Skyrim Page 2 - "Would you like food, drink, or something else perhaps?"
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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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Vilkas paused in his actions with Ria, sheathing his blade as she approached him, out of all of them.
“I’m looking for Kodlak Whitemane. Personal missives from the Jarl,” she said, jostling her paper for emphasis.
Vilkas nodded -- it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, after all -- and excused himself to find their Harbinger. And she was walking right over to him. His heart began hammering, and no doubt that Aela could hear it poised as close as she was, but she was blessedly silent -- for the time, at least. There was no way that he wouldn’t hear a thing about this from his shield-sister, but that didn’t matter, because she was standing before him now, a smile on her face.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she said amicably
“Yeah,” Farkas replied roughly.
She cocked her head and smiled, and it did things to him.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” she asked.
Farkas shook his head vigorously, knowing that if he opened his mouth, something stupid was going to come out -- or worse, nothing at all. And he could all but see Aela smirking, but he pushed it from his mind. How could his mind be on Aela? She was right before him, smiling down at him so sweetly while juggling those rolls of missives in her arms, her hip cocked to give her balance. Farkas wanted to stand and take those papers from her so the little thing didn’t over-balance and tip over, but he was a complete stranger to her, after all. She probably didn’t even know he existed until yesterday, and anyway, he doubted that the Thane of Whiterun would give up her Jarl’s letters so easily.
But he was saved from further embarrassment, because the back doors swung open and Vilkas was back, leading Kodlak out onto the porch and down to where she was. Aspharr diverted from Farkas with another smile, turning her attentions to the Harbinger and moving to join him under the cover of the patio roof. He was briefly aware of their polite conversation, but the words just came and went as he concentrated on her voice, softly echoing inside his head with every little word that he didn’t really hear. From what he did hear, they talked briefly on Jarl matters that he didn’t quite understand, but he did hear something about dragons in there just before she excused herself.
She was polite and respectful when she bowed her head to Kodlak, and Farkas felt a surge of pride that she would do that without knowing them -- she really was a better person than he ever thought. Aspharr nodded to Vilkas, who returned it briefly before putting Ria back through her paces, smiled politely to Aela, and then when she got to him, walking off by the Skyforge, she winked. Farkas’ heart did all kinds of spastic things in his chest, and she disappeared from view around the edges of Jorrvaskr, and he was almost already on his feet to see her out, but stopped himself.
“So that’s what’s wrong with you,” Aela stated.
Farkas swallowed back many responses, most of which would earn him a beating from his older shield-sister, and instead made for a fast retreat inside, ignoring the odd look that Vilkas was giving him and the superior grin that Aela had. Shaking his head to himself, Farkas knew that this wasn’t going to pass, so he drew to a decision. He was going to stop sitting on his ass and do something about it.
Thank you, everyone, for all the comments so far. I’m glad that I’m hitting the right notes with Farkas -- it's been interesting trying to make a man as big as Farkas be stealthy in his innocent!stalkings. And so odd writing Aspharr and making her sound so majestic -- she's a spastic kleptomaniac and nowhere near as regal as Farkas’ romantic mind makes her sound. Takes all kinds, I guess ^^
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<333
OP
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Farkas couldn’t stop the smile on his lips either as they less than danced and more swung each other around the perimeter of the well, smiling and laughing and carefree. Leaning his shoulder against the wall of the apothecary’s store, Farkas stayed out of her path as she eventually put the child back down by her mother’s stall, the both of them dizzy and unsure on their feet. He didn’t want to outright follow her around -- that would more than startle the little elf -- but he saw no harm in ‘popping up’ from time to time. They lived in the same town, after all, so it was inevitable that they would run into each other, and maybe he would work up the nerves to actually converse with her.
Not likely.
Aspharr was bidding her farewells to the Valentia women, laughing and waving as she began to head up the stairs to the Wind District and the Gildergreen court. Farkas was not far behind her already, just enough distance to seem casual and to alter his path if she were to look back, and the summer’s breeze was ruffling the skirt of her dress, lifting it up just so he could see the back of her calves. He wasn’t quire sure why it sent a spike of thrill down his spine, but he could feel his blood begin to rush south and his heart start to beat faster, and she was none the wiser.
