Mercer Frey stole the disclaimer; I think he left it in chapter one.

Who gets an update? You get an update! On with the show!

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Chapter 8
The Wolf of Falkreath
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21st Rain's Hand, 4E201
Dead Man's Drink, Town of Falkreath
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Lydia,

Yes, I'm not dead; sorry this took so long, but I've been super busy; I've got to leave in a few minutes actually, so I'll keep it to the bare details.

It turns out that Jarl Siddgeir isn't in charge of land sales. As a matter of fact, the arse doesn't really do much save keep his chair warm and make his Steward's life hell. Speaking of which, please tell Mr. Proventus he's got it easy, what with Ms. Irileth and Master Drevas there to deal with problems; Falkreath has been one hair-raising adventure after another, hence why this letter took so long to write. Sorry again!

Did I say adventures? I meant bandits. A lot of bandits. Seriously Lydia, if you ever feel the need to get some stress relief, exercise, or just hit something, come down here; you can't throw a rock outside Falkreath Proper without hitting one of the amoral s'wits. Just in the past few days, Farkas and I had to clear out two forts that had bandits holed up inside; the first one wasn't anything special, more a skirmish than anything, though Farkas needed a new left bracer and some serious healing afterward (war-hammers are bad for your health, haha). Speaking of which, I have three new swear words for your competition with Ysolda. I'll tell you them once I get back, in case this letter gets intercepted.

The second fort was better defended, so we asked the Hold Steward, Nenya, if she could spare some extra muscle. We got our request fast-tracked for approval, but… well, just tell Irileth she's doing a much better job training Whiterun's guardsmen than whoever's in charge down here. Six went out with us, only two came back; though the bandit's wizard summoning a bloody Ogrim Titan in an enclosed space probably had something to do with it. By the way, aside from Scales, I now hate daedra almost as much as Falmer.

Anyway, the land sale: the Jarl really didn't want to sell to us, mostly because I'm underage and Farkas is a werewolf; then his Steward, bless her heart, informed the ice-brain of our growing popularity amongst the people, and he finally had to cave. Seeing as I don't have the cash on me to buy the plot, mostly due to armor upkeep, replacing bolts, food and lodgings, I've enclosed a copy of the deed, bill of sale, and a list of some reputable purveyors of building materials and labor to save you time (and headaches). I'll get the originals into your hands in a week or so, but you can send the payment through the usual courier service, care of Steward Nenya of Falkreath (because Divines know what the Jarl would do with that money).

Farkas and I are going to clear out a nearby barrow, Shriekwind Bastion; it's pretty large, but it's also the last immediate threat to Falkreath Proper, so once we're done there we'll be on the road home.

Speaking of which, I've got to go. Give Lucia a hug from me before letting her read this letter; I don't care if Master wouldn't approve, she's my friend and I don't want her to worry needlessly! Please, Lydia?

I'll see you in a week.

Hoping you're well and keeping busy,

Hermione

P.S.: I can't wait to get home. You're a far better cook than the one working at the tavern here. Better at conversation, too.

Cancelling the Dictation Charm I'd placed on my quill, I gave the letter a once over before blotting it, casting a Drying Charm and sealed it with wax from the candle on the desk. This letter really was overdue, but, as I'd written, Farkas, Scales and I had been busy as bees lately.

Speaking of Farkas, I could hear him haggling with the innkeeper over the price of salted pork in the main room, and it sounded like he'd be wrapping things up in a few minutes. Tying the various letters together with a piece of string (after adding a few charms that would prevent anyone except Lydia from opening them), I turned my attention to getting the rest of my gear on.

Knocking the Dark Brotherhood's block off had been a boon once everything was said and done; the gear alone had given us enough credit with the town's blacksmith, Lod, that I was able to get two score Dwemer bolts to replenish what I'd used thus far (the downside of Stormbringer being that its spells destroyed the bolts on impact) and Farkas was able to upgrade to a Dwemer greatsword (which I enchanted with a Hardening Charm and Cutting Curse). The coin and jewels, on the other hand…

Tightening the straps on my gauntlets, the glass and ebony gleaming with Reflect Spell and Hardening Charm enchantments, I considered my options for the unexpected windfall that came from raiding the Brotherhood's coffers, which still came out to seventy Septims after splitting the profits with Farkas; I didn't need a new axe, given that the ebony one I'd taken off that bandit in the Pale was enchanted with a hybrid Firestorm/Cutting Curse enchantment and was still in good nick. My armor was a Masterwork and unlikely to be completely destroyed anytime soon, recent dings and nicks notwithstanding; plus, it'd taken five bloody hours to enchant the entire ensemble with Muffle and Quicken on the boots, Featherweight Charms with a Restoration and Magicka fortifier on the cuirass and greaves, Reflection and Hardeners on the clawed gauntlets, and a subtle Bubblehead Charm on the helm that I could turn on and off at will combining with a strong Resist Magic enchantment, just in case I ran into another mage.

The enchantments themselves took three hours, actually; it was getting them to interact with each other, the magics feeding into each other and spreading their effects throughout the armor using a runic array that made Stormbringer look like a child's toy; just working out the formula without Serana present nearly had me banging my head against the workbench in Breezehome in frustration.

Maybe I'd hit the general goods store in Riverwood, get some wall hangings for when I got back…

'Home…' More and more, I was coming to think of Whiterun as my home rather than the vague swirls of color and murmurs that were my past before I came to this place, barring the disjointed memories of Harry and Ron, fond though they were. Whiterun was where I found the peace I'd craved since waking up in Blackreach, where I'd found friends in Lucia, Lydia, Sister Danica, and (to a lesser extent) Proventus and Irileth. It was where I'd learned about the magic of this world, where I'd learned to defend myself… where I'd met Serana. Where Master Drevas gave me my oaths. Where Farkas and I had met.

It was home… but it wasn't home. My home was in Harry's arms… wasn't it?

