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ladytanithia · 3 months

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Writing WIP Wednesday (1/24)

For Chapter 22 of Best-Laid Plans - Miranja and Athis getting better acquainted.

I haven't written much in the last month. Barely picking at this chapter. Haven't drawn anything since Christmas. Long slump. Winter feels like a time for looking inward, coming up with ideas, germinating. I hope to have some things rolling - downhill, with momentum - by spring. In the meantime, here's part of a scene that's taken me weeks to grind out. Tagging my friends, but no obligation to read or share something if you're not inclined. @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

As they took adjacent seats at the table, Miranja commented, “You know, I’ve been all over Skyrim, and I’ve noticed that there are only a few cities where Dunmer live. Winterhold, where the college was once well populated with Dunmer, but now there are only a few left. Windhelm – ” Here Athis briefly interrupted her with a derisive snort. “ – where the Dunmer live and work but are treated as second-class citizens. Riften, where the Dunmer live and work alongside everyone else, including Argonians, and everyone but Khajiit are accepted with open arms. And here, where you and Irileth are esteemed members of society.”

“So what’s your point?” Athis asked, washing down his bread and cheese with a swig from his bottle of ale.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just being silly. Please don’t take this as condescending; it’s really not. I just feel rather proud of you for making a name for yourself in this mostly prejudiced province. I mean, I respect you.” She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “Also, you’re the only Dunmer I know, besides Irileth, who’s an actual warrior. It takes a different kind of strength and courage to be a warrior. I didn’t come here to be a warrior; I came here to be a mage. But I’ve felt obligated to become one since learning I was Dragonborn and that Alduin has returned. I’ve always been just a girl, and now everyone sees me as the savior of Skyrim. Of all Tamriel, even.”

She was, to an extent, fishing for sympathy and comfort, but Athis was oblivious to her hinting and was not inclined to coddle her even if he had noticed. “Well,” he said, “you’re in the right place if you’re looking for ‘elp in becoming a better warrior. We all ‘ave our specialties here. Farkas can teach you about two-handed weapons, Vilkas is good wif heavy armor, Njada earned the name Stone-Arm because she’s great wiv a shield – but don’t tell ‘er I said that.”

Miranja smiled wryly, remembering the first time she’d entered Jorrvaskr and witnessed his maybe-not-so-friendly spar with Njada. She’d been humiliated right along with him, but she hadn’t even known his name yet and she hadn’t wanted to say or do anything to embarrass him. Now that she had him talking, though, she had to satisfy her curiosity.

“What is the deal with you and Njada? I don’t know if you remember, but I happened to come in here for the first time just as you and Njada were ‘discussing your differences.’”

“I knew you looked familiar. Yes, now that I think about it… you asked my name, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and you told me. Then it seems you promptly forgot about me,” she ribbed. “But I remembered you.”

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, if you’ll recall,” Athis replied defensively.

“It’s okay, Athis. I’m just teasing you. So…?”

“So, she’s got this ‘strong Nord woman’ attitude. If you’ve ever ‘eard Olfina Grey-Mane goin’ on about that, it’s because they’re friends. Njada can beat any man at Jorrvaskr in a fight – except Farkas, the big brawny s’wit. And I say that in the most loving o’ ways. Nord or not, he’s treated me like a brother since the day I joined. Anyway, it’s a superiority thing for ‘er. She likes to test everyone - and 'erself - about once a month. You just ‘appened to walk in on me getting my turn.”

“Ahh, so you’re saying that if I hang around here enough, I can expect her to do the same to me.”

“Exactly.”

They ate their fill, Miranja glancing stealthily at Athis every few moments, watching what he chose to eat, how his used his hands, listening to the sounds he made as he ate and replenished his body.

Something about sharing food and eating together seemed intimate to her; not just with Athis, but with anyone. Sometimes, food was scarce and hard-won, and the act of sharing it was generosity at its finest, helping others to survive, stoking their life force. This wasn’t one of those times of scarcity, but Miranja still enjoyed sharing meals with people whether she was on the giving or the receiving end of the deal. She’d shared the idea of the intimacy of sharing food with her parents once. They’d been surprised and intrigued by her point of view, and wondered, as they had many times before about some of her other ideas, how she’d reached that conclusion. She knew she was odd, but she didn’t care, when her ideas were pleasing to her.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr #miranja #athis #fanfic #ao3 #dunmer #tes #tanithia writes #wip wednesday

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coffee-at-daybreak · 2 years

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a simpler goodbye | farkas x reader

i'm back with more skyrim simping, this time feat. farkas B) thank you for all the love on my teldryn post! i appreciate it beyond words. i hope y'all enjoy this one too!

Despite it being fairly early in the day, the sun is coming down strong. Warmth beams down on your skin as you make your way up the stone steps next to Jorrvaskr. As you ascend to the top of the hill, the Skyforge comes into view, as does its handler pounding away at a freshly formed sword.

"Eorlund," you call out as you approach.

The Nord looks up, his arm freezing mid-air. He relaxes into a smile and stands up straight, turning to face you. "Ah, morning, Dragonborn. I think I know what you're here for."

"Is it ready?" You ask.

The smith nods and sets aside his current project before reaching down. He picks up another weapon leaning against the stone edge of the forge. He gives it a good toss before outstretching it towards you.

"I hope it's to your liking," he says.

You take the weapon from him delicately. It's exactly what you asked for - a brand new, sleek steel sword. The metal gleams and shines in the warm light of the rising sun, as well as the nearby forge flames. You turn it within your hand, admiring the firm leather wrapped around the hilt and the intricate markings carved into the metal, at the base of the blade.

"It's beautiful," you breathe, holding it at different angles and lengths. You gawk at it with wide, childlike eyes.

Eorlund chuckles. "I'm glad. You need a special weapon for such a special expedition."

The reminder behind his words makes nervousness tug at your belly. You'd asked him for this custom weapon in regards to your anticipated trip to Skuldafn. Odahviing had generously agreed to wait at the Dragonsreach balcony as you rushed to get preparations all night. You'd stocked up on potions and medicines at Arcadia's shop, as well as food and supplies at Belethor's. You had no idea what to expect - you just knew you had to be prepared. You trusted Eorlund more than any other smith in Whiterun to forge you a new dagger, and he gladly delivered.

"I'll put it to good use," you say as he hands you the matching leather sheath for the weapon. You give him another grateful smile as you attach it to your belt. "Thank you."

"Of course." Eorlund crosses his arms and tilts his head at you. "Who else knows of this venture of yours?"

"Only those I trust. My housecarl, a few friends here and there." You toss a subconscious glance over your shoulder at Jorrvaskr below. "And... most of the companions."

"Most?"

"Most." Thank Divines it's a short word, so he can't hear the obvious disappointment in your voice. Almost everyone there had shown their support. Athis and Torvar packed you a short "emergency" supply of ale. Njada gave you a last minute lesson on guarding your abdomen from a dangerous blow. Ria had given you a thick, warm cloak for the cold flight. Aela gave you some of her best arrows. Vilkas had merely given you a pat on the back, but considering it was Vilkas, that seemed more than enough support.

The person you wanted to see more than everyone else, though, avoided you all night. And as difficult as it was, you tried to ignore the hurt stabbing at you from deep within your chest whenever you thought about it.

"Well," Eorlund's gruff voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "I should return to Fralia before she wakes up. Don't want her to worry."

"Thank you again, Eorlund," you say as he heads for the stone steps leading down from the forge.

