Next chapter already? Yea, damn it's easy when all you pretty much need to do is read, correct and do the final editing. There's not much more to say. Angst, violence and intrigues among the Companions.

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Enjoy!

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Chapter 2

~.o.O.o.~

I don't know how long we took to sweep the entirety of the Silver Hands hideout, tripping over each other at every other bend. But eventually we found those infernal fragments of Wuuthrad. Not to mention that we literary wiped the floor with the Silver Hand bastards. None was left alive, that we knew of anyway, and it was mainly because I - shortly after accidentally zapping Vilkas unconscious - let go of my rage.

My wolf had been howling at me for a long time already when my anger finally boiled over the point of no return. I had had it with the gruesome scenes of my dismembered and tortured cousins through lycanthropic blood.

"To oblivion with it all!" I snarled as I lunged into my transformation before going on a wild rampage through the stronghold. Vilkas was still holding his wolf at bay, as was his odd custom, but he didn't have all that much trouble keeping up with me. At least not what I could recall, but then again, I don't remember much details. It was mostly a haze of rage, death and dismemberment. But I do remember fleetingly feeling grateful that Vilkas kept his distance as he let me work out my aggressions on our hateful foes. He used his bow instead of his greatsword and only when it was absolutely needed.

For a man convinced that lycanthropy was a curse he took my rampage fairly good. A little grumpier than usual maybe as he collected, almost nonchalantly, what needed to be collected and then left to let me have a run at the place until my wolf was sated.

It took me quite some time to calm myself down from my frenzy and revert back to human form. I sniffed him out felt the change coming and found him just a little ways away from the site of the intentional massacre. He had busied himself with setting up our camp while I hunted. There was a fire, the tent was up, bedrolls splayed and he was out of his armor. He sat in the tent-opening, staring into the fire and munching away on a piece of dried meat as I approached.

His eyes went wide for a moment at the sight of me; tired to the verge of collapse, soaked in blood – I swear my white dreads were now more red than anything else – and I was as naked as the day I was born. The cold had me shivering from head to toe and he only hesitated a moment before springing to his feet to wrap me up in the nearest bedroll. He sat me down closest to the fire, added his own bedroll in addition to mine and almost caringly wiped most of the blood away from my face before trying to drive the chill from my bones by rubbing my arms.

It was almost dark, the fire our only source of light and soon we witnessed the first snowflake fall.

"Looks like I'm gonna be miserable tonight..." I sighed glumly – still shaking like the last leaf before winter. I scowled outside through the slightly parted tent flap - we kept them open to let the warmth from the fire creep inside the tent. I scowled since I knew all too well about the freezing temperatures one could run across in Skyrim and me being an elf left something to be sorely desired in terms of resilience to cold. Despite my beastblood I was still but a twig in comparison to Vilkas - or any other Nord apart from children - not to mention I hardly reached to more than his chest when standing next to the brute.

"Yea. No wonder though, even my sword weighs more than you." Vilkas answered, a small grin hinting in his features as he inspected me top to bottom where I sat pitifully wrapped like a cocoon in the two bedrolls. I rolled my eyes at that comment but didn't have the strength to do much more.

"I'll take first watch." I offered through clattering teeth as I scowled once more at the offending white powder spilling out of those baleful gray clouds and whirling its way down to the ground.

"Won't be able to sleep anyway in this cold…" I muttered, mostly to myself.

"Uhm... You have my bedroll…" Vilkas reminded with a slightly amused scoff, peering at me from under his lashes where he laid beside me on the bare ground, propped on one elbow. His silvery grey eyes seemed to stand out even more with that warpaint of his. I froze at his words and looked pleadingly over at my shield-brother, a pitiful whine escaping my throat before I could stop myself. Vilkas coughed into his closed fist to hide his laughter and his smirk but I could see it in his eyes. In my freezing state though I had not the mind to snarl at him. I merely huffed in resignation and begrudgingly started wriggling out of the bedrolls.

