early 4E185, Whiterun

Vilkas sat by Kodlak's side, watching him try to balance accounts. Even at his age and inexperience, he could see how much the numbers seemed to elude the man.

At least there were still plenty of notices on their boards. They had two, one at each side of the entry gate to Jorrvaskr. Even though mercenary companies rose and fell all around, people still went to put up their notices to the Companions.

Good.

They desperately needed it.

Their numbers thinned considerably during the war. Vilkas remembered running through hauntingly empty halls with Farkas, playing with wooden swords. Some returned, others did not.

Strict codes of conduct chased away a number of new recruits. After the war, a lot of people got…darker. Vilkas had watched many a recruit leave in anger, others were kicked out for their atrocious behaviour and sullying the good name of the Companions. Some left because the mercenary companies were giving shiny promises, covering the unsavoury truth.

Him and Farkas weren't the only not yet adult members as of now. From what Kodlak had told him, it was customary to accept younger recruits to build them up from the foundation, but not that young.

And the old guard was thinning.

He quietly turned the leather bracelet he took to wearing around his wrist.

"Hrakni didn't die because of you," Kodlak's voice cut through his thoughts. "He should have known to take more shield-siblings to the Reach."

Vilkas looked up. Kodlak was still struggling with paperwork, but his eyes darted around, keeping mind of his surroundings.

"You were too young to be taken on such a task. His foolishness ended him."

"Farkas' quest went without a hitch."

"They were hunting a bear. An after winter hungry and barely awoken bear."

Vilkas sat silently for a while.

"Master, have you ever seen a wrothgarian leopard?"

"Don't call me that, my boy," Kodlak put the paperwork down and looked out the small window by the ceiling. "No, I can't say I have. But I remember Hrakni talking about it. I believe he wanted to make a coat out of one."

"Why didn't he kill the one we saw just before we found the ritual area, then?"

Kodlak shrugged.

"Good he didn't, otherwise you would have been dead too, no?"

They turned quiet.

"Are there protector spirits?" Vilkas asked in the end, voice barely louder than whispering of the spring breeze.

"There are spirits in this world," Kodlak answered after some pondering, his eyes glistening strangely in the light of a small candle on the table, "but it is hard to say anything about their morality, for it is far removed from ours."

He shifted to a more comfortable position. "There are those who see spriggans as benefactors of the land, for example. But as you know, there are also many who pay us to kill them."

"They kill people."

"Hrakni's lady friend had no trouble with them," Kodlak reached for a beautifully carved pipe and stuffed his favourite herb mix in it. "The travellers to Eldergleam sanctuary also encounter peaceful spriggans if they behave themselves. Treat their trees with respect, they respect you. Lumber in their woods, they hate you."

He lit the herbs. "Is a beast evil for killing someone? No. It is just acting out of necessity. Is it bad for us? Yes. Different world, different morality."

"And what does it have to do with the leopard?"

"You don't know what the world of that beast encompasses. There are many creatures in our world more intelligent than assumed. Perhaps not as intelligent as we are, but enough. There is some reason why it helped you, but that doesn't necessarily mean all of them will behave the same way. Or even that the same leopard would do so next time."

Kodlak puffed out some smoke. "The creature you fought, it sounds like one of the foul reach witches changed by even fouler magics. Hagraven, we call them. Creative, I know," he flashed a grin. "Maybe the cats dislike them. They hunt creatures for magical reagents. Maybe the leopards' claws are needed for spells. You and Hrakni lured the hagraven out of her hiding place and the leopard could finish its hunt."

They grew silent yet again, Kodlak puffing smoke in contentment. In the end, as his pipe grew empty, he tapped the unfinished paperwork.

"Vilkas, you've always been a sharp one. Help me with these, would you?"

XXX

Skjor observed his litter of recruits one more time. Vilkas could feel the man's scornful gaze on his back.

He steeled himself.

"You're swinging the sword like a shovel, whelp!"

