Loved You All Along
Yeah, so its been about 3 years since I wrote anything. I don’t even know if any of you who were interested in my fanfic are even still here. But y’all know how inspiration works, sometimes its there, and sometimes its left the building. I’ve been doing other creative things in the meantime, like art, but it’s been a minute since I had the urge to write.
Until this week.
I discovered the song “Inkpot Gods” by The Amazing Devil, and this fic just started to write itself.
This is sort of an epilogue to “A Thief in Wolf’s Clothing”. I’m not sure how “canon” it is to my own Skyrim fanfic universe, but I don’t really care. It just exists! Enjoy it or don’t!
Read it here on Ao3
Farkas pushed open the doors to Jorrvaskr. The familiar scents of smoke and mead and sweat greeted him as he entered the dimly lit hall. It was late, and only a few members of the Companions were still up. Many were out on jobs. Vilkas was away taking care of some problem in Eastmarch. Aela had left that afternoon for The Rift.
Farkas looked around at the occupants of the hall as he sat and picked up a full tankard. So many of them new and unfamiliar. Once word had spread that the Dragonborn was a Companion, they had a wave of young hopefuls at their doorstep. Most could barely hold a sword, let alone use one. Just like Kjolti.
But unlike Kjolti, the majority of the would-be whelps had no fire in them. You beat them down once, they didn’t keep fighting. They shook their head, muttered some excuse, and left.
A few didn’t, though. Some were worthy, and those joined their ranks. Farkas knew that each and every one of them had earned the title Companion. But he still felt distant from them. He didn’t know them. Everything was different now. Skjor still guided the Companions with his firm hand and solid wisdom, but much of the leadership fell to Vilkas, Aela, and himself. He didn’t have as much time to get to know the new bloods. And he was okay with that. They listened when he spoke, they cast awestruck glances at him when he walked past. Once they learned that he trained the Dragonborn, he was different to them.
That was fine too. Farkas had always been different. He knew it. Never bothered him much. As long as Vilkas and Aela were there with a friendly face and a mug of mead, there wasn’t much that could shake Farkas. Except for when Kjolti left.
It took him months to shake that gloom. It was strange, the sadness that took over him. It wasn’t sharp or quick, like when Kodlak died. That sadness was like the slice of a blade. When Kjolti left Jorrvaskr, it was quiet and smothering, the pain. It was like climbing too high up a mountainside and fighting the trolls there; there was not enough air to fill his lungs. It was like the days after being hit too hard in the head; nothing seemed to focus, and time passed in funny ways. It was like when he had come down with Bone Break Fever; and all he wanted to do was sleep, and no matter how much he slept he was still tired.
Those things faded with time. He still missed her, they all did. But slowly, eventually, breathing was easier, and the days were less fuzzy, and he found energy to do what needed to be done.
Farkas set down the now empty tankard. He was tired, and was ready for sleep. He had cleansed himself of his beast blood months ago, and he never looked back from that choice. Being free of the wolf was like waking up from a daze he didn’t know he was in. He and Vilkas had gone together. They made the choice together that the wolf blood was not how they wanted to live, and eventually die. Aela had kept hers, and that was fine for everyone. That was what the Companions were about. Everyone gets to make the right choice for themselves.
He lifted his bulk off the bench. A few people gave him nods of acknowledgement as he dismissed himself to the sleeping quarters below. He descended the steps, his footfalls heavy with his exhaustion.
He walked past the room that had once been Kjolti’s. Watching someone else take Kjolti’s room had been one of the hardest steps. He held no grudge with the new Companion that filled it; Hromir was a fine fighter. But seeing someone else there had been hard.
Farkas rounded the corner to the hall that held his room. He wearily pushed open the doors to his room. He turned to light the lantern on the table, shutting the doors behind him as he did. Once he turned around again, his heart jumped and he reached for his weapon.
There was a figure sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. It wore black, serious looking armor. They wore no helm, and as the face turned toward him, Farkas’s heart stopped.
Two beautiful silver moons gazed up at him.
“Hey, Farkas,” Kjolti said quietly.
