Chapter Ten- Becoming

Laurelin raced out of Whiterun, tearing past the sleepy guards and startling them into sudden alertness. Pain and frustration crystallized into her need to hunt. Sniffing the predawn wind, she had a moment of regret. She should have grabbed Farkas on her way out so they could hunt together. Or have a few moments of privacy. Not to mention her wolfish friends had such keen noses, finding game would be easy. Relying on her own natural senses, Laure was able to swiftly take down a small buck. She butchered it, eating the heart raw, as she liked it, then stacked rocks in a small cairn over what she didn't plan on taking right away.

Still hungry for the hunt, the petite Bosmer soon picked up the spoor of a sabre cat. Hunting cats was infinitely more dangerous than deer, but she felt more than up to the challenge tonight. By Nocturnal, what she wouldn't give to have a dragon fly overhead now. However, no obliging dragon presented itself to her, so Laure made do with sabre cat.

She stalked back to Jorrvaskr well after sunrise-leaving a trail of gaping early morning shoppers behind her—lugging a heavy pelt filled with raw meat. Once inside the mead hall, she hoisted the bundle onto a side table, glancing around. The main room was empty but for Torvar and Skjor.

"What do you need, whelp?" Skjor declined to look up and address Laurelin eye to eye, who's temper was short this morning.

"Could you please not treat me like a child Skjor, I-"

"Can you act like an adult, Dragonborn? Maybe a little less like a bitch in heat perhaps?" He continued eating, still not looking up at her.

Laurelin wanted to rip his throat out and shout down in his face, but she took a deep breath, let slowly out through clenched teeth. He was of course, correct. Bastard. She unclenched her fists and flatly said, "Farkas." Skjor stabbed a finger toward the doors leading out back, still not having taken his eyes from his plate. Torvar on the other hand, had shrunk down quietly in his chair, bleary eyes meandering fearfully from the older Companion to the newest.

"Thank you, shield-brother." she said as sweetly as she could, then swung around him, vaulting over the table to the doors. She ignored his outraged cries and slid outside. Farkas and Ria were both outside, the sturdy, cute Ria watching the big man while she ate. He was lunging, shuffling, parrying and blocking imaginary foes with restrained fury.

He smelled her right away of course, with his senses as keyed to her as they were, it was unlikely that she could ever sneak up on him. He finished his exercises, then turned his attention to where she stood, watching him intently.

"Wow! Do you have any idea how insane you look right now?" He asked, a note of awe in his voice. She stood there, blood smeared across her face, short hair standing out in pale spikes of pink, clothes torn in several long parallel slashes. He could smell the sabre cat on her, sharp, dangerous.

"Some, aye. Come with me." Laurelin spun about and strode up the porch, certain he would follow. They quickly passed through the upper room and headed downstairs. Farkas tried to pull her to a stop when he realized where precisely she was headed, but she shrugged his hand off and kept right on going. Finally the big man stepped in front of Laure, blocked the doorway with broad shoulders. He glanced behind him at Vilkas's closed door, shaking his head.

"This won't work. You're pissed, so'm I. He is too. Look, he's smart, makes it tougher on him when he messes up. He knows he was an ass. But you trying to force an apology out of him before he's ready will only make it worse. We've been dealing with the blood for a long time now, Laurelin; right now every one needs to cool off."

Laure gave him an impassive stare, not ready to relent. Farkas continued, "You don't get it. Everything I can taste and smell, he can. He can sense my moods, as I can his. Even before the beast blood, we always-knew things. Our wolf spirits make all that so much stronger. Don't worry, when he's ready he'll say he's sorry."

"Oh, Farkas, I'm sorry! It's infuriating that he takes his frustration out on others. Why doesn't he just leave when he gets cranky?" She let herself be turned around and steered toward the dorms.