Picking up my helm and glaring at the griffin motif on the brow, the words of the adults in my life came back to me.

'We do what we must, because our duty gives us no choice in the matter.' Serana…

Did I have a choice? Could I drop everything and go to the College of Winterhold, try finding a way home in their library and picking the brains of the most magically talented individuals in Skyrim? What even was my duty, my place, in this awful and violent world?

'Safeguard the helpless. Do no wrong.' Drevas…

Had he always followed his oath? A memory, of blood-red eyes and a sneering grin in a Dwemer ruin, came back to me. 'If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead.' What lengths had he gone to, so that he wouldn't be called an oath-breaker? Who was Drevas of Mournhold? Did I even want to know? Could I live up to the oath he'd given me, keep myself from becoming a monster when a single word from my lips could burn villages and rend souls?

'Are you sure you want this life?' …Damn Farkas, making me question myself!

Because I knew the answer to that question, knew it while sitting shirtless in the Sanctuary as I avoided giving the Companion a straight answer so that I didn't seem weak.

I didn't want this.

But I had no choice. It was this, or sit around waiting for someone to do it for me; and while I was sitting around, bandits would rape and pillage, vampires would tear the world apart, and dragons would burn it all to ash. I may not like it, but it was what I had to do, the quickest way to gain the respect and reputation I needed to get the knowledge to find a way back home… to Harry.

'You were right, Serana,' I thought fondly as I donned my helm and tightened the chin-strap, 'We do what we must… and when you get back, I'm going to tell you how I feel about you, because I must. Not the vampire, or the supplicant to Old Molag. You.' Hopefully, Harry would understand when I saw him again, that I needed someone beside me, someone who could help me even as I helped them. That she was… well, a she, didn't really factor in my mind. If I'd learned anything fighting bandits and other various threats in Falkreath's forests, it was that it didn't matter what you had between your legs; people were people, no matter where you were.

Unless you were a rapist pig, in which case you were lower than cow shite in my eyes.

I'd just gotten my weapon harnesses strapped in place when Farkas opened the door with an expectant look, "Ready, Hermione?"

"Yep!" grinned I, patting Eclipse, my ebony axe, "Another day, another horde of draugr."

The hulking Nord chuckled and replied, "After the past few weeks, we needed this break."

I laughed at the idea of bowling draugr as a 'break', even if it was said jokingly, and if I still had any doubts about this path, I didn't give them voice.

In this world, on the path I'd chosen, there was no place for doubts.

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Midday, 23rd Rain's Hand, 4E201
Whiterun City, Breezehome
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Stepping into his house after kicking the dirt off his boots, Drevas doffed his helm and glanced about the room, "Hello, Lyd…" he paused, unsure of the sight before him.

Mostly because his Housecarl was standing on a chair, in her steel plate, dusting the top of his bookshelf and looking at him with wide eyes. Blinking, the aged Dunmer asked, "Is… um, this a bad moment, Lydia?"

"Not at all, my Thane; welcome home!" responded the dark-haired woman cheerily, stepping off the chair a little too gingerly, adding to his vampire companion, "Serana, good to see you in one piece."

Flipping back her hood, Serana gave the woman a close-lipped smile, "Can't get rid of me that easily, Lydia."

Scoffing, mostly because he remembered the fight with Durnehviir, Drevas plopped his helm on the table and started removing his armor while glancing around and observing, "Hermione's not here."

"No, my Thane," and there was the all-business Lydia he was used to. Maybe she needed to get out of the house more? "She's down in Falkreath at the moment, but should be back here by Morndas, at the latest."

Ignoring Serana's quiet mewl of disappointment, the Thane of Whiterun paused in removing his cuirass and fixed Lydia with his patented 'There Better Not Be Bullshit Afoot' stare, "And just what is Hermione doing in Falkreath?" Drevas didn't like that particular Hold for several reasons: bears, bandits, draugr raiding parties, leftover daedra from the Oblivion Crisis, as well as the fact that, even after four Eras of more-or-less constant occupation, there were still parts of the forest that hadn't been mapped or explored in detail. Some of the stories he'd heard in Bruma's tavern years ago, of unspeakable abominations that hid in Falkreath's darkest reaches, still made him shudder with revulsion.

As for Lydia, she blinked several times before answering, "Sorry, my Thane. I'm a… a little hungover from last night." 'More like you got fucked silly by some stud and still can't think or walk straight.' "A few days after you left, Jarl Siddgeir asked for your assistance in dealing with some issue in his Hold. He offered a plot of land, and, well, you did say you wanted more space in your base of operations, my Thane; I have the plans for a manor house here, actually," and she bustled over to her desk while Serana clucked her tongue.

Glancing at the vampire, she explained, "She has a point, actually. With three girls and you living in this small house, plus the amount of salvage and valuables our line of work brings in…" she shrugged while Drevas rolled his eyes.

"Not everyone can have a bloody castle as a house, Serana." The bloodsucking corpse-humper just grinned at him. 'One of these fucking days…'

"Lydia," called Drevas when it became apparent the woman was taking her time finding the manor plans, "Has my apprentice sent any word, or have you been slacking off this whole time?" He wasn't actually accusing her, just trying to get her mind out of the gutter and into gear.

From her spluttering, which lasted longer than normal, he guessed she had a very good time with no one in the house, "O-Of course not, my Thane! Hermione just sent a letter saying she's had quite a lot of success in keeping the banditry around Falkreath Proper down; Farkas of the Companions is with her," she produced a folded letter from the messy pile on her desk and brought it over to him, "as well as Scales. She's in good spirits, my Thane, if a bit homesick."

Plucking the letter from her hands, Drevas swiftly read over what was written before commenting with a smile, "She really doesn't have a filter, does she? You've got people on building the house?"

Nodding, Lydia added a little too happily, "A greenhouse, Alchemy tower, and library, with a goodly-sized main house and atrium, my Thane. At a discount, too; I know a guy," she added at his quirked eyebrow.

