AN: Wow, I am a horrible person. I am so so sorry for the very long delay between chapters. I could list about a thousand reasons for the delay, but in the end I doubt it matters. I promise that you will get a chapter every few weeks from here on out so long as my schedule does not do a complete 180.

Next, thank you for the reviews. To those with accounts, I believe I responded individually. For those without:

Crab Apples – yes, the humor sort of left. Not intentionally, but this has turned into a mammoth for me and has taken a turn for the darker side of life. Hopefully you will still enjoy it.

Myrielle – clearly it has not and I'm sorry for the long delay. Four months really flew by fast. I hope you are still reading this!

Anyways, that's about it. I hope you enjoy this shorter chapter and get ready for what's to come.

Chapter 11

The journey home was hard and filled with tension. Skjor set a strenuous pace that perhaps wasn't too much for the older warrior after his wolfish meal, but for Vilkas who had eaten little and worked much nightfall couldn't come quickly enough. As it was, the small camp they had made in the Skyrim wilderness felt cold as the two men sat at odds with each other, mulling over the dark tidings that came from Morthal.

The Silver Hand, his mind repeated over and over in disbelief as he thought of the two dead men and the little bit of their conversation that he had overheard before striking them down in the middle of the little town. Had it not been for the blood splatter that still remained on his armor, he might have thought the whole thing a terrible dream created by that damned voice. But as it was, there was no hiding the truth of the matter. The Silver Hand had shown itself to be alive and well, leaving him and his remaining fellows to deal with them.

Still, he was unsure of where to even start in solving the problem. He had been little more than a pup when the Silver Hand had last been a problem, the wolf's blood still burning fresh and hot in his veins. Yet his own experience with them was limited to only a few meetings with the largely unorganized group of fanatic bandits and the tales told by Skjor of the battles fought by himself, Kodlak, Arnbjorn, Aela. And then there was the aftermath he had witnessed, too, that added to his limited knowledge. He had seen corpses left after the horrific deaths of five seasoned warriors of their pack that showed just how ruthless and cruel the members of the cult were. Mercy and honorable killing was clearly not the mantra of the bandits.

Vilkas shuddered as he remembered the tortured look frozen onto the face of Olaf, a decent warrior with years of experience both as a man with a blade and a wolf with his teeth. They had skinned him alive and allowed him to bleed out slowly. What else they had done to him before that, he doubted that he even wanted to know. It was all the more reason to take the threat seriously and to develop some sort of plan to circumvent any sort of attack early on.

Sleep barely found him as his mind turned every option and every fear over multiple times through the night. As it was, he had still found no solution with the first lights of dawn and felt just as apprehensive, if not more so, when they broke down camp. He and Skjor barely spoke as they started a steady pace back towards Whiterun, each leaving the other to their own thoughts as the turn of events took both men to very dark thoughts.

I must tell Kodlak immediately, he told himself as the marshy Hjaalmarch turned into the plains of Whiterun. He will know what to do and will lead us to victory against our enemy. Yet somewhere deep within him, he doubted whether his mentor really would know what to do and then actually act on it. Kodlak had become so consumed with finding a cure that many things happening in the hall of the Companions went without his notice or at least without his acknowledgement. It generally didn't bother Vilkas, as he wanted to be cured just as much as the old man did, but he did worry that what Skjor said was right. That Kodlak had grown obsessed and had little thought for anything else. What if he didn't act? What would happen then?

Don't think such thoughts, he scolded himself as the gates to Whiterun game into view just as the sun was beginning its long descent on the western horizon. He picked up his pace as dusk fell, reaching the city and bounding through the Plains District and up towards the welcoming sight of the ancient ship that he called home. He took the steps to Jorrvaskr in twos, his news making him feel jittery and restless. But upon entering the massive overturned ship, he could immediately tell something was amiss. No one sat in the main hall despite it being nightfall and the table being freshly set. There were no sounds of practice coming from the yard and not even the thumps of Tilma going about her duties. Giving Skjor a wary look, they made their way to the living quarters, the muffled echoes of a heated words slowly drifting towards their ears.

Following the sounds, he moved down the steps quickly to find the majority of the Companions standing at a distance from the door to Kodlak's room, the Circle members wearing concerned looks while the younger fighters strained to make out the words coming from behind the large closed doors. It only took a moment for Vilkas to discern Kodlak's even tones followed by the more aggressive voice of Vignar with an occasional rumble from Eorlund. He couldn't help but wonder at why the smith was in a meeting with Kodlak and Vignar as he caught his twin's eye.