Or so he hoped. She had already proved that she was nowhere near as air-brained as she came across as, and he knew that she wasn’t, especially since their first interactions back at the Pelagius farm. And yet, this never really crossed his mind as Aspharr crossed over to the Gildergreen tree, stopping to exchange a few words with Danica Pure-Spring, the priestess of Kynareth. The tree was long-dead but if refused to stop flowering, an ever-blooming carcass amongst the greenery of Whiterun, and the sunlight was filtering through the sparse leaves to shine over Aspharr. It was as if thousands of little diamonds graced her ashen skin with their shine, and she all but glowed under its shady light, her laughter tinkling sweetly like a silver bell in the morning air.
Farkas was fairly sure that he could just stand there, at the top of the stairs to the Wind District for the rest of his life if she was there, looking like that; like a pixie sprite that had stepped right out of a child’s fairy book.
But she turned and left, heading out towards the houses and the Hall of the Dead -- he remembered vaguely that Eorland had a house out here somewhere -- following behind her a decent distance away. She moved fluidly and swiftly as two children came barrelling around the corner, and they could have easily knocked down a petite woman like her, but she just laughed it off as she danced out of their way. It was admirable how she didn’t scold the tykes for their transgressions, merely laughing pleasantly as they shouted their belated apologies and dashed off after each other once again.
Aspharr shook out the skirts of her dress, still laughing jovially to herself. He had heard choirs and sermons before, bards and songstresses weave their art, but he was fairly sure that they could never create a sound as sweet and precious as that. Having fixed her clothing and her laughter subsided, Aspharr shook her head fondly and rounded the corner, disappearing from his view.
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Instead, he was greeted with a very different sight.
Farkas found himself pushed backwards and against the outside wall of the home by small but strong hands, and suddenly, there was a finely honed knife at his throat, and he was looking into the eyes of a slightly confused but very irritated Aspharr. She was angry, and there was a knife at his jugular; but all he could think about was that she was a mere hairsbreadth away from him and she smelt gloriously earthy, like the air a few moments before a thunderstrike.
“Why are you following me?” she ground out between clenched teeth.
She sounded irritated and confused and just a little antsy, and Farkas found himself staring into the eyes of the woman he was smitten with, all the same but oh so very different.
He had always known that Aspharr was something different than what others saw; the beast inside of him had seen it while the human in him had not. She knew how to fight. Her reflexes were quick and graceful and experienced, her arms showing a wiry strength that betrayed her slight stature and willowy form, and her dagger was deathly sharp. Farkas should be worried -- who wouldn’t with a dagger at their throat? -- but he was having trouble reaching that particular reaction. No; he was anxious, yes, but not all that worried, because he could divert the blow before she could properly slit his throat.
But what was most alarming was how much this was arousing him, her closeness and her scent and he could hear her little heart hammering away an inch from his own. But that wasn’t really helping his current predicament, and her brilliant garnet eyes had narrowed critically at him, but her hand was steady and still. Moving with a speed that no one expected a man of his size to have, Farkas diverted her hand away and reefed the blade from her unexpecting fist. She had strength beyond her size, but so did he, and the force of his movement sent her staggering back a few paces, bereft of her blade.
Dagger in hand, Farkas whirled and slammed it hilt-deep into the outer walls of the house at his back, leaving it well out of her reach -- and even if she could reach it, it was buried too deep for her to pull out by herself. He didn’t like having a blade at his throat, so he eliminated the odds of that happening again until he could explain -- hopefully, without tripping up over his words.
Aspharr was looking more than a little put out by this occurrence, arms crossed akimbo along her chest, eyeing her fine elven dagger like it would suddenly reappear in her hands if she willed it. Instead she tried to level a glare at him, but even Ria had a fiercer scowl, and she looked so beautiful when she was angry like that. But she was nothing something to be discounted on anything; not his Aspharr.
“Why are you following me?” she grit out again.
And he really didn’t think this through. By Ysgamor’s bones, what could he tell her? That he saw her across the marketplace a week ago and had been smittenly following her around ever since? That would probably get him thrown in the Dragonsreach for harassing the Thane of Whiterun, let along what she would think of him. There must be some way around this -- he wished Vilkas was here, because his brother was a much better speaker, and liar, than he was.
“You’re… interesting.” Beautiful
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“Are you alright?” Farkas interrupted, completely forgetting about their previous limp conversation.
