Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1: Arrival

Disclaimer: All characters, excluding Nibenor, and storylines, excluding the romance in this piece, are property of Bethesda Game Studios. I do not make any money in writing this.

A.N: This was originally a prompt from Skyrim Kink Meme, as filled by moi. The version on there and here differ slightly as, since doesn't have a limit of 4300 characters, I have edited the original version (still on SKM) to make it a much better read. This version, however, will contain much less sex due to 's rules on such things. For the fully mature version, go find SKM, with the story under the different title of 'All creatures great and small' (only if you're over 18, please).

Original prompt wanted an attraction between a big bulky nord and a tiny tiny person, hence Nibenor the Wood Elf/ Bosmer. Please note that this IS a slash piece and contains homosexual inter-racial relationships. If any of that offends you please leave now.

Now, without further ado, I give you the first chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Arrival**

The land of Skyrim was a world away from what Nibenor was used to. Far from the reaches of his homeland of Valenwood, it may as well have been a completely different planet on which there was nothing even vaguely familiar, he thought, as he left Riverwood. His rather violent introduction into the cultural differences, thanks to the Imperials, had left him shocked and uncomfortable. Not the fresh new start he had been hoping for.

He had left his native land of Valenwood nearly a year ago, sneaking out from under the watch of the Thalmor guard that inhabited his city, looking for a new life. One where the Thalmor weren't watching over him constantly. Skyrim had apparently been a bad choice for that and it had been even more of an ill omen that he had been caught stealing just before he tried to cross the border. Hence his recent near death experience at Helgen. He rubbed his wrists, looking down at the raw pink skin where his bindings had bitten into the flesh. And Hadvar had suggested he join the Imperials. Not likely as long as they were working with the Thalmor.

The Thalmor had made his family's lives a living hell and he and his sister, Laefnar, had been forced to cross onto the slightly less than legal side of things in order to keep themselves as well as the rest of their family alive. Laefnar herself wasn't too concerned about the law abiding aspect of survival but he was. He didn't like robbing people, even if it was only to survive and he hoped in Skyrim he could earn a more honest living. Once he established himself, he could send something back to help them. The original plan had been for Laefnar to come with him to find a new life, but on attempting escape from Valenwood, she had been caught, leaving him to scramble away, only able to hope for the best for his elder sister.

And now...he didn't really know where he was going now, just that he was free to go where he wanted. Truth was what he wanted right now was to turn around and go back to the poor, miserable life he'd had in Valenwood where he had family and friends, if not always food, shelter and security. He was, however, nothing if not determined and if forging a new path for himself in the rather more barren and frosty land of Skyrim, albeit on his own, was the only way to help his family, then he would do it. Which led him to his next predicament of how to go about settling himself in to Skyrim.

The people of Riverwood, Ralof who had helped him escape and the rest of his family, seemed to think it was prudent that he tell this...this king….Jarl Balgruuf….person, whoever he was, about the dragon that had attacked Helgen. After that, he was free to do what he wanted. It was fortunate that Ralof's family had been quite kind and welcoming to him, understanding that he wasn't entirely sure what to expect now that he had actually made it into Skyrim and even more so that he had come across Faendal, and he had felt a little more comfortable knowing that there were at least a few other Bosmer in Skyrim. He had left Valenwood and headed for Skyrim with such enthusiasm at being away from the Thalmor, despite the lack of sibling at his side, that, well, he hadn't really considered what it would be to actually try and make a new life in another country.

He vaguely recalled that his elders had always referred to it as his youthful impetuousness. If you called 90 years old youthful. And now he was here in Skyrim and he didn't know what to expect, who to trust, where to live, who to make friends with… anything. All he knew was that he was heading to… Whiterun, was it called? …to see this Jarl. He was lucky that these particular Nords seemed to be a fairly friendly people, despite what he'd heard about their racial intolerance and, after hearing his story, they had set Nibenor on his feet, arming him with a somewhat worn bow and light fur armour. Faendal had been gracious enough to lend him a small dagger too, currently strapped to the waistband of his armour along with a worn sword he had picked up from a dead soldier at Helgen. Not that he was much good with a sword, but he could learn, he supposed and all these Nords seemed to keep swords with them or axes… maybe it would be an idea to learn how to use a new weapon as part of his new life. Though he doubted he'd make much of a warrior.

He supposed, if nothing else, he could make a living as a hunter. He had already spotted a good number of fine looking deer on his journey down the path to Whiterun. He stopped to look out over the view, hopping up onto a rock to look down over the path that ran ahead of him and out onto the plains.

It was something of a shock to see such an open landscape. Valenwood was always so enclosed, so earthy and tightly packed with trees and flowers, a constant wet heat on the air. Here it was cold and dry. The landscape was rocky, the trees were spaced apart, the flowers small and reedy, though no less colourful than the large tropical plants of his homeland. The river to his right stretched down onto the plains ahead and ran on for miles and miles. You could never see that far away in Valenwood. Not unless you climbed to the highest of trees and then all you saw was a sea of green laid out for miles and miles, sometime stretching all the way to the horizon.

He hopped down off the rock again, returning to the well laid path that marked his road. The sun was high in the air, and that meant that he should probably get a move on. Tired as he was from the previous day's events, he still needed to get on with his new life. The sooner he got the message to Whiterun, the sooner he could go about setting up his new life.

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I hope that anyone reading this enjoyed the first chapter. Please leave a review if you did. Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2: Moving On

****A.N: Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. All comments are greatly appreciated. I hope that the story doesn't become too disjointed, as I am adapting it directly from the SKM version. If anything like that appears to happen then please let me know and I'll try and fix it.

Enjoy the next chapter :)

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**Chapter 2: Moving On**

The sun had moved incrementally in the sky before Nibenor moved off from the rock he had use as his outlook and he took to the trail again more slowly, following down the lightly paved path down towards the flat open lands of Skyrim's plains, though not without trepidation. The open air was something that even having left Valenwood some time ago, he still wasn't used to. It made him feel small and exposed. He could see for miles over the plains, but all that meant to him was that he could be seen for miles too. Or perhaps not, maybe the big Nords would overlook someone as small as him. He thought back vaguely to his family again before shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the thoughts. They couldn't help him here. Besides, he had to go and talk to this Jarl.

It took him a few hours to reach the bottom of the steep mountain trail and he let his mind wander to thoughts of how the rest of Skyrim would perceive him. The land seemed to represent its people, from the little he'd seen of it. Open and sturdy and stoic, cold and harsh, but rewarding if you could work it right. It seemed to be a land where you had to be honest about things if you wanted to survive, or be very very good at lying. There wasn't much chance of deception here and it confirmed Nibenor's thoughts that here he could start a clean, honest life for himself. He just needed to prove himself useful to the people to integrate himself properly. That wouldn't be easy with his appearance. He was small, even by Bosmer standards, and that would make him appear even smaller to anyone else.

The few Altmer agents he encountered seemed to view his height as a subject of much humour, though he wasn't entirely sure why. They always reminded him of crane flies, all legs and no body, thin and lanky with no real substance, though some people assured him that they were 'elegant'. Each to their own, he had shrugged. The Nords though...he could understand it if they found his small stature funny compared to his. The few Nords he had encountered so far had been the biggest people he had ever seen. Even the women were tall, though slender and shapely. The men though... Nibenor had found himself almost daunted to speak to one. The gagged blonde man he had sat next to in the carriage...he had been twice the size of himself, and he'd been bound and hunched over. Ulfric Stormcloak, if he remembered the name right. Leader of some rebels or something.

Nibenor frowned to himself. He should probably keep up with what was going on in the province if he wanted to get by. The rebels here seemed like a force to be reckoned with if the Empire was that concerned about them to have entered into a war.

He hit the bottom of the trail with a sudden start, turning left as he reached a bridge, looking curiously at the building a little further down the track. The buildings in Riverwood had been unremarkable, but this large, elegant structure with its curved boughs and panels was pleasantly sturdy, decorated and grand. So strange compared to the cities built inside great hollow trees that he was used to, where everything was stone or imported timber, where everything was small and organic and unimposing. A little like himself, really.

"Are you lost, little elf?"

The voice made him start and turn on his heel suddenly, finding a guard standing behind him, his heavy accent muffled through his helmet.

"I'm sorry?"

I asked if you were lost, wood elf."

"Not exactly. Well...just, new, to Skyrim, I mean," he cleared his throat in an attempt to steady his jarred nerves, not wanting to seem quite as small as he actually was "I need to get to Whiterun, if you can point me in the right direction."

The guard cocked his head before lifting a large, thick fingered hand, extended a single finger to point at the city sitting squatly in the centre of the plain that Nibenor had somehow failed to notice.

The elf pursed his lips, embarrassed at himself.

"Ah...thank you."

The guard nodded, turning away to return to his post by the bridge and Nibenor headed along the road again, walking past the large impressive building to the city ahead. Whiterun loomed over the plains, jutting upwards imposingly from the flat lands and he wasn't quite sure how he had failed to see it. He just hoped that he wouldn't be too out of place there.

Whiterun was unlike any settlement Nibenor had ever been in before. Not that he'd been in all that many since he'd left Valenwood, but enough to know there was something special about this place, at least.

Its buildings were an odd mixture of wood and stone, its long, wide streets cobbled, its yellow and blue banners caught high in the sharp breeze that whistled over the plains, whipping the fabric back and forth in a flurry of colour.

Guards and townsfolk alike watched him with curiosity as he made his way through the streets, winding between small clusters of people, shivering slightly at the sharp breeze, trying to avoid eye contact with those who sniggered and whispered about his height and armour. He barely came up to the height of some of the women here and the ragged armour that hung off his almost scrawny frame didn't exactly help him look any more acceptable. Or respectable, for that matter. He straightened his shoulders and spine a little, attempting to look more like he had every right to be in the city than he felt he had.

He could see a small market square just up ahead, stalls with blue and yellow banners clustered around a well, the smell of freshly baked bread and slowly cooking meats wafting down to him and he swallowed as his mouth watered, realising how hungry he was and he used the thought to distract himself from his self-consciousness, hoping vaguely that there weren't too many people to laugh at him. No such luck, he realised, as he climbed to the level of the shops, though most people seemed too busy going about their business to pay him too much attention. Only one person was giving him any more attention than he thought was necessary and he thought he might be able to understand why.

The man in question was leaning against the wall of what appeared to be an inn, just next to the door and if Nibenor thought that Ulfric Stormcloak was a big man, then this guy was a veritable giant. He seemed to be large even by Nord standards, his head not far off reaching the top of the building's doors, his thick arms crossed over a battered steel breastplate, the handle of a greatsword poking up from behind his left shoulder. He didn't appear to be doing much, just leaning there, his head turning slowly as he watched Nibenor pass through the crowd, tugging at a clump of shoulder length sable hair as he did.

The elf pulled his gaze away from the man as he reached the next set of stairs, having to break the stare to see where he was going as he ascended through Whiterun to the gleaming palace ahead.

Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun, was not having a good day. It was true that as he got older he felt he had fewer and fewer 'good' days with the world constantly becoming more complicated, but today was unbelievably unbearable. He should have guessed from the letter he'd received first thing this morning. Avenicci hadn't even waited for him to finish eating breakfast before he'd trotted over and announced the arrival of the letter from Ulfric Stormcloak. A 'request' to follow under the banner of the 'true high king'.

He snorted under his breath at the thought of it even now, though he could not politically deny the man outright. Maintaining a careful balance between him and General Tullius was the key at the moment. Whilst he was concerned with Whiterun's safety first and foremost, he couldn't deny that he was well aware of his place within the civil war. If he gave quarter to either side, then Skyrim would fall to whichever side he looked to. It was both self-servingly pleasing and a giant migrane in the making. Though he had heard that Imperial troops had captured the man, which would mean this petty war would be over.

That aside there was the issue of trying to keep the Battle-born and Grey-mane clans from tearing each other apart, not to mention that letters still flooding in from all the other Jarls and other political parties. And then there was even the matter of a citizen requesting that the Khajiit be allowed into the city to trade. Which of course he couldn't do. Not only would the other citizens question his judgement and fitness to lead, but to Stormcloak, it would look like he was siding with the Imperials by allowing a non-Nord race a chance at gaining a foothold. Not a chance in hell.

And now these rumours of Dragons had reached him. He rubbed at his temples. It was going to be a long day, and it wasn't past ten in the morning yet.

When he saw a small figure enter through the door, making his way towards the throne, he wasn't sure what to think. It was either going to be an annoying triviality, which Avenicci could deal with or an amusing triviality...which Avenicci could deal with. He sighed to himself a little, resting his head on his fist, watching the approaching person with weary eyes.

The person in question was, as far as Balgruuf could tell, a wood elf and a small one at that, his height stunted and build light, as though a stiff wind could blow him away. He was surprised he had made it along the bridge without being knocked off by the buffeting winds outside. He was incredibly pale too, another surprise since the few wood elves he had previously encountered were usually a rich shade of brown, or at the very least, dark honey. This elf was not far off white, putting most Nords to shame when it came to their ability to repel sunlight and it threw a sharp contrast to the elf's dark hair and eyes. A few strands of the ebony hair had come loose, hanging down limply by the mer's long ears and it made him look tired and haggard and incredibly young, as if a small boy was padding into the room. The worn weapons and ill fitting armour only completed the look and the only thing stopping Balgruuf from barking in amusement was the sheer determination on his face, his dark slanted eyes narrowed though he glanced nervously at the guards around him.

Irileth, to her credit, didn't charge straight towards the man to throw him out by the scruff of his neck as she would have usually done but instead turned to look at her Jarl, a red eyebrow raised in question, grey lips pursed with slight irritation. He considered it for a moment before giving a tired nod, allowing her free-reign to dispose of him however she saw fit. He hadn't the time or inclination to allow petty amusements today. The Dunmer nodded immediately, drawing her sword with a soft rasp before heading for the Bosmer. To his credit, he stood his ground against her, though surprise and fear shot across his face at her sudden aggression and Balgruuf felt his lips tug in amusement. If ever a Dragonborn was to return to Skyrim, he was sure it was would be her. She had the temper and ferocity of one.

But just as he was expecting to see her seize the man, who was barely her own height, by the arm and march him out, she faltered. He just managed to catch what the elf had said, his heart stopping at the words;

"...from Helgen...about the dragon attack."

Whatever Avenicci was trying to say to him suddenly became insignificant and Balgruuf sat up straighter. His eyes trained on Irileth, concerned, as she led the small mer towards him.

Nibenor looked up at the Jarl he was being led towards. He seemed tired, or frustrated, or quite possibly both but sharp eyes watched him carefully as he approached.

"So you were at Helgen," the tone he used was soft but urgent, his thick accent rolling the words "you saw this...dragon, with your own eyes?"

The elf nodded, uncomfortable under the gaze of the Jarl, realising that everyone else in the court was now watching him. Apparently if you said the word 'dragon' enough, it would get you attention. The fingers of his right hand ran idly over his left wrist. Balgruuf watched the movement, noting deep pink welts that encircled each thin wrist, dark clotted blood embedded in them.

"The dragon destroyed Helgen," he answered quietly, voice surprisingly low for such a little thing "and last I saw...it was heading this way."

A sinking feeling settled into the Jarl's chest and he saw Irileth shift, noting the strain that crossed his features at the new information. He turned to his steward.

"What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Nibenor let his eyes flick over to the Jarl and his steward, who was muttering something back to him. The Dunmer woman was giving her own opinion, stepping up and murmuring and Nibenor took the opportunity to look around the throne room, eyes tracing up the wooden beams that curved up overhead, his eyes following them until they came to rest on the skull mounted over the throne. He sighed a little, wondering how he'd managed to get away from such a creature in Helgen. Distantly, he wondered if they would notice him again anytime soon so that he could go and look for a place to live and get the whole affair behind him. He jumped a little when he realised the Jarl was speaking to him again, the Dunmer having disappeared, the steward standing off to one side again.

"You sought me out on your own initiative," the blonde was announcing, his voice seeming pleased and impressed "You've done Whiterun a great service and I won't forget it." A smile quirked at the corner of his lips. Nibenor's ears pricked at the words, wondering if a reward was coming his way and he smiled back politely in response. The way the Jarl was looking at him, however, eyes scanning his wiry frame with an appraising eye made him think otherwise and he shifted from foot to foot, looking down at his own thin limbed form.

"I need to ask another favour of you.." Balgruuf admitted, taking the elf's attention away from himself "...ah, your name?"

"Nibenor, sir."

"Well Nibenor, as I said, I need to ask another favour of you, but when we're done here, go down into town and see Adrianne Avenicci at Warmaiden's, the armoury in town. Perhaps she can make you something a little more suited to your... stature. On me, of course, if you'll take it as a token of my esteem."

Nibenor nodded, unsure of how to address the man before him.

"I would send you to Eorlund Gray-Mane, best smith in Skyrim, he works the Skyforge, his steel is legendary but I'm afraid he only smiths for the Companions."

The Bosmer nodded politely again, this time through having no idea of what the man was talking about and quietly upset that he wasn't receiving a more coin based reward. Still, at least decent armour would make him stick out less in town and could prove useful if he decided to turn hunter. He had the feeling, however, that it might prove more useful in whatever this 'favour' the Jarl was going to ask of him.

"Now, as for this job," Balgruuf announced, standing "Let's go and find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and rumours of dragons."

It was as Balgruuf stood that his rather tall height became apparent to him, and Nibenor once again became aware of how small he was, compared to even a somewhat lean Nord. He followed behind the blonde slowly, wondering just how exactly he had suddenly become errand boy for a noble he had only just met.

He had a feeling Balgruuf's trust in him was utterly misguided. After all, all he had done was bring him a message about a dragon and got lucky in escaping that hell-hole. What use would a scrawny Bosmer be to him otherwise?

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Thank you for reading the chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review if you have anything at all to say about the piece. As a side note, since this story is already written and I'm just embellishing it and changing a few details, I should be able to update it on a weekly basis :)


	3. Chapter 3: Not quite introductions

A.N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hope it's still interesting enough.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3: Not-quite introductions**

Nibenor sat slumped on a bench in the Bannered Mare, a barely touched mug of mead in one hand as he stared at the floor sullenly as he contemplated the sharp turn his life had just taken. To think that a year earlier he was sitting with his family, poor but safe and moderately happy and now...now he was sitting in an inn, nursing a drink he found largely disgusting, trying to adjust to the ways of a completely new country, with no-one he really knew and with a noble on his back who seemed to think he was far more capable than he actually was.

It was fortunate, therefore, that the inn was a welcoming, comfortable place within the centre of everything that so far was serving as a reliable base to find his feet from. On the plus side, the food was good, and since mead wasn't quite the only drink they served, he was sure that he would eventually find something alcoholic here that he liked. Cyrodilic brandy had always sounded interesting...

He sniffed a little at the mead, bringing to his lips again and sipping, before frowning and swallowing thickly. How had they turned honey into such a vile drink?

It had been a handful of days since he had spoken to the Jarl, reporting the dragon attack on Helgen and then having been assigned a new job by the Nord. Not that he could go on that for a few days. He needed to rest, for a start, not to mention that he had to wait for his armour to be made. Following his meeting with the Jarl he had followed up on the reward, visiting her to get his custom armour made. Which was an ordeal in itself. Her husband had nearly burst into laughter on his announcement about his 'reward', and then the measuring process had been full of prods and pokes and barely concealed chuckles. Still, his armour was being made and in a couple of more days it would be ready.

In the meantime he had attempted to get to know the town, after buying some more suitable clothing from Belethor with the meagre amount of coins he'd found on the dash from Helgen of course. With that he'd tried to find out who the residents were, what was going on with the war, where what was and, perhaps most importantly, how the hell he could make some money. Which was what had lead him to the inn in the first place. Hulda, the innkeeper, had managed to offer him some small work chopping wood for the fires, earning him a few nights at the inn with food and drink included. A large pile of wood, bigger than Nibenor himself, now stood in the back of the kitchen, a testament to his willingness to work. It was also fortunate that she had been kind enough to tell some of the locals about his good work and that had earned him work on some of the local farms. Not to mention that the people of Whiterun seemed to have an ending list of miscellaneous little jobs that he could do. All well and good for now, but in time he'd have to find something more substantial.

He stood as his stomach growled, walking into the kitchen and retrieving a bowl of freshly served beef stew. The serving of the evening meal alerted him to the fact that evening must be falling and his back twinged as a reminder of the labour he'd been doing all day.

He sat back down on his bench, watching as a couple of the locals wandered in for the evening. Most of them were pleasant enough, aside from the spats between clans Battle-born and Grey-mane, but since that dispute didn't involve him, he failed to pay it much attention. He was surprised, given how racist the Nords were reported to be, that the only indication of that was a few nicknames that related to either his small size or pointed ears, both of which he could deal with. The majority of people seemed to pay him very little mind either way, which was fine by him. Unnoticed was how he preferred to be. In fact, the only people who'd made any comment about his race were the two Bosmer brothers already established in town. They'd informed him that Whiterun was probably the best place for him to be, with a lot of other towns not being nearly as accepting of 'their kind' and he'd thanked them for the advice which had left him with a feeling of unease in his stomach. He didn't want to be limited to one town but he supposed that if it was safer, that might just suit him for now. Despite his previous work as a thief, he didn't particularly enjoy the danger or supposed 'thrill' of being caught or injured.

That thought, however, only made him more uneasy about the task Balgruff had asked of him. He took a bite of his stew as he worried over it, chewing slowly, his eyes fixed blankly on the fire in front of him. He wasn't what you'd call eager to go crawling through some ancient Nord burial ground, but Farengar Secret-Fire had insisted and Nibenor supposed that at least it was the last job he'd have to do and having friends in high places was always helpful. And it couldn't be that bad or that dangerous or surely the Jarl would have sent someone more obviously capable.

Although he had to admit that he wasn't entirely convinced about that thought. The fact that Farengar had looked at him with a raised eyebrow before pointedly glancing back and forth between the elf and the Nord didn't fill him with confidence. In fact, the court wizard had looked at his Jarl as if he'd announced that he was pregnant – an odd mixture of bemusement, shock, disbelief and amusement.

The slamming of doors made him look up from his stew to see more of the locals filtering in and the darkness outside made him aware that the sun had well and truly set for the evening. He smiled at a few of them he recognised and had started to become friendly with. He knew well enough that the tavern would soon be filled with locals and he nodded appreciatively at Sinmir as he flopped down beside him, knowing he wouldn't be bothered with the big man beside him. He jumped as Sinmir hit the bench or at least, that was what he told himself. It was less embarrassing than the truth that Sinmir's much more significant weight had practically fired him off the bench. The Nord grumbled as he settled down with his drink, grumbling about Whiterun's 'shameful' security and Nibenor nodded amicably, though busying himself with eating his stew so that he needn't reply too much. Not that Sinmir really wanted an answer. He just liked to complain.

It was as Nibenor finished his stew and placed the bowl on the floor that the bigger man slapped him on the back, downed his mug of mead and headed to the bar to get another. A few minutes later he repeated the process. A few minutes later, it repeated again until eventually, after the fifth or sixth, or possibly seventh time, Nibenor had stopped counting a while back, the man downed his mead, collapsed backwards off the bench as his balance failed him and proceeded to snore noisily in an unmoving heap. An act that made Nibenor smirk to himself because the man never failed to end up in the same position every night and also because he knew that by the time Hulda tried to clean up there would be at least a few other comatose Nord men in the exact same state.

Still smirking, he returned to sipping at his mead, trying to get himself used to the taste as Ysolda settled down beside him. He was aware that she was attempting to become a trader of some description and wanted a mammoth tusk. He'd promised that if he ever came across one, she could have it, though he sincerely doubted he ever would or that he could even carry a mammoth tusk. She was chatting away happily about some aspect of Khajiit, a fact that made him roll his eyes and earned him a reproachful before he reminded her of the tensions that existed between the two races. He was mid word when the door slammed open again, with a force that set its wooden frame rattling and the occupants of the tavern looked up in mild alarm as two large men strode in.

The elf gaped slightly as he stared at them as they made their way in, staring in awe at the size of the two. One was slightly smaller than the other, a good few inches shorter, his build lighter, his body not as broad. Considering that Nibenor thought that the smaller one was huge, he found the other bordering on awe-inspiring and frightening at the same time. The conscious part of his brain pointed out that size was not an accomplishment and should not be evoking such a reaction in him. His primitive hind-brain however was shouting at him that this man was undeniably his alpha and that whatever the giant wanted, he could have.

He towered over everyone in the room, his bare upper arms that weren't covered by his heavy armour thicker than Nibenor's thigh and he licked his lips as he looked him over. His shoulders were broad and hips narrow, though hidden by his bulky armour, long, sturdy legs supporting that impressive upper body. Long hair, dark and thick, hung down to his shoulders, messy and unruly and coarse looking as he pushed it out his face irritably and he scratched at the short dark beard that covered his jaw line as he turned. The action jolted the mer's memory and he realised he had seen the man when he'd arrived, leaning against the outside of the building and watching him and he wondered how he'd forgotten someone that size.

He let his eyes trail over to study the other man, startled slightly when he realised he was looking at the same face. The smaller man's hair was shorter, his jaw adorned with heavy stubble rather than a full beard, but the pale eyes that peered out from a mess of dark war paint was the same. His face was sterner though and something told Nibenor that out of the two, the giant man might be the lesser of two evils, if ever he had to encounter them personally.

"Vilkas and Farkas," Ysolda informed him quietly as the man ordered their drinks "Twins brothers, member of the Companions."

Nibenor turned his gaze away from the men, lifting an eyebrow.

"Companions?"

"Skyrim's version of the fighter's guild. Honourable warriors, or so they call themselves. Most people in Whiterun will tell you that nowadays they're little more than glorified, drunken mercenaries."

"They're massive."

She laughed in response, just loud enough to attract the men's attentions and he averted his gaze as they looked over, not wanting to attract their attention to himself even as they walked over to the bench on the other side of the fire. They were speaking to each other in hushed tones, the larger of the two listening to his brother, concern written over a surprisingly expressive face before he slapped his twin on the shoulder. The smaller shook his head in response, sighing, before lifting his mug to his lips, meeting Nibenor's gaze across the top of the fire. He dropped it immediately, nervous with two men so much larger than he so close and saw him nudge his larger brother and gesture to the elf. The larger looked at his brother, frowning in response as he looked at the smaller man and shrugging, turning back to his mead and changing the conversation.

"So anyway, I know you've had trouble with them in the past, but you can't judge everyone in a race by the actions of a few, and I think we could really improve things if we could set up trading with them." Ysolda continued, oblivious, and Nibenor nodded and smile along politely, not really paying attention any longer with the two men sat opposite them as he concentrated on not staring at them.

A few hours passed slowly and Nibenor found himself still sat with Ysolda and the unconscious, collapsed Sinmir, and still the twins sitting across from him. The air was thick with the smell of mead and ale, roasting meat and the smell that Nibenor was becoming used to which he could only define as 'Nord man'. It was one of those smells that was instantly recognisable and memorable, like wet dog. Only this was a combination of sweat, oil, metal and must. A scent which, he supposed, in some respects he could understand to be pleasant enough, if that's what you liked. In here though, with little air and many people, it was smothering and eventually Nibenor had to excuse himself under the pretence of relieving himself outside, slipping through the crowds of people to slip outside.

The night air hit his bare arms and face with a slap, though a surprisingly welcome one. There was a slight wind blowing, thin and sharp, finding its way through his light shirt with ease and making him shiver instantly. Still, he took a breath and wandered away from the inn, breathing in the fresh air, noting the faint smell of horse and leather carried on it, the faintly acrid smell of Adrianne's never cooling forge. It was better than indoors though.

He found himself wandering idly down the street, pausing briefly outside the house that he had heard was for sale, its windows boarded up, door firmly locked and he looked at it, wondering if he could ever afford such a nice little house. Probably not, he decided and turned away, heading to the back of the inn when he realised that he actually did need to relieve himself.

There was a deep ditch at the back of the inn, filled with a mixture of organic products which he didn't really care to think about. He had wondered what they did with it when it was full, only to find out that the farmers used the mulch that was produced as fertilizer for their crops. The thought was distasteful, but he shrugged, knowing he would have to get used to the Nords and their ways. Sighing he unlaced his breeches, pulling himself out to pass water, aware that there was someone walking up behind him, with big, heavy footsteps. It didn't particularly bother him but he found himself hurrying to finish stuffing himself back in when he was done and turning away without a word to the man standing next to him in the dark.

Humming to himself, he headed back to the market square, kneeling down by the fast flowing water that came down from the castle to wash his hands. He became aware of those heavy footsteps behind him again a moment later and then the man was kneeling beside him, crouching to dip his hands in the pool as Nibenor had. His bulk cast a shadow over Nibenor in the moonlight and he looked over, startled when he realised it was the bigger twin he'd been sat opposite inside.

Ice-blue eyes glanced over at him, a faint curve touching the lips of the larger man in a smile as he looked over at the Bosmer.

"You don't need to be scared of me, little elf, I don't bite." He slapped him on the shoulder with a force that nearly toppled him into stream, leaving a large wet handprint on the cloth, the skin underneath stinging and tingling as he walked away.

Nibenor stared after the man as he walked away, meeting with his brother who had come outside and they made their way up the stairs to the higher district, the larger brother grinning as he did, the smaller glancing at Nibenor suspiciously for a moment. He watched them go until they disappeared from view and he stood, placing a hand onto the shoulder that had been slapped, frowning in confusion at the tingling in his shoulder than didn't seem to be pain. Shaking his head, he made his way back inside the inn, submerging himself into the Nord's ways for the evening once again.

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Thanks for reading, please review if you enjoyed the chapter or if you didn't and want to tell me why :P. Should be a new chapter up next monday.


	4. Chapter 4: Heading out

A.N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and fav'd/ followed, hope the pace is going ok so far.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 4: Heading On.**

Morning broke slowly over Whiterun, the soft yellow rays of the sun chasing the deep blue of night away. Guards milled about the city's empty streets, extinguishing braziers as the sky lightened to pink and pale blue, the soft rays falling against buildings, seeping in through cracks and windows, rousing the residents of the city.

Nibenor groaned as light fell into the room, rolling over and burying his face back into the pillow. He wasn't a morning person at the best of times and Skyrim's dawn was much earlier than Valenwood's. A call from outside his door shattered his attempt at dozing and he rolled over when there was a series of sharp raps on the door.

"What?!"

"Wake up call, Nibenor," came Hulda's voice, rough with sleep "Messenger here says your armour's ready."

"Uh-huh."

"It's your rump on the spit if you keeping Adrianne waiting."

"Uh-huh."

There was a noise like a tut outside the door then the sound of footsteps retreating and Nibenor cautiously cracked a dark eye open again. He quickly shut it again against the light filtering. He heaved a sigh before pulling himself upright, sliding out of the bed to dress slowly.

Still blurry eyed he left his room and headed down to the kitchen, grabbing himself a sparse breakfast before leaving for Warmaidens. He wasn't what you would call excited by the prospect or at least, not by thought of what would come after he collected his armour. The armour itself he was actually somewhat excited by. It'd be the first time he'd had something so...him and he couldn't be unhappy about the fact that he didn't have to pay for it either. Hell, it might bring him some luck with getting a new job, maybe one that paid a bit better. On the downside, it would mean that he would have to go and do Jarl Balgruuf's 'favour'.

Bread in mouth he made his way down the street, finding Adrianne already out and working her forge, stoking it into life for a day of smithing. Somehow, she'd already managed to streak soot across her face and Nibenor was glad of the bread in his mouth to hide his smile at the sight. Nord women might be more ferocious then Imperial women in general, but he still didn't want to cross Adrianne, especially since he was shorter than her. He settled for giving a wave instead and she looked up at him in response, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

"You got my message then."

Nibenor nodded swallowing down the last bit of bread.

"It's all ready for you, just needs fitting and checking. It's inside."

She motioned for him to follow her into the shop where she quickly crossed to the counter. Her husband was leaning on it heavily looking tired, though he gave a smirk at the sight of Nibenor standing nervously in front of them both. He watched wordlessly as she pulled out the freshly made armour from beneath the counter before walking over to the elf.

"Here, I'll help you into it this once, after that, you're on your own. It's only light armour though, so you shouldn't struggle." She didn't say another word as she started to help him into it, sliding a leather cuirass around his torso before belting it into place.

Nibenor stood rigidly, letting her do her work, a slight expression of displeasure on his face as she ripped his shirt's sleeves off so that they wouldn't interfere with the armour. He understood once she strapped it under his arms and slid gauntlets onto him, but still...he didn't have much clothing and what he did have he needed in good condition. Fur brushed against his skin once or twice and he looked down at what she was doing as she tightened straps around his waist before moving onto his boots. Again she ripped the fabric of his clothing away so that he was almost bare-legged, the armour only falling to his knees and he thought that Nord armourers had a most odd idea when it came to bodily protection. As far as he was concerned, as much layering as possible was required, Nords seemed to ignore that, for some reason he couldn't fathom.

Adrianne rolled her eyes as she saw Nibenor frown at her ripping his clothing, strapping a boot onto his leg.

"Light armour is designed to let you be unrestricted," she explained as she worked "That's why I'm not leaving your joints covered by your clothing. If you do, it's more likely to get caught in the rest and be a hindrance."

He nodded amicably in response.