"What's happened?"

Farkas gave his brother a grim look before motioning him towards the small hall they shared in the living quarters. "It's Elsa."

A frustrated snort escaped Vilkas' lips. "She is the cause of all this?"

"Things happened while you were gone."

"In three days? She caused enough things to happen in three days that the Harbinger, the Jarl, and the most celebrated smith in Skyrim are arguing like old hens in the alls of Jorrvaskr?"

Farkas merely nodded, his dull face giving away nothing that he was thinking. It irritated Vilkas even more than he already was, having his brother act like a silent buffoon when there were real problems that needed to be dealt with. Not just some stupidity over a waste of flesh and bone. "If you're not going to tell me what happened then I don't have time for this," he finally snapped, turning on heel and moving towards Kodlak's door.

"I wouldn't," Farkas called, but Vilkas didn't care. Kodlak had to know about the Silver Hand. He had to know that there was a real threat and that he needed to stop the games he was playing with his instance of taking in the Dragonborn and all the trouble that came with her. The winter was looking to bring enough problems without her.

Pulling the doors open, the three men inside immediately stopped talking, their frowning faces giving Vilkas dark looks. Vignar especially looked disgruntled, his cheeks were red with the anger that shown through his eyes. He had never been much of a patient man, leading him to lose his temper quickly, but it was obvious that whatever the drunk girl had done it was bad enough to make the Jarl move beyond his normal level of annoyance.

"Vilkas," Kodlak started, "now is not a good time."

"I'm sorry, but it will have to be a good time," he snapped, not caring that his tone was rude and forceful. "I have dire news that I need to share with you immediately."

The old Harbinger gave him a long, steady look before slowly nodding his head. "Yes. I'm sorry, but Companion business is calling. We can discuss these tactics you're proposing later."

"We will be finishing this talk," Vignar grumbled. "My family name is on the line. Remember that, Kodlak."

"I do not wish you or Eorlund to be dishonored by any of my actions, but I cannot and will not do as you ask. She must find her own way and that cannot happen through the methods you used on Brill."

Vignar muttered a curse under his breath as he and his brother made their way out of Kodlak's room, shutting the door behind them. Vilkas gave his leader a questioning look, his curiosity teased by mention of the Nord that did some work at Jorrvaskr from time to time. It was no secret the man had been a drunk after a few years of bad luck in his business and in his personal life. Vilkas remembered when Vignar announced he was going to straighten the man out, using very harsh methods to do so. The image of the man twitching on the floor in a puddle of his own urine and shit as he flushed out the alcohol was enough to make him understand why Kodlak was against such tactics. Still the memory didn't answer many of the questions that had formed in his mind about the strange meeting, such as why Vignar was involving himself at all in how the Companions were handling Elsa and why Eorlund was there. Another time, he told himself as Kodlak sat heavily in his chair, waiting for the urgent news.

"I don't know where to begin," he started, pushing past his momentary distraction and focusing on the events of the past few days' events and his role in them. A bubble of shame moved up his throat as he thought of his sword striking down the two men, leaving a bitter, biting taste in his mouth as he knew Kodlak would not approve. You did what you had to, the little voice that had invaded his mind called out, doing little to ease Vilkas' nerves.

"Often that is the case with bad news," the old man sighed, oblivious to the internal struggle his pupil was undergoing.

Vilkas nodded, pushing away his feelings as the urgency of the situation took hold of his senses. "Aye. I will just tell you plainly, we are in a time of potentially great danger."

"Oh, and why is that?"

"The Silver Hand was in Morthal," he said in a rush, the weight of the news and Skjor's dark omen easing slightly upon sharing it with his leader.

The old warrior gave him a long, heavy look, his wrinkled face carrying the weariness that came from years of sickness and the strain of leadership. "Are you sure, Vilkas?"

"Yes. I heard the men with my own ears. There is no doubt of who they were. They even mentioned us."

"And what did they say of the Companions?"

"They spoke of our double nature and made it clear that they hated us."

"Did you hear them say anything about their plans?"

"No, nothing other than that they were there to kill the same vampires we had been hired to take care of. But it was quite clear that they are hostile to us and know our secret. We have to take care of this, Kodlak! If they are anything like they were last time –"

"And did anything give you any indication that they have the numbers and the resources like they did the last time?"

"Well no, but they did mention Krev the Skinner."

Kodlak nodded, his tired hands rubbing his wrinkled and weary eyes slowly. "This is dark news, dark news indeed. But there is little we can do until we know more about their numbers, their organization, and where they are hiding out. If it is anything like the last time, they will have many members pulling from the area bandits, but they won't have much of a plan beyond overwhelming us on the roads."

