Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Farkas

The stranger was tiny. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the top of her head would barely reach his chest. She was thin as well. Too thin. Her leather armor, while well made, hung off of her frame. The hood she wore hid most of her face, but he was able to make out some smudges of purple-blue warpaint and a scar running through her lips. A quiver of iron arrows was at her back.

Farkas glanced at the dead giant beside him. Three iron arrows protruded from its body, one in its eye and one in each shoulder. He glanced back at the stranger. She was gripping a hunting bow. A steel mace rested at her hip and he could make out the hilt of a dagger in her boot.

Fear spiked through the stranger’s scent when Aela approached her. She tensed and took a tiny step back. Aela either didn’t notice, which was unlikely, or she chose to ignore it in favor of inviting the stranger to Jorrvaskr. The stranger acknowledged Aela’s invitation with a nod. Aela left, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Ria followed her. Farkas turned to leave, then looked back at the stranger.

“You look strong. Come to Jorrvaskr and be a Companion!” The tiny stranger had killed a giant with three arrows. The arrows to the shoulders had saved Farkas from taking a nasty blow from said giant. She was fast, if the rate the arrows had appeared was any indication. She smelled of smoke and herbs and earth. She was more than welcome as far as he was concerned.

She’d jumped when he’d spoken. Her scent spiked with fear, even stronger than before. Farkas smiled at her and left. He found himself hoping to see her again.

Genevieve

Divines, the Nord was huge. He towered over his companions, a female Nord and a female Imperial. He didn’t seem to be affected by the weight of his armor at all and wielded his greatsword with ease. He kept glancing at her. It made her skin crawl.

The female Nord with green warpaint seemed peeved as she left. The Imperial shot Genevieve a small smile and followed the other woman.

Genevieve jumped when the gargantuan Nord spoke. His voice was deep and seemingly genuine. He even smiled at her. He couldn't mean it, could he? Her? Strong? She shook her head. She had things to do. She couldn’t dwell on the odd behavior of a big Nord. She started towards the city, gathering herbs and flowers as she walked. Hopefully there’d be an alchemist in town and they’d be interested in her ingredients. Maybe they’d let her brew some potions.

The guards stopped her at the gates. The city was closed, apparently. The rumors of the dragons had spread quickly, it would seem. She held out one of the letters Gerdur had written for her. The guard took it and opened it, scanning through its contents. A moment later they handed it back and hurried her through the gates, giving her directions to Dragonsreach, where she’d find the Jarl. She glanced around, gathering her barings, then began to move towards the city’s highest tier. She glanced at the letter.

To whomever reads this:
Riverwood calls for the Jarl’s aid. The young woman who delivers this is unable to speak at the moment. Give her directions to Dragonsreach and let her through with no trouble.
Gerdur of Riverwood

Genevieve tucked the letter into her pack. The second letter was specifically to the Jarl himself. She couldn’t help but wonder what it said.

A few people gave her curious glances as she swiftly made her way higher in the city. She could feel the past few days starting to catch up to her. She needed to get to the Jarl now. She’d just made it in time when she had to swallow one of the few stamina potions she had. Just for good measure, she swallowed a healing potion as well. They helped, but only marginally.

She climbed the stairs, ignoring the puffed up nobles and heading directly to the Jarl’s throne. A Dunmer in leather armor noticed her approach and stepped forward to block her path.

“What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.” Genevieve pulled out the letter from Gerdur and held it out. The Dunmer raised an eyebrow. Genevieve pressed her lips into a thin line, and stepped closer. She touched her other hand to her throat and shook her head. "You cannot speak. Who is the letter for?” The Dunmer gingerly accepted the letter, clearly still wary. Genevieve gestured to the Jarl. Then an idea sprang to her mind. She pooled a small amount of magic in her finger tips, summoned flames to them, and began to write on the air.

The letter is from Gerdur of Riverwood. She believes Riverwood to be in danger.

“As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people. So you have my attention. Now, explain yourself.”

A dragon destroyed Helgen.

The Dunmer’s red eyes widened. She handed the letter back to Genevieve.

“You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach.”

Genevieve followed her to the Jarl's throne. She managed to keep from flinching when his icy eyes turned to her.

“Who’s this, then?” he rumbled, “I trust you have something vitally important to tell me. Important enough to interrupt me in the middle of council?”

She held out the letter. She’d used most of her magic trying to convince the housecarl to let her through. Jarl Balgruuf raised an eyebrow but accepted it, quickly opening it and scanning its contents.

“So Gerdur sent you. Owns the lumber mill, if I’m not mistaken. Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy…” he folded the letter and looked up at her. “And you’re sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon, not by some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”
Genevieve bristled. Fuck it.

“I was there,” she snapped, her voice cracking and warping, “I watched Helgen burn.” Blood dripped from her lips and she began coughing. She ignored the horrified looks she received as she spit blood into her hand.

“By Ysmir,” he swore, “Irileth was right!” Balgruuf turned to the Imperial standing beside him. “What do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”
The Dunmer, who Genevieve assumed was Irileth, spoke up.

“My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It’s in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is still lurking in the mountains…” The Imperial, Proventus, bristled as Balgruuf began to agree.

“The Jarl of Falkreath with view that as a provocation!” he protested, “He’ll assume we’re to join Ulfric’s side and attack him.”

“Enough!” Balgruuf snapped, “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” She nodded and disappeared as Priventus began to protest again.
“We should not-”

“I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” Balgruuf boomed, rising from his throne to tower over Proventus. The Imperial wisely backed down.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, his words short and clipped, “I’ll return to my duties.”

“That would be best.” Balgruuf exhaled as Proventus left and turned back to face Genevieve. “Your name is Genevieve Archembeau, yes?” At her nod he continued, “Gerdur spoke highly of you in the letter. Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative. You have done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it.” he motioned to one of the guards, who disappeared and returned a moment later, carrying a set of heavy steel armor. “Here, take this as a small token of my esteem.” She accepted the armor. He motioned for her to follow him. “There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for some one of your particular talents, perhaps.” Come, lets-”

Genevieve began coughing, blood splattering against the palm of her hand. Startled, Balgruuf turned back to face her.

“Perhaps this can wait. Gerdur mentioned you were looking to visit the Temple of Kynareth. I take it that you are seeking out a healer?” She nodded and he continued, “The Bannered Mare has warm beds and good food. It is in the lowest level of the city, close to the market. You’ll have to pass the temple to get there. Return here when you are well.”
Genevieve nodded her thanks and left, wiping the blood from her lips and chin.

She made it to the Bannered Mare. Somehow. Paying for the room and climbing the stairs was a blur. She barely made it to the bed before she passed out, exhaustion finally over taking her.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

She woke up disoriented and dizzy. She was more rested than she had been in nearly a year, yet she felt weaker and sicker than she had been. Perhaps the past months were catching up to her, now that she’d had a chance to rest. She slowly sat up and slid off the bed. Making sure her dagger was in her boot, she stood and slowly made her way down the stairs.

“You’re awake!” It was the innkeeper who had spoken. She motioned for Genevieve to sit at the bar. Genevieve perched on the stool closest to the door. “I was getting worried. You’ve been asleep nearly an entire day. Ah, don’t speak dear. You were spitting blood last night. Oh, that reminds me. Irileth herself came here this morning and paid for your room and food for the next week. Apparently you’ve made quite the impression on the Jarl. Oh, these are from the Jarl as well.” The innkeeper slid a large pouch of coins, a notebook, and several pieces of charcoal to Genevieve. “Irileth said it was for you. Something about bounties needing to be paid. The book is for writing and communication.” Genevieve accepted the gold then began to write in the book,

Thank you. Divines, her handwriting was shaky.

“Of course, dear. Now, what do you want to eat? If soup is too rough on your throat, I have some bone broth."

I think I’d better stick with the bone broth right now. What’s your name?

“Hulda, dear. The bard is Mikael, and Saadia is our server. Speaking of which,” Hulda leaned to the side and called out, “Saadia, dear, could you bring a bowl of bone broth over here?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Saadia, a pretty Redguard with short black hair, scurried off, presumably to the kitchen to get the broth. Genevieve was grateful for the broth. She wasn’t even sure if she could stomach that with how her stomach was churning.

Hulda chattered as Genevieve sipped her broth. She told Genevieve about jobs(chopping wood, picking crops, more bounties, the Companions who were recruiting), about the Gildergreen(her heart ached at the news. She’d always wanted to see the Gildergreen in bloom), about a little boy in Windhelm who was supposedly performing the Black Sacrament(what would drive a child to try and contact the Dark Brotherhood?), about someone in Riften who could change people’s faces(that sounded... intriguing), and about a statue of Azura(a statue of a Daedric Prince? That could be interesting…). Once Genevieve finished, Hulda happily directed her to Arcadia’s Cauldron, the city’s alchemy store.

Arcadia allowed Genevieve to brew her potions so long as she promised to clean up after herself. Once she was done, Arcadia was willing to buy some of her potions. As it turned out, Genevieve’s water breathing potions were worth quite a bit. She could only buy one before she was out of septims, and even then it wasn’t the full amount. Genevieve was directed next door to Belethor’s General Goods, owned by a Breton named, unsurprisingly, Belethor. Genevieve sold him some of her weaker potions and then bought a few spell tomes. Afterwards, with Belethor sulking because she saw straight through his falsehoods and haggled his prices down to within reason, she weaseled directions to the blacksmith out of him and left. Adrianne willingly bought the pelts and old armor and weapons Genevieve had collected and sold her the materials to improve her current equipment. She was also able to buy some better arrows and make herself a shield.

Blocking wasn’t her strength, but until she found or made a pair of decent swords, it would have to do.

The Temple of Kynareth was filled with the ill and injured. The priestess, Danica, if Genevieve remembered correctly, and her assistant drifted from person to person, checking injuries and fevers and doing what they could to soothe them. Genevive quietly made her way to the Shrine of Kynareth. She gently ran her fingertips across the smooth surface of the Shrine and breathed a sigh of relief as Kynareth’s blessing flowed through her body.

“Welcome child.” Genevieve turned to the priestess. “I am Danica Pure-Spring. I take it you are Genevieve? One of the guards informed me that you might be coming here today. Rather, I was told that a hooded stranger may be visiting and that said stranger was called Genevieve.”

Genevieve nodded. She pulled out the notebook she’d been given and began to write.

My throat was badly damaged a little while ago. I was hoping you’d be able to help.

“I will certainly try. Come,” Danica motioned for Genevieve to follow her, “lets see what we can do.” Danica led Genevieve to a small room and motioned for her to sit in a chair. She held her hand close to Genevieve’s neck. “May I?” Genevieve nodded and Danica very gently rested the tips of her fingers against her neck. “Hmm. I can’t feel anything at the moment. Would you mind opening your mouth? I might be able to see what’s wrong.”

Genevieve grimaced and cupped her hands. She opened her mouth as wide as she could. She could feel blood oozing out of her mouth and dripping into her hands. She could also feel it starting to slide down her throat.

Danica’s eyes widened in horror. She stepped back and quickly excused herself and left, all but sprinting out of the room. Genevieve could hear her sending Kynareth a quiet prayer for strength and guidance. Genevieve closed her mouth and lowered her hands. A small pool of blood had formed in them and had started to drip onto the floor.

Danica returned a few minutes later. “I, I know what is wrong with your throat. There are… spines lodged in it.”

Ah. So that’s what that had been. It made sense, now that she thought about it.

“I believe that I will be able to remove them, but it will not be an easy process. Or a fast one.” Danica sighed. “Return here tomorrow morning. I will have the materials I need then.”

Genevieve nodded her thanks and left.

That night she read all of the spell tomes she’d bought as well as the books she’d scavenged from the burning ruins of Helgen. Sleep had refused to come. Each of the tomes faded from her hands as she finished them. She learned a few tricks from the regular books. She’d have to try them out the next time she went out.

Hulda gave her more broth when she made her way down the stairs. She was able to have more of the broth than the day before. Dawn was just beginning to break as she left the inn. She wandered the city for a little while. It was strange to listen to a city wake up. She eventually headed towards the Temple. Danica looked up from tending a man with a bleeding arm when Genecieve entered.

“Welcome. Just one moment, and we’ll begin.”

Genevive perched on one of the stone beds and waited patiently for Danica to finish. She glanced at the ill and injured that surrounded her. She didn’t have much money, but perhaps…

Danica handed her a bowl. “For the blood and the spines,” she explained. Genevive nodded and held the bowl under her chin and opened her mouth. Danica inhaled deeply. Then she began.

The pain was blinding. Genevieve could feel the spine pulling on the inside of her throat. It seemed to pull against other spines. Blood filled her mouth and tears filled her eyes. Memories began to flash through her mind. She wasn’t sure when Danica stopped. She just knew she came back to the world laying on the stone bed. The light streaming through the windows told her it was now late in the morning.

“Oh good, you’re back with us.” Danica appeared from the side. “I got a few of the spines out. Although, doing so seemed to bring up some painful memories. You were pretty out of it when I stopped.” She helped Genevive sit up and handed her a cup. “This should help ease the pain a little. While you drink that, do you mind if I show you the spines? There are some things I feel you should know.” Genevieve nodded her consent and sipped on the cup’s contents. It seemed to be tea of some kind.

Danica pulled a folded cloth from her robes and opened it. Four long, barbed spines sat inside the cloth. They oozed a greenish-reddish liquid. “These are what are embedded in your throat. This liquid appears to be a poison of some kind. I can’t quite tell what it does except that it’s nothing good. They are also barbed, as you can see. This will make removing them much, much harder than I originally thought.” She paused. “These being in your throat was no accident, was it?” Genevieve shook her head and tightened her hold on the cup. “Someone wishes to hurt you.” Genevieve nodded.

She summoned a small amount of sparking electricity to her fingers and wrote on the air. Lightning used her magic faster, but it seemed to work much better than flames for this particular application.

There are people who wish me dead for simply being born. I managed to escape from them only to stumble into an ambush and be dragged to Helgen.

“Sounds as if you’ve had quite the time. I assume the spines were their doing?”

Yes.

“Then they are cowards. Now, I assume you still want the spines removed?” at Genevive’s nod she continued. “Come back tomorrow. I believe it will be best if we remove a few each day, rather than all at once. It took quite a bit of magic to get the wounds to stop bleeding and healing potions seemed to do nothing at all. If I removed all of them now, it might kill you.”

Thank you. She paused for a moment then continued to write, Would I be allowed to help around the Temple? I don’t know much healing magic, but I know my way around herbs and potions and I know how to bandage wounds.

“Perhaps… Why, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Kynareth has guided me my entire life. You are helping me, even though you know people are after me with the intent to kill. I want to help, to repay your service.

“Very well. Though, you do not need to repay me. If you’re able, there is always a need for potions that heal and cure disease. Potions that help to fight or cure poison are also welcome. If you’re willing, I’ll let you tend to those with minor illnesses and injuries. After your throat is a bit better and you’ve gained some more strength.”

Genevieve nodded and finished the tea.

She was allowed to start helping the Temple several days later. Danica was surprised at the strength of her potions and at how in-depth her knowledge of medicine and healing was. As the days continued to pass, Danica began to teach Genevive about Restoration magic. She improved rapidly, and was quickly allowed to tend to the more serious injuries.

By the end of two weeks, Genevive was able to speak in small amounts. She could almost eat and hold down a full bowl of soup.

It was time to return to the Jarl. Not only was she feeling much better, but she was running dangerously low on gold. Doing whatever the Jarl wanted would probably give her a good reason to collect ingredients and hunt down the bounties she’d been given. It would also give her a way to track down a mammoth tusk and Armen’s family sword.

Just like before, Genevieve found the Jarl sitting on his throne. He rose to greet her.

“Ah, Miss Archembeau. You’ve returned. I trust you are feeling better?”

She nodded and summoned sparks to her fingers.

I am. Thank you for the help with the Bannered Mare. I must ask, what was the gold for?

“That was the reward from the bounties you went after. The letter you gave me mentioned the bandits that you had killed and requested that you be compensated for your time and effort.” Balgruuf motioned for her to follow him. “Now then, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons.”

He led her to a room off to the side of the main hall. A man in blue robes was bent over a table. He appeared to be pouring over a scroll. “Farengar! I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project.” Farengar didn’t even look up.

Balgruuf sighed. “I must return to my duties. Good luck.”

Farengar spoke once the Jarl had left. He looked her up and down, before snorting and returning to his scroll.

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? I doubt it, but nevertheless, I am in need of someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not be there.”

Genevieve snorted and began to write on the air.

Great. What does this have to do with dragons?

“Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar? You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons— where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?”

Get to the point.

“Hmph. I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow— a “Dragonstone”, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet— no doubt interred in the main chamber— and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes and left. She slipped out of the city mere moments later. She had her weapons and little else. Perhaps she should stop in Riverwood before entering the barrow...

Chapter Text

Genevieve

FUS.

The word echoed in her mind.

FUS.

What did it mean?

FUS. 

She beheaded the draugr. She could figure that out later. Genevieve glanced at the wall. She pulled out her notebook and quickly copied the symbols that were etched into the stone. Then she looted the draugr and the nearby chest and made her way out of the barrow. 

The sunlight was nearly blinding as her eyes adjusted to the sudden change. She breathed in the fresh and cold mountain air. It was a delightful change from the musty and ancient air of the ruins. Genevieve glanced at the steep slope. It was covered in snow. She leapt forward. 

She slid down the mountainside, easily avoiding protruding boulders and the odd tree. She was grinning like a madman when she reached the bottom. It had been far too long since she’d last enjoyed herself that much. Far, far too long. 

Her ears twitched. Genevieve began to make her way through the dense forest. She’d hardly been walking an hour when the first raindrops hit the ground. She leaned her head back and let the rain run down her face. She must have looked strange, but there was no one around to comment on it. It was soothing and yet, she couldn’t help but miss hearing the sounds of other people. 

Divines, she really was pathetic. She’d spent twenty years alone in the wilds and she’d let herself get attached in a few short weeks.  She was never going to stay. She couldn’t. Not when she was still being hunted. She couldn’t put everyone in danger just because she was lonely. 

She walked through the night. The storm never stopped. 

Riverwood was wide awake by the time she reached it. Faendal cheerfully greeted her as he passed her on his way to the mill. Alvor nodded to her as she passed. Dorthe and Frodnar shrieked in delight and ran up to her, asking how long she’d stay and if she’d play with them. Stump followed his young master and wagged his tail, equally delighted at her presence. 

Her first stop was the Riverwood Trader. Lucan was delighted to have the claw back (he didn’t need to know it was a copy she’d made and that the original was still tucked into her pack). He cheerfully bought some potions and some of the armor and weapons she’d scavenged from the barrow. He sold her a few spell tomes at discount and promised she’d always be welcome in his store. Just as she was leaching, his sister Camilla, came through the door.

“Genevieve!” She swept Genevieve into a tight hug. “You’re back! And you got the claw!” Camilla released Genevieve. “Thank you!”

“I was going there anyway so it wasn’t a big deal. How are things with Faendal?”

Camilla flushed.

“He’s wonderful! Everytime he goes hunting he brings me back the most beautiful flowers and he’s so kind and such a good listener. Wait,” she paused, her eyes widening, “you can talk!”

Genevieve rolled her eyes.

“Obviously. The priestess at the Temple of Kynareth has been helping me. Now, I’ve got to go. Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding!” She snickered at Camilla’s bright red face as she made her way out the door. 

Alvor bought the rest of the scavenged weapons and armor. He also allowed her to work the forge for a bit. She was able to greatly improve her armor and shield as well as her mace and dagger. Dorthe and Frodnar sat and watched her work, asking her questions about where she’d been and what Bleak Falls Barrow was like. Genevieve answered their questions, alternating between using magic to write floating words and speaking out loud. 

After she was done at the forge, she went to the Sleeping Giant Inn. She spent the rest of the day telling the children stories. As it got later, her audience grew as the inn filled. Her voice rapidly began to disappear so she switched to only writing words. Eventually, she stopped and got herself a bowl of vegetable soup, some bread, and a bottle of mead. She settled at a table in the corner and quietly tucked in. A few minutes later, the chair across from her was pulled out and a familiar voice greeted her.

“Good to see you ‘Beau!” Ralof leaned back in his chair, an easy grin on his face. “I take it you’ve been to the Temple?” At Genevive’s nod he continued. “That’s good.” The smile faded a little as he sat up and became more serious. “You been eatin’ alright? Sleeping?”

Ah. That’s right. Ralof knew.

Genevieve shrugged. She was getting better, although she didn’t understand why he cared. He was a Nord. Nords had never cared about her before. It was Danica’s duty to care for those who sought help at the Temple. She was useful to Balgruuf. Genevieve pulled out her notebook and began to write.

Why do you even care, Ralof? I can take care of myself.

“‘Beau, we’re friends. Caring is what friends do. I don’t care if you don’t join up, I don’t care that you use magic, and I don’t care that you’ve probably stolen from half of Whiterun.”

She shrugged again and sipped at her mead. It was actually only a few people that she... permanently borrowed from. Just the rich and obnoxious ones, like Nazeem and the Battle-Borns. Her pack had a special pocket for all the jewelry she’d swiped. Now if she could just find someone to buy it…

“‘Beau, I know you don’t care if you live or if you die, but will you try to find something to live for? At least until you can live for yourself?”

What could I live for? I have nothing and no one. 

“I know a fellow soldier who’s living just so he can go home and see his dog again. I’ve known some who are determined to live through the end of the war. Others just want to have their favorite food one more time or they just want to make it through to the next day, or hour, or minute, or second. It doesn’t have to be big, ‘Beau. It just has to matter to you .”

There’s a little girl in Whiterun. She paused, flipping the charcoal over her fingers. Her name’s Lucia. Ralof didn’t know she was being hunted down. He didn’t know that she couldn’t stay, no matter how much she wanted to. Hopefully, mentioning Lucia would appease him. 

“Sounds like a pretty good reason to me.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late. Are you heading out in the morning?”

Yes. I have some bounties to track down before I go back to Whiterun.    

“Well then, you’ll be needing all the rest you can get. Rest well ‘Beau, and try to stay alive, yeah?”

She didn’t sleep very well that night. Too many nightmares of raging infernos and of pain.

She left early the next morning, when the small town was still fast asleep. She left the road almost as soon as she stepped onto it, returning to the wilds and its much faster hidden paths. It only took her two and a half days to reach the bandit camps that housed her bounties. 

The first camp was mostly stairs. It seemed to be an old ruin of some kind. Genevieve took three of the bandits out with her bow. The rest of them quickly fell to her mace and her flames. As she had before, she looted each of them and took their weapons. The bandit at the top of the stairs was a bit harder to kill than the rest of them had been, but he eventually fell to her poisoned dagger. 

There were some weapons with a very interesting enchantment on them. There were also some books scattered around what looked to be a blacksmith’s forge. 

She approached the second camp crouched low to the ground. Her bow was drawn, though the fences made it hard to see inside. She could smell blood and hear the bandits grumbling and stomping along as they patrolled. Genevieve crouched behind a large boulder. Peeking around the rough stone, she saw a bandit walking along an elevated platform. She took aim and slowly exhaled. 

The bandit’s shout of alarm was cut short by the arrow splitting his throat. The bandits that ran out of the camp met the same fate. Genevieve crept forward, stowing her bow, drawing her dagger, and coating it with one of her poisons. She slid along the fence. Her ears twitched under her hood. Two more bandits burst out of the gate. One of them noticed her and lunged. 

She barely blocked the blow with her shield. The second bandit joined the fight, having been alerted to her presence by the first. Genevieve cursed and shot a bolt of electricity at the first bandit, a burly Orc. He failed to dodge and was stunned into submission. Genevieve ducked under the axe of the second and bolted into the camp. The freshly butchered corpse of a mammoth dominated the center of the camp. 

Genevieve sprinted across the flattened ground and up the stairs, relying on her instincts and heightened senses to dodge the arrows that assaulted her. Once she was at the top of the camp she spun around and shot flames at the bandits. Her plan worked, blinding them and killing one of them. The second bellowed in rage and charged at her. She dodged his greatsword and slid her dagger into a gap in her armor. The bandit slumped backward.

She groaned and plopped onto the ground. Maybe taking on two bandit camps in as many hours was a bad idea after all. Genevieve downed a couple of stamina potions and a weak healing potion. At this rate she’d run out of potions. Eventually she heaved herself off of the ground and made her way down the steps. Looting the outside portion of the camp was relatively easy. The most difficult part was safely releasing the trap on the chest under the stairs. It was also an interesting struggle getting the mammoth tusk to fit into her pack. 

Genevieve turned to the mouth of the mine and squared her shoulders. Setting off the boulder trap took care of the bandit guarding the gate. There were plenty of mushrooms and several mammoth tusks to collect as she made her way deeper into the mine. There were several bandits in the next room. Two of them were standing around the corpse of a second mammoth. And they were standing in a giant pool of glistening oil. She grinned. 

Both of them went up in flames. The third and most heavily armored bandit got burned by the fire, but didn’t perish, unfortunately. He managed a couple of lucky hits but he had his skull smashed in soon enough. Genevieve replaced her mace at her hip and set about looting the mine. She found another spell tome, some potions, and a lot of ore. She also found more mushrooms and the corpse of a merchant. It seemed he’d fallen into the spike pit. Or he’d been thrown into it. Either way, he was very, very dead. She left the remains of the camp when the moons were high in the sky. 

The sun was just beginning to set when she reached the gates of Whiterun. Adrianne bought the scavenged weapons and the odd piece of enchanted armor. She also asked if Genevieve could deliver a sword to her father. Genevieve agreed.  Next she tracked down Amren. He was in his house. Braith, a quick tempered child who regularly bullied the other children, answered the door. She scowled but allowed Genevieve in at her father’s insistence. In fact he hardly noticed his daughter once he saw the sword. His wife, Saffir, didn’t even look up from her book. Braith tried multiple times to get either of her parents' attention. Both of them brushed her off in favor of their respective activities. Genevieve felt her blood begin to bubble. She left, a plan starting to form in her mind. 

Ysolda had been walking down the steps leading to Dragonsreach. She was delighted with the tusk. After giving Genevieve some tips on how to deal with merchants, she made her way down the steps. Genevieve continued up them. Proventus was speaking to some noble and finished just as she reached him. 

“Ah, you’ve returned.”

“The bandits at Silent Moons Camp and Halted Stream Camp are dead. Also this is from Andrianne.” She handed him the sword and accepted the gold he gave her.

“Ah, thank you. I’ll present this to Balgruuf when his mood is… agreeable. Here, this is the reward for the bounties and this is for services rendered.”

Genevieve nodded her thanks and left. It was time to find Farengar. Unsurprisingly, he was in his rooms. He and some stranger, who looked very familiar, were pouring over some book. Genevieve leaned against the doorframe, listening as they discussed the work and the current dragon situation. Eventually, the stranger noticed her. 

“You have a visitor,” she murmured, finally drawing Farengar’s attention away from the text. It took a moment, but he recognized her.

“Ah, the Jarl’s young protege! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow I see. You didn’t die it seems.” Genevieve snorted and pulled out the Dragonstone, stepping forward and setting it on the table. She summoned lightning to her fingers.

I got you the Dragonstone. Now what?

“Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. It seems you’re a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. As for what’s next, this is where your job ends and mine begins. The work of the mind is sadly undervalued in Skyrim. My… associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me.” He turned to the stranger. “So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.”

“You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?” She looked Genevieve up and down, disbelief evident in her voice. As she did, Genevieve realized why the other seemed so familiar. Her dislike grew much stronger. She’d never liked her in the first place. Nice to know her distaste had actual merit. Delphine seemed oblivious to Genevieve’s revelation as she turned back to Farengar. “Nice work. Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.” Delphine left and Genevieve breathed a sigh of relief. Just as she was about to ask Farengar another question Irileth burst in.

“Farengar! Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby.” Upon noticing Genevieve, Irileth requested that she join them. Genevieve followed the pair up the stairs. Farengar was far too excited about this. Dragons weren’t a Divines-damned experiment. 

The guard who gave the report had the right idea. Rattled to the bone and attempting to get some kind of help. After dismissing the guard and telling Irileth to go to the watchtower, Balgruuf turned to Genevieve. She sighed. It seemed she would be joining Irileth. He thought her infinitesimal amount of experience might help Irileth. Somehow. Possibly. Maybe. The only bright side to all of this was that she could now buy property in the city. Goodie. 

She ignored Farengar as he begged the Jarl to let him join them. She’d meet Irileth at the gate. She needed more potions if she had to face another dragon. Lots more potions. 

Half an hour later, her pack was fully restocked with potions of every kind and she was making her way to the gate. She saw a small group of guards. Irileth was addressing them. Genevieve reached them just as Irileth finished. The Dunmer turned to her.

“Ah, there you are. Come, share what you know as we travel. Anything you can tell us will help.” They moved at a steady pace. Genevieve’s voice was quiet as she spoke.

“I can’t speak much louder or much more. All I can say is aim for the wings. The one in Helgen spit flames and summed meteors. The dragon has a nasty bite and the tail will easily send someone through a wall.” She began to cough. Drops of blood splattered against her hand. Shit. Danica was going to be so mad. 

“Save your voice. You may need it when we get there.” Genevieve nodded and summoned sparks.

I’ll scout ahead. Meet you there.

The watchtower was in ruins. In fact, it was burning a horribly familiar shade of red. The world burns red when the blood of the innocents is shed. Her father’s old saying had rung true again. She crouched low to the ground and crept closer to the ruins. She could see a few survivors inside and outside the crumbling tower. It took a while for Irileth and her men to arrive. Genevieve met them when they finally showed up.

There are some survivors. I didn’t see any dragons, but one’s definitely been here.

“I see.” She turned to her soldiers. “I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened here. And if that dragon is still skulking about. Spread out. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Slowly, the soldiers spread out. As they got closer to the tower, one of the survivors came running out.

“No!” he shouted, “Get back! It’s still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!” 

Irileth straightened.

“Guardsman,” she snapped, “What happened here? Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know!” The guardsman paled and scrambled back. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

A deafening roar drew Genevieve’s attention to the sky. She cursed and sprinted to the tower and up the stairs. It was a different dragon. 

 Once she was at the top of the tower she drew her bow and notched an arrow. Letting out a steady breath, she pulled the arrow back and fired. Two more arrows quickly followed the first. All three hit their marks. One in each shoulder joint, and one in the softer flesh of the beast’s belly. The dragon bellowed in pain and shot a jet of white-hot fire out of his mouth. He swooped up then back towards the tower. He was speaking, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. 

Genevieve got an idea. A really, really stupid idea. It was most likely not going to work, but she really didn’t care. 

As the dragon drew closer, she slung her bow across her back and backed up. Once the dragon was close enough, she sprinted forward and lept, using the edge of the tower to propel her forward. As she soared through the empty air, she summoned a sword in each hand. They fit in her hands perfectly.

She landed on the dragons back, the swords serving anchoring points. Genevieve scrambled up the dragon's neck, her many years of rock scrambling and acrobatics allowing her to easily keep her balance. Once she was at the beast’s head, she plunged the swords into his eyes, driving them as far into his skull as she could. She was nearly thrown off of the dragon when he started thrashing and crashed to the ground. 

Genevieve used the force of the thrashing to launch herself into the air. She flipped over the angry dragon and landed on an outcropping of rock. She spun around and lunged back into the fight. The rest of the guards and Irileth surged forward, anger, grief, and determination driving their blades. It wasn’t long before the last blow was struck. With his last breath, the dragon bellowed,

“Dovahkiin? No!” 

The dragon’s head thudded against the ground. Mere moments later, glowing flakes peeled off and burned away. Genevieve stumbled back and crashed to the ground as swirling lights shot from the disintegrating corpse and surrounded her. They seeped into her and settled into her very soul.

FUS. Force. The word from Bleak Falls Barrow. She knew what it meant. FUS. Force. Power, unlike any magic she knew, writhed in her veins. Genevieve ignored the murmuring guards and stood. Her legs threatened to give out but she forced herself to remain upright. When she finally glanced at the guards, she found that they were all staring at her expectantly. She tilted her head, not trusting her voice. After a moment, one of them spoke up.

“Can you Shout? If you’re truly Dragonborn you’ll be able to Shout.” The guard must have been repeating himself. He was eager and impatient. 

FUS. She turned away from the group. FUS. The unfamiliar power pooled in her throat. She licked her lips and swallowed.

“FUS!” 

A wave of pure power blew across the ground. The guards broke out into more murmuring, this time with much more excitement. Irileth ignored them all and moved to stand next to Genevieve. 

“That was the harriest fight I've ever been in, and I’ve been in more than a few.” Genevieve turned to meet Irileth’s crimson gaze, “I don’t know about this Dragonborn business, but I’m sure glad you’re with us. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happned here. I’m taking command for the moment. You head back and inform the Jarl.” Irileth made to move. 

“Irileth?” Damn, her voice was quiet. She’d felt something tear when she’d shouted, but she hadn’t thought it was this bad. The Dunmer turned back to face her.

“Yes?”

“Tell your men to keep me being Dragonborn a secret.” Blood began dripping from her lips. “They can say that a Dragonborn has appeared, but keep me and my name out of it. It is my secret to share.”

Irileth nodded.

“I’ll let them know, though I can’t guarantee they will. Gossip has a way of getting out and spreading quickly. Now go.”

She was halfway to Whiterun when a mix of thunderous voices drowned out the world around her. 

“DOVAHKIIN!”

Dovahkiin. The same word the dragon(Mirmulnir, that was the dragon’s name. How did she know that?) had shouted with his dying breath.

Dovahkiin. What did it mean?

Chapter Text

Lydia

Dawn was just breaking when Lydia entered the Bannered Mare. She glanced around, searching for the tiny form of her new Thane.

"You’ve just missed her, dear."

Lydia looked over to Hulda.

"What?"

"You’re looking for Genevieve, aren't you? Small, even for a Breton? Could use some more meat on her bones? A bit terrifying when she's upset?"

That sounded about right.

"I think that's her. How'd you know I was looking for her?"

"She left a note saying someone might come looking for her. Come and sit. She won't be back for a while."

Lydia settled uneasily at the bar. After a moment, Hulda took pity on her. "Would you like me to share what little I know of her?" Lydia probably shouldn't.

"Sure. I only met her last night, and she didn't let me introduce myself. She coughed up blood too."

"Last night you say? She was spitting mad and exhausted when she got here. I wonder what happened. The only time I've seen her that mad was when she broke Mikael's arm to bits." Lydia raised an eyebrow and Hulda continued. "I'm serious! He was spouting some nonsense about 'conquering' Carlotta and Genevieve blew up. She tossed a copy of his book into the fire, snapped his arm into pieces, and held a dagger to his neck. Made him swear to leave Carlotta be. Once he had, she settled back down like nothing happened. Even offered to set his arm for him. He's been downright terrified of her ever since."

"Is she always like that?"

"No. Quite the opposite in fact. I think that had been a rather trying day for her. Usually she keeps to herself. Buys little Lucia dinner most nights. Insists that I not tell Lucia that she’s the one doing it. I think she spends most mornings at the Temple of Kynareth, though I'm not certain. I've heard she heals people. It's odd," Hulda said, leaning closer to Lydia, "she doesn't seem to like being noticed all that much, but she's helped most of the city in some way, shape, or form."

Lydia stood.

"I'm going to look for her."

"Good luck. Why are you looking for her anyway?"

"She's been named Thane of Whiterun. I'm her housecarl."

Lydia didn't find her. She looked everywhere she could think of and had asked half the city if they'd seen her. No one had. She plopped a bunch and rubbed her temples. She'd been at it for hours.

"Looking for Vi?"

Lydia looked up. A young blonde girl was standing in front of her.

"Yes. Do you know where she is?"

"She said she was going to talk to her Papa. She looked sad.”

Genevieve

It was quiet in the Hall of the Dead. Genevieve had helped Andurs hours ago, and yet, she couldn’t quite leave. The priest didn't seem to mind her presence.

She stared at the Shrine of Arkay. It was more comforting than it should have been. Her father had been dead for decades. And yet, she could feel his presence the moment she stepped into the Hall.

"Corbin and Esme Archembeau."

Genevieve stiffened, her knuckles turning white.

"Those are your parents' names, are they not?" Andurs stood a short distance away. "I met Esme once. She was an excellent mage. Excelled with Restoration magic. I met Corbin many times. He was a good man. The most stubborn and foolhardy man I've ever met, but fiercely loyal and a damn good alchemist. I was greatly saddened to find they had both passed." He looked at Genevieve. "I was even more surprised when a Khajiit broke into the Hall about 20 years ago. It was storming and he was soaked to the bone. And yet, he refused to leave until I promised to give the last rites to the two urns of ashes that he carried. He spoke of the murder of a loving father and of a little daughter who had had to burn his corpse."

Ma'dran. So he'd brought her parents' ashes here.

"The Khajiit said that the little girl begged him to take her parents to Arkay."

"The villagers refused to give Bretons their final rites. I didn't know what else to do. They would have killed the entire caravan if I had tried to leave." Blood pooled on her tongue. She coughed into her hand. Andurs moved away. He returned a few minutes later with a small chest.

"I believe these belong to you." He opened the chest to reveal three amulets. One of Arkay. One of Kynareth. One of Talos. They were her father’s amulets. She looked up at Andurs, her eyes wide. "The Khajiit gave them to me and made me swear to keep them safe."

Genevieve lightly ran her fingers across the surface of the amulets. The sight of them brought bittersweet memories to the surface. She could clearly picture her father with each of the amulets around his neck. He’d worn the Amulet of Kynareth the most. The Amulet of Arkay was saved for when the grief for her mother was the strongest and for when he had to help those who were gravely ill or injured. The Amulet of Talos had been worn the least. It was saved for the days her father needed all the strength he could get. She gently lifted the amulets out of the chest and tucked them into an empty pocket in her pack. Genevieve stood to leave.

“Before you leave, could I ask one final favor?” At her nod he continued, “Drop by for a visit every now and then. I spend so much time among the dead, I sometimes forget how much I miss the company of the living.”

Genevieve smiled softly.

“I can do that,” she murmured. Then she waved her farewells and left the Hall of the Dead.

Lydia

She hated to admit it, but she did in fact jump when her new Thane appeared. The small woman seemed to step out of the shadows without a sound. The little girl, Lucia, simply waved cheerfully and greeted her.

“Hi Vi!” She patted the empty spot on the bench. “Will you sit with me for a bit? Also this is Lydia. She was looking for you but couldn’t find you so I said she could sit with me ‘cause you’re around this tree lots and lots!”

Her new Thane smiled and gently ruffled Lucia’s hair. Then she pulled several apples and a sweet roll out of thin air. She handed them to a delighted Lucia then plopped down on the bench beside the child. She settled comfortably, leaning her head back and stretching out. A moment later, she spoke,

“So, I take it you’re my housecarl.” Her voice was very quiet. In fact, it was hardly above a murmur.

“Yes, my Thane.”

“Genevieve. That’s my name. Use it.” She grimaced and coughed into her hand. A moment later, she continued, “What does it mean to be named Thane? What’s a housecarl?”

“The Jarl has recognized you as a person of great importance in the hold. A hero. The title of Thane is an honor, a gift for your service. Guards will know to look the other way, if you let them know who you are. As for being your housecarl, I am sworn to your service. I’ll guard you, and all you own, with my life.”

Genevieve snorted. Then she started laughing, the quiet sound tinged with hysteria.

“Right. I don’t own much.” she sobered suddenly and stood. “And I don’t need someone sworn to my service.” She began to walk away.

Lydia stood.

“Wait, my Thane-” She was cut off by Genevieve spinning around.

“My name,” she snapped, “is Genevieve. Now do me a favor and shove off.” She began to storm away.

“My-, Genevieve, wait! Where are you going?”

“Bounty hunting.”

“I could come with you!” Lydia skidded to a halt as Genevieve stopped suddenly and turned to face her.

“Really? You know what? If you can keep up, feel free. But I’m not slowing down just because you’re too slow.”

Genevieve spun on her heel and shot down the stairs. Lydia scrambled to keep up.

It was by sheer luck that she’d brought her pack with her. She’d never been more grateful that she’d acted on impulse.

Three days. Three. Fucking. Days. Lydia hadn’t managed to keep pace with Genevive once in three days. It turned out that Genevieve was fast. Unfairly fast. She’d crossed what took most people at least a week in three days. She didn’t use the roads at all.

On the bright side, she seemed to be warming up to Lydia. At least, she wasn’t quite as hostile. By the time Lydia caught up to her, she usually had a small fire going and some food set out. It was usually cheese, bread, and some sort of vegetable or fruit. Tonight was no different.

Lydia tried not to groan as she sat on a protruding rock. Her entire body ached. She gratefully accepted the hunk of bread and wedge of cheese from Genevieve and slowly ate it. She also drank from her waterskin.

“You’re getting faster.”

Lydia did not choke on her water (she did).

“What?”

“You’re getting faster. It only took you 45 minutes to catch up instead of an hour.” Genevieve stretched. Then she pulled an apple out of her pack and bit into it. “You’re very determined.”

“Well, yes. It is my job, to a certain extent.”

“It’s your job to chase a smartass Breton across the plains?”

“It’s my job to protect you. I can’t do that if I’m not near you.”

Genevieve lowered her hood then rested her chin on her hand. She was waiting for something.

Her ears were unusually pointed for a Breton. Not quite as pointed as an elf, but still more pointed than any other Breton. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue. They seemed to see right through Lydia to her very soul. A scar ran down her right cheek, starting right under her eye. A smaller scar ran through the right side of her lips. There were traces of war paint on above and beneath her other eye. Her hair was light brown, though amber streaks glimmered in the light of the fire. It was long and mostly loose.

“You’re pretty.” Lydia blurted out.

Genevieve snorted and started laughing. This laugh was loud and clear and genuine.

“Sorry,” she wheezed, “I just wasn’t expecting that.” She wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Most people, Nords especially, seem to think I’m a freak. And before you ask, one of my grandparents was an elf of some kind. No clue which side or what kind, but I do have more elven blood in me than most Bretons. That’s why my ears are like this. Yes, I have great hearing. I can also see in the dark fairly well. I think my other senses are better too but I don’t know if that’s because of my blood or because of how I've lived.” She coughed into her hand, grimaced, and wiped in the grass beside her.

“You’re different.” At Genevieve’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “From before, I mean. Not as… grumpy.”

“You’re clearly determined to… attempt to keep up. Most people give up after the first day. It’s also your job to protect me, which means you’re unlikely to attempt to kill me. Don’t ask. There are plenty of people who want me dead.” She grinned, sharp and deadly, “Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t trust you. You’re just unlikely to kill me so I don’t see a reason to be rude.” Her teeth were slightly stained red.

Lydia nibbled on the hunk of bread.

“Oh, if you insist on following me, there are some things you need to know. One, I use magic. Two, I use poison and potions frequently. Three, the Khajiit caravans and I are friends. If you have problems with any of those, or that I’m a Breton, fuck off.” Lydia settled more comfortably on the rock.

“When will we reach the bandit hideout?”

“Tomorrow. If I keep going at the current pace , we’ll reach it by early morning. If I slow down so you aren’t completely behind, early afternoon.”

“Where is it?”

“Redoran’s Retreat.”

They reached the bandit hideout about noon. It was pouring and Genevieve was soakinng wet and pissed.

“My-. Genevieve,” Lydia asked, pulling her sword out of the corpse of the last bandit, “will we be heading straight back to the city or do you have more things to do?”

“City.” she coughed into her hand again and sighed. Her fingertips began to glow with light purple light and she began to write on the air. Danica said she might have figured out a way to fix the Gildergreen. Also my throat is a bit fucked up so I don’t talk on some days. Also food isn’t always my friend. Genevieve floated around the room, pocketing any coins and potions she found. She easily unlocked the chest and pulled out it’s contents. There was some dwarven armor, a couple of enchanted weapons, and some gold. Genevieve motioned Lydia over. Do you want any of this?

“Hmm.” Lydia picked up the armor. “Not particularly, but it should make for some decent coin.”

I guess. I was just going to pull the enchantment from it when we got back to Whiterun. Doing that causes the stuff to disintegrate though.

“You’re an enchanter?”

Sort of. I only know a few enchantments. I’m trying to learn more, hence the pulling of the enchantments. Restoration is the school of magic I’m best at. I know a little bit about all of the schools though. She stood up and hoisted her pack over her shoulder. Come on. Let’s go.

It was still pouring outside.

A day and a half into the journey, they were attacked by a group of heavily armored mercenaries. Specifically, they were after Genevieve’s life. It wasn’t an easy fight.

Within the first few moments, Lydia was separated from Genevieve. It took longer than she wanted to admit to kill the thug and join her Thane’s fight. Said Thane had a nastly gash in her armor and was bleeding heavily. The two thugs that were attacking her appeared to be in near perfect health.

Lydia roared and slammed her shield into one of the thugs. He staggered back and barely brought his shield up in time to block her blade. She kept at it, repeatedly slamming her shield into his until she saw an opening. She plunged her sword into his belly. Then she spun around and charged towards the final thug. He looked much worse than he had mere moments before. Some of the veins in his face were turning a sickly shade of black. He toppled to the ground mere seconds later, having had his skull splintered by Genevieve’s mace.

Genevieve herself remained standing for about 30 more seconds before she stumbled back and collapsed.

“Genevieve!” Lydia crashed to the ground beside her Thane. The gash was worse than she originally thought. She couldn’t tell exactly how deep it was, but it was far deeper than anything she knew how to treat. She tried to shake Genevieve awake. The other didn’t respond.

Lydia cursed. They were out of potions. It didn't help that it hadn't stopped raining. She didn't know any healing spells.

She glanced at Genevive’s face. Her eyes were just barely open.

"Genevieve!"

Her lips moved but Lydia couldn't hear. She leaned down and could just barely hear the whispered words,

"Search the bodies. Might have something useful."

The bandits didn't have any potions. Just roughly a hundred septims each. One of them had written orders to hunt and kill Genevieve. She stuffed the note into her pack. She could ask who Skaven was later, when Genevieve wasn't badly injured.

"No potions. I'm going to have to carry you. I can’t move nearly as fast as you, so it'll be a few days until we get to Whiterun."

Genevieve grunted but allowed Lydia to scoop her up. Lydia cursed silently. Her Thane was freezing cold and startlingly light.

She went as far as she could before she had to stop. Luckily, she managed to find an outcropping of rock that could provide some shelter against the wind and rain.

Genevieve had gotten worse. She was flushed and coughing regularly. At least the wound had stopped bleeding. Once Lydia had helped her get settled in the most sheltered part of the makeshift camp, she rested her hand against the injury. Her hand began to glow. Some of the more minor wounds vanished quickly. She had to stop a few moments later. She slumped back, the spell having clearly drained strength and energy she didn’t have.

Lydia only rested long enough to eat a quick meal and for some of her strength to return. Genevieve didn’t have time for a full rest or for the storm to break. 

The moons were high in the sky when she reached Whiterun’s gates two days later. The guards quickly ushered her through once they saw Genevieve’s limp form cradled in her arms. 

Danica, while not pleased to have been woken at such a late (or was it early?) hour, quickly began to direct Lydia and gather ingredients and supplies. Lydia wasn’t allowed to help, but was allowed to stay as long as she didn’t disrupt or distract Danica as she worked. Lydia must’ve fallen asleep on one of the benches, as the next thing she knew, she was being gently shaken awake.

“Good, you’re awake.” Danica straightened. “First and foremost, she’ll be fine. You got her here just in time. If it had been too much later, she would have died. She was ill, poisoned, and had lost a lot of blood.”

“Poisoned?” Lydia croaked.

“Yes. That’s in addition to the one that already is running through her veins. Judging by your expression, I’m assuming she hasn’t shown you her throat. To put it simply, there is a poison that is constantly being forced into her body. I haven’t been able to figure out an antidote or everything it does, but it certainly weakens her. It also, unfortunately, makes potions and magic nearly useless to her. They still have some effect, but it has been greatly reduced because of the poison.”

Genevieve was still this capable while poisoned? Just how good was she? How strong would she be at full health? Lydia dragged a hand down her face. 

“It’ll take time for her to heal from this. I must warn you, she has a bad habit of pushing herself. She needs rest and plenty of food. I recommend she sticks to broth and soup, those will be easiest on her throat.”

Lydia nodded and settled into a chair beside Genevieve.

Lydia was fairly certain that Genevieve was only resting because Mila and Lucia had insisted on fussing over her. They convinced her to let them put flowers into her hair and to show them the basics of potion making. With Carlotta’s permission, of course (not that it would stop her. She’d started teaching them several days before she asked permission).

Genevieve seemed happier when she was with the children. More at ease. Kinder. More open and less guarded. She also insisted on buying Lucia dinner, although she often ate with the young girl.

Lydia began to form a plan.

Chapter Text

Farkas

The last thing he expected to happen was for his brother to burst into Jorrvaskr covered in blood and half mad with anger and worry. 

“Vil, what’s wrong? Where’s Ria?”

“Temple,” Vilkas grunted, “damn sabre cats came out of nowhere. Managed to kill them but she got hurt pretty bad. The comotion must’ve attracted a giant cause the damn thing appeared and sent her flying. We barely got out of there alive.”

“Damn. You okay?”

“Nothing a minor healing potion won’t heal. Danica was trying her best with Ria. Called for some stranger. Didn’t see who it was but I got kicked out by some Nord woman. Tried to go back and she just about knocked me flat. Told me I’d be allowed back when Ria was stable and not a second sooner. I figured I might as well clean up.”

A stranger? Farkas couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same stranger from the giant all those weeks ago. As odd as it was, the tiny woman just wouldn’t leave his mind. 

“Go get clean up brother. I’ll go wait outside the Temple.”

Vilkas snorted.

“Good luck.”

The Nord woman was scary.

“I told you, I’m not- wait. You’re not that brute.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“No,” Farkas rumbled, shaking his head, “that was my brother, Vilkas. He’s getting cleaned up. I just want to wait outside. Is there any news?”

“About your friend? Not yet. She’ll be fine though. Vi is the best healer I know, Danica included. I’m Lydia, by the way.”

“Farkas. Are you a healer too?”

Lydia laughed.

“No, not even close. Vi improved my medical knowledge a bit and I can make a decent healing potion, but that’s it. Even then, the only reason I know how to make that is because Vi drilled it into my head.”

Vi. The name kept ringing a bell. Why was it so familiar?

“Vi?”

“Have you heard of Vi the Storyteller? That’s her.”

The Storyteller? Yes, Farkas has definitely heard of her. The entire city knew of her. He’d never been to the Bannered Mare when she was there, but her stories were supposedly spectacular to witness. According to the rumors, she used magic to show the stories as she told them. It was no secret that every child in Whiterun adored her. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard of her. She’s a healer?”

“She’s been a healer long before people started calling her Storyteller. At least since she first arrived in Whiterun. I think that was about eight weeks ago."

That was around the time he, Aela, and Ria went to fight the giant.

“I think I might have met her. Dunno for sure though. Why’d you kick Vilkas out?”

“He was being a distraction. Vi, well, let's just say people like your brother have caused her a great deal of pain in the past. She needed to focus to give your friend the best treatment and his presence and quick temper were doing no one any favors.”

Farkas nodded and settled into the closest bench.

“I’m just going to wait for a bit. Vil will probably come back once he's cleaned up and has had a bite to eat.”

He ended up staying several hours. Vilkas joined him eventually, having been forced to eat an entire meal by Tilma after he’d bathed and informed Kodlak of what had happened. Lydia pointedly ignored him until he apologized for having caused a ruckus. 

Farkas didn’t allow his brother to see his grin. It wasn’t just anyone that could make his brother swallow his pride and apologize. 

He was just about to leave when the Temple door opened behind Lydia. Danica poked her head out and gestured for Lydia to come closer. Farkas knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he did anyway.

“Ria’s been stabilized and I’m taking over for the rest. Vi pushed herself a bit too much though. See if you can convince her to hold off on leaving for Orphan Rock for a few more days. I want to restore the Gildergreen, but not at the expense of her life.”

Lydia nodded then turned to face the twins.

“Your friend’s been stabilized. You can go in and see her in a few minutes.”

Genevieve

She sighed in relief and wiped her forehead. The young Imperial would be fine. Genevieve had mostly fixed her leg and had fully healed her internal injuries and fractured ribs. Danica would be able to take it from here. 

Genevieve began to quickly and quietly gather her things. She’d used most of her magicka and stamina potions just to get through the long and arduous process. She’d have to make more before she and Lydia traveled to Orphan Rock to get Nettlebane for Danica. Her ears twitched. 

She could hear Lydia telling someone about the Imperial’s, Ria’s , condition. It was probably the big Nord from earlier. Genevieve almost succeeded in suppressing a shudder at the memory. Logically, she knew he was probably just worried about his friend, but his quick temper and large size only brought memories of past pain and cruel words.

Lydia had picked up on her discomfort and had personally thrown him out. Genevieve hadn’t seen her since, and had assumed her friend was standing guard.

Friend. What a strange word. Lydia had declared them friends a week or so prior. It was odd. A good kind of odd, but odd nonetheless. 

Genevieve shouldered her pack just as the doors to the Temple opened. Two voices followed Lydia's footsteps. She pressed herself against the wall and delved into the shadows. 

The Nord from before was the first she saw. He didn’t notice her and immediately went to Ria’s side. The second Nord had to be the first’s brother. Perhaps they were twins. Wait, he was the Nord from the giant! 

Genevieve relaxed slightly and leaned against the wall. The second Nord glanced around. For a second, their eyes met. His silvery eyes swirled with emotion. He nodded to her, then settled next to his brother. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Then she silently spun on her heel and left.

Farkas

The stranger, who he assumed was Vi, was still tiny. Her armor fit much better than it had before. Her hood wasn’t pulled as far down, and for a moment their eyes met. 

Her eyes were pretty. They were a startling shade of blue. It reminded him of the Aurora that sometimes filled the sky and of glittering sapphires. He nodded to her, silently giving his thanks. It was obvious she didn’t want attention drawn to her.

She nodded back and left without a sound. Lydia followed moments later. He turned his attention to Ria. 

She was still unconscious. She wasn’t in her armor, but a simple linen dress. Neat bandages peeked out from under the collar and her sleeves. Her warpaint had been taken off. It was strange to see her without it.

“I’m going to head back. She’ll be fine, Vil.” Farkas rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder for a brief moment before turning and leaving. As he passed the Gildergreen, he saw Braith standing in front of Vi. The volatile child looked upset. Vi murmured something and gently rested her hand on Braith’s head. 

His lips twitched upward and he continued on to Jorrvaskr.

Genevieve

“You’re late.” Braith snapped. She immediately looked at the ground, obviously trying to hold back tears. 

Ah. So today had been a bad day.

“Sorry Spitfire,” Genevieve murmured, crouching down so that she was level with the upset child, “Danica needed my help at the Temple. It was an emergency.”

“You missed story time.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Genevieve gently rested her hand on the top of Braith’s head. “Tell you what, join me for dinner at the Bannered Mare, and I’ll tell you some stories while we eat. It’ll be like your own personal story time.”

Braith sniffled and nodded. Genevieve held out her hand and Braith took it after a moment. 

Lydia caught up to them at the Bannered Mare. 

Braith was unusually quiet as they ate. She picked at her food and only half listened to Genevieve. It was only when Genevieve was walking her home that the child spoke up.

"They didn't even look at me. Just said to ask later." She wiped her eyes. "What did I do wrong?! Why don't they care anymore?"

"You didn't do a damn thing Spitfire. It's not your fault they're being moronic." She stopped and crouched down. "Now, I didn't want to tell anyone just yet, but I'm saving up to buy a house."

"You are?"

"Mhm. Now, it'll take a bit for me to save enough up, but as soon as I buy the house and have it completely furnished, you can come over as much as you want. It'll probably be a bit squished as I'm definitely going to adopt Lucia. I'll probably adopt more kids once I have the gold and the space."

"I don't care if it's super squished! I'll be there everyday!" Braith hugged Genevieve tightly. She was practically vibrating when they reached her parents’ house. “Night, Vi! See ya tomorrow!”

Genevieve waved goodbye and left. 

Her life had certainly changed in the past few weeks. She’d become fond of all the children in Whiterun. Braith and Lucia had become like daughters to her. It was because of them that she was now known as Vi the Storyteller.  She and Lydia had grown closer over the course of her recovery. The elder woman had been willing to listen and to learn. She’d respected any boundaries Genevieve had set in place, the first to do so in many, many years (Ralof pushed some of them, never crossing them but never content to let her be).

She still couldn’t bring herself to fully trust Lydia, but she trusted her more than anyone else.

They left for Orphan Rock three days later. Lydia had tried to get her to push it off even more, but Genevieve had refused. The Gildergreen needed to be restored. She would not put it off a moment longer. 

It was snowing heavily when they reached Orphan Rock. Genevieve had switched to thick furs the day before, forgoing the better protection of her leather armor for the warmth of the furs. They’d helped at first, but long hours in the wind and snow had allowed the cold to seep into her bones. 

“Looks like the hagraven is up top. I can see at least two minions patrolling the base.” Genevieve muffled a sneeze. Beside her, Lydia was putting on her helmet. “You really like that thing?”

“Vi, you made it. It’s a damn good helmet and fits perfectly. Yes , I like it.” Lydia drew her sword. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, the hagraven will be a right pain in the ass. I’d like to try sneaking in as far as possible so that we aren’t noticed until we’ve actually done something. Then again, your armor is kind of loud…”

“If you want to sneak, then I can be a distraction. Draw the witches away so that we can take them on one by one.”

“That might work,” Genevieve said, tilting her head, “then again, the witches probably have some kind of alert system going. Fuck it. Let’s just do it.”

Genevieve began to slink through the trees. She heard Lydia’s armor clanking as the elder continued up the path. The first witch was killed by an arrow through her throat. The second fell to Lydia’s blade. The third witch choked on her own breath as poison tore her apart from the inside.

The hagraven noticed them when they were halfway up the hill. 

Genevieve just barely managed to shove Lydia out of the range of the monster’s fireball. They barely dodged more fireballs as they scrambled behind a bulky rock.

“Damn, I really hate that spell right now.” Genevieve blew on her shaking hand. “Also fuck the cold.” Lydia snorted and peered around the rock. She quickly ducked behind it as another fireball exploded against it.

“The damn thing is focused on us. I didn’t get a very good look, but it looks like we have to cross over by going across a fallen tree.”

“Well fuck.” Genevieve pulled herself into a crouching position. “You’re gonna hate this, but I’m faster than you so I’ll try and shoot across. Cover me with your bow best you can. If I remember correctly, hagravens just use their claws for close combat, so I should be fine once I get close.”

Lydia pressed her lips into a thin line and readied her bow.

“You’re right, I don’t like it at all. But I don’t have any better ideas. But I’m carrying all the stuff back. Vi, don’t give me that look, you need to spend energy staying warm, not lugging some random stuff around. Besides, I’m still trying to get faster so it’ll be a good training exercise.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. Then she gripped her shield and darted out from behind the boulder. She was able to dodge one fiery explosion before she hit the log and had nowhere else to run but forward. The next fireball hit her shield. It burned a fuckton, but she held onto her shield and slammed into the beast the moment she was off the log. The hagraven shrieked in fury and swiped at her with jagged claws. 

It was a relatively quick fight. Her poisons and her dagger, combined with Lydia’s arrows, brought the beast down with an unearthly screech. Once she was sure the hagraven was dead, she dropped her shield and immediately began healing her burns and cuts. Lydia was by her side in mere moments. 

“Damn, that looks bad. Just work on healing those, I’ll poke around and gather anything useful.” Genevieve grunted, in too much pain to give a proper response.

Magical burns were always harder to heal. Magic-inflicted wounds were harder to heal in general. She had to down three magicka potions just to heal her hands. By that time, Lydia had finished and was steadily making her way back to Genevieve.

“Anything good?”

“Just alchemy ingredients and some gold. There were a couple of potions in the chests.”

“Great.” A violent shiver tore through Genevieve. “Let’s get outta here. I’m freezing .”

Surprisingly, nothing bad happened to them on the way back to Whiterun. An oldish orc was granted a “good death” by Genevieve's hand. She gathered plenty of alchemy ingredients for her potions. They met a few Vigilants of Stendarr (they immediately got on Genevieve’s nerves. Their Hall sounded interesting though). Genevieve even convinced Lydia to leap down the rocky paths with her (the first time she had done that, Lydia had nearly had a heart attack. After all, most people don’t know how to leap and slide down mountains without getting killed).

Danica was arguing with someone when they returned to the Temple. 

“I told you, I don’t have the time or the resources to restore the Gildergreen! Now please, let me return to the work that I am currently able to do!”

“But the state of the Gildergreen is disgraceful! This is supposed to be your work!”

Danica bristled and looked like she was going to say something else. Before she did, she saw Genevieve and Lydia.

“You’re back! I take it you got Nettlebane?”

Genevieve nodded and held up Nettlebane. At her silence, Danica furrowed her brow. 

“Bad day or...?”

Genevieve sighed and turned to Lydia. The elder stepped forward.

“Bad day. And the cold wasn’t good for her throat and her magic is coming back really slow. We think some of that is because she hasn’t been sleeping very well.”

“I see. I’d try to convince you two to take a break, but I know I’d just be wasting my breath. 

The Eldergleam’s sanctuary is to the east of here. Use Nettlebane to get some sap.”

The man Danica had been arguing with stepped forward.

“You’re going to the Eldergleam’s grove? Might I come with you? I’m a pilgrim, following Kynareth’s voice wherever it can be heard. I’ve dreamed of seeing the Eldergleam for years. I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Lydia looked to Genevieve, who shrugged and moved towards the doors.. The elder woman sighed.

“Stay out of the way.” she said. Then she followed Genevieve out the door.

They met a strange man on the way to the Eldergleam. He looked deathly ill but claimed Peryite was protecting him. Apparently, someone was causing trouble and he feared Peryite’s wrath. He told Genevieve to find someone named Kesh before he ran off. 

When they finally reached the Eldergleam’s sanctuary, it was a relief. Maurice, the traveler who insisted on joining them, was a major pain in the ass. Lydia had almost strangled him multiple times. 

Genevieve sighed and entered the cave. It took a few minutes of walking to reach the main space. She had to stop once she reached it. It was beautiful . 

The tunnel opened into a large cavern. A river flowed through  the space, swirling around the exposed rock and between hanging roots and moss. Tall trees dotted the ground and flowers were in full bloom everywhere she looked. At the far end of the cavern, there was a massive tree that could only be the Eldergleam. It’s gargantuan roots twisted and turned, sprawling out and curling down the rocks. 

As she made her way down the path, Genevieve collected the creeping roots and blooming blossoms that were close to the path. She waved to the pilgrims. She outpaced Lydia and Maurice and reached the Eldergleam’s roots well before they did. 

She withdrew Nettlebane from her pack and began to gently pry the roots away from the path. The roots bent away easily as she ran Nettlebane underneath them. Once she reached the level area she walked the perimeter and coaxed the roots away from the treasures they guarded. Once she was finished, she sheathed Nettlebane and stepped towards the Eldergleam.

Just as she reached out to touch it, Maurice burst onto the leveled area, red in the face and clearly angry. Lydia was right behind him and just as angry, though her anger was directed at the pilgrim, not Genevieve. 

“You savage!” he yelled, “You’re really going to violate this marvel of Kynareth’s glory to fix that half-breed stump in Whiterun?! It’s abominable! Barbaric!” He continued to rant as Genevieve rolled her eyes. She glanced at Lydia and jerked her head. Lydia, catching her meaning, nodded.

