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The first impression Midri had of Vilkas was that he wasn’t welcome in ”his” territory. The night he stayed for dinner at the request of his friend, the new Harbinger, he was told to avoid the man (and potentially his brother). The difference between Vilkas and his twin, however, was that Farkas did not draw his finger across his throat after their very first sparring session.
It had been two months since that night, and much to Vilkas’s displeasure, Midri had recently officially joined the Companions. In Vilkas’s eyes, Midri sauntered around like he owned the damn place when that could not be further from the truth.
Midri had heard it all at this point.
“He’s still got a bit of an attitude with me,” was Ria’s description.
“Don’t even waste your time with him,” Torvar had said.
“My brother looks down on new people,” Farkas sheepishly admitted.
“Vilkas? He’s all bark and no bite. Don’t take him seriously,” Aela warned.
It didn’t help that Midri’s instinct was to antagonize the Nord and rile him up. In his defense, it’s what he did with everyone — Vilkas was hardly special. But it certainly did make him feel more hateful towards Midri.
Tonight, Midri wanted to ignore those warnings from everyone and aggravate him. To him, tormenting Vilkas was humorous — even more so than tormenting anyone else. He figured he had a lifetime of ammunition to go off of, just for Vilkas alone.
And Dunmer lived for a long time.
When Midri entered the mead hall in the evening, anticipating dinner, he found Aela and Njada discussing their next job over some imported Ashfire Mead and seared slaughterfish. The Harbinger, of course, sat next to Aela like a lost puppy. The Orc was the first one to notice Midri come in and waved with a warm smile. Ria was intensely and passionately speaking to the Harbinger, though it seemed she couldn’t quite keep up the attention span to properly converse with the Imperial. Farkas, Torvar, and Athis seemed to be having an uproarious time — perhaps too far into their self-celebratory drinks.
That left Vilkas, sitting in a far corner away from the table, with a disinterested look upon his face. He appeared to be lost in the depths of thought, and gods only knew what he was thinking of. No better time — in Midri’s eyes, anyway — to cause an upset…and perhaps, even a fight.
The Dark Elf briskly walked across the wooden floorboards as his hands went to untie his pearl-white hair, freeing it from its tight bun. He made eye contact with everyone at the table, no matter how brief, with a variety of expressions crossing his face depending on the person. Then, his plum eyes crossed to Vilkas, who seemed to be well aware that Midri was approaching and looking him down. He purposefully avoided Midri’s gaze, as he often did.
Midri stopped in front of the contemplative Nord, hands on his leather-clad hips proudly. When Vilkas did not look up at him, Midri cleared his throat as obnoxiously as he could.
Vilkas winced, muttering something under his breath.
“Good evening, Mister Vilkas,” Midri chirped at him.
It took a full minute before Vilkas could even think to respond. His tone was laced with sharpness and bitterness when he finally spoke, hoping to scare off the elf. “What in Ysmir’s name could you possibly want with me?”
Unfortunately for him, Midri only feared Aela (as most seemed to).
“To say hello. How’s your day been?” He continued as though nothing were wrong.
“Fine,” the Nord bluntly stated, “until you came along. Is there anything else you need, or can I be left alone?”
A stupid smile reached his lips. “You’re…not really alone. There’s others here.” This remark elicited chuckles from quite a few of the Companions seated around the dining table; from Vilkas, only a tired groan escaped him.
“You know damn well what I meant.”
“I’m afraid not. I’m too dumb for that, remember?”
Vilkas raised his left eyebrow, forcefully setting his mostly-empty tankard down on the end table beside him. “When I called you simple—” He began in his own defense, only to be interrupted.
“You meant it. I know that.” Midri now had his arms crossed. His own voice betrayed the smugness he had hoped to upkeep — a bit of anger dripped through the cracks.
He had not studied alchemy and enchanting under his parents for most of his life only to be called dumb by a Nord, of all people.
“I did not,” Vilkas simply said.
“Then…why did you say it, exactly?” Aela hollered from across the room.
“If it were any of your business, Huntress, I would have told you. Alas, it’s none of yours. Keep it that way.”
Aela scoffed and took another bite of her slaughterfish.