"So what are you saying? That you are going to do nothing until they reveal more of themselves?"

"No," the Harbinger started slowly, "I am saying that we must plan carefully our next move. We have the advantage if they are unaware that we know of their rebuilding, if that is what they are doing. We have some time to think before we act and perhaps even find a cure to our affliction before we have to meet their silver weapons. Vigilance should be our course at this time."

"We don't have the time you think we do! Kodlak, you must do something now. Anything! Give me the locations of their old camps and I will search them, at least it is something!"

"Vilkas, planning and patience are sometimes more powerful a weapon than rushing in blind. Our greatest weakness to these bandits is their use of silver and attacking us with large numbers. They are untrained and undisciplined and are no different than any other group of criminals you meet on the road. Our best offense is eliminating one of their advantages through the removal of the taint in our blood so that their swords are nothing but swords."

"You talk of a cure as a way to defeat our enemy? This is not a time for cures and distractions, Kodlak! I want a cure for this curse as much as you do, but you are our Harbinger! We cannot afford the distractions of potions and cures when our enemy has shown themselves. We need you to help guide us in this fight. We do not have the numbers like we did when you, Skjor, and Aela fought these men before."

"And do you regret that now? Do you wish that I hadn't asked for the ceremonies to be stopped?" the old man asked, annoyance lining his voice.

"No, Harbinger, I don't. I only speak of our numbers for the fact that we are weaker than we were. We cannot afford to wait idly for an attack. Please, Kodlak, put down our quest for a cure until we are sure that there is no threat or that it is managed."

"Alright, Vilkas, alright. If you think the threat is that great then I will do as you ask if only to show you the burden of your decisions as a leader."

"What do you mean?"

"There are many ways to fight and win a war, Vilkas. You are right. We are weaker in our blood than we were when the Silver Hand last attacked us. And even then we were weaker than it was rumored the Companions had been decades before that. This group, though, has been and always will be nothing more than bandits with the power the knowledge our secret gives them. If we rush in unprepared we risk sparking something that might crumble on its own. Do you not think I haven't heard whispers of their surviving members trying to regain strength? All of them, every single one, ended up fizzling into nothingness, like a lone ember against the rain. You want me to leap into action over a conversation you heard without any other knowledge –"

"I'm asking you to find that knowledge by letting us search their old camps!" Vilkas interrupted, only for Kodlak to push on as if he hadn't.

"You are asking me to take action without the needed information. There are always consequences to any action, whether you can see it now or not. Perhaps you will learn something and it will be useful and nothing tragic will occur. Perhaps you won't. And then again, you might just reveal yourself and that we know they have returned, causing whatever little number they have to hide away from our grasp or try a foolhardy attack that could very well result in death."

"I didn't think of it that way," Vilkas said slowly as he began to understand at least why Kodlak was hesitating, even if he did not agree with it.

"Good. But as you have asked and as I have conceded, I will have some locations for you in the morning," he said with a heavy sigh. "I you and the others will have enough sense to only scout of information and not rush into battle should you find anything. That is the quickest way for this to escalate faster than we are prepared to handle. Now go find your bed. This day has been long and troublesome."

"Thank you, Kodlak," the young warrior said with a sigh of relief as he exited his mentor's room with at least a glimmer of a plan, if it was not the full on assault he had secretly envisioned. Still, it was some relief that a portion of the nervous energy he had been feeling since Morthal had dissipated, leaving only the fatigue of travel and battle settling into his sore muscles. Shuffling back to his room, he barely took the time to remove his armor and place it on its stand before slipping under the covers of his bed, the darkness cradling him into a quiet lull before drifting off to sleep.

It felt as though his heavy eyelids barely slid shut before a strange world of lights and colors danced before him, surrounding him in its surreal beauty.

What is this? He thought as the lights moved and morphed, taking on solid shapes and becoming the people he loved most. With a large smile, he watched as Farkas burst into existence, his body made up of a glimmering blue and green light that sent off little drops of sparkling light every time he moved. He waved at his twin, receiving one of the larger man's huge smiles causing the light to shine even brighter as he made way for another ball of light.

This one was primarily made of reds and yellows. It bounced and swirled before forming into Aela, sparks of amber flying from her hair as she moved gracefully about the dream world he was in. Immediately, another light appeared, this one a burning orange and red morphing into Skjor, followed by a purplish Kodlak, and various shades of pink becoming the younger members of their family, Athis, Ria, and Njada.

