Back at it again with the Skyrim fics. This is another of those stories that has had massive chunks and scenes sitting on my laptop for... literally years in some cases. Thanks to the conclusion of other projects my attention has been moved back - I'm also using this new motivations to get over the writers block for Saints Row (and I know I've been saying that for ages, hah)

This tale takes place about a year or less before "To Break A Curse" but is something of a bottle episode (or... fiction, as it were).

LYRIELLE

There had always been something constricted about Vilkas. His expression was ever stony and impassive, and his body unnaturally still as if every movement needed a purpose. But it was never a relaxed stillness; those eyes always seemed pinched, never having a single moment of peace.

Even when I had walked into the catastrophic scene in Jorrvaskr in the wake of the fight, saw the wounded hunched over bloody cuts, saw Kodlak laid out on the stone… Vilkas strode over and the fury was radiating from him, but not even his voice really betrayed it.

Everyone who spoke of him - everyone other than Kodlak - seemed under the impression he was a centred and controlled sort of person. But when I looked at him I couldn't help imagining a great pressure boiler, constantly on the verge of rupturing and scalding everything around him. He had come close, and when he told me we were going after the Silverhand who had attacked them and killed Kodlak, I felt it was somehow the first crack.

Vilkas couldn't be swayed to wait, and I was in too much shock to truly put up a fight. I had a chance to wash, and change my travelling gear. I pulled on my black woollen tunic, dark leather stays over the top, hide trousers and my dark fur gauntlets and boots. The snows of the north would be blinding, so I drew on my kohl 'warpaint'. Over the eyes, sweeping down onto my cheeks and tapering off on my neck. I wasn't in much of a mood for colour…

'Dress warm,' he'd said, 'They hide like rats in Driftshade Refuge far north… we've waited too long to strike them at their heart."

"Kynareth speed my journey," I murmured tiredly; my body was as weary as my spirit.

Kodlak… how could I have been so late? How could I have not woken an hour earlier from that campsite? When I had been so sure I could walk through the gates, I could hand him the vile witch's head, and he could have had his cure…

There was a horrible twist in my heart and I pressed my gloved hands on the table…

'He's in the wilds now… he may never see Sovngarde. He wouldn't, because I was too damn slow!'

Every possible scenario crossed my mind; if I hadn't stopped at that river, if I hadn't taken so long, walked that shortcut instead, walked through the night instead of camping, done anything, one thing, differently! And those 'hunters'… those bastards invaded Jorrvaskr itself, the arrogance, the cruelty…

I blinked sadly. It was to be expected. They were werewolf hunters, were they not? Our enemy. Yes, they had killed Kodlak… but he would have still been alive now, with his cure in his hands, if not for me. If I had just been a single hour earlier…

Swallowing the aching lump of guilt in my throat I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I scrambled to shove provisions into my light travel pack. Then with shaking hands I braided and bound my hair up firmly at the back of my head.

I heard Vilkas approaching, the clanking of his armour as he stopped at the door to my small quarters.

"Are you ready yet?" he growled. I kept my back to him till I was sure no tears were in my eyes, only giving a nod lest my voice betray me. I double-checked my dagger holstered at my hip, slung my pack on and wrapped my green cloak over my shoulders, lastly, picking up my staff and finally turning with a sniff.

Vilkas stood regally in the doorway, ever statuesque. He wore a dark travelling cloak over his armour with a black wolf pelt across the shoulders of it, charcoal smears of warpaint over his eyes served to highlight them. There was a darkening red mark high on his left cheek, near his eye, with a bloody line where the skin had been split from the melee only hours ago. There was no telling what other injuries likely littered his body.

Though leaner and a feather shorter than his brother, Vilkas still stood an intimidating height; with the handle of the great sword showing over his shoulder he truly looked like a Hero of Old. He paused when he looked at me, his expression strange and unreadable for a moment.

"…Fix your war paint," he muttered before turning and leaving my doorway. I glanced in the looking-glass, my black kohl smudged from its design where tears had been scrubbed back.

It was high noon by the time we set out; the wide basin of the Whiterun Hold was blossoming with the Spring, and though the light was warm the air was still icy and crisp. It was impossible to take in the pleasure of it all; I had only returned to Jorrvaskr that morning from my sojourn to the Glenmoril cavern… now seeming so pointless, as I knew those few heavy heads I'd collected were just waxed and locked away in a chest. I dragged my feet down the road and snuck a healing spell now and then to alleviate the aching in my legs.

It was a long time crossing the fields and paddocks to the northern mountain ridge. Once we were surely clear of the walls of Whiterun, I picked up pace to walk beside Vilkas.

"Alright. Tell me everything I don't yet know of the attack. Was there no warning?"

"None. It seems the Silverhand had entered the city through the night under the guise of… travelling merchants, farmers from Rorikstead or something equally transparent the damned guard couldn't see through. It was the weak hours of the morning when they charged in, the Hall was only just stirring. I was downstairs when I heard the commotion, took up arms and joined the fight."

"…And Kodlak?"

