last month. The call for blood left me a long time ago, but I had to fight with every inch of my willpower to break from the calling. I stay hopeful Vilkas holds the same will. We yearn for Sovngarde as our spirit home, and we despise the control of the Daedric Princes. Vilkas and Farkas deserve to live their lives as true Nord men, not pawns of Hircine. Before I fade away, I search longingly for a cure. I will not rest in my illness until I find it."

"You're sick?"

"Yes. It's the Rot. Brought about by my years of lycanthropy. Hircine's last woe to his afflicted before he drags us to the Hunting Grounds. It's a sickness in the brain, and slowly my abilities deteriorate. I cannot fight as I used to, and my memory is frayed. It's only a matter of time before the Rot takes me."

Mimzi returned a sorrowful look. "There has to be something we can do. That I can do. A cure?"

"There is no cure for the Rot, young one. Even if I was cured tomorrow, the illness has already done substantial damage to my body. The only cure I seek is for our lycanthropy, so my afterlife is shared with the glad brotherhood of Sovngarde. Farkas and Vilkas can live the rest of their lives undaunted by thoughts of the hunt. Once that is done, my life will have fed its purpose."

"I'm sorry," she mourned, "What can I do to help?"

Kodlak waved his hand and shook his head. "Nothing, my dear. This is not your fight. It is mine. I owe it to myself and my boys to cure us. You do not need to worry of our struggles while you so young and vivacious in spirit. This day is for you and what you accomplished yesterday. I hope you'll be attending the festival tonight. It's said to be quite the awaited event. There is sure to be only good feasting, song and merriment."

Mimzi raised a hopeful smile. "Yes, of course. It'll be my first time celebrating it."

Kodlak laughed warmly, "Good! Very good! A grand memory for your initiation day! Now go, enjoy celebrating with your shield-siblings — for this is your day to revel. Drink your body weight in mead! Dance and sing with a glad heart. This will be a day you'll want to remember, Mimzi. Embrace it."

The evening set over Whiterun's streets. Slowly people closed their shops and began to flock the Wind District with homemade dishes, barrels of mead and gifts. A band with flutes, lutes, drums, fiddles, bells, chimes and tambourines, played loudly in joyous melodies that made even the most stoic man begin to tap his feet. The dim light of the sunset coloured the streets orange, and the lanterns gleamed brightly alongside the dazzling firebugs. They buzzed like floating stars above the party. Children played with firecrackers in the streets, and stories were told gladly to the young ones who knelt down and keenly listened to their elder's tales.

Farengar, the court wizard, played with spells to the townsfolk's enjoyment, and dabbled with his gifts of alteration to make the cutlery and plates on the tables begin to dance along with the beat of music. Carlotta brought homemade cakes and pies, gladly handing them out to the feasting villagers. Hulda manned her own stall to sell her mead for cheap and give her people succulent meat pies and sweet rolls. Young maidens such as Olfina Gray-Mane, Ysolda, and Saadia danced gladly to the centre of the event. Everyone in town was making an appearance, even Jarl Balgruuf, who was closely guarded by his paranoid housecarl, Irileth.

"Ysmir's beard, woman!" The Jarl broke from his cheery smile and snapped, "Go! Get some mead, mingle with the townsfolk, anything. Just stop breathing down my neck for one blessed minute!"

Irileth scolded, "This is the perfect event for a planned assassination, Balgruuf. Forgive me if I keep a close eye on you through this entire festival. Your safety is the only enjoyment I will wreak from this… gathering."

Jarl Balgruuf rolled his eyes and grumbled, "This is my time to spend with my people. To drink and make merry in a time of strife! They want to see their Jarl engaged in the revelling! Not hog-tied to a Dark Elf prig! Go, please. Leave me in peace for just one night. A Jarl is always safe around the glad faces of his people. You needn't worry."

"I will enjoy the festivities, Jarl…" Irileth glowered, "Just closely to your side, of course. Please, pretend I'm not here."

Jarl Balgruuf groaned aloud and ambled off to the food tables, helping himself to the meat pies and spiced wine, with Irileth close to his back side. Adrianne and Ulfberth held hands through the gathering crowd as they enjoyed the music and food, as well as Brenuin who snidely snuck sweets into his coffers. Olava the Feeble read fortunes for free at a bench with varying foretold truths or misconceptions; leaving her customers puzzled, praised or irate.