As he passes you, he reaches out and gives your shoulder a firm grip. "Best of luck to you, friend. Gods be with you."

The genuine care in his voice almost makes you choke right up there and then. You swallow down the tightness in your throat and spend another moment admiring the new weapon in your hand. You're busy giving it a few practice swings and lashes when you hear footsteps coming back up the steps behind you.

Thinking it's Eorlund returning for something, you joke without turning around, "Forgot something?"

There's a brief silence. "Course not."

You whip around. Farkas stands at the top of the steps, a short distance in front of you. His eyes look heavy. The usually bright, icy color of his irises seems dimmer, and there are bags beneath them. For a second, you wonder if he'd just woken up or something - especially since he isn't wearing his usual armor and he looks so.. weighed down.

You meet his gaze for only a second before turning your back to him again. "Seemed like you did last night."

Hiding the slight bitterness in your voice is hard. But how can you not be hurt? Everyone else sought you out, even if only for a few minutes. Nobody was brave enough to give you a solid, obvious farewell - probably because it was terrifying to think that this was an expedition you may not return from. But the gifts and the loose embraces and the words of encouragement were special enough, coming from your Companions.

Farkas isn't just one of your Companions, though. Your first friend, your most trusted friend, your dearest friend. The person who'd shared a sweet roll with you on your first day there, when you were a nervous whelp. He'd held you when you were a shaking, distraught mess after your first changing. He'd fought with you, protected you, been alongside with you for a number of missions and meetings.

Yet he didn't so much as give you a glance last night.

You hear him take a tentative step towards you. "That's... I was hoping to do it now."

There's a heaviness to his voice, as well. A slight lilt of sadness. You try to ignore the pang in your chest. Instead, you finally store your new blade in its new case at your belt.

"You're a little late. I'm leaving - now. I can't keep that dragon waiting for long."

You finally turn back around, starting to head for the steps. Farkas's hand catches your shoulder, stopping you.

"It can wait a minute longer," he says.

You finally look up at him. This close to him, you can see the orange lights of dawn in his eyes, and the smeared streaks of war paint along his eyelids. You also see that sadness, that heaviness in his eyes, much closer. It almost makes your breath still.

"Look," he starts in his gruff, quiet voice, "it's just... I didn't want to...."

He trails off, another whirlwind of battling emotions and feelings written in his eyes and slightly furrowed brow. You wait, but the silence that follows is filled with the sound of your hammering heart.

Farkas sighs. "I'm... not good with words."

Disappointment makes your stomach fall. Your entire body sags with sadness, then stones up all over again. You roll your eyes as you start to turn away. "Then your minute is up."

Before you can take another step, he catches your shoulder once more, except this time, it's enough power to turn you around completely. Just as you take a breath to bark out a protest, his hands take your face, and he's pulling you in.

His lips capture your own, firm but not forceful. Your knees just about buckle in surprise, but your hands are quick to place themselves over his powerful forearms, steadying yourself.

With your eyes shut tight, and the breath snatched completely out of you, you have no choice but to savor the feeling of his lips on yours, his facial hair rough on your skin, his fingers fitting perfectly along your cheeks.

Then - far too soon - he pulls back. You've barely gotten a chance to suck a breath in before he moves once more. This time, his powerful arms wrap around you, taking you in against his form and squeezing you. Warmth envelops you, one very different from that of the nearby forge.

"Be careful. I need you back in one piece."

His voice is quiet, and a little shaky. You have never heard it like that. He's always been stoic - kind, and friendly, and welcoming, but always has his composure. But now he's scared, and worried - perhaps even more than you.

Your eyes well up and you squeeze them shut to wall off tears. Your arms are quick in coming around to his back and torso, which you feel rise and fall with a heavy exhale. You squeeze him back, but it's nowhere near the strength he's giving. In fact, you can hardly breathe, but you don't mind it. How can you? All you can think about is how you will miss this, and how much you want to be able to do it again in a few days' time.

Perhaps Odahviing can wait a minute longer.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #tes #tesv #dovahkiin #dragonborn #farkas #farkas skyrim #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #fanfic #any feedback on my writing is greatly appreciated tyty!

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ariveth · 1 year

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“eavesdrop” 👀

"YOU OUGHT'A STOP MAKING YOURSELF SO AT HOME HERE."

Njada Stonearm. A better name would be stone-tongue, given how brutally blunt she could be. None of the Companions liked Ariveth, this she'd known from the moment she'd first walked into Jorrvaskr, but the fiery warrior was certainly the one most likely to make it vocally known. She turns reluctantly from the dining table she'd been scouring for snacks, facing the warrior with crossed arms.

"On your orders?"

"Yeah, so best heed well."

"Or what — are you going to challenge me to a duel for Farkas' honour?"

Njada scowls. "He may give you free reign around here, but that doesn't mean anyone else buys the cute act. I can see what you are, even if he can't."

"And what's that?"

"An egotistical, manipulative opportunist."

"Ah, poetic," Ariveth snickers. "C'mon. You think he needs protecting by you, from me? Big, tall, strong man like him? Think he'll be just fine without your concern."

"If you had any decency," Njada snaps, "you'd leave him be. He may not know any better, but he deserves more than to be toyed with."

She's not sure why that grates on her so much, but it propels her forward, her smirk disappearing. "'May not know any better'? I'd be shocked at how little credit you give him, were I not already aware of how often his so-called brothers and sisters disparage him. Think I haven't heard enough shouts of 'icebrains' and 'oaf' since I've been here?"

Njada bristles. "You've no right to judge us," she warns, "you don't know us."

"Right, and I don't care to." She's neither sure nor aware of what possesses her to continue, but the words spill out quick and without pause: "I know him, though. Warm, loyal, quick to forgiveness, selfless with the kindest heart I've known. The most formidable warrior among you; humble about it, too. I couldn't care less about how well he can interpret daedric text or contemplate the aurbis in the face of that."

The nord's eyes narrow. "Oh, such sweet words from a narcissistic, honourless mercenary. No wonder he's fallen for your deceit."

Ariveth smiles humorlessly. "He knows that narcissistic honourless mercenary far better than you'd think. Y'should get used to me being around."

"Fine," Njada sneers. "Bide your time. Sooner or later he'll kick you out himself."

Ariveth's grin widens. "I'll take that bet."

#played a bit fast n loose w this one to include some of that companions drama hehe hope its ok!!#i feel like my girl njada would absolutely be the first one to confront her lkjsefdhc #✗ — ABOUT: FARKAS ｡#✗ — INQUIRIES ｡#austerulous

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holycrowe · 1 year

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I know she's not everyone's first choice but one time when I married Njada Stone Arm she sounded so happy and the fact that Ria attended the wedding in her party? So freakin cute. Also her married dialogue is endearing. Or maybe that's just me, i like my women a little rude. So maybe that's just me.

#like aw ria you sweetheart #wouldn't be surprised if not many people liked her but ria was like I'll go #Skyrim #tes #also a mod i have gave her an tragic backstory and god am i a sucker for that #i was like oh my god no wonder you get spikey with people its ok ily

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datorchoe · 4 years

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Companions Headcanons

I’m gonna do these for the factions and followers. Please add your own to these <3

- Kodlak actually raises cattle. He has what we in Kentucky call a “farmers tan”. He also has a rooster that Farkas named Henrick.

- Kodlak also does that dad thing where he’ll sit in the chair and fall asleep out of nowhere. Vignar also does this. Eorland doesn’t cause he’d fall into the Skyforge.