"Where would he go? Out to the Mare to drink his senses away? Hunt on the plain? It's harder to resist out there, sometimes. Of course here in town there is all the lovely meat wandering around, practically begging to be devoured. Where would you go, little elf? How would you fight the need to kill, and kill some more? The urge is always there, just waiting for the tiniest slip of control. For those with the blood we fight it, fuck it, or eat it." His voice was low, right at her ear again, growling softly.

"I-I guess I didn't think about that. Again I apologize. Why do you let the others insult you all the time?" she asked as he sat her down on her bed, and rummaged through her small nightstand for clean, whole clothes and finding only a blue dress.

His characteristic shrug briefly lifted his shoulders "Mostly they just tease. We're not exactly known for flowery expressions and soft looks. It's a hard life we live. Are you really going to wear a dress?"

"It'll do. I brought money to buy a house; I guess I can afford some new clothes too." She took the garment from his hands, looking up at him. "Thank you for explaining. And for stopping me from doing something foolish. Skjor already accused me of acting like a bitch in heat."

"He said that to you?" Farkas looked like he was going to change into a wolf right there for a brief moment, then his smile and dimple appeared. "I've heard I do that to the ladies, don't worry."

"Yes, completely irresistible, all your fault. I had no choice in the matter." She winked up at him.

"Sorry about the giant bite marks. I got a little carried away." He didn't look sorry, not in the slightest, with his tiny smirk playing the corner of his lips.

"Ha! Don't be. I liked it." Her own smirk appeared, her blue eyes narrowed slyly.

"Woman, you could drive a man insane with talk like that." He tossed a damp rag at her and fled, leaving her to chuckle and wash up.

Two days later, Laurelin was relaxing in the sun, perched on the city wall outside Jorrvaskr, enjoying a quiet morning. The warmth of the day seeped into her bones and made her face glow softly with contentment. Her eyes were closed, pointed chin tilted up to the sky.

Thus she didn't see Vilkas stride out of the mead hall, unerringly swing her way. A large tray was balanced in his hands, piled with a selection of choice raw meats, wine and a bowl containing honey, still in the comb. Laure smelled the meat first, opened her eyes to see a softly smiling Vilkas standing before her. He set the tray on the wall beside her and scooted up to straddle the wall, facing the suddenly wary elf. Although, one didn't usually gird oneself for battle with food, she thought.

Vilkas poured them each a goblet of wine, and as he handed hers over the platter, he took a breath, beginning, "I'm an ass, sister. I know Farkas tried to explain, to make excuses for me, but it was a shitty thing, what I said the other night." He stopped, sipped his wine, and continued. "I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you two. I wasn't being rational, nor fair to two of the kindest people I have ever met. I humbly beg your forgiveness, shield-sister."

Laure sipped her wine, not wanting to look at him, but knowing it was needed. The wine was good, very good in fact. Not the usual sour swill flowing freely about. She savored what that meant as she gazed into Vilkas's earnest gray eyes.

"My forgiveness is granted, of course." She finally replied "However, I think you hurt your brother more than me."

Vilkas nodded. "We talked last night. Thinking up a battle plan or a pretty phrase may not be his strong points, but he understands-knows me and my shortcomings."

"Few that they are, I'm sure!" Laure smirked snagging up a sliver of raw venison, munching contently.

Vilkas smiled ironically and sampled a piece himself. "Needs salt." He observed.

The next week was busy and productive. By unspoken agreement, Laurelin and Farkas refrained from any further romantic explorations. The tension remained palpable to all in the mead hall, however. Instead, Laure trained with Farkas, and Vilkas when he could be convinced to leave his room. She hunted with Ria and Athis, sewed gaping holes in leather and cloth, spent hours with Eorland Gray-Mane making use of his endless smithing lore to improve her weapons and armor. In the mornings, she read on the balcony of Jorrvaskr if the weather was nice enough. She also became Thane of Whiterun, bought a tiny house, and gained a housecarl.