Two strong hands stopped my squirming, pulling open the outer bedroll to my rising alarm. I eyed him warily and was just about to protest when Vilkas moved his bulky frame into the outer bedroll with a strange ease. He rolled his annoyed eyes at my distress before wrapping his arms - and with them also the ends of the bedroll - around my tiny shivering frame. I tensed up like a bowstring at this unfamiliar behavior but I could feel the heat radiating from him even through his clothes and the layer of my bedroll. It spread pleasantly through my back and started thawing out my frozen limbs. Little by little and I felt myself starting to relax into him, ignoring my inner voice shouting at me not to trust him, and I hummed in appreciation when the clattering of my teeth and my shivering slowly ceased.

At that moment I couldn't find it in me to protest, no matter my previous experiences with men in general. And my wolf was more than a little sated, thus only offering a huff of annoyance at the contact with Vilkas. I was deadly tired and the warmth was so addictive as opposed to the bone-chilling cold I just experienced.

"Thanks." I half slurred as the haze of sleep overcame me rapidly.

I heard him grunt in acknowledgement and then stifle a chuckle as I curled up my tiny frame in the bedroll and his chest and promptly fell asleep.

~.o.O.o.~

Something was nuzzling around in my hair, tickling the back of my neck and drawing me out of my lovely sleep. I swatted behind me at whatever it was as it moved towards my neck again. A possessive growl and constricting arms around my waist and torso had me shooting awake in an instant. I struggled and snarled right back at the thing of my aggravation but I couldn't get loose. I was pissed beyond words. Vilkas had no right! And this was why I never went on jobs with men. They always got too grabby. Always!

My snarling and trying to get away from him had Vilkas growling as he bit my neck in an animalistic warning. The bastard was trying to make me submit. He tried to dominate me! To force me into letting him have what he wanted. I fumed with anger, contemplating shifting to surprise him as well as punish him dearly but thought better of it. Shifting back would take too long and I didn't want to waste my time as a wolf on something as absurd as Vilkas' misguided need to copulate.

"Let me go!" I barked at the offending oaf who was crushing me against him, still possessively growling while nuzzling around my neck and shoulders, kissing and nibbling as he went. I couldn't help the shivers that spiked through my body and I could feel his well-sized erection against my behind but it only served to fuel my aggravation.

"Why?" he asked in husky anger as he ground his hips into my rear, biting down roughly on my neck.

"Get. Off. Now!" I managed to choke out in warning through clenched teeth as I seethed in my rage at Vilkas outlandish behavior.

When Vilkas didn't budge I slammed my head back as hard as I could into his - hearing him howl in pain brought a satisfied smile to my face. I sank my teeth into his closest forearm and shoved my elbows back into his stomach with all the strength I could muster in my constricted state. It was thankfully enough to get him to let go and I rolled out of his reach, crouching defensively while my bronze-colored skin prickled from the sudden intense cold. Sneering and growling in anger I readied my defense in anticipation for Vilkas' next move. He coughed and gasped for air as he sat up. His eyes blinking rapidly as he shook his head sharply. Then he turned to, once again, glare at me with those scornful, silver eyes of his.

"So that's how it's gonna be?" He snarled at me as I straightened out from my crouch. I was so pissed I forgot that I was probably supposed to be bothered by being naked, yet again, in front of this man. The only thing that did bother me at that moment, was the onslaught of the cold. Adrenaline and fury wasn't enough to dull the pain of the chill and in a matter of moments I was shivering again.

"Oh you bet on it loverboy!" I spat as I started to rummage about for my clothes and armor. If he thought I was going to repay his kindness by spreading my legs like a common bar-wench, he had another thing coming. And I would never again be caught dead accepting his help, now knowing the apparent price for such a deed. I was huffing and snorting in frustrated annoyance and the sheer incredulously of the situation, never taking my awareness off of Vilkas while I got dressed. But to my relief he just sneered at me, got up and started to pack up our camp. All the while glaring daggers the size of his greatsword my way.

Not a single word was said the entire walk back to Jorrvaskr and as soon as we got to Whiterun we broke off in different directions.