- Speaking of Eorland, once every month, he’ll take all of the Companions armor and fix it and make them sit in normal clothes. They all dread this day.

- Before the whole civil war, Avulstien and Thorald Grey Mane were honorary members. Fralia and Tilma are best friends.

- Skjor has some serious anger issues. When Torvar joined, he pulled a prank on Skjor and he got so angry he crushed a brick with his bare hands. Torvar never again crossed him.

- Aela has insane eyesight. She can read signs from a million feet away. Skjor finds it really hot.

- Speaking of their relationship, she is the only person he has not once been angry at. He also stares at her for hours before someone notices and makes fun of him.

- Athis doesn’t come directly from Sothsteim but he did live there for a period of his childhood. He and his family were part of House Redoran.

- He also can use destruction magic fairly well. He learned it from his mother.

- He and Torvar have this love-hate relationship where they will fight one second then agree to grab a drink together the next.

- Njada has an absolute infatuation with bears. Every time she’s asked to kill a bear, she just can’t do it. One time for Christmas, Athis jokingly got her a teddy bear and she still has it. She knows way too much about them for it to be sane.

- Njada also had an incredibly strict upbringing. With just her and her mom, they were travelers. Her strength comes from those days.

- Brill is actually pretty good with a knife. He’s not the strongest of all the Companions, but if you give him a knife and tell him to go pickpocket some dude, he can do it with ease.

- Ria loves botany. Her and Arcadia are actually pretty good friends. They talk about flowers together.

- Ria and Vilkas also have a book club.

- Vilkas is older than Farkas by 2 minutes.

- While Vilkas outclasses Farkas in intelligence, Farkas is way stronger than Vilkas. When they were younger, Vilkas was bullied by the older kids for reading so much and Farkas would beat them up. One time they bullied Farkas for being an idiot and he sent them to the doctor. No one dared bully them after that.

- Farkas also collected rocks as a child and would ask Vilkas what they were. One day he brought back a huge chunk of iron ore to Jorvasskr and Eorland accidentally melted it. Farkas cried for two days. Then Eorland made it into his first sword.

- Farkas and Ria are the only ones in Jorvasskr who know anything about hair. Tilma cuts their hair but Farkas and Ria style it. Kodlak let baby Farkas braid his hair all the time.

- Jergen wasn’t the twins real father, but he did find them on the street when they were ten. He took them back to Jorvasskr and raised them. Then he died fighting in the Great War. Farkas still loves his father dearly but Vilkas dislikes him for abandoning them. Vilkas isn’t very good with his feelings.

#the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #the companions #kodlak whitemane #skjor #aela the huntress #farkas #vilkas #ria #njada stone-arm #eorland grey mane #dorc writes

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 3 years

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do you think the companions have a closet of like. flea and tick preventing stuff/medicine somewhere

Imagine someone opens that closet and they don’t know about the werewolf thing and they ask someone “hey why do we have all this dog stuff??? Where are the dogs???”

Hey, not only do I think that, I think it's entirely possible that they have their own mini veterinary closet, including the dog treats. The dog treats are the most important.

I'd like to thank you, though, because as soon as I read this ask, my mind start buzzing, or yipping, as the little dogs, might, and, well. . .

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

Lucia's sure taking a long time . . .

Lars fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table, casting his eyes once again to the stairwell that led down to the Companions' living quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd sat around their hearth to wait on his best friend and it definitely wouldn't be the last, he was sure, but he always felt a little nervous sitting by himself as large warriors with huge blades went about their business around him. Eating, drinking, laughing . . . wrestling. The first time he'd seen Lucia's papa and uncle get into an all out brawl there on the hearth stones, he'd had the shakes until long after his grandma tucked him into bed.

A thud on the table startled the boy from his thoughts. "Here, kid, watch this for me, will you?" Lars stared wide-eyed as Ria, who was generally the nicest out of all the Companions — aside from Lucia, who insisted she was one despite only being ten — darted back up the steps and out the double doors to the Winds District. Not a moment later, the doors from the training yard banged open as Njada Stonearm — who was definitely the meanest Companion — barged in, eyes aflame like the hearth. Lars shrank back in his seat.

"Ria!" her voice echoed above the crack of the fire and the murmur of a few others talking across the room.

"Not here," called Athis, snickering.

"Jus' missed 'er," slurred Torvar.

A growl left the Nord woman's throat as her eyes swivelled round and landed on Lars, who was peaking out from behind the large satchel Ria'd left on the table. The boy's eyes bulged in horror as she took three long strides and arrived beside him, arms crossed under a face painted with a harsh scowl.

(Sometimes, a lot of times, Lars wished he was brave enough to ask Njada Stonearm to beat up Braith, but he had the feeling she'd either laugh him off — or worse, encourage the Redguard girl to redouble her efforts to kick his—)

"—dumped this here, huh?"

"W-wha—"

A hand, large and strong enough to crush his skull, shook the bag in front of him. "Ria left this here, didn't she?"

"Ye-yeah—"

"Quit mumbling!"

"Y-yes sir, I, I mean ma'am!"

If anyone ever looked absolutely done with the world, it was Njada Stonearm in that moment. Lars squirmed under her glare, but said no more, and the Nord woman grumbled under her breath. "I've gotta hunt down that rabbit brained . . ." she trailed off, eyeing Lars with a cold interest. "You. Take this downstairs and put it in the Circles' supply closet."

Lars tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he let out a strangled cough instead. He choked a gasp when Njada Stonearm thumped him on the back. "Get going, kid," she said as she turned on her heel and marched out the same doors Ria fled through earlier.

With shaking legs, Lars got to his feet and hefted the satchel into his arms. There was a faint clink! clink! of glass, and he wondered if it was some kind of fancy reserve just for the Circle. He knew Lucia's mama was fond of Imperial brandies, so maybe that was it?

He crossed the hall, an easy task as Athis and Torvar promptly went back into their cups once Njada Stonearm had redirected her ire to Lars and so they didn't bother him. It was when he got to the stairs that the wobble in his knees became a full shake. Braith often told him he was infected with the Rattles and no one bothered telling him because it was more fun to watch him convulse like a half dead draugr. Sometimes, like right now for instance, he almost believed her.

One of the men barked a laugh, Lars wasn't sure which, but it jarred his limbs into motion; he eased his way down the wooden stairs, scared every moment that he'd trip, fall, and anger not only Njada Stonearm, but the whole Circle as well. His heart lodged in his throat. If he broke the bottles and made a mess of their contents, would he ever be allowed back in Jorrvaskr? Would he ever get to play with Lucia again?

The heavy door into the basement quarters was an almost reassuring barrier to the boy as he aligned his back with it, arms full of the satchel's awkward bulk. With a grunt, he thrust back, and the door creaked slowly open. When it was wide enough, he slipped around the dense oak, and once again hesitated. Now where? He didn't actually know where the Circles' supply closet was. Though, he thought, shifting from foot to foot with the wide hall empty before him, it might be down near the Circles' private quarters.

The supply closet wasn't really the difficult to find, being one of the few closed doors at the end. The other was the door to the Harbinger's room, but that'd been shut for months since . . . Lars swallowed, coughed again, and with the bag balanced precariously in one arm under his chin, he opened the door.

"What're you doing?"

"Gah!" Lars teetered forward, and if it weren't for Lucia's hand clenching the back of his shirt, he'd have fallen face first into—

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?" Lars asked, once he was steady on his feet and able to take in the concents of the supply closet.

