Yes I realize I am elaborating heavily upon the given dialogue within the game.. well actually pretty much disregarding it completely.. but that's because I don't feel like sitting here writing down what's being said in-game, or looking it up lol. Besides it's more fun this way. Anyway, again, don't own, and such.
"..Surely I misheard you." Emara's voice was calm, level, carefully controlled - in direct contrast to the words being spoken, or the distressed look she was giving Skjor. "You cannot have meant Farkas."
The battle-hardened, half-bald man eyed her askance, and though his milky left eye saw nothing, the Bosmer certainly felt as though it could see her very thoughts. "You didn't." Her quiet sound - whether of distress or annoyance, he couldn't tell - was met with a stern glare. "I know you and Farkas don't get along, and that's why he's been chosen to judge you. Our decision stands. Now get it done."
Her jaw shut with an audible click of teeth, and Aela frowned beside her, clapping a hand on the tense Mer's shoulder. "Sorry, friend. But rest assured, Farkas will judge you fairly."
Emara snorted, clearly not believing her friend's words, but said nothing. When Aela patted her shoulder again and departed, the Mer sighed, figuring she may as well find Farkas and get this over with. She turned around, and found herself nose-to-steel with the breastplate of the man in question. Stepping back, she lifted her gaze to his face, and blinked at what she saw there; his expression was unreadable, but she thought she spotted the tiniest hint of remorse. "So you've heard." She nodded briskly, and he continued. "Meet me at Dustman's Cairn."
Before she could respond, he was off. Her brow furrowed, but after a moment, she followed. Might as well get this over with.
-x-
"Try and find a way to continue on." It was phrased as a suggestion, but Emara knew an order when she heard one. Despite the mild anger that inspired, she yanked her axe out of the Draugr corpse at her feet and moved to explore the room they were in. It appeared to be a dead end.. at least until she found a small adjoining room with a lever in it. She whistled softly to get Farkas' attention, and gripped the lever. "Don't-"
Too late. She pulled the lever, then whipped around as a gate slammed down between them. There was no hiding her wince; this had probably killed her chances of joining the Companions. "Sorry. There must be a way.. to..." She trailed off, her pointed ears twitching slightly beneath the confines of the helmet. Were those.. voices?
"Stand back." Emara blinked, and moved away from the gate, against her better judgement. Her dark eyes widened as armored men and women poured into the room, bearing weapons with an odd gleam to the metal. Something wasn't right here. Her heart flipped unpleasantly in her chest as the group moved as one to attack Farkas; she surged against the gate like an imprisoned animal, reaching through it toward the surrounded Companion. For a moment, she thought she was seeing things as a darkness furled around his armored form, but no. He was.. changing. His already broad shoulders widened yet further, his tall frame becoming more so. The callused, capable hands sprouted claws just as skin was replaced with thick black fur.
Farkas stood before her, but he was a man no more. Slavering lupine jaws opened to utter a bone-chilling howl that made Emara cower back instinctively, before his powerful claws swiped out, rending flesh and muscle from bone. Soon the armored invaders lay crumpled before him, their blood splattered across the floor, and the both of them. Before she could so much as open her mouth, he ran back the way they'd come, and she had to step away from the gate as it rose back into the doorway above.
Emara took a few hesitant steps forward, then froze when Farkas reappeared, returned to the normal, if intimidating, shape of a human male. She eyed him warily, afraid he would change again, then glanced towards the bodies littering the floor. He stopped a few feet away, and looked at her in silence for several long moments. Finally, he sighed. "I know you have questions, but now isn't the time for them. We need to finish up here - when we get back to Jorrvaskr, you can bother Skjor to your heart's content. Understand?"
She pondered this. Whatever Farkas was, Skjor knew - likely Aela, Vilkas, and Kodlak, too. And these people, whoever they were, hunted down those who were like Farkas. Looking at their mutilated corpses sprawled inelegantly across the floor, her mind flashed back to that moment when they'd first appeared, the fear she'd felt. Fear for him. Her gaze turned back to Farkas then, and whatever he saw in her eyes startled him; he took an involuntary step backward, then stiffened. She stifled a sigh, and nodded, before pivoting away from him. "I understand."
He was silent for a beat, then two, and finally she heard him shuffle his feet. "Well.. good. Let's get moving."
-x-
Werewolves. The Circle were all werewolves.
Emara had to bite the inside of her cheek to silence a laugh that, she was sure, would have sounded a little deranged. They were all watching her - Aela, Vilkas, Skjor.. Farkas. This was a moment that could end very, very badly, if she handled it wrong. The odd font before her seemed to beckon. She would truly belong to these Companions, if she did this. She would be a close, trusted member of the Circle.
She cupped her hands in the liquid before her, and drank deeply.
-x-
By the Divines, her head ached. In truth, everything ached, now that she was becoming fully aware of her body. She was cold, every muscle protested as she shifted, there were rocks digging into her side, and if someone didn't shut those blasted birds up, she was going to scream.
"She wasn't ready!"
Farkas? What was he doing here? For that matter, where was 'here' to begin with? She hesitantly cracked open one newly-silvered eye, looking around her. She appeared to be in a thicket, somewhere on the plains around Whiterun, judging by the looming presence of Dragonsreach in the near distance.. although what concerned her was the fact that she was practically naked. Her smallclothes didn't cover much, leaving the majority of her pale flesh open to scrutiny. Opening her other eye, she sat up partially, looking over the underbrush around her. Nearby, her armor and weapons sat in a small, neat pile, and beyond that, she saw Farkas having a heated discussion with Aela. Ducking her head down, she peered through the sparse growth around her, allowing a momentary frission of guilt as she listened in on their conversation.