He took a step forwards, and on instinct, she took a quick step backwards. Because she was so small it didn’t make much difference, but her motivations were loud and clear; Farkas paused, dropped his hands to his side, and tried to make himself look as small as possible. He absolutely dwarfed her, and if Farkas held out his arm, he bet that Aspharr could walk underneath it without her touching him.
She had an eyebrow quirked, her eyes slightly less narrowed as she looked at him critically, which morphed into a bit of a lopsided smile.
“You’re a really odd man, you know that?” she said.
Farkas grumbled to himself. Odd. She thought that he was odd. Well, he supposed it was better than being called a freak of nature, like those very few that had seen his were-beast side and had screamed, but Aspharr would never see that. Odd. He could work with that.
“Yeah,” he agreed, more to himself.
She made a little noise that drew his gaze back to her face, and those big eyes of hers had curiosity written all over them -- and not a trace of fear. Unease, maybe, and a little anxiety, but no fear. She didn’t fear him. His heart swelled in his chest and Farkas had to restrain the bodily reaction of taking her into his arms -- and just imaging it, being this close and having her scent in his nose was doing things to him. Aspharr let out a blustery sigh and rubbed the back of her tense neck, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth; and Farkas wanted to bite it, to see if it really was as plump and juicy as it looked.
And this was not good. She turned her eyes back to him, and he felt his spine involuntarily stiffen under her ruby gaze, following by all the blood leaving the top-half of his body and heading for a very different place.
“Can I have my knife back?”
Farkas blinked at her. Giving her back her blade was a sign of trust; that he believed she was not going to attack him, and that she held that faith over him was blinding. As a Companion, one learnt fairly quickly to trust no one but your shield-sibling, and here he was, with an elf that he had spoken to for maybe a handful of minutes in his life, and he was reaching for the blade, nodding dumbly. She had such power over him, such control over his actions, and she had no idea how she effected him so. That was moving beyond stupid now and into dangerous, but that kind little thing would never do anything to threaten him.
He offered her the elven dagger hilt-first, the slick blade sitting open on his palm, and if she wanted to hurt him now, this was the prime moment. But she took the knife carefully, keeping the sharp edge away from his exposed flesh, and her nimble fingers brushed against his own. A bolt of arousal slammed into his gut with the forge of a giant, and Farkas felt almost winded as she tucked the blade into her belt ignorantly. Her fingers were soft but callused, someone who had fought in their life, though not as much as a Companion -- and she was small and soft and smelt so perfect and his beast side was trying to scrabble to the surface now.
Farkas didn’t excuse himself, not trusting his voice not to growl, and shoved away from her, heading desperately back to Jorrvaskr before she noticed one of his two problems; his were-blood and his arousal.
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Farkas groaned as her fingers stroked softly over his thighs, pressing into the right pressure points to send bolts of arousal straight over to his cock. And those nimble little fingers of hers were slowly drifting inwards to his groin, and stopped just short of their destination. And then they were gone, back on his chest, running over his clavicle and the base of his throat, and Farkas couldn’t hold back the growl in his throat. He never would have pegged her for being a tease, but something about that lopsided smile she had just screamed trouble-maker to him.
He thought he was going to pass away from the frustration and lust coiling in his system, but then something else happened. Those clever little fingers of hers left and instead her tongue touched to the base of his neck, teeth scraping lightly as they dragged down. Her tongue was more agile than her dexterous little fingers, if that was at all possible, licking languid lines down his chest, dipping into his navel, dragging over his abdominals before dragging her teeth over the dip in his hip-bone. Her blunt fingernails were scraping over his scarred chest, eliciting a deep groan from Farkas as his blood boiled in its veins from her less than innocent teasing.
It was winding him up too much, his beast-blood struggling for purchase in his mind, but then she blew it; that sweet little tongue of hers touched the tip of his erection. With nothing but her on his mind, he hissed between clenched teeth as her tongue drew a warm, wet line down to the base of his cock before sliding back up. Her swift tongue danced over him eagerly, covering him from base to tip in a fine coat of her saliva, her fingers scratching at his hips lightly before moving down. She took the tip of him into her mouth, sucking lightly, teasingly, as her clever hands wrapped around the base of him to pump lightly. Another hiss escaped his throat, this time much more pronounced, as she suckled with enthusiasm at the tip of his cock, and for the first time in his life, Farkas thought he was going to die.