Jon Battle-Born, an aspiring bard and keen Nord, watched the gathering in pleasantries as he leaned against a wooden pillar. He gazed longingly to Olfina Gray-Mane, the daughter of his family's rivals. She caught his gaze and made sultry eyes back at the smitten Nord, but did not act on their affections given the climate of their feuding clans and the crowding faces.

Even the guards could not resist the calling of the party, to where they locked the front gates to Whiterun and made their attendance without the worry of intruders or dangers entering the city.

Athis, Torvar, Njada and Ria came huddling out the doors to the party just down the steps from their hall, all dressed in casual wear. Farkas approached behind them, wearing beryl villager clothing with a hide overcoat. He tied his black hair up and smiled gladly at the excitement shared among his peers.

"Farkas!!"

Bulking Nord guards and faces such as Ulfberth and Sinmir cheered gladly as they saw him beckon the gathering. They raised their mugs in mead, already sottish and blushed by generous drink. Farkas joined the merriment and grabbed himself a mug, chugging it down in seconds and throwing his empty mug to the stone path, causing an uproar of cheers among his friends while he grabbed another. The band played to the front of the Talos statue, where people gathered close to dance as the music graced their ears. Aela and Skjor stayed in the yard commencing in their training. They relished the emptiness of Jorrvaskr, where they could discuss their beastblood and motives in peace. Vilkas strayed in his room, resentful to the gathering and not wanting to reveal himself among the loud song and rowdy villagers he once enjoyed partaking celebration with. Mimzi strode from the hall, and the cool evening air swept a breeze through her dress and against her bare legs. She wore a dress of light blue and white, with a tanned leather corset tied to her waist, and frilled short sleeves. Her freckled cheeks brimmed in a grin at the merriment. She awed to the bright lights, melodic songs and scents of fresh food.

Ria danced with Olfina and Ysolda before the band. She caught notice of Mimzi and fervently called her over, "Mimzi! Mimzi! Come dance! Come on!"

Mimzi smiled and skipped over. She removed her footwear and tossed it to the side.

"You got a spring in your step, Mimzi? Let's see! Dance with me!"

Ria snatched her hands and skipped in a circle as Mimzi giggled and joined along. She began to jig along with the strumming lute and whirling flutes.

Jarl Balgruuf clapped his hands and drank merrily until he could overhear bickering of two elderly men on the borders of the crowd. He looked over to see Vignar Gray-Mane and Olfrid Battle-Born scowling and spitting insults to one another.

"Out of all the places you had to stand at this party, it had to be a couple feet from me?! Shove off you old gizzard!" Olfrid bellowed to Vignar, who furrowed his brows and raged.

Vignar cursed back with a finger raised, "Keep your crusty trap shut, damn it! This is a public event! I can be wherever I damn well choose!"

Olfrid rejoined in a vengeful spat, "What is it with you, anyway? You can't respect an old man's personal space? I'm trying to enjoy my pie and your homely gawk is putting me off my food!"

"I'll show you a homely gawk you brown-nosed, two-faced, coin-pinching…"

Jarl Balgruuf quickly shoved the two apart and began to holler, "Damn it! Not tonight! You old fools are not doing this tonight! I don't care if you two have to go out to the plains and wrestle each other in the grass, you're not dampening other spirits over your petty rivalling!"

"My Jarl…" Olfrid began to amicably plead, till he was stopped by Balgruuf.

"Not another word!" The Jarl demanded, his voice scolding, "Vignar, go over there! Olfrid, stay here! You two will ignore each other for the rest of the night or I'll kick you both out to the stables myself! Understand?!"

Vignar and Olfrid groaned in unison, "Yes… my lord."

"Good!" Jarl Balgruuf stomped from the scowling old men who continued to glare down each other before heeding the Jarl's demand.

Proventus Avenicci pranced over to the Jarl with a joyous bleat, "You spared no expense, my lord! Just look at this turn out, and the citizens are so happy! What a tasteful event! No rowdy drunkards, either. What a relief."

Jarl Balgruuf chuckled as he placed a meat pie to his plate, "Ha! Not for long! The band will be performing Sly Argonian soon. That'll sure raise some fiery spirits."

Proventus went pallor and croaked, "Oh… my Lord. But that song is so… distasteful. It's so… primitive. Please, my Jarl…"

"Nonsense!" He remarked, "It's a mead hall classic! Besides, it's all in good fun. I don't see any Argonians around, do you?"

Jon Battle-Born stayed rested against a wooden post as he smiled at the enjoyed festivities. Mikael, the bard at the Bannered Mare came sauntering to the young man, gawking at the dancing young maidens. He had wavy blonde hair and a lanky frame. He was a Nord known in town for being promiscuous.

