I feel the need to stress that while this is not my first piece, it is my first published Elder Scrolls fanfiction. Be gentle, please, and I'll welcome any constructive criticism.

A few other things: as per usual in this fandom, I may/will do things out of order and a bit different. Because, honestly, who wants to read exactly what they just played?

Disclaimer: Bethesda Softworks created and owns Skyrim. This is merely a fan-made story.

Chapter One

To put it simply, he was bored.

So bored, in fact, that he was willing to do even the simplest job Aela could offer; ridding some complaining Whiterun citizen of the wolves that had somehow gnawed their way into his basement. Farkas sighed heavily and drummed his fingers on the dining table. Hardly anybody here ever spoke during supper nowadays; it was immensely frustrating, and, like everything else lately, utterly boring. Vilkas, his twin brother, sat on his left, wolfing down his meat and bread so he could escape to his quarters to do only Talos-knows-what, more than likely study his lycanthropy books, and Skjor was on his right, glaring silently at his empty plate. While Farkas was not a man of many words himself, the quiet halls of Jorrvaskr were really starting to get on his last nerve.

The Nord let his pale blue eyes wander around the main room, sighing again. The Companions' headquarters used to be a jovial place, full of excitement; they were some of the very few people in Skyrim that were not daunted by the dragon crisis. They would leave in pairs and groups to scour the countryside outside of the city for the enormous reptilians, craving a challenge. But the beasts had fled now, retreated to the mountains after the death of Alduin three years ago. The Dragonborn—the hero, their savior, the exterminator of dragons—was a figure of great mystery, having driven them away. Farkas had heard many rumors about the secretive individual; the only thing that really seemed solid to him was that it was a woman. Nobody knew her race, her heritage, or what she looked like. Supposed eyewitnesses and acquaintances said that she wore black armor, plated and scaled, and a hood with a concealing mask*. Only the tips of her fingers remained uncovered. Or so the tales went.

The warrior had heard of her many feats; that she could slay a dragon in minutes, alone, and that she was swifter than any horse Skyrim had to offer. He wished he could have seen her in action; just the fact that a woman had rid the Nordic homelands of the dangerous, evil creature that was Alduin had him puzzled. Surely she could only be a Nord as well; a warrior at heart. No other race, in his opinion, seemed strong enough. But then again, what did he know? He'd have to ask Vilkas about it later.

The creaking of the large door snapped his attention towards the entrance of Jorrvaskr. Expecting to see Aela slip in, returning from her nightly run, or Kodlak, coming back from his audience with Jarl Balgruuf, he let out a small grunt of surprise when it was not them, but rather a small Bosmer.

Elves in Skyrim were a rare sight indeed, but Wood Elves had to be the minority. Even farther, to have one in the warrior halls of the Companions was seemingly daft. They had only one elf amidst them, a Dunmer called Athis. While the Dark elves to Farkas seemed more capable of wielding a shield or greatsword, the other elven races seemed to belong elsewhere. The High Elves, he thought, should cast their lot with the mages. They just had that look and air about them; the holier-than-thou disposition. He'd never been particularly fond of Altmers, now that he thought about it. As for the Bosmers…well, he thought they should stay in their trees with their bows. They were too small, from what he'd seen of them in the pictures Vilkas had shown him from one of his books, to wield a shield and sword.

Vilkas saw his distraction and glanced up towards the visitor, who was making her way towards them. Farkas watched her carefully, the wolf beneath the surface cautioning him to the unknown. The Nord twins crossed their arms in unison and leaned back in their chairs as she approached, her face cast in shadow from her traveler's hood; her race was evident from her stature and grace. Tentatively scenting the air, Farkas was hit with the most exotic smell he'd ever encountered. He watched Vilkas's face blank in surprise, as well; neither of them had ever encountered a Bosmer before. The elf smelled of faraway places, of pine needles and smoke and faintly of magic. But hidden beneath the surface of such a foreign scent was something familiar…something dangerous. The hairs on his arms started to rise. Farkas was not entirely sure if the smell was the elf herself or something she had encountered, for it was faint, but his beast blood was warning him.

As the mer reached them, she threw back her hood and Farkas was immediately at ease once more. She looked anything but dangerous; she was awful pretty, in his opinion. Being a Bosmer, her face was all planes and angles, but she had wide eyes and thick eyelashes that provided her with an almost ethereal air. Her black hair hung past her shoulders in an unbroken sheet, and the Nord could see the tip of one of her pointed ears peeking out through the curtain. The only thing that seemed the slightest fierce to him was the black war paint around her eyes. There wasn't much of it, hardly noticeable, but it was there.

She came to a stop in front of the three men and crossed her arms. "I am here for Kodlak," she said, with authority. "I hear you are in need of new recruits. And by the looks of things," she gazed around the empty dining hall. "Badly."

