Warning in this part and next for graphic descriptions of death (bandits).
“Stealth,” he murmurs, and she nods, and then sets her face in a look of grim determination as she notches an arrow, draws her bow taut.
She is, to his surprise, a phenomenal shot. Though he supposes he shouldn't have been, if Aela vouched for her. Still, the girl is accurate and deadly, arrows neatly lined up and hitting their mark straight through the vocal chords.
“Quickly,” Vilkas murmurs, once she's taken out all of her targets. “Let’s go inside before they notice anyone is absent. You keep picking them off, and I’ll clean up if you miss one.”
“Understood,” she whispers. “Let’s move.”
She’s like a completely different person with the adrenaline coursing through her, swift and sure despite the uneven footing as they make their way through the tunnel. Vilkas is impressed at the change--perhaps she has warrior instincts after all.
Or...well, not completely different, as one of their targets goes down with a particularly wet snick and a gurgle of blood, and Miri makes the most appalled and disgusted face Vilkas has ever seen from a supposed warrior. “Ew, he got blood on me,” she pouts, wiping it off on a corner of the dirt cave wall, and Vilkas has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud as she hisses “grossgrossgrossgross get it off.”
“No one ever tell you that blood is tacky, sweetling?” He doesn't know what compels him to throw the teasing endearment in, but it's worth it for the shock and then deadly look she shoots him.
“I know well more than a man ever will about blood, thank you very much,” she huffs. “That doesn't mean I like seeing it. Especially not on my shoes.”
This time, it’s Vilkas’s turn to gape. “Point taken,” he concedes, squeezing his eyes shut briefly as another telltale blush snakes its way onto his face. Okay, so she's feistier than he’d given her credit for. Maybe she's a bit much for Farkas after all. “Let’s keep moving,” he says, with an embarrassed cough.
The look she gives him as she saunters by him, fresh arrow notched, tells him she didn't miss it.
From there, it’s smooth sailing. The cave opens up enough that she's able to pick people off one by one, and then leads into a larger room with a still-burning cooking fire, pot sizzling on the stove. “That's odd,” she whispers, looking around as Vilkas steps into the room. “I really thought they’d have a chief--Vilkas!”
Her scream makes him startle away from the axe blade that certainly would have severed his shoulder, if not cut right through him. He hears a clatter, and she shouts “I’m so sorry.” Fantastic, he thinks, staggered by the chieftain's blow to his shield that comes immediately after, right when he actually really does kind of need her--
A jet of flame sails past him, and he whips his head around to see Miri, bow dropped, both hands outstretched and lit with dual columns of flame, combining into one massive stream. The bandit chieftain screams in agony, and Vilkas quickly recovers and lops his head off with one neat blow.
The fire dies down immediately, and Miri lets out a wet, gasping sob, running over to him. “Vilkas,” she chokes, “are you okay, are you hurt, please tell me you’re alright--”
“I’m fine,” he says faintly. The stench of burning flesh is making him sick, dizzy.
“I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, and to his great shock, flings herself at him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “I didn't mean to use magic, I panicked, I wasn't thinking, and after we just talked about it, you must hate me--”
She breaks down into quiet sobs. She’s still holding onto him, and with some effort, Vilkas looks down at the charred, twisted corpse of the chieftain lying beneath them, arms still raised to strike a killing blow. Then he looks back down at Miri, skin ashen and weeping on his chest.
FILL: Vilkas/F!DB: "Lovers' Knot" 7/?
“Stealth,” he murmurs, and she nods, and then sets her face in a look of grim determination as she notches an arrow, draws her bow taut.
She is, to his surprise, a phenomenal shot. Though he supposes he shouldn't have been, if Aela vouched for her. Still, the girl is accurate and deadly, arrows neatly lined up and hitting their mark straight through the vocal chords.
“Quickly,” Vilkas murmurs, once she's taken out all of her targets. “Let’s go inside before they notice anyone is absent. You keep picking them off, and I’ll clean up if you miss one.”
“Understood,” she whispers. “Let’s move.”
She’s like a completely different person with the adrenaline coursing through her, swift and sure despite the uneven footing as they make their way through the tunnel. Vilkas is impressed at the change--perhaps she has warrior instincts after all.
Or...well, not completely different, as one of their targets goes down with a particularly wet snick and a gurgle of blood, and Miri makes the most appalled and disgusted face Vilkas has ever seen from a supposed warrior. “Ew, he got blood on me,” she pouts, wiping it off on a corner of the dirt cave wall, and Vilkas has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud as she hisses “grossgrossgrossgross get it off.”
“No one ever tell you that blood is tacky, sweetling?” He doesn't know what compels him to throw the teasing endearment in, but it's worth it for the shock and then deadly look she shoots him.
“I know well more than a man ever will about blood, thank you very much,” she huffs. “That doesn't mean I like seeing it. Especially not on my shoes.”
This time, it’s Vilkas’s turn to gape. “Point taken,” he concedes, squeezing his eyes shut briefly as another telltale blush snakes its way onto his face. Okay, so she's feistier than he’d given her credit for. Maybe she's a bit much for Farkas after all. “Let’s keep moving,” he says, with an embarrassed cough.
The look she gives him as she saunters by him, fresh arrow notched, tells him she didn't miss it.
From there, it’s smooth sailing. The cave opens up enough that she's able to pick people off one by one, and then leads into a larger room with a still-burning cooking fire, pot sizzling on the stove. “That's odd,” she whispers, looking around as Vilkas steps into the room. “I really thought they’d have a chief--Vilkas!”
Her scream makes him startle away from the axe blade that certainly would have severed his shoulder, if not cut right through him. He hears a clatter, and she shouts “I’m so sorry.” Fantastic, he thinks, staggered by the chieftain's blow to his shield that comes immediately after, right when he actually really does kind of need her--
A jet of flame sails past him, and he whips his head around to see Miri, bow dropped, both hands outstretched and lit with dual columns of flame, combining into one massive stream. The bandit chieftain screams in agony, and Vilkas quickly recovers and lops his head off with one neat blow.
The fire dies down immediately, and Miri lets out a wet, gasping sob, running over to him. “Vilkas,” she chokes, “are you okay, are you hurt, please tell me you’re alright--”
“I’m fine,” he says faintly. The stench of burning flesh is making him sick, dizzy.
“I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, and to his great shock, flings herself at him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “I didn't mean to use magic, I panicked, I wasn't thinking, and after we just talked about it, you must hate me--”
She breaks down into quiet sobs. She’s still holding onto him, and with some effort, Vilkas looks down at the charred, twisted corpse of the chieftain lying beneath them, arms still raised to strike a killing blow. Then he looks back down at Miri, skin ashen and weeping on his chest.