My head is pounding and there's some kind of weight pressing down on me. I force myself to open my eyes and I give a yell of terror when I see Vilkas in my bed. It wakes him up, startled, and he rolls out of my bed. I silently pray that nobody heard it.

"What in the name of Oblivion..." Vilkas rubs his eyes. "Why am I in here?"

"Get out!" I yelp.

I quickly glance down at my body and I am relieved to see I'm not naked. At least we didn't...

Vilkas stumbles to his feet and pushes open my bedroom door. Out in the hall I can see Aela and she notices Vilkas coming out of my room and she looks stunned. I hurriedly get out of bed.

"This isn't what it looks like," I say quickly. "I don't know how he got in there,"

"Excuse me," Vilkas turns red and hurries along to his own room.

Aela raises her eyebrows. "I don't judge, sister,"

"We didn't...you know," I say awkwardly. "I mean, I don't think so,"

"At least it was just me that saw him leave," Aela smirks. "Skylar, how drunk were you two last night?"

"I don't remember," I say regretfully. "Remind me to never go near Black-Briar mead again,"

***

Vilkas and I avoid each other over the next few days, which is just as well. I focus on my training, dealing with the Silver Hands and taking care of whatever business needs doing. Njada seems to have eased up on her rage, but I still feel uneasy around her. Anyway, there's a new thing I'm going to focus on: my birthday and my brother's visit.

"Skylar? Do you mind seeing me for a moment?" Kodlak calls my name a few hours before I'm due to meet Marco at the Windhelm docks.

"Of course, grandfather," I nod my head and I follow him into his study.

"Have a seat. I won't keep you long, I know you must leave for Windhelm soon," grandfather says. "Tomorrow is your birthday, and we will have a celebration. However, on the day after your birthday there is something I must ask of you,"

"Yes?" I prompt him to go on.

"I hear you've been busy of late," Kodlak gives me a pointed look. He must be talking about Aela's campaign to wipe out the Silver Hand...

"Me and Aela have been avenging Skjor's death," I tell him honestly. There's no point in denying it, not really. I don't know why Aela is still going on with her revenge streak. I don't mean to be insenstive, but the man died four months ago. Hasn't she gotten enough vengence?

"Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time," Kodlak says wisely, with a hint of remorse.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to bring honour," I say earnestly.

"I understand, granddaughter. I have a task for you to complete after your birthday," Kodlak smiles understandingly.

"What is it?"

"Do you know how the Companions came to be werewolves?" Kodlak asks me.

"Skjor said that it was a blessing from Hircine," I frown, trying to remember back a few months.

Kodlak sighs. "Aye, that sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, the reality is more complicated than one believer would tell you. The Companions are nearly five thousand years old. This matter of beastblood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power,"

"Did they become werewolves?" I ask curiously.

Kodlak nods his head. "They did not believe the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived."

"Then they should die for their deception of us," I say firmly.

"We'll get to that. It's not so simple as just killing them, though. The disease, you see, affects not just our bodies. It seeps into the spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice. But I am still a true Nord. And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home," Kodlak explains.

"Is there a way to be cured of it?" I ask him hopefully. I've enjoyed my time as a werewolf but I would be nice to see Sovngarde again. I don't really care where I end up on my death, but Sovngarde seems like a better option than Hircine's Hunting Grounds.

He nods his head at me. "That's what I've spent my twilight years trying to find out. And now I've found the answer. The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity,"

"Am I to do this alone?" I ask, feeling a little nervous. I can handle bandits, dragons and Forsworn...but ancient witches? They probably have centuries-old knowlege behind them, as well as some other vile tricks.

"You shall have no Shield-Brother this time," Kodlak confirms. "But the spirit of Ysgramor goes with you to restore the honour of his legacy. Talos guide you, lass,"

"Thanks, grandfather," I get up from the chairs.

"Have a safe journey to Windhelm. I look forward to seeing my grandson again," Kodlak smiles fondly.

***

I stand on the docks, shivering. Spring is beginning to show evidence of blooming in Whiterun and most other holds (even Dawnstar has had a few flowers growing) but not here. Windhelm seems to be in a permanent state of winter.

"Everything alright, miss?" one of the Argonian dockworkers ask me.

"Yes, thank you," I smile at him. "Are you alright?"

He looks taken aback, as if nobody had ever asked him if he's okay. Which is probably the truth, Ulfric Stormcloak doesn't allow them to live inside the city. Ulfric has recently been released from custody and he's taking out his anger on the races that aren't Nords in his city. He's a despicable man sometimes.

