Chapter Text
Vilkas sat grumpily, cleaning his most recent kill at the small campsite he'd set up by the lake south of Falkreath. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out there... a few days... a week... two weeks? The days were blurring together, but he didn't really care.
He figured he'd go home when the thought of his brother married to the Harbinger didn't make his chest hurt...
...which... could be a while...
...which was why he'd picked up a few extra bottles from Deadman's Drink...
...which was a large part of why the days were blurring together so much...
Actually Vilkas hadn't really been sober since he'd left Jorrvaskr the night he overheard their Harbinger agree to marry Farkas. He'd been so shocked and caught off guard... and then hurt... so deeply hurt... all he wanted to do was drink until he didn't feel that pain in his chest anymore.
It was honestly a little surprising he'd had any luck hunting... he was really just surviving off of muscle-memory and luck at this point, but he didn't care... he just wanted to forget everything…
"Gods, you're a mess," Farkas's irritated voice suddenly startled Vilkas so badly he nearly dropped his hunting knife.
He must have been a little more drunk than he'd realized if Farkas had managed to sneak up on him...
"What're you doing here," Vilkas spat angrily.
"Lookin' for my stupid brother," Farkas shot back, stomping into Vilkas's camp. He kicked over and easily stomped out the shoddily built campfire, and Vilkas scowled at him.
"Shouldn't you be building a homestead with your wife by now?"
Vilkas tried to swat Farkas away as he reached to grab his arm.
"I might be if I wasn't out lookin' for you," Farkas growled.
He wrestled Vilkas into an arm bar with a little more ease than he should have been able to. Apparently Vilkas was a good bit more drunk than he'd realized... and Farkas was angry.
"Damn it brother, put me down!" Vilkas complained as Farkas hoisted him over his shoulders like a dead animal.
"No," Farkas replied flatly as he stomped back toward Falkreath.
Vilkas struggled the whole way back to town but it was no use, Farkas didn't loosen his grip.
"I've got him!" Farkas yelled loudly as they reached the graveyard at the edge of town.
Vilkas couldn't see who he was yelling to, but he could guess...
Several uncomfortable moments later Farkas dropped him beside the river that ran to the mill.
"Vilkas!"
Vilkas flinched as he heard the Harbinger's normally gentle voice carrying across the small town, so loud and full of concern. He groaned and draped his arm across his eyes and just laid still at Farkas's feet. He couldn't deal with seeing her...
Had she and Farkas already gotten married? Would he open his eyes to see a ring on her finger?
Thank Talos she'd at least helped him cure his beast blood— he wouldn't have to smell the remnants of sex on her or his brother.
Then he heard running footsteps and moments later the small frame of the Harbinger was dropping to her knees beside his head.
"Divines, Vilkas," she breathed uneasily.
"Found him about half a mile from town," Farkas grumbled, "in a campsite that could have been set up by whelps, with more mead bottles than firewood, and too drunk to skin a deer."
"Vilkas..." she said again in a sad confused voice.
Vilkas felt his heart breaking all over again at the tone of her voice... the care and concern she had for him... it just made all of this worse...
Then he felt her hands gently cup the sides of his head. He wanted to jerk away from her touch, but at the same time he wanted to savor the feeling of her touching him with so much care...
Her healing spell began pouring into him then... flooding his mind with warmth, comfort, and all the memories that he'd been trying to drink away...
Memories of Lysabelle...
The little half-Nord, daughter of the general-goods merchant with golden hair and hazel eyes... with the height and magic skills of a Breton, and the figure and fighting spirit of a Nord...
The Dragonborn...
The Harbinger...
The woman Vilkas had loved since they were children...