Farkas fell to his knees and swept her up in an embrace. Their metal armor clinked and scraped, and Kjolti made a soft surprised sound as he wrapped himself around her, but she fell into the hug, resting her head on his shoulder.
They sat like that for a long moment, tangled together on the floor, probably looking for all the world like a pile of scrap metal. Farkas gripped her like she would slip out of his arms if he didn’t hold tight enough; he knew she could. He pressed his head against hers, dug his fingers into her hair. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.
For several moments they remained like this, before eventually pulling away to look at one another. There was trepidation and uncertainty in Kjolti’s eyes, but also softness, and her slight smile was friendly. Farkas’s eyes held concern and wonder.
He cupped her face with his hands. “You’re still alive,” he whispered. “You’re here.”
She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek. “I’m alive, and I’m here.” She grinned as she ran her fingers over the coarse hair on his cheek. “You have a beard now.”
Farkas grinned boyishly. “Yeah,” he said. They both chuckled softly before their faces grew more serious again. “I’m not a werewolf anymore.”
Kjolti cocked her head. “Truly? I’m…surprised. Impressed.”
Farkas nodded. “Me and Vilkas, we both did it. Decided we didn’t want it anymore. But Aela still is. She likes it that way.”
Kjolti still stroked his cheek. “How do you feel? Any regrets?”
“No. It is better this way. I prefer my head clear and my instincts my own. The Inner Circle does not require the wolf blood any longer. Some still choose it, and Aela has been a forebear for two more members since you left, but it is their choice.”
Kjolti smiled and leaned into his touch. “Well, I’m proud of you. It is a hard thing, I know, and you were with your wolf spirit much longer than I was.”
Farkas felt himself grow warm and tingly. His heart rate had not slowed down since discovering Kjolti in his room. “You’re here,” he breathed again, his eyes shining in the dim light.
This time Kjolti’s face faltered slightly. “I’m here. For now.”
Farkas’s face fell. “When are you leaving? Why are you here?”
Kjolti looked down. “Just for tonight. I have to go in the morning.”
“Where are you going?”
Kjolti’s face broke and trembled. “I—I,” She began to tear.
Farkas pulled her in again. “Shh. Shh, it’s okay.”
Kjolti fell upon him, this time holding him tighter than before.
Farkas stroked her hair. “Let us be more comfortable. May I help you with your armor?”
Kjolti pulled away and looked like she was about to refuse, but then quietly said, “Okay.”
Farkas helped her to her feet and began to unclasp her armor. “By the Gods,” he whispered. “Where did you get this armor?” It was black as night, and sinister in its design. “Is this ebony?” It didn’t look like ebony.
Kjolti shook her head. “No, its—actually, the less you know about this armor, the better, probably.”
“I will take your word for it.” Piece by piece, Farkas removed the heavy plate from Kjolti’s body and gently set it aside, admiring it all the while.
Kjolti removed the rest herself. She was wearing thin deerskin leggings and a long sleeve cotton shirt beneath, the front laces open and loose. She turned to him. “May I?”
Farkas was certain his face was red. To have Kjolti in his rooms, having helped her out of her armor, and her offering to help him out of his, was a lot for him to take in. But he didn’t care if the emotion showed on his face. She was there with him, and that’s all he cared about. He nodded.
Kjolti began to deftly undo the fastenings on the wolf armor Farkas wore. He knew she was familiar with it, knew its workings. He knew she would care for the armor properly.
Soon, Farkas stood in his quilted breeches and plan homespun tunic. Kjolti stood behind him, having undone and set aside the last pieces of his armor. She reached up and traced the line of a scar on the back of his neck. He shivered at her touch. “Is this new?” She asked.
Farkas nodded, turned to her. “Sabre cat,” he confirmed. He noticed the skin on her forearm was pink and shiny and puckered. He gently took her arm and inspected it. She flinched slightly. “What happened?”
“Nothing. It’s just a burn.”
“Let me see.” Kjolti looked at him, unsure for a moment, then pulled her shirt off. She had a form fitting leather vest protecting her modesty, that ended just below her bust. Farkas was sure his ears were bright red. He didn’t care.