Skjor's towering figure appeared next to him. He grabbed Vilkas' hand and harshly squeezed it around the pommel.

"Control the blade right here, at the CENTER! The other hand is to guide it more precisely, but you need to move it down here!"

Large feet kicked his own further apart.

"Mind the stance! Firm, not rigid! And for gods' sake, don't move so much, cover just the smallest amount of distance needed to dodge, you oaf."

Giving him a slap over the back of his head, Skjor then moved on to Farkas. "And you, you giant frostbrain! Your weapon is the exact opposite, your weight is at the TOP, where the axe blade is! Don't try to fight like Vilkas does!"

Vilkas shut out Skjor's voice and the quiet snickering of the other recruits. Many of them weren't that much older than him, and none of them did as well as he and Farkas did.

But it was always fun watching someone else get picked on, eh?

Disgusting.

He cleared his mind and focused on training. There was certain poetry to the fluidity of the movements, to the glistening blade arc. Precision and beauty.

He could work with that.

That and the rage building inside his chest. One of these days he will make Skjor eat his words.

XXX

Lakeview plot, Falkreath

"This is it?"

"Looks like," Bjorn took another bite of dried pork.

"Ridiculous!" Falco exploded.

"This piece here is nice and flat," Bjorn pointed out, nonplussed. "Protected by the cliffs from the wind. That's nice."

"Nice? Nice?! We were supposed to get a house!"

"The steward did say they didn't have a house. Just a plot."

"Are we supposed to build a house in the fucking middle of the winter?!"

"Why not?" Bjorn shrugged. His bright red hair was dusted with gentle snowflakes.

"We're going to freeze to death! Even you!"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"How can you be so fucking calm?" Falco exploded, combing his hand through his curls on instinct. He shivered and immediately pulled his hood back up. "We spent most of our money on this thing! How are we supposed to build a house?!"

"There's a lot of timber around here. We can just hire some helpers."

"With what money?"

"The stuff you keep hidden in your spare socks."

"That….that's not for random spending!"

"Exactly. A house is not a random spend, is it?"

"Even if, how are we supposed to not freeze to death?!"

"We could ask them," Bjorn nodded his head in a direction to Falco's left. The Imperial spun around.

His eyes narrowed.

Two girls, small, thin, pale blonde and wild looking, stood at the edge of the forest underbrush, watching them silently.

Bjorn beckoned. "Come closer, little spirits. What are you after us for?"

The little one backed a bit, hiding behind her sister's figure. The older one patted her, took her hand and slowly, gently led her out of the underbrush. The little one scuttled after the older one like a scared critter, but her sister….she walked with confidence of a wild creature in its home.

They stopped not too far from Bjorn, but also not too close. Even at some distance, he was towering over them like a wall of flesh and bone. She looked him in the eye, no fear apparent on her face.

"We need a home," the older one said. She spoke slowly, as if not completely sure with her words. "You," she pointed at the men, "need help. We can help."

"How?" Falco groused.

The girl tilted her head at him. A predatory grin flashed on her face for a heartbeat. It made Falco shudder.

"You will not need to worry about food and shelter for the winter." She looked at Falco, her dark, oh so dark eyes piercing right through. "Or your wounds."

"I like the offer," Bjorn said in a hushed voice to Falco. "And it is never bad to have a good witch on your side."

"How do you know they're good?" Falco hissed.

"I'm alive," Bjorn shrugged. "They could have left us, used our innards for magic or blood for runes. They didn't."

"Are you even a Nord?" Falco huffed as the bigger man turned back to the girls.

Bjorn ignored him. "There's plenty of space here. Name's Bjorn. The grumpy one's Falco. So whatcha got for us, ladies?"

"Mori," the older one put her hand on her chest. She tapped the little one. The girl peeked up at the large man, shy as a bird.

"Yvaine," she finally peeped.

"We got this," Mori dropped a large bag on the ground. As she started pulling things out of it, Bjorn and Falco realised it was enchanted - there were so many parts the actual bag could never contain them all.

