This is a derpy little one-shot I started writing back in February of last year, while I was developing Änwin's character for my Lone Wolves fic. Since muse is fickle I never ended up finishing this until now. Hope you all enjoy, as always critique is welcome and feedback of any kind is hugely appreciated. :3
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Would you prefer losing your head to Ulfric's axe?" Äne looked back at Hadvar sharply.
He grimaced. "No. But – you know what they say about traveling at night in the woods, don't you?" There was a strain of genuine fear in his voice that he couldn't entirely conceal.
"Of course I do." Äne snapped, "Nothing's going to bother us out here - least of all superstition." As she spoke, a mournful wail echoed off the mountainside and over the cliffs. In the muted snow forest, the noise was crisp and haunting.
"It's wolves." She insisted, when she saw her companion's look. "Now come on. Anyone could follow our tracks in snow this deep; we have to cover a few more miles before dawn." She trudged forward with more vigor than before, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Hadvar looked less convinced. With a sigh, he wrapped his fur cloak tighter and followed her.
The red moon Masser hovered in the star riddled sky, watching the two travelers like a blood-soaked sentinel. And all around the valley the icy Jerralls rose, dark and imposing in the crimson moonlight. A veiling mist floated down their slopes and scarlet clouds were skewered on their peaks.
Below, the black trunks of the pine forest blended with the shadows they cast upon the deep snow, creating a desolate world that seemed void of any presence until the morbid howls of the wolves sounded again like ghosts over the valley. The silhouettes of the the trees seemed to be reaching out towards them, their limbs grasping hands with ragged claws no mortal could hope to escape from once ensnared.
If she was on her own, the harsh wilderness terrain would not have hindered Äne. But she was forced to slow her pace so that Hadvar, still weak from injuries, could keep up.
"You really don't believe in werewolves?", Hadvar asked after the silence between them became intolerable.
She took in a deep breath, letting the icy air cut her lungs and keep her alert, "I don't believe in–"
There was a loud crash to their left as a frozen branch snapped. The splintering of icy wood was nearly as terrible as the cracking of bones. Äne's bow was drawn and aimed before the branch hit the ground. A cold silence followed, and she realized she was holding her breath.
Hadvar gave a nervous chuckle; his hand was on his sword hilt. "Spooky ..."
Uneasy now, she held tension on the string, ready to let the arrow fly. Stormblade peered into the swirling darkness with narrowed eyes. She'd thought she saw the barest flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye – a darker shadow than the rest.
Turning quickly to her right, she was certain she saw a flash of malevolent yellow eyes glint in the moonlight, before they were swallowed by the black. It was in that moment Äne knew they were being hunted.
"Hadvar", she called, nothing in her voice betraying the fear churning in her belly. "Come on, let's keep moving."
"Right." He gave a nervous laugh, "'Cause we weren't doing that anyway."
Her jaw tightened. She was too focused on the present danger to worry about forming a comeback to the wounded soldier's wit. Äne's eyes darted back and forth, seeking their enemy. She could smell wolf, and desperately hoped it was nothing more dangerous than the pack they'd been hearing howl all night.
Then it happened. Stormblade had only enough time to turn her head as ebony claws slashed across her shoulder, ripping her from the ground. The momentum flung her against a tree and she dropped prostrate into a deep snowdrift. Her bow dropped to the ground where she had been standing only moments before.
"ÄNE!" Hadvar shouted.
The impact against the tree had stunned her and it was hard to control her body. She felt the blood running thick and hot down the five gashes in her arm, long and deep like sword-wounds. She forced herself partially upright in time to see the werewolf bearing down on her.
Her thought's were hazy, but she knew that if she didn't move she was shredded bait. Äne fumbled for her sword, but there was no way to draw it in time. I'm going to die, she realized.
Suddenly, the Wolf howled in pain and whirled around, an arrow protruding from its shoulder. Hadvar took a step back, longbow in hand, as the werewolf turned to face him. "Run Äne!"
Almost too fast for the eye to follow, the lycan landed in front of Hadvar, swatting him to the ground which no more effort than if he were made of straw. It let out a blood-chilling roar and pressed a heavy claw on the soldier's neck. Hadvar struggled to pry the crushing weight off, but it was a vain struggle. The Wolf almost seemed to be grinning as it pulled its lips back into a dripping snarl.
Instinct took over.
As she watched, a primitive, savage anger set fire to Äne's blood. She had not hunted in nearly three seasons, and couldn't have stopped the transformation even if she wanted to. A new, inhuman strength rushed into every muscle as all of her senses exploded. She could hear the heartbeats of the Nord and the other Wolf and smell the lifeblood pulsing through their veins. Her enemy would soon know what it meant to be the prey; that he had the audacity to turn his bloodlust on Hadvar would be its undoing.
The scent of her own wounds was infuriating, a howl of rage escaped her throat as her head took on the shape of a wolf and her teeth grew into fangs. A black mane erupted along her spine ending with a tail; her hands and feet spread into fearsome claws and new power in her legs gave her the means to outmatch anything that tried to flee. Her entire body tensed in preparation to spring.
Too late, the other Wolf turned as Äne catapulted into it, sinking her fangs through the back of its neck. It roared, releasing Hadvar to wrest her off, and left the soldier gasping for breath in the snow.
