AN: So the main feedback from the last couple of chapters was that they're too short and people prefer to get longer ones. I can sympathise, when a story takes a long time to update its annoying when there's only 2k to actually read. The last chapter, this one and the next one should really all be the same chapter, but unfortunately they're not. I don't like having lots of material sitting on my computer, and while I enjoy writing it is somewhat draining so while I can say I resolve to write larger chapters a I have in the past sometimes I'm just not going to. I will have a look at doing it in the other chapters of this Skyrim arc though.

Some people also commented on Harald's piety and this being unusual which I also agree with, it's pretty important to the story so glad it's coming across.

As always comments welcome. On this chapter it would be good to know if the subtext is coming across and isn't too crude, but also if the characters are reasonably credible. I'm generally pretty confident on individual story points like characterisation and worldbuilding, but I'm more sceptical of my ability to bring it all together.

-x-

The doors of the hall were propped open, wedges on either side of them under steps. Harald didn't know a great deal about the halls of the Nords but he had been under the impression the entrance was on the thinner end, whereas here it seemed that the doors had been set along one of the long sides. He could even see another set of doors on the other side and a large yard beyond.

It was dark inside and the boy's immediate impressions were of darkness and intimacy, even secrecy.

"Are you Companions?" Harald asked, looking about the hall, "and is this Jorrvaskr?"

The people of the city had told him the answers already but Harald struggled to believe them now he was there, truthfully it seemed a rather dingy place. It was massive, but it seemed ill-built. There were different types of wood, some seemingly taken from broken doors or other buildings as if they'd cobbled it together from whatever was around rather than being the storied bastion he'd heard it was.

Supposedly one of Ysgramor's captains, Jeek of the River had overturned his ship when he'd arrived at the hill that became Whiterun and formed the first shelter, with the town being build up around it, but Harald had always imagined it as larger and grander than this.

It was certainly larger than any longship he'd seen in Wayrest's harbour, but then Harald had no idea how large Jeek's vessel had been. Master Vinothren had told him the Argonians had the largest ships in Tamriel, massive blocky things, more like floating islands that they used as mobile fortresses in the great Niben delta and within Black Marsh itself, but Harald had never seen such a ship. He had seen one of the great Swan-ships of the Summerset Isles, their prows like sea birds when an elven ambassador had come to Wayrest to visit the king. That had been the largest ship in the harbour, high sided with a masthead taller than some of the buildings in the city even when it sat at low tide. Looking up into the gloomy rafters Harald guessed that that elf-ship would have been able to fit into Jorrvaskr if it had been bereft of masts and sails, for it was a large hall even though it didn't seem the grandest.

There seemed to be little logic to its layout inside. There were old tapestries and hangings on the walls as well as various weapons, none of them especially impressive except for an enormous bone with a wrapping like a club, which Harald assumed had come from the belt of a dead giant. Below them he saw a variety of other implements as well as boxes and large rectangular pieces of wood the purpose of which was unknown to him. Throughout the hall rushes had been spread on the floor and there were flags and standards handing from the rafters.

In the middle there was a long firepit with smouldering coals and a servant turning a slab of meat on a spit over it, catching the fat as it sizzled off the meat and carrying it back up to dress the meat again. Around the fire there were many benches it a rough semi-circle with about a dozen men eating there. They were all hardy, strong looking warriors, but they didn't look anything like the heroes of legend that had accompanied Ysgramor's Return to avenge the bloodfallen Saarthal and bring death to the Falmer. None were armoured, and while Harald could only see the belts of those nearest him he didn't doubt they were all armed.

"We are and it is, what do you want boy?" shouted one, gesturing with his knife, a piece of meat stuck on the end of it which the man swiftly popped into his mouth.

"I've come to join you."

"You're too young, come back in a few years." Another of them said.

He didn't rise to the bait. He'd been thinking over what strategy he'd use to gain entry to the brotherhood and now seemed the time to begin. "I will not." Harald replied. "I've journeyed here from Wayrest and the Illiac through danger, and I intend to join you."

"Go to Solstheim and be a skald!" laughed the Companion who'd spoken first, "You speak well but only grown men can join our ranks, such is the law and custom of the hall."

Harald had told himself he wouldn't get angry. Not as angry as he had been when he'd struck the warrior in Helgen. Master Vinothren had always told him rage unbalanced the mind. In that inn a week ago it had given him strength, now the boy felt it building again despite his resolution. The fire was far enough away that he knew in his own mind that he couldn't feel it, but he still felt flushed, too hot. "I've come by forest road and over mountains, through fire and ice to come here." He tried to emulate the elf who'd raised him, this strange anger that accompanied him during his journey was rising but he would turn it against the men. This time it would be with words and he denied it, taking a deep breath and pushing it back down, remembering the cold of that mountain cave. It wasn't the dragonfire it was the slow building frustration he'd felt as a child whenever a stranger thought him a half-elf, or when he didn't understand something that Master Vinothren had told him and felt ignorant and foolish.