He didn't answer right away; the faraway, haunted look in his eyes told me the scene was playing out in his memory.

"It'd been a long time since I'd seen him in battle." His brow flinched at something, "It was an Orc… a white hand print over his face. Struck Kodlak from behind like a serpent and fled. I tried to stop him but… I wasn't fast enough."

It painted enough of a picture in my mind, that I didn't press him for details. Instead he decided it was my turn for explanations.

"So what's this mission that was so vital?"

I gritted my teeth at his tone; was I supposed to have known the Silverhand would attack? Did he think I delayed on purpose?

"Tracking Glenmoril witches," I said, trying to keep the bite out of my tone, "For the cure."

Vilkas stopped in his tracks and stared at me. "To lycanthropy…? Kodlak had figured it out?"

"He thought so… and after going over his information I mostly agreed. The knowledge of the curse was kept in the mind of the pale hagravens, sacrificing one of their heads at Ysgramor's tomb was supposed to be the answer to separating wolf from human. And soul from Hircine."

I walked on, and he started again.

"Send a witch after witches… I can see his reasoning," Vilkas mused aloud and I felt my eye twitch.

"Did you really just compare me to a hagraven?"

"Magic is magic, and your wounded pride is the least of my concerns right now."

"Another blockhead scared and derisive of what he doesn't understand…"

"And another mage who thinks she's better and smarter than anyone who doesn't cast spells."

"Oh, you have no right to accuse anyone of arrogance."

Cold, tense silence swept between us for a few moments, Vilkas breaking it first though his tone was still short. "Do you think Kodlak's cure will work?"

"…It's theoretically quite sound. While we can't be sure I see no harm in trying."

To that I had no response; all of this barely lasted our crossing the first field before we ran out of things to say, and he stalked on ahead with quiet murder in his eyes.

So we crossed the fields in silence.

The anger, pain, and thirst for revenge radiated from him, a hiss of steam from that pressure boiler and I know he wanted to be angry at me, too. For my absence… and, because it was easy to be angry at someone you don't like. It picked at the sore that was my own guilt and made some ugly feeling stew in me. But as I was away at Kodlak's bidding when the attack happened, he couldn't justify his anger even if I could justify my guilt. Of course, this was Vilkas; it didn't stop him. Eventually the road was sloping up the hill towards the mountain pass, and I began to lag.

"Keep up, would you?" he growled as he marched a few good paces ahead of me, "We should get there by nightfall tomorrow, but not if you keep dragging your feet."

I flinched at his tone, annoyance flaring quickly from my worn nerves.

"Well, you'll have to excuse me," I snarled back, "I'm a little damn weary at the moment."

"Weary…" he muttered under his breath derisively. Another blush of irritation overcame me, and this time I couldn't keep calm, or quiet, or keep my head down.

"Why did you even have me come as your Shield Sister if I disgust you so much?"

He actually paused in his steps, turning to glare back at me; "It's the very least you could do. You owe it to the Companions, and to Kodlak. And you don't disgust me, you annoy me."

He went to turn away but he'd gone and fanned my annoyance into a blazing anger; I grabbed his arm and forced him to turn around and face me.

"Enough. What is going on here? Before I left for Skuldafn yes you were a brooding boor but I dare say we were finally able to treat one another with some level of civility. What, are you angry that I killed Alduin? Because since the moment I stepped back into Jorrvaskr you have been acting like a petulant child!"

I felt a little mollified, but Vilkas, instead of being ashamed looked on me with wonderment.

"…You really are oblivious, aren't you?" He turned and started back along the path and I rushed to keep up; I'd had it with his attitude, and if he was dragging me along into the North I would not be his personal punching bag the entire way.

"Evidently, yes," I snapped up at him from his heels, "Are you still bitter that I'm a spell slinger and not some barbarian swinging around a war hammer?"

"That has nothing to do with your skills or your methods, it has to do with you."

"What is your problem with me Vilkas?"

"You have no loyalty!" He said, abruptly stopping and turning on me, "You have no regard for the people who helped you! And unlike everyone else I will not ignore that, no matter how great your deeds. That is why you are coming to Driftshade and that is why you owe us."

"…No loyalty-?" I breathed furiously, but I'd done it; I'd pushed him to breaking point.

"You disappeared for two years! Let everyone here believe you to be dead, that you perished with Alduin in Sovngarde, let the whole of Skyrim mourn the loss of their Dragonborn when in reality, you were skulking off in Solstheim. Fighting Miirak or not you don't just forget to tell your Shield-Siblings you're alive," he was actually yelling now, movements unbound as he threw his hands up, "Then one day you just walk back into Jorrvaskr, fluttering your pretty eyes at everyone and think everything is alright?I don't know what's more ridiculous, that, or the fact that I seem to be the only one even noticed."

My jaw dropped, "Well maybe it's because everyone else is just happy I'm alive and Miirak is dead, whereas you could not be more disappointed."

"Of course you think this is personal, of course-"

"It is personal, you said as much yourself!"

"So that's your reasoning?" He growled bitterly, "It's fine to let us think you're dead just because we'll be happy when we find out you're not?"