"Come up to the Skyforge when you're done." Vilkas muttered reluctantly over his shoulder as he headed straight - probably meaning to stop at the market to sell off some loot before he continued to Jorrvaskr. I went to the Drunken Huntsman to sell of some gear we'd found, and as usual got stuck in a pointless conversation with the sleazy one of the bosmer brothers who owned the place. Then I went home. I wanted to see if Marcurio had gotten there ok and if he was still there, enjoying the free bed and board. He was probably angry though. Lydia too. I had taken off in a hurry, during a large city-crisis and only now got back, three days later.

I managed to crack the door to Breezehome open by a hole inch before it was wrenched fully open, facing me with a scowling Lydia.

"Thank the eight!" she suddenly said, visably deflating in front of me. "We were beginning to think you died!"

"No I didn't, I told you she'd be fine!" Marcurio piped up from the table behind her as I made my way inside. He did sound irritated but of course he knew I would be fine. He might be a mercenary but we had been fighting along-side each other for almost half a year now and I considered him a friend. He knew about me being Dragonborn, had even been with me when I killed a few dragons. And he was probably the only one who knew I was a Nightingale – apart from the other two in that lovely threesome - and he knew I was the Guild Master of the Thieves Guild. He also happened to be the only man I could ever take on jobs without worrying about having to look over my shoulder all the time. He preferred men and thus, thankfully, left me alone. Furthermore, he was very skilled with magic and never got in my way. Probably since he fancied using me as a meat-shield.

"We heard what happen in Jorrvaskr. It's a shame about Kodlak…" Lydia said trailing of and looking away. I put a hand on her shoulder for support, knowing well how fond she was of the Companions, Kodlak specifically. She would probably have joined if it had been an option.

"The culprits have paid in full. That I promise you. And what was stolen is now retrieved." I said and saw Lydia's eyes pinch shut as she nodded slightly.

"You ok?" I turned to Marcurio.

"Me?" he replied incredulously.

"Well, now that mentioned it I did get a bit of a cramp in my back hauling all that loot here, all by my lonesome. Oh! And I stubbed my toe…" Marcurio whined in obvious sarcasm that earned him a heated and disapproving look from Lydia. To which he held out a hand as if to stop her from shouting at him.

"But, my dear, I'm not the one who got dragged off to Gods know where by some bestial, hulking Nord, to do only the Eight knows what." he continued sternly, his usually mischievous eyes shone instead with heated concern. He never did learn to trust most of the Companions. He said it was because of the way some of the members were eyeing me and it had only gotten worse since he found out about the beastblood. It was pretty hard to cover up after that cock-up with Sinding and Hircine in Falkreath. The cursed ring I accepted from Sinding had forced my transformation, in broad daylight and in front of my friend.

Thankfully it happened in the woods and Marcurio, being who he was on top of being a mage, made him somewhat more tolerant and more curious about my condition as opposed to flat out terrified. But, since Marcurio knew I wasn't a wolf from the start he just kind of put two and two together. The only new factor since before I was a wolf and now, was the initiation into the Circle of the Companions. Or so he said, when prompted to explaining why he knew to ask me if all the circle-members of the Companions carried the blood.

After Falkreath, Marcurio swallowed every piece of information about werewolves he could find and as his knowledge grew, as did his suspicion towards some members of the Circle and Companions. He was short with Aela, ignored Vilkas and he absolutely loathed Njada, probably for being the crude bitch she was. Moreover he seemed to want to zap Torvar to Oblivion for some reason he would not share.

I didn't particularly like the guy, Torvar always smelt too much like mead and I thought him a little too sloppy, but I figured he was harmless. Aela was a mystery, cold one moment, passionate the next but I didn't dislike her. More like kept my distance. I agreed with my friend on Njada though. She was a bitch on more levels than one and often threw comments at me having the other members deal with her out of pure shame. I learned to ignore her though, I figured I would be jealous too in her shoes.

Then there was Vilkas of course. He was a whole new definition of trouble and both Marcurio and I knew it.

