What If She Had Left?
Chapter 4
Silence fell in the hall of Jorrvaskr. As Serana's gaze fell across the people inside the hall, she felt her heart sink in her chest, because she didn't recognize anyone anymore. Roughly ten Companions were scattered around the interior of the great hall, and all of them were glaring at the stranger that entered their home. The door on the opposite side of the hall opened and in walked the new leader of the Companions, Skjorn. Finally, a familiar face, thought Serana as she watched his face show subtle signs of attempting to figure out why he felt he knew this stranger.
While Serana was focused on Skjorn, she heard the sound of a sword exiting its sheath, followed by the rapid footfalls and battle cry of an attacker. She turned to her left to see a young Nord charging at her, his shining, silver sword held high.
A decision had to be made. Fight her assaulter and risk losing Skjorn as a friend and ally, or defend herself and risk serious injury from such a blade. No time to decide. As Serana reached for her dagger, a huge, hairy form crashed through the door behind her and barreled into her attacker.
Screaming from a woman in the corner. The men tensed as their hands went to their weapons, ready to confront the creature. Its clawed hand reached out and caught the falling arm of the now terrified Nord. A werewolf was holding the boy's arm aloft and wrenched it, throwing the sword to the ground. The beast turned its head and caught the gaze of the stunned vampire standing in the doorway. Those eyes...Serana knew those eyes. It was Aela. The Huntress' mouth spread into a twisted, wolfish grin, showing she recognized her old friend. As her head turned her back to the young man now cowering in her grasp, the grin disappeared and the friendliness in her eyes was replaced with rage that anyone would try to harm her ally. Her jaws opened wide enough to consume his head, saliva dripping from her yellowed fangs.
Aela then produced the most feral roar any of them had heard. The sound was terrifying to everyone in the hall. The ferocity of an invincible creature mixed with the passion of a livid woman. Skjorn took a step back at his mother's ferocity. The hairs on Serana's neck bristled in reaction to the horrifying noise, even though it was in defense of her. The Nord, his people's hardy and warlike nature forgotten, tore his arm from Aela's grasp and fled down to the barracks beneath Jorrvaskr.
Once again, silence descended on the hall. Skjorn's aura of control had returned and Serana relaxed her tense muscles and sheathed her dagger. The rest of the Companions, however, still stood with their weapons drawn, eyes trained on the monster they had only heard of in children's stories.
Skjorn approached his mother,
"Was that really necessary?" he asked.
The Huntress merely eyed him in response and growled deep in her throat. The Companions, seeing their leader so comfortable around the beast, slowly lowered their weapons, but did not yet sheath them.
"I suppose we have to confirm what they've heard about the beast blood now," Skjorn said wearily.
Aela rumbled apologetically, knowing the hard spot she had put her son in.
"What's done is done I suppose," Skjorn accepted, "I'll inform them all once they've calmed down. Perhaps you should change back soon?"
Obligingly, the Huntress loped to the stairs and down into the barracks, claws scraping on the wood floor. The tension in the room changes from fear of the beast to intense curiosity at what could possibly make a werewolf defend a vampire none of them knew.
Footsteps on the stairs. Aela emerged from the barracks, wearing the armor she had worn since the Dragonborn's time as Harbinger.
"Serana, it's been too long," said the Huntress, embracing her old friend.