a/n: quick note. this chapter occurs approximately one month after the previous chapter. nothing of great significance has happened except the following:

sa'miail was named thane of morthal, they returned to whiterun instead of continuing on to solitude, breezehome was purchased, sa'miail learned the YOL shout.


The raid on the bandit camp had started out well. Some long forgotten prison fort taken over by a bunch of cut throats and thieves. Lydia and Sa'miail easily cut down every one that came their way. Where Lydia was the more solid fighter, with her classic sword and shield, Sa'miail was quick to dive and leap and dance around enemies attack, occasionally roaring out a shout. A powerful cry of FUS! sent a group of them flying back and over the sides of the wall. A roar of YOL! her newest shout sent a massive ball of fire at any archers who were unfortunate enough to pull her attention and ire away from their closer melee compatriots.

And then, their leader showed up. And she was a mage; a powerful one, skilled in the arts of Destruction and Conjuration. She turned her fallen warriors into thralls, undoing Lydia and Sa'miail's efforts in seconds. But, still, the nord and elf held strong, tearing down the deadmen again in seconds.

The mage didn't like that. So, when, they were a good enough distance from one another, she launched a massive Firebolt at Sa'miail's back.

Lydia tried to call out a warning, but the rogue had little time to react. She was sent careening into the crumbling stone walls and a spear of ice sent an avalanche of rocks down to bury her.

They were in trouble, now. Without Sa'miail to pick off and scatter them away, Lydia was eventually forced into a corner and worn down. The mage watched from a distance with a satisfied grin. A particularly scarred orc raised his blade to cut the nord down when a blood curdling howl split the air.

A tremor of dread shot down every man and mer's spine and a hulking black shape came barreling into the would-be executioner. He was knocked off his feet and the shape raised its claws raking them down his front over and over as he screamed. When his thrashing finally stopped, the beast reared back and howled again. A werewolf had joined the battle.

It turned then, slowly, its gold orange eyes glinting in the light of the crescent moon. A werewolf that didn't need a full moon to change. It just stared for a minute, its gaze sweeping over the group. And, with a snarl it was on the move again, charging straight into the fray. Powerful craws swept around the panicking bandits, disemboweling several with one swipe. It bit off and ripped off heads more than once, tossing the limp, bodies into the ones who tried to flee.

The mage had tried to retreat to the safety of one of the spires, summoning atronachs of all elements to her defense, yet, still the beast ripped through them as if they were cobwebs. She tossed up a ward and the werewolf broke through it as if it were nothing, wild eyes blazing. It wrapped its claws around her midsection and pinned her against the stone floor and with a mighty roar ripped out her throat with its teeth. But, it didn't stop there. It dug its fangs into her still chest and devoured her heart in a single hungry snap.

Lydia watched in mute terror as it turned and did the same to a nearby bandit. And another. And another still. It had eaten six hearts before it turned its gaze on Lydia, panting heavily, its long pink tongue lolling out stained red revealing two rows of sharp blood soaked teeth.

It snorted after a moment, shaking its body, sending flecks of blood flying off its furred hide. Something glittered in the dim starlight; there around the monster's neck. The sun shaped little bauble of an amulet of Arkay sparkled, its beaded chain just barely visible through the thick fur. The werewolf crept closer, tentatively, eyeing the axe Lydia clutched in her fist.

"Stay back, mutt!" She spat. "Get back!" She swung the axe warningly.

Said mutt didn't back away, but instead stopped where it was. The long ears twitched and twisted back at the tone of her voice. It tilted its head in a way that might have been curious, perhaps hesitant. It sat back on its haunches, a bit like a dog, but its vaguely human shape made the posture a bit awkward.

They stared each other down, and after a good minute, the werewolf rolled its eyes, an almost alarmingly human motion, the orange in its eyes dauntingly familiar. It barked, a husky grumbling sound. It stood impatiently and strode confidently, on two legs this time, closer to Lydia.

