"…Husk?"

Bloodshot eyes drug slowly towards the tents entryway.

The unexpected sight had greeted Vilkas when he entered the tent. He stood there, one hand holding the broth while the other held the tent's flap. It had been the last thing he would have expected, yet there Husk was, still lying down but with eyes blurrily focused on him. Dark bags hung under them like bruises. The rest of his face had the beginnings of health, though was still quite pale in the tents light.

When Elriah had told him to check on the newest companion Vilkas had fully planned on Husk still being dead asleep. Guilt crept up on him burning its way up his neck and setting his stomach on ice. His shoulders prickled as he finally continued into the tent.

Husk squinted as Vilkas approached. Soon a weak smile emerged from his chapped lips. "Greetings Companion…things went well I see?" His voice cracked as he tried to laugh.

Gravelly and rough the sound became a sharp sting to Vilkas's ears. Humor barely masked the pain and fatigue. He sat in arms reach near Husk. The bowl was left nearby as the warmth rolled off and into the air leaving wisps of steam. Husk blinked slowly as he watched him settle onto the ground.

Bruises dotted an exposed arm that peaked out from under the furs. Though not large they were dark and profound. Guilt twisted the companion stomach more as the bruises melted into hand prints. Perhaps he had held him down hard after all.

"Elriah thinks you'll be ready to move out by the end of the week," Vilkas announced. "He wants to leave the area as soon as you're ready. There are a few questions he wants me to ask as well of you."

An uneasy silence fell. Vilkas cursed himself. There was no reason to hide his harbinger's plans but there wasn't a reason to blurt the reason either. Husk did not seem relieved at the notion and closed his eyes in thought.

"Those can wait until you eat though. Do you think you could sit up at all? Elriah made some medicinal broth."

There was still no answer.

For a moment the companion wondered if Husk had fallen asleep. The first few days of freedom had been spent resting after all, and now there had been the surgery. There were more than enough reasons to be exhausted. Elriah would understand and would probably send him off hunting or scouting. Vilkas made a move to get up. Husk needed his rest. He couldn't mask the feeling of relief that he could leave the tent.

"Vilkas?"

Vilkas skid to a halt. Never before had Husk uttered anything in such a tone. The worry was unmistakable.

"…Something the matter?"

Another quiet spell fell upon the tent as Husk opened his eyes; staring up at the fur ceiling.

"Who is he? What is he?"

Vilkas wasn't sure what to say. "You mean Elriah?"

Husk gave a shallow nod.

What and who was Elriah indeed. Where would he even start? Husk already knew he was the leader of the companions. How was he supposed to explain that their leader was also the Dragonborn? Did Husk even know what that was?

"He's our leader for starters and the Thane of Whiterun. He is a very good man who would rather prevent bloodshed than cause it, but when he takes to the sword there is no warrior alive who could get in his way. I know Elriah can be…intimidating, but you have nothing to fear from him."

A small puff of sarcastic laughter escaped Husk, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Nothing to fear…right" he scoffed under his breath. Vilkas had barley heard it.

He scowled. "No harm will come to you from him; he wants to see you up and walking again just as much as you do. You have my word."

This made Husk fall quiet again. The halfling studied Vilkas for a moment, his face unreadable.
Soon he turned away to stare back at the ceiling again. His eyes traced the stitching as if studying his own words. A snaggled fang worried his lip.

"I know you trust him, but he smells wrong. It's something just…something like…" his voice trailed off as he searched for the word.

"Magical? Ancient?" Vilkas offered. He was beginning to understand what Husk was getting at as the through inched grimly though his mind.

"Exactly. It's not right. He smells like graveyard soil. Like a predator who could swallow a mammoth whole."

Vilkas hummed lowly. Werewolf senses would have picked up on that the first moment Elriah walked into the camp. Vilkas himself had grown so used to it all of the odd smells had just lumped into one. No wonder Husk had been so fearful.

"There's a reason for that, though I'm not sure how to describe it... Do you know what Dragonborn means? It would be helpful if you did."

"I haven't a clue." Husk shrugged apologetically.

"I see. Well, you're a werewolf, right?"

Husk blinked, then stared at him as if he had gone crazy. "Well yes, at least last time I checked."

Vilkas squinted, unamused. "That was rhetorical. Now then, where as you are Nord by birth, so is he. Though where you can change he can't, well he can, into a beast, but he cannot change into a dragon. Elriah is Dragonborn, Dovahkiin; he has the soul and blood of a dragon and the body of a Nord."

If there was a change in Husk's expression Vilkas did not see it.

"…Did you hit your head somehow?"

This was going to go nowhere. Vilkas knew he was bad at explaining things but how was he supposed to explain what Elriah was? "Take it up with Farkas if you don't believe me. That, or ask Elriah yourself. It won't hurt to speak with him. He's already said you can stay."