A new rush of anger was flooding me, but for different reasons. "What business is it of yours? I had my reasons for going-"

"-A reason to leave Skyrim but not a reason to lie to everyone-"

"-I never once lied! I wasn't the one who started the rumour the Dragonborn never returned from Sovngarde, or anything of the sort. There was nothing left for me in Skyrim, and more than enough calling me away so I left."

"And didn't tell anyone."

"Why should I? Who in Oblivion did I have to tell?" I shouted back, and ran a hand over my bound up hair, feeling tendrils about my face loosen out of the hold, "One person, my brother and that was it, because he was the only thing left in this iced-over wasteland that gave a damn about me."

At that Vilkas seemed so at a loss for words, or perhaps too many words trying to burst out at once he could barely speak;

"The Compa-"

"-Oh please, you yourself made it very clear I don't belong at Jorrvaskr-"

"-My own brother stood for you and vouched-"

"-I was only let into the Companions because of what I was, I knew I was never one of you, you made a point of that every chance you got!"

"Of course I wasn't happy about some… milk drinking thief being let into our ranks," he barked and I started. He caught my surprise though, and began advancing on me, "Aye, I know Thieves Guild armour when I see it, even if it was only the scraps you had. But we took you on anyway, because Kodlak believed in you, and I was the one who had to sit there and watch the people I call family mourn you only a fortnight after we lost Skjor-"

"-They hadn't known me more than three moons I can assure you, it was the loss of Skjor that they mourned, not me." My voice was bitter when I said that, so icy it sounded alien. Vilkas had dropped his shoulders, staring at me with an expression somewhere between fury, confusion and amazement:

"How… how can someone so selfish and self-obsessed think that? No really, I wonder because it is quite an amazing feat, are you just so wrapped up in yourself you don't even realise that other people might have feelings? You owed us a goodbye, you owed the people a goodbye-"

"I owe the people NOTHING!" The roar ripped suddenly from me at his words, "This world has never done anything to show me that it deserved to be saved or that it's grateful for it, sometimes wonder why I even bothered!"

For the first time since we'd started, there was a moment of silence. Hands shaking, my teeth clenched, I wanted to be done with this fight. Vilkas and I had always enjoyed antagonising each other, but we seemed to have ripped something open and fire was pouring out of us both. I turned on my heel and continued along the path, trees starting to stretched up around us. From behind me Vilkas spoke up as he followed:

"Well what about the Blades? That man who was with you at Dragonsreach, your betrothed? You just walked away from all that too?"

I'd stopped dead in my tracks, feeling I'd just been struck across the face. I wasn't ready for that. The memory of being at Dragonsreach, feeling Vorstag's arms round me, hearing him beg me to return… and then everything that had happened since…

"How did-"

"I know my military history well enough to recognise a Blade." I could hear him closing in. I swallowed down a lump in my throat.

"He wasn't my betrothed-"

"You could have fooled me."

I glared over my shoulder at him, "Well that's all too easy to do."

His mouth twitched in annoyance and there was another moment of silence, when I felt him studying me with those silver eyes. I hated that look, that… hunting look, it felt like he was staring right through my skin or trying to worm his way into my mind.

"…No, but he has something to do with it," He said knowingly then gave me a sardonic laugh, "Gods above don't tell me this was all the tantrum of a jilted lover!"

Pain flared in my stomach, fuelling the anger, "You would love to think that wouldn't you! Having great opinions on matters you know nothing about!"

"Then educate me!"

"My life is none of your concern!"

"You're a Companion!" He suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders, "Everything about you is my concern!"

"I- wh- since when?" I wrestled my arms up and swept them out to break his hold, quickly taking a few steps back; my heart was hammering, my mind swirling, "Suddenly now you think of me as a Companion simply because it suits you-"

"I thought of you as one since my brother spoke for you more than two years ago. Of course you were missing for most of that, but a Companion you were and are."

My arms crossed under my chest tightly; when I spoke I tried to at least control my tone, if there was no controlling my anger.

"So… because we are both part of the same faction, I am obligated to inform you of every motivation behind my actions? Every facet of my life is your business? You, the man who never even asked me why I joined, just made it very clear you thought I wasn't good enough to polish armour let alone be a Shield Sibling."

Vilkas' face twisted into a seething snarl, his silver eyes targeting me. When he began speaking again, he took slow steps forward, closing the space I had made. He moved like a hunter and I knew his Beast blood was rising to the surface in his attempt to intimidate me.

The Beast and Dragon both in my own blood were growling in response.

"You think me a hypocrite?" Vilkas started, dangerously quiet, "You think I'm insensible to the honour it was, having the Dragonborn join our ranks? Why do you think I helped you, taught you when you were so damn certain you'd get eaten by the next dragon you crossed without your precious Blades at your back? That day you left to fight Alduin you know damn well I was proud-" I blinked but he continued- "That I thought you the bravest of us… You're a cruel person, Dragonborn. I know exactly why you joined. So you could use us, our training, our resources, our secrets and then you took the blood and left."