"Even the Nords know how to make light armour, even if they suit heavy armour better," she commented before standing up suddenly looking him over once more and nodded "Looks good, go and make some money and I can make you a decent sword."

He smiled.

"I'd need to learn how to use one first."

"You could try speaking to the Companions, see if they can offer you some training, though it'll cost you."

"Companions..." he murmured, looking down at himself, shuffling about in the new leather "I think there were two of them in the Bannered Mare yesterday. Brothers, Ysolda said."

"That'd be Vilkas and Farkas," Adrianne offered "Farkas is friendly enough, though he's a bit of a dumb brute. And his brother...well, Vilkas is a bit more shrewd. Clever but cautious. Keeps himself to himself. You can barely get a word out of him usually."

"So...Farkas is the bigger one?"

"Yes. Not that you could call Vilkas small. How'd you figure that?"

"He spoke to me last night. Just briefly."

"Making friends, are we?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think they'd be willing to train someone like me, would they? They look like they only take big Nords."

Adrianne smiled lightly.

"No, they've got all sorts. Drunkards mainly, but they've got a Dark Elf among their ranks and I hear they have a history of having elves. I wouldn't let that put you off. You should try but you'll have to prove yourself to them either way."

Nibenor clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he thought.

"Maybe I should just stick to the bow..."

Adrianne shrugged.

"Maybe, but you never know, a little training with the blade, in case of close encounters. Can't hurt."

"I'll have a think on it, thank you for your help, Adrianne."

"You need to thank the Jarl more," she turned away "Let me know how that armour works out for you."

"I will."

He turned and left with a wave, feeling a little more confident in his new armour, though the leather was so new it creaked when he moved and it made slinging his bow and quiver onto his back. He tucked the worn iron dagger he'd been given into his belt, looking at the loop that would hold a sword before shrugging. No point weighing himself down with a weapon that was useless to him. With that he mind he straightened his back, setting off with a sigh towards Bleak Falls Barrow.

He hadn't given the walls of Whiterun much credit in his brief time in the city but as he passed through the large wooden gates he realised how much they sheltered the city from the worst of the wind. It was a horrifically cold breeze on his thin skin as he made his way down the path and out of the city towards the plains and he looked up at the mountains that harboured his destination.

It was as he was nearing one of the many farms that surrounded the city that he picked up faint noises of some commotion and he frowned. Raised voices, clashing weapons and deep, low rumbles that sounded like a roar. His heart seized in his chest for a moment, wondering if a dragon had landed before it resumed beating and he trotted forwards cautiously to take a closer look. It didn't sound like the dragon he had encountered at Helgen, it sounded like something smaller. And he guessed that if he was going to look for more work he would have to face some fears.

Picking up his pace he trotted forwards, passing beneath the city's outer arch and finding the source of the noise. He halted again, staring in shock at the sight before him. A woman and the two brothers he had encountered in the tavern last night were fighting...and he had to blink once or twice to make sure that the word in his head actually fit the sight before him...a giant. An actual giant. It made Farkas' significant bulk look like a twig. The woman was practically nonexistent next to it.

Said giant was enraged as well, swinging its thick club around wildly and the elf flinched as it...he, slammed the weapon into the ground, just inches from the woman who was darting about its feet. A cloud of dust rose from the impact and Nibenor wouldn't be all that surprised if the ground beneath it was dented or cracked. He watched for a moment more, edging closer, Adrianne's words about 'proving himself' playing through his head, and they did look like they could use a hand.

He pulled the bow from his back as he saw the creature lifting its club from the floor, its movements almost in slow motion, and nocked an arrow to it. The wood was worn and old and nowhere near as flexible as a bow needed to be, but if there was one skill he did have it was archery, and the ability to make the best of any bow that hadn't snapped yet.

He drew the string back slowly, feeling the familiar tension and pull along his arm, watching as the other brother, Vilkas, dodged a blow and pivoted on the spot, bringing his greatsword around in a wide arc that somehow missed it. Eyes locked firmly onto his target he pulled the string back a little further, taking a breath to steady his aim...and let it loose.

The arrow struck in the creature's shoulder, its flimsy head barely strong enough to puncture the giant's thick flesh, but managing to pierce through just enough for it to take notice, just enough for it to falter and let the woman dive out of the way of a what would have been a lethal blow, letting the bigger man take a swing at its knee. The weakening of its joint sent it crashing to the ground under the force of its own weight and the three warriors were on it instantly, hacking at it. Nibenor flinched at the brutality of the giant's death, edging forwards cautiously as the three warriors began to pull away. Blood ran down the farm's track way, pooling in ruts in the earth as the three Nords pulled themselves away from its corpse, red fluid coating their armour and he wondered vaguely how much blood its body contained.

"You fired that arrow?"

The Bosmer flinched and looked up at the source of the voice, finding the woman before him, her chestnut hair flicked over her shoulders and he studied her face for a moment, the blue war paint smeared over her face catching his attention, her green eyes watching him like a wolf. He dropped his gaze to the bow in his hand and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the two men came up behind her. He settled for returning the weapon to his back.

"Thanks, things could've got a bit tricky there."

He smiled weakly, fidgeting under the trio's accumulating gazes.

"...No problem." His voice sounded quiet and thin even to his ears.

"It was only one arrow." The smaller of the men muttered.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"Don't mind Vilkas. He's bitter because ... well because he's Vilkas," she smiled and Nibenor wished he could've returned it, been bold and said something clever and funny. Instead he simply withered under Vilkas' searing gaze. "Anyway you don't look familiar so I'm guessing you're new here?"

He nodded.

"Arrived a few days ago."

"Well, you helped us out there so if you're looking for work, come up to Jorrvaskr. We might be able to find something for you."

She offered him another smile and he returned it this time as she moved off, the two men following behind her. He watched them go, noting that Vilkas was stalking ahead of all of them now. He turned to leave when something stopped him and he glanced back to see Farkas standing in the middle of the track, staring at him. He cocked his head as he looked at the elf and then, after a moment, shook it again and moved off, following the others again.

Farkas stopped and turned back after he took a few more steps, turning to look at the elf. He had turned away and was walking along the track past the meadery and the Companion frowned, wondering where he was going. He was such a timid little thing that looked like he almost shouldn't be out on his own. At first glance, when he had seen him in the tavern he had almost thought he was a teenager, his build slight and short, the length of his limbs almost making him gangly, his skin pale and dark facial hair soft looking.

He couldn't figure out where he was going dressed up in that obviously new armour either, like some novice adventurer and he found himself growing concerned. Why, he wasn't sure. He had no idea, who the elf was and in all honesty, he had no reason to have any interest. Maybe it was just because he was so small, so unusual looking. He stuck out like a sore thumb in Whiterun, though most of the locals were kind and tolerant enough not to make a point of it.

"Farkas! What are you doing standing there?! Come on!"

The call came from his brother and he shook his head, hurrying to catch up to the other two, making a note in his mind to keep an eye on the elf. If he made it back alive from wherever he was going, anyway.

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Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought. All reviews are appreciated and the more the merrier. New update next monday :)


	5. Chapter 5: Inklings

****A.N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. This one's a little shorter than usual so I hope it doesn't disappoint. For anyone more interested in just the Nib/ Farkas relationship, there's very little of that in this chapter (and possibly in the next few - doing a bit of Nib as the Dragonborn development) so you may want to skip over this. It won't really affect the rest of the story - only the last paragraph is relevant to that aspect of the fic.

**A warning,** just to be safe, there is a small amount of mild sexual implication at the end of the chapter.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 5: Inklings**

The path to Bleak Falls Barrow was significantly longer and more convoluted than Nibenor had anticipated and just climbing to the steps that led up to it left him out of breath. It'd taken him the best part of the day just to reach this point and now, looking up at the nearly black stone arches of the barrow, their curves coated with snow. On the highest tier of the barrow, he could make out dark figures, the odd cough and call alerting him to their identity as bandits and he opted to slide around the side of the barrow as far as possible before climbing up to the recessed door.

Once or twice, as he hung below a patrolling bandit or hid behind a pillar, his uneven breathing and chattering teeth almost gave him away and it was largely through luck and some small skill on his part that he managed to make it inside unseen. He gave a sigh of relief as he let the heavy iron door shut behind him with a surprisingly quiet clunk. Taking the life of another, human or elf, was something he had done before, usually in desperate scuffles where there had been no other choice, but it wasn't something he liked to do. Especially when he wasn't sure he could win. And the concept of sneaking up and slitting someone's throat from behind made him feel cowardly. Avoiding fights entirely was a much preferred tactic of his.

He took a deep breath through his nose, wishing he hadn't when the smell of dust and decay assaulted him. The air was so dry that he could feel his throat drying out in response and he grimaced at the sensation. It made him all the more keen to get through the crypt and out as soon as possible and he pulled his bow from his back before moving slowly forwards into the darkness of the crypt.

It was a few hours later, deep within the halls of Bleak Falls Barrow in his search for the Dragonstone, that Nibenor became certain that he was not cut out to be an adventurer or warrior, or anything exciting or interesting like that. For a start, not only did he find the crypt he was currently in nearly unbearably oppressive, but the Draugr all but terrified him into running back the way he had come. The only thing that forced him through the echoing halls, past brittle boned and paper skinned bodies of Nords long dead, was his tenacity and a glimmer of confidence that had grown whenever he had snuck past or shot a draugr dead...or dead again, he wasn't quite sure. He wasn't even sure why the corpses were awake and moving. He didn't much care, so long as he didn't meet his own death at the hands of one.

It was fortunate that his small size and light footsteps made it relatively easy to sneak past the ancient Nords. And the fact that he was adept with both bow and dagger. When those weren't an option, running and hiding most definitely was. Part way into the barrow though, he had to admit sneaking around was time consuming and he half wished that he had the strength to carry around and wield a giant weapon and take out anything that threatened him with ease.

He took the opportunity to stop and rest on a small ledge, looking up at the strange bird like carvings in the rocks, the hewn stone faces that glared out from shadowy corners where torch light didn't reach and he felt non-existent under that unseeing gaze. His thoughts came to mind again as he took a sip from a flask of wine he had picked up on his way through Riverwood and he glanced around the narrow corridor he was in, looking at a roughly shaped sword that lay in an alcove. Biting his lip, he stashed the wine away, scurrying over to where the weapon lay and picking it up gingerly, testing its weight in his palm before swinging it experimentally.

It didn't seem like an overly complicated tool to use, just a swing here and there and that would do the job and he decided that the next creature he came across would serve as a training target for his new weapon. That creature, luckily for the elf, was a moderately sized spider. Steeling himself he charged in at it, diving between long hairy legs, dancing out of the way of pincers before bringing the sword up in a clumsy arc. It fell after a few weak, clumsy slashes, its legs hacked off haphazardly and he smiled to himself. There was exhilaration in the swing of the sword, the curves he could carve in the air and he sheathed the sword at his hip, deciding to adopt it for good.

Perhaps the Companions could teach him after all, and he could combine the way of the blade with his own style of sneak, shoot or stab.

-

The Dragonstone turned out to be a fairly unimpressive looking lump of stone with a few carvings on its face and if it wasn't for the fact that Farengar had insisted it was important in finding out what was happening in Skyrim at the moment, Nibenor would've been very annoyed at finding it. To him, it seemed valueless and he wasn't particularly interested in finding and fighting dragons. That was what soldiers and warriors were for, not little wood elf thief.

There was, however, one thing at the end of this barrow that intrigued him and he paced forwards slowly towards it as he slung the now hide wrapped and strapped stone onto his back.

Nibenor tilted his head as he approached the curved wall in front of him, dark eyes narrowing as they skimmed along lines of unfamiliar characters that he couldn't even begin to guess the origin or meaning of, tracing up edges to large decorative arcs and swirls. The wall was many times his own height and the carvings so intricate, so perfectly formed, that he got the impression that he was standing in front of something of truly great importance, something that someone had taken the trouble to make and to make perfectly.

He paced forwards again, taking a closer look at the symbols, feeling a strange compulsion to move towards it, a pressure in his gut that urged him forwards and he shook his head and narrowed his eyes at a handful of particular etchings. They seemed to be glowing, a faint blue shimmer, and he had to blink a few times in order to ensure that he wasn't just imagining it. Apprehension built in his stomach now, wondering what was happening even as he moved towards it again, a pale hand stretched out. Trembling fingers found the clean lines of some symbol and then suddenly he was encompassed by some tremendous force, like a wind that buffeted his body, pressing down on him from all sides and when it departed as suddenly as it had began he fell to the ground his head spinning and dizzy, his stomach churning. But there, in the back of his mind, was something he hadn't felt before, some impression of meaning, a word that didn't quite make sense but had an instinctive feeling and weight and power to it.

_'Fus...?'_

He swallowed thickly, picking himself up from the floor, an odd pressure at the back of his throat as he thought about the word. Frowning he about faced, looking back at the empty tomb that the draugr he had last fought had leapt from and as he thought about that skirmish, he found that the pressure in his throat faded. Not knowing what he'd stumbled upon, half afraid and half intrigued, he decided it was about time to head back to Whiterun. Perhaps Farengar or the Jarl would have more of an idea of what was going on.

With the Dragonstone secured firmly to his back and the word and its odd origins and power lingering about the edges of his mind he headed up the stairs to a passageway that had opened, determined not to disturb the draugr any longer. He pocketed a small amount of gold that had been lying on altars as he left, the newly acquired sword clanging at his hip and he decided that perhaps it would be better to take Adrianne up on her offer to make him a sword. One that was perhaps more fitting to his stature and considerably less rusty.

As he left the barrow, he found that night had long since fallen and he wondered for a moment if he should sleep in the tomb. The thought sent chills down his spine though and he decided to, perhaps unwisely, brave the freezing night air and its fanged furry creatures in favour of getting back to Riverwood at least. Which was no mean feat. He was nearing exhausted and in the dark, he could barely make out the shapes of the wild wolves and bears in the sparse woods around Riverwood. It was a wonder even to himself that he made it back to the village in one piece and even more of a wonder that the door to the inn was unlocked and the innkeeper was still awake, if dozing on the counter, a disgruntled look on his face at being disturbed. He took Nibenor's coin with a quiet grunt and pointed towards a small bedroom where the elf could rest for the night.

Thanking him quietly, he tottered his way into the room, collapsing onto the solid hay mattress with a grunt of satisfaction, his back aching from the weight of all the gear on his back. Thoughts from the last few days drifted around his head as he stared at the wooden ceiling. He paused to rearrange his pack on the floor, pulling out the odd claw shaped key he had found on the Dunmer who had betrayed him in the crypt, eyes scanning over its fine details before he placed it atop the Dragonstone and retreated to the bed again, pulling thin furs up over his shoulders as he drifted to sleep.

-

_There were hands on his shoulders, giant heavy hands that were rough and calloused and scarred from countless fights and wielding swords. These were hands that dealt death to unfortunate enemies and yet here they were, resting on his shoulders, his bare shoulders, thick fingers running in heavy circles across his pale skin. They traced across his dainty collarbones, moving down over his chest, stroking ever so tenderly at his exposed skin. He sighed in contentment, soft lips moving over his long ear, one of those giant hands reaching up to curl in jet black hair. Broad shoulders hovered in front of him, dark wavy hair curling down over them, swaying with gentle movements as he turned his head to skim lips over a rough stubbled throat. It quivered underneath his touch, pulse quickening even as he purred his own pleasure at touching the other._

_"Are you enjoying yourself, my little elf?"_

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__Hope it didn't disappoint, please review and let me know what you thought. Also, I was alerted to the fact that there were some spelling mistakes in the last chapter, so I hope I managed to sort that out in this one :)


	6. Chapter 6: Complications

A.N: A very big thank you once again to anyone who reviewed, followed or favourited the story, or myself, in the last chapter. Much appreciated as always.

This chapter is, thankfully, back up to its more usual length rather than that pitifully short last chapter of mine. Hopefully this one'll be far more interesting for people.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 6: Complications**

_"Are you enjoying yourself, my little elf?"_

Nibenor jolted awake, eyes snapping open, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat, breath coming in ragged uneven pants. Bed sheets tangled about his legs and hip, brushing against the somewhat sensitive area that now stood to attention. His cheeks flushed red in response to his own state and he busied himself with straightening the sheets out, trying to calm himself down. It didn't seem to be working, instead his mind concerned itself with wondering just where that dream had come from. Those had been male hands running over his body and he had never thought about male hands in that way before, though they had been quite effective in his mind. He wondered vaguely whose hands they were before passing it off as unimportant. It wasn't like he planned to go and find himself a male partner. Right now, he wasn't looking for anything of that sort and if he did, he reckoned he'd find himself a nice Bosmer lady for that sort of companionship.

He sighed, leaning back onto his elbows and looking blearily up at the ceiling. Pale sunlight was streaking in through small gaps in the walls, highlighting the flaws in the wooden boards that made up the ceiling, the knots and dips and subtle warping of wood where rot was beginning to creep in. He supposed Skyrim's winters might do that to a building. Rot wasn't exactly a problem in Valenwood. If the trees that housed the city were in too damp or cold an area, they simply moved to somewhere that they found more tolerable.

Thoughts drifted back to his homeland, wondering what his sister was doing now, if she had made it home safely, if she was getting into trouble trying to feed the family. That reminded him of his purpose in Skyrim and with a resolve he had found waning in his time in Whiterun, he pulled back the bed sheets and made his plans to head back to Jarl Balgruuf.

He dressed quickly, though he found that his arms and legs ached from the previous day's activities and his back felt taut, muscles protesting vehemently as he shrugged into his armour, struggling to do the buckles on his own. He shouldered his pack and bow, picking up the Dragonstone and golden claw that he had found before and he balanced them carefully, making his way out into the main room to eat. A rumour about the claw led him to the shop up the road and he parted with it for a not inconsiderable amount of gold before departing for Whiterun once more.

The day was pleasantly mild, he found, and he could only be thankful that it wasn't colder, else his muscles would have made the walk back to Whiterun a significantly more difficult task. It wasn't exactly easy as it was, his back laden with pelts and bits and pieces that he thought Belethor might be able to trade with him for. The Dragonstone bumped into his spine painfully as he walked and it only served to remind him of his previous thoughts that he was not cut out to be a warrior or adventurer of any description.

It took him a few hours to return to the city, though had he been asked, he wasn't walking at full pace, instead taking the time to watch the salmon leaping up the waterfalls that ran down from Riverwood, occasionally pausing to watch a butterfly flit around a plant. Or he did until an alchemist appeared and, somehow, managed to snatch it from the air and plucked its wings off without a seconds hesitation, leaving the wingless body on the floor. Nibenor watched quietly, wondering if, at this point in time, his life in Skyrim was somewhat the same. Small and insignificant, ready to be snuffed out as long as it suited someone else's needs. Although he doubted he was quite as beautiful as a butterfly. Though perhaps as fragile looking as far as the Nords were concerned, he'd bet.

He looked up as he neared the city, taking in the sight of its banners, sailing low today with only a light breeze to stir them, almost lazily and despite having only been there for a few days, he felt a small sense of comfort and safety at the idea of getting inside the settlement's sturdy walls. There were people he liked there, he was building a new life there and he supposed, to an extent, that made it his new home. For now anyway. Though in all honesty, though he had heard about the grandeur of Windhelm, the beauty of Solitude and the business of port life in Dawnstar, he felt that there wasn't a city in Skyrim that could be more appealing to him than Whiterun. At any rate, it wasn't like he was planning to visit any of those places anytime soon and especially not Riften. It sounded like the kind of place he should avoid at any cost.

The streets were as busy as ever as he trotted up through the plains district, the market place humming with the noises of human activities, Anoriath's voice cutting through the noise to advertise his fresh caught game, Fralia struggling to sell her trinkets that her husband made, Carlotta and her daughter standing behind their stall, trying desperately to coax Jon into buying some 'fresh' fruit and veg. He smiled at the two as he passed, receiving a small nod from Carlotta in return as he headed up the steps and into the wind district, looking behind him at the scene of the market. It always looked busy to him, though Ysolda had assured him that it wasn't. She claimed that before the civil war started, peddlers and merchants came from far and wide to trade in Whiterun and customers too, hoping to gain bargains or find unusual items. At times it had gotten so busy that there were no rooms for stalls and traders stood at the side of the streets, employing local children to wave flags advertising their wares and position, while buyers squeezed against one another like leeches in a jar, barely able to move and the entirety of Whiterun's trading area looked like a swarm of ever moving colours.

The thought didn't sit particularly well with him. In all honesty, he preferred quieter settings, where he had room to breathe and move, though the idea of all the delicacies that were brought in with exotic traders made him salivate and he thought that maybe he could tolerate such a thing for the chance to eat some new and delicious foods. He had a bit of a sweet tooth, something that he never really got to satisfy in Valenwood with its carnivorous diet, but since trying sweetrolls he had found his new love in life. And those honey nut treats as well and he couldn't say no to apple dumplings or snowberry crostatas. He swallowed as he approached the palace, not wanting to look like a slavering idiot in front of the Jarl. He wondered if he would offer him any food from his grand dining tables. It was approaching midday after all and Nibenor's stomach growled hungrily in response to the thought.

The wooden doors of the palace opened smoothly and he slid inside, opening them just enough to get inside, before letting them shut behind. To his disappointment, the Jarl was not only not having dinner, but nowhere to be seen. Neither was Irileth or Proventus and he wondered if something had happened to distract their attention from the throne. He shook his head. It would have to be something big for that to occur and he had heard nothing in the town. Although, now that he thought about it, the guards looked somewhat uneasy. He shrugged it off, making for Farengar's side room, trying to ignore the scents of dinner being cooked and thinking instead about his latest adventure, wondering just what the court wizard would want to know, if anything. To his surprise as he entered the room, he found Farengar conversing with a woman he didn't recognise. She stopped speaking immediately when he entered, staring at him, though her face was shadowed by a hood.

"Ah, the Jarl's protégé returns," Farengar announced as he noticed the woman's distraction and turned to face the elf "It seems you're a cut above the usual thugs the Jarl sends my way."

Nibenor lifted a black eyebrow, not sure if that was much of a compliment, though too shy to really say anything about it. Instead he settled for pulling the Dragonstone off his back and placing it on the desk, still in it's binding, glad to be rid of the weight.

"Your Dragonstone." He said simply.

Farengar let a wide grin cross his face at the sight of the stone and Nibenor took a step back, not quite sure about how the wizard was going to react. He looked like he was about to start kissing the stone...or maybe even its retriever.

"Ah excellent," he rubbed his hands together before he started unwrapping it and gesturing to the woman at his side "My...associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork."

The woman's head cocked as she looked between the stone and Nibenor.

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and recovered that?" she nodded at the item Farengar was now running his hands over almost lovingly. Her voice was not what the elf had expected and he started a little at its deep tones before nodding to her.

"Nice work," she responded, shaking her head as she noticed Farengar's almost amorous touches on the stone "Send me a copy when you've deciphered it."

The Nord nodded distractedly, muttering a "yes, yes.", still poring over the slab and the woman sighed exaggeratedly before excusing herself. Nibenor opened his mouth to say speak to Farengar about who exactly the woman was when he was interrupted by an uncharacteristically harried looking Irileth charging into the room.

"Farengar!"

Her breathing was heavy as she ran up to the wizard.

"Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby," she bent at the waist slightly as she paused to catch her breath, eyes alighting on the Dragonstone and she immediately looked at Nibenor, understanding that he had been the one to retrieve it "You should come too."

Nibenor opened his mouth to protest, not really wanting to get involved with a dragon, especially one that was making the usually calm Dunmer so agitated. In his chest, his heart stopped for a moment at the words, a stab of panic racing through him at the thought of being exposed to another dragon and he hoped that it wasn't the giant black one he had encountered at his almost-execution.

His words went unheard as Farengar threw a barrage of questions at the dark elf and she cut him off irritably, grabbing Nibenor by the wrist and dragging him through the throne room when he didn't start moving of his own accord. He winced at her tight grip on the joint, her dark fingers pressed against the still healing wounds on his wrists. She seemed to realise after a moment and released him, letting him trot after them as they made their way past the throne and the stairs behind it.

Balgruuf was already waiting for them as they reached the top of the stairs, his face taught with anxiety as he spoke to a guard. He sent the soldier off to rest a moment later, turning to Irileth and briskly instructing her to gather her men. Worry played across his face as he spoke to her and the wood elf got the impression that that particular expression of tender concern was reserved just for her. He wondered if, after the death of his wife, the Jarl had become more attached to his housecarl that he strictly should be.

She stepped aside after another moment, allowing the Jarl to look at the room's other occupant and the elf craned his neck back slightly in order to meet the Jarls' stern gaze. Panic swirled in his stomach, knowing what the man was about to ask of him but he found an odd sense of pride there too, his chest puffing slightly at the idea that this nobleman, this tall lean Nord, this leader of warriors, put so much faith in a little elf like him.

"There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend," he spoke quietly, the gravity of the situation sinking in for all of them and the pride in Nibenor's chest gave way to cold fear " I need you help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon...you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."

Nibenor took a breath. He wasn't entirely sure that seeing a dragon from an unusual angle while your head was on a chopping block, before running madly away from it, counted as experience that was worth having. Even if he did manage to not scream hysterically during the event. He elected to remain silent, nodding in a slightly defeated way. The Jarl seemed to genuinely trust him and find him useful and as much as he didn't want to go, who was he to question the wisdom of a Jarl?

A moment later he was being ushered out of the room, Irileth practically charging out of the room and down the stairs, sprinting though the long hall and out of Dragonsreach. He found himself unable to keep up with her, her longer legs and better fitness leaving him, behind and he only got the chance to catch his breath when he reached the party of guards they were meeting with. Each of them seemed to be as about as enthusiastic at the prospect of fighting a dragon as Nibenor himself was, even as Irileth gave her speech. The guard next to him was mumbling under his breath and the elf was sure he caught the words;

"We're going to die."

Around the guards, a crowd of people were gathering, standing on the steps of the Drunken Huntsman, Elrindir poking his head out of a window to listen to what was going on. Anxiety was running through the crowds, nervous murmurs running through them at the word of the dragon's attack on the western watchtower.

He scanned the crowd as Irileth spoke, looking at the faces that were becoming familiar to him, the ones he was getting to know as friends and those he recognised as townsfolk he rarely spoke to. Most of the city's population seemed to be turning up now and he spotted the hulking form of Farkas at the back, easily visible over the heads of everyone else, his brother on one side, a male dark elf, struggling to see through the crowd of Nords, on the other. There was a faint expression of distaste on both the brother's faces, though Vilkas' was far more pronounced and half of it seemed to be directed at the crowd. The rest of it seemed to be directed at the group of guards, as if they didn't think they could handle a dragon without the might of the Companions behind them. Sharp blue eyes scanned the helmeted men and Nibenor met Farkas' gaze as he looked them over. His expression instantly changed to recognition and surprise, softening as he looked at the elf. Nibenor wasn't entirely sure if he was seeing things when the Nord nodded his head to him.

He found it strange that the man would truly recognise him, let alone give him the time of day and he almost lost himself to thoughts of what the gesture meant. He would have if one of the guards hadn't slapped him on the shoulder as they headed out, anyway, and minutes later he found himself in the strange situation of charging out onto Whiterun's plains to face off a dragon.

If he hadn't had such a criminal past, he wouldn't know what he had done to deserve this fate.

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As a side point, I really don't like Delphine, hence I haven't given her more importance or dialogue in this chapter.

On another note, a guest reviewer asked what SKM was. SKM is 'Skyrim Kink Meme'. It's a website which allows you to request Skyrim (or most elder scrolls) stuff e.g. pictures, stories etc. and allows them to be responded to on the same site. It's where I got the request for this fic from. Anyone who likes Skyrim fanfics should head over there but I will point out that it has a lot of adult content on it. By that I mean MA/ 18+. The site discourages anyone 14 or under from going on it but really, I wouldn't suggest anyone under 16 going on it myself.

Anyhoo...onto the last point I was going to make here (got a little sidetracked):- Just so that people know, because I don't want to disappoint anyone, there may be a chance that the next chapter won't be posted quite as promptly as usual i.e. I might not get it posted by monday and if I do it'll certainly be a few hours later than usual. I've just got a new job and on mondays its a late shift. I usually post the chapter between 5pm and 6pm (GMT) and I won't finish work on monday until 7.15pm so it'll probably be after 8pm before its posted.

Sorry for all the blathering, I just like to keep people informed. Anyway, as always, please review the chapter whatever you thought of it. Comments (especially positive ones) are greatly appreciated.

See you next monday (hopefully) :)


	7. Chapter 7: Dragon, meet Dragonborn

A.N: Hello again readers. Not much to say except the usual: thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting, following or just giving the story a chance (delete as applicable). Hope this chapter's up to scratch.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 7: Dragon, meet Dragonborn**

It was quiet when Nibenor reached the western watchtower, the dragon that had been attacking nowhere to be seen and he took the opportunity to bend over and rest, his heavy breathing rasping in his own ears. Some way away he could hear Irileth's voice, barking orders to the men and he straightened up to look around, chest still heaving.

The plains were deserted, nothing stirring save for trees being gently swayed by the breeze and he frowned. Though he wasn't fully familiar with Skyrim's landscapes just yet, he was sure that the plains were usually teeming with wildlife. There was almost always a deer or rabbit or birds or...something, somewhere. The concept unnerved him and he drew the bow from his back, nocking an arrow loosely, pacing slowly towards the burning tower.

Images of the black dragon he had encountered in Helgen flashed through his head and he paused, remembering the wave of fear that had washed over him at the sight of it, shuddering at the memories of its roar which had darkened the sky and sent flaming boulders crashing around him. In his mind, he could see the panicking townsfolk, guards and prisoners around him, stumbling away, screaming as fire tore through the town. He had staggered to his own feet, ears ringing and head spinning, watching a boulder smash into an imperial guard.

A call made his eyes snap open and he caught his breath, looking around at the men around him, hoping that they, that Whiterun, wouldn't meet the same fate. In the distance, Irileth's call sounded again and he rushed over to the tower, dashing up its worn, smooth steps until he stood on its flat top, looking out over the plains.

He heard it before he saw it, thudding wingbeats on the air, the low rumble of a far off roar and his hands were pulling the bowstring tighter, lifting the weapon as he scanned the horizon. Its form was easily visible now, a black shape against the blue sky and his heart thudded in his chest. Below, Irileth had seen the creature and leapt into a flurry of activity, organising her men into ranks giving orders and directing them into formations. Why she bothered, he didn't know. It wasn't like she had ever fought a dragon before. There could be no defence against it other than luck, alertness and the ability to adapt quickly.

The dragon was advancing with frightening speed, its shadow skimming over the ground just ahead of it, and with every second that advanced, Nibenor could make out another detail, its shape, its size its colour. Green. Not the one that had attacked at Helgen. It was smaller, less spiked, less ferocious, more manageable. If you could apply the word 'manageable' to a dragon.

He took a deep breath, training his eyes onto it, trying to imagine that it wasn't nothing more than an aggressive bear. A very large, flying, aggressive bear. Silence fell onto the soldiers at the base of the tower, each man calming, focusing. Nibenor let his mind focus on the tip of his arrow, hoping it was sharp enough, hoping it would find somewhere to pierce.

Near-black eyes narrowed as its head came into full sight, its scales shining in the sunlight and his lips drew back into a scowl as he pulled the string back to its full extension, letting it go a moment later in a high arc, that sailed towards the creature. He couldn't tell if it had hit, the monster moving too swiftly with no response if it had felt the arrow and it plunged downwards, aiming for the gathering of men on the floor.

The men on the ground were letting their own arrows loose and Nibenor experienced the strange sound and sight of arrows clattering harmlessly off scales, the noise like that of driving rain pelting thick glass. The guards scattered, Irileth diving behind a chunk of loosened stone to avoid the gout of fire that scorched along the ground, firing her own arrows at it. She seemed to have its attention, firing from behind cover, almost taunting it and the Wood Elf took the opportunity to hop up onto the tower's crenellations, drawing an arrow back again, aiming for the creature.

The arrow struck, finding its way between thick scales, and the dragon roared, beating its wings to gain height, wheeling away from the troops on the ground as it climbed into the sky again. The men turned from their scurrying, aiming arrows again that failed to have any effect at all, save for one that punctured through a delicate wing membrane.

Nibenor watched as the animal gained height over him, its yellow eyes narrowing as it caught sight of him atop the tower and it wheeled towards him again, mouth opening to issue another blaze of flame and he had to dive into the small opening in the floor to avoid it, landing heavily on the steps below. He breathed heavily, biting back the pain flaring in his right arm as he climbed to his feet again, smelling burning grass, listening to the angry roars and he gritted his teeth as he made his way back onto the roof, looking around for the creature cautiously. It had dropped below the top of the tower again and he rushed over to find it hovering, it wings beating heavily.

His arm ached as he used it to bring the bow up and he could only be thankful that he used his left to nock and pull back arrows. He leaned over the edge of the tower again, eyes scanning for the creature, looking for the join between its wing and body before letting the iron tipped projectile loose. It punctured through the wing with ease and without a seconds hesitation, the Bosmer took the opportunity to fire another, leaving two small holes at the base of the wing before the dragon took to the sky again.