Genevieve knelt in front of the Eldergleam. She rested one hand on a nearby root and the other on her leg. She could feel Kynareth’s power thrumming through the tree. 

She settled her mind and let Kynareth’s power surround her. She thought of the withered Gildergreen and of her desire to help it. She thought of her wish to help Danica as she struggled to tend to the Temple as the war brought more and more injured. 

She felt the Eldergleam pulse with power. An image entered mer mind.

A baby Gildergreen being planted in the ashes of the old.

  It's time to let go of the past and start with the new.

The voice was gentle, comforting. Kind. It did not scold or condescend. It simply offered guidance and a path to take. 

Distantly, she heard a gasp. 

Genevieve opened her eyes and stood. She turned around. A tiny tree had sprouted and was quickly growing. Soon, it's tallest branches reached her waist. It burst into blossoms. They were mostly pink, just as the Eldergleam’s blossoms were.

“ Thane Genevieve worships Kynareth, just as you do. She would not harm the Eldergleam unless she had absolutely no other choice,” Lydia informed a shocked Maurice. “If you had bothered yourself to pay attention to anything that has happened, you’d know that.” 

Genevieve began to coax the baby Gildergreen out of the ground. A few moments later, it was safely wrapped up and tucked into the top of her pack. She motioned for Lydia to follow and left Maurice to stare at the place where the sapling had sprouted. 

Once they were out of the cavern, she released a sigh of relief. She glanced at the sky. The sun would be setting soon. 

Think we can make it to Windhelm before it’s completely dark? she wrote, the purple sparks casting an odd light on the ground. 

“Maybe. Why do you want to go there? Wouldn’t it be better to get the little tree to Danica as soon as possible?”

Genevieve’s lips twisted up into a smile tinged with sadness. She looked at the sky then began to write.

It’s selfish, but I want to see if an old friend is there. He, well, he and I used to be very close. He’s not always near Windhelm, but I want to see if he’s there. Things weren’t exactly good the last time I saw him and I want to try to make things right. She paused. I heard someone tell me to let go of the past and to start with the new. I think they weren’t just talking about the Gildergreen. 

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Chapter Text

Lydia

They didn’t quite make it to Windhelm before nightfall. They were only an hour or two away, but both of them were exhausted and the cold was starting to get to Genevieve. The smaller woman had quickly prepared some rabbits for them to eat before she curled up and tried to sleep at Lydia’s insistence. 

Lydia kept glancing at Genevive as the latter slept. Her Thane had many demons, and Lydia was only just figuring them out.. 

Genevieve checked the meals at inns for drugs or poison. It was subtle, just lifting the bowl near her lips and sniffing it. It often looked like she was praying. Once she was sure it wasn't tainted, she quietly thanked Kynareth for the food. When they were out in the wilds, she insisted on cooking. Lydia had only cooked once. Genevieve hadn’t been able to keep anything down. 

She also insisted on being called by her name. Nicknames were fine, but titles alone and any racial terms were not allowed. Something told Lydia that there was more to it than simple preference.

Genevieve slept very little. Some nights were worse than others, but even on the best nights, she only got a few hours at most. Those precious few hours were filled with tossing and turning and mumbled curses and cries for someone to leave her alone. Lydia still didn’t know who Skaven was. The one time she’d asked, Genevieve had completely shut down and hadn’t been able to eat, sleep, or speak for nearly a week.  

Lydia poked at the fire. Genevieve looked younger when she slept, much younger than her 25 years. Then again, perhaps she just seemed older when she was awake and sleep showed her true age. 

They continued moving at the break of dawn. Lydia discovered another little quirk of Genevieve’s. She absolutely hated bears. One had attacked them once they had gotten too close to the fisher’s shack it had been occupying. Genevieve had cursed violently in at least three different languages and set the bear of fire. It died from a mace blow to the head.

“You really don’t like bears.”

“ Fucking bears .” Genevieve violently pulled her mace from the bear’s splintered skull. “The claws are good for potions and the pelts are nice and warm but fuck everything else about them.” She quickly skinned the bear and shoved the pelt into her pack. “Come on, let’s see if there's anything useful in the shack.”

There were a couple of interesting books, some alchemy ingredients, and a little treasure map. 

“Have you seen one of these before?”

“Hm? Oh, this. Yeah. I found one when I was bounty hunting. The chest was really close to Pelagia farm. We’ll have to go treasure hunting sometime, yeah? Hopefully there won’t be any more bears though.”

Lydia snorted and followed Genevieve out the door. 

They reached Windhelm within the hour. It was cold, even to Lydia’s Nordic blood. Snow gently drifted from the sky and swirled in the brisk wind. Genevieve walked past the stables, slowing her pace dramatically.

“Vi, is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just, well,” she sighed. “I just need to see if they’re here. If not, oh well.” Suddenly her head shot up.

“Vi? What’s-” Lydia was cut off by a blue and gray blue crashing into Genevieve. Her Thane yelped and she was scooped up by a Khajiit and spun around it.

“Little Cub is alright!” The Khajiit crowed. “Khajiit was worried!”

“Ma’dran! Put me down!” Genevieve was laughing, loudly and openly. Lydia couldn’t help but stare.

“No. Khajiit will not. Come, the others will want to see Little Cub.” The Khajiit, Ma’dran, spun on his heel and carried Genevieve over his shoulder. Lydia followed, unsure of what was happening. Genevieve’s hood had fallen down, and yet she hadn’t even tried to pull it back up. 

Two other Khajiit greeted Genevieve just as warmly as the first had. The next thing she knew, she and Genevieve were sitting in one of the Khajiits’ tents with Ma’dran sitting in front of them and the two guards standing at the entrance.

“Tell us Cub, what mischief have you gotten into?” One of the guards, Ra’zhinda, Lydia thought, asked, tail twitching. “We were worried when you disappeared.” 

“Ra’z, to explain all of that would take until the next time both moons are full.”

“Who is your... friend?” Ma’dran was eyeing her as he sipped on some strange drink. Lydia shifted as all of the Khajiit looked at her.

“This is Lydia. She’s my friend and my housecarl. You’ve heard of the new Thane of Whiterun?” At Ma’dran’s nod, she continued, “That’s me. Turns out I’m also something called Dragonborn, though I don’t really know what that means. All I know is that I can absorb dragon souls. Oh! That reminds me.” Genevieve pulled her pack in front of her and dug through it. “Would you be interested in buying some dragon bones and scales? I fought a dragon a while back and these ended up in the bottom of my pack. Lydia’s been carrying them when a dragon attacks both of us, but those usually get sold pretty quick.”

Genevieve pulled a large bone from her pack and passed it over to Ma’dran, as well as several scales. The Khajiit examined the bone first, carefully looking it over and turning it over in his hands. Once he was finished, he set the bone down and lifted the scales one by one.

“These are dragon bones and scales? Very fine material. Would make good armor and weapons.”

“True, but there’s no point in hoarding them until I can figure out how to use them.”

“Khajiit will take them. 300 for bone and 150 for scale.” He held up his hand as Genevieve began to protest. “This is strong and rare material. You continue to supply the caravans with it and I am certain we will have more gold to give. Cub, you are a friend of Khajiit. There are few in this cold land that are so kind. You have earned fair deals.”

Genevieve grumbled unintelligibly but began to dig through her bag. She ended up earning over a thousand septims from the bones alone. Lydia lost track of how much she made from the scales. 

They ended up staying with the caravan for hours. Lydia hardly spoke, content to sit and watch as Genevieve opened up and positively bloomed while she traded stories with the Khajiit. 

“Cub, will you make your sweet rolls?” The other two Khajiit perked up at Ma’jhad’s question. “And your fish? And your-”

“You know, you could just ask me to make dinner.” Genevieve said, her voice filled with fond amusement.”

“Will Cub make dinner then?”

“ Yes , you big baby. I’ll make dinner.”

“You are welcome to our stores of spices and ingredients.” Ma’dran met Genevieve’s protests with a level gaze. “Little Cub, I insist. They are meant to be used.” Genevieve sighed and stood. 

“Lydia, stay here. As for the rest of you, I’d better not catch you peeking!” She strode out of the tent and disappeared into the light snowfall. Ra’zhinda and Ma’jhad soon followed. 

Lydia swallowed as Ma’dran turned his gaze to her.

“Little Cub is fond of this one. I cannot remember the last time she let one who is not Khajiit so close.”

“Really?” Lydia shook her head. “That’s hard to believe. All the children in Whiterun adore her. She’s also close with Andurs, a priest of Arkay, and Danica, the priestess at the Temple of Kynareth.”

“Children have always been favored by Little Cub. She has held Arkay and Kynareth close for many years, so it is no surprise that she is more willing to trust those who serve them.”

“Why do you call her that? Little Cub, I mean.”

Ma’dran tilted his head and twitched his ears.

“Her father and I were friends. I have known her since she was a tiny little cub. When her father was murdered, I was worried. Khajiit was not welcome in the village, but I returned as soon as I heard. Khajiit returned to an empty ruin. Little Cub was nowhere. It was many years later that I next saw her.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Little Cub favors you. She wants to trust, but the past has left wounds that may never heal. You care for her, and she has given her permission for me to tell.” His eyes gleamed. “Khajiit must warn you, if Little Cub is hurt by you, your body will never be found.” 

A shiver shot down Lydia’s spine. She swallowed.

“Understood.” She fiddled with the edge of her gauntlet for a moment. “Why were you so excited when Vi said she’d make dinner?”

“Why?” Ma’dran tilted his head. “This one has not had Little Cub’s food before?”

“I have. Why?

“Little Cub is the best cook Khajiit has ever met. Even her simplest recipes make the mouth water. Then again,” Ma’dran’s ears flattened, “Little Cub’s scars have been deepened and reopened, so perhaps she has not cooked as she has in the past.”

“What do you mean?”

Ma’dran sighed,

“I do not know how or when, but something has brought Little Cub’s past to the present. She has trouble eating and sleeping, yes?” At Lydia’s nod, he continued, “Khajiit does not know what happened in the village, but it left deep wounds. When she first joined us, she could not sleep more than four hours a night. That was on a good night. She could not eat much either. We considered it a good day if she ate and kept one bowl of soup down the whole day.”

That matched Vi perfectly.

“Did she get better?”

“She still had bad days, but when Little Cub disappeared, she could sleep through most nights and ate three full meals on a good day.”

“Who’s Skaven?”

Lydia didn't expect Ma'dran to bristle and bare his teeth. His ears were pressed against his skull and his tail lashed back and forth as his claws dug into the fabric of his pants.

" Where, " he hissed, "did you hear that name?"

Lydia flinched back.

"It was on a contract for her head. Some thugs attacked us and managed to hurt her badly. The contract was on one of the bodies."

"That monster ," Ma'dran spat, "is the cause of much of her pain. You have seen her discomfort around Nords, especially large males, yes?"

Lydia nodded.

"That is his doing. He and his band have tormented Little Cub since she took her first steps. They locked her into closets and chests and left her to die. They starved her and drugged her and poisoned her. They beat her until she could barely breathe and left her for the bears and wolves and spiders." Ma'dran exhaled a shaky breath. "That contract explains much. You are her guard, yes?"

"Essentially, yes."

"They will come after her again. They will not stop until she is dead. Their hatred runs deeper than the cold of this land."

"She's highly respected throughout Whiterun. The Jarl himself is fond of her. If they want to get to her, they will have to get through far more than just me."

"This is good. Little Cub deserves to have friends and a home." Ma'dran stood and stretched. "Come, Little Cub will be done soon. Ma'jhad and Ra'zhinda will begin without us and I do not wish to fight over my meal."

Lydia followed the Khajiit, her mind swirling with the new information.

Genevieve was the best cook in all of Tamriel. Anyone who disagreed would have her food shoved down their throat until they agreed. 

She'd made a simple meal of roasted cod and vegetables, as well as something that looked like a pot of melted cheese. After warning Lydia to go easy on the fondue (which Lydia later realized was what the cheese dish was called) because of the moon sugar, the meal began. 

Every bite had been better than the last. Every scrap of fish and vegetable was devoured and the fondue quickly disappeared. Lydia didn't even care that moon sugar was illegal. It made delicious fondue. 

"Vi, I'm going to make sure you have your spices. This is amazing."

Genevieve flushed. 

“It’s not that big a deal,” she mumbled.

“Vi, this is delicious and I am a selfish woman who wants my friend to keep making delicious food. Also this is the happiest I’ve seen you outside of fussing over the children of Whiterun. So yes, the spices are becoming a regular and very important part of the supply list.”

Genevieve grumbled but there was no real protest behind it.

 The meal was finished shortly after. It was completely dark outside and the snow fall had progressively gotten heavier as the day had progressed. Genevieve and Lydia left and trudged through the snow and onto the massive stone bridge that led to the gates of Windhelm. It was bitterly cold as they crossed the bridge, putting Genevieve in a foul mood. She’d pulled up her hood for protection against the wind, though it didn’t seem to do much. 

The moment they stepped through the gates, Lydia knew there’d be problems. The first thing she saw was two burly Nords accusing a Dunmer woman of being a spy. Beside her, Genevieve bristled. Lydia almost felt bad for the Nords. She approached the Dunmer woman while Genevieve stormed toward the Nords.

“Are you alright?” The Dunmer snorted.

“It’s nothing new. Tell me, do you hate the dark elves? Are you and your friend here to bully us and tell us to leave?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact,” Lydia turned to glance and Genevieve, who currently had one of the Nords in a nasty chokehold and the other whimpering and clutching his arm, “I think it’s quite the opposite. Vi’s… not fond of bullies.”

“You’ve come to the wrong city then. Windhelm is a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking, unworthy people such as you.” The Dunmer startled as Genevieve appeared next to Lydia. 

“Fucking assholes. One of them challenged me to a brawl. Snapped his arm in two and ran him into the wall. The other one tried to join in but he was even easier to break than the first one. Anyway,” Genevieve turned to the Dunmer, “I’m Genevieve and this is Lydia. We’ll be in town for a few days so if those assholes give you or anyone you know any more trouble just let us know and I’ll beat the shit out of them again.”

The Dunmer stared in shock. Lydia tried to hide her grin, failing miserably. Genevieve was tiny and mostly unassuming. It was always amusing to see people’s reactions when she broke her opponents into pieces. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Suvarus Atheron, a pleasure to meet you.  Though I must say, his treatment is nothing new. Most of the Nords in Windhelm don’t care for us much, though Rolff is by far the worst. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter and yell insults at us in the small hours of the morning.”

“Then the whole city is full of morons.” A violent shiver racked through Genevieve. “Oh, fuck me. Sorry to cut this short Suvaris, but I’m freezing my ass off and am about two seconds away from killing someone, most likely that ass Rolff.”

“Please don’t, it would be a shame to lose someone like you so soon. Candlehearth hall is just up ahead. If you’re feeling up to it, you should come to the New Gnisis Cornerclub tomorrow. There aren’t any rooms, but good food and drink. It would be good for the others to know we have a friend in the city.”

“I’ll try, but no guarantees. I’m under a bit of a time crunch at the moment, but it's definitely on the list. See you ‘round!” Genevieve waved her farewells to Suvaris and trotted towards the inn.

It was warm inside the inn. Genevieve groaned in delight then shot up the stairs towards the source of the heat. Lydia rolled her eyes and approached the innkeeper.

“Do you have two rooms?”

“Aye. Need any food or drink?”

“Not right now, no.”

“What’s with your friend?”

“She’s just cold.” Lydia slid the gold for the rooms across the counter. After being shown which rooms they’d be using, she climbed the stairs and dragged Genevieve away from the roaring fire. Lydia wasn’t sure about Genevieve, but she was asleep the moment she was in the bed.

Genevieve

She waited until she was certain Lydia was asleep to slip out. It was still blisteringly cold, but she knew where she was going and reached her destination. The lock was pitifully easy to unlock and she slipped into the house, making sure her hood hid most of her face. 

She could hear chanting as she crept up the stairs. Once she reached the top and turned the corner, her heart stopped.

A child was truly performing the Black Sacrament. She picked up a letter from the floor and glanced over its contents. So Aventus Aretino was an orphan. 

She stood and made her presence known. 

Her blood boiled when Aventus told her of Grelod. No wonder he’d been driven to call the Dark Brotherhood. She accepted the contract without hesitation. If the Dark Brotherhood came after her, then so be it. They should have been faster if they wanted it. 

She was reluctant to leave Aventus alone, but knew he wouldn't go anywhere until Grelod was dead. And if Genevieve had anything to say about it, she would be. 

Soon.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

Sunlight made the cold of Windhelm slightly more bearable. 

Genevieve still hurried to find the market, and hopefully, an alchemy store. She needed more potions for the trip back to Whiterun, not to mention she had several of her most powerful waterbreathing potions to sell.

It turned out that going to the alchemy shop first was a good idea. Not only did she get to sell her potions, but she got to talk about an alchemical legend. She even found out where the White Phial was supposedly hidden!

As they walked out of the shop, Lydia asked her what the White Phial was.

“It’s this bottle that refills with whatever liquid is put in it. Like a health potion for example. If you put a potion in it, then used it, the Phial would refill with the exact same potion indefinitely. My father was fascinated by it so I’ve heard all the legends since before I could walk. He claimed any alchemist worth their salt should know what it was, though most I’ve met have never heard of it. We’ll have to come back and go to that cave. Then again, I wanted to see what the Hall of the Vigilant was all about. Maybe the rest of the Vigilents aren’t stuffy assholes, but probably not.”

“That’s near Dawnstar, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s going to be cold, though probably not nearly as snowy as it is here.”

“Well fuck.” Genevieve groaned and dragged her hand down her face. 

Lydia didn’t bother to hide her laugh.

They left two days later, having fully restocked their supplies. They’d managed to briefly visit the Cornerclub, which was an interesting experience to say the least. The return to Whiterun was surprisingly uneventful, and Danica accepted the baby Gildergreen readily. She even let Genevieve help to plant it in the ashes of the old one. 

They left for the Hall of the Vigilant the morning after the planting, determined to get it over with. Much to no one’s surprise, the rest of the Vigilants were just as stuffy and uptight as the ones they had met on the road. 

The road to Dawnstar was empty after that. Cold and miserable, but empty.

“Vi, is that the same caravan that was in Windhelm?”

Genevieve held her hand up to guard her eyes from the snow as she peered at the caravan in the distance. 

“I don’t think so. Ma’dran said he goes from Windhelm to Solitude. That and I don’t recognize any of them. I wonder what potion ingredients they have. Ma’dran had quite a few foreign ones.” Genevieve coughed and grimaced.

“Vi, you’re still seeing Danica about your throat, right?”

“Yeah. She said there are only a few more spines but that they’re hard to get so she has to be super careful and can only get one at a time because of how much she has to heal me afterwards. The spines are still oozing that poison but at this point I’m used to it so it’s not nearly the drain it used to be.”

Lydia pressed her lips into a thin line. Genevieve shrugged and picked up the pace slightly to catch up with the Khajiit.

One of them, a male Khajiit in heavy steel plate armor, turned when he heard her footsteps. He bristled for a brief moment before relaxing as he realized she was not a threat to him or to the caravan. 

“Hello! Who would I talk to if I had things to trade and gold to spend?”

“This one wishes to trade with Khajiit? Ahkari is in charge of the goods and gold.” Genevieve nodded and trotted over to the Khajiit he gestured to. 

She bought several forgein potion ingredients and, at Lydia’s hopefully suggestion, she bought spices and herbs. She was about to leave when something caught her eyes. She froze and crouched down.

There were countless sets of earrings resting upon a thick layer of hide. Genevieve lightly touched her ears, breathing a sigh of relief when she felt the small holes in them. She began to sort through the earrings, setting aside the ones that she liked. 

“This one wears our jewelry?”

“I traveled with Ma’dran for a little bit. While I was with them, I got my ears pierced.” She selected the ones she liked the most. “How much for these?” She had picked five sets of earrings. It would probably cut into her house fund a bit, but she really wanted to have earrings again. 

 “400.”

“What?” She must be hearing things. That was far too low a price for these earrings.

“400. Ma’dran speaks highly of this one. His words have been proven by your kind words and business here today.”

“But-”

“400, final offer.”

Genevieve handed over the gold and quickly put the earrings in. Some of the holes had partially closed, but were easy enough to poke through. Once they were in, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was finally beginning to feel like herself again. Now she just needed to make some more of her war paint and find or make a pair of half decent swords. Not that the mace and shield didn’t work . They just weren’t quite her preferred style. 

She thanked Ahkari and left the caravan, heading into Dawnstar. The air was crisp and clear and the sides of the path had many, many snowberry bushes. Just as she reached the first of the buildings, a small body crashed into her.

A young boy fell to the ground, groaning and rubbing his face.
“Ow…”

Genevieve crouched down.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m so tired…” He shook his head and scrambled to his feet. “I gotta go!” He began to move away, only to trip and crash to the ground again. 

“Hey now, what’s the hurry?” Genevieve knelt in the snow and cast a healing spell to close the boy’s scraped knees and hands.
“I’m running food and supplies to the miners.” He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve, “Don’t pay much, but they let me sleep by the fire in the inn most nights.” 

“Where are your parents?” She already knew the answer.

“They’re, they’re dead. My Pa was a sailor. Took me with him on his last trip. After he got sick they put us here and left without us. He died a few days later. I’ve tried to make do since then but, it’s been hard.” He looked down. “Real hard.”

Behind her, Genevieve heard Lydia sigh. Genevieve turned back to face Lydia and the boy ran off.

“Vi, let’s actually get a house before you adopt any more children. How much do you need to get Breezehome?”

“Uh, about a thousand more. That’s just for the house though, I don’t know how much I’ll need to furnish it.” 

“Well, we have the gear from the scavenger, the giant and those dragon bones and scales to sell.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about those.”

Lydia snorted.

“How do you forget about a dragon and a giant?”

“Lyds, I lived in the wilds for twenty years, giants aren’t anything new. As for the dragon, it was just annoying.” Genevieve stood and stretched. “I’m going to find a blacksmith and an alchemist. You want to tag along or do you want to get rooms and check for bounties?”

“I’ll get us some rooms. See you in a few hours?”

“Yep.”
The two of them split up. The blacksmith was easy enough to find as it seemed to be the only source of heat in the whole town.

She shivered as she approached the forge. A muscular Nord was working it. A Redguard woman disappeared inside the house just before she reached it.
“A traveler! Don’t get many of those these days. Need a dagger? How ‘bout a claymore?” The Nord stepped away from the forge to sharpen the blade he’d just finished.

“Maybe. I was hoping to sell some things. I have a bunch of armor and some old weapons that are just taking up space in my pack. You in charge of this forge?”

“Aye. Rustleif’s the name. I run it with my wife, Seren.” He shook his head, “She still smiths even though we found out she’s with child.” He paused, continuing in a softer and more serious tone. “Our son or daughter won’t get much Redguard culture here in Skyrim, and I know my Seren worries how she’ll pass along her traditions. Hey, if you find a book called Night Falls on Sentinel, could you bring it to me? It’s a story from my wife’s people. It’d be good to have.”

“Sure thing. Though, I must warn you, it’ll probably be a while. I travel all over and don’t know if I’ll be back here anytime soon.”

“The fact that you’re even looking for it is enough for me. Now, you mentioned you had some gear to sell?”

Genevieve nodded and pulled the armor out of her pack. It wasn’t anything special, but every septim helped. Once she’d gotten rid of the excess armor and weapons, she eyed the swords.

“Mind if I try your swords?”

“Go ahead. Let me know if you find anything you like.”

Genevieve tried every single sword. None of them were right. All of them were well made, but none of them balanced the way she liked or fit in her grip.

“Nothing?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m really picky about my weapons.” She patted the handle of her mace. “I had to remake this three times before I was happy with it.” Lydia hadn’t understood, but had stayed with her the entire time. That had been when Genevieve made her helmet. 

“Really? I can tell just by looking at it that it’s a damn good weapon.”

“Thanks! Now, would you mind giving me directions to the alchemists? If there is one?”

“Aye. The Mortar and Pestle is right down the road. Two story building, right on the edge of the water. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks!”

Lydia

Something was off about Dawnstar. Tension soaked the air. She’d seen the Jarl arguing with some Legionnaires. The few citizen’s she’d spoken to seemed exhausted. 

Lydia sipped on a bottle of mead as she pondered what she’d witnessed. A priest of Mara was trying to soothe the worries of the patrons of the inn. Something about nightmares. 

She looked at the bounty letter. A dragon. She’d only fought a few of them. Each battle with one had been hard. Long. Painful. This dragon was located on top of a mountain. It would be cold. Genevieve would easily scale the mountain. It would just be a challenge to keep her warm, or at the very least, no more than slightly chilled. 

Lydia downed the rest of her mead just as the door opened and Genevieve stepped through. She looked thoroughly chilled and in need of a hot meal. Lydia waved her over.

“Any luck?”

Genevieve sneezed and shivered. She tried to speak, coughed violently, and sighed. The smaller woman reached for her pack and dug through it, pulling out her notebook and scribbling in it.

Yep. Got rid of all the armor and sold lots of potions. Promised to find some stuff for a few people. I think the cold is fucking with my voice again. 

“Damn. How much did you get from the armor and the potions?”

About 700 total. Find any bounties?

“Just one. There’s a dragon up at Shearpoint. About a day or two away, if we go at your usual pace. Oh, the kid’s name is Alesan, by the way. He’s about the same age as Lucia and Braith. A little older, if I’m correct.”  

A dragon? That’ll be interesting. And are you plotting to adopt him?

“No, but you most certainly are. Now let's eat.”

Dinner was two bowls each of beef stew and some bread. Lydia had another bottle of mead before both of them headed to bed. She couldn’t help but notice that Genevieve’s eyes lingered on Alesan’s shivering form. 

They left for Shearpoint at dawn.

Lydia wheezed a breath of relief when the Dragon Priest finally fell and disintegrated. Her knees gave out and she crashed into the snow. That had been the hardest fight of her entire life. She never thought she’d be able to think dragons were an easier battle than something. 

She turned her head at the sound of uneven footsteps. 

Genevieve was running towards her. Her Thane looked exhausted. Burns and cuts littered her visible skin. She crashed to her knees and pressed her glowing hands to Lydia’s side.

“I… Hate… Fireballs…” Lydia wheezed. Genevieve snorted and nodded in agreement. That’s right, the cold had once again stolen her voice. “Are you… out of… potions?” Another nod. Genevieve grimaced and pulled her hands away. The spell sparked weakly and died out. She was completely out of magicka. Lydia groaned as she sat up. Everything still hurt, but she could move without collapsing. 

Together, they stood and gathered anything of value. Genevieve went into some kind of trance when she got close to the strange wall. A moment later, she snapped out of it. After copying something into her notebook she worked on the chest.

Lydia gathered several hundred septims from the dragon’s skeleton, as well as bones, scales, and a dwarven handaxe. She gave it a few experimental swings. It was perfect. With the axe at her hip and her old sword in her pack, she headed over to Genevieve. 

“I’m claiming this. Anything,” she grunted as her side twinged, “anything good?”

Genevieve grinned and held up handfuls of glittering gems and septims. There were also a few pieces of elven armor and a couple of enchanted weapons. 

“I got at least 200 septims from the skeleton. Do we have enough for Breezehome?”
Genevieve’s grin widened and she practically vibrated as she nodded. Lydia grinned.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get back and buy it!”

Chapter Text

Genevieve

Pain.

Her throat burned.

Pain.

Where was she?

Pain.

She wasn’t where she had been.

Genevieve sat up, keeping her mouth firmly shut. 

“Sleep well?”

There was a woman sitting on a bookcase in the corner. She was lazily swinging her leg back and forth, a wicked looking dagger twirling in her hands. Her armor was black and and red. 

The Dark Brotherhood.

Genevieve narrowed her eyes. If they had wanted the contract, they should have been faster. Grelod had been pitifully easy to kill. She’d dragged it out, of course. Slipped a weak poison into her drink. Let it weaken her. Let her know someone was after her and that there was nothing she could do. When it was finally time, she’d slipped into the orphanage and slit the hag’s throat (she’d paralyzed her but had refrained from doing a live dissection. After all, the children would be the ones who found the corpse and she didn’t want to scar them too terribly). Only the children had seen her enter and only the children had seen her leave. 

No one suspected her. Not when, as far as everyone knew, she’d been gone at the time of the murder and had been gone for several days.

“What, nothing to say?”

She couldn’t talk.

“Not that it’d matter. You’re warm, dry… and still very much alive. More than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?”

Genevieve wanted to snort. That had been weeks ago. Most of Skyrim had heard about it at this point. Aventus had been so happy. His heirloom was still tucked into her pack. Her pack. Shit.

Frost was gonna be grumpy when she got back.

“... kill you stole. A kill you must repay.” 

Genevieve twisted around. Three hostages. Male. Female. Male. Nord. Nord. Khajiit. Mercenary. Housewife. Monster.

Ri’saad wanted Vasha dead. She wanted Vasha dead. No one hurts Ma’dran.

She stood abruptly, interrupting whatever speech the assassin had been giving. She could feel eyes on her as she drew her dagger. She ripped the hood off of the Khajiit and grinned with feral insanity as he hissed and scrambled away. Good. He remembered her. He slammed against the wall, spewing lies and pleas as she stalked toward him.

Come now Vasha, we both knew this would happen eventually. The words of fire sprang into existence around her, burning until she dismissed them. She switched to Ta'agra and conjured more words. After all, every monster dies eventually.  

Genevieve slid her dagger between his ribs and snapped them, carving out his heart is a messy, painful ritual. Once the organ was in her hands, she dropped it and crushed it underfoot, leaving his corpse to cool. 

She spun on her heel and glared at the assassin. A key was tossed her way.
“Well done. A little… messy, but a good kill. That’s the key to the door. But let’s take this to the next level, shall we? I’d like to officially extend an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. Our Sanctuary, our home, is in the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest. It’s hidden under the road. To get in, answer the Door with the phrase “Silence, my brother”. Then you’re in, and one of us.”

Genevieve unlocked the door .

“See you at home.”

She left.

She was in the middle of a swamp. She was at least a week away from Windhelm. Once she was certain she was alone, she spit out a mouthful of blood. Whatever drug had been used had reacted with the spine’s poison, turning to acid in her throat. Damnit. 

She’d been so close. She had been able to sing. Now she couldn’t even whisper. 

She hardly remembered stumbling into Morthal. Just the lights and the shouts and warm hands grabbing her frigid body. 

It was cold.

(“Papa? Why does the wind sound so mad?”

“Because the storm seeks vengeance, little one.” 

“But why?”

“Because the world burned red last night.”

“But why is it so cold?

“Because it matches the hearts of those it seeks.)

She woke with blood on her tongue. 

Danica was going to be so mad.

(Papa? Why won’t you wake up? Don’t leave me alone!)

Chapter Text

Genevieve

She left Morthal much earlier than she should’ve. She didn’t care. She wanted to go home . 

Windhelm was cold.

Frost was grumpy, but forgave her after a few apples.

The ride to Whiterun hurt. Frost tried to be gentle and smooth, but she felt every step. 

She nearly cried in relief when she could see the towering silhouette of Dragonsreach in the distance. Actually, she might’ve. She couldn't really tell. 

She was tired.

The guards started to greet her, stopping when they saw the state she was in. They hurried to open the gates and usher her through. They probably expected her to go to the Temple, as she had so many times before. Instead, she kept straight, limping past Warmaiden’s to her home.

She fumbled with the key, cursing in her mind as her hands shook. She finally got the door open and stumbled inside. 

Lydia was at her side in moments, fussing over her and guiding her up the stairs to her bed. Lydia’s voice was muffled, sounding far away and underwater. Genevieve tried to speak, choking on blood. Tears slipped down her face as her strength finally ran out.

Lydia’s arms alone kept her from crashing face-first into the furniture. She was dimly aware of  Lydia picking her up and gently placing her on her bed. Blood bubbled from her lips as she gave one last attempt to speak. 

Darkness took her.

Lydia

Genevieve was hurt. Badly . 

Lydia didn’t want to leave her alone, but she needed to get Danica. She didn’t dare move Genevieve again. Lydia ran a hand through her hair. This was bad.

Rapid footsteps reached her ears, just as Lucia skidded to a halt outside of her mother’s room. Lydia stepped forward, keeping Genevieve’s limp form behind her.

“The guards…” Lucia gasped, “said Mama… was back!”

“She is.” Lydia moved forward and crouched down, gently resting her hands on Lucia’s shoulders. “But she’s hurt. I need you to go get Danica for me, okay? Go and come back as fast as you can.”

Lucia nodded and bolted down the stairs. A moment later, Lydia heard the door open and slam shut. Lydia turned back to Genevieve.

Her armor was ill fitting. It was too loose, though it was as tight as it could go. Blood still dripped from her lips. Her breaths were short and rasping. 

What the fuck had happened?

(“ I’ll be fine , Lyds. I just want to check something out. I’ve traveled on my own before.”

“I know, I know. But you have a gift for getting into trouble.”

“Hmph. I know Riften is iffy at best, but I can defend myself.  I’ll be back in a few weeks. Just to Riften, then Windhelm to finish a few things up. Then I’ll come back and the three of us can go get Alesan.”

“Just try to stay safe, yeah? I don’t want to tell Lucia that she’s motherless again. And don’t Shout at Ulfric again!”

“No guarantees. If he’s being an ass again I’ll definitely be both yelling and Shouting.”)

Lydia sighed and slumped into a nearby chair. Something had to have brought on a lot of bad days in a row for her to have lost this much weight. Something had happened to her throat to make her bleed this much. She clearly hadn’t slept in days, not with the dark bruise-like bags under her eyes. 

She dragged her hand down her face. Potions wouldn’t stay down, and even if they did, they wouldn't do much, not with Genevieve in this state. 

The door opened downstairs and two sets of hurried footsteps approached. Lydia tooked up in time to see Danica’s horrified face when she reached the door. After telling Lucia to wait outside the door, Danica stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. She just got back. She was pretty out of it and collapsed just after I got her up the stairs. Danica, she was spitting blood. Lots of it. Look at her.”

Danica, who’d moved to Genevieve’s side, sighed.

“She looks almost as bad as when I first met her.” Golden light spilled from her hands. She gently touched her fingers to Genevieve’s throat. Danica furrowed her brow. She tilted Genevieve’s head toward her and carefully opened her mouth to peer down her throat. She immediately recoiled. Danica straightened, her hands trembling. “Lydia, do you have anything that helps with Restoration spells?”

“Like rings and such? I think so, why?”

“I need to borrow them. Help me get her to the Temple, then come back and get everything you have.”

Lydia paled and stood, swiftly moving to lift Genevieve from the bed. Her Thane, usually a fidgety, wriggling mess, was sickeningly still and limp. 

They’d gathered a few rings and a circlet over the course of their adventures. All of them helped with Restoration spells. Lydia had also gotten all the magicka and fortify Restoration potions that Arcadia had. Danica still had to work through the night, eventually sending Lydia and Lucia back to Breezehome to rest a little and have a bite to eat.

The meal was simple and silent. Both of them cleaned their plates, though every bite had turned to ash in their mouths. 

“Lydia? What happened to Mama?”

“I don’t know.” Lydia couldn’t meet Lucia’s gaze. “I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Danica will do everything she can.” Lydia wouldn’t lie to Lucia. Divines knew that she’d faced enough hardships, but Lydia wouldn’t lie, even to make the little one feel better. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Can I help?” Lydia sighed and stood to clear the plates away. 

“We’ll have to ask Danica. Let's try to rest a little bit, otherwise Danica won’t let us back in.”

Danica was still working when they returned several hours later. She looked exhausted. Genevieve looked ever-so-slightly better. The priestess looked up when they entered. She sighed.

“If you want to help, go see if Arcadia has any juniper berries and blue mountain flowers. I know how to make a tea from them that should help her heal, if she can keep it down.”

Lydia nodded and ushered Lucia out the door. Within minutes, every child in Whiterun was gathering flowers while Lydia got the juniper berries. When she emerged from Arcadia’s, there was a small herd of children waiting for her, all of them offering bunches of flowers, most of them blue.

The children followed her to the Temple and settled around the Gildergreen to wait. Lucia was the only one who followed her inside. 

“Any luck?” Danica asked.

“I bought the few she had. All the children gathered the flowers.”

“Good.” Her hands stopped glowing and she stepped back. “I’ve done all I can, at least for now. She’ll have to stay here until at least tomorrow morning. You can sit with her while I make the tea.”

Lucia immediately dragged a chair over and sat down, gripping her mother’s limp hand in her own. She described what she’d been doing while Genevive had been gone. Lydia leaned against the wall and listened for a few minutes. She stepped outside the Temple a moment later.

Farkas

Something had happened. Something bad . 

All of the children in Whiterun were gathered around the young Gildergreen. They were all quiet and fidgeting. Farkas made his way down the steps. Mila was the first to notice him. She greeted him softly, then turned back to the Temple.

“What happened?”

“Lucia’s Ma got hurt real bad. Lydia had to carry her to the Temple, and Danica needed all these ingredients to try and make her better.” Lars was the one who answered. He was twisting grass between his fingers. “I hope Miss Vi will be alright.” Beside him, Braith clenched her fists and brought her knees up to her chest. 

“Vi? Like the Storyteller?”

“Her Ma is the Storyteller. Miss Vi adopted her as soon as she got her house.”

The Storyteller was a mother. She was also hurt. He thought of the tiny woman he’d seen at the Temple. Her eyes had never left his mind. 

“What’s she like?”

“Why?” It was Braith who had spoken, her voice sharp and demanding. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

“It’ll help pass the time. Waiting is always the worst part. Trust me, I know.” He slowly settled onto the ground.

Braith huffed and turned away.

“She’s super nice,” Mila began, “She helped my Mama when she first got here. She showed me how to do some pretty braids and weave flowers into a crown.”

“She’s been helping me stand up for myself! Though, she mostly just helps me read harder books.” Lars ducked his head and flushed at the admission.

“She convinced Father to let me train with the dagger!” Frothar exclaimed from his perch on a bench. “She’s been teaching me and Braith how to use them and how to fight without weapons!”

“She takes us outside to gather ingredients! It’s lots of fun, and sometimes she’ll get us sweet rolls afterwards. She promised to make us some of her super secret sweet rolls once she got all of the ingredients.” Dagny was sitting in between her brothers. 

“Vi is showing me how to find things that don’t want to be found. She’s also teaching me how to see the truth in twisted words and to hear what is not said.” Nelkeir’s smile was unsettling. 

“She took me in and is more my mother than my blood-mother has ever been.” Braith’s admission was soft. Farkas almost didn’t hear it. “She’s gotta be fine. She promised to take me on an adventure when I was older.” Braith stood abruptly and stormed off. Farkas could smell salt in the air. 

The doors of the Temple opened and Lydia stepped out. Immediately, all of the children burst into questions. Lydia quieted them instantly by lifting her hand up.

“You can see her in the morning. She’s very weak right now and hasn’t woken up yet.”

She was different from the last time Farkas had seen her. A little broader. More muscular. A dwarven axe hung from her hip instead of a steel sword. Her movements were smoother, faster. Her eyes were filled with worry, though her expression portrayed very little.

The children, though sad they couldn’t see Vi, left without much protest. Farkas left soon after. 

Chapter Text

Farkas

He didn’t think much of the whole thing until several days later. 

It was late. No one in Jorrvaskr was awake. Even Aela and Skjor were in bed, having returned from their latest hunt. 

Farkas couldn’t sleep, and his room felt too small. Too cramped. Too confining. He grabbed a bottle of mead from his bar and silently crept down the hall and up the stairs. He left Jorrvaskr and climbed over the wall to escape to the plains. To his surprise, his favorite spot was occupied. It was right after a waterfall, where the water wasn’t too deep and the river wasn’t too wide. It was out of the way and somewhat hidden from prying eyes.

A small figure was sitting by the water. He put more weight in his steps, not wanting to startle them. They didn’t react when he sat down a little ways away and started to sip on his mead. 

When he glanced at them, he realized he knew them.

It was Vi, the healer from the Temple and the stranger from the giant. She looked… sad. Her eyes were blank as she stared at the water. Her hood was still up, though just barely. Though it was hard to be sure, it looked like her armor was loose and ill-fitting again. 

“You’re Vi, right?”

Her eyes slid towards him, then back to the water. She shrugged. 

“Are you feeling better? All the kids said you had been hurt badly.”

Another shrug. Her eyes had grown dimmer.
Farkas sipped on his mead and let the silence return. He left about an hour later.

He returned the next night. Vi was there.

“I think you scared your friend. She was asking everyone in the market if they’d seen you. She’s scary. Reminds me of Aela. Dunno if you remember her, but she was the redhead with the green paint at the giant. You seemed a bit uncomfortable around her. Around all of us, actually. Did you stay out here all day?”

Vi shrugged.

Farkas stayed a couple hours, then left.

The third night, he brought a bundle of flowers with him. It was mostly just mountain flowers, but there were a few sprigs of lavender and a couple dragon tongues. 

“Would you mind teaching me how to make flower crowns?”

Vi’s hood was down this time. Her earrings were pretty, if a little strange. They reminded him of a Khajiit. At his request, her ears twitched. She held one hand out without looking away from the water. Farkas carefully handed her a few of the mountain flowers. He exaggerated his movements, remembering her fear when he first met her. 

She silently showed him how to twist the stems and weave them together. Once she’d done it a few times, she handed the chain back. 

Farkas fumbled a few times, but eventually managed to finish the crown. 

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips when he proudly held up the flowers, only to realize it was lopsided and some of the blossoms were backwards. 

The next night, he brought two bottles of mead.

“Dunno if you like mead not, but want one?”

Vi actually looked away from the water this time. She glanced at the bottle, and shook her head slightly, her shoulders slumping.

“Don’t worry about it. Figured it was a long shot anyway.” He popped open a bottle and sipped on it. “I think the Jarl’s looking for you. Irileth was talking to Lydia this morning. Both of them looked worried. Dunno for sure. I know it's not for me to say, but I think you should go back. Little Lucia misses you. Braith’s on a warpath, terrorizing the guards and trying to hide how scared she is.”

I can’t speak. 

He startled as the words made of ice appeared in front of him. Much to his surprise, they were easy for him to read. 

“So?”

I promised Lucia I’d teach her to sing. I can't even whisper.

“You got better before, right?”

DANICA CAN’T FIX THIS!

Farkas managed to keep from flinching at the anger of the words.

DANICA CAN’T FIX IT! NOT THIS TIME! MY VOICE IS GONE ! IT’S LIKELY I’LL NEVER SPEAK AGAIN!

The smell of salt filled the air. Vi’s shoulders were shaking violently. 

“You have the same eyes as my Pa.” It was random, but he couldn’t help but blurt it out. “Not the same color, his were greenish. But you have the same look. He and my brother argued lots and lots. He was hurting, in his heart and his head. But he never wanted us to see so he tried to pretend everything was fine. But his eyes always had that look. Especially when he thought he was alone.”
Farkas took another sip of mead. “I heard him tell Kodlak that his mind was too loud. Too cruel. Neither of them knew I was there.” Another sip. “He said that we, me and my brother, were the only reason he was alive. Going back to Lucia and Lydia might not get your voice back, but it might help your heart and your mind not hurt as much.”

He finished his bottle. Eventually, Vi’s tears ran dry. 

Go away.

“Are you-”

GO AWAY!

Farkas left, his hands trembling at the memories the sudden burst of lightning bright forth.

He came back the next night. He had several books tucked under his arm. Vi was leaning against a rock. She looked sick .

“My Pa brought these back from a job when I was a kid. They’re about some kind of language you speak with your hands. He said they were from this village in the middle of nowhere. He said lots of people in the village couldn’t hear, so the others in the village made a language that they could see. Books don’t make much sense to me, but they might be useful to you.”

Vi’s fingers sparked weakly.

I want t o go ho me. The words flickered and faded, almost too fast for him to make out.

“I can carry you, if you want. Or I can go get Lydia.”

DON’T! Farkas jumped. Do n’t lea ve m e al one r ight now . Th ats, that’s a bad idea.

“Can I carry you then?”

A pained, terrified sound escaped Vi.

I gue ss.

“I’ll be careful.”

Farkas stood and slowly stepped towards Vi. She was trembling. She coughed a few times, the scent of copper and pain mixing with the scent of salt. He tried not to make sudden movements as he kneeled to pick her up. 

She was uncomfortably light in his arms. Freezing cold too. She never stopped trembling. 

The guards scrambled to open the gates. One of them gave him directions to her house. 

Farkas cradled her closer when he got to the door of said house. He adjusted his hold on her so that he could knock on her door. It opened almost immediately.

Lydia’s eyes were wide when she saw Vi’s limp form. She quickly pulled him in and hurried him up the stairs to a bedroom. He was told to put her on the bed as Lydia vanished back down the stairs. Farkas gently set her on top of the thick pile of pelts. He set the books on top of the bedside table and turned to leave, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the door frame.

Lydia seemed to be making tea. She didn’t look up when he left.

He made it to Jorrvaskr while it was still dark. He was able to sleep, but it was filled with nightmares and twisted memories.

Chapter Text

Farkas

He was training with Torvar when it happened. He heard shouting long before he knew what was going on. He could hear his brother’s voice rapidly growing closer. 

Lydia strode around the corner, closely followed by an enraged Vilkas.

“You can’t just-”

“Can it.” Lydia snapped. Then she saw Farkas and she relaxed slightly, “There you are. Catch.” She tossed something glimmering in the air. He caught it in one hand. It was a pendant, well made and expensive. He could feel magic pulsing through it. “She said it should help, though she wouldn’t say with what. She’s grateful for what you did. We’ll be gone for a few days. Going up to Dawnstar to adopt Alesan. After that, well, we’ll see you around.” With that, Lydia spun on her heel and shoulder checked Vilkas as she passed him. 

“Who was that?” Vilkas growled, bristling and practically spewing flames.

“Lydia, from the Temple.”

Farkas tucked the pendant into his pocket and turned back to Torvar.

“What was the necklace for?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re just going to accept it?”

“Why not? It’d be rude.”

"Who was she talking about? What'd you do?"

"I helped her friend. Was in a bad place and I got her home."

"When?"

"A week or so ago."

Vilkas growled and gave up. 

Farkas shrugged and went back to training with Torvar.

That night, he put on the pendant. He didn’t feel any different. Farkas sighed and pulled a pile of letters from his pack. He needed to read through them to see what jobs he had to give out.

He was three letters in when he realized what the pendant helped with.

The words were holding still . 

Genevieve

A soft smile graced her lips as Alesan and Lucia chased each other along the road. They'd occasionally stop to chase butterflies or collect flowers, but they usually ended up returning to their never ending game of tag. 

"Vi."

Her eyes slid to Lydia, then to where the elder was looking 

There, on the side of the road, was a wagon with a broken wheel and a man in strange clothing. He was obviously upset about the wheel. Vi settled her hand on the grip of her mace, but approached him, gesturing for her children to stay close to Lydia.

“Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here!” The odd man spun around, throwing his hands up in the air. “Stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving. At rest, but too still!” His eyes glinted when he saw Genevieve. She tilted her head curiously. “Poor Cicero is stuck! Can’t you see?” He swept his arms out and down, displaying the broken wheel and the heavy crate the cart held. “I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well,” he said, “not her. Her corpse! She’s quite dead.” He chuckled darkly. “I’m taking Mother to a new home. A new crypt. But…” His features twisted, “aggh! Wagon wheel!” he shouted, “Damndest wagon wheel! It broke! Don’t you see?” 

Genevieve stepped closer and crouched down to look at the damaged wheel. From what she could tell, it was a simple fix, easily fixed with some basic tools. She stood and scanned the horizon.

There was a farm just off the road.

“Does the little stranger want to help poor Cicero?” At Genevieve’s nod, he continued, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Go to the farm - the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road.” Cicero gestured to said farm, “Talk to Loreius. He had tools! He can help me! But he won’t! He refuses!” Cicero clenched his fists. A moment later, he relaxed a little. “Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!”

Genevieve nodded and turned back to Lydia. She began to sign, moving slowly and deliberately so that Lydia and her children would understand.

“Be careful. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She started up the path. She could hear Lucia and Alesan asking Cicero questions and the clank of Lydia’s armor as she stood on guard.

Loreius was easy enough to find. The moment he saw her, he bristled and scowled.

“Oh for the love of Mara! What now?”

Genevieve narrowed her eyes and twitched her fingers. Words made of ice crystalized in front of her.

The man with the wagon. He needs help fixing the wheel of his wagon.

“That Cicero feller? Tell me something I don’t know. Crazy fool’s already asked me about five times.  Seems he’s not satisfied with my answer.” His scowl deepened. “Why can’t he just leave us alone?”

What’s the problem? I'm fairly certain he’d pay you.

“Pay me? You think this is about money ? Have you seen the man? He’s completely out of his head! A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain’t been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years.” Loreius grimaced. “And he’s transporting some giant box. Says it’s a coffin, and he’s going to bury his mother.” Loreius snorted. “Mother my eye. He could have anything in there. War contraband, weapons. Skooma. Ain’t no way I’m getting involved in any of that.”

Genevieve pursed her lips.

He’s a stranger who needs help. Do the right thing and fix his wheel. Loreius bristled but she cut him off before he could say anything. You know you should help him. Besides, if you’d helped him in the first place, he’d probably be gone and you wouldn’t have had to deal with him for more than a few minutes. She kept her gaze steady. Loreius broke mere seconds later.

“Look, I…” he sighed. “You’re right. Look, tell him I’ll be right down to help him. I just have to finish a few things up here and gather my tools.”

Genevieve spun on her heel and left.

Cicero was talking excitedly to Lucia and Alesan. Lydia didn’t look particularly thrilled, but she wasn’t quite as uneasy as she had been. Cicero stopped when he saw her.

“Well? Did the kindly silent stranger convince Loreius to fix our wheel?” He shouted for joy at Genevieve’s nod. “Thank you kindly stranger! You have made Cicero so happy!” He clapped his hands together in glee. “But more! Even more! My mother thanks you! Here, here!” He tossed a heavy pouch of gold to Genevieve. “For your troubles! Shiny clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you!"

A few coins. She estimated about 500 septims were in the pouch. A few coins indeed. She nodded to Cicero as Lydia ushered the children down the road. As she turned to leave, something made her pause. There was a presence. Something brushed against her mind.

Not yet...

The voice was rasping, yet oddly familiar. Genevieve shrugged it off and caught up with her family. Voices in her head weren't new. That one just happened to be different.

Alesan was delighted with his new home. Lucia gave him the grand tour of the small house while Lydia and Genevieve put their armor and weapons away. Genevieve started to prepare dinner afterwards. A small smile crept onto her face when Lucia pulled Alesan over to the cabinet and began showing him where the plates and bowls and cutlery were kept.

“Mama cooks most of the time, so we set the table and help with the dishes! Sometimes, if Mama isn’t feeling good, Lydia will cook.” She leaned close to her new brother and whispered, “Mama can’t eat when that happens. Also if she’s wearing her Talos amulet, it’s a bad day and the mean voices in her head and her past won’t leave her alone.”

Genevieve’s ears twitched. She finished chopping the vegetables and tossed them into the pot, bringing them to a boil in the broth and letting the stew simmer. While it cooked, she gathered the alchemical ingredients from her pack and put them in the chest above Lucia’s bed. As she did so she heard Lucia speak.

“I forgot, but don’t touch the chest on the shelf above my bed. That’s where Mama keeps all her alchemy stuff. Some of the ingredients are super dangerous but there isn’t anywhere else to put them. She’s been teaching me and some of the other kids here how to make potions, but we gotta have Arcadia or Mama with us. Braith swallowed some chokeberries once. She thought they were snowberries. She got super, super sick and Mama had to give her lots and lots of potions to make her better. So we have to have someone watching us so that that doesn’t happen again.”

Genevieve remembered that incident. That had been a very bad day.

The stew was ready a little while later. Alesan and Lucia ate two bowls each. Once everyone was finished, Lucia showed Alesan where the soap was and the two of them cleaned up, shooing Lydia away when she tried to help.

Genevieve settled into one of the chairs by the fire. She had her pack at her feet and two bowls in her lap. While her children washed the dishes, she began to sort through the treasures in her pack. Gemstones went onto one bowl, soul gems went into the other. Once she was finished, she dug all of the gold, silver, and iron ore and ingots out of her pack. She’d be able to make several kinds of rings and necklaces. Depending on how much she could bully Belethor, they should sell for a fairly good price. Still, that would only last so long, especially with two children and a housecarl to feed and gear to maintain.

“Septim for your thoughts?” Lydia asked, settling into the chair beside her. 

Genevieve shrugged. 

Just thinking about finances. Nothing interesting. These words were made of lightning. The gold I make from selling jewelry and potions is good, but those two are going to grow like weeds, not to mention we have gear to maintain and I still need to travel to High Hrothgar. I’d like to get better at fighting before I have to climb the 7,000 steps, but that’ll probably mean training, which also costs money.

“Hmm. Well, this might not be the best option, but I know the Companions are looking for new members. I’m fairly certain they have trainers for various kinds of weapons and armor, not to mention they’d have steady work. Vi, what’s all that jewelry in the nightstand by your bed? Can you not sell it?”

Ah. She’s nearly forgotten about her stash of stolen jewelry. It was worth quite a bit, but she couldn’t just sell it to anyone.

Those… require a special kind of merchant.

Understanding sparked in Lydia’s eyes. She snorted.

“Let me guess, Nazeem and any other rich and obnoxious person?” She chuckled at Genevieve’s shrug. “Well, I’ll just keep my plausible deniability.”

I think you’re right about the Companions. Now that I think about it, I think one of them told me to try and join up a while ago. It was when I first got here though, and she seemed kind of annoyed when I didn’t talk to her.

“Your health isn’t an offence to anyone. If you don’t want to go see them, we can work something else out.”

I can’t think of anything else to do though. I’ll go the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m making my special sweet rolls. I finally have all the ingredients.

“Are you going up to Dragonsreach or are you going to ask Hulda if you can borrow her oven?”

Hulda. Balgruuf offered, but it’ll be easier to use Hulda’s oven. It’s much easier to defend from mischievous children. 

Lydia laughed.

The rest of the evening passed peacefully. The children played together a little bit before going to bed. Lydia retired shortly after, leaving Genevieve by the warm fire. She went to bed much later, having gotten lost in thought.

Silvery-blue eyes wouldn’t leave her mind. Nor would the memory of being cradled against a broad chest and soothed by a deep, rumbling voice.

Hulda was happy to lend Genevieve the kitchen, so long as she got some of the legendary pastries. Genevieve easily agreed to the trade and got to work.

It was comforting, making the sweet treats. It brought back memories of her father’s cooking and his warm smile. She remembered the first time she’d tried to make sweet rolls. It had been an absolute disaster, but her father had been proud nonetheless. She’d been so little then. So little, and so young.

She iced the rolls as the bittersweet memories ran through her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder if her father would have liked them. Would he have liked Lydia? What about Lucia and Alesan? Was he proud of her or was he ashamed to have such a coward of a daughter, who couldn’t even speak. Who couldn’t sing .

The sweet rolls were ready. She carefully placed them on a large platter and opened the kitchen door. She stopped, raising an eyebrow.

Every single child in the city was sitting in front of the door. Lydia was in a chair by the door. She grinned sheepishly.

“In my defence, those smell delicious. It was all I could do to keep the adults from joining them.”

“Aye,” Hulda said from the bar, “I’m betting half the city is waiting outside. Those smell divine. I’d ask for the recipe, but I already know the answer would be no.”

I made two dozen. We’ll see how many are left over once the children have theirs and I set aside the ones that I promised to others.

There were six sweet rolls left. 

“You should sell these! You’d make a fortune!” Hulda exclaimed, having eaten half of her sweet roll in mere seconds. 

No. I might make some for Carlotta to sell though. But not right now. I need to get some more ingredients before I make anymore. 

“Vi, this is the most delicious thing I have ever had.” Lydia deadpanned. “I don’t care what you have to do to get those ingredients, but for the love of anything and everything, get them .”

Genevieve couldn’t help but laugh. Especially when all of the children agreed wholeheartedly.

The remaining sweet rolls disappeared almost instantly, once they had been offered to the rest of Whiterun. Everyone who had one was delighted with them, and nearly begged her to make more. It was an odd experience, but not an unwelcome one.

She made her war paint that night, showing Lucia and Alesan how to crush the deathbells into pigment and how to neutralize the negative effects of the flowers. She put it on for the first time in months.

She couldn’t help but grin when she looked at her reflection.

Chapter Text

Farkas

She was in Jorrvaskr. Vi was in Jorrvaskr.  

She’d stepped into the main hall right as a brawl broke out between Athis and Njada. After showing Tilma something in her notebook, Vi had slipped down the stairs, going unnoticed by most.

He’d kept himself from following her. She’d looked a bit better, from what little he could see. She was wearing scale armor, instead of leather. She still had a hood, but it had been pushed down, and seemed to be made of a thick, warm cloth instead of leather. She had war paint on, the same color as the strange purple flowers that Arcadia sometimes sold. She still had a steel mace at her hip and a dagger in her boot. A dwarven bow and dwarven arrows were at her back. 

She seemed a little more sure of herself, and not quite as thin as she had been when he’d found her by the stream. 

She still smelled like spices and herbs.

She was following Vilkas when she returned. He looked rather unhappy, she looked indifferent. Her pulse was a little fast, and she smelled uneasy, but she wasn’t nearly as frightened as she had been around him all those weeks ago. 

Farkas followed them outside, leaning against the wall to watch. His brother was underestimating her. Farkas could tell by the way he held his sword. Vi could tell as well. Her lips twitched up in a ghost of a smirk. She readied her shield and her mace.

Her stance was loose and… odd. It looked like she was using a stance for a different fighting style. Maybe for dual wielding? It definitely wasn’t for any two handed weapon. 

Vilkas mistook her stance for sheer lack of knowledge. He told her to take a few swings at him and that she wouldn’t hurt him. He muttered that she couldn’t even if she tried. She must have heard him, as her eyes narrowed.

Vi was fast . She’d slammed her mace through Vilkas’ defence in a fraction of a second and had him flat on the ground. She bounced on her feet, waiting for him to get back on his feet. She was grinning now, something sharp and feral.

Vilkas snarled and scrambled to his feet. He lunged at her. She danced out of the way, smacking his back with her shield and sending him sprawling on the ground. Farkas could tell the beast was rising to the surface as his brother growled. He straightened and stepped closer.

Vi rolled her eyes when Vilkas swung at her. She dropped to the ground and swept his legs out from underneath him. She replaced her mace at her hip and waited for Vilkas to pull himself together. Vilkas was close to losing it. He shoved his sword in her arms before storming away. Farkas watched as Vi rolled her eyes and started towards the Skyforge. He followed his brother’s trail.

“What was that about?”

Vilkas spun around, his eyes flashing yellow. 

“She’s hiding something. Not to mention she didn’t even speak! I don’t know why Kodlak even let her in in the first place.”

“Brother, did it ever occur to you that she can’t speak? She can handle herself well enough, seeing as she had you flat on your back in a second.”

“She’s tiny. I wasn’t expecting her to be that fast, especially with that stance. What do you mean, she can’t speak? Wait,” Vilkas narrowed his eyes, “you know her.”

“She was the stranger that helped Aela and Ria and me with the giant a while back. Didn’t talk then either.” Farkas shrugged. “Took it down with three arrows. Aela and I invited her to join up.”

Vilkas raised an eyebrow.

“ Both of you? That’s a rare event. That was weeks ago though. Why'd she wait so long?”

“Dunno. Ask her yourself.”

Farkas lumbered down the stairs to his room. Vi was here. But why? 

He heard Skjor call his name a while later. He found the elder in Aela’s room. The Huntress was holding a shield. Vi stood fairly close to the door. The tiny woman was fidgeting with a ring on her finger. She smelled uneasy. Not scared, just on edge.

Vi bristled slightly when Aela called him ice brain. Aela and Skjor didn’t seem to notice. She followed him without a word.

“They don’t know, do they? That’s you’re the Storyteller?” Vi shook her head. She paused, then made some motions with her hands. Farkas recognized them, but couldn’t remember what they meant. “I take it you read the books. I, uh, I don’t remember many of the signs. Why didn’t you use your magic? To make the words?”

Vi pulled out her notebook and scribbled something down.

Magic isn’t exactly welcome here. Thank you for the books. Lydia, Lucia, and now Alesan are all learning with me. She stopped writing and tucked the book under her arm, pulling a familiar set of books from her pack. She handed the signing books back to Farkas and continued writing in her notebook. I made copies. 

“Thanks. I’ll try and look at these. Thanks for the necklace. How’d you know, anyway?”

I’d heard of it before. The enchantment was just an experiment though. I just found out that Alesan is the same way. The words move around on the page and the letters flip and twist, right?

“Yeah.”

I’ll be improving the enchantment for Alesan. It should work better, not be so finicky and fiddly. Let me know if you want me to make you another enchanted necklace or something else. 

“You made the necklace?”

Yep.

“That’s… wow. Um, the whelps sleep just up here. I guess you can just stay here if you get too tired or something, ‘cause you already have a house...”

Vi’s lips curved into a smile. 

“Uh, I hope we keep you. This can be a hard life…”

I can handle myself. 

“Aye. Come to me or Aela if you’re looking for work. Once you’ve made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have something for you to do.” He stopped at the whelps’ door. “Here you are.” He glanced at the whelps. Ria was practically vibrating with excitement, the others were either curious or indifferent. “Looks like the others are eager to meet you. Good luck, and welcome to the Companions.”

He climbed the stairs, failing to hide a grin and he heard Ria nearly explode with questions.

Genevieve

The others were… interesting. Ria was both the youngest and the newest of the bunch. She was barely twenty years old. She cheerfully introduced the rest of the group. There was Njada, a scowling nord who only glared at Genevieve. There was Athis, a Dunmer who nodded to her, but said nothing. And there was Torvar, a blond Nord who reeked of mead. He drunkenly greeted her before collapsing on a bed and passing out.

After the introductions were finished, Ria showed Genevieve the bathing areas then led her up to the main hall. She showed her the kitchen, warning her not to step foot in it unless explicitly told to by Tilma herself.  The younger woman shuddered.

“I witnessed Tilma chewing Torvar out for going in there once. I can’t remember what he did, but it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Genevieve giggled silently, bringing a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

“I think that’s about it. Uh, any questions? Oh! What’s your name?”

Genevieve shook her head fondly and flipped to a new page in her notebook

My name’s Genevieve Archembeau, but you can call me Vi. And before you ask, my throat got messed up a while ago, so I can’t speak, at least not right now.

“Vi it is! And don’t worry about not talking. I talk enough for both of us!” 

Genevieve couldn’t help but smile. 

She left Jorrvaskr late that night. She’d ask Farkas for work in the morning, but for now she wanted to rest. She wasn’t surprised to find Lydia had waited for her.

“How’d it go?”

“Better than I thought,” she signed, “I’ll probably have some work in the morning. I had to spar one of the twins. The grumpy one, Vilkas.” She grinned. “He underestimated me. I kicked his ass.”

Lydia laughed quietly. 

“That would have been a sight to see.” Her smile faded slightly, shifting to an expression of concern. “How are you feeling?”

Genevieve lightly touched the Amulet of Talos that rested just above her heart.

