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Riften. Home of the infamous Thieves Guild. Vilkas did not care to visit it much for this reason; he looked down deeply upon them, thinking them the scum of Nirn. So when it came about that the new Harbinger had a brief past with them, needless to say, he was quite upset.
Midri, on the other hand, quite enjoyed the city. He especially adored it for the way it taught him to come out of a confused Boethiah worship and instead follow Mara. He did not personally mind the Thieves Guild, for he had his own guilty past to swallow.
Together, the pair were sent to investigate traces of the Silver Hand potentially resurging and rebuilding their numbers. Through different contacts, the new Harbinger had learned of this budding threat, deciding to send two of her best on their not-so-merry way to the city of fallen leaves and scheming thieves.
The Dunmer man had just finished tying his Secunda-white hair into a bun when they were granted entrance to the city, Skyforge steel clanking with every little movement. Vilkas was by his side, his signature “resting scowl” keeping most people from interacting with him.
Midri was used to his attitude by now, however.
“Really wish Uskerva sent anyone else instead of us,” the Nord grumbled.
“Oh, be quiet. You didn’t have to accept this, you know,” Midri bit back.
Vilkas’s cerulean eyes narrowed. “You know I had to. It is my duty as much as anyone else’s to—”
“You know you’re not the only Companion, right, Vilkas?” He snarled, jabbing his finger into Vilkas’s steel-plated chest with as much force as he could muster. “The others see the need to eradicate the Silver Hand as much as you do.”
“For Shor’s sake, Shalithe, you showed up after the skirmishes we had with the damned Silver Hand. You wouldn’t get it.”
The elf rolled his eyes. “But because I am a sentient being, as you are, I can sympathize with you all and your losses from the Silver Hand. Even if I joined the Companions late.”
“I watched Kodlak die to those soulless bastards,” Vilkas somberly mused. He stopped at the shaded railing in the middle of the city and leaned against it, taking in the overcast sunset struggling to shine through. “He was like a father to me, Midri,” he said as he turned his head back to look at the frustrated elf. “So I’m hoping this helps you understand why I took this job in the first place.” He balled his fists, subtly shaking with a rage that was barely being restrained.
“I do understand that, Vilkas, but what was it about revenge that you learned?”
The enraged man’s eyes went wide at this. “Who told you…” He now trembled more visibly.
“Uskerva…?” Midri innocently replied.
“Bitch,” he whispered with such a venom in his voice, slamming his gloved palm into the railing.
“Hey, watch the language! That’s the Harbinger we’re talking about!”
“That wasn’t her place to tell you that. I don’t care if you and I are together; that was PERSONAL.” He growled like a dog as he shook his head. “Never you mind that. This isn’t about revenge anymore, Midri. This is about pulling the weeds before they can sprout and strangle us.”
The Dark Elf groaned. “Okay, okay, I get it!”
“Now…please,” he announced, waving a hand in the air, “leave me to cool off and clear my mind.”
Midri nodded and turned away, heading back towards the main entryway of the city and looping around, idly walking to clear his mind.
The elf figured he ought to at least apologize to Vilkas for upsetting him. In his defense, however, Uskerva had said those things to him completely unprompted after a couple drinks. He didn’t realize that Vilkas would’ve likely mentioned his own failures to him — which in itself was a very shortsighted observation. Of course he’d tell Midri, he loved Midri. Maybe he was withholding it until they were closer. Maybe he was almost about to tell him himself. Who could know now, with the cat out of the bag already?
Midri’s thoughts dissipated as he stopped and looked up the stairs to the Temple of Mara. He could clear his own mind of guilt by praying to Mara, and saying “hello” to the priests.
“Oh, Mother Mara…I need your guidance right now,” he whimpered, shaking his head as tears threatened to flow.
⁂
Visiting his friends at the Temple of Mara always made Midri feel better. It was almost like free therapy — except the guilt definitely would have come back had he left without donating some gold in exchange for the generous services. With a clear head, Midri decided it would be best to return to his partner.
When he jogged back around to find Vilkas, he found the man dismissing Mjoll the Lioness and soon after being lost in thought. However, his icy eyes did catch Midri from the periphery.
“Ah, Vilkas,” Midri nervously greeted, “hey…”
“Midri,” Vilkas said, punctuated with a deep sigh, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s o— wait, you’re sorry?”
“I lashed out at you, love, did I not?”