The title of Thane was mostly honorary, but it was nice to have a little leeway from the town guards if she needed it. The housecarl came with the title, and went by the name of Lydia.

Breezehome, the house she had purchased, was a cute, slightly rickety stone and timber cottage from the outside, but reasonably snug and dry inside, with a large, open fire-pit in the center of the main room. Lydia looked around when they first entered and shrugged. "Whatever gets me out of the barracks," she muttered. Lydia claimed the small room to the left at the top of the stairs, the door shutting behind her steel-clad form.

Not entirely sure what to make of Lydia, Laure left Breezehome to get her belongings from Jorrvaskr. Night was falling when she stepped in. Ria looked up from where she was sharpening her sword by the fire, a smile on her face. "Oh hey, there you are. Skjor was looking for you, I think he's out back."

Not sure why Skjor would be looking for her other than to assign her some task, Laure nodded and went back out. She had been expecting him to brusquely give her another chore and was surprised to find him smiling, leaning against the stone wall of the mead hall, gazing up at the cloudy sky. "Honor to you, shield-brother. It's a lovely evening, isn't it?" She admired the nimbus of light shining in rings around the first quarter moon.

"Aye. Well, it seems you are fitting around here. I'll admit I had my doubts-you could be sitting back on your status as Dragonborn-but it seems you have a truer spirit than that." He looked her over. "The wolf armor suits. Being a Companion suits you. Aela and the others have much good to say of your actions. I've noticed every time you come back to town you bring meat for the kitchens, providing for your siblings is an honorable action. Aela and I have a proposition for you to consider." He ushered her through a passage she hadn't ever noticed before into a hidden chamber under the Skyforge. It was dimly lit, unfurnished, but for large basin at the back of the small, roughly hewn room.

Looming over the font was a tall werewolf with ruddy fur. "I trust you recognize Aela even in her beast form? What we are offering you is what I heard you tell Kodlak you desired not so long ago. There are some drawbacks, but I think you are more than capable enough to handle them. And the benefits...they more than compensate you. Always armed, more alert, stronger, faster!" While Skjor spoke, Aela watched Laure with wolfish eyes. "Are you ready for this?"

Laure glanced to Aela one more time-her forebear if she accepted-who dipped her head into a bit of a nod. Looking up at Skjor with Aela looming behind, the little Bosmer nodded herself. "I'm ready." The excitement was already making her tremble slightly.

She had already spoken at length with Farkas about the blood, knew he would welcome her to their ranks if that was what she wanted. He rarely second guessed people in regards to their personal lives. They each lived their own life as they saw fit. Vilkas was a little tougher. He would respect her decision as well, she knew; but his own mixed feelings about the blood would color his reactions with her in the future. She suspected the blood was an outlet he needed, but regretted at the same time for some reason. Eventually he would need to come to terms with it or find a cure.

Kodlak. She could already almost taste his disapproval, which saddened her, yet didn't sway her in the slightest. Kodlak had a different path indeed. Where he had decided after the fact that he wanted to rest in Sovengard when he died, Laurelin had no such notion. Her soul was bound to Nocturnal. If Hircine accepted her as a devotee in this life, that was his business. The lady of shadows and Luck owned her contract with the afterlife. Her decision to take the beast blood had more to do with being a person who took every tool presented, and used it. Giving the Skeleton Key of Nocturnal back to her mistress had been difficult indeed. That had been a worthy tool, only reluctantly presented back to its rightful owner. Laurelin was beginning to feel as though she would need every advantage she could acquire in the future. Becoming a werewolf, while not strictly logical was practical.

Skjor drew a sharp dagger and held Aela's shaggy, clawed hand, palm up. Softly he said, "If you truly mean to do this, I recommend you remove your armor or it will be ruined and cause you considerably more pain as you transform." Laure began struggling out of her boots and cuirasse. She heard a soft snarl as Skjor carefully cut into Aela's forearm. By the time Laure was stripped to her loincloth, there was a small pool of dark crimson blood in the basin. The sharp coppery tang assaulted her nose as without hesitation, she stepped up to the basin. Knowing without asking, Laurelin cupped her hand, dipped it into the steaming blood, lifted it to her lips and drank deeply.

