Septimus saluted the old Nord.
“Greetings, Harbinger.
It is an honour to meet you!”
Kodlak looked at him for a long moment.
“Greetings to you, young blood.
Vilkas has already informed me about you.
Welcome to the companions; may glory find you in these halls.”
Septimus gave a light bow.
“Thank you, Harbinger!” Kodlak let out a light chuckle.
“Now, now, no need to be so nervous.
Tell me, what can I do for you today?”
Septimus looked over to Vilkas.
“Master, I brought him here to seek your advice related to his weapon of choice.”
Kodlak scoffed.
“I am nobody’s Master Vilkas, but you already know that.
As for this youngblood, let’s see: tall, long arms and legs, not much muscle yet, you have to work on that, seems to have good stamina at least, did you try a longsword?”
Vilkas nodded.
“We did.
It doesn’t suit him very well; it might be the lack of muscles, but when he swings, it’s the sword controlling him and not him controlling the sword.”
“Well, that’s unusual for his size.
So then you tried stabbing, yes?”
“We did, Harbinger; it is much better.
He has good reach and strong shoulders, but doesn’t seem to like long shafts, so we tried the shorter spears.”
Kodlak nodded.
“That’s good; it is unusual, but can happen, and spears, even the short ones, aren’t uncommon weapons in Tamriel.
Now you already know all this, so how can this old man help you?”
“Harbinger, I was already strong when I started to learn the spear, so I lack the insight of a novice.
What would be the best way for him to start, and what should he focus on?”
Kodlak hummed and scratched his long beard.
“There are three things that come to mind: first, fix his posture; no warrior of the companions should have a crooked back; second, build his muscles, you know which ones are best; and third, figure out if he can wield a weapon in both hands; the training changes depending on it.”
Septimus couldn’t resist interrupting.
“Excuse me, Harbinger, but why does being able to use both hands matter when it comes to training?”
Kodlak raised an eyebrow and looked to Vilkas.
“A good seedling this one, doesn’t shy away from asking questions, a fine trait to have.”
He looked back at Septimus.
“As for your question young one, breton spear duelist are the masters of wielding short spears, I have fought some of them and the key to their fighting style is variety and deceit, they can switch the hand that holds the weapon seamlessly mid combat and use it with perfect mastery with both hands, if you are not able to do the same you will be trained with a shield, if you can, then i have some insight into how the bretons do it and we will teach you.”
Septimus lightly bowed again.
“Thank you, Harbinger!”
Kodlak nodded.
“You’re welcome.
He thought for a moment and decided to ask something simple.
“Yes, Harbinger.
This might be slightly unrelated, but what weapons do you like, Harbinger?”
Kodlak smiled.
“A good question; we may still make a fine warrior of you still.” He coughed into his palm.
“When I was young, I favoured huge swords, much like Farkas.
Hard to lift these days, but I still enjoy the heft of a good hammer.”
Vilkas, seeing the old man cough, took over the conversation.
“Thank you for your time, Master.
We will leave you to your business.”
They both saluted the Harbinger and left, heading out of the archive and into the barracks.
Septimus looked around, making sure no one was close enough to hear them.
“Vilkas, is the Harbinger in good health?”
Vilkas didn’t turn and kept walking.
“Do not worry about it, Master is old, Sovngarde is calling him.” Septimus nodded, saying no more.
Reaching a cupboard in the barracks, Vilkas opened it and took out some clothes.
“Here, youngblood, wear this when training from now on.
Go, put it on, and meet me at the training grounds.
Today we begin your journey to becoming a warrior.”
Vilkas handed him the clothes; they were the same ones most trainees wore, brown cloth reinforced with leather meant to dampen blows from wooden weapons.
Once changed, Septimus grabbed his waterskin, the same one he got from Cyrodiil all that time ago, and went upstairs; the great hall was empty.
‘Everyone must be out training or preparing food.’
As expected, the training grounds were full; he saw Vilkas chatting with Farkas at a table overlooking the place.
They spotted him approaching, and Farkas stood up.
“Good, you’re here.
My brother told me how to train you, so until you are ready to hold a weapon, you will follow my words.”
Septimus nodded.
“Understood”
“Good, then run from here to there until I tell you to stop.
Go!”
And Septimus ran.
====================
It had been three weeks since he arrived at the companions.
A ragged man could be seen resting on a bench; he was tall, with shaggy, dirty blond hair and a scratchy beard.
His clothes were well worn, with dirt spots, grass and mud caked all over, and a large patch over one knee.
For three weeks, Septimus went through what he would consider to be one of the hells.
Every day he would wake up when the sun rose, train, eat, train, eat, train, eat, train, then sleep and repeat.
The food the companions served was good, and as an extra service they sent the injured and tired trainees to the temple of Kynareth, just next door, for treatment, which allowed for even harsher training.
Septimus had done it all, beginning with running, lifting weights, holding proper positions to strengthen his core, learning to dodge attacks, how to charge at an enemy, and how to fight back-to-back with his shield brothers, yet he had not held a weapon still.
Getting back up, he trudged back to the starting point.
It was time for his evening run; just as he was about to start, someone called him from behind.
“Hello, Farkas,” He replied, cracking his neck.
“It’s been going well.
I followed your instructions.
How about you?
The mission ended up taking two weeks.”
Farkas snorted.
“Ha, two weeks of travel more like; we got lost in the woods for two days, can you believe that, then we ran into a sabertooth, and when we finally reached the client, it turned out to be a measly bandit camp; they barely put up a fight!”
Septimus shrugged.
“That’s too bad, I know you had high hopes for this one.”
“Yeah, the client made it sound much worse than it actually was.
Anyway, now that I’m back ill take a look at you, quickly go through all the exercises, and let me see your progress.”
And so Septimus did; it must be said that in his old world, the gains he obtained with only three weeks of training would have been impossible, but this was Skyrim, where people fought bears barehanded and threw around fireballs, so almost tripling his lifting weight was not that surprising.
“Looking good, youngblood, hmm, take off your shirt, let me take a look.” He did as told, and Farkas began prodding and pulling at his muscles.
“Yes, it’s good, very good, well still make a true Nord warrior out of you yet!”
‘Please, no, I don’t want to be a roid Nord!’ Septimus could only complain internally, for truthfully he was thankful; these people had taken him in and offered him food, tonics, and training for nothing else but the fact that he showed some vague promise in their eyes.
“Well, you did very well while we were gone.
I’ll talk with my brother and update your training.
Take a rest for tonight.”
Septimus followed his instructions and headed down to the barracks.
He already had dinner, but it was still quite early, so the place was empty.
Lying down on the bed, he stared up at the dark ceiling.
‘These past weeks have been incredible.
I love it here, the people, the ambience.
The companions may be full of drunk meatheads, but they are good people!’
He gathered some magicka in his hand, just enough to feel it but not enough to show externally.
‘I had to stop my training when it comes to magic.
I don’t want to show it here; these people value martial might, and dislike elves a lot.
Using magic is typical of elves, so they might not see it in a good light.’
Feeling his eyes becoming heavy, he had one last thought before sleep took him.
‘It’s been two months, a month and a half?
Since I arrived here, the start was rocky, but let’s hope things keep on going well.’
====================
He woke up the next morning with someone slapping his arm.
“Wake up, pup.
You said you wanted to learn from me, didn’t you?”
Septimus groggily opened his eyes; all he could see in the gloom were red locks of hair and blue eyes that seemed to almost shine in the dark.
“Join me in this hunt, pup.
If you do well, I’ll teach you some tricks.”
Aela did not stop to hear his answer just turned and left.
Septimus scurried out of bed to follow her out.