~Ahah, see? Chapter two up on the same day as chapter one! Now you can trust me, my minions. :3

Today, FanFiction-tomorrow, the world!

.Anyway…. I don't own Skyrim or the characters besides my OC…blah blah blah…

-Cryptik

It took two days for the moons to completely fade from the sky over Skyrim, vanishing in the night as well as in the day. As soon as the light from the twin spheres had vanished from the world's horizon, Farkas was searching.

He spent his hours prowling the streets and alleys of Whiterun, watching restlessly for a strange female to appear through the gates of the city. He was familiar with all of the residents and frequents of Whiterun, but new traders and merchants passed through the town quite often. He had not considered, at the time of their initial confrontation, how he would identify Azkari'a in her human-or elf, or Khajiit, or Argonian-form, but he supposed he could go by scent if need be.

He had patrolled Whiterun's three districts from dawn 'til dusk, with no sight or smell of his once-adversary. He half expected her to vault over the walls after dark, perform her gory deeds, and then make a grand entrance in Jorrvaskr with blood dripping from her fangs.

Eventually he got tired of waiting and turned back towards the sanctity of the mead hall.

However, when he started up the withered stone steps to his home, he was stopped in his tracks by a pair of silver eyes locked passively on him.

Sitting on the rundown wall barricading Jorrvaskr's yard from the rest of the town sat an extraordinarily beautiful Nord woman. Long black hair tumbled over her shoulders like spilled ink, framing her almost elven-shaped face. Those celestial silver eyes watched him from under elegant curved brows like some kind of ethereal hawk, pinning him to the spot. She was dressed in armored robes of ebony black, decorated in twisting vines of silver. Half her face was hidden in shadow cast by the cowl of her robes, making her silvery eyes seem twice as brilliant. The sheath of a sword hung at her hip, although Farkas had never seen the type before in all his years of being a warrior.

Momentarily taken aback by her appearance, he almost forgot just who he was staring at in astonishment. He shook his head furiously, scattering strands of his long wild black hair.

"You're late," he said gruffly, eyeing Azkari'a with distrust.

She tilted her head at him. "I wasn't told a time that I was required to arrive," she retorted coldly, eyes narrowing. "I told you that I would be here when the moons left the sky." She gestured to the star-flecked canvas overhead, the multicolored pinpricks of light just now emerging through the colors of the dusk. "Here I am."

Farkas remained silent, not having a response to that. So he strode past her towards the mead hall, seeking solitude in a pint of ale and a hot rack of ribs. Azkari'a rose silently from the wall behind him and followed him inside.

The majority of the Companions were enjoying the usual feast set out at the great table when Farkas and his shadow made an appearance, the smells of smoked beef and spiced mead wafting to meet the two. A few of the gathered warriors glanced up in curiosity of the newcomer shadowed behind Farkas, noticing the silver eyes burning in the gloom. The members of the Circle, however, were less than curious and more suspicious, their noses in the air as they tried to place the familiarity of Azkari'a's scent.

It was Aela who identified it first, rising from her seat beside Skjor with a harsh snarl. Behind Farkas, Azkari'a watched passively as the huntress came towards her, not seeming to consider her much of a threat at all; her sword still hung untouched at her waist.

"Do you know who this is, Farkas?!" Aela asked furiously, eyes burning with incredulous fury beneath the streaks of her dark war paint. "You bring a murderer under our roof!"

Farkas threw a glance over his shoulder at the 'murderer,' as if making sure she would not rise to meet that claim at Aela's arrogance. Azkari'a, however, was doing the exact opposite; still gazing at her accuser with that strange air of Zen like calm and cold indifference.

"I realize who she is, sister," he growled lowly, also glancing at Skjor, who had come up to stand beside Aela with his lip curled. "I have a good reason to invite her here."

Aela sneered. "I should hope so, ice-brain," she retorted darkly, "or Kodlak will have your head on a pike. She is not welcome here."

At this point, Azkari'a did cut in. "Whether I am welcome here or not is irrelevant," she said, her tone taking on that same icy dangerousness as her demeanor. "I was invited, and I accepted. Your friend simply did what he thought would solve a problem that, as I hear, you have been searching for the solution for."

The huntress was silent, but continued to glare at Azkari'a coldly.

"I think you had better speak with Kodlak, Farkas," Skjor said gruffly. "And bring your pet."

At this insult, Azkari'a's temper broke through her indifference. In barely a second, she had crossed the distance separating her from Skjor, her fingers closed around his throat before anyone could even process that she had moved.

"I am no one's pet," she growled, her voice dangerously low, eyes alight with angry silver fire. "I came here of my own free will. I will stay here as long as I please, unless your leader tells me otherwise. Or would you rather I continue to kill your 'good people?'" Everyone near enough to hear her voice could hear the quotations around the last words.

Skjor remained quiet, although Aela growled a steady stream of reproach at the assault of her unspoken mate. He curled his lip at her, but did not meet her smoldering ethereal stare. Az released him, returning to the shadows behind Farkas.

"Is Kodlak in his quarters?" the Nord man asked, ignoring the stares of now every Companion in the hall.

