tw//violence, verbal abuse, implied depression/social anxiety
"NnnrAAH!" Vilkas cried out a throaty shout as he swung his greatsword. I barely registered the sound as I danced around the silver hand trying to kill me. I dodged the swing on my attacker's longsword and before he could recover, I lodged one of my axes right into his collarbone. He fell fast, blood spilling gratuitously from his neck, and soon he was dead. Still in my adrenaline fused haze I scanned the room, and seeing no other enemies, I turned my sights on the one Vilkas was already fighting. Fortunately, the brute had his back to me—so he didn't see it coming when I swung my axes at his throat and chopped his head clean off. It fell to the ground with a thunk, and the rest of his body followed suit.
That was the last silver hand, I could tell. We'd cleared out the entire fort. Picked every lock, examined every little nook and cranny. There was nowhere else they could be lurking. I smiled at Vilkas, a triumphant smile. He smiled back... or at least, tried to. Something was off.
"Grab the shards, and let's go," he said gruffly. Charming, as always. I did as he asked and wrapped the artifacts in a linen wrap I had prepared. Once he saw I'd slipped it safely in my satchel, he walked away, impatient. I noticed he was clutching his arm for some reason, but given his snippy attitude towards me when I asked questions, I stayed quiet and walked alongside him.
The dank atmosphere of the fort was choking, and a dripping sound seemed to be perpetually following us. Every surface was moist, almost as if the building were sweating. It was an old fort, though, and I wasn't surprised by the sound of the walls and ceiling dripping. This tended to happen in the older stone structures. When Vilkas was irritated or mad, as he clearly was then, these were the things I liked to focus on—the atmosphere, the weather, the architecture. Anything that wasn't him. But as we neared the exit, I couldn't help but notice him. He was gradually slowing down, until he seemed like he was struggling to plod forward. His face was pale, as well, I saw, and his eyes seemed duller. Something was clearly wrong.
"Vilkas?" I asked after a moment, stopping in my tracks. He glanced over his right shoulder at me, seemingly irritated by the fact that I wasn't moving.
"What?" He snapped. My jaw twitched. I hated it when he treated me like that—like an annoyance. All I'd ever done for the companions was fight, and all I'd ever done was win. I never disappointed. Yet Vilkas just seemed to hate me some days. Today was one of those days—it clearly had been since we woke up in the inn we were resting at the night before.
I guessed he had a right. Kodlak was... gone. I'd only known him for two short months, and even I felt the pain grip my heart. Just two days ago we'd spoken—two days. And now we'd never speak again. It felt like more than loss. It felt like a piece of the universe was stolen from me. For someone like Vilkas, who'd been here since he was a child... well. I couldn't imagine what he was feeling.
"You don't look well," I said simply.
"So?" he replied curtly. "We need to get back to Jorrvaskr—" He took another step and stumbled, but quickly righted himself. I shook my head. Something was definitely wrong.
"Just stop a minute, will you?" I asked. He ignored me and tried to keep walking, but I pushed his right shoulder out so that he was looking at me.
"What?!" he snapped again, this time his voice even more vitriolic. I really hated that.
"You're my shield-brother right now, and if something's wrong, I need to know!" I snapped back, my voice equally irritated. His mouth twitched and he said nothing, but he shifted his stance and clutched his left arm tighter. My eyes flitted to it, and it was then that I saw the scarlet rivulets running down his arm. Actually, it was more than rivulets—more like streams, rivers. He was wounded. I was almost ashamed that I hadn't noticed it before. The dripping I had thought was coming from the ceiling was clearly the blood from his arm hitting the ground. I should have known to stop him earlier, just from the way he was walking.