He frowned as it gained height, wondering if his plan wouldn't work, if the wing was thicker than it looked and he ran to the opposite edge of the roof, eyes fixed on the base of the wing as they rose up above his head. And then it appeared, a sliver of blue in pale dappled green, widening as the dragon's weight bore down on them, tearing further down the seam between wing and body and the creature faltered, losing its balance as it levelled off. The soldiers below took the hint, their own arrows joining it tearing wings from body and Nibenor raced for the steps as the creature roared, its wings unable to take its weight anymore.

The ground shook as he dashed down the stairs, the deafening sound of something like a boulder falling, the combined hiss of swords being unsheathed and men's voice rising in confidence as the dragon was downed spurring him on. He reached the outside of the tower to find guardsmen lying dead on the ground, their bodies burning and he wrinkled his nose. On the rare occasion that he had partaken of human or elven flesh, as in the tradition of his people, he had never appreciated the smell of the cooking people. The one Dunmer he had eaten had created a terrible stink, the heat-proof nature of their skin creating a powerful smell that resembled rotting eggs and he hoped that Irileth didn't get near enough to the dragon's breath to create it again.

He dropped down off the small bridge, hugging the stone wall as he made his way towards the battle that was happening on the other side, finding a large gouge in the earth where the dragon had crash landed. Men surrounded the animal that was now flailing, the ripped edges of its wings flapping limply as it hauled itself up onto the crude hand like claws at the bends of its wings. Its giant head, as long as Nibenor's body was tall, swung from side to side, jaws snapping, its tail brutally flicking aside anyone who got too close.

Fear gripped him again and he had half a mind to turn and run, almost unable to comprehend the prospect that they might actually be able to win this fight. He watched as Irileth skittered out of the way of one of its long breaths of flame, a soldier gouging a deep gash into its side as its head turned to one side. A claw came down on him in response, pinning him to the floor and as Nibenor watched him struggling to free himself, something inside him steeled itself, some will to see it through to the end, or perhaps some primal instinct. The urge to turn and run flittered out and he bent to grab a discarded sword of a now dead soldier.

Sword in hand, the Wood Elf crept forwards, circling the creature cautiously, careful to keep out of range of those wings and that tail. It seemed to be weakening somewhat, blood sliding out from between hard green scales, its snout and jaws red, though he winced as it crushed the soldier beneath its claw. Snarling, determined, he edged forwards again, approaching those long, snapping jaws. A large yellow eye rolled to focus on him, its head turning on a long neck, jaws opening, chest expanding as it took a breath, readying its attack.

Panicking, the sword came up in a wide arc, scraping along the dragon's bloodied nose, drawing a long gash before it caught between scales, enough to distract it from its attack. He wasn't sure what he was doing when he found himself moving towards it, its head tilted upward as it roared, but the next thing he knew, he was leaping for the creature's head, feet scrabbling against slick wet scales, finding purchase in the grooves of jaw bones and he dragged himself atop it fully, grabbing onto horns behind him as it tried to shake him off. Over the almost deafening roars rumbling below him, he heard Irileth's voice faintly, its tone sharp and panicked and angry, shouting at him to get off, asking him what the hell he thought he was doing.

But he was here now, he couldn't just climb off, it would probably kill him if he did. The only choice he had now was to finish it. He lunged forwards for the sword still caught in the scales of its nose, grabbing and wrenching it free, watching as thick scales tore loose as he did. Its head tilted back again and he fell along the length of its skull, catching onto dark horns once again before using momentum to push himself forwards, landing horizontally along the skull and plunging the sword down into a sharp yellow eye, just as it rolled to look up at him. Blood and fluids that Nibenor didn't want to identify sprayed as the sword punctured through the dragon's eye and he recoiled just in time to miss the worst of it, though he felt some of it spatter hot and wet against his cheek and hair and hands.

The dragon was roaring, spasming, rearing and he steadied himself for just a moment before diving from its head, slamming hard into the ground and rolling away, breathless, watching with wide eyes as the creature's body collapsed to the floor with a final low growl and lay still.

Silence descended onto the plain once more, even the wind ceasing its quiet whistling, until there was nothing but the laboured breathing of the soldiers staring at the dead monster before them. No one moved, save for the rapid rising and falling of chests, realisation sinking in, until small flames erupted from the corpse's punctured skin, growing and spreading rapidly until the entire body was engulfed, streams of colour rising from it and twisting in the air as flesh fell from bones. And then those streams were rushing towards the elf, still lying on his back, twisting and enveloping in a dance of bright lights that left everyone bewildered.

Irileth frowned as she watched the Bosmer jump off the dragon, despite her relief over its demise. Where had that even come from anyway? This was supposed to be a small, shy, timid Bosmer, not a great dragon slayer and yet the man had jumped up onto the reptile's head without any sort of hesitance that she could see and dispatched it with a somewhat clumsy but nevertheless effective attack that lead to the pile of bones in front of her now.

Speaking of which, she watched the swirls of colour drifting off the corpse and wrap around the prostrate man, wondering just what the hell was going on and who the hell this mer really was. Her men were gathering around him as he started to struggle upright. They didn't seem to want to get too close, leaving a few feet between themselves and him, but they looked awed and excited and her frown deepened.

She approached him herself, eyeing him cautiously. He appeared to be in some sort of daze, his eyes distant and unfocused, lips moving, forming silent words as if he were speaking to himself and his hands, limp in his lap, trembled as he sat staring at nothing.

Her men gasped and murmured as she moved past them and up to the Bosmer's side, poking him roughly in the shoulder in an attempt to get him to pay attention.

"Nibenor?"

There was no response from him, though the tip of his ear seemed to flick minutely, as if he had heard her.

"Maybe you should leave him be, Lady Irileth." One of the soldiers offered and she turned to glare at him.

"Why? He's hardly a danger to us." But even as she said it, she doubted her own words, to some extent.

"Well, did you see what I saw? He just took that dragon's soul." The guard pointed behind him to the bare white bones of the dragon.

The words seemed to trigger a reaction in the Wood Elf and he blinked suddenly, his dark brown eyes regaining focus and he looked up at the man who had spoken sharply. He looked somewhat ill, his skin washed out and covered with a thin sheen of sweat and his hands still shook, though, to a lesser extent. One moved to grip his right elbow, massaging mindlessly at the knot of bone before working further up where skin had turned dark purple with bruises.

"Nibenor?" Irileth tried again, ignoring her soldiers, her finger prodding more firmly at his shoulder this time and she was rewarded with him turning to look at her, lips still moving. He looked puzzled, his brow creased, as if trying to work out something troubling and the Dunmer took a step back. She didn't like this. There was something wrong with him, something that the dragon had done to him with some strange magic, perhaps.

"Get back, all of you," She turned to look at her men, barking the order "I don't like how he's acting."

"But housecarl, he absorbed the soul of a dragon... that can only mean one thing. This little elf is Dragonborn."

Another of her men nodded enthusiastically before looking to the dazed and puzzled Nibenor.

"Use the voice, if you have it." He urged quietly, Nibenor staring back at him somewhat blankly.

"Honestly, Thorsten, you really should ..." Irileth found her chide cut off by the mer as he staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily, a look of understanding and determination on his face. Irileth took another step back as he turned his back to her, his shoulders rising as he took a deep breath;

"Fus!"

The shout sent Nibenor staggering backwards from its power as a wave of energy broke from him, rippling across the ground in front of him. Stones and rocks skittered away, rattling as they did, leaves shaking lose from trees in its path, clouds of dust rising along its course.

The Bosmer took a breath, shaking.

"It's the power of old!" A gruff voice crowed triumphantly "The voice of the Dragonborn!"

Nibenor looked up at him, a hand on his throat, swallowing thickly, as if the power of the shout had torn the flesh of his inner throat. Another of the guards was approaching him slowly, taking off his helmet as he stared at the small elf.

"I can't believe it. You're...you're...Dragonborn." There was awe in his voice as he spoke the final word, green eyes wide, almost fearful.

"Dragonborn?" Nibenor asked, his voice rough and hoarse.

"The Dragonborn slays dragons and steals their power. That's what you did, didn't you?"

"I...I don't know what happened to me."

"You can shout now," the answer came instantly "You couldn't before, right?"

The Wood Elf nodded slowly.

"That can only mean one thing. You must be Dragonborn."

Irileth rolled her red eyes again at her guards. Honestly, a group of full grown Nordic warriors believe in folktales like the Dragonborn. It was ludicrous.

"You'd all be better off keeping quiet instead of flapping your gums on something you know nothing about."

"Come on, Irileth, you saw it."

"What I see if a dead dragon," she snapped, irritated by her men "Now we know we can kill them. Anyone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me. I don't need a 'Dragonborn'."

"Ah, come on, Housecarl."

"Enough! Gather the dead, we return to Whiterun," she rounded on Nibenor, voice dangerously low as her men backed away to attend to the dead and wounded, their gazes still fixed with awe on the smaller elf "The Jarl will want to speak of this with you."

Nibenor nodded dumbly, scared by Irileth's angry reaction. He might just be willing to take on another dragon before he was willing to suffer her wrath. He climbed to his feet again slowly, exhausted, turning back towards the city and trudging slowly, the soldiers falling away from his thoughts.

It was when he was nearing the city that a bolt of lightning flashed over head, thunder clapping a moment later, intertwined with an undeniably clear voice. He listened quietly, feeling as though his soul was being shaken, feeling a strange beckoning, a need to find the source of the voice and he quickened his pace to return to Whiterun, trembling as he hurried on.

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Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a review, whatever your thoughts on the chapter.

I also want to add to my previous comment from last week, about SKM. For those that are interested, the site is completely anonymous.

Thanks again, see you next week :)


	8. Chapter 8: Intrigue

A.N: Hello again peeps. Thanks once again to anyone who followed, faved, reviewed the fic etc. etc. I hope it's still enjoyable for the majority.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 8: Intrigue**

The Bannered Mare was thrumming as the sun set over Skyrim, heaving with an influx of people that were not normally found within its walls. Hulda sighed to herself, delighted at the prospect of more customers, less delighted by the concept of more work. She motioned for another barrel of mead to be brought up from the basement, looking out across the room as she slid another pint across the counter. Most of the people in the room were here for gossip, that and for the unusual presence of a small number of the Companions.

Normally, the Companions didn't bother themselves to come down to the tavern unless they were either out of mead, or looking for gossip. She guessed it had to be the latter, since only the twins, the Dark Elf and the drunkard were in. If the hall was out of mead, every single member of them would be lining her bar stools and benches.

What had drawn the four men in was the story that a guardsman, standing up on one of the tables as a makeshift podium, was bellowing out across the room. He was swaying unsteadily, drink in hand and sloshing over a group of regulars below him, who looked positively disgusted about it. Or the amount of people jostling around the room. News of the return of dragons, which were only a rumour a week ago, was now concrete fact, as confirmed by the earlier events of the day.

That in itself was interesting enough. The fact that there were rumours about the return of a Dragonborn, even more so. Mikael, the local bard, was frantically scribbling down details onto parchment as the guard began to recount the story once again.

"So we're all standing there by the gates, waiting for Irileth to meet us. We're all quiet. Heard this talk about dragons and no-one knows if it's true, but Orvar ran to Dragonsreach like someone'd set his britches on fire."

There was a pause as the off duty guard took a swig of his drink, spilling another slosh onto the already sticky floorboards.

"So we're all reckoning there's something real goin' on. Not a dragon, but summat big. Then Irileth comes pelting t'wards us. Never seen her move so fast and she's got that look on her face. The one she gets when the Jarl's threatened, like someone's taken a shit on the floor. And then she's shouting at us and it's real and there's a dragon and it's burnt down the Western Watchtower. She's trying to rally us and I'm 'avin none of it. Don' wanna die fighting a damned dragon. I turn to say as much to the fella beside me and then...then I notice who it is."

He took another drink, clearly enjoying the hushed silence over the room.

"It's that new elf who's just shown up. Keeps stickin' his nose in everything. You know the one. The wood elf. Told the Jarl about a dragon at Helgen and now he's in his favour..."

"Wood elf?" Came a deep voice from the crowed and the guard looked down at its owner, finding that big bugger of a Companion looking back up at him

Farkas stared up at the guard and his story, intrigued by the mention of the new elf he'd seen in town. The one he'd bumped into here and there. He'd seen him standing with the guards before they went to dispatch the dragon, but he'd lost sight of him when they'd moved off. He didn't think the elf had actually gone with them.

"Aye, Nibenor's his name." The guard replied before continuing his story.

Farkas zoned out as the guard rambled on again, mulling over his encounters with the elf. He'd seen him around a number of times, though only ever interacted with him twice. He wasn't sure quite why but he found his attention caught whenever the elf was about, like there was something special about him. His appearance attracted enough attention to begin with. Such a tiny, frail looking man. Thin arms and legs, with parchment pale skin and black hair that made him look sickly. Big black eyes that reminded him on an insect. Sharp and glistening and strange.

A nudge in the ribs from his brother brought his attention back to the story.

"We're fighting this dragon and none of us 'av a clue what we're doing. Damn thing's killed two of us already and you can't see anything for the smoke rising from the fire's it's started. It keeps swooping low and snapping and you're just trying to stay alive. Elf's nowhere to be seen and we reckon he's made a run for it. Wouldn't blame 'im. Didn't reckon he stood a chance.

Then the dragon flies down for us and we're firing at it, arrows just bouncing right off it. Something happens and it's roaring, like it's hurt. Like when you know you've got a good hit on a big bear. Starts flying back up again and then we can see it. Holes in its wing and as it's climbing, the holes are getting bigger and ripping its wings. So we do the same, make holes in its wings til they tear and can't hold it. It crash lands and we're all about it but it's still damn fierce and it kills the new lad just by flicking its tail against him.

We don't know what to do now, still just trying to hold the damn thing off, save for a few scrapes on its nose. It's bleeding, we know that but otherwise...it's not even slowed down.

Then this elf comes down off the tower. Walks towards it slow, looks like he's gonna crap himself. Then he picks this sword up and slashes its face and a second later he's on its head and he's stabbed it in the eye and it's already dead as he jumps off it."

A bark of laughter ran around the room at the ridiculous notion of a Bosmer achieving such a thing, and Vilkas snorts and speaks up. Much to Farkas' chagrin. He just wants to hear more.

"All that smoke in your eyes must've made you see things," the smaller twin was commenting "There's no way that little elf could kill a dragon. A gust of strong wind knocks him over. I've seen him around. He can't even hold up a sword."

The guard scowled.

"I ain't no liar. I saw what I did. That little elf killed that dragon. And then he..." he paused for effect, smirking at his power over the crowd as he took a drink again.

"And then?" Farkas pushed.

"Never seen anything like it. He jumps off this dragon's head and hits the floor and rolls away, just lies there on the ground like he's hurt. Then I look at this dragon and it's on fire, all its scales and flesh burning away and there's this light. It's coming off it in ...wisps, like smoke. But all different colours. And it's like it's got a mind of its own. It's going over to this little elf and wrapping round him. And then I remember the stories my great grandpa told me. 'Bout the Dragonborn. How he killed dragons and absorbs it soul and I figure that's what's happening. Little elf is taking its soul."

Beside him, Farkas can practically feel Vilkas rolling his eyes. He ignored it, leaning forward, intrigued, knowing he must seem like a little boy. He doesn't care. They all know that no-one in the room believes the guard. That he's just babbling lies and that the Dragonborn hasn't returned. Especially not in the form of a scrawny Wood Elf because everyone knew that only Nords could learn the way of the voice.

"We all go quiet," the guard continues "and eventually he gets up but something's wrong. So I tell him, tell him what's happening and to use the voice. He does and it's like...like this great force shooting out across the ground in front of him. You can feel the ground shake and we know it's him. The Dragonborn is back."

Murmurs of doubt run around the room once more and he glares back at them all.

"You might not believe me. But we all heard that voice. We all heard the Greybeard's calling for the Dovakiin."

Farkas took a drink of his own mead, expecting his twin to make some smart comeback. To his surprise, he didn't, staying silent and taking a drink himself. He supposed there was no comeback to something they had all heard themselves and all knew was true.

He looked over to the other two Companions, sitting across on another bench. Torvar was explaining some detail to Athis, hiccoughing as he did, resulting in the Dunmer grimacing in disgust and waving him away. He muttered something about 'not needing to know about his Dragonborn thing because I'm not a Nord.'

A point that Farkas felt wasn't really true since a Wood Elf was now having to know about it. Wherever he was. If it was really true anyway. It didn't seem very likely but there was so much hype. And this story. And they really couldn't deny the call.

He wondered vaguely if they would see much of him in the next couple of days. He had seen the elf dashing up to the palace, looking dazed and confused. And if the call was real and if he was the Dragonborn, then that would mean he'd have to leave for High Hrothgar as soon as possible.

The thought upset him somewhat. Not just because he wanted to find out if the story was true. Or to ask about what it was like to fight a dragon. He was intrigued by everything about the elf. Who he was, why he was in Skyrim, why he kept staring at him every time he saw him.

In the back of his mind, he could feel a vague niggling of hope that the Bosmer might come up to Jorrvaskr before he left and take Aela up on her offer to join. It didn't seem likely and, to be honest, he didn't think the elf could best any of them in a trial to join. Dragon killer or not.

He took a drink, draining the tankard before standing up, staggering slightly as he did. He wanted some air and he slapped his brother on the shoulder before leaving, hoping vaguely that he would bump into the elf again. Or that he'd feel those dark eyes watching him. There was no such luck and, after relieving himself, he turned back towards Jorrvaskr trudging up the steps slowly.

The mead hall was quiet when he entered, save for Aela and Njada fighting over a piece of venison on the table. He shook his head, moving towards them and snatching it from off the table, ignoring the protestations as he ate it while making his way towards his room. The slightly damp air of Jorrvaskr's basement was comforting, if not refreshing, and he took a breath of the smell of oil and mead that permeated the lower rooms. His bedroom door clicked shut behind him and he pulled off his armour hurriedly before collapsing onto his bed. It groaned under his weight as he turned over and buried his face into his pillow, still wondering about the elf...Nibenor, wasn't it?

_He was aware of heat around him, something soft and firm pressed against his torso in a way that made him writhe and moan. Slender fingers were moving up his arms, his chest, sliding against skin to hook over his shoulders. There was hot breath against his ear, a brush of lips against his as fingers ran up into his dark hair, curling and gripping. A startled gasp sent a bolt of pleasure down his body, bringing him to life as he wrapped his arms around the slender, pale form in his lap, crushing the smooth body against him. Pink lips parted, pale throat rumbling as a contented purr escaped._

_"Farkas..."_

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__You know the deal by now, I'd love to hear what you think about the story in the form of a review. On a kind of related note, I'm trying to find a beta reader. I know it's a bit late now that I've already started but a couple of people have pointed out a few issues that I need to work on, so I'm looking for some aid in that. I've sent out messages to a couple of people but haven't heard back yet, but fingers crossed that I will and that my writing will improve.

Apologies also, for the lack of content in this chapter. It was really just to serve as a summary of what Farkas thought about Nib, since we haven't really seen much from his side of the story.

Hopefully see you next week :)


	9. Chapter 9: Return

Hello peeps! It's that time again. Once more, thanks to everyone who reviewed, read, favourited and followed. Greatly appreciated all of you. I know have a beta reader (thank you Branwhin and to everyone else who offered) so hopefully there should be no mistakes and everything should be rosy.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 9: Return**

The story of the dragon's defeat at the Western Watchtower spread quickly across Skyrim. Within days whispers and rumours spread from the city of Whiterun to every corner of the province, the Greybeards' thundering cries ensuring that not one person didn't know about the rise of the Dragonborn.

Closer to home, within Whiterun's aging walls, the townsfolk chattered eagerly about the news of their city playing home to the potential hero. His new Thanedom only served to increase his game and Breezehome became a new centre of attention in the town. Children gathered outside the house as servants scurried to and fro, restoring the house to a more hospitable state.

And yet there was no sign of the Thane himself. No hint of where the man was. His newly appointed housecarl attended to his house, remaining steadfastly tight-lipped on the subject of his whereabouts. No guards had reported his leaving the city, however, and the townsfolk remained hopefully of catching a glimpse of the new hero.

Had they had the presence of mind to ask in the right places, they would have perhaps discovered that the Bosmer had holed up in the Bannered Mare. Not the most secret of places, which perhaps was the very reason no one had thought to look there. As it stood, he was simply waiting for the plethora of servants that Jarl Balgruuf had seen fit to lend him to fill his house with the supplies he needed for the journey. When ready, one would notify him and he would leave in the dead of night to begin his journey to High Hrothgar. A moment that he was eagerly awaiting. In a manner anyway.

He wasn't overly thrilled about the idea of climbing a mountain to learn about something he was relatively sure was a mistake on everyone's part. The concept of being a hero, someone people relied on, idealised and, above all, wanted to be in the presence, of was abhorrent to him. As far as Nibenor was concerned he wasn't, and never wanted to be, anyone of any importance. It went against his quiet nature, his solitary self. Not that he didn't like people, but he found their constant attention upon him invasive, exhausting and unnerving. His previous life as a thief meant that unwanted attention could be positively alarming to him.

A knock on the door woke him up from his doze and he started, sitting up abruptly. A moment later the door opened and one of the servants who'd been attending his house trotted in, announcing that his supplies were ready and he would leave that evening. She was gone again before he had time to respond. He clamped his mouth shut. Seemed like he wasn't getting any choice in the matter.

Still, at least it would get him away from the rumours for a little while.

The moon was high overhead when Nibenor slipped out of the Bannered Mare, the doors clicking shut behind him. He thanked his skill as a former thief to allow him to run down the street to his house quietly where Lydia was waiting with his supplies. She strapped him into his armour quickly, piling bags and belts and other supplies onto him before accompanying out of the city. Guards nodded respectfully as he passed and he glanced around nervously, unnerved by the concept of what was to come.

The road seemed much longer as he looked at it, a horse in the stables whinnying as Lydia's heavy footsteps stirred it. Nibenor took a breath, looking out at the cobbled path.

"High Hrothgar is at the top of that mountain," she pointed out the ragged shaped peak, silhouetted by pale moonlight "You want to take the road to Ivarstead to get there. Over the bridge next to the meadery. Take the left fork in the road, down past Valtheim Keep. Your path always stays to the right of the river. From there on, it's signposted. But it'll take you up through a gap in the mountains. You'll see the village. From there, there's a flight of steps running up the mountains. The locals will tell you more."

Nibenor nodded, taking the information in, swallowing thickly as he did. From the corner of his eye he looked up at her, noticing a soft smile on her lips. As if expecting him to be nervous, as if a little elf like him shouldn't be expected to do such a task. She was right, but his pride protested. He straightened his back and shoulders, taking a breath once more, puffing his chest out. He'd show the Nords what a Bosmer was capable of.

He took a step, then another and another and before he knew it, he was halfway down the road, not knowing what was around the corner but knowing he would meet it head on.

* * *

Farkas sighed quietly to himself, rubbing his forehead as he headed back to Jorrvaskr, a deer slung over his shoulders. Aela was a few steps ahead, her own catch for the day dangling limply over her own shoulders. Their hunt had gone well, but despite the catch he found himself bored. Hunting was all they seemed to do lately, the jobs coming in being few and far between. It had been that way for a while now. It was just fortunate that the jobs they did take tended to pay very very well. Otherwise they'd be getting desperate.

That didn't stop him from wanting something else to do though. That was the problem with such a safe city. It got boring. Despite the dragon attack that had occurred several weeks ago, despite the war supposedly raging through the holds, he wasn't seeing any of it. The only exciting thing that had happened was the presence of the elf and he...well, with his disappearance, the little rumours and thrills of excitement that ran through the city had disappeared as well.

There was no news of him either. The supposed Dragonborn had long since left and, with no news or knowledge of his whereabouts, he had become old news, all but forgotten by the masses. Not him though. The little elf was still clear in his mind and he wondered if he was achieving his goal, if he really was the Dragonborn. He wondered if he'd ever seen him again, if one day he would return to Whiterun.

Farkas wasn't sure why, but he really hoped he would. He'd like to see the intriguing little man again.

Consequently, on the odd few jobs that had taken him out of the city he had listened keenly for word on the elf. Once, he'd been lucky, and heard about two travellers, one of whom fit his description. A smaller than normal Wood Elf with a surprising talent for killing monsters several times his size. But that was all. And that had been weeks ago.

He pursed his lips as he thought about the timescales, stepping into the warmth of Jorrvaskr. It was well into Sun's Height when the elf had first appeared and now, as Farkas glanced through the doors closing behind him to the Gildergreen, he realised that they were most of the way through Frostfall, with only a week left of the month. That was the best part of four months. He frowned again. Winter would be here soon and he wondered how the little elf would cope with Skyrim's harsh winters. It was too cold for many races, other than the Nords, even at the height of summer.

"Get your head out of the clouds, icebrain, we've got work to do."

Farkas jerked at the sound of Aela's voice and looked over to her. The woman stood, lips pursed, arms folded.

"Shor's beard, it must be a pretty dire subject to get you so distracted. Don't think about it too hard, you might strain yourself."

He snarled quietly in response, knowing that she knew it held no malice and he slammed through the back doors to the training yard where he set about skinning the animal on his shoulder.

It was boring work. Slow and careful and one he had done so many times before that it barely held his attention, but it helped pass the hours. When he finally hung the skinned and gutted animal up to drain, the sun's light was beginning to fade from the sky and he headed back into the mead hall for a drink.

Not to his surprise, he managed to walk into a brawl, Njada and Athis beating each other senseless. He grabbed a tankard and settled down into a chair to watch, his mind finally engaged more fully, gulping down the mead with relish. Torvar joined him a moment later, watching as Njada landed a punch squarely into the Dark Elf's gut. The Dunmer spluttered in response, gasping and clutching at his abdomen and Farkas snorted.

"Milk drinker."

Red eyes glared up at him as the elf staggered to his feet again, aiming a punch at his adversary. Farkas laughed lightly, letting his attention stray to the door as he heard it open. He lifted his mug in greeting, expecting to see Skjor returning from a job he had been on, but his voice died in his throat at the sight of two people entering the hall. More specifically his attention was caught by one of the two who looked very familiar.

Njada and Athis' brawl briefly abated as they took note of the new arrival.

Surprised was not the word Farkas would've used had he been asked about the situation, to see the elf he had been wondering about for so many months slide into Jorrvaskr. Especially when the door closed, shutting out the light behind him. His eyebrows lifted at the man's change in appearance.

When the Bosmer had left Whiterun, or at least, when he had last been seen in Whiterun, he was a scrawny slip of a Wood Elf. As Vilkas had, not so subtly put it, a strong gust would have blown him over. But in the past few months, the supposed Dragonborn had made something of a transformation. One that meant that Athis and Njada didn't laugh him out of the building.

From the almost childlike figure that he had been the Wood Elf that stood before them looked like a warrior. He was still small, and that was never going to change, but his form was more imposing. He seemed stronger, the muscles of his arms that were exposed by a sleeveless set of leather armour thicker, more toned and corded. It was a theme that seemed to run all over him now, his shoulders and chest broader, waist more defined. His legs seemed to have filled out to support his newly endowed upper body. The black hair that had seemed constantly messy was tied back neatly, a long ponytail falling down his back, the loose hair beneath it flowing smoothly. He was still pale, though the sun had darkened him somewhat and he looked healthier, despite the new scars that adorned his face and body. Most of them recent, by the looks of it.

He looked altogether healthier and Farkas took a large gulp of his mead as he looked him over. Those dark brown eyes turned to him, narrowed slightly before widening as he rubbed the light stubble on his jaw. His war paint, a slash of red over his left eye was smudged but it somehow added to the rougher image of this man.

The worn weapons were gone too, his old bow replaced by a sleek ebony version that matched the wrist brace on his left arm. An elven dagger was strapped to his thigh, a glass sword and scabbard hanging at his right hip.

But what really caught Farkas' attention was the change in the man's air. From the shy little elf who had avoided eye contact and shuffled quietly around Whiterun was a much bolder character. This warrior in front of him now had obviously seen more than a little combat. Sharp eyes gazed around appraisingly, almost critically, his head held high and lips set into a stern line. His back was straight, his shoulders held wide as he looked about. The stance changed only slightly as he settled his gaze on Farkas, recognition flitting over his face, but he turned away after a moment to speak to Aela who had approached him.

She quickly directed him to speak to Kodlak before casting a critical gaze over his companion.

He turned to the priest standing beside him.

"I think I should probably go and see this...Kodlak on my own, Erandur."

The Dark Elf nodded.

"As you wish. I'll have a look around the city. Whiterun is amazing and I've always wanted to visit. Never actually managed to though."

"Yes...so you've said. Several times."

The priest, Erandur, shrugged.

"I'll be back at Breezehome later, if you have need of me."

The Wood Elf nodded in response, smiling quietly as he watched the Dunmer leave and Farkas glared darkly at the back of the priest as he left. Something about the Wood Elf having such a companion didn't sit right with him. He didn't look like he could be of any use to him, even if he did seem to be carrying rather a lot of gear for the other mer.

With the Dark Elf gone, the Dragonborn glanced over to Farkas once more, an unreadable expression on his face. The Nord returned the gaze levelly until the elf broke it to walk away, disappearing down the stairs to speak with Kodlak.

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Hope the chapter was enjoyable. Erandur is included because...well because I love him, even if he doesn't shut up :)


	10. Chapter 10: Surprise

A.N.: Hi again. Just the usually, thanks to Branwhin for beta-ing the chapter. Thanks to everyone who fav'd, reviewed etc. etc.

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**Chapter 10: Surprise**

Farkas sat quietly as he waited for the Bosmer to reappear, sipping at his mead. From the corner of his eye he could see Njada and Athis' fight wrapping up as the woman managed to land a hit that floored the Dark Elf. A smirk crossed Njada's lips in response and she sauntered away smugly, leaving the Mer groaning on the floor. The sight crossed a grin to cross Farkas' face and he snorted into his mead. Red eyes glared back at him in response.

He opened his mouth to comment when he heard a noise that made his attention snap away from the elf. A soft click alerted him that the door to the sleeping quarters had opened and he looked over. A moment later, Vilkas' unkempt brown hair came into view on the stairs. His face was set into a scowl, his steps heavy, angry. Jaw set, he stomped his way up the stairs and out of the back door to the training yard. More importantly to Farkas, however, was the Bosmer trotting behind, trying to keep up with the Nord's long strides.

He looked mildly alarmed, no doubt taken aback by Vilkas' bad temper and Farkas frowned, wondering where the strong looking warrior who had entered Jorrvaskr not long ago was. He disappeared out to the training yard behind the smaller twin and Farkas stood. Obviously Kodlak felt the elf was worth testing. Vilkas seemed to disagree. Vehemently.

Farkas smirked to himself at his brother's bad attitude before following them out to the training yard. He wanted to see how the little elf handled himself. Behind him, Athis groaned, climbing to his feet to follow the others, apparently having the same idea. He managed to catch up with Farkas as he emerged into the early evening's pale light.

"You think he can handle himself against your brother?" The Dunmer asked, his voice rough from the blows to his torso.

"You did. Don't see why he can't."

Athis scowled in response.

"What? Because we're both mer? Bosmer and Dunmer are completely different, I'll have you know."

Farkas shrugged

"You're all elves to me."

Athis muttered something under his breath as he moved to sit down to watch the fight, perching atop a nearby barrel. In the middle of the yard, the two males were squaring up, the newcomer drawing his sword. The blue-green of the glass blade caught the evening sun's rays, reflecting them onto the ground.

Farkas settled himself onto a nearby bench, picking up a boiled crème treat and nibbling at its edge. Out on the yard, Vilkas was plucking a training sword from a weapons rack, hefting a shield in the other hand. From the set of his shoulders, Farkas could tell Vilkas didn't reckon much of the elf. Probably thought this would be over in a matter of minutes.

He thought for a moment to warn his brother to perhaps not be so flippant about the little elf. But then he knew the response would be a roll of his eyes, no doubt assuming that Farkas' lesser intelligence was making him worry more than he should. He held his tongue, watching as the elf rolled his shoulders, preparing for the fight.

* * *

Nibenor swallowed as he eyed the Nord in front of him, heart pounding furiously in his chest. He could feel nervous tremors running through his limbs and he took a deep breath, straightening his back and shoulders.

Despite his much improved skills in combat, Nibenor was still not what he would call a natural fighter. He was an archer at heart, but that didn't always cut it, and he needed the support of others, not to mention the training. Which was his main reason for joining the Companions. He hadn't anticipated that he would have to spar with the moodier of the twins though. And despite the fact that he had fought dragons, trolls, draugr and all manner of creatures, he still felt small and uncertain.

He took a step back, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. His strength came from his speed and agility and that was the only way he was going to win this encounter. Swallowing again, he looked at his opponent, setting his jaw. He wasn't confident, but he could pretend he was and that, for now, was all that he needed.

* * *

Farkas' eyebrows lifted as he watched the two in the yard beginning their fight. Within a few minutes he thought that he should have perhaps said something to his brother after all.

The little elf was fast. Very fast in fact, his compact size allowing him an agility and speed that someone of his brother's size, or bigger, could never have. His muscles, still lithe, didn't slow him down any, only giving him the opportunity to hit harder, hit faster.

It was obvious that he knew he couldn't beat the Companion in a contest of strength. Instead, he employed a tactic of dashing in for a series of short, sharp blows before retreating to a safe distance. The tactic stirred a memory of an argument Athis and Torvar had had about the advantages of speed over strength. Ten bleeding wounds or one clean cleave.

