The Dragonborn Comes (a Skyrim fanfiction)

Chapter Three: Marketplace

I head down into the living quarters and I listen out for Aela's voice. I follow the sound of it, coming to what I think are her private living quarters. She's talking with a man there, who looks a fair bit younger than Kodlak but definitely older than Vilkas. They're standing closely together and Aela has a small smile on her face. 

Aela notices me standing there. "Ah, good. I've been waiting for this. Wait...I remember you. So the old man thinks you've got some heart, I guess," she takes the shield off of me.

"I told you, this is the whelp Vilkas mentioned," the older man says.

Vilkas was talking about me? How flattering. 

"I heard you gave him quite a thrashing," Aela smirks.

"Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that," the man laughs gently.

"Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?" Aela asks me.

"I don't think I should be bragging about my skills...yet. But I suppose I could," I reply carefully.

"A woman who lets her actions speak for her. I knew there was something I liked about you...I like your fire too. You'll make a good Companion, we should hunt together sometimes," Aela smiles at me. "Let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head,"

"Farkas!" the man shouts.

A man who looks just like Vilkas (but he's wearing a different style of armour and he's a little more muscular) comes running into Aela's room, brushing past me. "Did you call me?"

"Of course we did, icebrain," Aela rolls her eyes. "Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep,"

"New blood? Oh, hello, I'm Farkas. Come, follow me," Farkas beckons for me to follow him.

Feeling glad Farkas doesn't seem to be as much of an ass as his lookalike, I follow after him. I presume the two of them are brothers, most likely twins. Farkas seems a little more bulkier than Vilkas, and his choice of weapon is the huge steel battleaxe strapped firmly in place on his back. But they both have the same dark hair and icy blue eyes.

"So..." I try to start a conversation.

"Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best," Farkas cuts me off. He leads me to the communal bedroom. "The bed over there is free and so is the chest. Put whatever you like in there, but don't take other people's things,"

"So what now?" I ask him.

"Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work," he says. "I guess you're one of us now, until your Trial. Then we'll see if you're really worthy of us. Don't worry though, I'm sure you'll do well!"

"Thank you," I smile at him.

Farkas leaves me and I pull open the lid to the chest near my bed. Inside it, I place the dragon mask I picked up from the temple when I was first on my way to take on Alduin. I put in my journal, a few letters, some healing potions and a few other spell tomes. I know Nords have a distrust of magic, but I've got a knack for it. Well, I suppose it helps being a Breton.

I pick up one of the letters. It's the latest letter my brother sent me, which was a year ago. I came to Skyrim on the 17th of Last Seed 4E201...and if I'm not mistaken, it's the 17th of Last Seed today...a smile creeps onto my face. I've been here a whole year now.

I look back at the letter and sigh. I suppose I owe my brother a response. I rummage around the room and I find a piece of paper, a quill and some ink. I'm sure nobody will mind too much if I borrow them. I then begin the letter.