"Do I have to finish it all? How...long...will?" The world went scarlet around Laurelin, then black as the Void, as the elf fell to the cold stone floor. Writhing in agony, she sobbed and growled on the floor, already deep into the first convulsions of her change.

Aela and Skjor watched with interest. None of them had ever heard of a werewolf-mer-Dragonborn before, and they wondered if the beast blood would even be effectual. Not realizing her lab-skeever status to the to others with her, Laurelin screamed, the sound powered by her unconscious Voice as her joints began snapping, realigning. The bones lengthened, muscles spasmed as they grew in mass, becoming stronger to support her massive new frame. Palest gold and white fur sprouted everywhere on her body.

When she finally turned from her side, where she had been whimpering for a few moments, Laure began to realize how strange and new this was. Carefully rolling to her feet, she looked herself over. She was taller-much taller-could feel the strength of this new body. Skjor looked up in approval at her shaggy new form, a broad smile on his face. She rolled her massive head back, licked her long white fangs. The tail was a distraction. Then came the smells. As never before, the scents of the world filtered in. She sniffed Skjor, learning his scent, then Aela. There was prey near, and the thought made Laurelin painfully hungry. She moved towards the door back into Whiterun, but Aela leaped in front, her eyes boring into Laurelin's. Without words, she understood, prey was not to be found out there in the city. Of course. Some of her thoughts seemed in her control, but others were simple instinct. Like the tail. Swishing maddeningly behind her...perhaps if she bit it, it would stay still.

"Out here Companion. Take care of her, love. Make sure she doesn't do anything too dangerous." Skjor gestured to a narrow secret passage through the walls of the city. Aela gave his ear a playful lick as she crouched to wedge herself out the small opening. Once out, she sniffed the air, waiting for the newest member of their circle to squeeze out, and she loped away, leading Laurelin out onto the tundra.

They kept low as they raced away from the walled city, out into the waiting night. When they were miles from the walls, Aela thumped Laurelin playfully with her shoulder and tore off at incredible speed. Laure pounded along after, delighting in the swiftness with which they traveled. Whiterun was far behind them, scents and sounds pulling the two wolves onward.

The powerful, musky smell of mammoth floated enticingly across Laurelin's snout, making her slaver and growl. The hunger! She had never experienced any this acute before. It went beyond the desire to simply eat, beyond thirst. She wanted to rip something into tatters, smell its last breath, hear the cries of pain fade away, then feast on its heart, crack the bones for the marrow. Swiveling her head back and forth, Laure soon pinpointed the direction the scent came from.

Aela, sniffing as well, caught the related scent of giant mixed with mammoth. Of course her newest pack mate would home in on a mammoth for her first kill as a wolf. No matter. Two werewolves were more than up to the challenge of one giant. She and Laurelin loped into the darkness, silently stalking their huge prey.

The giant fought back, viciously swinging its long bone club at the two smaller predators. As it would turn to face one of it's attackers, another would leap in behind, long teeth leaving jagged tears in the backs of its legs. Tiring quickly, the giant stumbled forward as the pale one leaped onto his back, claws tearing, muzzle buried into the flesh of its neck. Blood poured out of the gaping wounds as the darker one circled warily, avoiding the confused charges of the mammoth. Two huge hands rose up and tried to loosen the creature on its back, but it fell away, tearing out a wide chunk of its neck.

When the giant expired in a bloody steaming mound, Laure and Aela turned their attention to the true prey, growling eagerly. The mammoth was lingering near its shepherd, terrified by the scent of blood and wolf-creatures. Finally it turned to flee, but the wolves followed, hunger making their eyes gleam in the moonlight. Aela and Laurelin worked together in magnificent accord, worrying at the mammoth's heels, tiring it, enraging it into foolish attacks. When it finally fell with a sad trumpet, Laure lifted her head and howled in triumph. The werewolves gorged themselves on fresh, bloody meat, then licked each others faces clean.