And it wasn't hard to see that it was frustrating Vilkas to no end. His relaxed, almost mocking stance that he had held before had changed to the defensive. His teeth were gritted, lips pulled back in a scowl, shoulders hunched. His eyes had narrowed almost venomously. Even armed with a one handed sword, rather than his preferred greatsword, he was unable to make any sort of counterattack.

Farkas nodded to himself, impressed by the little elf watching as Vilkas found the time to get a swing in. The elf jumped backwards nimbly, all but dancing out of the sword's reach. And then he was on the offensive again, diving in and slashing, carving lines into the battered surface of the iron shield. There was a certain roughness to his movements though. An uncertainty, perhaps instinct or panic. Most warriors appeared strong or formidable with their powerful sword strokes. In the case of the quicker fighting style, such as Athis', there was an elegance and lightness in the speed of their movements.

Nibenor's blows were jerky. Sloppy. They were badly timed and badly aimed and it appeared to be only the sheer volume and moderate force of them that was keeping Vilkas at bay. Perhaps, Farkas thought, this was why he had come to them. Maybe he wanted to learn from them, learn how to fight properly, instead of using haphazard flurries of sword swipes.

Vilkas seemed to have noticed it too, noticed the lack of control in the elf's attacks and, watching carefully he waited to make his move before swinging his sword in a horizontal arc. It caught the elf in the ribs, flat of the blade crashing against his side as his sprightly nature deserted him for a moment.

He landed awkwardly, ankle twisting, looking up to see Vilkas advancing on him, taking advantage of his falter. The dull iron blade swung down, hard and fast and Nibenor's reactions were only a second faster, the green blade of his sword halting the dull silver's descent. And Farkas could see the effort it took to catch that blade and hold it. What was a glancing blow to Vilkas was a heavy strike to the elf and his arms struggled to resist the force, muscles tightening as they absorbed the shock.

Through luck, or skill, or a burst of strength, the Bosmer managed to shove Vilkas' blade away long enough to roll out of its reach. He staggered up right, falling automatically into his defensive posture, sword ready to block as deep brown eyes narrowed.

Vilkas pulled himself back into his own defensive posture, staring back into those dark eyes. He stilled for a moment before straightening and nodding to himself. The iron sword was slid back into its sheath. It took another couple of moments before Nibenor did the same.

Farkas wondered if, perhaps, the Mer couldn't quite believe that he'd managed to pass. Or perhaps even live. He smiled, kindly this time, as he watched his brother approach the little elf. Behind him, there was a sharp bark of laughter and he spun on the bench to look at Athis, still perched precariously on his barrel.

His facial expression seemed to be somewhere in the region of surprise and sadistic pleasure. An expression that, on a Dunmer, was more than a little disturbing. Especially when those red eyes were so dark with mocking mirth.

"Who'd have thought Vilkas would be beaten by a Bosmer?!" He jumped off the barrel, the bruising on his chest of a little concern to him at the moment "I've got to tell Aela about this!"

He disappeared back into Jorrvaskr a moment later and Farkas shook his head slowly. His brother was not going to be pleased about this. Athis would be wiser to keep his mouth shut. But then, the Dunmer never did. He always pushed the limits, always said what everyone was thinking but no one would voice. It was annoying, but it was just as well that he did it. It tended to solve a lot of problems in the long run.

With a quiet chuckle to himself, Farkas turned back to his sweet, licking at its dissolving edges. At the sight of his brother stomping back towards him he used it to hide his smile. The Wood Elf had disappeared though and he glanced around in confusion as his brother crashed down onto the bench, sitting next to his brother. The wood creaked under their combined weights.

Farkas pulled the dissolving sweet from his mouth, earning a look of mild disgust from his twin.

"Where's the elf?"

"I sent him to Eorlund, to get my sword sharpened for me. He may as well start making himself useful."

"He's in then?" Farkas asked and he couldn't quite hide the hope in his voice.

Vilkas looked at him suspiciously for a moment before nodding.

"Aye. For now, anyway. I don't reckon he'll last long with us though."

"You don't think he'll make a good Companion?"

"He smells like magic and trees and...potions. He's a scrawny excuse for a warrior. He's _not _a warrior. He can't possibly bring any honour to us."

"Maybe he'll surprise you," Farkas replied, his words muffled by the remains of the boiled sweet in his mouth. "Just because he's different from us, doesn't mean he can't be a good thing. And...we let Athis join."

"This isn't about him being an elf, brother. I don't give a damn whether he has pointy ears or round. What I care about is that he's not strong enough to take a proper hit. How can he defend someone if he can only just defend himself. And he's not our type," Vilkas sniffed "Besides, Athis can take a hit and has a decent amount of strength. The Wood Elf flits around like a damn butterfly. He might make a good thief, but he's no Companion."

"You really think he's going to be that bad?"

"I do."

"You let him join anyway?"

Vilkas shrugged.

"He might be able to run errands well enough. Until he realises he's not going to get anywhere with us, anyway. He'll quit after a while. Might as well make some use of him," he paused for a moment as if considering what he was about to say "...and Kodlak puts some merit in him."

"Well if Kodlak..."

"Kodlak," Vilkas interrupted "has a feeling about him. That doesn't mean that the elf's going to be any real use. Just a whelp, who can do the jobs that we don't want to."

"You're harsh." Farkas grumbled, swallowing the last of the boiled crème treat and licking its sugary remains off his fingers. He didn't understand what his brother's problem was. What did it matter if he wasn't the usual candidate to be a Companion.

Vilkas lifted an eyebrow.

"And you're too soft," there was an edge of annoyance to the words as Vilkas spoke them and looked at his brother, though there was no malice behind them. He stood up abruptly a moment later. "Now. I need to go and tell the others that we have a new member. For the moment."

He strode away back into the warmth of Jorrvaskr.

Farkas sighed, shaking his head and looking out over the training yard. Evening was beginning to settle in more fully now, the sky starting to show the signs of sundown. From just under the porch's lip, he could see the red embers of the Skyforge colouring the grey stone red. He caught voiced faintly, Eorlund and what was no doubt the elf, discussing something.

For the moment, he wasn't too concerned what it was, though he found himself eager to meet the elf properly. It'd be interesting to know more about him, to see what he was like. To see if he really was the Dragonborn.

But that'd be for later. The elf needed to sort himself out first and that would take some time. He reminded himself to be patient and, with his mind made up he stood up and made his way back into Jorrvaskr. There were surprisingly few people around, most retiring to their rooms before the evening meal was served. A good idea, he thought and made his way down into his bedroom. He could use a nap and really wanted to avoid Vilkas and his poor temper.

For now there was the promise of a moment of quiet before the excitement of the new member was let loose. And, if he was lucky, there might even be a honey nut treat in his room to enjoy.

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Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you thought.

Same time next week :)


	11. Chapter 11: Newbie

****A.N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed etc. and to Branwhin for betaing this for me.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 11: Newbie**

The halls of Jorrvaskr were surprisingly quiet, Farkas thought as he dozed on his bed. Normally at this time of evening, people would be stamping about upstairs eating their evening meals or returning from their jobs for the day. Or starting the evening's drinking. But the mead hall remained quiet, with only the soft tramp of Tilma's footsteps to be heard as she laid out cutlery. There was a quiet murmur down the hall, conversations in the whelp room and across the way, in Aela's quarters.

But no other noise.

What made it particularly surprising, however, was that there was no mention of the new comer. When Ria had joined, the evening had been full of eating and drinking and music, the woman being welcomed into their company. The Elf's arrival was far more interesting, given that he was such an unusual candidate. The place should have been buzzing with life. And yet even Vilkas hadn't raised his voice to make his displeasure known. Such a lack of fuss had Farkas confused. Though his twin had disappeared to Kodlak's quarters to speak with the Harbinger again. Something he had been doing more and more frequently as of late.

What perplexed Farkas the most though, was that there had been no sign of the new recruit either. He began to wonder if Vilkas' attitude had put him off and, perhaps, he had thought better of joining them. He frowned at the thought. He'd been looking forwards to getting to meet the man properly.

He sighed, letting his eyes drift shut again, attempting to return to the nap that was evading him. His plans, however, were rudely interrupted a moment later.

"Farkas!"

The gruff call came from across the hall and Farkas huffed, straightening himself up and standing slowly. Unless this was really important, he wasn't going to be happy with Skjor interrupting his nap time. Not that he'd tell the man that. The only person who scared him more was Eorlund when he was in a mood. Which fortunately didn't happen very often.

Leaving his room he trudged across the corridor to the adjacent chambers, knocking on the door of the one he could hear voices coming from. Aela's. He didn't want to know why Skjor was calling him if he and Aela were alone in her quarters. Talos only knew what they were getting up to half the time they were alone together.

The door was opened slowly and Farkas almost tensed, wondering what he would find. There were several things he was expecting to see. The new recruit wasn't one of them.

He was standing between Skjor and Aela, looking nervous. He quickly disguised it when Farkas looked at him directly. Dark eyes focused on him intently, flickering over him before finally settling to meet his own gaze.

Farkas held it for a moment then dropped it, unsure of what the Elf was looking at. And keenly aware that Aela and Skjor were watching them both.

"Did you call me?" he asked, trying to break the slight unease he had just experienced. His voice was gruffer than usual, a result of his nap, and the Mer looked mildly surprised as he spoke.

"Of course we did, ice brain." Aela answered scathingly, though he knew there was no real malice behind it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw confusion flit over the smaller man's face, followed by a frown. The expressions disappeared a moment later, clearly trying to disguise all his reactions. He supposed that he had just had to prove himself to his brother. Perhaps he felt he needed to prove himself in other ways to every other Companion that he met.

"Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep." Aela ordered, motioning for the two of them to leave. Clearly she wanted privacy and Farkas shrugged, looking down at the dark haired man.

"Follow me."

He strolled out to the main corridor, before pausing allowing the elf to catch up to him. He came to stand beside him, looking up at the man and Farkas almost smiled at the difference in their height. The little elf barely came up to his chest and despite having bulked up, was still only a fraction of his size. Their difference in stature was, he was sure, comical.

"I'm Farkas, by the way." He introduced himself, extending his hand to the smaller man. It felt awkward. It was something he had never done with anyone before. It wasn't even the Nord way. But he wanted the elf to remember him. He wanted to make a good impression, wanted to get to know the little man.

The elf considered the outstretched hand for a moment before reaching up, placing his hand in the Nord's and shaking briefly. Farkas followed suit, noting how the other man's hand disappeared inside his own. He made a mental note not to shake too hard, concerned that he would do some damage. He looked as though his arm would tear off if he was too rough.

"Nibenor." The elf responded, retracting his hand. His voice was surprisingly low, soft and he smiled almost timidly.

Farkas nodded, moving off down the hall, walking slowly. The difference in leg length between them would leave him striding ahead easily and he had to check his gait so he didn't leave the other behind.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," Nibenor started, falling into place beside Farks "but...um...ice brain?"

Farkas looked down at him and shrugged.

"Skjor and Aela like to tease me."

An eyebrow arched at the explanation.

"But they're good people," he hurried to add in, not wanting him to get the wrong impression "Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor himself and my brother has his smarts. They challenge all of us to be our best."

"I see."

Farkas stopped, looking at the elf. He looked back up at him in response, worry flitting over his face.

"Oh... I didn't mean any offense."

Farkas waved a hand vaguely.

"Uh...none taken. Actually, I wanted to ask...You're a Thane of Whiterun, right?"

Nibenor paused then nodded slowly, reluctantly.

"I heard you took down that dragon that attacked the western watchtower a few months back. Locals say you're the Dragonborn."

The elf closed his eyes, sighing, before nodding reluctantly again.

"I did and I am. I was rather hoping that people wouldn't remember it."

Farkas lifted an eyebrow. He couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want people to know they were such an honourable person. Why would someone deny that glory?

"Uhh...why?"

"I...don't like too much attention. It makes me feel small. Smaller than I already am."

A small smile crossed Farkas' face.

"Oh ok. Well you're a whelp here until you prove yourself. So you don't need to worry about that here."

A soft, quiet chuckle escaped Nibenor and he seemed to relax a little. It made Farkas smile back for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. But the elf was modest. He understood his failings but didn't let them hold him back or weigh him down. It was a quality that Farkas liked. Perhaps more than any sense of honour or glory.

He turned away again, walking slowly, knowing his brother would kill him for being so friendly to the newbie. He motioned to him to follow again, pacing down to the end of the hallway.

"It's nice to have a new face around," he remarked casually, listening to Nibenor's almost silent footfalls. "It gets boring around here sometimes."

Nibenor chuckled quietly, as if he didn't quite believe him.

"Doesn't seem like it gets boring. Especially after seeing you, Aela and your brother going after that giant."

"You remember that?"

"It left a... lasting impression."

"On everyone, I bet."

"Hmm...your brother didn't seem to get the same impression. He's not exactly keen on me."

Farkas snorted.

"Don't mind Vilkas. He's like that to everyone at first. All those brains of his make him suspicious. He'll ease up once he gets to know you and once you prove yourself," he paused, frowning, thinking back to his brother's earlier comments about the elf leaving. "I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life."

Nibenor looked up at him curiously, his head tilting, something akin to worry. Farkas bit his lip, wondering if he'd just given something away that he shouldn't have. He hurried to change the subject.

"The quarters are here," he gestured to the open doors. "Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tied. Though if you want to sleep back at your own place, that's fine too. You own Breezehome right? And there's that friend of yours."

Nibenor nodded.

"Thanks, um...yeah. I best not leave Erandur wondering where I am tonight. I hope that's not a problem."

Farkas shook his head.

"No one minds. No one has to sleep here if they don't want to. Athis and Torvar don't always. 'Specially if they hook up with someone. Don't worry about that. Just don't be a stranger."

"Thanks, again."

The Nord smiled again.

"No problem. Anyway, this is it and it looks like the others are eager to meet you. Best introduce yourself."

Nibenor nodded glancing at the room. True to Farkas' words there were faces clustered at the door, all curious.

"Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. Once you've made a name for yourself Skjor and Vilkas might have jobs for you to do."

The giant Nord turned heading upstairs to dinner, leaving the elf to settle in but he halted before he reached the door. He looked back.

"Good luck. And welcome to the Companions."

* * *

Nibenor sighed quietly as he let himself back into Breezehome. He had spent most of the evening with the Companions, introducing himself to those he hadn't met before dining with them. They were an interesting mixture of people.

The door clicked shut behind him and he looked into the room, finding Erandur sitting beside the fire, engrossed in a book. Red eyes glanced up at him.

"Good evening."

"Sorry I'm so late back, Erandur. I was just...meeting everyone."

"You needn't apologise, my son. To be honest, I thought you might stay the night. They have bunks, I believe."

"Stop with the 'my son' stuff, please. And yes, they do, but I came here with you. Not fair to abandon you."

The Dunmer chuckled.

"My apologies, Nibenor. And you have an interesting concept of abandonment. I am quite content here. I have a comfortable chair, a warm fire, a full stomach and a good book. If this is abandonment, then I rather like it."

Nibenor glanced up at the priest as he settled into the arm chair next to him. Upstairs, he could hear Lydia humming to herself.

"I'll leave you on your own more often then."

Erandur smiled but said nothing, placing a strap of leather between the pages of his book and closing it.

"So," he set the book aside "what are your impressions of these warriors? Did they put you through your paces?"

"They seem like a good bunch. Interesting mix of people. Nord's mainly. There's a Imperial girl, Ria. And a Dunmer."

"I do recall seeing him."

"Athis. From Morrowind. Seems pretty quiet though, a bit sarcastic."

"You realise you have just described the majority of Dunmer? We do like our sarcasm."

"You're never sarcastic."

"I'm a priest. I'm not allowed to be sarcastic. It is not becoming of a Mer of my position."

"Fine."

"And what of this one you were eager to meet? He was the big one, drinking, wasn't he?"

"Yes. Farkas. He's...nice. Friendly. Not sure of what the other's think of him. Aela called him 'ice brain'."

A thin eyebrow lifted.

"Ice-brain? Is he slow witted?"

"I don't know. He seems...like he enjoys the simpler things in life."

Erandur smiled softly.

"Sometimes, that is no bad thing. And, knowing you, you feel it is too early to judge him, or any of them, truly. Perhaps there is more to him than there seems."

Nibenor 'hmmed' in agreement.

"Yeah. His brother though..."

"Ah. The hostile one?"

"Ish. I think he's just protective of his shield siblings. He seems clever. Farkas said he was. Something about him having...Ysga..someone's smarts. Always suspicious of new comers, so Farkas said."

"Ysgramor," Erandur corrected "Leader of the five hundred Companions. He lead the Atmorans to Skyrim, where they eventually became Nords. And, if this is this...Vilkas' way, then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. He will ease in time."

"I hope. He's frosty... I don't think he'll be impressed when he finds out I'm not staying there. I wonder if they'll think badly of me. I'm not going to be around much until these dragons are dealt with."

"Are they aware of your status?"

"Yes. They don't seem too bothered though."

"Then I'm sure they will understand."

"Maybe. Farkas said something about hoping that they keep me. Just after we were speaking about Vilkas. I wonder if he wants to try and get rid of me. I need to make a good impression."

"Nibenor, you worry far too much. These warrior seem open to you, save for Vilkas. I'm sure they bear you no ill will."

The Bosmer smiled weakly.

"You're probably right."

"Probably?"

"Yes. Probably. Anyway...how are you finding Whiterun? Is it to your liking?"

"It's a wonderful city. So much culture. And the people are friendly. I went into the alchemist's shop and she was quite pleasant."

"Does someone like Arcadia?"

Red eyes narrowed.

"Come now, I'm far too old for that. Besides, I was more interested in her wares. I've not truly indulged my passion for alchemy since...well, for some time."

Nibenor nodded, understanding, as his friend continued to talk. The Dunmer could talk anyone's ear off and he supposed that living alone for so long, he couldn't be blamed. It was nice to hear someone speaking so freely and he relaxed as the priest began to explain some aspect of alchemy.

The heat of the fire and the comfort of his chair, combined with Erandur's gruff, quiet tones lulled him. Before long he fell into slumber, dreaming of his future with the Companions.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it, more next week.


	12. Chapter 12: Longing

A.N.: Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favourited or followed :)

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**Chapter 12: Longing**

Nibenor sighed as he settled himself down beside the campfire, glancing at the tops of snow frosted trees as he did. Clouds of breath appeared in front of his face and he was reminded of just how cold a country Skyrim was. He slid into his bedroll, huffing, wishing to be warmer.

Next to him, Erandur coughed against the frigid air, wrapping a warm fur tighter around himself.

"Not to complain, Nibenor, but I'm certain we could have reached Dragon's Bridge before nightfall."

The Bosmer looked up at his companion.

"Maybe. But you know I don't like travelling at night. And besides, I'm tired. I needed to rest." He sighed again, letting his head rest against the fur that served as his pillow. Tired may well have been an understatement. The last few weeks he had taken on as many jobs as he could for the Companions, determined to make a good impression. And now, pushing himself so hard was taking its toll.

Not to mention the task that they were travelling to currently. He didn't want to even think about the implications of that.

"Resting at their inn would have been better for you." Erandur continued

"Just because you don't like the cold."

"Or having my face eaten off by a frostbite spider while I'm sleeping."

"Come on Erandur, you know that's not going to happen. They'll just wrap you up a web and then suck out all your fluids."

"Most comforting, thank you, Nibenor."

"You're welcome."

There was a pause, a moment of silence as Erandur shuffled around in his fur. He closed his book, placing it beside him on the floor.

"Do you think you're ready for this?"

"By 'this', I assume you mean 'breaking into the Thalmor embassy'?"

The Dunmer nodded.

"Nope. Not in the slightest. If one thing goes the tiniest bit wrong, I'm screwed. And given how tired I am, odds of that happening are higher."

Erandur failed to answer and Nibenor closed his eyes, settling back into the pillow again.

He wanted a break, from his destiny as the Dragonborn and from his jobs as a Companion whelp.

He was fairly certain that Erandur did too. The aging Dunmer was beginning to show the strain of the journey. Every day he was getting a little slower, the cold getting to him more and Nibenor was having to make allowances for him. He didn't begrudge the other Elf that, but it was the truth. His companion was not a young man, and that was becoming ever more apparent.

Once or twice he had entertained the idea of leaving the man back at Dawnstar, but the concept of Erandur returning to live alone in that ruin of a temple was unbearable. He couldn't do that to him.

But he couldn't keep up with this life either.

Nibenor frowned. Perhaps if he took less jobs for the Companions. Focused on his job as the Dragonborn.

But then that was more dangerous than the Companion's jobs. And he didn't want to stop doing them either. Not because he found the tasks more enjoyable than anything else, but because he loved returning to Jorrvaskr.

There was something about that feeling, about throwing the doors open and walking into the warmth of the mead hall. Something about smelling the sweet mead and cooking meats. And seeing his shield siblings smiling at him in greeting. Welcoming him back, applauding him, wanting to know what he'd seen what he'd done. Normally, that kind of attention was unwelcome, but with them it was different. They asked as friends, not admirers. They didn't press, they didn't push. Admittedly, they were eager to know about the dragons, but for them, he could allow that. Especially for Farkas.

The man's eyes lit up whenever he mentioned dragon fights. It was something akin to the look that he gave you if you gave him a sweet roll. Big, excited eyes and wide grin. It made Nibenor chuckle every time he saw it. That such a big man could act like such a small child. It was endearing.

His expressions when he had mentioned watching Alduin raise a fellow dragon from the dead were outright comical. So much wonder and excitement. It made him want to share his adventures with Farkas. Made him went to explain all the details. In all honesty, it made him want to take the big man with him, to have him at his side so he could experience it himself. To make him that happy.

He smiled into his pillow at the thought. There was just so much life in the big Nord. He was such a contrast to what he seemed to be. So childlike and innocent sometimes, so gentle with others, so fierce with his enemies.

And the others were good company too, of course. It wasn't all about Farkas, though he was particularly fond of him. His seniors were respecting him more too, Skjor giving him jobs regularly. Vilkas was too, though grudgingly and only occasionally. Usually after being elbowed in the ribs by Skjor or Aela.

No, he really wouldn't mind adventuring with Farkas.

But poor Erandur. He couldn't just...

"Is something troubling you, Nibenor?"

The smaller Elf looked up sharply, realising that he must have been frowning at the thoughts.

"Um...no. Why'd you say that?"

"Well you were smiling to yourself quite dreamily a moment ago. And now you look as if someone's told you that those flavoured taffy treats are poisonous."

"I...what?"

"Well you do seem to like those sweets rather a lot. I imagine that would be your expression if someone told you that you couldn't have them anymore."

A dark eyebrow cocked.

"Joking aside, what's troubling you? You know I am fully willing to offer you any advice or aid I can, should you need it."

Nibenor sighed again. He had a feeling the Dunmer already knew what was up. He just didn't want to voice it.

"I just...I...something's missing."

"Missing?"

"Well...not missing as such, but..."

He glanced up at the Dark Elf, the older man's face soft, watching him patiently as he struggled to get his words out.

"I miss the Companions. I miss working with them and being with them all. I can't say exactly why. You're all the company I need. But I feel drawn to go back there."

* * *

Erandur smiled quietly, listening to Nibenor. If the Bosmer hadn't been so busy staring into the fire as he spoke, he might have seen the amusement and understanding on his face.

Being a priest of Mara had gifted him with an understanding of people and their behaviour. Particularly about how they dealt with...personal affections.

He knew exactly why Nibenor longed to go back to the Companions. Although Nibenor apparently hadn't discovered why for himself. Yet, anyway. Amusing really, since it didn't take serving a goddess of love and compassion to see and understand these things. It was something that became rather obvious when you saw him in the midst of his shield siblings.

Erandur couldn't recall a time when Nibenor hadn't made a beeline for Farkas upon returning from a job. Usually wearing a rather proud smile as he reported his results. And the pay rarely got more than a second's attention. No, Nibenor's reward for completing a job was to have Farkas smile down at him, pat him on the shoulder and be congratulated for a job well done. In fact, if the Bosmer didn't encounter Farkas and had to speak to one of the other senior members, he became rather deflated.

Obvious, therefore, that the Elf liked the Nord. Obvious to everyone except Nibenor anyway. And potentially Farkas.

Erandur wasn't entirely sure if the Companion returned Nibenor's affections in the same way. Farkas was rather difficult to read in the few moments Erandur usually had to observe him. Though he didn't think it was intentional. He seemed surprisingly open and friendly to everyone. He had, on occasion, even given a wave to the priest himself as he stood at the doorway, waiting for Nibenor.

He would be surprised, however, if it turned out that the Nord's feelings towards the Wood Elf were purely platonic.

All these feelings meant that time was needed though. Time for Nibenor to be with the Companions, to be with Farkas. To travel with him, perhaps. And Erandur knew exactly what that meant for him.

He was not keen on the idea of going back to Nightcaller Temple on his own. But it was what he knew he would have to do eventually and what was right by Nibenor. He supposed that the sooner they stopped travelling together the better. And in all honesty, as much as he enjoyed the travelling and adventuring, he was not cut out for it. His aged body was struggling to cope with the physicalities of travelling. Not to mention that the cold weather was coming and he was not a fan of extreme cold. Not by any means.

His decision made, he cleared his throat to attract the other Mer's attention.

"Hmmm?"

"May I make a suggestion which will solve your dilemma?"

"You have a solution?"

Erandur nodded.

"Yes. And it's exactly the solution that I know you're thinking of, but don't want to say. It's very considerate of you, Nibenor, but you needn't be concerned about leaving me at Dawnstar."

"...You're suggesting we don't journey together anymore?"

The priest smiled softly and nodded.

"I am. I will accompany you to Solitude and wait for you to complete your tasks there. On the journey back to Whiterun, we'll part ways. That way you can have all the time you want there. Dragonborn duties aside."

"All great, Erandur, but I don't want to leave you there. I can't stand the thought of you rotting in that temple."

"Your concern for my wellbeing is very kind but you needn't concern yourself. I am not planning to excommunicate myself from the world. I will most likely spend a good deal of time in town, helping the villagers. And I will stay in touch. Couriers seem to have a remarkable talent for finding you in the midst of the wilderness."

"Are you sure?"

Another nod.

"Of course. And besides, as much as I enjoy this, my body cannot cope with extended periods of journeying. You know that. And Lady Mara is always with me to keep me company."

Nibenor nodded to himself quietly and the Dunmer could see the struggle crossing his features before he gave in.

"Alright. If you think it's best. But you have to promise me that you won't lock yourself away. And you actually have to write to me. Not just say you will."

Erandur let a chuckle escape him.

"I promise."

"...Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"I do. You've done a lot for me."

"As you have for me. I think, perhaps, we can call it even, my friend. Though I will always be indebted to you."

Nibenor smiled, nodding.

"If you say so, Erandur. If you say so."

* * *

Farkas was distracted. Vilkas could see that, clear as day. No one else might have noticed, but he knew his twin. His concentration in training was slipping. And out on the field. On more than one occasion recently, Athis and Torvar had had to step in to protect him in a fight. Usually it was the other way around.

And he was looking at books. Farkas _never _looked at books. Hell, Vilkas wasn't sure if his brother remembered how to read properly. He wouldn't be surprised if his twin had slipped back into illiteracy. But his sibling was leafing through the pages of history books in his room. Looking at passages detailing the deeds of the previous Dragonborns. Looking at the history of Tamriel. Valenwood, in particular.

That had made Vilkas snap and he had stalked away from his own bedroom where his brother sat on the floor, reading.

He was obsessed with the damn Wood Elf.

Well...perhaps 'obsessed' was a strong word. But whenever Nibenor was around, his brother was more focused, happier. More conversational. And that had struck even Njada, whom didn't concern herself with the business of her shield-siblings, as odd.

And the two got along surprisingly well. When Nibenor would return to Jorrvaskr, leaving his Dark Elf friend to 'enjoy the comfort of Breezehome' as he had put it, he would make the rounds. He would speak to everyone, himself included, catching up on the gossip, occasionally putting in his own two coins or gambling with Athis and Torvar. But when evening came, the sight of Nibenor and Farkas sitting in a corner chatting would inevitably occur.

Vilkas wondered what his brother saw in the Elf. He wasn't particularly interesting, save for his status as the Dragonborn. And he was disappointingly tight lipped about that. For the Dragonborn, he was a bit of a disappointment in general. But each to their own, as Kodlak liked to remind him.

At the very least, the Elf was friendly. He provided a companionship to Farkas that he had never really had before. For all the people in Jorrvaskr, the shield siblings and friends, he had never found anyone he had deeply connected with. He liked everyone of course. He trusted everyone with his life. But Vilkas knew that his brother had thoughts and feelings that he wouldn't express to anyone but his twin. And even then, he often wouldn't. Vilkas was well aware his brother often felt he would be mocked for expressing such things. The thoughts and feelings that the others probably didn't even know he was capable of having.

Nibenor looked to be someone who Farkas would feel safe with in that respect. Someone Farkas could turn to if he wasn't there himself. Someone he could perhaps be more...intimate with.

Vilkas had to suppress the feeling of discomfort that arose from that thought.

As long as he didn't cause too much of a problem for his brother, he didn't much care what the Elf was up to.

* * *

Thank for reading. Same time next week :)


	13. Chapter 13: Welcome Returns

****A.N: All the usual. Thanks especially for the slightly higher amount of reviews than usual. Much appreciated :)

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 13: Welcome returns**

The weak rays of the winter sun filtered down onto Skyrim, its faint warmth stirring the province's inhabitants into action once more. In the city of Dawnstar, the miners retreated down in to their dingy workplace once more, smoke rising from the smelter. As boats and ships pulled away from the busy port, a small figure made its way down the steep slopes of a hill. Away from the Tower of Dawn.

Nibenor sniffled to himself a little as he crunched through the thick snow at his feet, telling himself that he was _not _anxious about travelling on his own again.

He knew it was a lie. He knew it the moment he was out of view of Erandur who had stood at the door of the temple to see him off. He had travelled so long with the old Dunmer that well...how could he not feel lonely without him? The absence hit him acutely and he shivered slightly, pulling his fur cloak tighter around himself. The road back to Whiterun suddenly seemed a lot longer and a lot colder without any companionship. He had to remind himself that he had, in fact, travelled for a significant amount of time on his own before. But he never really enjoyed complete solitude.

Not to mention the fact that he was on edge after his break-in on the Thalmor Embassy. He was certain that the Thalmor were hot on his trail. Hence the reason he'd stayed up in Nightcaller Temple for a day or two, in the hope that they'd calm their hunt somewhat. The possibility of being caught on his own to face down a whole group of Thalmor justicars was frightening. Erandur would have at least helped some aid, if not enough to defend themselves properly. At least he wouldn't have died alone.

He shook his head as his feet found the path out of Dawnstar. He began to follow it dutifully, moving as quickly as possible. The thought of being ambushed making him even more eager to get back to the safety of Whiterun's stone walls as quickly as possible.

Hours down the road, he turned off into the wilderness, glancing behind him. Paranoia that he could hear the tramping of Thalmor feet on snow forced him into the loose clusters of trees that littered the base of the mountain range. It was a choice that sent him scrabbling up sharp precipices until he eventually felt safe enough to stop.

Resting on a ledge, he panted, looking out at the view, sniffing slightly at the bitingly cold air. Below the mountain range, Skyrim seemed to sprawl on forever before him. He narrowed his eyes, making out the lines of the rivers that ran through the province, following the slender silver lines that snaked through the land. It curved out of sight as it headed west, towards Whiterun, as if some sort of trail for him to follow.

Nibenor scratched at the light covering of facial hair on his jaw, rolling his eyes at his own thoughts. He looked back at the way he had come as the sky began to grow dark with nightfall and, with a decisive nod to himself, decided to make camp. He was certain that this far up the mountain, the Thalmor couldn't reach him and he set up a small fire before eating and retiring for the evening, awaiting the next day.

* * *

When Nibenor awoke it was early morning, the rays of a dawn sun brightening the sky and he rose quickly. The night spent alone had made him ever more eager to reach Whiterun and he continued his ascent.

He felt as though he could smell the warm scent of Jorrvaskr, the memory of mead and meat clear in his mind. And the company too. He would miss Erandur, but the fact was that the Companions would provide him with just as good company, if of a different kind. The idea of sitting and chatting late into the evening with Farkas, as had become their habit, was particularly enticing.

It was strange that out of the two twins, it was Farkas who sat and spoke with him the most. Farkas, whom everybody thought to be witless whereas clever Vilkas simply glared at him. Or, if he was feeling charitable, offered one or two words. Usually orders. For someone who was good with words, he was loathe to use them. But quiet, supposedly brutish Farkas always had something to say to him.

A fact that the others had most certainly noticed. He recalled the last time he had called in, just before leaving for Solitude. The night before, Athis had made a number of his usual sarcastic, dry comments. Only these were exceedingly thinly veiled, even for him. Prying questions about his and Farkas' 'bromance' as someone had put it.

Nibenor's response had been to make himself scarce, returning to Erandur at Breezehome. He'd been indignant at the comment at the time, but now that he had time to think, whilst beginning his descent, he wondered if it was true. If he was honest, the comment was becoming more and more truthful by the second. Had he been sitting still, he would have fidgeted uncomfortably at the thought. The fact that his dreams involving those male hands had been occurring more frequently and had become ever more lewd in their content...well...He blushed at thought, scarlet spreading across his wind chilled cheeks.