“Better. Still not good, but not as bad as this morning.” 

“Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Most likely. I’ll see what work I can get, then I’ll get whatever I need and head out.”

“Make sure you say goodbye before you leave. The children were quite upset the last time you left without letting them know.”

Genevieve nodded. Both of them went to bed a little later. 

Farkas

He couldn't get Vi out of his head. Her smile haunted his mind. He spent most of the night looking through the books she'd returned. The pictures and words made little sense to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up and put them away.

He was startled awake when someone knocked on his door. He stumbled over to it and opened it, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Vi’s lips pulled into a smile and she stifled a giggle with her hand. 

“Uh, hi.” He glanced at his reflection in a nearby bowl. He grimaced. No wonder Vi was laughing. His hair was a mess and his war paint was smudged. 

Vi held out her notebook.

Tilma was looking for you. 

“Uh, thanks.” He attempted to smooth his hair down. “Is she in the kitchen?” Vi nodded and left. Once she was out of sight, Farkas groaned and lightly hit his head against the door frame. He couldn’t remember a single sign. And he was a mess.

Once he’d redone his war paint and wrestled his hair into something presentable, he made his way upstairs. Tilma smiled knowingly when he found her.

“Late night? You missed breakfast.”

“Aye.” He stifled a yawn. 

“What are those books you were reading?”

“Uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “they tell how to talk with your hands. Pa gave them to me.” He accepted the water Tilma handed to him and brought it to his lips.

“Your sudden interest in them wouldn’t have anything to do with Vi’s presence, would it?” Farkas choked. Tilma laughed quietly. “Don’t worry dear, your secret’s safe with me. I get the feeling she could use someone to talk to. She’s rather skittish. She seems to like you though.” She handed him a plate of food and shooed him out the door. 

Farkas sat and wolfed the food down as quickly as he could. He could hear Vilkas training Ria out in the yard. He could also hear Athis and Torvar sparring and Njada talking with Aela about using leverage with shields. One he was finished, he cleared his plate and headed outside.

He scanned the yard, and was slightly disappointed when he couldn’t see or smell Vi. Then he saw her.

She was at the edge of the training yard, stretching. He swallowed. She was very flexible. Vi was doing the splits and reaching forward. She seemed unsatisfied when she sat up and began looking around. He guessed she didn’t find what she was looking for because she rolled sideways to where her pack and mace were sitting and dug through it. She pulled out several rolled bear pelts. Then she resumed her stretching, using the pelts to prop up her legs.

By the time she was done, the entire yard was staring at her.

She tilted her head to the side, causing her earring to gleam in the sunlight.

“How did you do that?” Ria asked, openly in awe.

Vi raised an eyebrow then reached for her notebook, scribbled something down, and tossed it to Ria. Vilkas leaned over Ria’s shoulder, his brow furrowing as he read.

“You lived with a Khajiit caravan?” 

Vi nodded, standing in one smooth motion before springing forward to balance on her hands. She lifted one arm up, lowered and raised herself, then switched arms, repeating the action. Seemingly satisfied, she pushed herself into the air and flipped, landing on her feet. She held out her hands for her notebook. A dumbstruck Ria handed it to her. 

“Did you kill those bears? What other pelts do you have?” The younger woman was practically vibrating. Amused, Vi began pulling an impressive pile out of her bag. She had bear pelts, cave bear pelts, snow bear pelts, wolf pelts, ice wolf pelts, sabre cat pelts, snow sabre cat pelts, and a couple of deer hides. “You killed all of these?”

Farkas heard Aela shift. He flicked his eyes over to her. She actually looked interested in a newblood. 

He slid his gaze back to Vi. She was explaining something to Ria with her book and the pelts. His brother was grumpily standing in the background.

"None of these have holes in them. Wait, you got them in the eye? Every time? How? "

Vi grinned and pulled the dagger from her boot. A few seconds later, the very same dagger was deeply embedded into a target on the far side of the training yard. It was dead center. Vi scribbled something in her notebook and tapped Ria to pull her awestruck attention away from the target.

"That makes sense. You’re still a really good shot though.” 

Vi shrugged and began stuffing the pelts into her pack. 

Vi came to him a few hours later. She was looking for work.

“If you want to add to your pelt collection, Aela has extermination jobs. I just have intimidation jobs or clearing out people that cause trouble.”

Vi handed him her book.

I have plenty of pelts. Besides, I’ve been bounty hunting for a while, so clearing out some bandits or rogue mages won’t be that different from what I’m used to.

“There’s some Forsworn causing trouble near Rorikstead, if you’re interested.”

Forsworn?

“Unpredictable, unknowable, and dangerous.”

Sounds fun. 

Farkas’ lips twitched upward.

“The Forsworn camp is at a place called Serpent’s Bluff Redoubt.” He bent to point it out on Vi’s map. “Be careful.”

She flashed a blinding grin at him as she left.

He expected her to be gone for at least a week and a half. She was back in five days, grinning like a madman.

“You’re back.”

Yep. Wasn’t too bad, though the hagraven would have been nice to know about. Damn things are a pain in the ass to fight. Oh, and some people named Erik and Mralki might be showing up soon. I may or may not have paid to get Erik fitted for some armor. Though they’ll probably go to Warmaiden’s cause it’s closer. 

“Hagraven?”

Yep. was doing some creepy ritual. Also Forsworn are annoying. 

A courier burst through the doors. He swore violently when he saw Vi.

“You… are… a pain… in the ass… you know… that?” He gasped. Vi just snorted and shrugged. The courier turned to Farkas. “This is… for you.” He shoved a letter into Farkas’ hand. “Just letting you… know the Forsworn were… taken care of.” He shot a glare with little real fire behind it at Vi. “Though, you already know that. She’s… really fast. It’s annoying.” He left, still grumbling under his breath. 

Farkas glanced at the letter. Damn, Vi really was that fast. 

“Here’s your pay. How’d you do that so fast?”

Didn’t use roads and I know how to move in the wilds. Also Frost is a fairly fast horse. 

“Damn.”

Vi shrugged and waved goodbye. If Farkas had to guess, he’d say she was going to see her children.

Of course, Vilkas had something to say.

"She's back already? Did she even go to Rorikstead?"

"Aye. If you don't believe me, here's the letter from the client.” 

“Where’s she going?”
“Dunno. Didn’t ask.”
His brother grumbled. Vilkas had been in a sour mood ever since that day in the training yard. Ria stuck close to Vi for the rest of the day. The day after, she’d managed to kill a bear on a hunting trip with Vilkas and was excited to show Vi the pelt. 

Farkas left his brother to his own devices. 

Vi didn’t return until late the next morning. She stayed well into the evening then left again. She did the same the next day and the day after. Farkas didn’t see her so much as look at any of the food. 

She settled into a routine as the days turned to weeks. She’d come to Jorrvaskr late in the morning. She’d train a little or just talk with Ria or occasionally one of the other whelps. Then she’d leave in the evening. When she took a job, it was usually from Farkas and she was never gone for more than a few days. 

It infuriated Vilkas to no end. 

One night, however, the routine was broken. It was late and Farkas couldn’t sleep. He sighed and grabbed a bottle of mead and one of the signing books. He quietly made his way up the stairs. He stopped.

Vi was sitting at one of the tables. She was reading a book. She looked exhausted.

Making sure to put some weight in his steps, he moved to sit beside her. 

“Can I sit?”

Vi nodded, not looking up from her book. 

He sat and opened his mead and the book. That was another thing about Vi. She never seemed to drink. She’d have water, but never any form of alcohol. She rarely signed. He slid his gaze over to watch her read.

She was pretty. Her hair was mostly loose, with the top pulled into two braids that met at the back and went into a ponytail. He hadn’t noticed how long her hair was. It reached her lower back. Her eyes seem to gleam in the limited light. They looked like the eyes of a cat. 

“Why did you live with the Khajiit caravans?” 

Vi looked up. Her pointed ears twitched, causing her earrings to gleam. She hesitated. She didn’t have her notebook, he realized.

“You can use your magic,” he said, “I won’t mind. Or you can sign? I’m not very good at it though...” Vi’s fingers sparked with purplish light.

My father was friends with Ma’dran. After my father’s murder, I was alone for a really long time. Ma’dran found me and took me in. I got my ears pierced while I was with them. 

“That makes sense. Why’d you get so many earrings?”

The Khajiit were the first to give a damn about my well being. I don’t care what people think about them, I’m proud to wear their earrings. I got so many because it was how others in the caravan had them. 

“Did they teach you how to travel so fast?”

No. I learned that while I was on my own. 

“Why is your magic so easy to read? The necklace helps with paper stuff, but I can always read your magic.” Vi’s lips twitched up. 

I worked with my son to find out how to help him the best. Before that, I had some Illusion tricks blended into the spell that help with clarity. 

“Oh.” Farkas didn’t know what that meant.

Why do you fear magic?

“Um, that’s,” he slumped forward and sighed. “That’s not a fun story. If I tell you, will you tell me why you don’t eat? Or why you’re scared of Vilkas and Skjor, but not really scared of me.” Her scent always spiked with unease or fear when she was near Vilkas or Skjor. She wasn’t really comfortable around Aela either. But she rarely smelled uneasy around him. Not like before.

That’s not fun either. If you really want to know, sure. But don’t tell anyone else.

“I won’t. I don’t like magic ‘cause it only ever hurts.” He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. “My first memory is of mages hurting Vilkas. I guess we’d been kidnapped or something, but all I remember is pain and magic. I remember Vilkas going limp and the mages laughing as they turned to me.” He shuddered. “It still gives me nightmares.” The mages had kept other prisoners. Those prisoners had been experimented on and tortured in front of him. The mages eventually killed them, then resurrected them just to keep experimenting. Vilkas hadn’t died, but it had been too close for him to ever forget. “Jergen, our father, rescued us. I remember everything hurting and then suddenly the mages had their heads lopped off and Jergen was trying to get me to drink a potion. The next thing I remember is waking up at Jorrvaskr.”

Vi’s eyes were sad. She knew .

I don’t eat because I can’t. I’ve been poisoned and drugged more times than I can hope to remember. At some point, I just stopped being able to eat food that I hadn’t cooked. For some reason, I can usually trick myself into eating a little bit at inns. I have to check it for poison and such, but I can usually eat at least a few bites. She sighed. As for Vilkas and Skjor, they just remind me of those who’ve hurt me. Big Nord men have never been good news, but those with short tempers have always ment pain. Before, well, before I had my voice taken, I was recovering from some rather unpleasant events. Basically, I, she paused, her hands shaking, I got hurt. Badly. The cause was a certain group of big Nord men. I’d barely managed to escape.

“But why aren’t you scared of me?” He was Nord (and a werewolf but she didn’t know that). He was big(he was the largest of all of the Companions and was taller than most of the Altmer he’d met.) He was male.

You make sure I know you’re close by. You’ve seen me at a low point and don’t think any less of me. You’ve tried to help me and you’ve kept my secrets. 

“Why do you use magic?” he blurted out. He had to know. Vi was nice. But Vi used magic. Her ears twitched and the words dimmed and moved down to the table instead of the air.. Farkas was dimly aware of the door to the stairs opening and the stairs creaking.

I use it because I want to. Magic is a tool, just like a sword or a torch or a piece of armor. It allows me to never be unarmed and it allows me to heal. It helps me protect myself and it lets me protect my family. What happened to you was wrong.

“Vilkas doesn’t know.” It seemed his secrets had a mind of their own. “About Pa rescuing us. He doesn’t remember. He just remembers lots of pain. He doesn’t know about the voices in Pa’s head either. They, um, they didn’t really get along. Pa left for the Great War one day. He didn’t come back.” Kodlak had become a second father, yes. But Farkas still missed Jergen. 

My father was murdered when I was very young. I was the one who found his body. I had to gather up the pieces and burn him. There was an old sadness in her eyes. It’s okay to miss your father Farkas. It’s okay to be uncomfortable and to have fears, but it isn’t okay to judge others because of them. So far, you’ve avoided doing that. Your brother, it seems, excels at it.

Vi stood, gathering her book. Good night Farkas. 

"Night."

Skjor was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He looked… unimpressed.

"You're awfully close with her."

"Her name's Vi. And neither of us could sleep."

"You were so focused on her that you weren't paying attention to your surroundings."

"I heard you." So did she. But Skjor didn’t need to know that. He brushed past Skjor and headed to his room. He knew sleep wouldn't come. Instead, he dug out a block of wood and his carving tools from his hiding spot and started a new project.

Chapter Text

Farkas

Vi was late. Farkas was getting worried. He'd given her a job in Falkreath. Just some bandits that had been causing trouble. She should have been back weeks ago.

Farkas jumped when the doors slammed open. Vi stormed in, followed by a Redguard woman with two curved swords and strange golden armor.

"You’re back!" 

Vi snorted. She began to sign rapidly.

“No shit. Also Siddgeir is a pain in the ass. Also fuck bears. And dragons.”

“The Jarl?”

“Yes. He’s a stuck up brat and she won’t let me kick his ass.” The Redguard sighed.

“Genevieve, he’s a Jarl. A Jarl who has made you his Thane.”

“So? Being a Thane isn’t anything new.” The woman shook her head in fond exasperation. 

“Thane? What happened?” The entire hall had gone silent at this point. Everyone was staring at Vi and her companion.

Vi scowled. Then she spun on her heel and left. The Redguard sighed again and turned to leave.

“I think she’ll come back tomorrow morning,” she said, “But I’m not entirely sure.”

“Who are you?” 

“I'm her housecarl, Rayya.” Rayya left, leaving the stunned Companions to try and piece together what had just happened.

“Farkas, what was Vi doing with her hands?” Ria asked.

“Signing. It's a way to speak with your hands. She’d been learning it so I thought it might be nice to know.”

 “I thought she was just clearing out some bandits, how did she become Thane?” Vilkas’ voice was a mixture of frustration and genuine curiosity. 

“Dunno. We’ll have to ask when she comes back.”

Rayya

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t a small house with two children (three, if the scowling child was included) and another housecarl. Lydia, as she soon found the other housecarl to be called, was a brunette Nord with piercing eyes. She was well-muscled and carried a dwarven axe at her hip.

Currently, she was staring Rayya down while the children (Braith, Lucia, and Alesan, or so she was told) unceremoniously dragged Genevieve up the stairs. Her Thane was laughing silently. It was the happiest Rayya had seen her.

“You know Sign.” 

“Yes.” Rayya swallowed. “I had seen it when I was younger, so I was already familiar with it.”

“You have interesting armor.”

“It’s a hard won prize. Genevieve refitted it for me. Yes, it is made from gold. And moonstone.” 

A sharp smile spread over Lydia’s face.

“Hard won?” She rested her hand on the axe at her hip. “I know what that’s like. Got this from a Dragon Priest’s hord. The staff’s from that battle too,” she said, gesturing to an ornate staff that thrummed with magical energy. “Never thought a dragon would be the easier part of a fight.”

“Dragons seemed to be a common occurrence. We were fighting one when we stumbled into a bandit camp. Several of them were wearing this armor. We eventually killed all of them and the beast, but it was a close call.” They’d also found a strange spider-like creature that Genevieve had immediately gotten attached to and had declared her new friend. Said friend was currently living in the small house Genevieve had built shortly after being named Thane. Rayya suppressed a shudder at the memory. The creature was strange and a little unnerving.

“Vi’s a magnet for trouble.” Lydia rolled her shoulders. “You staying here or at the Bannered Mare?”

“I’m not entirely sure…”

“You’ll be less squished at the Bannered Mare.” She glanced up at the sound of the children laughing. “They’ll be fine for a little bit, if you want me to take you there. Word of warning, Mikael is a sleeze. Feel free to slug him. Vi and I do it regularly.”

Rayya nodded and followed Lydia out the door. They walked side by side through the streets in silence. 

“Has she been eating?”

A memory flicked through Rayya’s mind.

“My Tha-. Genevieve, you haven’t eaten in three days.”

“ I know. I’m not forgetting, at least not this time. Food just isn’t cooperating right now."

She had been wearing the Amulet of Talos for nearly a week straight.

“Some days are better than others. She only returned to the Amulet of Kynareth a few days ago. She was wearing the Amulet of Talos before that.”

“How long?”
“About three weeks. I got her to eat a little bit on most days though. She really hates cabbage, doesn’t she?” 

Lydia snorted.

“To put it mildly.”

They arrived at the Bannered Mare. Lydia was right, Mikael was a sleeze. She’d slugged him approximately 30 seconds after meeting him. Lydia had laughed so much that she’d nearly been crying. 

Genevieve

It was early for her to be at Jorrvaskr. None of the others were up yet, though Tilma was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the band of warriors. Genevieve knocked on the door frame. Tilma looked up and smiled.

“You’re early dear. Is everything alright?”

She nodded and set her notebook on the table in front of Tilma.

Would it be alright if some friends of mine come here today? They want to train together and I owe everyone an explanation for yesterday.

“I see no problem. How many should I be expecting? And don’t worry dear, you can make something for yourself."

Genevieve’s eyes widened.

How did you know? And just two. 

“I’ve seen all sorts of injuries under this roof. I’m old enough to see the difference between being rude and being hurt. Thank you for the heads up dear. I take it, you'll be back in a few hours?”

Genevieve nodded and left.

She returned several hours later with Lydia and Rayya following shortly behind her. So far, they seemed to be getting along. Her children liked Rayya as well.

Hopefully, the others wouldn’t ask her too many questions.

Farkas

His mouth went dry at the sight of Vi. She wasn’t in her armor. Instead, she was in a loose cotton shirt, dark breeches, and thick-soled boots. Her hair was pulled into a long, thick braid. She wore a copper circlet with onyx stones instead of her hood. An Amulet of Kynareth peeked out from under her shirt. A messenger bag was slung across her shoulder. The outfit was...distracting, to say the least. It showed off what was normally hidden. She'd really filled out. A lot.

Vi was beautiful. 

Farkas was screwed.

Lydia and Rayya were right behind Vi, both in full armor. 

Farkas couldn’t help but notice that his brother was rather focused on Lydia. 

Vi disappeared into the kitchen after Tilma ushered the two heavily armored women into their seats and seemingly pulled two plates of food out of thin air. She reappeared with a small plate of her own and settled into the seat beside Farkas. 

The rest of the Companions pounced.

“How’d you become Thane of Falkreath?”

“What’s with the fancy armor?”

“Why are you here?”

Rayya was the first to speak after the barrage of questions.

“I got the armor while helping Genevieve fight off a dragon. She became Thane by assisting the people of Falkreath, as well as the Jarl.” She sipped on a bottle of mead and Lydia spoke next.

“We’re here because we wanted to spar with each other. Test each other’s mettle as Vi’s housecarls.”

“Housecarls?” Vilkas’ voice was strangled. Lydia leveled a piercing glare at him.

“Oh, it’s you. Yes, both of us are her housecarls. After all, she is Thane of Whiterun. Has been for quite a while.”

Farkas slid his eyes over to Vi. She was quietly eating her brook bass and grilled leeks. She was sitting close to him. She was hiding, he realized. He shifted a little closer to hide her even more. A small smile crept across her face. Keeping his voice low, he leaned down and murmured,

“You’re really Thane of Whiterun?” Vi nodded and pulled out her notebook from her bag.

Yes. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be accepted for a title. I wanted to be accepted for my skill.

“Makes sense. How’d you end up being Thane of Falkreath though?”

Long story short, I got a letter from the Jarl ages ago. Figured I might as well see what he wanted. One thing led to another, and I ended up getting named Thane. Then I bought some land and built a little house so Rayya would have something to do. 

“You bought and built a house.” That couldn’t have been cheap. Where had she gotten the gold?

I sell potions and jewelry and I’ve done favors for a lot of people. They usually end up paying, plus I sell some of the stuff I find while I’m adventuring. 

“Wow.” She was more skilled than she seemed. No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t hidden her skills, he just hadn’t noticed them. 

Farkas glanced up. Lydia and Rayya were still answering questions and keeping the attention off of Vi. “Can you teach me about magic?” Vi’s startlingly blue eyes bored into him. “I just,” his shoulders slumped forward, “I might not be so scared if I know more about it.”

A small, almost soft, smile graced her lips.

Sure, I can do that. I don’t know all that much, but I’ll happily share what I know.

Farkas felt something warm settle in his chest.

Lydia and Rayya had attracted quite the crowd. Vi was sitting in a chair with a clear view of both of them. She was separating plants from her bag into different bowls. Farkas had settled into the chair beside her. The rest of the Companions were scattered around, all of them twitchy with anticipation for the sparring match that was about to begin. 

Lydia readied her axe and her shield. Rayya drew her dual scimitars and settled into her stance. It looked oddly familiar to the stance Vi often used.

The match began. 

It was immediately clear that both women were highly skilled warriors. Lydia’s movements were strong and steady. Rayya’s were fluid and fast.

If one got a solid hit in, it was immediately returned. Had the blows not been so tightly controlled, they would have been deadly. 

Farkas glanced at Vilkas. His brother was watching Lydia far more than he was watching Rayya. He turned his gaze back to Vi. She was still sorting the plants, though she was glancing up every few moments. He leaned down.

“Who do you think will win?” he murmured. Vi’s hands stilled. Then they continued to pick apart the blossoms, her fingers slowly frosting over. Tiny words of ice appeared, hovering just over the table.

I think it’ll end in a tie, or it will be very close. They balance each other out. They are also both extremely stubborn and feel as if they have make sure the other is good enough to protect me. It must be a housecarl thing. I traveled with both of them for weeks. We watched each other’s backs and they didn’t mind all my...issues. Both of them flatly refused to leave my service when I told them that they could and both of them have become my friends.

“Mm. What are you doing with the flowers?”

Sorting them. I need to know what I have and what I need. After those two finish, I’m going to take both with me to gather ingredients in the plains for a little bit. 

“What happens after that?”

We’ll come back. I have some stuff to do in Riften, which I’ll take Rayya with me for. There’s this skooma dealer the Jarl wants me to take care of and I have a bunch of things that people asked me to get for them.

“Like what?”

Ingredients mostly. Ice wraith teeth, fire salts, deathbells, nightshade, nirnroot, and jazbay grapes to be specific. I also have some fish to track down and turn in.

“Fish?” What did fish have to do with anything?

Some are good for potions. There are also a couple people at the Fishery who have specific requests. 

Farkas looked up at the sparring match when the unearthly screech of metal on metal rang through the yard. 

Both women were exhausted, chests heaving and sweat dripping down their faces. Lydia’s shield had a nasty dent in it, though the nicks in Rayya’s scimitars weren’t much better. Both women grinned, sharp and unnerving.

“You’ll do,” they said, perfectly in sync. 

Vi snorted.

Chapter Text

Farkas

Vi was coming back soon. She’d said so in her letter.

The others didn’t know why he was so excited. He shrugged off their teasing. Vi was coming back. That was all he cared about. 

Vi was his friend(though he hoped she’d one day be more). She didn’t tease him about his intelligence. She teased him about pranks and mischief and his gargantuan height. Her words never hurt. 

He knew the moment she was back. Her scent (always spices and herbs and warmth) drifted through the air, reaching him long before she was anywhere near Jorrvaskr. Farkas felt pride warm his blood. 

Skjor had begrudgingly admitted that it was time for Vi’s trial. Farkas had volunteered to be her Shield-Brother and Kodlak had approved before anyone could object, namely Vilkas. 

It seemed to take forever for Vi to get to Jorrvaskr. 

“You’re back! Any trouble?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so, but you never know.” He handed her the gold. “Skjor’s looking for you.”

“What does he want?”

“Uh, I’m not supposed to say, but it’s a special request. I’ll be going with you, but he knows all of the details.” Vi shrugged and waved as she left to find Skjor. Farkas headed down to his quarters to pack.

He was mostly done when he heard Vi’s quiet footsteps. He adjusted himself so he could see her and continued packing. To his surprise, she didn’t sign, but made words out of ice.

So we’re going to Dustman’s Cairn to get a shard of Wuuthrad?

“Yep. When do you want to leave?”

Tomorrow at dawn. I need to brew some more potions before we go anywhere. I also want to let Alesan, Lucia, Braith, and Lydia know what’s up. 

“Fine by me. Meet me at the gate?”

Will do. See you then. She waved and left. 

Farkas finished packing and set his pack by his door. It was early evening and he didn’t need to go anywhere until just before dawn. He groaned and dragged a hand down his face. It was going to be a long night.

The sun was just beginning to rise when he reached the gate. Farkas didn’t have to wait long for Vi to arrive. Much to his surprise, she was followed by three children and Lydia. He recognized Braith and Lucia, having seen both of them before. The boy, however, was completely unknown.

They insisted on sending me off. You’ve probably met Braith and Lucia. This is my son, Alesan. 

The bleary eyed boy yawned and waved. Farkas waved back. Lydia stepped forward.

“This goes without saying, but try to keep her out of too much trouble.” Lydia ignored Vi’s huff.

“I’ll try.” He wasn’t expecting it to be a hard trial. A few draugr and maybe a sabre cat or two at most.

“She’s a trouble magnet, so be careful.”

Vi huffed again before kneeling in front of her children. She signed something to them before pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. Then she stood and headed towards the gate, only turning back to briefly wave to them. 

They were off the road almost immediately. Vi was fast. Farkas had to push a little to keep up. 

“You’re fast.” Vi grinned and slowed slightly, allowing him to fully catch up. She started signing.

“I’m used to the wilds. The roads twist and turn too much so I usually end up cutting through the wilds. Plus I lived in them for years.”

“Makes sense. I hadn’t thought about not using the roads. At this rate, we’ll get there early tomorrow instead of late the day after.”

Vi grinned.

Farkas caught a few rabbits for their dinner. Vi cooked them, rubbing some kind of spice mixture onto them before roasting them over the fire. Once they were done, they both dug in.

“This is delicious!” Farkas bellowed. “It’s even better than Tilma’s cooking!” He paled quickly. “Don’t tell her I said that. She’s scary when she’s mad.” His chest warmed at Vi’s silent giggle. 

“Thank you, ” she signed, “Don’t worry about Tilma, your secret is safe with me.”

“Where’d you learn to cook so well?” 

“I have memories of my father cooking. He always made delicious food, no matter how tired he was. I figured some of it out while I was on my own, but I learned most of it while I traveled with Ma’dran. He gave me full access to all of his spices and herbs and encouraged me to experiment. I could do whatever I wanted, so long as I shared my creations with the rest of the caravan.” 

“He was smart. Um, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what was your father like?” 

“ Warm. I remember him being warm. He taught me the basics of alchemy when I was very small. He loved books and food. He taught me the few spells he knew to honor my mother and protected me as much as he could from the villagers. I still don’t know why they hated us so much. Or why they wouldn’t let us leave. ”

“He sounds like a good father. How old were you when he, um, died?”

“Five.”

Five. She’d been on her own since she was five. 

Farkas tore another strip of meat off ofthe roasted rabbit and chewed quietly. He’d neer been truly alone. He’d always had his twin. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like.

The meal was finished in an uncomfortable silence.

Farkas was more restless than usual that night. He wasn’t sure if Vi really slept, but her heartbeat and breathing were slow and steady. 

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up just before sunrise. He glanced around. Vi was gone.
He bolted upright. She was still nowhere to be found. Then he saw a scrap of paper tucked under a rock. He recognized Vi’s handwriting. It was a little hard to read in the dim light of the stars and moons, but he was eventually able to make out what the words were.

Went to gather some potion stuff and maybe catch breakfast. Will be back soon.

He’d wait an hour, at most. Then he’d look for her. 

While he waited, he worked on breaking down the camp. He finished rolling the bedrolls and filled the waterskins within minutes. Thankfully, Vi reappeared just as the sun began to make itself known. She was carrying a couple of rabbits and her bag was stuffed with flowers. 

She quickly stoked the fire and set the rabbits to cook after rubbing them with her special spices. Once they were properly roasting, she turned to him and began to sign.

“Sorry for leaving, but you looked like you needed the sleep. I kept you in my sight the whole time, so if anything had happened I’d have been able to help.”

“Really? I couldn’t see you.”
She giggled silently.

“I’m good at hiding. Let’s eat.”

Just as they had been the night before, the rabbits were delicious. 

They reached Dustman’s Cairn a few hours later. Vi put on a strange mask before they went inside. While she looked in the urns and messed with the lock of the chest, Farkas glanced around.
“Someone’s been digging here.” He breathed in. The scents were still fresh. “Recently. Tread lightly.”

Vi nodded. Her head tilted to the side and settled her hand on the hilt of her mace. She moved forward, her footsteps becoming silent as she glided down the passage. Farkas could smell the mildew and hear the shuffling footsteps and guttural grunts of draugr. A few moments later, he could see sarcophagi against the walls. 

“Careful around the burial stones. I don’t want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back,” he teased. He could picture Vi’s unimpressed stare through her mask. 

“Bet I can kill more draugr than you. Loser buys dinner.”

“You’re on.” Farkas grinned and readied his greatsword. This was going to be fun. 

It was. Then it wasn’t.

“This feels wrong. Be on your guard, I think the lever’s a trap, but it’s the only way through.”

He nodded. 

VI was right. It was a trap. Then the Silver Hand showed up. He was up against the gate, five against one. They had silver weapons. Vi couldn’t get a clear shot. He cursed. 

“Forgive me.” he murmured. He prayed Vi wouldn’t hate him.

He let the wolf take over. The Silver Hand were no match for an enraged werewolf protecting his (potential mate) friend. They managed a few solid hits before they were ripped to shreds. 

He glanced at Vi. She didn’t smell scared, just uneasy.

Farkas scooped up his armor and lumbered through the now open gate. He shifted back and pulled the heavy metal plates into place, swiftly latching the interlocking pieces together and adjusting them to fit comfortably. He felt woozy, but he managed to stumble over to the lever.  He’d barely pulled it to release Vi when she appeared and was fussing over his sluggishly bleeding wounds.

“Vi, Vi I'm fine.” He winced when she pulled her mask off and glared at him. Words of sparking electricity snapped into existence.

No you’re not! She held up one of the silver swords and a greenish bottle. They used poison specifically made to kill werewolves! She tossed the weapon and poison aside and shoved a healing potion into his hands. Drink this. I don’t have the ingredients to make the antidote right now. 

“You aren’t scared?”

Farkas, I already knew you and the rest of the Circle were werewolves. It wasn’t hard to figure out since I’ve interacted with werewolves before. I don’t care as long as you don’t hurt anyone I care about. 

She knew? She wasn’t scared? He downed the potion, grimacing at the taste. Then he stood, wincing as his muscles protested. It hadn’t even been that bad of a fight, why did he feel so off?

Farkas! We need to go back! The poison is going to kill you if you don’t get the antidote soon!

“No,” he grunted, “We’ve got to keep moving. If we go back now, Skjor and Vilkas will just see it as another reason to doubt your skills. I can handle a little poison.”

But Farkas-

“Vi, come on. Besides, I got you to keep me alive, don’t I?”

Vi was not impressed. She pulled the mask back on.

Fine. But only because I know better than to waste time and energy arguing.

Unsurprisingly, there were more Silver Hand and draugr as they continued. Farkas did his best to shrug off the poison, but he was ashamed to admit that Vi did most of the work. She also kept giving him a steady stream of potions to keep him alive. 

“Vi,” he wheezed, “what are you doing?”

She was looking through the urns and rifling through the pockets of the dead Silver Hand.

Looking for potions or useful ingredients. She popped up, holding up her cupped hands triumphantly. Several glittering gems rested in them. Look at all the gems I’ve found! I’ll be able to buy Honeyside soon! Or make some pretty jewelry. She shoved the gems into her pack and bent to pluck the mushrooms from the ground.

“You like gems, don't you?”

Yep! There’s just some-

She suddenly stood up.

“What’s wrong?”

We’ve got to get moving. 

She ducked under his arm and helped to hurry him to the next room. She helped him down the stairs, only pausing to grab the potions and gold from off of a table at the bottom of the stairs. She ended up shooting several Silver Hand with her bow, determined to keep Farkas from fighting as his strength waned. He fully collapsed just as Vi killed the last of a small group of skeevers. 

He faded in and out of consciousness, only fully coming too after several potions were forced down his throat. 

Vi was kneeling next to him. There was an alchemy table behind her, ingredients and tools scattered about as if they had been used in a hurry.

“What,” he coughed, “happened?”

The poison is setting in, and fast. We’ve got to get you back to Jorrvaskr. All this running around is only making it worse. 

“Let's get going then.”

He grunted as Vi hauled him to his feet. He stumbled through the door.

Straight into a nest of giant frostbite spiders. His knees buckled and he felt a piercing pain in his shoulder, followed by a flood of ice rushing through his veins. Darkness took him in seconds.

Thick forests stretched as far as the eye could see. Mist swirled around the base of the trees, hiding secrets disguised as blossoms and the flickering glow of torchbugs. A twig snapped and he spun around. His mouth ran dry. 

Snapping and snarling beasts stepped out of the mist. At the center of the pack, stood a towering figure draped in hide and holding a spear made of carved bone. A deer skull was pulled low over the being’s face, the antlers twisting and curving high above everything but the trees.

Hircine.

“So, you’ve come to join the Hunt. Or will you become our prey?”

Farkas swallowed. He didn’t want to do either. He couldn’t leave Vi. Or Vilkas. Or the rest of the Companions. He couldn’t leave his family.

“Well?” The beasts at Hircine’s feet snapped. They wanted to hunt.

Before Farkas could do anything, the air in front of him tore open and Vi stepped into the forest.

“HIRCINE!” she shouted. The Daedric Lord of the Hunt tilted his head.

“Ah, greetings my Champion.”

Champion?

“I’ve interacted with werewolves before.”

Had this been what she’d ment?

“Fuck off! He’s not coming with you and he’s not your prey either!” 

Hircine laughed as his beasts growled.

“No? His soul belongs to me. Why should I let him go free?”

“Because he’s mine you asshole! He’s one of my own and you and your pathetic mutts aren’t taking him!”

Hers?

The beasts were seconds away from lunging. 

Hircine laughed again.

“You amuse me mortal! Very well, keep him. After all, the patient hunter reaps the finest rewards.”

The world warped and wavered.

He sucked in a shuddering breath. Gentle hands helped him sit up and pressed him against something firm. Warmth spread from where the hands touched him.

Farkas pried his eyes open. 

Beautiful golden light swirled around Vi’s hands. Her mask was off. Her eyes glistened and there were tears dripping down her face. Her warpaint was smudged and smeared. Her hands were shaking.

“‘M yours?”

Her pretty blue eyes met his. Her head dropped against his armor and her entire body shook as she cried. Her fingers sparked a few times, but words never appeared.

“Vi, what just happened?” He didn’t get an answer. Instead, Vi slowly sat up and tried in vain to wipe her tears away. She succeeded only in smudging her warpaint further. “Vi-”

She pushed away and stood, walking over to where her mask lay on the floor. She put it on and stiffly stalked over to where Farkas was struggling to climb to his feet. She helped him stand, pulling his arm over her shoulder as they slowly made their way to the next room. She was still trembling.

As they left the web-filled space, he caught a glimpse of the spiders’ charred corpses.

They stumbled through the rest of the crypt, Vi taking out two draugr with her bow before they got too close. She also collected mushrooms and moss and poked around in every urn and chest they came across. And she pried a few glittering gems from the wall. They had to stop several times for Farkas to down more potions or for Vi to heal him a little bit with her magic. Eventually, they made it to what had to be the final chamber. 

An uncomfortable amount of sarcophagi lined the walls and a strange curved wall rose at the far end of the room. There was a large chest nearby, and Farkas could see the shard of Wuuthrad on the table that was just in front of the wall. 

“There it is.” He slid his arm off of Vi’s shoulders. “Go get it. Then let's get outta here.” She handed him another potion and ran over to the table. She scooped the shard into her bag, as well as the potions and the soul gems. She paused at the wall, lightly resting her fingers against the carvings. She scribbled something in her notebook then shoved it back into her pack. Just as she turned around, several of the sarcophagi burst open.

Farkas groaned and pulled out his greatsword. It hurt, but they’d both need to fight if all of the sarcophagi opened. The fight went well for the first few draugr. Then his legs gave out and searing pain ripped through his body. A jolt of pain burned from his shoulder as the draugr’s axe bit into his shoulder. 

The offending draugr stumbled back when an arrow split its skull. Vi appeared in front of him, her hands glowing as healing magic poured into his body. Once he could see straight, Vi moved between him and the draugr. She tossed her mace and shield down and pulled off her mask.

Two glowing swords appeared and she gripped them tightly. The group of draugr lunged forward. She pulled in a slow, deep breath. Fire burst from her lips.

“YOL!”

The draugr burned.

Those that didn’t quickly fell to her twin swords. It was mesmerizing to watch. It was almost a dance, the way she moved with the summoned blades. All of the draugr were dead within mere minutes. 

Then it hit him.

Vi had just Shouted.

Vi was the Dragonborn.

“You’re the Dragonborn.” Vi let go of the swords and they vanished. She turned to him, grimacing. She nodded. Then she ran over to the chest and shoved all of its contents into her pack. It looked like there were several potions. 

She gathered her own weapons and her mask, refusing to meet his eyes. Blood was dripping from her lips.

It was raining when they made it out of Dustman’s Cairn. It felt good against his heated skin. He did his best to remain upright as Vi helped him climb the stairs. They had just started to limp across the plains when a deafening roar split the air.

Vi dragged him to the ground, holding still as she searched the sky.

A massive winged beast flew overhead. It roared again, but continued on its path.

It hadn’t seen them. 

Chapter Text

Vilkas

His brother and the newest whelp were supposed to be back days ago. Given her reputation for unusually swift travel, he’d expected them back nearly a week ago.

He was worried. Farkas could handle himself, but even the smallest of distractions could get a seasoned warrior killed. And for his brother, Vi was a very big distraction.

Vilkas couldn’t understand it. 

Vi was tiny . Vi was skittish. She didn’t eat. She didn’t seem to like alcohol, one of his brother’s great passions. She was hiding something.

Most of the others liked her. Ria adored her, asking her questions whenever the other woman was at Jorrvaskr and trying her best to learn the odd language that was spoken by moving hands(he didn’t understand how his icebrained brother learned it so quickly). Athis liked her well enough. Apparently Vi could speak, read, and write in Dunmeri. Torvar had declared her his “favorite drinking buddy”, though Vilkas had never seen her so much as look at a bottle of mead. Njada seemed indifferent at best, thoroughly annoyed at worst. Even Aela liked her and had openly planned to go hunting with her one day.

His brother was the worst of all of them. Farkas followed Vi around like a lost puppy whenever she was anywhere close to Jorrvaskr. He went to her with questions. He went to her to spar. 

Vilkas would admit he was a little jealous, but that didn’t change the fact that she was hiding something (he refused to let his brother’s heart be ripped apart again). 

He had taken to sitting at a table late into the night, waiting for his twin to return. He’d never been more grateful for the lost rest.

When they finally returned, it was obvious something was very, very wrong . 

Vi was nowhere to be seen. Farkas looked sick . Farkas , his brother who hadn’t so much as sneezed in years , looked like he was seconds away from collapsing. His armor was a mess of dented, warped metal and his warpaint was horribly smudged.

“Farkas!” Vilkas scrambled to his brother’s side. Farkas didn’t even notice him until Vilkas touched him.

“Vil?” He shuffled toward the stairs.
“Farkas, what are you doing?! We have to get you to Danica!” Vilkas tried to pull his brother toward the doors, only to be shrugged off. Even in his brother’s current state, he was much stronger than Vilkas.

“‘M fine. Vi’s gettin’ the antidote. Just gotta get to m’room.” Farkas mumbled. He slowly made his way down the stairs. Vilkas followed behind him.

“What do you mean? What antidote? What happened?” Vilkas tried to keep his voice down, he really did, but it was hard to be quiet when his brother could be dying.

Farkas ignored him and kept moving. He was surprisingly steady until he reached the hallway that led to the twins’ rooms. The only warning Vilkas had was a soft grunt of pain from his brother before the younger’s knees buckled. Vilkas was barely able to keep his brother from smashing his head against the stone wall. He lifted his brother and hauled Farkas to his room. He was lucky to get Farkas to his own bed. When had his little brother gotten so big?

By now Farkas was practically gasping for breath.

“Vil… help me… armor…” Farkas grunted. He was clawing at his ruined breastplate. Vikas caught his meaning and began to loosen the heavy plates and pry them off of his brother’s chest. They crashed to the floor. Vilkas inwardly cringed, but a small sense of relief flooded his veins as his brother breathed slightly easier. 

Vi appeared out of nowhere. She shoved him away from Farkas and pressed a bottle to his brother's lips. She handed him more potions as soon as he finished the first and kept handing them to him as fast as Farkas could drink them.

Her hands were shaking. It took him a moment, but Vilkas realized she oozed fear. He reached toward her, only to jerk his hand back as she flinched and the scent of her terror grew immensely stronger. She was scared of him .

Vilkas stepped back. Vi was terrified of him . The same woman who hunted every beast in Skyrim without flinching, who had most of Jorrvaskr wrapped around her little finger, who was a Thane . 

Something bitter and sour curled in his gut. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just go.” He left and went to his own room. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come, he simply sat heavily on his bed. Normally, he’d turn to his books to settle his mind. Tonight, he didn’t bother. He already knew it was useless. 

Things began to click into place. 

Farkas exaggerated his movements around Vi. He had been protective of her since her first day at Jorrvaskr. Vilkas had seen his brother and Lydia talking a few times.

“I helped her friend. Was in a bad place and I got her home.”

Farkas had saved Vi’s life. No wonder she was much more comfortable around him. He was also quite attached to her, which was worrying, but Vilkas would deal with that when his brother wasn’t dying. 

He wouldn’t let Vi break Farkas’ heart. He refused to let his brother be hurt that deeply again.

Aela and Skjor were back. He could hear them hurrying down the hall. He grimaced and stood to intercept them. 

Vi avoided Skjor as much as she avoided him. She was only marginally more at ease around Aela. As things were right now, their presence would do more harm than good. 

He barely made it out in time.

“Vilkas what-” 

“Farkas and Vi are back.” He said, cutting Skjor off. He kept talking to keep both of them quiet. “I don’t know what happened, only that both of them got hurt. Talk to them in the morning.” He didn’t go back to his room until Skjor and Aela were in theirs. 

Sleep eventually claimed him, if only for a few restless hours.

He was woken the next morning by a soft knock at his door. Tilma slipped inside his room a moment later.

“Tilma!” Vilkas sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Uh, what time is it?”

“It’s still early dear, nothing to worry about. It’s just that Vi’s friend is here and she’s asking for you. She looks rather worried.”

Vilkas dragged his hand down face. Then he realized what exactly Tilma had said. 

“Wait, she’s here? ”
“Yes dear.” Thinly veiled amusement filled Tilma’s voice and face. “And she’s asking for you.” Vilkas scrambled to his feet, only to trip and fall flat on his face. Tilma laughed softly as he struggled to his feet. “I’ll let her know you’re on your way up.”

His face was still tinged red when he made his way up the stairs. Just as Tilma had said, Lydia was waiting for him just inside the doors. 

Even with worry etched into her face, she was beautiful. 

“There you are. Is Vi here? The guards told me she got back late last night and that it didn’t look good. She wasn’t at the Temple and no one has seen her.”

“Aye, she’s here.” He motioned for her to follow him and lead her down the stairs. Much to his surprise, the pair ran into Farkas when they reached the twins’ hallway. “Farkas,” Vilkas hissed, “what are you doing?”

“‘M fine Vil.” His brother’s silver eyes slid over to Lydia. “She’s sleepin’ now. Took forever to convince her it was okay to use my bed. Vil, I’m fine! Just tired.” Farkas weakly swatted at Vilkas as he poked at Farkas. “Vi got all the poison outta me and then she gave me enough potions to bring Ysgromor back from Sovngarde.”

Vilkas didn’t quite believe his brother. Farkas’ skin was still pale and somewhat clammy. There were dark smudges under his eyes that weren’t from his warpaint.

“You still need to rest! You can use my bed since you’re letting Vi use yours.”

“But-”

“No.” It was a testament to how ill his brother was that Vilkas was able to drag his brother into his room. 

“Fine.” Farkas sat heavily on Vilkas’ bed. “I just wanted to tell Kodlak what happened.” His stomach growled and Farkas flushed. “And get some food.”

“ I’ll get you some food. You can tell us what happened when you’re not about to fall over. Now go back to sleep.” 

Farkas grumbled, but begrudgingly settled down and closed his eyes. Moments later, his breathing deepened and slowed. 

“Which one is his room?” Lydia had followed Vilkas to his room.

“The one behind you. I’ll be back. I’m going to get some food for him. Divines only know when he last had a full meal.”

Lydia nodded absentmindedly as she gently opened the door to Farkas’ room and stepped inside.

Lydia

Genevieve was curled up under a pile of thick furs. Even as she slept, exhaustion lined every fiber of her being. 

Lydia settled into the chair that had been pulled up beside the bed. If she was lucky, it would be a long, uneventful wait for Genevieve to wake up. After a few moments, she looked around the room.

There was a fully stocked bar in Farkas’ room. A lute was leaning against the wall. The shelves were filled with different kinds of wine and mead. A single shelf had several books on it. She caught a glimpse of a toolkit of some kind hidden under the bed. Just as she was thinking of seeing what it was, there was a soft knock at the door. 

Vilkas stepped into the room. He had a plate of food in his hand.

“I, uh, brought you some food.” Lydia raised an eyebrow but accepted the plate. He flushed an handsome interesting shade of red. “It’s early, so I figured you might not have eaten yet.”

He was right, she hadn’t. After she’d made a quick breakfast for the children, she’d left for Jorrvaskr, far more focused on Genevieve’s health than her empty stomach. 

“I hadn’t. Thank you.” She bit into the sweet roll. It wasn’t nearly as good as Genevieve’s, but it was still good. 

Vilkas hesitated for a moment before disappearing, presumably returning to his room to sit with his brother.

Lydia finished her meal alone and began the wait for Genevieve to wake up. 

Vilkas

Farkas slept for most of the day. He woke up once to scarf down his meal. Then he immediately went back to sleep. When it was late in the afternoon, he woke up for real. 

Vilkas was reading when his brother groaned and attempted to bury himself in the bed. He mumbled something that Vilkas didn’t even try to understand.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Now, what's going to happen is that you're going to go have a bath. Then you’re going to eat and then you're going to explain exactly what happened."

Farkas groaned but slowly got out of the bed and shuffled out of the room.

Vilkas stood and moved towards the stairs. He’d get the food while his twin bathed. He returned to his room with two plates piled high with venison and roasted vegetables.

When Farkas returned, he looked much better. Still a little tired, but much more alive than he had looked the night before. It was amazing what a bath and a set of clean clothes could do. 

The brothers began their meal in a comfortable silence. About halfway through, Farkas spoke. 

"She stayed up all night. Made sure I kept breathing. And she didn’t really sleep the whole way back. You and Skjor don’t like her, but she’s more than proven herself to me and I don’t care what the rest of you think.”

“She deserves more credit than I’ve been giving her.” Vilkas admitted softly. “She’s terrified of most of us, the Companions, isn’t she?” Farkas tilted his head.

“Mostly just you and Skjor. Torvar makes her uncomfortable and Njada makes her jumpy but everyone else she’s mostly okay with. How’d you figure it out?”

“Last night. She, uh, she was shaking. And she flinched away from me. And she just smelled terrified. Was it something I did?” It felt wrong. She shouldn’t fear her own shield-siblings. 

“Um, not exactly. I’m not going to tell you everything, ‘cause that’s her business, but lots of bad stuff happened to her and most of the people who hurt her were big Nord men. Especially ones with short tempers.”

People like him. She’d been hurt by people like him.

“Then why did she come here? Don’t get me wrong brother, I’ve certainly misjudged her strength, but if people like us have hurt her, why did she join us?”

“She has a family to take care of. We’d give her steady work and training so that she could take care of them.” Farkas stood. “I’m going to sit with her. Oh, and Vil?”

“Hm?”

“If you want to get to know Lydia better, you should be nicer to Vi.”

Vilkas felt his face heat.

Was he really that obvious?

Farkas

He hated to admit it, but the sight of Vi curled up in his bed made something warm and a little bit prideful settle in his chest. After convincing Lydia to leave, he’d pulled his carving tools out from under his bed and started on a new project.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a present for Vi’s son, Alesan. His birthday was soon. Apparently, he wanted to be a sailor. So, Farkas was making him a little ship of his own. 

The hours slipped by quickly. Bit by bit, the wood was shaped into a ship. Vi hardly stirred while he worked. She occasionally shifted a little bit or burrowed deeper under the furs, but she never woke up. 

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up. His bed had served as his pillow. His carving tools and the half-finished ship had been tucked under his bed. He sat up, rubbing his neck and the sleep from his eyes. There was a soft knock on his door, then Tilma peeked her head into his room.

“Oh, you’re awake! Kodlak was looking for you last night. Skjor wanted to see you when you woke up. He didn’t look very pleased.”

Farkas dragged his hand down his face. He’d forgotten to speak with Kodlak last night. 

“Thanks Tilma. Do you know where Lydia is? I, uh, don’t want to leave her alone.”

“I can sit with her. Lydia went back to her house to check on the children and to get some sleep. She’ll probably be back later today.” Farkas stood. 

“I’ll see what he wants in a little bit. I want to put my warpaint on and maybe get something to eat. 

“Alright dear.”
She sat in the chair and shooed him out the door with a wave of her hand. 

Skjor found him the moment he set foot in the main hall. He was thankful for his warpaint(that he’d borrowed from his brother) as it hid the faint dark smudges under his eyes.

“Underforge.” Skjor barked. “ Now .”

Farkas bristled slightly at Skjor’s tone. He gritted his teeth and hoped the meeting would be short. 

Vilkas and Aela were already there when Farkas got to the Underforge. His brother looked seconds away from losing his temper. Once the door closed behind him, Skjor whirled around and glared at Farkas.

“Care to explain why the whelp is in your bed? Wearing your clothes? Did you even go to Dustman’s Cairn?”

Farkas let himself visibly bristle. If that was how Skjor wanted to do things, then fine. He was done.

Vilkas

He couldn’t help but swallow as his brother squared his shoulders and stood his full height. He’d forgotten just how massive his brother truly was. It had been a long time since he’d seen Farkas well and truly angry. His blood ran cold when Farkas tore off his shirt.

Huge, angry scars twisted around his twin’s body. They were only just healed, still raw and pink. There were two round scars near his brother's neck. How was Farkas still alive? When he looked closer, he saw many more scars. Old scars, but ones he’d never seen.

“The Silver Hand was there.” His brother’s voice was cold and sharp. “Vi was trapped and there were five of them. I had to shift. They got a few good hits in. Turns out they’ve made a poison specifically for werewolves. Vi wanted to come back so that she could make the antidote. I told her we needed to get the shard. We fought through draugr and more Silver Hand. I kept getting worse. She gave me every potion she had and made more when we found an alchemy table. Then we ran into the spiders. I stumbled into their nest and one of them bit me.” Farkas twisted his lips into a humorless smile. “You’ll like the Hunting Grounds. Lots of trees. Lots of prey to chase. Hircine himself showed up to claim my soul, by the way. Vi pulled me back to Nirn. She had to practically carry me the rest of the time. Tell me Skjor, could you have kept me from dying? Could you have carried me for days and fended off hordes of draugr and wild beasts? Perhaps you’ve forgotten that Vi is tiny. She’s maybe half my size and she could carry me, in full armor, for hours . She stayed up for a week to make sure I kept breathing. She’s terrified half the time she’s here, but she pushes through because she has three children to provide for. So forgive me , Skjor, for lending my exhausted Shield-Sister my bed and some clean clothes so that she could rest properly.”

Shocked, empty silence filled the Underforge. Farkas left, ducking his head to get through the door.

“What just-”

“What just happened,” Vilkas snapped, cutting Aela off, “is that you insulted him and he defended himself. You forget that he has a breaking point, just like the rest of us.”

He stormed out of  the Underforge, ignoring Aela and Skjor’s murmured conversation. 

He found Farkas in the kitchen, quietly putting together two very different plates of food. One was clearly for him, piled high with cuts of meat and sweet rolls. The second was just fruit. Mostly apples, with a little bowl of snowberries. 

“Stuff happened in Vi’s past so now she can’t eat cooked food unless she makes it herself.” Farkas’ voice was quiet, but with a sharp undertone. “But she’ll probably wake up soon so I’m bringing her some things she should be able to eat.”

“Kodlak wants to do the ceremony this evening. Lydia said she’d come back today, and that she might end up bringing Vi’s kids.”

“If she does bring them, it’ll probably help Vi feel better.” Farkas picked up the plates and lumbered down the stairs. Vilkas followed him. 

“I knew Skjor wasn’t happy, but I didn’t think he’d go that far. I think Aela was just there to hear what happened.”

“I’ll tell Kodlak what happened after I eat.”

Genevieve

She was warm. Comfortable. And not in her own bed. 

It took far more effort than it should’ve to pry her eyes open. All she could see was a stone wall and lots of fur. She sat up slowly, holding a hand to her aching head. The shirt she was wearing was far too big, but comfortable. Someone else was in the room with her.

“Good morning!” That was Tilma. She glanced at the elderly woman. She was sitting in a chair beside the bed, a pile of cloth in her lap and a needle and thread in her hands. “You've slept for just over a day and a half. Farkas is just fine. A little tired still, and a little grumpy, but otherwise perfectly fine. Yes, that’s his shirt and yes this is his room. He was rather insistent that you stay here and not sleep with the others. Would you like something to eat? We have plenty of fresh fruit, if you’d like some.”

Genevieve gave her a weak but grateful smile and nodded. She tried to sign but her hands were shaking far too much.

“Don’t worry about it dear, it’s no trouble at all. Do you need something for your headache? I think I can find a potion that will help.”
Genevieve went to answer, but stopped when the door opened.

Farkas stepped in, ducking his head to avoid the doorframe. There was a plate of food in each hand. One of them was filled with fruit. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” His face lit up with pure delight and relief. “Uh, I brought some food. Just some apples and snowberries, but it should at least help you feel a little bit better.”

Tilma smiled to herself as she slipped out of the door. Farkas took her place in the chair, setting the fruit-filled plate in Vi’s lap. She began eating the snowberries one by one. They were unusually delicious.

“I’m not really sure, but I think Lydia and your kids are coming here later.” He stuffed a sweet roll into his mouth, then flushed a lovely shade of red. He chewed quickly and swallowed, the blush creeping down his neck. “Uh, sorry. I’m a bit of a mess.”

Genevieve giggled silently. She tried to summon a little bit of her magic, only for her head to throb and her spell fade immediately.

“Uh, I don’t know how magic works, but I think you used all of yours while healing me. Lots of that golden light. Oh, don’t worry about your stuff. It’s over in the corner. Did you sleep well?” He smiled softly at her nod. “That’s good.” His mood quickly shifted to something much less cheerful. “I, uh, I lost the necklace you gave me. Dunno when, but I noticed it yesterday when I was getting cleaned up.” Genevieve shrugged. She could make another one. This time, the enchantment would be better. The necklace itself would be better too. Across from her, Farkas finished his second sweet roll. “Vi, was I seeing things, or did you really breathe fire?”

Ah. He’d seen her Shout.

She grimaced and nodded. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know. She was a coward. She couldn’t even speak. How was she supposed to Shout when she couldn’t even whisper? How was she supposed to save the world when she couldn’t even stand up for herself?

Dustman’s Cairn had been a surprise. She’d been able to Shout. She’d coughed up blood and almost passed out from the pain, but she’d Shouted . The power had pulsed through her when the draugr had started coming out of the coffins. It had pooled in her throat and turned into flames while she protected Farkas.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to tell anyone. Though, maybe, when you feel better, I can ask some questions?”

She nodded. She had questions of her own. 

“Okay. Uh, the ceremony to make you a full Companion is tonight. All you have to do is stand there. Then there’ll probably be a feast and everyone will probably get super drunk ‘cause that’s what usually happens.” She scrunched her nose in distaste. Farkas snorted. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t drink. She occasionally had a glass of wine on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. She’d discovered she was also partial to the Velvet LaChances at The Bee and the Barb. 

It was that she didn’t take alcohol unless she made it herself or watched it being poured and mixed (Talen-Jei had been confused at her request, but once he realized she had gold and loved the drink, he’d cheerfully done as she’d asked). Too many drugs could be hidden by the burn of alcohol. Too many poisons could blend in with its fire. 

It didn’t help that she’d seen what it could do to people, especially to large groups.

Plus, ale was disgusting. Mead was tolerable and sometimes even good, depending on the kind. Wine was usually alright, and occasionally it was even good. 

“Anyways, if you’re feeling up to it, a bath will probably help you feel better. I know it certainly made me feel better.”

A bath sounded wonderful. Though, she didn’t have any of her soaps…

She pulled the covers away, revealing her bare legs. She looked at Farkas, raising an eyebrow. He flushed the most delightful shade of red.

“You didn’t have any normal clothes so I gave you one of my shirts. Oh, uh, do you want some regular clothes? I was gonna let Lydia know you were up. I can ask her for some if you want?”

She nodded. He stood, still flushed, and left. 

Ria

Something had happened during Vi's Trial. Something bad. She’d been awake when Farkas had stumbled down the stairs. She’d been the only whelp to witness Farkas' state. She’d also seen Vi running to Farkas' room, her arms filled with potions.

No one had seen either of them for nearly two days. Villas wouldn't answer her questions. So, with frustration bubbling in her blood, she decided to let herself indulge in a nice long bath. 

The last person she'd expected to see near the doors to the women's bathing area was Farkas.

"Farkas?" He turned to her, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. A bundle of clothing was in his arms.

"Hi Ria. Are you going in there?"

"Yep. Why?" 

"Vi’s in there, and these are for her. Could you give them to her?" Ria nodded and tucked the bundle under her arm. She took a minute to really look at him.

He looked much better than he had. It was a little strange to see him out of his armor, but it was stranger still to see barely healed scars peeking out from under his shirt.

He lumbered away, hiding a yawn behind one of his massive hands. Ria always forgot how big he was. Then she’d stand near him. 

She'd never seen Vi so relaxed. The elder woman was alone in the steaming pool of water. She arms were resting on the edges and she was leaning back, eyes closed. She looked peaceful.

"Hi Vi!" Ria chirped. "Mind if I join you?"

Vi didn’t open her eyes, but waved her hand affirmatively and settled deeper into the water.

Ria quickly stripped and stepped into the pool, groaning in delight as the warmth seeped into her bones. She pulled a little pouch from a hidden pocket in her armor.

"Vi? Would you mind if I put some of this in the water? It's just some fancy soaps and stuff." 

One of Vi's spectacularly blue eyes opened. She held out her hand and Ria gently set the pouch in it. Vi’s lips curved into a smile when she saw the contents and she nodded, handing the little pouch back to Ria.

After she’d added what she’d wanted to the water, Ria sat down and settled in.

Baths like this were pretty much the only thing she missed from her old life. The other women of Jorrvaskr didn't see the point in all her fancy soaps and salts. Not to mention said soaps were rather expensive. Did Vi like these things? Or was she just being polite?

“Vi? Do you like this stuff?”

Once again, Vi’s eyes opened. She seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then her fingers twitched and words of sparking electricity snapped in existence. 

I like it. I even know how to make a few things. If you want, I can show you some time.

“Really? That’d be great!” Then Ria registered what had just happened. “You can use magic?” Vi’s expression shifted to something hard and guarded.

What of it?

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, um, were you the one who healed me? Ages ago? At the Temple?”

Vi nodded.

“Thank you. You saved my life.” Ria looked down. “More than you know.” Vilkas had told her how badly she’d been hurt. If she hadn’t been healed, she might not have been able to continue being a Companion. She’d have lost everything. She would have had to give up her dream.

Of course. Do me a favor? 

“Anything!”

Don’t tell anyone that I know how to use magic. I’ve… not had very many good reactions to it.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She’d seen how others reacted to the arcane. 

The two of them simply relaxed for a while in a comfortable quiet. 

Long after Ria’s fingers went wrinkled, they got out of the bath. She caught a glimpse of scars scattered across Vi's body before they were covered by her clothing.

Chapter Text

Farkas

The ceremony was thankfully short. Almost as soon as it was over, the celebratory drinking started. Dinner wouldn't be until a bit later. He couldn't help but grin at the thought of dinner.

Vi's children were just as stubborn as their mother. As soon as they'd set foot in Jorrvaskr, they'd somehow convinced Tilma to let them help her in the kitchen. Vi had tried to join them, only to be gently kicked out with a bowl of fruit and a goblet of water. She’d perched in the seat closest to the kitchen and had been steadily making her way through the bowl. Every so often, an argument would break out in the kitchen, only to end moments later. Each time another round of insults and bickering started, she’d sigh fondly and Lydia, who'd settled beside her, would snicker.

Farkas couldn’t help but stare. Sure, Lydia was pretty. He could see why his brother was interested. But she wasn’t as pretty as Vi. Not even close. 

Vi had her hair down for the first time. At least it was the first time he'd seen it. Sure, the top part was pulled back with two braids that merged into a small ponytail, but the rest was loose. It looked soft and it gleamed gold and amber in the light. Her eyes, bright with laughter and intelligence, kept meeting his for brief moments. The clothes she wore were distracting, at least to him. She was in a pretty blue dress with a leather corset and golden embroidery. Soft brown leather boots with more embroidery covered her feet. There were several rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists and lots of earrings in her ears. He could see an Amulet of Kynareth around her neck.

Divines, he was so screwed.

"You like her." Ria’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He groaned and slumped onto the table. Was he really that obvious?

Beside him, Ria giggled and settled into a chair.

"Don’t worry big guy, I'm not going to tell. I think you'd be a cute couple though. Her kids are adorable too." Ria sipped at whatever was in her tankard. "Seems like everyone has a crush on her or her friends. You like her. Vilkas likes Lydia. Don't tell anyone I said this, but Njada kept turning red when Rayya was here. I'm pretty sure our ice-hearted Stone-Arm has a crush!"

Njada? Liking Rayya? Now that he thought about it, she had been oddly flushed whenever the pretty Redguard had been around… 

He'd have to ask Vi if Rayya liked women. It might be good for Njada to have someone. 

“Isn’t your birthday soon?” The young Imperial had only mentioned her birthday once, but he thought it was around this time of the year. “Yeah, it’s the 29th of Morning Star. Wait, you remember that?” She seemed genuinely surprised that he remembered her birthday. Which was next week. 

“Mhm. I think Alesan’s is the 25th and that reminded me of yours.” The little wooden ship was almost done. It’d be finished before Alesan’s birthday. But what should he make or get for Ria? Maybe he should ask Vi. The two of them seemed to be friends.

“I didn’t think anyone would remember. I was just planning on getting dinner at the Bannered Mare and maybe treating myself to a new dagger or something pretty. Maybe a new pack. Mine’s pretty much falling apart.”

“You’ve had that one for a while.” Farkas hadn’t meant anything by it, but something in Ria’s eyes dimmed just a little.

“Yeah, since I left, well, it wasn’t home, but it was where I was raised.”

“What was it like? You came from Cyrodiil, right?”

“Yeah. I used to live in Anvil. It was… cold and empty. I had everything I needed but I didn’t exactly get along with anyone. At least, not anyone I was allowed to interact with on a regular basis. So I left, seeking a better life. I’d heard of the Companions so I came to Skyrim and the rest you know.”