That made quite the change. "…Pardon?" Bloodshot eyes light up in surprise.

"Elriah said you're an honorary Companion. Once we get you on your feet and the Silverhand are dealt with you can decide if you want to stay or not. Just don't attack anyone or let them lure you into doing it like Aela. If you do we won't have much of a choice but to… remedy the situation."

"You mean kill me."

"Aye."

Husk nodded in understanding. There was relief clear to be seen as he smiled shakily. The promise of death had not deterred him.

"Companion…?" he smiled more.

Vilkas's lip twitched briefly, keeping down a grin. "Aye?"

"Any chance you could lend a hand? I'd like to sit up a ways. Can't make it as one of you lot if I starve to death."

Vilkas couldn't help but laugh. He felt as if some small war had been won. "No, you're right. Let's see now..."

Aela snarled as Tilma disinfected her wounds again. A sharp sting cut as deep as silver as the rag was swiped over the injury. Her skin tingled as the alcohol bit into the tender flesh. The wounds were mostly healed though a few jagged cuts still remained.

Tilma tsked just as a mother would. "Now now, a warrior like you should have known better than face a troll without your shield brother," Tilma scolded. "Now hold still."

The elderly woman sat next to Aela in the dining hall off in the musty corner. Companions busied themselves about as Skjor kept a watchful eye. It had been days since their Harbinger had left, accompanied by Athis and Farkas. None of the companions that went about stopped to talk to Aela. She had said her piece but there was still doubt at her words.

Aela didn't blame them. Their Harbinger had made his feelings clear without having to speak a word. They would know soon enough that she was right. She just had to bide her time. Whether it would be from them returning with an injured brother, or bringing back the war dog. If they did it would not be long until he would lash out again. This time it would take more than Vilkas's guilt to intervene. Aela could only hope that no one would be harmed when the inevitable happened.

"Get your lazy drunken ass moving Tovar, you've got a job to do!" snapped Skjor.

Tovar's sword dragged behind him as he walked. A hangover darkened his expression as the bright morning light hit him. One arm rose wearily to block out the offending rays. "I hear ya' and I'm moving so hold your horses. Not like it's that important anyways."

There was no masking the agitated eye roll Skjor dealt. "You're right it's not. But it is a job and you're lucky to even get it! They're scarce enough as it is and if I remember right you still need to pay off your tab at the Bannered Mare. Hop to it before I arrest you myself for drinking away the poor bastard's profits!" Skjor jabbed his thumb to the door. "That way and down the main road. Skeevers don't kill themselves."

The final knot of the linen was twisted and wove into a tight lock. There was no sight of the reddened wounds now under Tilma's motherly care. Tilma patted Alea's knee with bony fingers slightly crooked from years of work, dismissing her. Thin lines crinkled as the elderly woman smiled, hiding the vague threat. "No fighting or sparring until it's good and ready. No night bound incursions either."

Skjor acknowledged Aela's presence with a firm nod though his jaw was tight. Other than that he paid her no heed as he read over the job listings one last time. His large thumb smudged the still drying ink as another was crossed off. With another sweep of the room the temporary harbinger plopped down in the nearest chair with a sigh. "I'm too damn old for dealing with whelps."

"They aren't whelps," Aela pointed out. "The newest ones been here for over a year now."

Skjor replied with a sniff. He shuddered as Tovar's stench followed the drunkard out the door, wharfing heavily through the room as it spread. He snatched a rag from the table and wove it towards the open windows from his seat. It did little to help. "You'd think they'd at least know how to do their jobs by now. Or bathe. I don't understand why Elriah keeps him around. Don't get me wrong, I like Tovar enough, but I can't stand all his bellyaching."

Jorrvaskr was vacant of Companions except for the two battle worn fighters. Aela had been careful as she joined him. The tension of his jaw remained. Low fires continued to burn though barely licked above the smoldering coals. Midday sun filtered in through the windows casting shadows on the far walls.

Skjor jostled her with his elbow. "Good to hear you're holding up alright," he teased, pointing to her leg, "thought we'd have to cut it off for sure."

A shove replied for her, causing a deep rumble of laughter to escape him as he tried to keep the chair from toddling over, almost spilling his tankard. He fixed that possibility with a single quick chug.

A bottle of mead soon found them both as they enjoyed the rare quietness of the hall. Aela stifled a laugh as the sun reflected off of Skjor's balding scalp.

"So, how long do you think?"

The playful mood was swept under the rug. There was no need to clarify.

Aela shrugged as she answered. "Without the beast they should return somewhat soon, within the next three days perhaps. The weather is fair enough for travel after all."

"And with this stranger?"