Soon, all of the Companions were dancing, sparks of light crashing into each other creating a brilliant display of fireworks in the black sky. Vilkas watched in wonder at the happiness of those he considered his family, his own face breaking into a large grin when suddenly Ria let out a scream as a dark shadow appeared from no where and consumed her light, leaving nothing of the girl. The others let out cries as they moved into action, but the shadow didn't seem to notice as it moved from each figure, ignoring their attempts of fighting it off as it engulfed them only to leave a faint echo of their screams.

Vilkas felt his feet try to run to their aid, his own screams adding to Aela's and Skjor's, his voice growing hoarse as the shadow destroyed his still grinning brother. The world he had been standing in that had been full of warmth and light was now dark and cold, cries of pain and agony still echoing as through his mind as he attempted in vain to see what was happening.

"Vilkas," the familiar voice called out from all sides, bombarding him with its power and desire.

"Why do you torment me?" he called out at the voice, feeling helpless and alone in the utter blackness of his dream, his heart breaking at the loss of all those he cared for.

"Why do you deny me?" the voice whispered back. "You have ignored me for so long, but I'm a part of you. You need me. You want me. You will call on me."

"I won't," he called back defiantly into the darkness. "I will not call on you anymore."

"The Silver Hand approaches. They will kill all that you hold dear. You will need me as I will need you to destroy them. I have chosen you. You will call on me."

"No," he called again into the darkness, the sensation of falling filling him. "NO!"

He woke with a start; his heart pounding in his chest while his quick panting breaths did little to help fend off the feeling of being suffocated. He covered his face, groaning as the cold sweat from his forehead trickled onto his fingers. "What have I done? What is this curse that is plaguing me?"

Falling back onto his bed, he laid there thinking of the choice he and his brother had made years ago, wondering why now when he hated it and wished to drain the blood from his veins that the Lord of the Hunt was calling on him, stalking him in his dreams and weakening his resolve. Was it some sort of trick the Daedric Prince was playing on him because he wished to rid himself of the poisonous gift he had accepted? Or was the Silver Hand truly a great enough threat that Hircine was warning him so that he would be prepared to face and destroy their mutual enemy?

Closing his eyes, he ruminated on all the possibilities for what felt like hours before dreamless sleep finally overtook his stressed and tired body, allowing his mind the rest of quiet darkness.

Vilkas felt groggy when he finally woke, a loud thudding reaching his ears as he began to blink away his dreams. "I hear you, Farkas," he called out so his brother would know he was awake. But the noise continued, making him call out again until he realized it came from beyond his door.

"What in the name of Talos is going on?" he muttered as he slipped on a pair of worn boots to go investigate. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. The wide hall of the living quarters was in a state of disarray. Tables and dressers were overturned, books lay scattered about the floor, and even large shelves were thrown to the ground. Yet the most irritating part of the loud mess was the sickly looking Dragonborn, desperately searching for something. He could hear her frantically talking to herself as she pulled down a shelf of goblets, sending them crashing to the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vilkas finally yelled, marching towards the drunk in angry loathing.

"I can't find him!" Elsa said wildly, her hysterical eyes meeting his for a moment before returning to the task at hand. "He's not here. I haven't seen him since coming back!"

"Who?"

"Bato! He's gone! I can't find him!"

"Who in the name of the gods is Bato?"

Elsa again stopped in her search, her lank hair making her wild eyes seem less and less sane by the minute. He began to wonder if the drink had permanently destroyed her mind when the sound of a door opening and the laughter of Athis and Njada floated down the stairs. The Dragonborn immediately stood, her jaw becoming set and an accusatory fury bringing life to her otherwise dulled features.

"Where is he?" she shouted the moment the two warriors had made an appearance, completely oblivious to their shocked faces at the mess she had created in their home.

"What have you done?" Athis gasped, his red eyes widening as he took in the damage.

"Where is he?"

Njada gave a little snort, her mouth quirking into a little smile as she carefully stepped through the scattered plates, books, and furniture until she was an arms reach away from where both Vilkas and Elsa stood. "What are you talking about, Dragonborn?"

"Bato. Where is he? Did you see him? I was only gone three days. He couldn't have run off!"

