To the surprise of no one in Jorrvaskr, the woman all regarded as the heir -if such a thing could even be applied to The Companions, no kingdom or noble land were they- to the position of Harbinger and the siblinghood’s most talented and dedicated scholar and markswoman was still sitting at the same table when the rose for the morning that she had been sitting at when the last of them had gone to bed. Many of the same books and scrolls, and several new ones, that had been spread out around her then were still with her now.
Equally unsurprising to each and every one of them, the slender and onyx-haired form of their Imperial sister Ria was between the Huntress’ thighs, dutifully pleasuring her idol as she so often was, just as she had been when most of them had gone to bed. In fact, if it wasn’t for how well they knew their most dangerous sister, they might have thought that Ria had been there all night, keeping the Huntress relaxed as she worked her way through the extensive library that the Harbingers had built up over the centuries. That familiarity, though, told them that Ria had simply gotten up first thing in the morning and thrown herself back into her efforts after her morning exercises.
It was hard to blame her for her hunger for her senior, of course. Aela, with her long auburn hair pulled back into her signature ponytail, body rippling with tight, whipcord muscle that -combined with a large bust, long legs, and as ass you could bounce a septim off of- was the object of desire for most of her shield-siblings, Whiterun, it’s Hold, and more than a few other places in Skyrim.
Nords admired competency, after all, and everyone admired a beautiful body.
But only Ria had ever been fortunate enough to receive anything remotely resembling romantic attentions, in spite of the generally libidinous and free-living natures of the Companions as a whole. No matter how passionate the party, how intoxicated she became, and how heated her blood, she had never slept with anyone else, no matter who they were. And even Ria’s attentions were only welcomed occasionally and through an emotional barrier. They were lovers, but there wasn’t love between them, only friendly affection and respect and mutual release.
It was a dynamic that the younger woman had accepted with grace, if not without the occasional flicker of longing in her dark eyes, and one that most of the Companions had long since stopped questioning. Aela was Aela, fierce and untouchable in equal measure, and if the only person who could coax even a sliver of vulnerability from behind those walls was the earnest, devoted Imperial girl who worshipped the ground she walked on, then so be it. None of them were inclined to risk the wrath of either woman on the matter, and as long as Aela wasn’t toying with the trust of a shield-sister, there wasn’t any need to.
“You look intent, sister. And annoyed.” Farkas grunted as he sat down heavily in his preffered place, closest to the ever-stoked firepit in the center of the longhouse’s main floor, ignoring with the east of long practice the wet, pleased sounds coming from beneath the table.
“That’s because I am.” she growled back in response, briefly toying with the malachite pendant around her neck, light glinting and dancing off of it’s green, glass-like surface. Waving her other hand in a broad gesture meant to encompass all of her resources and the resulting notes, she continued. “There is much less information about dragons and fighting them than I would have hoped, and what we do have is fragmentary. Oh, some of it is plenty useful, and confirms much of what Constantine claimed, but it’s still far from detailed or conclusive. We’ve lost so much.”
Farkas grunted again, scratching at his jaw with blunt, scarred fingers, the gesture carrying none of the intellectual weight of his twin's habitual chin-stroking but serving much the same purpose. "What about the Eddas? Kodlak said there were passages in the oldest ones, the ones we keep locked in the Underforge."
"Read them twice over, sometime before dawn. They speak of the thu'um, of course, and of the ancient Tongues who led the rebellions against the dragons, but the practical applications?" She made a sound of frustration deep in her throat, one that briefly caused a pause in Ria's ministrations before the younger woman redoubled her efforts, evidently interpreting the sound as a challenge. Aela's breath hitched, her fingers curling around the edge of the table for a heartbeat before she mastered herself and continued as if nothing had happened. "The Eddas speak of heroes who could shout dragons from the sky, of voices that could shatter stone and still storms, break and reshape the world itself. Magnificent imagery, inspiring and thrilling for a bard to share with a crowd, but not a single practical word about how a mortal with a sword or a bow is supposed to bring one of the damned things down when they lack the Voice. It's all 'and lo, the Tongue spoke with the fury of Kyne' and not a lick of 'aim for the membrane between the third and fourth wing-joint.'"
"That bad, is it?" Farkas asked, genuine sympathy in his tone, because for all that many —himself included, more often than not— dismissed him as simple, a blunt instrument, he understood the frustration of being unable to find a solution to a problem. He simply expressed that frustration differently, usually by hitting something until it broke or the answer presented itself, whichever came first.
