Skyrim Page 2 - "Would you like food, drink, or something else perhaps?"
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So maybe Farkas trying to catch her attention/interest and the DB slightly bemused by this giant of a warrior popping up all the time. (It could be funny if he follows her on a whim once or twice and ends up inadvertently saving her life, or as she'd end up telling her grandkids "caused enough of a distraction so I could finish [insert bad guys here] off myself".)
+Bonus: Farkas being wary of approaching her at first because of his lycanthropy.
This prompt stems from this anon having many an idle thought on how their romance would go if Farkas and the DB don't first meet when she attempts to join the companions. I'd like it if she wasn't a warrior, maybe she's a mage or a thief, or an archer who's just not interested in joining the companions. She could be an elf or a human, whichever you choose, just so long as they meet differently.
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It was one of those days where there just wasn’t anything better to do than tag along after Vilkas on a job -- and he used job very loosely, because it was just roughing up some bard in the local tavern. Farkas yawned loud enough to crack his jaw, absently ribbing the back of his neck as he reclined against the wall just outside the Bannered Mare. There was no need for the both of them to go in -- Farkas may be bigger and stronger, but Vilkas was large as well -- so Farkas chose to bask outside in the dull light peeking in from under the awning.
Vilkas hadn’t minded the company, not that he ever did with Farkas, but his brother had been more on edge lately since they forsook the change with Kodlak. Farkas was no where as troubled by it was Vilkas was -- his brother was losing sleep -- and Kodlak said it was because everybody comprehended the change, and its effects, differently. Aela said it was because he was more highly evolved, and it was in his blood -- the nicest thing she had ever said to him. Vilkas said it was because he was too stupid to care -- typical Vilkas, barbed but no malice behind anything at all.
Farkas folded his arms over his chest, leaning back and taking in the busy morning market before him. Most of the people he recognised, rushing to and fro with baskets of goods and parcels, a hodge-podge of colours and races scrambling to make their timing. He used races loosely -- Farkas was pretty sure that there were only three people in Whiterun who weren’t human, and they were those Wood Elf brothers who ran the Drunken Huntsman, and Athis. But even if he didn’t recognise them, they sure as hell recognised him -- even if his Companion armour wasn’t distinctive enough, he was a big man, even for a Nord.
But as the flurry of starch-coloured cloths moved across the marketplace, one in particular caught his attention. He wasn’t quite sure what drew his gaze to her, and it was definitely a her, but she was slight among a town of humans, standing before the produce stall with her back to him, eyeing over the fresh vegetables while conversing casually with that Carlotta woman. He recognised her -- Carlotta -- from earlier this morning when she came into Jorrvaskr, smacked down a skin of gold, and asked Vilkas to beat the crap out of a bard; okay, so she didn’t quite phrase it like that, but it was all relative.
Back to the woman -- she was small, the top of her hooded head only reaching Carlotta’s chin, and was wearing a very plain green and white dress. By all accords, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about this woman apart from the obvious -- she was little -- but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wasn’t as smart as Vilkas, but Farkas was observant. For those few minutes she debated over the vegetables she was purchasing, he watched her, observing the sway of her slim hips, the way she easily juggled her basket and parcels in her arms.
Just from the way she was moving had piqued Farkas’ interest, her hips swaying side to side before he realised that she was dancing to music inside her head while packing up her basket. She actually did a little spin before scooping up her belongings and continuing her dance-walk past the well and ducking into the shadows of Belethor’s shop awnings across from him. He could hear her humming now, a tuneless series of noises that somehow meshed into a sweet melody that had her spinning and dancing away back into the street -- and he was still watching.
If Vilkas could see him right now, his brother would laugh -- it wasn’t the first time he had become smitten with passing women in the city. Farkas usually agreed with his brother, laughing, and went back to Jorrvaskr with him for a solid drink where his passing fancy became a haze of mead, never to resurface. Then she turned around, as if hearing him, and he saw her sweet little face, those wide eyes and plump lips.
Screw Vilkas, he was pretty sure he was in love.
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-OP
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Her name was Aspharr. Aspharr. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue, the way letters meshed together into the foreign sounding word that was her. It didn’t sound like a Dark Elf name, and there was no way that he was going to broach the subject to Athos -- the elf was a profound skirt-chaser. Instead, he asked Carlotta, the grateful woman whose stalker his brother had just beaten down, and she divulged a little to him. She had turned up in the city a few months ago, and had long since lived here as a hand of the Jarl -- a Thane. Farkas had no idea that they had a new Thane, or even a Thane at all.