Midri’s silver ear tips twitched pleasantly behind his curtains of hair. It felt nice to know others had his back, but in the grand scheme of things, this was between himself and the warrior known as Vilkas.
“Are you itching for a fight, Mister Vilkas? Is that it?” The cocky Dunmer asked, leaning in closer to his subject.
The invasion of his space was immediately felt, as his exaggerated scowl exposed. “Do not patronize me, Shalithe. And for the last time, stop with the formalities.” He stared arctic blue daggers deep into Midri’s soul.
“But isn’t it good to be nice to your superiors?” Midri said with a fake sigh.
“Midri Shalithe,” Vilkas warned.
“Oooh~,” he cooed like a child, “am I in trouuuuble?”
The silence of the others was interrupted by Athis’s yelling of “Just hit each other already!” Then, Farkas slammed his fists against the table, beginning a chant amongst the others: “Fight!”
The Nord rolled his eyes. “If I can shut you up this way…” Vilkas grunted as he willed himself to stand. Something told him deep down inside that he would regret this, but pushed it away as unnecessary thoughts. He stretched his arms in a circular motion and cracked his knuckles as best he could with his gauntlets on, not once losing eye contact with the devilish elf before him.
What Vilkas lacked knowledge of, however, was that Midri had been secretly sparring with Njada to improve his brawling techniques. So when he took the first swing, only for the white-haired Dunmer to duck, he was admittedly caught off guard. It blindsided him entirely when he took a sharp uppercut to the face.
Midri cackled. The onlookers broke out in obnoxious cheers for the elf. He usually skirted his way around brawls and preferred to train with a sword, so this behavior wasn’t normal for him. However, he knew he wouldn’t be christened a real Companion in some peoples’ eyes until he swung like the rest of them. Satisfied with himself, he stood back and stretched his arms over his head, expecting Vilkas to snap out of his stunned reaction any minute.
He was ready for more.
Vilkas stared at his gloved hand with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. As Midri watched the man with a coy smile, other Companions demanding they get back into the fight, he saw something that Vilkas did not immediately realize.
From his injured nose, crimson blood trickled down to his lip.
Before Midri could point it out, Vilkas took notice of it and hissed, his left hand instantly going up to cup and contain the nosebleed. Through a muffle, he cursed to himself. “Son of a…”
“Wow, he really got you good,” Torvar smugly said, barely containing his laughter from his words.
“What are you two waiting for? Hit him again!” Njada demanded.
Though Midri politely waited for him to pull himself together, Vilkas seemed to have other plans. The moment his feet pivoted towards Jorrvaskr’s entrance, nearly everybody began to boo him. He was not deterred by the discouragement. Instead, he hurried towards the front faster.
“Where are you going?” Uskerva demanded, a touch of agitation in her voice.
“I need air,” was all he said as he ripped open the door. And once it had swung open, he stormed out and down the stairs that led to the mead hall. The door did not close until the Orc frustratedly got up and shut it for him.
Uskerva could only sigh as she returned to her seat between Aela and Ria, but she did stop in front of Midri along the way. “Might as well eat now,” the Harbinger noted. “I don’t think he’ll be returning tonight, if I’ve learned anything about him.”
He could only wonder if it was wrong to be content with this win by disqualification, but set that aside for another time. For tonight, he felt himself glow with his victory over the man who had unreasonably hated him since day one.
⁂
Hours had passed since Vilkas’s shameful exit from Jorrvaskr, finding comfort in drinking himself stupid at The Bannered Mare instead. His nosebleed had long since dried, but Hulda was kind enough — or, perhaps, embarrassing enough — to offer him a wet cloth to keep his face clean of blood.
By now, most of the patrons had retired to their homes or their rented rooms, but Vilkas preferred it this way. Less chance of a citizen bothering him for something he didn’t want to be bothered with.
His nose was still sore, and every now and again would radiate with pain that reminded him of his humiliation earlier that eve. Thankfully, the drinks were plentiful as long as he had the coin (and by gods, did he ever) and took the sting off of the entire situation. Maybe he’d see if it wasn’t too late to snag a room, even. Anything to save face amongst the Companions…though he was sure his reputation had already taken a hit.
Just like he had.
