Apologies for the long delay! Here's the next bit.
They train together for another two weeks. Once Miri really /gets/ the form, she gets more comfortable and confident with her attacks each day. Vilkas thinks that two-handed weaponry still won't ever be her first choice--even with her rapidly developing muscle tone, she's too small for any blow she strikes to be particularly effective. Her speed is her strong point, and there's just no getting around the fact that a battleaxe has a long, slow swing.
Especially not when, with her magic the raw and deadly force being what it is, a two-handed weapon leaves her unable to cast.
The magic, Vilkas grudgingly admits, he's getting used to. His own body's healing abilities are strong enough that he doesn't come home from missions bearing more than a few scratches here or there, but when Ria comes home bruised and bloodied after she gets ambushed by a pack of wolves on the road (how ironic), Miri is able to immediately tend to her, spelling the worst of her injuries away. Even the battle-magic, as he told her, he trusts her with--once he's satisfied that he's trained her to the point where all she needs is time and a bit of solo practice, he sends her to Athis, so her force and accuracy with a flame can be matched by the rapid strikes of her shortsword.
He and Farkas come home from a rush assignment from Balgruuf, a group of thugs that's returned to cause trouble in the marketplace--one hearty morning brawl sorts them out, and after returning the goods they'd threatened out of the shopkeepers, the two of them walk together back up the steps to Jorrvaskr, and with a quick nod to each other, they head around the back to see if there are any leftovers from breakfast.
They do find a few extra pies, but they also find Athis and Miri sparring, steel on steel ringing into the mid-morning sun. Before he realizes it, Vilkas has stopped eating to simply watch them, a faint smile of pride tugging the corner of his mouth up as Miri forces a rare yield out of the dark elf.
"You love her."
Farkas's voice startles him. Vilkas turns, ready to bark at him, but there isn't an ounce of judgment or smugness in his voice. Farkas is simply telling what he sees to be the truth.
Or at least, thinks he is. "I'm not in love with her," Vilkas says quickly. "Looking out for a student. That's all."
Farkas fixes him with a long, meaningful look. When Vilkas turns away, he sighs, the chair groaning as Farkas tips himself backwards. "Then you're a liar, or a fool," he murmurs. "And I've never known you to lie to me, brother."
"I don't," Vilkas says shortly. "And I do care for her, yes. As a /friend/."
"You look to her all the time," Farkas adds. When Vilkas bristles, he hums, shakes his head. "No, don't lose your temper. Just think about it."
"There's nothing to think about," Vilkas says firmly, more quietly as he looks up to where Miri is still cackling with glee, Athis holding his sides laughing at her childish victory dance. "I trust her. I don't love her."
"Okay," Farkas says. It should be an admission of defeat, but in his tone it sounds like something else. Vilkas huffs. Damn his brother, seeing things that aren't there.
FILL: Vilkas/F!DB: "Lovers' Knot" 10/?
They train together for another two weeks. Once Miri really /gets/ the form, she gets more comfortable and confident with her attacks each day. Vilkas thinks that two-handed weaponry still won't ever be her first choice--even with her rapidly developing muscle tone, she's too small for any blow she strikes to be particularly effective. Her speed is her strong point, and there's just no getting around the fact that a battleaxe has a long, slow swing.
Especially not when, with her magic the raw and deadly force being what it is, a two-handed weapon leaves her unable to cast.
The magic, Vilkas grudgingly admits, he's getting used to. His own body's healing abilities are strong enough that he doesn't come home from missions bearing more than a few scratches here or there, but when Ria comes home bruised and bloodied after she gets ambushed by a pack of wolves on the road (how ironic), Miri is able to immediately tend to her, spelling the worst of her injuries away. Even the battle-magic, as he told her, he trusts her with--once he's satisfied that he's trained her to the point where all she needs is time and a bit of solo practice, he sends her to Athis, so her force and accuracy with a flame can be matched by the rapid strikes of her shortsword.
He and Farkas come home from a rush assignment from Balgruuf, a group of thugs that's returned to cause trouble in the marketplace--one hearty morning brawl sorts them out, and after returning the goods they'd threatened out of the shopkeepers, the two of them walk together back up the steps to Jorrvaskr, and with a quick nod to each other, they head around the back to see if there are any leftovers from breakfast.
They do find a few extra pies, but they also find Athis and Miri sparring, steel on steel ringing into the mid-morning sun. Before he realizes it, Vilkas has stopped eating to simply watch them, a faint smile of pride tugging the corner of his mouth up as Miri forces a rare yield out of the dark elf.
"You love her."
Farkas's voice startles him. Vilkas turns, ready to bark at him, but there isn't an ounce of judgment or smugness in his voice. Farkas is simply telling what he sees to be the truth.
Or at least, thinks he is. "I'm not in love with her," Vilkas says quickly. "Looking out for a student. That's all."
Farkas fixes him with a long, meaningful look. When Vilkas turns away, he sighs, the chair groaning as Farkas tips himself backwards. "Then you're a liar, or a fool," he murmurs. "And I've never known you to lie to me, brother."
"I don't," Vilkas says shortly. "And I do care for her, yes. As a /friend/."
"You look to her all the time," Farkas adds. When Vilkas bristles, he hums, shakes his head. "No, don't lose your temper. Just think about it."
"There's nothing to think about," Vilkas says firmly, more quietly as he looks up to where Miri is still cackling with glee, Athis holding his sides laughing at her childish victory dance. "I trust her. I don't love her."
"Okay," Farkas says. It should be an admission of defeat, but in his tone it sounds like something else. Vilkas huffs. Damn his brother, seeing things that aren't there.