Farkas let out a low chuckle and sat forward. He didn't question how she already knew the Harbinger's name; Kodlak Whitemane was respected and known throughout all the Nine Holds. "This isn't all of us, girl," he chortled. "They're out back in the training yard. But that's not important." He waved a hand in Vilkas's face when his brother tried to interrupt. "You haven't given your name."

"And neither have you," she shot back, surprising him. There was an edge to her voice that had not been there before. "My reasons for coming are to seek out the Harbinger, and him only."

Farkas's brow furrowed; he wasn't entirely sure what had happened. As far as he knew, he hadn't said anything offensive. Must be half Altmer, he reasoned, chalking up her behavior to her unknown bloodlines. Before he could speak, Skjor said, "He's in his study, downstairs. Follow me." He stood, and as he led the elf away, Farkas heard him mutter, "And watch your tongue. We don't tolerate hostility towards another."

"I'm just saying," Farkas said as he and his brother slashed and hacked outside in the empty training yard at the straw training dummies. "She's such a little thing. I don't see how she could even wear the right armor without falling over."

"Agreed," Vilkas grunted as he heaved his massive greatsword downward, cleaving a straw figure in two. "But Kodlak is wise; he knows a warrior when he sees one." He ceased, slinging his weapon back into its sheath across his back. "And we could use an errand girl, I suppose."

"You speak of me as if I am not here," a voice called from the porch shadows. The men paused their banter, faces heating in embarrassment, as the elf stepped out into the moonlight. She had changed out of her traveling clothes into light elven armor, the sweeping, feather-like designs glinting in the small amount of watery light. Her long hair was braided, revealing that the tip of her right ear was missing. The corners of her mouth twitched up in a smirk and her scarlet eyes flashed as she caught their expressions. "You would do better to listen to your surroundings instead of chatter and carry on like mockingbirds. In battle," she stepped closer, her smug expression becoming more pronounced. "I would have killed you both and been on my way."

"We don't speak to each other when fighting," Vilkas retorted. The elf tutted.

"Now now, Nord. You know the rules. No hostility towards your shield-siblings."

Definitely half Altmer, Farkas concluded. But Vilkas wasn't wondering at the tone. "If you take me as such a fool to believe that Kodlak has allowed you—"

"But he has," the Bosmer intruded, "And he has sent me to be tested by you. You may find I am not what you are expecting. Now get on with it. My travels have made me weary and Aela has promised to show me my quarters."

Vilkas was silent, seething, before he replied with a curt, "Very well." Farkas retreated to a bench on the porch to watch the spectacle. The elf drew two elven daggers to match her armor as Vilkas brandished his one-handed sword and a thick steel shield. The two stared each other down until Vilkas made the first move.

He feinted left, twirling his blade in a circle to confuse her, then rushed straight forward. He swung in an uppercut, intending to take advantage of her lack of a shield, but the elf managed to catch his blade on the hilt of one of her daggers, something Farkas had never seen before. His eyebrows rose as she whirled, braid flying, and slashed at the sliver of exposed skin on Vilkas's sword hand. He lurched away, flinching. The elf, with speed quicker than that of even Aela, somehow managed to bring her forearm behind his shield. With a yank and a fierce snarl, the metal disc clattered to the ground.

Vilkas swung again, not even pausing and clipped her chin. The Bosmer hissed and stooped to the ground, and for a moment Farkas thought she was going to take up the shield. Instead, she darted under his twin's thrust and managed to get around to Vilkas's back. The warrior tried to whirl, bringing his sword out to the side as he prepared to spin, but the elf was impossibly nimble and quick. With a cry of victory, she brought one blade up to his throat from behind and pressed the other tip to the small of his back, where his wolf armor wasn't as thick. Vilkas froze, panting from exertion even though the test had lasted only a few short minutes. For a moment, everything was silent. Farkas's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline as they fought and he couldn't help but let out a whoop at seeing his brother finally bested at something. And the fact that it was a female Wood Elf would only make teasing him about it more fun.

The elf finally broke the silence. "Do not underestimate me again, Nord. You would do better to judge on actions, not appearances." She withdrew, sheathing her daggers and brushing away the beads of sweat from her brow. "I assume that I have passed?"

Vilkas didn't say anything. He only scowled and slammed his sword with more force than was necessary back into its sheath. Without another word, he stomped into Jorrvaskr and slammed the thick wooden door behind him. The elf watched him go, her lips twitching as she fought to contain her mirth.

"That was incredible!" Farkas burst as she began to make her way back to the porch. "I've never seen someone so fast. Who taught you to wield daggers like that?" The Bosmer only chuckled, untying her braid. She combed her hair back out and removed her gauntlets, flexing her fingers.

"A good teacher," she said vaguely. She brought her scarlet eyes up to meet his. "Someone who respected me and did not assume." Farkas looked away, abashed, and mumbled something that sounded somewhat like an apology under his breath. The elf laughed again, and her voice was not as hard. "I expected as much from you Nords, however. I suppose time will be the only remedy for your false beliefs."