"I believe so," Skjor answered, then turned from Farkas to lead Aela back to the table. Farkas went the opposite direction, striding stiffly towards the stairwell tucked against the back wall of Jorvaskr. Azkari'a followed, seeming for all the world a shadow, drifting along the coarse wooden floor with a cloak of midnight.

The two walked through the living quarters in terse silence; Farkas more than slightly riled and Azkari'a content to spend the moments in quiet wordlessness. Tension cracked in the air like static between her and Farkas, the obvious dislike of one another as apparent as the clothes on their backs.

When they reached the door at the end of the wide hall, Farkas knocked softly, interrupting the low murmur of voices within the closed room.

"Come in." It was Kodlak's voice, slightly cracked with age but still holding that underlying strength of a true Nord warrior.

Farkas pushed the doors open, acknowledging his brother sitting in his usual spot at the harbinger's table.

"I was… instructed to come see you," Farkas said, his tone going bitter at the insinuation of an order.

Kodlak, with years of experience in the company of the younger, rather thickheaded warriors, recognized the man's behavior. "Do not feel resentment for your shield-siblings' apprehension, Farkas," he said calmly, those years of wisdom showing through his placid demeanor. "You brought one with blood on her hands into their haven. They have a right to question your judgment."

Farkas inclined his head in respect. "I apologize. I only thought to end her reign of terror. I saw no other solutions."

"You could kill her," Vilkas put in, his gaze reproachful but otherwise indifferent. At this suggestion, Azkari'a snorted.

Farkas turned visibly darker in pallor under his war paint. "She defeated me in combat, brother," he admitted quietly, his voice sounding even more like a growl. "I told you this."

Kodlak raised a thick greying eyebrow, looking towards the shadowy female behind Farkas. "And you did not kill him when you defeated him?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

"I do not kill people who are not deserving of it." The reply was short, simple, but the tone was more respectful than cold, as it normally was.

"But did he not attack you first?"

"He did," Az replied, "but I understand why he did so."

Kodlak sat back in his chair, seeming satisfied with her answer and also slightly thoughtful. "You see, Vilkas?" the old Nord said, nodding at his companion, "She cannot be all wicked. She has a good mind; not one of a feral wolf."

Vilkas was quiet for a moment. Then, "I admit, she is not the one I imagined her to be when Farkas told me what he had done." He turned a storm-grey stare to Azkari'a. "You would make a valuable addition to the Companions, if you fights as well as Farkas said you do."

Kodlak nodded, fingers touching the hilt of a dagger at his belt absentmindedly. "Well, Azkari'a, if you are truly the virtuous woman and wolf you appear to be, we will accept you here."

Azkari'a dipped her head, although her silver eyes never left the harbinger. "Thank you, old wolf," she said, her voice seeming even more mellifluous in comparison to the three males' gruffness. "I will not disgrace your name."

The old warrior looked pleased. Vilkas, on the other hand, did not seem as placated.

"Being a part of the Companions means that you will be required to stop what you have been doing," he growled, his insinuation clear. "If you don't, you will be hunted down and killed. You may have the power to defeat Farkas, but you will undoubtedly fall to our entire legion. Am I understood?"

Azkari'a turned her blazing celestial stare onto him, that icy dangerousness once again present in her gaze.

"I will not be spoken to as if I am a whelp," she snarled lowly. "My wolf's blood is older than yours, youngling, and far more powerful. I have told your leader that I will not bring dishonor onto his name. However, if you choose to test my patience, I will no longer care about the virtues of respect. Am I understood?"

Vilkas was silent.

Azkari'a raised her gaze to Farkas, who had been quiet since the initial introduction. "I will return in the morning," she said, coldness still icing her voice with frost. "You can expect me with the rise of the sun."

"You are welcome to stay here, Azkari'a," Kodlak invited as she turned to leave. "We have many empty beds in the bunk room."

The mysterious female werewolf turned back with a slight smile, although it was not an entirely friendly gesture. "I do not prefer to share my space with so many, especially so many that do not trust me," she said. "I will return to my own home."

With that she swept out of the hall, disappearing like a shadow with the rise of the sun.

The three men sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the events that had come to pass.

It was Farkas who broke the quiet. "Are you sure about allowing her to join our ranks, Kodlak?" he asked, uncertainty tingeing his voice.

"Do you doubt your own choice, young one?" the harbinger asked, picking up a sweet roll from his plate on the table. "It was you who invited her to join us, as I recall."

Farkas ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. "No, I-I suppose I just cannot come to terms with who she is and what she's done, and that now we call her a Companion." He shook his head as if to make the concept stick. "It is against all I know."

Kodlak looked at him wisely. "Sometimes we have to put aside the traditions of the past to make something greater come forth," he said. "And in order for her to trust us, we must first trust her." He turned to Vilkas, who was still silently musing in his chair, brow furrowed. "She certainly does have a temper, though."

Vilkas had no answer for that, besides a flash of his grey eyes.

"I understand her apprehension at staying here with us, however," the harbinger continued, "Perhaps when she gains more certainty of us, she will consider taking a room in our hall."

Farkas scowled. "Living with a murderer," he grumbled, turning to leave, "What's next?"