“But I upset you.”
Vilkas cackled, pawing at the air. “I guess we both were acting a fool, no?”
Midri sheepishly looked away, feeling himself warm up. “Actually…I think I was the one in the wrong.”
“Nonsense, dear. We both were. Together.” The Nord tucked a loose strand of hair behind Midri’s ear, his hand lingering over his cheek.
Slowly but surely, the two pulled closer together, and their lips collided in a much-needed kiss. When they finally decided to pull away from one another, both of them were smiling: Midri absolutely beaming, and Vilkas with a small, guilty grin.
After the moment died down, Vilkas cleared his throat. “Right, right…I did learn some things from the locals.”
“You did?” Midri’s ear tips flicked upwards excitedly. “What did you find out?”
“There’s apparently a new Khajiit around. He seems to be associated with the Thieves Guild, but rumors from loose lips claim that he ascended to Guildmaster in a short amount of time. It’s suspicious, even for them.”
“And how does this correlate to the Silver Hand?”
“It’s our only lead for now. To tell you the truth, Uskerva told me this may even be a red herring. Or they’ve gotten better at secrecy.”
Midri shifted his weight between feet. “So…where can we find him?”
Vilkas pointed from behind Midri, into the alleys between the homes. “Actually, I can sense him. Behind the houses. Must be sneaking into the Ragged Flagon from the back,” he said bitterly.
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go after him!” Without another word, Midri darted back to the entrance and yanked the gate open, giving Vilkas little time to jump into action.
Vilkas, however, was ready to pounce and tailed shortly behind. When the two were nearing the cemetery, they noticed a fluffy, walnut-colored tail disappear behind a corner, rather low to the ground. The couple ceased their chase and looked at each other to plan their next moves.
“We shouldn’t ambush him,” Vilkas whispered harshly. “We need to calmly approach him and interrogate him.”
The elven battlemage nodded. “Right.”
Midri tried his best to minimize the sounds his Wolf Armor made as he willed himself cautiously forward, his left hand going to one of his sheathed blades. Vilkas was right behind, breathing as quietly as he could manage.
Unfortunately for the two Companions, the Khajiit heard them coming anyway. Fortunately, however, he had frozen in place for a moment, emerald eyes wide as saucers, then tumbled onto the ground as they neared him.
The three were locked into staring at one another for a very still and silent minute, until the Khajiit spoke in a raspy voice.
“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded.
“We just need to ask you a few questions,” Midri put his hands up in resignation, showing he meant no harm. A remorseful smile came across his lips. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” The Khajiit hissed. “Ji’Taafir has done nothing to warrant such an introduction from two doggy-breathed strangers.”
“Doggy-breathed…” Vilkas mumbled to himself, mulling over the words. His brows furrowed intensely as the words registered in his mind, his eyes darkening. “Why you little…”
“Vilkas, stand by,” Midri sternly ordered.
“You are not the boss of me.” He marched forwards towards Ji’Taafir and grabbed him by the collar of his blue and gold Elsweyr-tailored shirt, eliciting a yelp from the poor Khajiit. “Tell me where the Silver Hand are, now, and I’ll let you off without a scratch.”
“Silver Hand? This one has heard of no such group—” The moment the words “no such group” left his white-lipped mouth, Vilkas’s grip tightened.
He didn’t say a word, only glared at him with an intent to kill…or at least beat the living daylights out of him.
“—Eep! His family has only recently come to Skyrim from Elsweyr in order to save his ailing mother! You must understand! Ji’Taafir wants no trouble! Ji’Taafir does not want to hurt anyone!” Ji’Taafir now shook violently, scrambling to get away from Vilkas. In the process, the collar of his shirt was torn, and Ji’Taafir tumbled backwards. He yowled.
“Vilkas, you’re scaring him. What in Oblivion happened to a calm approach?”
The thieving Khajiit looked at Midri, tears welling in his eyes. “Does…does he always have such a short temper?” His pierced ears flattened against his head, curling his tail inwards.
“I will ask only one more time. Where. Are. The Silver Hand?”
“Please,” he whined in a strained voice, only to be cut off by Vilkas yet again.
“SILENCE!” He shouted with balled fists, slowly getting in position to punch him.
“Vilkas, that’s enough!” Midri cried. “Geez, you’re as bad as Aela!”