She tucked her gauntlets under her arm and turned, intending to go back inside the headquarters. As she passed, Farkas caught her arm. She turned to face him, not saying a word, and quirked one angular brow. "You must tell me your name, new blood," he insisted. "I don't wanna be calling you 'girl' or 'elf' all the time. It's not very respectful." He smirked, trying to get on her good side. He didn't want to be beaten like his brother. It simply wouldn't do.

The Bosmer smiled a hard smile, flashing her white teeth. "A start," she allowed. "My name..." she said, as if it was of great importance. "My name is Islanzadí. Now yours, old blood."

Farkas laughed in good humor, glad to have gotten a somewhat friendly response out of the strange little elven woman. "Farkas, at your service. Vilkas, the man you fought, is my brother."

Islanzadí smiled. "I know. You forget that I was watching you two flail about with that hunk of steel." She nodded at his massive steel sword slung across his back.

"Yeah, about that…" Farkas began self-consciously. "How long were you there? We didn't even hear the door open." Really, all he wanted to know was how much she had heard. And, judging by the severity of her expression, he could safely guess more than he wanted her to.

"You'd do better to keep your voices lower and your opinions to yourself from now on." She said simply, ignoring his question and instead opting to berate him. The hard edge began to creep back into her voice. "I do not need people of your beliefs. That woman Njada has made it clear I am not wanted. But you will find I do not particularly care."

With that, she pried his hand off her and glided back inside, leaving him dumbfounded…again.

Islanzadí carefully made her way through the dining hall, sticking to the wall and out of sight of the other Companions. The woman Aela was mumbling quietly with Skjor in seclusion, her nose twitching oddly. The elf silently made her way down the stairs to the living quarters and slipped through the wooden door, following the huntress's directions to her room. She carefully shed her favorite set of armor and tucked it carefully away into her chest, along with her daggers and nightingale bow. She rummaged through the wardrobe for plainclothes and hurriedly threw them on before walking quickly towards the end of the hall, where Kodlak had told her to meet him after the arms test with Vilkas. The Harbinger's door was closed, so she tentatively knocked and waited. "Enter," she heard from inside, and Islanzadí slipped in without a sound.

The old man was sitting at his table, exactly where she had left him. He had been poring over an aged book, but upon seeing who entered, he quickly snapped it shut and tucked it away. "New blood," he greeted, beckoning her over to him. "Vilkas has told me of your test. I take it you did well."

"I would assume," the Bosmer replied. She offered nothing more, and Kodlak studied her closely before moving on. "As it may be," he continued, "There is one other task you must complete before we welcome you into the ranks."

Islanzadí hardly believed she would be "welcomed" by anyone other than the old man, but she nodded all the same. Her taunts at Vilkas were just that; empty sayings to irk him. She knew she was no real Companion yet. "We have received word from a scholar that a fragment of Wuuthrad is hidden in Dustman's Cairn. Whether or not he was telling the truth remains to be seen."

"Wuuthrad?" the elf questioned. The name was fairly familiar, but she had no concrete information on just what, exactly, it was.

"The ancient axe of Ysgramor, our founder," he said quickly. "That aside, I want you to retrieve it. Prove your dedication and honor."

Islanzadí nodded. "Am I to do this alone?" She'd never been to Dustman's Cairn and was unsure of its layout and traps.

Kodlak shook his head. "No. You may choose one of your future shield-siblings to accompany and asses you. Choose wisely, for they will give a testament of your valor when you return."

The Bosmer frowned, not pleased. She did not particularly like the company of any of the Companions aside from the Harbinger. She knew that the Nord men meant nothing of the insulting judgments they made of her, of her size and seeming fragility, but the women knew better. Njada Stonearm in particular was very unpleasant company.

The elf sighed. "Very well," she said. "I choose Farkas." The mountain of a man was one of the more likeable people, someone she sensed was genuine in his words and expressions. Even still, his conversation with his brother had been anything but flattering. Little elf her ass.

Kodlak nodded. "So be it. I will inform him as soon as possible. Now be gone; you have a long day tomorrow." He turned away from her, back to his book and careful to conceal the cover. Clearly a dismissal, she rose to her feet and silently padded back to her own quarters. The pelt-covered mattress felt heavenly to her sore muscles, and she gratefully sank onto the bed.

Islanzadí sighed as she shed her clothes, kicking them onto the floor as she lay upon the bed. She slid under the furs and let her mind wander. Ramanor, she sighed in her mind as she blew out the candle and the normal feeling of loneliness began to set in. I wish you were here.

*nightingale armor, in case you're wondering. I don't normally associate myself with the Dark Brotherhood...but I have a feeling that I will, just this once.

One other thing I think is important to mention: yes, I did get my character's name from The Inheritance Cycle. Christopher Paolini came up with it first. It is not mine; just the character.