Farkas followed his companion, cautious, his keen senses on the alert. There were enemies near. The young woman with him, the latest pup to try her hand at joining the Companions, wandered a little ahead of him, slightly less cautious than he.
She was an odd little thing; tall for an Imperial, and had a fair complexion. His brother, Vilkas, had wondered if she had Nord blood in her. Pale red hair crowned her head, cascading to just past her shoulders. Farkas wondered how long she would last within the companions; he hoped it was longer than the others before her. He was starting to like her, clever as she was, and surprisingly strong for all her litheness.
He warily looked about the room. There was a dangerous tang in the air, so subtle he doubted his companion sensed it. A loud, metallic clang rang out behind him. Farkas winced and turned to see her trapped behind a portcullis gate. He offered her a wry grin.
"Now, look what you've gotten yourself into."
She gave him a sheepish glance from behind the gate. "The lever's stuck."
"No worries," he glanced around. "Just sit tight. I'll find the release." As he looked for the release, Farkas' ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching quickly. He turned his head in a jerking movement; the scent of Silver Hand fighters wafted toward him and he snarled.
"Farkas? What's wrong?"
He turned to her, his hackles rising as the footsteps grew closer. She was grasping the bars of the portcullis gate, trying to get a view of what had him so agitated. "Trouble," he growled. She backed away from the bars quickly at his tone, her hand moving toward the bow strung across her back.
They were close now: Farkas could hear voices, and he was sure his companions could hear their approach now. He growled. There were too many of them to take on with just his sword, and his companion trapped behind the portcullis gate.
His heart rate picked up, settling into battle rhythm. He felt that familiar animal instinct twitching to life within him. Fury at his predicament, mingled with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, turned into something dark and primal. The beast wanted out, pounding on the walls of his mind, its fury unleashed. Farkas made a strangled sound, something between a snarl and a grunt, and doubled over at the waist.
"Farkas?" his companion asked, worry apparent in her voice. She had notched an arrow in the bowstring, but wasn't holding it taught yet. She wasn't yet supposed to see what was about to happen to him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn't stop what was about to happen, and he found less and less that he wanted to. He moved quickly to remove his armor so that it would not get ruined in the process, his hands making jerky motions as the beast came to life within him.
A Silver Hand became visible in the doorway before him, her fellows waiting behind her. "It's time to die, dog," she said, her voice dripping confidence. "We knew you'd be coming here. Your mistake, Companion."
A man behind her looked toward the portcullis, catching site of movement, even at this awkward angle. "Which one is that?"
The leader spoke. "It doesn't matter. She wears that armor, she dies." She smirked at Farkas. "Killing you will make for an excellent story."
Farkas replied, his voice already distorting with the beginning of transformation. "None of you will be alive to tell it!" he growled.
The leader approached, and he snarled again, the sound more feral and animal-like than before, and fell onto his hands and knees. His breathing became heavy when a fiery pain began to course through his chest and into his limbs as his body underwent metamorphosis. He vaguely heard his companion calling out to him, nearly screaming at him. From his peripherals, he was aware of destruction spells being fired at the doorway where the Silver Hand stood, keeping them trapped there for the moment. Then all ability to form coherent thought quickly left him as pain once more ripped through him.
His hands, one moment human flesh, the next moment grew and transformed painfully into sharp claws, the rest of his body following suit until the transformation was complete.
The wolf-beast stood, breathing heavily in the aftermath of its transformation. Hunger gripped it with a savage hand, and it let out a bloodcurdling howl as its enemies finally began piling into the room. The Silver Hand all cowered and some even fled at the sound. The wolf attacked. With one swipe of its massive arm, it took two of them out. The third, the leader of the group, it grabbed; its canine teeth ripped a hole in her stomach and gnawed the raw flesh, and when it was finish it tossed the dead woman aside. In less than a minute, the beast tore through the rest , twenty Silver Hand warriors strong.
When the last of the Silver Hand lay in a puddle of blood, the beast let out a triumphant howl. Its blood began to cool down now that the danger had been dealt with. The wolf grunted in satisfaction and the beast-blood began to retreat. It moved down the passage the Silver Hand had come down and found the release switch, and with a clawed hand it pulled the lever. The beast limped back into the room where its companion waited. Muscles began cramped as they shrank back down to size, the beast's moans and growls becoming less wolf-like and more human-like. A man once again, Farkas collapsed in a heap of agony on the floor, breathing heavily. When the pain finally ebbed, he stood and began to put his armor back on.
Farkas turned to his companion once his armor was securely equipped. She stood a cautious distance away, eying him warily, her bow still in her hand, though resting at her side. His shoulders slumped in apology. "I hope didn't scare you," he offered, aware of the inadequacy but unable to think of anything else to say. He never was any good with words.
"What in the Void was that," she hissed, her free hand balling into a fist.
Farkas gave her a direct look, holding her eyes. "It's a blessing given to some of us." Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't comment. "We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome."
Her grip on the bow loosened a bit, and she unclenched her free hand. They held each others gaze for a long minute. "You're going to make me a werewolf?" she asked, guardedly. She seemed to be considering the idea, though he couldn't tell if she liked it or loathed it.
He shook his head. "Oh, no. Only the Circle have the beast-blood."
She nodded and sighed, shouldering her bow again, obviously relieved.
"Prove your honor to be a Companion," he said, reassuringly. "Eyes on the prey, not the horizon," he quoted, and hoped she wouldn't worry about it. "We should keep moving. Still the draugr to worry about. . ." He grimaced, the thought of the undead causing his muscles to tense in anticipation. She looked around the room once more to see if they missed anything, and then headed through the door the Silver Hand had come through. Farkas followed her, down the passage that would lead them onward toward their goal: the fragment of Wuuthrad.
Author's note: I might expand the story later, but for now it'll just remain a one-shot