He had to admit, the brawny hands in his dreams were not unlike Farkas'. Nor the dark hair and broad shoulders. OF course, in his dream, those shoulders had been bare. He couldn't know if Farkas bore those scars that the dream man did. Couldn't know if he was as well muscled and darkly haired all over as he was in the dreams. But both were thoroughly enticing. Farkas was, by anyone's definition, an attractive man whether you were inclined that way or not.

Perhaps his infatuation really was more to do with genuine attraction and less about Farkas' significant bulk which he was so unused to.

A ridge of rocks ahead of him broke into his thoughts as he hefted himself over it, before sliding down the snow bank on the other side. Over the whistling of the wind in his ears, he could hear a back of wolves somewhere, howling lowly to each other. He leaned to one side, altering his course until he came to an outcropping of rock, pausing on it to catch his breath. He was amazed that he hadn't fallen over on that little descent.

Breathing deeply, he looked over the land again, assessing the distance he'd travelled. In the distance, he could caught the faint flicker of a fire. A giant camp, by the looks of it. It had to be for the flame to be seen from so far away. A glint of yellow between black trunked trees and pristine white snow. He frowned, pulling out his batter map and looking down at it. All the giant camps across Skyrim had been marked down for him by a surprisingly helpful mercenary and he tapped the icon on the map with a cold finger. The only one it could possibly be was the one near Loreius. That meant he was approaching the borders of the Pale, not far from Whiterun hold.

He could be in Whiterun before evening fell.

Spurred on by his progress, he shifted the bow on his back into a more comfortable position before setting off down the slope again. He'd be back in the city before tomorrow if it killed him.

* * *

'If it killed me', Nibenor thought as he limped his way towards the gates of Whiterun, was a term of phrase that he should never have thought. Ever. Such things, he had realised, only ever tempted fate. Fate, once tempted, had decided to lead a Thalmor search party into his path.

Now, it was well past sundown, Nibenor had managed to dispatch his final attacker. It had been light when the group of five had first caught sight of him and began the hunt. For hours he had dashed over the plains of Whiterun, hiding when he could, attempting to pick off the agents from a distance with his bow.

Two of them had fallen to such tactics, underestimating the Bosmer's ability with the bow as well as his wits. Another couple had met an unfortunate end under the foot of a mammoth and the end of a giant's club. Neither apparently being agile enough to evade either beast. The final he had disposed of only minutes ago.

She had been tenacious, to say the least and not as stupid as the rest of the supposedly superior Thalmor. She had managed to evade every arrow and trap that Nibenor had thrown her way. In return, he had lead her on an exhausting chase that had drained her magicka reserves. It was the only way he had been able to beat her. Draining her and then dashing in with sword drawn to finish her off.

But not before her dagger had left a deep welt across his thigh as she had fallen to her knees.

Nibenor gritted his teeth, staggering up to the gates. He had tied a strip of fabric around the wound, just enough to slow the flow of blood. But still, some trickled down the inside of his leg. The guards declined to comment, for once, as he made his way slowly through the wooden gates they had opened for him.

Inside the city, it was quiet at still, its inhabitants doing what any sane person would be. Sleeping. Limping, he made his way to Breezehome. He didn't want to disturb any of them at this late hour. Or be subject to their teasing either. His injury would be met with concern initially, but once it became clear that it was not life threatening, he knew he'd be suffer jokes about his competence for days.

With the door to the house shut firmly behind him he made his way upstairs slowly, trying to keep the weight off his injured leg. That in itself was difficult enough and so he could only lament that fact that it was not the only injury he had suffered from his encounter. He could still feel the frostbite on his skin where the spells they had thrown at him had caught. Part of his arm still felt chilled to the touch, solid as if frozen, the areas around it turning red and swollen. He prodded at the areas carefully as he sat down on his bed, frowning at the lack of sensation where the spell had hit with its full force.

The left side of his face was swelling too. He could feel his skin tightening and he lifted a hand to it, finding it hot to the touch. The last Thalmor's last stand had been to lash out at him, her dagger still embedded in his thigh, her hand connecting with his face in what could only be described as a punch in the moments before she died.

He frowned, settling back onto the bed, having only the presence of mind to kick off his boots and pull a fur over himself. His leg, head and arm ached and he wondered vaguely if he could ask the Companions for a day off to rest.

'Not bloody likely.' Came the response in his mind as sleep rolled over him in a heavy wave.

* * *

_There were eyes on him. Pale blue eyes that he recognised, that seemed so comfortingly familiar to him. They seemed friendly, warm, a contrast to their cool hue. He stared back into them as a large hand slid behind him, cradling his head. _

_A thick finger ran over the contours of his long ears, a smile on full pink lips. Those lips that descended onto his. That hand that slid down and down his body, a trail of fire left in its wake. _

_His breath caught, eyes fluttering shut at the heat raging through him. The warmth cocooning him. The hand playing his body as the other rose up into view above him, his handsome face smiling down at him._

"_Farkas..."_

* * *

__Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Same time next week.


	14. Chapter 14: Chance

A.N: Thanks again to everyone who showed any interest in this piece, no matter what form that took :)

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 14: Chance**

Sunlight was streaking across the wooden slats of Breezehome's master bedroom when Nibenor awoke. Distantly, he registered the noises he had come to associate with Whiterun. The pounding of Adrianne's hammer on anvil, the lowing of the Grey-Mane's cow. Braith's shrill shrieks as she chased another child up the street.

The Elf groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes, before smiling to himself faintly. These were the noises he had come to associate with Whiterun, with home.

Blinking, he sat up slowly, consciousness returning to his tired mind, furs falling from his still clad torso. The feeling made him blink in confusion and he looked down at himself. He had not bothered to cover himself before he retired last night. A steady, warm pressure against his arm made him look down to it, noting bandages wrapped about his bicep. Something warm radiated from inside them and he recalled the frostbite. The fight with the Thalmor. His leg.

Pulling the covers away, he looked down at it. His thigh had been tightly bandaged, though the wrappings were darkened by dry blood, the furs of the bed sticky with it. He frowned, wondering who had attended to him while he slept.

A moment later, he got his answer, and he didn't quite understand why he hadn't thought of it before.

"Ahh, you're awake, my Thane."

Nibenor looked up as his housecarl approached, clad in her armour as always, a chunk of bread in her left hand as she nibbled on it.

"Good morning, Lydia."

"It's actually more like early afternoon, my Thane."

"I slept that long?"

"I think your injuries required the rest."

"You sorted them out for me?"

The brunette nodded, biting off another chunk of the bread.

"Your arm looked pretty bad so I called Arcadia. She recommends you warm it with fire salts for a couple of days. Your leg should be fine on its own. We sewed it and applied a healing potion for safety though."

"I see. Thank you, Lydia."

"Of course, my Thane."

"Stop calling me that." Nibenor grumbled, sliding to the edge of the bed and getting to his feet. His leg felt shaky, weak beneath him and he frowned but it bore his weight enough well enough to walk. He knew he'd be carrying a heavy limp for a few days though. Best to rest it and keep the weight off it, if he could.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Please. I'll come downstairs now."

"Just as well. A courier arrived with a letter for you earlier this morning." Lydia informed him, walking away. He limped after her.

"Oh?"

"He said it was a note from the Companions."

Nibenor halted in his tracks, looking at her retreating back.

"The Companions?"

"Yes."

He sighed to himself. Whatever required them to send a letter to him wasn't a good sign for his plan to rest his leg. And arm. It tingled faintly, still cold despite the warmth radiating from his bandages.

Pushing the stray strands of black hair that had fallen loose of their tie away from his face, he continued downstairs, looking for somewhere to sit. He settled for an armchair by the fire, picking up the letter on the side table.

He couldn't do anything but groan by the time he'd finished reading it. His earlier assumption had been right. He wasn't going to get to rest and he ate the bowl of stew that Lydia set in front of him wordlessly. Meal consumed, he hauled himself to his feet, grabbing the sword and bow that he had abandoned carelessly last night and strapping them on again.

"I stocked your supplies with healing potions in case you needed them, Thane Nibenor." Lydia supplied, pointing to a small pouch full of glass bottles. He eyed the red fluid gratefully.

"Thanks Lydia. Don't know what I'd do without you to look after me."

"Collapse of exhaustion, starvation and or blood loss, I would think."

He smiled thinly, the words a little too close to the bone. In all honesty, if he didn't have someone to make him focus on looking after himself, he probably wouldn't cope. It was one of the reasons travelling with Erandur had been such a good idea. The priest was good at making sure people took care of themselves.

"I'll see you later, Lydia."

The housecarl nodded in response and he left quickly. He always felt guilty leaving Lydia to look after the house. It almost felt like he was turning her into some sort of housewife, with nothing to do but cook and clean and look after her distant husband whenever he staggered in, half dead. But he'd heard that she got her kicks somehow. Especially on the rare occasions that thieves or other miscreants attacked.

The city's streets were bustling as he made his way up cobbled paths, sliding through the masses of people. As he reached the marketplace, he could hear Fralia croaking at her stall, Carlotta trying to sell her fruit before it spoiled. Anoriath shot him a concerned look as he limped past, a quiet smile of sympathy forming.

Nibenor gritted his teeth and limped on, nodding grimly in return. He appreciated the company of fellow Bosmer in Skyrim, but pity was something he didn't appreciate from anyone. And especially not when he could hear whispers following him as he ascended to the wind district. The hunter was such a gossip.

It was as he rounded the Gildergreen, its dark branches bare from winter's bite, that he managed to catch sight of a figure standing on the steps to the mead hall. A male figure, tall and heavily armoured. For a moment, he thought it was Farkas and he determinedly hobbled up the stairs faster. A closer look informed his dark eyes that he had been mistaken. Vilkas. Not Farkas. He huffed, disappointed, letting himself slow back down to a pace that his leg could deal with more comfortably.

Breathing heavily, he pulled level with the man, noting how he ignored his presence for a few moments before deciding to turn to him. Pale blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, flicking over the obviously fresh injuries. A frown flitted over his face before he let it fade into a more neutral expression again.

"You're late." He stated briskly, gauntleted arms folding over his chest.

"I only got your letter five minutes ago."

"Oversleeping is not a characteristic that fits well with a Companion."

"I was resting," Nibenor gestured to the bandages "I was attacked last night."

Vilkas rolled his eyes.

"Then clearly you're not up to the task that Kodlak has set you. I'll have Farkas go with someone else. Athis wanted a chance to prove himself after all..."

"What? No...I never said I wasn't up to it. I'll go with Farkas."

"You don't even know what the task is."

"So tell me."

The Nord eyed him again for a moment before relenting.

"Very well. Kodlak has decided your time to be tested has come. Last week, a scholar came to us. Said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad," he paused and Nibenor nodded, understanding the significance of the job "This is a simple errand, but the time is right for it to be your trial."

Nibenor nodded again.

"I can do that."

"If you're certain that your injuries will not be a problem then go, carry yourself with...honour. And you'll become a true Companion."

The last few words were muttered quietly and Nibenor knew that they were spoken only because they had to be. Not because he believed in them, not because he wanted him to be one of them.

The Bosmer set his jaw. He'd show the Nord. He'd go with his brother and get the fragments and prove himself. He wasn't willing to fail on this. Not with so much at stake. And if he was honest, it would give himself a chance to prove himself to Farkas too.

* * *

Vilkas watched wordlessly as Nibenor's jaw set firmly in response to his words. The Elf was determined, he'd give him that. But that wasn't saying much. Determination alone didn't get you accepted into the ranks of the Companions. Skill was needed too and for all the stories that the Bosmer came back with about fighting dragons and whatnot, he didn't think he had it. Not enough, anyway. If he did, he wouldn't have the injuries he was currently carrying.

He eyed the thigh again, looking at the dark stains on the bandages wrapped about it. The Elf didn't even seem capable of looking after himself. How was he to keep Farkas alive if he couldn't evade a sword swing to the leg? And he didn't even want to know what had happened to his arm. Not with the way the skin that peeped above and below the bandage looked red and blistered.

He sighed mentally, wondering just what it was in him that Kodlak was so certain about. Himself, he trusted the so called Dragonborn as far as he could throw him. He stopped, reconsidering that statement as he looked at the small man beside him. He could probably fling him over Jorrvaskr and out of Whiterun with relative ease. And this was supposed to be his twin's shield sibling?

He scowled at the thought, just as the doors to Jorrvaskr opened, Farkas stepping out. He looked pleased, a smile flitting over his face as he spied the smaller man. A smile that Nibenor returned, despite his obvious pain. His own scowl deepened. What in Nirn did his brother see in him?

Letting his gaze flit between the two of them he turned on his heel so that he looked out over the wind district. He trusted his brother's skills to keep him alive, even if the Elf was incapable of doing so. Still, if anything did happen to his brother, Nibenor would suffer the consequences at his hand, Dragonborn or not.

"Farkas. About time you got here."

Farkas shrugged, glancing at the Elf, a cheeky smile appearing for a second. Nibenor smothered his own smile in response, looking down and away.

"So you're going to be my shield brother?" Nibenor asked lightly, letting himself turn back to face Farkas.

Vilkas watched the interaction, eyes narrowed.

"So I'm told," the larger man responded gruffly, though his tone of voice was less harsh than the words "Let's see if you impress."

He took a few steps down, until he was standing in front of Nibenor directly, and his eyes fell to his arm, his leg. A rare expression of concentration wrote itself onto his face, eyes searching the bandages analytically. A moment later, it changed to anger before he managed to rein it in.

"You're sure you're ready?"

The words came softly and for a moment Vilkas hoped that his brother would refuse to go with him. Whether through concern, or something more selfish, he didn't much care.

Nibenor simply nodded.

"Nothing I can't handle. Let's go." He gestured down the steps, pulling a healing potion out of a pouch on his belt.

Farkas smiled in response, slapping Vilkas on the shoulder before making his way down the steps, Nibenor in tow. The Elf stopped only once, glancing behind him to the twin still standing on the steps.

Vilkas glared back, hoping the he'd get the message. If anything happened to his brother, there would be hell to pay. Nibenor held the gaze for a moment before turning away, setting his jaw grimly again, hobbling after the taller man.

The smaller Nord sighed, watching the two until they disappeared from sight. Rubbing at his temples he turned back to Jorrvaskr. Ria needing training. And now all he could do was wait until the pair returned.

* * *

Dustman's Cairn was not far from Whiterun, that much Farkas knew as he stared at the old map in his hands, but despite that, he didn't think that Nibenor would be able to handle the walk.

In all honesty, it was setting off alarm bells in his mind. If he couldn't walk properly, then how would he hold up in battle? If anyone else was in this state, then he would refuse to let them be his shield sibling. Too risky for the both of them. But there was something about Nibenor he couldn't say no to. Perhaps against his better judgement. But if Nibenor didn't do a trial now, it could be months until another opportunity came around. More time for Vilkas to try and work out a way to get rid of him, or turn people against him. He couldn't allow his brother to do that. Nibenor deserved a chance to prove his honour fully. So he kept his mouth shut, kept his concerns to himself and acted like he didn't have a care in the world. Just as everyone expected him too.

And he couldn't deny that he enjoyed having the Elf all to himself.

He looked over to the man who was standing to the side of the road, keeping his weight on his left leg. The injured one barely touched the ground and Farkas shook his head, moving towards the man. He was chugging the healing potion he had pulled out earlier, drinking so quickly that some spilt free of his lips. Farkas swallowed, watching the rivulets course down his neck, strangely entranced by the liquid's movement.

Confused, he shook his head again before striding over to the nearby stables. Within a few moments he returned with two horses, prompting a lifted eyebrow from Nibenor.

"We're riding?"

"Well, it'd be good to get there today. We need those bits of Wuuthrad."

Nibenor looked somewhat crestfallen at the comment and Farkas felt a sudden pang of guilt. He faltered, trying to come up with a reason.

"Uh... I mean, it's not that... we should just, you know, save our energy for the barrow." He fumbled, his pitch rising as he spoke.

Nibenor paused then nodded slowly. He didn't believe him, but he took his garbled explanation, taking the smaller horse's reins. He hoisted himself up into the saddle with a surprising ease, looking comfortable atop the dappled grey animal.

Smiling faintly at Nibenor's feigned acceptance, he moved to his own steed, his smile lessening at the prospect. He hated riding, preferring to carry himself on his own two feet, rather than letting a headstrong animal do it. But Nibenor needed to rest his leg, so it was a price he was willing to pay.

The horse, a large bay shire, looked similarly unhappy about the prospect, pawing at the ground as it looked at him. Ignoring it, Farkas hefted himself onto his mount's back, checking that Nibenor was ok on his before kicking his own into a quick trot.

At such a speed, they reached the barrow in relatively short time. Farkas was relieved at the prospect, his shire proving to be unruly. Nibenor, on the other hand, had seemed to enjoy the ride immensely, trying to rise in the saddle. The Nord had glanced over to him once or twice in the ride, watching black hair whip back from his pale face, dark eyes alight with pleasure.

He guessed that was a Bosmer thing. An affection for animals. Even if they were keen hunters.

With the two men dismounted and horses tethered, Farkas reached back, adjusting his greatsword, before leading the way down into the barrow. Nibenor followed with an enthusiasm that surprised him and he smiled as they made their way into the darkness.

* * *

Thanks for reading, I'm hoping that there'll be no silly mistakes this week but let me know if you see anything. Reviews appreciated as always :)

Same time next week.


	15. Chapter 15: Revelations

A.N: Hello peoples. I know I say thank you to people at the beginning of each chapter but the review count for this has now reached 50+, so I thought you deserved a bigger thank you than usual. Not that it's easy to do a bigger thank you in just words but still. Thank you very very much to everyone who has reviewed so far and especially those who consistently review every chapter. Your support means a huge amount and I'm so glad that people seem to be enjoying the fic.

Of course, I am still very thankful to everyone who favourites, follows and generally just gives this fic a chance by reading it.

Anyway, I'll stop typing now because I think we all know what's going to happen in this next bit and people seem to be eager to get to it. So without further ado, read on and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 15: Revelations**

As Farkas made his way around the dank, dimly lit halls of Dustman's Cairn, he had time to muse over a few things about Nibenor. Or at least, one thing in particular as he followed the smaller man deeper into the barrow.

When Nibenor had first joined the ranks of the Companions, it had struck him as odd that he decided to do so, considering he already had the Dark Elf priest travelling with him. Or at least, it had struck Vilkas as odd and he had shared that thought with his twin. Farkas agreed. Yes, it was odd.

The majority of people who joined the Companions did so due to a small range of reasons. Most involved fame or fortune or in the case of some, a lack of any other option other than to sell their skill with the blade. Some came for the companionship that the small group of warriors provided.

Nibenor hadn't joined for any of those reasons. There was no way he could be more famous in Skyrim than being the Dragonborn, nor did he want any extra fame, even if he could get any. He didn't have need for any more money, judging by the quality of weapons and armour he carried with him, not to mention the rumours of the items that filled his small house. And he had had the Dunmer with him when he had joined, so he had no need of extra companionship. It was one of the reasons Vilkas was so suspicious that he simply couldn't figure out why he had joined.

Farkas himself wasn't so concerned as to Nibenor's reasons for joining. His reasons were his own. He was just glad that he had. Though he did find it odd that the Dragonborn of legend, such a mighty and powerful person, should need a companion. Even if the elf's stature didn't reflect his power. Perhaps it was simply a dislike for travelling alone, though that seemed unlikely to him given Nibenor's shy and somewhat solitary nature.

It was as they seemed to be somewhere near half way through that he realised just why Nibenor always wanted a companion with him. Or rather why he needed someone with him.

They had approached a large rounded chamber, devoid of the usual not quite life forms that inhabited the barrows, Nibenor leading the way into the near blackness. The room had already been making Farkas uneasy, his metaphorical hackles rising. He wasn't a fan of large empty rooms. In his experience, they tended to contain vicious things that wanted to kill whoever entered them. Not that he didn't like a good fight to the death but he generally wanted to be the one doing the killing, rather than the dying. Something which wasn't guaranteed with the type of things that inhabited such spaces.

Nibenor, on the other hand, had rushed into the room with something akin to childlike glee, his injured leg forgotten. He had also, unnervingly, made a bee line for a large shiny lever in an alcove. A lever that looked like it shouldn't be pulled, but within moments, was.

Farkas sighed to himself, jogging up to the now trapped elf who was looking at him sheepishly. Watching the trapped man looking for an escape, he suddenly understood why he travelled with someone at his side. Though it still didn't answer why he had exchanged the priest for his shield siblings.

He didn't have time to dwell on it as he looked through the thick black iron bars to the man on the other side. Nibenor shuffled from foot to foot, looking embarrassed, his black eyes wide as he looked back at him.

"Uhhhh..."

"Now look what you've gotten yourself into," Farkas tutted, letting a hand rest on the aged metal. It was still solid. "Hang tight, I'll look for a way to get you out."

He thought he heard the elf muttering something about 'what else was he supposed to do' as he walked away but didn't pay it much heed, especially as he heard footsteps approaching.

* * *

Nibenor flushed red as Farkas walked away to find a way to release him. He was utterly embarrassed by the situation he'd trapped himself in. He was supposed to be finding ways to impress Farkas. Though he suspected that, perhaps, the man was more amused by it than he was letting on.

Farkas shot a look to him over his shoulder, face dark and worried, and Nibenor's throat tightened. Perhaps not.

It took him a moment to realise that the expression was not because of the mistake he'd made. He stilled as Farkas paused, one foot half raised off the ground, his entire frame tensing. Nibenor let his jaw tighten, worry starting to gnaw at his stomach as he saw Farkas' shoulders widening, his back straightening.

It was a mannerism that he and his brother shared when they were about to engage in combat, training or otherwise. But this was no exercise and as he heard the heavy, echoing footsteps of multiple people, his heart fluttered into a faster beat. The footfalls were too heavy, too many, too quick to be that of Draugr. And there'd been no signs of bandits so far. It was unlikely to be them this far in anyway. His fingers flexed, reaching for his bow, realising that there was no room to draw the string back.

Suddenly, there seemed to be people piling into the room, rushing in with weapons drawn. Nibenor gripped at the iron bars, eyes flicking over them, counting, calculating. There were six of them in total, two women, four men. All well armed, though their armour seemed unfamiliar to him. Well trained too, he thought, as they instantly fell into a circular formation about Farkas, cutting off his retreat. His mind raced, wondering just who they were. The Companions didn't have many enemies, other than disgruntled bandit clans. These people were definitely not bandits. And they seemed to know exactly who he was.

"It's time to die, dog," one of them was hissing "We knew you'd be coming here."

Nibenor's breath caught as the severity of the situation set in. The ambush was arranged so that there was no chance of escape and as skilled as Farkas was, there was no way he could take on six at once. Not when he was cornered like an animal. He backed up as the circle tightened, coming closer to the barred alcove, wrenching the greatsword from his back. One foot slid back as he sank, balancing the weight of the weapon. He was so close now that Nibenor could see the slight tremor in his arms, the effort of holding the blade upright and still. So close that he could smell the sweat that was building on Farkas' body.

"Killing you will make for an excellent story." One of the women snapped, her own blade wavering in her hand. Farkas snorted derisively.

"None of you will be alive to tell it." The words came out in the lowest voice Nibenor had ever heard the Nord speak in. More of a growl than words.

He swallowed, not sure if Farkas was being overly brave or just plain stupid. It prompted a wave of fear to wash over him again and his eyes darted around the chamber once more, desperately hoping to find a way out. Hoping for a way to help the other man. His search yielded nothing and dread filled him as he returned to staring at the armoured back of Farkas, his heart beating madly. Vilkas was right not to trust him. His hands tightened, clenching into fists. Frustration boiled, mingling with his fear, annoyed by his own helplessness.

Chest heaving, he watched as the circle tightened further, closing in until they were mere feet away from the Companion. Nibenor tried to steel himself for the fight, determined that if Farkas was to die here, then he'd be there to recall every detail of his heroic ending. To make his brother proud, if nothing else. Dark eyes trained on the long quavering blade, waiting to see it make its first move. Waiting to see it swing wide and slice through flesh in a spray of blood and glory.

Disbelief rang in his mind when the swing never came and the sword clattered to the floor loudly instead. The sound of Skyforge steel on stone struck him almost physically, deafening in a tense silence and he couldn't believe that it had happened. Couldn't believe that mighty warrior Farkas had let his blade slip from his hands. He couldn't understand, couldn't make head nor tail of the fact, wondering if it was a sign of surrender or something else.

And then Farkas followed suit, dropping to his knees on the ground, his head thrown back. A noise, somewhere between a scream and a howl tore from him and Nibenor was glad that he couldn't see the expression that accompanied that noise. It was something that rang in him as deeply primal and deeply terrifying. Confusion was giving way to fear. Except this time it was fear for himself as the man lurched forwards onto all fours, panting heavily.

He could see something changing in the exposed skin of the other man's arms. Something thick rippled beneath the surface, shifting, seeming to wrap around the already large muscle until it grew so large he thought the skin around it might split. And his hands too. Except they weren't just thickening, they were lengthening, joints popping as digits warped and extended.

Nibenor staggered away, pressing himself against the wall behind him as he watched. The leather straps of Farkas' armour were creaking and moments later they gave way to the growing form beneath them, snapping to let armour fall away. The thin shirt beneath only lasted seconds longer, tearing as the muscles of Farkas' back bulged and writhed. Vertebrae popped and extended, spine elongating as legs thickened. Skin was darkening, turning from pale cream to deep brown and black, thick white claws erupting from toes and fingertips.

The name of the beast forming before him rang in Nibenor's mind as he watched Farkas disappear, enveloped by the shaggy form.

'_Werewolf...'_

For all the changes that wracked Farkas' form, it was those that contorted his face that frightened Nibenor the most. His chest heaved as he watched the strong line of Farkas' jaw lengthening, sharp white teeth erupting from bloody gums. Pale blue eyes disappearing into glowing, enraged yellow, sitting above the salivating jaws of a long muzzle.

And then he howled, a noise so long and loud and wild that it seemed to shake Nibenor's tiny frame.

He watched through a haze of uncertainty as Farkas, now werewolf, leapt forwards, the great claws that tipped extended digits tearing through the first person with ease. Blood sprayed as slivers of skin tore free and Nibenor turned away, refusing to watch the massacre that ensued. He could smell the blood coating the floor in large, slick puddles, hear the screams of the men and women as they were torn into pieces.

It didn't last long. Nibenor was sure of that much, though it still felt like an age to him as he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught on his senses. He was only aware of the demise of the last warrior when things fell quiet again. The sound of his own uneven breathing was drowned out by the heavy panting of the werewolf now standing in the midst of its massacre.

He dared to glance up, looking through the bars to see the beast staring back at him. The sight frightened him to an extent he couldn't put into words. The blood slicked jaws slightly parted, those yellow eyes staring at him. Feral. He had to press himself back into the wall again, shuffling away as it approached the bars staring through them at him. There was no malice there, he realised, as he glanced back into the sulphurous gaze. Just curiosity and perhaps something else that he couldn't quite read.

He didn't have time to examine further as the werewolf, more Farkas than beast now, turned away loping off through the far door. The thought chilled him. To realise that Farkas was looking at him as a human, though through the eyes of his feral form. He wondered how much of his mind had been human and how much had been beast as he tore those people asunder. He wondered if he had been fully conscious. Wondered if he'd enjoyed it.

The gate slid up a moment later, interrupting his thoughts and he approached the open doorway slowly, cautiously. The aftermath of Farkas' transformation greeted him. Pools of blood and severed body parts. The pieces of Farkas' armour that had fallen free of him.

He stepped out, the sting of the blood's metallic scent in his nostrils and he felt ill, uncomfortable, turning away from the sight. The sound of footsteps, the solid slap of bare flesh against the stone floor, alerted him to Farkas' return. He didn't look up, not sure if he wanted to, not sure what he'd feel when he looked into pale blue eyes again.

"I hope I didn't scare you."

The words were spoken softly, so quiet and worried when they came that Nibenor couldn't help but lift his head. He turned slowly, finding Farkas before him, face drawn and anxious. Concerned.

Nibenor frowned, glancing away again before he had a chance to meet the other man's eyes properly. Where was the beast that moments ago had torn six people apart? Where was that feral savage creature now? He couldn't fathom the change, couldn't fathom the contrast and he stood stock still, mind spinning. He couldn't decide what to think, what to do.

Did he act as if everything was fine? Did he act as if it didn't matter, as if nothing had ever happened? He didn't know if he could. He didn't know if he could look at his shield-brother fully just yet.

The sound of footsteps, hesitant and slow, sounded around the chamber again and Nibenor felt Farkas creep forward. He didn't know how to answer him, because he _had _scared him.

"Nibenor?"

He swallowed thickly, aware that Farkas was shuffling forwards again as he tried to get his attention.

"Nibenor...I...I won't hurt you. I promise."

The words roused him slightly and he turned his head once more so that he was facing the man. He found himself looking at Farkas' bare chest, the man hunkered down beside him. A bid to make himself look smaller, he guessed.

A hand reached out slowly, grazing against his arm, touching gently at the patch of bare skin just above his elbow.

"Nib? Please...please don't be scared of me. I... me and Vilkas, we decided we weren't going to do this anymore. We're trying to give the wolf up. Kodlak too...no honour in being a magical wolf, y'know? I haven't done this in a long time," he pausing, swallowing, his voice so soft now that Nibenor chanced to look up again, meeting his eyes this time "...I couldn't not do it. They'd have killed me. I didn't want to do it."

Begging. Nibenor realised, Farkas was pleading, his blue eyes wide as he looked at him. There was fear and concern roiling in those eyes, fear at being rejected. Something Nibenor knew himself and slowly he nodded.

"..It's...ok. You just...took me by surprise." Not entirely true but the relief that washed over Farkas' face made it worth it. A small smile followed shortly after and Nibenor felt his tension ease a little more. The hand against his arm tightened as Farkas shuffled forwards again. He peered up into Nibenor's face, crouched beside him now as the elf turned to face him fully.

"I'd never hurt you, I promise. The wolf's going, we just...need to figure out how to get rid of it."

Nibenor nodded, smiling weakly at Farkas words. The look in his eyes, the pure honesty as he spoke made him relax a little more and he was rewarded by thick arms wrapping about him. In his chest, his heart beat faster again for an entirely different reason and he blushed, realising he was being pressed against Farkas' bare torso. The arms released him after a moment and the bigger man pulled back to look him in the eye again.

"Do you trust me?"

Nibenor paused, looking at the hope in Farkas' face, feeling the blush in his cheeks and nodded.

"I trust you."

The small smile that had been on Farkas' face a moment before suddenly transformed into a wide grin and he dove in for another hug. This one crushed the breath out of Nibenor and he slapped weakly at a bare arm until he was released.

Free of Farkas' grip, Nibenor took a chance to breathe, looking back at the larger man. The glance turned out to be a mistake as he now noticed the man was clad in nothing more than a thin loincloth. He blushed fully, feeling the tips of his ears tingle with it.

Farkas glanced down at himself and then back to Nibenor, smiling sheepishly to him before turning away and busying himself with collecting his armour from the floor.

Nibenor busied himself with watching Farkas from the corner of his eye, making it look like he was looking anywhere but. As he watched the now more normally sized muscles slide and flow beneath skin he smiled to himself more easily. Werewolf or not, he really couldn't say no to Farkas and he touched the spot on his arm where the Nord's fingers had rested. The patch of skin tingled lightly and he knew that this time it had nothing to do with frostbite.

* * *

So...I really hope that was up to scratch, I know it's a really important part of the story. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter though, so hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much.

Now, I know I shouldn't be begging for reviews, especially having reached 50+ with the last chapter, but I would love to hear from you all to know what you thought about this particular chapter. But even if you don't feel like reviewing, thank you for reading.

Same time next week :)


	16. Chapter 16: Beastly Natures

Hello. Just a quick note about this chapter. It is more of a 'thinky' one. By that I mean that both Nib and Farkas are mulling over their thoughts and feelings on the situation as it stands so apologies if it's a little slow. Next chapter will definitely have some action.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Beastly natures**

It took Farkas some time to gather his armour. The separate pieces had scattered over the floor and in the dimly lit room, they were difficult to find. It was a nuisance, a waste of time that they couldn't afford but had to endure nevertheless. Couldn't take on more of the Silver Hand in nothing but his skin.

Well...thinking about it, he probably could if he transformed again. But the elf had seemed to have been startled enough by his wolf for one day. He frowned slightly at the thought as he picked up a greave from the floor, piling it into his arms with the rest of his armour.

Nibenor's reaction to the wolf had been...concerning. Admittedly, most people didn't react favourably when you revealed such a thing to them, but he hadn't expected him to be quite so scared. Not that he had planned to reveal the wolf to him. But he just wished that maybe he'd been a little more impressed by it. Especially when you considered that he had his own beast inside him.

Farkas glanced at the elf behind him. He seemed to have recovered from his shock. He was leaning against a cold wall almost casually now, his eyes raking over Farkas' nearly naked form. And then glancing away as if he wasn't looking, trying to hide it. It made the Nord chuckle to himself.