The burn went up her arm to her shoulder, and covered much of her side as well.
“How did this happen? How did you get burned like this?”
“How do you think?” She looked at him sharply.
It’s from a dragon, he realized. “Oh.” He pulled his own shirt off. “This is new too,” he said, pointing at a long series of scars stretching across his bicep. “This is from a troll.”
Kjolti’s brow furrowed as she inspected it. “How did it get through your armor?”
“I wasn’t wearing any. It attacked while I was sleeping.”
Kjolti nodded with understanding. The light caught a mark on her midsection. Farkas reached out and gently stroked it, his hand trembling. “What is this from?” The top of the scar was just under the leather vest covering Kjolti’s chest, and stretched diagonally across her body to her hip.
Kjolti turned away. “That’s very old.”
“When did it happen? What is this from?”
“Before I became a Companion.” Farkas was once again reminded that Kjolti had been a thief before joining the Companions, back when she was called Aerisif. It was hard to picture her as anything other than the fierce fighter who came into her own in Jorrvaskr.
“What happened?” Farkas sounded grave.
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
Farkas caught her face and turned it to his. His eyes were full of worry.
Kjolti tried to smile, to play it off and break the tension. “Someone tried to kill me a long time ago. They almost did, but someone else saved my life, with a poisoned arrow, of all things. Not the only time I’ve nearly died.” She began to get shifty.
Farkas clasped her hands and pulled her to sit next to him on his bed. “Why did you come?”
Kjolti wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I wanted to—I wanted to see you again. Before I go.”
“Where are you going? I will come with you.”
“You can’t come with me, Farkas.”
“I would follow you to the ends of the world, Kjolti. There is nowhere I wouldn’t follow you.”
She looked at him now, tears pooling in her eyes. “You can’t come with me, Farkas. Not where I’m going.”
“Kjolti,” Farkas’s voice dripped with worry. “Where are you going?” He gripped her hands tighter.
She sniffed. “To Sovngarde.”
Farkas’s heart sank. “What?” He said, alarmed and panicked. “No, no. You can’t die.”
Kjolti shook her head. “That’s not how I’m getting there. There’s a portal. A secret door, that Alduin has been using. Odahviing is going to fly me there.”
“Who?”
“The dragon we caught up in Dragonsreach.”
Farkas nodded thoughtfully. “I should have known that you would have been involved with that.” He contemplated a moment. “The dragon will just have to fly us both.”
“No, Farkas, you can’t come.”
“A dragon should easily be able to carry both of us.”
“The portal, Farkas. Only the dead or one with a dragon’s spirit can enter. If you tried, you wouldn’t make it. You can’t come.” She was crying now.
Farkas gently wiped away her tears. “But you’ll come back?”
Kjolti’s chest heaved for a moment as she tried to resist her grief, but she was overcome and fell into Farkas once more, sobbing. He held her tenderly as she cried. He had never seen Kjolti this vulnerable before, and she had been going through a lot of grief when she was with the Companions. It frightened him to see her this distraught. Farkas wanted nothing more than to hold her forever, to keep her safe in his arms. He became intensely aware that neither of them were wearing a shirt, and the intimacy of their skin pressed against one another was consuming.
“I don’t know, Farkas.” She whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll make it back.” She sniffed. Then, so so quietly, she breathed: “I’m scared.”
Farkas completely scooped her up. They had never been so physically close, ever. He had held her in his arms before, yes, but usually with armor on, or in different circumstances than this, in his bed, barely dressed. He held her completely in his arms, and she wrapped her arms around him, shaking. Farkas breathed in the scent of her hair, felt her soft skin beneath his calloused hands.
He held her there for a long time, waiting for her breathing to calm and the sobs to subside. He stroked her hair all the while, pressed his head against hers. Farkas drank in the minutes, becoming intoxicated with the intimacy. This was everything he had wanted. To hold Kjolti, to be her comfort when she needed it. His heart soared and fell in equal measures, to have this desire fulfilled but to know it wouldn’t last.
He held her anyway.