He remembered the day Ria had first stepped foot inside the halls of Jorrvaskr. It was obvious she had little to no experience, but she’d been eager to learn and hard working. She’d been a little jumpy at first, but had settled so quickly he’d almost forgotten about it.

“Have you found what you were hoping for?”

“All of it and more. But enough about me. What happened out there?”

Farkas downed the rest of his bottle of mead and started on another one. By now, dinner was being brought out of the kitchen. It smelled delicious, as usual. 

“Yeah Farkas, what happened?” Athis settled into the seat in front of him, quickly joined by Njada and Torvar. Farkas inwardly groaned as the rest of the Circle sat in their seats and not-so-subtly leaned in to hear the story. Even Tilma paused after setting a platter of roasted venison on the table. Three small pairs of hands placed plates of fruit and roasted vegetables and breads on the table before disappearing. Quiet giggles and footsteps hurried back to the kitchens, leaving the Companions to gather their food and listen to Farkas. He managed to get a plate of venison and bread and a few apples before he was being badgered into telling what had happened. 

He was thankfully interrupted by Torvar’s starting yelp as his chair was violently pushed to the side.

“Move! We gotta sit next to Ma-, Miss Vi and you’re in the way!” It seemed that Braith had reemerged from the kitchen and was making sure there was room for her mother, her siblings, and herself at the table.

“Braith! Ma says mind your manners!” Alesan called out from the kitchen. Lucia, who’d popped up next to her sister, giggled. Braith huffed and turned back to Torvar. “Move please .”

“Uh, sure kid.” Torvar moved his chair a bit farther than necessary. As he did, Lucia turned to Njada, who narrowed her eyes at the young girl.

“Excuse me Miss Njada, would you mind moving over a little so that we can all sit near Mama? She wanted to sit next to Farkas so we wanted to sit across from them.” Njada, clearly stunned at the polite request, actually nodded and even helped the two children pull up chairs. Athis, who’d had his chair forcefully moved by Braith (though notably less violent and a tad more polite) grumbled in Dunmeri before returning his attention to Farkas.

“So, what happened?”

“We got ambushed by some bandits. They were expecting us and set up a trap.” He paused to place a bite of venison in his mouth. As he chewed, Alesan placed a plate of food in front of each of his sisters before clambering into his chair. Vi placed a plate in front of her son before floating around the table and perching in the seat right next to him. She placed a bottle of mead next to him and signed for him to continue. 

“Anyways, the first little bit was like any other old tomb. A few draugr and a couple traps. Then we got to this room. There was a gate across the door to the next room and only one lever. Vi knew something was off so we were both on guard. She pulled the lever, trapping her in the little room where it was. Five or six bandits showed up. They had planned it. They attacked. Vi couldn’t get a good shot with her bow, but I managed to handle the bandits and find the lever to free Vi. Ended up taking a few nasty hits.” He sipped at his mead, raising an eyebrow as Vi’s children snickered. He glanced at her, only catching the final movements of her hands. She smiled innocently when he raised an eyebrow. 

“I hadn’t realized the blades were covered in poison, but Vi did the moment she was out and she made me drink a bunch of gross healing potions.” The children giggled and once again, Farkas missed all but the settling of her hands. “Vi ended up doing most of the work from that point on ‘cause the poison just kept getting worse and worse and at one point I passed out. Vi apparently hauled me to an alchemy station and made a bunch of potions and got me back. After fighting some spiders we made it to the final chamber where the shard of Wuuthrad was. She grabbed it and a bunch of draugr popped out of their sarcophagi. I got a few of them but she got most of them. It took longer to get back ‘cause Vi had to help me walk the whole time. Pretty sure she didn’t sleep the entire time. We got back, Vi made the antidote and made sure I kept breathing. After that we were both exhausted so we slept and ate and then it’s today and that's all that happened.”

He’d let Vi tell them about her magic and being Dragonborn. He smiled into his bottle of mead as the rest of the Companions looked at Vi with newfound respect. They were finally getting to see what he did. 

After that, the feast continued, eventually becoming as rowdy as was custom for the Companions. Vi stayed close to him, quietly enjoying her steamed mudcrab legs and a single glass of alto wine. Her children pulled several pranks throughout the night, mostly aimed at Vilkas or Torvar. Each time, a look of fond pride filled Vi’s eyes. Lydia ended up arm-wrestling half of Jorrvaskr, winning against all but Farkas himself. He’d never seen Vilkas so smitten as when Lydia managed to beat him, grinning victoriously as she slammed his arm against the table. 

As the night wore on, Vi leaned against him, looking completely content when he carefully wrapped his arm around her. Lydia shot him a grin when she left with Vi’s children, touching a finger to her lips and she ushered the sleepy kids out the door.

Eventually, the night ended. The others left, but Farkas and Vi helped Tilma clean up. Then they were finally alone.

Vi settled into a chair and sighed. She pulled her pack out from seemingly thin air and dug through it, pulling out all of the gemstones and strange crystals she’d found in Dustman’s Cairn. Farkas sat across from her, watching as she easily sorted the gems into piles and made notes in her notebook. 

“Why are you sorting them?”

So that I can decide which ones to sell and which ones to make into jewelry. These words were made of purple-blue electricity. Some of them are very common and some of them are very rare. Like these. She held up two purple gems. One was slightly bigger than the other. Amethysts are one of the most common gems. Flawless amethysts are a little rarer and worth more. I found several of the regular amethysts but only one or two of the flawless ones.

“What makes them worth more?”

Color, rarity, clarity. Stuff like that. Most of the gems are pretty hard to break, some more than others. 

So the gems were pretty and tough. Just like her…

“Can I call you Gem?” She looked up from the glittering stones, confusion skittering across her face. “‘Cause you’re pretty and tough, just like a gem.”

She flushed and ducked her head.

Yeah, you can, if you want.

“Gem it is. Um, what are those bigger purple-blue ones?”

Soul gems. Used for enchanting. Different sizes hold different kinds of souls and the larger, more powerful souls set stronger enchantments and restore old enchantments better.

“Oh.” So that’s what they were. “Um, Gem? Can you tell me about healing magic?” She’d only told him a little bit about magic. Now that his life had been saved by it, he wanted to know even more.

I’d be happy to. Anything in particular?

“How did you get me back? From the Hunting Grounds.”

Ah. I yelled at Hircine. That wasn’t so much as healing as pulling your soul back. A little bit more of Conjuration and poking holes in the planes of Oblivion. I did heal you a lot on the way back though. I don’t know how others do it, but I find out the problem, then focus on it specifically. Like if you had a broken bone and a bruise somewhere, I’d focus my magic on the bone before moving to the bruise. I think Danica mentioned that most people don’t really guide the magic that much, but I might be misremembering. With you I was constantly renewing the blood and muscle and bone that the poison was killing. 

“Oh. Um, thanks for bringing me back.”

Of course.

“What is it like to Shout? And why was blood dripping out of your mouth?"

Shouting is… hard to explain. I can always feel it running through me, but when I Shout it’s… concentrated power. Force of will. It pools in my throat and I just Shout. As for the blood… She sighed, her hands stilling. One of them lightly touched her throat before starting to sort the gems again. I hadn’t been able to Shout in weeks. Remember… Remember when you found me?

“Near the river?”

Yes. That first night I had spent the day trying to Shout. I couldn’t. I was spitting blood over and over and no matter what I did I couldn’t even whisper, let alone Shout. I had stopped trying and had given up when you showed up. After that, I didn’t try again. Then, in Dustman’s Cairn, I just felt that I had to and I was able to. It hurt a lot and it kind of messed up my throat, but I was able to do it. I haven’t done it since though. Haven’t tried.

She was scared, he realized. She didn’t want to have gotten some semblance of her voice back only to have lost it immediately. Danica hadn’t been able to help her, yet she had healed, at least a little. Maybe she could get it back…

“You should go to that college. With all the magic. Up north.” Surprise and confusion flickered across her face and he continued, “The teach magic and healing magic is magic so they should have someone who specializes in it and they do all sorts of weird experiments so maybe they’ve seen something like this and you could learn magic with people who don’t hate it and-” He was cut off by her sudden weight in his arms. She was hugging him. How she’d moved so fast, he didn’t know, but she was practically in his lap and she was hugging him . He gingerly wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. 

Thank you.

“Uh, any time?” What was she thanking him for? She hugged him tighter. She was shaking slightly.

I’m a thief. And an assassin.

What? He just hugged her tighter.

“Okay.” The scent of salt filled the air and she trembled even more. 

He had more questions, but those could be saved for later. 

“Hey Gem? If you do end up going to that college or when you go on adventures, will you write?”

She nodded into his chest and hugged him tighter. Her wonderful scent of spices and warmth was still mixed with salt. He rested his chin on her head and let her cry out whatever it was she was dealing with.

He’d been right. Her hair was soft.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

It was Alesan’s birthday. The day itself had gone smoothly. He’d played with his friends and his siblings while Lydia made sure their pranks weren’t too terrible. She’d spent the day getting ready for the dinner/party that was planned that night. 

Her son had requested a Redguard dish for his birthday dinner. It was one that his father had made quite often before he’d fallen ill and died. Rayya had come up from Lakeview Manor to help her make it and had easily been talked into staying for the party. 

At the moment, she was alone, Rayya having been dragged out by Braith an hour or so before. The rich scent of spices filled the house. A giant platter of her special sweet rolls was cooling on the table, having just come out of the Bannered Mare’s oven. They just needed to be iced and they would be ready. 

A gentle knock on the door called her attention away from the food. She set the stirring spoon on the table and walked over to the door, opening it carefully.

To her surprise, Farkas was standing in front of her. He was holding a carefully wrapped box and looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, hi. Rayya told me to give this to you myself… It’s for Alesan. ‘Cause it’s his birthday.” His nose twitched. “Wow, something smells delicious!” Genevieve smiled and stepped back, motioning for him to come inside. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head as he gingerly stepped inside. “Uh, where should I put it?”

Just on the bookshelf. Fire made her words. I’m almost done with dinner and the sweet rolls just need to be iced after they’re done cooling. 

“Sweet rolls?” His nose twitched and he swallowed. “Those smell really good.”

You should stay and have one. I’ve made enough for everyone to have several. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude…”

Farkas, the children would love it. They’ll probably talk you into telling some battle stories or something like that, but you wouldn’t be intruding. Though, it’ll be a bit of a crowd. Mila and Carlotta will be here, as will Lars, Nelkir, Dagny and Frothar. There’s also Lydia and Rayya.

“If you’re sure, I wouldn’t mind staying.” 

Warmth settled in her chest. She smiled to herself and returned to the food. Farkas gently set the wrapped gift on the bookcase. The weapons hanging on the rack caught his eye and he inched around the furniture and toward them. He looked at them for a long time. He especially kept looking at the one handing over the door.

“Gem, where did you get these?”

The one over the door was given to me by Balgruuf as “a badge of office”. The staff on the rack was from a particularly nasty fight with a dragon and dragon priest. That battle is where Lydia got her axe. The sword is something I found while out bounty hunting. I pulled the enchantment from a mace I found and kept the blade. The bow upstairs is from Bleak Falls Barrow. I used it until I made the one I’m using now. 

“You made your bow?”

I made my bow, my arrows, my shield, and my armor. I strengthened the mace and the dagger was a gift, though I’ve sharpened and strengthened it.

“You like to smith then?”

Yes. 

“Why did you use those glowing purple swords at Dustman’s Cairn?”

I actually prefer to dual wield swords, but I haven’t been able to make ones that I’m happy with. Until I find or make some, I’m just going to stick to using my mace. I used to have a pair of swords, but they were… lost.

Her swords had once belonged to her father. She’d pulled them from the burning ruins of her home and had lost them to the monsters who hunted her. 

“Oh.” He turned away from the weapons and faced her, silvery eyes swirling with something she couldn’t quite decipher. “Um, you should try Eorlund’s swords. You can get a weapon from him since you’re officially a Companion now.”

Farkas

Gem tilted her head to the side. Her eyes gleamed and her lips twitched up.

We’ll see. I’ll go tomorrow and see what he has. 

Maybe he’d be able to make her something. She liked the lighter armor though, and smaller blades. He’d only figured out how to make the heavier armor, the two-handed swords. After all, he was the one who made and sharpened and fixed his gear. Eorlund hadn’t seen him for years. Not since he’d refused to teach Farkas how to work a forge, saying that it would take an attention span and at least a little hand-eye coordination. Farkas had taught himself how to forge and how to carve. He’d figured out the locking mechanism for his armor- shit. His armor. Vilkas had taken it up to Eorlund to be fixed while he was recovering. He had only been cleared for training the day before. Which meant Eorlund still had his armor.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a gentle tap on his nose. He blinked, and Gem’s pretty face came into focus.

She stepped back and started to sign, “You zoned out. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just realized Eorlund still has my armor. I kinda did some stuff to it that he doesn’t know about.”

“Like how the pieces interlock to avoid being crushed or bent out of shape when you shift? ”
She’d noticed that?

“Uh, yeah.”

“ It was fascinating to watch. It helped a great deal when I had to use magic to heal you. It took a few tries to figure it out but you were pretty out of it the whole way back so I just kept trying. You’ll have to show me how sometime. It could be useful to know in the future. ”
“Sure. Just let me know when and I can show you. Though, I’ll have to see when Adrianne will let me use her forge…” He felt his face heat at Gem’s smile. She turned back to her cooking. His stomach growled and he ducked his head at Gem’s raised eyebrow. “It smells really good. What is it?” There was a soft crackle as electricity formed words.

It’s a Redguard dish. Basically it's a stew with a lot of spices and garlic. Plenty of meat too. I had to order in some of the spices and ingredients. A little pricey, but worth it to see Alesan happy. 

“If it tastes half as good as it smells, it will be great. Do you need any help? It’s weird to just stand around.” 

Gem tilted her head. Her lips twisted.

Do you know how to frost sweet rolls? I think they’re cool now.

“No,” he said, shoulders slumping, “I don’t.”

He didn’t know how to cook. He knew how to skin something and how to make sure it didn’t burn over a fire, but that was it. He’d helped Tilma in the kitchen when he was little, but had stopped when the teasing from the others had dug too deep. Maybe he should ask her if she’d teach him.

That’s alright. If you want to keep stirring this, I’ll make the icing and put it on. 

Stirring. He could stir. He accepted the offered spoon and took Gem’s spot next to the pot. It was mesmerizing to watch the stew twist and swirl.

The next thing he knew, he was helping Gem set the table and arrange the furniture. The sweet rolls had been frosted and carefully placed out of reach. The food was ready, complete with plenty of some kind of crumbly yellow-orange bread.

Just after the last plate had been set, the door burst open and a hurricane of laughing children rushed in. They were soon followed by Lydia, Rayya, and Carlotta. None of the women were surprised to see him. As Gem had predicted, the children were all delighted to see him and immediately started asking him questions and begging for stories. 

They ate dinner while the children weasled story after story out of him. The food was just as delicious as it smelled. Then it came time for presents and a nervous energy settled underneath Farkas’ skin.

What if Alesan didn’t like it? What if he’d made it poorly and it fell apart? What if-

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Gem nudging him.

“He’ll like it, stop worrying.”

Farkas nodded, if only to satisfy her, then stood from the table and went over to the bookshelf and picked up the box.

Genevieve

 She smiled as Alesan hugged her tightly, thanking her repeatedly for the books on navigation. She hugged him back then let him go so he could show them off to his friends. Frothar, Dagny, and Nelkir then presented him with a coil of rope and a book all about knots.

“Father said every good sailor knows all about knots, so we saved up and got you these!” Frothar said, grinning.

“Thanks guys! This is so cool!” Alesan was already flipping through the book, pointing out any knots that looked particularly interesting. Then he seemed to notice Mila’s expression. “Mila? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a present for you…”
“That’s okay! They’re nice and all but I’m just happy you're here!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Farkas pick up the box, a small smile lighting up his face. He was still nervous. He waited until everyone else had given their presents (Lars gave him a wooden sword, Rayya promised to teach him how to use scimitars when he was a little older). Even then, he hesitated. She nudged him forward. He held out the box, then fiddled with his hands as he waited for Alesan to unwrap it. 

Her eyes widened when she saw what the gift was.

It was a beautifully carved ship, complete with cloth sails. 

“I, uh, heard you wanted to be a sailor, so I made you your own ship.”

Alesan, with obvious delight showing through every fiber of his being, gently ran his finger along the bow of the ship.

“This is awesome! It’s just like ships Pa used to work on!” Being careful not to step on the wonderful gift, he bounded over to Farkas and hugged him. “Thank you!” Farkas gently patted his back, clearly uncomfortable but happy at the same time. 

Farkas

Alesan loved his gift. He named the ship the Qasir , after his deceased father. He'd told Farkas all about the adventures his father had gone on while they devoured sweet rolls.

Farkas was not ashamed to say that he'd eaten at least three sweet rolls. They were amazing. 

As the night began to wind down, Alesan, Braith, and Lucia said goodbye to their friends. Lydia, Rayya and Gem started to clean up and the children dragged Farkas to their shared room. 

It was a small space, and a little squished, but they insisted and he couldn't refuse them. 

"You like Mama, don't you?" Lucia’s question caught him off guard and he flushed.

"I-" he sighed and looked down. "Yeah. I do." 

"Will you make Vi happy?"

"I can most certainly try."

He shifted under the scrutinizing gaze of the three children.

"Ma's favorite flowers are deathbells but she really likes dragon's tongues too." 

"Mama's favorite color is purple and she usually likes silver over gold."

"Vi loves anything with crab and she really likes sweet rolls, boiled creme treats, and her all time favorite sweets are apple dumplings. Oh, and her birthday is the 13th of Sun's Dawn."

The three children grinned and shooed him out of their room. 

He stayed and helped clean up and ended up walking Rayya to the Bannered Mare. She wished him a good night's rest and then he was on his way back to Jorrvaskr.

Tilma was still up, cleaning up after dinner. He helped her, despite her protests.

"Tilma, we're grown men and women. You shouldn't have to do everything for us when we're fully capable of helping." It had been a firm belief of his since he'd first set foot in Jorrvaskr, and a conversation he'd had with her many times. 

"I don't mind dear, I've been doing it myself for a long time." 

He sighed and picked up a crate full of dishes, carrying them to the kitchen.

"It’s late. You should be asleep."

"It’s alright dear, really."

He still stayed and helped her wash all the dishes. As he cleaned, the children's words kept circling through his head.

"Hey Tilma?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to make apple dumplings?"

Chapter Text

Farkas

It shouldn’t have been so nerve wracking to climb the steps to the Skyforge. All he was doing was getting his armor back from Eorlund. And yet, he could feel anxiety skittering under his skin and pooling in his belly. He wanted to turn back, and yet he knew if he didn’t get his armor now, he’d never get it back. 

Eorlund seemed to be expecting him. His armor was neatly piled by the edge of the forge. Farkas could tell just by looking at it that he’d have to recalibrate the locking mechanism. 

“Here for your armor, I take it.” Eorlund hadn’t looked up from the forge.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Interesting choice. Who made it?”

“I did.” Eorlund looked up, narrowing his eyes. “I did. I’ve been making and fixing my own armor for years. Same with my swords. Figured out how.”

“Really?” Eorlund didn’t believe him. 

“I’d show you how, but it’d require patience and an open mind.”

A tense silence fell across the Skyforge. 

Quiet footsteps caught his ear. He turned around to see Gem quickly making her way up the stairs, in her scale armor. Her hair was twisted into several elaborate braids and she was holding a journal in her hand. She brightened a little when she saw him.

“ Morning! ” she signed “ Thought I’d come see if there were any good swords up here. ” She reached the top of the stairs and glanced between the two Nords. " I can come back. "

"No, I was just leaving." He stooped to pick up his armor. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. His steel is known across Skyrim for a reason.”

He made his way down the steps, something bitter and ugly curling in his belly. Would he only ever be the stupid twin? Was his muscle the only thing people noticed?

Genevieve

Something almost like regret flickered in Eorlund’s eyes as Farkas left. Then he shook his head and turned to her.

“Here for your weapon, I take it?” She nodded, opening her journal and writing as Eorlund didn’t know Sign.

I’m looking for a decent pair of swords, as I haven't been able to make anything I’m happy with and I haven’t been able to find some.

“A pair of blades!” he exclaimed, “They will be as sharp as Fralia’s tongue!” She rolled her eyes when he turned his back. She ended up sitting by the Skyforge and reading as he worked, learning a few tricks for smithing from a book called The Armorer’s Challenge that she’d found nearby.

Eventually, Eorlund presented her with a pair of gleaming swords. She took them and held them in her grip, testing their balance and giving them a few experimental swings.
They fit perfectly in her hands and were wonderfully balanced, though she would have to sharpen them a little and perhaps reinforce them just a tad. She sheathed them, nodding her thanks to Eorlund and turning to leave. 

“Ah, Vi?” She paused, looking back over her shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I have another favor to ask.” She tilted her head. “When you see Farkas, let him know he’s welcome to use the Skyforge whenever he likes.”

She nodded and left. 

Luckily, Adrianne had steel ingots and she was about to take her lunch break. Genevieve sharpened her new swords then headed back to Jorrvaskr, excitement thrumming through her blood. 

She quickly spotted Farkas. He was back in his armor and attempting to train with Torvar. He looked relieved to see her and his (beautiful) silvery eyes lit up when they noticed her swords.

"You got swords!"

She grinned, nodding. 

" Feel up to sparring? " she signed. A wolfish grin split his face.

"You bet. Speaking of bets, since the last one went sideways, how about the loser buys dinner tonight?"

" You’re on. "

Vilkas

He watched with muted interest as his twin settled into a stance. It seemed Vi had gotten a pair of swords. He'd admit, the stance she’d taken was flawless. He stiffened slightly when he caught Lydia’s sweet and smoky scent. He turned his head to see her and Rayya stepping out of Jorrvaskr. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Njada choke on her mead. He didn’t quite understand why. Both housecarls were in full armor, Lydia in her steel and Rayya in the strange golden armor.

He turned back to his brother and Vi, only to have his heart stop.

Farkas wasn't holding back, yet Vi was easily keeping up even challenging him. Divines , she was fast. And flexible. Very, very flexible.

Mere moments later, she was straddling Farkas, who was flat on his back and disarmed. From the color of his brother’s face and the scent in the air, he was having some very... interesting thoughts.

She stood, smoothly and gracefully, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. She signed something, raising an eyebrow when his brother just stared at her. After a moment he snapped out of it and accepted her hand. She pulled him up as if he wasn't nearly three times her size.

Then his brother caught sight of him, and of Lydia and Rayya just behind him. A mischievous grin split his face and he quickly signed something to Vi, who matched his grin and nodded. 

"Lydia! Rayya! Feel like joining us and giving Gem a challenge?"

That's right, his brother had started calling her Gem. Surely they weren’t going to go three against one? Vi was skilled, he'd admit that, but her having two swords now wouldn’t make that much of a difference, would it?

It would, it very much would. She was a living storm of steel with her two blades. She flipped and ducked and spun and slashed and won. All three of her opponents were flat on their backs. Her housecarls were grinning and his brother was back to staring at her like a love struck puppy. Vi herself was practically vibrating. 

She helped each of them up then signed something to Farkas that sent her housecarls into a fit of snorting laughter.  His brother flushed an even brighter shade of red and nodded. 

He really needed to learn to understand signing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ria nudging a red-faced Njada.

Farkas

He met Gem outside the Bannered Mare just as the sun began to set. They settled into a corner table and tucked into a meal of seared slaughterfish, grilled leeks, baked potatoes, and boiled creme treats. Farkas drank a bottle of mead and Vi just had water. Most of the meal was enjoyed in comfortable silence, but as the night began to wind down, Farkas found himself asking the questions that had been buzzing through his mind since the night of Gem’s ceremony.

“Hey Gem, can I ask you some questions?” She nodded and sipped on her water. “Um, what did you mean by what you said? When you hugged me? About the… other stuff you are?” 

She sighed and little words of ice appeared on the surface of the table.

I killed Grelod the Kind as a contract. I would’ve killed her anyway since she was a horrid old hag who was cruel to those children, but she was technically a contract kill. Shortly after the Dark Brotherhood, she paused, tilting her head to the side, choosing her words carefully, got in contact with me. I made another kill, though I’d been hunting that asshole for ages, and I was offered a place in the Brotherhood. I haven’t actually gone to them yet, but I most likely will at some point. As for the thief part, I’m not a member of the Thieves’ Guild, at least not yet, but I regularly pickpocket and steal valuables from rich assholes who piss me off. I just figured you should know.

He was silent as he processed her words. Thenhe leaned back and rubbed his neck.

“I don’t like it, but I’m not going to stop you. Not that I could in the first place, seeing as you kicked my ass earlier.” He picked up his fork and fiddled with it. “To be honest, some of the jobs we do are really similar to stuff you’d do with either of them. I’ll keep your secrets Gem.” He silently fiddled with the fork for a moment. “Have you gone to High Hrothgar yet?”

He’d heard the Greybeards’ summons. He’d felt the ground shake with the power of their Voices. Now that he knew who the Dragonborn was, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d answered them. She grimaced.

Not yet. I wanted to get a little stronger before I had to climb the 7,000 steps. Now that I have my swords, I’ll probably head to Ivarstead sometime in the next few days. A wry smile twisted her lips. I actually started the climb a while ago. Barely made it ten steps before I panicked and turned around.

“You can do it. It’ll be cold up there though.” He didn't like the careless shrug that Gem gave him. 

I can handle the cold. It won’t be fun, but I’ll survive. Oh, Eorlund said you could use the Skyforge whenever you wanted to. 

An idea sparked in his mind. If that was true, then he needed to get some things and get to the Skyforge quickly. 

Gem stood and stretched.

I should get back. It’s getting late. 

“Want me to walk you back?”

No, I’ll be alright. Thanks for dinner, Farkas. It was nice.

The Skyforge was wonderful to work. He’d only been at his idea for a few hours, but it was coming together quickly. Dawn was just breaking as he started adding the finishing touches. He heard Eorlund climbing the steps but didn’t look up.

“Damn lad, that’s some good steel. Awfully small for you though.”

“It’s for Gem,” he grunted, still not looking up as he etched nordic designs into the furlined steel armor. “She said she had to go somewhere cold so I made her some warm armor.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” He tensed slightly when Eorlund picked up one of the gauntlets. “Do you think when you’re done with that, you’d be willing to show me that interlocking trick of yours? In all my years I’ve never seen anything like it.” Farkas looked up, letting his surprise show on his face. “I didn’t give you a chance before. You’ve more than proven you deserved it.”

“Uh, sure.”

Chapter Text

Genevieve

As always, she left at dawn. The start of a new day and a new journey. As she walked toward the gate, she ran through a mental checklist. 

Ria’s present was sitting on the table, ready to be given to her. A good amount of gold had been left for Lydia to use to take care of Alesan, Braith, and Lucia while she was gone. She had her swords, her bow and arrows, her armor, her dragon priest mask, her pack and bedroll, plenty of potions, and several days of food. 

The plan was to go to High Hrothgar, then to return to Riften and purchase Honeyside. Then she’d go to Winterhold and see if the College of Winterhold could help her regain her speech (she just wanted to sing ).

Hurried footsteps behind her drew her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Farkas jogging down the street, carrying a bulky bag. She paused and raised her eyebrow when he reached her.

“You always leave at dawn and I almost overslept so I had to hurry so I didn’t miss you.” He swallowed and held out the bag. “Uh, I made you this. It’s kinda heavy, but it should keep you warm.” She accepted it, only slightly surprised at its weight. She peeked inside, surprised to see a fine set of fur lined armor. “I know you like light armor, but I haven’t figured out how to make that yet.” She smiled and slung her pack off her shoulder, carefully fitting the precious gift into her enchanted backpack.

“ I like being warm more than I like being fast. Thank you. I’ll put it to good use. ” 

Farkas flushed and looked away. He looked back to her when she settled her pack back on her back.

“You’ll write, won’t you?”

“ I said I would, didn't I? ” She stepped closer to him and hugged him. When she stepped back, a somber expression had replaced her smile. “ Farkas, if something happens to me, take care of my family. ”
“Of course. But, uh, try not to let anything happen alright? I like having you here.”

Something warm and almost foreign settled in her chest. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and quickly hurried away, waving farewell and shoving down the feelings that bubbled in her chest at his awed and dumbstruck expression. 

Frost, as always, was snapping at the stable hands who were trying to get him to cooperate. He settled slightly once he saw her and actually behaved himself after a few carrots and an apple. He fussed at having to have armor put on, but another carrots settled the dispute. She hoisted herself into his saddle, shooting one last glance at the city of Whiterun, before nudging Frost into motion and starting the journey to Ivarstead.

Chapter Text

Farkas,

Your armor kept me warm. I’ll admit it was a little strange to be wearing heavy armor, but it was worth it to stay warm. Which reminds me, before I started the climb(for real this time), people kept warning me about wolves. While climbing I encountered bears, ice wraiths, frost trolls and more bears (fucking bears) but not a single gods-damned wolf. 

High Hrothgar is a very calm place. Arngeir (one of the Greybeards and the only one who can speak without using his Voice) allowed me to stay a few days and even lent me a few books on learning Dovahzul, which is the dragon tongue. Speaking of which, I was able to Shout when they asked me. It still hurt, but it was a little easier this time. The Greybeards were a little shocked when I told them, but let me rest before each test so I didn’t injure myself further. 

How are the children? Has your brother interacted at all with Lydia? Did Ria like her present? Did Njada ever work up the courage to talk to Rayya before she left?

I’ll probably be in or near Riften when you get this. I finally have enough for Honeyside! I’ll have to put in my custom locks, but once I get that done I’ll be able to sleep without having to check my belongings every few minutes.

With fond thoughts,

Gem

Gem,

Your kids are scary. They’ve somehow managed to get Tilma to let them help her. I’ve been trying to do that since I was a whelp. Vil refuses to admit it, but he likes and is scared of Lydia in equal amounts and has hardly been able to put two words together when he’s near her. Njada was somehow even worse, minus the scared part. She kept trying to talk to Rayya but kept getting interrupted. She’s even grumpier when she’s sulking. Ria loved her new pack and all the nice smelling stuff in it. The swirls on it are pretty. 

It’s been a while since I was in Riften. Been in the Rift a few times though. All the leaves are really pretty. 

What will you do after you get Honeyside? You proved you were Dragonborn to the Greybeards, but what now?

Do you think I could learn your dragon speech?

Farkas

Farkas,

Of course you can learn Dovahzul! I’ve already made copies of these books for my own use, it’ll be easy to make some for you. 

It sounds like Alesan, Braith, and Lucia have made themselves at home in Jorrvaskr. I hope they aren’t causing too much trouble. While I can’t help your brother, I might be able to help Njada. I can send word to Rayya that Njada will be nearby on a job and that she’s allowed to stay at Lakeview as long as she needs. If you could get her a job in Falkreath, I think it will sort itself out. At the very least they’ll have spoken to each other. I should warn you that it’s not just a small house anymore. While down in Falkreath for one of your jobs I built it up a bit. It’s still not finished, but it is rather large and might be a little startling. 

As for what I’ll do next, Arngeir said for my last trial I have to go to an ancient tomb and get this old Greybeard artifact. I’ll most likely go up to Winterhold first. I have a feeling I’ll have to Shout in Ustengrav and I’d like to see if the mages can help me before I have to Shout repeatedly anytime soon. 

Oh, you and Lydia will get a kick out of this. I’m now Thane of the Rift. I have a new housecarl by the name of Iona. She’s a bit grumpy but within the first ten minutes of being sworn to my service she kicked the ass of a creep who wouldn’t keep his hands to himself and threw some assholes I had the misfortune of knowing into the canal when they tried to gut me. Before you worry too much, I’m perfectly fine. Not even a scratch on me. Do me a favor though, and let Lydia know Skaven’s got people hunting me and anyone I’m close to. She’ll know what it means.

Stay safe,

Gem

Gem,

Lydia laughed her ass off at your new title, though she almost looked scared when I told her about your run in with whoever it was. 

Njada returned from Falkreath today and she was almost smiling. I think our plan worked!

Ustengrav huh? I think that’s in Hjaalmarch, out in the marsh. Be careful out there, I’ve heard all sorts of stories about the things that live in that place. 

Your kids are a masters at pranks. They’ve talked me into helping them several times. It’s been a while since I’ve pulled a prank. I’d forgotten how fun it was. 

I keep forgetting to tell you, but Tilma’s been helping me write these letters, since I have trouble reading and writing. She says to tell you that your kids are a wonderful help and that they have started getting the others to clean up after themselves. 

I hope the mages can help you. Lucia said that you’d be humming or singing all the time and that it was something you loved to do. You deserve to sing again. 

Farkas

Farkas,

Forgive the short letter and messy writing, but the courier caught me getting on a carriage to Winterhold. Iona is coming with me. 

I’ll write when I can, but I guarantee nothing.

Perhaps, if this works, I can sing for you someday.

Give the children my love.

Gem

Chapter Text

Genevieve

The College of Winterhold loomed before her. She could see someone standing underneath the arch. Genevive sighed and forced herself to move forward. 

People here actively used magic. They sought ways to improve it. They shouldn’t push her away because she was a mage. 

As she approached, she saw that it was an Altmer blocking the way. Trying to settle the nerves that were coiling in her belly, she continued forward until the Altmer stepped forward.

“Cross the bridge at your own peril!” she boomed, “The way is dangerous and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!”

Genevieve waved her hand, causing words of sparking electricity to snap into existence.

I mean no harm. May I go in?

The Altmer relaxed ever-so-slightly.

“A mage? Welcome to the College of Winterhold. I am Faralda, one of the senior Wizards here. Tell me, what brings you to the College? What do you expect to find inside?”

I want to learn. Perhaps even unravel the mysteries of Aetherius.

“Ah, the immortal plane.” Something sparked in Faralda’s eyes. “It is said to be the source of all magic. This is a noble goal, indeed.” She tilted her head up, looking at Genevieve with curiosity and a trace of haughty pride.“It would seem that the College has what you seek, but now the question is what can you offer the College? Not just anyone is allowed inside, you know. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will.” 

Genevieve squared her shoulders. She wasn’t the best, but she understood the basics of every school of magic. 

What’s your test?

Faralda’s lips twitched upward.

“Those invested in Restoration magic find Healing Hands to be essential. Do you know this spell?” Know it? She tried to suppress a smile. She’d saved lives with it. Genevieve nodded, already pooling magic in her palms. “Can you cast it on me? That would prove your skill.”

Golden light immediately surrounded the Altmer. Clear surprise lit up her face as the light faded. 

“Well done,” she said, “Well done, indeed. I think that you will be a superb addition to the College. Welcome, Apprentice. Come,” she turned and started walking across the bridge, “I’ll lead you across the bridge. Once inside you’ll want to speak with Mirabelle Ervine, our Master Wizard.”

Genevieve hurried to catch up with Faralda’s long strides. The icy wind blew through her as she scampered across the bridge.

“What is your name, Apprentice? And where did you gain such skill in Restoration magic?”

Genevieve Archembeau. I worked with Danica Pure-Spring in the Temple of Kynareth, though a bit of it I know from figuring things out while traveling. 

“Archembeau? That name sounds familiar, though I can’t quite place it. No matter, I’ll remember it eventually. Now go find Mirabelle. She should be around somewhere.”

It didn’t take long to find Mirabelle Ervine. She was speaking pointedly to a tall Altmer in Thalmor robes. Neither of them looked particularly pleased with the other’s presence. Genevieve made sure her hood was pulled low over her eyes. Though she’d only been hunted by Thalmor agents once, the note still sat heavily in her bag and her mind.

Be on the lookout for a Breton named Vi. She is an enemy to the Thalmor and has actively disrupted our activities and caused great harm. If spotted, you are to destroy her with extreme hatred.

Be advised, she is extremely dangerou and quite able to defend herself. If caught by local authorities, we are unable to offer you any assistance.

For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!

She supposed that’s what she got for butchering any wandering Thalmor she came across.

Luckily, the Thalmor didn’t seem to notice her when he stalked away. Mirabelle did, and her second round of introductions began.

By the time she was led to the Hall of Elements for her first lesson, Genevieve’s head was spinning with the rush of information. Her new robes, while not of her preferred schools of magic, were warmer than the ones she’d had. The College itself was massive and absolutely thrumming with magic. 

So far no one had asked why she didn’t speak. There had been a few raised eyebrows, but those questions had been more about her technique than about her lack of speech. 

There were Masters in each of the schools. The Restoration Master was apparently hard to get along with, but she could handle short tempers or being underestimated or ignored. 

She stayed quiet through her first lesson, trying to get a feel for her fellow Apprentices. She ended up using her warding spell for the first time as Tolfdir was rather focused on safety (it wasn’t that it wasn’t important, it was that she could think of no better way to show something’s worth than to use it). 

By the time she curled up on her new bed in her new room, she was exhausted. Dull hunger clawed at her belly, but she ignored it in favor of sleeping. She could get something to eat when she stopped by the Frozen Hearth on her way to Saarthal.

Winterhold was really fucking cold and she would be as grumpy as she damn well pleased, thank you very much. Her journey to Saarthal had been freezing cold and filled with moronic bandits and frost trolls and some very pissed off snow bears that met a very grizzly end. By the time she slid down the icy steps and landed in front of Tolfdir and the other Apprentices, she was spitting mad and numbed down to her bones. 

Tolfdir raised an eyebrow but thankfully ushered them into the ancient runes quickly, sensing her foul mood and freezing limbs. 

She was only half paying attention to Tolfdir as rambled on about the ruins. She was starting to warm up a bit, but it would take more than a few minutes to get feeling back into her body. Eventually, he finished and started assigning tasks to each member of their little group. Instead of immediately going in search of Arneil, Genevieve wandered around, trying to thaw out a bit. 

By the time she could feel her fingers and toes, she'd found several different kinds of ingots and ore, several mushrooms and other alchemical ingredients, and a few other random supplies.  

The rings for Arneil were almost painfully easy to find, she honestly couldn’t figure out why no one had seen them before. Maybe she was more attuned to magical signatures than she thought? Of course, things just had to go sideways when she touched the strange little necklace.

Why did these things always happen to her?

Farkas

He was training in the yard when he noticed Alesan settling on the ground nearby, a book sitting in his lap. The young Redguard was watching him, his gentle earthy scent a mixture of hopeful excitement and anxiety. Farkas finished his set of exercises then replaced his sword in his back and moved to crouch in front of Alesan.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?” Alesan’s presence didn’t automatically mean something was wrong. When Gem’s children weren’t helping Tilma or pulling pranks somewhere, they often sought him out for stories or advice. It was just unusual for Alesan to be without his sisters.

“Nothing, um, I was just wondering if you’d uh, helpmereadmybookcauseMasaysyou’relikeme?”

Farkas blinked, taking a moment to process the sudden flood of words.

“Sure. Want to read out here or somewhere else?” Something warm settled in his chest when Alesan grinned.

“Under the Gildergreen?”

“Lead the way.”

Mere minutes later, Farkas was settled in a bench and Alesan was curled up against his side, the thick book open between them. 

“This one’s about the Dwemer! I saw a few of their ruins while Ma was bringing me back from Dawnstar and they were so cool!”

“The Dwemer huh? I haven’t been to any but I’ve heard of their contraptions. Their armor and weapons are pretty cool too.” Dwemer mechanisms and old nordic puzzle locks had been the inspiration for his interlocking armor. He let a small smile creep across his face when Alesan’s entire being lit up.

“Really! That’s so cool! Do you think Ma would take me to one someday? Or maybe bring something back from one?”

“She probably won’t bring you to one until you’re a bit bigger, but I bet she’d bring something home for you if you wanted. Maybe we can find something specific in your book.”

“Yeah!” Alesan leaned against Farkas and started flipping through the book until he found a thin leather cord with a few carved beads on it. “Ma doesn't like it when people fold down the pages of books to keep their place so she made us these.”

Farkas settled more comfortably against the bench and let Alesan read his book out loud. It was slow going, but interesting. Occasionally, Alesan would ask Farkas to help him figure out what a word was or what a paragraph said and they would work together to spite the wiggling letters and words.

They read together until the sun had started to set. After making sure Alesan got home alright (Lydia gave him a knowing grin when she’d opened the door) he headed back to Jorrvaskr, a few ideas flickering though his mind. 

“You really like them, don’t you brother?” Vilkas’ question pulled him from his thoughts. His twin was sitting on the steps, a bottle of mead in his hand.

“Yeah.” Farkas sat down next to him. 

“For what it’s worth, I hope things work out between the two of you. She’s nothing like Saveera, even if she is keeping secrets. I’m sorry for not giving her a chance.”

Saveera. He hadn’t heard that name in years. Looking back he couldn’t see why he’d ever liked her. Maybe that had been one of her tricks too. The scar she’d left on both his body and his soul ached dull at the thought.

“Where did Vi go, anyways? She isn’t on a job is she?”

“No,” Farkas rumbled, shaking his head, “She had some stuff to do in the east and up north.”

“She’s been gone for nearly a month though, surely it won’t delay her too much longer.”

Gem had missed her birthday. Knowing her, she’d spent it alone and in the wilds. 

“She said she didn’t know how long she’d be gone.” Farkas rolled his shoulders. “Her last letter said she was on the road up north, but that was almost a week ago.”

He hoped she was okay.

Genevieve

If the Deathlords could kindly fuck off, it would be greatly apprecieated. Of course she’d end up fighting them alone. Sure, the coffins were cool, but did Tolfdir really have to look at them now ? 

Of-fucking-course he showed up after all the deathlords were nice and permanently dead and she had figured out all the interesting pillar puzzles. Of course there was another draugr to fight and of course it was invulnerable and Tolfdir had to mess the the giant glowing orb with the funky symbols and she had to fight it and why wouldn’t it use ice magic to make her freeze while she did her best to keep it and its frost atronach off of Tolfdir’s back. When the draugr was finally, finally, dead, she swiped anything of value she could find before storming over to Tolfdir. She couldn’t help but bristle as he excitedly asked her to go all the way back to the College and talk to the Arch-Mage.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Something inside her snapped.

“ Am I alright? Am I alright? No, I’m not alright! ” Her thu’um filled her soft voice and echoed throughout the chamber. “ I had to fight at least five Deathlords all by myself because you just had to look at all the fucking coffins! I get it! They’re interesting! But by the Nine, why the fuck would you send someone who barely knows Alteration and Destruction magic ahead, alone in a crypt that had already proven itself to hold dangerous secrets! ” Tolfdir’s eyes widened a fraction as her Voice slightly shook the ground. “ I’ve barely set foot in the College! I just wanted to talk to Colette ‘cause my throat’s all fucked up! ” The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and something started to ooze past her lips and down her throat. “ So no, I’m not alright! I’m tired and pissed off and hungry ‘cause I can’t find the fucking kitchens and I can’t fucking eat! ”

Shoulders heaving, she glared at Tolfdir, wiping the blood from her lips. It took her a moment to process what had happened. 

She’d spoken. She’d used her thu’um without Shouting and she’d spoken .

“Ah, my apologies. I was so caught up in my fascination that I failed to truly think about what might’ve lain ahead. Colette likes to read in the Arcanaeum most mornings. I’d normally warn against wandering into the kitchens as Soli gets rather angry when people enter without her permission, but I’m sure she’d understand if you have a good reason. I’d recommend asking Mirabelle to introduce the two of you, as Soli oversees all things food related at the College.”

Her temper had settled as Tolfdir spoke. He was a refreshing change to the self-important mages she’d had to fight or deal with in the Jarls’ courts. 

Sorry for losing my temper. Little words of fire flickered in the air. They were small and weak as most of her magic had gone into fighting all the draugr, but they were there. Uh, can you keep the whole ‘shook-the-crypt-with-my-Thu’um’ between the two of us? I’m really just at the College to get help and to learn more about magic.

“Of course my dear. Speaking of learning, if you ever have questions dealing with Alteration magic, I’d be happy to help you.”

Genevieve nodded then slipped out of the chamber, eventually making her way out of Saarthal and returning to the frozen mountains of Winterhold. 

Farkas

He’d been reading with Alesan when Lydia approached him, looking (and smelling) uncharacteristically nervous. After asking Alesan to go find his sisters she looked Farkas in the eye.

“I have a request.”

Farkas straightened and squared his shoulders, though he remained sitting.

“What is it?”

“I need to go out hunting. Vi hasn’t been gone this long since she adopted her children and while she left a bit of money, I’d rather save what’s left for emergencies. Would you mind watching them for a few days? All of them have grown rather fond of you and-”

“Lydia, I’d be happy to. I’d have to make sure Tilma is alright with it but she adores them as much as I do. Are you planning on going alone though?” He knew she was a capable warrior, she had to be in order to be a housecarl. But anything could happen out there.

“Well, yes. Why?”

“Vil was planning on going hunting soon. You two could go together. You’d have someone with you in case something went wrong and you’d probably be able to find more food.”

Lydia pursed her lips, shifting her weight as she thought it over.

“If he can keep his temper in check, then sure, we could go together. I was planning on leaving around dawn tomorrow. Tell him to meet me at the gates if he wants to come.”

Farkas nodded, keeping his grin hidden. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother. 

As he’d expected, Vilkas jumped at the chance to spend some time with Lydia.

“She really said I could join her? You’re sure?”
“ Yes, Vil. She isn’t all that impressed with you, but she said you could go if you could keep your temper. So no blowing up, got it?”

His brother nodded, his focus now on packing his bag and planning a hunting route to suggest. Farkas, knowing he’d not get much more out of his brother, left his room, chuckling under his breath. 

Genevieve

It seemed to take forever to reach the College. By the time she saw the towering stone structure, she was once again freezing cold. Hunger still nawed at her belly, but she had become too cold and exhausted to care too much. Determined to find the Arch-Mage before her dwindling strength ran out, she trudged into the Hall of Elements and asked someone where he was, groaning when she was directed to climb several flights of stairs.

Luckily, Savos Aren was awake despite the late hour and rose to meet her when she started towards him. 

“Ah, hello. You’re relatively new to the College, are you not? I’ve seen you but I don’t think we’ve officially met.” Genevieve shook her head, drawing in a long breath as he continued, “Well, then, allow me to introduce myself. Savos Aren, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Now, what brings you here at this late hour?”

I need to talk to you about Saarthal. To- She was cut off by a long sigh.

“Please don’t tell me one of the apprentices had been incinerated,” he said, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I have enough to deal with right now.” Again, Genevieve shook her head.

We found something in Saarthal. Tolfdir wanted you to see it. He thinks it’s important.

“He does? Very well, I trust you wouldn’t be here were it not significant. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Tolfdir has been looking after your little group, yes?” At her nod, he continued, “Since he is occupied and I must see this… discovery for myself, I think that you should start researching the subject. Speak with Urag in the Arcanaeum. He’ll know if we have anything related to what you’ve found. And…” he paused, pulling a staff from a nearby rack, “good work. Should you find yourself exploring Nordic ruins, perhaps this might be helpful.” He handed her the staff. She could feel magic pulsing through it. If she had to guess, it had something to do with lights. Nodding her thanks, she left, bypassing the Arcanaeum in favor of trudging to her room and promptly curling up and passing out. 

She woke up hours later, her sheer exhaustion allowing her to catch more than her usual four-to-six hours of sleep. Her empty stomach immediately made itself known. She dragged a hand down her face, grimacing as she realized how messy her hair had become and how smudged her warpaint was. After taking a few moments to reapply her warpaint and redo her thick braid, she left her rooms in search of Mirabelle. She was hungry and she’d find the Divines-be-damned kitchens!

Chapter Text

Farkas

Something heavy and twisting settled in his gut when Alesan popped up out of nowhere, on the verge of tears and out of breath as he struggled to get any words out.

“Braith’s… sick.” he wheezed. Farkas’ blood ran cold. “She said she was kinda dizzy then she fell over and she felt super hot and-”

“Bring me to her.” 

Lydia and Vilkas had left the day before. Alesan, Braith, and Lucia had been staying at Jorrvaskr, splitting their time between helping Tilma and pulling pranks with their friends. Now that he thought about it, Braith had been unusually subdued.

He should’ve noticed.

Lucia and Mila were fussing over Braith when he reached them. He knelt beside her and lightly touched her forehead. Alesan was right, she was burning up. 

Cursing under his breath, he scooped her up.

“Lucia, come with me. Alesan and Mila, can you see if Arcadia has any potions that will help? I’ll give you the money, but at least go and check.”

The children bobbed their heads and scampered off. Braith whimpered softly and pressed closer to the cool metal of his armor. 

“Lucia, have any of you gotten sick before?”

“Yeah. Alesan got a little sick just after we brought him back. Mama made tomato soup ‘cause that’s what her Papa did for her and she kept him in bed and made him get lots of sleep.” Tomato soup huh? He’d have to ask Tilma if she’d show him how to make it. “Braith also got super sick after accidentally eating some chokeberries and Mama did the same thing but she also kept humming and singing softly to help Braith relax and know she was there. Braith doesn’t like being alone. ‘Specially when she’s sick.”

“Alright.” By now they’d reached Jorrvaskr. “Can you find Tilma and ask her if she’d make some tomato soup? I’m taking Braith to my room. She’ll probably be able to sleep better there. Less people to wake her up.”

Lucia scurried off to find Tilma just as he reached the stairs. Thankfully, most of the Companions were out training in the yard, so he reached his room without being disturbed. After setting Braith on his bed and tucking a thick pelt around her, he pulled up a chair for later. Then he moved toward his door. 

It had been years since he’d been taken care of while he was sick, but he had vague memories of a cool cloth being pressed to his forehead and being fed plenty of soup.

Lucia was at his door when he reached it, a folded cloth and a bowl of water in her hands.

“Tilma said to bring these to you and that she’d bring down the soup when it’s ready.”

“Would you be alright for a few minutes? If Arcadia does have anything to help, I’ll need to pay her for it. Just soak the cloth and put it on her forehead.”

Lucia bobbed her head and hurried over to the chair, setting the bowl on the bedside table and placing the clothes in it to soak.

Farkas ran into Alesan and Mila at the doors of Jorrvaskr. 

“Arcadia said she didn’t have anything ‘cause her latest shipment is late but she’d let us know as soon as she got something in."

Farkas sighed. This would be an interesting few days.

Genevieve

Soli, much to her surprise and delight, was a stout Breton woman with a backbone of steel. She'd taken one look at Genevieve before shooing Mirabelle out and ushering Genevieve into the kitchens. Genevieve had hardly even asked if she could make her own food before Soli was showing her where things were and encouraging her to make whatever she liked.

“Don’t worry about it! I can tell it's been a bit since you’ve had a proper meal. Absolutely not missy, you don’t need to explain a single thing to me. You’ve already been more polite than half the puffed up fools that come down here and it’s none of my business why you want to make your own food. Make me a list of ingredients you like and I’ll make sure to keep them in stock best I can.”

Thank you.

“For what, making sure you can eat? Sugar tits, that’s just basic, not to mention my job. Here, write your list on this.” Soli placed a piece of paper on the table, along with a piece of charcoal. Genevieve tilted her head.

Sugar tits? 

Soli snorted, watching Genevieve cut up some vegetables and add some spices to a pot of stock. 

“Yep. I’m not interested in men nor women but I sure ain’t blind. You are a lovely lady with a full figure. Unless you want me to call you something else?”

It’s fine, I just hadn’t heard it before. I’m Genevieve Archembeau, by the way.

“Soleil Monet, but call me Soli or I’ll whack you with a spoon.” 

Farkas

Braith fever had dropped a bit, but now she had a nasty cough and a stuffy nose that made it hard for her to breath. Lucia and Alesan had been sent to bed as it was late and they were both exhausted.

Farkas settled into the chair, settling the lute in his lap. It had been a while since he’d attempted to play. He grimaced when he plucked a string and it was terribly out of tune. It took a few minutes to tune it, but he was glad that he had when Braith sleepily blinked up at him.

“Y’gonna play?” she slurred. 

“Would you like me to?”

“Mhm.” Braith slowly sat up and wrapped the thick pelts around her more securely. She still looked sleepy and sick, but there was a faint gleam of hope in her eyes.

“Alright, I’m not very good though. And I haven’t played in ages.”

“S’okay. I jus’ li’ music.”

Farkas hummed in acknowledgement, strumming a tuneless song that actually didn’t sound too bad. Slowly, he started to remember a few songs he’d figured out. After several minutes, he even remembered a lullaby. When he looked up at Braith, she’d fallen back asleep, bundled up in his pelts and appearing content, if a little tired and sick.

Farkas kept strumming softly. 

Genevieve

“Of course I’ll help you! It’s nice to finally meet someone who thinks Restoration is a valid school of magic. Now, sit on this table. You’re having trouble with your throat, yes?” Genevieve nodded as she settled onto the table. “May I touch your throat? I can cast a diagnostic spell without contact, but I’ll get a better feel of what’s wrong if I touch.” Genevieve nodded again and lifted her head. She didn’t mean to tense when Colette’s fingers brushed against her throat, but she did. She could feel a gentle pulse of foreign magic run through her body, fading after a moment. 

Colette stepped back, her lips twisting into a frown. Genevieve tilted her head to the side.

What is it?

“I’ve never seen something like this. Something is greatly slowing your body’s natural healing process. You naturally have some resistance to magic, as all Bretons do, but I’ve never seen someone whose body rejects healing magic like yours just did to mine. Are you able to heal yourself?
Yes. Danica Pure-Spring was also able to heal me, but not as much and it was much slower. She had been helping me before, but then, she hesitated, then some events happened and she had to rush the process to save my life. I was completely unable to speak after that. 

“Do you know if she took notes on her procedures?” Colette’s frown deepened when Genevieve shook her head. “If I had a better idea of what’s already been done I might know how to move forward.

I’m not sure, but I can ask her. I don’t know if this is important, but potions used to do nearly nothing but as she helped me they started working again. Now they work almost as well as they’re supposed to.

“Hm, how odd. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, I’ve not a clue what to do. But,” her eyes gleamed, “I’m not giving up. I’ll start looking through my own notes in case there’s something that can help. If I don’t find anything there, I’ll look in the Arcanaeum and go through all our records."

Genevieve nodded and slid off the table. She moved towards the door, glancing back at Colette, only to find the mage completely engrossed in her notes, muttering under her breath.

Finding the Arcanaeum was easy enough. Once inside, she couldn’t help but look around in delighted awe. She’d never seen this many books in one place before! She was started out of her glee by a gruff voice.

“You want a book, you talk to me. Otherwise you’re going to find yourself in a lot of pain.” The voice belonged to a solidly built Orc with yellow-orange robes and an unimpressed stare. 

This library is amazing!  

The Orc, who she realized was probably Urag, nodded, something akin to pride flickering in his eyes.

“A mage is only as good as what he knows. I try to make sure as much knowledge is available as possible, though sometimes mages need to be reminded to be careful around research materials. We’ve been keeping this collection since the Second Era. Books have come and gone during that time, but it’s mostly intact.” His eyes narrowed. “Hundreds of years have gone into this library, and it’s going to stay pristine, understand?”

Genevieve nodded, a small smile curving her lips upward.

I’m here to learn as much as I can, so I can promise to treat this wonderful collection with the utmost respect. Which reminds me, do you have any books on Saarthal? We found something there and I kind of need to try and learn about it.

“I know exactly what you want. Word travels fast around here. Some big mystery was found in Saarthal, so big the Arch-Mage himself had to go see it. But no, I don’t have anything for you. Not anymore, anyway.”

Not anymore? What happened? Urag sighed.

“Orthorn stole a number of books when he ran off to Fellglow Keep to join up with those Summoners. Some kind of peace offering. I think one of those volumes held what you’re looking for, but if you want them you’d have to talk to Orthorn.”

Orthorn?

“He was an Apprentice here at the College. Not very skilled, but got involved with a group of mages that took a liking to him. When they left, he took off after them. Stole supplies and books as a way to integrate  himself, I suppose. And before you ask, Arch-Mage Aren’s approach to these kinds of things is to let them sort themselves out, though by the look of things, you’ll be doing the sorting. Good luck with that.”

Why are the mages at Fellglow?

“Let’s just call a ‘difference of opinion’ with the College. They were interested in research that goes outside the bounds of what the College allows,so they were…” he grinned sharply, “persuaded to leave.”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow then shrugged. She pulled out her map and eventually found Fellglow Keep, sighing heavily when she saw that it was back near Whiterun. Deciding to get the books later, she folded up her map and tucked it back into her pack. 

The rest of the day was spent in the Arcanaeum, devouring book after book. She found several new things to experiment with or track down (a journal claimed that there was a unicorn somewhere in Skyrim) and ended up promising to find some of Shalidor’s works and a few other books for Urag as she apparently had the most adventurous spirit of anyone in the College. 

Just as she was leaving, the Thalmor (Anacano, she thought, remembering Mirabelle’s brief explanation) showed up.

“You there, I have questions for you.”

Shit.

Farkas

He must’ve dozed off at some point because he woke up with a crick in his neck. Grimacing and trying to ease his discomfort, he glanced at his bed, only to find it empty. Something akin to mild panic curled in his belly as he stood and stretched, grunting as his muscles protested. As he climbed the stairs, following Braith’s smokey-spice scent, he registered the sound of steady rain and rolling thunder.

Ignoring the curious looks from the others, he tracked Braith’s scent to the back doors of Jorrvaskr. He stepped outside, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw Braith sitting in a chair, watching the rain fall from the sky. She was still wrapped up in one of his pelts.

As he moved toward her, she glanced at him then turned her attention back to the storm. When he was close enough, she spoke, her voice quiet and a tad raspy.

“M-. Vi likes storms.” She didn’t look at him when he pulled up a chair next to her.

“You know you can call her Mama, right? She’s been calling you hers for a while.” 

“The last person I called Mama stopped caring about me.” Braith looked down, clearly trying to hide the tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t wanna lose Vi too.”

“You won’t.”

A comfortable silence settled over the pair. After a while, the cool the storm brought seeped through the pelt and Braith started shivering. She started protesting when Farkas picked her up and carried her inside.

“I’m not even cold!” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a violent sneeze shook her entire body and she groaned. Farkas snorted as he set her down. 

“You’re still sick. Now sit and warm up by the fire and I’ll get some soup.”

A familiar scowl settled over her face but she wrapped the fur around her and grumpily slouched in the chair.

As he lumbered towards the kitchens, Farkas heard Alesan and Lucia settle next to their sister and ask her how she felt.

Tilma was in the middle of making breakfast, but she nodded her head towards a neat pile of ingredients.

“Fresh out of tomatoes, but Carlotta will hopefully have some more tomorrow. We have most other things so hopefully there's something else she’ll want until we can get some.” 

Farka glanced at the assorted fruits and vegetables. Nothing was immediately coming to mind. He knew chicken soup was often what people had.

“I’m gonna ask her.” He heard Tilma’s hum of acknowledgment as he ducked under the door frame. The trio of children immediately turned their attention to him when he crouched in front of them. “So we don’t have any more tomatoes, but we might have more tomorrow for some more tomato soup. Is there another soup you want or is anything okay?”

Braith opened her mouth, then closed it and looked down. Alesan nudged her. When she still didn’t say anything Lucia spoke up.

“She really likes apple cabbage stew but she knows Mama doesn’t like cabbage so she never asks for it.”

“Apple cabbage stew it is.”

He’d be writing to Gem later. She needed to know her daughter was hurting and scared of being abandoned again. He wasn’t her father (yet) but he wasn't going to let her be trapped with her own demons. Not when he understood exactly what it was like. 

With Tilma’s patient guidance, he soon had a decent stew going. While it was cooking, he settled into a familiar rhythm of kneading bread dough. He paused when he heard hushed, irritated voices.

“He’s acting like their father!”

“What of it, Skjor? This is the happiest I’ve seen him since well before Saveera.”

“He’s distracted, it’s going to get him killed.”

“Helping Tilma in the kitchens and bonding with pups is going to get him killed?” Aela snapped, her voice hard with an undercurrent of well-disguised hurt, “Skjor, he’s always been the gentlest of us, and yet he is the strongest of us. No, I’m not done, you don’t get to talk.” Aela was defending him? She never did that. He was just the big, dumb, little brother. “He’s in the Circle for a reason, Skjor, not just because he’s strong as an ox. He can handle himself in battle and if you’re dumb enough to think that Farkas is going to get himself killed becuase he’s starting to heal then you aren’t the person I thought you were.”

By now the stew was ready. Farkas dished up three bowls for his the pups and took them out along with a few slices of bread. Skjor and Aela looked at him in surprise, apparently having been unaware that he was in the kitchen.

“How much of that-” Skjor started, only to be interrupted by Farkas.

“Enough.” He walked past them and set the bowls in front of the trio of children. “Eat up. I’ll be right back. Gonna get some for me.”

Quiet footsteps followed him into the kitchen while heavy ones stalked away. “Did you mean it?” he asked, needing to know the answer, “That I’m the strongest?” It would be news to him. Sure, Skjor said he had the strength of Ysgromor, but that was as close to praise as he ever received from the elder warrior. But to hear Aela call him the strongest when she only ever called him icebrain? He had to know if she actually thought he belonged there.

“Yes,” she said, her voice steady but unusually soft, “I did mean it.” 

“I’m not going to stop. I don’t like being why you’re arguing with Skjor though.” He paused, weighing his options. “I know you like him.” He heard Aela’s sharp intake of breath, but pretended he hadn’t. “Dunno how I’m the only one to notice ‘sides Tilma, but I’m not going to tell.”

“When did you figure it out?”

“When you got mad at him after that one hunt for being reckless. It was different than when you scold me and Vil.”

“I guess you’re less of an icebrain than I thought.”

Farkas couldn’t help but flinch. He’d been called it for years, but now that Gem was helping him and Eorlund wanted to work with him, he was really starting to hate that term. He knew Aela had seen it and chose to ignore her troubled expression as he left the kitchen to sit and eat with the kids.

Genevieve

“You were in Saarthal, yes?” Not bothering to wait for her reply, the Thalmor continued on, “It has come to my attention that something was found there.” 

Maybe… She managed to keep her face straight as the Thalmor scowled.

“I know full well that you have. Please,” he spat, “do not insult my intelligence. Tolfdir is still there now, is he? I shall expect a full report when he returns.” With that, Ancano spun on his heel and stalked out of the Arcanaeum.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. Good to know her rather strong distaste for the Thalmor hadn’t become unreasonable over the years. 

As the days passed, she found herself quickly befriending her fellow Apprentices. J’zargo came to her to speak in his mother tongue and for healing when one of his experiments went wrong(which was more often than he’d ever admit). She and Brelyna traded spells and books and worked together to help each other improve (she’d said she didn’t need payment but Brelyna insisted on giving her the enchanted necklace, claiming she needed to after having accidentally turned Genevieve into all sorts of animals). Onmund warmed up to her after she convinced him to help her gather ingredients (that particular adventure started with a particularly potent waterbreathing potion of her own creation and ended with Onmund apologizing profusely for startling her off of the bridge and into the half-frozen water). She and Soli became fast friends as well, the other Breton’s sharp tongue and  wicked humor a welcome addition to her life.

It was strange to have so many friends. None of them were sworn to her. They didn’t care that she was a Breton and she didn’t have to hide her magic.

It was strange, but nice. 

“Have you tried going to the Bards College in Solitude? If you were able to talk a little bit then you might be able to use some voice training exercises to speak more. At the very least you could learn an instrument so you could teach your daughter, Lucia I think you said, how to play so she could be practicing as she grows up.” 

