Chapter II

Hello again, all! I've already gotten some great feedback and truly appreciate it, so keep it up! It means so much to me. As I mentioned, this is an old story that sat on my computer for years now... Since it's already written, all I really have to do is revise and post, so keep an eye out for the next chapters coming out fairly quickly. -Sass

Sofja slid against the dirty walls of Dustman's Cairn, with Farkas slow at her back. A light was up ahead, and she could hear the shuffling of footsteps. Looking back, she caught Farkas' smiling eyes. This was her task, and she was in control. Skjor had come to her with information that a piece of Wuuthrad, the sacred axe of Ysgramor, had been located, and it was her task to retrieve it to become a true member of the Companions. Out of the shadows, four Draugr appeared, offering little competition. Nothing could scare Sofja more than fighting a dragon, so a few undead creatures were little trouble, a mere distraction. A fifth emerged from behind a corner with a long, blue sword. As she lifted her blade, its voice halted her.

"Dovahkiin," it spoke, its voice deep and gravelly. "Aan grohiik? Daar los nivahriin. Him fen aus bah. Krosis."

Sofja panicked.

She understood what the creature said.

The words were foreign-sounding, but somehow she understood their meaning. What in the name of the Nine did that mean, was there a wolf in the caverns nearby? Was this part of the Dragonborn gift? In that split second, Sofja's eyes widened and she lost her breath. Before she could take the time to understand, she brought her blade forcefully down on the creature's neck, slicing clean through. A scream escaped her throat. It seemed as though the floor had fallen away from her. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" Farkas asked simply. "What'd that thing say to you?"

"I… I don't know," she lied quickly. "Let's keep moving."

Turning around a corner, Sofja led as Farkas followed steadily behind. Farkas was a kind soul in a hardened body; she wasn't worried about proving her honor to him. She and Farkas had a sort of understanding—she accepted his slowness, and in exchange, Farkas accepted the fact that Sofja would never be the perfect Companion. Ahead, there was a small alcove with a few chests. Taking a quick glance back at Farkas, Sofja realized he was hardly paying attention, too busy taking in his surroundings. She moved forward quickly to the alcove. Sofja was thankful for that, because if Vilkas had acted as her shield brother, she imagined things would be much different. He would be critical of every move she made.

Sofja lifted the top of one of the chests, repeating the words of the draugr back to herself… aan grohiik. A wolf. Daar los nivahriin. This is cowardly… Him fen aus bah. He will suffer greatly. Krosis. Pity. It still made no sense. Sofja squeezed her eyes shut as she picked up a golden circlet. She needed to think about something else. Looking back at Farkas as he wandered slowly around the cavern, for some reason, his brother popped into her mind again.

What was it about Vilkas that made her hands sweat? Sofja shook her head as she approached a rusty lever in the alcove. The more Aela paid attention to her, and the more hostility she sensed from Vilkas, the more she felt as though she was on the wrong side of some conflict she knew nothing about. She wanted to be on the right side. Aela made her...uneasy. But she was always kind enough, if not a little condescending.

Curiosity tingled in Sofja's fingertips and she grabbed the lever. With a grunt, it gave way. Suddenly, the sound of grinding metal exploded behind her, and a huge gate fell from the ceiling, closing her in. Sofja tugged at the lever to open the gate again, but it wouldn't budge. From behind, she heard a chuckle.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out. I'm sure the release is around here somewhere," Farkas said, a smile in his voice. Sofja smiled with embarrassment, walking up to the gate.

"Hurry. I don't want Vilkas to tease me for eternity because I locked myself behind some thousand-year-old gate." Before Farkas could move, the sounds of shouts and footsteps echoed in the surrounding hallways. Six or seven men and women wearing armor and brandishing weapons appeared, and the blood drained from Sofja's face. Farkas was going to die, and she would have to watch. And then, when they pried the gate open, she would die, too. No glory. No chance to save her friend—one of the few she had.

"Which one are you?" A gruff-looking man asked, licking his lips.

"It doesn't matter!" A woman with a shrill voice cried. "If he wears that armor, he dies."