If such a little thing made him laugh, then perhaps it didn't matter what he thought of the wolf. He seemed to have accepted it, for now. Though he had told the Wood elf that he was getting rid of it. Which was the truth of course, though in actuality, he wasn't as keen to be rid of his beast as his brother was. Or Kodlak. Really, he had only agreed not to change because...well if Vilkas said they shouldn't, then they probably shouldn't. And Kodlak probably was right that it was more honourable to fight as a man with his own skill, rather than the borrowed magic of the beast spirit.

But still...he couldn't say that he didn't enjoy the wolf side of him. The fearsome, savage form he got to take. The hunt, the prey, the kill. It gave him a thrill. He guessed it was like why people drank skooma. A rush. A kick. Whatever you wanted to call it. Perhaps the wolf spirit was something of an addiction for him too.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts away. He was thinking far too much and he didn't like it. All he knew was that the wolf had to go, for one reason or another, and that Nibenor seemed happy about that for now. That made him feel a bit better about it, at least.

Armour in hand he turned back to where Nibenor was standing to redress himself, scraping blood from the soles of his bare feet as he went. It was horribly sticky and he frowned, wiping it off with a scrap of his torn shirt before donning the armour again. It took a while, finding himself having to tie snapped leather straps together. More than once, he had to request Nibenor's aid in doing so, letting the elf strap him in while he himself held armour in place. The Bosmer did so wordlessly and Farkas wondered if he was still mulling things over. Probably. He couldn't blame him for it.

"We ready to go then?" Farkas asked quietly once his armour was suitably in place. Nibenor nodded, falling into place beside him. He did so with such ease that it was difficult to think that not half an hour ago, he had been almost terrified of him.

"So..." Nibenor began quietly as they began to make their way through narrow halls once more. Farkas looked down to him "What was that?"

"The wolf?"

The Dragonborn nodded.

"It's a blessing given to some of us," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "We can be like wild beasts."

Nibenor looked up to him, an eyebrow cocked. He needed to explain further, the Companion realised and so he simply responded;

"Fearsome."

The elf nodded. He pursed his lips as he walked and Farkas wondered if perhaps he now understood a little more why he allowed himself to access the beastblood in the first place.

"Are you going to make me a werewolf?" The question came quietly, though Nibenor's tone was neutral and Farkas struggled to catch any deeper meaning or feelings to the question.

He smiled softly, shaking his head.

"Oh no, only the circle have the beastblood. Prove your honour first to be a Companion," he lifted a hand to his point vaguely into the corridor ahead, "Eyes on the prey, not the horizon."

Nibenor stared at him for a moment before nodding again, his lips moving, repeating the phrase silently. He smiled at Farkas.

"Got it."

Farkas smiled back at the elf as they fell into an oddly comfortable silence again. The rhythmic sound of his own footfalls completely drowned out Nibenor's, the whelp so light footed that he barely made any sound at all. Such a contrast to everyone else he spent his time with.

If he was here with anyone else they would be making so much noise that the Draugr on the lowest levels of the barrow would already be awake. But not quiet, shy Nibenor, footsteps pattering over the stone floor, eyes wide and ears twitching as he peeked around every corner. Farkas hung back each time, letting the man do so. It seemed to be in Nibenor's nature to be overly cautious, to only attract attention when he wanted it. Which he rarely did. It was something the Nord didn't understand but then...Nibenor was very small. Perhaps when one was so small and everyone else was so big, it paid to not attract attention to yourself.

He was, after all, very quiet and very wary of people. But he was exceptionally kind and surprisingly sharp witted, so much so that Farkas often failed to understand his sarcastic comments and dry humour. Vilkas had to point them out to his brother, usually whilst rolling his eyes. Nibenor would just smile benignly, unfazed. As someone used to big, brash personalities, the little archer was a pleasant change in his modest ways. And there was so much more to him than he had ever thought possible, for such a little thing. Such a quiet thing. Someone had told Farkas once that good things came in small packages. At the time he had laughed at the concept, now he felt he not only understood but agreed whole heartedly. He knew a good person when he met them and Nibenor was undoubtedly one.

Nib was also, Farkas had decided, interested in him. The way he had watched him dressing, his quiet blushing gave that away easily. For himself, Farkas was pleased at the notion, unfamiliar though it was. He'd never found another man attractive before but Nibenor's sharp features, the contrast of dark hair and eyes against pale skin was a surprisingly pleasant combination. And there was nothing unattractive about the lithe way he moved, feet skimming over the ground. The idea of getting a little more physical with the Dragonborn was something he couldn't deny he was interested in.

He paused when Nibenor stopped, turning to look back at him.

"So who were those people?" he asked and Farkas stared, contemplating for a moment before launching into an explanation of the Silver Hand.

* * *

Nibenor listened quietly as Farkas explained the situation with the Silver Hand. Monster hunters, werewolves mainly, and Nibenor had to wonder how many werewolves there were in Skyrim to warrant the creation of a group to wipe them out. Especially if most were as secretive about it as the Companions were.

There were more members of the Hand further into the barrow and Nibenor aided Farkas in removing them. More than once, he wondered if he was doing the right thing, to aid him when he had kept such a secret. But, looking at the vehemence with which the Hand members attacked, it needed to be kept a secret from everyone. If it was common knowledge then Farkas most certainly wouldn't be alive. And as far as Nibenor was concerned that would be an undoubtedly dreadful thing.

Thinking about it logically, he really couldn't be angry at Farkas for hiding such a thing. He himself had decided not to use the Thu'um around Farkas unless absolutely necessary. That in itself wasn't logical, the Nord was already well aware of Nibenor's identity. But in the back of his mind the fear of being shunned for possessing something he shouldn't reigned. He had, on a number of occasions, been treated to a hostile reception from Nords when they had discovered the Dragonborn of legend was a Bosmer and not one of their own as they felt he should be. Questions of how the fates had betrayed them by sending a failure of a Dragonborn, how it was a joke had followed him.

It had made him all the more determined to prove himself and all the more scared of rejection from those who he had come to care about. So the Thu'um hung at the back of his throat, a pressure desperate to be let loose, but so far unused.

He glanced at Farkas as they passed through a dark hallway. The smell of damp and mould had gotten stronger, which usually meant that they were deep into the bowels of the barrow. Hopefully that meant they were almost out and the shards of Wuuthrad were nearby. Nibenor couldn't wait to see the light of day again, and if he was honest, his leg was beginning to ache. Farkas glanced back to him, smiling softly for a second before pushing at thick net of cobwebs out of the way.

It was difficult to think what he could change into now and if it weren't for the fact that Farkas' armour was almost hanging off him with its snapped straps, he could've sworn it was a dream. But everyone had their secrets he supposed. And although he knew that Farkas could be bloodthirsty when it came to battles, he knew he was smart enough to not change into the beast on a whim. Especially if he'd promised to his brother as well. It reassured him that he truly was safe around him and he was aware that there was something else creeping in. An odd sense of allure whenever he thought about that transformation, the beast that was growling and prowling below the surface. Just as the dragon's soul writhed under his own skin, clawing at the back of his throat to be free.

That sense of kinship that he'd only just discovered suddenly made the crush that had been niggling at him for weeks flare. Looking at Farkas now, he could have quite happily thrown himself at him and the let consequences be damned. He settled for letting himself muse over his qualities, thinking of what it was about him that made him smile.

For all that Farkas got called Ice-Brain by the others, Nibenor didn't believe that he was truly stupid. He was uncultured perhaps, sometimes brutal and bloodthirsty. He didn't like learning, was happy to take things at face value and to trust in his brother to guide him. And he was far more at home when drinking, sparring or hunting than thinking about anything too deeply. But Nibenor had noticed that what he failed at in those respects, he more than made up for in other areas.

He couldn't read books very well, but he was a damn good judge of character. He seemed to have a sixth sense for who to trust and who not to. It was what made his brother think he was naive or stupid or too friendly, because the other twin seemed to lack the ability. But while Farkas didn't say much, he listened a hell of a lot. Nibenor knew that when Farkas had told him that he liked him, it hadn't been from naivety or some ill conceived notion. Nor the fact that he was the Dragonborn. It was the fact that he had taken the time to learn about him, rather than jumping to conclusions based on first impressions.

It was a rarity and Nibenor couldn't emphasise enough how valuable a quality he found it to be. And it was difficult to dislike anyone who always greeted you with a warm smile and a tankard of mead. Even if you didn't like mead all that much.

"You're daydreaming."

The words jerked Nibenor out of his thoughts and he met the pale blue eyes of the other man.

"Sorry. Eyes on the prey, right?"

Farkas nodded, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Yeah. Might be a good idea if you stay focused on just where you are as well."

Nibenor flushed a little. It was as close to a reprimand as Farkas got and he nodded, checking his bow string was as taught as it should be before taking a few steps forward.

His feet brought him to an immense pair of iron doors, immaculately carved. Usually a sign of a room of great importance. Nibenor let his hand rest near the join in the middle, pushing firmly against the cold metal. It failed to move at all.

Frowning, he replaced his bow on his back to free his right hand. With both on the door he pushed again, more firmly this time. They still didn't budge and Nibenor huffed in frustration, throwing himself against them now. All that earned him was a bruised shoulder and he stepped back, rubbing at it before looking up to Farkas.

"Do you think it's locked?"

The Nord glanced between him and the doors and Nibenor stepped out of the way. Large, thick fingered hands placed themselves of either side of the split down the centre. Bracing himself against them, the Nord leaned forwards, his arms taught and pushing hard.

Nibenor lifted an eyebrow.

"Definitely locked then."

Farkas straightened and looked back to him again, meeting his eye levelly as he casually pushed the tips of his fingers against the doors. They swung in easily, a draught of cold air billowing out from the room as they did.

"Nope." He grinned back at the elf good naturedly.

Nibenor huffed, stalking into the room determinedly, faking his annoyance as he entered the cavernous room.

* * *

Thank you for reading, same time next week :)


	17. Chapter 17: Werewolf meet Dragonborn

**Chapter 17: Werewolf... meet Dragonborn**

To say that the chamber that stood before Nibenor and Farkas was big would have been an understatement. It was downright huge and as the little elf looked around at its details, wide eyed, he felt a wave of concern wash over him.

He did not like the look of this and he hovered uncertainly in the doorway, Farkas beside him. The walls to either side of them were notched with alcoves spanning their lengths. Nibenor didn't like alcoves. They tend to hide things and he crept forward warily, glancing under each of the arches as he went. The torches hanging from the ceiling, somehow still burning, sent flickering waves of light over each. Thin lines of red caught at the edges of something large and rectangular in each of the alcoves.

Nibenor swallowed. He'd seen these before. Coffins. Sometimes, the dead inside them would wake and attack. Other times, they didn't. As he continued to edge forwards, it seemed like the latter case held true. Nothing stirred save for him and Farkas.

Some confidence restored he moved more quickly to the centre of the room. He was aware that Farkas was sniggering at him, amused by his caution. But in his experience, it paid to be careful in these places. You never knew what would trigger things to wake up.

Ahead of him the chamber opened out, still lined with black coffins on the far walls. A series of steps lead up to the far end of the room, a section of large, curved wall set into it

Nibenor's ears pricked, recognising the wall for what it was immediately and he scurried over to it, thoughts about waking the draugr forgotten. He was aware of Farkas following him at a slower pace. He vaguely registered passing some dais, items laid out on that he passed by. Something about it seemed important about one of them, though in the haze of power emanating from the wall, he couldn't grasp what it was.

Wind whispering words in his eyes he trotted to the wall, aware of blue whipping past his eyes as he let his hands come to rest on the wall. The cool surface against his palms seemed the only thing attaching him to the real world as he felt the word settling into his mind. '_Yol_'. It rattled around his consciousness, curling, his throat tightening as he understood the meaning.

The sensation died away as quickly as it came and he found himself slumping to his knees. He took deep breaths, returning to the world, vision coming back into focus. A warm hand fell onto his shoulder.

"You ok, Nib?"

Nibenor panted before looking over his shoulder and up, finding Farkas standing behind him. He nodded slowly.

"So...what was that?"

The smaller man pushed himself to his feet.

"This..." he gestured vaguely to the stone beside him "...is a word wall."

"A...word...wall?"

"It's...well it's from when dragons reigned Skyrim. The writing on it is their script. And...I just learnt a new word from it."

"That's what that was?"

"Yeah...what did it look like to you?"

Farkas shrugged.

"Dunno...it was kinda like...you went a bit fuzzy."

"Fuzzy?"

"Yeah...like there was something between you and me. You know when it's really hot and the air goes all...wavy? It was like that, but only around you."

"That was it?"

Farkas nodded.

"Hmm...was hoping it would look a bit more impressive."

"Well...maybe what it taught you will look better."

Nibenor shot a glance up at his shield brother. There was a look of hope, excitement across his face, his eyebrows lifted in a pleading manner. It was a look that reminded the elf of a puppy that wanted a piece of meat. Or maybe a wolf pup, in Farkas' case.

It was amusing and endearing and Nibenor smiled back at him

"Mmm...maybe. Guess we'll see later."

"...uh...but...but you shouldn't you ummm...test it out. Make sure it works?"

Nibenor lifted a dark eyebrow, his lips reforming the words silently, slowly.

"Uh...I mean. I'm sure it works, but you need to make sure you know it before you leave, don't you?"

Nibenor had to suppress a chuckle at that. It was quietly amusing that Farkas seemed to think he was genuinely being subtle about wanting to see the Thu'um being used. It was unfortunate for him that the Dragonborn knew better.

"I know it trust me. C'mon, we should get Wuuthrad's shards and get out of here. Your brothers probably wearing a trench into the ground with worry."

"But..."

The elf looked up at the Nord again, his expression stern this time, a gentle warning not to push him on the issue. Farkas seemed to get the point, looking crestfallen.

"Farkas...it's just... there's a time and a place to use the voice. The Greybeard's always taught me that I shouldn't abuse the power of the Thu'um. To use it frivolously is to abuse it. Do you see what I mean?"

"...I guess...'cept for the...frivuh...frivo...frilvo..."

"Frivolously."

"Yeah. That."

"It means...not seriously. Irresponsibly, I guess."

"Oh."

"You will see it one day, Farkas."

"Uh-huh."

Nibenor frowned before shuffling closer to the man.

"I promise. I said that I trust you. Now trust me when I say that you will. Please?"

The lighter haired man stared at him for a moment, pale blue eyes staring as he contemplated before nodding.

"Ok. I trust you."

"Good. Now...am I getting the shards or you?"

"You need to prove yourself so...you are."

"Goodie."

He turned away from Farkas and the wall, searching the dais next to him. There were an array of items on it, healing potions and shards of soul gems. Offerings to the dead, he guessed. And there, on a small plinth, were a handful of shards, gleaming somehow in the dim light.

Nibenor pulled out a spare pouch and cloth, carefully lifting the shards from the plinth. A miscalculation on his part had a piece of blade sliding against his finger and he hissed as it slid through flesh. Still sharp. The thin wound stung and he stared at it for a moment, teeth gritted, wondering how such a small wound was so painful. Perhaps Wuuthrad just didn't like Bosmer?

More carefully now, he wrapped each of the shards in cloth before packing them away in the pouch.

He was so focused on handling the fragments with respect that he didn't notice what was happening until:

"Uh...Nib. Might wanna hurry up there. We've got company."

The elf jerked his head up at his companion's words, turning to see draugr cracking out of their coffins. He swallowed thickly just as Farkas charged forwards into the mass.

"Ah crap."

* * *

Farkas dashed forwards, sprinting for the draugr that had awoken when Nibenor had disturbed the shards. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he grinned as he charged in, building his momentum.

Draugr weren't, in his experience, difficult to kill. A thought that seemed to be proven as his blade sheared one's head from its shoulders, sending it crumpling to the ground. Black, thick liquid, what remained of its blood, clung to his blade as he made his way onto the next one. And the next. And the next.

Not difficult to kill, but there were so many of them. He didn't understand where they were all coming from. The coffins were emptying rapidly, but everywhere he looked there was the flash of glowing blue eyes. Ancient weapons swung at him from every angle and as he realised just how many there were, he fell back into a defensive posture.

An arrow pierced the thin skull of one as he backed up and he smiled, knowing Nibenor was watching his back. He took the opportunity to duck an axe, bringing his sword up in a vertical arc to cleave the draugr in two. Beside him, more fell to the twang of the bow.

Confidence restored at the Nibenor's kills he charged forwards again into three more. A sword whistled past him, slicing deep into his left arm and he gritted his teeth against it. He pushed on, ignoring the pain, adrenaline blocking it out as he dropped to sweep his blade out, taking out the legs of all three undead. He finished each of them in turn as they lay on the ground, legs shattered. A decapitation here, a disembowelling there.

He chopped and slashed and hacked and sliced for what seemed like an eternity. His arm bled, his muscles burnt his lungs heaved. Once or twice he found himself alongside Nibenor again, registering the rhythmic twang of bow and woosh of arrow. When the arrows ran dry, Nibenor's glass blade seemed to chime as he swung it, the blue-green tip dancing through the air.

In the rare moments where he wasn't dealing with a draugr of his own, Farkas glanced over to Nibenor watching the little elf fight. The undead towered over him, yet the Dragonborn flitted around them with ease, his face set in a grimace as severed limbs and tore open abdomens with well aimed strokes of his sword.

Somehow, eventually, the flow of enemies seemed to slow and Farkas thought the end might be in sight. He cleaved one that was fleeing in two before turning to see Nibenor finishing his own off.

He breathed a sigh of relief, taking in welcome, if stale, gasps of air.

Too soon, he realised. Too soon because there was one left that was rising from a grand coffin near the dais. And no ordinary one at that.

He saw Nibenor turn, thought he might have heard him growl as the creature stepped free of its confines. He dashed up to stand beside the elf, his own sword wavering in his hand. He was exhausted now, his energy reserves depleted. But there was no time to be tired now.

"Deathlord." Nibenor growled out between gritted teeth and Farkas nodded.

The draugr before them now was taller than most, broader too. A long ebony blade was clenched in emaciated hands, ancient armour hanging on a withered frame. And for all its tired appearance, there was something daunting about it. Perhaps it was the pair of twisted black horns on its helmet, or the suppleness with which it moved after so many years of rest. Either way, Farkas didn't like it one bit.

It attacked first, sword strokes perfectly aimed and timed, as if it had been practising every day since it died. Heavy blows reigned down, fast enough that Farkas could only counter them, unable to strike back himself. Nibenor was dashing in nimbly, but not practised enough, his jabs unable to strike anything solid.

But it distracted the deathlord for long enough for him to dive in, sending his sword down in a colossal hack at its body. It missed by a hairsbreadth and Farkas howled to himself in frustration as he tumbled forwards, struggling to regain his balance. He was aware that for every second that he wasn't there, Nibenor was holding it off on his own. He managed to glance up again as he staggered back to his feet.

The elf's face was flitting between anger and determination, fear and pain. The wound on his leg had reopened, blood running freely down his leg. And his slender arms were struggling to deflect the blows.

Farkas growled, rushing forwards again, his sword held back this time. He would wait until the last moment to strike at the creature. He struggled to focus his eyes on it, his peripheral vision noting that Nibenor had fallen to one knee. And the loss of focus cost him. The raised sword meant for the Dragonborn turned on him. It slammed into his breastplate, knocking Farkas backwards and tumbled, rolling away. His sword fell somewhere, knocked from his hand in the fall and he gasped as his back hit stone. Breath was driven from lungs and had only seconds to let his eyes flash to the weapons nearby. But too far away to reach.

The Deathlord seemed to appear in front of him suddenly, its sword raised once more and his instincts kicked in, skin itching as he felt himself begin to change once more...and stopped a moment later.

A shout tore from...somewhere, the Deathlord catching fire just moment later. It shrieked, flailed, paper thin skin burning away.

Farkas turned his head looking down the steps. Nibenor stood at the base of them, eyes alight with fury and...something else. Something that Farkas couldn't name. And he was _stalking _towards the burning deathlord, his face twisted with rage. His fist was clenched tightly around his sword handle as he marched up the steps. And the words 'little', 'weak', 'useless' didn't seem applicable anymore. Not when he had that look in his eye, not when his chest expanded and shoulders drew back.

Not when a wave of energy burst forth from Nibenor's lips, the ground cracking and walls shaking as '_Fus Ro Dah!' _echoed around the room.

Farkas didn't see what happened to the draugr exactly, just saw Nibenor chasing after wherever it had been cast off to. He hauled himself to his feet, staggering up the steps to where the dais stood. The Deathlord sat at the base of the odd curved wall Nibenor had learnt his word from. Its body was crumpled, bones shattered and helmet split. And a glass sword pushed through its heart, just for good measure.

The Nord watched in silence as Nibenor stood over the body. His chest heaved, his arms trembling, teeth grinding as he stared down at it. A moment later, the glass sword was wrenched from its chest, the ebony blade pulled from its slack grip. He stilled again, staring down at the corpse before his shoulders dropped. Farkas took that as a good sign, coming up to stand behind Nibenor. The elf seemed to notice his presence and turned to look at him.

A smile broke over the Bosmer's face a few seconds later and Farkas suddenly became aware that he must have been staring. Indeed, he had to consciously make an effort to close his mouth.

"So that's...that was...woah."

Nibenor shrugged casually, still smiling.

"Dragonborn."


	18. Chapter 18: Secrets

A.N: Hello people, thank you for reviews and viewings of last weeks chapter. I know there were a few problems with it last week. I was in a rush an completely forgot to do some of the formatting, so sorry for the awkward POV change and spelling mistakes.

Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

* * *

**Chapter 18: Secrets**

The moon was well into the sky when Farkas and Nibenor staggered out of Dustman's Cairn. The horses nearby started at their reappearance, giving quiet nickers as they woke.

Nibenor huffed to himself, blinking the drag of slumber away from his tired eyes. It'd be nice to not have to travel to Whiterun at night again, but he supposed there was little other choice. Again. He hissed as he shifted his weight onto his left leg, his right thigh throbbing. The bleeding had slowed but the pain remained and he looked down at it in frustration.

A light clap on his shoulder brought Farkas' presence back to mind.

"You ok?"

The little elf swallowed before nodding.

"Yes...leg's just a bit sore, that's all."

"Hmm. Probably shouldn't move it too much."

"We both know that's not an option. We have to get back to Whiterun."

"Not right now we don't. We could wait 'til morning. And I think we're both tired. We shouldn't risk it."

"You do realise you're just rationalising this?"

Farkas simply grinned.

"Your brother wouldn't allow it."

"Vilkas will deal with it. He won't send out a search party. Yet."

Nibenor laughed lightly despite the pain in his leg.

"If he does, you're taking the blame."

Farkas nodded, still smiling, and Nibenor watched as the larger man tramped over to the horses, pulling out a few pieces of leather. They wouldn't provide much comfort for sleeping, but would at least provide some warmth. Though it was a cold night, even by Skyrim's standards.

Nibenor shuddered to himself as he realised just how cold it was. Farkas motioned back at him to follow back down into the shelter of the barrow's deep set entrance. Limping, the Dragonborn made his way slowly down the steps. Farkas slung an arm around his shoulder blades as he reached the ground level, supporting him as they found the most sheltered area to settle down in.

The arm against his back was warm and Nibenor had to fight not to lean into the touch more than was necessary. Farkas' great bulk seemed to radiate heat and in the elf's tired, wounded state it was more attractive than ever. The Nord lowered him to the ground slowly, throwing a leather blanket over him the moment he was down.

His eyebrows lifted as Farkas gently gripped his leg, pulling it out straight and the Bosmer hissed as damaged muscle shifted.

The Nord flashed an apologetic look to him before pulling out a knife. An act which worried Nibenor slightly, though he relaxed when it became apparent that his shield brother was simply cutting the dirtied bandages away. And the torn leather of his trousers, leaving a gap in his armour.

Blue eyes narrowed as Farkas looked at the wound, Nibenor's own dark eyes watching the other man intently. Though he allowed himself a glance at the wound in his leg. Which he immediately regretted, seeing the blood darkened gash, flakes of the dried liquid cracking and falling away.

Closing his eyes, Nibenor let his head fall back against the wall, feeling Farkas' hands work at his leg. His movements weren't exactly gentle, his fingers too calloused, too thick too manage the delicacy that was required to make the process painless. But the elf could feel the cautiousness in the ministrations. A damp cloth wiped across the gash, cleaning away old blood, cleansing the wound beneath. The vaguely acidic scent of the healing potion filled his senses, hands pushing a cloth soaked in the liquid into the wound. And then warm hands were wrapping lengths of clean cloth about his leg, the sensation oddly soothing as he watched through lidded eyes.

When Farkas pulled away, Nibenor let his head loll back against the wall. Another leather blanket was draped over his leg, warming it before the Companion settled against the wall beside his shield brother.

"So..." Farkas began quietly, wiping his hands clean before pulling bread from the small satchel he'd brought with him "...that was the...what did you call it? The Thu'um?"

Nibenor nodded tiredly.

"Mmm...a word of power. Or words...as I had to use back there."

"So there are different words?"

"Yes...there was 'yol' the one that was written on the wall, which means fire. And then the second... was fus, ro and dah. Unrelenting force." There was a rumbling, a tremor in the air at each of those odd words. A shudder in the ground below Nibenor.

"It's pretty impressive, a strength like that coming from someone like you."

Nibenor looked up to the larger man and eyebrow cocked.

"Who'd've thought a wood elf would be a shouting, fire-breathing dragon killer?"

The Wood elf frowned. The words were not ones that he'd ever expected to hear from Farkas. Words that he didn't want to hear from him. The Nord had always been so supportive of him, paid his race no mind. But those last few words sounded reminiscent of Vilkas. A shade of the words that those Nords who hated him for his power.

The weariness faded a little and he sat up.

"Is there something about me being a Bosmer that means I shouldn't be a fire breathing dragon slayer? Or that I can't be?"

Farkas looked a little taken aback by the words. He shrugged.

"I dunno. I mean, the Dragonborn's always been a Nord before."

"So I shouldn't have the Thu'um because I'm not a Nord?"

"Uh...no. Don't think it matters much. You just...well, Nords just don't expect it. But...some Nords don't expect much from anyone who isn't a Nord."

"Like your brother?"

Farkas' expression soured a little.

"Vilkas is a good person. He gets angry sometimes. But he judges people by their actions, not who they are."

"...I think you'll find he all but laughed me out of Jorrvaskr."

"I think you'll find," Farkas growled lowly "he's like that with everyone. Athis, Ria, Torvar, Njada. Anyone who wasn't there when our father left us at Jorrvaskr."

"Do you think that's fair?"

"It is what it is. I don't care about first impressions. Vilkas does. But he changes his mind when you prove yourself. It's not because of race. It's because...well. I guess it's because that's who he is. Don't judge him a shallow barbarian."

The words took Nibenor aback. Was he judging Vilkas as an idiot Nord? Just like all Nords judged him as a weak little elf?

The Bosmer sighed, anger abating.

"...I'm sorry Farkas. I didn't mean to offend. You and Vilkas, you're not like others... no. I mean, not all Nords are the way they're made out to be. It's just hard when some are."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't venture into other cities much, do you Farkas?"

"No...why?"

"...All I can say is I'm glad I'm not any other kind of mer. The Altmer are despised and feared. The Dunmer are just despised. Have you been to Windhelm? Have you seen how they live? Existing in decrepit houses, not fit for inhabitation, constantly in the cold, doing their best to get by. Some of them hate the Nords, most of them just get on with it, trailing through the waste that the city's drains send towards them, some of them sleeping just inches from their own filth," he paused, chest heaving a little as he recalled the city and he looked up to meet Farkas' gaze "Because they're mer in a Nord's world."

"...I don't think that's right."

"If I were a Nord, a warrior, like you and people knew I was the Dragonborn, it would be praise and songs everywhere I went. Instead it's taunts. People hate me for having the power of the Thu'um. Some of them hate me for being an elf. Some think I'm going to wander around trying to eat people whilst humping a tree or something. If I'm lucky...they just ignore me, disregard me as an insignificant, useless little Wood elf."

Farkas swallowed.

"...I...I don't think like that...do I?"

Nibenor chuckled lightly.

"You know your own mind."

"...I don't think I do. I think...I think it matters what people do, not what they think...but I guess I don't like it when they think anything bad about you."

Nibenor smiled weakly.

"I know, Farkas. And you don't know how much it's appreciated."

"And the Dark Elves. They're ok too. I mean, Athis is alright. I like him. Haven't met many more though."

"...I just wish we were judged by who we are. Not what we are. All of us, I mean. Not just mer but all men and beastfolk. Everyone."

Farkas smiled, leaning in to wrap an arm around the elf again feeling comfortable and Nibenor settled back against him. His irritation has faded, leaving him feeling drawn and tired again. Hopeless at the situation. Even if he did defeat Alduin, it wouldn't stop the persecution of people against one another.

So lulled was he by his tiredness, Nibenor didn't notice how much he was leaning against his shield brother until a thickly muscled arm wrapped around his torso, pulling him more firmly against the armour clad body of the other man. He looked up as he realised, startled by the sudden closeness. Cheeks flushed red at the way he was pressed against him, the steel armour doing nothing to diminish the heat as it flared.

Farkas took that moment to look down at him, his arm loosening a moment later and Nibenor frowned slightly.

"...sorry, you looked cold." The Nord offered.

"I was." He murmured back.

"Aww...does the big bad Dragonborn not like being a bit chilly?"

"Just remember who saved your hairy backside back in that barrow, wolf." Nibenor quipped before letting his tongue dart out.

Farkas turned to him now, crouching over his smaller companion, growling lowly.

"Dragon thinks it's better than wolf does it?"

Nibenor smiled back cockily, lifting himself to meet Farkas' gaze firmly.

"Dragon _knows _it's better than wolf."

The larger man lowered his body, bringing himself within inches of the other man's face. So close that Nibenor could feel hot breath against his face, close enough to smell the mead and bread on his breath.

"Say that again, I dare you."

The threat was low, dangerous sounding but Nibenor could see the amusement in Farkas' gaze. And something else that he couldn't name that hung at the back of that pale blue gaze.

"Dragon is better than wolf." Nibenor breathed. He was met moments later by the full force of Farkas' lips against his. The speed of the movement knocked the air from his lungs, sent his head cracking against the wall behind him.

And yet that discomfort seemed insignificant compared the pressure of lips against lips. It was not a gentle kiss, more of a claiming than anything, Farkas' wolf clearly getting the better of him. He didn't know quite how to respond, not until the pressure receded a little, the Nord reigning his own beast in. And then he pressed back of his own accord, hands finding Farkas' arms.

They broke apart after a moment, heads reeling, though Nibenor's throbbed more than anything. Silence fell, an awkwardness as eyes met neither really knowing how to acknowledge what had just happened. Both wanting to dearly.

Farkas eventually spoke first, pulling back.

"Ah...sorry about that...my wolf's still a bit...angry from earlier and sometimes it's hard to..."

"Farkas," Nibenor interrupted, cutting through the Nord's rambling, his own confidence blooming in the wake of such an event, emboldening him. "You don't need to apologise. Dragons like a bit of fire now and then."

Farkas stared at him blankly.

"...You don't mind?"

"Does it look or sound like I minded?"

"Well no but..."

"So I didn't."

"...but it's...it wasn't just the wolf..."

Nibenor smiled before wincing, feeling the back of his head.

"Yeah, I know that. I think if it was just your wolf it would've gone for something a bit different."

"Like...?"

Nibenor paused now, looking back at his Companion, cheeks flushing a little.

"Nevermind. I didn't mind the kiss...I mean, actually...I quite liked it. So...let's leave a that for now, shall we?"

"We're ok?"

"We're ok," The elf confirmed "Just, try not to smack my head into a wall next time."

"Next time, eh?" Farkas smirked.

"...There will be a next time...won't there?"

The larger man flushed now.

"Yeah. I think there will be...uhh...but, we should probably do it somewhere a bit more...private."

"Probably...so now what?"

"Now..." Farkas mused "Now I think we should go to sleep. I mean...you're gonna be made a full companion tomorrow."

"Ok."

"Ok."

"Goodnight, Farkas."

"Goodnight, Nib."

They turned away from one another to sleep, minds reeling in the darkness. Beneath his leather blankets, Nibenor smiled widely.

* * *

Sooo yeesss, that was your christmas present from me so I hope you enjoyed it. Assuming you celebrate Christmas of course. If you do, merry christmas if you don't, happy holidays. Hope that's not offending anyone :S

See you next week for the last post of 2012 :)


	19. Chapter 19: Initiation

A.N.: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, to receive nine reviews was a very pleasant surprise. Obviously I need to get them kissing more often.

Hope you all had a good christmas. Here's the next chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 19: Initiation**

It was a glorious sunrise over the warring land of Skyrim that woke Farkas from his deep slumber. As the deep blue of night warmed to a paler shade, clouds tinged with pink as the sun's rays peeked over the mountain range, the Nord stirred.

He awoke to find himself curled around the still sleeping form of Nibenor, the small elf nestled in his arms, pressed close to keep the cold at bay. It reminded the Nord of a mouse he had once found in Jorrvaskr whilst he was just a lad. The tiny creature had managed to find its way into his dresser and nestled down amongst clothes and blankets, tucked away safely from Skyrim's harsh winter. He hadn't had the heart to remove it and so had let it stay and kept it as an impromptu pet.

Until Vilkas had found out and informed him that he couldn't let vermin stay in the halls. The mouse had promptly been tossed back out into the wilds and Farkas had never seen it again.