Aela soon goaded them back into an easy run, heading east. As they ran, Laure howled again, joyfully, to have it echoed by her sister, and this was a good thing to her. Sometime before dawn, Aela dropped to a crouch on her haunches, tongue lolling out as she panted. They were in a copse of trees, not far from a fortress full of men. The stink of them invaded her sensitive nostrils, made her furious, wanted to slay them where they slept fearfully behind stone walls. Laurelin hunched down with her, similarly panting, tail wagging slowly behind.

The more experienced wolf could feel more of the new wolf's thoughts returning to a rational state. She rose and led her sister deeper into the trees, dropped to the ground, and rolled on her back, scratching an itch. Laure followed suit, writhing on the leaves with her tongue hanging out between her long teeth. The sisters snuggled together as dawn began lightening the darkness.

The change back hurt just as much as the initial transformation, and this time Laurelin wasn't spared by mercifully blacking out. She whimpered quietly as her jaw shrank back, joints again popped excruciatingly, and a maddening itch told her the fur was retreating. Aela held her the entire time, her own shift back silent and swift. Naked and groggy, Laure looked over her shoulder to the stunning redhead and smiled. "Thank you for everything sister!" and slumped into a fitful slumber.

Laurelin opened bleary eyes and squinted suspiciously out at the world. Bright afternoon sunshine dappled the forest floor where she was curled up in the mulch. Birds sang brightly overhead, painfully loud to her very sensitive ears. Gods! Her head! She would hunt down and kill the offending birds, but later.

"So, you're awake." Aela's clear voice called up the hill to Laurelin as she strode up. Somehow Aela was in her armor, armed and alert. "Here, I brought you some water, I thought you might be thirsty." The pale elf nodded, sipped from the skin carefully at first, then drained it with a contented sigh. The headache was already retreating.

Questions buzzed like bees in her mind. Thankfully, Aela seemed to understand and was willing to answer them all. The two women chatted for a few minutes, Aela claiming the dainty elf had given them more trouble than Farkas on his first change.

"You're jesting, aye?" Laure asked.

"No, not at all. You don't remember going after the mammoth?"

"Nooo..." a pause. "Maybe?"

"Or the giant before the mammoth?" Aela smiled in amusement.

"Really? No, I don't recall that either. Should I be able to?"

"Yours was a difficult transformation, and the first time is always so—intense." Aela's eyes were far away, perhaps remembering her own first time. "At any rate, I suspect you were so deep in your hunter's instinct that recalling details will be tough, at first. It becomes less painful, easier to control after a while, don't worry." The lovely human lifted a pack that Laure recognized. "Compliments of Skjor. You should get dressed; we have a little celebration planned for you. Skjor has gone ahead to scout, and we'll meet up with him soon."

The celebration turned out to be going into a place called Gallows Rock to hunt down a ruthless band of werewolf slayers called the Silver Hand. The inside of the lair was tastefully adorned with severed werewolf heads, tortured wolves dangling from manacles set into the walls, bloody racks and bloody tools. A deep rage built in her stomach as she and Aela quietly slaughtered their way through the dark passages.

To hunt was one thing; to kill in self defense another. But to take such obvious xenophobia to these cruel levels was plain wrong. Laurelin knew now why Skjor and Aela had brought her here. To see, to experience first hand the terror these fearful people would inflict on her and her siblings given a chance. Laure had no intention of giving them that chance.

Aela sniffed carefully at a closed door before them, frowning. "Their leader is through here. Don't let him close with you; I understand he is deadly and cunning. You saw some of his work on our way here. They call him 'Skinner'." Laure quietly suggested a rough strategy, which Aela agreed they could try. No battle plan ever withstood first contact with the enemy. This was widely known.