"Who is Bato?" Njada said in such a way that Vilkas immediately got the impression that the Nord knew exactly who the mysterious Bato was and where he was. A growing sense of foreboding filled him, though he wasn't quite sure why. He had no idea what was going on, where Elsa had been for three days, or who or what the hell this Bato was. Yet the desperation in the disgraced woman's voice was enough to set him on edge. It reminded him of a job he did for a mother who's daughter had been kidnapped, a sort of crazed hysteria had filled the woman when they had finally met to get the details of the job making him at once feel a protective sympathy for the woman and also an uncomfortable awkwardness. Once again, similar feelings coursed through him, making him unsure and unwilling to step in as Elsa began to sputter something about a small mudcrab and Njada began to laugh.

"A mudcrab? You've destroyed our hall for a mudcrab?" the woman continued to laugh. "Let me guess, he was about the size of your hand and stupid enough to not run from humans?"

Elsa stared at Njada, her head bobbing slowly as fear began to show on her face. But the warrior didn't seem to notice or care as her smile grew and her eyes began to shine brightly. Vilkas felt the heaviness that had filled his stomach turn as his shield-sister pulled out a lifeless shell no bigger than the size of a small dish. It had obviously once been a mudcrab, steamed and eaten like they often did to the creatures making it no more unsettling than seeing the remains of any meal. But the small noise that escaped Elsa's lips immediately made him realize that this was not some insignificant meal. It was something between the sound a child made when gasping for air between sobs and that heart wrenching sound unique to mothers and widows seeing those precious to them dead for the first time.

This will not end well, he realized as the Dragonborn's face shifted from shock, to grief, to cold hatred and fury in a matter of seconds. For the first time he saw a trace of what could have made her the warrior people use to tell tales of as the sunken angles of her malnourished face hardened into what remained of the woman that had the power to bring death and destruction merely through the strength of her voice. Even Njada and Athis seemed to notice the metamorphosis that the little crab shell created in the drunk, each taking a small step back as Elsa moved towards them.

"Not today and not tomorrow but someday you will pay for what you've done," she hissed slowly between heavy breaths, her blue eyes slanting as she stared at Njada, as if to take in every little feature of the woman and committing it to memory. Vilkas felt a chill run through him at the darkness in her voice and the threat she gave. It was not Elsa's normal drunken curses or slurs that held little possibility of ever being acted on. No, this held a promise for something dark and painful, something horrible. As he watched the scene slightly dumbfounded, again the thought that nothing good would come of the incident filled his mind.

"Go run off to your babysitter," Njada finally replied, her tone lacking its normal confident gruffness though it was obvious she did not want to look like Elsa's words had affected her despite the intensity of the glare that the Dragonborn was burning into her. "I'm sure he had plenty of swords that need sharpening."

The Dragonborn said nothing in response, instead stepping around the Nord and Dark Elf and making her way silently up the stairs. Vilkas gave them both questioning looks that demanded they explain what had just happened. Athis moved first, his eyes dropping to the floor under his superior's imperial gaze.

"Njada found this mudcrab Elsa was keeping as a pet when she was locked up in Dragonsreach."

"It was just a stupid mudcrab. I didn't think she would destroy Jorrvaskr looking for it," the Nord interrupted defensively. "Besides, who really keeps a mudcrab as a pet?"

Vilkas looked at the two warriors in disbelief. Sure, he despised Elsa and hated that she was even in the position to disgrace the Companions, but after seeing her reaction to the dead animal he couldn't help but wonder at how either of the two warriors couldn't have known that the Dragonborn placed some sort of value on it. It would be like destroying a favorite sword or burning a prized trophy. You did not do such things and think that there would be no sort of reaction or consequence. This will not end well, he thought again as he processed the little bit of information they gave him and did his best to quell his own anger at finding the hall destroyed and seeing two shield-siblings act out foolishly.

"Clean this mess up," he finally bit out, ignoring the protests of the two young warriors as he marched up to the main hall. "Aela," he called out, moving towards the huntress quickly. "Tell me, what the hell is going on with Elsa."

"What? You haven't heard yet that she attacked Vignar?" the yellow-eyed woman said with a snort. "I was sure news of that had already spread halfway across Skyrim. It's not everyday the Dragonborn attempts to beat a Jarl to death with his dinner plates."

"She did what?"

"She got drunk and attacked Vignar. Poorly, I might add, and got herself locked up in Dragonsreach for a few days until she had a trail to be banished. She would have, too, if Eorlund hadn't spoken for her and agreed to take her on as an apprentice. Vignar did not seem too pleased to have his flesh and blood connected with her, but what could he do. Eorlund had the right to put his honor on the line for her and his family name."

"So that's what the fighting was about last night," he said softly, now understanding the talk of Brill and the heated expressions of the Jarl. "And did you know anything about a mudcrab?"