And those ruby eyes of hers locked onto his, and all he could see was her pretty little face and her lips wrapped around him as her lips twisted into a warped smile around his cock. She gave him a particularly hard suck that had him throwing his head back and howling, his eyes clenched shut in pleasure. He could the tinkling little laugh coming from her, but all it did was make her mouth vibrate around his erection. Farkas gasped, jerking his hips up until she caught them and forced them down, and he let her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and she had left him enough leeway for shallow thrusting.
And she was taking more of him into her mouth, humming around his shaft while she twisted the base with her hands, and Farkas was reduced to gasping for air, reaching down for her tangled brown hair…
And that was when his eyes snapped open, fingers fisted into the furs of his bed, panting and sweating and alone. There was no bright-eyed elf above him, no clever fingers or eagre mouth, and he was so painfully hard that every little movement made his erection rub against the rough furs and wound him up further. He rubbed his thighs together, on purpose or not, and let his hand skirt down his abdomen to take himself in hand.
It didn’t take him very long to come undone with her name on his lips and her form just behind his closed eyelids, a whining moan tearing itself from his throat. He fell back on his bed, sated, and threw an arm over his eyes. He wondered if she knew how much she affected him, and if she even felt the same way. Farkas snorted to himself. Ridiculous.
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He wouldn’t deny that he was concerned about how harried she had looked yester-morn; the tenseness of her stance, her paranoia about being followed, the fine lines of stress marring her beautiful face. There was something happened that had someone of her position concerned, and it was enough to worry him as well. He couldn’t exactly go up to her and offer his services to protect her -- he was pretty sure that she would laugh at him, and it wouldn’t be that pretty little noise he often heard. But he could keep his eye on her while she was Whiterun -- not that he wasn’t already, however inadvertent -- and he promised himself that she would be safe here.
But it would be too obvious and much too far to follow her if she left the city walls further than the farmlands, even though the thought of her being so far away made him dreary. But he would have his memories of her, this thoughts, and his warped dream from the night previous -- he had warped and bastardised her so much that he felt shame just thinking about it, as well as the more bodily reactions. There was nothing left to do but wallow in these memories, letting Heimskr’s religious babble filter through for a little while.
He had an amazing ability to agitate Farkas with his spiels, but once filtered out, Farkas enjoyed looking up at the Gildergreen, long dead but still blooming, and the little sapling planted at its base. Danica Pure-Spring, the priestess, was out blessing the little shrub and Farkas didn’t quite understand why a tree needed blessing, but didn’t question it. In his opinion, all priests were a little off anyway, so what was a little tree-worshipping in the grand scheme of things? Everyone to their own until he was hired to beat some sense into them.
Vilkas had approached him about a job, but Farkas had passed it up and instead pushed it onto Torvar and Ria; it was only a local thing, so the two could handle it easily. Torvar was still bitching about not getting enough work, then having to split his profits with a shield-sibling, but Farkas explained that no one went without a sibling. Only the Circle did that because they could back up their brawn with their beast-blood, and it was rare that they went alone anyway; Farkas was always with Vilkas, Aela or Skjor, no questions.
He wondered if he should ask Aspharr to join the Companions. As see-through a plot as that was to keep her under his supervision, Farkas thought that she would make a good shield-sister. He had felt her strength, her determination, and it was something that Kodlak would approve of, but that required talking to her, which he hadn’t had much luck with so far. Words just didn’t formulate quick enough in his head when she was nearby, and he was struck stupid because of it (Aela would argue that he was just plain stupid, but his sister liked to rib him).
Farkas caught a wisp of colour out of the corner of his eye, thinking it was Aspharr, but it was merely the changing of the guard. Resting his elbows on his knees, Farkas sat with his chin in hands, watching the soft trickle of people pass Danica as she fawned over her shrub. It looked like there was going to be no chance of him seeing her today; it was midday already and he had yet to glimpse her again since the early morn. Resigning himself to a day of generally idling on the stairs of Jorrvaskr, Farkas wondered on the odds of Vilkas bringing him something to drink. Good odds. Vilkas was always watching out for him, and no doubt his brother knew where he was and what he was doing.
Puffing out a sigh and waiting for a glimpse of her, Farkas wondered on the odds of that drink being something alcoholic. Good odds.
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My friend accused me of this being a cock-tease. Coming up next is my revenge :3
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