He towered over me, using all his height to make me feel as small as possible; I couldn't tell if the way he moved was intentional or instinctual but either way I was having none of it. I stood still, chin held high and kept my ground.

Vilkas continued, voice rising, "Of course you didn't care when we were waking up day after day since Alduin's defeat, waiting for you to come back." He jabbed a finger into my chest, "You never cared because there's a chunk of ice where your heart should be, no fire like Kodlak thought he saw-"

The end of the word was cut short when my hands flashed out and grabbed him by the collar of his cuirass, shoving him back and slamming him into a boulder, so blind with anger and hurt I could barely think straight;

"Ruth strun bah! Wax wah ruus!"

I'd show him fire! My lungs swelled with air that began to burn, the words filling my soul and surging in the back of my throat- YOL was searing my lips, waiting to be unleashed to destroy and burn anything in my way; but glaring at those silver eyes it caught in my throat. For a moment Vilkas seemed like he'd use my moment's hesitation to throw me off, but now had gone quite still, looking back at me with an expression I could not read. Was it shock? Worry? Curiosity? I felt like he was searching through my eyes for answers he hadn't been able to get by barking at me. He was hunting my mind again.

I slowly, painfully swallowed down the word and pressed my lips shut, breathing out a long rush of air through my nose. And when the fire was swallowed down, I suddenly realised just how close I might have come to killing him. Vilkas shifted under my hold and it seemed a moment he might say something. When I blinked wide eyes at my hands, they were still gripping the collar of his armour so tightly my knuckles were white. I let my grip go, fingers resting on the armour a moment before I had the good sense to snatch my hands away…

'Kynareth preserve me… I'd nearly shouted him into ash.'

Part of me was waiting for him to make some cruel comment, the other was trying to suppress the burning in my lungs. I'd never swallowed a word like that before and it was aching int he most unnatural way. Crossing my arms around my torso, I didn't even look at Vilkas as I turned and stalked away from the fight and continued up the road. He could have the last word this time.

"…Lyrielle,"

I quickened my pace; that stupid noisy armour of his clanked when he followed me for a few steps, before finally letting me go.

Hours of walking and cold air did nothing to stop the fire in my lungs and stomach. When we finally reached a vaguely familiar rest site I paused, then diverged from the road, slipping down a frosty embankment towards a nearby spring. Setting my staff down I crouched on the river's edge, cupping my hands into the water, the freezing cold burning my skin. I didn't mind it, and raised the water to my lips.

When all this was over I was going to go back to the College, lock myself in a tower and never come out again.

Or maybe I could climb to the top of Mount Anthor, claim the dragon's lair up there and build myself a little house. I am Dovahkin afterall, why can't I have my own Strunmah? Mount Anthor was appealing, too… remote enough, yet near Winterhold and the Shrine of Azura… a bit cold. Too cold to grow my own food or forage anything but snowberries. Unless I built a greenhouse, like the one I'd seen at the College, fuelled by magelight…

These childish ideas were entertained long enough for me to calm down before I discarded them. I clutched at my chest; the burning was slowly dying, but it was not the nature of a thu'um to be silenced. There was something else too, something tight and choking, wrapping around my heart like a serpent.

I couldn't really remember the last time I'd felt guilt. But now I couldn't stop hearing Vilkas' accusations. He'd been cruel, harsh, an arrogant, self-important snow back, and worst of all… he'd been right.

"You know damn well I was proud," he'd said. I'd known nothing of the sort… though remembering those words eased the pain a bit. I don't know why; his approval was not something I'd ever sought. Yes he was one of the smartest at Jorrvaskr but that was made almost redundant by his insufferable pride. Of course those words had to be followed by the rest of his lecture, his insults.

"You're a cruel person, Dragonborn."

Cruel… I'd honestly not known I had been causing so much pain. I'd been so wrapped up in everything, so bitter, so abandoned by the people who I thought mattered and so sure I'd never have to come back here. No, I hadn't given a single thought about the Companions.

The sigh ran out of me and left me feeling drained. These past two weeks had just been beyond horrible; nothing had made me regret returning to this Gods-forsaken wasteland more. Oh, my few months with College were wonderful, everything I dreamed and more, but just these last two weeks… Vorstag, Kodlak… now Vilkas.

As if summoned, I heard that armour rattle behind me, halting a few paces off. I barely glanced over my shoulder and he spoke, his voice low, uncertain.

"Perhaps we should set up camp here? You don't look well."

Standing I brushed my hands on my clothes, "I'm fine to keep going."

"It's getting dark," he warned. I didn't have the energy to argue any longer.

"As you like."

Filling my canteen with water I picked up my staff and used it to help myself up the bank to the clearing. It must have been an old campsite; there was a small hollow in the ground filled with dark ash, frosted over. Vilkas had cleared it away and gathered up a little kindling, I cast flames over it to get it going. For the most part we were silent and Vilkas managed to avoid me by busying himself looking for more firewood; once the fire could sustain itself I set about pulling provisions from my bag, dark rye bread, a wedge of cheese, a red apple, pulling chunks of bread apart and toasting them.

