And so it went this way for many days as Bretagne settled into her new routine. Wake up, reconcile some accounts in the Harbinger's office, break for food, more reconciliation, bedtime, rinse and repeat. Although, it seemed to be taking a bit longer than expected for her room to be ready, so she was forced to remain in the whelps' quarters. It wouldn't normally have bothered her, but after a fortnight of listening to Torvar's snoring and Ria talking in her sleep, paired with nightmares and gods-awful early mornings, it was grating on Bretagne's patience.

Sleeplessness came easily, especially this night. Bretagne had taken to wiling away the hours reading until she passed out, but had long since run out of material. Feeling restless, she decided to get out of bed. Maybe wandering the halls at two in the morning would calm her mind.

.

.

Vilkas didn't look up from his book when he heard hesitant rapping on his door. Whoever it was, it couldn't be that important. They'd just have to wait until morning.

Then the knocking came again, a little louder this time. "Go away," he muttered, flipping a page back to re-read it. "It's late."

More knocking. Vilkas sighed, stuffing a metal bookmark between the pages he would have to re-read again, and shuffled to the door. "What on Kyne's green Nirn could you possibly want at this hour–"

He swung open the door and his gaze dropped lower. Bretagne stood, hand raised to knock once more, and sheepishly lowered it.

"You. What do you want." His flat tone suggested that he didn't really care.

Bretagne fiddled with the edge of her night shirt and looked down, a look of regret flashing on her face. She never should have come.

"N-nevermind. Sorry to have bothered you..." She tried to turn from the door but he stopped her.

"You've already got my attention, so spit it out."

"I... I couldn't sleep."

He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

"I was wondering if I could borrow a book."

He glanced over his shoulder at the timepiece on his desk. "It's 2 AM, Bretagne."

"Well, you're not asleep either," she muttered. "Please? I won't be long, I promise," she pleaded, clasping her hands together and giving her best puppy eyes.

Vilkas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a resigned "hmph," he stepped to the side, waving her in.

Bretagne stepped forward and looked around. She'd only seen it occasionally from the hallway when he would leave the door open. In the corner of the room across from his bed stood two massive mahogany bookcases; they looked new, and definitely didn't match the much smaller oak ones in the rest of the rooms.

She slowly made her way to the shelves while he stood there, arms crossed, watching her like a hawk as she perused through the volumes.

Bretagne brushed her hand along the spines, some well-worn and others practically brand new, all in a variety of muted colors. "I knew you liked to read but..."

He went back to his desk, organizing the space a bit before reopening his novel. "Passes the time. Keeps the mind sharp," he said dismissively.

She scanned both bookcases several times, pursing her lips in thought. "So, is there any rhyme or reason to this?"

Vilkas looked up from his book then and snorted derisively. "Isn't it obvious?" Taking this as a chance to proudly show off his collection, he stood up and went over to her, slightly bumping her to the side.

He gestured to each section as he spoke. "Bottom is reference materials. Middle two are contemporary, sorted by genre. Fiction on the left, nonfiction on the right. Second from the top is theatrical. All are organized alphabetically by title since many are anonymously written." He pointed to the ceiling. "Top shelves are my rarest tomes, which you are forbidden to touch, hence the locks." He motioned upwards and sure enough, each book had a small padlock keeping the pages together, each lock chained to another. If a thief tried to take one, they'd all come crashing down. Most of them looked like they would turn to dust if one so much as breathed on them.

He smirked. "But you're too short to reach them anyway, and I'm not getting them down for you."

Bretagne opened her mouth to retort at the snide comment but thought better of it. She frowned, turning back to the shelves to browse some more, but she could practically feel the pride radiating off him as he stood there admiring his own collection. Bret reached out her hand towards a thin blue novel.

Suddenly a voice cut through the silence. "–Oi, you didn't tell her about your erotica!"

Their heads snapped to the source of the sound. Vilkas glared at his brother who stood leaning against the door frame casually. Then, Farkas took the open door as an invitation and walked right in.

Bretagne's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. "What?"

"Ignore him," Vilkas said through clenched teeth, "he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yeah, I do," Farkas said as he flopped down on his brother's bed, not bothering to ask first. He rifled through the covers, patting the pillows. "If I remember right, those things should be here somewhere–" He pointed to the chest sitting at the end of the bed. "Is that why that thing opens backwards? So you don't have to get up?"