“Aela’s torment goes further than mine. But this is crucial for our survival, Shalithe. You’d do well to remember that.”
“But, Vil, I think he’s telling the truth…” His own ears drooped.
“Don’t you ‘Vil’ me. Not now,” Vilkas warned in a mocking tone.
“This one knows what you are, and he knows who you are, Companions,” Ji’Taafir warned, eyes narrowing. “He deems it unwise that you cross him.”
“You know nothing. Keep our name out of your mouth, and keep it shut.”
His tail unfurled, starting to flick back and forth across the dew-covered grass. “That is simply untrue. Ji’Taafir is not dumb. You cannot fool him. You are Companions, and you are—”
It was now Midri’s turn to interrupt him with a shush. “Heyheyhey, I know what you’re going to say next. Please don’t. Not in public, anyway.”
The Khajiit’s ears went straight up. “Oh? You want Khajiit to stay silent, hmm? How amusing. The brutish Nord threatens him with harm, and his fellow wants Ji’Taafir to not reveal his dirty secret.”
“How…how do you know of us, if you’re new to Skyrim?” Midri delicately inquired.
“You mean…she didn’t tell you?”
Vilkas stepped forward a bit more, a fire lit in his eyes. “Who?” He barked. “Who didn’t tell us?”
“Uskerva, yes? That is her name? The lovely Orc? She declined to do business with the Thieves Guild any longer, and had this one take her place. Something about guilt and shame. Something that you, Nord, clearly do not know.”
Midri looked over nervously at Vilkas, who seemed to be processing what he said. He ended up exhaling through his nose.
“I don’t believe you, you little shit,” he seethed, “and I’ve had just about enough of this. You’re not giving us the information we need, but you’re not going to take any more of our siblings, either.”
“Vilkas, don’t!” Midri pleaded.
His partner was not listening. He closed the distance between himself and Ji’Taafir, drawing his greatsword as carefully yet forcefully as he could manage. Ji’Taafir, in response, growled violently. He brought himself to his feet, ears back and pupils dilating. His mouth hung open as he continued to growl and hiss at Vilkas, back arched and claws unsheathing.
Vilkas lurched forward with his sword, but abruptly cut back when Midri slipped in front of him, arms outstretched. His sword dropped, and he let out a good curse. Unfortunately, Ji’Taafir was already lunging toward Vilkas when Midri became a barrier between the two. He, who was not as practiced as Vilkas, did not get to pull back. His claws sliced through Midri’s cheek and lip, causing him to collapse into Vilkas’s arms.
“MIDRI!” He screamed, trying to pull the Dunmer back on his feet.
Then, when Midri was situated, his eyes focused on Ji’Taafir. His usually blue hue flashed golden in that moment, and he yanked a surprise attached to his side: a steel dagger. Midri, cupping his face with one hand, flourished the other free one, as if to say, “what the fuck?”, but Vilkas did not see it through his tunnel vision rage.
Ji’Taafir choked on a gasp and threw down his own surprise: a smoke bomb. When the smoke cleared, Vilkas coughing and Midri trying not to gag through his bleeding facial wounds, the Khajiit was nowhere to be found. However, there were guards approaching in a full sprint.
“Companions, what just happened here?” One of the guards said between pants.
“This…those damned thieves!” Vilkas bellowed, “A Khajiit thief just clawed at my boyfriend! Slipped through our interrogation and attacked him!”
The guards turned their heads to Midri, one of them gasping.
“We’ll interrogate him the next time we see him. You get your boyfriend to the Temple for healing.”
“Is that really all you can do?”
“Afraid so. Move along, now.”
Midri could see it in Vilkas’s eyes; he wanted to go all out on the guards. Instead, he grumbled something incoherent and took Midri by the shoulder pauldron, guiding him out of the cemetery.
“Smart move, dear.”
⁂
Midri didn’t expect to come back to the Temple of Mara tonight. Yet here he was sitting on a bench, with Dinya Balu fretting over his wounds. Methodically, she ran her gold-illuminated hand across the deep scratches three times, until they had slowly sealed into fresh scar tissue. When Dinya finally dispelled the magic from her fingertips, she picked up her damp cloth and wiped away the remainder of the blood on his face.
“I’m sorry this happened, Midri…” Dinya said with a sad sigh.
“It’s okay, really,” Midri replied in a small voice. “It’s better than the alternative…”
“...Which is?” She asked, gently rubbing the scars to see if Midri would flinch away in pain.