He hoped the same thing wouldn't happen to Nib.

Yawning, Farkas stretched out, mulling it over. As soon as they got back with the shards of Wuuthrad, Nib would undergo his initiation. And then he was officially a Companion. The thought made Farkas grin and he sat upright, disentangling himself from the Dragonborn, rousing him.

"No...not moving." Came the muffled response, Nibenor's voice thick with sleep.

"You have to."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Don't."

"It's a stone floor, Nib, it's not even comfortable."

"So says you."

"Get up."

The Nord stood, pulling thin leather blankets aside as he did and bundling them under one arm, using the free one to throw a large chunk of bread at the elf. The elf glanced up in response, a dark eye cracking open to stare at the other man blearily.

"...resorting to bread throwing. Must be important."

"C'mon, we need to get those shards back. We shouldn't keep everyone waiting."

Nibenor heaved a sigh before sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. After a moment, he clambered to his feet, carefully keeping the weight off his leg as he limped.

Farkas watched him go, smiling lightly at the elf's shambling. Stepping forwards, he slid his arm around the smaller man's shoulder blades once more, all but carrying him up the stairs before helping him up onto his horse.

In the quiet of dawn, they rode away from the barrow, back to their mead hall, events of past and future playing in their minds.

* * *

Vilkas growled to himself as he stood on the steps of Jorrvaskr, staring out over the horizon. He had hoped that his brother and the elf would have returned yesterday evening. Now, with dawn having broken and the two showing no signs of reappearing, he was growing anxious.

The idea that Nibenor had failed, that he and Farkas had been injured, perhaps fatally began to niggle at him more seriously. For all he doubted the elf, he didn't doubt his own twin's abilities. But if he'd been hurt trying to save his charge...

The Nord shook his head. It didn't bear thinking about. Not yet. For all he knew, the two could have bedded down out on the plains for the night. Or have gotten distracted by a hunt. The elf, for all his failings, seemed to be a good shot, and Farkas had always seemed impressed by those who were good at shooting.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye had him starting to attention, staring at the steps that rose to the Gildergreen. Within a few moments two figures appeared and he let out a sigh of relief at the familiar bulk of his brother. He was surprised by the relief he felt as he noted the smaller man beside him, still limping, but appearing otherwise unscathed. After all, he didn't actually wish the elf any real harm. And if they were both here, well and carrying the shards of Wuuthrad, then perhaps he wasn't as useless as he looked.

He watched quietly as the two made their way slowly around the Gildergreen, hampered by Nibenor's limp. They seemed to be walking closely, uncomfortably closely, if you asked him, Farkas helping the smaller man to walk. And they were smiling.

Vilkas bristled, instincts telling him something had happened between them.

"It's about time you two showed up," he called as they reached the bottom of the steps to Jorrvaskr. "We were beginning to worry."

Nibenor smirked.

"About the both of us?"

Vilkas glared back in response, grunting in acknowledgement to the elf before looking to his twin.

"You worry too much," Farkas muttered as they drew level with him, giving him a heavy slap on the shoulder "We're fine."

"Did you get the fragments?"

Nibenor nodded, moving to pull something out of his pack. Vilkas waived the motion.

"Give them to Kodlak when we're done."

"When we're done with what?"

"Your initiation. You made it back alive and with the fragments, that means you've succeeded. Come, follow me."

He turned on his heel, striding back towards the building. The others would be up and having breakfast by now and he threw the doors wide, walking into the room, his brother and the elf following behind.

Kodlak looked up to him as he led the way through the mead hall and the older man nodded in understanding before rising. Without another word, the remaining Companions stood, making their way out to the training yard.

Vilkas glanced behind him as he continued through the building, watching as the little elf glanced about at the others, an odd expression on his face even as Farkas smiled down at him.

Huffing once more, the smaller of the twins sped up, striding out the doors to where Nibenor's initiation would take place.

* * *

Nibenor bit his lip as he made his way through to the training yard, following the rest of the Companions. Nervousness gnawed in the pit of his stomach as he watched them gather into a small crowd, the Circle standing together near the wall. Kodlak stood in the middle, smiling faintly as Nibenor approached him, looking for all the world like a proud father. Or perhaps a grandfather, given his age.

Farkas released him as he neared the rest of the Circle, quietly squeezing his shoulder in encouragement before standing beside his brother. Had he thought it would be acceptable, Nibenor would have complained at the loss of warmth as Farkas moved away, having enjoyed the solid heat of the other man. And the fact that it meant he didn't have to put too much weight on his leg.

Behind him he could hear the other whelps murmuring, though he couldn't make out what was said or by whom. Not when he could see the Circle standing before him, not when he could feel every person's eyes on him. It made him uncomfortable and he shifted, knowing they were all watching him.

Kodlak nodded to him before he spoke.

"Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold," Kodlak intoned "This man has endured, has challenged and had shown his valour. Who will speak for him?"

Farkas straightened at the words, shoulders broadening as a look of near pride settled over his handsome face.

"I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us." He spoke, voice strong as he met Kodlak's gaze. The words were practised, of course, having been spoken numerous times before. Even knowing that, Nibenor couldn't help but feel a thrill of pride to hear Farkas speak them. Couldn't help but think that the other man took a certain joy in saying them, as if he deeply believed in them this time.

"Would you raise your shield in his defence?" Kodlak asked.

"I would stand at his back, that the world might never overtake us."

Another thrill travelled down Nibenor's spine at the words, something stirring as blue eyes caught his own. The crowd around him was forgotten as he took a deep breath, meeting those eyes evenly, feeling the meaning behind the words being spoken.

"And would you raise your sword in his honour?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of his foes."

"And would you raise a mug in his name?"

"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall revelled in his stories."

A smile crossed Farkas' lips at the last word and Nibenor had to suppress a chuckle at the concept of Farkas singing, despite the seriousness of the situation. But...at least he wouldn't be as the bard at the Windpeak Inn.

"The judgement of the Circle is complete," Kodlak announced, his rough voice gliding over the words and Nibenor snapped his attention back to the elder "His heart beats with fury and courage that has united the Companions since the days of distant green summers," He met Nibenor's gaze levelly once more as he made to finish "Let it beat with ours that mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

The rest of the Circle nodded in agreement, straightening as they simultaneously intoned:

"It shall be so."

Nibenor took a breath again as the words were uttered and a moment later, he was surrounded by the rest of the Companions. Praise and friendly pats rained down on him and he both smiled and cringed under the attention. Pleased at the reactions of his fellow Companions, unnerved by the attention, as always.

"Alright whelps, that's enough. Leave him be," Skjor called over the noise of their congratulating "You can do that later this evening. We've got work to do now."

The Dragonborn sighed in relief at the words, even as a final friendly punch from Torvar, combined with some mumblings about drinking, heralded their leaving. The crowd dispersed, leaving Nibenor with Kodlak and he trudged over to the man who looked so old and was still probably younger than himself.

Farkas watched quietly as Nibenor approached Kodlak to hand over the shards of Wuuthrad. The Harbinger smiled kindly in response, taking them carefully from the elf before addressing him.

He didn't bother to listen in to their conversation. Trying to eavesdrop on Kodlak's words was almost always a bad idea. He didn't appreciate it and the chastening he would give in response was somehow always worse than outright shouting and punishment. Instead, Farkas settled for staring up into the sky. It was darkening with storm clouds and he frowned, not liking the look of them. Especially if he was about to be sent out on another job. He hoped not.

A hand fell onto his shoulder and he looked left and down the few inches to his brother standing beside him.

"C'mon. Don't know about you but I haven't eaten yet. Fancy a bite?"

"Aye sounds good." He followed his twin back into the mead hall where it had fallen oddly quiet, the others having been assigned their tasks for the day. Over in a corner, Aela and Skjor were muttering to each other, though they quickly broke off their conversation and separated at the sight of the twins entering.

Farkas ignored it. Those two constantly seemed to be whispering in corners about one thing or another. What he dreaded to think, but considering they were usually found together in their quarters, he reckoned he could guess.

"So, you didn't have any trouble getting the shards?" Vilkas asked as he sat down, pulling a plate towards himself.

The larger twin sank into his own chair.

"Uhh..."

"What's 'uhh'?"

"Well...we had a bit of a ... surprise."

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"...The Silver Hand were there."

Vilkas stopped mid-chew, his jaw halting in place as he took in the words. In any other situation, the reaction coupled with the piece of cheese that was still sticking out of his mouth would have been funny. Not now though, with his eyes growing dark at the information.

"...And?" He eventually responded, his voice carefully neutral.

"And I killed them."

"No harm done then."

"...yeah...except..."

"Except what?"

"They ambushed us. Nib was stuck in some trap and then they all came in. Good sized group of them. I didn't have a choice...can't take on that many with just my sword so..."

"So...?" Vilkas inquired, eyes narrowing.

Farkas squirmed.

"What did you do, Farkas?" The question was almost a shout now.

"...I changed. In front of Nib. He saw everything and then I had to tell him about us. The Circle, I mean."

"So the elf knows our secret," Vilkas murmured, anger suddenly abated as he settled back into his chair. He sighed "He would've found out eventually anyway. He is a one of us now. Aela and Skjor will want to give him our...ability."

"You think he should?"

"No. Not if we're refraining where we can. But...that's his decision. We'll just have to wait to see what happens for now."

"He...didn't seem to care too much either way." Farkas murmured, thinking back to how quickly the elf had calmed down, how he'd started to become intrigued.

Vilkas glanced back to him, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth.

"It's his choice, brother."

"I don't want to see him get hurt."

Farkas noted the pause in his brother again, just a seconds startling at the openness of his comment. He recommenced chewing casually again, remaining quiet for some time before he decided how to respond.

"He's the Dragonborn, yes?"

Farkas nodded, not quite sure how the question was connected.

"Then he will be fine. You needn't worry. I'm sure that, given that you both returned unharmed, he can cope. And he's a shield-brother. You know he won't come to any harm that's avoidable if we're watching his back."

"...Are you saying that you think he's ok?"

Vilkas snorted.

"I still don't like him...but he didn't get you or himself killed, and he got the shards back safe. So...he's at least worthy to be one of us."

"You should see him use the Voice. Then you'd be impressed."

"I highly doubt it."

"Even you would."

"You've seen him use it then?"

Farkas nodded enthusiastically. Vilkas sighed, long suffering of his brother's over excitement in reaction to anything to do with Nibenor.

"So what was it like?" he asked.

Farkas eyed his brother. Vilkas was indulging him. Or at least, pretending that he was indulging him, though he knew that really his brother was just as interested in the Dragonborn as he was.

"Impressive. He used this one, I think he said it was called...something force. Like a big blast of something that blew this draugr off his feet. And fire breath too. He can shout fire!"

Vilkas nodded benignly.

"Interesting. Just... don't get too carried away, brother."

"I'm not getting carried away. But...he's a good guy you know, and he chose to be one of us."

"I have no doubt as to his courage or intentions. I just don't want to see you getting hurt by him."

Farkas looked to his smaller sibling as he made to leave the table, his last comment puzzling him.

"How would he hurt me? He's tiny and he wouldn't use the Voice on me."

Vilkas smiled softly, almost sadly, before turning to walk away, leaving his twin pondering his words.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment after the last one. This fic is starting to draw to a close now. I'm not sure how many chapters are left, but there're only a few, so things will heat up in the next one or two.

Oh and I know I shouldn't plug my own stuff, or SKM, but someone's requested a fic on there to do with a little guy topping Farkas. Enter Nibenor (pun not intended). That'll be up on there sometime after this is finished, for those who're interested in reading some random smut. Only if you're old enough though, please.

Anyway, thanks again for reading, have a good new year and next chapter will be up in 2013. See you on the other side :)


	20. Chapter 20: Admit it!

**Chapter 20: Admit it!**

The mead hall Jorrvaskr came alive with the lights and the sounds of merry voices and drunken, raucous laughter as evening set in over Whiterun. Inside, its occupants cheered loudly, tankards clashing and mead sloshing, great joints of meat roasting over roaring fires.

Skjor and Aela sat in their usual corner, joined by Kodlak for a change, chatting more quietly than most of the other residents. Vilkas and Athis were guffawing loudly, an unusually large smile on the Nord's face as nearby, Torvar, Ria and Njada engaged in some kind of drinking contest. One that Ria seemed to be losing, judging by the way she was half hanging off her chair, the tankard in her hand pooling mead onto the floor.

Tilma tutted, shuffling forwards with cloths to soak up the mess, grumbling under her breath as she did so.

Nibenor watched quietly from a corner set away from the others, despite the celebration being in honour of his initiation. His tankard of mead sat on a nearby table, barely touched as his mulled over the day's events, his face set into an unreadable expression. Occasionally, when one of the others would look over, he would nod at them before quickly looking away, not wanting to be disturbed with so many thoughts reeling through his head.

He didn't know where to start. His confusion over the Circle's secret, how they'd kept it a secret was something he couldn't fathom. And that didn't even begin to touch on his own confused feelings of the subject. If he ever rose to the ranks of the Circle would he take the gift...could he take it? Could he cope with having two animals inside his head at once? And what would Farkas think if he was trying to give up the wolf? Would it be cruel to accept the beast, would it be a taunt to him?

The elf paused his thoughts, taking a sip of mead. He tried to convince himself that he shouldn't really be bothering to think about these things. It took more than just showing your reliability to get into the Circle. It was over-ambitious to think such things, especially when he had only just been made a full member of the lower ranks. The heights of the Circle were decades away.

As for Farkas, well... that was another issue entirely. What he chose to do with his wolf was his own business, just as what Aela, and Skjor did with theirs was theirs only. The thoughts of what had happened yesterday evening were far more pressing at the moment.

He bit his lip, reliving the kiss. His head still throbbed faintly where it had collided with the wall. But now his lips tingled too, a warmth spreading across his chest. And elsewhere. He crossed his legs discreetly, finding the act immensely uncomfortable as his body made its own 'thoughts' on the subject rather obvious.

What he wanted from Farkas was apparent. Though he had already realised what he had wanted, the kiss had intensified it. Except he knew that this was more than just lust too. There was something about Farkas that was so irresistible in every sense.

It made him want to march to the larger man and kiss him, to make his intentions known and put an ending to the aching in his chest. If he had enough to drink he might just do that. He knew that Farkas wouldn't refuse the attention, not when he had initiated the kiss last night. Especially when he had admitted that it was more than just the wolf.

'_But would he, though?'_ Came a tendril of thought in Nibenor's head as he accepted a strip of horker meat from Aela with a smile. She nodded back before returning to Skojr.

He had thought that Farkas would readily accept. Indeed he had been expecting to spend the evening with the Nord, with both of them in high spirits and to make his feelings on the subject better known to him.

However Farkas had disappeared just as evening had drawn in, retreating to his room with a muttered comment about tending to his injuries. Which was an obvious lie because firstly, any injuries he may have had would have been tended to already and secondly, he didn't really have any injuries. That had been hours ago and it had become obvious to everyone that the Nord was avoiding the Bosmer.

He couldn't fathom what had freaked the Werewolf out. Perhaps his pleasure at being praised by Farkas had been a little too apparent and had scared him off. He couldn't blame him although...it didn't seem to be in Farkas' character to be so bothered by such a thing.

His brow furrowed and he bit his lip, staring into his mead now as he began to dwell on the subject.

* * *

Vilkas looked up from his honey nut treat as Skjor, Aela and Kodlak settled down next to him and Athis, apparently having decided to be more sociable with the rest of the group.

"So...anyone know what's up with our little Wood Elf?" Aela asked generally as she pulled up a chair, directing glances at Vilkas and Athis.

Kodlak nodded in agreement.

"I would have thought that he would be more pleased about his initiation."

"Probably just worn out. That's a pretty big wound on him, 'specially for such a small fellow."

Vilkas remained quiet. He could guess at what the issue was, though he wasn't about to enlighten the rest of the group.

"Hmm. Perhaps so," the Harbinger mused "I assume Farkas is still resting himself, since he hasn't joined us. Though that seems very unlike the boy."

Athis barked out a short bark of laughter at the comment, though he stifled it under Kodlak's raised eyebrow.

"Something amusing, Athis?"

"With all due respect, Harbinger, I would have thought it's pretty obvious that Farkas isn't resting."

"And why do you say that?"

"Oh come on. Normally those two are inseparable. And now... Farkas ran off as soon as Nib got in. Don't you get the impression that something's happened?"

"You think they've fallen out?" Aela asked, glancing over her mug at the Dunmer. He shook his head almost violently, tips of his ears bobbing as he did.

"Quite the opposite in fact. Let's face it, with how close those two are and being left on their own in a quiet, secluded barrow, high on bloodlust..."

"Watch what you're insinuating about my brother." Vilkas growled out lowly, glaring at the darker skinned man. Athis may have hit the nail on the head, but not everyone needed to know about it. Not unless something really came of their feelings.

The Dark elf lifted his hands placatingly.

"Look, all's I'm saying is that they're awfully close for two men," he paused taking a drink "...who have absolutely nothing in common." He finished quickly, looking away.

Vilkas snarled openly, despite Skjor's warning hand on his shoulder. Athis glanced back and shrugged.

"You can't say you haven't noticed."

"And what?" Vilkas snapped, struggling to defend his twin against Athis blatant openness. Though the elf didn't seem particularly bothered by it himself, judging by how freely he spoke of it. "Farkas isn't allowed to have close friends?"

Athis lifted a mahogany eyebrow in response.

"I am merely _suggesting_," he stressed the word "that they're perhaps closer than two men, who have little in common, usually would be."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Athis."

The Dunmer stared back at the Nord, as if thinking of challenging, before clamping his mouth shut and turning away. Apparently, the snarl in Vilkas' voice, combined with Skjor's restraining hand, more than likely had persuaded him that pushing the issue was not a good idea.

Vilkas stood abruptly, shoving himself away from the table. He needed to see Farkas and get this sorted out. Set the record straight, one way or another. Though as he headed downstairs, he didn't know which option was better.

Every word Athis had said was painfully true. No one could deny the looks the two gave each other, the time they spent together. The thought that everyone knew that there was something going on terrified him, though he wasn't sure why. Same sex relationships in Skyrim weren't unheard of, nor particularly frowned upon.

Inter-racial relationships, however, were a different story. Though they did occur. The priest that Nibenor had first arrived with had mentioned that he had wed human-elf couples before. Though most appeared to be male Nord, female Bosmer and Vilkas had to wonder how many of them were trophy wives. A pretty, exotic little thing on the arm of a big, strapping Nord man.

The wider public wouldn't accept a male Nord and a male Wood elf quite as easily, no matter if they were Dragonborn or Companion, or anything else. They would both receive ridicule, perhaps even open abuse for their relationship.

Vilkas huffed, pausing on the other side of the door to the living quarters. In all honesty, if the public didn't accept it, he didn't really care, so long as Farkas wasn't upset by it. And he would readily crack open the heads of anyone who thought that they could ridicule his twin. After all, deep down, all he really wanted was for his brother to be happy. If being with Nibenor made him so, then he would defend them both.

And...the elf wasn't really all that bad. He certainly hadn't got Farkas killed, though he might get him into trouble. But they could all deal with a bit of trouble here and there.

But then...what if the two did end up together? What if they got the relationship they both so obviously wanted? Would they get married, think of settling down? Would they travel across Skyrim together, serving out Nibenor's duties as the Dragonborn? Farkas would be happy doing that, he was sure. But what if the status of Dragonborn went to the elf's head and he started looking for other things? What if wealth and fame and pretty wenches distracted him? What if he got bored of a quiet married life with Farkas? Would he stay true to him? And what of family? They could not hope to have children, if either of them wanted it so. Would it drive them apart? Would the marriage cope with the strain?

And above all else, above all the thoughts of long term relationships and fidelity and the test of time, what about mortality?

What if they got their relationship and Farkas got everything he dreamed of...what if Nibenor's fate as Dragonborn claimed his life? The road before him would not be easy, no one could say where it would take him...but death seemed like inevitability in Nibenor's path.

What would Farkas do if his beloved died? It would break his heart, something that Farkas didn't seem to think was a possibility, but was all too likely as far as Vilkas was concerned.

He gritted his teeth as he stood outside his brother's door, trying to rationalize. Death was a risk for everyone in Skyrim these days, even those who appeared safe. It was the reason engagements were so short. Anyone could die at any time. He had to remind himself of that, that it was a risk they all had. Nibenor and Farkas were no exception. Besides...Farkas could fall for a pretty girl tomorrow, and she could be taken away by the war, or a bandit...or a pissed off dragon.

He couldn't defend Farkas against other's deaths and his own grief towards it after all.

Taking a breath, Vilkas looked at the door, his decision made. If it made Farkas happy, then so be it...

* * *

Farkas lay on his bed quietly, staring at the stones of the ceiling in the dim, flickering candlelight. His hands plucked idly at the hem of his shirt, his damaged armour piled into a corner. He would have to ask Eorlund to fix it tomorrow. Or perhaps have a go at it himself. Only the leather needed replacing and he knew he could do that himself.

He shook his head. He was distracting himself from what he knew he should be thinking about. His head ached. He was doing too much thinking. Had been ever since Nib came along, to be honest, but since last night, he was thinking more than ever. He wished he could just forget about it at the bottom of a tankard. Which he would've done except Nib was upstairs. If he went up there and drank himself senseless, he'd probably end up doing something he would regret. He wasn't sure what that would be, but he was pretty sure he could find a way to manage it.

The Nord sighed. He had to come to a decision about what to do about Nib. He knew full well what he himself wanted to do. Reckoned he could make a good guess at what Nibenor wanted as well. That wasn't the issue.

He knew that if he took Nib outside and kissed him and cuddled and hell, screwed him under the moonlight, the Wood elf probably wouldn't resist. His reaction to the kiss had proved that.

No, Nib's reaction wasn't the problem. Vilkas' would be. He had made it quite clear that he wasn't keen on Nib, even if he was starting to soften a little towards him. But softening towards him was one thing and it was a huge step from accepting them having a relationship. Or even being pleased for them, as Farkas wanted his twin to be.

Vilkas' opinion meant everything to him. Farkas rarely did anything that was really important without consulting his brother. And usually, even if their opinions were at odds, he would do what his smaller brother thought was the best option. He was the thinker, after all, the one with the brains. Sometimes, he wished he had a bit more brain himself, so he could at least begin to understand some of the stuff that he talked about. Or that the other's talked about. Or that Nibenor talked about. So much of it was over his head.

He tightened his fist. His thoughts had made their way around to the elf again and that wasn't what he wanted. He needed to get things in his head straight.

He wanted his brother's blessing on this, but he wasn't going to get it. So he needed to decide what to do in light of that. He needed to know whether this time, he would follow his brother's opinion...or trust in his own for once.

The Dragonborn...what a partner he'd make. He wanted him so much. His body ached for him, and he'd had more than one dream about the little elf that had left him flushed and hard when he'd woken. There was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the beast in the elf's blood, the soul of a great dragon in the almost fragile body of a Bosmer. Or maybe it was just his tininess in general. Or maybe it was just him. Maybe it was that he was everything that people thought he couldn't possibly be.

Farkas let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes closed as he let his mind wander back to their kiss. The feeling of the elf's thin lips warm against his own, the surprising force with which the elf had pressed back against him. Such a surprising little thing was the Dragonborn.

His hand tightened again as he thought about if they hadn't stopped, if they'd kept the kiss going, where it would've led to. He had to stop his hand from drifting to the waistband of his trousers.

A sharp rap on the door made his hand retreat quickly and he turned on his side quickly, back to the door to hide his body's reactions.

He looked over his shoulder as the door opened, the person on the other side entering his room without waiting for permission.

"Vilkas."


	21. Chapter 21: Permission

A.N: Hello readers. Apologies for this being late, just a small hitch but it's all sorted now. Thanks for reviews etc. as always.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 21: Permission**

Farkas' room was dimly lit when Vilkas pushed the door open. Candles flickered and sputtered at the breeze as he stepped inside. It wasn't a good sign, usually Farkas had candles and lanterns everywhere. Not a fan of the dark. A half nibbled sweetroll sat on his bedside table, his tankard of mead all but untouched.

Vilkas shook his head, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His twin's eyes tracked him as he made his way to a chair that sat opposite the bed. He settled into it, arms folded, watching his reclined brother on his bed.

Farkas shifted uneasily, sitting up to look at his sibling.

"Were you not enjoying the celebrations?" Vilkas asked after a moment, eager to get the conversation over and done with as soon as possible.

"...just...sorting out a few scrapes I picked up in the barrow."

Vilkas let his eyes flick over his brother's broader, taller form. True, there was a scratch on his face and a small wound on his arm. Nothing above the ordinary wear and tear for a Companion.

"Doesn't look like they need much tending to me. I'm surprised you even noticed them."

Farkas shrugged.

"Small things can do more than you think, sometimes."

Vilkas pursed his lips at the comment, knowing what his brother was really referring to. He attempted to gloss over it;

"So, are you going to come back up?"

The larger Nord remained silent, his pale eyes flicking towards the door for a moment, looking at it as if it was the cause of all his woes.

"No..." Vilkas murmured, leaning back into his chair "I thought not. So what's bothering you?" As if he didn't know.

Farkas didn't say anything for a while. His lips drew into a thin line as fingers plucked at rough bedsheets, eyes occasionally flashing over to his sibling. He opened his mouth briefly, taking in a breath of air as if he were preparing to say something. Then those lips resumed their thin line.

Vilkas frowned. His brother was never particularly talkative, even at the best of times, but he always had something to say to him. And more recently, to Nibenor. Usually, anyway. The fact that the bigger man wasn't saying anything to either of them was a bad sign. Why he didn't want to speak with Nibenor, considering they had been fine up until the initiation, he couldn't say.

But he was more concerned that he wasn't speaking to his own twin. Wasn't willing to voice those few important thoughts that he had. That could only be caused by one of two things. Either Farkas was angry at him, or he felt that if he told his brother, Vilkas would think badly of him or angry at him. Either way.

Vilkas knew what it was of course. He knew what his brother wanted to tell him but couldn't find the courage to. Even if he didn't want to believe Athis, the Dunmer had a point. And both brothers had to face up to it.

The smaller twin sighed. It was looking more and more like he was going to have to do the legwork here. Get Farkas to say something he himself didn't particularly want to hear.

"This is about the elf, Nibenor, then. Isn't it?"

Farkas glanced at the door, then back to his brother before nodding slowly. Fingers still plucked at the bedsheets.

Vilkas grumbled to himself lowly. The response wasn't the one he was hoping for. He'd rather his twin just say it, get it over with so that they could do what they needed to and then move on. He didn't want to sit here slowly teasing information out of him like a steak out of a wolf's jaws. But at least they were on the right track.

"I..." Farkas started, before pausing again.

Vilkas waited quietly, biting at the inside of his lip, trying to exude patience whilst pushing away thoughts of beating the words out of him. In the nicest way possible.

"I don't..." he managed, before sighing heavily, running a hand over his face.

"You don't...what?"

"I don't want you to...hate me."

"If you don't tell me what it is, I can't know whether I will or not."

"I know." Farkas stated. Vilkas scoffed.

"You can never know, only suspect," he responded, leaning forwards in his chair, hands clasped in front of him, "Farkas. You're my brother. I doubt there's much you can do to make me hate you. Make me angry, maybe, but not hate you."

Farkas snorted.

"Yeah well, you get angry at everything."

Vilkas smirked back at his twin in response, feeling tensions easing ever so slightly. He hefted himself up from his chair, moving over to the bed to sit beside his brother, letting a hand drop onto a broad shoulder. The other man glanced up to him, meeting the same pale hue of his own eyes before looking away again. He swallowed thickly.

"I want..."

Vilkas' hand tightened involuntarily.

"I want the elf."

* * *

Farkas' words were so quiet that he wasn't sure whether his brother had heard them. Especially when no reply came. He bowed his head, fingers clenching and unclenching as he awaited Vilkas' response. He wished he hadn't said it now. He'd thought he'd get some sense of relief after admitting it. But his brother's unknown judgement was still weighing him down. He cocked his head, glancing up through the strands of his dark hair to read his brother's expression.

Vilkas' lips were pursed, his eyes distant as he stared at the far wall. He was obviously mulling it over, the words having been heard. He wondered if he would've heard them if the wolf was gone, like he wanted.

He bit his own lip, wondering what his brother really thought his crush. He hadn't punched him or stormed out though, so that was good.

A few more minutes stretched out before the smaller brother responded.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to say what you feel about it."

"I don't know. It'll...take some getting used to," Vilkas murmured, looking at Farkas now. His hand squeezed down on his shoulder. "But...I'm not angry, Farkas. Or disgusted and I don't hate you. I don't understand it, but I don't hate you for it."

Farkas looked up at his brother hopefully.

"...You don't?"

"I told you, there's probably not much you can do to make me hate you. I don't agree or understand, but it's your choice, your life. You follow whatever feels right by you and I'll accept it."

Farkas blinked at the words, his brother's grudging acceptance.

"You're not angry? At all?"

Vilkas shrugged.

"What would I be angry about? As you long as you don't give me any details of what you get up to, you can do what you like."

Farkas let a smile grow onto his face, his head lifting as he looked at his twin.

"Thanks, brother."

He received a punch on his shoulder in response.

"Aye well, you just go and get on with whatever you and Nibenor decide you want to do. Just stop moping."

"Wasn't moping."

"You were. Like a teenager."

Farkas growled before standing slowly, stretching. He slapped his brother on the shoulder as he did. Vilkas stood beside him.

"You'd better get a move on, by the way. The elf looks like someone's stolen his sweetroll."

"Huh?"

"He's sitting in a corner on his own. I imagine he knew what was up, so you might want to go and reassure him, or whatever."

"And you're sure you're ok with this?"

Vilkas shrugged.

"As long as you're happy, I'll cope. And if anyone else has a problem with it or something to say about it, they'll have me to deal with. I won't have my kin mocked."

"Thanks."

The smaller twin nodded before striding out the room. Farkas guessed he wanted a drink and he chased after him, catching up quickly. He wouldn't mind having a drink with the others.

"I better warn you though," Vilkas began as they made their way down the corridor "Athis is going to have a hell of time on this one. You've just proved the snarky little bastard right. He might well have been taking bets while we've been down here."

Farkas shrugged, unconcerned. Athis wasn't the type to cause a problem over that sort of thing. The betting, however...

"Wonder if anyone's made a bet on how long it's going to take him to get my fist in his face?"

Vilkas chuckled lightly in response as they made their way back upstairs. The mead hall seemed to have fallen quieter, low murmurs of conversation humming. Until Farkas' head peeked up above the level of the stairs.

Shouts of welcome met him, the others encouraging him to join them in drinking to Nibenor's health. He smiled lightly, though not before shooting a warning glare to Athis, who was openly staring at him. The Dunmer wasn't quite the elf whose attention he wanted on him right now.

He scanned the room quickly, finding his target curled up in a chair that nearly enveloped him. Decision made, he grabbed a couple of tankards, filling them with mead before making his way over to the Bosmer.

The Wood elf looked up to him as he approached, glancing between the tankard being offered and the larger man before nodding taking it silently. The other tankard still sat, almost untouched, on the side table. He took a few sips of the new mug, watching Farkas as he sat down in a chair next to him.

* * *

Nibenor sipped quietly at the fresh mug of mead that had been offered, keeping his eyes on Farkas as he sat down next to him. He and Vilkas had obviously been talking and he could bet what the subject had been.

They sat in silence for a moment, Farkas making himself comfortable. Nibenor swallowed quietly. He'd rather avoid the situation completely. It wasn't the kind of thing he was used to dealing with. In all his ninety years, he'd never been in this situation and he didn't know what to do with himself. The waiting only served to make him uncomfortable, nervous.

He cleared his throat before tentatively trying to make conversation.

"So...wounds all attended to?"

Farkas sniffed.

"Ahh, they were just scrapes. Nothing to worry about. Armour needs more work than I do."

Nibenor smiled faintly, remembering the snapped leather straps.

"How's your leg holding up?" Farkas asked quietly. He wouldn't quite meet his eyes as he spoke and Nibenor swallowed.

"...It's...holding me up. Just."

Farkas smiled, almost sympathetically.

"Well, now you can rely on us to help you limp everywhere until it heals."

Nibenor glared.

"I do not limp."

"...yeah, and I don't like mead." Farkas countered.

The Dragonborn flushed before noticing the amusement on Farkas' face. He managed to catch his gaze, noting the mirth in those pale blue eyes and moments later he found himself smiling back. There was something about the Nord that was irresistible like that.

"So...," Farkas continued "since you're a Companion now, are you going to come and join the drinking? It's all about you, after all."

"...I suppose I could manage a drink. Or two."

Farkas grinned more widely.

"Or two? I've yet to see you finish one!"

"I am perfectly capable of holding my mead, thank you very much."

"Pfft. I could drink you under the table with no problem."

Nibenor laughed more earnestly now. How he didn't know, because the tension was still gnawing at his chest. But Farkas always had that effect on him. Capable of making him relax, against all odds.

"Ah well I obviously haven't told you about my drinking contest with a man named Sam Guvenne."

"Oh?"

"... I can't remember all the details, even now...there was something about a goat...or maybe a hagraven...or maybe both."

Farkas lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Really?"

"Well the priestess of Dibella wasn't happy after Sam and I defiled her temple."