Vilkas marched over and smacked his brother on the back of the head. "And what about your secret porn stash in the false bottom of your side table drawer, hm?" Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to humiliate his brother further, he looked over his shoulder at Bretagne. "He's got a thing for Redguard women."

Bret's eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth. Her eyes flitted between the two as they bickered, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Am I supposed to be seeing this? she asked herself. Her mother had told her once that this was just the way men were with each other, but she'd never heard it for herself. Certainly these topics weren't for a lady's ears! Would her future husband Khor be like this with his friends, vulgar and crass? She'd just have to make herself scarce, then–a tactic that may come in handy right about now.

Farkas went pale, then red with angry embarrassment. "How'd you know about that?"

"I helped you build that table, icebrain."

"It's supposed to be a secret, smartass. You said you wouldn't tell nobody!" Farkas got up and shoved Vilkas. "You were the one who spent a tonne of money on that rare copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid!"

"I did no such thing!"

"You wouldn't shut up about it for weeks!"

"Fine, but it was a very hard-to-find illustrated compilation, and I only bought it for its literary and artistic value–"

Their arguing abruptly stopped when they heard the floor creak as Bretagne none-too-stealthily tried to escape. Her face flamed with second-hand embarrassment, and she refused to look them in the eye. "I, um, ahem, I'm just going to go now…."

"Wait," Farkas interjected, standing and brushing off his trousers. Then, he turned to his brother. "Look, you made her face all red."

Vilkas cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered, not making eye contact. Both men had sheepish looks on their faces, but Vilkas less so. He quickly gained composure and folded his arms again. "So, you choose a book or not?" he barked.

Bretagne held up a dark indigo novel with a gold leaf emblem on the front. "Yeah, poetry. Figured it might help me relax so I can sleep."

Vilkas nodded. "Good. Now get out."

"Hold on," Farkas interjected. "Can't sleep?"

She looked down, sighing. "No." Then, after a pause, "...nightmares."

The twins gave a brief look of understanding. Farkas clapped a hand down on her shoulder. "You know what helps me? A good stiff drink. How's about it?"

She considered the pros and cons—an upset stomach and a headache in the morning, or no sleep at all—and nodded, deciding on a nightcap.

Farkas grinned. "Great!" he said, motioning her to follow. He hesitated before going out the door and held up a finger. "One minute. I need to, uh, do something first." With that he darted out the door, slamming it behind him.

"What was that about?" Bretagne turned around and saw Vilkas, still watching her intently.

Then he snickered. "Re-hiding his stash, most likely."

She giggled at that, then looked down at the book in her hands. It was an old piece, practically antique given the maker's mark on the inside vellum cover, but it looked like it had barely any use at all. The debossed emblem, a bird perched on a branch, still shone brightly with gold leaf, and a brief rifling through the pages revealed almost pristine gilded illuminations. An attached royal purple velvet ribbon served as a bookmark.

She gingerly set the book down on the side table, and suddenly she was in front of Vilkas, wrapping her arms around him. She squeezed him harder-which to him felt like nothing-and still couldn't make her fingers meet around his thick torso.

He instantly stiffened at her touch and looked down at the top of her head; she only barely came up to his shoulder. "...What are you doing."

"I'm hugging you," she said, voice muffled in his shirt.

"...Why?"

She leaned her head back to look at him now. "To thank you for the book. I know how important they are to you." That, and she was immensely grateful for a solution to her insomnia. Now she might actually get some sleep!

Vilkas thought it a bizarre reason to hug someone, but seemed satisfied with the answer, muttering a sound of approval. His muscles relaxed slightly, and he started to hug her back when the door burst open.

"Alright, that's done. Are you ready to—oh. Was I interrupting something?" Farkas smirked, hand still on the door.

His brother's sudden entrance startled him, and Vilkas shot away from Bretagne's embrace, shoving her towards the door. He smoothed out his shirt, plastering a neutral look on his face, and cleared his throat. He couldn't hide the twinge of pink on his cheeks. "No. She was just leaving."

"But I–" she protested.

"I think he's right, come on. Let's leave him to his brooding," Farkas said, shooting a look at his brother before escorting a very confused Bretagne out of the room.