He asked to Jon, "Battle-Born, might I ask, who is that enchanting little creature?"

Jon groaned at the realization of whom was speaking to him and closed his eyes briefly. Without turning his head to look, he replied, "Which one this time, Mikael?"

"The frolicking vixen with the flaming red hair, of course." Mikael said as he looked lasciviously to Mimzi, who brightly smiled with her friends as they danced before the band.

Jon rolled his eyes, "That's the newest whelp in the Companions. So, maybe not the safest bet, eh?"

"Oh, dear. Poor thing." Mikael smiled, "She's probably so oblivious to Whiterun. Perhaps she needs a guide, what do you say?"

"Did you not hear me? She's a Companion. Which means she's trained for slicing pests. If you value your manhood, steer clear."

"Relax, Jon. I'm just looking to make friends. She looks like good company… maybe too good. I'll just pop over and say hello."

Mikael sauntered over to the dancing women, where Jon called out at him, "You're a fool, Mikael. Not every woman is fair game for your stale tricks."

Mimzi did a jig and spun around, only to startle at the dopily grin of Mikael.

"Whoa!"

Mikael greeted with a smile, "Mikael, I'm a Bard, by trade. But you, my fair lady, we've not met. Which is a travesty, indeed. Your delicate beauty was nearly missed. I am eagerly charmed to make your acquaintance."

Mikael plucked her hand and kissed softly, making Mimzi irk, "Aye, hi."

He pondered, "May I steal you for a walk around town? Show you the sights? It would be a terrible shame if we were to waste this gorgeous sunset."

She began to scoff, "I've lived here for months, I've seen the sights. You better get going before you miss that sunset." She turned her back to Mikael and faced her friends. He snatched a mug from Brenuin's hands as he passed.

"Hey! I was drinking that!"

"Oh, shove off. You stole this, anyway." Mikael quietly growled to Brenuin, then ambled back to Mimzi.

"Damn bard…" Brenuin snarled as he crept off into the crowd.

Mikael tapped her shoulder, where he was met with her icy blue-eyed glare. Her face lightened as he handed her the full mug of mead.

"If a sunset is too dull, would you partake in a drink with me?"

Mimzi pondered the drink and happily took it, returning a grin, "I guess…" She gulped down its contents in seconds, making a short wince at the strong taste of the ale and beamed a grin.

"Haha! A woman who can handle her drink… you're sweeping me off my feet…" He cheered as he paced to Hulda's stall and bought two more mugs of mead. Jon watched on in disdain as Mikael did not just give her one; but two drinks. Mimzi downed them in no time, visibly getting drunk with an unsteady gait.

She howled exuberantly, "Woo! I'm drunk, finally!" She whacked the side of Mikael's shoulder, causing him to jolt.

"Ha— ow! You've got a fair swing for such a little person…" Mikael gripped his arm in discreet pain.

Mimzi took another chug from her mug and spat it at Mikael's shirt in a erupting laugh. She cackled and cried, "I didn't even hit you that hard, ya bampot!"

She smacked his arm in the same place, still lazily swigging from her mugs of mead. Mikael gripped his arm once more and winced, laughing nervously with her.

Vilkas emerged from the front entrance of the hall, wearing a black and dark blue tunic. His jet-black, wavy hair was parted and dangled to his face and bounced as he made his way down the steps. He had a scowl but tried to ease his discomfort to seem approachable to the merry townspeople. His darkly painted, silver eyes paced along the faces celebrating near the Gildergreen. Farkas took notice of his brother sauntering down the steps and curled a fervent smile. He came bolting up to Vilkas excitedly.

"Vilkas! The man I've been waiting for! Finally crawled out of your room, it must be a miracle," Farkas called in a cheery voice.

Vilkas grumbled, "You've certainly had a few, haven't you?"

"Yup." Farkas smacked his lips and patted his belly, "Well over a few. And it ain't enough. Come! The Jarl is hosting a drinking game! You wanna see Jarl Balgruuf the Greater spew, he's getting close!"

Vilkas smiled then went cold, he shook his head. "Not right now. I'll meet up with you, later. Just… let me stew for a bit."

Farkas's cheery demeanour cooled and composed his disappointment, before replying kindly, "Right. Of course, sorry. Take all the time you need."

Farkas sauntered away with a less vivacious gait back to his friends which surrounded the Jarl as they plowed through mugs of mead. Vilkas walked along the borders of the crowd, staying weary and keeping his distance from the social event. He could feel his blood beginning to boil with such exuberant noise and clamouring of people. He approached Jon Battle-Born, whom was well-mannered and too, stayed away from the gathering townsfolk.

