Chapter Text
Oftentimes, the Companions were loaded with requests for help. Things that the local guards didn't care to take care of, problems as a result of resources being stretched thin, jobs that were simply unpleasant and undesirable to any other mercenary. The last type of job certainly wasn't popular, but for the coin and the good of Skyrim, they would get done. Besides, they weren't going to harm their reputation over a noble's fetch quest.
In the latest stretch of days, the commonfolk and envoys had slowed down their frequenting of the mead hall. It wasn't entirely unheard of, but it left time for personal ventures and hobbies, as well as training to become an even better warrior. Some such as Aela would take off on hunting trips during these times, but others such as Vilkas were antsy to get their hands on something to do to prove to themselves that they were still worthy. He couldn't let himself rot, after all.
On a fateful Middas afternoon, a job request had finally cropped up that piqued Vilkas's interest. He had just finished a spar with Ria to test her building swordsmanship and retreated into the main dining hall, wicking away the sweat from his forehead with the fur of his gauntlet. It was about time for his lunch, and the deviously delicious scent of meat pies wafting from the kitchen had taunted his stomach so. Just as he was about to turn and march in for his own serving, he was flagged down by the Harbinger, Uskerva, coming up from her office.
"Hey!" She jovially chirped while striding towards the Nord, wavy red hair bouncing about her shoulders with each step. She seemed to be in an awfully chipper mood, a light grin resting on her lips. "I've got something for you, if you'd believe it." Behind her back, she appeared to be holding some paperwork.
"Is it something to do with myself before I lose my capabilities to decay?" Vilkas asked while tapping his foot. If she was wasting his time that he could've spent stuffing his face, he would not be the happiest camper.
"Aw, how'd you know?" The Orc cooed. "Yes. It's a high-paying job. Up in Eastmarch. Slaying type of deal…you know."
"Alright, Uskerva," he said with a resigned sigh, unable to help but crack a small smile himself, "do tell me more."
She whipped the parchment out from behind her back and squinted at the finely scribbled words of freshly drying ink. "I've been told it's somewhere around Mara's Eye Pond…a couple of rowdy vampires coming out at night to prey on those unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity. There's already been three reported missing according to the Eastmarch patrol."
"So…did the guard request this? Was it a civilian? Jarl Brunwulf?"
"Actually…" Uskerva's smile vanished as she pulled the paper closer to her face. She mumbled her writing back to herself. "I'm…not sure. The request is labeled anonymous."
Vilkas felt his thick black brows furrow. "What do you mean? Did you not speak to someone about this request?"
"I know as a matter of fact, I did. But I can hardly seem to recall the name…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know I can often be mindless and easily distracted like this, but this is truly unprecedented…"
An odd feeling struck him. He knew, too, that the new Harbinger would have her moments of forgetfulness, but that was quite a significant thing to just throw out of your mind. "How could you take a request and not know who gave you it? How are we supposed to get paid?"
"She was a Dunmer woman, and she said she'd come back in a few days to see if we sent someone out or not. She claims this is an urgent job and needs to know if it's being taken care of." Uskerva exhaled deeply. "I really would like to apologize for this, Vilkas. I need to be more responsible in the future. I promise you, this is as real as it gets. She was…very sincere with her emotions."
"Must've lost someone to those bloodsuckers, then."
There Vilkas stood, stomach growling and mind working overtime in weighing his options with the odd slaying request. It certainly was suspicious that the Harbinger had lost record of the name, but at least she hadn't forgotten the face. Uskerva wouldn't lie to him, either. Though she was easily swayed by emotional tales, Kodlak trusted in the Orsimer's judgment skills before he passed, and that was enough for Vilkas to follow her plans.
Besides, after the quelling of the Volkihar clan in the absolute corner of Haafingar, some of the rogue, clanless vampires became emboldened to be the "next big thing". It was an odd response to have, as they should've been cowering in fear of the Dawnguard. Vilkas was determined to not let these lowlife vermin get too out of control, and would feel the guilt if one more life had been lost thanks to his refusal of the job request.
And like a fallen egg, Vilkas cracked.
"I'll take the damn job," he mumbled with a defeated shrug.
The Harbinger perked up the moment the words left his mouth. "Great!" She swooped her arms around him in an unexpected embrace, catching him with a surprised grunt. "You should probably head out tomorrow, because she expressly made a point to me that this is quite the pressing matter."
