Chapter Text
Evening Star, 4E 183
It was late in the night and a howling snowstorm blanketed Whiterun.
Down in the living quarters of Jorrvaskr, Vilkas was startled suddenly awake by his brother shaking him insistently. Images of the nightmare he'd been having faded as his eyes blearily focused on Farkas's tired, sympathetic face. Vilkas clapped his hand to Farkas's and sighed, grateful that the horrible memories were fading again. Farkas simply gave Vilkas's hand a reassuring squeeze.
This wasn't an uncommon occurrence for either of them, and they both understood no words needed be spoken. Although, Vilkas was starting to notice, with some discomfort, that Farkas's nightmares seemed to be becoming fewer and farther between than his were— not that Vilkas wanted his brother to continue suffering like he was... but he was afraid he was going to have to admit; Farkas was proving to be much more resilient than he was.
Before Farkas could head back to his own bed, the doors to the hall slammed open. The boys both jumped with a start as Skjor and Anbjorn trudged in. They were both covered in snow, and Skjor was carrying what looked to be a relatively large bundle of furs. They were having what sounded like a hushed argument and as the door closed Vilkas heard Arnbjorn grumpily conclude with;
"Then you take care of her, this was your idea!"
"Fine," Skjor grumbled in reply, "you can go tell Kodlak."
"An' I'll tell him it was your idea too," Arnbjorn snorted before turning to stalk down the hallway.
Then, to Vilkas's surprise, Skjor stepped into the common bedrooms. He and Farkas both cocked their heads curiously... the bundle of furs that Skjor had held in both arms and resting on his shoulder was trembling...
"You're alright," Skjor said gently as he carried the furs over to the women's side of the room. "Tilma," he called out quietly, tapping the end he of her bed with his foot, "Tilma, get up, we need your help."
The older woman was quick to sit up, looking up at Skjor in concerned surprise.
"What's this?" She asked, getting out of bed and looking to the bundle of furs.
"Found her in a Forsworn camp," Skjor replied quietly, "she's, uh... not had a good time of it."
"Oh you poor dear," Tilma exclaimed softly as Skjor shifted to pull back the edge of the furs.
"Arnbjorn wanted to just let her go and leave her in the Reach, but I know she doesn't have family to go back to," Skjor explained as he set the bundle down on Tilma's bed. Then he glanced over to see the boys were awake and lowered his voice even more.
Vilkas strained to see as Tilma doted over what looked to be a little girl, wrapped in a thick layer of several animal pelts... her hair looked wet and she was shivering violently.
Then Tilma turned up her lantern and Vilkas saw she had a damp, mop of curly blond hair, and her fair cheeks were flushed a dark pink... she squinted in the light and Tilma said something about her burning up before ushering her out of the room to the washroom.
Vilkas stared curiously as they passed, she came up to Tilma's elbows in height— likely would barely come up to Vilkas's chest... he guessed she must be close to five or six years old; at least four years younger than him and Farkas... but he didn't get to see much else before she and Tilma were out the door.
"Go back to bed you two," Skjor said tiredly, "if she's up for it you can meet her in the morning."
"Who was that?" Farkas asked, and at the same time Vilkas asked;
"Is she alright?"
Skjor just sighed and shook his head. "I don't know," he shrugged, "the Forsworn had her. She hasn't spoken much. Once Tilma gets her cleaned and healed up, we'll probably take her to the orphanage."
"Can't she stay here?" Vilkas asked worriedly.
"This isn't some charity home for lost pups," Skjor replied sharply, "Kodlak made an exception for you two. Now go back to bed," he snapped before heading out the door and down the hall toward his bedroom.
The brothers exchanged looks before wordlessly scrambling out of the bed and waiting by the door. As soon as they heard Skjor's door close down the hall they hurried out into the hallway and ducked into the alcove beside the washroom.
"Wha'd'ya think the Forsworn were doin' with her?" Farkas whispered curiously.
"Something bad," Vilkas shook his head uncomfortably.
"Think she got experimented on like we did?" Farkas asked quietly.
Vilkas cringed. "Hopefully not," he hissed in reply.
"Wha'd' Forsworn do?"
"I don't know, I've never seen one."
"Think Kodlak'll let her stay?"
"I don't know!"
Farkas looked like he was about to say something else and Vilkas elbowed him to shut him up.
Vilkas crouched a little to press his ear to the washroom door and Farkas leaned easily over him to listen with his head above Vilkas's. Vilkas tried not to think about the fact that Farkas seemed to also be getting taller than he was.
He could make out Tilma's soft voice through the door but not much else... it sounded like she was simply cleaning the child up... honestly he wasn't sure why he was so worried about this girl... it wasn't like there was anything he could do for her... she'd probably be off to the orphanage in the morning, and if Arnbjorn had his way, he and Farkas would too. They should be back in bed sleeping... but Vilkas stayed by the door listening anyway.