But that was all he got out of Carlotta before a customer dragged her attention away, and he was stuck with so little while wanting more. Aspharr. He liked that name. He couldn’t exactly go to the Dragonreach and petition Balgruff for her information just because he fancied her for a brief few minutes from across the marketplace. That sounded insane, even to him; just imagine what the Jarl would think. And that was how he found himself in this position.
It was evening now, and she was in the Bannered Mare for the eve, her hood long shed now that the sun was no longer a problem for her. She had a brilliant mane of chestnut-brown hair that was braided back at the sides to keep her sensitive elven ears clear, and fell down to her shoulders. Her plain and modest green-and-white dress had been shed for something more befitting the evening; tavern clothing. There was a long split up the side that reached to her hip, and Farkas thought he was going to start drooling or hitting people who gawked at her.
She was sitting by the fire, wedged in between two young men as she talked happily, unaware that they were more looking at her slight cleavage then rather her face. Farkas was fairly sure that he was going to snap that lad in half for looking at her like that… but then she whapped him over the back of his head so casually that he grinned to himself. He had sequestered himself away in the corner across from the fire so he could still see her, even if he was swallowed by shadows. He wanted to go over there and join them, talk with her -- and she was so damned animated when she did talk, arming moving every which-way as she mimed parts of her story.
There was no way he had the nerve to do something like that. What would she think of someone like him? Overly large, scruffy and unkempt, stupid, not to mention that he was a werewolf. What would she think of that indeed? He was a beast that could tear down a man with one hand, split them from head to sternum and feel nothing about it but hunt. There was no way that he could work up the confidence to go over there, not being what he was, so he sat and he watched, slowly drinking his mead as she launched into a tale that had even the bard pausing to listen.
He couldn’t quite hear what she was saying over the crowd, but he could hear little snatches and he liked watching her animated little hands move about. From what he could gather, she was telling a story about a battle -- whether hers or another, he didn’t quite know -- and she was mining slashing and parrying very animatedly from her seat by the fire. She was a very energetic girl from what he had gathered, dancing down the streets instead of walking and engaging in faux scaled fights while she spoke. Vilkas would say that she was mad, but Farkas would say that it was just Aspharr.
But this was ridiculous. There was only so far he could go with this stupid little fleeting fancy of his, and it was getting a little out of hand. He should really stop and just go back to Jorrvaskr, fall into bed, and she would be just a hazy memory tomorrow. Oh. Her drink was about to run out. Farkas called over the serving girl and ordered her another, something a little better tasting than the swill she was drinking.
And when she got it, she smiled so perfectly that Farkas thought that it was okay to keep this up just a little longer.
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Love. So much love for this Farkas. He is perfect in every way.
Keep doing what you're doing, anon. I'll just be over here in the corner wallowing in all the warm and fluffy feelings. <3
-OP
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She was dressed down for today in simple dark breeches and a linen tunic -- miner's or labourer’s clothing -- and was outside the city at Pelagia Farm. With a simple sword strapped to her hip, she rolled up her sleeves and helped the residents harvest the new crop of cabbage and potatoes. Farkas hated cabbage. It didn’t seem to bother Aspharr as she hummed and sang a few bars of a song that didn’t exactly make a lot of sense, but he was enjoying it nonetheless.
He had disappeared early in the morning, before the others had awoken, to find her already leaving her modest house by the Whiterun Gate. She didn’t see him -- thank Shor, because how would he explain this -- as she made her way out the gate and down to the farmland just outside Whiterun. She seemed to be on good terms with everyone, even the passing Khajiit caravans that greeted her by name and their own native tongue, and she laughed and promised to bring some of the harvest by for the travelling merchants. Aspharr had a big heart, and it made her all the more beautiful.
That was how he wound up where he was, sitting with his back against the rock half-wall that separated the Pelagia Farm from the road, the cool shadows from the rocks soothing away the summer heat. She was still singing, moving closer and then farther away as she tilled and dug up the potatoes, leaving them in what he presumed were crate boxes near the farmhouse. It was a little hard going on sound only, because the only scent he could get was dirt and sun-baked grass, but he could hear her clothing shift just before she moved, the puff of her breath when she got too close or the quick beat of her heart.
He could see why the people he had passed were so smitten with her -- there weren’t many Thanes in the holds across Skyrim, or Tamriel, who would assist their fellow townsman by tilling their fields. There was nothing Farkas wanted more than to just vault over this stupid stone wall separating them and use his height to block the sun from her slight form. And she would smile that smile, and he would scoop her into his arms, and she would laugh, and then he would… it didn’t matter. He didn’t have the guts to do anything like that, and even if he did, she would probably think he was mad and flee from him.