Serana all but snatched the letter from his hands before devouring the words with her eyes; Drevas could've sworn the vampire had admitted to liking Hermione only as a friend during their brief argument (which was more him venting his frustrations) back in the Soul Cairn, but the closer they'd gotten to Whiterun, the more Serana had wanted to hurry them along… except when they stopped in the Reach to remind the Forsworn what happens when they shoot arrows at passerby. 'Either she was lying to me, lying to herself, or she's actually clueless…' the old Dunmer mused as he watched Serana's face for reactions.

Then, the vampire's eyes narrowed, "Shriekwind… Drevas," her tone was as serious as ever, with a tinge of worry; what she said next explained it, "My father dispatched a couple agents to that barrow to keep an eye on Falkreath."

Icy dread dripping down his spine, Drevas' snapped his steely gaze back to Lydia, who'd gone pale, "When did you get this letter?"

"Yesterday morning, my Thane. It came by carrier pigeon."

Nodding, the Dragonborn threw his gauntlets back on and Serana ran for the stairs, calling, "I'll grab you some arrows!" as she vanished. As he re-tightened his armor's straps with a snarl, Drevas turned to Lydia, "Let Jarl Balgruuf know that I'll be back in three days, at least, and I'm taking two of his horses," his Housecarl nodded seriously, finally sobering up. 'As good a time as any to address this,' "Oh, and Lydia?"

"Yes, my Thane?"

"If you ever fuck one of your 'rides' up against my bookshelf again, I'll shave you bald and make you sleep in the garden out back for a month. Are we clear?"

His steel tone and hard eyes made the threat all the more real, if Lydia's blanched face and gaping mouth were anything to go by; Serana descended the stairs and tossed two bundles of ebony arrows at him before the vampire turned an unimpressed gaze on Lydia, "Just be grateful I don't plan on telling Hermione about this. You know how she gets about mistreating books."

Caught outright, the Nord Housecarl sighed in defeat, "Yes, my Thane. It… the heat of the moment, you know?"

"Don't care or want to know what you get up to in your spare time," he dismissed as he loaded the arrows into the Toolbox and all but threw his helm back on, "Just keep it to your room and we won't have any problems. See you soon."

And they were out the door, booking it for the open gates and the city's stable; all the while, only one thought went through Drevas' mind.

'If she's dead, Harkon, I'll make you beg for Boethiah's wrath.'

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Evening, 23rd Rain's Hand, 4E201
Falkreath Hold, Shriekwind Bastion, Top Floor
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My axe sliced through another Death Hound's skull, its claws skittering off my cuirass as it fell; but, as I'd come to realize, I wouldn't have a chance to breathe. 'We should've brought back-up,' I thought as an ancient arrow thwacked off my left pauldron.

"Reducto!" the purple-eyed (as opposed to ghostly blue) possessed draugr was blown in half while Scales leapt through my field of vision, a vampiric shriek of horror cut off by the sounds of tearing armor and the crunch of bone; deeper in the crypt, I saw Farkas literally disarm one undead guardian, duck an axe-blow from another, then cut them both down with a spinning strike before ducking behind a pillar, just as I did, as another four draugr under the command of a greatsword-wielding Deathlord sent a volley of arrows and spells our way.

It had been like this since entering the barrow this morning; at first glance, the draugr using pickaxes and war-hammers to break up boulders hadn't been too worrying. Farkas and I had figured the Lord of this barrow was trying to reopen some blocked parts of the crypt in order to bolster its ranks.

Then we started running across bandits. Most we'd run into in the lower levels were grunts with the occasional mage overseeing the draugr's work, and, between the three of us, didn't cause much resistance.

After going up three levels, and coming across the better kept parts of this place, we started seeing vampires with Death Hounds, giant spiders with glowing red eyes, and permanently summoned atronachs. At that point, we realized something was definitely wrong here, so I Stunned the next bandit we came across for interrogation.

"I ain't tellin you shit, fetcher!" the stupid leather-clad Dunmer spat from where he was tied against a pillar; I ignored his insults as I downed a stamina restorative. We'd been fighting for two hours straight at this point, and I was honestly more than a little tired and hacked-off; not to mention dinged up. I'd just gotten my armor re-finished, too!

Farkas sneered at the s'wit; we'd flipped a drake to decide who got to plumb the dumbass for information, and if the stiffness in his shoulders was any indication, the bulky Nord was just as furious as I was to find a den of vampires and bandits working together. "You say that," drawled the Wolf, pulling an ebony dagger from his boot, the sounds of Scales crunching on a Death Hound in the background making the scene even more sinister.

Ten minutes and a three-second Crucio later, the idiot finally caved: the leader of Falkreath's bandit contingent was in the cave, and was working with some bloodsucker who'd, apparently, been lending bodies and daedra in exchange for information on the going-ons in the Hold. By the time the Companion slit the fucker's throat, not only did we now know that Shriekwind was the base of operations for a wide-ranging organization of banditry, but we had two names, both of which we knew.

The vampire went by Klaus. Klaus Volkihar. One of Serana's… cousins.

And the bandit leader? Farkas apparently knew of him, if his animalistic snarl on hearing the name was anything to go by.

Sinding, the Wolf of Falkreath. A rouge Werewolf who was into… younger… prey, and had slipped past Hold guards and Thanes alike for the five years he'd been at large. Just the thought of what we might find deeper in made my stomach turn, death rattles and deep red blood in the snow flashing through my thoughts.

We didn't have time to discuss a detailed plan of action, however, as a fucking Hunger had come tearing into the room just seconds after the bandit died. Once we'd felled the filthy thing, all three of us agreed on the simplest plan for situations like this: kill everything with extreme prejudice.

Loading a bolt into my bow with a snarl and setting it to Lightning Helix, I reflected on just how difficult this half-baked plan was turning out; we'd killed dozens of draugr, Hounds, bandits and vampires just on the last three levels of this barrow, and they'd fought us for every inch. The only consolation we had at this point was that the way we came was the only way out; it wasn't us trapped in here with them.