Soon Kjolti lifted her head from Farkas’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. He gently wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry to just show up like this and be such a miserable mess. I don’t mean to upend your life. I should go.” She made no motion to leave.
“Don’t go,” Farkas pleaded. “Stay with me. Please. Stay with me tonight.”
Kjolti nodded. “Okay.” She sniffed. “Thank you, Farkas.”
“Why did you come here? To me?”
Kjolti hesitated a moment before meeting his gaze. “Because,” she began. “Because if I don’t make it back, if this is my last night alive—” she took a steadying breath. “I wanted it to be with you. It’s selfish, I know. But I was scared, and nobody else cares that I’m terrified, they all just care about what I have to do, and I understand—that’s all that matters to them, for me to save the world. I know I have to. It might kill me. I’ll do it anyway. But I know that you,” she paused. “You cared about me before you knew I was the Dragonborn. And I knew you would care that I’m scared. And I—I just wanted that comfort before I go. I wanted to be with someone who saw me, not the legend.”
Farkas brushed her hair out of her face, taking in her words. “And you will not let me go with you?”
“I cannot, Farkas. Even if I could, I wouldn’t ask it of you. No.”
He nodded. “Then let me be the comfort you seek.” He cupped her head in her hand and brought her face to his, drawing her in for a kiss.
To his surprise, Kjolti reciprocated the intent. She did not pull away, but rather, pushed in closer. When he broke their kiss for a moment, giving her the chance to stop if she wanted, she simply waited for him to come back, and pulled him to her when he did.
A fire awoke in Farkas. His whole body was awake with sparks. He thought his heart would burst from his chest. Each time their lips met, again and again, his head spun and his heart raced. Kjolti burrowed her hands deep in Farkas’s hair, and pressed her body against his.
They crashed into the soft furs of his bed together, tangled in one another. Hands entwined in each other’s hair, bare skin pressed close, they drank in one another’s breath like it was their last.
Kjolti knew it might be.
***
Farkas softly combed Kjolti’s hair with his fingers. Such a clumsy motion, with sausage-like fingers better suited to swinging steel than brushing hair, but he moved as gently as he could. His thick arms were wrapped around Kjolti, who was likewise wrapped around him, her head nestled against his chest. He watched her eyes grow heavy with sleep. His own eyes struggled to stay open.
“Rest now,” he whispered. “You are safe with me.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
***
Kjolti slept like she hadn’t in years. The deep slumber that took her was warm and soft, and dreamless.
But not very long. She woke a few hours later, knowing she had to be back in Dragonsreach by dawn. And she really didn’t want to deal with the new Companions gaping and clamoring.
Farkas slept soundly next to her. Seeing him in such restful sleep gladdened Kjolti; she knew the restlessness that came with the beast blood, and was relieved that Farkas was free of it. She gently stroked the hair out of his face. In another life, Farkas, we could have been. I would have been happy to be Kjolti of the Companions with you.
Slowly, so carefully, Kjolti untangled herself from Farkas and the furs on his bed. She rose and dressed. She found a scrap of paper on Farkas’s desk, and wrote a few words on it. Looking around, Kjolti spotted what she was looking for. An ornately engraved tankard sat on a shelf. She retrieved it, and found the scrap of paper she had left within last time. It was unfolded, and had clearly been held and touched many times. She smiled sadly.
Kjolti placed the new piece of parchment in the tankard, and left it on his desk. Then she leaned back in to where Farkas was sleeping, and delicately kissed him on the forehead. He stirred slightly, but did not wake.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry.”
She picked up her armor, and silently left.
***
Farkas knew she was gone even before he opened his eyes. He felt it, her absence.
He eventually blinked his eyes open. Farkas knew why she didn’t say goodbye, he understood, but it grieved him anyway. His eyes landed on the tankard that he had stolen all those years ago. It wasn’t where he left it.
Reaching over, he grabbed the mug as his heart pounded with hope.
Inside was a scrap of parchment that read:
If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone, just know I’ve loved you, loved you as I could in my broken way, loved you all along.
----
That‘s all! There’s another version of this that gets *adult* if you know what I mean...should I show you guys?