Beside him, Lucia's face scrunched in clear confusion. Shelves on shelves of bottles, bright yellow and each marked with a label depicting some kind of nasty insect underneath a vivid red X, filled the majority of their vision. Lars' arms almost went slack under the weight of the bag. Was he carrying more of that stuff? Flea and tick repellent? Below the shelves was a stack of huge sacks that smelled a little too strongly of dried meat. Was that—?

"What's all this for?"

Lars gaped at Lucia. "You mean, you don't know?"

She shook her head, teeth gnawing her lip.

"Lucia? Lass, what are you doing in the closet?"

The two kids whirled around to find Lucia's uncle striding down the hall toward them. In a blur, Lucia sprinted to him, and, grabbing at his gauntlet clad arm, hung on for dear life. "Uncle Vilkas! Uncle Vilkas! Did you know about the pet medicine? Are those bags full of doggy treats? Oh! Is Mama getting me a puppy? Is that why she left for Markarth yesterday? Is she getting me a war dog so I can take him with me when I'm doing contracts? I've always wanted a puppy! The Circle always goes and visits the Jarl's kennels and I never get to go!"

"What—"

"I mean, why else do Mama and Papa always smell like they've been rolling around in a dog bed whenever they come back in before breakfast? Or when they're sneaking in during the middle of the night? Or when—"

"Lucia! What are you talking about, lass?" Vilkas, at last, cut in.

"Oh! Well, I was consalt— consulk—"

"Consulting," her uncle supplied.

"Yeah, consulting my beasty, beast, uh, animal guide before I came looking for Lars 'cause we're gonna go hunt goblins in his mom's vegetable garden when I found him in the Circles' closet, which I thought was weird because I thought this was where Papa was hiding Mama's New Life present — so maybe Papa is getting Mama the puppy? — but I didn't get to ask Lars why 'cause he was about to crash into the shelves, and then I'd have had to help him clean up the mess, and I'd rather go hunt the goblins than do chores, so . . ." Lucia rambled on, fast as a dartwing. All the while Vilkas nodded along to what she said, before at length raising a hand to hush her, his pale eyes resting on Lars. The young boy felt his knees start to wobble again.

"What's this, then?" Vilkas gestured to the bag.

"Uh, Njada Stonearm sent me down with it, sir. She um, she said to bring it to the Circles' supply closet . . ." By the end, Lars could barely hear his own voice, but whatever he heard seemed to placate Vilkas. The man took the satchel from Lars', the boy's thin arms falling limp with relief.

"I'll take care of this, Battle-Born. Lucia, you two run along," he said, holding the bag as easy in one hand as one might hold an apple. Lars couldn't help but feel a little envy at the dark warrior's ease and strength.

"Wait," Lucia's fingers twisted together around the hilt of her wooden sword. Lars hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. "I don't understand though! Is it a puppy? Is it Mama's? Will she share him? Uncle—"

Vilkas laughed. Lars never really heard the man laugh before. It was different from his brother's: deeper, richer, almost wolfish, whereas Farkas' laughter was a booming bark. The boy's brow creased at the comparisons, his eyes traveling to the inside of the closet again. There was more in there beside pet medicine and dog food, but before he could read anymore labels, Lucia's uncle shut the door and was ushering them down the hall a moment later.

"You'll know soon enough, lass. One day, when you're in the Circle yourself," he was saying.

"In the Circle? Myself?" Lucia's eyes glittered.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He pulled the basement door open and waved them up the stairs. "Then, and not a moment before. And lass?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"While you're out hunting goblins, keep the little Battle-Born out of too much trouble, will you? Lad needs someone looking out for him." Lucia was already halfway up the stairs, but Vilkas could still reach to ruffle her dark ashy hair, and the girl preened under the attention.

Lars shifted about in embarrassment, but the Companion ignored him.

The two were halfway to his mother's garden, Lucia delivering a flash lecture on the nature of goblins, when a thought struck Lars, hitting him right between the eyes like Braith often did.

If the Companions didn't have any dogs, then why did he hear howling echo from Jorrvaskr at night?

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archived18482939204848 · 5 years

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More aphys questions bdkdjkdj 2,3 and 13 :0!?

YOURW THE BEST GHGJGJGJCJ

2. How educated is your oc? Did their parents teach them, did they have a tutor or were they apprenticed to a master, or did they attend a university? What university? What are they educated in? How long did their education take? (Learned skills like blacksmithing count here too!)

There are a lot of famous bosmeri scholars (uesp is a lifesaver!!) and her family are all mages, so she learned to read and write at a very young age so she could understand magical tomes. Besides from the obvious skills of different magika schools (restoration and alteration as a focus) and archery, her mom made sure she knew how to sew and fletch arrows and she had a small amount of knowledge of whittling and crafting. The rest of her education was self taught.

3. Does your oc have any kind of crafting skills that either aren’t in-game or don’t have as much importance in-game as they would in real life? (For example, can your oc sew or weave, etc? Are they skilled in any kind of art? Can they make jewelry or work glass? Are they musicians? etc)

Aphys can Sew enough to mend clothing, Vilkas taught her to knit, and she had a skill for making small jewelry!

13. Does your oc have any particular rivalry or mutual dislike with any NPC?

Njada Stone-Arm......

#aphys

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whispersafterdusk · 5 years

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Raven Among Wolves - ch 2

"Any idea who she is? She's been speaking to Kodlak a lot."

Vilkas glanced to Aela, taking several swallows of mead from his mug before replying. "I do not know. I would like to know however."

"I should have known she was a mender from the smell...it's like sticking my head in Arcadia's place."

"She's related to Kodlak," Farkas spoke up, not even looking over at them from where he sat beside his brother. ((Continued below cut))

Both Vilkas and Aela turned to stare at Farkas; the man had done little more than sit in the mead hall these last few days and Vilkas knew he was getting restless but for the life of him he couldn't think of a time when he'd seen Farkas anywhere else, much less speaking to the woman they were all curious about.

"Where did you hear that?" Aela asked.

"From her," came Farkas's simple reply. "Thanked her for fixing me up, got to talking."

A small twinge of jealousy hit Vilkas again and he quickly took another swig from his mug to hide his face.

"Related to Kodlak..." Aela muttered, looking thoughtful. "I wonder how. She looks young enough to be his daughter but doesn't look anything like him...he's never mentioned any family before."

"Don't know," Farkas replied. "Didn't ask. Figured it wasn't my business and that she said as much as she wanted me to know."

The doors to Jorrvaskr were flung open then as Skjor, Athis, and Njada came in in a tumble, laughing and in high spirits, talking over one another about some kind of bandit hunt and a mine. They'd been gone over a week; it was good to see them back and in one piece and Vilkas felt his own spirits rising as their triumphant mood overtook the room, their laughter contagious. Drinks were poured and they all sat and listened to how Skjor had led the other two down into a mine being held ransom by some upstart group of bandits -- they'd kicked the doors in and systematically eliminated every bandit that didn't immediately surrender, and of the ones that did a few had bounties in Whiterun so they'd secured not just the payment for retaking the mine but also the hefty bounties for turning the criminals in.

It had been a fantastic hunt, a harrowing fight through tight and dim tunnels, and then a large payout for their troubles -- little wonder they were in such good moods.

He'd not really eaten much before he'd gotten to drinking with the others; eventually Vilkas felt the drink coming on and knew he should stop before he got to the point where he'd be a stumbling, non-functioning fool. Getting up he clapped a hand to Skjor's and Athis's backs, nodded at Njada across the table, and then carefully made his way to the rear door and out into the night air.