"I'm fine." I muttered bitterly. My mood instantly souring at the unwelcome reminder of this morning's happenings with Vilkas. My green eyes flickered back to Marcurio and then over to Lydia. Both now looking intently at me, arms crossed and I could tell they knew something was off. I really needed to learn to choose my words better.

"It's nothing I couldn't handle. Just a slight, misunderstanding." I said, trying to sound flippant about it. None of my friends was buying it though.

"Anyway, I need to get back to Jorrvaskr. See if they need any help with…" I sighed, running a hand through my white dreaded hair - compliments of a Khajiit wanderer who saw me cursing about getting my hair in my face with every swing of my swords.

~.o.O.o.~

On my way to Jorrvaskr I did my usual pitstop at the shrine of Talos. At first I started going there to piss of the priest spouting his overdramatic crap and eyeing me viciously due to me being an elf. Then I found I enjoyed making people confused about the fact that an elf could go against the laws of the Aldmeri Dominion. It sort of became my own inside joke. And lastly I went because, well, I was Dragonborn after all. Who of the Gods would better understand my hardships and needs?

After a short prayer I felt the familiar rush as Talos' blessing cleansed me of any lingering diseases and left me rejuvenated. I thanked him and started up the stairs to Jorrvaskr, halting a moment on the top. I wasn't really sure I wanted to have to deal with whatever shit-storm that certainly awaited me when I continued up the steps to the Skyforge. But I needed to talk to Aela about this morning, I needed to see my family and I needed to grief.

Sighing deeply I made my way up the steps. I was moving almost silently since I had changed out of my nordic steel armor and wore my lighter Guild Master armor instead. Eorlund saw me first since he was closest by the stairs, then I felt the gaze of several of my shield-siblings as I stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the forge. As I took my place at the funeral, in between Aela and Farkas, I could feel a certain pair of eyes boring holes into the left side of my skull. I kept my face neutral as I flicked my eyes towards the source and sure enough, in my peripheral view I could see Vilkas glaring.

I sighed and locked my gaze to the burning embers of the forge. This wasn't the time for fighting.

Eorlund started the funeral with some well-placed words and more ceremonial words were said in short succession among my shield-siblings before Aela set the pyre in the middle of the forge on fire. There was a moment of silence as everyone focused on the crackling of burning wood. And as the fire reached the wrapped body of the late Harbinger Aela bid the Circle to meet in the Underforge, too grief the last together she said. I knew better by that glint she had in her eyes - the same dangerous glint that sparkled in her eyes when she wanted revenge for Skjor's death. I nodded knowingly to her, leaning back on one hip with my arms crossed in front of me. I let my eyes rest again on the still blazing remains of the man that had played the role of both father and mentor to many of my shield-siblings and my nose wrinkled at the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh.

I didn't notice the man until he was standing right next to me, too absorbed in my own thoughts. Eorlund asking me about the fragments of Wuuthrad drew me out of my shell and I praised my fortune for having the good sense of taking them with me when I left Breezehome. I turned them over to the smith without a word. I knew the Companions more or less revered the legend of Ysgramor, and Wuuthrad was his axe, but to me it was only a reminder of everything gone wrong. Then he asked me to retrieve the last piece, a piece that was supposedly in Kodlak's chambers since he always had kept it near him.

I must have looked confused because he hurried to explain that he didn't think he was the best person to go through Kodlak's things. It felt like he was cryptically trying to tell me something but I was too spent to play the guessing game.

"Oh, but I am?" I asked wearily, feeling the glare of a certain someone intensify. Eorlund looked sternly at me and I yielded, too tired to really offer much of a fight at this point.

"It would be my pleasure." I sighed, rubbing my eyes before turning on my heels to search out Jorrvaskr's sleeping quarters, and all the while silently cursing the unwanted attension Eorlund seemed to be giving me. What did he know that no one else did?

I found the piece easy enough once I entered the old man's room. Not really hard for someone with training from the thieves guild, but I also found something else. Kodlak's journal. Was this what Eorlund had meant with his cryptic nonsense about him not being the right person to go through Kodlak's belongings? Was I supposed to read it? I sat down on the old man's bed, contemplating the pros and cons before opening the journal with slightly shaking hands.