He did not.
“A total bloodbath where Vilkas cleaves an innocent Khajiit in twain.”
Dinya cringed. “Are you serious? What business did you two even have with him?”
“Top secret Companions business,” Midri grimly replied. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Okay…” She awkwardly averted her gaze, then perked up with a smile as if nothing had happened. “Well, since you were kind enough to donate so much gold earlier, I’m willing to let this go by, on the house.”
“Really?” Are you sure? I have enough—” He started, only for Dinya to hold her hand up.
“Nonsense. Mother Mara appreciates your generosity and your service to her as it is.”
Midri rubbed his chin. “Wow. I uh, thank you…”
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you forgetting about someone?” The priestess teased.
Midri thought about her words, feeling the gears in his brain turn at full power. He looked at the ground, then the ceiling, then at the altar behind Dinya.
Who else would it be, but Vilkas?
His ear tips flickered, going hot as searing coals at the thought of his beloved partner. His face followed suit, then his whole body. Even his magenta eyes lit up.
“A-ah! Right! I should go see him…thank you!” The elf threw his arms around Dinya for a second, then bolted out the door.
There, he found Vilkas leaned against the wall by the door, his eyes closed, deep in thought. He did, however, crack open an eye a sliver to see if it was Midri who had emerged. When he realized that it was, he let himself relax and smile.
“You know, you didn’t need to defend me,” he said as he opened his arms for a hug.
Midri sighed and came to embrace him. “I wasn’t defending you, idiot. I was trying to defend Ji’Taafir from you.”
His smile dropped into a nasty scowl. He didn’t push Midri away, though. “But…why?”
“He seems innocent, Vil,” Midri said as he nuzzled into the taller man’s neck. “Your stubble feels funny,” he remarked.
“You…don’t seem to understand. He knew what we were. And the Silver Hand cost the Companions far too much already.” Vilkas’s grip tightened around Midri as he shook his head, a solemn look upon his face now. “I know that Kodlak would not have wanted us to spring for vengeance, but to hear that they’re rebuilding their numbers…” His voice was low. “We should have gone scorched earth.”
“But…isn’t that what you did?” The Dunmer pulled his head off of his shoulder to look up at him.
“I thought it was. I really did. I saw to their end myself, with Uskerva.”
“I’m sorry, Vilkas. I really am. But he mentioned Uskerva, for crying out loud! He must know her somehow!”
“Because she is the Harbinger, and also the one who brought about the destruction of the last iteration of Silver Hand.”
Midri’s ears flattened. “Okay, now you’re being obtuse. You’re not always right. We should ask Uskerva when we get home…”
“It’s not like we were given much choice, love.” Finally, he let go of the elf and squinted at his silver-colored scars now adorning his lip and cheek. “How are your injuries feeling?”
“Wanna kiss me and find out for yourself?”
This question flustered Vilkas a bit — causing him to stammer — much to Midri’s delight. The Dunmer tucked his hands behind his back innocently, giggling.
Quickly, Vilkas recomposed himself with a cough. “I suppose…”
Then, he leaned down a touch and brought his hands to Midri’s face, caressing the sides of both of his cheeks gently before going all the way and allowing his lips to meet Midri’s. Vilkas’s heart thrummed excitedly, and Midri could hear it. In that moment, the Dunmer felt so much lighter, throwing his arms around Vilkas’s neck. In that moment, a breeze encapsulated the two, but neither seemed to care. In that moment, all was right with the world. Silver Hand who?
Midri was the first to pull back, receiving a grunt of either surprise or disappointment from Vilkas. He pretended not to hear it.
“Feels pretty good!” Midri cheered.
“...The kiss, or your injuries?”
“Both.”
Vilkas rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Then how about we get a headstart back to Whiterun? I would normally advise that we find the lead on the Silver Hand, but we need to confirm the validity of that Ji’Taafir’s story first.” He outstretched his hand to Midri, yearning in that moment for some more affection. Something he hardly ever did.
And Midri greedily took the Nord’s hand in his own, giving him a curt nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
One overnight carriage ride later, when they’d gotten back to Whiterun, they had confirmed that Ji’Taafir was not the lead they were looking for, but were paid for their troubles anyway.
That gold was immediately spent on taking a break from work, away from Jorrvaskr, all on their lonesome. Neither ended up regretting it one bit.