And who would blame her? He was a hulking man, a werewolf, a trained and paid killer for hire. Why would a sweet little thing like her ever even give him the time of day, a few shreds of her precious time? She was the Thane of Whiterun, beloved by farmers and passing caravans, and he was… he was a monster in a man’s skin, lusting after that sweet little thing…
“Are you alright?”
Farkas nearly leapt. Her arms were folded over the top of the stone wall, peering over at him, a smear of dirt gracing her delicate cheekbone and little nose, her wide eyes looking at him with interest. Ysmir, those eyes. Like pools with ruby-studded depths, large and angular and… and he was staring, and she was still waiting for an answer.
“Fine,” Farkas grunted.
Real eloquent, jackass.
Her lips quirked a little, and his heart leapt in his ribcage. She tilted her head to the side a little, her thick hair bundled up off the back of her neck with a leather cord, a few stray wisps outlining her face. She looked down for a moment, her hands moving to fumble below the wall, then she dropped a skin of water over onto his lap, and Farkas stared.
He knew he was staring, but he just couldn’t help it.
“It’s nearly noon, so be careful not to get caught in the sun,” she told him.
Farkas nodded dumbly, and she beamed at him.
“Brilliant,” she said, wiping her hands on her brown-stained tunic. “You should take better care of yourself, you know. You’ve been out here almost as long as I’ve been.”
Farkas startled, but she was already walking back across the field to the farmhouse, dusting off the last of the crops and taking a few for herself. She left shortly after, and it was only then that he remembered to breathe.
I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this part ^^
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-OP
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Yes you are. Yessssss yooooou aaaaaaaare. *tummyrubs* ^^
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“What’s wrong with Icebrain?”
Aela was trying to rib him, get a reaction or a rise from him, but there was nothing that could currently move him from his stupor on the rear steps of Jorrvaskr’s courtyard. This was his chosen spot for the day, away from the interruptions and distractions of town-life -- well, one distraction in particular, at least. He had chosen this spot because there was no way he could possibly run into her back here, where only the Companions tread, because ever since yesterday, he had a very sinking feeling that she was more observant than he thought. She had known the whole time that he was there, just beyond her working space, and it brought a mixture of terror, anxiety and thrill to the surface.
He knew it was ridiculous that he felt a thrill at her interaction yesterday, but that was the first time that he had ever spoken to her (well, she had spoken at him), and she was even prettier up close. With those angular crimson eyes blinking softly at him, her delicate little nose swiped with soil from the fields, those pouty-full lips moving, all as she created words of concern for him. She was a tiny, gorgeous creature, like a pixie in the fields, and she had talked to him like they were just normal people, not like he was a werewolf and she was the Thane. He had only known of her existence for a few days now, and even still, he felt like he had a personal connection with her, just like the majority of Whiterun seemed to have.
But what really got him was that, the whole time she was working the harvest, she had known that Farkas was there, and still went about singing her off-tune songs. She must have thought him a weary traveller or, more likely, a madman, choosing to rest outside the Whiterun gates at the farm for no apparent reason. It was just another thing to tack on with stupid, scruffy and werewolf. Mad. Just what he needed.
“Seriously, what’s wrong with him, Vilkas?” he heard Aela ask.
“I have no idea, he won’t say,” his brother replied tersely.
Vilkas knew him well enough to not interrupt his brooding, instead devoting his time to training Ria in the rear courtyard, and Farkas watched them parry and dance around each other. Vilkas grunted from the impact on his shield and stepped back in time to dodge Ria’s follow-through, her sword whistling through the air before his brother before she could catch it. Off guard, Vilkas smacked her to the ground as gently as one could with a banded iron shield, and then set about correcting her stance and counter-attacks. Farkas kept his eyes glued to the pair, watching his brother’s almost mechanical steps and Ria’s much more unbalanced one as they launched into another semi-match.
They were the only thing to watch besides Athis loitering against the wall, and looking at the Dark Elf just brought another of his kind to Farkas’ mind, which was getting him nowhere. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her with his presence, and who wouldn’t be? He was almost twice as large as she was, and it was his trade, his profession, to be intimidating and to deal out death to those who opposed him. Great. Stupid, scruffy, werewolf and killer. Just great.
On a small, higher note, at least his mind was semi-diverted from a certain lovely lady elf as he watched his older brother spar. But it was hard not to think of her; and Farkas knew that this was getting stupid now. He should just go find a woman who resembled her and bed her, get this out of his system so he could walk through the marketplace and not look for her, so he could get her out of his mind.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
to be continued.... right now. ^_^
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