Genevieve shook her head then lifted the spoon to taste the clam chowder. Not quite satisfied with the seasoning, she added a pinch of salt and pepper and a dash of one of her spice blends and stirred them in. 

“Damn, that smells good. Oh, have you ever tried drawing as an outlet? I know you love music, but I’ve found that art helps me work through things if I can’t cook them out of my system. Maybe you could draw with magic? Is that a thing? Oh! You could make things out of magic!”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow and lifted one hand, letting magic pool in her fingers. She snapped her fingers and butterflies made of fire, ice, and electricity burst into existence, fluttering around the kitchen before exploding in a dazzling display of multicolored sparks.

Soli stared at her.

“Damn Genna! That was amazing! Wait, no, finish your chowder. I'm not done talking and you haven’t eaten anything today and it isn’t a bad day ‘cause you’re wearing your Amulet of Kynareth. You’re the Storyteller, that much you’ve told me. Why don’t you tell your stories by showing them through magic? You stopped ‘cause your throat, I get that and you're working on it. But there’s more than one way to tell a story.”

I’m not very good at it. The butterflies are about all I can do. I would make butterflies and some flowers before, just as little props and such.

“So practice here! It’d be a nice change of pace from all the usual experiments. Plus it’s fairly complex spellwork so I’m sure the others would help you, if you asked them.”

Genevieve shrugged, pouring some clam chowder into a bowl and slowly sipped it. 

I guess. I’ll experiment a little, but I should probably head back to Whiterun soon. I want to see if Danica kept any notes from when she helped me. That and I hadn’t planned on being gone this long in the first place. The money I left for Lydia has probably run dry by now and there aren’t any couriers that come here regularly. 

“Do you think you’d be able to write? It’s been nice having someone to talk to.”

I’m not sure if the couriers will come up here, but I can certainly try. 

She and Iona left for Windhelm three days later.

Farkas

“Can you really play the lute?” Lucia asked, startling Farkas out of his rhythm. He ended up lopping the training dummy’s head off. Replacing his sword, he turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not very good, but I know a little bit. Why?”

“Can you teach me? I wanna be a bard!”

“Uh, sure. How about after dinner?”

Lucia beamed and ran off, probably to try and entertain her still-sick sister. 

Just as he was about to start a new set of exercises, a courier appeared, looking around the courtyard. Farkas straightened.

“Who’re you looking for?” he called out, making his way to the Bosmer.

“Someone called Lydia. And someone called Farkas.”

“Lydia’s on a hunting trip, she should be back soon. I’m Farkas, though I can take whatever’s for Lydia.” The Bosmer shrugged and handed him two letters and a surprisingly heavy pouch. 

“The lady who gave these to me didn’t look happy when she gave them to me. Didn’t say anything but her friend looked almost murderous.”

Farkas nodded along. As soon as the courier was gone, he opened the letter addressed to him.

Farkas,

I got your letter. I hope Braith is getting better, though I’m sure you're taking good care of her. I sent more gold for Lydia to use, though I don’t know if she’ll be back by the time this reaches you. I had planned on returning to Whiterun but I’ve hit a snag in Windhelm and won’t be back for at least another week, probably more like two or three with how things are going. 

Iona will be with me when I return, as she wants to meet Lydia.

You have my thanks,

Gem

“Something wrong?” Aela’s voice brought Farkas out of his swirling thoughts.

“Gem’s coming back, though something’s set her back at least a week.” Hopefully Vil and Lydia will be-” he stopped, breathing in through his nose as a familiar scent caught his attention. It was certainly them, but why did they smell like their own blood?

Farkas and Aela hurried towards the gates.

Vilkas was helping Lydia walk, her arm slung across his shoulders. 

“Vil, what happened?”

His brother shook his head. 

“Not here. I’ll explain more when we get to the Temple.” Farkas nodded his head and swiped both Lydia and his brother’s pack. It was a slow trip to the Temple, but Lydia refused to be carried. Once they were inside and Danica was fussing over the nasty wound in Lydia’s side and down her leg, Vilkas sat down heavily and put his head in his hands. “I shifted,” he mumbled miserably. “We were hunting and these fucking assholes jumped us. I didn’t smell them ‘cause we’d just killed a few deer. All the blood blocked my senses. She managed a few good shots but took an axe to the side and a sword to the leg. She went down and I lost it.”

“Did she see?” 

“Yeah. She’s terrified of me. Hasn’t said more than two words to me since.”

Farkas grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. Beside him Aela sighed.

“What’s done is done,” she said, “Now she knows.” Suddenly her head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at the elder twin. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.”

“Then let me see it.”

Vilkas sighed and started to pull off his armor. It was most certainly not just a scratch. It was a deep gash across his shoulder and arm, one that could permanently affect his movement if it healed incorrectly.

“Vil, that’s not a scratch.”

“I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not.” Farkas, ignoring his brother’s protests, heaved him to his feet and half-carried him to one of the stone treatment beds. “Sit.”

“But-”

“Sit.”

Vilkas sat and stared as Farkas started cleaning his wound. He’d cleaned and taken care of his own wounds enough to know what to do.

“You’ve done this before.”

“‘S not that hard.”

“Are all those scars you have from wounds you hid from us?”

Shit, Vilkas had noticed them. Farkas shrugged, ignoring his brother’s heated glare. He was the strong one, the relentless one. He wasn’t supposed to be hurt or sick, his resilience was the only thing people didn’t tease him about or get mad at him for. 

“Farkas.”

“Danica should be over in a bit.” Farkas put the bloodied cloth down and ducked out of the Temple, ignoring his brother’s furious (worried?) shouts and Aela’s shock. 

He couldn’t wait for Gem to come back.

He was humming under his breath while he played on his lute, when Lucia knocked on his door.

“What song is that? I’ve never heard it before?

“It’s jus’ something I wrote ages ago.”

“Will you sing it for me?”

Farkas tried to resist, but he couldn’t say no to her pleading eyes.

“Alright. But it’s not that good.”

Lucia settled on his bed and waited expectantly for him to start. Farkas let out a long breath, sucked one in, and started to sing.

It was a simple song, one he’d written after a particularly hard day filled with teasing. He hadn’t grown into his height or his bulk and had been a clumsy mess, tripping over his own feet. Others made fun of him when he helped Tilma with the dishes and the cleaning and reading always made his head hurt and frustration burn in his gut. He’d felt too dumb, too tall, too big, too clumsy, too soft to be a Companion. No matter what he did, he was never enough. His Pa had never come back, his brother was better at everything, and he’d never felt more alone. 

So he’d written a song and had kept it to himself.

Once he finished, Lucia hugged him tightly.

“I think you’re cool,” she mumbled. “So does Mama and Braith and Alesan and Lydia.”

Farkas set down his lute and hugged her back, resting his chin on her soft yellow hair.

He heard movement outside of his door and glanced up to see the door to his brother’s room close.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

The way back to Windhelm was cold and windy. Even so, she often found herself on the deck of the ship, enjoying the salty air. The belly of the ship was far too similar to closets and coffins, so she’d stick to the open deck, thank you very much. Adelaisa thought she was nuts, but let her do as she pleased. After all, Genevieve had (almost) single-handedly taken care of Haldyn (she’d gutted him before he could so much as think of casting a spell) and the Blood Horkers. 

She was glad to see the docks of Windhelm. It wasn’t that she didn’t like traveling the sea, she just wanted to get back to her children. 

Once they were closer to the docks, she shot a ball of fire and electricity into the air, letting Iona know she was back when it burst into a spectacular display of light and magic. Her red-headed housecarl had been injured on the return trip from Dawnstar, and healing her injuries had left the Nord exhausted and hardly able to wield her mace. 

When the ship finally reached the docks and Genevieve hopped onto the stone of the loading area, Iona was waiting for her, looking as grumpy as ever. She had a thick stack of letters clutched in her hand. Orthus was standing near her, looking vaguely terrified of her but happy to see Genevieve and Adelaisa. 

He waited until his superior had made her way to the East Empire Company’s office to speak with her. 

“I can’t tell you how much easier you’ve made my job. Maybe Adelaisa will finally ease up, but I expect she won’t. Here’s your pay,” he handed her a hefty bag of coins. “The Company thanks you for your services. Should we ever be able to help you, please stop by.” 

That gave her an idea.

Do you get coffee beans?

“Coffee? That’s a Redguard drink, yes? I think we do, though I doubt we have any in stock at the moment. Why do you ask?”

One of my friends mentioned she missed it so I wanted to get some. There are some spices and other such things too, but I’m not exactly the wealthiest woman and the coffee alone must be expensive.

“I think we can work something out.”

Farkas

He’d been avoiding his twin, and people were starting notice. Kodlak had called Farkas to his front room, as he was having trouble getting up the stairs as he got older (as the rot got worse). Farkas ducked under the doorframe and stood awkwardly in the door, unsure if he should sit.

“Sit down, lad. We have much to discuss.”

Something about this second father’s words made something uneasy set in his blood. He set himself in the chair across from Kodlak. Though he was trying to hide it (as he had been for over a year), Farkas could see that he was feeling sick and weak. 

“What did you want to talk about, Harbinger?”

Kodlak’s gray eyes bored into his own.

“Eorlund tells me you’ve been helping him work the Skyforge.”

“Yeah.” He’d been spending more time there to avoid his brother. Eorlund hadn’t said anything, just let him fix or forge as he pleased.

“Tilma also tells me you’re learning to cook.”

“So?” He liked cooking. He wasn’t very good at it, but the pups seemed to like it well enough.

“It’s been quite some time since you’ve helped Tilma, lad. It’s good to see you acting more like you used to.”

“Just got tired of her having’ to do everything when we’re able to help just fine.” So far no one had teased him about it, at least not when he could hear them. Some of them had even helped Tilma clean up a few times. 

“Does Vi have anything to do with you starting again?” There it was.

“Why?”

He liked Gem. She was smart and patient and kind and pretty. She didn’t call him dumb and never teased him when he wanted to help Tilma. She was strong in more ways than one. So how anyone could keep thinking she’d be like Saveera he didn’t understand. Gem and Saveera were nothing alike.

“You’ve just become quite attached to her, that’s all.”

“She’s not like Saveera.”

“I didn’t say-”

“But you were thinking it. Everyone is.” He wasn’t dumb. He noticed things. “She made those potions. The ones in your room.” He could smell them. Gem was the only one who made potions that strong. “She’s got kids to provide for. That’s why she isn’t here much, not ‘cause she’s plotting to steal from us or hurt us. She makes potions and necklaces and stuff to help keep her family fed, that’s where she gets the extra coin she has.” She might steal stuff or take contracts, but she kept that separate from her Companion work and she’d never stolen or hurt one of them, unlike Saveera. Gem was also the Dragonborn and a healer and a mage, but Kodlak didn’t need to know that.

“We’re just worried.”

“Don’t be.” Gem wasn’t like Saveera. She might hide things, but she didn’t outright lie. He stood and lumbered over to the door. He turned his head to the side, not quite facing Kodlak but no longer facing forward. “If Vil’s so worried, he can come find me himself.”

He left, shoving down the heavy thickness that suddenly coated his throat.

Genevieve

She wasn’t surprised when Ma’dran greeted her with another tackling hug. She let him fuss over her and answered all his questions before she traded with him and she insisted on buying the daedric mail armor, knowing full well he’d just hand it over to her if she’d asked. It put a bit of a dent in her funds, but it was worth it. Just as she was leaving, Ma’dran asked her to wait a moment and disappeared into his tent.

“Khajiit was sorting through the stores and found some things Little Cub should have,” he said, emerging from the tent, cradling something against his chest. He held out his hands and her heart stopped. A pair of rings glimmered in the sunlight, resting on top of a pair of achingly familiar journals. 

Are those…?

“Corbin and Esme’s rings? Yes, Little Cub, they are. These are their journals as well. Khajiit will admit, they contain mostly notes, or lists, but…” he trailed off, his ears drooping. “They are all that is left.”

Her father’s ring was gold with a single emerald set into it. An enchantment that helped with alchemy shimmered across it, familiar and comforting. Her mother’s ring, that she’d only seen once before, was silver with a blood red ruby. The enchantment on it helped with Restoration magic. 

She carefully picked them up, looking at them before she slipped them on, one on each of her middle fingers, her father’s on her right and her mother’s on her left. Her third ring, a gold one with a sapphire set into it, gleamed next to her father’s, the waterbreathing enchantment on it thrumming cheerfully as she flexed her hand.

She picked up the journal’s carefully flipping through them. As Ma’dran had said, they mostly contained notes of healing magic or on various plants or potions. A few entries caught her eye, and she made a note to look at them later. Genevieve tucked the precious books into her pack and hugged Ma’dran tightly.

Thank you.

Ma’dran purred and hugged her back.

Vilkas

He was being a coward, but he just couldn’t bring himself to climb the steps of the Skyforge. His twin was avoiding him and it hurt, but he just couldn’t seem to muster the courage to corner him and talk to him.

He’d realized a lot of things over the past few weeks. Most of them had to do with his brother. Farkas had been hiding his injuries for quite a while, long enough that he was good at treating them. The monstrous scars that he’d seen that day in the Underforge kept flickering through his mind. Some of them should have been fatal, yet his brother was still fully functional and very much alive. His twin was a smith, and a good one if Eorlund’s word was anything to go by. Smithing wasn’t something that could be learned in a day, but his twin was skilled enough for Eorlund to let him work the Skyforge. Farkas could play the lute. Not only that, but he’d written at least one song. The song wouldn’t leave Vilkas’ mind. He tried to convince himself it was just a song, but the look his brother had had on his face and the way he’d sung it told Vilkas that it wasn’t meaningless.

Farkas felt like he didn’t belong. 

Farkas felt like he had to hide things.

Farkas had been hurting for years, and he hadn’t noticed.

“Are you going to pace all day, boy?” Eorlund barked, startling him out of his thoughts. “Your brother’s still up there and from the looks of it, he won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

“I’m, I was just,” Vilkas sighed. “I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.”

“Just do it, boy. The tension between you two is ridiculous.” Eorlund left without another word, leaving Vilkas with the challenge of facing his twin. 

He steeled his nerves and started the climb, his resolve slowly fading as he got closer and closer. He swallowed when he reached the top.

Farkas fiddling with some odd metal contraption. Large slabs of shaped metal sat around him, some of them made of several interconnected pieces. His brother wasn’t in his armor, though Vilkas saw it neatly piled off to the side. His brother’s shirt was folded up and sitting next to it, leaving the younger in only a pair of boots and breeches. 

Muscles rippled and shifted as Farkas worked, the sheer strength he had obvious, even without armor or a weapon. 

“What, Vil.” Ah, so he had been noticed. His brother sounded resigned and on edge.

“I, uh, was just wondering what you’ve been doing up here.” Not entirely wrong, but not what he’d meant to say.

“Now or earlier?”

“Um, both?”

“Was fixin’ stuff earlier. Now I’m making stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Armor.”

That was armor? He stepped closer, furrowing his brow when he couldn’t figure out how the puzzle pieces of steel worked to make armor.

“This is armor? How does it work?” 

His brother actually looked up, his hands stilling as he stared at his twin. Seemingly satisfied with what he’d seen, though clearly still wary, Farkas set down the piece he’d been working on and made his way to his own armor. He picked it up and carried it over to Vilkas, handing it to him before he sat down and continued working.

“You’re the smart one, you tell me.”

Vilkas winced at those words, but sat down on the ground and spread out the armor, his eyes widening at what he saw.

He’d thought his brother was wearing regular nordic steel. Now that he was up close, he realized that he had been entirely wrong. 

Pieces of metal were expertly fitted together, the edges made of slotted latches that locked together. All of the latches could be unlocked one by one, but there was a central mechanism that both locked and unlocked all of the latches on the main section of armor. There were smaller mechanisms on the gauntlets and the boots. All of the armor had nordic designs etched onto it, purposely disguising the latches as just another design. 

“This is amazing!”

“Not really. I made it ages ago.”

Vilkas snapped his head up, gaping at his brother.

“Farkas, this is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this. How do you even make this? It must’ve taken forever!”

Farkas curled into himself.

“Wasn’t that hard,” he mumbled, “All those old puzzle things sorta gave me the idea. Then I fiddled until it was right.”

“I still think that it’s amazing. I certainly could never do something like it.”

He was useless with a hammer and Divines knew he didn’t have the patience to work metal, heating it and pounding it over and over again until it was just right.

Across from him, Farkas just shrugged and continued fiddling.

“Farkas?”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t know you anymore. Do you think it’s possible that I could?”

Farkas just shrugged again.

Farkas

It was weird for Vilkas to be interested in what he was doing. Ever since that first day, the elder twin had come up to the Skyforge after Eorlund left. Sometimes he talked with Farkas, sometimes he brought a book to read and he'd sit and read while Farkas worked.

He'd just finished calibrating the main locking mechanism, when a wonderfully familiar scent wafted to his nose. He set his work down and stood, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the stiffness in his back.

"She's back, isn’t she?"

"Aye. Smells like she's brought her newest housecarl with her."

"Another one?" Vilkas asked, standing to walk down with his twin.

"Mm. She’s Thane of the Rift. Went to Riften to buy a house and ended up becoming Thane."

"Why’d she want to buy another house? Doesn't she already have two?"

"Said she was tired of having to check her stuff every few minutes when she paid for a room."

"She's in Riften that much?"

"A while ago she mentioned that people would pay for specific fish, so I guess she's been catching them and taking them to people."

By now the pair had reached the Gildergreen. Danica, who was tending to the tree, shot them a knowing grin.

"She just got back. The whole city is talking about it. Lydia went to meet her."

Both of them flushed but nodded their thanks and hurried down the stairs to the market.

Gem was talking with Carlotta, Lydia and someone who could only be her new housecarl, Iona if he remembered correctly,  standing behind her.

Iona was tall and broad, her Nord blood evident in every fiber of her being. Her hair was cut short and vibrantly red. She looked distinctly displeased, her lips twisted into a seemingly permanent frown. What caught his attention next, was her gauntlets. They were made of Nordic steel, that much was obvious. Along the top and sides of the gauntlet, where her hand was, there were several wicked looking spikes of honed steel. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Gem bouncing over to him and hugging him. He hugged her back. He glanced up from her to see Lydia looking uneasy and Iona looking faintly amused.

“I take it this is Farkas.” Iona drawled, looking him up and down. Gem pulled back and turned to face her, starting to sign once Iona could see her hands.

“ Yes, this is Farkas. Farkas, this is Iona. ”

“Um, hello. Your gauntlets are cool.”

“Eve made them for me.” Iona raised her hand, flexing it. “I brawl a lot. These help get the point across quickly.”

“Plenty of brawls up at Jorrvaskr, if you’re interested.” 

Iona raised an eyebrow, sliding her steely eyes down to Gem. She shrugged and started to sign.

“Planned on going there anyway. Plus Lydia wanted to spar you and that’s where she sparred Rayya.” She tilted her head to the side and looked up to Farkas. “Where are the-” she was cut off by three delighted shouts and three small bodies slamming into her. She stumbled slightly, but managed to keep upright as she hugged her children.

After the happy reunion, the group headed up to Jorrvaskr.

Iona

She hadn’t expected her Thane’s mysterious and unofficial lover to be a gargantuan Nord. She was wary of him for a total of thirty seconds. Then she saw how at ease Eve was around him and all her misgivings washed away.

It had taken weeks for Eve to be able to sleep more than a few restless hours in her presence. It had taken weeks for her to settle enough to show Iona her magic and it had taken weeks for her to even mention her children, let alone her past.

She may be uncomfortable around most large Nordic men, but this one had clearly worked to gain her trust and learn how to talk to her.

Her children were just as chaotic as Eve had described, asking a million questions a minute and describing all the adventures that they’d had while their mother had been gone. 

Something soft and warm had filled Eve’s eyes, and Iona couldn’t help but relax a little bit. 

The moment she stepped in Jorrvaskr, Iona paused. 

She hadn’t seen her in years, not since the younger woman had had to flee Riften after angering Maven Black-Briar, also known as Bitch-Briar. She hadn’t changed much. Filled out a little, gotten a tad taller, but was still the same scrappy brat Iona had grown up with.

Iona allowed a rare smirk to curve her lips upward. 

"Oi, 'Ada, you still think you can best me in a brawl?"

Njada's head snapped towards her, scowling until she registered who'd spoken and what had been said.

"'Ona?" 

Farkas

Njada sounded small in a way she never had before. It reminded him of the first time he’d met her. Suddenly, a memory flickered through his mind.

(“You’ve got quite the punch.”

“You should see my sister.”

“Sister?”

“Yeah. Only person in the world whose opinion matters to me.”)

Iona was Njada’s sister. Maybe not by blood, but most definitely her sister. 

All of Jorrvaskr was watching the pair with a mixture of shock and curiosity. He could understand why, having known her the longest out of all of them. He’d been the one to recruit her and convince her to join the Companions after she’d helped him on a job. Even back then, she’d been guarded and prickly. To see her so open was unusual, to say the least.

Njada

Iona was there. Iona was in Jorrvaskr.

She hadn’t seen her adoptive sister in years. She hadn’t changed much. She was still taller and broader and oozed an aura of strength and power that Njada would never have. Her hair was still short and fiery, though the purple tinge on her lips and the dark liner around her eyes was new. 

“Do you want me to take these off,” Iona asked, holding up one of her hands to reveal her spiked steel gauntlets, “or do you want to put these on and show me what you’ve got?” Iona tossed something to her. Njada barely snapped out of her shock in time to catch it. ‘It’ turned out to be a pair of spiked hide gauntlets. 

Her sister wanted to brawl, just like they did before. She couldn’t pull the gauntlets on fast enough. 

“You’re on.” 

Iona’s smirk was all the reward she’d ever need. 

Their brawl was long and brutal. Her sister challenged her in a way the others never could. Both of them knew better than to try and follow the ‘honorable’ rules, both having grown up on the unforgiving streets of Riften. Their brawl ended with both of them bruised and battered and exhausted, with plenty of new cuts and probably a few fractured bones. They were both breathing heavily and grinning ferally.

“Hey, Eve,” Iona wheezed, half straightening while she curled an arm around her torso, “I don’t suppose you’d heal us?”

Vi, who’d watched the entire fight with thinly veiled amusement, shrugged, signing something too quickly for Njada to catch (of course she was learning how to sign, she might be a foul-tempered bitch, but she wasn’t going to refuse to communicate with someone who was actually halfway decent and who’d adopted three chaotic children).

“Great. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure ‘Ada busted something internal.” Iona limped over to Vi and plopped herself in a chair with a grunt. Vi began to dig through her pack. Then she paused, glanced at Farkas, then raised her empty hands and lightly touched Iona.

Golden light surrounded her hands and twisted around Iona. Njada felt her heart stop for a moment. 

Vi was a mage. Farkas clearly knew and still adored her. Iona trusted her.

The rest of the Circle looked troubled, for reasons she understood but didn’t care to think about. Farkas could handle himself and was scarily good at reading people. He didn’t need them making decisions about his love life because of something that had happened half a decade ago, especially when they had all been fooled in the first place. 

Iona

Judging by their reactions, the rest of the Companions didn’t know about Eve’s magic. Well, they did now and they’d have to get through her and Lydia before they’d ever get after Eve. Njada, while a little bit uneasy, allowed herself to be healed, flexing her hands in amazement afterwards.

“We can spar in a bit if you want, but I need to catch up with ‘Ada before I do anything else.” Iona said to Lydia. The other housecarl shrugged.

“I need to talk to Vilkas about something anyway. Might as well get it over with.”

Iona hid a smirk in a bottle of mead when the short-haired twin perked up. It was obvious that he was smitten with Lydia, even if she was unimpressed with him at best.

“Works for me.” Iona turned back to Njada as Lydia stalked over to Vilkas, leaving her relatively alone with her sister. “So, how’ve you been for the last decade or so?”

"Fine." A platter was set on the table between the two women and Njada nodded her thanks to Tilma as she started piling her plate with food. "What are you doing here?”

“Eve’s kid got sick so she came back here. I’m her housecarl so I came with her. Plus Lydia apparently wants to spar me.”

“Housecarl?” Njada’s voice was strangled.

“She’d have four if Winterhold had more than five people, but as it is I’m her newest. She’s not what I expected. Told Bitch-Briar to go fuck herself, kicked the Jarl’s son’s ass when he was being a lazy spoiled brat, and then fussed over all the children in the orphanage as if she were their mother. But when some sleeze was getting too handsy with her she didn’t really defend herself. She’s a lot like us, you know. Food’s not something she takes for granted.” She knows what it’s like to starve.

“She doesn’t eat Tilma’s food.”

“Shit happened. She gets sick if she doesn’t make her own food. She can eat a little bit of tavern food, but it’s been getting worse so she’s been eating less and less.” Iona sipped on her mead as Njada picked at her food. “So, what’s Farkas like?”

“Big and strong and not stupid like most people think. He’s good with his hands and something about reading gets him confused. Outright tell him what he needs to know and he’ll be fine, but make him read it and it’ll be frustrating for everyone involved. He’s a gentle giant, but push him too far and you’ll regret it. Why?”

“Eve likes him and while I trust her judgment, I’m still curious. What about you, find yourself a woman yet?”

Njada flushed a brilliant red.

Lydia

“Does Vi know?” Lydia snapped as soon as they were alone. Vilkas signed and ran a hand through his hair.

“About the beast blood? Yes. She found out during her trial. If it’s her safety you’re worried about, my brother is much better at controlling the blood than I am. If he had to shift it would be to protect her, not to harm her.”

“Can I trust you around her and her children? Or should I tell them to stay away from you.” She was seething. Her sworn duty was to protect her Thane, her Thane’s family, and all that her Thane owned. To think that the children had been freely running around the home of werewolves was…not something she wanted to keep thinking about.

“We aren’t going to hurt them.” Vilkas actually sounded hurt. “They’re practically Farkas’ pups. We don’t just go around hurting people.”

“A werewolf in Falkreath tore a child apart. Vi said he claimed it was an accident, that the wolf just took control. I’m not asking if you would hurt them, I’m asking if you can control it.”

“I can. What happened when I was with you won’t happen again.”

“Which reminds me, what exactly happened because you said you’d explain and you never did. So start talking.” She shoved down the twinge of guilt she felt when he flinched and looked away.

“You got hurt and something inside me snapped. The beast took over and I was too upset to get it under control before all of them were torn apart.”

“Why do you even care that much?”

Why did she even care? Sure, he was (un)fairly handsome, but Vi was still nervous around him. He still hadn’t tried to make things better with her. And now, it seemed, he was a werewolf who could tear through an entire band of armored attackers in seconds. (But why did he only snap when she went down?)

He refused to meet her eyes. 

“Well?”

“You’re strong and smart and pretty.” he mumbled.

He liked her. Vilkas, one of the twins of Jorrvaskr, liked her.  

She spun on her heel and stormed towards the door, only turning back when she was halfway out of it.

“Make things right with Vi, and then we can talk.”

She left, slamming a lid on the bubbling frustration in her chest.

Of course when someone finally liked her, they had to be someone out of her reach. He was a well respected Companion with a reputation for being able to charm anyone. She was a housecarl, sure, but she was also just the average hot-blooded Nord woman. There was always someone prettier or smarter or more suited to be a proper wife.

(“You’ll never find a husband with that attitude. Why can’t you be more like Heida and stop pretending you’re something worth fighting for.”)

She slammed her fist into the wall, ignoring how it shook. She’d never get their words out of her head, no matter how long she was away from them.

She found Iona out in the training yards, running through some shield maneuvers with Njada.

“I take it you want to spar now?” Iona said, resting her glass mace on her shoulder. She’d obviously noticed Lydia’s foul mood, but had thankfully not mentioned it. 

“Yeah.”

Iona glanced at something (or someone) behind her, then back to Lydia.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Iona knew how to wield a mace, Lydia would give her that. And despite her prickly nature, she took all of Lydia’s frustration-filled strikes with near endless patience and returned them as if it were a normal sparring session. 

Afterwards, she even dragged Lydia down to the Bannered Mare, claiming she wanted to chat housecarl-to-housecarl. She bought them both a drink and didn’t say a word, though she did get into a brief and brutal brawl with Uthgerd after the latter insulted Vi and the Companions as a whole.

“You get into a lot of brawls, don’t you?”

“I have a lot of pent up frustration and anger. Brawls work some of that out.”

She could understand that.

“Now, it’s none of my business, but I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk about why you came back from your chat with Vilkas looking pissed to Sovngarde?”

Lydia snorted and downed the rest of her mead.

“Just stupid feelings and memories from when I was younger.” Iona motioned for her to elaborate. “I grew up in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Let’s just say they had very specific ideas for what a woman should be and I wasn’t it. I left as soon as I was old enough to join the guard and haven’t looked back since, but no one’s ever been interested in me unless it was to use me as a stepping stone. Then Vilkas, who’s a clumsy fool half the time I’m around him, said he liked me but he’s Vilkas of Jorrvaskr and some things happened and I don’t know how to feel anymore!”

“And it doesn’t help that Eve’s still a bit uneasy around him, does it?”

“Not in the slightest.” Lydia slumped forward and ran her finger around the rim of the empty mead bottle. Iona slid a second one towards her.

“Drink up. You look like you need it.”

Lydia shrugged and picked it up.

Vilkas

He was most definitely sulking when Iona barged into his room.

“Alright mutt, I’m only going to say this once so shut up and listen. Lydia is in fact interested but Eve, you know her as Vi, is still uneasy around you plus she said something happened a few weeks ago. So, first you’ve got to work to make Eve more at ease around you and then you can start thinking about Lydia. She does tend to like warriors but they’ve got to be able to take care of themselves. As in cook, clean, do basic clothing repairs, that kind of thing. She grew up with shitty people who thought she should just settle down and pop out babies and who told her she wasn’t anything special so she shouldn’t hope someone will try and impress her. Prove them wrong and be able to at least make her a half-decent venison stew and some bread and I think the two of you will be just fine. And before you ask, she’s important to Eve, who’s important to me. Therefore, Lydia is important to me.”

“How’d-”

“How’d I know all that? Because I took her out for a few drinks where she could relax and vent after getting so pissed off. Now get your shit together and talk to Eve in the morning.” With that, Iona left, leaving Vilkas in a stunned silence. 

The next morning, it took longer than he’d like to admit to work up the courage to talk to Vi. She was sitting with Farkas, curled up under his arm as she sorted through her bag of alchemy ingredients. 

“Um, Vi? Would I be able to talk to you for a second?” 

She tilted her head, her startlingly blue eyes boring into him for a moment before she nodded. She handed Farkas her bag of ingredients after pulling out her notebook then stood up and followed Vilkas to a more secluded corner of the main hall.

“I’m sorry for being such an ass to you. There’s no excuse for letting my quick judgment and poor temper rule my actions.” Vi tilted her head and wrote in her notebook.

Your apology is accepted. Part of it was that you were worried about Farkas, right? I’m guessing something happened in the past and that's why all of the Circle are so wary of me? That and now my magic?

 “Yeah. It’s his story to tell, but the last person he was so fond of was…not a good woman. She was also a mage, but he already knew that you use magic, didn’t he?” Vi nodded.

He knew before I joined the Companions. I just got back from the College of Winterhold. I went there to see if they could help me regain my voice. Their Restoration specialist is looking into it.

“Do you think I can learn that sign language you use? I,” he sighed, “I should’ve started learning it when you first came here but I let my pride and my temper get in the way.”

If you want to, then you can. Farkas has the original books but I can make you your own copies if you want. All of my housecarls have their own set.

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to make me copies? I don’t want to accidentally mess up the originals.”

Vi nodded. Then she curved her lips into a mischievous grin.

If you want, I can show you how to make a good venison stew and a nice loaf of bread. Their Lydia’s favorites.

He felt his face heat as Vi patted his shoulder and walked back to sit next to Farkas. 

Farkas

He would’ve pretended he hadn’t heard all his brother had said, but there wasn’t any point when Gem knew he had. She settled comfortably against his side and snuggled closer, resuming her sorting of ingredients.

“Why did he turn red after he asked for the books?”

Little words of ice floated amongst the flowers.

I offered to show him how to make Lydia’s favorite meal.

“That makes sense.” That reminded him. “Um, would you want to go stargazing with me tonight? I think those pretty lights, I can’t remember what they're called, are going to show up and-" He was rambling. He knew he was rambling but that's what happened when he was nervous and while he was fairly certain Gem would day yes, he was still nervous she’d say no and-

A gentle poke to his forehead pulled him out of his thoughts.

“I’d be happy to.”

Something warm and happy pooled in his chest as she settled back under his arm.

“Um, we can meet by the gates if you want? Just after sunset?”

Gem nodded and Farkas rested his head on hers.

Genevieve

She made apple cabbage stew for dinner that night. Braith’s eyes were suspiciously wet as she ate, but when the children went to bed she hugged Genevieve tightly. When she pulled away and turned to follow her siblings, Genevieve stopped her and crouched in front of her.

“You don’t need to hide things. I’m not going to stop caring about you just because you like cabbage or get sick.”

“But,” she sniffed, rubbing at her eyes, “but my blood did.”

“They are dumb and I am not them. You are my Spitfire. You are my daughter and nothing will change that or make me stop caring. Blood does not mean family and family does not mean blood. If you need help or want something specific to eat or are feeling sick, you need to tell me so I can help or make it. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Genevieve pressed a kiss to Braith’s forehead and let her go to bed. She stood and saw Lydia’s troubled expression. Her housecarl was looking at the sign books on the table.

“Are you making copies?” she said, turning towards Genevieve.

“Yes. Vilkas wanted to learn how to sign and I offered to make copies.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He also apologized to me.”

Lydia furrowed her brow and said nothing. She climbed the stairs moments later, still deep in thought. 

A few minutes later, Genevieve left Breezehome and walked to the gates where Farkas was waiting. He was holding a basket with a blanket tucked over it. Something smelled good. He noticed her fairly quickly, flushing and raising one hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Tilma insisted I bring some food and I couldn't say no…” She hooked her arm around his and took the basket. Farkas gave her a shy, crooked grin and they started walking. “There’s this spot out in the plains, not too far but still a bit of a walk, that’s perfect for stargazing. It’s safe from wolves and sabres and such ‘cause it’s on top of this rock that sticks up and they can’t on it and it has a really clear view of the sky.” That sounded nice. The plains were surprisingly peaceful as they walked. The only creatures that were in sight were the touchbugs and luna moths that flitted through the grass and flowers. They reached the rock outcropping and easily scaled it. “We could sit on the blanket, if you want?” Genevieve untucked the blanket and Farkas helped her spread it out. They settled down and she took a look in the basket and glanced up at him in confusion. “Um, Tilma wouldn’t let me just bring fruit. She insisted I bring those too, even though they didn’t turn out very good.”

Genevieve gingerly picked up one of the dumplings and broke it in half, releasing a puff of steam and wonderful scents.

They were apple dumplings. Farkas had made apple dumplings. She hadn’t had one in years. Not since… Not since her father had made them for her fifth birthday. She took a very small bite and grinned in delight. They were delicious!

She might throw it up in a little bit, but she would enjoy one apple dumpling while it lasted.

“Gem, aren’t you going to get sick?!”

She shrugged and took another small bite. Little words of fire flickered to life.

I haven’t had one since I was little. These are wonderful and I want to enjoy at least one, even though I’ll get sick. 

“Okay then… Wait, they’re good?”

Delicious!

Farkas flushed again and ducked his head.

“Tilma taught me how ‘cause your kids said that they were your favorite and just ‘cause you can’t eat food from other people doesn’t mean I can’t know how to make them. It just takes me a while to understand how to make stuff.”

She leaned against him, relishing in his warmth. 

Farkas

Gem liked his apple dumplings! 

She was curled up against him and really soft and warm. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her so she was snugly settled against him. She snuggled closer and looked up at the sky. Together they pointed out the constellations and specific stars. As it grew later, the sky came alive with endless streaks of blue and green light.

They were just as beautiful as he remembered, though they looked even better when they were reflected in Gem’s eyes. She caught him looking and ducked her head, hiding her face  against his chest.

“You know I like you, right? Like, romantically?” Much to his relief, she nodded, though he could feel the heat radiating off of her face. 

I like you too. I’m just not very good at this.

“That’s okay, I’m not either. People usually prefer Vil over me ‘cause he’s better at talking and stuff, especially around pretty ladies.”

No one’s ever been interested. Then again, Lydia and Rayya and Iona say I’m just terrible at noticing. I usually notice the creeps that get handsy though.

“Anyone who touches you without your permission deserves to have their ass kicked.”

That’s what they said. I’m just not very good at telling them to fuck off. I can do it when someone else is being bothered, just not when it’s me.

“We can work on it, if you want? I don’t know how tho-” he stopped, catching sight of her hands for the first time since her return. “You have more rings now.”

Ma’dran was at Windhelm. He had found some things that belonged to my parents, including their rings. He gave them to me. 

“They’re pretty.”

Thank you.

He rested his head on hers. He knew that by Nordic traditions, they were going really slow. But quite frankly, he didn’t care. Saveera had left scars that wouldn’t heal quickly. 

“Hey, Gem? We can go slow, right? Not fast like all the traditional stuff says?”

Yes, we can go slow. I think it’d be better that way, as I’m still not the best at touch, though I’m certainly the most comfortable with it with you and my kids. Plus your brother said you’d been hurt in the past, so rushing things probably won’t help anything.

“He said what?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but it came out strangled.

Well, he just said the last person you’d…been with was not a good woman, but it wasn’t hard to tell that something bad had happened. 

“Yeah. She, uh, wasn’t.” To put it mildly. “Long story short, she lied and used magic to mess with my head and she hurt a lot of people.”

Sounds like someone who deserves to have her ass kicked.

“I-.” he signed. “I guess.”

What was her name? Just so I know to watch out for her.

He got the feeling that wasn’t the whole reason why, but he didn’t really want to think about it.

“Saveera. She’s a Nord.”

Gem settled closer to him and reached up to lace their fingers together. They fell asleep like that, curled around each other and completely and utterly comfortable.

The last thought that flitted through Farkas’ head was that Gem hadn’t thrown up his apple dumplings, even though it had been quite a while since she’d eaten it.

Aela

It had been a while since she’d gone out alone, especially in her beast form. But she needed some space and time to think. 

Vi was a mage, though it seemed Farkas had already known and was perfectly fine with it. Vi had healed Njada and Iona and not used any other magic. Farkas had started coming out of his shell since Vi had been around. 

Aela would be a better sister. She’d made that promise to herself when her brother had flinched at her own words. Farkas had been hurt enough. He shouldn’t have to guard himself from barbed words from his own shield-siblings and pack. She would trust his judgment and this time she would make sure no one pushed him. What happened with Saveera would never happen again.

It was by accident that she came across Farkas and Vi’s scents. They smelled content. Making sure to keep quiet, she crept closer, eventually noticing them on top of a large stone that jutted up out of the ground.

They were curled around each other and fast asleep. It was the most peaceful she’d seen either of them. Deeming them safe from any dangers that might try to get to them, she turned away and headed back to Whiterun.

She shifted back in the darkness of the Underforge and silently made her way through the empty hall of Jorrvaskr, pressing against the wall when she heard Tilma’s hushed and angry voice. She crept closer, peering around the corner to see Skjor being thoroughly rebuked by Tilma.

“-ve any idea how hard he has had to fight to keep himself kind? His kindness is not a weakness, boy, it is his greatest strength. I don’t care how hard the war and your life after was, you do not get to force your ideals on him when he is perfectly capable of making his own choices. He still has nightmares from whatever hellhole Jergen pulled him from and he sleeps less than anyone here and yet somehow he’s still the strongest.”

“He-”

“I’m not done you mutt. So what if Vi is a mage? She is first and foremost a healer when it comes to magic, she’s told me herself. She has three children to care for and who-knows-how many demons of her own to deal with and yet she has pushed aside her fears to provide for them. She is nothing like Saveera. Now pull your head out of your ass and leave those two out of your shit.”

Tilma was pissed. Aela hadn’t seen her this angry in years. What had Skjor done?

Aela pressed closer to the wall as Tilma stormed out of the hall and up the stairs to her room. After she was certain the elderly woman was gone, she pulled away from the wall and headed into her own room, pointedly ignoring Skjor.

He might be a skilled warrior, but for someone who claimed the Companions were more his family than his blood, he sure didn’t act like it. 

She wanted to get to know Vi better. After all, Farkas adored her and what kind of sister would she be if she didn’t at least try to get along with her younger brother’s (unofficial) mate?

Chapter Text

Aela

She found Vi checking her bags in the main hall. The sun was about to set, yet the smaller woman looked like she was heading out. 

“Going hunting?” Aela asked, stopping a little ways in front of her. Vi looked up, nodded, and tilted her head to the side, confusion bleeding into her scent. “Mind if I join you? We haven’t spoken much, and I’d like to fix that.” 

Vi shrugged, pulling out her notebook and scribbled something in it before tossing it to Aela.

You can come if you want. I need to stock up on potion ingredients as well as hunt, so it won’t just be tracking stuff and shooting arrows.

“Fine by me.” Aela handed Vi her notebook. “I know a little bit of your sign language, though I’ll admit it’s not as much as I’d like.” Vi’s eyes widened and she tilted her head. “Lydia’s been teaching me, as well as your children.”

Vi looked far too shocked for Aela’s comfort. Why was she so surprised that Aela was trying to learn how to talk with her?

Aela followed Vi out to the gates of Whiterun and down past the stables. She paused to stare at a massive palomino horse that was nipping at the stablehands. Vi noticed her staring and rolled her eyes in fond exasperation, touching Aela’s shoulder before starting to sign.

“ That’s Frost. He’s a good horse, but rather grumpy. He won’t let anyone but me ride him. ”

“He’s yours?” She owned a horse? Sometimes they would borrow horses if they needed to or wanted to, but none of the Companions owned one as they were quite expensive.

Vi nodded and approached the temperamental horse, offering him a carrot and an apple. It was amazing to see the ornery beast go from snapping at anyone who got too close to happily nuzzling against her hands. She spent a few minutes fussing over him and braiding his mane before she gave a good pouchful of coins to the stablehands and waved her farewells. 

"Do you have anywhere specific you w ant to go? I usually just wander as needed. ”

“I usually just track down the prey I’m after. You said you were gathering potion ingredients while we hunted, yes?” At Vi’s nod she continued, “Are there any specific ingredients you’re after? We look for those and see where that takes us.”

Vi shrugged and left the road, picking up the pace until she was nearly flying over the plains, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Aela followed, feeling the familiar rush of excitement and delight she got whenever she hunted. 

She’d never had to catch that many insects before. She didn’t know it could be so infuriating trying to catch just one dragonfly, never mind the fish, torchbugs, luna moths, and various blossoms that they tracked down and harvested. She didn’t even want to think about the mudcrabs and slaughterfish that seemed to snap at every puddle or the nirnroot that haunted every bank.

By the time a few hours had passed, Aela had gained a newfound respect for alchemy and those who knew its secrets.

The moons were high in the sky when they finally came across some prey. She lowered herself to the ground as Vi readied her bow, the latter’s eyes gleaming much like those of a cat. It was a small herd of elk, but between the two of them it would be just right. Just as Aela was about to fire her first arrow, Vi stopped her, staring at something in the shadows. Vi’s pointed ears twitched and she pressed herself flat against the ground, motioning for Aela to do the same. Confused, but willing to trust Vi, Aela followed suit. A few moments later, she was glad she had.

A thunderous roar shook the earth as a dragon swooped down and snapped at the herd, catching one in its jaws and easily tearing it apart as it fed. The beast was massive, with bronze scales and curling black horns. 

Aela felt her blood run cold. The rumors were right. The dragons were coming back. She glanced at Vi, only to see empty space where the woman had been mere moments before. 

Shit.

Aela looked around her, only catching a brief glimpse of Vi as she loosed an arrow into the dragon’s eye. She lost sight of her immediately after, cursing as she readied her own bow. Aela shot three arrows, one right after the other, each of them finding their marks in the dragon’s wing joints and other eye. The dragon roared and began blindly snapping around, eventually spewing white fire across the ground. She didn’t quite make it out of the way of the jet of flame, gritting her teeth and shoving her rising wolf down as most of her arm burned. Her beast form would not be of much help here, no matter how much she loved it. 

An explosion of fire and lightning hit the dragon’s back legs and it whirled around, barely missing Vi with its teeth. Glowing circles with strange symbols appeared underneath its belly, bursting into shards of ice and more bolts of lightning. 

Cradling her nearly useless arm, Aela tried to get out of the dragon’s path, only to be thrown against the rocks by its spade-shaped tail. She groaned and drew her dagger, taking time to aim before throwing it. Her blade embedded itself in its throat, quickly followed by the twin swords that Vi plunged through its spine. She dragged them down, splitting its neck open and landing in front of its rapidly disintegrating corpse.

Vi was the Dragonborn. There was nothing else she could be, not with how the dragon’s very soul swirled around her, soaking into her skin. 

“I take it,” she wheezed, “you’ve done that before?” Vi nodded as she approached Aela. Once she was within arms reach, she kneeled down and held out her hands as they filled with golden light. The pain slowly faded as Aela’s bones mended and her skin knitted together. A few moments later, there were only a few faint scars where the burn had been, along with phantoms of shattered bones. “Thank you.”

Vi waved her hand dismissively as she stood up and picked her way back to the skeleton. Grunting, Aela stood and followed her. She helped Vi collect several hundred septims along with the odd weapon and piece of armor. Then Vi started dismantling the skeleton and shoving bones and large masses of scales into her pack.

“Uh, Vi? What are you going to do with those?” 

Vi’s glowing eyes turned to her and she shrugged.

“ Sell them. They’re usually worth a good amount. ”
“Wouldn’t they be better as armor or weapons?”

“ Gold is more useful to me right now. ”

She could sort of understand that. Aela eyed the skull of the dragon, which Vi hadn’t touched. An idea popped into her head.

“Hey Vi? Could we take the skull back to Jorrvaskr? It would make a nice trophy.” Vi shrugged and continued to stuff bones in her bag. Aela took that as a yes and moved towards the skull. It was about as tall as she was, and at least as long. “I won’t tell anyone about you being Dragonborn. I don’t understand it, but it’s your secret to tell.”

Her reward was a thin, timid smile from Vi.

How the two of them managed to get the skull back to Whiterun, she’ll never figure out. It was much heavier than it looked, and it already looked pretty damn heavy. The sun was high in the sky when they reached the stables. Aela caught the familiar scent of her youngest brother. She looked around and sighed in relief when she saw him speaking to one of the Khajiit that had set up camp the day before.

“Farkas! Care to help us carry this back to Jorrvaskr?”

He lumbered over, raising an eyebrow when he realized exactly what it was he would be carrying. 

“You two have been busy.” He motioned for them to step away from the skull. Once they had, he hoisted it over his shoulder with no sign of strain except a quiet grunt. Then he held out his other arm to Vi, who happily hooked her arms around his much larger one.

“Aye. Found plenty of potion ingredients, but as soon as we found some prey to hunt, a dragon showed up. Vi did most of the work. I took a few nasty hits but she healed me as soon as it was dead.” 

Vi shrugged and slipped away from Farkas to wander over to the Khajiit caravan and immediately start bartering with them.

Farkas

“She’s rather fond of the Khajiit caravans, isn’t she?”

“They became her family when she lived with one of them,” Farkas rumbled, adjusting the heavy skull and continuing to walk forward. “She always goes to them first when she has stuff to sell. They keep their rare spices and ingredients in stock for her. Are those dragon bones that she’s giving them?”

“Yep. She’s leaving again, isn’t she?”

“She has some stuff she has to do. Dragonborn stuff.” He held out his arm when Gem bounced back to them and smiled when she hugged it to her chest. “Find what you needed to?” She nodded, then grimaced and shook her head.

“We didn’t get any food. The dragon scared off anything that was close.”

From Gem’s pout, he figured that that’s what she was upset about.

“They’ll be fine, Gem. Tilma’s already declared them welcome in Jorrvaskr. You said you’d be sending money back and writing lots more so if they need something you’ll be able to help them.” Gem hugged his arm tighter and shrugged.

“Come on, let’s get this up to Jorrvaskr and then you can make plans and stuff.”

Aela

She watched as her brother easily soothed Vi’s disappointment. They were a good match, she decided. Vi coaxed Farkas out of the shell he’d built around himself and Farkas chased away her demons. 

Vi was one of them now. Skjor would just have to deal with it.

People stared at the skull as they passed. Or perhaps they were staring at Farkas, who was only using one arm to carry it. Either way, it was an impressive sight. Whispers rippled throughout the crowd and some of the guards nodded to Vi, who pointedly ignored them. One of them was brave enough to address the trio.

“Hail Companions! Is that really a dragon skull?”

“It is!” Aela answered, her voice carrying across the crowd, “My sister and I went out hunting. The beast decided to eat our prey so we hunted it instead.” She grinned at Farkas, who was gaping at her. “Don’t drop it brother, we’ve still got to show off our trophy to the others.”

The others had a very similar reaction. So what if she claimed Vi as her sister? She would be if Farkas married her and she’d more than proven herself as a Companion. As far as Aela was concerned, she was proud to call Vi her sister and everyone else would just have to deal with it. Especially Skjor (why was he acting like this? Or had she just ignored it because of her crush?). 

Genevieve

The dragon hadn’t been all that special, at least not to her. Then again, she’d killed so many of them that the shock and awe of fighting them had long since faded. But she wasn’t one to spoil someone else’s glee over something so trivial, so she sat back and listened as Aela described their brief battle with the elder dragon.

She was settled against Farkas, warm and comfortable, stealing food from his plate (she could eat his food!) as she listened and braided Lucia’s hair. 

She would have to leave soon, most likely within the week. She’d been putting off Ustengrav for too long. Going there meant going up through the swamps where her voice had been stolen. She’d probably stop in Morthal to properly thank the people who'd helped her.

"Thinking about where you're going?" She nodded, leaning into the kiss Farkas pressed to her hair. "You don't like the swamp."

My voice was stolen there. I think most of it will be fine, but there’s one specific area that will almost certainly bring back bad memories.

"Are you sure you want to go alone?"

Yes. I need to be able to. I don’t want my family to get tangled in all this Dovahkiin stuff.

" Dovahkiin? That's dovahzul for Dragonborn, right?" She nodded and snatched a roasted carrot from his plate. "Thanks for those books. It's slow going, but I think I'm starting to get a feel for dragon talk."

Take your time. I'm sorry I haven’t gotten you another enchanted pendant. I've been trying to improve the enchantment but I seem to be going backwards instead.

"It’s fine, Gem. I've been dealing with it for just over thirty-one years."

That reminds me, when's your birthday? 

Suddenly he got very nervous and fidgety, refusing to meet her eyes.

Farkas.

"It’s the 14th of First Seed." His voice was very timid.

She’d missed it. She’d missed his birthday. Hers wasn't that important, but his? His was and she’d missed it.

"You didn't know. 'S not that big a deal."

It's the anniversary of when you were born! It’s a pretty big deal to me!

"You missed your birthday. How about we celebrate both of them, just the two of us, before you go? 'Cause you might not like it, but I’m glad you exist."

I was born Fredas the thirteenth under the sign of the Serpent. My birthday is cursed. Always has been, always will be.

“Please?”

She sighed and caved, snuggling closer. She would never be able to refuse him.

Fine. When do you want to do it?

“Day after tomorrow?”

She shrugged and started thinking about what to make. Farkas loved her sweet rolls, mead(well, alcohol in general), and most things with meat, though he tended to favor mammoth on the rare occasion it was present. He didn’t seem to like mushrooms as he would pick them out of his food and give them to his twin whenever they were in a meal. He could eat a great deal, so she’d have to make a lot of it. She’d have to stop by Ri’saad’s caravan in the morning and hope they had what she needed.

In the end, she’d been able to buy a good deal of mammoth meat from Ri’saad. Since she didn’t know a thing about making her own alcohol, she settled for buying some mead from the meadery that was just outside of Whiterun. She’d had to bribe Vix, Lucia’s newly acquired pet snow fox, with some fresh rabbit so she wouldn’t try and steal the food, but the little creature had seemed happy enough when she settled down for a nap on Lucia’s bed. 

As Lydia had cheerfully taken the children to the Bannered Mare for dinner and Iona had left for Riften a few days before, she was alone in the house while she cooked. She made several mammoth steaks rubbed with the spice blend Farkas seemed to like the most, a good amount of her garlic and herb mashed potatoes, and an entire batch of her sweet rolls. She had just finished icing the sweet rolls when there was a soft knock on the door.

Genevieve opened the door to find Farkas patiently waiting to be let in. He was holding a woven basket that had been covered by a cloth. He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck when she raised an eyebrow. 

“I figured you weren’t going to make much that you like so I kinda panicked and made way too many sweet things. And crab cakes.” He reached into the basket and pulled out a flower crown. It was made entirely out of purple mountain flowers and nightshade. “This is for you. I couldn’t get the deathbells to work, but I got everything else that was purple!”

She huffed out a silent laugh then tilted her head forward so Farkas could gently set the crown on her head. It was a little big and a little lopsided and utterly perfect. 

Farkas made a sound of delight when he realized what she’d made. Then he set the basket of sweets in front of her, insisting she eat at least a little bit of a steak and a small amount of mashed potatoes before she dug into them. It was probably a good thing, but her sweet tooth was unsatisfied and now she was hungry. 

She ignored his snickers as she very quickly ate a tiny amount of steak and potatoes before practically jumping on the basket of sweets(and crab cakes. She’d almost forgotten about the crab cakes). 

Genevieve was not at all ashamed to say she ate the entire basket. How could she not when he’d made all the best sweets(namely apple dumplings, boiled creme treats, and taffy treats)?

Farkas just laughed and kissed her temple.

How she ended up in his lap, with a very sleepy and very drunk Farkas nuzzling her neck, she wasn’t quite sure, but she found she didn't mind in the slightest.

Farkas 

He hadn’t been this drunk in years, but gods, Gem smelled good. And she was so soft and warm. Perfect to hold. She’d been a little started when he’d pulled her into his lap, but much to his delight she hadn’t pulled away. Instead, she’d just made herself comfortable and hummed happily.

Farkas wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled. He’d find out later, when he was sober enough to remember.

A moment later his alcohol riddled brain noticed that she was almost asleep. He should take her to bed. Wait, that came out wrong. He was gonna pick her up and put her on her bed so she could sleep. That was better.

He somehow made it up the stairs without disturbing her. In fact, she just snuggled closer. He was lucky. Or maybe she was lucky. Or maybe Vix was lucky. Lucia seemed to think so. He should make Gem a lucky charm. Maybe then she wouldn’t find so much trouble, or at least not get so hurt. 

She wouldn’t let go when he tried to set her on her bed. Well, he didn’t mind cuddling. Not in the slightest. 

Chapter Text

Valdimar

His Thane was not as he expected her to be. She was wary of him, but not due to his, admittedly limited, magic. She was a mage herself in fact and had given him a few books that would help him improve his preferred schools of magic. She was an excellent alchemist. She was tiny, even for a Breton. She couldn’t or wouldn't speak, using mostly magic or her sign language. She had no interest in her title and while she had so far been polite and pleasant enough, he could tell she wasn’t thrilled with his presence. 

But she’d used most of her gold to purchase a plot of land. She claimed that while she might not want the title or another housecarl, she wouldn’t let him stay in a place with such a strong dislike of magic. She didn’t mind his fascination with things that were considered strange.

Now he was pacing outside of an ancient crypt while his tiny, stubborn Thane of less than a week explored it alone. She’d shoved her alchemy bag into his hands and told him to gather as many ingredients as he could and that he was not to follow her. Apparently, she was looking for something inside.

Unwilling to upset one of the few people that tolerated him and his oddness, he’d stayed outside. And now he was stuffing deathbells and fungal pods into her bag. Once he’d stripped the area around Ustengrav clean of any and all ingredients, he’d plopped himself down on a stone and pulled out the small bundle of cloth that had been hidden in her bag. There was a note tucked into the folds of cloth. It was addressed to someone called Gem. 

Genevieve

Ustengrav was filled with necromancers and draugr. Other than a chance to practice her seldom-used Illusion spells, nothing particularly unusual happened. She poked around in every room and inside every urn, pocketing anything that she could get her hands on. Buying the land had drained her funds to less than a hundred septims. She didn’t regret it, but she needed to get more gold and fast.

The view from on top of the stone pillars was spectacular. The trees and water made the crypt feel less like a trap. After taking care of all the skeletons with her bow and pulling everything of value from every chest and urn she could see, she crept down the path, feeling the call of a Word Wall in her bones. 

Fiem. Fade.

She traced her fingers across the carvings on the wall. Most of the dovahzul made sense to her, though a few words were still unknown to her. 

Genevieve copied the engraving into her notebook. Arngeir had been willing to translate the others that she’d shown him. Most of them were little tidbits of history or warnings. Nothing spectacular, but interesting enough to keep her intrigued. 

After taking a few moments to enjoy the green around her, she headed towards the last unexplored part of the massive chamber.

After poking around for a bit, she came to a stop.

Three stones stood before a gate. Each stone glowed red as she walked by it. The gate in front of her rose, revealing two more that also rose as the stones lit up. 

Walking was going to be too slow. Running wouldn’t be much better. She’d have to Shout.
Taking a few steps back, she got a running start and Shouted as soon as she reached the last stone.

The last gate slammed behind her and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

The floor of fire-spewing pressure plates was easy to ghost across, as she’d spent years avoiding all kinds of traps. The spiders weren’t quite as skilled and ended up burning themselves to a crisp long before they ever reached her. 

The next room was empty except for a bridge over a pool of water. Straight across the bridge, there was a sarcophagus that almost certainly belonged to Jurgen Windcaller. 

The statues that rose out of the water were a surprise, but thankfully not a hostile one. The note in the sarcophagus, however, made her blood boil.

Dragonborn,

I need to speak with you. Urgently.

Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you.

-A friend

There wasn’t an attic room in the Sleeping Giant Inn. Anyone looking to rent a room had to talk to Del- She crumpled the note.

Delphine.

Of fucking course. No wonder she’d been talking to Farengar the night Mirmulnir destroyed the watchtower. Well, if she wanted to talk to the Dragonborn, she’d get her wish. But there was no way in Oblivion that Delphine would know her face or name.

Perhaps it was time the Dragonborn had a name other than Genevieve Archembeau. 

Valdimar was waiting for her outside. He was fidgeting with something in his hands. Once he noticed her, he stood.
“Did you find what you were looking for, my- Ma’am?”

He had trouble not addressing her by her title. She supposed twenty or so years of only using them as a soldier and then a guard made it hard to drop them, but at least he was trying. She shook her head.

Apparently, someone wants to speak with me and thought the best way to do it was to steal the artifact I was looking for. 

“Do you know who it was?”

A pain in the ass in Riverwood. But she can wait. I have better things to do than to listen to her and her bullshit.

“I take it you don’t like her very much?” There was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.

She just grates on my nerves. What’s that? She motioned to the small cloth bundle in his hands.

“It was in your bag. There’s a note with it. Addressed to Gem, though.” 

Her eyes widened and she held out her hands to accept it from him. She pulled out the note and quickly unfolded it, unable to keep a small smile from her face when she recognized Farkas’ handwriting.

Sorry I didn’t give this to you when you were here, but I kept getting nervous. It’s a little big for a lucky charm, but I didn’t want to make it too small. 

She quickly unwrapped the cloth to reveal a tiny wooden fox. It was sitting on its haunches, its head tilted and paws raised, looking very much like it was begging for treats. It wasn’t painted, but she immediately recognized it for what it was. It was Vix, Lucia’s pet snow fox.

“Ma’am?”

She tucked the snow fox into one of the many pouches on her belt.

It’s a gift from someone dear to me. My daughter talked me into letting her keep a snow fox as a pet. Vix, that’s the fox, keeps burrowing and finding all sorts of little trinkets. Lucia, that’s my daughter, claims that Vix is her lucky charm.

“A snow fox, Ma’am?” Amusement gleamed in his eyes.

A baby snow fox. It followed her home one day and I couldn’t say no. Her brother almost brought home a mudcrab but was scared I’d eat it.

“Well, to be fair Ma’am, have you seen yourself when you’re near them?”

I wouldn’t eat it if it was his pet! She threw her hands up, though she was unable to keep an entirely straight face. It’s not my fault they’re so good!

“Whatever you say, Ma’am.” He handed her her alchemy bag, stuffed to the brim with deathbells. “Where are we going now? Not to Riverwood, I take it?”

No, she shook her head, I won’t be going to Riverwood for a while. After I get Windstad up, at least partially, we’re going to Solitude. After that, probably Markarth.

“Markarth, Ma’am?”

I’ve got some deliveries to make and I promised the priestess of Mara in Riften I’d help her with something. I kept forgetting about it so now that I’m on this side of Skyrim, I might as well. 

“Alright then.”

She was proud to say that with Valdimar’s assistance and some clever use of telekinesis, a small but comfortable house had been built and furnished in less than three days. And after exploring the nearby crypt (and befriending and helping Anska), she even planted a garden of all sorts of the less than friendly potion ingredients at Valdimar’s encouragement. 

Won’t you be lonely out here?

“My-. Ma’am, I’ve been isolated by my peers all of my life. I’m quite used to being alone.”

But alone and lonely aren’t the same thing.

“No, I suppose not.” He gave her a wry smile, “I’ll be quite alright, Ma’am.”

Alesan would love to see the ports of Solitude. It was much warmer than Windhelm or Dawnstar, with plenty of ships to look at and beautiful architecture. 

She pulled her hood up as they got closer to the gates. She had no friends here. If Skaven were to hunt her, she would be alone.

The moment she stepped through the gates, a chill shot down her spine.

(The last prisoner’s blood was still warm as her head was forced against the execution block. A third thunderous roar echoed from the sky.)

An execution. She was witnessing an execution.

(Everything was burning red. So, so red.

“Hey, Breton! Get up!” Callused hands hauled her to her feet. “Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance!”

Sorry Papa. I guess I won’t be joining you today.)

She kept walking, shoving down the rising memories and swallowing the bile climbing in her throat. She couldn’t suppress the violent flinch that shook her body at the sound of the axe cracking through bone and thudding against the execution block. 

“Miss Genevieve? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, stubbornly moving forward. Her near execution wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. Especially not today. She raised her hand to grip her Amulet of Talos. The day just kept getting better and better. 

Falk Firebeard

The woman caught his attention because she was so unusually short. That, and the fact that she was holding a bottle of his favorite drink. She was clearly listening to Varnius Junius and her lips quirked up at Elisif’s hasty reaction. 

Once Varnius had been dismissed, she approached, holding up his rum. 

“Ah, my delivery from Sorex. Thank you.” He accepted the bottle and handed her a hefty pouch of coins, “I developed a taste for it after a fair weather trip to Hammerfell. Here, this is for you.”

The woman nodded her thanks, turning her head as if she was listening to something. She held up her finger and quickly made her way to the balcony, looking down and whistling sharply. A moment later, a burly Nord reached the top of the stairs.

“Sorry Ma’am, I’m still not quite fast enough to keep up with you.” The woman shrugged and motioned for him to follow her as she made her way back to Falk. Her hands moved in what was clearly some sort of sign or signal and the Nord rubbed the back of his neck. “I can try to translate, but I’m not very good at it.” Then he turned to face Falk. “This is Miss Genevieve Archembeau and I am Valdimar. She is unable to speak.” The woman, Genevieve, moved her hands again, this time much slower and at one point she was only moving one of her hands. “Uh, she’s asking something about Wolfskull Cave?"