At first he didn't notice her there - he was upwind of her this time - but after a few deep breaths of the cooler air he'd heard the sound of a book shutting and had looked up to see her perched on a bench at one of the tables, watching him.

Of all times to encounter her again, it had to be when he was drunk...great.

"Not going to get sick, are you?"

Gods, he hoped not. "No. I just needed some fresh air," he managed after a pause. His head at least felt a little clearer out here and away from the drink and cheers but a knot of anxiety settled in his gut as he opened his mouth to elaborate further but no words came.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the door. "Sounds like someone's excited in there."

He wanted to explain their celebration, he truly did...but all that fell out of his mouth was a quiet "ah" followed by his mind blanking on what to say and what order. Feeling a flush in his face that wasn't because of the alcohol he turned away, clearing his throat; a quick glance showed her staring at him with a look of confusion and a bit of distaste.

Taking a deep breath Vilkas forced himself to turn back to her. "Sorry, I- ah. I was not expecting to find anyone out here." She acknowledged him with a quiet hum; his stomach churned with mead and nervousness, and finally his mind latched onto something. "Thank you for mending my brother."

That prompted a smile from her. "You're welcome. It was my pleasure to help."

"I have never seen him that badly hurt before."

"It was just a few broken ribs that likely poked into a lung. He wouldn't have died from the injury itself - it would have been a very long and agonizing recovery - but that sort of thing lets you get sick a lot easier, and it's harder to get over something even as simple as a cold."

"Even still. You fixed it with a skill I haven't seen outside of the temple." Once he'd got going the words seemed to come easier.

Her expression brightened at his compliment and the anxiety in his gut squirmed at it. "That's kind of you to say. Thank you."

Vilkas gestured to the bench and she nodded briefly; he carefully crossed the few feet and slid onto the bench facing her, trying to ignore a rising feeling of shyness. "How...how long have you been a mender?"

"I started studying my mother's books and notes when I was ten summers old. When I was fifteen I started sneaking out to go learn from the priestesses at the temple."

Vilkas found it difficult to look at her directly for very long (between the single burning brazier against the stone wall behind the training dummies and the moonlight that filtered through the slats of the roof above them the soft light gave her an even softer look). "Temple, you say? Which? I do not believe I have seen you in Whiterun before."

She shook her head. "No, not here. In Riften."

"You've come a long way."

"I suppose I have."

She smiled softly at him and he realized his heart was hammering against his ribs. "My brother - he mentioned you are related to Kodlak. Somehow," he added awkwardly.

Her smile faltered slightly and he froze. "Yes, I am. He's my last living blood relative."

Vilkas paused - was he insulting her? Being too nosy?

To his relief she continued. "After my father drank himself to death I found a book among his belongings where he'd been tracing our bloodline back through the generations. Kodlak Whitemane's great grandfather sired a son on a married woman -- I suppose to spare the honor of everyone involved he left the child and never went back or had a hand in raising him."

"I see. And I am sorry to hear of your loss."

"Don't be," she replied, tone going flat. "My father was not a great man. Or even a good man."

"I see you have met our Master at Arms."

They both turned as Kodlak strode out of the doors and came over to settle on the bench beside Vilkas.

The woman's attention returned to him, her look curious; he struggled to keep his expression friendly but could hardly stand her scrutiny. Her comment earlier about whether he was about to be sick or not came to mind - the more he tried to suppress his anxiety the more a mild nausea was taking hold.

'What the hell has gotten into me?'

"Master at Arms?" she repeated. "I didn't realize I was speaking to someone titled."

"It's - it's nothing. I do not require titles," he managed though his mouth had gone suddenly dry again.

"Ever the humble one," Kodlak chuckled. He looked to the woman with a smile. "I have thoroughly read over everything you provided and much of it matches up with what I know of my own family line. It would seem your father was correct, and we are of the same blood."

The woman's smile widened. "I'm so relieved to hear it. I would have hated it if it...if it was a lie."

Kodlak's expression softened and he gave her a kindly smile. "It is all right, child. I'll admit I find it hard to believe I could have any family remaining either. My question to you, however, is what are you expecting to do now?"

She was silent for a long time; Kodlak sat patiently, hands clasped on the table in front of him, and Vilkas wondered if he should leave or stay but the night air was gradually sobering him up and strangely, with Kodlak's arrival, some of the nervousness in his stomach had evaporated.

"I suppose I hadn't...really thought that far ahead," the woman answered finally. She looked up from the table to meet Kodlak's gaze. "My only real goal was to find what family I had left. Now that I have, I don't really know what to do."

"That is something we both have in common then," Kodlak chuckled. He silently studied her then - Vilkas knew that look: he'd seen it dozens of times as the old man assessed and judged the would-be recruits seeking to find their fortune beneath Jorrvaskr's roof.

"If you can spare me the time..." the woman started, "I WOULD like to learn of you. Learn of the family I didn't know I had."

"That I can do," Kodlak replied. He was still giving her that appraising gaze, then suddenly he stood. "But, I feel you are not just here seeking me. Maybe you'll discover both the question and the answer to it, in time. Until then feel free to come and go as you will -- I will speak to you any time you wish."

"Thank you," she said, voice full of gratitude.

Kodlak offered them both a nod and then disappeared back inside; as the door swung open the sounds of merriment could still be heard - it wasn't as loud now as it had been earlier but Vilkas had completely tuned it out while talking to the woman and had even forgotten that they were celebrating inside.

He was pleased to find that no nervousness or hesitation returned to him; he'd found courage and comfort in Kodlak's arrival but now that he'd gone Vilkas found he could look the woman in the eyes without his stomach doing flips.

For good measure however he reminded himself that she was likely married. It helped.

"Would you care to go inside? There is food and drink. More than enough for an extra mouth."

She glanced to the door, lightly chewing on her lower lip; the small action drew his attention and he found himself letting his gaze trace the shape of her lips and jaw, down her neck and to her shoulder-

"I know I've been invited to come and go...but I don't feel I truly belong inside there."

"You are a guest of Kodlak's, none will question your presence."

"That's not really... Nevermind. I suppose I could go inside...it's not much different from what I've been doing already, I guess."

He wasn't entirely clear on what she meant -- well, he understood that she'd been visiting with Kodlak inside Jorrvaskr, but whatever other meaning she'd hinted at he couldn't begin to guess. The bench underneath him scraped across the stone as he stood; she half stood and gracefully lifted her legs one after the other over the bench without touching or budging it, then circled around the table to follow him inside.

The excitement had died down even more than Vilkas had realized and most that still sat within the mead hall were eating or enjoying the warmth of the fire that was slowly burning out in the pit before the tables. Skjor had taken the chair he'd been in before so he moved to the other side of Farkas and used a leg to slide the chair to his right out for the woman to sit in; he felt a little warmth as she slid in beside him. Farkas offered her a nod in greeting that she returned with a smile, and Skjor and Aela had their heads together talking in low voices and didn't notice that she'd joined them at the table.

"Looks like they're letting anyone in these days."

The woman flinched as Athis - the elf was more than a little drunk - fell into the empty seat beside her and slapped a hand on the table in front of her.

"Watch your tongue," Vilkas snapped. The words tumbled out of him before he'd really realized what he was saying. Athis blinked at him in surprise and Vilkas gave him a warning look.

While she'd been startled initially now the woman didn't seem too fazed, doing little more than leaning away from the dunmer which brushed her shoulder to Vilkas's. "You're drunk, elf. When you're sober maybe I'll explain why I'm here."