“Yes. And there are obvious gaps, gaps that look to be deliberate to me. Someone took information from the records of the Companions at some point, but I couldn’t begin to tell you when, or who.” she added, one hand dropping to the top of the head between her legs and tugging on rich raven locks in a bout of frustration, earning a yip and a sigh from Ria as a result, the submissive Companion mumbling something that sounded like a thank-you into Aela’s cunt.
"Deliberate gaps?" Farkas repeated slowly, his brow furrowing as he processed the implications of that statement. "You mean someone came into Jorrvaskr — into the Underforge — and stole from us? Several times?"
"Yes. Or it was one of us, and that person removed them from within." Aela's voice was low and dangerous, the kind of quiet that would have someone’s hair standing on end and remind them that the book-loving historian who spoke was also one of the deadliest women in Skyrim. "It wouldn't be the first time a Harbinger or senior member of The Circle decided that certain knowledge was too dangerous to leave lying about, even in a locked vault. The Blades did the same thing with their own archives before the Thalmor butchered them, and we know that at least two Harbingers in the last Era had ties there. And since the Blades were once the Dragon Guard…"
“Do you think Constantine might be a Blade?” Farkas’ question was a complete non-sequitor, coming entirely out of the blue, and she inhaled to scoff sharply, only for the sound to die strangled low in her throat as her eyes widened. He was a vampire, one that had to be at reasonably old judging by his control over his thirst, he had fought for the Empire, he was from Cyrodiil, he was fiendishly well-informed about ancient prophecies and dragons, and had an Akaviri ink scroll depicting a carved prophecy from within a Dragon Guard fortress-monastery.
"Fuck," she breathed, the word carrying the weight of genuine revelation, and Farkas actually looked pleased with himself for having prompted it, deservedly so. Beneath the table, Ria paused at the change in her senior's tone, sensing something far more significant than frustration, but an absent flex of one of Aela’s legs on her back had her back on task almost immediately. "Fuck, Farkas. That's... that's genius!"
"Don't sound so surprised," he rumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward and his eyes brightened with pleasure at the compliment and the acknowledgement. "It’s been known to happen, once every blue moon.
She barely heard him, her mind racing down pathways of possibility that she hadn’t considered, hadn’t even thought of, before. The Blades had been all but annihilated by the Thalmor during the Great War and the years that followed, hunted to near-extinction across the breadth of Tamriel. But 'near-extinction' was not actual extinction, and if anyone had the resources, the training, and the sheer bloody-minded stubbornness to survive such a relentless purge as the one the Blades had faced, it would be an organization that had spent centuries guarding Emperors and descended from one that hunted dragons. An organization whose very founding purpose had been the study and destruction of dragonkind.
If Constantine was a Blade —or had been trained by one, or had access to their surviving archives— it would explain everything. The depth of his knowledge, the casual familiarity with Akaviri artifacts and ancient knowledge, the way that he was clearly no mere veteran legionnaire, and it would most certainly explain why he had taken his ‘distant cousins’ -and how many generations separated them, she wondered?- and moved to a tiny, obscure village in the quietest Hold in the most remote Province of the Empire. A province full of mountains and valleys and caves, where a deadly and resourceful man with senses and abilities beyond the mortal norm could easily hide himself and his family while just as easily hunting and slaughtering anyone that tried to hunt them.
That also meant she had to be careful about whom she let this theory be heard by. The Thalmor had little presence in Whiterun, otherwise Heimskr would have been disappeared a long time ago, but she didn’t doubt that the slimmest rumor of a surviving Blade -never mind one with access to their lost archives- would bring them down on the city and Hold in a heartbeat.
“Keep this to yourself, Farkas. And I meant just you. Not even the rest of The Circle. I’ll tell Kodlak myself.” she ordered firmly, tugging gently on Ria’s hair to make sure she had the girl’s attention. “That goes for you as well, Ria. You don’t breath a word of this to anyone, me included, unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
"Yes, Aela!" Ria murmured dutifully against her, the words vibrating against sensitive flesh and drawing a sharp inhale from the Huntress before the younger woman pulled back just enough to look up with dark, serious eyes that held none of their usual dreamy adoration. When it mattered, when Aela spoke with that particular edge, Ria was as sharp and obedient as any soldier in the Legion. It was one of the reasons Aela tolerated her proximity, and one of the reasons she had earned the right to be where she was in the first place. "Not a word. I swear it on my shield-oath."
