Blood 's Honour

Newblood

4E
Year 201
Heartfire

If Vilkas had gone with his brother, Aela and the whelp Ria, he would have encountered the stranger and witnessed his prowess and ferocity in battle. But he didn't, and so his meeting would wait.

As it were, he had chosen to stay behind and keep Kodlak company. The old man hadn't gone on a job in over two years, since the Rot had set into his bones and rendered him incapable of wielding a weapon effectively.
The two of them sat in Kodlak's quarters, sharing between them a bottle of Black-Brian Reserve and a plate of creme treats as they reminisced over old times.
And then the conversation turned to the blood.
"Have you made any progress on a cure?" Vilkas asked, leaning towards the Harbinger earnestly. Kodlak shook his head,
"Unfortunately no... There are theories of course, but nothing is proven."
Vilkas sighed, "If we keep looking we're bound to find something."
Kodlak had been searching for a cure for the blood a little longer than he'd been stuck in Jorvaskr, claiming that his heart yearned for the mists of Sovngarde.
Vilkas's own reasons for seeking a cure were a little more straightforward, the beastblood had become a distraction.
Everything that he did was tainted by the wolf that lingered just below the surface, at every moment seeking a reason to break free and take control.
It had been years since he'd lost his rein over the blood, but he could never forget coming to and finding Lŷke's lifeless body on the roadside. They had interred her at the Temple of Arkay in Whiterun, and every now and then Farkas took gifts to her tomb, but Vilkas avoided the Temple entirely, unable to face what he had done.
Any time he even thought of her, he remembered those dead eyes, the way that she seemed to be staring at him in shock, as if asking him why...
"How are you doing with abstinence?"
Vilkas shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts that had begun to settle. He shrugged in response to the man's question, barely registering it at first.
"I have refrained as you asked, but I can still hear the call of the blood." Kodlak had insisted that they refute the blood, so that a cure might come more easily.
It was harder than simply vowing against it, the wolf seemed to understand their goals and so fought more fiercely than ever to overcome him. He dept as solid he were walking on pins, his temper apt to flare up at the smallest annoyance.
"Aye. We all do, it is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."
Vilkas scowled, "You have my brother and I, but I do not think the rest will go along so easily."
Kodlak sighed deeply, "Leave that to me."
A knock sounded on the door just then and both of them looked up quickly.
"Come in." Kodlak called, and the door swung inwards, revealing a wiry young Nord of medium build. He was dressed in an odd array of armoury, plates of worn, rusted steel on his chest, iron gauntlets on his hands and a pair of spiked orcish shoulder plates.
He smelled of sweat and blood, and road dust and his wide, flatly angled face was coated in a layer of sweat and dirt.
It was obvious that he was a traveler, maybe a sellsword or just an adventurer.
But there was something about this young man that made Vilkas uncomfortable, he couldn't have placed it at the time, but he felt... off.
Then again, Vilkas was excessively selective in whelps that he approved of.
"A stranger comes to our halls." Kodlak rumbled. He too looked faintly perturbed at the sight of the man.
"Aye sir." The stranger nodded, a hank of thick auburn hair falling across his face, "I've come seeking to join your ranks... If you'll have me."
Kodlak made a thoughtful noise and gestured for the young man, who looked barely older than twenty, to come forwards.
When he stood only a few feet from the old man Kodlak studied his face, staring unnervingly into the lad's eyes.
"Perhaps... A certain strength of spirit..."
Vilkas forced himself not to rise from his seat, instead exclaiming in disbelief, "Master, you're not truly considering accepting him?"
Kodlak gave him a severe look, out of rheumy eyes, "I am nobody's master Vilkas. And last I checked there were beds in Jorvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."
That was what he always said, and yet, Vilkas couldn't help but think of Aeson and all of the other whelps who had died because of the 'fire in their hearts'.
Vilkas decided to insist on his point, even though it was obvious that Kodlak had already accepted this young man, "Apologies, but perhaps this isn't the time. We haven't even heard of...." he looked at the stranger, raising his brows as the young man answered.
"I'm Fenris." He scratched the back of his head in a worried manner and then seemed to think that it was unseemly to do so. His hand fell back to his side and he began to fiddle with the hilt of his sword, much to Vilkas's amusement.
Kodlak chuckled, "Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."
"And their arm." Vilkas added dryly, staring at the man and hoping to see him flinch. Instead Fenris held his gaze evenly, surprising the Companion.
None of the current whelps had the confidence to do so, and this only set Vilkas further on edge.
Kodlak nodded, conceding Vilkas's point and turning his attention to Fenris,
"Tell me boy, how are you in battle?"
Fenris shrugged sheepishly, "I can hold my own."
"We shall see. This is Vilkas, he will test your arm."
Vilkas stood up in a fluid, graceful movement, standing half a foot taller than the whelp and looking down at him dismissively.
"Follow me to the yard whelp."
Withput waiting for a response, he strode out of the room, leaving Fenris in his wake.