Yvaine soon got somewhat bolder and joined her sister. Bjorn pulled Falco to the side, where they both sat on a rock. They watched the girls nimbly move about with experienced speed.

In a span of several hours, a structure grew - a sturdy, insulated tent, suited for nomadic living in harsh environments. The girls made primitive beds with the same speed out of branches and furs. Along with the firepit in the middle and some storage space, the tent was rather cramped, but it would do for a while.

"That can't work," Falco said with disbelief.

"I bet the first dinner they make us that it will."

"I'm not giving you extra food, I need it to not freeze."

"Aha, so you believe in the tent?" Bjorn nudged him with an elbow.

"Maybe," Falco rubbed the sore spot on his ribs. "They clearly know what they're doing. They look like tribe people from the mountains, what do you call them…"

"The Reachmen."

"Yeah, those. Well. They look like them, and they are clearly moving around here without a tribe. Even if it is just getting here from the east, it takes some time. If they couldn't make shelter, they would have died by now."

The men grew quiet. They watched the girls start cooking, both of them relaxed in the familiar motions.

"I wonder why they left their tribe," Falco muttered.

Bjorn looked at him. Then he looked at the girls. He got up, walked over and started making fire.

Mori and Yvaine both eyed him, but after a quick signalling from Mori, they both let him be.

"Hey, Mori. Why'd you leave your tribe?"

The girls shot him a glance, never stopping their work. Yvaine looked at her older sister.

Mori hesitated. Then she sighed.

"We never had any tribe."

"Why's that?"

The sisters looked at him, their eyes suddenly disturbing. As if there were freezing underwater depths to them, pulling him into the abyss.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "You can tell me later, no worries." He finished with the fire, which in turn drew Falco in. "So ladies, what exactly do you want from us? Home is a word with lots of stuff to it."

"We want to be able to stay here. Safely. Build us a house after you have yours."

"Just that?"

"Don't chase us away based on superstition."

Bjorn thumped his chest with a fist. "On my word, no ill will towards witches here."

Falco raised an eyebrow. "Are you really sure about being a Nord?"

"Did you forget? My old lady was a cunning woman. The best granny there was, lemme tell you."

"What does her cunning have to do with anything?"

"He means she was a witch too," Yvaine peeped. She was now perched upon her bed, watching both men curiously. Falco noticed she held a little doll.

Mori raised her head once more. "Another condition. Don't ask about the wyrd matters." She shot a look at Falco. "I will not do anything vile. But my secrets aren't yours to keep."

Falco sighed and then shrugged. "What can I do, I don't want to freeze to death on this gods forsaken property."

XXX

When the men came back the next day with lumber, stone and several workers, the girls were nowhere to be found. The tent still stood, however, and their belongings, including the little warrior doll, were all inside.

They returned only after the workers had left for their own campsite. Mori brought more firewood, some fish and a bagful of winter roots.

Yvaine ran to pick up her doll. She played with it for a bit, then had a hushed conversation in a foreign language with it.

She got up, ran over to Mori and tugged her sleeve. Mori, preparing dinner, stopped and leaned over. Bjorn and Falco looked with mild interest as they whispered, and then Mori smiled, got up and led Yvaine over to the men.

She gave her a word of reassurance, then patted her back. Yvaine, horrendously shy, walked over to the men.

"Tiber wanted me to show you what I found today," she looked everywhere but the men. Her eyes slid to the doll.

She nodded to herself. Took a deep breath. She took a small leather pouch off of her belt and offered it out.

Bjorn took it. "Your little friend's name is Tiber?"

Her face brightened. "Yea! Like the hero from the story! He said I should give you the things, because you might like them. That's what heroes do."

Bjorn and Falco exchanged amused looks.

"Tiber Septim, you mean? That hero?"

"Yea! We were at the inn in spring. They told us the story there. And how he slept in one of the rooms."

Bjorn opened the pouch. "Shor's bones, you are going to like this, Falco," he turned the pouch to the Imperial.