"Good girl." Aela breathed, the praise carrying a double meaning that made Ria flush with pleasure, though another tug had her backing away reluctantly from her task. Tugged halfway to her feet, breasts pressed against Aela’s stomach, she was rewarded for her efforts, and her promise, with a kiss. When it broke, Aela patted her cheek. “Go ahead and get ready for the rest of the day. Thanks to Farkas’ moment of brilliance, I have a lot of work to do, and less time to do it in than I expected.”
Ria nodded, licking her lips with the unconscious satisfaction of a woman well-practiced in her devotions, and slipped out from beneath the table with the fluid grace that all of Aela’s training had drilled into her. She straightened her tunic, smoothed her hair, and departed toward the living quarters with only one backward glance. The sort of glance that held warmth and longing and the quiet acceptance of a woman who knew exactly where she stood and had made her peace with it long ago.
Farkas watched her go, then turned back to Aela with a look that, on a less rugged face, might have been called tender. "You could do worse than that one, you know."
"I known." Aela agreed softly, her tone carrying neither dismissal nor anger, nor an invitation for further commentary on the subject. She was already pulling a fresh sheet of parchment toward her, her quill starting to dart back and forth across it’s surface. "But 'could do worse' isn't enough. Not for her, and not for me. So we have what we have, and we’re happy enough with that."
Accepting the subject-ending statement with with a grunt and a nod, Farkas left her to her efforts and turned his own to breakfast. He knew his limits when it came to the sort of work that Aela was doing right now, and he was damn sure that the contribution he had already made -which had been less a moment of inspired genius and more blurting out the first thought that came to mind- was the limit of what he could offer, at least for the time being.
And he was fine with that. He was a fighter, a battle-brother. He didn’t have the education, or the interest, that his shield-sister did in this sort of thing, but he did know that throwing out baseless, random comments for the sake of ‘helping’ was more likely to simply distract her and do more harm then good.
So, with that thoroughly in mind, he let the silence fall. Thick, but not heavy or stifling, but comfortable and calm. His shield-sister would tell him, tell all of them, what needed to be done. They’d settle this dragon problem, as the Companions had settled thousands of other problems across the Eras since they were founded. Those that lived would live in glory and honor, and those that died would have their names live on greater still.
This was the Way of the Companions of Ysgramor, the Sons and Daughters of Jorrvaskr.
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“…what I’ve been able to discern, Bleak Falls Barrow contains something called ‘The Dragonstone’. It appears to be a map, carved into a stone slab, of where the Dragon Cult buried their fallen gods towards the end of the Dragon War. If we can retrieve it, we will know what settlements are closest.” Farengar finished, gesturing to some half-legible notes around him. “According to some lore that was provided to me by Aela,” he nodded towards her, and I resisted the urge to let my eyes linger on her beautiful form, clad in tight and revealing leather armor as it was. “The Dragon Cult believes that Alduin will be able to summon the souls of slain dragons back from Aetherius and resurrect them.”
“Some records from the war specifically referenced him resurrecting dragons killed by the heroes of old, but he had to be near their corpses to do it. Or, at least, no dragon was ever witnessed returning to life without him being present. If that’s the case, then with this map, we’ll know exactly where he might go to bring back his fallen followers. And we’ll know what settlements are the most at risk because of it.” Aela, who looked very much like an auburn-haired Lara Croft, which made me very happy, added in agreement. She looked around the table. “I think the next thing that should be done is obvious.”
“Aye, we’ll send a detachment of soldiers into the crypt to retrieve it. With luck and good horses…” Balgruuf started, only to fall silent as I cleared my throat politely.
“I wouldn’t recommend it, my Jarl.” I said, and every eye turned towards me, the expressions of curiosity varying in their politeness and pleasure. Spreading my hands, I continued. “I apologize for the interruption, but I fear for the lives of your troops if you do. If our studious friends are right,” I nodded at each of them in turn. “Which I imagine they are, then the danger of the barrow’s guardians cannot be overstated. Draugr are dangerous enough as it is, but if this is truly a map to where the Cult’s gods were buried, it’s going to have a guardian. A high-ranking and powerful one. A Death Lord, perhaps even a lesser Dragon Priest.”
