#windsofchangeficvilkas

Says the guy with the Stormcloak propaganda and the requirement to join them sitting on shelf in his room. On this same shelf is a detailed text about how best to please the divines.

Vilkas: "You'll hear some of the brighter faces around here talk about honor and glory. I've got nothing against it, but for me, the promise of coin is what feeds my blade."

Ask him again later and he's all "there's always been a kind of honor to it" and " try to show some respect" because the Companions are his whole life.

Vilkas: "We were brought here by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back."

For Farkas, we see this odd situation in how his image is so solidified and doesn't always match up with the truth of his personality and talents. I think Farkas just accepts this fact and lives into it. He's strong, nice, and not so smart himbo in everyone's eyes and he's not going to be able to change it, so he gets it to work for him as much as he can. We know it does get to him when he says that the people who don't think he's smart get his fist. That could be why he goes out of his way to support the Dragonborn when we arrive and everyone is saying we're kinda useless-looking. He may also see this as an opportunity to make a friend who will judge him for how he is now, and not as he was growing up.

The other aspect is how one has to piece together the exciting stuff that happens when you're not there. It has occured to me that I will have to write the attack of the Silver Hand on Jorrvaskr. I imagine this facit is even more of a challenge for authors centering on College of Winterhold and Dark Brotherhood NPCs. You have to look at the evidence like a detective and come up with a plausible explanation of how it all ended up like that.

CHAPTER 6 IS UP!

Torsa sighed and rolled his eyes. “I suppose he would have found us sooner or later.”

This must be Ancano, the suspected Thalmor spy Faralda warned them about. Torsa was already striding toward him, so Vilkas followed. Somehow, he didn’t expect the elf to be actually wearing Thalmor justiciar robes. Knowing, now, the depth of Torsa’s hatred for the Thalmor, there was no telling what he might do. Vilkas darted in front of Torsa, stopping him from getting too close. Thankfully, Torsa didn’t try to push past.

“You there,” the Thalmor so very impolitely addressed the Harbinger of the Companions, “I have questions for you. You were in Saarthal, yes? It has come to my attention that something was found there.”

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder only to see Torsa putting on his best wide-eyed, innocent face.

“Maybe…” he answered, vacantly.

Ancano, not fooled for a second, sneered back, “I know full well that you have. Please do not insult my intelligence. Tolfdir is still there now, is he? I shall expect a full report when he returns.”

Tolfdir must have headed back to Saarthal shortly after they’d left the Hall of Attainment, probably to avoid this guy. Vilkas was already regretting his attempt to be the adult in this situation. He’d had little personal experience with the Thalmor, yet he felt this one was in desperate need of a fist to the face.

Dropping his act, Torsa replied loftily, “Why does this matter to you?”

Ancano looked like he was about to take a step forward, but something in Vilkas’ scowl or Torsa’s smirk, maybe a combination thereof, made him reconsider. “Something was discovered in Saarthal that was significant enough that Tolfdir sent a new member of the College, alone, to deliver word. That sounds precisely like the sort of thing that should matter to everyone. Especially me. Thank you for your help. You may go now.”

“How magnanimous of you,” said Torsa in mock deference.

He nudged Vilkas’ arm as he passed him, not even sparing the Thalmor a look. Vilkas, on the other hand, couldn’t help but glare up at the Altmer as they made their way out of the Arcanaeum. Ancano merely peered down his wrinkled nose at him. Normally, he could get at least a flinch with that glare. Only when the cold winds of the courtyard hit their faces did they dare break the surface tension of the atmosphere.

“This isn’t good,” Vilkas stated, “What do we do, now?”

“Shor’s bones! That’s a lot of books!”

Torsa chuckled, “Wait ‘til we’re out of the entryway.”

What did Torsa mean by entryway? They stepped out of the stairwell into what was, indeed, merely the entryway. Beyond it was a dodecagonal room in a similar architectural style to the Arch-mage’s quarters. The construction, itself would have been enough to get Vilkas’ blood pumping, but the books… They lined every side of the polygon, sat in every alcove, on every table. Some were even piled on the floor. The place was veritably covered in more books than Vilkas had ever seen.

“Where would you even start?” spoke his reverent breath.