They were trapped in here with us.

"Scales! Kill that Deathlord!" I shrieked before firing around my cover, hitting the middle draugr and killing both its neighbors as a blood-red Scales shot past me, running low to the ground as Farkas threw a knife at said draugr Lord to distract it before charging at the remaining corpse. Seconds later, the hallway was clear; at the hall's end, an ornate door stood closed.

"Laas Yah!" I whispered breathlessly; six hours in armor, fighting a legion of undead and worse, and it still wasn't over, "Four contacts," I reported to my equally exhausted allies, "one smaller than… oh fuck."

Farkas didn't have time to ask why I said that, as the door banged open…

Revealing a Dragon Priest, whirling arcs of silver lightning covering its floating form, its desiccated face curled into a permanent sneer as it leveled its staff in Farkas' direction.

"Protego!" the fireball cracked my Shield Charm, but thankfully didn't break it; Scales let out a furious scream and moved to flank the undead horror. I dropped my Shield and readied my wand as the creature turned toward Scales, "GET BACK!"

The clannfear alpha obeyed, nimbly leaping aside as another fireball missed him by inches.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

THOOM! Dragon Priest, ornate door, and part of the surrounding wall were shredded by the Siege-Grade spell, debris showering the interior of the throne room beyond.

Silence fell, only broken by my haggard breathing and the slight ringing in our ears; Gods, I was tired. Farkas' quiet voice next to me broke the silence, "Fucking shit, Hermione."

"Don't ask for another of those," I growled, holstering my wand and reloading my crossbow, changing the setting back to Reducto, "I'm nearly spent, and both you and Scales look ready to drop as well."

Grunting, the Companion took point, "Let's finish this, then." Scales prowled at my side as the three of us moved into the archway and took in the throne room's destruction.

It was a massive, domed room, stones the same swirl-covered sepia as the rest of the barrow. A circular dais in the center of the room held two thrones, side-by-side, while the outer edges were raised in a staircase-like amphitheater. The Dragon Priest's sarcophagus lay on the opposite side of the room, standing sarcophagi interspersed around the walls; the horror itself lay in pieces at our feet, its staff and armor shattered by my Siege-Engine Charm.

Just beyond it, a pale hand with sharpened nails was just visible from beneath the stone block that had crushed its owner, 'Serves them right for standing too close.' Other than that, there were only two other people in the room.

One was a pale, shirtless, blonde Nord with cold blue eyes the same color as Farkas', presumably Sinding. The other…

A young girl, maybe ten, naked except for a collar around her neck, her eyes empty of emotion… and the same color as the other two Weres.

My blood boiled with fury. This bastard needed to die.

"So the Companions have found me at last," Sinding drawled, his cold gaze locked on Farkas as the girl's vacant stare flicked between Scales and I, "Years of work and careful preparation, undone in a day. How did you find me, mutt?"

"Didn't know you were here, milk-drinker," sneered Farkas, voice tinged with hate; I'd let him take the fuck-wit. Maybe I could Stun the girl, try and find her family… "One of your boys, though… he told us you were here. Needed some encouragement first," the big Nord twitched his sword at Sinding for emphasis.

The other Wolf rolled his shoulders, smirking slightly, "I suppose it doesn't matter. I'll take great pleasure in sending your head back to your Harbinger," his eyes flicked to me, "right after showing your little whore her proper place in the world."

"Oblivion take you," came my whispered snarl- chack!

Both Sinding and his girl shot in opposite directions, my bolt hitting one of the thrones and destroying it; the bastard cried, "Kill the daedra, capture the girl!" before his body rippled and bulged as he transformed.

My attention flew back to the girl… who had transformed into a Werewolf herself; in human form, she came up to my chest. Now she was the same height as me, her lupine jaws snarling as she swiftly lunged forward-

Right into Scales' charge. The clannfear alpha rammed his head into her chest, drawing a growl of anger from the Were as I swiftly reloaded and switched Stormbringer to Paralyze, ignoring the sounds of two fully-grown Wolves trying their level-best to kill each other nearby.

The girl dodged Scales' follow-up claw strike before grabbing his fringe and slamming a fist into the side of his neck; he dropped like a sack of potatoes, hopefully knocked out. Right before she could finish him with a claw strike of her own, chack! I fired another bolt at her, missing her by inches. She ran at me again.

'FUCK! Nothing for it!' I thought furiously before letting loose with the first Shout I could think of, "FUS RO!" The wave of force slammed into the Werewolf's slight form and tossed her across the room with a howl of frustration and pain; I used the moment to reload and briefly check on Farkas, right as the Companion, in his Werewolf form, dodged Sinding's clawstrike, grabbed the extended arm, and broke it with a vicious blow to the elbow. Clearly, Farkas' upbringing with the Companions was proving its worth; he'd grown up hunting with Werewolves before becoming one himself, and had no doubt trained to handle rouge Weres. The Wolf of Falkreath was clearly out of his league.

Sinding's scream of pain and disbelief was as satisfying as it was ear-ringing. Figuring Farkas had everything well in hand (or claw, in this case), I turned back to my rising opponent and loosed another bolt at her, hoping to end this without killing the girl. She dodged again, and this time I couldn't avoid her lightning-fast charge.

My back slammed into the rubble-strewn ground, Stormbringer clattering to the side as the Wolf on top of me swung a fist at my face, which I blocked with my right forearm.

CRACK!

Definitely not my best idea. Fighting through the searing pain of having my arm broken with the sheer rage flowing through me, I shunted my emotions into my left hand and grabbed for lightning.

Her follow-up strike slammed across the left side of my head, breaking one of her fingers on my helm and rattling my teeth, but the pain of her break made her hesitate for a second; I grabbed her wrist and channeled as much magic as I could into the spell.