"I'm warning you, dog! Stop!" The wolf scoffed. It stopped just a few feet away, and opened its mouth. A rough voice sounded out, ragged and awkward, but words nonetheless.

"Wench," the wolf rasped.

Lydia blinked. I didn't know beastkin could speak… She stared. The wolf stared back expectantly.

"Sa'… miail…?"

The werewolf's lips – snout? – widened in a toothy grin. It wuffed and its tail wagged vigorously. Its head bobbed once. "Yes," it, or rather, she growled; pleased, Lydia guessed.

Lydia's eyes narrowed, she pushed herself to her feet. "Sa'miail," she rumbled with a scowl.

Sa'miail's tail slowed to a stop. She cocked her head, "Hrrrr…?"

Lydia traded sheathed her axe in favor of her great sword.

Sa'miail shifted back a few clumsy steps, her hind feet had grown with the change and torn through her hide boots. She drop down to all fours and shuffled away from her glaring housecarl. A confused whine slipped from her throat.

"Sa'miail!" Lydia bellowed, raising her great sword.

The wood elf turned werewolf released a "yipe!" and turned tail, sprinting away.

Rabbits, squirrels, deer, and even wolves bolted as a huge hulking beast crashed through the forest, leaping over streams and fallen trees in a single bound. Not far behind this monster was a nord woman bearing a large, well sharpened great sword, screaming obscenities at the beast.

Eventually, panting like a regular dog, the wolf beast scaled a tree, digging its claws in the rough bark and scrambling up. By the time Lydia reached the tree's base she was met with a shower of pine needles and cones.

"Get down here, Sa'miail!" She shouted. A whine echoed back down.

Lydia gritted her teeth. "Get. Down. Here."

A birds' nest fell down next, and Lydia narrowly avoided getting hit in the face with it. "I'm not leaving, dog."

There was silence for a while. Then, eventually, the werewolf, perched at the top of the tree began snarling and growling and there was the sound of snapping and tearing as the guttural dog noises turned into more human-esque grunts and stifled screams.

Sa'miail huffed and puffed as the change reached its conclusion, watching as her claws melted away into her own normal fingertips, her gauntlets missing. She was still hyperaware of her Nordic companion waiting for her with a great sword at the tree's roots. So, with considerable effort, she fought to maintain her tenuous perch on the thin branch. A line of drool dribbled down her chin.

"Lydia," she called, still panting. "Put the sword down."

"Oh, I'll put it down alright," the warrior said darkly. "Right down your throat, when you get your ass down here, you mangy cur."

The elf winced and ran the back of her hand over her mouth. "Let's be reasonable about this. I haven't actually done anything to you. In fact, I'm very sure I saved your life back there."

"You're a daedra cursed abomination, and it is my duty as a citizen of Whiterun to put you down before you harm anyone else. Dragonborn or no."

"Oh, yeah," Sa'miail grumbled. "The divines shove a dragon soul in me and everything's fine. I choose the blessing of Hircine and now I'm cursed. Yeah, that makes sense." She spotted her armor draped over a nearby branch.

"Just come down and take your death with some dignity."

"Yes, I'm very willing to let you just hack me open with a great sword. The ultimate honor."

"Just as willing as you were to become a monster, I'm sure."

"It was either lycanthropy or vampirism and I happen to like sunlight."

"Vampirism?" Lydia asked. "What are you rambling on about now?"

Sa'miail shifted her position in the tree until she was directly above Lydia. A pair of orange eyes peered down from the darkness. "Morthal, remember? The whole nearly getting drained by a vampire lord? Didn't think I could just walk that one off without some consequence did you?"


The first time it happened, the change, was the one that hurt the most. The Companions told me that morning to meet them at the Underforge after sunset. That's where I was that night. Why I didn't come back to Breezehome until about noon two days later.

They told me it would be easy to find, and it was. That was the easy part. It was a tight squeeze. As short as I am, I still had to duck a bit.