The silence that followed my words was painfully thick, heavy. Several of those present exchanged uneasy glances, while Vignar Grey-Mane's already-permanent scowl deepened further, his weathered fingers tightening around the tankard before him. Farengar, to his credit, didn't look surprised so much as grimly vindicated, as if he'd suspected as much but hadn't wanted to be the one to voice it. Not surprising, if he -like canon- was working with Delphine, even peripherally.
"A Dragon Priest." Balgruuf repeated, his tone flat and even, but most certainly not calm. "You're certain?"
"Not certain, no, but confident enough that I wouldn't wager lives on my being wrong. I suppose it’s possible that the Cult was so weakened by the time the Dragonstone was made that their highest ranking, deadliest members were already all gone, but I certainly wouldn’t count on it.” Not least because I knew at least one of the highest-ranking priests, the ones with the custom masks, had lasted well into the First Era, at Forelhost. “Simply put, I’m volunteering to go in myself, and I’m asking for only the most elite of fighters -preferably ones capable of fighting and killing powerful mages- to accompany me.”
"You're volunteering to walk into an ancient Nordic crypt that you yourself just described as potentially containing the undead, including -potentially- a member of the most powerful group of mages in recorded history." Balgruuf said, and though his voice was still even, there was no missing the way his eyebrows had climbed toward his hairline. "With a small party, no less, rather than a small army."
"A large party would be worse, my Jarl. Barrows like Bleak Falls were built to be fortress-temples for the Cult. They’re cramped, narrow, and full of traps and chokepoints. A column of soldiers would just get in each other’s way, risk setting of those traps, and provide more targets for whatever guardian waits at the end. What's needed here isn't numbers, it's quality." I explained reasonably, and it was true to boot. The larger the number of people we had, the more likely that someone would stumble onto or into something that would get people killed. I, and whoever came with me, would need space to maneuver, to evade and attack from differing angles, especially when we reached the Dragonstone’s guardian, whatever it ended up being.
“Maybe so, but sending to few risks failure just as much as too many…” the jarl started to protest, only to be cut off by an unexpected ally. Or, perhaps, in hindsight it wasn’t so unexpected.
“He has a point, Balgruuf.” Rikke said quietly from her place at the table, leaning forward and resting her chin on her joined fingers, elbows resting on the carved wood. Attention turned to her, and she shrugged with a wry, bitter smile tainted by memories. “You and I both know full-well what happens when you try to push too many men into to small a place. How many brothers and sisters did we lose during the war when command pushed us to send a full century into a space meant for a contebernium?”
Balgruuf's jaw tightened at that, a shadow passing behind his eyes that spoke of memories neither pleasant nor forgotten. She'd struck a nerve, deliberately and precisely, the way only someone who had shared those same blood-soaked years and watched the same friends and comrades die choking on their own blood could manage. For a long moment, the Jarl of Whiterun said nothing, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the arm of his chair.
"Aye…" he finally conceded, the single syllable carrying the weight of a dozen campaigns and a hundred funerals. "Aye, you're right. Damn you, Kassandra, but you're right." He turned back to me, his gaze sharp and assessing, the look of a man who was weighing the value of a tool against the cost of losing it. And the cost of not using it when it was the best one available. "Very well, Master Valerius. You'll lead the mission. But you'll not go alone, and you'll not choose your own companions entirely. I'll not have it said that I sent a guest to his death without proper support, nor that I allowed a man of your... evident talents to wander my Hold's most dangerous places without someone I trust at his side." He held up a hand to forestall the protest he clearly expected, though in truth I hadn't been about to make one. "Lydia will accompany you."
The silence that followed was of an entirely different character than the one before. I felt rather than saw Lydia straighten in her seat, her composure holding admirably even as her ice-blue eyes flickered with something that might have been surprise, might have been anticipation, and was almost certainly both. Several other people around the table looked distinctly less than pleased, not least Skjor -who’d been eyeing me with curiosity and distrust since we’d met, though interestingly Aela no longer was- and I couldn’t help but let out a sharp breath.
“My Jarl, and I mean this as no insult to the Lady Lydia, I won’t be able to guarantee her safety.” I hedged, and he waved a hand to cut me off even as the eyes of the lady in question narrowed slightly, dangerously.