"A mudcrab? Do you mean Bitty or Batty or whatever it was she called it?"

"Yes, Bato."

"She showed me it the night before you left. A stupid thing to keep as a pet, but I didn't see any harm in it. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Other than Njada eating it, no."

Aela let out a laugh of disbelief. "She did what?"

"She ate it. Elsa destroyed the living quarters searching for the damned thing and looked as if she was about to kill Njada when she found out."

"Well I don't think we have to worry about that. I barely trained with her for ten minutes before she was ready to give up and drink more. I'm sure she'll forget about it once she has some ale."

Skjor let out a low laugh from across the table, his face brightening into a smile. "Giving up on the girl already? So much for you being able to turn the Dragonborn around!"

"Peace, Skjor. I haven't given up yet, though it's not going to be as easy as I thought."

"More like impossible," Skjor continued to laugh, starting a series of pokes and jabs by the two friends. Vilkas felt little in the mood for the banter and made his way out to the yard where his brother was carefully cleaning his armor. Settling in next to him, he remained silent, taking in the sounds of Whiterun mixed with Eorlund's hammer on an anvil, the smells of soot and steel drifting to his sensitive nose.

"So Elsa is with Eorlund now," he stated more than asked as he caught a glimpse of the Dragonborn's weak body swimming in an ill-fitting shirt and apron.

"Aye," his brother returned, turning an eye up towards Skyforge. "Eorlund says she had some talent with a hammer."

"Seems a lot has happened in the few days I was gone."

"Yes, though I hear you had your own excitement too. Unless I'm going to Cragwallow Slope for another reason."

"So Kodlak is sending you to the old camps for the Silver Hand?"

"All of us have been given a few names to go poke around at. He seemed pretty put out when he was doing it."

"Aye," he replied, his eyes drifting back towards Skyforge where Elsa was slowly carrying pieces of ore. She looked like a ghost of something that once had been full of life and fight, her body language listless and without purpose. A small stirring of pity filled him as his mind replayed the little incident from earlier and the desperate frenzy that had filled her over something she clearly cared for. He couldn't help but wonder if she had once had such passion for other things in her life or if it was just ale and mead that she really cared for. These are distractions, the foreign voice whispered to him as he continued to stare. Focus on the task at hand.

"You're right," he muttered, causing his twin to look at him questioningly. "Not you, I was talking to myself."

Farkas shrugged and returned to his work. "Kodlak was wanting to see you once you woke. He went to speak with Vignar."

"I will go find him," he returned wearily, the morning and horrible night sleep already weighing him down despite it still being hours until the sun was at its peak in the sky. Walking around his ancient home, he took no solace in the last few songs of the birds before the snow came or the crisp breeze that had the linger taste of summer and the impending smell of winter. He felt tired and overburdened with all that was happening. The Silver Hand was back; he had murdered two of their members in cold blood at the beckoning of some unnatural voice. His sleep was plagued by nightmares of wolves and guilt as his own resolve to not change was being tested in a way he could never imagine. Then, to top it off, the disgrace of a Nord hero was sent to his home, creating numerous headaches, problems, scandal, and now had bad blood between her and one of his shield-siblings. It was one more problem he did not want or need to have and he was resenting Kodlak more and more for accepting her to their ranks.

And now Eorlund too has tied himself to her and is causing Vignar to lose his temper at Kodlak and the Companions. The last thing we need is an angry Jarl. He could understand the man's reasons. His family name was on the line should Elsa do something disgraceful while under Eorlund's supervision. Honor was on the line and he knew it. It was even understandable that he would want to demand Kodlak enforce tactics like those Vignar had used on Brill, including everything from beatings to starvation to straighten the man out from his drinking. But Kodlak would never stand for such methods, finding them cruel and unnecessarily abusive. "But this shouldn't be a problem for the Companions!" he grumbled as his feet carried him towards Dragonsreach.

"What shouldn't be?" Kodlak's voice called out, startling Vilkas from his thoughts to realize that his Harbinger was standing only a few feet from him.

"Nothing, master."

"I am not your master, Vilkas," the older man replied, motioning for the boy he had mentored for years to follow him in a walk about the Cloud District. "I assume you are either speaking of the resurgence of the Silver Hand or the Dragonborn."

"The Dragonborn," he confirmed as they slowly took the winding road up a neatly kept set of stairs leading to Whiterun's largest homes.

"I thought as much since you usually take to a physical challenge with less grumbling and dark looks. What is it about Elsa that is bothering you today?"