The Wolf's body convulsed as the overpowered lightning spell ground into her for the three-decade-long-seconds I held it for; bunching up my legs, I kicked out with all I had and sent her onto her back, forcing myself back to my feet and awkwardly drawing Eclipse with my left hand, the ebony axe's enchantments flaring eagerly as I approached the wounded child-Werewolf with my broken right arm held to my chest.

A tearing sound and gurgling scream came from my left as Farkas tore Sinding's throat out with his teeth; the girl before me flinched at the sight of her captor's death before turning that dull blue gaze on me, slowly tensing for another attack.

I leveled my axe at her and said through teeth gritted with pain, "Give up. Please, give up." She didn't move, but I could see primal fury building in those eyes of hers. My voice shook as I begged, "Don't. Please, honey, don't-"

She leapt at me with a feral shriek.

I dodged around her claws and brought my axe up.

The axe fell as her left paw swept at my face.

Schick!

A line of white hot fire lashed through my lips and nicked the tip of my nose. I dropped my axe with a clang and quickly slapped a hand full of golden light onto my face, sliding to my knees and healing the wound as fast as I could…

As my opponent slumped to the ground, a smoking valley running from her shoulder to her hip.

The line through my lips went from my right jawline and ended at the top of my lip on the same side; luckily, the tip of my nose was just a scratch, but it would scar, seeing as it was an injury dealt by a cursed creature. 'That's… That's fine. I knew I'd get scars, in this line of work.' I started taking off my right gauntlet to heal my broken arm as the sounds of Farkas transforming back and his own pained grunts reached my ears.

But I was distracting myself, wasn't I?

Dropping my gauntlet with a thump, I couldn't stop the wretched sob that escaped my chest, even as I channeled golden light into my arm. Farkas' thumping steps came close before he fell to one knee next to me, offering up a thick piece of leather that I saw through stinging eyes. "Bite."

I did, bracing myself. He grabbed my forearm at the wrist and elbow.

I deserve this.

Crischck!

It hurt so much; another wet gasp left my mouth as I looked at the ceiling, letting the leather strip fall from my mouth only to be replaced with the bitter taste of a healing potion. I almost felt cheated in my misery as the break went numb and sealed in the alchemical tincture's wake.

I DESERVED THAT PAIN!

A squawk of shock came from Scales as he shook himself back in consciousness, the sound covering another of my sobs. Farkas' arms suddenly encircled me, pulling me tight to his body; he smelt of blood, wet dog, and weapon oil.

"Let it out, Hermione," his whispered growl opened the floodgates at last, and I wept for so many things.

. . . . .

In this one's opinion, his Bonded's adopted kit needed some time off, or a mate.

She'd been through much, this last battle.

This one might not have been human, but he could feel her pain and grief.

So young. This one would feel she was too young for the work she was doing, but this one had been younger, when he'd first tasted flesh.

But still her grief and sorrow rolled off her body in a stifling miasma. She didn't know that her killing was a mercy, but she'd soon realize. This she was very smart, or so his Bonded thought.

So he nuzzled her side and crooned, as this one would for his own hatchlings. She took comfort from that, and the Favored of the Huntsman provided comfort closer to that of the mortal kin.

She would rise above even this, this one knew. She had such strength, like this one's Bonded.

Now, if only she would realize how badly she needed a mate… At least she had the vampire.

. . . . .

It took Hermione a few minutes to calm down, upon which Farkas set her to the busywork of checking a side-room for valuables while he…

'Fuck's sake,' the young man thought as he looked at the female Wolf's corpse before covering her with a linen sheet he'd pulled off the wall. Early twenties he may have been, but right now Farkas felt as old as Kodlak… though that might have something to do with fighting his way through a small army!

Looking around for a distraction from seeing another dead kid, he didn't see anything really worth taking. Then his gaze fell on Sinding; a disgusted snarl curled onto his face before he could stop it. 'Good thing the others aren't here. But, shit, Kodlak's going to want answers. I know I want some.' Then he saw it: a silver glint on Sinding's right pointer finger.

Stomping over, he lifted the dead Werewolf's claw up for a closer look; what he saw made him even more furious, his Inner Wolf howling along with his rage.

The Ring of Hircine.

Farkas heard Hermione retch in the other room, so he called, "You okay, Herms?"

Around the sound of her spitting into a bucket and Scales trotting over to look in on her, she called back, "Don't call me that! And y-yeah… just found a body pit in the back here. The vampire's meals, I think." The sound of a fire spell igniting gave Farkas a small measure of closure… but now. He looked at the ring again.

Companion tradition said that if any Werewolf went rouge, the Companions would have to hunt them down at any cost; as for Weres who weren't members of the Inner Circle… well, they were blessed by Hircine for a reason. So long as they kept their dining habits away from civilized areas and left the innocent alone, as Hircine himself dictated to the first Hunters, the Companions were willing to live and let live.

But Sinding had gone against those teachings, used his position as Hircine's Champion for his own selfishness; Farkas really didn't want to think of what the bastard must have done to that girl Hermione put down, but now that he'd seen the Ring, this whole adventure made a whole lot more sense.

Not that he liked being a Daedric Prince's unknowing pawn, but if it made the world better, so be it.

Hermione walked back into the room, wiping her eyes and sniffing. Farkas dropped the hand, but she'd seen him staring as she asked, "Something wrong?"

Farkas grunted an affirmative before asking, "What do you know about Hircine?"

She flinched, glancing at the covered body before looking back at him, "He's… the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, Wilds, and Beasts. The various Were-creatures are people who have been blessed by him… or so I've read. Um," frowning, Hermione asked in a quieter voice, "why do you ask?"

He pointed at Sinding, "Because I've just killed his Shamed Champion. Also, Vilkas made me read a book about the Blessed of Hircine when I was younger, and it said that if a Champion becomes Shamed, the hunter who kills them has to… skin their corpse, before leaving them to the scavengers."

"Morbid," Hermione rasped, glancing at Sinding's cooling body with an unreadable expression before asking blithely, "Need some help?" Scales chirped eagerly and trotted over as well.