"Are those…gold nuggets?" Falco took the pouch and emptied it into his hands. Again, it carried far more than it should have, making for a little treasure pile in his lap.

All sorts of precious gems glistened back at him, mixed with nuggets of gold. There was even a sliver of ebony, probably a piece of a broken dagger.

He was speechless.

Bjorn slapped his back and laughed. "Now that's something for your sock drawer!"

XXX

The next morning Falco woke up early. Still, he almost missed the girls.

"Mori, wait," he called out and rushed out, only half dressed.

The girls stopped and turned to him.

"I need your opinion," he pulled his hastily thrown on coat closer. "Given our financial situation, we wanted to build one slightly larger house first. Back to the cliff, a central room and small bedrooms. Is that suitable? And which side would you prefer to have your rooms on?"

"West," she pointed after a little thought. "Are you planning for a cellar? Don't build a cellar. We'll help. Just mark a place on the wall against the cliff."

She didn't elaborate. They left confused Falco alone in the frost and disappeared into the forest.

XXX

Whiterun

"Why do you even bother with them, Embla?" Skjor sighed. "They won't ever amount to anything."

The tall red headed woman kept working on her arrows. "The dumb one, maybe. The other one is promising."

Skjor scratched his rapidly thinning hair. "Why don't you pay more attention to Gedrik and Erika instead, those two would make for much better archers."

"They are good," Embla purred, "but not what I want."

"What do you want?"

"You wouldn't understand," Embla flashed a mocking grin at him.

Skjor frowned. He got up from the table, dismissive. "Do whatever you please. As you always do. But don't come crying to me when your plans crumble."

"You wouldn't be my first choice," Embla laughed. She watched as he left, then she hummed affirmatively for herself. "Come out, boy."

Vilkas, who had been eavesdropping, stepped out of his hiding place. "I don't like you calling my brother dumb."

"Oh really? Well, I'm not stopping until you make me."

He frowned.

Embla ignored the reaction. "You start training with me. Skjor's training won't stop, though. Mornings are mine, rest is his. I want to see you bright and early, outside of the city gate."

XXX

"See that tree? That's hickory. Good bow wood." Embla pointed up. "See the leaves? Quite narrow, several on a stalk. Now look at the bark. Notice the ridges? Good. Remember those. They have nuts, too, good for eating. Ripe at the end of summer. I want you to be able to identify the tree by just having a look, so sit around for a little and memorise, boy."

XXX

"...and for those reasons we will cut this tree. But before that is done, you can make a starter bow from this branch."

Embla handed him one of the branches and saplings they had collected over the past week.

Vilkas quietly accepted the branch.

Embla took him to a…let's say hideout…they prepared. She took him there after every very practical lesson in the forests and mountains to teach him more crafting.

"Now, you'll need to prepare the stave, then use varnish…"

XXX

"Good, but you need to do better. Shoot them again."

Embla had prepared practice targets and drilled him mercilessly. Some days she would take him hunting. He had to track prey and kill it himself. He had to learn to recognize animals and plants, analyse their patterns and behaviours, know the seasons and cycles.

He didn't remember well enough for her to be pleased, but enough to make her decide to move on to another goal.

"Hm. I guess you won't get much better with this," she took a look at the primitive bow she had him make months before. "Well, I guess the stave you started preparing is good enough to trade for one of mine."

She motioned for him to follow. They trekked down the hill, jogged over the golden plains of Whiterun back to the city and then walked to Jorrvaskr.

Embla led him to her room, where she stopped him at the doorstep. The bows she had been working on were all inside, each in a different stage of completeness.

She took one of the three finished bows. "Here. I'll take the rest of the staves we prepared from the tree you so nicely cut for me. You can have this one and practice on the three staves you started with."

He took the bow. It was a beautiful piece, golden in color and simple in style.

"I want to see you train with it every day," Embla dismissed him.

XXX

I looked at Vilkas' page on the UESP, and it said he had high archery. Nice story beat right there, let's include training with Aela's mother!