"Are you sure you're the Companions?" he asked in mocking confusion, "I bested one a few days ago and he seemed at least a warrior rather than a pig stuffing its face. Do you wear forks at your belts rather than swords?"

Harald thought he kept his face straight but the men only saw a smirking child. However, a few of the Companions put their cutlery down and looked at him more seriously when they'd previously been continuing their meals.

One spoke up, he was red-faced from drink, his hair an oily tail at the back of his head and he wore a moustache but no beard. There was a wineskin on the table before him where others had mugs of beer or ale. "Who did you fight then boy?"

"Toki." Replied Harald, "He laughed at me so I knocked him down."

"Describe him then, otherwise we'll think you'd made it up."

Harald thought back, the only distinguishing feature he could remember had been the man's long braided beard, so long he'd tucked it into his belt, and he told them as such.

A few of the men laughed, and the red-faced one spoke again, "Toki has always carried battle beyond the boundaries, but I'm surprised he let you knock him down, he's almost as good a swordsman as I am!"

The other men protested half-heartedly at that, mocking the red-faced man skills, but after they'd finished they still denied Harald's request, "You're too young." A few said, "We don't admit children."

"You don't even have the beginnings of a beard; we couldn't think about you joining if you didn't have at least that." Said others.

The heat was on the boy's face still, and the anger bubbling below the surface. It wasn't the rage itself, perhaps the anticipation of it. Would it aid him here?He was counting on their pride after all.

"I am the son of a great warrior and the grandson of one too. I'll fight any one of you and beat you as I did Toki. Now I have spoken to you as I have in your own hall, will you tolerate it? The Trollwaker was leading his band away from the hall, have bandits and thieves snuck in now and sat at the places the Companions left? Have you come in and donned the clothes of true men who went off to fight? Or if you are truly as you claim will Ysgramor's own let themselves be spoken to thus?"

This seemed to anger some of them and Harald thought that good as his own frustration was growing. It seemed to come even when he was feeding it. Would he have to continually deal with this feeling?

Some of the Companions seemed happy enough to ignore him, but his challenge was clearly enough as debate broke out among them. They spoke openly and without subterfuge, the argument going back and forth. Few seemed to actually support him, with the wine drinker being one of the only ones. Others thought he should be tested if only to knock him down due to his insults against them while others didn't think it appropriate for Harald to be tested or admitted either way.

Harald hadn't been entirely surprised at their remarks as he listened to the Companions, or at least the ones that were there at that moment. The Trollwaker had advised him against coming to Jorrvaskr, but he'd eventually given his blessing after Harald had proved his resolve. Likely he'd have to do the same here.

"Strange as I find you all sometimes I'm glad to see you won't fight a child!" laughed another warrior, this one a Dunmer with black beard styled into a single point, "We don't think it proper either."

Harald smelt an opening, "Neither did the Snow Prince, but it wasn't Ysgramor's Companions that killed him, it was a child." He interrupted, speaking to the elf in the ancient tongue of Aldmeris he'd learned at Master Vinothren's knee.

The Dunmer's mouth actually opened, eyebrows raised as he looked at the boy and the elf's comrades in turn looked to him to translate Harald's words. The death of the Snow Prince had been one of the first stories Master Vinothren had told him and Harald remembered it well.

"What does he say about Ysgramor?" asked another Companion and the Dunmer held up a hand.

"The boy speaks Aldmeris, and speaks it well." The Dunmer said to the others, "He says a child killed the Snow Prince, but I know not who this may be."

One man, grey-haired with strong scarred arms and a ruddy face nodded, "A girl-child of twelve slew the ruler of the Falmer on Solstheim. It is an old story." and he addressed Harald, "How old are you boy?"

"Twelve." Harald lied.

The men spoke among themselves again and grumbled, "That may be." Continued the grey-hair, "Ulfsverth, will you test him? You've spoken for him."

The drinking man took another swig from his skin and wobbled to his feet. "Aye I think I will, come then boy!"

"Will you truly fight him then? Duels must give honour to the victor," said one of the warriors, "and I can't see how fighting against him would cause you to receive anything but ridicule."

"Child or not he speaks as a man, and I'll treat him like one." Ulfsverth said, leaning back down to catch up his sword and belting it on.

A Companion who'd not spoken before thumped them table a few times, "He's right, what would people think if they heard we allowed him to speak as he had and go unchallenged? He speaks well enough for a boy."

Ulfsverth laughed and beckoned Harald to follow him "Our enemies fear our swords, let them fear this one's tongue!"

Harald had stepped forward as Ulfsverth stood, crossing around the fire and benches to open doors at the other side of the hall. As the man spoke he felt himself numb and he stumbled, his vision blurring slightly as if he'd been under the sun too long, the heat like a furnace on his face. He didn't catch it but there was a face in the burning coals watching him, and more in the ancient beams of the hall, noses and eyes and waiting smiles in the whorls and knots of the wood.