The peacefulness of solitude could only last for so long, unfortunately. When the doors to the tavern opened that late into the night, Vilkas knew to expect someone from home, likely looking for him to talk some sense into him. He did not expect his brother, of all people, and couldn’t truly gauge whether or not it was better than Midri coming up to rub it in his face what a whelp he was.
Even Hulda had commented on his appearance. “Well, aren’t you up late? Let me guess — home from a job and can’t make your way up to Jorrvaskr?”
“Nah.” Farkas’s reply was simple, shaking his head once.
Vilkas practically shrunk away in his seat, hoping to hide from him. If he tried to bolt through the side door now, it would definitely catch Farkas’s attention. There wasn’t any hoping he would be lost in the crowd because the crowd had dispersed. He would be easy to pick out in his corner adjacent to the stairs, with his three bottles of ale and the familiar scent of the beast.
And but a moment later, Farkas stopped scanning the room and heavily thunked his way over to Vilkas’s corner of shame, looking just as much of a sad and lost puppy as his twin did.
“You…” Vilkas harshly began, refusing to make eye contact with the long-haired man, “...why are you here so late? You’re usually in bed by now.”
Farkas shrugged as he sat down next to his miserable brother. “I was worried about you.”
“Worried?” He pathetically chuckled. “Hah. I’m an adult man, I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, but you’re also my brother, and something was telling me to check up on you. Not like you to ditch a brawl like that.”
Vilkas instinctively shaded his face with his hand. “Don’t remind me.”
“Then…why did you do it? Did you not want to hurt him?”
“Not grievously, no, but I had no plans to. Maybe just knock him out.”
Farkas swiped the half-empty ale bottle from the table that Vilkas had been working away at and took a swig, which gained him a disapproving frown. After setting it back down, he continued his interrogation. “Were you afraid he’d kick your ass?”
“By Shor, no! In what world could that whelp do me any harm?” Realizing what he’d just said, his face went beet red in color. “Uh, in what world could that whelp take me down?” He corrected.
The kinder twin cackled. “You know you look weak for walking out on him, right?”
“Bah, save it,” he said, waving off Farkas. “I’m sure I’ll be hearing enough of this tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself.”
Minutes of silence passed the two by, and the atmosphere of the inn got sleepier and sleepier as Hulda and Saadia finished what was left of the messes left behind by earlier patrons. Vilkas felt his nerves ease a bit in these minutes, almost forgetting that his oaf of a brother had intruded on what was supposed to be alone time. At the same time, the drunkenness from his imbibed bottles of ales dissipated slowly, giving him the clarity to realize how badly he’d screwed up tonight.
“Gods, what was I thinking?”
He was almost ashamed to face his shield-siblings the following day, but knew it was a necessary evil. He had to redeem himself somehow.
The pathetic Nord was kicked out of his thoughts of disgracefulness as his twin exclaimed an “Oh!” and produced a small, red, trapezoidal bottle, setting it next to the mostly-empty bottle of ale. His clumsy fingers slipped, and the potion knocked into the ale bottle, causing Vilkas to nearly jump out of his seat to catch the two from falling over.
Farkas went on as if he hadn’t fumbled it. “It’s for your nose. In case you want it.”
Vilkas rolled the potion betwixt his fingers, contemplating whether or not he really wanted to heal his nose naturally. Which option would make him seem more dishonorable? In the end, the man uncorked it with a sigh and winced as he downed the potion. The bitter taste never got easier to stomach, it seemed.
While he gulped it down, Farkas couldn’t contain his laughter. This caused Vilkas to open his eyes a slit and give him a look that said “What’s so funny?”
"You can thank Midri for that one.”
His eyes flew open. In an instant, the empty bottle fell from his hands and smashed against the wooden floorboards. He caught himself choking on the last bits of potion, now feeling utterly disgusted with the situation he found himself in. Hulda, in the background, groaned upon hearing the new mess be made on the floor.
“Hey, hey, relax, it was just a joke! It was a leftover from my last job!” Farkas awkwardly reached over and brought his hand down against his back gently to aid in getting the potion out of the wrong pipe.
“Ugh,” Vilkas spluttered, voice a touch hoarser. “Shit, get better jokes.”
“Sorry,” he said with a bowed head. Just a scant minute later, he picked his head up again, brushing hair out of his line of sight. “Actually…?” A look of concern flickered over his face, lips sinking into a frown.