"You want to look into it?" She nodded. "Well, to be honest, I was planning to let that go. Varnius is a bit jumpy at the best of times. There have been reports of weird happenings near Wolfskull Cave. Travelers disappearing, odd lights, that sort of thing. I suspect wild animals or perhaps bandits. I don't think it's worth our time with the war going on, but if you want to clear it out, I'll make sure you're repaid for your work." He was reluctant to let someone so small go somewhere so potentially dangerous, but he wouldn't say no if it meant there was one less distraction to deal with.

Genevieve shrugged and made some more gestures. 

"She said we might as well, just to be safe. And that Wolfskull sounds like it relates to Potema in some form."

"Aye, it does. She used it for necromantic rituals over 500 years ago. It's where it got its name." At this, Valdimar sighed.

"Then we'll certainly be checking it out. Miss Genevieve is…not fond of necromancy. Ah," he said, turning his attention back to Genevieve's moving hands, "who might we see for things of a more arcane nature?"

"Sybille Stentor, the court wizard. She's right over there."

Genevieve nodded her thanks and swiftly headed to Sybille, Valdimar following behind her.

The odd pair left a short while later, having what seemed to be a rather one-sided argument. He couldn’t help but listen in.

"-at do you mean you promised to help a Daedric Prince clear out her temple months ago! My Thane, you can't just ignore beings that get on your nerves!"

Thane? That tiny woman was a Thane?

"Absolutely not, I am your housecarl and I will not let you explore a vampire infested cave alone. I don’t care that you’ve done it before, I have sworn to protect you and that is what I am going to do!"

Daedric Prince? Vampires?

Perhaps he had underestimated this Genevieve Archembeau.

He saw the strange duo a mere two weeks later. Genevieve was wearing a set of rather fine clothes and listening with forced patience as Elisif gushed over them. Valdimar was leaning against the wall, waiting for his Thane with obvious amusement. A little while later, Elisif left, and Genevieve's patient smile dropped into a scowl.

"Are they truly that bad, Ma'am?" Valdimar snorted at her rapidly moving hands. "I suppose not, but surely you could sell them for something?" Genevieve’s scowl deepened and she started towards Falk. Valdimar pushed himself off of the wall and followed her.

"You’ve returned. Find anything noteworthy in Wolfskull?"

Valdimar let out a long-suffering sigh and reluctantly started translating his Thane’s motions.

"We found plenty. Necromancers were trying to summon and bind Potema.”

Falk felt his blood run cold.

“Potema herself? Please tell me you stopped them.” Much to his relief, Genevieve nodded and kept moving her hands.

“We interrupted the ritual.”

“You’ve done a larger service to the realm than you could possibly know. A resurrected Potema…” he shook his head, suppressing a shudder, “I shudder at the thought. Here, payment, as promised.” 

As far as he was concerned, they’d earned every septim. 

Genevieve

She flopped onto the bed and let out a silent groan.

In the span of two weeks, she had gone from sixty-six septims to just over seven thousand. Even sending money to each of her homes, she was still left a great deal of gold. It seemed running favors for almost every person in the hold had its benefits. Well, that and the almost ridiculous amount of gold she’d found in Meridia’s temple. Speaking of which…

She sat up and heaved her pack from the floor to the bed. After digging through it for a moment, she pulled out Dawnbreaker. It was a beautiful weapon, perfectly balanced and wonderfully sharp. It had been useful in clearing out both Wolfskull and Pinemoon as it had set every undead creature ablaze, occasionally sending out fiery explosions that sent them running.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. A moment later, Valdimar pushed the door open, balancing a plate of food in each hand. She couldn’t help but notice that one plate was almost entirely fruit.

“I brought dinner. You weren’t able to eat yesterday, or the day before, but you switched Amulets, so I thought you might be able to have something.”

She briefly touched her Amulet of Arkay. The execution had been a setback. Too many bad memories at once had made most food her enemy. So far, she’d barely been able to keep down an apple or two, let alone an actual meal.

Genevieve reluctantly accepted the plate of food, realizing that it wasn’t mostly fruit, it was entirely fruit. Raw, fresh, ripe fruit. She looked up at Valdimar, raising an eyebrow.

“Whenever you’ve eaten lately, it’s mostly been apples or snowberries. You only ate uncooked apples when we stopped in Dragons Bridge.”

She bit into one of the apples, savoring it when it didn’t taste like ash on her tongue. Valdimar closed the door then sat at the small table to eat his own meal. After a long but comfortable silence, he spoke up.

“Miss Genevieve? What will you do with that?” he asked, nodding to Dawnbreaker. She paused, then kept eating, little words of lightning floating above her head.

Keep it. It was really nice to have while dealing with all those draugr and vampires. Thought I might see what all this Dawnguard stuff is about, seeing as they’re vampire hunters and this is pretty much made for killing such things.

“Meridia is not the first Daedric Prince you’ve interacted with, is she?”

Nope. I’ve dealt with Hircine, Mephala, Vaermina, Clavicus Vile, and have some unfinished business with Azura and Malacath. There’s also the whole Mythic Dawn museum in Dawnstar. I have a feeling I’ll end up dealing with Mehrunes Dagon at some point because of that. I’ve heard of a shrine to Peryite somewhere in the Reach though. And some book I found mentioned something about Boethiah. 

"What do you mean when you say 'dealt with'."

As in I have their artifacts under lock and key. I’ve found Daedric Princes rather annoying, though some of their artifacts have been useful.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit mad, Ma’am?”

Genevieve grinned.

No, but I’ve known it for years.

“Ah, speaking of madness, apparently some madman is wandering around near the Bards College. At least, that’s what I heard. You visited the College already though, yes?”

Yes, Viarmo and I spoke after I delivered a book to the Dean of History. He introduced me to the Master Vocalist and she’s working on a list of vocal exercises for me. I asked him about actually joining the college and he said he’d get back to me. 

“Will we be staying a bit longer, or will we be leaving for Markarth at dawn?”

We’ll leave the day after tomorrow. There are a few things I want to check on, plus I want to get stock up on a few things before we go.

As they had in all the other places she’d been to, the children of Solitude had quickly warmed up to her. Even Svari had opened up after Genevieve had coaxed her out of her shell with stories of dragons. 

Now that she was about to leave, she was going to say goodbye. 

“Miss Vi! Are you really leaving?”

Yes, but I’ll be back, eventually.

“Aw. Where are you going?”

Down to Markarth. Before I leave, I have a magic trick to show all of you. That is, if you want to see it? All of the children immediately started begging, causing a few wary looks to be cast their way. She got them to settle a little and started to scale the wall of the nearest house. For her plan to work, she needed to be up high. Once she was on the roof, she sat, her years in the wild and with the Khajiit giving her near-perfect balance. Then she summoned her magic and let it run free.

Shrieks of delight echoed from below as glittering butterflies of fire and ice burst into existence. She grinned and moved her hands, letting the butterflies flutter circles around the children before causing them to shift into playful foxes. 

“Do a wolf! Do a wolf!”

Who was she to refuse such a delighted request?

A pack of fiery wolves chased the children until they morphed into fearsome sabre cats that leaped into the air, batting at sparking butterflies.

“Can you do a bear?”

Well, she could. Bears were terrible creatures, but she might as well.

More shrieks of delight rose from the ground as the sabre cats and butterflies merged into a couple of particularly large bears that stood on their back legs and roared. 

"A dragon! Do a dragon!"

That would be interesting. But now she wanted to see if she could even do it.

Valdimar 

He found Genevieve by following the sounds of delighted children. His Thane, he’d quickly discovered, had a soft spot for children, especially the lonely ones and orphans. 

He’d been in her service for roughly four weeks. Her trust in him had certainly grown as he now knew the names and location of her children, as well as the rest of her titles.

Thane of Whiterun, Thane of Falkreath, Thane of the Rift, Thane of Winterhold, Thane of Hjaalmarch, Companion, Storyteller, Champion to Hircine, Vaermina, Clavicus Vile, Meridia, and Mephala, mother of three (though that number was certain to increase as her wealth grew. The marsh was too dangerous, but there was almost certainly another plot of land for her to buy and make into a homestead worthy of housing all the children she’d unofficially adopted) and, last but most certainly not least, Dragonborn.  

(“That’s…quite the list.”

“ Trust me, all but two were gained by accident. And in case you’re wondering, those two are mother of three and Companion. ”

“How does one accidentally become a Thane? Especially of multiple holds?”

“ Kill a dragon, clean up a whiny Jarl’s side-deal gone wrong, bust a skooma operation sky high, find some ancient helmet for another whiny Jarl, then uncover and stop a vampiric plot to enslave a town. ”

“Oh, is that all?”

“ Plus I’ve helped what seems like every person in Skyrim. You’d be amazed what, say, finding a copy of a Redguard book for a blacksmith’s pregnant Redguard wife will do for you. ”

“...That was very specific Ma’am.”)

He was pulled out of his musing by a sudden explosion of raw magic. Valdimar picked up the pace, only to come to a screeching halt when he finally saw a swirling storm of lightning and fire and ice. After a second, he realized that it was slowly forming into a monstrous dragon, far larger than the few he’d fought. Behind him, one of the Imperial soldiers swore violently.

“That’s the dragon that leveled Helgen. I’d recognize that beast anywhere.”

The magic-made dragon, now fully formed, lept into the air, landing heavily on the arch above Valdimar. Behind him, all of Castle Dour went rigid. He sighed and decided to put them out of their misery.

“A dragon Ma’am?” he boomed, making sure his voice would reach her. He could see her bend over in silent laughter as words of brilliant flame lit the air on fire.

Svari wanted to see one. Who am I to deny such a request?

“Couldn’t you have made it a little smaller? The Imperials behind me have gotten rather… eh, twitchy.”

The real one wasn’t small, especially not this one. They’ll have to fight one at some point, so they can deal with it.

Valdimar sighed and started walking forward, ducking to avoid the tail of the massive dragon. There was very little arguing with Genevieve. Especially when she was entertaining children. 

He leaned against the stone wall of the house Genevieve was perched on for the better part of an hour, watching as she entertained the little ones with magic-made beasts of all kinds. She even told them a few stories by forming a landscape and figures out of ice and fire. They were simple stories, but no less loved by the children.

Towards the end of the hour, an Altmer with a twisted beard and fine clothes approached. He looked distinctly amused. He waited until the children had reluctantly left to return to their homes, tired from a day of fun, then called up to Genevieve.

“You could have mentioned you were the Storyteller.”

She leapt off the roof, landing gracefully on the nearby wall. Then she turned around, grinning mischievously. 

Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I haven’t been much of a Storyteller in the past months. 

“Your adoring fans beg to differ, but I digress. Pantea has finished deciding what vocal exercises to teach you. I believe I’ll have a task for you soon, but as of right now, there’s not much.”

That’s fine, I’m more after the exercises right now anyways. She finished just in time, we’re leaving tomorrow morning.

“So soon? You just got back yesterday, did you not?”

I have things I need to do and little ones to take care of. I came to Solitude with the hopes of finding some work and perhaps getting some help for my voice. 

“Well, the next time you find yourself here, stop by the College. I just might have a task for you.”

They left at dawn the next morning. 

The Reach was just as Valdimar had heard: beautiful yet filled with dangers of every kind. This didn’t seem to bother Genevieve in the slightest. Despite the mountainous terrain, she seldom used the roads, preferring to, quite literally (much to Valdimar’s horror) sprint up and down the mountains. He’d admit, it shortened the distance they had to travel considerably but seeing his Thane, who he’d sworn to protect, jump off a cliff, would never be something he was comfortable with. Not to mention it took him nearly three times as long to slowly make his way up and down the peaks.

Genevieve always waited for him, though unlike the first weeks he’d traveled with her, she was amused while she waited, not annoyed or frustrated. Oftentimes she was doing her voice exercises or her show magic, which was what she’d taken to calling making figures of ice and fire and lightning. 

She’d also taken to humming nearly every moment of the day. The humming was saturated with her thu’um, but it was still a sound made by her own throat, and her unbridled joy was contagious.

They reached Markarth one late evening, tired from a battle with bandits in strange armor. Apparently, they were the second of two bands of bandits that had been harassing one of the Khajiit caravans. According to Genevieve, this was the second band of Saints that she’d fought, the first having been the source of Rayya’s (who was apparently her housecarl in Falkreath) armor. He’d admit that the armor and weapons were fascinating, but they weren’t something he was particularly interested in using.

Something uneasy settled in his gut as they entered the city.

“Welcome to Markarth, travelers. Safest city in the Reach.”

Safest city in the Reach, my ass. They’d barely taken three steps into the city when some poor woman took a dagger to the back. Then some random, skittery Breton all but shoved a note into Genevieve’s hand and practically ran away. 

His Thane was getting near her boiling point, and they hadn’t even started.

The guards were shooing people away from the scene of the crime as Genevieve crouched next to the dying woman. A faint shadow of magic flowed from her hands and all the pain in the woman’s face left, her final breaths becoming smoother as they gradually ceased.

His attention was torn from Genevieve to the guards.

“We’ll handle things from here, move along.” Somehow, he doubted that.

“First time in Markarth, travelers?” he bristled at the second guard’s tone. “Take my advice. You see anything, don’t get involved. The city guard will take care of it.” 

Ah. So that’s how things were. He went to answer, only to be stopped by Genevieve’s hand on his arm. She shook her head and tugged him towards the nearby inn.

Apparently, some of her business in Markarth was with the innkeeper. And of course, he tried to stiff her on her payment. Genevieve smiled a dangerously sweet smile and started drumming her fingers on the bar, tilting her head. Seemingly realizing that he wasn’t going to get away with not paying her, the innkeeper begrudgingly handed her several ingots. 

She paid for the rooms and their meal with the same sharply sweet smile then slunk over to Valdimar.

Almost exactly twenty-four hours later, he found himself laughing as a half-drunk patron challenged Genevieve to a brawl. She sighed but rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. The fool had no idea what he was getting himself into. She’d been pissed for most of the day, and he’d just volunteered to be her outlet. 

While she was fighting, a courier showed up with plenty of letters for her. Somewhere from her family. Those he didn’t touch. The others, however, he carefully went through. Bounty letter, bounty letter, something from a Jarl, something from a different Jarl, challenge from some warrior, word of disappearing people and a request for help, a few letters from her other housecarls on how things were going. The stack of letters seemed never-ending. 

“Ma’am, after we finish up what you came here for, will we be going to Whiterun? It seems each of your children have sent at least one letter and there are a few from Jarl Balgruuf.”

Some of the patrons around him stared in shock, but neither he nor Genevieve acknowledged them. She ran her opponent into the wall, leaving him dazed as she walked over and looked at the letters, reading through them. She occasionally snorted at what he assumed were her children’s antics.

“I need to check something out real quick, so unless something urgent pops up we’ll head to Whiterun soon.”

Chapter Text

Farkas

“Vil, you don’t need to attack the dough to knead it. Just firmly push it down and pull it back, like this.” Farkas worked his ball of bread dough a few times, slowing down the motions so his frustrated twin could see them clearly. In the corner of his eye, he saw Tilma suppressing a smile. 

This wasn’t the first time Vilkas had gotten frustrated during his attempts to learn the basics of cooking and baking. Unlike Farkas, he simply couldn’t get the most basic of recipes right, often mixing up ingredients (the most memorable example being the salt and the sugar) or losing track of time and horribly burning his…creations. Currently, Farkas was trying to walk him through a very, very simple bread roll recipe that Tilma had taught him when he was little, the key word being trying. 

Luckily for them, Farkas was nothing if not patient and Vilkas was nothing if not stubborn.
Vilkas clumsily copied his twin’s movements, his brow furrowing in concentration. Slowly, his dough started to look like Farkas’. 

“That’s looking great so far dear.” Tilma set a tray with a thin towel on it next to each of them. “Much better than last time. Now all you have to do is separate it into the individual rolls and let those rise for a bit.” 

Vilkas groaned and looked at the dough in complete and utter misery. Both Tilma and Farkas didn’t bother to hide their chuckles. While the twins were filling their trays, Ria’s voice floated in from the main hall.

“-e’s trying to learn how to cook and stuff! Farkas and Tilma are teaching him, well, they’re trying anyway. Most of his stuff doesn’t come out right, but now most of it is getting to an edible state! Oh, they started a little bit after you left. Hey, maybe you could help him since you’re so good at that stuff!”

Gem was back! Her honey-spice-herb scent floated through the air. Someone that smelled strongly of mushrooms and earth and old books was with her. Perhaps her latest housecarl?

“Come on Far, let's finish these so you can go fuss over her.”

Farkas flushed and not-so-lightly kicked his brother under the table. Vilkas only snickered and laid the cloth over his tray of rolls.

Gem was patiently listening to Ria’s chatter as she dug through her pack, occasionally nodding or signing in the appropriate places. A Nord man stood nearby, looking slightly out of place. He wore heavy orcish armor and carried a carved ebony blade, though no shield was in sight. Now that Farkas was closer, he could smell some of the stranger alchemy ingredients on the stranger, as well as the eerie scent of the arcane. The Nord eyed him and his twin warily, only relaxing when Gem bounced over to Farkas and hugged him tightly.

“You’re back,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. She nodded, pulling back slightly to wave at Vilkas. Then she led the two of them over, quickly introducing them to Valdimar, her newest housecarl, who happened to be a mage as well. 

Somehow, he ended up standing alone with Valdimar while Gem dragged his brother to the kitchen, seemingly determined to get him to make something completely edible. 

“I take it that you and Miss Genevieve are… close.”

“Aye. What hold are you from?”

“Hjaalmarch. Why?”

“Just curious. Gem seems to be getting named Thane in every hold she steps foot in and she never says. Are the marshes as bad as I’ve heard?”

“They’re only dangerous if you underestimate them. Pay them the respect they deserve and you’ll be fine.”

Farkas nodded. That made sense. Much of Skyrim was the same, especially the northern parts. 

“Have you met everybody? Gem will probably be a while ‘cause my brother is hopeless and she’s stubborn.”

“Ah, no. Miss Ria is the only one I have met, though Miss Genevieve said I’d likely meet Lydia this evening. Is it true I’ll have to spar with her?”

“Well, she’s sparred with all Gem’s other housecarls. She was the first so I guess she has to test them to make sure they’re capable?” He shrugged. “All I know is that she’s scary when she’s mad and that she takes her job very seriously. Oh, have you met the little ones yet?”

“Miss Genevieve’s children? No, I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“You will. Alesan wants to have his own ship one day and likes Dwemer stuff. Lucia wants to be a bard. Braith isn’t quite sure what she wants to do, but she likes practicing with her dagger and hearing stories of adventures, so she’s thinking of being an explorer.” He motioned for Valdimar to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you around a little while Gem tries to get Vil to make something edible.”

Valdimar, while quiet and a little odd, was surprisingly easy to talk to. He listened as Farkas rambled about the city and asked questions. Though it took a bit of prying, he eventually answered Farkas’ questions about his life. He had served in the Legion for quite a while, leaving just after the Great War ended to try and settle down.

“Didn’t work,” he said with a small, wry smile. “I was too…strange for the people of Morthal. I feared I’d be run out of town, but then Miss Genevieve became Thane and I was made her housecarl.”
“Why would they run you out? You seem fine to me.”
“Ah,” Valdimar rubbed the back of his neck, “I… have unusual interests, especially for a Nord. I tried to keep them to myself, but they didn’t want me to be close. They aren’t fond of the mage that moved in, but I was too… much.”

“But doesn’t Gem have a place there?”
“No, she bought land on the far edge of the marsh. I tried to help her build, but she just sent me to gather more materials or ingredients. Then she planted a garden full of things I like and told me to do whatever I wanted with the place when I was there.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her. She has a habit of collecting strays.”

By now they’d finished the tour of the city and had reached the doors of Jorrvaskr. Much to Farkas’ surprise, something smelled good. He motioned for Valdimar to follow and stepped inside. 

Vilkas and Gem were nowhere to be seen, but the children, Ria, and Torvar were sitting outside the kitchen doors. Lydia was sitting off to the side, dragging a whetstone along the edge of her axe. She glanced at the duo, nodding to Farkas and eyeing Valdimar before she returned her attention to her weapon. 

“That’s Lydia. Those three children are Alesan, Braith, and Lucia, Gem’s kids. A word of advice, Braith is Gem’s daughter. Her blood parents are still alive and live here in Whiterun, but they haven’t noticed that she lives with Gem now and has for almost a year. Should they suddenly notice, she is still Gem’s daughter.”

“Noted.”

Valdimar

The three children, Alesan, Braith, and Lucia, were not what he’d been expecting. Alesan wanted to know all about Markarth, the city built on Dwemer ruins. Braith wanted to know about all things they’d fought and treasures they’d found, though she was particularly interested in hearing about the orc stronghold her mother had managed to befriend. Lucia asked him how he became her mother’s housecarl and where’d they’d been. All in all, they were a delightful change from the children of Morthal, who’d feared him.  

Lydia hadn’t said a word, though it was obvious she was listening to what he told the children.
As time passed, the rest of the Companions came to sit in the hall. It seemed that his Thane was liked wherever she went, as even the grumpiest of the warriors asked how she’d been (gruffly and grumpily, mind you, but it was clear she still cared at least a little bit). Things had been going well, for once. Of course, that was when Skjor showed up.

It had been decades since he’d seen the other Nord, but it seemed not much had changed. Skjor still scowled the moment he saw Valdimar. He still sat as far away as he could and he still held himself like he was the most important person in the room. 

The other Companions, especially Farkas, picked up on the tension rather quickly, though they said nothing. 

Dinner was a simple but delicious venison stew paired with freshly baked rolls, an herbed butter, and an utterly delightful apple upside down cake. The cake, the bread, and the butter had been made by Vilkas, though he’d helped with the stew.

“How’d you do it Vi?” Ria asked as she stuffed another roll into her mouth, “He’s been trying this stuff for ages and it never turned out this good!”

His Thane snorted and waved her hand, electricity sparking at her fingertips.

I showed him the glory of prep work. And measuring things out exactly, though that’s more for baking than for cooking. He’s overthinking, so I streamlined the process. She snickered and signed something to Vilkas too quickly for Valdimar to understand it. Whatever it was, the elder twin flushed and scowled.

“I did not burn it! And how was I supposed to know the butter would melt that fast!”

The rest of the Companions roared with laughter, Vilkas eventually cracking and chuckling with them. Valdimar found himself relaxing a little bit, despite the glares he could feel coming from Skjor. His Thane had people who cared for her, so perhaps he could worry a little less. Sure, he’d seen the letters, but seeing it himself was a relief. 

Lydia spoke to him when the night was winding down. She was… nicer than he’d expected.

“Tomorrow morning we can spar. Meet me in the training yard in the back. Don’t hold back. And don’t disappoint either. The kids like you.”

Valdimar swallowed and nodded.

Lydia

Valdimar was oddly soft spoken. He clearly knew his way around heavy armor and a sword. He walked like a soldier. He’d told the children a bit about alchemy and magic, so he knew more than just how to fight. And yet, he’d shied away from the rowdy Companions the night before and had spent most of the night flipping through some old book. Valdimar didn’t seem to have anything against Skjor, though for some reason the grizzled old warrior seemed to hate him.

Not that Lydia put much stock in Skjor’s words. He still didn’t like Vi, even after all she’d done. Sure, he was the most experienced Companion, but as far as she could tell, his head was so far up his own ass that he might as well be an untrained brat. 

Whatever. She’d form her own opinion of him after she sparred with him. 

He was skittish when he got to the training yard. He kept fiddling with a piece of a broken soul gem and glancing around. His fidgeting only grew when a crowd started to form. 

Once they actually started sparing, she immediately knew he was holding back. His free hand kept jerking like he wanted to do something with it, but nothing would happen. He was also dodging most of the attacks.

A sharp whistle brought their match to a halt. Vi trotted up to them, keeping her back to the Companions as she signed.

“Why are you holding back?” she asked, keeping her signs small and close to her body. Valdimar rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to hit anyone, Ma’am. If I miss or Miss Lydia dodges, it could easily hit someone in the crowd and it would… not be good.”

Vi tilted her head, nodding thoughtfully. Her eyes lit up with an idea and she held up one hand before quickly moving to where she’d been sitting with Farkas. She dug through her pack for a moment before pulling out a worn leather journal. She flipped through it for a second and then, seemingly finding what she was looking for, started to walk around the edge of the yard, bluish green light surrounding her hand. Lines and symbols the same color as the light appeared on the ground. A few minutes later, she had the entire yard lines with the strange symbols. She shot a small ball of fire at one of the training dummies outside the perimeter, only for it to be absorbed by a wall of blue light, similar to the one that the warding spells produced. 

Vi gave Valdimar a thumbs up and trotted back to curl up against Farkas. 

Lydia raised an eyebrow, but readied herself. A moment later, Vi’s actions made complete sense.

Valdimar was a spellsword. A good one. She was barely keeping up with his spells, let alone his fluid swordsmanship. His spells flowed from wards, to armor enhancements, to jagged spikes of ice that would almost certainly have hurt someone had Vi’s wards not been in place. He was more experienced than she was, though it didn’t help she wasn’t used to magic. By the end, they were both exhausted, though she had a sneaking suspicion he was playing it up a little bit.

“You could’ve mentioned the magic,” she wheezed, returning her axe to her hip.

“Aye,” he nodded, sheathing his own sword, “but I didn’t know if I’d be using it today.”
“You learn that stuff in the Legion?”

“Ah, no. I learned it well before my time in the Legion and the Great War.” 

She heard Skjor snort and saw Valdimar sigh. He looked resigned and tired.
“What’s so funny, Skjor?” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips.
“He hardly did a thing in the Legion,” the old warrior drawled, “He just sat and read books or picked flowers. Or he’d maybe work on those spells of his, though they didn’t seem to do much.” Skjor looked at Valdimar, distaste evident in his eyes. “Doesn’t seem like much has changed. He even looks the same.”

He looked the same? But the war was decades ago…

“For the last time you ridiculous brat!” Valdimar snapped, startling everyone except Vi, “I was not a frontline soldier, I was a scout. My job was intelligence and the plants I gathered were for health potions for buffoons like yourself who couldn’t go a day without getting stabbed! I age slowly due to the amount of Restoration magic I had to use to keep myself alive when your dumbass blew my cover and nearly got our unit slaughtered!”

Brat? He’s calling Skjor a brat ?

“Brat?” Ria asked, clearly as confused as the rest of them.

“I’m older than him. By nearly a decade.” Valdimar let out a long breath, then turned on his heel and left. The training yard was uncomfortably quiet for a long moment. 

Vi stood and breezed past Skjor to follow Valdimar, Farkas following her a moment later.

Chapter Text

Farkas

There were mercenaries in town and he didn’t like them. Apparently, they were looking for a runaway. Some rich Imperial family wanted to marry some other rich Imperial family, but the bride had disappeared. According to the rumors, neither family had noticed that she’d left until the day of the wedding, though she’d apparently been gone for well over a year. The runaway’s father was pissed and both families were out for blood. The mercenaries, as they’d so cheerfully announced, were bringing her back to her father whether she wanted to go or not (they’d made some repulsively vulgar comments on what they’d do to the poor woman when they found her. His skin was crawling just thinking about it). It didn’t help that they’d been leering at every woman that had the misfortune of being in their sights and had been especially rude to anyone who wasn’t a Nord.

Both Gem and Ria had been out on a job for Aela, having left the day after the mercenaries arrived. Both of them had been on edge, but Farkas trusted them to tell someone if it was something they couldn’t handle themselves. Quite frankly, he was glad they weren’t around those creeps. Gem had enough to deal with and Ria wasn’t nearly as good at standing up for herself as Aela and Njada were. 

Even so, unease sat heavily in his belly. Something was going to happen, he just knew it. 

Genevieve

Fucking bears. 

She hated bears. So. Fucking. Much. Why did she agree to go with Ria on this blasted job again? Oh, right. She needed the gold. And it never hurt to kill a few more bears. And a bunch of sleazy mercenaries that were also part of Skaven’s group were in Whiterun. No big deal. 

Genevieve helped Ria collect the pelts from the bears and stuffed the claws into her alchemy pouch. 

Talos help her, she was tired. Tired and sore. All she wanted to do was curl up with Farkas, cuddle a bit, and read her parents’ journals. Maybe she’d have a nice hot bath with some of the soaps and bath salts she’d just made. That would certainly make her feel better. 

She and Ria had been running all over the hold, though not just for Aela’s bear extermination job. Proventus had heard rumors of a plot to assassinate Balgruuf and had asked Genevieve to verify the rumors and, if they proved to be true, handle it. She’d also snagged every bounty she could get her hands on and was purposefully grabbing all the alchemical ingredients she could find. Plus she’d placed the horn at the shrine for Elisif and gotten the books for Urag. She was tempted to stay  in the wilds for a little longer, but she knew she couldn’t. There was an assassin in Dragonsreach with a powerful bow and some fancy dinner coming up that would be the perfect chance to use it. Seeing as she was actually quite fond of Balgruuf, she wasn’t going to let that assassin do a damn thing. 

“Anything else?” Ria asked, sounding hopeful. Her shoulders slumped when Genevieve shook her head. She was oddly quiet as they made their way back to the city. She kept fidgeting with the hilt of her sword. Something was bothering her. They had just passed Breezehome when Genevieve’s blood ran cold, her ears twitching as she listened to the conversation ahead.

“-Ere’s an Imperial girl in the Companions,” Nazeem drawled, sounding even more pompous that unusual, “perhaps you should check with them and leave me be, as I have far more important things to do than listen to you riff-raff.”

Damn him.

She gripped Ria’s arm and hauled her behind Breezehome.

“Hey, what-”

Ria, I need you to be quiet and listen alright? Ria’s mouth clicked shut as she read the words. Nazeem just pointed those creeps in your direction. Ria when white, then faintly green. I know a spell that will make you look like someone else, but only for a few minutes, so you have to hurry. Go straight to Jorrvaskr and stay there. Ria nodded, letting out a shaky breath and clenching her trembling hands into fists. Genevieve let out a small sigh of relief. She cast the spell and ushered Ria down the street, praying that her spell would last. She was shit at Illusion magic, having only learned enough to allow her spells to be as silent as her feet.

Hopefully, she could take care of the damn assassin quickly.

(Oh, weren’t those famous last words). 

Vilkas

He wouldn’t admit it, but he definitely yelped when Ria popped up out of nowhere, a magic disguise fading by the second with no Vi in sight. Of course, he quickly pulled it together when he noticed how freaked out Ria was. The poor girl was on the verge of tears. He guided her inside and sat her at the table, calling for Tilma as she always knew how to help. She settled slightly when a cup of tea was pressed into her hands, but was still far too worked up to say anything. She would try, only to stutter out something incomprehensible and clam up again. 

 The rest of the Companions had somewhat gathered around her, doing their best to comfort her but clearly unsettled. Vilkas could understand that. He’d never seen her like this. Sure, she was easily the youngest of all of them and certainly wasn’t a hardened warrior, but she was cheerful and level-headed, even in the worst situations.

Just when he thought she couldn’t get more upset, she went white as bone and curled into herself like she was trying to hide. He glanced over his shoulder to see a couple of the gods-damned mercenaries standing at the door. He cursed under his breath and stood, making sure to keep Ria hidden with his bulk. 

“What do you want?” he snapped, forgoing his usual pleasantries. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tilma slip down the stairs. Hopefully she was getting Farkas, or maybe even Kodlak. 

“Heard the woman we’re looking for might be here and wanted to see if it was true.”

“It isn’t. So get out.” 

Ria was terrified of these men. He wasn’t sure why, though he had an idea. Regardless, they sure as Oblivion weren’t going near her. 

“We’re just trying to do our job, friend-”

“We’re not friends,” he growled. This was bad. He was losing control. Aela was only marginally better, standing ramrod straight and forcing long measured breaths through her nose. 

“Of course not, we wouldn’t let an elf  into our group. And we know the proper place for women.” The mercenary eyed Aela, dragging his eyes up and down her body. “Bent over a table or on her knees.” It took all Vilkas had not to lunge at the bastard. As much as he wanted to, doing so would expose Ria.
Njada, however, had no such worries. She lunged at the mercenaries, only held back through the combined efforts of Torvar and Athis. Vilkas could hear his brother at the foot of the stairs and he could smell both Farkas and Kodlak. It was slow going, but he knew they were going as fast as Kodlak could manage. He still wished they’d go a little faster though.

Genevieve

It was taking longer to find the assassin than she had wanted. The fancy dinner, whatever the fuck it was, had just started and any minute could end with an arrow through Balgruuf’s heart. It seemed she’d have to cast the blasted detect life spell. She wasn’t great at it and it drained her magicka like nothing else, but she was out of options. 

A few minutes and all of her magicka later, she’d found him. The invisibility didn't feel like a spell or potion, which was almost certainly why she hadn't found him sooner. 

She dipped her lucky dagger in her last bottle of poison and let out a long, steady breath. Then she let her dagger fly.

The blade sank into the assassin's side. He cursed quite violently in Dunmeri. 

The next few minutes were a blur. Her poison did most of the work, but the assassin was stubborn. They ended up grappling near the edge of the balcony. Unfortunately, even bleeding out and poisoned, the Dunmer had a good 70 pounds on her. He pinned her and slammed her head into the floor several times, leaving her disoriented and feeling sick. A sharp pain tore through her leg

Fuck.

She needed to end this. Now.

She gripped his shirt and shoved him away, adding as much of a push with telekinesis as her slowly returning magicka would allow. He went flying over the rail. Genevieve was pretty sure he landed one one of the tables, though the fall combined with the poison and dagger in his belly almost certainly killed him. 

She slumped to the ground, attempting to stifle the blood gushing from her leg. By the Nine, she just couldn’t catch a break, could she? She just wanted some Divines-damned cuddles. And to sing. It’d be nice to sing again, especially if Farkas played his lute. He was so good at playing the lute and Lucia said he was a wonderful teacher in her letters. 

Genevieve was pulled back to Nirn by small hands shaking her shoulder.

Nelkir was kneeling next to her, looking more upset than she’d ever seen him. His lips were moving but everything sounded muffled. A moment later it looked like he was shouting for someone.

The world went dark just as someone with blond hair came into view.

Vilkas

“Do you need some help getting your wench under control there?” 

Njada lunged again, and this time Torvar and Athis looked like they wanted to join her. Aela was now visibly bristling, her eyes phasing in and out of the beastly yellow of the wolf. He knew his eyes were doing something similar if they weren’t solidly of the beast.

“That’s enough.” Kodlak’s steady voice cut through the rising tension. He stood at the top of the stairs, with Farkas right behind him. His brother was flicking his eyes between the mercenaries and the rest of the room. He wasn’t wearing any armor and he didn’t have weapons on him, at least not that Vilkas could tell. Had he been carving when Tilma found him?

“What’s enough old man? We’re just trying to do what we were hired to do.”

Vilkas felt himself bristle at the words, and almost stepped forward, only stopping when he felt Ria’s small hand grab the back of his belt. Right. He was the only thing keeping her hidden. He settled for clenching his fists and glaring at the mercenaries. 

“You have come into our hall without permission. You have insulted not only members of the Circle, but several of our other members. You have acted without honor and are not welcome here. Get out and do not return.”

The apparent leader of the mercenaries sneered and started to say something (almost certainly more insults) when the doors to Jorrvaskr opened behind them. Irileth eyed the mercenaries with clear distaste, then looked to the Companions.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“They were just leaving,” Vilkas growled, “What can we do for you Housecarl?”
“The Jarl wanted me to inform you that Miss Archembeau has landed herself at the Temple again. She saved him from an assassin as far as we can tell. Danica is almost certain she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Archembeau?” the mercenary leader snarled, all pretense of friendliness vanishing as his face twisted into an ugly snarl. “That bitch is still alive?”

“Watch your tongue,” Irileth snapped, her red eyes blazing with fury, “Thane Archembeau is not to be spoken of in such a manner. She is to be treated with the utmost respect. Not that you lot know what that is.”

“HA!” The Nord barked out a laugh, “That little freak has been a thorn in Boss’ hide since the moment she was born. Her Mer blood and Serpent birth only added to it.”
Now he’d upset the entire hall. Even Kodlak looked angry. But the most enraged of all was Farkas.

Vilkas could count the number of times he’d seen his twin well and truly angry on one hand with room to spare.

Farkas’ eyes weren’t the yellow of the beast, but somehow that made it worse. They were dark and swirling with rage. He was standing ramrod straight at his full height, towering over everyone. Then he started moving towards the group of mercenaries. His steps were silent and swift, much like those of a beast on the prowl. Vilkas seemed to be the only one to notice his brother’s movement. At least, he was until Farkas was upon the mercenaries, easily picking the leader up and tossing him onto the steps outside.

“Get. Out,” he growled. The remaining mercenaries coward away and bolted. He glanced over his shoulder to the rest of the Companions, who were gawking at him, then to Irileth. “I’m going to go see Gem.” He said, leaving no room for argument. Then he left, lumbering down the steps as if nothing had happened. 

Farkas

Gem was sleeping when he got there. She looked cold and uncomfortable. Her bed in her house was piled with pillows and blankets and furs. Her bed in Jorrvaskr was the same, though mostly furs instead of the more delicate cloth items. This bed was bare and stone. 

He pulled up a chair and took her hand in his. Hers was so small and clammy.

“She’ll be alright, Farkas. She lost a lot of blood and took a nasty hit to the head, but now she just needs to rest and she’ll be perfectly fine.”

“When can she come home?”

“I’ll let her go tomorrow, though she’s not to do anything too strenuous for at least another week.”

He grunted in acknowledgement. The children came by with Lydia and sat and talked a bit. Then they left. Danica floated around the Temple, tending to the other occupants and occasionally checking on Gem, though they both knew all they could do now was wait. 

Eventually, Danica made him leave, insisting he needed to rest. Sure, he was tired, but he was also restless. The wolf wasn’t leaving him alone like usual. It wanted him to go hunt down those creeps and make them put them in their place for insulting his (hopefully future) mate. He just wanted them gone. They’d been nothing but trouble for his family. 

He left after pressing a kiss to Gem’s forehead.

(Gods help him, he should have stayed.)

Chapter Text

Farkas

Something was wrong. He knew that before he'd even opened his eyes. 

It had only been a few hours since he’d left the Temple. Even so, he heaved himself out of bed and hurriedly pulled on his boots. It had been a while since he’d had to sneak out, but years of practice allowed him to do so without a sound. 

The crisp night air was eerily still, as it so often was so late at night(or was it early in the morning?), but even then, something was off. He didn’t figure it out until he was right outside the Temple. Someone was in there that shouldn’t be. The scent made his blood boil. 

For fucks sake, why did they hate her so much?

Then the Temple shook with what could only be a Thu’um infused scream of sheer terror and agony.

Gem.

He couldn’t quite remember what happened next. He came to cradling Gem’s limp and far too pale body as she struggled to breathe. There was a wicked dagger sticking out of her leg. He could tell just by looking at it that it had been pushed into the bone. His hands were covered in blood that didn’t belong to either of them and there was a body with horribly twisted limbs nearby. Danica was crouched in front of him, wearily eyeing him.

“Are you back with us or are you going to try and bite me again?”

He blinked.

“I need to tend to Genevieve again. That bastard did a number on her and she was already weak. I think that blade is poisoned, but I can’t be sure unless you let me look at it.”

He shifted and tried to ease Gem off of the floor. She whimpered and weakly grasped his shirt. He looked to Danica, who signed and slowly inched closer.

“Don’t try to bite me again.”

Farkas nodded, then promptly passed out.

Vilkas

Divines, this was a mess. Vi was almost dead with a leg injury that would take months to heal properly, if it ever would. His brother had taken a dagger to the back and nearly died from blood loss. Lydia and the children had been attacked and damn-near kidnapped. 

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. The mercenaries from the day before had some kind of grudge against Vi. They’d freely admitted they wanted to kill her as the guards were hauling them to the dungeons. Three of them were dead. Two by Lydia’s axe, and one by Farkas’ bare hands. 

He shuddered at the memory. The body had been… mangled. It was hard to believe his gentle giant of a twin had done something so violent, but Danica had no reason to lie and his twin’s hands had been covered in blood.

At the moment, Lydia was getting treated for the minor injuries she’d received while fending off the mercenaries. The children were being fussed over by Tilma and the others. They were understandably shaken up and hadn’t been their usual chaos-causing selves.

Then there was the matter with Ria. She’d been withdrawing from everyone and hardly eating. He had a feeling she was going to try to run. He’d seen her stuffing a few things into her pack, despite the fact Kodlak had forbidden her from taking jobs until the whole situation had been settled. 

He hoped she wouldn’t leave. He didn’t want to lose a member of his family. 

Farkas

Everything hurt. A lot.

What had happened? 

He remembered waking up and sneaking out for the first time in months. He remembered blood and Gem’s scre-

Gem!

He bolted upright and immediately regretted it.

“Lay down you idiot!” He barely registered his brother’s voice through the pain currently burning in his blood. “She’s fine. Well, she’s not fine but she’s alive and unless something really bad happens, she’s going to stay that way.” Vilkas helped him lay back on the stone bed. “She’s right over there, but you aren’t out of the woods yet so you’re going to stay right where you are.”
Farkas tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of Gem stretched out on another stone bed. She didn’t look great, but she was definitely breathing.

“Danica is doing her best, but the blade that fucked up her leg was poisoned. Valdimar is working with Danica and Arcadia to try and identify it, but so far they haven’t a clue what it is. Well, that’s not quite true. Apparently it’s the same stuff that was messing with Vi’s throat. I didn’t hear exactly what Danica was saying, but there was something about spines?” Vilkas shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s a potent brew.” Then his brother grew quiet and started  fidgeting. “They don’t know if she’ll be able to walk again. The blade damn near shattered her femur and it nicked an artery, not to mention all the damage it did to the muscle.”

That would kill Gem. She’d be trapped. 

“Whatever happens, it’ll be a long recovery.” 

Farkas nodded, then let sleep claim him again.

Ria

It was all her fault. She never should have left. She’d rather be miserable and trapped than have her freedom at the expense of her Shield-Siblings lives. 

She’d leave as soon as she knew what would happen to Vi. She owed the older woman that much. Her bag was already packed. She didn’t have much, just her armor, a small amount of money, a dagger, and the roll of bath salt recipes Vi had given her for her birthday. She hadn’t quite mastered them yet, but maybe they could allow her a quiet life where she could hide.  

“Ria, come here child, I need to speak with you.” Oh no. Kodlak would know what she was planning just by looking at her. But refusing to talk to him would just be worse.

She crept into the Harbinger’s room, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yes, Harbinger?”

“Sit, we have much to talk about.”

She sat on the edge of the chair, still refusing to look at him.

“Ria, no one here blames you. This is not your fault, child.”
“Yes it is!” she burst out, clenching her fists. “They were after me! If they hadn’t been after me they wouldn’t have been here and Vi and Farkas wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” She looked away, tears burning her eyes. She’d cried enough for a lifetime already.

“Why do you think they were after you?”

“‘Cause they were,” she mumbled. “I ran away from home ‘cause I didn’t want to get married to this horrid man that my father paired me with. My maid was a Nord. She taught me about the Companions and told me all the stories she knew of.” She sighed and fiddled with a strap of her armor. “My full name is Adraria Luciana Valencia Maraennius, daughter of Lurius Maraennius. He’s… kind of like Maven Black-Briar is in Riften, except for most of Cyrodiil.”

Divines, she hated that part of her life. She’d been nothing more than a pretty puppet for her father to use as he wanted. She’d known he’d come after her if she left, but she couldn’t stand the thought of marrying such a horrible man. 

“Perhaps this isn’t my place, but it seems to me that you left to escape a life that would break you. The Companions are your family now. You are Ria of the Companions for as long as you’ll have us. Your past does not define you, child. It is not your fault those men acted the way they did. You sought a life that would let you thrive, and I’d say you found it.” 

At that, Ria promptly burst into tears. It was embarrassing, but Kodlak didn’t seem to mind. In fact, while it was a little awkward, he did his best to comfort her.

She didn’t want to leave. 

Genevieve

Someone was touching her leg. They were being gentle, but even the slightest touch sent bolts of agony through her body. A deep voice tried to soothe her. It was familiar, but she didn’t know who it was.

It felt like she was burning alive. She was in the village. She was in Helgen.

Everything was red red red.

Someone was screaming.

There were hands pinning her down. Big hands. Hands rough with callouses. They weren’t hurting her?

Smaller hands touched her leg, pressing something cold to it. It burned, but less than before.

The voice was back again. It was still gentle and soothing. 

"How is she?"

"Not good. Better, but still not good. That damn poison is the worse part. If I could get it under control I’d be able to do more.” 

“Has he been like that the whole time?”
“He only leaves when I kick him out to eat and bathe. He sleeps here. I think he feels like it wouldn’t have happened if he’d stayed that night. I keep telling him it isn’t his fault, but well, he’s stubborn.”

“He’s always been like that, since before we were whelps learning to hold a sword.  Do you think the little ones could visit soon? It’s horrible to see them so sad. I didn’t think I’d miss their pranks, but now Jorrvaskr is much too quiet.”

“Perhaps in a few days. I’d like her to wake up before I let anyone else see her, especially her children. They don’t need to see her like this.”

“Aye. Lets hope she wakes soon. I don’t know how much longer I can stand seeing all of them so miserable.”

A big, rough, warm hand was holding hers. A tuneless lullaby was being hummed by a deep, rumbling voice. Another hand gently touched her face, perhaps to brush some of her hair out of the way. 

Other voices blended together in the background. A moment later, she was being lifted and cradled against a warm, broad chest.

Exhaustion clawed at her, but she forced her eyes open. She wasn’t at the Temple. The bed was soft and warm. Something was resting against her side. She glanced down. 

A dark head of hair was resting on top of two heavily muscled arms. Think bandages were wrapped around the equally muscled chest.

Farkas.

She was safe.

She let sleep claim her. 

Genevieve was comfortable and warm when she finally properly woke up. She was still tired and her leg was throbbing, but she wasn’t moments from falling asleep. Tilting her head to the side, she found Farkas still sleeping with his arms as his pillow. There were dark smudges under his eyes and his hair was a mess, like he’d constantly been running his hands through it. Tension lined his shoulders and back, even though he was dead asleep. There were less bandages around his chest than there had been before.

“He hasn’t left your side, dear.” Tilma stepped through the door and set a tray on the nightstand. She started dipping long strips of cloth in a bowl. “It’s about time to change the dressing on your leg. I had a feeling you might wake up soon, but I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. Your little ones have been quite sad. They’re a bit better now that they’ve been able to visit you and talk to you, but they still aren’t themselves. Alesan would read to you from that book about the Dwemer. Lucia would sing or play a song on the lute. Braith would mostly just sit quietly, though I did hear her asking you about a boy…” Tilma chuckled. “But I’m sure you’ll hear all about it once you’re a bit better. I’m going to change your dressing, alright?”

Genevieve nodded, hissing quietly when Tilma pulled back the furs and blankets and started undoing the binding on her leg. Once she’d piled the old bandages into a neat pile, she started to wrap the new ones, deftly tying them in place once she’d finished. 

The bandages must’ve been soaked in some kind of pain-killer or anti-inflammatory, as her leg immediately started to feel a little bit better. 

“They brought you here about four days ago. You weren’t sleeping at all in the Temple. Kept having horrible nightmares and would scream until your voice gave out and you coughed blood. Danica let them move you with the hope you’d rest better. So far, I’d say it's worked. Farkas insisted that you use his bed. Seeing as the only time you’d sleep peacefully was when he would hold you, no one protested.”

Genevieve slid her eyes back to Farkas. He must’ve been so worried. It seemed like that was all she was good for. Stress and trouble and pain.

“Ah, none of that, dear. Right now you are going to rest and heal. Those no good ruffians have been arrested and are waiting for their trials. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all executed. Oh, Kodlak will want to talk with you when you’re strong enough. I’d talk to Ria too, when you can. Poor girl needs someone to get it through her head that it wasn’t her fault. But, that’s enough of that. Get some rest, dear.”

Tilma tucked the furs around her so she was perfectly comfortable and left.

Genevieve was asleep moments later.

Farkas was awake the next time she opened her eyes. He was flipping through a book and making notes in another, his brow furrowed in concentration. The moment she moved, his head snapped up. Realizing she was awake, he set the books down and settled on the bed. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then simply leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. Tension leaked out of his shoulders and he breathed deeply and slowly.

Eventually, he pulled away and stood, moving towards the door. She couldn’t help but whine and attempt to reach after him, only for her strength to fail.

"I'm not leaving, Gem. Just letting someone know you're awake so they can get Danica.” True to his word, he was back at her side a few moments later, taking her hand in his. “You’ve been out of it for a couple weeks. Alesan, Braith, and Lucia are all just fine. Those bastards tried to take them, but Lydia kicked their asses and I’m pretty sure Balgruuf is going to execute them. At the very least they’re banished from the Hold.” He paused. “You need to try and eat something. At least try and drink some broth. I’ll make it while Danica is here. She said she had some stuff to tell you and questions for you, but I’m not sure what.”

He still looked tired. A little better, but not great. He kept fidgeting with her hand. There was something he wasn’t telling her. 

Genevieve’s leg was still throbbing. Her head hurt.
Danica arrived a few minutes later, Valdimar right behind her. Farkas squeezed her hand and slipped out the door.

Her leg would never be the same. Even if it healed properly, it wouldn’t be the same. Her throat was only a little worse than it had been and Danica was almost certain she'd speak again. 

But would she walk? Would she run? Would she climb? Would she dance?

Valdimar stayed after Danica had left. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, Miss?"

Genevieve was too weak to sign, but she was still able to move her fingers. She quickly started tapping her finger, relieved when Valdimar recognized the old code he'd taught her.  

"Your pack? Alright. I'll bring it in the morning. It's at your house at the moment. Miss Lydia wasn’t sure where they would move you so she kept all your things together. Is there anything else?” 

She tapped her finger again. His eyes softened and he sat in the chair.
“Of course I’ll stay. Would you like to hear what little we know about that poison while we wait?”

She nodded and Valdimar launched into a detailed explanation of his findings. 

Farkas

She was finally awake. Gem was finally, finally awake. She was still a bit dazed and clearly exhausted, but Danica said that was to be expected.
She’d almost died. Twice. In the span of less than a day. He’d heard her heart stop a few times, though he hadn’t told anyone. Danica had saved her, it wouldn’t do anyone any good to dwell on things that had already happened.

Gods, he should have stayed.

He was careful not to spill the bowl of broth as he went down the stairs. He doubted she’d finish the entire bowl, but he had to try. Valdimar was just leaving when he reached his door. 

Gem was propped up on a pile of furs. She’d lost weight and she looked only slightly better than death, but she was alive and healing. She gave him a weak smile when she noticed him. 

She was a little grumpy that she was too weak to feed herself, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. Not yet anyway. He’d give it a couple days before her patience with herself ran out and she started pushing her limits.

She fell asleep a little bit after she ate. She’d eaten more than half of the broth, so more than he’d been expecting.
Once he was sure she was out, he pulled out his books. Farkas’ latest project was just an idea. He didn’t know if it would do a damn thing. But he had to try. He wouldn’t let her be trapped. At the very least he’d make her a staff. He’d start on it once she was closer to trying to walk. But the rest would wait until he was done. 

Genevieve

As he’d promised, Valdimar brought her pack with him the next morning. Her parents' journals were safe, as were the amulets. 

It was embarrassing, but Valdimar had to help her put the Amulet of Talos on. She immediately felt a little better, her voice a little stronger, but it was still frustrating.

She managed to get Valdimar to write and send a letter to Soli, explaining what had happened and her condition. Her friend had been expecting her back within the next couple of weeks. Now it seemed it would be months before anything could happen. 

At least she had plenty of time to read now. She tired far too quickly, but she was learning so much from the journals.

Her mother had been well over 500 years old. Her father had been just over 300. They had been together for almost a century. Her mother had been an assassin. Her father had sold her poisons and helped her escape from that life. Her mother had become a healer. 

It seems she was more like her mother than she realized.

Skjor

He didn't understand why everyone was fawning over the new blood. She was a mage. She'd nearly gotten Farkas killed multiple times. She was a magnet for trouble and she'd get all of them killed. 

And now she was crippled. The others refused to say it, but that's what she was. She couldn’t speak and now she couldn’t stand, let alone fight as a Companion. 

Her housecarls meant nothing. They were sworn to her service. Of course they respected her. One of her housecarls was the mage bastard from the War. His opinion was worth less than skeever shit. 

Maybe she’d twisted their minds. It had happened before. But this was worse. Even Aela liked her. Aela wanted to give her the blood. She thought it would help Vi heal.

He wasn’t opposed to the wench getting the blood. After all, a lot could go wrong with the first change. And if she survived that, well, the Silver Hand were dangerous werewolf hunters. And accidents happened, especially during the first hunt.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

It was a bit on the cool side, but if she stayed in Farkas’ room for a second more, she’d be crazier than Sheogorath himself. It had been surprisingly easy to convince Farkas to carry her up the stairs and let her sit on the porch while he trained. Then again, he hadn’t left her side unless it was to get her food, so maybe he was going stir crazy too. Whatever the reason, now she had a fantastic view of a shirtless Farkas as he ran through various exercises with his greatsword. 

Genevieve herself was quite cozy in a cocoon of thick, warm sabre pelts. She had a cup of herbal tea to help her heal and stay warm, a bowl of tomato soup, and some wonderfully buttery bread to enjoy while she read (or eyed Farkas’ muscles. She’d caught herself staring multiple times but she couldn’t really bring herself to stop). 

It had only been a coup of days since she properly woke up, but her strength had returned enough that she could feed herself. She couldn’t cook yet, but she could lift a small cup or a spoon to her lips. It was a small miracle according to Danica, but Genevieve was just happy to have some of her independence back. She was grateful for the help, she really was, but being helpless left her frustrated and restless. 

It didn’t help that Farkas was running himself into the ground. He made her food and fed her and kept her supplied with books and things to fidget with. He also worked the Skyforge late into the night, played and read with the children, and kept up his training. When he wasn’t doing one of those activities, he was pouring over some old book and scribbling away in a different book. He wouldn’t let her see what he was reading or writing. In fact, he wouldn’t let anyone see. 

He wasn’t sleeping. She’d seen him doze off a few times, only to jerk awake and immediately look at her, like he needed to check that she was still alive. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Lucia burrowing under the pelts. She raised an eyebrow at her daughter, her lips twitching upward.

“It’s cold Mama! I thought spring was supposed to be here by now!”

She laughed silently and wrapped the pelts around both of them. It was near the end of Rain’s Hand, and the air was still brisk. It was usually just on the cooler side of comfortable by midday, but it seemed today was one of the days it remained cool. It was still much better than the frozen mountains to the north, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get cold far easier than the Nords and their frost-resistant blood. 

Soon, she was joined by her other two children, the three of them curled together as they watched the Companions train. After a few moments, she couldn’t help but notice another pile of pelts nearby. She lifted her hand and tried to pull a couple of the pelts forward with telekinesis, only to grimace as a sharp pain burst across her skull. 

Damn, she kept forgetting she couldn’t use magic at the moment. Apparently getting one’s skull bashed against a wooden floor followed by a stone bench a few hours later was extremely detrimental to one’s magical abilities. Or something like that. She hadn’t really listened to what Danica had said after the news of her leg. 

“Mama Vi! Danica said no magic!” 

She huffed in equal parts amusement and frustration and patted Braith’s head. Her daughter was only trying to help, but by doing so she’d caught Farkas’ attention. Now he was going to fuss. 

Genevieve adored him, maybe even loved him, but she could only be fussed over so much before she started to get snappy. And Farkas had been doing a lot of fussing. As she’d predicted, he fussed over her a bit, handing her several more pelts and tucking them around her and the children. Then he asked if she needed something for her head or for her leg, or maybe some more tea, or even more pelts and was the soup alright ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he got the seasoning right, did she need some more bread?

She started twitching her fingers, tempted to poke him in the forehead to get him to snap out of it. Lucia giggled, effectively doing the job for her. 

“Sorry.” He settled down across from them, stretching out and relaxing a little bit. She blamed his Nordic blood for the fact he’d worked up a decent sweat, but again, his muscles were on display. She wasn’t complaining. Especially when he was actually relaxing for a moment. 

Vilkas

His twin wasn’t sleeping and he didn’t know why. He’d hidden it well, but Vilkas was done leaving his brother to deal with things alone. Farkas had also been pushing himself. He should be resting. He’d taken a dagger to the back. It had narrowly missed his heart and his lung and it had been poisoned. Yet he was running himself into the ground instead of letting himself heal. 

Vilkas didn’t blame Vi. The poor woman had been through enough. It wasn’t her fault she was limited in what she could and couldn’t eat. He blamed himself.

Farkas had been taking care of himself for years. Even when they were just pups, he’d been the quiet child that faded into the background. Vilkas could count on one hand the times he’d seen his brother hurt or sick. Now he couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d just missed an injury or illness. Afterall, he thought bitterly, Farkas was the strong twin, he could take it, he could shrug it off. 

Gods, how had he let it get this bad?

Vilkas wouldn’t admit it, but he dropped his greatsword when the swirling purple orb appeared in the training yard, opening into a portal a few moments later. A stout Breton woman stepped out of the portal, brushing herself off and closing the gate behind her with a snap of her fingers. She immediately turned to him, eyeing him with steely green eyes.
“Where's Genna?”

“Who?” He asked, instantly on guard. Was she looking for Vi?

“Genna. Breton woman. Gorgeous. Scar through her eye and another one through her lips. Purple warpaint. Lots of jewelry. Most skilled healer in all of Skyrim, if not Tamriel. Likes crab and sweets.”

So she was looking for Vi. She was with Farkas. They’d gone inside a few minutes before. He went to answer only for the woman to huff and roll her eyes. “Nevermind, I’ll find her myself.” She held out her hand and a blue trail of light suddenly snaked across the yard and into Jorrvaskr. She followed it, pushing past him.

He followed her, only to find her toe-to-toe with Skjor.

“You aren’t welcome here mage.”

“Did I ask? No, so shut the fuck up and get out of my way.” She shoulder-checked him and continued down the stairs, following the trail of light. Vilkas picked up the pace.

He actually caught up to her just as she reached Farkas’ room. 

“Genna! Oh, sorry dear, I was just trying to find her. Did I not tell you I was a battlemage at one point? Sorry, I thought I had. Hm? Oh, I opened a portal. Nice bit of Conjuration magic, I’ll show it to you later. By the way, your Khajiit friend will be here once he figures out he can scale the walls with those claws of his. You know, the one that blows himself up every other day and is always arguing with you about sweets and moon sugar? The guards wouldn’t let him in. Something about not wanting thieving beasts in the city. Dumbasses couldn’t even catch a rat if it was lying dead in front of them so I don’t know what they think they’re going to do to a very displeased Khajiit mage.”

The woman was standing at the foot of Farkas’ bed, cheerfully chattering to Vi, despite the latter making no hand motions and using no magic. Farkas looked distinctly uncomfortable, though that was more likely due to the woman’s Illusion spell than her sudden presence. After a few minutes the woman turned to Farkas. “Forgive me, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Soleil Monet, but call me Soli or I;ll whack you with a spoon. I’m one of Genna’s friends at the College.”
“‘M Farkas,” he mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“Oh!” Soli brightened, clapping her hands together as a mischievous grin lit up her face. “Genna’s told me all about you! I assume the grouch standing behind me is your twin, Vilkas, yes? The one that’s so smitten with her housecarl? Well, the one that lives here in Whiterun?”

Vilkas felt his face heat and he scowled. Seeing as Vi was perfectly comfortable with Soli, he turned and went to his room. Vi might trust her, but Farkas didn’t. Even so, Vilkas knew for a fact that Soli had unintentionally brought up some rather horrible memories for Farkas and that he’d only be able to be around her for so long before he would need to leave and attempted to work it out. When that happened, Vilkas was going to grab his twin and attempt to get him to sleep or, at the very least, to rest a little bit. 

Genevieve

Seeing Soli again was a breath of fresh air. She wasn’t dancing around Genevieve’s condition but she wasn’t smothering her either. 

Poor Farkas had jumped sky-high when the blue light of the clairvoyance spell suddenly appeared in his room. He’d gone white as bone before shaking his head and shifting closer to the bed. He’d left her with Soli after a few minutes, looking only slightly better than he had when the spell reached them.

“I take it he’s not particularly fond of magic?”

Genevieve lifted her hand and tilted it back and forth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like magic, it was that certain kinds of magic brought back bad memories, though she didn’t know that Illusion magic was part of it. Farkas was also already jumpy due to all that had happened.

“Just not great with certain kinds or when he isn’t expecting it? My bad, I just wanted to find you. I’ll try to make it up to him. Also, you didn’t tell me he was so handsome! I can see why you like him so much. Also he’s got to be great for cuddles, just look at all those nice muscles!”

Genevieve felt her face flush and she buried her face in the blankets and pelts in her lap. Maybe rambling on about him when she was dead tired and just wanted cuddles was a bad idea. Soli laughed.

“Don’t worry Sugar, I’m not going to announce to the whole world your exhaustion-fueled cuddle rants. By the way, is everyone here of Hircine, or just those with that weird armor and your giant boyfriend?”

Genevieve shot upright, her eyes wide with shock. How in Oblivion had Soli known that?

“I, ah, have met a few like them before. Some are right monsters and others are nice enough. You like them so they can’t be evil. Oh, is the old scarred guy always such a jackass?”

Genevieve grimaced. Skjor didn’t like her. She didn’t know what he was like with the others, but to her he’d never been anything but proud and unpleasant. He had to be a skilled warrior to be as old as he was, but he seemed awfully certain that he knew best, regardless of others experiences or thoughts. 

“Never mind. I came here to cheer you up and this is not going to do that. Now, would you like me to go get Mr. Handsome McMuscles back, tell you all the shenanigans of your fellow students back in Winterhold, or shall I let you rest and go harass Valdi-Waldi for disappearing for several decades?”

Aela

The Khajiit landed on top of the training dummy with a grace few could match. He was wearing mage’s robes. He crouched on top of the dummy, eyeing the warriors around him as his tail lashed back and forth.

“J’zargo is looking for his friend. The guards do not want J’zargo in the city, but J’zargo does not care. Do you know where J’zargo can find his friend?”

Was he referring to the Breton that had headed inside nearly an hour ago or was he referring to Vi?

“Describe your friend,” Aela said. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, his nose twitching. Something akin to recognition sparked in his eyes and he grew tense, but he didn’t attack or run.

“Genna is a skilled healer. J’zargo is better in Destruction, but no one is better than Genna in Restoration. She is small, even for her kind. Genna is a friend to Khajiit and speaks J’zargo’s mother tongue. She does not like the bitter cold but the heart of the wild is her home.”

He was definitely talking about Vi.

“She’s resting now. What have you and the other mage come here?”

“Genna is hurt and cannot wander. She does not like being trapped. Brings back memories of pain and fear. We come to make her feel less trapped and to bring gifts from the College and her caravan friends.” J’zargo’s tail lashed angrily for a moment before curling around the dummy. “Is J’zargo welcome here or will he have to find somewhere to hide?”

Aela knew for a fact that Skjor would be upset if a Khajiit were to stay in Jorrvaskr. She also knew that Vi was already restless and her recovery had only just begun. 