It took less than five minutes to skin the dead Wolf of Falkreath, but when they were done…

Sinding's body suddenly crumbled to ash, while a golden glow surrounded the skin, warping it and twisting it over and over again until… a leather cuirass with a wolf's face on the chest fell at their feet. Farkas also noticed that it was designed with a female in mind; he glanced at Hermione's face, which was an interesting blend of shock and disgust, "…I'll… uh, I'll just, erm, give this to Aela, if that's okay with you?"

Hermione and Scales both nodded quickly, the gir-no, Farkas mentally corrected himself, the young woman adding in a strained tone, "Good idea. I, um, don't really feel comfortable wearing someone into battle… but… why me?"

The older Nord scoffed at her grieving tone, gesturing at the covered body nearby, "It's called the Savior's Hide for a reason, Hermione. This girl suffered, and you ended that suffering; she's in the Hunting Grounds, and Hircine's known for looking out for the young. She's in paradise now. Sinding, on the other hand," he gave a dark chuckle, which drew a small smirk from his human partner and a rattling snarl of satisfaction from Scales, "Well… let's just say the Daedric Princes don't take kindly to those who abuse their gifts. His suffering will be endless. Now let's bugger off back to the tavern; we all need a bath, and… that girl needs a pyre."

. . . . .
Early Morning, 25th Rain's Hand, 4E201
Town of Falkreath
. . . . .

The first thing Drevas noticed, on arriving at Falkreath's north gate, was the platoon of guardsmen gathered around the back of the Jarl's longhouse. As he dismounted, he noticed their captain gesturing to the mountains to the northwest; looking that way, he saw the barrow that had made Serana and himself high-tail it down here as fast as they could.

Or as fast as Delphine would let him, anyway; the naive Blade had all but dragged him into the basement on his arrival in Riverwood and proceeded to interrogate him for several minutes about… well, mostly it was her berating him for taking nearly four months to come back to her inn, never mind how busy he was.

Though it was pretty funny how she didn't notice Serana had followed them until said vampire had asked about the Akaviri equipment hanging on the Breton's wall; well, it was funny until the paranoid bitch had suggested the Daughter of Coldharbour was actually a Thalmor deep-cover agent. Drevas blamed Serana's elven kit, himself.

"Delphine," he'd growled, cutting the Blade's tirade off at the knees before she said something that made her look even more like a fool, "I've been around Tamriel, and altogether around, longer than you've been alive; I think I'd know if a vampire who's been sealed in a tomb for over a thousand years was working for the goldskins."

The hard-faced woman, of course, wasn't convinced, "How do you even know? Did you check her story out-"

'Azura grant me patience.' "I was fucking there, Delphine!" Having successfully shut the woman up, Drevas had followed that up with, "Speaking of the racist bastards, have you made any headway in figuring out what the Thalmor know about dragons coming back?" He really hoped she had; once Harkon's head was on a spike, Alduin was next.

"Not yet, but I've got a way we can find out," 'hold up, what's this 'we' stuff?!' "I've got an in on the Midyear Celebration at the Thalmor Embassy north of Solitude. It was hard getting an invite, but I was able to get you in," 'Sixteen Hells she didn't.' "A bit of hair dye and some makeup-"

"Stop."

The temperature in the room dropped while Drevas fought to keep his emotions under control. It would have been… unfortunate, if he had to kill Delphine for her utter stupidity.

Not to mention her confusion wasn't blatantly obvious; how she was still alive boggled the old Dunmer's mind as she waspishly asked, "What? This is our best-"

He cut her off with a snarl, "It won't fucking matter how much you disguise me, Delphine, seeing as the second they see I'm missing a chunk out of my ear, they'll kill me on the spot, and that's if I'm really lucky. I've… met the First Ambassador before," and wasn't that the biggest understatement of his life, "and she will know who I am as soon as she sees me. If the Thalmor capture you, that's the end of the Blades, just another sorrow to add to the shit-heap of the past two hundred years," Drevas scoffed, blood-red eyes boring into Delphine as he concluded bitterly, "They capture me, you can kiss the Empire goodbye, because if I can't make them kill me, they'll make me talk, and I know things that would make you run screaming from this basement."

The silence that followed was thankfully brief, as Serana remarked lightly from where she'd been examining an Alchemy setup, "He's right, you know; in the grand scheme of things, Drevas is the most valuable person in this room. Sending him into the wolf's den, especially when the person in charge knows who he is, would be a terrible idea."

Which had just made Delphine all the more frustrated, seeing as she didn't have any agents to go and sneak into the place to snoop about for information; in the end, Drevas told her he'd have a think, check up on some things, and get back to her. Before heading off to bed, however, Serana suggested just capturing a Thalmor Justiciar and interrogating them.

"I can't believe that never crossed her mind," Serana confided in him after they'd caught four hours rest and were saddling up in the middle of the night, "What kind of spy does she think she is?"

"No idea, but trust me, she needed that talking to," was all he'd said in reply, or for the entire ride down to Falkreath; his mind was more on his apprentice's well-being than thinking about Delphine's short-sightedness and cavalier attitude (though, if he was being honest with himself, the Breton woman reminded the Dunmer of himself… when he was a hundred or so years younger). On the bright side, at least she hadn't given the Thalmor his description; that would be… unfortunate.

Though, truth be told, he was surprised to find the roads clear of bandits all the way to the Town of Falkreath. Apparently Hermione, Farkas and Scales had been more effective at keeping a boot on the fetchers. He'd have to talk with Balgruuf and Proventus when he got back to Dragonsreach about reopening trade to the southern hold… no, the war was still on, even if the Empire and Stormcloaks were in a ceasefire, and that might send the wrong message.

Besides, he and Serana, who had all but leapt off her horse before sweeping her gaze around the town, hadn't ridden practically halfway across Skyrim for politics. They had a Hermione to find.