But it was only a moment before he gathered himself in confusion. It had only lasted a second but Harald had felt as he did when he prayed sometimes, the trance like state where it felt like his movements weren't his own and he was animated by some solemn spirit. As he'd walked toward Whiterun in the past few nights he'd managed almost to induce it, and he'd realised it was separate from the rage he could also call upon that he'd first felt in the cave before the dragon. Why had it come to him then?

He'd started to regard the rage as a friend, for it always seemed to guide him and help him, but he was less sure about the trance that sometimes came after it and let him see the faces in the corners of his vision.

Ulfsverth caught his shoulder as Harald came up to him, "Are you well boy?" he asked frowning at him, the warrior's eyes bloodshot in his drunkenness.

"It was only the smoke." Harald lied brushing him off, he gestured with his bow, "This has served me well, but I don't think I'll be using it now. What will I fight with?"

"You can have the pick of the armoury." Replied the man, "Set your things down and we'll find something for you, what did you fight Toki with?"

Harald put his bow aside along with his pack, including the gold hidden in it. He was a little reluctant to part with it in a place he'd never been but then he considered that the amulet Elaine had given him when he'd left Wayrest was far more valuable to him than a few Septims.

Absently he touched it, the points of the star clear against the pads of his finger, still hanging around his neck where the girl had put it on him.

"I hit him with a wooden stool." Harald told the man as they walked.

Ulfsverth had been taking a sip and made a strange noise as he tried to cough without opening his mouth. He sipped again and brought the skin down pursing his lips uncomfortably but then burst out laughing. "Very good!" he cried, "He has brothers you know and I doubt they'll let him forget it!" he looked at Harald, "Are you trained in other weapons or were you planning to use furniture? We'll have to go back in if you were intending to fight with a chair or a bench".

"I've trained in the sword, and with mace, axe and spear." The boy replied, the Companion's good humour infectious.

"That's better than most. You'll find we rarely use the mace here though." Ulfsverth nodded but he didn't explain his remark further.

They'd walked along the side of Jorrvaskr into a large courtyard with various other buildings around it as well as a few posts and other training equipment. It was roughly triangular, one side the flank of Jorrvaskr, another the city's wall which appeared to be unguarded, and on the other a face of rock with a stair cut into it going up the wall. The Companion gestured to a large shed against one wall and went and opened the door. "Take what you will then meet me outside."

The inside of the shed was as dingy as the hall had been, for neither had large windows. The hall had the usual openings for smoke but this shed only had the light from the door to the outside and Harald tried not to block it as he went in.

There were weapons strewn about the place as in the hall with little logic. In a few places it seemed that someone had tried to place certain weapons together, a few spears standing in a barrel in a corner or swords in a rack, but Harald saw that the barrel and the rack had both collapsed from neglect and the spears only stood because the iron ring around them still kept them upright. Harald was surprised no one had come in and stolen the weapons there, but he supposed no thief wanted to risk the wrath of the Companions.

He put his thoughts aside, he was about to fight a duel and he needed to concentrate.

While there were a few unusual weapons there, elven sabres, an orcish bow without a string, or curious long knife that seemed to be made of bone Harald was more interested in the Nordic weaponry. He knew the Nords relied on the axe more than many other lands, though he didn't know why and he looked among the weapons for one. The spears and swords were all too big for him and would be unwieldy if he tried to use them, but he found a good hatchet among some other weapons. He thought it was likely used for throwing as it was well balanced for an axe, that or as a secondary weapon when the warrior who used it held something larger like a spear. It was not sharp, but he wasn't intending to hack up the Companion he'd be fighting in any case. He took also a good shield, again relatively smaller than the others due to his own size, as well as a cap, for Ivar had always told him that if there was any armour he could have it should be a shield first and then a helm. The shield in this case was rough and unpainted, while the cap was only padded with a leather shell, but it was enough for this and so armed he went out to meet the foe.

He'd gone to stand in the courtyard when Ulfsverth stumbled out, holding his wineskin in his left hand. He'd at least taken the bout seriously enough to transfer it into his offhand while drew a strange curved sword, not like the swords of the Northmen at all. It did not resemble anything he recognised, but Harald thought it likely some smith had made it in imitation of some older style.

"Will you judge the match Grey-mane?" Ulfsverth called to one among the crowd of men who'd followed him out of Jorrvaskr and he got a nod from the strong armed man who'd known the Snow Prince's story.

"Will you not take a shield?" Harald asked from beneath his cap, setting his own shield down and fastening the strap better to his liking.

"Fate will decide." Ulfsverth said simply, and he made a lazy salute.

Harald spied his hawk perched on one section of the wall. "It already has." He replied.

"See how he swaggers!" exclaimed one of the Companions in the crowd of onlookers and the rest of them laughed.

Harald's lip curled, his axe heavy but he returned the salute, clashing the head against the rim of his shield. He was where he'd wish to be, watched by the gods. The frustration of the morning had left him and he was ready. Perhaps the rage would come, perhaps not, but if needed to fight without his newest friend he would.

The boy stepped forward.