It was dark. Really dark. I almost couldn't see for a minute. There was a little light at the end of the tunnel and I had to feel my way over to it. The stone was like ice, I remember, but the air was warm. And, as I got closer to the light it got warmer. I suppose it makes sense, now that I think about it. You nords compare heat to the Skyforge instead of the sun. Being under it was sweltering hot and by the time I reached the center, I was sweating.

Torches lined the walls of the huge room and they almost blinded me, I'd gotten so accustomed to darkness. And, when my vision cleared there was Skjor standing next to some sort of fountain. And, just behind him, there was a werewolf.

I was scared. Terrified. I thought this was some other Companion in training initiation thing. I couldn't do this one. We have werewolves in Elsweyr, too, you know. Big, hairy, beasts that came straight from nightmares. Not just fairy stories, no. I have seen the damage they can do. And, just the works of just one – not even a pack! – on an entire village!

I am small and a coward. I am not a proud warrior. I am not fit to slay monsters. I am made to steal and assassinate. I hide in shadows, I do not fight them. So, I ran. Or, I tried. I turned tail and made for the dark tunnel. I am fast. I might have made it just out of the room, but that's all. The beast tackled me to the ground.

I was sure I was already dead. It was on my back, so very heavy and growling. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, the feeling of death breathing down my neck. It was either the weight on my back or the fear in my heart that kept me from screaming. But, I am fighter, so – I'm sure I looked pathetic – I struggled. Didn't do much. Heh.

And, when I squeezed my eyes shut, the beast said something. "Fool rabbit." I almost didn't catch it. It was twisted and raspy and growling. But, still I caught it.

I stilled. Partially 'cause I couldn't believe it, partially 'cause flopping about like a slaughterfish on land was beginning to get painful.

"Aela?" I muttered.

"No run," she said.

"Yeah, okay," I agreed.

And, the weight disappeared. I'm a liar as well as a coward. I still ran. This time I didn't get two steps. She swiped my feet out from under me and I ate dirt.

Skjor laughed at me, "Relax, shield-sister. You're among friends here."

I slowly rolled over onto my back, watching both of them. "Right, friends. Large, hairy friends, with very pointy teeth," I sat up, my hand rested on my dagger. I pushed myself to my feet, wearily. "So, when do my friends gobble me up like Little Red Rider? Or, will you huff and puff and blow Breezehome down, first?" Aela was between me and the exit. I refused to turn my back to either of them.

Aela snapped at me and barked out what I suppose would be a laugh when I jumped back.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, whelp," Skjor rumbled pleasantly. "We're here to guide you on your next steps."

"Next steps?" I was confused. "For what?"

"Aela did a good job training you, shaped you up faster than any Companion trainee I've ever seen," he said. "Probably because she had a time limit. But, there's something else about you."

"Eh?" Time limit, I wondered.

"The sanguine vampiris you contracted. Had Aela not sensed it, and trained you so hard, in a few days' time, you'd be a blood drinking parasite. Little more than a dark dwelling flea, cursed to fear sunlight forever."

"Sanguine vamp – oh, right." Movarth bit me. Right.

"The rite of Hircine, will spare you this fate, and bestow the Glory of the Hunt on you, instead."

I understood. "So, are all of you werewolves, then?"

"No, just the Circle, if all goes well with your initiation."

"If all goes well? And, if it doesn't?"

"Then, your beast will destroy you from the inside out and you will die."

Sounds unpleasant, no? So, of course, I asked, "And, I suppose I can't just opt out of your rite, can i?"

Aela stepped menacingly forward with a snarl. Vilkas answered me in words, "No, shield-sister, I'm afraid we can't let you do that."

"Of course." I had n delusions about trying to fight them. My hand on my dagger was just a reflex. If Aela was a werewolf then it stands that Farkas was, too.