“I don’t know where we’ll put you or the other mage, but I’m not going to chase you off.”

J’zargo nodded curtly and leapt off of the dummy, quickly crossing the yard and disappearing into Jorrvaskr. Aela shook her head. Vi had such strange friends. She’d have to stop and talk to the younger woman. The beast blood wasn’t a guaranteed way for her to heal, but it could certainly help her. Aela would love to have her as pack, but only if Vi wanted it. 

Farkas

The Khajiit was interesting. He hadn’t used any magic, though Farkas was almost certain he’d stolen various trinkets from the others. He’d get them back later. His pickpocketing skills were a little rusty since the children hadn’t talked him into any pranks in a while. 

The Khajiit seemed to know that Farkas was a werewolf, just as Soli had. Maybe it was a mage thing? He didn’t seem to care all that much. He just seemed worried about Gem.

Gem was sleeping. She and Soli had talked for a bit. He’d left ‘cause memories of Saveera wouldn’t leave him be. Vilkas had tried to get him to lay down but Farkas had shrugged him off and went to the kitchen to help Tilma. She’d tutted but let him make bread. He’d wandered back down to his room after the dough started raising. 

J’zargo had been waiting by his door, wanting to see Gem but wary of intruding.
Now they were both sitting quietly as she slept. Farkas was working on the staff for Gem staff and J’zargo was doing something with a book and one of the larger soul gems. 

Gem wasn’t the only one losing her mind. No one had cared how he was doing in years, but now they were all worried and it was smothering him. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a dagger to the back. Fuck, it wasn’t even the first time he’d nearly died. 

Maybe when Gem was a little stronger they could go to her College. They might have more of the books he needed to work on his project. Danica’s books just weren’t detailed enough. Sure, he could get a good outline going, but he needed to be able to figure out how everything worked together so he could build a support system. 

He hoped it worked. 

Farkas sighed and set down the staff. He rested his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He needed to sleep, but that wouldn't happen anytime soon. His vision was starting to blur and his hands were always shaking but sleep wouldn't come. If it did, it would be filled with nightmares. 

“Perhaps Genna’s mate should rest, yes?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“But rest does not mean sleep. J’zargo knows this. Genna has told him many times.”

Farkas just grunted. He’d worked through worse. He could rest later. 

Valdimar

He never expected to see her again. Yet here he was, being tackled from behind as she scolded him for disappearing. 

“Mon-”

“It’s Soli for fucks sake! You knew me when I was young and dumb, call me Soli!”

“But-”

“Valdimar, the only reason I out ranked you was because I got several field promotions due to the then superior's idiocy and demise. So for the last time, call. Me. Soli!” He sighed and she seemed to take that as acceptance. “Now, I came to bother you because Genna needed to rest. What have you been working on? Can I help or should I go help that poor old woman feed all those warriors?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out the poison that’s currently messing with Miss Genevieve’s recovery. All we know is that it’s the same one as before and not much else.”

“Colette, she’s the Restoration Master at the College, was helping her too. She wanted to look at Danica’s notes to see what she’d figured out. Colette said it slowed how fast she healed and made healing magic less effective. She originally thought it affected potions too, but that was just exhaustion.”

“Good to know. So you’ve been up in Winterhold?”

“For the last decade or so. Hopped around a lot before that. Savos let me run the kitchens as I pleased, so long as everyone got fed. So, I stayed.”

“Savos?”

“Arch-Mage. Now, I’m shit at alchemy, but Genna is great, so ask her to help if she’s up to it. I’m going to go see if I can help with the food. Toodles Valdi-Waldi!”

Then she was gone. He groaned and turned back to Farengar’s alchemy table. He’d never get her to stop calling him that. Then again, he didn’t really mind. She’d been one of his few friends in the War. He’d disappeared to keep her out of his troubles and he’d missed her blunt chaos more than he’d realized.

Vilkas

“Excuse me Ma’am, but would you be horribly offended if I offered to help you make and serve dinner tonight?” 

Tilma blinked at the woman’s, at Soli’s, request.
“Not at all, dear.” 

What the fuck. 

“Wonderful. I must admit, I’m not terribly familiar with Nordic food, as there are so few Nords at the College, but I do know how to cook.”

Soli followed Tilma into the kitchens, chattering away about the different races’ foods. Apparently Khajiit had a massive sweet tooth and Dunmer liked their saltrice and mushrooms. Redguards were fond of rich spices and garlic and game. Bretons, well, they were Bretons. Orismer, as Soli stubbornly called the Orcs, usually had meals of roasted game and hard drink that were accompanied by root vegetables they foraged or grew themselves. Argonian food was the strangest, consisting of fish and swamp plants that were usually eaten raw. Altmer were prissy and particular about what they deemed worthy to eat, usually preferring fine wines and flowers and fruits and other delicate things. Things that, in Vilkas’ mind, didn’t really make up a full meal. Bosmer were nearly carnivores, as their Green Pact forbade them from harming plants in any way. Imperial food was a mix of all the races they traded with, ranging from modified Khajiit sweets to hearty feasts of richly spiced meat and hard drink. And apparently, she knew all of this from traveling and then settling at that damned College.

“Oh, Nord food isn’t hard, dear. It’s simple and hearty, much like its people. Lots of mead and meat and cheese.”

Soli’s grin sent shivers down his spine. 

Soli was good at her job. He’d heard Tilma asking for some of her recipes, so his own thoughts aside, she was definitely good. He could see why she and Vi were friends. She didn’t seem to like Skjor all that much, but the older warrior had been snapping at her and the Khajiit, J’zargo, every time they did something he didn’t approve of. Which was often.

J’zargo was… interesting, but then again, Vilkas had never interacted with a Khajiit for more than a few minutes. He was proud and sly and almost scarily good with a dagger. He was protective of Vi and wary of the others, but would talk freely so long as they didn’t insult him or his people. 

Vilkas really needed to get out more. While he was still wary of magic, he’d learned more about it in the past few days than he had his entire life. He’d learned more about the Khajiit too. 

Mages and Khajiit were just people. Khajiit weren’t human, but that didn’t make them any less a living, thinking, feeling people. 

Vi had a lot of strange friends, but he found he didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would. 

Aela

Farkas was pushing them away. Where Vi was getting better, he was getting worse. It was their fault. They’d ignored him or told him to suck it up for years and now they were suddenly concerned. She understood, but it still hurt and she still worried. 

“Vi, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Vi looked up from the worn journal she was always reading and nodded, tilting her head to the side. Farkas was up at the Skyforge and Vi was sitting on the porch, enjoying the fresh air. 

“Can you talk to Farkas? I’m, well, all of us are worried. I'm sure you’ve noticed.” Vi nodded and motioned for her to continue. “He’s not sleeping. I’ve come back from hunts very early in the morning and he’ll be working on something by candlelight. I know he’s eating, but I’m not sure if it's enough. His… injury isn’t healing as fast as it should. I know that poison slows down healing, but it shouldn't have slowed it this much. I know,” she sighed, “I know you can’t sign much yet and magic is still out of the question, but can you at least try? I don’t want to lose my brother before I have the chance to make things right.”

Vi’s lips twitched up and she nodded. She pulled another book from her pack and wrote something, handing it to Aela when she was finished.

I’ll try soon. I’m also going to talk to Ria, I don’t like how quiet and jumpy she’s been.

“Thank you, sister.”

Ria

Vi was almost able to stand and maybe walk. She'd be fine, eventually. So Ria was going to leave. Except now Vi wanted to talk to her. 

Ria found Vi sitting on the floor, surrounded by a lot of different plants, salts, and oils. Vi motioned for Ria to sit down and immediately shoved some of the plants, mostly flowers into her hands.

“Vi? What is all this?”

“We’re making bath salts.”

“But wh-” she stopped at the raised eyebrow Vi gave her and started following Vi’s silent instructions. These were different from the recipes she already had. These seemed more… medicinal. “These aren’t the same ones as before."

“These will help with aches and sprains and other things.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Vi wrote something in the notebook sitting nearby and pushed it over to Ria.

You’re going to leave, aren’t you?

“I, well, it’s just-” Ria stopped and sighed. “Yeah. But what does that have to do with these?”

These will help you feel better on the road. And they can be worth quite a bit of money. I don’t like that you’re leaving, but I’m not going to stop you.

“I nearly got you and Farkas killed. I lied to everyone about who I was.”

I already knew you were from wealth. And those particular mercenaries already had a vendetta against me.

“Wait, you knew? How?”

That night we shared the bath. Those salts are extremely expensive. Only the wealthiest can afford them. I know how to make them because Ma’dran sells them to nobility now and then. It wasn’t my business so I didn’t say anything, but that’s why I gave you the fancier pack and the nicer bath salts for your birthday. Well, that and the fact that everyone deserves to have nice things.

Ria opened and closed her mouth a few times. Eventually she just looked down and kept mixing the salts together, trying to ignore the tears dripping down her face. Vi let her have a moment, then she poked her and handed her the book.

By the way, moon sugar and dwarven oil make a fantastic sugar scrub. 

Njada

She was pissed. Vi was encouraging Ria to leave. She was making those dumb bath things and helping Ria with her form and making things from the pelts of the bears they’d hunted together. 

Vi was supposed to get Ria to stay. So why was she helping her leave?

Njada cornered Vi one day.

“What are you doing? Do you want Ria to leave?”

No, but if she’s going to, I can at least make sure she’s able to keep herself warm and fed. But, I did show her how to make some stuff that is good for sore muscles or bruises, like those one might get in a brawl or while training all day long. If someone were to pester her into making some for them, and if said someone had not clue how to use them and if they kept wanting those lovely bath salts, she might feel she has more of a place instead of being the youngest and least experienced Companion who feels she nearly got a senior member killed.

“You’re a sneaky bitch. I know there was a reason Iona liked you.” Njada was almost gentle when she patted Vi on the head and stormed off to find Ria. It seemed her body suddenly ached all over and she was in need of some of Ria’s magic bath salts to make it stop. 

Farkas

He was tired. Tired of his brother and Aela and Kodlak fussing over him when they didn’t care before. Tired of his own demons snapping at him every time he closed his eyes. Tired of seeing Gem restless and bored and still unable to stand for more than a few seconds and still unable to speak. Just plain tired.

At least Ria wasn’t leaving. Njada wouldn’t let her with her sudden interest in bath salts. She’d used four different concoctions in the past week alone and was showing no signs of stopping. He hadn’t seen Ria look so happy in a long time.

Farkas’ mind came to a screeching halt when he stepped into his room. Gem was clearly just out of the bath, her hair damp and loose. She was wearing his shirt. It was loose and open, giving him a lovely view of her chest. It seemed his shirt was all she was wearing, which was giving him thoughts he didn’t have the energy to push away. She was reading, one hand turning the pages while the other fiddled with her Amulet of Talos. 

She looked up a moment later, setting her book down and gesturing from him to come and sit with her. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Gem-” he sighed and put his head in his hands. She gently tapped his shoulder and he look at her from behind his hair.

“Farkas. You need to rest.”

“You sound like the others. Did one of them ask you to check on me?”

“I was already worried.”

“Hmph. They didn’t care before. They didn’t care when Pa didn’t come back and I was all alone and too clumsy and soft and stupid to fit in and make friends. They didn’t care that I was just as good as Vilkas until I took a job to clear out a group of bandits, alone, when I was fifteen. Then they just yelled at me for being reckless. They didn’t care that Saveera was fucking with my head! After all, I should’ve been grateful that someone as pretty as her was even looking at me! So what if she wouldn’t let me say no to, to, to anything or that she kept twisting up my words! They didn’t even care when she literally stabbed me in the back and robbed us blind! They were just worried about poor little Vilkas who got kidnapped and drugged, but didn’t have a scratch on him. No, why would they be worried about Farkas, he can take it! He can shrug it off! It's not like he went and took out a whole group of bandits and mages to rescue Vil when he was half dead and still bleeding!”

Now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop. He was nearly yelling now, but he didn’t care. Most of the others were still upstairs eating dinner or having a drink. Anyone who wasn’t could fucking suck it up for once.

“You want to know why I can’t sleep Gem? Every time I close my eyes I see that cave Pa found us in. I see Vilkas going limp and spiders crawling over his body and I hear those people laughing. I see Saveera grinning as she wipes my blood off her dagger and leaves me dying on the floor and I can feel her messing around in my head. I see you lying on that bed in the Temple and I hear your heart stop. Over and over and over .”

He drops his head into his shaking hands and grips his hair so hard it hurts. His breathing is uneven and ragged and his skin is crawling  and his nose is burning and he’s just. So. Fucking. Tired. 

Small, gentle hands pried his hands from his hair and guided his head against something soft and warm. Gem’s scent filled his nose and a steady thumping slowly drove out everything else. Eventually, he realized it was her heart.
Gem was holding him to her chest and carding her hand through his hair. They were curled together on his bed. He pressed closer to her, painfully aware he was using her (perfect, comfortable, and utterly delightful) breasts as his pillow. He settled slightly, enjoying her scent and her softness that soothed the ache in his soul. 

“‘M tired, Gem.”

“So rest.”

Even her voice was soft.

Chapter Text

Genevieve

Skjor was up to something. First he wanted to talk to her, then he insisted she meet him at night. This felt wrong. If it wasn’t something everyone could hear, then why did he want her of all people to be a part of it. He’d made his opinion of her clear from day one. 

She was able to walk somewhat, as long as she used the staff Farkas had made for her. She’d even been able to handle a quick trip to Lakeview Manor and back, though she’d had to rely on Gunjar, the carriage driver Rayya had hired, to get her back to Whiterun. Her magic was limited, but slowly returning as she grew stronger. At the moment, she could barely do the simplest of spells, but she could use it to communicate. Her bow had become her main weapon and it would likely remain that way until she could put more weight on her leg or was able to use more magic. 

At least Farkas was sleeping. Well, sort of. The only time he seemed to sleep was when he curled around her. Even then, he often had to have his nose right against her throat or his ear against her heart to fall asleep. He was always flustered when she mentioned it, but she didn’t mind in the slightest.

She wanted to tell him what was going on, but she knew that would make him worry. He was finally healing properly. So she kept quiet. 

Her lucky dagger was in her boot and she had a knife up her sleeve when she met Skjor. This was wrong. He was up to something. She could hear something inside the Underforge. Something beastly. 

She was barely listening to Skjor’s little speech. She knew a lie when she heard one.
The Underforge was cramped and dark. She pushed away the flood of memories and gripped her staff. The door closed behind her and she swallowed. There was a tunnel that breathed fresh air. But it was behind the heavily armored Nord that didn’t like her.

Aela was there. She was in her beast form, but those were Aela’s eyes. 

Skjor was talking, but Aela kept looking between them. There was a bit of confusion in her eyes. When Aela’s blood filled the stone bowl, it took all Genevieve’s strength not to run. 

Aela wanted to help her. Skjor did not. Aela wasn’t sure where this was going as it had clearly been different than she’d been expecting. Skjor looked perfectly at ease.

The blood might help. But it could also kill her. Or it could consume her. 

It was dark and cramped and it didn’t feel like she had a choice. With Aela, perhaps. But not with Skjor.

She was trapped again. It was dark and cold and so cramped. She couldn’t breathe through her tears. Papa was gone, gone, gone and she was all alone and no one would help her but she couldn't get out.

She dipped her hand in the blood and sipped.

The world was consumed by fire.

Aela

Skjor wasn’t following the plan. Vi was already skittish around him, but now it was ten times worse. What had he told her? Clearly not what Aela had wanted him to, that they were offering her the blood in the hopes it would help her heal and get her strength and voice back. 

Vi kept glancing at her, as if to assure herself that everything was okay and that Aela was there to help. She had a dagger in her boot and a tight grip on her staff. Her hands were twitching ever-so-slightly. They were shaking when she drank Aela’s blood.

Everything went wrong.

Vi hunched over, shaking and seizing as the blood ran its course. She kept making choked sounds of pain and she fell to her knees. She jerked back and forth, her eyes bloodshot and constantly shifting from blue to yellow to silver and back to blue. 

Skjor stepped forward just as the real transformation began. Vi snapped at him, just barely missing due to another seizure. Half-way through, she howled.

The Underforge shook with her Thu’um. It was thunderous, bringing Aela and Skjor to their knees as it echoed endlessly in the cramped space. 

She must’ve blacked out for a brief second, for when she next opened her eyes, Vi was gone, patches of blood staining the walls of the tunnel that lead to the plains.

She scooped up Vi’s abandoned possessions and followed her, ignoring Skjor’s cursing and calling. She wouldn’t lose a sister like this. She’d never forgive herself.

Farkas would never forgive her either. 

The Huntress lost the trail almost as soon as she had it. Vi was gone without a trace. Not a scent, not a sound, not a drop of blood.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Vi was supposed to know it was a choice. If she took it, they were supposed to help her through the transformation and maybe take care of a Silver Hand stronghold if Vi was feeling up to it. 

Skjor

The wench was the fucking Dragonborn. The Dragonborn was a mage, a Breton, a skeevy little freak. He hadn’t been there when the mercenaries had come to Jorrvaskr, but he almost wished he had. He wouldn’t have given up Ria, the brat had potential, but he’d have happily given them Vi. 

He’d hoped the beast blood would kill Vi, as it had to some in the past. Her change was a violent one. Even without her fucking Thu’um, they would have had trouble. She was fast and she knew how to hit where it hurts. He hadn’t expected her to snap at him, or for the barely healed wound on her leg to reopen. He especially hadn’t expected Aela to go after her so quickly or so desperately, or for Aela to lose her trail. 

Farkas would be upset that she was gone, but perhaps he’d start behaving like a proper warrior instead of as the wench’s brats’ father. An ice-brained child like him wasn’t cut out for anything but taking care of jobs. The rest of the Companions would get over her quickly. She wasn’t anything special and they’d soon forget she’d ever existed. 

Aela was more attached to the little freak than he’d realized.

“For the last time, I’m not going anywhere until I find Vi! The Silver Hand isn’t going anywhere. In her state they’ll kill her if they find her, and I’m not going to be the reason Farkas loses his mate!” 

Skjor barely held in a snort. They weren’t mates. All the boy had done was cook and coddle. It seemed he was too dumb to bed a woman, let alone be a proper mate.

“Fine,” he spat, “I’ll be scouting ahead if you come to your senses.”

He left Aela alone. He was going to slaughter all of the Silver Hand and then? Then he was going to figure out a way to get rid of Vi for good.

Genevieve

She’d been following Aela for a while. Everything hurt and she was cold, but she didn’t trust Skjor to help her get back to Whiterun without any “accidents”. 

She was limping quite badly. Her leg was healing and reopening over and over. Her senses had been magnified to the point of pain. It felt like her blood was burning. It seemed dragon blood didn’t mix well with the blood of a wolf. 

She let her presence be known a few minutes after Skjor had disappeared into the nearby fort. Then her strength ran out and she collapsed. 

Aela was sitting nearby when she woke up. Judging by the position of the moons, she’d been out for an hour at most. 

“Are you awake?” Genevieve nodded and Aela sighed in relief. “Good. I was starting to think you’d never come back. Here,” she said, handing Genevieve her pack, “I made sure to grab your things.” 

It was so cold. She shivered and gripped her staff, struggling to stand. Exhaustion clawed at every bone in her body and she was absolutely famished. 

“What happened?” she signed, struggling to keep her hands up. 

“You were born into the pack, sister. You gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning. I almost envy you, as the first time is always the most intense, but yours was… rough.”

“It seems my dragon blood doesn’t mix well with the beast blood.”

“Ah,” Aela made a choked sound, “I didn’t even think about that.”
“I think I’ll be fine. Eventually. Everything is just… intense.”

“The blood was supposed to be a gift. Something to make you stronger, faster. It won’t do too much unless you call on it and feed. You’ll have to build up your strength before you can call on it again, though.”
Genevieve shrugged. She dug around in her pack and pulled out her dwarven bow.

“Where are we going?”

“Vi-” Genevieve cut Aela off with a wave of her hand.

“I can’t get back on my own. You two had a plan, now what was it?”

“I don’t know what Skjor was planning, but I wanted to give you the blood and take you on a hunt. I wanted to see how you took to it and see if it helped with your leg at all. Then, if you were up to it, I thought we could take out some werewolf hunters. You’ve run into the Silver Hand before, yes? During your trial?” Genevieve nodded and she continued. “Some of them are camped out nearby. Skjor went ahead.”

Genevieve rolled her shoulders and readied her bow. She could hear so many hearts beating. This was going to be a tough battle. 

“Let’s get going.”

The Silver Hand wasn’t using the poison they’d used on Farkas. Perhaps they couldn’t make more or they were saving it for direct attacks, but whatever the reason, Genevieve was grateful. She didn’t have the strength or energy to perform such extensive healing and she didn’t have the ingredients to make an antidote. 

They still proved difficult to handle. Their silver weapons hurt more than they used to and one of the archers had fire arrows. After they’d dispatched the offending Silver Hand and were waiting for Vi to catch her breath while she tried to pick the lock of a chest they’d found, Aela examined the arrows, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Vi, you’ve seen these arrows before?”

“A few times. They’re forged with fire salts, Basically they’re fireballs in physical form. You can make ice or lightning arrows if you have the right atronach salts.”

Aela hummed, looking up from the arrow when Genevieve made a soft sound of delight, having pried the chest open and discovered a gorgeous glass bow.

I’ve always wanted to use or make something with malachite, but I just can’t figure out how to work it. She ran her fingers along the bow’s surface. It wasn’t enchanted and she could probably make it a little stronger if Adrienne had the right materials, but it was hers now and there was no way in Oblivion she was going to sell it. 

She helped Aela put the feral werewolves out of their misery. They didn’t deserve to live their lives as mindless beasts when they could be in the Hunting Grounds. She didn’t spare the Silver Hand. She understood hatred and torture, she’d known them all her life, but this was… unacceptable. Werewolves were still people. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered and tortured until they lost their minds. 

Genevieve knew Skjor was dead long before she opened the door. Perhaps it was because her already heightened senses had been magnified tenfold, or perhaps it was due to her newness to the blood, but she knew what death smelled like, even when she wasn’t anywhere near it. 

The Skinner and the rest of the Silver Hand fell quickly. Aela was enraged and grieving the second the door opened. Genevieve just wanted to go home to her little ones and to Farkas-.

Gods, how would he react to this whole mess? 

She stood behind Aela and let her Shield-Sister grieve. She didn’t particularly like Skjor, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted him butchered. Even if he had tried to indirectly kill her(then again, that wasn’t anything new).

“You should go.” Aela’s voice was hard and angry. “I’m going to make sure we got the last of them and if there’s any information to be gotten from the bodies.” Genevieve shook her head.

“Aela, there’s no one left. Every heart I could hear has stopped. I’ll wait outside if you want, but I’m not leaving without you. I don’t even know where we are.”
“Gallows Rock, an old fort in Eastmarch. Windhelm is-” Aela stopped, actually taking a moment to look at Genevieve. She sighed and looked at her. “I’ll be along in a few moments. I…” she looked down at Skjor’s body. “He deserves a proper burial, but I don’t know if I can carry him as I am. I’ll need to… feast..”

Genevieve grimaced but nodded her head. Her heavy pack made it hard to move, especially with how quickly her strength was running out, but she wasn’t going to stop Aela. 

They used the tunnel to the Underforge, not wanting all of Whiterun to know of Skjor’s death before the warriors he’d so proudly lived with. 

Farkas was waiting for them, his shoulders tense and his silvery eyes swirling with a brewing storm. He went to Genevieve first, giving her a quick once over then touching his forehead to hers. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew she had the blood or that Skjor was gone. 

He hugged her close, petting her hair and murmuring soft words that soothed her frayed senses. She leaned against him, breathing in his scent and trying her best not to think of how cramped the Underforge was. 

She heard him say something to Aela, his voice curt and angry. She half-heartedly protested when he picked her up and started moving, but her exhaustion was quickly catching up to her. She heard more voices, but Farkas was warm and comfortable and she was safe. 

Farkas

He took Gem to Breezehome. It would be quieter than Jorrvaskr. She wouldn’t have as many prying eyes. She could be with the children and adjust to her new…skills without having the others sway her one way or the other. 

The beast blood was making her sick. She had a mild fever and was trembling, even in her sleep. Yet her leg already looked a little more healed and she was mumbling. He couldn’t make out anything she was saying, but it was mumbling. 

Lydia let him in without question. 

It took three days for the fever to break. Gem was tossing and turning the entire time. He couldn’t get her to eat or drink much, but it stayed down, so that was good. 

Sometimes her eyes would open. She would stare at nothing as she seized and her eyes would shift from quicksilver to sapphire and back again. She seemed to settle when he held her, so that’s usually what he did. 

The night the fever broke, he was curled around her, humming an old lullaby that Jergen used to sing to him when he was just a pup. She shifted and snuggled closer to him. 

“Gem?” She hummed and simply burrowed closer, silently demanding more cuddles. He huffed out a fond laugh and pressed a kiss to her hair, more than happy to oblige. 

He woke up to three sets of little feet climbing the stairs. Something smelled good. Not as good as Gem or Tilma’s cooking, but good. It definitely had tomatoes in it. Tomatoes and an unholy amount of butter. 

The door creaked as it was eased open. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Oh, shush! Mama Vi is sick and this is what she makes when we’re sick!”

“But what if she can’t eat it? Mama’s been wearing her Amulet of Talos for ages!”

“Then at least we tried! Wait, where’s the bread?”

“I got it! Ma always eats her bread smothered in butter so I went and got some.”

The little footsteps got closer. 

Farkas opened his eyes and made a big show of sitting up and stretching without disturbing Gem’s sleep. He was barely able to keep a straight face as he looked at the three children frozen in the doorway. Braith was holding two bowls of what was almost certainly tomato soup. Lucia had a bowl of fruit cradled in her arms and Alesan was behind them, holding a plate of bread and a small bowl of butter. He raised an eyebrow.

“What are you three up to?”

“We made Mama some tomato soup!” Lucia cheerfully chirped.

“Oh? And we’re sneaking around because…?”

Braith pointedly looked away while Alesan ducked his head in a sheepish manner.

“‘Cause we kinda didn’t ask for help?” Braith glared at him while Lucia joined him in grinning cheekily.

Farkas sighed fondly and shook his head as he tried not to laugh. These kids would be the death of him one day, but quite frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“While I’m sure she’ll try your soup, next time maybe don’t mess with knives and fire without a grown up helping, yeah?”

“Okay,” Braith mumbled.

“Okay!” Lucia chirped.

“Yes, Paaaaaa Farkas! I said Farkas!” Alesan’s heart was beating quickly, he pointedly wasn’t looking at Farkas.
Farkas hoisted himself out of bed, taking a moment to tuck Gem in before crossing the space and crouching down in front of the flustered boy.

“Call me whatever you want, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Pa said and then he got sick.”

“Well, how about this, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He patted Alesan’s head and stood. “Now, how about we let your Ma sleep and I’ll help you keep the food warm so she can try it when she wakes up?”

Genevieve

Something smelled delicious and she was ravenous. Sore and a little tired, but hungry as fuck and there was no way in Oblivion she was going another second without eating. 

She sat up, taking a moment to allow the room to stop spinning. Farkas wasn’t in the room, but she could hear him and smell him, so he was somewhere nearby. It took her a second, but she realized she was in her room in Breezehome. 

The city was buzzing outside her doors, but inside them it was comfortable and quiet. Well, relatively quiet. She could hear four heartbeats that weren’t her own. One belonged to Lydia, who was still asleep in her room. Three belonged to her children, who were downstairs and giggling like mad. The last belonged to Farkas, who was entertaining her children with stories of his youth. His voice matched his heartbeat, slow and steady and comforting. 

She still had a noticeable limp as she slowly made her way to the stairs. She had a limp, but she could walk at least a little bit without her staff. The stairs were slow and a little painful. She only made it halfway before she was noticed.

Farkas moved to the bottom of the stairs, holding out one hand. She took it and he helped her down the stairs and to a chair by the fire.

“Mama Vi! You’re awake!” Braith filled a bowl with the contents of the pot and held it out. “We made you tomato soup.”

Genevieve gave her daughter a small smile and accepted the bowl of soup. She might not be able to eat it, but she would at least try the fruits of her childrens’ labor. 

The soup was delicious. A little salty, and a little chunky, but warm and filling and delicious. It settled comfortably in her belly.

Her children took turns filling her in on all the things they and the other children had been up to. Mila loved her two pet goldfish and Lars was slowly getting more confident and though they didn’t say it, Braith’s crush on him was growing. Nelkir was almost getting along with his father, who had apparently started actively spending time with his children(it was about time) and Dagny was learning to make sweet rolls from the kitchen staff and Frothar was quickly mastering the blade. Alesan was in the midst of learning how to read the stars and Lucia was quickly mastering the lute and Braith had somehow managed to convince Njada to teach her how to use a shield. 

She would have to leave them again. The blood had amplified everything and it would take time for her to adjust. Not to mention she still needed to go see why that pain-in-the-ass Delphine stole the Horn. And she wanted to see if the Dawnguard was worth her time and Falk had sent for her as apparently something was going on that seemed to stem from the events of Wolf Skull. Plus she needed to return the books she’d found to Urag and make some adjustments to her deal with the East Empire Company. And she should probably return to Markarth at some point to give Ghorza that book she’d wanted for her apprentice.

She’d have to leave them again and she didn’t know when she would be back. Skaven’s men had found her once and he wasn’t the only one hunting her. Her presence was a danger to her family. Maybe she should disappear again. Then again, she’d made some powerful friends. Maybe she should keep climbing. 

Disappearing wasn’t a solution, but maybe becoming the most powerful woman in Skyrim was. It would place more targets on her back but anyone stupid enough to harm her family would burn.

Chapter Text

Kodlak

Vi would be leaving them soon. He’d been expecting it. She was a wanderer, at home in the frozen wilds of Skyrim and content for Kynareth’s winds to guide her. The Companions had provided her a safe haven to return to, but now that had been torn out from under her. 

A soft knock on his door let him know she was there.

“Come in, Vi. We have much to talk about.” 

Vi stepped in and closed the door behind her, silently making her way to the seat across from him. She sat with a small grimace, stretching her injured leg out before her. Her staff rested on her shoulder, by her side as it had been since the day Farkas had gifted it to her. 

“You’ve recovered enough to travel, yes?” Perhaps it wasn’t the best way to start the conversation, but he wasn’t going to draw this out. Vi shrugged, watching him with an unreadable expression. After a moment her fingers twitched and sparked.

The blood has healed all that it can. All that’s left is for my strength to return. But you didn’t call me here to talk about my leg. 

“It is not the only reason. Those…men that came here. They knew you.”

They’re from the village I was born in. They’re under the impression I’m a curse.

“Why?”

’m a Breton, I have a bit more elven blood than the rest of my race, I’m a woman, I was born on Fredas the thirteenth under the sign of the Serpent, I’m a mage. 

“They hunt you so endlessly for how you were born?”

The village was tiny, superstitious, and, other than my parents and myself, entirely Nord. It was easy to blame everything that went wrong on the only people who were different. 

“They are wrong.”

Oh? So slinking around in the shadows and using magic is perfectly fine?

“Whispers and shadows are for gutter rats who can’t fight for themselves. Magics and their ilk do not belong in this hall.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed, gleaming in the light. There was no trace of the wolf in them, yet something predatory lurked in their depths. 

The world is not so simple, Harbinger. Does a starving child deserve to die because stealing a handful of coins or a piece of stale bread is illegal? Does a battlemage protecting their fellow soldiers deserve to be damned because they do not wield a weapon? Does a Nord with a gift for the arcane deserve to be outcast from Sovngarde simply because he prefers fire and ice to fist and steel? Would you rather I have let Farkas die during my trial instead of pulling him back from the Hunting Grounds and healing him with my magic? Would you rather Njada have starved on the streets of Riften instead of swiping a few coins from the rich or an apple from the market? 

There was weight to her magic-made words. He had seen the beggars on the streets, yet done little to help them, leaving them cold and hungry. He had traveled across all of Tamriel, yet he had never known what it was to wonder when his next meal was. He’d gone to priests for healing and had used enchanted weapons to cut down his foes, yet he didn’t want magic in Jorrvaskr.  

“Forgive me, Vi. It seems I have much to learn, even as age starts to claim me.” Vi shrugged, acknowledging his words and moving on. He could see why Farkas cared for her so deeply. Speaking of Farkas… “Farkas has been staying with you, has he not?” Vi stiffened, her eyes narrowing further. 

What of it.

“Nothing, lass. I just wanted to be certain he was resting and not running himself into the ground.”

He’s fine. 

“You should take him with you.” Vi raised one eyebrow. Kodlak sighed heavily. “I am proud of the man he had become and proud to have had a hand in raising him. I will miss him and the laughter and comfort he brings to this hall, but I have failed him. We all have. Instead of encouraging him and supporting him as I should have, I let him fade into the background and allowed others to tease him to the point he felt he was an outcast. It took him nearly dying to truly realize my mistake and now I fear I have gone too far in the opposite direction. He is upset with Aela for giving you the blood in secret and avoiding Vilkas and me. I think that perhaps some time with you, his mate, will force Vilkas and I to pull back and it will allow his anger with Aela to settle.”

Vi flushed when he called her Farkas’ mate. She looked down at her hands and started twisting the rings on her fingers.

“There is more to being mates than bedding each other, lass. You balance each other and strengthen each other and care for each other.”

We haven’t… we don’t… I mean, sometimes he looks like he wants to but…

“As I said, there is more to being mates than bedding each other. What you do is your own business, but he cares for you and you care for him. As far as this old man is concerned, that is enough.”

Vi gave him a small smile. Then she nodded her head and stood, stepping to the door. She paused, then turned back to him.

“Take care of my family, Kodlak.” Then she was gone.

Kodlak sat in his chair, stunned.

The Dragonborn had just entrusted him with her family. He would not let her down.

Farkas

She kept stealing his shirts. It had started that night he broke down. She’d worn his shirt to bed and practically nothing else. He’d thought it had been a one time thing, that maybe she’d forgotten to grab clothes before she bathed so she’d tugged on the first piece of clothing she’d found. But she’d been wearing his shirt to bed nearly every night since.

He didn’t mind. Quite the opposite in fact. He liked being able to trace patterns on her bare thighs and trail lazy kisses down her neck and past her collarbone. He liked her in his shirts and in his bed and having the taste of her skin on his lips. He just didn’t know why she’d suddenly started doing it.

He asked her one night, as she was curled up in his lap and braiding her hair. He’d been pressing gentle kisses across the back of her neck and her shoulders and the question had simply burst out.

“Why?” she asked, finishing her braid and leaning against him, tilting her head to the side so he could nuzzle her neck. Her voice was soft and gentle and warm.

“You didn’t before.”

“They’re comfortable. They smell like you.” She paused to hum happily when he gently scraped his teeth against her pulse point. “They bring out your possessive streak, so you hold me and kiss me more.”

He still hadn’t kissed her on the lips. He wanted to. He wanted to find out if they were as soft as they looked. He wanted to kiss her soundly and thoroughly and maybe coax some more of those soft sounds from her. But he was a coward. So he hadn't. 

“I don’t have a possessive streak.” Now he was pouting, just a little. She laughed softly, turning around and sitting up so they were almost eye-to eye. His hands settled on her hips as hers cradled his head.

“You do, actually. You get grumpy when anyone else sees me like this. And you kept pulling me into your lap so J’zargo couldn’t cuddle me. And you got grumpy when I offered to sleep in the whelps’ room instead of in your bed. And you were sulking when J’zargo lent me a set of his robes so I could practice some spells. And-”

Okay, so maybe he did have a bit of a possessive streak.

“Tell me to knock it off if it gets too much.”

“I will.” 

She dragged her thumb across his lips. He reached up and took her hand, kissing her wrist and lacing their fingers together. 

“Why won’t you talk to the others?”

“I can only talk so much. My Thu’um lets me talk for longer, but either way I have a limit.”

“You have a pretty voice.”
“Just wait until I can sing.”

He hummed and stood, easily carrying her to the bed. He ended up with his head on her chest, listening to her steadily beating heart as she played with his hair and massaged his scalp. 

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, knowing he sounded miserable.

“The College. It’ll be quieter there. Plus I need to give Urag his books.”

“What books do they have there?”

“All kinds. Magic, alchemy, history, legend, bestiaries, books on the Dwemer, books to help with armor, books to help with weapons or smithing. I’m pretty sure there’s something for everyone there, so long as you don’t make Urag mad.”

So they might have something to help him.

“Can I come with you?”

The hand that was playing with his hair stilled for a moment, then resumed as if it had never stopped. 

“Sure.” 

Farkas pressed closer to her, sleep claiming him swiftly and easily.

Vilkas

Farkas was packing when Vilkas finally worked up the courage to talk to him. 

How his brother didn’t hate him, Vilkas quite frankly did not understand. All their lives, he’d been the one people went to first. He was the first they fussed over and the first they started training with a blade. He was the first to be given a Trial and the first they wished a happy birthday to. He’d been offered the blood first as well, but had stubbornly refused to take it until Farkas could. 

“It’s both of us or neither of us, Skjor.”

Gods, that had been so long ago. 

He should’ve been the first to defend his brother when the others started teasing him and berating him for helping Tilma. Instead, he’d either joined in or, as he’d grown older, ignored it.

He should’ve been the first to help Farkas when his brother had struggled to learn to read and kept tripping over his own feet. Instead, he’d pushed ahead and left Farkas to figure everything out by himself. 

He should’ve been the first to notice something was wrong when Saveera showed up. He should’ve seen how his twin retreated into himself and how he flinched away from her touch. Instead, it had taken being drugged and kidnapped for him to realize she was out for blood. 

He should’ve done a lot of things, but he hadn’t. And now Farkas was leaving because he was doing too much.

“They didn’t care before.”

Those words had stung, but as much as Vilkas hated to admit it, there had been some truth to them. Farkas had learned that he couldn’t ask for help. If he did, he’d only be mocked. So he’d pretended to shrug everything off and pretended to be just fine and Vilkas had accepted it, not caring enough to see if his twin was actually as fine as he claimed. 

“You’re leaving with Vi, I take it. Traveling with her and those mages.”
Farkas didn’t look up from his pack, simply grunting something vaguely affirmative.
“Will you write?”

Farkas’ hands stilled for a moment, then continued moving.

“You’re not going to try and make me stay?”

“Far, it might take me a minute to actually admit it and realize it, but I do eventually realize when I’ve fucked up. I’ll miss you, but if I tried to make you stay after this mess, I’d lose you completely.”

Farkas looked up, tilting his head to the side as he seemed to stare at Vilkas’ very soul. He must’ve been satisfied with what he saw, as tension leaked out of his shoulders and his somewhat-stoney gaze softened. 

“There aren’t many couriers in Winterhold, but I’ll try.”

Vilkas nodded. His eyes drifted over to the bar.

“You made that, didn’t you? We all just assumed that you’d bought it and somehow managed to haul it in, but that’s not what happened, is it?” His brother nodded, returning his attention to his pack.

“It was one of the first things I actually made. It’s a little crooked and a little off, but I’m still proud of it.”

“Can we share a drink? Just the two of us?”

Farkas actually grinned, wolfish and crooked and full of mischief Vilkas had feared lost.

“Aye. We can do that.”

He almost regretted it in the morning. By the Nine, Farkas could drink! He hauled himself out of bed, determined to see his twin off. Vi liked leaving at dawn and this time was no different.

He reached them as Vi was saying farewell to her little ones. Lydia was standing off to the side. Soli, J’zargo, and Farkas were standing just behind her. Farkas was the first to notice him and moved to meet him.

“Wanted to see you off. Damn hangover made that a little harder than planned.”

“That was your fault, all I did was provide the drink.”

Vilkas snorted and pulled his twin into a tight hug.

“I’m going to miss you, little brother.”

“‘M only younger by five minutes you jackass.” Farkas mumbled, even as he hugged Vilkas tighter. They pulled away after a moment, Vilkas feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Vi was watching them with those cat-like eyes of hers, a fond, proud smile on her lips. Lydia was also watching them, though she hurriedly looked away when he glanced at her. 

They left a few minutes later, Vi and Farkas waving goodbye just before they walked through the gates. 

It would be strange not to see his twin working the Skyforge or training the hot-tempered whelps, but he would adjust. 

Farkas

The air surrounding the hot springs lay thick and warm against his skin. They had stopped for the day, as Gem’s strength had run out. Her leg had given out three times before she finally agreed to stop and rest. Currently, she was sulking in one of the steaming pools of water while Soli and J’zargo set up camp a short distance away. He was sitting at the edge of the pool, whittling away at a block of wood. Gem had invited him to join her, and he’d been sorely tempted, but the water was nearly scalding. She was perfectly comfortable, but it was much too hot for his tastes. 

Soft cursing drew his attention away from the block and back to Gem. She was trying to wash her hair, but her hands were shaking too much to open the small container she used for the things she used for her hair.
He stood and moved to sit right behind her, rolling up his pants so he could let his legs dangle over the edge and sink into the water up to his calves. He set down his project and held out his hand. Gem sighed and handed her ler hair soap box to him, leaning back so she was comfortably resting in between his legs. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Don’t even know why I’m shaking, it’s my leg that’s all fucked up.”

“Gem, you used a lot of magic to blow up those bears earlier. And Soli and Danica said you’re still getting your magic back.”

“Not my fault the fucking bears are so damn annoying.”

“No, but you do have a retired battlemage, an Apprentice Destruction mage, and a Companion with you. You didn’t have to kill all three of them yourself.”

“I hate bears. If it hadn’t been for them, Papa might still be alive.”

“I thought you said the villagers killed him?”

“They did, but he was fighting a bear when they jumped him. If he hadn’t been hurt from the stupid thing then he’d probably have survived.”

“But how did you know the villagers killed him? Wasn’t he ripped apart?”

“Bears can’t spell. Unless that particular bear knew how to carve words into Papa’s flesh, then it wasn’t the bear that killed him.”

“Oh.” He carefully massaged the soap into her hair and scalp. A comfortable silence settled over them. He hadn’t realized her hair was as long as it was. She kept it braided and tucked under or into her hood most of the time. Now that he was trying to wash it, he realized it easily went past her waist.

“Farkas?”

“Hm?”

“Can you train me in heavy armor?”

“Well, yeah. But why? Won’t it be hard with your leg?”

“I’ll figure something out. I need to do some stuff as the Dragonborn and I want to try and make it seem like I’m not the Dragonborn. Everyone who’s after me knows I wear light armor and dual-wield steel swords. If I wear heavy armor and magic to fight or summon my weapons, then they’ll have a harder time connecting the dots.” 

“Who’s after you?”

“Thalmor wants Vi the Storyteller, aka a Breton who worships Talos and has been hunting Justiciars and freeing prisoners. Bitch-Briar wants the short, hooded woman that broke into her house to inform her someone wanted to steal her horse then stole said horse. Those who remain of the village I was born into are after a Breton woman with the surname of Archembeau, a talent for alchemy, and a few basic spells, though now they might know I’m Thane of Whiterun, depending on if any of those who Balgruuf executed managed to send word to Skaven and the rest of them.”

“What will you call yourself? When you’re going Dragonborn stuff?”

Gem shrugged, leaning forward to rinse her hair. Once all the soap was out, she started wringing the water out of it.

“Something in dovahzul. Probably. Haven’t quite gotten that far.”

‘Beau, Vi, Eve, Genna. All of them were parts of her name, so it made sense she wouldn’t want to go by one of those. 

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Chapter Text

Genevieve

The College was much quieter than the city. Even so, there were still times when her newly heightened senses made the murmur of students and hum of magic too much. When this happened, she’d taken to retreating to the walkway formed by the tops of the towers and the walls. The cold was sharp and bitter as always, but it was calm and quiet, especially at night. The spectacular view certainly didn’t hurt either. 

The Aurora lit up the sky in twisting patterns of blue and green. A sea of broken ice and the occasional island stretched to one side, while the snowbound mountains of Winterhold loomed on the other. 

She had just returned from a short outing with J’zargo. There had been a dragon nearby and she’d gone after it to claim its soul. Its bones sat heavily in her back. All of the scavenged weapons and armor had been sold to Brina, but she was saving the bones and scales. Ma’dran had said they would make good armor, but she hadn’t the first clue how to use them. Maybe she’d give them to Farkas, let him figure something out.

She sighed, letting her shoulders slump as she gazed out across the frozen horizon. Her conversation with Kodlak kept coming back to her mind. 

“There is more to being mates than bedding each other.” 

Except Farkas hadn’t bedded her. He hadn’t even kissed her. Well, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t kissed her like she wanted him to. He’d kissed her hair and her temples and her neck and her shoulders, but he’d never kissed her lips. He was interested, wasn’t he? She knew she didn’t really know much about how relationships were supposed to work, but surely kissing came before sharing the bed most nights and knowing how her skin tastes?

Not for the first time, she wondered what Farkas even saw in her. She was selfish, so she was letting herself keep him close by, but why on Nirn did he want to be with her? 

He probably didn’t. He’d probably lost interest a while ago but was too gentle to say so. After all, why would he want her ?

She was a mage. Magic had nearly killed him and his twin as a child. It had tormented him in the not-so-distant past. He had been raised to see magic as untrustworthy, as most Nords were. 

She was a Breton with a bit more elven blood than the rest of her kind. Few Nords looked at other races. Fewer still looked at Mer. 

She was a thief and an assassin, though she had yet to do more than pickpocket rich assholes like Erikur and Ondolemar and carry out the odd contract from Ri’saad. She was hardly honorable. Laws were suggestions at best and sometimes blood was just too easy to spill and shiny or strange things were just too easy to slip into her pack. 

She was a curse. What happened in Whiterun was proof of that. Farkas had nearly died. His family had nearly been torn apart. Her little ones had nearly been taken.

Would it really matter if she were to just disappear?

Genevieve looked out over the ice. The cold was claiming her leg. Soon it would give out again. She should go in, before she couldn’t even stand and was forced to be out here until someone came looking for her. She should, but she didn’t.

Farkas

It was late when he slipped into the Arcaneum, but he wasn’t surprised to find Urag awake and still scribbling away. Out of all the College’s inhabitants, it was Urag who he was most comfortable with. The old orc only had one rule: don’t fuck up the books. Farkas, having lived with Vilkas all his life, had no trouble following it. Books were still hard for him to read. Gem’s pendent had helped a lot, even if it didn’t always work, but it was long gone and now the words on the pages were back to moving around. But Urag was always willing to help him understand what he was attempting to read, especially with the more complex diagrams. 

“I found another one on those constructs you seem to like so much. You ever going to share what’s in that book of yours or will I have to gather it for the collection when your bones have turned to dust?”

Farkas chuckled and flipped open the book Urag had laid out for him. There were a couple of diagrams that might help, once he figured out what they were supposed to be.

“Where’s that one I was lookin’ at yesterday? About all the bones and stuff?”

“Here.” The heavy book was carefully set next to the one he was reading. “I put a marker in where you were looking yesterday.”

“Thanks.”

He took the books to the table just in front of Urag’s desk and settled down. The notebook he’d been using to plan out his design was brought out and added to. Some things were scratched out and others were altered. He’d probably start making it soon, but that meant he’d have to go to Windhelm. Farkas would need to forge all of the parts himself. He might even have to make molds for some of the more particular pieces, but he’d get there when he got there. 

“Have you met Ma’dran?”

Farkas looked up, tilting his head to the side. Urag, seemingly finished for the night, was leaning against his desk, his arms folded and his quill neatly put away.

“No? Gem’s mentioned him a few times, but that’s it. Why?”

“He came here a few times when she was here before. He’s a stubborn Khajiit who considers Genna his cub. You two are together. Sooner or later, he’s going to find out and he’s going to come for you, either to scare you off or to welcome you as family. Word of advice? Don’t lie to him. There’s a reason Genna is as perceptive as she is and it isn’t because of her blood or her years in the wilds.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you can survive long enough to add those sketches of yours to the Arcaneum.” 

Farkas huffed out a laugh and kept working. He’d planned on going to bed soon, but the wolf was getting more and more restless. Now that Gem had the blood, it saw her as his mate and was relentlessly demanding that he claim her as such.

He sighed and flipped to a different diagram. Gem had been awfully quiet since they’d gotten to the College. She didn’t need to deal with this when something was so obviously bothering her. 

Genevieve

It was nearly dawn when Farkas found her. She was cold and numb and staring at the stars. Her voice had long since been stolen by the cold, same with her strength.
He crouched in front of her, looking at her with an unreadable expression before he easily scooped her up and carried her down the stairs. As always, he was warm.

She let Farkas fuss over her, wrapping her in blankets and plying her with warm soups. He seemed to care. He certainly seemed to like holding her and spending time with her children and making her head go all fuzzy when he kissed her neck. 

Then he started asking her what was wrong.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she signed, too tired to use magic.

“Gem, you stayed out there all night. You were turning blue!”

“I’m fine, Farkas. Just tired.”

“Being tired doesn’t explain why you let yourself almost freeze to death.”

“I’m just tired, okay?”

Farkas

Tired? This wasn’t tired, this was-

Divines, he was an idiot. 

She had the same eyes as Pa. They’d gotten better as she’d grown more comfortable with his family, but they’d still had that same look. After all that had happened, it was a miracle that she hadn’t done worse than let herself freeze all night.

But something had set off this particular spiral. She’d been off since she’d talked to Kodlak. She hadn’t been great since the whole mess happened, but she hadn’t done anything like this. 

“Gem. Please.”

She looked at him, her eyes glistening for a moment. Her hands twitched. Then she looked away and pulled her blankets around her. 

It continued like that for days. She’d stopped talking and just kept retreating further and further into herself. Then she disappeared entirely. 

She wasn’t in the Arcaneum with Urag. She wasn’t practicing with J’zargo or Brelyna or Onmund. She wasn’t with Colette or down in Winterhold at Brina’s tiny store or the almost empty Frozen Hearth or arguing with the Jarl or playing with the children. 

She was just gone. 

Farkas asked everyone if they’d seen her or knew where she was. But no one had.

He couldn't track her, no matter how hard he tried. There weren’t any footprints and wasn't the smallest trace of her scent. 

“I’m good at hiding.”

She’d told him that so long ago. But why was she hiding from him?

“Go to Windhelm, work on that project of yours. We’ll let you know if she shows up.”

“But-”

“Farkas,” Urag said, cutting him off. “Whatever that thing is, it’s for her, isn’t it?” He paused, waiting until Farkas nodded. “Go make it for her. We’ll send word if she shows up. Besides, if you stay around here and mope anymore I think Soli will gut you herself.”

That was probably true.

“Fine.”

Genevieve

This was such a bad idea. She hadn’t intended to leave, but then she’d stumbled out of the Midden and into the icy air of Winterhold and she had.
She was a curse. Farkas would be better off without her. He probably didn’t even want her anymore and was just too gentle to get rid of her. She was doing him a favor. 

Her leg had seized again. She’d collapsed and barely been able to get a fire going. Pain still burned across her leg, despite the fact she hadn’t put any weight on it in well over three hours. She was sitting next to a measly fire that was somehow still burning, despite the harsh winds. It was lightly snowing, but she couldn’t get up and find shelter, even if she wanted to. 

She had tried to stand with her staff. It hadn’t done much. She couldn’t even take a single step without falling. 

Genevieve loved her staff. Like all of Farkas’ creations, it was beautiful. The wood was a warm, dark brown. Intricate patterns of vines and mushrooms and storms and blossoms had been etched across every inch of its surface, a homage to the Goddess who had guided her all her life. He’d made it for her to be able to walk, at least a little bit. And now she’d gone too far and couldn't even stand.

The flickering flames of her tiny fire spluttered and died.

Farkas

He replaced his greatsword at his back and crouched in front of the bleeding Stormcloak. He was bleeding quite badly, but out of the three survivors, he was doing the best. 

“Thank you, friend. I don’t know if we’d have survived without your help.” He grimaced and attempted to sit up. Instead of succeeding, he went white as bone and slumped against the rough stone of the mountain. “Then again, we might not make it back to Windhelm in this state.”

Farkas grunted and stood, looking around and easily finding the blue flowers he was looking for. He quickly plucked them from the ground and ground them into a poultice, just like Gem had shown him. It wouldn’t be nearly as effective as magic or a good potion, but it would be better than nothing. He wrapped the wounds of the conscious Stormcloak and did the same to the others. They were much worse off, but they were still alive. 

“Can you walk?”

“Ah, I’m not quite sure. Give me a minute and we’ll find out. I’m Ralof, by the way.”

“Farkas.”

“Like the Companion?”

“Aye.”

“Damn. You’re bigger than I thought.”

Farkas just grunted again. While he waited for Ralof to gather his strength, he skinned the snow sabres and collected some of the fat from the frost trolls. At the very least, he could sell them. Maybe Gem would show up and he could give her the eyes and teeth and fat and she could use them. After a bit, Ralof slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was swaying slightly, and still an interesting shade of greenish-white, but he was up. Farkas easily hefted the two unconscious Stormcloaks over his shoulders and started making his way down the mountain, towards the road. Ralof hobbled behind him, struggling slightly to keep up. 

They must’ve made quite the sight as the guards scrambled to open the gate. Ralof had managed to stay upright the entire way to the city, but it was clear he was seconds away from collapsing. The two Stormcloaks on his shoulders were barely breathing. Thankfully, it was fairly late so there were few people to see them. 

The Palace of the Kings loomed before him. Vilkas could’ve spouted the history of the city and Ysgromor and all the rest. Farkas just thought it looked cold and empty. 

Ralof’s strength ran out mere feet away from the healer’s quarters. Farkas simply scooped him up and plopped him down on one of the cots. Once the other two were situated, he left. 

It was late, he was tired, and the next day would be the first of many long, lonely weeks. 

Ralof

He woke up. He was still alive, somehow. Then he remembered what happened. It had been a simple scouting mission, just a milk run to get some of the newer recruits settled. Things had been going just fine. Then the whole damn mountain turned against them. Necromancers and ice wraiths and a particularly nasty run in with a pair of snow sabres and a pair of frost trolls had done in all but three of his unit, himself included. The officer that had been escorting his group had been killed by the necromancers and the rest of the recruits had been brand new. So it had fallen to him to try and get them back to Windhelm. 

If it hadn’t been for Farkas’ sudden appearance, he’d surely have joined his fellow Stormcloaks in Sovngarde. 

Farkas.

He bolted upright and immediately regretted it as pain spiked through his body. Right, one of the trolls had gotten a good hit in. He looked around, relieved to see the other two of his unit had survived, but unable to locate his gargantuan savior. He could, however, locate a very displeased Galmar Stone-Fist.

“What happened out there? That was supposed to be a damn milk run!”

“Necromancers. And ice wraiths. And snow sabres. And a couple frost trolls.”

“Hmph. I suppose you’re lucky to be alive. Only the three of you left? What happened to the rest of them?”

“A good number of them fell to the necromancers. They knew what they were doing and came out of nowhere. Others fell to the beasts. The three of us wouldn’t have made it back if it weren’t for Farkas though.”

“Farkas? As in the Companion? He’s here?”

“He was. He carried Gundar and Skana here. I don’t know where he is now.”
Galmar furrowed his brow and stood. 

“Stay here. I don’t need the few people we’ve got dying because they’re too foolish to heal properly.”

Ralof slumped back on the cot. He had to find Farkas. It was a long shot, but he had to ask if he knew ‘Beau. Just because Jorrvaskr was in Whiterun and that was where ‘Beau had gone, didn’t mean Farkas had met her. But he hadn’t heard from her in months and he was worried. The last time he’d seen her, she’d barely been keeping it together. 

But he wouldn’t be able to make it more than a few feet without the healer forcing him back to bed. He’d just have to hope Farkas was still in Windhelm in few days.

Farkas

He’d stayed the night at Candlehearth Hall. He didn’t really sleep, but he could at least say he’d rested a little bit. 

Oengul was easy enough to find, muttering about Eorlund and his steel while he worked. Farkas internally winced, but asked if he could use the forge. Oengul eyed him. Suddenly, he was grateful he didn’t wear the wolf armor like the rest of the Circle. 

“I suppose. You need to sharpen that greatsword of yours or something?”

“No,” Farkas said, shaking his head, “I need to make some armor for my Shield-Sister.” It was true, he did need to make Gem some armor. Sure, she had the set he’d given her when she went to climb to High Hrothgar, but that wasn’t made for someone with the blood. This set would be better. Warmer, stronger, and maybe, just maybe, he could figure out a way to take some of the strain off her leg. Hopefully, his designs would take care of that last part. 

Oengul eyed him again, but nodded his head.

“Fine. You can use it after Hermir and I are done for the day.”

Great. That left him with the entire day to kill. 

Genevieve

It was easy enough to catch up with Ahkari’s caravan. They must’ve been curious as to her sudden appearance, but they didn’t ask. She cooked for them and did her best to fend off bandits and beasts and they kept her warm and safe and let her rest when her leg seized or gave out and didn’t mention the nightmares and sleepless nights. 

She stayed with them after they got to Dawnstar. She left briefly to retrieve Kharjo’s moon amulet from Frostmere Crypt, collecting the Pale Blade and the final word of her Ice Form Shout. Kharjo offered to travel with her, to act as her guard while she traveled so she wasn’t confined to the caravan’s route. She turned him down. 

It was strange, using the roads. She’d avoided them so long that she’d forgotten all the strange people that she could bump into. There was a wandering bard, Talsgar, she thought, that helped the caravan fend off a pack of wolves. There were groups of Stormcloaks running around and the odd mercenary on their way to handle some kind of trouble. There was a farmer taking a painted cow as an offering to one of the giant camps. One night, there was even a headless ghost that she chased after.

Once they reached Riften, Genevieve started actually thinking about what to do. She needed to make gold. She had four households to maintain, three children to feed, at least two groups after her and a very handsome and protective werewolf to avoid. At least for now. She supposed she could figure out how to join the Thieves Guild. She did have a lot of stolen things she needed to get fenced. But stealing things well would probably involve lots of movement and crouching and sneaking. With her leg as it was, that wouldn’t go very well. 

Maybe Ri’saad would have more people for her to take care of. Bandits kept attacking the caravans and there were people that kept breaking deals. Then again, his contracts were few and far between, usually reserved for people neither he nor the others in his caravan would be able to handle. 

Contracts. 

The Dark Brotherhood took contracts. And she had an invitation to join them.

Farkas

He was wandering the city when her heard loud and angry shouting in Dunmeri. The source of said shouting was a Dunmer standing in front of a worn down building with bright orange banners. The double doors were clearly damaged. Once he got closer, he realized they were jammed to the point they were nearly impossible to open. It looked like someone had done it on purpose. The Dunmer was still shouting when Farkas braced himself and slammed his palm against the seam between the doors. One of the doors flew off its hinges and the other hung at an angle, but the doors were open. 

A stunned silence greeted him when he turned around. 

“Um, I can fix that, but you can get in now.”

The guard quickly left, looking quite displeased. The Dunmer just stood gaping, looking from the door, to Farkas, and back to the door. He was still staring when Farkas left. 

He returned about an hour later. The Dunmer was nowhere to be seen, but the door had been moved and placed next to the frame. The tool box was sitting next to it. 

It was an easy fix, one he’d done before for Tilma. Truthfully, it would be better to replace the doors entirely, but that would take more time and he’d need to ask the Dunmer if it was alright.
“You were serious.”
The Dunmer from before was behind him. Farkas glanced back as he carefully fitted the door back into the frame. 

“I broke it, so I should fix it. Unless that’s not okay?”
“Its fine. Just surprising to see a Nord willing to help us Dunmer. What’s your name, sera?”
“Farkas. Yours?”
“Ambarys Rendar. I run the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Thank you for fixing the doors. Those nwahs, ” he spat, “broke them. Malthyr was trapped inside for three days and none of my people could get them open.”
“Just wanted to help. Is your friend okay?”

“Yes. Angry, but unharmed.”

“That’s good. Um, could I replace these? I fixed the hinges and all, but the wood is old and starting to give.”

Ambarys raised an eyebrow.
“You want to replace the doors? I suppose, but I don’t have much to pay you with.”
Farkas shrugged. He didn’t need gold. What he did need, was to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t spend all his time worrying over Gem. 

It was easy to remake the doors. He finished building them and reinstalling them in a few hours, much to Ambarys’ astonishment. He insisted on giving Farkas a meal as payment.
“Why have you helped us, sera? Most of the Nords here do not care for the Dunmer and are happy to see us live in squalor.”

“Race doesn’t mean much to me. My Shield-Brother is a Dunmer, my Shield-Sister is an Imperial, my…, well, I’m not sure what we are, but she’s a Breton.” He curiously eyed the plate of food placed in front of him. It certainly smelled good, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“Ah, apologies, friend. This is Dunmeri food, but I can make something different if it isn’t to your tastes.”

Farkas cautiously cut into the heavily seared meat. It was absolutely delicious. He couldn’t quite tell what kind of meat it was, but it was rich and flavorful. The baked potatoes were more familiar, but definitely had Dunmer seasonings.

“This is good! I haven’t had Dumner food before. What kind of meat is it?”
“Horse. Did you want a drink? I have mead somewhere, but if you’d like I have some Dunmeri liquor.”

“Sure. What’s the strongest you’ve got?”
“Sujamma, though it’s much stronger than your Nordic mead or ale.”
“I got a high tolerance, so let’s try it.”

The sujamma was really strong, but really good. He let himself get properly drunk, still astonishing Ambarys when he drank a whole bottle of the drink himself and was still able to stand, albeit a little off kilter. 

Even drunk as he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without dreams plaguing him. So he let himself sober up a bit(a relatively quick process due to the blood and his high tolerance) and started working on Gem’s armor, saving his other project for when he didn’t have to rely on muscle memory. 

Genevieve

The Sanctuary door was right in front of her. All she had to do was open it. 

“What is the music of life?” the Door hissed, its voice breathy and haunting. 

“Silence, my brother.”

“Welcome home.”

This wasn’t going to be her home. Not with someone who stole her voice. Not in a damp, cramped cave. Not with people who’d (unknowingly) sent assassins after her in the past. This was just to keep her little ones fed and her households running. 

Chapter Text

Farkas,

Vi isn’t here, but we’ll keep looking for her. 

How’s Windhelm? Is Oengul still determined to prove he’s better than Eorlund? Athis said to thank you for that drink you sent and Tilma said she’d try to learn those recipes. 

Njada is pissed at Vi. Ria heard she’s missing and tried to leave again. Njada’s been able to stop her so far by following her around all the time. I think she wrote to Rayya and to Iona, but I’m not sure.

Lydia isn’t so wary around me any more! And she’s sat next to me a few times! I think I have your pups to thank for that, but I’m not sure. 

Stay safe out there brother,

Vilkas

___________________________________

Farkas,

Rayya sent word that Vi was at Lakeview Manor. She was only there long enough to eat and sleep and drop a few things off, but she was there. Rayya didn’t know where she was going, but at least we know she’s alive.

Are you sleeping any better? Don’t drink yourself to sleep, we both know that it won’t do any good. Tilma thought there was a tea that could help, but she wasn’t sure which one it was. 

How’s your project going? What about that armor you started for Vi?
Alesan wanted you to know he read a whole chapter in that Dwemer book. Braith has taken to beating the training dummies over and over. She’s also joined Njada in following Ria around to keep her from leaving. Lucia wanted to tell you she’s almost completely mastered all the songs you’ve been teaching her. She’s used your lute a few times, but she’s worried about dropping it and getting it out of tune. 