"Your sword as sharp as your tongue?" Athis chuckled. He rubbed at his face, staring her down - he seemed more curious than anything, and the woman still didn't seem bothered by him. "Who're you?"

"Tormlia," she answered.

Tormlia... It rang in his ears; Athis nodded at her, clumsily patted her shoulder and muttered a welcome, then got up to stumble toward the stairs.

Vilkas watched him go; he felt...odd. Not exactly angry toward the man, but...something like it, maybe with a bit of annoyance mixed in. When Athis was out of sight Vilkas turned back to Tormlia (it felt strangely wonderful to finally know her name) and met her gaze with a bit of a twinge in his stomach.

"He is not normally like that."

She shrugged. "Enough drink can make anyone into anything."

He thought back to her earlier comment about her father's death and carefully nudged away the mug in front of him. "Where are you staying?"

"The Bannered Mare. Hulda was kind enough to reduce her pricing since I explained I would be there for an extended time."

Vilkas frowned. "There are empty beds here. You shouldn't be paying for a bed."

"It's all right. I wouldn't feel right staying here. Kodlak also said I could sleep here, but..."

"But what?"

She sighed, frowning. "I don't belong here - I'm no warrior or glory seeker. I don't exactly deserve a bed here." After a moment she looked to him. "You don't need to worry about me, I don't mind the price at the inn. Let someone whose actually earned the bed sleep in it."

While he understood her logic (and in a way, agreed with it) it still bothered him and he didn't know why. He chose not to push the issue though and even if he'd wanted to he didn't get the chance as Aela came over and gestured for him to get up and follow her. With an apologetic look to Tormlia and giving Aela one tinged with annoyance he stood and moved over to where she and Skjor had been huddled together.

Skjor seemed smug, bordering on eager; only then did Vilkas realize that Farkas had apparently left the room - he pulled his brother's empty chair around and dropped into it, looking to Skjor expectantly.

"How do you feel about a hunt, brother?" Skjor asked.

"What are we hunting?"

Skjor leaned forward, his voice lowering enough that Vilkas could barely hear him. "We found them - they've taken over the fort at Gallows Rock and established a few camps near it. We need to find out just how strongly they're entrenched before they get any closer."

Vilkas knew who Skjor meant without him voicing it - the Silver Hand.

He wasn't sure at what point in the Companion's history that the Silver Hand had learned about the beast blood that the Circle carried but they were a group dedicated to wiping out werewolves and took any chance they got to hunt down any Companion they suspected of carrying the curse; Vilkas could remember a few innocent recruits that had been slain by the Silver Hand - recruits who knew nothing about the Circle's secret - and the reminder made his blood boil...but it was an anger tempered with a healthy dose of caution.

Gallows Rock... It was an old fort to the southwest of Windhelm; it sat at the base of a mountain and, thanks to a river that ran south of it, there was a pass they could follow that was a clear shot to Whiterun. This placed the group at an excellent location to keep an eye on the Companions -- all of them would be in danger, especially if any found themselves traveling east.

But... "How much have you scouted?"

"Not enough," Skjor admitted. "That's our next step."

"I am not one for scouting, I stand out too much," Vilkas said after a moment. And it was true, stealth was not his strong suit; he had to really focus to quiet his blood and remain hidden, and he didn't care to skulk about in the brush besides...it always felt too dishonorable to him. "Whatever you do be careful. If they're this close we could easily be hunted and outnumbered."

Skjor smirked. "Which is why we're going to eliminate them." The warrior looked to Aela who nodded to him; together they both got up and headed downstairs.

He watched them go, feeling troubled. Something about Skjor's look, and his words, gave Vilkas an uneasy feeling; he knew Skjor was the most experienced out of everyone under Jorrvaskr's roof and knew that the man wasn't one for recklessness.

And yet, still...something about the whole situation felt off, and that the Silver Hand were moving closer was no small worry.

Sighing Vilkas turned in his seat and looked back to where Tormlia was smiling up at Tilma; the old woman had forced cheese and bread on her that she was picking at politely.

"It's grown late," Tormlia was saying, "I should return to my room. Thank you, though. I haven't had fresh bread in an age."

Tilma squeezed her shoulder. "Sweet girl. Take care."

With that Tormlia stood and came around the tables; Vilkas rose from his chair when she approached as a wild, nervous feeling struck him and he mentally cursed Skjor for pulling him away. "You are leaving?"

Tormlia nodded. "I am. I'll return in the morning, probably." She eyed him up and down. "You're...Vilkas, yes?"

His heart felt lighter at that. "Aye."

She nodded with a small smile. "Thank you for the company and kindness, Vilkas. And, good night."

"G-good night," he replied, watching until she disappeared through the door. His frustration with Skjor intensified and he dropped back into his chair with a growl. Tilma gave him an odd look but she too retreated to the lower level of Jorrvaskr, leaving Vilkas alone in the mead hall.

He looked over the bread, cheeses, and what looked like mutton roast left warming by the dying fire; his stomach growled - he'd completely skipped dinner - but he didn't have any desire to eat alone.

When he stood up he almost knocked the chair out from under him; he paused long enough to straighten the chair back up then stomped moodily down the stairs to collapse onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a restlessness he couldn't place.

#Raven Among Wolves #raw #Raven Among Wolves ch 2 #vilkas #farkas #aela #skjor #kodlak #non-dragonborn #Companions #Silver Hand #AU #Skyrim

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mazurga · 1 month

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Audhelm doesn’t remember his life before the Companions.

Some of his new shield-siblings are deliberately choosing not to remember, or at least he hasn’t yet won them over enough for them to share. Audhelm can guess at pieces of Athis’ past, the distrust a Dunmer must face so far from home. And he has a pretty good idea of what debts Torvar must owe, from the times he’s awoken in the morning to find Torvar only just falling into bed across the way, trailing a strong scent of mead.

For Audhelm, though, there are simply no clues he might let slip about his history. It is as if his mind had been smelted down completely, and the steel only reforged into its new shape when Aela and Njada Stone-arm found him.

He’d awoken in the snow north of Whiterun, confused, naked, and afraid, and the last all the more desperately so when a pack of wolves set on him out of nowhere. He’d thrown out an alteration spell purely by reflex and laid down a thick trail of spikes, which had slowed the pursuing pack enough that Aela and Njada had been able to pick them off one at a time.

Afterwards, they’d looked him over--Aela had politely kept her eyes on his face--and decided that, despite the unusual braids in his beard, he might as well be a kinsman, since he wasn’t obviously mer, beast, or Redguard. His lack of clothing had, inexplicably, been a factor in that conclusion.

He hadn’t remembered his name. Still doesn’t. Njada had come up with Audhelm as an ironic joke, since he lacked both. She’d thought it was funny, although she had to explain that “aud” was an old word for “wealth”; Aela had just frowned at her until he told them it was fine.

And then they’d fed and clothed him, and brought him home to Jorrvaskr.

Audhelm is grateful, of course. From everything he’s heard in the Hall and around Whiterun, he could easily have died a hundred times over, wandering the wilderness armed with barely remembered scraps of spells (not to mention the lack of clothing). He doesn’t mind paying his dues to the Companions, either, so long as it isn’t roughing up random citizens or finding some noble’s lost ring. Collecting pelts and rescuing people suits him just fine.

It’s only…

He would honestly much rather spend his days picking mushrooms.

