Still-Born Shout [#wattys2017]

Chapter Ten

Farkas never really enjoyed thinking things through, unlike his brother. Vilkas and Vignar would sit for hours and discuss things like books, or history. Farkas knew they inherent value of those things, especially to the members of the Companions, but he never took much of an interest in them.

Also unlike his older brother, Farkas took things at face value. Vilkas had a tendency to look for hidden meanings in everything, but Farkas didn't really see the point. He saw things as they were, and they usually didn't end up being much different.

Usually.

Odd things were beginning to happen around Jorrvaskr. Aela had been acting very strangely, and she was being very secretive about it. Almost a week ago, she had begun to set up barricades outside of Jorrvaskr. When Farkas asked her what she was doing, she simply shrugged him off and continued to work.

Three days after that, the Stormcloak army had laid siege to Whiterun. They put Vignar on the throne. Farkas thought that Earlund, or even Kodlak, would've been a better choice, but he didnt share his opinion. Vilkas said it was a good thing that Vignar was the new jarl, so Farkas just went along with it.

He couldn't figure out how Aela knew the Stormcloaks were coming. He didn't ask anyone, but he was pretty sure it was because someone had warned her. Either that, or she had been out hunting and had seen them marching to Whiterun. Farkas seriously doubted that.

The call of the beast-blood was something he struggled to ignore. He hadn't wanted it. He was angry with his ancestors for cursing him with it, but there was nothing to be done. Kodlak was doing everything he could to find a way to get rid of it. Aela and Skjor didn't mind it as much; they loved to hunt and Farkas often saw that they enjoyed the feral rush that came from the change.

Farkas enjoyed feeling powerful, but was there a warrior out there that didn't? He didn't enjoy the feeling of nearly losing control of himself. He dreaded the thought of ever hurting one of his friends, or worse, his brother. He, Vilkas, and Kodlak spent their time thinking of a way around it. Well, Vilkas and Kodlak did. Farkas mainly spent his time performing petty jobs or doing battle with the Silver Hand. It had been a while since any of the Companions had done anything interesting. He trusted that Vilkas and Kodlak would tell him whatever they learned, if they learned anything at all.

Yesterday, Farkas had taken a letter from a courier that was addressed to Aela. He knew that she was asleep; she and Skjor had been hunting late last night. He set it aside and grabbed his greatsword from the rack on the wall. In his spare time, Farkas liked to practice.

"Good morning," he said to Athis and Torvar as he stepped out into the crisp air. Torvar was drinking, as usual, and Athis was carefully cleaning a steel sword. "Do either of you feel like practicing?"

"Just give me a moment," Athis said, continuing to clean his sword. He wiped it down one final time and stood up, giving it a few good swings. It made a whistling sound as it cut through the air; that was one of Farkas' favorite sounds. Athis looked up at him. "Ready?" They descended the back steps into the practice yard.

"First one on the ground buys the winner a box of Argonian wine," Farkas said, taking the large sword from his back and brandishing it.

"A whole box?" Athis complained, taking a defensive stance.

"Yeah, a box," Farkas reiterated. Athis swung overhead and Farkas blocked it, dodging to the side. He swung horizontally and Athis met his blow. Athis cut sharply and Farkas jumped back, a smile on his face. He loved to spar. He loved to fight. He loved getting his blood going.