"We cannot afford to have her as a distraction right now or Vignar as an enemy because you won't do what he thinks is best."

"Vignar is always angry, Vilkas. And his current anger is no more than fear that his brother will bring disgrace to them that will give the Battle-Born's something to spread as gossip across Skyrim. It is a vain man's fear in an impulsive man's heart, nothing more. Eorlund and I have discussed a plan involving Elsa that is better suited to her and her needs. You should not worry about her or her presence in the Companions."

"Between her and your search for a cure I fear that you forget that we have enemies planning to start a war with us once more."

"You cannot know that," the old man said quickly, a small cough cutting him off for a moment. "You yourself said you did not hear any specific plans or anything that would give away their numbers. I have done as you asked me and have already instructed the circle to seek out their old camps to see what they can find. But I must admit that as grave as the news is that some members still existed I cannot believe that they have grown to the numbers we saw all those years ago. The only leader that lived was Krev and he is little more than a bandit."

"Is that truly what you believe, Harbinger? Or is it as Skjor says that you have become blind to the world as you think about your own death?"

Kodlak let out a small breath of air, giving Vilkas a deep look. "I have known my death was coming for years. The blood cannot cure all things that have taken root before receiving Hircine's curse. Perhaps I am blind to the threat or perhaps I'm seeing more clearly now that the problems and fears of youth tend to be little more than a challenge and a trial. That is all life is, Vilkas. A series of trials and challenges which should we survive we should never have feared."

"Forgive me, Kodlak, for not being as accepting of the thought of torture and death as you are. Perhaps you have forgotten some of our fallen brothers and sisters, how the skin was ripped from their bodies leaving us only pieces of meat to burn on the pyre."

"That is the weakness of youth," the old man sighed, "You see death as an enemy where I see it as a friend, as painful as it might be. But it is a friend I hope to meet free of this curse. I see now that this is not my fight to lead."

"What are you saying?" Vilkas asked as they turned their way back towards Jorrvaskr.

"I have trained you to lead after I'm gone and I think it's time you truly start in those duties. For better or worse, whatever information is gathered by the Circle I leave you to decide what to do with it. You will have my blessing no matter what course you choose to take so long as you don't let yourself be ruled by your fire."

"I am honored, Harbinger!"

"It is a burden, not an honor, to lead, Vilkas. Lives kept or lives lost will be in part due to the decisions you make. Remember that should what you fear come to pass and the threat of the Silver Hand is more than a few bandits making a sad attempt at resurrection," the tired warrior finished as they reached the steps to Ysgramor's overturned ship. Vilkas watched as his mentor slowly took the steps, his hands pressing on his knees with each labored step betraying his growing weakness.

I will honor you, he thought with all the determination of a son being tasked with a great responsibility from his father. And I will not let the Companions fall to our enemies. Deep inside of him he could feel a rumble of satisfaction and along with a sudden wild desire to howl into the air his convictions. He suppressed the urge, but felt a strange comfort at knowing that despite hating and ignoring the desires of his cursed blood, the beast approved of his actions and would give him the strength to protect his family from whatever was to come.

Phane paced about the stony floor of the cavern in Bronze Water Cave he had claimed for his own personal use. He had only arrived day prior and already was in a state of frustration at the lack of discipline he was seeing. It was no surprise, considering that nearly two hundred men had been gathered and were doing little more than twiddling their thumbs between the two caves he declared would be their home for a period. But still, he had hoped for more and already hated the idea of sleeping in the wilderness far from a comfortable bed and a warm fire. It didn't help that the cave was dank and smelt of mold and fungus despite his best efforts to have enough fires to dry it out.

Still, it was only a temporary solution to house some of his growing numbers until he was able to establish something more permanent. Moving from his room out to one of the larger caverns of Bronze Water, he watched a few of the men that lounged at roughly crafted tables play some sort of crude gambling game, their rough words and poor grammar marking them as uneducated and unrefined. He couldn't help but feel a smug distaste for the dimwitted recruits. They were cutthroats and bandits, lured to the Silver Hand by the promise of gold and bloodshed. They were the kind that would easily abandon the cause if the gold grew thin or the danger too large. But they are necessary until I can create more order, he reminded himself as he longed for the day when he would have control over a legitimate army.