It started off with information I already knew, the legend of Ysgramor and that of Terrfyg who brought the Circle into Hircine's grace, if one could call servitude to a Daedra grace.

It went on telling of a dream. A dream that made Kodlak realize that maybe he had a choice regarding his afterlife and that he would not be alone in his fight. He wrote about the Circle and their reaction to the knowledge about a potential cure and it seemed not much had changed since the entry was written. Aela still loved what she called her gift, Vilkas still called it a curse and Farkas was unfortunately caught in the middle, not really happy with either of them. Skjor had shared Aela's opinion and was now most certainly enjoying the hunting grounds of Hircine in his afterlife. The difference in opinions had somewhat splintered the Circle according to Kodlak and unfortunately nothing had changed.

The next entry hit me hard. I was sorely tempted to smash my own head into a wall for being so mind-bogglingly stupid. Vilkas was grumpy and irritated because he saw the beast-blood as a curse and was suffering for his decision to withhold his wolf. Of course he would be pissed that I had waltzed in and happily accepted what he wanted to rid the Companions of. Farkas on the other hand seemed to have little to no trouble with his wolf and neither did I or Aela to be honest, but it was so painfully obvious now why Vilkas had resented me like the plague after accepting the blood and running my first hunt.

I loved the perks that came with being a werewolf. But then again I had always known what I got myself into. And it wasn't like I had planned to give up my soul to a Daedra without a fight. I knew there was always a loophole. The challenge lay in finding it. And I also knew there would probably be a pissing-match about who would get my soul among the Daedric Princes once I died, since I had dabbled with a lot of them. But Vilkas didn't know that, none of the other's knew of my previous involvement with the Daedric Princes. Maybe he wouldn't hate me so much if he had known. Or he would have hated me even more. Because to be honest, he had ample reasons to resent me anyway, being the spellsword I was and an elf to boot.

I continued reading and found myself chilled to the bone at the next paragraph. Kodlak had dreamed of me. The stranger in his dream from earlier entries, the one helping him to fight the beastblood, was me. My face fell as I read his true feelings about magic and I wondered if the only reason he let me join at all was due to his dreams. It seemed even the leader of the Companions shared in the deep mistrust of magic, deeming it an unnecessary trickery. I felt betrayed. My heartbeat quickened in reaction to my rising anger and my hand clenched hard enough around the pages of the journal to crumple them. Internally I was raging and felt like breaking everything in sight as I simultaneously cursed the day I sat foot in Jorrvaskr.

Then I sighed, deflated and reeled in my feelings. I knew the others didn't really hold it against me for being a spellsword. They had all grown and learned to appreciate my talents. Well, all except Vilkas. But the words in the journal still hurt.

My heart warmed slightly again as I read on. Kodlak's wrote fondly about me and Aela even though we had tried to go behind his back with our relentless attacks on the Silver Hand. But that warm fuzzy feeling in my chest was short-lived as my breath hitched when reading the last paragraph. I must have re-read it a thousand times over and then re-read the very last sentence about a half a dozen times more before my brain finally somewhat accepted the meaning of the words.

"Desthia shows valor, though even in this more underhanded time. We have not had cause to speak much and that is something I deeply regret. I have high hopes for her destiny, as I realize that her appearance in my dream may indeed mark her as the Harbinger to succeed me."

There I had to pause. Or I wanted to, felt the need to but couldn't. I skimmed through the last page where Kodlak wrote of the other companions and why he thought they were not fit to lead the companions in the way he wished it to be lead. I was shellshocked and almost threw the journal back inside the bedside table as if it was on fire. Those were his final words before the incident with the Silver Hand and now I regretted even more that I did not stay a few more days. If I hadn't taken on the quest to Glenmoril in such a hurry Kodlak wouldn't be gone. If I had just followed normal procedure, this burden of knowledge would not be on my shoulders.

I fought the urge to flee... retch… or… spontaneously combust.