Wolf-Aela moved to stand by the fountain and next to Vilkas. "So, shield-sister Sa'miail, are you ready to join hands with the beast world."

I stared him down, "Well, you've just told me I only have one option so…"

"Good, good," He lifted Aela's claw over the fountain and slit her wrist, blood poured from the wound but after a moment, it slowed and healed. Vilkas dipped a golden goblet into the fountain, filled it with blood.

He beckoned me to come closer, and for just a moment, I thought to run again. Instead, my foot moved me closer, not further away. The heavy goblet was warm in my grip, and the viscous red liquid trembled with my hands. I saw a dim reflection of my face in it. I looked back up at the two who had been my teachers. They stared back, neither did anything but watch.

I swallowed my disgust and brought the goblet to my lips. It took me a few moments to force myself to actually take a sip, but, once I did, I found it difficult to stop. It's not that it tasted good. It didn't. It tasted foul, but something spurred me on. I drained the cup, and once I could get not another drop. I moved the cup away.

Nothing happened. I just had the taste of blood stuck on my tongue.

I was going to say something, some witty, scathing comment that I can't quite recall now, when it started. My mouth opened and the words caught in my throat.

My knees buckled first and I just barely managed to catch myself before my face hit the ground. A twisting clawing feeling pooled in the pit of my gut, and it spread quickly, like wildfire. My innards seized and twisted, I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside.

Dimly, I heard, "Don't fight it. It only makes it worse. Just let it happen."

I couldn't respond, my breaths quickened and shortened and I coughed, as if I had guzzled down gallons of unsweetened Argonian Ale.

I could feel my bones twisting, breaking themselves. I collapsed entirely on the floor and my vision blurred. Still, I could just barely make out my hands. It hurt. And, I watched my fingers – hell, my whole hand – stretch, elongating terribly and my nails sharpened, and twisting and ripping my fingertips, curling into wicked claws. I felt a line of drool drip down my chin as my jaws stretched and something… grew in in front of my teeth – fangs, a whole new row of them.

My spine stretched and new agony bloomed at my lower back and it felt like it went on forever. It stopped, suddenly, as quick as it came. And, new pain bloomed all over my body. Every inch of my skin was on fire. No, more like my skin was ripping. As if giving way to something. I'm still unsure if I was screaming or if my ears – and they weren't where I recalled them being before – were just ringing.

There was a sound of ripping leather and soon after, my shoes felt uncomfortably tight, until there was another rip, and the tightness disappeared.

When the pain disappeared, my world was new. I could see, hear, smell, feel things I'd never known before. And, it was like the pain had been replaced by heat and power and…

And bloodlust.

And, I liked it.

After that, I can only remember bits and pieces of that night.

Screaming. The sound of flesh tearing. The barely there pain of arrows just barely piercing my hide. Running through the gates of Whiterun and into an open field. I think I killed a courier, too.

When I awoke, my mouth was dry and the sun was high in the sky. I felt exhausted.

"Well, well," I heard. "Look who finally woke up."

I didn't want to move, so I was rather grateful when the person who spoke leaned down over my face; Aela, less wolf and more nord now. "How was your first roll through the hay, jack rabbit? Glorious, wasn't it?"

I groaned and tossed my arm over my eyes. Every part of my skin tingled not entirely unpleasantly.

Aela chuckled. "Welcome to the Circle, shield-sister."

Gingerly, I sat up. I was naked except for a ripped boot and my Amulet. I remembered the sound of leather tearing. "Oh, joy. S'not like I liked that set or anything."

"On your feet. We're going on a hunt."

She tossed a bundle of armor at me. "Wear those. You can alter them, if you wish. But, every set of armor you get, you should bring to Jorrvaskr. Eorland will enchant it for you."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

"You survived your first change, but as you can see, your armor sure didn't. And, it won't in the future. Your beast form is about double your size, Sister, like all of us. The enchantment allows your armor to simply disappear, instead of being ripped to shreds when you change. When you return to your smaller shape, it will always be nearby."