No one seemed to notice when the door quietly opened. Several forms were visible in the gloom, so Laure and Aela each gestured, selecting a target, taking aim. Using a bow in confined quarters was dangerous, but these two women knew what they were about, Aela crouching before Laurelin. Aela released her shaft, dropping a man working at a tanning rack near the door, Laure's shot took out a man further back in the chamber. Each had a second arrow readied before their first targets hit the floor. The remaining Silver Hands boiled out of hidden corners, one racing across Aela's path on his way to check his fallen comrade. Her second arrow flew straight, plunging into the mans armpit, buried halfway to the fletching. He collapsed with a strangled sob, scarlet blood pooling under his twitching form.

Aela calmly shouldered her bow, drawing sword and shield while she stepped back into the shadows. Laurelin backed down the short hallway as a heavily armored figure strode from behind a pillar. She held her breath while she looked for weaknesses, but heavy plate was sure to ward off all but the most accurate shot. She settled for what she could take at that instant, was rewarded by seeing her shaft sink deep into the crease just below his shoulder. Still he advanced, swinging a greatsword in short controlled arcs.

Krev the Skinner saw a pale archer standing at the end of the hallway and charged. He didn't even try to dodge the last arrow flying his way, it clattered off his steel gorget anyway. The elf was dropping her bow, snatching out steel, but she'd never get it out in time. He raised his greatsword, ready to drive it through her weak body, or if he could, simply cleave her in two.

Laure waited until he was only three running paces away, entering the hall, and summoned her Thu'um. "Fus Ro!" she shouted gleefully. Krev was flung high, smashed into the ceiling and then crashed to the floor, stunned. Aela melted back out of the shadows in an instant, and the two shield sisters dispatched Krev while he tried to regain his footing. They nodded to each other in satisfaction, then moved into the chamber, where they mercifully finished the burbling, sobbing Silver Hand still bleeding out on the floor. That part went much as planned.

Suddenly Aela was yelling, as she leaped over piles of tumbled stone. "No! No, no, no!" she raged and dropped down by an eviscerated corpse, weeping. Skjor lay torn open upon the cold stones, his armor cut away and discarded in a pool of tacky, sticky blood. Aela ranted through furious tears at his dead body as she ran her fingers over his cheek.

Laurelin was stunned. Skjor had been a skilled fighter, not prone to recklessness, a brave and clever man. Though she had never been able to get to know him, she felt sorrow. It was a terrible jest of the gods to let him be slain this way, alone, without help, in terror. If a canny hunter like Skjor could be slain like this, were they not all vulnerable?

Turning to comfort Aela, she found the lovely red haired woman breathing hard, gulping back tears. "Go, you must tell the others, I will stay, take care of him, and kill any others that we missed."

"Is that a good idea, I think I should stay with you-"

"Go!"

Laure nodded, swiftly taking a few small items of value as she left out a back door she discovered. The anger and sorrow boiled away in her heart, making her stomach ache. As she wound her dazed way through the back passage, she came upon a Silver Hand they had missed somehow. He was sitting with his back to her as she slipped through the door, muttering to himself. Rage boiled up from her churning gut as she listened to him grumble about a lying woman and a brat that wasn't his. Knowing she would never leave a live enemy behind her, between her sister weeping not far from here and the way out, she silently slipped her dagger from its sheathe, slipped up behind him in one moment. She pushed his head down, dropping his chin near his chest as her blade smoothly punctured his throat. The man slumped to the table top in a spreading pool of blood. Laure wiped her blade, looted the man's pockets and stalked away. A tiny bit of her new blood thirst had been slaked.

When she finally stepped outside, night had arrived again. She stumbled to a halt not far from the gates, knelt in the grass, sobbing. Bile, sour and burning, rose in her throat, and Laure didn't try to resist. Leaning over, she vomited blood, curdled and black onto the ground before her.