“My niece can certainly take care of herself, and in addition to being an expert swordswoman, she is the most powerful mage living in Whiterun Hold.” he informed me firmly, Farengar grimacing but nodding in agreement in spite of the blow to his pride that the statement had to be. Though, if it was true, I doubted he wasn’t used to having that fact be known and recognized. “If the enemies inside that tomb are as dangerous as you believe, her presence will save many lives. Your own likely to be among them.”
“Aela will be accompanying you as well. You need mage-hunters, and she is the best amongst us. Find her arrows an opening to strike, and she’ll see it done.” Kodlak added before I could think of a response for Balgruuf. Then he smiled, patting her shoulder. “Besides, she is a scholar as much as she is a shield-maiden. I could not deprive her of this chance to explore the very places she has so long read of.”
“Three isn’t sufficient, ten is to many. Six would be best, I think.” Rikke mused, drumming her fingers lightly on the table as her brow furrowed in thought. “I would join this mission myself, if you were willing, Constantine.”
At the surprised looks she received, she actually rolled her eyes and waved one hand through the air. “Elisif is safe enough here in Dragonsreach with my evocati guarding her, and I don’t believe any of my troops within reach are sufficient for the task.”
“I’m grateful, honored, for the offer, Legate,” I started, feeling a twist in my stomach at the way she started to smile at me in pleasure at the thought of what she considered to be my imminent acceptance. “But I cannot accept, for much the same reasons as I tried to demure the Lady Lydia. You’re too valuable, your experience too priceless, to lose delving into an old tomb for a stone map that may not even be there. The Ninth would be thrown into disarray without you, and if the dragons are returning it could prove fatal to them, to us all, if that were to happen.”
Rikke's smile faltered, her honey-colored eyes hardening with the particular brand of displeasure that came from having one's own logic turned back upon oneself, and the knowledge that one’s responsibilities came far, far before one’s desire to be involved as much as one might wish. For a heartbeat, I thought she might argue as her shoulders drew back and squared, her jaw tightening. Then, slowly, deliberately and with no small amount of frustration, she exhaled through her nose and settled back in her chair.
"You're not wrong." she conceded, each word sounding as though it was being extracted from her on pain of a long and torturous death. "Damn you, but you're not wrong."
"That seems to be a recurring theme today, doesn’t it?" Balgruuf observed dryly, and the tension in the room eased fractionally as a ripple of rueful chuckles made its way around the table. Even Rikke's lips twitched, though the look she shot me promised that this particular conversation wasn't finished, merely postponed to a more private venue. I could live with that. In fact, I was rather looking forward to it, given what our previous 'private conversation' had led to.
"Three, then, so far. We need three more, a mix of front- and mid-line would probably be best." I said, hoping that no one else volunteered that I would have to deny for one reason or another. "And maybe a support team that can stand by outside the crypt, or even follow us into the areas as we clear them, in case we need healing?”
“I will also go.” Skjor grunted, folding his arms across his chest and almost-glowering at me. He gave no further explanation or commentary than that, simply voiced his decree and fell silent once more to wait, and I sighed in the back of my mind, wondering what it was that the Companions seemed to take issue with me about.
With any luck, they’d decide to put that famous Nordic bluntness to use and just tell me. Sooner rather than later, hopefully, because rifts and tension inside of a combat group was a terrible idea, unless you wanted to get people killed. Which, to be clear, I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even want too many dragons to die. I’d rather use them on the damn Thalmor.
“Ralof and I will come. We’re good fighters, and we grew up playing in those foothills.” Hadvar spoke up, clapping his childhood friend on the shoulder. “I’m fit to fight, thanks to Gerdur and Priestess Purespring, and having a representative of each of the…beliefs,” he visibly picked the word with great care. “here in Skyrim witness as much of this new threat as possible might not be a bad idea either.”
“Good points.” I nodded in approval, not having quite considered those potential angles, having been focused more on pure combat potency instead. And yes, I didn’t really need someone ‘familiar with the area’ since the path to Bleak Falls was both easy to follow and recently cleared by me and the legionnaires that accompanied my efforts against the bandits that had been working with Arvel. “Alright, that brings us up to six. We should leave as soon as possible, every minute we spend not knowing where the damn things are buried is another moment we risk on of them getting woken up and flattening another settlement.”