The sheer ferocity of her attack forced the other werewolf several steps back. When he finally managed to pull away, he was bleeding from wounds of his own. For a split second, the two werebeasts considered each other. Äne spit a mouthful of black fur out of her mouth and feinted a retreat When he lunged she pounced on his unprotected back. Her claws raked down his shoulders and with satisfaction she felt his pelt rip open.
With a terrible roar, the other Wolf flung himself upright. Äne used the momentum of his reaction to throw herself off his back, but he caught her hind leg with his fore-claws, flinging her into the snow in front of him. She barely managed to roll out of the way before he could literally tear her apart, feeling herself loose a bit of fur from her tail as she dodged.
Enraged, the Wolf pelted after her. Äne whirled and raked her claws across his face savagely before jerking behind a thick pine to escape his counter-swipe. The trunk splintered with a loud CRACK and bark flew through the air as he hit it.
Äne inhaled as she came around the other side of the pine, smelling the blood in the air and letting it fuel her bloodlust. In human form, the sight of her enemies essence was enough to make her head spin. In Wolf form, with every sense built to kill, the smell of blood drove her into a frenzy.
Fangs bared, the Wolves tore at each other's hides, they ripped at each other's fur and sank every primitive weapon they had into their enemies flesh. With each injury the battle grew more savage. Hadvar watched in horror from several meters away, aiming with the bow but unable to make a good shot in the chaos of the beasts' duel. Neither took notice of him now.
As blow after blow was struck, the male lycan's advantage of strength began to gain him the advantage. So far he had managed to protect his vital areas from Äne's attacks. And she was beginning to feel her own wounds.
One well-placed swipe caught her in the neck and sent her sprawling. She pulled her legs under her, struggling to breathe. The male hesitated only long enough to take a panting breath, mindlessness in its eyes.
Äne coiled, allowing the creature to slash her side and capitalizing on the split second it took him to prepare a second strike. With a savage upward swipe from her left claw, she ripped his ear almost completely in two, the momentum of the attack carrying the claw into bone and down to his eye. The hit staggered the other Wolf, leaving his neck exposed for precious seconds.
Growling, nearly choking on the blood in her throat, Äne jumped forward towards his exposed jugular and clamped down with all the force in her jaws. His squeal was cut off as she crushed his neck; and the massive body of the Werewolf went limp in her grasp. Äne hit the ground on all fours, blood gushing into her mouth and dripping into the snow under the body.
It was over.
Shaking, Äne lowered the corpse into the snow, jaws still tightly clamped on his neck. She growled and blinked slowly, breath heavy and ragged. It was difficult to supply her lungs with a mouth full of fur and blood.
She turned to find Hadvar, dropping the dead Wolf in her mouth with an almost mechanical jerk as her vision honed in on the Nord. Her companion was several meters away, holding very still, watching her. She licked her chops, swallowing a final taste of her enemy's life-force.
Äne did not expect any thank you. Rather, she waited for the soldier to pull his bow and take aim. In revealing her beastblood – in saving him – she had certainly compromised their rekindling friendship for good. Only a fool would trust a Wolf.
Long seconds passed. Then long minutes. But still Hadvar didn't move for his weapon. The call of the blood grew stronger as the silence endured. He would be much easier to kill than her brother Wolf. Much more sustaining. Äne hadn't tasted human flesh in years. The thought made her pull her lips back into a feral snarl.
She limped towards him. Slowly at first, then more quickly. He held his ground, but she could smell his fear. That glorious fear, the power it gave her! With one swipe she could tear him in half. His very life was at her mercy, and she knew it. She stood towering above the human now. He barely reached to her chest. How easy it would be to break him in two, to feast on his throbbing heart. And why shouldn't she? She was a Wolf!
"Äne?"
His voice. It yanked her sanity back into place with a jarring twist. An involuntary growl escaped her throat. Kill Hadvar? The only friend she had left in the world? With a whimper, she dropped down so that they were almost face to face. He looked hard into her eyes and Äne returned the gaze with solemn shame.
"You're a…?"
She growled in affirmation.
He grimaced, looking conflicted. Then an understanding crept his face. "The creature that attacked you, when we were children… It wasn't a bear, was it?"
She shook her head.
Hadvar swallowed. "Can… can you turn back?"
A weak nod was the best she could manage. Already, the exhaustion of the transformation was making Äne feel weighted down. With no new prey to sate her bloodlust, her wounds would not heal and she would soon retake human form.
Hadvar took a step back and looked her over. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled, "Superstition indeed."
If she could have, Äne might have smiled.
"Those wounds look bad, is there something I can– Änwin!"
Her vision went hazy. She winced as she felt her chest tighten, knowing that the heart would shrink first and the pain would be excruciating. She quickly lost feeling in her arms and legs, and there was a loud popping sound as every joint in her body shifted out of socket.
"Äne, can you hear me?" Hadvar lifted her off the ground, "Dammit! What's happening? What am I supposed to do?" His voice was hoarse with distress.
Keep moving, you fool. I'll catch up! she tried to say, but her mouth wouldn't move. Pain overwhelmed her, and world turned to darkness and silence. All Äne could do was surrender to oblivion as Hadvar held her tightly.