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ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

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Daughter of the Reach 1b/1

[(Anonymous)]

The next potion she gave him did not smell as bad, and was still warm as it slid down his throat and eased the headache that he hadn’t noticed until it melted away. Not daring to look at her for the uncomfortable stirring within him, he passed back the cup and lay back down onto the bed.

She did not seem to need any other response from him, and instead busied herself over by the fire again as Vilkas collected himself.

“What is your name?” He asked her after a while of listening to her.

“You have forgotten? I am insulted.”

“I…” He finally sat up; inwardly pleased at how quickly that whatever she had given him had revived his body. “We have not met before, I’m sorry.”

“Of course we did” She frowned and looked over at him. “I do not forget faces, you are of the Companions, you live in an upturned boat and we shared a campfire together in the woods of Falkreath not one season ago.”

An upturned boat? Vilkas shook his head as the understanding dawned on him. “I have a brother, named Farkas, you must have met him.”

“What?”

“My brother, his name is Farkas, we look like each other.”

“No!” She sounded aghast and Vilkas briefly wondered why as she moved from the fire and pointed accusingly at him. “You must be him! You look identical!”

“He is my twin.” Vilkas said, wondering why it was she was becoming so distressed. “I have no doubt Farkas would consider your debt repaid for saving my life. We are brothers after all.”

“This is terrible news! How could you do this to me?” She wailed, running her fingers through her long tangled hair as she stared at him.

“I-“

“Oh you stupid fat Nord how could you possibly understand!” She cut him off, now pacing back and forth by his bed as he watched. “I should have just left you in their hands; Nords killing more Nords – it is only ever a good thing!”

“I see.” He said, although he certainly didn’t, Vilkas didn’t feel like questioning her logic too closely. “You still need me to take you to Whiterun.”

At that she paused and then slowly looked at him with a more critical gaze. “Perhaps.” She said before sitting at the end of the bed. “And you will never mention this again once we are done here.”

With that he nodded and then looked around the room. “Where is my armour?”

At the change in topic her demeanour shifted from distress back to something more upbeat. “You were dressed in rags when I discovered you, but there were plenty of men here about your size.”

“Were?” It was more of a statement than a question yet she nodded happily.

“Yes, I killed them.”

“I’m not wearing a dead man’s armour.” He protested, finally swinging his legs off the bed so that his feet rested upon the smooth stone of the floor.

“Why not?” She asked, standing again and motioning for him to follow. “It is good quality some of it, all nice leathers. I do not understand why they carried silver swords though, there are no ghosts here.”

So she did didn’t know what he was, Vilkas noted with a hint of relief. “It would be dishonourable to wear the clothes of dead men.”

“Hah! What do your people know of honour?”

“What do the Companions know about honour?” He stood up and scowled. “More than the woman peeling a dead man’s dress off his back.”

At his response she turned to look at him and rolled her eyes dramatically. “That is not honour, that is squeamishness.”

“Hn.” He grumbled, but did not push it, this strange and little woman he was now following had saved his life, and despite the new energy thrumming around his body, he was in no mood to start a fight with her.

The wolf was rumbling contentedly within him, moving through his blood without its usual fervour. It recognised something in her that Vilkas couldn’t name, and he shrugged it off. Given her savage clothes and bitter potions, it wouldn’t surprise him if she was some sort of follower of Hircine, or another daedric prince.

“There is a room here, of belongings I don’t think are your enemies.” She opened a door and slipped inside, keeping it open as he followed her through. “Perhaps you were not dressed quite as scantily all the time?” At her words she let her eyes draw down to his loin cloth and Vilkas flushed in the darkness, hoping she could not see it in the candlelight of the windowless room.