But as night fell we couldn't avoid each other any longer; he set himself on the other side of the fire, half lit and half obscured by the flames and fixed his own supper from what he'd packed. I suppose Vilkas didn't have the patience tonight to set traps or hunt.

I tried instead to busy my mind, drawing out a leather-bound journal. It was not the sort that I'd record my everyday thoughts and feelings in, used more for academic purposes. I had a whole stack of these back in my room at the College, many for the ancient barrows I'd investigated while hunting for Word Walls. This one though was filled with spur of the moment ideas for me to research or practise later on. It was, for the most part, rambling chicken-scratch, or drawings.

I had a small charcoal pencil tucked into the binding of the journal and occasionally would sketch or scribble a note down as it came to mind. Now that I had bent the law of firsts and knew how to twice enchant an object I really needed a new academic trajectory.

"You keep a journal?" Vilkas' voice interrupted through the flames. I glanced up at him archly.

"I don't know that journal is the right word," I murmured, flicking through the pages. I had a lot of ideas in there, quite a few notes for the essay I needed to write on enchantments.

"What are you writing then?"

I smirked, "Nothing about you." After a moment, I added, "Theories on elemental bending by means of combining magic schools. Which of course leads to other questions considering the nature of the relationships between magic and naturally occurring forces."

"…I see," he said, low and drawn out.

I held back a snort,"Do you now?"

"If it has anything to do with the Unburned legend, then yes."

I blinked up through the flames at him; he wasn't looking at me, instead idly toasting a bit of bread and cheese.

"…I'm not familiar with that term?" I pressed; a cynical part of my mind warned he was pulling my leg, but I was curious none the less.

"I don't know how credible it is. Just a story an old Alikir warrior told me many years ago. The Unburned were Redguard pyromancers who worshipped the sun as the embodiment of Akatosh. He said there was one, many hundreds of years ago, caught when wildfire swept through his village. They say he parted the flames with his bare hands and walked safely through the fire. But then, there is every chance this is simply fable or a lost art." With that he took a bite of his bread, and I tapped my pencil to my chin.

"…Should I and the Greybeards die tomorrow, shouting would be a lost art," I murmured, to him or to myself, "That wouldn't make it impossible." I scribbled down a note on the legend, regardless. It seemed for a moment we were done talking.

"I thought enchanting was what you focused on?" he broached; I was about to launch into an explanation that enchanting was a craft that bound most magic schools and therefore proficiency in one would lead to excelling in another, particularly in the cases of Destruction and Alteration which consequently were other major focuses when I remembered, I was angry at him. And he was supposed to be angry with me.

"Why are you pretending to care?" I asked, feeling some satisfaction at the annoyance fleeting over his face. He glared into the fire and I thought I'd managed to shut him up, so I turned back to my book, leafing a page over.

"…I lost my temper before," Vilkas eventually said. I flicked my eyes up at him.

"…I had an apple for breakfast," I replied dryly; when he glowered I lifted my chin. "Beg your pardon, are we not mentioning irrelevant things we did in the past? Or were you going to actually attempt an apology?"

"I meant every word, I won't swallow them back up. But…" The words had to fight their way out of him, "It's been many years… since I've acted like that. My manner in addressing you… it was not fitting for a Companion. I was angry - furious - for what had happened to Kodlak," His voice seemed to catch on our Harbinger's name; he prodded the fire with a stick, "…Have you nothing to say?"

I realise I would have attempted civility at this point, but I was tired, wound up, and in no forgiving mood; "What, you admitted to yelling at me, no great revelation. Now I admit to yelling at you? Are you trying to trick me into saying I did something wrong? It won't change what either of us said, or our minds on the matter, or in anyway bring us to a better understanding. Leave it be."

"You're my Shield Sister, this should be resolved."

"And if it can't?"

"Then you can safely go on hating me without misconceptions," he said dryly. I knew he had a point; as a sign of concession I slid the pencil back into the binding of my book and slowly closed the pages. My eyes met his across the fire. There it was, that hunting look. I suppose he enjoyed a puzzle as much as I did.

"…I have been thinking on what you said before, but, I still can't come to a clear conclusion… What happened to you, Lyrielle? I've been trying to work out why, how you could think like of us all that?"

My lips pressed together; I did want to be understood, but I didn't really want to tell him anything; after his behaviour I didn't think he had a right to know anything about me. But at the same time, I didn't want him misjudging me, or going on with misconceptions… I frowned. It shouldn't bother me, I shouldn't care if that man was alive in this world and thinking ill of me. It shouldn't matter, but it did.

"Lyrielle?" he pressed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"…I'm sorry if I did hurt them," I finally answered, "I am. In all honesty, I didn't think they would be… It really never occurred to me."

Vilkas thought on my answer a moment, lobbing another, thicker bit of wood onto the fire. Embers flitted up like torch bugs, the light growing as the fire caught.

"That's what I don't understand. Why would you assume that?"