"You're gonna regret this…" Farkas said calmly. And with that, something happened. Sofja blinked a few times to make sure that what happened wasn't real. She could hear the popping of limbs and the cracking of bones. But no one dared attack Farkas yet, so how could his body fail him already? His armor, piece by piece, began hitting the ground. Before her eyes, Farkas was growing in height…inches…feet. His skin was…fur? Sofja didn't know when, but the…thing…in front of her suddenly was not Farkas. It was…a wolf, standing nearly ten feet tall on its hind legs. Lifting its snout into the air, it shrieked a violent cry and began to massacre the men and women before it. It slammed one woman into a wall, sending blood spattering in patterns on the stone behind her. Farkas—or the wolf—caught another man by the throat and ripped in open. One by one, he tore them apart. Then suddenly he ran to the left into a corridor.

"Farkas?" Sofja called out, with less confidence in her voice than she thought was necessary. The gate before her quickly lifted, and she was left with a pile of bodies in front of her, each ripped to shreds in its own unique way.

"Sofja…" Farkas' gruff voice carried in from the left corridor. "I have something I need to explain… And can you bring my armor to me? I'm…naked."

A celebration awaited Farkas and Sofja when they returned to Jorrvaskr. Vilkas waited patiently outside the door. At sundown, Farkas arrived home without Sofja. A pang of anxiousness echoed in Vilkas' chest. He knew all along she wasn't Companion material; he could tell by the way she walked, by the way she could hardly look him in the eye. Vilkas was sure that she was not a hero by the Companion's standards. Looking at Farkas' eyes, though, Vilkas knew immediately something was more wrong than Sofja simply abandoning the task.

"Where is she?" He asked urgently. Blinking quickly, he posed a second question in an attempt to hide the sound of worry present in the first. "Did she run off scared?"

"She knows the truth." Farkas said plainly. "I changed. I was cornered and she was trapped. I am sorry, brother."

"Where has she gone? She can't just run away and sell our secret to the highest bidder!" A heat was rising in his chest. Vilkas cut off his voice with a deep breath—he did not want to make the change in the middle of the town, especially when he had refused the change for so long. The wolf within him was fiery and angry and ready to leap out at the first sign of weakness. But he couldn't allow that.

Vilkas had given up the transformations alongside his brother and Kodlak. Kodlak hired a mage to look into the true source of the beastly transformations; what he found was not comforting. The change they had worshipped for so long as a gift was actually a curse upon the Companions created by the daedric prince Hircine. In an attempt to ask for mercy of the Nine, they gave up their beastly transformations completely. Farkas seemed nearly the same. Kodlak, though sometimes strained, always maintained his composure. Vilkas, however, could hardly trust himself. When an emotion arose in him, whether it was anger, lust or happiness, the beast fought for control. A few times, it nearly won. He could barely live his human life, always fearing that the wolf would emerge. An eternity in any place other than Sovngarde was unthinkable. And now their disgusting secret was out in the open, with some tiny, pale girl, who could do anything with the information she'd been given.

"Sofja is our sister. She said she would be here, brother. She was successful and honorable on our journey, and she will continue to prove her honor tonight. Have faith." Farkas pleaded with some emotion. Vilkas scoffed at his suggestion.

"Faith? Faith, brother? Farkas, sometimes I—" Before he could finish, he was interrupted by her. It was not the sight of her—not yet. He smelled her first. Lilac. He wrinkled his nose at the sweetness of it. How did she do that? It was too natural to be some sort of perfume. Turning towards the steps, he saw the top of her fiery head moving up the steps of Jorrvaskr, her complexion warm in the midst of the setting sun. She came back.

"I'm sorry if I'm late," Sofja said, trying to smile. Vilkas took in the sight of her. She was wearing civilian clothes; a tunic with tight leggings and brown leather boots. Her hair fell loose down her back, and for a second, he couldn't think of anything he might say to her. He stared at the ends of her curly, red hair. She was trying to seem merry, but there was something in her icy stare that betrayed uneasiness.

"You are late, new blood." His eyes shot daggers at her. "We have a celebration planned in your honor. But first, a ceremony to initiate you fully into…our ranks."

And with that, it was settled. Sofja was not only a true Companion now, but the youngest member of the Circle. She had to be, in order to keep the secret of the beast blood. It was that, or death. Kodlak had not mentioned if there she would have a choice in taking the beast blood, but the time would come to sort it all out. Right now, she could hardly believe what she had seen earlier that day.