Audhelm isn’t much of an alchemist, that’s for sure. Putting random flower petals or leaves in his mouth, determining the right proportions to mix and for how long--none of it appeals to him, although he knows enough not to poison himself. (He probably isn’t much of a baker, either, though Tilma wouldn’t let him near her oven to try anyway.) He just knows mushrooms: the safest kinds to eat, where to find them in shade and soil. It’s probably what he was doing before Aela and Njada found him.

And it’s what he’s doing when he stumbles across Taliesin.

#skyrim #gif #elder scrolls #audhelm #skyrim mods #tesblr #skyrim taliesin #skyrim fic #tes fic #wip #ifttt #writing fic again!

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autuumnlocked · 6 years

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Blood Oaths: Chapter 3 (rewrite)

Vilkas x F!Dragonborn || sfw || 2107 words

The Circle argues, the Whelps argue... everybody argues, and Althea is given an encouraging lecture by Eorlund.

[AO3] & [FF.net]

The Circle members stood around the basin, the very thing forcing this discussion. Lycanthropy passed to each of them; each of them willing to accept the power and the consequences, whatever they were. That felt like a lifetime ago, or a different life altogether.

Silence draped over each of their shoulders, no doubt avoiding the question that bore into their minds. The young Dragonborn certainly didn’t want to face it.

“What do we do now?”

Her eyes shot up to Farkas as his voice echoed softly against the stone. She followed his line of sight; Farkas stared at Vilkas, seeking an answer Vilkas was always willing to give. Vilkas’s hands fell onto his hips while his shoulders slumped forward, raising a bit with a heavy sigh.

“The old man had one wish, and he didn’t get it,” Vilkas replied. “It’s as simple as that.”

“He’s right,” Althea agreed.

Kodlak had a plan, a way to possibly be free from the wolf’s blood, but he never shared it with her. The only thing she had to go on was the bag of bloody witches’ heads that, given the scent of rot and decay, was just beyond the cavern they stood in.

Althea continued, “Kodlak knew of a way to get rid of the beastblood. He had-”

Aela interrupted her shield-sister with a scoff, “Being moon-born is not so much a curse as you two might think. I thought you of all people would know that, Althea.”

“This isn’t about what I want or what you believe,” the Dragonborn shot back.

Vilkas joined in the argument, his tone sharp. “He wanted to be clean.”

The pair exchanged a brief glance, a look of mutual understanding.

Vilkas looked back at Aela, hardening his expression before continuing. “He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde, but all of that was taken from him.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about that,” Aela sneered, matching his expression, with her arms crossed over her chest. “All we could do was avenge him, and you and Althea took care of that for the rest of us.”

The arguing continued between the three with Farkas piping in occasionally, much calmer than the rest. Voices raised to level that managed to push through the cracks in the stone door, drawing the attention of those who remained to pay their last respects; their voices and scents crept closer to the Underforge, but it wasn’t enough to deter the Circle from containing their bickering.

The scraping of stone on stone echoed through the Underforge, halting the Circle’s quarrel; Eorlund stepped through and approached the group. The emotions he had been hiding during the eulogy were beginning to break through, pulling at the wear near his mouth and eyes, aging him. He stopped between Vilkas and Althea and placed a hand on the dark-haired Nord’s shoulder.

“Let it rest for tonight,” he spoke in a soft yet authoritative voice. “Join the others in Jorrvaskr and mourn as a family.”

“They’ll have questions,” Vilkas replied, looking down at the stone floor. “They saw Kodlak turn.”

Aela dropped her arms to her sides. “They’ve already started asking questions. Athis and Njada especially.”

“All the more reason for you to join the others,” the blacksmith remarked. “This loss and discovery could divide the Companions, and no one here could stand to lose the rest of their family.” With a light squeeze on Vilkas’s shoulder, he added, “Go. Except you, Althea.”

Wordlessly, the others obeyed, leaving the Underforge after the door had opened. Eorlund led Althea to the exit and waited until it closed behind them to speak.

“Did you and Vilkas retrieve the fragments of Wuuthrad?” he asked.

The young woman nodded.

“Good,” he replied. “I’ll need to prepare them for mounting again. There’s another piece that Kodlak always kept close to himself. It’s in his chambers-”

A sigh and a drop of Althea’s head interrupted Eorlund.

“I-I can’t go…” Her voice hitched in the slightest on the last word.

“Althea.”

His voice drew her attention from the ground and into his weathered face. The worry lines that marred the Harbinger’s were mirrored in Eorlund’s, surrounded by hair only a few shades lighter than Kodlak’s. The eyes were different; where Kodlak had held compassion, Eorlund carried determination. Determination to keep moving forward, to not let loss of life hold back from living.

“You cannot carry Kodlak’s death as if it were your own,” he told her. “You cannot avoid all that reminds you of him.” A small smile accompanied his next words, “You’re better off attacking it head on, as you’ve done with everything else. The Companions will need you, lass. They’ll need your guidance.”

The Dragonborn remained silent but held Eorlund’s gaze, wide-eyed with up-turned eyebrows, finding it hard to believe that she could lead the Companions. She couldn’t keep the previous leader alive, how could she possibly take his place?

He continued speaking after giving her time to absorb his words.

“Your time will come,” he said. “The gods have blessed you from birth. The soul of a dragon carries strength, and you will find it.” He paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. “For now, I’m asking you to get the fragment from Kodlak’s room. I’m not sure I’m the best one to go through his things.”

She didn’t understand what he meant by that, but she didn’t question it. Rather, she offered a sigh of resignation and nodded.

Leaving the blacksmith to tend to the remains of the pyre, she entered Jorrvaskr and found the rest of the Companions gathered around the hearth that lit the main hall. Their voices a contrasting chill against the heat of the fire. A mix of grief and anger; the whelps were confused and demanded answers. The Circle offered no such satisfaction.

Farkas remained silent, as he usually did in situations such as this, while Vilkas and Aela argued with the others. Words blurred together into a wavering hum in Althea’s ears; she didn’t care what was being said, even when their angered voices turned toward her.

Her steps didn’t pause even as she reached the top of stairs that led to the living quarters. The buzz in her ears waned as she swung the door shut behind her and ventured down into the hall. Althea’s boots dragged against the wood and rugs as she trudged toward Kodlak’s room. Each step seeming in place, as though she weren’t moving forward.

She never remembered it taking so long to reach Kodlak’s quarters. Of course, almost every other time she’d gone to his room, she was in a huff after an argument with Vilkas or had been called into his room to be lectured.

The familiar scent of canine that each of the Circle members shared was abundant toward the end of the hall where the Circle’s rooms were held, but the faint aroma of embers and citrus became apparent when she reached Kodlak’s study. His bedroom was hidden just behind the door that stood to her right, but she couldn’t bring herself to open it yet.

Instead, she moved to stand in front of his desk. Her fingers brushed over the map Kodlak had laid out, stopping at each ink mark he had added; she would never have the chance to ask what each mark meant. On each side of the map was a book; Song of Hrormir on one side and Great Harbingers on the other. She picked up Great Harbingers, running her hand over the well-worn cover and the cracks ingrained on the binding. The pages flipped through her fingers, releasing the faint smell of dust and must that books seemed to gather, no matter how well they were taken care of. Althea put the book back down with a soft, airy thud.

A heavy sigh filled the otherwise silent room as she turned around and gripped the handle of the door, bringing herself to enter his room. The door opened with a quiet creak and revealed Kodlak’s neatly kept room; his bed made, his books aligned perfectly along the small bookshelf in the corner, and a few of the weapons he collected displayed on a rack on the wall. His scent was stronger here, trapped in the blanket and clothes; normally a comfort when distraught, but now only offered Althea more heartache.