"Why wouldn't I assume that? No one worried about what I did or where I went before. The Dragonborn did her duty, it was over. And when I was called away to Solsthiem…" I shrugged, not sure if I was satisfied with my answer.

When we had argued, Vilkas had called me selfish for leaving… and so much of what he had said echoed Vorstag. The moment I thought about him venomous anger shot through my insides. The Beast Blood stirred, a feral being that had taken me months to learn to control.

"For a long time, I had no thoughts of ever returning to Skyrim. Actually the only reason I came back and decided to go to Winterhold rather than any other magic school in Tamriel was because my brother had established himself so well in this country. That, and Neloth said he wouldn't teach me anymore… it's besides the point. Though I can stand a little separation from my family I don't like being away from Triss. I'm sure you could understand that… Farkas tells me your father died in the Great War."

"We're not talking about my father."

"We're not talking about me now, either."

He gave me a smirk that said 'fair enough', and shared a part of his own story;

"To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us at Jorrvaskr as happy pups, running around biting knees… I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit. We were brought there by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. So he's not my problem anymore."

The edge of bitterness to his voice was unmistakeable, and piqued my curiosity; "You weren't close to him?"

"As a child, perhaps. But as I said, he left, he never returned; we almost never involve ourselves with politics, but it seems duty and honour called him away." His eyes were distant, staring into the fire, as if memories were played out in the embers, "I still remember that night; I woke up and and all his belongings were gone. His sword, armour, clothes. I woke Farkas and we ran upstairs, out on the street, into the night. But he was already gone."

"…You were lucky," I said softly, after a revered silence, "You still had Jorrvaskr."

"Lucky is a very relative term. My whole life I've had Jorrvaskr and the Companions, but then I've seen so many people come and then leave. Or die."

"…But you still had somewhere, a place to belong, and you always will."

He watched me carefully then, head tilting in a wolfish manner that almost made me smile; "You almost sound jealous. You're a Companion too," he said, then added after a thoughtful pause, "Perhaps I was hard on you. We are on all new initiates. I thought you were tougher than that; but you don't think of Jorrvaskr as your home."

I shrugged, "Eh. It's been a long time since I thought of anywhere as home. Everything was always temporary. My home was never a place; I had my brother, and that's all."

"Do you not know what happened to the rest of your family?"

"It's… huh. It's been a while since I thought of that. My parents are long dead, it's just been my brother and I adrift in Tamriel since. I suppose I have cousins out there, somewhere."

We were quiet for a moment. I picked up a stick and idly prodded the fire, edging closer as the cold crept in with the night.

"You said once you were born in Highrock though?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Wayrest. Till it was sacked by corsairs." It felt strange talking about it; the memory of the place felt like it belonged to someone else. The terror of that night was now a rare visitor in my dreams; more often than not, I couldn't tell if it was Wayrest, or Helgen. Vilkas was nodding-

"Aye, the attack in year one-eighty-eight… is that… how your parents…?"

"My mother, yes," I said vacantly, "My father died of 'exposure' a year before that." Another silence. 'Exposure' was the polite term for what had happened to him; he was not the first soldier to return from the Great War, stripped of his honours by the White-Gold Concordant, and be haunted still by the battles. They would come to him in the night, and he'd pace the halls, then the streets, swallowed with visions of fire and blood till he could drink them away.

When I was a child, they told me he'd gone to sleep on the steps of the Temple and died of 'exposure'. I was a little older when I began to realise what had really happened… I don't know if my father meant to kill himself. But it happened. There's only so much moon-sugar laced brandy and poppy-milk someone can drink.
I hadn't thought about my parents in a long time… it hurt to. Even more so when my memories of them were now so few.

"After that, we just sort of wandered around, sometimes with refugees, other times on our own. It's hard to really remember any one place till we landed in the Imperial City. We stayed on the waterfront there for some time… Still, you get comfortable somewhere, eventually you get chased out or Triss would get called away on business and so we'd be slinking from city to city again."

"So why Skyrim?" Vilkas ventured, then added with a wry smile, "Cyrodil got too hot?"

"Tristane always knew how to get us out of trouble as quickly as we got into it." I replied with a chuckle, "Trained me well to survive the situation, you know, keep quiet, move unseen, don't instigate trouble… No, he chose Skyrim for me, really. Ever since I heard about the College at Winterhold I wanted to go there."

"You… heard about a near-destroyed city covered in snow and ice, that had magic-school that was mistrusted by everyone in Skyrim, and though that sounded like a nice place to be?"

My eyes rolled a little; I wasn't going to answer, but the memory crept back into my mind, so comforting and clear, I wanted to give it voice: "It was the merchant's festival, I was helping Triss with a- well I was there with Tristane… and we passed the stall of an art merchant, Triss already knew I'd make him stop so I could look at the paintings. Then a noblewoman asked to see one unravelled, and it was a painting of the College. I remember just… staring at it like it was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen, I don't think I even knew what all that white stuff on the ground was. Snow, by the way."