Jon spoke aloud to Vilkas as he approached, "Well met, kinsman. How are you doing, Vilkas? Don't see you at the Mare much these days."

"Hmph. Dealing with my idiot whelps half my day and avoiding them the other half. What about you, Jon?"

Jon shrugged, "What I usually do. Avoiding my family and practicing my sword arm."

Vilkas chuckled, "I can't blame you there. Your pa is a right back end."

Jon stifled a laugh. "You don't know the half of it."

"You know," added Vilkas, "You'd make a damn fine Companion. Would be nice to have a whelp I could stand around that hall. Could help you out with that sword arm."

"Ha!" Jon chortled, "You'd think I'd sign up to have Vilkas the Cold order me around all day?"

Vilkas chuckled but curiously asked, "Wait, do people call me that?"

"That's one of the gentler names."

Vilkas felt a glimmer of joy as he conversed with his old friend. He almost felt compelled to saunter over to Hulda's stall and buy a drink. His eyes went to Farkas again, who laughed loudly with his friends. He smacked backs and chatted joyfully with the gaggle of guards, all laughing at the competition between Jarl Balgruuf and Eorland Gray-Mane (who was winning by a landslide). Despite the pact they both made, Farkas was handling the calling of the beast immensely superior to Vilkas. He watched as his brother hailed and bleated in joy with his kinsmen without a slight. Vilkas began to glower, and a bitter resentment boiled in his chest. A leeching envy which toppled with incredible guilt of his feelings towards his brother. He envied those who could feel the zest for life. Who could walk the streets and breathe in the air without a clouded thought. He envied his brother, who shared all those attributes and more, remaining bafflingly undaunted by their curse. Who used his beast blood after making a sworn promise not to. It was a betrayal he didn't want to admit, but he felt abandoned in his plight without the support of Farkas.

Vilkas looked away, refuting his glooming thoughts and observed a slurring, inebriated Mimzi, whom was being pursued by Mikael. She laughed in fits as Mikael advanced his hands over her arms and shoulders, where she tepidly scooted his arms away.

Vilkas irked at the sight of the two and asked to Jon, "What am I seeing here?"

Jon groaned and stated, "That's poncy Mikael, saucing up your whelp in hopes she'll be senseless enough to let him bed her."

"Really?"

"Yup." Jon stated aloofly, "That sod boils my blood. I keep thinking how I'm going to handle it if he tries to take her away from the party. Just don't know how to approach it."

Vilkas pondered for a moment, seething at the sight of Mikael still grabbing at Mimzi as she resisted. She was pushing him away but not deterring him, likely to deep in the drink to make her repulsion known. He grumbled, "I've got an idea."

"Oh yeah, like what?" Jon asked to Vilkas, who marched towards the two with his fists clenched. He cracked his neck right and left, and his knuckles.

"So…" Mikael leered to Mimzi, "I think I know how you can repay me for all those free drinks?"

Mimzi chuckled, "Hah. Sorry I'm…" She released a low burp. "I'm not the best at paying people back… how about a pie? You like pie? I love pie. I'll get you one. Pie for you, pie for me. Everyone is happy."

"I have a bed at the inn just begging for us to roll into it. Come with me…" Mikael lightly pulled at Mimzi's arms to follow him, but she stayed her ground.

Mimzi glared for a moment then erupted in unbridled, cackling laughter, her finger raised mockingly at Mikael.

He continued anyway, "Hah… yeah. Don't worry it'll be fun; we can get away from all this noise. We'll have some more drinks, share some laughs? You'll love every second of it, and I won't rest till you do." Mikael grumbled gripping her hips closer. Mimzi pushed him back lazily.

She stumbled with a drunken gait. "You're cracked! That's not better than pie! Stop touching me!"

"Oh, come on you…" Mikael was quickly grabbed by the collar of his tunic and pulled away from Mimzi.

Vilkas gripped his collar and shouted, "Hey Mikael!" Then plunged his fist into Mikael's face, throwing him back against the ground.

Villagers gasped at the sight and drunken guardsmen laughed in throes. Mikael clasped at his bloody nose whilst on his back and ached. Mimzi— stunned by the altercation, had her arms raised and up on her tip toes with wide eyes. She slowly looked up at Vilkas, who gripped and flicked his hand, glaring with scorn. He huffed before marching back up to Jorrvaskr and passing Jon on his way.