"I am fine," he nods his head. "What brings a lovely lady like yourself to this part of Windhelm?"

"I'm waiting for a boat," I reply. "The Northern Maiden,"

"It's right there," the Argonian points into the distance and I can see the ship getting close to the dock. "Should be another half an hour,"

"I'll go and get some hot food and drinks from the inn then," I decide. "Would you like anything?"

He looks even more surprised. "No, you do not have to,"

"My treat," I promise the Argonian.

Before he can protest again, I rush off in the direction of the steps leading to the main part of Windhelm. I'm in the Grey Quarter and I hurriedly make my way through the alleys until I get to the Candlehearth Inn. I pay for some heated and spiced mead, some hot sweetrolls and two honey nut treats. I also buy some more food in case Marco is hungry and I get some stuff for the Argonians on the dock. They're probably hungry all the time, the poor things.

On my way back to the docks, I take the time to stroll through the city in order to spread time out. It can be boring stood on a dock, waiting for someone. There isn't really that much to see in Windhelm, despite how historical it's supposed to be.

When I get back to the dock, I hand the flask of mead to the Argonian and he thanks me. I also hand him the satchel of food and explain it's for him and his friends.

"I do not know how I can ever thank you," he says.

"It's all my treat," I assure him. "What's your name?"

"Scouts-Many-Marshes," the Argonian replies.

"Scouts? Is it really you!?" I exclaim.

"Skylar!?" Scouts looks amazed. "How did I not recognise you!?"

Scouts was the one that leant me his map of Skyrim when I first arrived here and he helped me craft some decent weapons and a set of armour. It was that armour that stopped a bear from ripping out my bowels when I was exploring through the marshy terrain of Eastmarch. I suppose you could say he was my first proper friend here in Skyrim.

"It has been far too long, old friend," I grin at him. "How have you been?"

"Same old, same old," Scouts replies. "Things haven't improved too much around here,"

"Things'll change. And if they don't change anytime soon, I'll make some changes," I promise him. "It's not right how you're being treated,"

"Don't worry yourself, marsh-friend," Scouts assures me. "Look, the ship is nearly here!"

I stand on my toes, eager to see if I can spot Marco on the boat. Sure enough, I can see him, but he has his back turned to me.

"Marco!" I shout.

He turns around and huge smile creeps on to his face. It's agonising waiting for the boat to arrive and when it finally does dock, I give Marco the biggest hug I've ever given in my entire life. It's such a relief to see him here.

He hasn't changed at all. His dark brown hair is still perfect and not at all messy, despite strong sea winds. Not a single thing about him is out of place and I'm so glad to see he hasn't changed.

"Sister! I have missed you so much!" he returns my hug. "By the gods, it has been far too long!"

"I can't believe you're actually here! This feels so surreal," I grin at him.

"Likewise, my sister. We have a lot to talk about on the carriage to Whiterun," Marco nods his head. I link arms with him and I wave goodbye to Scouts. We walk through Windhelm and we pay the carriage driver there to take us to Whiterun.

"How was your trip? How is Raven Rock? Are you really working for Neloth?" I question him eagerly.

"Quite well. We were indeed fortunate enough to be blessed with good weather," Marco answers.

I forgot how serious and formal he could be...but I suppose he was forced to be serious. He had spent his childhood running and feeling scared. He was a slave in a foreign country and then had to witness an Argonian invasion on his home and then had to bring up his little sister. Not for the first time, I begin to regret how I teased him and mocked him when we were children.

"You'll enjoy Whiterun...and seeing grandfather too," I tell Marco.

"It does sound wonderful," Marco agrees. "Now, what is this about you being Dragonborn? Is it why I never heard from you for a year? I thought you were dead!"

"It was a busy year," I say regretfully. "I spent most of time time training and mastering the Thu'um and Dragon Shouts...I saved us all from Alduin,"

"So I heard. There have been tales in Raven Rock and we're all very proud of you," Marco smiles at me. "Gods, it is awfully cold here isn't it?"

"It's warmer in Whiterun," I reassure him. "I still can't believe you're actually here!"

"I have a birthday present for you," Marco says. "Tomorrow will be a fine day!"

***

"What a fine building," Marco says admirably when we reach Jorrvaskr. "And you say the Skyforge has magical properties?"

"Well, I don't know," I shrug. "But there's something strange about it,"

"And this Wuuthrad you talk about...it was used by Ysgramor to drive out the elves after the events of the Night of Tears?" Marco continues to ask questions as we walk up the steps.