"O-okay," he wheezed in her unyielding grasp, "can you let me go then…?"
"Ah, sorry. Of course." Uskerva whisked herself away and scratched the back of her neck sheepishly. "I'm just happy to know this is being taken care of."
Vilkas gave himself a moment to breathe again before waving her off and returning to his original kitchen-destined path. "And I must go take care of the matter that is my lunch. Be seeing you."
"Right. I need to go take a walk myself." With that, the Harbinger tucked away her parchment on a table close to the entrance, and took off out the front doors.
The smell of irresistable, savory smoked meats residing in pie crusts became stronger with each step, his pace picking up slightly when the goal was right in sight. When he entered the kitchen proper, he saw Tilma cutting into a pie freshly withdrawn from the oven. On other plates, grilled leeks and baked potatoes sat as daunting side options. Simple dishes, but truly mouthwatering when coming from Tilma.
"Good lineup today, Tilma," Vilkas announced his arrival to the elderly keeper. As he approached one of the counters, a tan Husky mutt bounded up to his side, wagging his tail.
"Oh, hello, dear! Routhe seems to think so, too," she commented with her usual warmhearted chuckle. "Now, don't you go tellin' the Harbinger, but I gave him a little bit of steak meant for the meals."
"She doesn't need to know," he replied with his own cackle. Looking down at the eager dog with his ear tips flopping forward, he couldn't help but give him a nice scratch behind the ears. "What a good boy. And here, I thought you'd have been a menace when you were first brought to us."
Tilma looked up from the meat pie she was cutting to admire the mutt herself. "He was trained well! I didn't know Aela knew dogs the way she does."
"Truly a mystery with that woman."
Routhe yapped happily at the warrior giving him affection. He sat and raised his paws in the air — but just for a moment. It was a trick he'd recently learned, alongside play dead and a much more practical trick: scent tracking.
It never failed to bring a smile to people's faces — even someone like Vilkas. "Alright, buddy, you'll get some of my food if you keep your voice down."
Routhe, not understanding the common language, barked again. It caused Vilkas to roll his eyes, but he knew he'd still cave and give him a bit of smoked meat.
He'd be cruel not to.
The doors creaked open as they often did late into the night. With heavy steps and a heavy body, Vilkas welcomed himself into his quarters, shared with none other than his darling husband. He was aching to shed his armor for the day and crawl into the embrace of his elven beloved, feeling the strenuous activites he partook in catch up to his mortal form slowly. He'd loved to have believed he had an infinite well of energy, but such a thing had never been the case — even when the wolf ran hot in his blood.
Getting no immediate saccharine greetings from Midri, Vilkas could only assume he'd fallen asleep waiting, again. But there was an understanding between the two: Vilkas was often late to bed and late to rise; Midri didn't mind his slumber being disturbed to have a nightly talk before retiring for real.
Unfastening the workings of his steel cuirass and tossing aside his gauntlets, the warrior started the process of stripping himself down to redress into nightclothes. The moment his cuirass clanked against the stone floor, Midri's head shot up from the pillow.
"Hmm?" Was his first, semi-conscious reaction. He began to blink away the heaviness of his eyelids, shaking his head a little.
As Vilkas eyed the Dunmer squinting at him, his heart skipped a beat. Every day spent with him had truly felt like it was the first day they'd been married all over again. Something about that vulnerable man lying in his bed, waiting for him so loyally…it did the Nord's cold, protected heart in a bit.
"Good morning, love," Vilkas softly joked. He moved to set his armor on display, but never once removed his sight from his husband. The only time he had looked away was to retrieve the correct shirt from his dresser.
"There's my handsome man…" Midri threw himself back into bed and rolled over to allow Vilkas the room to eventually crawl in beside him. "I missed you today." Even with his face obscured, the way he smiled through his words could be heard.
"And I missed you," he said with a grunt, pulling his off-white tunic over his head and snugly fitting it around his torso. "I've got quite the tale to tell you once I've settled in."
An extended yawn left him while he stretched his slender gray arms out, bumping the headboard with his hands. "Is it a good one?"
"Ought to be. I've caught myself a job."
"What?" Midri squeaked. He jolted upright and patted the bed frantically. "Come, come, I must hear of this! There hasn't been much trouble lately, huh?"
Vilkas chuckled at his eagerness. "Alright, alright, calm down. I can only go so fast after sparring most of the day." He leisurely slipped himself into bed and rolled onto his back.