"…Aye, I know what snow is-"

"-The castle was against this velvet night sky, that had brilliant ribbons of the aurora over it, and these wild, black waves crashing against the rocks of the stack… for the rest of the day I was bothering Triss and everyone I spoke to to tell me about this beautiful castle in the darkest parts of the north. And they said people went there to learn magic."

I was staring into the fire, lost in that hopeful childhood memory and smiling when I realised that seemingly unreachable childhood dream had at last come to fruition, after all this time.

"It sounded so wonderful, just… isolated, a clan of scholars all holed up together, learning, reading, researching and casting magic spells. No needing to hide, or worry what people might think or being told what you love isn't important... be with my own people. Now I'm actually there and it really is everything I thought it would be like and even more, I mean the Arcaneum is-"

I stopped short, realising I'd succumbed to gushing. My hands were up having moved emphatically with my words so I waved them dismissively, "Triss knew the nomad life wasn't really for me. The plan was I'd go to Winterhold, he, to Riften. Then of course, fate decides to intervene… plans had to be abandoned."

Vilkas didn't reply right away, and for a while there was only the gentle crackling of the fire and distant sounds of the forest. I huddled my cloak around me tighter, quietly wishing for a cup of hot spiced wine.

"That… explains a lot," Vilkas murmured, "Not everything, of course. Not your anger. And not why you would want to vanish, after such a great deed."

I hung my head; this was not the first time I'd been faced with such a question. "…The people love their mythical Dragonborn. Most don't even know my name. I was living my life according to what everyone else wanted me to be - even you had to talk me out of trying to fight in metal armour. But I suppose you want particulars…" How to explain the mess with the Blades, with Vorstag? How much is worth telling? "I'll simply say this. People I thought were my friends and allies saw me as nothing more than a sword in their hand. I'd been used, lied to, deceived. I defeated the world's greatest evil, and was rewarded with abandonment."

He watch me closely, seeming to hold his breath before broaching his next question; "…What about that Blade at Dragonsreach?"

"He wasn't supposed to be there with me," I said flatly. I'd been expecting more enquiries about Vorstag. I had no idea how I wanted to answer them.

"…But you've seen him again."

"I did. I saw the Blades before I left Skyrim for Solsthiem."

"And since you've been back," he pressed. I looked into the fire, sure the stinging in my eyes was from the light and the heat. I heard Vilkas shift uncomfortably.
"My apologies; I shouldn't be prying," he offered and I hung my head with a weak sigh.

"Look it's just… complicated." And it was. He was a Blade; he had an oath to uphold, a duty to fulfil, and a Blademaster to obey. I'd somehow found it to forgive him for not leaving with me when Delphine cast me out… it was seeing him when I came back and what transpired that made my stomach churn with anger.

"…He lied to me," I added quietly, simply. It was too humiliating to tell him more.

"There's nothing complicated about that," Vilkas said with a tone so gentle I wasn't sure it was him speaking.

"I wish that were true."

"It is. It's one thing to nurse an injured heart, another to have the embarrassment of being deceived added to it."

I snapped an annoyed glare at him. "Yes. Thank you for pointing that out."

"…Just saying, you're not alone in that," he added, and suddenly, he had my attention.

"Do you speak from previous experience?"

He smirked half heartedly, "It was many years ago and not worth the retelling."

"Well, now you've certainly raised my curiosity."

"Sadly I have no intention of satisfying it… unless you want to tell me more of the Blades?"

"I'm not that curious," I growled, "So, you're thinking of travelling to Morrowind, eventually?"

"A topic change as subtle as a brick to the face," he said dryly. Resigned to my change in subject, he continued; "But yes, I've considered it. To see something more of the world. But it may be a long time before I can be far from Jorrvaskr now…"

"Krosis. Would you always want to be at Jorrvaskr?" I asked. He really thought a moment before answering.

"…No. I wouldn't want to be far from it, but now and then I think it'd be good to have a home to myself. Of course I wouldn't know what to do with the space."

"The tradition would be making a family to fill it."

"…If you could have a home though, a family to belong to, a place of your own, would you take it? Settle down?"

"That depends. Does it have a view?"

"Fair answer."

"I settled well enough in Solstheim for a while; and now I'm at the College, I've grown attached. Though come to think of it, never had an actual home of my own." The first comfortable quiet crept up on us. My mind was full in that moment, considering what had just transpired.

"…I guess we can be civil," I offered and he gave a wry smile. Clearing the air felt good, cathartic, so much so I was tempted for a while to share more. But I'd never been a huge emotional exhibitionist; this had turned into an incredible anomaly. I went to take out my journal again, and for a while, there was quiet.

"Did you hunt netch when you were in Solsthiem?" Vilkas ventured. I blinked.

"…Once. The hunting team from Ravenrock was one short. I may not be the most accurate marksman but I'd be sorry for anyone who couldn't hit the side of one of those things." I smiled at the memory and I could hear him breathe a quiet laugh too.

"I'd been told they roam wild over there," he offered. I tilted my head at him, feeling a smile tugging at my mouth.

"Vilkas, it's alright. You don't need to make small talk," I said, opening my journal again.