There was a small feast in her honor, with an endless supply of mead to be enjoyed by all. Vilkas sat in one corner, eyeing Sofja for most of the night, and hoping she didn't notice. She danced with Farkas and drank her fair share, but something was holding her back, as he had seen when she first arrived. Every time she thought no one saw, an anxiety would wash over her face that could not easily be hidden. It was the knowledge of Hircine's curse; it had to be taking its toll. She was scared, and he couldn't let her run. But there were other reasons he didn't want her to run, reasons he was only just admitting to himself.

As the music and the fire died down, Vilkas saw her slip away like a ghost to the living quarters. His left hand gripped his mug tightly. It was his fifth, and it was making his head buzz. The wolf within was resting easy. His right hand sank deep into his pocket and traced over the foreign words on her necklace. Vilkas had it repaired by Eorlund almost as soon as he had found it, but he was waiting for the right time to give it back to her. At that thought, he argued with himself. Don't get tangled up in something stupid, Vilkas. Don't fall prey to some woman. She's not even worth the name "Companion." That's who you lust after? The runt of the pack? He shook his head at himself. But she is worth the name. There's something special about her, despite her flaws. Standing up, he took a final swig of mead and slammed the flagon on the table. Vilkas would bring the necklace to her now…and he would linger as long as he could allow himself without feeling foolish. He needed to talk to her about what had happened at Dustman's Cairn.

Sofja undressed quickly, undergarments and all, and threw on her mother's old tunic, which was ragged and oversized. Sofja's mother, above all things, was no seamstress. She received everything from her parents—her belongings, her will to live and her Nord blood. Sofja was their only child, and although her father wouldn't admit it, she always wondered if her parents had prayed to the Nine Divines in vain for a boy. If she had been a boy, maybe things would have been different. She quickly pushed the thought away.

Sofja sat down on her cot and pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knee. Her reddish hair fell in ripples around her arms, almost nearing her waist. She felt dirty—dirty with the blood of those she watched die by Farkas' hand. She couldn't blame him, but…it was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

He had explained it all to her. He explained how the Circle of the Companions shared the blood of the wolf. He told of the transformation, which did not lessen in pain each time it occurred. Farkas explained how he and his brother lived at Jorrvaskr since they were small, as they were abandoned by their father. He told of their fate after death: those who bore the blood of the wolf would enter the eternal hunting grounds of the daedric prince Hircine. No wolf could pass into Sovngarde. Sofja shuddered at the thought of it. All this, and she was the Dovahkiin as well? Could it be true? She cringed, her mind foggy as a result of these thoughts and all the mead she drank. The room was beginning to suffocate her. A knock at the door jolted her out of her panic.

"Yes?!" she yelped, wondering who it could be at the hour it was. She assumed everyone had fallen down in their beds as a result of some mead-induced stupor. The door pushed open and Vilkas tilted his head in.

"May I come in, lass?" He asked, his voice sounding less powerful than she remembered. Maybe the mead had reached his head, too. Sofja's core burned with curiosity as to why Vilkas decided to come by at this late hour, and the warmth extended to her limbs.

"Of course. What, not calling me 'whelp' anymore, Vilkas?" He looked bewildered at the question, as if he wasn't used to seeing her show any sort of personality. Sofja wasn't sure what made her say that, and the boldness of it surprised her. She swallowed hard, wondering how he would respond.

"Well… you're one of us now." Vilkas smiled weakly and crossed the room towards her. Suddenly he stopped, and his lips turned into a grave line. His eyes traced down the curves of her body underneath the tunic she was wearing. Sofja's eyes widened. She was probably dressed a little scantily for visitors...she wasn't used to people seeing her in her night clothes. Getting up quickly, she grabbed the sheep's wool blanket from the chair near her bed and wrapped it around herself. Vilkas was staring at her so intently that she had to stifle a nervous giggle. For some reason, she was enjoying his gaze. Had all his nasty teasing had the opposite effect on her?

"Vilkas, do I have your attention?" she teased, turning to face him.

"I…" He began, unsuccessfully. Her skin was so white, and her lips… He shook his head for a moment. Gods be damned, no more mead! He thought.

"What is it?" She asked. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out her necklace.

"I wanted to return this. I had it fixed, as promised." Vilkas frowned with frustration, holding the meager chain in his hand. Instead of grabbing the necklace from him, Sofja smiled with appreciation and turned her back towards him. Slowly, she lifted the long, red strands away from her neck and motioned for him to place the necklace around her. Vilkas felt totally unsettled.