"Have you won any of the fights?" The elf inquired. He soon laid himself back down and nestled snugly into Vilkas's right side, trilling at the comfort of the strong arm going around his back.
"Let's just say…Ria is certainly proving herself lately. Now, about the job…"
His own arm soon was splayed across Vilkas's chest. He then nuzzled his face close enough to hear his soothing breathing. "Ooh! I'm all ears." To illustrate his comment, the tip of the ear that wasn't pressed into Vilkas flicked twice.
The exhaustion hit him all at once after crawling into the warm embrace of his lover. However, his and Midri's paths had hardly crossed in the day, so he hadn't the chance to inform him any earlier where he'd be headed in the morning. It would be cruel to promise him information and then shirk it for sleep…
"Well, Uskerva claims it's good pay. Suitable for spoiling you…" As he fought a yawn, he poked at the Dunmer's little button nose.
Midri let that comment hang in the air for a moment. "…Shouldn't you be nice to yourself for once?"
"What more do I need than your smile?" Vilkas's embrace on his husband tightened in that moment, as if someone were to rip the man away from him.
"Oooh, you piece of work, you…next time I return from a job, I'll be spoiling YOU."
The sofest laugh escaped the Nord, alongside another yawn. He then reached down to plant a kiss on the top of Midri's pure white hair. "In any case, it's vampires causing trouble in Eastmarch."
The elf melted into him at his display of affection, his own words softening as the threat of sleep started to catch back up to him. "Who's going with?" He mumbled.
"Nobody."
Vilkas could hear the gears turn in Midri's head.
"…What?" He spoke with slightly more coherence this time.
A frown decorated his face. He had a feeling it would come to explaining his decision, but in Midri's defense, he had enough reason to worry. "Listen, you take jobs alone sometimes, too. And I figure this would be a sufficient way to prove to myself that I've still got it."
"Vampires, though? Really?" A heart-shattering whimper slipped through his lips. "Do you even know how many?"
"My sweet, please…" Vilkas clasped his hand over the hand Midri had laid on his chest, squeezing it. "I'll be alright." His reassurance came through his own filter of sorrow.
Silence.
Vilkas truly felt he'd just landed himself a one-way trip out of the bedroom. Guilt encroached upon him, wiping out the tiredness he once felt — until a kiss sprung upon his cheek. The warm, tender lips of Midri were a sign enough that he wasn't that upset (or that he was hiding it).
Teasingly, Midri gave his husband a real warning. "You better be careful, or else, mister…"
"I know, I know. I couldn't add to your recent grievings…" His mind flashed back to the day Midri burst through the doors of Jorrvaskr, a blubbering mess that threw himself upon Vilkas and cried for hours. What was supposed to be an innocuous trip to see his folk in Cyrodiil ended with him reporting that his family shop had burned to the ground, and with it, his parents. Worse still, there was no evidence of whether or not his sibling made it out alive. Vilkas could only grimace at the memory of his pain.
"I know you wouldn't, Vil," he huffed. "I love you."
Vilkas finally felt safe enough to let his eyes close. "And I love you, 'til the world is torn from beneath our feet, and beyond that."
"Okay, you sappy ass…" Despite what his impolite remark showed, the gesture of love was appreciated, and Vilkas knew it.
"Heh. Goodnight, you brat."
The small hand enclosed in his was ripped away, returning with a playfully light slap at his chest.
"Sleep well, you stupid skeever."
It wasn't long before they'd both drifted off, entangled so closely with one another that they may as well have been one entity. That was how they preferred it, after all.
Dawn had just begun to show its face when Vilkas had departed, right around when Farkas would usually wake. He'd left with his bag slung over his pauldron, full of rations, a change of clothes, a small camping kit, and a couple health potions. Knowing there was no such thing as "too safe" when dealing with bloodsuckers, he'd tossed in a disease cure as well. Without the lycanthropy to combat Sanguinare Vampiris, the risk of taking this job grew exponentially.
He was in such a rush to get out to the first carriage he could flag down that he'd only had a brief exchange with his twin, letting him know that he was off on his first job in over a week. Farkas had wished him well, and told him to "kick ass".
To not let himself get too comfortable in a cushy lifestyle, Vilkas had opted into taking the carriage halfway and trekked the rest of it. While it did take longer to reach his destination, he reckoned the exercise would keep him ready for anything. He only could hope that it would pay off.