"Again, I don't really know. You should talk to Vilkas, he knows more about history. But I do know that the axe is toxic to elves," I shrug.

Marco looks worried. "That's not good. We have Elven blood,"

"We do?" I look surprised. "Where?"

"Our grandmother on our mother's side. She was an Altmer," Marco informs me. "You've Nord, Breton and Altmer blood in you,"

"Then why am I so short?" I mutter.

"Fear not. Perhaps you'll still grow," Marco laughs. Marco is quite tall for a Breton, but he's going to be dwarfed by the likes of Farkas, Vilkas and Torvar. We reach the top of the steps and I push open the heavy wooden doors. I'm greeted by the usual sounds of laughter and chattering and the smell of food cooking.

"Skylar's back!" Farkas grins. "And I guess this is your brother?"

"Yes," I nod my head. "Marco, this is Farkas. He's a good friend of mine,"

Marco shakes Farkas's hand and Farkas looks confused. Nords don't greet each other with handshakes, but rather a salute. And even then, the salute is rarely used.

"Marco, grandfather is downstairs," I inform him. "And there's a bedroll for you in my room. Down the corridor until you get to the bit where it splits. Go left and mine's the northern room. Grandfather has the room at the end,"

"I will see him at once," Marco nods his head. He noticed Aela and gives her a quick bow. "My lady,"

Aela looks just as confused as Farkas. "Who in Oblivion was that?"

"My brother, Marco," I laugh. "I know he's a bit...strange,"

"Strange is an understatement...I mean no offence, of course," Aela adds quickly. "Can he fight well?"

"No, he's a magic user," I shake my head. "But he's a skilled one. He's an apprentice for a Telvanni wizard,"

"Telvanni?" Athis overhears our conversation. "He must be a bloody good wizard to be taken in by Neloth! My sister wanted to work with him but got turned down,"

"You know Neloth?" I ask him curiously.

Athis laughs. "Know him? I worked as a bloody guard for him for a year or so. Got sick of it, so I left and came here instead. Bastard sent a couple dozen ash spawn after me,"

"When were you in Solstheim?" I ask, feeling amazed.

Athis gives another laugh. "Long before you were born, sera. Don't forget, we elves have a different aging process to you humans. Gods, must have been a good fifty years or so ago,"

"As interesting as this is, we should all be getting on with our training," Aela says firmly. "Skylar, do you want to work on your archery today?"

"Gods, no," I shudder. "No offence, Aela,"

"None taken," she rolls her eyes.

"I need a sparring partner," I turn to Athis.

"You're on," he grins at me.

We pick up our weapons and Athis swings his swords at me. I'm better than him, but he is stronger than me and a lot quicker. It's a decent match and we call a tie in the end. Marco has joined us out by the training porch and looks a little nervous to be surrounded by so many warriors.

"You do actually look a lot like Kodlak," Vilkas says to Marco. Athis and I sit with him, Farkas and Vilkas at one of the tables and we watch Ria and Torvar fight.

"Do I?" Marco asks. "I do not see it myself,"

"How's old Neloth?" Athis grins at Marco. "Is he still a nutjob?"

"He is a little eccentric, yes," Marco nods his head. "Were you acquainted with him?"

"Yeah, I knew the old sod," Athis nods his head. "My sister tried to work for him,"

"Master Neloth is very particular about his assistants and apprentices," Marco takes a bit out of some bread. "Would your blacksmith mind if I were to observe the Skyforge and note any magical properties?"

"Oh, he would definitely mind," I laugh. "Best to do it when he isn't around. Eorland is very protective over his forge,"

Marco stands up and adjusts his robes. "Never mind. I shall merely explain that it is all in the name of science and learning,"

"He's weird," Athis remarks as soon as Marco is out of hearing range.

"Stop being so mean to the poor man," I elbow him. "All of you! He's a perfectly decent human being. Vilkas, you would get on well with him. He's interested in science and history and all those other boring things,"

"Science," Vilkas glares at me. "Is not boring. And neither is history,"

"Oh gods, Skylar, don't set him off," Farkas rolls his eyes.

Vilkas proceeds to lecture his brother about the importance of history and Athis and I exchange amused looks. The past few months have been almost perfect for me. Hopefully nothing will change that now. 

A/N:

Yay, this fic is beginning to get some recognition! That means so much to me, all of the votes and comments really make my day <3 

This chapter and the next are the last of the filler chapters, I promise, but the next chapter is a personal favourite of mine...