skyrimkinkmeme: (dragon)
skyrimkinkmeme ([personal profile] skyrimkinkmeme) wrote2012-11-05 06:03 pm

Comment!Fic Page 1 - "Oh, a little bit of this...a little bit of that."

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Welcome to the new Comment!Fic Thread. Some of you may know what this is, and others may not - comment!fics are small one - two comment (the LJ word limit for comments) fills based off of one word or one sentence prompts. All ES games are welcome here, as well as the DLC's. Please don't disclose spoilers for Skyrim's DLCs in your prompt, and if you have them in your fill please place warnings.

FILL: Vilkas/F!DB: "Lovers' Knot" 3/?

(Anonymous) 2015-12-23 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Warning in this part and the next for non-graphic descriptions of (past) torture.

He can honestly say he's stunned. And a little guilty--Kodlak needing to come and lecture him like a naughty little boy, rather than a fully-fledged adult Companion. He opens his mouth to speak, and whatever he might have said is lost in a mighty, booming roar, so powerful it rattles the stone foundations of Jorrvaskr. It's female, and with a start, he realizes that he recognizes the voice.

"Ah, Miri's evening vocal training," Kodlak says, and chuckles to himself. He stands, and pats Vilkas's shin through the covers. "I know you have your doubts. She may be a field mouse now, as you say, but I think we'll make a she-wolf out of her yet."

...

Vilkas tries several times to drop back into his meditation, but his concentration keeps skittering away from him. He feels guilty when the others come back laughing their past his door, all clearly having had some mead, and then Miri, of all people, hushes them quiet.

He may not like her, but that doesn't mean he wants her to tiptoe around him.

The Dragonborn is afraid of you, his conscience whispers at him. Your future shield-sister.

Vilkas huffs. If she can't take a little well-placed criticism, she's in the wrong line of work.

Which she knows. And it isn't work she chose.

....Gods damn it all. He's obviously going to have to resort to other methods to calm himself tonight.

He opens his door, noting the little scuffs along the keyhole, and laughs reluctantly, imagining Kodlak picking the lock like a common thief to come in and talk to him. It's fine, though. He'll work his muscles to exhaustion, eat his fill, and then head back in and rest for the few hours before sunrise. He’ll make an effort to be friendlier to the whelp of a girl in the morning.

Except, when he's re-armored and ready, stepping into the cool night air of the Jorrvaskr balcony, who should be there but Miri herself.

She doesn't seem to notice that he's come out, single-mindedly focused on the straw dummy. She has a battleaxe in her hand--must have borrowed it from someone--and is blindly hacking away at the target. He can see the muscles in her arms shaking--she's clearly over-training herself, taxed to the point of exhaustion. And she doesn't even have the beast blood to fall back on.

"Miri," he says, and she yelps as she loses her grip, only barely avoids slicing her own foot off as she leaps out of the way of her own axe.

Well. Agile he'll give her.

"Vilkas," she gasps. Her heart is hammering. "I'm so sorry, did we wake you? We were trying to be quiet."

"I was awake," he says, picks up the axe and hefts it. It's cheap iron, but it's clearly been lovingly crafted. "Don't sleep much."

"Oh," she says. "Okay. Sorry. I, um. I don't sleep much either, so I thought, well, if I can't sleep, at least I can be productive and train..."

She trails off, tucking a lock of coppery hair behind her ear. "Obviously nearly maiming myself wasn't part of the plan," she mumbles, crouching to pull a little green bottle out of her satchel.

Now that Vilkas is looking, he can see the toll the past few weeks have taken on her. She's built muscle, but she's also increasingly thin, the dark circles under her eyes a telling testament to sleepless nights. He curses himself for not seeing it sooner. He should've been looking out for their newest member, and instead all he did was yell at her. Judge her, based on nothing but his own hatred and mistrust of magic, when all he's ever seen her do is healing and wards. Protection and self-defense.

He closes a hand around her wrist, and she looks up at him, surprised. "You don't need that," he says, as gently as he knows how. "You're running out of stamina quickly because your form isn't good, and you're overtired, so you'll be more prone to make mistakes."