The guards noticed, as well, and one of them began cautiously approaching them. Drevas couldn't find it in himself to blame the guard for being wary; it's not every day you see a six-two Dunmer covered in Masterwork ebony plate ride into town with purpose and an Ayelid-clad vampire in tow. Still, the Nord greeted them warmly, "Good morning, ser. What brings you and your companion," glance at a hooded Serana, who was admiring the lumber mill, "to our humble town?"

Well! That was a better greeting than the one he'd got from Riften's guards. "Thane Drevas, out of Whiterun," the guard made a sound of realization, saluting and subtly glancing at Starfall, "You wouldn't happen to know about a buck-toothed lass in glass armor, might have a Companion of Ysgramor following her around?"

The guard nodded, smiling beneath his scale helmet, "And a tough-as-nails clannfear?" Drevas nodded, feeling some of his anxiousness abate, "They came back from Shriekwind last night, Thane of Whiterun. According to the Jarl's Steward, the Wolf of Falkreath had threw in with those vampires that've been springing up all over. They were no match for the Hound and the Griffoness, though," the guard finished with a chuckle…

As Drevas tried to come to terms with the apparent fact that Hermione and this Farkas person had taken on a bandit/vampire/draugr stronghold and survived; clearing his throat he queried, "Do you know where they can be found?" hoping the answer wasn't the Temple.

The guardsman pointed past the lumber mill, "There're up by the falls; least, that's where Beirand saw them last. We're headed up to the barrow, ourselves," he gestured to the other guards, who Drevas noticed were hefting better-looking gear than most Hold guards he'd seen, "Jarl wants us to capture and fortify the place, make sure no bandits move back in."

Drevas nodded, removing his helm as relief filled him. Hermione was safe, and the bandit situation in Falkreath had mostly been dealt with, "I'm sure Jarl Balgruuf will be pleased to hear his southern borders are safer than ever, guardsman. Good luck clearing the barrow; you know how to deal with draugr?" the man nodded confidently, and the Dragonborn returned it, "Then may the Gods watch over your battles," and he was striding in the direction the guard had told him his apprentice could be found in.

They'd just come into sight of the Temple when Serana whispered, "I can smell her!" and was about to tear off into a copse of trees when Drevas pulled her up.

"Serana!" he hissed, making the woman stop mid-stride and look at him questioningly, "Remember what we talked about." She nodded seriously before continuing at a more sedate pace.

Then Scales came barreling out of a shrub and ran up to Drevas with a loud bark of greeting; grinning and patting his old friend on the beak, neither Dragonborn nor vampire were ready for the hulking Nord that came out of the trees, Wolf Armor looking like it'd had recent repairs and a Dwemer greatsword hanging off his back.

Blinking, Drevas suddenly grinned in recognition, "Farkas, yeah?" the Companion grunted affirmatively, glancing warily at Serana, who kept walking in the direction of the river, "My apprentice still have all her fingers and toes?"

The large Nord grunted again, adding in a more sophisticated mode of communication, "I'll need to have a word with you about some of the shit we ran into down here. Not here though; too many chances to get overheard."

'Aaand I'm worried again,' folding his arms and taking a second to appreciate that there was someone out there taller than he was, Drevas narrowed his eyes and kept his tone mild in asking, "Alright, we'll discuss that when we get back to Whiterun. Now," he smirked, making Farkas frown, "what's this about the Hound and the Griffoness?"

Watching the hulking Nord rub the back of his head and flush in embarrassment was well worth all the hullabaloo Drevas had put up with for the past month. As a happy plus, he could scratch "Make a Companion blush" off his bucket list.

. . . . .

Serana knew what she'd said in the Soul Cairn, regarding the young witch that had fallen into Drevas' life and, by extension, her own; certain parts of her mind even told her that it couldn't work, there were too many differences.

Hermione was a fourteen or fifteen year-old girl, while Serana had been sealed in stasis when she was thirty-five. Sure, Serana didn't have many qualms about the age difference, given what she was, her personal preferences (sure, she was attracted to younger people, so what?), and the general culture of the land (Hermione technically could go and get married if she wanted to), but that led into the next issue.

Serana was a vampire, a former devotee to Molag Bal, while Hermione seemed to have a great deal of respect for the Nine in general and Kyne in particular; additionally, it wouldn't be socially acceptable, for Hermione anyway, to be seen in a close relationship with her, their (hopefully) mutual feelings for each other notwithstanding.

There was also what they'd discovered, deep in the Soul Cairn, about the world she'd come from; that was the big clincher. The bushy-haired object of Serana's affections would, one day, leave and never return, Drevas would make sure of that. Given what she'd seen and heard, Serana wanted to help make sure Hermione got home safely as well; she was missed, had someone waiting for her. She didn't need Serana polluting her feelings; and so, the vampire had resolved to keep her distance and treat the young woman as a younger sister and colleague.

It didn't help her resolve, however, that all these things paled before a few facts that Serana knew were true: she was attracted, physically and emotionally, to Hermione, and the feeling was mutual if the girl's behavior was anything to go by; being separated from her for the better part of a month, she found while draining a (still fighting) Forsworn a few days ago, had only magnified her feelings.

A distant memory, of someone saying distance made the heart grow fonder, was really making the idea of the coming conversation painful for Serana.

Stopping behind a tree, she took a moment to settle her emotions; she'd go out there, make some small talk, and if their relationship came up, she'd… she'd calmly explain the situation and let Hermione down gently. She was an intelligent lass, she'd understand.

Serana stepped around the tree, taking in the stones on the riverside; a glass and ebony helm was perched on one of said stones, a crossbow and weapon harness propped next to it, the rushing water of the nearby falls a nice touch in the foggy morning-

There she was, in full kit sans helmet, standing out on the water and frowning at her feet, chewing on her lip in a way that made the swirling flames that sustained Serana's unlife quiver in want. Her hair was still short, the bangs and wild spikes of brown straightened and slicked back with beeswax; were it not for her feminine features (and the fact that Serana had seen what was under that armor), a casual observer would pass Hermione Granger off as a young man.