He didn’t have many places that could house the fragment Eorlund sought; there was the dresser, but it seemed dangerous to hold a sharp piece of metal among clothes. Her eyes fell on one of the nightstands next to his bed before she began digging through the drawers.

She found the fragment wrapped in softened hide, resting on a leather-bound journal. The search was quick and easy; too much time spent digging through his belongings would tear at her chest. With a silent thought of gratitude to the gods, Althea pushed the drawer shut and hurried out of the room.

The voices from the main hall grew louder as she climbed the stairs, but she didn’t pay them any mind. Again, they called out to her, but she continued past them, stopping only to grab the hilt and sack of shards before returning outside.

Her heavy steps followed the path to Skyforge where Eorlund was waiting for the last of the embers to burn out. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at the hearth; his back was to her, but she felt that the air around him was charged with grief, and it seemed to weigh on his slumped shoulders.

“Eorlund,” Althea spoke softly, stepping closer to the old blacksmith. “Here.”

He took the fragments before looking up at her and offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, lass.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I can handle it,” he replied. His eyes moved to the lights escaping through the windows of Jorrvaskr before he spoke again. “How are they?”

She sighed and shook her head in exasperation. “They’re just… arguing. There’s no mourning, no comfort for one another.”

Glancing down at the forge’s hearth, she moved to mirror Eorlund’s earlier stance with her arms crossed. “I don’t understand why they seem completely unaffected by Kodlak’s death.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Eorlund squeezed reassuringly. “They’re confused and don’t know how to feel,” he explained. “The Companions will be forever changed by this death and this revelation. They need a direction and someone to take them in that direction.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” she mumbled in response.

“You need to hear it, girl.” His hand fell from her shoulder and grasped the metal held by his other hand. “The Companions will either live or die here. If you don’t guide them, they’ll destroy themselves.”

“Kodlak isn’t the first Harbinger to die,” Althea remarked. “Why should this death be any different than those before?”

“The Companions have been an army, a drunk rabble, a common mercenary group, a band of noble warriors,” he began. “Kodlak, in his time as Harbinger, turned the Companions into a family.”

Althea closed her eyes and raked her fingers through her hair. “That would explain why we’re so dysfunctional.”

He ignored her comment and continued speaking. “They need a powerful voice to keep their emotions from getting the better of them. Be that voice.”

“Since when was I the voice of reason?” she asked, despite her tone, she was genuinely curious. “I thought I was the hot-head.”

He chuckled softly, “That title is between you and Vilkas.”

Althea looked up at him, her eyes held by his aged, stormy blue gaze. She still didn’t understand why the duty was falling to her and not Vilkas; he was as every bit devoted to the Companions as she, and his thoughts were logical as often as hers, and his emotions clouded his judgements just as heavy as hers. Was it her status as Dragonborn? She hadn’t done anything remarkable with it; beyond meeting with the Greybeards and using her Shouts in battle, her dragon soul seemed to have little meaning.

“Go,” Eorlund ordered. “Go to your family.”

Shoulders dropping forward, Althea released a sigh and turned to leave. There would be no answers given by Eorlund, just more words of “duty” and vague reasons why that duty was hers. Effort spent prying was effort wasted.

Althea ventured back to the mead hall, hearing the still-heated voices outside the door. After setting free an exasperated groan, she pushed open the door, unleashing the full force of the Companions’ argument.

With a deep a breath, the walls shook as she let out a single word.

“Enough!”

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #tesv #vilkas #the elder scrolls #althea #awriting #vwriting #alxxiis writes

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njadastonearm · 7 years

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (◠‿◠✿)

AH THIS IS NICE. It’s been a few months since I’ve written anything substantial, but here goes!

Nights at the Castle (FF / AO3) (Fallout 4)

As she comes home for the night, Ruby stumbles on a quiet moment between her husband and their children.

Spoilers for the main quest and MacCready’s quest.Posted for F!Sole Week on Tumblr. F!Sole (Ruby)/MacCready. One-shot. SFW

I don’t know if I’d qualify this as my “best” fic per se, but I enjoyed writing it and I was proud of how the family dynamic turned out. I like the idea of having a happy ending to look forward to after the end of the game.

What She Wanted (FF / AO3) (Skyrim)

She’d wanted to be with the Companions since she was a little girl, but getting there was a struggle all its own.

Originally from the Skyrim Kink Meme. Mostly gen (some Ria/Lod? It makes more sense in the fic; I promise). Pre-Skyrim. Eight chapters. NSFW (Contains violence and sex. A double whammy.)

Again, I wouldn’t qualify it as my absolute best writing, but I still felt proud of what I accomplished. The main character in this, Ria, is a pretty under-developed NPC in Skyrim, and I enjoyed coming up with something that gave her more depth. It shows grief at various stages of life and how conflicted a person can feel about unrequited feelings. It also uses a couple of smaller NPCs from the game and links them together, giving them all a little more life beyond their few lines in the game.

FAIR WARNING ON THAT FIC: there’s a lot of death. Three characters (all OCs) die across two different scenes. One is pretty gruesome (at least, more gruesome than anything else I’ve ever written) and involves the death of a child (there’s a big warning on that chapter specifically, for obvious reasons). It’s not…. It’s not a happy story. Part of the purpose of the story is to explore how grief shapes a person, and I stand by my decision to include the deaths, but it’s definitely not for everyone.

Moments and Mead Halls (FF / AO3) (Skyrim)

“The young Imperial girl standing in front of him was armed with nothing but a rusted sword and a wooden shield."

A series of drabbles and one-shots written for the 30 Days of Writing Drabble-a-Day challenge. Ria/Vilkas. Not Dragonborn-centric. Thirty chapters. SFW.

The longest fic I’ve written (but broken up into small chunks; it averages around 750 words per chapter). Though it was written without a specific plot direction, I’m pleased with how the different snippets helped give life to these characters. Again it focuses on Ria and her (non-canon) relationship with Vilkas, another Companion. AKA I care too much about ambient dialogue and really like developing NPCs.

Skipping Stones (FF / AO3) (Skyrim)

Before she sets out to defeat Mercer Frey, there’s someone Roscura needs to talk to.

Mid- Thieves Guild questline. F!OC (Roscura)/Rune. One shot. SFW.

This is a pretty simple one. It’s mostly character exploration with one of my OCs, Roscura, and (yet another under-developed minor NPC) Rune. It delves into their feelings about Mercer’s betrayal, the complicated nature of betrayal and revenge, and how a prolonged and unexpectedly resolved absence might affect a relationship.

Another quick warning: one theme in this is sterility due to injury. It’s not a very long fic, and this is hardly the only theme, but it’s in there.

Children and Companions (FF / AO3) (Skyrim)

All warriors were once children.

A series of seven drabbles from the Kink Meme. Gen. SFW.

Have I made it clear that I like writing about minor Skyrim NPCs?

In this one I wrote very short vignettes about each of the Companions of Whiterun (or, at least, each of the ones you can take as a follower after the questline- Ria, Vilkas, Torvar, Aela, Njada, Farkas, and Athis, in that order). This is, without a doubt, my favorite fic that I’ve written. It’s short, and gives just a hint of how each character may have grown into the NPC you see in the game. Though it doesn’t show a progression, I think the result was a believable characterization of how these characters may have behaved as children. I’m incredibly fond of this fic.

#venatohru #bal answers #bal writes

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