"Will you do the honors?" Sofja asked quietly. Vilkas swallowed hard, the delicate chain hanging expectantly in his rough hands. He was never good with delicate things—he had a knack for breaking them.

"Um…fine," he mumbled, approaching her. He slid his arms around her neck, pulling the necklace up until it was in the proper place. Vilkas could feel the heat emanating from her, and could hear her quick breaths. He could feel everything; this was one of the benefits of the wolf blood. A benefit or a curse.

Vilkas struggled to clasp the chain around her neck. After a few moments, she chuckled, offending him slightly.

"Don't think I'm too dense to know when I'm being teased!" He snapped, finally clasping the necklace together. "They say Farkas has Ysgramor's strength, and I his smarts, but I'm no woman and have no knowledge of womanly things." Sofja turned to face him, smiling softly. Vilkas looked down at the small slab of metal that held those foreign words. He wanted to hit the smug smile off of her face.

Cautiously, he reached down to her chest and grabbed the metal square that held those three mysterious words. He rubbed the cool metal between his fingers. Vilkas' darkening eyes glanced back up at Sofja's. He wondered why Sofja came to the Companions. She was untouched by the wolf blood and its curse, and it made him feel like a diseased skeever in contrast to a High Queen. No matter what she saw, she would never truly understand the beast blood. And that was a blessing, at the very least.

"Do you still not understand the meaning of this?" He said, eyeing the necklace between his fingers—and the skin beneath that. "Farkas said one of those draugrs tried to have a chat with you." The light suddenly faded out of her eyes.

"It means 'dragon by honor.' I don't know what that means or why," she said in a whispery voice, pulling away from him and sitting back down on her cot. "I know what that draugr said, too." She shouldn't have told him. Her dovahkiin power was her darkest secret, and sharing this bit of information could put her in danger. But she couldn't help herself. Sofja couldn't stand the thought of being alone in her fear anymore.

Vilkas was intrigued, and decided to take a chance in following her. He sat down on the cot next to her, careful to keep a safe distance between them. Vilkas could feel the heat radiating from her. He shook his head a little, convincing himself it was the drink that was reaching into his core, making his body tingle.

"But I thought you said—" he began, confused.

"I don't know how I understood it," she said, answering his question before he could finish. "But I did. The creature told me that I was a coward for bringing a wolf with me to fight. I didn't even know then…about…the secret. How could it have known?"

Vilkas tried to smile, attempting to comfort her. "They're ancient creatures, they have their ways. Are you sure you've never heard these words before? Perhaps in passing, in your youth sometime? There must be a reason. It's not as if you're the Dragonborn, after all," he joked. Yet as he turned back towards Sofja, he noticed that she had suddenly become very pale. He knew he shouldn't make jokes. He was never very good at them, which was especially obvious based on her reaction.

"Sofja?" Vilkas began, attempting to apologize but not knowing how. What had he said to offend? He felt Sofja's cold fingers enclose around his own. "Sofja, I just meant-"

"Vilkas… I am." She took a moment, gulped a breath, and continued. She couldn't bear to keep it tucked away any longer. She learned the Companion's secret. Perhaps they could accept hers. Vilkas, for all his teasing, was a good man, and she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out to him. "I am… the Dragonborn." Sofja whispered.

"You are… Dovahkiin?" He stared at her for a moment or two, trying to process the words. She nodded. Suddenly, he began laughing heartily. "What in the name of Ysmir are you talking about? Sure, you're Dovahkiin. You don't sound crazy in the slightest. I bet you're the Sybil of Dibella, too."

Sofja looked away from him, an expected disappointment settling over her. By the look on her face, it suddenly occurred to him: it was real. At least, she believed it to be real.

He took the moment to squeeze her hand back. "Sofja…" He whispered. "But… What? How could this… How do you know?"

She began to tell her story. "Before I came here, I went to Whiterun to tell the Jarl of the dragon attack at Helgen. I was… a prisoner at the block when the dragon came. That," she said, her eyes flaring as she noticed him open his mouth to interrupt, "is another story entirely. But I escaped and came to Whiterun. Here, another dragon attacked, and since I had survived such an encounter already, they asked me to lend my services. I had nothing else to lose."

Vilkas hung on her every word. Who would lie about such a thing? And she was on the block…as the dragon attacked, just as Kodlak had seen in his dreams? How could it be so?