Approaching the pond with his sword withdrawn, Vilkas kept his eyes open for anyone lurking. Though mostly an overcast day, it was still daylight hours, so they likely were not outside. The hope was that those vermin were asleep in their coffins and could be easily ambushed. While he did very much desire a good fight, the element of surprise was calling his name.
However, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the immediate. It was honestly a tranquil place to be. A rather secluded area, hidden away in the pines. Perhaps he and Midri could gallivant their way out to the pond and have a nice dinner together. The snow of the area was in the process of receding, revealing beautiful, lush green hiding underneath.
Sunlight poked out from the cloud coverage, and on the distant island in the center of the pond, something metallic glinted at him. A slowly rusting farmer's axe, it looked to be. Vilkas's heart sank to his stomach as he recalled the reports of citizens gone missing. He may have just found their final resting place.
He intended to investigate further.
The vampires seemed generous enough to leave him a way up to the island without soaking himself and risking hypothermia: a small rowboat moored on the shore. The man sheathed his greatsword and unhooked the boat, nudging it fully into the water. He then hopped into it and, bracing for the worst, made his way over to the island.
The situation was as he feared. Three frozen corpses with their throats torn open, chests plunged into, skin completely pallid — devoid of blood entirely. These farmers were sucked entirely dry and had a disgraceful mess made of them.
Even after all his years as a Companion, it was still rather difficult to stomach witnessing a dead innocent — let alone multiple at once. At the same time, it was all the more motivation to put them to rest by slaying their senseless murderers. When backing away from the corpse pile, his foot caught and he nearly slipped on a rigid structure. Looking down at his feet revealed a trapdoor stained in dried blood.
"Of course, the damn cowards…" Vilkas thought to himself while shaking his head. He crouched to rip the door open and slid down the rickety ladder.
He was ready to kill.
With heedful steps into the den and a sword withdrawn again, Vilkas kept as silent as possible to eavesdrop. The warrior froze in place near the entrance at the sound of idle chatter.
"Do you think she's lying to us?" A nasally voice bounced off the damp walls. There were at least two vampires in this den, or one that had lost their mind.
"Oh, I hope not," came a much more sultry voice, "because she's been taking all the meals for herself! How selfish…she shows up in our home and bosses us around. On what account?"
The first rapped her claws loudly against wood. "She claims to be an ancient vampire of power, all the way from the Second Era. But those arrogant Volkihars got taken down a notch, and I can't recall any other power-wielding clans in Skyrim lately. Can you?"
"No, I can't. But she promised she'd turn us into something greater if we just went along with her plan…I can't help but feel we're being set up somehow."
A sly grin appeared on Vilkas's face. The setup would be their downfall.
And he made himself apparent to the vampires lounging at the table.
"Ladies, ladies," he called, "you need not worry about starving any longer. You'll be dead in just a moment."
"There!" The first vampire stood and pointed her claw at him repeatedly. "That's our meal!"
The second vampire had devolved to hissing at him like a snake. Her burn-mangled hand reached out in his direction, from which she'd begun to sap his life essence. The first entered the fray with a bloodstained dagger attempting to pierce his armor.
While the essence sap brought Vilkas to cringe in agony, the sturdiness of his cuirass protected him (for now) from being cut open. Willing himself to not drop his blade, Vilkas blindly thrusted ahead with as much force as he could muster.
The pain abruptly stopped. He opened his eyes and noticed he'd struck her abdomen, robe torn and stomach bleeding. She clutched her slash wound and directed another hiss at him. Before she could rip at him with her claws, Vilkas backed away to elbow the other onto the ground. With her briefly incapacitated, the man plunged his sword through the bleeding one's gut. She howled in anguish as he slickly retracted the blade, and she, too, collapsed.
"That one won't be a problem anymore."
Vilkas turned his attention to the rising bloodsucker. He readied himself to strike her down again, except he could not prepare himself fully for her to leap at his face and claw viciously at his cheek. His greatsword shifted into one hand while he cupped the bleeding marks with the other. A growl left his downturned lips.
Foolishly, the vampire attempted to pull the blade from his grasp with a telekinetic spell. Vilkas fought back by tightening his grip on the hilt. She became frustrated with herself and put both hands into concentrating the alteration spell. Forcing more effort into it was her demise — the blade flew at her point first and pinned her to the wall from the chest. She gargled blood through her throes as her unlife left her, the garnet color of her eyes dulling.
