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From: (Anonymous)
“Imma pick a fight! Imma pick a fight! I’m gonna trash this guard man thing!”

“Nooo,” a sob “leave the guard alone! He’s my favorite!”

“HOW CAN YOU TELL!?”

“I need you two to move along. Now.”

The guard had his face covered by his helmet, but if they could have seen him they’d see he was making the face one makes when confronted with a turned over cart full of cabbages that have to be picked up one by one, only for some idiot to crash into it and turn it over again. He was trying to herd a violently emotional group of people who faced down monsters and hardened criminals for a living and for fun, people who ordinarily had the organizational skills of an Argonian on Daril and were currently drunker than they’d been since last month, at least. He was doing it as well as a man picked for his job because he couldn’t run, fight or think could do, which meant that Torvar was climbing the roof of Warmaiden’s and Athis had him convinced he didn’t speak a lick of Nordic, “f’lah”.

It got ugly when Njada tried to set the man on fire, it seemed, with the extra exploding lights she’d acquired from the Khajiit under suspicious circumstances. The guard tried to grab her arm and Ria lunged at him, shouting about honor and sisterhood. She was missing half of her armor, but she had the hat that one drunk Argonian had stolen from a bandit camp on a dare.

Vilkas pulled on his arm and guided him to a dark corner behind Warmaiden’s, far from the noise. Ergnir tried to object, with a smile, about abandoning them.

“They’ll be fine. Ria once killed a charging bear with a stick, love, they’ll be just fine.”

“I’m not worried about them –”

The rest of his sentence was cut down by Vilkas’ teeth, biting at him in a kiss that only grew closer. And if the guards or a passing beggar heard them panting in the dark, they left them to it.
From: (Anonymous)
Farkas and Aela were missing, thankfully, because apparently when you fight one Companion you fight them all, unless they’re off somewhere making love. The guards had already taken Athis and Ria, both alternating between claiming they didn’t speak the language and insulting the men in all the languages they did know, and a couple more guards were figuring out how get Torvar down from the roof without casualties. It took five men and women and waking up half the neighborhood to hold Njada down and get her to stop screaming obscenities.

Finally, there was some quiet.

Vilkas and Ergnir walked hand in hand towards the Mead Hall. The streets were awash in the cold morning light, silent and still. The training yard behind Jorrvaskr looked demolished; Tilma knew better than to bother with it right before they came back, and she always somehow knew when they’d be back. They righted a bench and took a seat on their favorite nook of the wall, their backs to the sunrise beyond. They’d seen enough of them together, and would see many more if the gods smiled down upon them. For the moment, they leaned on each other, enjoying the rare private moment in their busy life.

There was a crunching of stone under boots, and when he opened his eyes, Ergnir saw Torvar with his rose shaped staff, smiling at them. Farkas was standing to his right, wearing nothing but the banner, and Aela to his left, wearing nothing at all. It was fortunate they’d come back, still, because when she ran off nobody wanted to go looking for Aela.

“Guess what I forgot about!”

A groan.

He waved the staff and aimed it at a spot in front of him. They should have really asked him about the staff, they realized, when a Dremora appeared before them, smile showing off his sharp teeth.

“What!”

Vilkas jumped to his feet, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. They’d left them as collaterals at the meadery when they showed up pounding on the door some time before the racing incident, now Ergnir remembered, too short on gold for everything they wanted to buy. The man had taken all their weapons, telling them to come back for them when they were sober and had the coin. He’d also said something about a service to the Hold, but they’d already had a barrel in their hands.

But there was nothing to worry about, as Torvar would reassure everyone over drinks when this tale was retold, because him and his drinking buddy were old friends, really, and the staff had been a gift from another old friend. Indeed, the Dremora carried with him not a weapon, but a cask of the strongest, nicest wine they ever tasted before or since.

--

And that’s how the story of The Marriage of the Harbinger and the Dragonborn and its Celebration ends, and how the story of The Rescue of the Harbinger and the Dragonborn from Solstheim, also known as The Time Aela the Huntress Punched All the Werebears, begins.
From: (Anonymous)
ASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKLMNBVCXZPOIUYTREWOMGWTFBBQ!

I love this so much. I'm giggling and laughing, and loving the little details about all the different Companions, and Farkas' Big Brother speech and Vilkas, oh, Vilkas...

A!A I doff my hat to you.
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you! :D I'm really glad you liked it so much!
From: (Anonymous)
You are much loved for this fill. This anon would also love to read the story of The Rescue of the Harbinger and then Dragonborn from Solstheim (aka The Time Aela the Huntress Punched All the Werebears), but she is not picky. Thank you!
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you so much! I actually have a vague outline of how it would go, but writing it down could take a little while. :)
From: (Anonymous)
Thank you, this was brilliantly funny and chaotic. I agree with the other commentor that I would be very intrested in seeing more of this.
From: (Anonymous)
“Nooo,” a sob “leave the guard alone! He’s my favorite!”

“HOW CAN YOU TELL!?


I love this a lot.

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