When I was dressed, she looked at me appraisingly. "Follow me," she said. I did.

Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. "…What did I… do last night?"

She seemed amused. "You fed for the first time. I'm sure you don't remember the details, but you were rather difficult to control. It was all Skjor and I could do to keep you from devouring the citizens of Whiterun." She chuckled. "For someone who runs more than she fights, you certainly were more than pleased to try and take swipes at us. Gave Skjor a nasty scar he'll probably want to tan your hide for. Speaking of which…"

She lashed out at me and again I ended up face down in the dirt with her sitting on my back.

"That's for biting me, runt." I don't even remember that.

A snarl tore itself from my throat. "This is getting old, Aela," I growled.

She laughed. "Then, stop making it so easy, rabbit."


"...We were hunting the Silver Hand. A bunch of werewolf hunters. We've fought them before, remember? You thought using silver for blades was silly?"

"…Yes."

"Didn't you think it was odd that they focused on me more than you, even though you were the one with the heavier armor and bigger blades?"

Lydia didn't respond. Sa'miail peered down again, to make sure she was still there. She was and still glaring.

"Anyway, we found out that they… killed Skjor. And, we slaughtered them all. That battle is why you'll hear some of the other companions call me the Voracious. I ate enough of their hearts to power my bloodlust for hours after Aela's wolf was sated."

"This isn't a very convincing argument for letting you live."

"Oh, well," The elf mumbled sheepishly. "I wasn't really trying to convince you of anything. I may have been hunting with the Companions a bit too long. I'm beginning to simply enjoy bragging about it."

"…"

"But, if you want me to convince you, consider this: none of the Companions will be particularly pleased that you killed me. There will be a call for a bloodhunt on you. You won't be able to return to Whiterun. They'll slaughter you on sight. Hell, they'll probably track you down and kill you."

"I-!"

"Not only that, but, you've been very insistent that I'm Dragonborn. What do you think will happen if you kill me? No one around to slay the evil dragons that swoop down on you. The next attack the black dragon may just burn down Whiterun himself. And, I won't be around to do anything about it, like I have in the past. Isn't your duty to Whiterun to keep her out of danger?"

Lydia was quiet.

Sa'miail was, too.

The wood elf's ears twitched at the sound of a blade being sheathed. She slipped down the trees hesitantly. She dropped off the lowest branch and landed crouched in front of Lydia with a soft "oof." Blood still streaked her mouth like it had her muzzle.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at her.

It wasn't that the rogue hadn't seen the punch coming. She expected it, actually. She simply decided to let the warrior have one hit.

And, she regretted it almost immediately as there was a distinct crunching sound. Sa'miail staggered back a few steps, eyes watering and more blood was on her face this time gushing from her nose.

She placed a hand on the tree bark to steady herself as she twisted her nose back into its normal shape and cast a weak healing charm over it.

"…No more secrets," Lydia growled.

Sa'miail knew in her heart, she couldn't promise that. She had too many and many were too dark to ever speak of. Still, she gave a mock salute and a teasing grin, "Whatever you say, my dear housecarl. No more secrets."

Lydia scowled darkly and Sa'miail sobered up.

"Really, Lydia. I promise you can trust me at your back, so long as I can trust you at mine."

Lydia's arms remained crossed and she still looked furious, but she nodded nonetheless. "I am your sword and your shield."

"S'all I could ask for, really. Now, to Solitude we go?"


a/n: i suppose you could call this an interlude chapter. nothing really happened except some side stuff. i just needed to get this out of the way and address the whole bitten by movarth thing. i'm trying to decide if next chapter will be about my fav quest in the whole game or actual plot stuff, but either way this needed to be done first.

a/n 2: if you thought sa'm was gonna be a vampire you thought wrong :P.

thanks for all your reviews, they motivate me a lot actually. i appreciate it.