Sofja continued. "So, I lend my sword. With all the strength I had, I managed to kill it. But something happened to me that night. It was as if the dragon's life force, its energy…its knowledge… were stored in me. I could hear its thoughts, see its memories... It was overwhelming. Since then, this language has become familiar to me, piece by piece, until the other day, it suddenly clicked… I ran to the Companions to learn to fight, and to hide out. I'm not ready for the world to know my secret."

"You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don't you?" Vilkas pulled his hand away from hers and ran it through his hair. "I mean… Dovahkiin? You could've said that when you first came to join us, I would've given you no trouble… Can you explain why the dragons have returned? Does it have something to do with you?"

Sofja sighed in frustration. She felt as if the world was weighing on her shoulders, she finally confided in another soul who she thought she might trust, and the last thing she needed was to be treated like Pelagius III. She was as confused as he was, if not more. His frantic questions made her wonder if she had made a mistake.

"Vilkas!" Sofja growled, smacking him on the shoulder. "I don't know anything about the dragons, but something happened to me the day I killed that one. The Greybeards called to me."

"Fine, fine! I believe you. But…show me. Show me a shout," Vilkas asked. Standing up, he walked across the room and turned around to face her. Straightening his tunic and running his hands through his hair, he took a breath. "Shout."

Sofja's eyes widened at his request. "Are you insane? I've only shouted once or twice, and by accident. It's too dangerous. You know what, Vilkas? This was a mistake," she sighed. "Just go." Heading towards the door, she planned on pushing him out, but Vilkas grabbed her shoulders. She stared up at his eyes, surprised by the physical contact.

His fingers squeezed into her arms, jolting her. As soon as he put his hands on her, Vilkas' head swam with excitement. Sofja was so close to him, he could see the speckles in her irises. The small birth mark just below her left eye. Vilkas wasn't going to stop himself.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to—" Sofja began. Before she could finish, Vilkas closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her own. Sofja's eyes widened as she felt her mouth part in anticipation of him. She couldn't control herself. Her eyes started falling shut as she felt the wetness of his tongue against her teeth. Opening her mouth slightly, their tongues touched and her body went limp. His hands released her shoulders and slid down to her hips, beckoning her closer. Sofja lifted her hands to his neck in wordless reply, pulling him down nearer to her with a sense of desperate need that she could hardly understand. Her body was defying the confused thoughts screaming in her mind. In a last ditch effort to escape, Sofja opened her eyes and pulled away from the kiss, the musky taste of him still on her tongue as she pictured what it would look like to see his mouth on hers from a distance.

They stood before each other, panting like animals. Before Vilkas could explain himself, Sofja slammed her open palm across his cheek. The sound echoed through the room and forced him to take a few steps back. They stared at each other in shock, for more than one reason. Vilkas clutched his cheek and his eyes bore into her.

"Are you drunk?! What in Oblivion did you do that for?!" She questioned, gaping at him as he stood silent, clutching his cheek. The kiss threw her off, and the way it made her feel was confusing... And Vilkas didn't seem to be taking it well. Sofja noticed suddenly a change in his demeanor. He was breathing heavily; his skin turned splotchy red and his eyes began glazing over.

"Vilkas?" She whispered. Was he that offended? Vilkas put his head into his hands and began shaking.

"Get…away…from me." He whispered in a strained voice. Sofja was confused.

"Listen," she began quietly, taking a few steps towards him, "I'm sorry I slapped you, you just really surprised me, but you don't have to…"

Vilkas shook harder, and as Sofja reached out to him, he looked up at her, a strange, growling sound escaping his mouth. His eyes seemed yellow. Sofja realized what was happening—Vilkas was losing control of his human form. Was it because she hit him?

"Vilkas…?"

Suddenly he leapt at her, and she panicked. "FUS!" She shouted quickly. The word, sounding like a cannon's boom, was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Vilkas flew against the wall with the force of her voice. It all happened so fast that Sofja yelped upon hearing the thud of his body against the wood. She didn't realize how powerful her voice was. And soon everyone who wasn't passed out from the mead would come running to check out the commotion, and then her secret would be known, and she'd have to leave... Her mind was racing with terror.

Running towards him, she fell to her knees and cupped his face in her hands. The transformation seemed to be stopping, but she didn't know what to do now.

"Vilkas, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..." After a few moments, Sofja noticed that his eyes weren't opening—he was out cold. Sofja sighed in disbelief. Grabbing him by his arms, she dragged him towards the bed. It was going to be a long night.