"If Elriah decides to let him live he'll wait until he's recovered before heading back. I'd say about a week or more of waiting then a straight few days walk."

Skjor used the mead to tap against the wooden table as he hummed in thought. Many rings decorated the table from drinks long past. "Well then, that gives us just enough time to plan then hit this headfirst."

Aela's brow arched. "A plan?"

"There's no room for an outsider who spilt blood for the Silverhand. Poor bastard didn't have a chance from the start. No matter how much work Elriah'll do won't change the fact he's a war dog."

Aela watched him carefully as she drank. The bitterness of the mead stole the cold snap from her words. "I thought you enjoyed beasts."

The tapping stopped.

Skjor's eyes darkened as his attention turned to the deep gashes that scoured a nearby beam. Sturdy oak dark with age and varnish stood harshly against the inside's pale splinters. Werewolf claws had bit as they swiped, anchoring deeply into the wood and Skjor's memories. Kodlak's final battle was a permanent fixture of the hall. A haunting reminder of what true beasts were capable of.

"I do. I have the utmost respect for hunters of all kind, wild born especially. That doesn't change the fact that this outsider hunted trophies for his masters. Had things been different I'd probably meet him myself at the steps and ask to accompany him on a hunt."

"I can see you doing just that too. Had he been uninjured I would have enjoyed to fight him as a beast myself."

"But you didn't."

"It wasn't supposed to go that far."

Skjor leaned back. His old bones creaking along with the chair in harmony. Aela was slumped forward, elbows on the table as she stared at her drink. "We're not talking about the fight anymore, are we?"

Aela shook her head slowly as her hand tightened around the mead.

"Listen, there's no companion alive who doesn't know you'd do anything to protect our Hall. They also know that your loyalty is just as ruthless as your sword. I have no doubt what you did was from that same loyalty, but as soon as he didn't bend to your will you were planning to kill him, then Vilkas got in the way."

"No. I wanted to bring Husk here. I may be ruthless but I can't say I've destroyed over thirty werewolves with my own claws. That raw strength was exactly what we need to make us great again. He followed orders perfectly, never once trying to take on either me or Vilkas. What else could help us destroy the Silverhand but one of them? I fully planned to make Husk think helping us was the only way to make up for what he's done."

"And from those bandages and our missing Shieldbrother something went wrong."

"After the interrogation I was stupid enough to draw my blade. There was no other response but for him to attack. I don't blame him at all. Had it not been for that mistake he would be here right now drinking alongside us. Once Vilkas intervened I didn't have a choice. You would have tried to kill Husk yourself if you'd have seen the hatred in his eyes. There was no way he would join us after that. We could have returned with him, yes, but…I feared he would turn on us as well. You can't tame a war dog."

"Then why didn't you kill him? Vilkas is strong but you could have made him back down. You have before."

Aela scoffed at Skjor's supposed wisdom. "If Vilkas was willing to turn into a beast to defend him it would be a lost cause to try."

Skjor choked on his mead after drawing a sudden breath in surprise. The coughing was rendered as he hit his chest, knocking the liquid back out of his lungs. "You're joking!"

"If I was joking Vilkas would be here and there would be a rotting werewolf back at camp."

"Then forget I said anything about you making him back down! By Shor's beard…"

Aela snickered at the companions cough reddened face. "Now you see what I was dealing with."

Skjor still sputtered as the last of the mead was coughed up. There was no masking the surprise on Skjor's face that light up his one good eye. "Well, that changes things then. If this whelp was able to make Vilkas break his vow we may need him around long enough to pound the notion of purity out of his head all together."

Aela could not help but remember the long hunts beside her brother as the tall wet grass would whip at her face as they chased down their prey. Hunting had lost its flavor once Vilkas swore off the blood. Though the joy of the kill still filled her as she struck down her foes, it was lacking the sharp taste of victory that only Vilkas had helped her achieve. Vilkas's wolf was built for battle, though speed was also a blessing Hircine had smiled upon. No other Companion was able to flush out prey or lead Silverhand into a trap like Vilkas could. Their teamwork was the true epitome of the hunt.

She wanted it back.

She wanted Vilkas to stop holding back the blood, closing himself in his quarters to avoid the reality of being a werewolf. She wanted Vilkas to not harm himself by throwing himself thoughtlessly into battle, doing anything he could to beat the beast down and burn off the raw power by any means other than shifting. She wanted her brother, not the husk of a nord he had become.

Aela closed her eyes, banishing the memories from her mind. When she looked up Skjor's face held no judgment, he knew the feeling as well. He waited quietly for her opinion, her plan.

"And then?"

Aela couldn't think of anything else to say. Fully and without question she gave Skjor the power to decide. Skjor would decide, and there would be no guilt.

"Then we put that beast down."