Stay safe brother,

Vilkas

_____________________________________

Farkas,

No word on Vi this time. 

Tilma said thistle tea might help you sleep. Apparently it's supposed to ward off the chill and help you sleep. 

It's far too quiet here. How do you get people to laugh so easily? How do you tell such good stories? How on Nirn did you pull pranks? I’ve tried to help your pups, but I keep knocking things over or tipping people off because I am utterly incapable at sneaking around. 

Stay safe brother,

Vilkas

___________________________________

Farkas,

Aela ran into Vi while she was out hunting. She was with one of the Khajiit caravans, though I don’t know which one. Aela said she looked tired. I don’t think she’s sleeping well either. Lydia said she still got gold this month. Rayya and Iona did as well, though neither of them have seen Vi. Valdimar went back to wherever her Hjaalmarch house is. I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon. Do you know how Vi is getting this gold? Lydia said she was quite running low when you guys left. I guess it was because she hadn’t been able to take jobs or make her potions or jewelry until that last week or so. Having four households to provide for must be expensive. 

Are you still helping the Dunmer and the Argonians? What about that Stormcloak patrol you helped? Did those three survive? It’s been a few weeks since then, hasn’t it? 

I feel you should know that your pups are attempting to sneakily read this over my shoulder. I told them that Vi was just taking care of something and she’d be back as soon as she could. I also told them that they could write to you since Vi is currently nowhere to be found. 

Also I have successfully made a batch of sweet rolls! Without (much) help from Tilma. They weren’t nearly as good as Vi’s, but they weren’t bad so I’m counting it as a success. 

Stay safe brother,

Vilkas

Dear Farkas,

Uncle Vilkas said we could write to you! I’ve gotten through another chapter of our Dwemer book! I still get confused sometimes but Uncle Vilkas helps. He’s not nearly as good at explaining this stuff as you are but that’s okay. Lucia is practicing her songs all the time now. Braith keeps following Ria and Njada around and she’s getting really good with her training shield and her dagger. 

I found a rabbit when I was exploring. I’m calling him Cotton ‘cause his tail looks like the cotton plants Ma collects for her potions. Do you think Ma will let me keep him? Vix hasn’t done anything to him. I think she likes him ‘cause she keeps trying to play with him and is all mopey when he runs away. 

Are you and Ma coming back home soon?

Love you lots Pa!

Alesan

Dear Papa,

Athis is teaching me Dunmeri! He even offered to help me learn some songs in it. Do you know any other languages? It’d be so cool to know lots of different ones! Can you bring Braith one of those weird green daggers for her birthday? I think the Orcs use them. She thinks they’re really cool. I think she wants to see one of those big weird forts all the Orcs live in but she won’t tell me for sure. 

Do you know how to play the flute or drum? Those are what Grannie Tilma said every bard needs to know how to play. 

Vix found a really weird rock. Uncle Vilkas says it’s some kind of metal ore but nobody could tell me what kind it is. It’s dark brown with weird yellow lines all over it. 

Come back soon Papa!

Lucia

Papa Farkas,

When are you and Mama Vi coming back? People keep saying you’ll be back soon and that Mama Vi is just busy, but she hasn’t written to us in ages and everyone is acting weird. 

I think I saw Mama Vi when I was in the market with Mila. She was wearing this weird black armor and I couldn’t see anything but her eyes. But I don’t know anyone else who has eyes like hers.

Lucia’s birthday is in a couple weeks. She said it was the 30th of Mid Year. Do you think you and Mama Vi will be back by then? You don’t have to stay for long, just for her birthday. 

It’s okay if you miss mine. 

Don’t die.

Braith

_________________________________________

Farkas,

Stop looking for me. Finding me will only put you in danger.

Go back to Windhelm or Whiterun and keep working on that project of yours.

Please, if not for me, then for our little ones. They’ve already lost enough, they don’t need to lose the man they consider their father too. 

Gem.

Chapter Text

Nazir

The newest Sister of his dwindling, dysfunctional little Family was not what he’d been expecting. She didn’t speak, she didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep. She was barely in the Sanctuary long enough to pick up her contracts and leave. None of them knew what she looked like. Not even Astrid. She’d kept her face covered by a thick scarf when she first arrived and since then she’d always had her cowl and mask covering everything except her eyes.

She was not bad, he’d admit that. So far he’d only given her measly side contracts that didn’t pay much, but she’d completed them almost impossibly fast and with deadly efficiency. 

Eve, as Babette said she was called, seemed to favor poison. The first thing she’d done after receiving her first contracts was slink over to the alchemy table and pull out an assortment of ingredients that had Babette perking up and paying attention. 

It was fine. So what if she didn’t even look at the meals he made for everyone or interact with any of them outside of the occasional and one-sided talk of contracts? So long as she didn’t betray them, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. 

Genevieve

Exhaustion clawed at her as she stumbled in through the door and curled up on her bed. Rayya would find her soon enough, but at the moment she just wanted to rest. It seemed Farkas’ presence had been helping her sleep more than she realized. 

She’d eat in the morning. She hadn’t eaten much in the last few days, but she needed to sleep more. 

The contracts were simple and only paid a few hundred septims, but they still paid. Her little ones had food and her houses were provided with spices and the other foreign goods she ordered from the East Empire Company.
It felt good to use her poisons again. There was something satisfying about slipping it into food or drink and watching a target’s body tear itself apart. 

The Brotherhood was interesting. Babette, the little vampire, was the only one she’d actually introduced herself to. Other than Nazir, the sarcastic Redguard with a seemingly unending collection of dark puns, she didn’t interact with any of the others. She was less likely to get attached then.
“Genevieve?”
She grunted and pressed her face into the plush pillow. She heard Rayya sigh and something soft and warm was draped over her. 

There was a small bowl filled with snowberries sitting on the nightstand when she finally pulled herself from her restless sleep. If she had to guess, she’d say they were from the garden outside. 

She sat up and pulled the bowl into her lap. The snowberries were tart and delicious and not nearly enough to fill her up. She stayed in her bed for a while, waiting for her leg to relax enough for her to stand.
Once she could stand, she changed out of her Dark Brotherhood armor and into one of her soft dresses. After making sure all of her earrings were in place and her rings were securely on her fingers, she crept down the stairs and limped to the hearth, greeting Llewellyn with a nod. He nodded back and held up his lute in a silent question. She nodded and he resumed his quiet strumming. 

She made herself a pot of delicious creamy crab bisque and settled at the table with a bowl. She could hear Rayya outside, likely patrolling the property. 

Genevieve would finish the greenhouse either today or tomorrow. After she planted that, she could work on furnishing the basement. 

Rayya found her elbow deep in dirt a few hours later. She’d finally gotten all the planters set up and was almost done planting everything. The smaller ones around the perimeter of the room would be filled with every flower she could find. The larger ones would have ingredients used for things other than poison. 

“Genevieve?”

“Hm?”

“That armor you’ve been wearing recently… it's what I think it is, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“I assume their headquarters is nearby?”

“Yep.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not particularly. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

“All right then.” Rayya didn’t sound happy about it, but she didn’t push the matter.

“You know you can leave, right? If… this makes you uncomfortable, I’m not going to force you to stay.”

“Geneveieve, it is an honor and a privilege to be in your service. It will take more than a few assassins to chase me off. Besides,” she said, amusement gleaming in her eyes, “who else would guard all your Daedric artifacts? Llewellyn?”

Genevieve laughed and returned to her planting.

She crouched beside Narfi as the poison took hold. He’d be quite dead in a few minutes. This particular poison would give him a smooth, painless death, which was more than she could say for some of her targets.

“Relax, Narfi. You’ll be with Reyda soon.” The beggar relaxed at the name of his dead sister. Not that he knew she was dead. She’d told him Reyda was alive and on her way back months ago, when she’d first climbed the 7,000 steps. Perhaps it had been cruel, but in his state knowing he was alone in the world could’ve sent him over the edge.
Narfi’s last breath slipped out of his lungs and his eyes closed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was sleeping. He was the last of her latest round of contracts. The miner in Dawnstar and the former miller at Anga’s Mill had been easy enough to end. The miller had “slipped” on the icy shore of the river, hitting his head on a rock and drowning in the freezing water. The miner “choked” on her dinner while dining alone in her house. 

She would return to the Sanctuary soon. She had been putting off meeting with that pain-in-the-ass Delphine long enough. Might as well see what she wanted and get the damn Horn back.

It was growing dark when she stopped. She was right outside Riverwood, but before she went any further she’d need to change. She pulled Vokun, one of her dragon priest masks, over her head and slipped into some fine clothes. They were made of some kind of quilted blue material that was delightfully soft and warm. She also tugged a pair of enchanted gloves on, joined by a pair of enchanted shoes. The gloves would help her get the Horn, should Delphine refuse to give it to her. The shoes would help her walk silently, should she need to disappear. 

People stared as she walked through the gate and towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. She did have her staff in hand, so her limp was hidden, for the most part. She kept her back straight and her gait as slow and smooth as possible. 

Delphine was easy to spot. She stiffened slightly once she saw Genevieve, though she otherwise showed no reaction. 

“I’d like to rent the attic room,” she drawled, giving no effort in hiding her displeasure, “though, I know for a fact you don’t have one”

Delphine narrowed her eyes.

“You’re right. We don’t have an attic room. Take the one on the left.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes behind her mask and went to her room, impatiently waiting for Delphine to appear. She did, about half an hour later, when the inn had filled with townsfolk. “So you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about. I think you’re looking for this.” She pulled the Horn from her pocket and tossed it to Genevieve, who caught it and slipped it into her pack. “We need to talk. Follow me.”

For a moment, Genevieve considered just leaving. Delphine clearly expected her to follow. She clearly thought she was important. Maybe Genevieve could knock her down a notch or two. 

It wouldn’t have been hard to find Delphine’s secret room. Dressers that were nailed to the wall usually meant there was a hidden door. Once they were both down the stairs and in her little hiding spot, Delphine eyed her. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting a small, unarmored and unarmed woman. “The Greybeards seem to think you’re the Dragonborn. I hope they’re right.”

“They are,” Genevieve said, letting her Thu’um fill her voice. “I am Dragonborn.”

"I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

Genevieve snorted. Clearly, Delphine hadn’t explored that many crypts.

“There’s more than one way to clear a crypt. Though, maybe you’d know that if you’d gotten the dragonstone yourself. Now, you’d better have a good reason for dragging me here. Spit it out, or I’m leaving.”

"It was the only way I could make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out." Delphine was getting annoyed. Good. 

“So spit it out already. You’re wasting my time.” Genevieve grinned when Delphine snapped. So easily annoyed.

"I'll explain what I want when I want, got it? You'd already be dead if I didn't like the look of you when you walked in here.” Genevieve snorted and Delphine gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. “But I had to know if the rumors about you were true..."

Genevieve hummed. She was tempted to Shout Delphine through a wall. It would be loud and a bit messy, but worth it. Maybe in a few minutes, if the other woman still hadn’t gotten to the point.

“Are you going to get to the point or should I just leave and come back in a few months so you’ve had time to yammer on?” She tilted her head to the side. Delphine slowly forced air through her lips in an obvious attempt to keep her, a;ready quite fractured, composure.
"I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

Oh for fucks sake.

“And the part you’re not telling me is?”

“Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

“Of course you do. Let me guess, I need to go devour another dragon soul since Ustengrav and my Thu’um aren’t enough evidence to prove I’m Dragonborn. Let’s skip to the part where you tell me where the fuck you’ve decided I need to go so I can stop wasting my time, mkay?”

“I didn’t decide anything. You got the map for me, from Bleak Falls Barrow. The dragonstone was a map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, down in the Jeralls near Riften. The one at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds.”

“You could’ve just said Kynesgrove. Now, I’m going to go kill a dragon. I’ll meet you there, seeing as you’re just dead weight that’ll just slow me down.”

She spun on her heel and left, smirking under her mask as Delphine cursed and scrambled to get into her traveling gear.

The Sanctuary was cool and damp, like always. This time, however, Astrid was nowhere to be found. Genevieve followed the sound of raised voices. She paused briefly to observe the scene before her.
Cicero was standing before a huge wooden box, looking quite displeased. She slunk over to the stone pillar, just in front of him and settled against it. Cicero noticed her, but it seemed the others hadn’t. 

"But the Night Mother is mother to all!” Cicero exclaimed, “It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?"

"Keep talking, little man,” Arnbjorn snarled, his eyes flashing a familiar and beastly shade of yellow, “and we'll see who gets "punished."”

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil.” Festus, the elderly wizard that was often near the enchanting table, turned his attention to Cicero.

“Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady's favor."

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero.” Astrid said, cutting off any further argument, “And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?"

"Hmph."

"Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"But make no mistake.” Astrid’s sickly sweet voice turned sharp and cold. “I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss." Something quite unhinged swirled in his eyes. The next words were uttered so softly, she wouldn’t have heard them if she hadn’t had the blood. “For now…”

Cicero turned his attention to her, moving to meet her, only for Astrid to finally notice her presence. Cicero scowled slightly, then turned back to his box.

“Ah, you’re back. Good. I was done speaking to that muttering fool anyway.” Astrid motioned for Genevieve to follow as she went up the stairs towards the room with the map. “Come, we’ve got some business to discuss.” Genevieve rolled her eyes, earning a muffled snicker from Cicero. She followed Astrid up the stairs, tilting her head to the side when Astrid looked at her expectantly. Upon realizing she wasn’t going to speak in any way, shape, or form, the Nord assassin sighed and kept talking. “I’ve got a contract for you. A real one, not those little one’s Nazir has been giving you. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in the shop, The Hag's Cure. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out." Genevieve shrugged then tilted her head again. "Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are."

Genevieve bobbed her head and slunk back down the stairs. Markarth was on the other side of Skyrim. She’d get there eventually, but for now she want to refresh her supply of poison. 

Cicero greeted her at the foot of the stairs, sheer and utter delight evident in every line of his face as he threw his hands up and shouted,

“Kindly Silent Stranger! Cicero remembers you! Yes, yes, from the road! You helped poor Cicero, got Loreius to fix his wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother! And our mother, she will never forget.”

Genevieve huffed out a silent laugh and shook her head. She waved her hand and her hand sparked with fire. 

Hello again Cicero. How’d you know it was me?

“Dear Silent Stranger’s eyes! Though, it is Dear Silent Sister now.” He broke into a fit of hysterical giggles. “Come Dear Silent Sister, come sit and talk with Cicero! Tell Cicero where Sister’s little ones have gone, and what Sister has been up to during these cold months!”

She ignored the shocked stares the others sent her when she allowed Cicero to grab her hand and pull her towards the box. 

Nazir

Eve would talk to the clown, but not the others? Now that was just insulting. Then again, somehow the fool knew her. Eve had children. Eve had met the bumbling buffoon before. 

Eve still wouldn’t eat his food or talk with the others, but he knew for a fact that he’d seen her pull her mask back into place when he’d poked his head out to see if she was actually talking to the fool. A stranger to the Sanctuary had seen her face before their leader. 

No wonder Astrid was in a mood. 

Chapter Text

Genevieve

It was late, but she was still at the Sanctuary. Her leg had seized again, though she’d managed to hide it well enough. Cicero had given her an odd look, but hadn’t questioned anything, far more focused on moving the Night Mother’s coffin to its proper place. 

She waited until the sounds of the Sanctuary settled. Then she hauled herself to her feet and limped towards the alchemy table. There had to be a reason her leg was seizing so frequently now. Was it the poison? Maybe she was putting too much strain on it?

Genevieve all but collapsed into the chair next to the alchemy table and propped her leg up on a second chair. It helped a little bit, but not entirely. She dug around in her pack, pulling out her satchel of ingredients. A potion wouldn’t do much, but maybe she could make a salve to help…

Babette

Eve wasn’t sleeping. Everyone else in the Sanctuary was, including Arnbjorn with his restless blood. Instead, Eve was doing something at the alchemy table. She wasn’t making a poison, judging by the ingredients scattered around her. She wasn’t making a potion either. Curious.

Babette made no effort to hide her approach. Eve paused for a brief moment, but continued working at whatever it was she was making. 

“Where do you get your ingredients?” They were top quality: fresh and potent. Not that apothecaries had bad ingredients. Eve’s were just especially good.

I grow them. Some of them. And a friend showed me a way of keeping them fresh.

“You grow them? Where?”

Gardens. Just planted my greenhouse. Not many poisonous ingredients. Those are up at Windstad.

“Windstad?” 

It’s in Hjaalmarch.

Babette tucked that piece of information away for later and peered at the ingredients sprawled across the table. Many of them had healing properties. Babette glanced at Eve’s leg. Even propped up, it was trembling slightly. 

“Did you hurt your leg?”

Not recently. 

“Can I see?”

No.

That was fair. Eve still didn’t trust any of them. To be fair, none of them really trusted her either. 

“Can I help?”

Eve eyed her. Then she turned back to the table.

I’m making a salve. 

A salve. She could work with that.

Nazir

At first he didn’t believe it. Someone was talking with Babette about alchemy and actually keeping up. 

“Wouldn’t troll fat provide a better base? Well, you mentioned poison earlier… True, honeycomb does work better in that situation. Canis root? Wouldn’t that counteract the honeycomb? Ah, I’d nearly forgotten about those.”

It had to be Eve. A quick glance confirmed that it was. She still had her mask over her face and her hood over her hair, but she was slightly less tense and her magic-made words were flowing easily. 

She still didn’t eat his food. 

Genevieve

The salve worked even better than she’d thought it would. She’d had to leave the Sanctuary and limp her way to Lakeview in order to change and properly rest, but once she’d been able to rub the salve into her skin, her leg had relaxed and the pain had lessened.

“Rayya,” she said, addressing her housecarl who was eating her breakfast, “I’m going to go sleep for a bit. Should the little vampire outside knock or approach you, she’s welcome to the garden and the greenhouse but nothing else.”

“Understood. Is she… one of your new friends?”

“Yes. She’s a rather skilled alchemist.” Rayya nodded and returned her attention back to her breakfast. It was a Redguard dish that Genevieve wasn’t familiar with, joined by a cup of what had to be coffee. “Has the coffee from the East Empire Company been to your liking?”

“Yes. Though, frankly I’m just grateful to have it in the first place.”

“How do you make it? Is it similar to tea?”

“Somewhat. It depends on the kind you want to make. Coffee can be brewed by itself. Some add milk or honey to it. Kaveh and qishr are both made with coffee and other ingredients. There are variants to all three.” Rayya must’ve seen the interest in Genevieve’s eyes. She chuckled. “I’ll show you how to make it after you wake up. Coffee is a stimulant, meant to keep you awake and you need no help with that.”

“Deal.” Genevieve stood, stretching and ignoring the popping of her spine. The stairs gave her a bit of trouble, but she was curled up on her bed soon enough. And if she pressed a shirt she’d stolen from Farkas to her face, then no one had to know. 

Rayya

She was out patrolling when the little vampire approached her. If Rayya hadn’t known better, she’d have assumed she was looking at an ordinary child about the same age as Lucia and Braith. 

“Hello. Does Eve live here?”

Rayya eyed the vampiric child. 

“Yes. She owns Lakeview Manor. Built it herself.”

“Who’re you?”

“Her housecarl and steward. She said if you made yourself known that you were welcome to the garden and the greenhouse.”

The vampire’s glowing eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. After a moment, she spoke again. 

“Where is the garden?”

“Garden is close to the mountain. Everything there is food, but some things are used for alchemy as well.”

“And the greenhouse?”

“Inside, on the left.”

Babette

The Redguard watched her when she examined the garden. Most of it was just food, but there were several plants that could be useful. Once she went inside, the Redguard settled at the table just outside of the greenhouse door. There was a Nord bard plucking at a lute. Babette could smell Eve somewhere, maybe somewhere on the upper level.

The greenhouse was lovely. Only a few plants had grown enough to tell what they were, but the selection was excellent. She’d have to come back when everything had had time to mature. 

She tried to peek into the other rooms, but the Redguard had blocked her attempts. She was gripping a strange glowing sword.

“If you’re done, get out.”

“Not a fan of vampires?”

“No. Neither is Genevieve, but she likes you enough to let you use her gardens.”

“What’s with the sword? You didn’t have it a few minutes ago.”

“It’s rather useful against any undead. Now, get out.”

Babette could probably take the Redguard, though that sword certainly looked like it would hurt. She shrugged and left.

It was easy enough to get back to the Sanctuary. Nazir was still sulking that Eve wasn’t even looking at his food, though he vehemently denied it. Cicero was muttering and giggling to himself and the others were either out on contracts or doing their own thing. 

Genevieve

Perhaps she should’ve headed to Markarth and started that contract, but she didn’t. Instead, she climbed the steps to High Hrothgar. In her (heavily enchanted) mage robes. Without Farkas’ warm armor, she nearly froze. The damn bears had unfortunately returned, as well as the frost trolls and ice wraiths. Her bow and her magic served her well, though she nearly ran out of fire arrows and used most of her magicka. 

Her leg seized just after the second frost troll. She grimaced, but kept walking. Stopping with the howling winds and blistering cold would be a death sentence. She barely made it through the doors of the ancient monastery before her leg well and truly gave out. 

“Dragonborn?” Arngeir padded toward her, his wrinkled face creased with worry.
“I’m fine! Just over did it a little. Leg got messed up.”

“You can speak!” His voice was filled with awe and delight.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Not much, but yeah.” She grimaced and pulled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. After a moment, she pulled the Horn out of her pack and held it out. “I got the Horn. Can I sit a bit before anything else happens?”

“Certainly.” Arngeir ushered her to a chair. She sat down in a heap, grimacing when the pain from her leg spiked. Genevieve set her pack on the ground and opened it, digging around until she found the little container of salve. Then she pulled off one of her boots and rolled the leg of her pants all the way up, exposing the red and raw scar. She ignored Arngeir’s sharp intake of breath and dipped her fingers into the salve. Rubbing it into her skin hurt a bit, especially when she had to touch the scar itself, but it started working a few minutes later. Once she was certain all of the salve had been absorbed into her skin, she rolled her pant down and pulled her boot back on. After she scarfed down a couple of apples from her pack and downing half of her water, she was ready.

“What’s next?”

“You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognize you formally as Dragonborn."

Genevieve nodded and stood, following Arngeir to the main room. The other Greybeards had gathered. Gaining the final Word of Unrelenting Force was a familiar ritual. The next step however, was not. She stood in the middle of the four old Nords, facing Arngeir as he spoke,

"You have completed your training, Dragonborn. We would Speak to you. Stand between us and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards. But you are ready."

She swallowed, gripped her staff, and nodded. 

“Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.”

The entire mountain trembled as the Greybeards chanted, their Voices washing over Genevieve in waves of unbridled power. She nearly fell a few times, but managed to remain standing, even as the stones beneath her feet shook. Then it was over, the air strangely still and quiet.

" Dovahkiin,” Arngier said, breaking the silence, “You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you."
Genevieve nodded, letting out a shaky breath and carding her hand through her long and mostly loose hair.

“What was all that? Were you Shouting at me?” 

"We spoke the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonborn who has accepted our guidance. The same words were used to greet the young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar, before he became the Emperor Tiber Septim."

Genevieve reached up and lightly touched her Amulet of Talos, something akin to pride settling in her belly.

“You were speaking in dovahzul, weren’t you? I caught a few words, like krosis and Dovahkiin , but I didn’t really understand the rest of it. What did you say?”

"Ah.” he chuckled to himself, shaking his head slightly, “I sometimes forget you are not versed in the dragon tongue as we are. This is a rough translation: Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it."

She nodded, taking it all in. After a moment, she got an idea.

“Arngeir, what’s the word for sky in Dovahzul?”  

“Lok. Might I ask why, Dragonborn?”

“Genevieve, please. And I ask because I need to give myself a name like the dragons have. I, uh, know the name of every dragon whose soul I’ve absorbed. All of them mean something so I thought I’d make one up. I was thinking something with the words strun and zii , as a homage to Kynareth, but I needed another word for it to be a proper name.”

“And now that you know lok?”

“I’m thinking Lokstrunzii.”

“Sky. Storm. Spirit. A homage to Kynareth indeed.”

Chapter Text

Genevieve

Dayspring Canyon was beautiful. It was surrounded by towering mountains and lined with crisp white snow. Snowberry bushes dotted the path, joined by mountain flowers and fallen trees. A half-frozen lake pooled beneath a partially melted glacier. A little ways ahead of her, a young man, barely in his twenties, was pacing back and forth. He kept glancing up at the fort in the near distance and muttering to himself. After a few moments, he noticed her. 

Maybe it was the fact she was in her heavy steel armor, or the glowing presence of Dawnbreaker at her hip,  or even the scars on her face, but his scent became tinged with anxiety. 

"Oh, hey there!” A nervous smile crept across his face. “You here to join the Dawnguard, too? Truth is, I'm a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you.”

Genevieve shrugged and started towards the looming fortress. The young man fell into step a little bit behind her. As they walked, he ketp up a constant stream of chatter. “Hey, uh, don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess. I heard what's going on. The vampires, the Dawnguard, all of it. I wanted to help, so here I am. You've probably killed lots of vampires, huh? I'm sure Isran will sign you right up. Not sure he'll take me. I hope so." By now, they’d reached the fort. A few half-built structures were scattered around, but other than an orc a short distance away, there was no one in sight. "Fort Dawnguard... Wow. Bigger than I expected. Where is everybody? This place looks almost deserted." They kept moving, passing the orc, who she now realized was shooting some kind of strange weapon, and headed towards the doors. “Hey, what’s your name? I’m Agmaer.”

“Genevieve Archembeau.”

“Wow, that’s a long name. Can I call you Arc?”

“Sure.”

There was a heavily armored Breton standing guard in front of the doors. He raised an eyebrow when he saw them.

“New recruits?” He eyed them for a moment, taking an extra moment when he saw Dawnbreaker, then shrugged. “Isran will decide if you have what it takes. Go on, he’s right inside.”

Isran

He almost didn’t notice the Breton woman walk in. In fact, he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t honed his awareness over the years. Tolan was here to beg for his help, even though the Vigilents had dismissed his warnings years ago. He only half listened, far more interested in the glowing blade the woman carried at her hip. It looked to be made of pure sunlight. She was standing with most of her weight on one leg, leaning heavily on her staff while she waited. An old injury, perhaps? Even so, there was not a doubt in his mind she was more than capable of handling herself. There was something…predatory about her. Certainly not vampiric, but not quite human either. At least there was an Amulet of Arkay around her neck, a promising sign.

The boy behind her was nearly the complete opposite. Hardly an ounce of training in him, but looked strong enough. Young and healthy too. He’d be easy enough to whip into shape. Isran turned his attention back to the woman.

“You there, who are you? What do you want?”
The woman raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, her gait smooth and silent. Beside him, Tolan stiffened, his eyes focused on her blade.

“That’s-”

“Dawnbreaker, yes. I killed all undead and a necromancer in Meridia’s temple and she decided to give it to me. Deal with it.”

“The Vigilants-”

“Are a pain in my ass and quite dead, or so I’ve heard. Can’t say I’m horribly upset about it, as you have so far proven yourselves quite useless as you couldn’t even track down and eliminate the cult of Molag Bal in Dawnstar, despite it being painfully easy to find.” Her voice was quiet, but cold. She turned her attention to Isran. “Now, to answer your question, you can call me Arc. I heard you were looking for vampire hunters and figured I’d come see what all the fuss was about.”

“You heard right. I'm glad word's finally starting to get around. But that means it won't be long before the vampires start to take notice as well." Arc shrugged and shifted her weight to what he assumed was her good leg.

“Anything I can do to help? Or is being Meridia’s Champion too much of a stain on my record.” The last comment was directed to Tolan, who was still glaring at her quite vehemently. Isran waved his hand dismissively.
"That’s fine. Meridia hates the damn bloodsuckers, so her blade is acceptable. I need someone out in the field, taking the fight to the damn vampires, while we're getting the fort back into shape. Tolan was just telling me about some cave that the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was related to these recent vampire attacks." He turned back to Tolan, who was still glaring at Arc.

“Tolan, tell her about, what was it, Dimhollow ?"

"Yes,” Tolan muttered, “that's it. Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adavald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran. He was at the Hall when it was attacked..."

"That's good enough for me.” He turned back to Arc. “Go see what the vampires were looking for in this Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they'll still be there." Tolan bristled slightly, then spoke up.

"I'll meet you at Dimhollow. It's the least I can do to avenge my fallen comrades."

"Tolan, I don't think that's a good idea. You Vigilants were never trained for-” he didn’t get to finish, Tolan’s temper finally getting the better of him.

"I know what you think of us!” Tolan spat, “You think we're soft , that we're cowards . You think our deaths proved our weakness. Stendarr  grant that you do not have to face the same test and be found wanting. I'm going to Dimhollow Crypt.” He looked to Arc, angry lining every line of his body, “Perhaps I can be of some small assistance to you." Then he left, storming out of the fort.
Isran sighed and shook his head. The damn fool was going to get himself killed. He hadn’t been on good terms with the Vigilants for years, but that didn’t mean he wanted them completely wiped out.

“Arc, feel free to poke around the fort and take what you need. There isn’t much yet, but you’re welcome to anything you can use.” He paused, glancing at her leg. Should he offer for someone to accompany her? No. She’d gotten this far by herself. She knew her capabilities better than he did. If she asked, he’d provide, but until then she was on her own. 

Arc nodded and wandered off, likely to see what supplies the fort could provide her. Isran watched her for a moment, then turned to the boy, who was attempting to hide his nerves and failing to.

“You there, boy.” The boy jumped and straightened. “Stop skulking in the shadows and step up here. What’s your name?” 

“I’m, uh…. My name is A-Agmaer, sir.”

Stendarr preserve him, this was going to be a long day.

Genevieve

There really wasn’t much in the fort. A few bedrolls, the odd barrel of supplies, and a couple stray weapons and pieces of armor were all she could find. The axes had some kind of vampire-specific enchantment to them, but they were axes, so she left them where they were. She did find a gorgeous shield with a similar enchantment, which she tucked into her pack. It had been a while since she used a shield, but it would be good practice. There was also one of those strange bow-like weapons and some of its ammo. She tucked it into her pack for later.

The weapon was called a crossbow, according to Durak, the Orc who’d been shooting one in front of the fort. Apparently, they were a bit of a Dawnguad specialty. Much slower than her bow, but a bit more powerful. Maybe she’d try it out later. First, she had to go prove to that stuck up pain-in-the-ass Delphine she was Dragonborn.

She pulled on Vokun a few miles away from Kynesgrove and replaced Dawnbreaker with her glass bow and arrows. She kept her armor on, even though it was putting a lot of strain on her leg. Just as she thought, she got to Kynesgrove before Delphine. Even so, something was clearly wrong.
The huge black dragon that had leveled Helgen was flying around, a little ways behind the inn. She ignored the warnings that were shouted at her as she swiftly made her way up the path. At some point, Delphine showed up behind her.

By the time they reached the burial mount, the black dragon was hovering just in front of it. She crouched, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through her leg, and crept closer. 

“Steady, let’s see what it does.” Delphine said, holding out her hand and hiding behind a boulder. Genevieve rolled her eyes and moved to a different stone. The black dragon said something in dovahzul and Shouted, shattering the stone top of the mound. A skeleton burst out, roaring as flesh materialized on its bones. The two of them went back and forth. Genevieve managed to pick up a few words and what she thought was a name or two. Then the black dragon looked directly at her and started speaking, starting in dovahzul. She stood, looking directly into its glowing red eyes. After a moment, it switched languages.

“You do not even know our tongue, do you?” It snorted. “Such arrogance, to take for yourself the name of Dovah.” The beast turned back to the newly resurrected dragon, returning to dovahzul. A chill went down her spine when she caught the word krii. Kill. 

The black dragon flew away. The other turned its attention to her.

“My lord Alduin requires your death! I am glad to oblige him. I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!”
Sahloknir roared and launched into the air. Genevieve cursed and drew her bow. 

As it turned out, Sahloknir could breath both fire and ice. She barely managed to throw up a ward in time to block most of the blast of frozen air. Then the damn beast landed behind her, shaking the ground and sending her staggering forward. Delphine, of course, was making a nuisance of herself. She was still hiding, though she occasionally tried to help, only to get in the way. Usually, that mean Genevieve got hit with Sahloknir’s tail or had a blast of fire or frost shot at her. After the fifth time, Genevieve had had enough.

"FUS RO DAH!” She Shouted, sending Delphine flying back and tumbling down the slope. It probably didn’t hurt her. Maybe. Not that she particularly cared.

Sahloknir, now firmly on the ground due to the damage to his wings, snapped at her. She rolled out of the way and shot a fireball at him as she scrambled to her feet. Of course, that’s when her leg decided to give out.

“Nonononono, not now you stupid thing!” A hastily thrown up ward only protected her from half of the fire. She tried to stand, only to fail. Fine. She’d have to do it the hard way.

“ YOL TOOR!”  Her own fire blazed across the ground, hitting Sahloknir squarely in the face. He snarled and snapped at her, just as she summoned her blades. Once he was close enough, she jammed the glowing swords into his neck and heaved herself up. He shook his head and tried to claw at her, but she was just out of reach.
Genevieve pulled one of her blades out and slashed one of his eyes, the second quickly following. The dragon roared and once again tried to send her flying. He partially succeeded, but instead of landing a ways away, she landed directly in front of him. The perfect position to slide both of her blades up through his rib cage and into his heart. 

Genevieve barely managed to roll out from under him to avoid being crushed. He was already disintegrating, his soul flowing into hers in a familiar rush of power. She slowly got to her feet, drawing her staff out of her pack.

And of course, that’s when Delphine made it back up the hill.

“What were you thinking?!” she yelled. 

“Oops. I missed.” Genevieve rolled her eyes under her mask, rolling her shoulders. Delphine went to say something and stopped, finally realizing exactly what was happening. 

“Gods above!" Her eyes went wide as the last of Sahloknir’s soul settled into her. “So you really are... I... it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn."

“No shit.”

"I owe you some answers, don't I? Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back." 

Genevieve scowled. The only questions she had were ones Delphine would definitely be unable to answer. 

“I’m good, actually.” She heaved her pack over her shoulder and started to slowly make her way towards the tiny settlement of Kynesgrove.

“What? You don’t want to know anything?”

“You’re a Blade. You’re under the impression that because your people used to fight dragons, and a Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon killer, that we have to work together. You’re probably going to blame all of this on the Thalmor because you’re a paranoid pain-in-the-ass. And you probably have half a plan on how to make me go find out of the Thalmor do know anything because why would you do it when you have someone else to do it, regardless of who they are. Did I miss anything?”

Delphine stood still, her jaw dropped and her eyes wide. 

“I read a lot. Lots of information isn’t that hard to find if you bother to look. Now, when you have more than a half-formed idea of what you think you’re going to attempt to make me do, send a courier to find me. Until then, fuck off.”

With that, Genevieve left. She was going to go to Windhelm, enjoy a nice warm bath and a soft bed, sell the bones and scales to Ma’dran, then go the fuck home to wish Lucia a happy birthday. 

Just as Windhelm was fully in view, an annoyingly familiar roar brought her out of her thoughts. 

Oh for fucks sake. 

Ulfric

It was late when the guard burst into the Palace of the Kings. He stuttered and stumbled over his words, finally managing to get out that a dragon was attacking just outside the city.
Ulfric was up and running before the guard had even finished, Galmar hot on his heels. A dragon was attacking his city. A dragon. The beast from Helgen still haunted his nightmares. Stories of dragon attacks across all of Skyrim had circulated, followed by rumors of the Dragonborn. Said rumors had spread far and wide, but little was actually known for certain. He remembered little of his brief interaction with her. Only that she’d solved the murders astonishingly quickly and had Shouted at him for being incompetent.

He heard the thunderous roars the moment he was out of the Palace. He had just reached Candlehearth when he heard the first Shout. He and Galmar picked up the pace.
They reached the stables just in time to see the beast crash to the ground. Floating pinpricks of light slammed into it as a massive fire rune exploded from underneath it. It snarled and flapped its wings, creating a massive cloud of snow around it.

“YOL TOOR!”

The cloud burned from within. And then the beast was dead, falling limp with a heavy thud. Its skin and muscle flaked off in twisting embers as its very soul swirled around a figure still hidden by the cloud of snow. More pinpricks of light zipped to the figure. One flew past him and he realized they were magic-infused arrows. 

The snow parted as the Dragonborn stepped forward, a carved staff in hand. She walked towards him, waving her hand. The skeleton behind her crumbled, the bones and remaining scales floating into her pack, followed by an assortment of armor, weapons, and treasure. 

The Dragonborn was quite small. 

The Dragonborn was a mage. 

She walked right past him, the guards behind him parting swiftly to let her through. Galmar went to address her, but Ulfric stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave her. There’s only one place for her to go. We can speak to her after we finish getting all of this cleaned up and see to any injured and take into account what was damaged.” Galmar grunted and started barking orders to the guards. 

Genevieve

She’d been heading towards a nice warm bed in Candlehearth hall when she heard it. A whimper. A tiny little sound that was only made in the depths of hunger and misery. She changed her course and followed her ears, her heart sinking when she found the source.

A child was curled up on the ground, shivering violently as she tried to sleep. Her clothes were worn thin and filled with holes. She didn’t even have a mat to lay on or a blanket to help trap some infinitesimal amount of warmth. The tips of her fingers were blue, as were her toes on her bare feet. A moment later, Genevieve’s blood was boiling.

The little girl was a Nord.

Genevieve stiffly knelt next to the child, gently shaking her shoulder. It took far too long for the little girl to react. Even then she was barely there.

“Come on love, I need you to wake up. Think you can walk for me? Just a couple of steps, then you’ll be nice and warm, alright?” She pulled a snow sabre pelt from her pack and wrapped it around the shaking girl. After a moment, she helped the little one stand and walk. It was a slow process, as Genevieve’s leg was about to give out again and the girl had to lean on her as she shuffled along. Eventually, they made it to Candlehearth Hall.

It was immediately much warmer inside, and the poor child whined at the sudden change in temperature. Genevieve tossed a handful of coins onto the counter.

“Those are for a room. I’ll be borrowing the kitchen. Take her upstairs and get her a place next to the fire.”

“But-” Elda started, only for Genevieve to cut her off.

“Now,” she snapped. Elda nodded and scurried over to help the little girl climb the stairs. Genevieve waited for them to be all the way up. Then she limped down the hall, leaning heavily on her staff. The cook, Nils, looked up when she stepped into the kitchen. “Get out. I’m borrowing the kitchen. If you want something to do, there’s a little girl upstairs that would probably appreciate a nice roaring fire.” Nils bobbed his head and scuttled out the door.

She sank into a chair, tugging off her armor and quickly pulling her salve out of her pack, working it into her burning leg. It was a miracle that it hadn’t given out on the way from Kynesgrove. While the salve worked on easing the spasms and pain, she glanced around the kitchen. She had some food with her, but the cold had long since seeped into her bones. She needed a nice hot bowl of soup. The poor little girl upstairs needed the same, preferably something nutritious as well. 

Genevieve eventually settled on vegetable soup. It would be easy for the girl’s stomach to handle and it was filling and warm. She ate her own bowl with some bread, then ladled a second bowl and headed up the stairs. 

The girl already looked a little better. She was sitting close to the fire and actually moving a little bit. It was only to pull the pelt tighter or to sneeze, but it was much better than her near comatose state. 

“Here, this will help you feel better.” She set the bowl on the little table next to the chair and pulled a second chair over. “What’s your name?”

“S-Sof-fie.”

“What a pretty name. I’m Lokstrunzii, though you can just call me Zii.”

Sofie nodded and sipped at her soup. Genevieve ignored the stares of the other patrons and pulled a book from her pack. No one tried to approach her. Good, she wasn’t in the mood. It took some time, but eventually little Sofie finished her soup and was half asleep. Genevieve took hold of her hand, carefully examining it. Some of the blue was fading and she wasn’t nearly as cold, but it would be a while longer before it was back to normal.

Just as she was about to coax Sofie awake and take her to the room, heavy footsteps and gruff rumbling voices reached her ears.
It seemed the great Jarl of Windhelm had decided to speak to her after all. 

Ulfric

Elda was rattled when he stepped through the doors. She pointed at the stairs then continued wringing a cloth in her hands. She tried to say something a few times, only to stop and shake her head. 

He climbed the stairs. The Dragonborn was easy enough to spot. After all, she was the only one wearing a dragon priest mask. There was a young child sitting next to her. A Nord girl, maybe ten years old. The girl was shivering and sneezing, despite the roaring fire in front of her and the thick pelt wrapped around her. 

“Dragonborn.” 

“Ulfric.” She didn’t even look up from the book she was reading. The girl next to her sneezed rather violently. 

“What brings you to my city?”

The Dragonborn sighed, snapping the book shut and putting it in her pack. 

“Everyone out. The Jarl and I have something to discuss.”

A dark current of anger filled her voice. No one dared to stay, all scrambling down the stairs. Once all of them were done, she snapped her fingers and a layer of blue Illusion magic settled across the room.

Behind him, Galmar clenched his fists. 

“Do you know how long it takes for a Nord to become frostbitten?”

“Not exactly, but it is much longer than the other races.” That’s why Skyrim was for Nords. They’d been built for their homeland. Why was she asking this? What on Nirn was she pissed about?

The Dragonborn just hummed. She gently lifted the little girl’s hand, revealing her blue tinged fingers. Ulfric paled. For a Nord to get to that point, she’d have had to have been outside for days to weeks without reprieve. 

“Do you understand why I am pissed, Ulfric?” Her voice was perfectly calm. Ulfric found himself wishing she should just Shout at him again. “You claim that Skyrim is for Nords. You reportedly prioritize taking care of them and have let the rest of your precious city fall to ruin. And yet, you can’t even make sure a little Nord girl doesn’t freeze to death.”

She drummed her fingers across the table. 

“So she slipped through the cracks, that tends to happen during a war.” Gods dammit Galmar. Not now. 

“Galmar, do yourself a favor and shut up.” The Dragonborn stood and easily coaxed the little girl to her feet. “I will be leaving in exactly three days, Ulfric. Once my business with the Khajiit caravan has been completed, I am taking Sofie to the orphanage. Now that that old hag has keeled over, it is a decent place to send children who have nothing left. I suggest you fix yourself and your city. Only then will I even consider picking a side in this Divines-forsaken war.” She left, taking the child with her. At the top of the stairs, she paused. “Oh, by the way, I am not a Nord, but my family has lived in this land for the last hundred years or so. This land is in my blood and I almost certainly know her temperament better than you do. Does my race still mean I should be forced to leave?”

Then she was well and truly gone. 

Ulfric needed a drink. A strong one.

Genevieve

Sofie was asleep as soon as she curled up on the bed. Genevieve piled a few more pelts on top of her and dumped the rest on the ground settling on top of them a few moments later. In the morning, she’d get Sofie a nice warm bath and some proper clothes, as well as potions to shake off the chill and any infection that might form as she healed. But for now, Genevieve was just going to rest.

Chapter Text

Farkas

He had stopped in Riften to check with Iona when he heard the news. A dragon had attacked Kynesgrove. The Dragonborn had killed it.

Gem was in Eastmarch. One of the Khajiit caravans stopped by Windhelm. Would she be with them?

He could get there in a few days if he traveled in his beast form.

Genevieve

Sadri didn’t have the best selection, but at least the clothes would be warm and comfortable. While she traded and bartered and bickered, Sofie wandered around a little bit, the snow sabre pelt still securely wrapped around her shoulders.

“You’re not selling the dragon parts, Ma’am?”

“I have a deal with the Khajiit. They give me excellent rates and I exclusively trade dragon parts with them.” She paused, watching as Sofie padded back over to the counter, standing on her tiptoes so she could peek over it at Sadri. She made a soft sound of delight when she spotted a small cloth doll with yellow hair on the shelves behind him. Genevieve pulled the doll off the shelf with telekinesis and floated it over to Sofie. She returned to looking at the clothes, ignoring Sadri’s surprise and smile.

Little Sofie had been through enough. If something as simple as a doll could bring her comfort, who on was she to deny her?

Just as she was about to pay, a book caught her eye and she added it to her pile.

The city was still horribly cold. Sofie clung to Genevieve as they walked. People stared at them, but were wise enough to stay out of her way. She briefly visited the Temple of Talos, followed by a trip to the Hall of the Dead to pay her respects to Arkay. Both Divines had helped her greatly in the past weeks, it was only right she thank them. 

Sofie came out of her shell a little bit more when they reached the market. She trotted up to Aval, the only Dunmer merchant and struck up a conversation while Genevieve headed to the blacksmith. She listened to his muttering about Eorlund’s fortune to work the Skyforge and overall skill with forced patience. She may have heard it before, but he didn’t know that. Eventually, she’d had enough and interrupted him.

“As… interesting as your little one-sided rivalry is, I do have business to attend to if you’ll bother to see to it.” Oengul’s mouth clicked shut. “Better. Do you have any glass arrows, or is that beneath you since it isn’t not ‘proper Nordic steel’?”

“I have some. Not many, but some.” He scrambled to pull them from his stock and show them to her. She picked on up, looking down the shaft and through it. It wasn’t as good as the ones Aela had given her during their brief meeting, but they would do. She scooped the rest of the arrows up and slipped them into her pack. Then she dropped a pouch of coins in his hands and strode over to see what Sofie had gotten herself into. 

A short while later, they left the market, her pack heavy with potions and Sofie’s hands full of sweets. 

After they’d both eaten dinner and thawed by the fire, the pair headed to the room.

“Sofie, do you know how to read?”

“Uh-uh. Papa was trying to teach me, but then he didn’t comeback.”

“Would you like to learn?” Genevieve couldn’t help but simple wen Sofie rapidly bobbed her head up and down. She held up the book she’d bought from Sadri. Herbalist’s Guide to Skyrim. “My father taught me to read with this book. If you’d like, I can show you a little bit about alchemy as well.”

“Mmhm!”

She spent most of the next two days teaching Sofie the basics of reading. She even taught her how to make a few very basic potions with the flowers the little girl used to sell.

They left for Riften the moment Genevieve was done selling the dragon bones and scales to Ma’dran.

Farkas

He reached Windhelm early on the fourth day. He hadn’t slept, but that wasn’t anything new.  There was a Khajiit caravan just outside of the city. He was almost certain it was Ma’dran’s caravan. He caught a faint whiff of Gem’s wonderful spiced-honey scent. There was another scent there, but both were quickly lost to the howling winds. 

He lumbered over to the small group of tents, his heart sinking when there wasn’t a single trace of Gem. 

“Can Khajiit help you with something?”

Farkas looked to his left, where the lilting voice had come from. A blue-clad Khajiit was sitting in front of the largest tent. His chin was resting in his hand, giving him and air of nonchalance, though his eyes were gleaming and his tail was lazily waving back and forth.

“Are you Ma’dran?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?” 

“I’m looking for Gem. I think you know her as Little Cub?”

“Why does the big Nord look for her?”

Something in Ma’dran’s eyes sharpened and iced over. Farkas suddenly got the feeling he was staring down a sabre cat. A very displeased sabre cat. He swallowed.

“I want to bring her home. She got hurt then something started hurting her in her head. She disappeared and I just want to get her home so she can rest.”

Ma’dran hummed, dragging his eyes up and down Farkas’ bulky and heavily armored form. The Khajiit’s nose twitched and his eyes narrowed. 

“Who are you?”

“’M Farkas. We’re… well, we’re together.”

“You are mates?”

“Um, not quite.” Not for lack of the wolf’s trying. 

“But you want her.”

“As long as she’ll have me and longer.”

Ma’dran drummed his clawed fingers across his knee.

“Little Cub left late yesterday. She took the wagon to Riften. Her leg was giving her much trouble and the cub she had with her was in no state to walk. You will stay with us today and leave tomorrow morning.”

“But-"

“You will stay and rest and eat so that you do not collapse and then you will take the mountain paths to follow her.” Ma’dran’s tone left no room for argument. “Besides, Khajiit wants to learn more about Little Cub’s… partner.”

Genevieve

Just as she’d expected, Constance welcomed Sofie into the Orphanage without question, though the look she gave Genevieve told her all she needed to know. Within moments, the little girl had picked a bed and settled in. Runa practically pounced on her, nearly vibrating with excitement at there finally being another girl.

As much as she tried to resist, the children talked her into staying and telling them stories. Some of them, particularly Samuel and Aventus, seemed to know she was the same woman that made them sweets and brought them gifts on a regular basis, though they didn’t say anything.

Before she knew it, it was dinner time and Sofie was begging her to make dinner for all of them. Apparently, her cooking was “the best ever and all her new friends needed to try it, no offense to Miss Constance of course.” 

She couldn’t say no to all the pleading eyes and caved almost immediately. Constance insisted on helping her cook. 

“You’re Eve, aren’t you?” she asked as she chopped up some carrots. Genevieve sighed.

“Yes,” she said, keeping the Thu’um out of her voice. “But call me Lokstrunzii or Zii when I’m wearing the mask. In case you didn’t notice, I’m the Dragonborn, but I don’t want everyone to know.”

“Protecting those little ones of yours?”

“Amongst other things, yes.”

Constance hummed and moved to cutting up potatoes. 

“How many other people know?”

“Depends. Two of my Shield-Siblings know, though both of them found out by accident. I’ve told all my housecarls and my children. The Greybeards know, but they don’t really know me as anything but the Dragonborn. Balgruuf and Irileth know, and a handful of guards, but they’ve all either been sworn to silence or have chosen to keep it to themselves ‘cause it isn’t their business. Plus they haven’t really seen my face much. I was wearing a hood when they found out.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Its not my place, plus its the least I can to when you’ve made all the children so happy.”

“Thanks. How’d you know it was me anyway? No one else has figured it out.”

“I wouldn’t’ve if it weren’t for Samuel. Usually he’s rather reserved. But when you visit he’s happy and follows you around and asks a million questions. So, when you got here this afternoon and he started acting the same, I knew it had to be you.”

Sam liked her that much? Sure, he’d been little standoffish in the beginning, but that was to be expected with how horribly Grelod had treated him. Since then, he’d been nothing but a sweet, respectful, and kind child. 

She kept cooking, a comfortable silence settling across the small kitchen. 

“Miss Zii?”

“Hm?”

“You’re a dragon, right?”

“Sort of. Why?”

“Dragons horde stuff and I wanna know what you horde!” The rest of the children cheerfully agreed, much to Constance’s embarrassment. Genevieve just hummed.

“I horde people, little one.”

“People?”

“Mmhm. A strange horde, I know, but mine nevertheless.”

Farkas

Ma’dran seemed surprised he could cook, even more so that he knew some of Gem’s favorite spice blends. The other Khajiit in the caravan were a little confused, but far more welcoming when they found out he knew Gem. He did his best to keep up with their questions, keenly aware that Ma’dran was watching him. Now that Farkas had met him, it was almost eerie how similar he and Gem were. They made the same expression when they were pretending to be annoyed and they took the same ungodly amount of honey in their tea. They both had a dagger in their boot and a gleam of unbridled chaos in their eyes. And that’s just what he saw over dinner. 

He slept better than he had in a while, though that was only because Ma’dran forced him to drink some kind of tea. It was one of Gem’s blends, though he hadn’t a clue as to what was in it. All he could taste was spiced honey. 

He still woke up well before dawn. Ma’dran was awake.

“The mountain path is cold and dangerous. Little Cub will be sad if you were to die while looking for her. Though, should you break her heart the… gifts you have from your blood will mean nothing.”

“Got it.” Much to his surprise, Ma’dran snorted and held out a small pack. 

“These potions will help you catch up. Do not take them all at once, that will kill you and then Khajiit will bring you back just to gut you myself. Now go.”

Farkas downed one of the potions and ran.

Genevieve

She ended up staying an extra day, just to make sure Sofie was comfortably settled in. She stayed at the Bee and Barb instead of Honeyside. Iona found her room within minutes of stepping inside and, after bullying a few nosy patrons away, sat down and demanded to know what was going on.

“I’m trying to keep all this Dragonborn mess away from my family. So, I’m pretending that the Dragonborn and Genevieve Archembeau are two separate people.”

“So what am I supposed to call you when your in this getup?”

“Lokstrunzii or Zii. It’s dovahzul.”

“Great. Don’t disappear again. Your muscly boyfriend has been going back and forth trying to find you and it’s really fucking annoying. I don’t care how cursed you think you are. At least write once in a while so I don’t have to deal with a giant moping puppy.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes shooed her out the door. 

She left early the next morning, deciding to walk instead of taking the wagon again. Sure, she’d make it back to Whiterun faster, but she needed to save her gold. She’d make it there in the early hours of Lucia’s birthday, but it would be better than draining her almost painfully limited funds. Running four households was expensive.

Farkas

He knew the answer to his question the moment he saw Iona’s face. He groaned and dropped into one of the chairs on the deck, frustration writhing under his skin. It was early evening and he’d been running for for-fucking-ever. Most of the potions from Ma’dran were gone.

“Relax you overgrown mutt. She left this morning. She’s going to Whiterun for Lucia’s birthday, so if you leave, after you take a second to eat and drink something, you’ll probably catch up with her. Now wait here and I’ll get you some food.”

He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to go chase down Gem. But Iona was scary when she’s mad and he didn’t particularly feel like pissing her off just because his patience was starting to run thin.

Iona’s food wasn’t nearly as good as Gem’s, but it was warm and filling, so he wasn’t complaining. Much.

At least he was back on the road within the hour. It would take the rest of the potions, but by the Nine, he was going to catch up!

Genevieve

It was quite late. The moons were high and everything was sleeping, even the torchbugs and luna moths. She’d run into a few zombies, but those had easily been taken care of. Dawnbreaker was quite useful for that sort of thing.

Lucia’s present, a beautiful elven dagger and a book of ancient Nordic songs, weighed heavily in her pack. She’d stay the entire day, but she couldn’t afford to be much longer. The gods-awful cultists had attacked her a few hours before, keenly reminding her of all the people that were hunting her in one form or another.

Cultists, the Thalmor, the remnants of her village, Bitch-Briar, vampires, dragons.

Her very existence truly was a curse. 

Farkas

He was close. He could smell her her spice-honey-herb scent and it was driving him and the wolf nuts. Farkas slid down the mountain, his heart thudding in his ears.

There.

He could see her.  Even from here she looked small and tired. She had her staff. She was limping, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. Had she healed more? Or was she simply adjusting to her injury?

“GEM!” he shouted, skidding down the last slope of the mountain. She froze, twisting to look over her shoulder.

Then she bolted.

Farkas cursed and sprinted after her.  

Chapter Text

Genevieve

She knew there wasn’t really a point in running. She was tired and her leg was throbbing. It was likely it would buckle any step and send her sprawling across the ground. That, and Farkas was unfairly fast when he wanted to be.

A pair of arms wrapped around her middle and moments later she was pinned flat on her back by a very pissed off Farkas.

“Do you,” he breathed, “have any idea what you do to me?”

Farkas

Tackling an injured woman who was less than half his size wasn’t his proudest moment, but by the Nine he’d had enough. He was straddling her, holding both of her arms against the ground and using his weight to keep her pinned. She was completely relaxed, despite having been running from him mere seconds before. She had also turned a lovely shade of red, though her armor kept him from seeing just how far the blush went.

He slowly sat back, letting go of her arms.

She was looking at him with those big blue eyes of hers. His mind was a mess. He wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to do even more, most of it involving far less clothing and far more touching.

“Can I kiss you?”

Gem’s eyes widened and the next thing he knew, he was being pulled down and finally, finally kissing her.

He pulled away far too quickly for both of their tastes, but he didn’t cave to Gem’s soft whine or unfairly distracting pout.

“You ran away, love.” He gently cradled her face with once hand, the other keeping him from falling forward. He traced his thumb along her soft, pretty lips. “You ran away and made me wait. So now that I’ve found you, I’m going to make you wait.” He leaned down and pressed a trail of kisses down her throat. Gods, she tasted divine. “We’re going to go back to Whiterun. We’re going to spend the day celebrating with the children and you’re not going to leave my sight. Then, and only then, am I going to taste you.” He knew for a fact that his silver eyes were glowing now. Poor Gem’s eyes were blown wide and her breathing wasn’t quite even anymore. Her scent was a rich, delicious taste on his tongue. Farkas ran his thumb over her lips again. “You’re mine. You’ve claimed me as yours several times, but it goes both ways. Understand?”

Gem nodded and he rewarded her with a mark on the soft skin of her throat.

He got up, pulling her up with him. As soon as she was all the way up, he swept her off her feet. After all, her leg was hurt, why should she walk when he was perfectly willing to carry her?

Genevieve

Farkas carried her all the way into Breezehome. He didn’t even let her stand to open the door, choosing instead adjust his hold on her so she could reach her key. Once they were inside, he shut the door behind him with a gentle kick and carried her up the stairs.

He hadn’t been kidding when he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. He helped her out of her armor and grinned his crooked, wolfish grin when she changed into one of the shirt’s she’d… borrowed from him. Her face was burning, especially when he settled onto the bed behind her. He pulled her against his chest, his hands heavy and warm as they traced patterns onto any skin they could reach. Sleep claimed her as his pressed nose to her neck, inhaling her scent with slow, deep breaths. 

She drifted between consciousness and dreams for a while. A warm calloused hand traced patterns on her bare belly, the over-sized shirt having ridden up during the night. Soft breaths ghosted across the skin on the back of her neck. She could stay like this.

A quiet creak tugged her more towards the waking realm. A delighted gasp accompanied the patter of small footsteps that came close. If she had to guess, whomever it was was standing right at the edge of the bed.

Behind her, Farkas shifted.

“Mornin’. Surprised to see us?” His rumbling voice was just barely above a whisper.

“You made it! Did you get back after we went to bed?”

“Mmmhm. She was on her way back when I caught up. Told you, she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Think you can give us another hour before we get up?” A gentle hand brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “She hasn’t been sleepin’ well. Though, I’m sure she’d be happy to cuddle if you wanted to.”

The bed dipped and small body settled against her, slowly wiggling under her arms. Sleep started to fully claim her once more, but not before two more small bodies joined their sister.

Genevieve woke up to a head of golden hair tickling her nose. She knew for a fact that her other two children were somewhere in the tangle of limbs that surrounded her, but at the moment, all she could see was Lucia.

“Mornin’ Mama.” Lucia wriggled and fidgeted until she was at eye level with Genevieve.

“Morning. Hope I didn’t sleep too late to celebrate your birthday with you.” She brushed a few golden strands out of her daughters face. Lucia shook her head.

“Uh-uh. Its still early! I was just excited so I was up before the sun was! Papa said you were tired but I could cuddle so I did ‘cause your comfy!”

Genevieve laughed and started to sit up, attempting to wiggle out from underneath Farkas’ arm. He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled her closer.

“Farkas, I have to make breakfast!”

“’ll h’ve ‘ou f’r br’kfast.”

“Farkas!” she hissed, feeling a blush creep across her face. “Little ones!”

He groaned and opened his eyes. He glanced from her to Lucia to Alesan and Braith, who were still mostly asleep and half on top of both of their parents. He slowly sat up and stretched, grunting quietly. Lucia tilted her head.

“What’d he say Mama?”

“Nothing, love.”

It took longer than usual for her to get ready for the day. Alesan and Braith had woken up and sleepily shuffled down the stairs with their sister a few minutes after Genevieve returned to the waking world. Farkas kept her close for another minute, eventually letting her slip off the bed and pull on one of her soft dresses. He insisted on holding her in his lap when she braided her hair and changed her earrings. He wouldn’t stop nosing her neck or touching any skin he could get his hands on. He was being a teasing bastard and they both knew it.

Lydia gave her a knowing look when they finally made it down the stairs.

The day passed surprisingly fast. They went to the market right after breakfast, Lucia cheerfully chattering about all that had happened as Genevieve bought the ingredients she needed for dinner. Lucia had asked for beef stew, but specifically her birth mother’s recipe. She’d done her best to describe it and helped pick out the vegetables she knew were in it. It was a little different than the usual recipe. It had leeks and parsnips, not just carrots, and it had a little bit of farro. Lucia hadn’t been certain what kind, but she’d remembered her mother had added a splash of a dark wine. It sounded delicious.

Genevieve would also be making bread and herbed butter to accompany the stew. Thankfully, she had all the things she needed for her special sweet rolls, so she’d be making some of those as well. 

Other that taking the children up to Jorrvaskr while she made her sweet rolls, Farkas hovered at her side the entire day. He was being ridiculously cuddly, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. 

Lucia’s party was a little different than Alesan’s had been. She’d celebrated with her friends up at Jorrvaskr, wanting just her family to be at her birthday dinner. She’d received a few gifts from the Companions and her friends, each of them related to music or language in some form. Once she’d gotten back, she’d carefully placed her small pile of gifts on her bed and settled next to Genevieve, who was fussing over the pot of stew.

“Smells delicious, Mama!”

“Oh, good. Would you like to taste it? I’m not quite sure if I’ve gotten it right.”

Lucia bobbed her head, carefully taking a spoon and dipping it into the pot. The she pulled it back and blew on it a few times before placing it into her mouth. Her entire face lit up in sheer delight.

“It’s perfect Mama!” she quieted a little, leaning against Genevieve. “It’s a little different, but that’s just your love.”

“My love?” Genevieve asked, resting her hand on Lucia’s hair.

“Mmhm. I remember her saying that all her food was made with love and that everyone’s love  tastes just a little bit different. So even though its the same recipe it’s not quite hers.” After a moment of silence, she sniffled and said, “I’m never gonna taste her love again.”

“No,” Genevieve murmured, “you’re not. But I hope mine is an acceptable alternative. Not a replacement, but an alternative.”

Lucia snuggled closer and hummed, wiping a few tears from her eyes.

“Only al-ter-na-tive I want.”

After dinner, she and Farkas presented Lucia with their gifts. His gift was an exquisitely carved flute, clearly made by his own hand. Lucia squealed and hugged him tightly, refusing to let go for a solid five minutes. She did the same when she realized what the book Genevieve gave her was. Then she showed off her dagger to her siblings, Braith volunteering to show her how to use it (with supervision of course).

Just after they started to eat the sweet rolls, there was a quiet knock on the door.  Alesan beat everyone to the door, cracking it open and cheerfully pulling a sheepish Vilkas through the door a moment later.

“Lucia! Uncle Vilkas is back!”

Genevieve waved from her place in Farkas’ lap, her voice almost gone from a day of celebrating. He shot Genevieve and Farkas a knowing look and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Farkas just grinned and rested his chin on top of her head. She just rolled her eyes. Genevieve couldn’t help but notice how Lydia stiffened and how both she and Vilkas pointedly didn’t look at each other. Interesting.

It seemed Vilkas had been called to track down and handle a particularly dangerous escaped prisoner a week or so before. He’d promised to try an make it back for Lucia’s birthday. He’d just barely made it, much to his niece’s delight.

He and Lydia awkwardly avoided each other the entire time he was there. A few times, Genevieve swore she could see a faint blush staining their cheeks.

Vilkas left after giving Lucia her gift (a book on Altmer song and language) and being forced to eat one of the sweet rolls.

Eventually, the night was over. Lydia and Farkas insisted on cleaning up. Genevieve ushered the children to bed, tucking each of them in and, at Lucia’s timid request, singing them a lullaby for the first time in months.

Just as she stepped out of their room, a pair of muscled arms wrapped around her waist.

“My turn, love.”

She hummed, an idea popping into her head.