She also apparently felt Serana's gaze on her, as she blinked and turned her head to face the vampire; her eyes were still that lovely shade of brown, but with the hard coldness of experience now glinting in them. There was also an almost-unnoticeable scar through her lips.

Then her face lit up in happiness, reminding Serana of the sunrise and making her own features morph into a grin as the target of her affections called "Serana!" and bounded over the stones to stand before the Daughter of Coldharbour, "You're back!"

"Well of course," smiled Serana, all of her doubts and reservations forgotten, "I did promise," her smile fading, she reached toward the scar in Hermione's lips in concern; huffing, the girl intercepted Serana's questing hand and guided it to her cheek.

"Werewolf, in the barrow," Hermione reported, a sad smile on her lips, "It's a good thing lycanthropy is passed through blood, or I'd have a big reason to join the Companions," she finished with a small laugh as Serana simply enjoyed her presence and felt some of her worry abate at seeing the girl alive and mostly unharmed. She'd have to have a chat with that Farkas fellow, later.

Sighing and running a thumb next to Hermione's lips, Serana commented, "Drevas should be able to remove that scar, not that it looks bad, mind you, but… well… um," she felt heat rise to her face, at a loss to explain just how she felt to the young woman before her…

Who chuckled, stepping closer and laying her hands on Serana's breastplate as she looked into her eyes, "I'm okay Serana. I just missed you," and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.

It wasn't a lingering thing, or a heated snog; just a chaste pressing of her lips, a loving caress, and Hermione was pulling away with a bright blush and sunny smile, taking a stunned Serana's hand and guiding her over to the river's edge, shyly adding, "I've also wanted to do that for weeks."

Taking her seat across from the girl, Serana gulped and tried to begin, "Hermione… This, I don't even know how a relationship like this is supposed to work… I-"

Hermione placed a hand on her knee to stop her and patiently asked, "Then, could I try and explain, so you can understand?" Serana nodded, relieved; Hermione took a deep breath and said slowly, "The only real memories I have of my old life are of Harry, but you knew that. He… he was my anchor, he kept me in check, and I did the same for him. Like him, you've been through a lot of pain in your life, but even though you understand it, you shouldn't have to face that pain alone; so… I need that again, an anchor. Someone who's there when I falter, someone who understands…" she looked into Serana's eyes, a plead in those brown orbs that captivated the vampire so, "I need someone who'll pick me up if I fall down. I… I want that to be you, Serana… because I'd do the same for you, if you ever falter."

In a whisper, Serana asked, "You… want me to be the something you hold onto?" Hermione nodded, cheeks tinting pink, "And you want to be mine, even though I'm a blood drinking, immortal, undead abomination?"

Hermione frowned in disapproval, "You're not an abomination, Serana. You're just… different, and yes," she smiled again while squeezing the vampire's knee, the fire in Serana's chest flickering softly at the sight, "I want to be yours. I know getting back home won't be easy, either, so… if I get hurt and it looks like… like I might not make it," she paused, briefly glancing in Drevas' direction before fixing Serana with a desperate gaze and whispering, "please… turn me."

The Daughter of Coldharbour let out a shuddering breath, the fire in her now an inferno of wants and needs; still, she needed to be objective. Hermione, for all the experience she'd had down here in Falkreath- no. The girl had seen death, had nearly died herself in all probability; she knew what she was asking.

So Serana smiled and linked her fingers with Hermione's, "Hopefully… it won't come to that, honey; but if it does… well," she laughed, making Hermione frown in confusion, "Drevas and I promised your Potions Master that we would do whatever it took to send you safely home, and I don't break promises."

That took the younger Dragonborn by surprise, if her excited response was anything to go by, "My… My Potions Master? You spoke to someone from my world?!" She managed to keep her voice down, but she was now gripping Serana's right hand with both of hers, making the older woman laugh easily.

Nodding with a grin, Serana teased, "Ready for one doozy of a story, love?" Hermione nodded quickly, her face bright with hope, "Alright, but first…" Serana leaned forward.

Their second kiss lasted longer, Serana doing her best to convey the feelings of care and longing she felt with the intimate action, Hermione reciprocating wonderfully, in the vampire's opinion.

Thirty seconds later, they broke apart, both breathing out and laughing softly as they pressed their foreheads together. "That was for catching me by surprise, 'Mione."

The younger girl slapped Serana's pauldron with a happy squeal and riposted, "Stop churning my butter and tell me what happened, Ana."

'Oh Divines, I'm in so much trouble,' was Serana's blushing thought at hearing Hermione's pet name; shaking all the happy thoughts away for the moment, she settled back onto her stone and told Hermione about Drevas' conversation with Severus Snape.

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A/N:

Well… that took a little longer than I thought it would.

You thought there wasn't going to be any SeranaXHermione going on, didn't you? *smirk* Keep in mind, dear readers, that not everything in this story is as cut-and-dry as it seems. There will be a few more twists and turns as we progress further, have no doubt.

Hermione vs Dragon Priest(possessed by a vampire): Ordinarily, Hermione loses to the Priest, buuut, seeing as its being controlled remotely by something that doesn't completely understand how a Dragon Priest functions and is just using it as a deadly puppet, the siege-grade spell ripped it apart with the greatest of ease. Additionally, it wasn't a masked Dragon Priest; if it had been, say, Krosis, that fight would've taken a whole chapter and, given Hermione's current experience, she would have either been killed or seriously maimed. Adding Scales and Farkas would lighten the load, but not by much; masked Priests are no joke, children. Adventure responsibly.

The plot thickens… much like Hermione's butter XD

Next update will take about as long as this one, but we're getting closer to the Vale, people! I can't wait for those chapters! Two more, at least, before we get there.

Thanks for reading everyone!

~Baked

Next Time: Drevas speaks with Severus, the Skyforge, and the Dawnguard