Once more, Vilkas pulled back his sword back into his possession and started his descent toward some submerged cages, past the slowly-dying lowlife he had previously impaled. Sadly for him, she wasn't done quite yet. She yowled and caught his ankle mid-step, tripping him backwards.
"Ugh!" He exclaimed upon his back making contact with the ground. He lost his sword a third time, but it only went skidding a foot away. While distracted with retrieving it, the still-living vampire crawled toward him, mouth open wide and ready to clamp into his neck.
She struggled with the fact that she was slowly bleeding out, but she still made the effort to feebly pin his wrists to the ground. Blood leaked from her open maw and onto his face as she loomed shakily over him — a sign of her internal damage.
Unlucky for the bloodsucker, her grip was not so strong that he couldn't break free. He knocked her onto her side with a surprise uppercut and brought his greatsword down across her throat. A deft cut later, and her head went rolling across the ground.
As far as he could tell, those were the only inhabitants of the small den. Vilkas gave himself a minute to pant, to catch his breath. After lying spent on the floor longer than he initially desired, he brought himself to his feet again and surveyed the cages on the bottom floor for any survivors or hidden vampires who may have feared their deaths.
None. Nothing stood out in the entirety of the underground cave.
Still, Vilkas couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps he was just overthinking. Nevertheless, his greatsword was slotted back into its sheath, and he proceeded toward the entrance.
The warrior swung his pack from over his shoulder and sifted through the rations and potions until he found a miniature health potion. He spun the tiny bottle against his gloved palm, rubbing his thumb against the base. His cheek still burned but no longer bled, and his back ached from impact. It wouldn't hurt to toss back a potion when he had several on him just for this purpose.
Truthfully, he was surprised he didn't get hurt worse.
Vilkas fidgeted with the cork to loosen it before flicking it to the ground. Just as he threw his head back and began to chug the sparse amount of liquid, a telltale crack went off behind him, loud and clear.
A third vampire was with him. They had been hiding through invisibility the entire time. He could only curse himself in his mind for not being more vigilant before his world lit up.
The vampire's reaction speed was far greater than his, shocking him into a convulsive episode. The partially-drunk potion fell from his grasp and smashed against the floor. His nerves were alight with intense suffering…
…until he simply no longer felt a thing. For just a second, Vilkas thought the vampire had stopped. He went to reach for his sword yet again…but could not lift his arm. He barely had registered that he was crumpling to the floor in a limp heap. Only when his sights shifted upwards toward the ceiling in an abrasive manner did he realize that he'd been paralyzed.
Even with his jaw hanging slightly agape, Vilkas could not holler. And even if he did, who would hear him? Why, again, did he go alone? Fear coursed through his mind at such a rapid speed that he could barely understand his own thoughts. He felt like a child again, back in the necromancers' cages: utterly helpless. Despite Midri doing his best to desensitize him to magic, some things never changed with the Nord man.
His Dunmeri attacker strolled into his blurred view without a care in the world. Her wine-colored hair was untamed a ways down her back, and she donned a bit of an exposing black-and-red gown that had to come from Morrowind — he would know from his research for Midri purposes. Truthfully, it looked like it'd seen better days…or perhaps centuries.
"What's the matter, little boy? Vampire got your tongue?" She couldn't help but speak with a wicked grin spread across her pale, sunken cheeks. "It's okay, I know. You're confused, you're helpless, you're just a little sick puppy…"
The vampire crouched to his face level, where she dragged the back of her hand across his cheek in a gentle stroke. If Vilkas could feel in that moment, his skin would be crawling, and he would be screaming at her.
"Don't you worry about a thing, though. Mama Raveya's gonna make it all better," she purred.
For one reason or another, he swore he should've known that name, but nothing came to mind. It was like a void was eating away at a very crucial memory, and he could not do anything to bring it back. But "Raveya" made him feel sick to his stomach — he knew that much.
Raveya's hands — inked with faded black tattoos — positioned themselves right in front of Vilkas's face. A crimson glow came about her sharply-nailed fingers. Just looking at it made his mind feel fogged. "First, I think we need to be unscrambling your pretty little head a bit…it'll just take a second."
Bright red flashed around him, swirling, enveloping him. The fog in his head grew to the point where he could no longer register what words spilled from her venomous tongue. A ringing blasted his ears, and the world faded into a crimson haze.
And Vilkas was not entirely sure, but he could've sworn he saw her mouth Midri's name with a cackle before it all went red.