Vilkas had let himself get absorbed by the fatigue of the alcohol and the lateness of the night, not caring to listen intently anymore. His gaze and attention had fallen onto the dying flames of the firepit. Sure, he loved his brother, but he was a bit clingy at times and didn’t seem to quite get that tonight he wanted to stew on his lonesome. He figured he’d given him the chance to do what he wanted to do, and had honestly expected him to go back home by this point.
“What’s your business with him, anyway?”
Unconsciously, Vilkas cocked his head. “Come again?”
Farkas sighed. “Midri. Why do you hate him?”
The response he received was a contrast to the lethargic energy Vilkas had been giving for the past few minutes. He was now snappy with his words, enunciating them as clearly as he could. “That bastard really thinks he can be one of us? What, with his witless magicks and gods-know-whatever else?”
Farkas hissed through his teeth, wincing. “I mean, he’s proven he’s more than that. You need to let go of your first encounter with him eventually.”
“It set a tone, Farkas. It set a very monumental tone.”
“That’s not a very mature way to look at things.”
Vilkas whipped his head around, slapping his hands against his protected knees. “Have you not heard the rumors that he comes from a family of cultists?” He spat, very quickly losing the patience he had reserved for his twin. “You can’t trust him. How do I know this is coming from your heart and not something he’s manipulated you into saying?”
His brother, now showing his own signs of fatigue, reached up and rubbed his temples. “This is very silly, I hope you know. Surely there’s something else contributing to how you view him…”
“There’s a few things, yes, but my distrust remains rooted in the fact that he’s primarily a mage.”
“You’ve seen him swing a sword and kill things. Gods, he once did it in defense of you!” Farkas astoundedly exclaimed. “What more can he do to prove himself to you?”
“Get out of my hair is what he can do.”
He shook his head. “If anyone’s come to a misunderstanding here, it’s you. Maybe you could get to know—”
“NO,” Vilkas practically shouted, standing up and jumping away from Farkas. “Absolutely not. Don’t ever suggest such a foolish thing again.”
Farkas stood as well. Slower, wobblier, showing signs of missing his usual bedtime by a few hours. He yawned and stretched, then started heading towards the doors. This was a cue for Saadia to finally step in with a broom and clean up the potion mess that Vilkas had caused.
“Where do you think you’re going? You think you get to start this and then leave?” Vilkas barked.
“I give up,” Farkas shouted with his hands in the air. “You’re a lost cause.”
This time, Vilkas found himself chasing after his oft-clingy brother instead of the other way around. He was fueled by his usual desire to not let an argument die. The brisk, spring evening air hit them both at the same time as the door slammed shut behind them, evoking shivers from Farkas.
“You’re not going to give up if I’m not—”
Farkas pushed Vilkas away with a hand to his face. “Shut up. We’re done because I’m tired and want to sleep, and you are just as stubborn as always,” he snarled.
Vilkas blinked a few times, remembering his own tiredness in the way that his darkened eyes stung, and how heavy his body felt. He nasally sighed and turned his head to the skies. Kyne had painted the night with purple and blue lights, though clouds did encroach on the beautiful show. The aurora, combined with the silence of the Plains District and the smell of the perfectly chilled air, allowed Vilkas the clarity he needed when he announced his departure from Jorrvaskr hours ago.
“Farkas, wait,” he dejectedly said, only to see Farkas was no longer by his side.
Instead, the beast aided his sight in the dark and saw him approaching the Gildergreen already.
His steel boots hit the cobblestone streets in an instant sprint, closing the distance between the two with his obnoxious clanking. This was enough to catch his twin’s attention, his body sagging as he turned to face him again.
“Let me guess, you’ve got another wisecrack up your sleeve?” He mumbled.
Vilkas wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder, giving him a bit of extra support. “Actually, I wanted to thank you for your concern over me.”
This brought a small smile back to Farkas’s face. “Well…okay. You’re welcome. But really, gotta get to bed now. Harbinger’s set us up for a special job tomorrow.” He pulled away, continuing on his journey to ascend the stairs to Jorrvaskr.
The short-tempered man stood alone again, processing the words for a moment. One of them did not sit right with him.
“Wait a damn second…what do you mean ‘us’?!”