Chapter Text
Vilkas was not a lover of secrets, which was indeed a problem where Sitka’ri and Alunaaz were involved, as they we particularly good at keeping them.
Suspicion began to peak in the last days of Hearthfire when Vilkas, in an off handed manner, lamented his birthday wasn’t months later in Evening Star when a Nord like him could truly appreciate the cold of Skyrim.
The young women left the comment largely unacknowledged save for a short shake off the head and a giggled response that he should perhaps live in Winterhold instead. But the look they exchanged as they picked up their pace to walk ahead of him, huddled together, was not something that made him comfortable.
He had planted the seed, an idea. He had no clue what it was or how it would come to fruition, all Vilkas felt was he would likely come to regret it.
The conversation was never bought up again but a week or so after it had been had, long enough for him to have forgotten it took place, the questions started.
Everyone in Whiterun, from shopkeepers to friends and passing acquaintances, all of them stopped to ask him something or other. Some were subtle question like; any new contracts for the Companions that would have him travelling; what interests did he have (aside from the usual involving work); what foods and drinks did he like (only asking for opinions for the next stock order you see).
And then, there was Farkas.
“So what day is your birthday then?”
“Farkas you dolt,” his brother spluttered in absolute bewilderment. “We’re twins so it’s always the same day as yours.”
“Oh, so in ten days then?”
Of course it took Farkas stating the painfully obvious to make Vilkas register what may be happening. He couldn’t stop the sickening drop he felt in his belly at the question, the nauseating wrenching of his gut when the realisation finally hit him.
Oh, they were cunning. Taking the time to let him forget, make him feel at ease and then move in. Using other people to ask him questions where they couldn’t directly without drawing suspicion.
The surreptitious little wenches.
He admired their ability to gather information, he knew how they worked and how efficient they could be at it, but he intensely disliked the idea of having those methods used against him. Though their techniques were effective, they were also predictable and having known Alunaaz and Sitka’ri as long as he had he felt somewhat foolish, that he should have seen their inability to not meddle and charm everyone into helping.
Vilkas sighed in resignation and continued to answer the questions as they came. Whilst this may have been the first blatant sign of them plotting something, he knew full well the die was cast. Their plan would be in motion and woe betide any who rail against their intentions; so when in doubt, the path of least resistance Is the wisest and least painful choice.
Another week of conspiracy and anticipation came and went before the dubious duo made their first move. It was an end of another normal day in Jorrvaskr, training completed and meals finished the twins found themselves being taken aside by Kodlak to talk.
“Now then lads, you needn’t fret. I don’t pull you into my office to berate or chastise you, so think nothing of the sort.”
Farkas seemed fully at ease, or oblivious if nothing else, but the gnawing in the back of Vilkas’ mind said something was going to happen and he wasn’t going to like it.
“It has been brought to my attention by some…concerned parties that you have both been working very hard.” Kodlak said gently. “I am aware both of you have taken on not only responsibilities with training our newer recruits, but also with contracts within and without the hold.”
The brothers looked at one another; Kodlak was a fair man who appreciated diligence, determination and honour, one who happily acknowledged achievement when he saw it. Rarely would he take those aside that followed this creed, as Kodlak would laud them in front of the other Companions as an example to behold.
So what was this?
Kodlak groaned quietly as he pulled himself from his chair to stand before them.
“I think back to the time you first came to our Hall, young pups biting knees and eager to learn.” The old Nord smiled fondly at the memory. “As you both have grown in accomplished men and though I am not by blood, I have come to think of you as family, perhaps as the sons I never had.”
Vilkas suddenly grasped who the “concerned parties” were, and what they said to elicit this response from the old man. By the Divines, they didn’t did they?
“I remember what it was like to be young once; it may have been long ago, but never mind that,” Kodlak chuckled. “Most of all I don’t want you working yourselves to death, leave that to you elders. You have served the Companions most admirably these past few months, and I do not intend to let that go unrewarded.”
Oh gods, they did. What have they done? What did they say?
“As such, I hereby grant you a leave of absence. The next week is yours to do with as you please.”
Vilkas froze in place as Farkas cheered, clapping him on the back for a job well done; it felt more like a slap to the face.
He quietly accepted the praise as he knew Kodlak would neither allow further discussion nor change his mind on the matter. The decision was made and done. Though Vilkas’ demeanour was calm, below the surface he seethed with indignation. Farkas would not be unappreciative of the time off, however Vilkas would not have either his life or his time dictated for him.
After their commendations were given they stepped out of the Harbingers office, closing the door behind them. Farkas claimed exhaustion and excused himself as he retired to his quarters. Vilkas on the other hand was still furious at being further played for a fool.
He would not stand for it.
His tempter flared and his face, now the epitome of a dark storm about to break, he stomped out of the mead hall and down the cobbled streets to Breezehome.
He must have looked a sight marching down the street, heavy steps clattering against the uneven stone bristling with barely restrained ferocity. The sky was dark and littered with stars, the light from Masser and Secunda unobstructed by the smattering of wispy clouds. It appeared to be very late, given that the towns most dedicated drunks had been ejected from the Bannered Mare; it was likely the small hours of the morning.
Though considering his foul mood, he felt no sympathy for Alunaaz’s neighbours as he began hammering his fist against her front door. He continued knocking as loudly as he could until the door suddenly swung open, light pouring into the street from behind a decidedly cantankerous looking Lydia. She looked as pissed off as he felt.
Good.
“I have several choice words for our Thane, oh loyal Housecarl,” Vilkas groused.
“Well that’s a shame then Companion, because she’s not here.” Lydia stated matter of factly as she leaned against the door jamb, denying him entry.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean what I said, she’s not here. Her and that Khajiit stripling she’s practically adopted left about a week ago without warning,” Lydia sighed in exasperation, rubbing the pinching headache building in her temple. “They left no note of where they were going or how long they would be, so even I don’t know when to expect them back. So take your petulant late night door knocking somewhere else.”
With the last word she slammed the door closed, barely missing Vilkas’ face in the process.
He was still less than pleased with the whole situation, but if she was not at home then it would be unfair to take it out in the citizens of Whiterun (even though they shared some of the blame). He would let this lie for the time being, but first thing tomorrow, he was going to track those conniving little schemers down and see for himself exactly what they had planned.