"It wasn't your decision, Farkas. I know you don't like the girl, b-"
Farkas made a sharp chopping gesture with one hand, that as much as his furious expression silencing a startled Aela. "She could have been killed, Aela! The Silver Hand was waiting for her! If we hadn't been there..."
Aela sounded puzzled. "You were concerned for her? Is that why you followed her here after she changed back?"
He was worried she'd be harmed? Emara bit her lip, brow furrowing in confusion. But.. Farkas hated her. Didn't he? She felt her arms trembling, the muscles tired after long hours of doing.. well, she wasn't sure what, exactly, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But she couldn't remain like this. She shifted, the brush rattling around her, and by the time she stood, Farkas had already departed; she could just barely make out the silhouette of his form departing into the early morning light.
Her gaze turned to Aela as the Huntress neared, a forced lightness to her voice. "Ah, so you're awake! Come. We have much to discuss."
-x-
Kodlak was dead.
Sorrow permeated Jorrvaskr and its Companions, thick as the snow that fell atop the Throat of the World. There was no word spoken as they went about their business. Their Harbinger was gone, and there was a sense of listlessness about them. Emara sat on the steps behind the hall, her elbows on her knees, staring at her battleworn hands as they dangled between her legs. She couldn't help feeling that this was somehow her failing.. as though, had she been here, instead of off doing as Kodlak himself asked, the man would still be alive.
Vilkas' accusations upon her return had certainly not helped this feeling. More keenly, she remembered the look Farkas had given her - pure sadness.
She was withdrawn from her introspection by the sound of voices nearby, pitched low, but intense. She glanced up to see Vilkas and Farkas themselves, discussing something with heated gestures and furious glowers. Finally, Vilkas broke away and approached her, although something about the way Farkas turned to look at her made it impossible for her to draw her gaze away. Only when he finally departed did she look at his brother, her eyes filled with a silent question. He grimaced, then jerked his head toward the fields outside Whiterun.
"You and I have business to attend to."
-x-
The Silver Hand was no more. The slaughter of Kodlak Whitemane had been avenged, the stolen fragments of Wuuthrad reclaimed. Outside, surrounding the Skyforge, were the Companions and those of Whiterun who had known and loved the Harbinger - all save one. Emara sat on the floor in what had been Kodlak's quarters within Jorrvaskr, one tremulous hand clutching the final fragment of Ysgramor's famed weapon to her chest, while the other held a journal. Kodlak's journal. Moisture gathered in her eyes as she read the words he'd written about her, of her progress, of her capabilities, his thoughts on her.
She jumped as a footstep purposefully scraped against the floor nearby, and her head, devoid of the usual helmet, whipped around, to turn wide eyes on the intruder. To her surprise, Farkas stood with a hand against the doorframe, watching her with an odd expression on his face. Emara could only look at him, then offer up the well-worn journal and words thick with unshed tears. "He wrote of me, Farkas. Such things he said. I had no idea."
Still silent, Farkas closed the space between them, whereupon he took the journal and quickly skimmed its contents, his frown turning to more of a pensive expression. Finally, he closed the pages and set it on a nearby table, before looking down at her in thought. After a few moments, he hesitantly offered his hand. Emara, thinking he wanted the fragment of Wuuthrad, reached out to drop it into his palm, but stopped when he shook his head once. Confused and uncertain, she placed her other hand in his, and found herself quickly but gently tugged onto her feet.
She looked up at him. They were close enough that the metal of their respective breastplates were touching. And he was still holding her hand. There was something intense in those cold silver eyes of his, something so different from his usual frigid severity - something heated and full of unspoken promise. Just as she opened her mouth, to say what, not even she was sure, he let go of her hand, quickly as though it burned him, and stepped back with a grunt. "..We should get back."
He was gone before she could muster a reply.
-x-
Three weeks later, Emara found herself in a familiar position; seated on the rear steps of Jorrvaskr, elbows on her knees and gaze fixed on the hands dangling between her legs. But this time, it was not in shock of the death of Kodlak; rather, it was shock of what had transpired in the recent weeks. In honor of Kodlak's final request, she and the remaining members of the Circle had traveled to Ysgramor's tomb in the far north, and cured their former Harbinger, posthumously, of his lycanthropy.
Now Emara was the Harbinger.
She kept waiting to wake up. Surely this was just some odd dream. Someone more fitting - Aela, with her spirited devotion to the Companions, or Vilkas, with his headstrong ferocity, or Farkas, with his stolid determination - would be a better choice. But Kodlak's shade had spoken, and that was more than enough for the remnants of the Circle. Lost in rumination, she was startled by a voice beside her.
"Harbinger."
She cringed visibly, and was quick to stand, looking up at Farkas with something that bordered on horror. "Please.. please don't call me that. I don't.. feel ready to accept being called that. Not yet."
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "All right.. Emara." An awkward silence fell between them then, before he cleared his throat, and fixed an oddly determined look on her and continued. "I need your help with something."
Emara blinked. Farkas, coming to her for help? It had to be something important. "Is something the matter? I'll do whatever I can, of course."
He fidgeted a moment, obviously trying to find the best way to phrase his request, and the words ground out of him with all the elegance of an ancient tree toppling. "I want to.. be cured."
That was not what she expected. She mulled over his words. There could be no other response, really. So after a few heartbeats, she nodded. "Let me retrieve the heads, and it shall be done."