The Nord snorted.

"You've never defiled anything in your life."

"Oh I think you'll find I've defiled quite a few things in my lifetime," Nibenor replied cockily, watching Farkas' expression carefully as he let his voice drop to a huskier tone, his words flowing free before he had chance to think about them "...I could show you how, if you like."

Farkas stilled, staring at him. He blinked once, twice, staying silent.

Nibenor stared back, aware of what he'd just said, feeling his face beginning to burn in response. It wasn't like him to be so brazen and despite the fact that he reckoned Farkas already knew. His blatant flirting took him off guard. In fact, judging by Farkas' lack of response, it had caught them both off guard.

That silence again. That tense awkwardness and Nibenor swallowed.

And then Farkas smiled. Relief flooded through him.

"I'd like that." Farkas eventually murmured, glancing at him before taking a swig of his mead. Surprisingly coy. Or shy. Nibenor couldn't tell, though he doubted that Farkas knew the meaning of the word.

"...so...that's a yes?"

Farkas glanced at him again, nodded, smiled and looked away.

"...and your brother?"

"Won't be a problem. Says as long as we don't tell him the details, he doesn't care. So long as you don't hurt me, or something, anyway."

"...he doesn't care?"

"...well, he doesn't mind. So long as I'm happy."

"Wonders never cease." Nibenor replied quietly.

"He's not that bad."

"I know."

"He likes you in his own way. Or at least, he's getting there."

"Well that's comforting."

Farkas smiled back softly.

"We have his...blessing, I guess. That's all I wanted."

Nibenor nodded in response, understanding. Despite the feeling of closeness between all the members of the Companions, he guessed that blood was still thicker than water, after all.

"...so...are we going to take this somewhere else?" Nibenor asked tentatively, shuffling closer to the other man.

"We are..." Farkas murmured back, leaning in teasingly. "After we've drunk you under the table." He finished, standing up.

He hooked an arm underneath Nibenor's pulling the elf along gently to the other side of the room.

Nibenor smiled, shaking his head at the Nord's eagerness to get him drunk. But then...he couldn't deny that it'd be nice to celebrate his new rank as a Companion. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Athis smirking, the Dunmer holding his hand out expectantly to Torvar who dumped a pile of coin into the grey palm.

Farkas growled quietly at the sight, though he said nothing, merely manoeuvring Nib into a chair.

Sat with the rest of the group, he smiled nervously, Farkas at his shoulder. To everyone's surprise, it was Vilkas who stood first, raising his tankard for a toast.

"To Nibenor, our brother."

* * *

Right. That's that sorted, next chapter should be up on monday. There are probably only 2, maybe 3 chapters left to go now, depending on which way I decide to take it. But I think I've settled on the longer route. So yeah, don't worry, the fun bits aren't far off :)


	22. Chapter 22: A little bit too much

****Hello again. Not much to say, thanks for reviews, as always. But more importantly:

**Warning: This chapter contains mild sexual scenes of a homosexual, interracial nature. **

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22: A little bit too much**

Nibenor didn't know what time it was. He didn't really know much of anything at the moment. Well...he knew he was in Jorrvaskr, knew that he was safe and warm and with friends and that was largely all that mattered.

He also knew he was drunk, though he protested loudly when one his shield siblings pointed it out to him.

It must have been getting late though because around him, people were slumping into unconsciousness. Either through tiredness or drunkenness. Probably drunkenness, in the majority of cases, he thought. Even Torvar was hanging out of his chair, snoring loudly, Vilkas next to him.

Funny, the dark haired Nord would never usually allow anyone to see him in such a state. His twin, on the other hand, seemed to be wide awake still. And not only wide awake but watching him intently. The alcohol seemed to have little to no effect on him, despite having drunk more than anyone else in the room. He guessed the Nord's impressive size was to thank for that.

Nibenor sighed, blinking slowly as he lifted his mug to drink again, draining the last few drops. Second mug down. He had told Farkas he could do it.

The Nord smiled at him amiably, patting him on the back when a few drops went down into his lungs, causing him to cough and splutter. Nibenor gasped, dragging in breath between his coughs, highly aware of the large palm rubbing up and down his back. And it remained there, even after the coughing fit subsided.

The gentle heat radiating from that palm was surprisingly soothing, the slight weight of the hand pleasantly solid. He leaned backwards, increasing the pressure, feeling Farkas shift closer in response.

Eyes flew open at that, flicking to the rest of the room's occupants. All that were still present were asleep. As for Aela, Skjor and Kodlak, they had disappeared downstairs some time ago.

Satisfied that no one was watching, Nib sighed as Farkas edged closer, welcoming the Nord's sturdy arms wrapping about him. The weight of them was comforting, if startling. He'd never really given much thought to how much one of those long limbs weighed, but he guessed with Farkas' size, it was inevitable. If he really thought about it, he himself probably weighed less than half what Farkas did. Considering that when they stood side by side, he only just came up to the Nord's chest, it wouldn't be unrealistic.

He suddenly felt very small resting there, enveloped by Farkas' slightly tense arms. Almost childlike. A thought which amused him considering he probably had a good score of decades on the other man. He pushed the thought away. For now, he felt safe and warm and happy. And tired. Very tired. He yawned widely, hearing Farkas chuckle quietly before he stood.

The Bosmer looked up, a little confused, before he saw the Nord, moving closer towards him again, scooping him up out of his chair before sitting down again, settling him into his lap.

"I'm..." a yawn interrupted Nibenor as he spoke, his words slightly slurred "not a babe needing to be cradled, you know."

Farkas smiled back.

"I don't think you are. I just thought you could use something more comfortable to sit in than that chair."

Nib glanced up at him, meeting pale blue eyes before grunting in response, nestling into Farkas' shoulder, too tired to bother with a retort. He smelt like mead and meat, undertones of leather and sweat lingering on his skin, though Nibenor couldn't say he found it particularly off putting. Just very...Nordic.

A thick fingered hand ran through his hair, surprisingly gently and he cracked an eye open to look up at the other man. He didn't have a chance to say anything before those same fingers were gently tilting his chin up again. Lips descended on his, warm and moist, the rough scratch of Farkas' beard rubbing against his own. He ignored the discomfort in favour of lifting his head, pressing closer to the warrior, feeling his heart quicken in response.

It seemed to take a lifetime for Farkas to eventually end the soft kiss, so different from their first. Not that Nibenor was complaining on either count and he opened his eyes slowly to meet that pale gaze. He smiled bashfully, feeling somewhat like a young girl in the arms of her strong, handsome beloved. It was a thought that irritated him to no end, to think that he was a swooning girl but at the same time, far too drunk from the alcohol and giddy from the kiss to care.

He found his own hand reaching up to hook around Farkas neck of its own accord, pulling him in for another kiss, when;

"Oh will you two get a room already?"

Nibenor jerked, his hand releasing instantly at the rough call, Farkas straightening himself out to look around the room for the source of the accusatory words.

Athis.

The Dunmer smirked lazily, lounging in his chair, his bright red eyes hooded with sleep.

"I thought you were asleep." Nibenor responded.

"Yeah well, you thought wrong. Now, far be it from my lowly position to tell such a couple of mighty warriors such as yourselves what to do..." the words dripped sarcasm "but it might be in everyone's interests for you two to take that behaviour somewhere more private."

Farkas growled.

"You got a problem with this?"

A single dark brow lifted on Athis' forehead.

"No," he drawled "Whatever raises a man's flag is his own business, and I don't much care what you get off on. All's I'm saying is, if you want to show each other just how much you mean to one another, you might want to do it somewhere where you aren't going to be putting on a display for anyone who might wake up. Like bitch face over there," He thrust a thumb towards Njada. "You know how they love to gossip."

Farkas paused and Nibenor looked up at him as he stared across at the Dark elf. Athis' returned the gaze levelly before Farkas nodded and stood, Nibenor still cradled in his arms.

"Um...where're we going?" Nibenor asked, looking up at Farkas.

"My room."

"Oh..." a pause "Ok. Goodnight Athis!"

There was a quiet murmur in response as the Dunmer returned to sleeping in his chair, just as Farkas carried the Bosmer down into Jorrvaskr's living quarters.

* * *

Farkas grunted slightly as he bent to push his bedroom door open, Nibenor balanced in his arms. Not that the Wood elf was complaining. He seemed perfectly content nestled up against the Nord, eyes drooping as the mead took its toll. Two tankards must have been an awful lot for such a small person.

It was endearing really, to watch the little elf dozing in his arms, perfectly comfortable and relaxed. He didn't think he'd be quite so compliant if it weren't for the alcohol though.

The room was still dimly lit when he pushed inside, the candles burning low but holding out. Pushing the door shut behind him he shuffled forwards, lowering the Bosmer onto his own bed. It seemed a shame to disturb him and Farkas almost decided to leave him to his sleep. He might have if it hadn't been for the single hand kneading against his chest, creating a delightful pressure in the thick muscles.

With Nibenor lying prone on the bed, he checked the door once more before returning to him, settling onto the bed beside the other man. The elf moved up to him immediately, hands already finding their way around his shoulders.

Farkas smiled down at him in the near dark, sliding an arm underneath Nibenor's light frame, the other returning to bury itself in his jet black hair. Dark eyes opened in response, looking up at him before a tentative kiss was pressed to his cheek. Those lips moved across slowly, finding their way to the werewolf's while fingers clung to broad shoulders.

The Nord returned the kiss, pressing back against the elf eagerly, the hand wrapped in that dark hair stroking softly. He slid the same hand downwards, finding the long straight line of Nibenor's ear, following it as delicately as he could with his thick fingers. The other man shivered in response, a soft squeak escaping him and he shifted forwards, pressing against the bulky form lying beside him. A purr followed a moment later, the Bosmer nestling comfortably against him, those pale hands wrapped about Farkas' shoulders becoming more confident.

One tangled in the short dark hair at the base of the senior Companion's neck, the other ghosting over the hard line of a broad shoulder, down to palm at the swell of pectoral muscles. Slender fingers played there, running over contours, down the central line of his breastbone before returning to palming smooth planes. Exploring, Farkas realised, letting the elf do as he wished. The attention he paid to that area alone was flattering. The Nord could only hope that his partner would treat the exploration of the rest of his body with such intensity.

It was rare for someone to pay so much attention to the minute details of his body. His previous encounters with women had been frivolous anyway, flings for fun and nothing else. And all they had been interested in was the end result.

Nibenor seemed to be more interested in the journey, his hands creeping lower to feel at Farkas' stomach. The Nord growled lowly, pleasantly, enjoying the attention. When those slim, scarred fingers began tugging his shirt upwards, hem first, he complied readily, sitting up to remove the article of clothing. He rolled on top of the elf before he settled again, looking down at the darker haired man, watching candlelight flicker over his pale features.

Those eyes were still lazily hooded, tired, though somewhat alert and Farkas leaned to kiss the Dragonborn softly, determined to return the affection. His hands returned to the long ears, stroking gently, feeling the odd contrast between the ridges that ran along. Some firm like cartilage, others soft and smooth as any other. And Nib trembled or gasped or squeaked every time he ran an inquisitive finger over one. A free hand strayed down, following the line of the elf's sharp jawline, briefly diverting to run over soft pink lips.

A kiss was laid on his fingertip in response before it continuing down, running down his chin. More fingers joined as the path moved down a sinewy neck, stopping at the collar of the leather armour. Nib reached up obligingly, loosening the armour's fastenings, allowing it to open as Farkas continued downwards. A pause at his collarbones, then light kisses peppered the fine lines as hands worked to loosen the rest of the upper body armour. The larger man peeled it away slowly, exposing the thin undershirt that the elf wore beneath and a few moments later, that was gone too.

Farkas leaned back, admiring his handiwork, letting his pale gaze darken as he took in the smaller man's form.

Small, Nibenor may have been, but that did nothing to diminish how stunning he was. When Farkas had first seen Nibenor, he'd assumed that his stature would be an indication of his physique – scrawny, underdeveloped, unimpressive. But looking at him now, it seemed the opposite was true. The torso laid out before him was beautifully toned, the lines of muscles subtle but undeniable. His shoulders were broad, waist pleasantly narrow. And all in the same cool shade of near white, decorated by the odd scar, coloured only by the light dusting of dark hair that stretched down from his navel.

He reckoned that his skin could put a Snow elf to shame. If they still existed.

"Enjoying the view?" Nibenor murmured, dark eyes glistening in the dim light of the room.

Farkas lifted a palm to the other man's chest, running it down the planes to his stomach gently. Soft skin greeted him, the underlying muscles giving a pleasant firmness and Farkas smiled as he leaned down to kiss gently at the exposed chest.

"I'll take that as a yes." The Dragonborn whispered, his breath catching as Farkas' lips moved down his torso, thick fingered hands stroking over slender hips.

The Nord himself was too preoccupied with exploring the other man to bother responding. The gentle heat of Nibenor's taut stomach beneath his lips was soothing, though the act itself was creating a less subtle effect in his lower body. He shifted slightly, alleviating the pressure as he began to awaken.

His eyes flicked up to take in the other man's expression, letting himself become distracted by the toned arms as he did. Hefting himself up onto his elbows, Farkas edged forwards, manoeuvring himself to lie between the elf's legs, admiring the clean lines of his body. His arms and chest were probably the most well developed areas of him, the constant archery giving him thick biceps and pectorals. Though one of those upper arms remained wrapped in its bandage. He touched at the edge of it gently, testing. He hadn't seen what damage was underneath it, thought the thought of anyone harming Nibenor made him angry enough that seeing it for himself probably wouldn't be the best idea.

He drew his hand away, returning it to rest on the elf's flat stomach, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Farkas smiled softly again, despite the growing discomfort in his lower body. Moving his hand upwards, he made to cup the elf's jaw, to kiss him softly and sweetly before making his own needs known.

Except that Nibenor's eyes were closed, his lips parted as quiet, squeaky snores escaped them.

He sighed, realising his partner was asleep and settled down beside him. This...this was why you shouldn't make Wood elves drink more than one tankard of mead, he thought, wrapping a blanket over himself and the elf.

At least he could make the most of it. Cuddling up against the smaller man, he carefully wrapped his arms around the warm, pale form, blowing out the candle on the bedside table. And for once, his wolf didn't seem quite so restless.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it, see you next week :)


	23. Chapter 23: Opportunities

A.N: Hello people. Well, the time has come, I'm afraid, for the last chapter. Thanks for reviews, as always, hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Warning: This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature.**

* * *

**Chapter 23: Opportunities**

There were few things in life that Nibenor had never done before. Waking up in bed next to a rather strapping Nord man was one of them. He smiled through the haze of his retreating slumber, only to wince a moment later at the pounding in his head.

Hangover. That wasn't a new one.

He reached a shaky hand to his face, rubbing at temples and groaning quietly. Nausea roiled in his stomach and he suppressed the urge to gag, before looking over at Farkas again.

The Nord was stretched out across his small bed, almost pushing Nibenor out of it. The Bosmer settled for rolling over, tentatively resting his throbbing head on Farkas' broad shoulder. The room was chilly and he appreciated the heat that the other man was emitting.

Nibenor let his eyes drift closed, sighing contentedly, enjoying the comfort and the company while he could. Breaks like this didn't last long and he was keenly aware that he had work to do. In a day or two anyway. His leg wouldn't allow for any real adventuring, and with his arm bandaged, it made shooting somewhat more difficult than usual.

No. Destiny would have to wait for a bit. Besides, Esbern and Delphine wouldn't be leaving Riverwood until tomorrow. He could meet them at Karthspire later.

The task still pressed at the back of his mind though. As much as he would like to believe he could put off his duties as the Dragonborn, he knew he couldn't manage it for too much longer. Not unless he wanted Skyrim to burn.

So lost in his thoughts was he that Nibenor didn't notice his partner waking until a large hand rested itself on top of the hand settled onto his own chest.

"Thought you'd sleep forever after all that mead." Farkas murmured, his voice slurred with sleep as pale blue eyes blinked open.

Nibenor tilted his head, wincing as he did.

"...Wha?" It was the only thing he could manage at the moment, the pain in his head seeming to grow stronger with each heartbeat.

Farkas snorted, laughing.

"Doesn't matter."

The Bosmer groaned, closing his eyes again.

"You remember last night?"

"Uh-huh. Drink. Kiss...stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Y'know? Stuff. We did...stuff."

"We kissed and you fell asleep."

"Oh," Nibenor paused, trying to think of a clever response before giving it up as a lost cause "...sorry."

Farkas chuckled.

"It's fine. I'm sure we'll get another chance."

He sat up abruptly, pulling covers aside, ignoring the Wood elf's groans of protest. Without another word, the larger man clambered over the other, dressing in the near darkness.

Nibenor squinted, making out the pale lines of Farkas' back as the Nord dressed, eyes skimming over the hard lines of his body. He wished it was brighter so that he could see him better. Why did he have to fall asleep last night?

Following the other man's example he shifted upright, intending to dress and start the day. His ideas changed, however, when Farkas laid a heavy hand on his chest, pushing him down again.

"Stay. Rest," he ordered "I'll bring you something to eat."

The elf lifted an eyebrow. No one had ever offered to bring him breakfast in bed before. Hell, no one had ever told him to stay in bed before.

"Why?"

"You're still hurt. And hungover. You shouldn't move too much."

Nibenor blinked before understanding, not needing much persuasion to slide back down into the warm, if rough, bed covers. He could get used to this.

It was the last thing he thought before he drifted odd to sleep again, the troubles of the world seeming far away, for once.

* * *

A few days passed before Nibenor was allowed out. But the time spent in bed, under Farkas' watchful eye, had done him good, despite the elf's protestations at being 'coddled'.

The deep wound on his thigh, though far from fully healed, had improved enough for Nibenor to walk on it with no pain. His arm, though still chill and stiff at times, could hold his bow steady and the rest had invigorated him. Not to mention the quiet moments in the dark that he and Farkas had shared, kissing silently when all the others had gone to bed.

As far as Nibenor was concerned, however, the healing was both good and bad. He was more than pleased to not have to endure the pain anymore, but his ability to travel again only meant one thing. It was time to meet Delphine and Esbern. A fact that he had mentioned to Farkas.

The Nord had been eager at first and Nibenor had struggled to explain to him that he wasn't, in fact, going to accompany him to Karthspire. Farkas had been crestfallen and had on more than one occasion made his displeasure on the subject known.

But Nibenor had been firm. The task was something that needed to included as few people as possible and though he knew that Farkas was more than capable of facing down a hoard of angry forsworn, Nibenor could not bring himself to let the man put himself in that kind of danger.

And so Nibenor packed and prepared, sharpened his sword and got his armour checked and rechecked by Eorlund. Then, as the sun rose over Whiterun on a clear, crisp morning he pecked the Nord on the cheek, promising he'd return soon and started his journey towards the Reach.

Farkas had watched him go with a scowl on his face, angry and disappointed at being left behind, apprehensive to see his not-quite-lover leave for a dangerous quest

But he had to trust him. He was the Dragonborn after all and it was his destiny to do such things.

The Companion had stood atop the gates of Whiterun, watching his partner turn into a black speck in the distance before he disappeared entirely. Sighing, he had turned back to Jorrvaskr, hoping to find something to take his mind off Nibenor's absence.

* * *

Weeks passed and Farkas waited. Winter took its brutal hold over Skyrim. The first blizzards came, the plains disappearing under blankets of snow. Plants withered and icicles grew, farmers muttering under their breath about the damned weather.

And still there was no sign of Nibenor.

Farkas sighed heavily for the umpteenth time that day, looking out over the white plains, scanning for any sign of life. There was none, as usual. Even the wildlife had disappeared, moving to areas where food was actually available.

The Nord sniffled to himself, feeling the chill of the air beginning to settle into his bones and he relented, returning to the mead hall for some much needed warmth. He spent most of his days like this now, staring out over the land for some sign that the Wood Elf's return was imminent. The others berated or teased him for it, unconcerned about the lack of Bosmer.

But something gnawed in Farkas' gut. Nib had promised he'd be back soon and still there was nothing. It couldn't take that long to get to the reach, kill some forsworn, do some secretive dragonborn stuff and return, could it? The idea that he'd fallen had crossed Farkas' mind more than once. Each time he'd pushed it away but after so long without any sign of life, he was losing his faith that the elf would return.

The hall was quiet when he entered, most of the others having headed out on tasks for the day. Kodlak remained, eating quietly by himself and the old man nodded to the younger, smiling faintly. Farkas knew that the man was watching everything that went on between himself and the elf intently. He hoped that the old man might have some words of wisdom for him.

"He'll be back." Kodlak murmured as if reading his mind.

Farkas looked over to him.

"You don't know that, Harbinger."

"I do."

"Vilkas said you can never know, only...what's that word..? Suspect!"

Kodlak nodded, smiling faintly.

"And your brother is right. But now and then, our instincts can tell us more than our minds. Think about it, boy."

"...you're saying I'd feel it if Nibenor was dead?"

The white haired elder nodded again.

Farkas sat up a straighter, hopeful.

"...you really think he's alive?"

"I do."

"...then why isn't he back yet?"

"Who can say? What the Dragonborn does while he's away is a mystery to us all. But you must trust that he is coming back."

Farkas stared at the table, thinking, mulling over the Harbinger's words.

"You're right. I should trust him more."

"Good lad. Just find something more constructive to do than staring out across the fields like a pup."

"I don't!"

"You do. Go and practise. I haven't seen you using that sword of yours for over a week. You don't want to get rusty, do you?"

"No."

"And what if, and don't get excited, what if Nibenor wants you to travel with him when he gets back and you can't swing your sword to aid him?"

Farkas' eyes lit up and the prospect despite Kodlak's warning and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah. I should go train and get my armour sorted," he spoke quickly, then glanced at his Harbinger, adding; "just in case."

Kodlak chuckled lightly in response, but Farkas rushed down to his room regardless, finding his sword and armour. Bundling the loads into his arms, he rushed back towards the Skyforge. Eorlund could sort his armour out for him and then he'd spend the rest of the day training. When Nibenor came back, he'd prove to him that he could be trusted to go on journeys with him. He wouldn't let the Dragonborn down.

* * *

Night fell over Skyrim once more, and Nibenor sighed contentedly to see the warm yellow lights of Whiterun casting out over the plains.

He hurried on, eager to get back to Jorrvaskr as quickly as possible. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about seeing Farkas again after so long. He'd been right not to take the man with him, he knew that much. He wasn't sure how the werewolf would cope with meeting Paarthurnax or the Blades. Sometimes, he struggled to deal with it himself.

But, for now, he could rest again and he wanted to do nothing more than curl up in bed with Farkas. Well...truth be told, he had something more active in his mind, despite how tired he was. He had missed the Nord dearly, the other man's absence nearly driving him to distraction. It had almost cost him his life on a number of occasions, his thoughts on his partner instead of the task at hand.

Now though, he was home and dry and he wasn't likely to be going anywhere without Farkas anytime soon. Well, as long as the Nord agreed, anyway, though he doubted he'd say no to the prospect of dragon slaying.

He took the steps to Jorrvaskr two at a time, sprinting up to the doors in the chill night air. He stood, pausing to catch his breath, before pushing in through the doors. Heat greeted him, accompanied by shouts, welcoming back to the mead hall. He smiled bashfully, still uncomfortable with the attention.

There were calls for recitations of his most recent adventures but he waived them aside. At the moment there was only one person who was getting his attention. He met Farkas' eyes across the room before inclining his head towards the door to the training yard.

The Nord didn't need to be told twice, rising from his chair, abandoning his mug of mead and following the smaller man outside.

Nib took a deep breath of the cool air as he stepped outside again. The hall was too loud, too crowded for what he had in mind. He took Farkas' hand as soon as he had closed the door behind him, turning to press himself against the Nord. He had to stand on the very tips of his toes to reach the man's lips and even then, he only managed the barest of brushes. He was grateful when Farkas wrapped his arm around him, lifting him ever so slightly to allow them more contact.

A few pecks and he was squirming, hinting that he wanted to be let down and the taller man did so slowly, looking perplexed. Nibenor didn't let it phase him, taking his hand and beginning to lead the other man around Jorrvaskr and down through the streets of Whiterun. He could feel Farkas' confusion, but when they stopped before the doors of Breezehome, he seemed to get the message. The elf smiled cockily before entering the house, instructing Lydia to leave the moment he saw her.

She nodded, understanding, before disappearing. The door shut behind her with a heavy click.

Nibenor turned, looking at the large man standing before the door. Farkas shifted, looking at him, the Nord's eyes darkening as he understood what Nibenor meant. A slow smile spread across his face. It was a smile that made Nibenor's heart race, heat flaring up through his body. Without another word, he turned on his heel leading the man upstairs to his bedroom. Farkas followed instantly, his expression eager and he settled himself down onto the double bed, waiting expectantly.

Doors shut and Nibenor turned. And pounced, literally, tackling Farkas onto the bed.

Though, 'tackle' was a strong word. More accurately, he flew at Farkas and managed to land in a heap in his lap, doing little more than making the Nord blink in surprise. The fact that a full body slam barely registered to him made Nibenor want him all the more.

For all the months that he had worked with Farkas, he had watched the way those thick muscles rippled, admired the way he towered over everyone, envied the way he seemed to be able to flick enemies aside. The way he charged into battle, tearing his enemies to pieces should probably have made Nibenor feel sorry for those unfortunate to encounter the man in battle. But it didn't, not anymore. Now it just set his fires burning.

Warm hands slid around his waist, pulling him upright and bringing them face to face. Nibenor wasted no time in pressing his lips against the others man's again, moving his body to be flush against him. He never got over the heat Farkas seemed to exude. Dressed in just a thin shirt today, it only intensified the sensation and Nibenor let out a quiet groan of pleasure as a tongue flicked against his lips. He parted them, letting Farkas explore more fully, large hands starting to roam.

They moved to his collar, loosening the fastenings that held it shut before moving down, following suit with the rest of them. Those hands wasted no time in parting leather, pushing it off, freeing Nibenor's torso of the thick materials.

His own hands moved of their own accord, palming over the thick muscles of Farkas' chest, sliding down to tug at the hem, pulling the shirt up over his head. Pale skin dusted with dark hair greeted him and Nibenor smiled appreciatively, running his hands over him, noting the contrast between his own white skin and Farkas' darker tones.

Eyes scanned down, appreciating hard lines of muscle, unable to resist a cheeky grin at the sight of rippled abdomen and he traced a finger down the central line from chest to navel. Skin and muscles twitched in response and he leaned into Farkas' body, kissing at shoulders, tongue lapping to taste salty skin.

One of those large hands roaming his own form pulled away his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up and before Nibenor could make a noise, Farkas flipped their positions, leaving him on his back on the bed.

Chests heaved, lust and heat growing at the movement and Nibenor's eyes fluttered shut as Farkas began to caress him. Lips slid against his ears, hot breath and wet tongue making him shudder. Rough hands moved at the same time skimming down over his torso, finding their way to his belt quickly. Farkas removed it with a speed Nibenor didn't think possible of him. But leather trousers and boots were quickly tugged free and cast aside, the remaining modesty of his loincloth gone in a blink.

Nibenor gasped, glancing down at his own nude body, splayed beneath Farkas before looking up to him, aware of his own prominent arousal on display. The Nord seemed pleased at the sight, his hand disappearing down to take hold of him firmly.

Eyes rolled and Nibenor gasped again, arching his back and thrusting into that hand hard.

His own hands sprang into action, tugging at Farkas' breeches, though they seemed to have lost their usual dexterity. He trembled and fumbled, his arousal and excitement undermining his control. Eventually, he managed to get the belt undone, the action not helped by Farkas' wandering hands sliding under his buttocks and kneading.

It seemed to take an age again to slide the rough fabric of Farkas' trousers free of his hips, down his thickly muscled thighs and off. Only when they were free did Nibenor stop to take in the view of the other man, obscured only by a thin loincloth. He swallowed before reaching out to tug it free, hearing the other man growl appreciatively as the material came loose. Dark eyes roamed down over revealed thighs, thick as tree trucks, the sharp lines of hips making the elf's breath catch. Not to mention what was jutting proudly from between those hips. It put him to shame and he swallowed, glancing up to meet Farkas' pale blue eyes.

The Nord smiled down at him reassuring, amused, his eyes dark with arousal, almost grey instead of blue. He leaned down to kiss Nibenor's lips gently before moving downwards, lapping at the sinews of the elf's neck, nipping at the firm lines of chest and abdomen leaving dark marks in his wake. The hands on Nibenor's cheeks gripped tighter, pulling hips upwards gently, Farkas shifting his own hips forwards so that they met.

Nibenor looked up as his almost-lover leaned over him, sliding an arm under the small of his back to position him correctly. Comforting words were murmured quietly against his ear and Nib's breath caught in anticipation. He watched through hooded eyes as Farkas leant back, spitting into his hand and coating his own member with it. That same fist then wrapped around Nibenor, teasing, distracting as hips pushed forwards.

A low groan escaped Nibenor's lips, head tilting back and eyes widening at the intrusion. Tears prickled at the onset of pain and Farkas whispered to him, hands stroking and soothing as chests and hips pressed together.

The elf took a breath, calming himself, relaxing his body. When he felt more ready, he nodded to his new partner and Farkas drew back a modicum before pressing forwards again. A great gust of breath burst from Nib's lips as he did, before it turned into a strangled groan of pleasure that grew as Farkas continued to move.

Chests heaved and shuddered, muscles pumping and shaking, sweat running freely down chests and backs and hips and buttocks. Moans and groans, grunts and whimpers broke from the couple. Hips rocked faster, backs arched, fingers clutching at skin as nails scratched desperate trails. Foreheads met as they moved, Nibenor squealing as Farkas plunged against him as fast and hard as he could. The elf tensed beneath him, panting and gasping before his body stiffened completely, a great cry breaking from him as he released. The air rumbled at his cry and it was all the encouragement he needed to reach his own.

The couple collapsed together onto soft furs, Farkas rolling onto his back, still clinging to the elf, as if he were afraid to crush him with his weight. It was only when breathing slowed and sweat dried on cooling skin that they disentangled. Nibenor looked up to the other man, still perched on his chest and the Nord smiled back down at him once again, blue eyes pale again, lidded with weariness.

The shifted backwards, pulling covers aside and sliding in, warming again in the cool air of the bedroom. Nibenor sighed contentedly, snuggling into Farkas' broad chest, purring quietly as hands stroked through his hair. Sleep claimed him before he had a chance to speak and he slipped away, dreaming of warmth and comfort, his dragon settled inside him.

Farkas wasn't used to waking up slowly, gently and of his own accord. Normally, he started awake or was woken by the jostling of another Companion. To wake up gradually in a warm soft fur as the pale rays of sunrise streaked across the ceiling of Breezehome's master bedroom was a welcome surprise.

He blinked sleep away, looking down to find an arm draped over his chest and he looked over to Nibenor. The elf was still asleep, snoring, lying on his front as he muttered something in Bosmeri.

Memories of the night before flashed through his head and he flushed, temperature rising, looking at the light bruises that he had left. He leant over, kissing at them gently, feeling protective as the elf turned to press against him more.

He started when a hazy, mumbled voice rose from the man whom he thought was asleep;

"You're staring me in that pleased and protective way, aren't you?"

"I...uh..."

Black eyes opened, lifting to meet his own as a warm, white smile broke over his face. He laid his head on Farkas' chest, breathing in deeply.

"Don't worry about it. It's very kind of you, if a little sweet for a man of your size."

Farkas scoffed.

"I'm sweet? You're the one snuggled against me like a pup."

"Hmm, bet that makes your wolf happy."

Farkas opened his mouth to respond, clamping it shut when he realised he had no response. A chuckle escaped the elf at his silence as he sat up, stretching. Farkas settled for tracing his finger's down the elf's spine.

"So...do you have a job set for today?" Nibenor asked, turning to press against him again.

Farkas shrugged.

"Dunno. Might be something, nobody said last night."

"Ever the dedicated Companion."

"Been pretty quietly lately though."

"Really?"

Farkas nodded.

"Honestly, I'm getting tired of sitting around talking all the time."

Nibenor remained silent before looking up at him.

"So you might not be needed so much?"

"Maybe."

"...in that case, if Kodlak agrees, how do you fancy the prospect of some dragon slaying?"

Farkas stilled, looking down at the elf whose black eyes were focused on him.

"You want me to come with you...on your dragonborn adventures?"

"Yes. I missed you a lot last time I was gone and...I'd like to have you with me when I travel."

Farkas grinned at the prospect.

"I'll get my armour."

Nibenor chuckled in response.

"No need to rush. I need to rest for a few days yet."

"Oh."

"But when I'm ready, we'll go and bag your first dragon," Nibenor slid back down into the covers, closing his eyes "just give my arse a break first."

Farkas grinned wickedly, letting his hand stray down to cup at a buttock.

"Not sure if I can do that."

Nibenor let his eyes stray back to him, a smile forming in response as Farkas clambered on top of him.

"Well then, let's see if your wolf can take on a dragon one more time."

* * *

And that, is that. Thank you for reading the fic and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. For those of you who like the Nibenor/ Farkas pairing, I will be writing more of these two in time. I already have one on the go but that'll be posted on SKM due to the nature of the fic. Other than that, I have a few oneshots/ short stories in mind for these two, which will probably be published in a couple of months.

Thanks again to all of you who read, reviewed, favourited and followed.

Toodles!


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