"Agreed. You'll have whatever provisions and equipment you need from the armory. Proventus will see to it." Balgruuf declared, rising from his seat with the decisive energy of a man who had made his peace with a difficult course of action and was now determined to see it through. "I want you on the road by midday. The sooner that stone is in Farengar's hands, the sooner we can start making plans that aren't built on guesswork and prayer. I’ll send for Danica, see what of her healers are best to accompany you as backline support."
The meeting dissolved into the organized chaos of preparation, people rising from their seats and breaking into smaller clusters of conversation, logistics, and quiet argument. I caught Rikke's eye as she stood, and the look she gave me was complex, made up of frustration and grudging respect, with a thin undercurrent of an unnamed warmth and an iron heat that promised I would be experiencing a very interesting conversation when I got back. Frankly, I was somewhat looking forward to it.
Lydia materialized at my elbow as I turned from the table, her expression composed but her eyes bright with something that looked remarkably like anticipation. Though that anticipation didn’t stop her from giving me a long, cool stare.
"You seemed reluctant to have me along, Constantine." she observed, falling into step beside me as I made my way toward the armory. Her tone was neutral, just as even as her uncle’s had been earlier, but I caught the faintest edge beneath it. Not anger, precisely, but something that was certainly adjacent to it. The quiet challenge of a woman accustomed to proving herself and tired of having people doubt her.
“Not because I doubt your abilities. Even if it wasn’t obvious from the way you move that you’re not a pampered palace princess, your uncle wouldn’t throw you into a danger like this if he didn’t know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you could handle it.” I hastened to reassure her, genuinely at that, which seemed to please her, even as she arched a querying eyebrow as she waited for the explanation. “Simply put, your loss on a mission such as this would be devastating. With your uncle busy ruling, I’d guess your father typically takes the lead of the city guards, and you are in charge of the wider-roaming tasks. If you were gone, there would be a sizeable gap in Whiterun’s armor, a degradation of it’s ability to fight. It’s one thing to risk someone like you in a battle where the risks and the environment are known, it’s entirely another to risk it on the suppositions of a virtual stranger.”
Lydia was quiet for several strides, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor of Dragonsreach's corridors as we walked, and when she finally spoke, her voice had lost that edge entirely, replaced by something warmer and more thoughtful.
"That is... not the objection I expected." she admitted, glancing sidelong at me with those extraordinary ice-blue eyes, a strand of platinum-blond hair that had escaped her braids catching the torchlight. God, she was beautiful, very beautiful, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes trace her face. "Most men who would protest my involvement do so because they think me fragile, or because they wish to impress me by portraying themselves as my powerful, stalwart protector. You're the first to frame it as a strategic concern for the Hold's defense structure."
“Most men, I assure you, are either idiots or are of the entirely practical opinion that your uncle and father would do very, very unpleasant things to anyone that came back alive with your body.” I returned dryly, before shrugging. “And, in all honesty, the idea of being your ‘stalwart protector’ is appealing to me as well. It’s a rather natural thing, really. The difference is, I find the idea of fighting side by side with you at least as attractive. Quite possibly more. There are few things more attractive to me than a competent, dangerous woman.”
The words left my mouth before I could fully consider them, and for a heartbeat I wondered if I'd overstepped. But the faint bloom of color that crept along Lydia's cheekbones, barely visible in the corridor's amber light, told me that the honesty had landed precisely where I'd intended it to. Not as flattery, not as posturing, but as a simple statement of fact from a man who meant exactly what he said. The fact that she was flattered, however, was a pleasant thing to see.
”You are remarkably forthright, Constantine." she said after a moment of composing herself, her even tone having developed something distinctly less even, though I doubted most people would have noticed it. "I'm not entirely sure whether to be flattered or concerned."
"Why not both? I've been told I inspire that particular combination with alarming frequency." I quipped, figuring that I might as well be in for a penny as for a pound.
Her lips twitched, and she looked away, but not before I caught the ghost of a genuine smile, one that sent a thrill through me. I had to admit, I was looking forward to spending the next several days in the company of Lydia and Aela, even if the presence of Skjor, Hadvar, and Ralof would likely put a damper on things. Of course, this was a serious and vital mission, not a date by any stretch of the imagination, but there was no reason that I couldn’t be friendly and charming when the opportunity presented itself, right? It was practically my obligation to get to know the two of them, since they -provided things played out remotely like the game- would both be companions of mine in the future, and that situation could hardly work out well if we were strangers!
Besides, everyone knew that a traveling montage was better, and faster, when one spent it flirting with beautiful women.