"…Aye." He gave a nod, looking out to the forest, "Don't suppose you'd have a book anywhere in that satchel?"

"Hm, no, just my journal…" I murmured, "Surprised you didn't pack one."

"Well… I guess it didn't occur to me at the time." He started prodding the fire and stacked a few more thick sticks onto it, the flames licking higher as heat grew. Then I saw his worried frown, and considered what he'd said.

Kodlak was weighing on his mind now. He'd just been wanting a distraction. The image of Kodlak's bloodied body flashed before me, and Farkas sitting there by him, lost, empty. Ria knelt on the other side. And all the while I stood there with the cure in my hands, and I was just too late…

"Vilkas…?" I broached, my voice small, "Did Kodlak ever tell you more about his plans for a cure?"

"Nothing he wouldn't have discussed with you… That the ritual may be performed in Ysgramor's tomb," he said, after a moments contemplation, "If we gained access to it, there may be a chance of cleansing Kodlak's soul. Or at the very least, to commune with him."

I shivered; I couldn't be sure if it was the frost creeping in, or from the conversation.

"Would you take the cure?" I asked quietly. Vilkas crackled his knuckles, a pained frown crossing his face.

"…I don't know. Yes…? It's been a part of me for so long now I can barely remember what it is to be human… or if it was gone, would it take other parts of me with it… At the moment though it's not my soul I'm worried for, only Kodlak's. He deserved better. I've enjoyed the boons that come with beastblood, just like every member of the Circle. Kodlak was right, though; we've given a piece of our souls for this power. I know my mythic histories, bargains like that lead to ruin. This is a curse that was laid upon us, that much is clear."

My lips pursed and I nodded, wondering what he meant about losing 'other parts' of himself. "I've been considering for a while, I want to let go of the blood. It took so much to get control and I still miss how I used to be."

"I was furious with Aela and Skjor," he admitted, so out of the blue it caught me by surprise; he was glaring into the fire, "They didn't think for one moment what it might do to the dragon blood, and when you turned that night… Shor's blood, my brother's transformation was easier… When you took the beastblood, did any of your senses change? When you weren't as a wolf, that is?"

I blinked at that, "No, not really… it was horrible at first, you know that… I was so angry all the time, I think it was a week before I could sleep. I still cannot bear small spaces for long… but, no, my human senses didn't change. Did yours?"

He nodded, "Some take the Beast Blood more deeply than others, that the wolf manifests in other ways. I thought perhaps, since your wolf form is so…"

"Big?" I offered, "Red? Loud?"

"Red, hn…? Well, the roar I figured would be loud. But I wasn't sure how the blood affected you in your mortal form. Farkas tells me he felt no real change, aside from the usual restlessness… Aela I know has the sharpest hearing of any of us, and she's good at identifying scents down to an individual pack."

I put my fingers to my chin, considering the phenomenon, "…And you?"

He looked up from the fire then, the flames reflecting in his silver eyes, the flash of a predatory look cast over them.

"…I can smell your blood pulsing from here," he said quietly, and as if to taunt me I could feel my heart speed faster. His look suddenly felt invasive, and I wondered at all those other times where it seemed he was trying to stare into my soul; was he sensing for something else? Something I didn't know I was giving away, something I couldn't hide?

"…But my sense of taste is dull," he finally added, looking away, "Food and drink have no true flavour. And I can see so clearly in the dark, it's as if every night is a full moon. But… colour is gone."

That shook me from my stunned reverie; "…What? You see no colour?"

"Well, I see some. Yellow, blue, brown… most everything else is grey."

As if by instinct I tucked a vibrant lock of red hair behind my ear.

"How do I look to you?" I asked, then instantly wondered why I'd care. He raised an eyebrow.

"Like a five-three pain in my neck," he teased, then added when he saw my scowl, "…It's uh, sort of a dull, dark blonde. Plain grey in some lights. Why, how do I look to you?" he asked sardonically and I glared even more.

"Like you need a bath and a shave."

He rubbed his stubbled chin reflexively.

I looked up to the skies high above; nearly full moons tonight, but they were covered by an endless stretch of cloud.

"How long till we get there?" I asked quietly.

"I'd think, mid afternoon tomorrow."

I nodded wordlessly, moving my pack and fluffing it on the ground then wrapping my cloak around me a little tighter, laying down close by the fire. The ground was hard, the air cold, and I knew it would be an uncomfortable sleep.

"Tired already?" Vilkas asked. I nodded, forcing myself to close my eyes.

"I've been on the road for perhaps the past week…" I reminded him, "I'd suggest you get some rest too."

"…Aye," he said distantly, but made no move to try and sleep. Something in his tone made me open my eyes again; he shouldn't be alone with his thoughts. I propped myself up and fiddled in my bag, drawing out the leather journal.

"Here." I tossed it to him, "It's no adventure novel, but something to read. And when you're bored of that you can stoke the fire to keep me warm."

I rolled over so my back was to him then, and huddled down into my cloak to ignore the grateful look he cast at me.