"And we should see what Burn has found on that front," he muttered to himself as he marched past his unsavory expendables and down one of the cave's passages that led to a cavern that he had turned into a war room of sorts. He had collected maps of Skyrim, securing some to the cave's wall while others lay open on the long table that filled the room, their small little markers showing the areas he would first focus on, such as Daedric shrines and witches dens. But the largest marker on the map was reserved for the group he hated the most; the doomed werewolf lair, Jorrvaskr. He stared at that marker with a dark longing that morphed his beautiful features into something fierce and dangerous. Soon enough, he told himself, a delicate finger touching the red pin that sat in the center of the werewolf's ship. Soon enough.

With great effort, he pulled his eyes away from one of his great goals and looked at the placement of the shrines that were dotted across the map, taking great care in relating them to various places of power within Tamriel, including the holds kept by Skyrim's Jarls. He had a simple system of keeping track of which regions he and his men had come semblance of power by marking the leader's keeps with a green pin. Unfortunately, most of the green was centered about county's in Cyrodiil where he had wooed the countess ruling there. But he was prepared to change that. Skyrim, after all, was a land of superstition and hardship. The Jarls would not prove too difficult to crack under the right amount of pressure and influence to believe what he wanted them to and give them all he asked for.

But first I need my army, he thought again as he strode towards the only other man in the room, his second-in-command, Burn. He was a sturdy man of good Nordic stock. He had the typical broad shoulders, thick tangle of brown hair and beard, and strong features of his race that gave him a rather barbaric look. But underneath the brutish features, he had a very strategic mind and a lust for grandeur that made him at once indispensible and yet very easy to mold. He was a perfect ally for Phane and his plans.

"So?" Phane asked expectantly as he dropped into a chair near where Burn was studying a set of documents. "Where do we stand? Did you find me my men?"

"I have a few good options," his second in command grunted out as he eased back in his chair.

"Tell me."

"Well there's a Nord, Mathies. He's a farmer in Falkreath. His girl was murdered by one of the beasts and his wife died a few years later of heartbreak they say."

"A farmer? Truly Burn, is that the best you can do?"

"He's not as green as he sounds. He had a commanding role in the Imperial army in Cyrodiil when he met his wife. He left the service and moved to Skyrim for a better life according to my sources," the Nord explained dryly.

"Ah, now that is better. Any more?"

"Adrian Maro, the only surviving son of Commander Maro."

"Commander Maro," Phane mused with a smile, "he was killed by the Brotherhood, was he not?"

"Supposedly there were wolves among the assassins. Adrian is thirsty for revenge of any type."

"And does he have a military background like the other's in his family?"

"He was stationed in Helgen, but was displaced after the dragon attack about a decade ago. Still, even being out of practice he should be equipped to handle some of these men."

"Good, good. Is that all you found?"

"There is one more," Burn said slowly, his dark eyes narrowing as he chewed on his cheek. "But I'm not sure if it will be a good fit here."

"Who is it?"

Burn leaned back in his chair, letting his hand drift carelessly to the tangled mass of hair on his chin. "How much do you know about the Dragonborn?"

"The Dragonborn? Isn't that just a myth the Stormcloaks used to gain support during their revolution?"

"That's what most people outside of Skyrim think, but the Dragonborn isn't just a myth."

"Well I know that it was a real person," Phane snapped, hating to be lectured. "But what I meant is that the Dragonborn was just a warrior given some sort of god status for morale."

"She was not just some warrior during the revolution. She was the warrior of the revolution. She has the blood of dragons in her veins and all the power that goes with it. That is no myth, Phane. She was more powerful than any man that has walked Nirn in the last age."

"Then why do I hear people talk about her being a some sort of debtor now? That doesn't sound very godlike to me."

"Aye," the Nord replied darkly. "She is has succumbed to the drink."

"And why would we want her?

"It's not her that we're after, but her housecarl," the Nord explained. "She was made a housecarl at a very young age and is reputed to be very good with a sword. She also has commanding in her blood. Her father was captain of the guard in Rorikstead when he was killed by one of the beasts."

"I see," he mused, his fingers carelessly tapping on the table as he thought of the possibilities. Two former imperial soldiers would make fine generals in his army. They both had the hatred he needed to give them the passion necessary to lead his crusade and were use to the rules of rank, meaning they would follow orders. But the woman…will a woman be able to lead these men?

As if reading his leader's thoughts Burn leaned forward with a wicked grin. "She helped slay dragons, you know. Some consider her quite the hero for all she did with the Dragonborn, especially since her master has disgraced herself to the point of people wanting to forget completely about her. They look up to her as being the real power behind her Thane and respect her and her opinions and call her the true hero of Skyrim."

"A respected hero you say?" Phane replied with a wicked smile. "Now that is something I could use."