He grumbled, "Like that." He brushed Jon's shoulder who stayed to his post with his arms crossed. An amused smirk curving on his face.

"I'll remember that for next time," Jon replied, stifling his satisfaction at seeing Mikael withering in pain on the stone ground.

Farkas had alarmed at the sight of the incident and chased after Vilkas up the steps. "Hey! What was that about?"

Vilkas growled lowly, not looking back to his brother as he crept up the steps, "Don't worry about it. Go back to your friends, Farkas."

"Wait!" Farkas shouted to his brother, who reluctantly turned back to face him, "You're leaving so soon? The band is gonna play "The Sly Argonian". It's our favourite, remember? Come, have some mead!"

"No!" Vilkas barked, causing Farkas to dwindle dejectedly. Vilkas breathed and stated coolly, "Just go. I'm not in the mood."

The music began to shift into a fast-paced beat of drums and melodic fiddles. Vilkas turned back up to Jorrvaskr and back to his room, leaving Farkas disheartened as he crept back to the festival.

The music began to speed up, and all in sudden moment, townsfolk flooded around the band, chanting eagerly at the song to be performed. Jon Battle-Born stood to the front of the band, strumming his lute. Mimzi crept from the fervent crowd to where Torvar and Ria pushed up alongside her.

"There you are!" Ria blathered, "I've been looking for you!"

Mimzi yelled over the music, "Oh hey! I was looking for you too! Then… I forgot!"

Torvar gasped, "Wait a blessed minute, are you drunk?!"

Mimzi cheekily smiled in response.

"Haha! Finally, a drinking buddy. Cheers, friend!" He tossed Mimzi another bottle of mead, to where she happily accepted.

"You just carry these around with you?"

"Always." Torvar starchily replied.

Mimzi nodded and uncorked the bottle to take a swig and said, "Good lad."

The song carried with Jon's voice as he began to sing. The crowd merrily cheered along.

"1, 2, 3, 4!…

Scales in black and white,

Crawling around all night!

He likes black and white!

Sly Argonian, lying there in the sun!

The Nords just want some fun!"

The people began to regale to the song. They jumped to the drums and mead spilled from their mugs as they jigged their feet. Children gathered to sing along, skipping merrily.

"He likes shiny things,

Gold coins in his sling,

He took shiny things,

Sly Argonian, lying there in the sun!

You don't fool anyone,

Let's go!"

Farkas pushed to the front of the crowd and sang along joyously, he cleared way for Mimzi, Torvar and Ria to come through. The Jarl clapped his hands to the beat and cheered with his people as they pranced and celebrated.

"He can hear us,

Time to beat down the bush!

He can hear us!

Sneaky Argonian hiding there from the sun,

The Nords just want some fun!

Sly Argonian lying there in the sun,

You can't hide or run!'

Clanks of mugs were heard as mead spilled like geysers from the drunken men. Vignar began to tap his foot and dance in his chair as he watched the revellers. The song changed pitch as the music slowed into a bridge. Proventus paced along the unhinged revelling surrounding him, dodging bottles thrown and mead spilling onto his noble robes with an aghast pallor. The anticipation for the chorus exhilarated them all and clapped their hands loudly to the beat. When the bridge ended and the chorus sped up, their exhilaration intensified, bringing the song home for all the glad townspeople to hear.

"1,2,3,4!….

If you got his tail,

Mount it down the hall!

All the Argonians, lying there in the sun!

Time to have some fun!

Scales in black and white,

Made to a belt just right,

He was black and white,

Sly Argonian, lying there in the sun!

The Nords have had their fun.

Sly Argonian, lying there in the sun!

Naaaah, Na, Na, Na, Nahhh!

Dah, Dah, Dah, Dah, Dah, Dah!

Naaaah! Nah, Na, Na, Na!"

Howls of glad-ship came from the crowd. As the song reached its coda, they all had a new replenishment of spirit as the party raged on. Jarl Balgruuf fell to his backside as he stumbled over himself due to the mead, where Irileth came to his assistance. The town guard laughed rambunctiously at the drunken Jarl. Njada and Athis had an arm wrestle to a table as onlookers cheered on. Farkas held his arms over Torvar and Mimzi as they jumped in celebration. They reigned in merriment and sprawling heaps of enjoyment. From loud, drunken cheering, to unbridled laughter - the New Life Festival was a praised holiday, indeed. After years of hopelessness and strife, the people of Whiterun came alive that night, without the worry of war or impending doom. All was well, and life was good.