He that increases wisdom increases sorrow.

~ Assassins Creed

The stone block tunnel was silent, shadows cast exaggerated forms on the walls. The air felt damp against her skin, the unwanted smell of cabbage that had far surpassed its longevity twisted up her nostrils, being sure to hit all the sensitive spots on its way. Still, she remained quiet for if she so much as squeaked, her life was forfeit.

She was stuck in an incredibly tense situation, hers and her comrades lives could very well rest on the decision she had yet to make. Sweat born from anxiety tracked its way through the hairs on the back of her neck. This was a potentially life-changing conundrum.

Should I go left or right?

Thaylen's inner voice was repeatedly hitting its head against the wall. The Nord was stuck, standing at an intersection between two branches of what had previously been a straight tunnel. She shifted her weight between both feet continually, until it seemed like she was dancing in place. Not that she could help it, Thaylen was a born fidget, a constant source of exasperation on Vilkas's part. But her mentor wasn't here to wallop her over the head at this current moment. Her fingers toyed with the pommel of her short sword, picking at the leather wrapping around the hilt as she bit her lip anxiously, finally coming to a conclusion.

There's no other choice, I didn't want to resort to this. She raised a leather gauntleted arm, finger trembling slightly as she pointed first at the right tunnel and then the left.

"Eenie, meenie, miney-"


Vilkas gave a sharp grunt as his enemy's blade finally caught him on the hip, not hard enough a blow to penetrate through his plate mail but enough to have an ugly bruise forming tomorrow. The stench of sweat and blood pervaded his sensitive nose, only adding to his frustration. He'd had enough of this. All it took was a timely thrust and his opponent sagged at the knees, his lifeblood spread odd droplets in the dust.

A second foe was on him in an instant, leaving no room for reprieve. He caught the first axe swing on his shield; the second skidded off his helm, leaving a ringing in his ears. Teeth clenched together, he jerked his head forwards sharply, catching the Bosmer straight between his eyes. The elf was sent reeling from the headbutt and Vilkas followed through, bashing him in the chin with his shield. He had no time to pause, pivoting to parry an oncoming Khajiit's dagger thrust.

Under his assailants arm he saw Aela darting under the heavy blows of a hulking Redguard. It was only so long before one of them landed. He flinched backwards as the Khajiit's dagger flashed towards his eyes, catching him on the cheek. He snarled, teeth sharpening momentarily to match the yellow eyed cat opposite him.

"Dog's gonna die tonight." The Khajiit hissed malevolently.

Vilkas was silent. His blade swept up and under the Khajiit's outstretched arm, catching him straight in the chest. As yet another body sank to the ground yet another Silver Hand charged up the steps and took its place. It was a never ending cycle. Vilkas didn't want to admit it but they needed help. No matter what intrepid form 'help' came in. He bared his teeth as his blade caught his opponents axe.

Where in Oblivion was the whelp?


Should've taken the right.

All she'd gotten from the left tunnel was a migraine and a dead end. She leant against the wall, avoiding the worst of the slime. That fork had had absolutely no purpose other than to screw her over.

Thaylen sighed, worried that Vilkas and Aela had traversed too far into the fort for her to catch up, or worse that they'd got sick of waiting and left. That sounded like something her grouchy mentor would do. She exhaled through her nose, trying to calm herself down, trying to think.

Something wet fell on her cheek.

Oh come on. Hoping to Oblivion that it wasn't something noxious she swiped the back of her hand across her face. Her knuckles came back red. Blood.

Thaylen craned her neck upwards and another drop fell down the back of her neck. She spotted what must have been an old entrance to the tunnels; it had been crudely boarded over, leaving large gaps through which sparse light flickered. Large enough gaps for blood to be trickling. Apprehension raced through her veins, who knew what was up there? There could be killer rats, a giant barbarian of a warrior, even a troll for all she knew.

Or it could be her companions.

For once she didn't hesitate, only checking to make sure all her weapons where secure before she bunched up her legs and leapt for the ragged stones around the hole. The fingers of one hand bit into the rock while the other struggled to push the wooden slats out of her way. She managed to punch one out before she lost her purchase and landed on her arse.

Grumbling to herself the black haired Nord readied herself to leap again, not noticing the sudden cease of noise from above, which had been considerably muffled by the stone walls of the tunnel.


All eyes in the room where glued onto the piece of timber that seemed to have by its own volition, flown up and clattered noisily to the floor. Silence reigned supreme, all ears craned, all eyes narrowed and in one case, a tongue slithered out and tasted the air.

Vilkas had paused halfway crouched under his shield, prepared for an axe blow that seemed to have forgotten halfway through its swing exactly what it was doing. Though every instinct was screaming at him to snap upright and clock the Argonian in the face with his shield the Nord forced himself to straighten slowly, an opportunity had been presented and he intended to take it. He readied his sword.

However, he faltered as yet another wooden plank flew up and rattled on the stone floor. His heightened hearing could pick up the scrabble of feet and a muffled curse. Finally a hand appeared on the lip of the stone hole. One shared glance across the room with Aela confirmed his suspicions.

He honestly needed to get Thaylen to work on her timing.


With some considerable effort Thaylen managed to haul herself high enough that she could throw a leg up and over the lip of the hole. With a noise akin to that of an irritated cat she finally manoeuvred herself out of the tunnels, collapsing on her back next to the hole.

There was a very deliberate cough. Thaylen momentarily forgot to breath.

With agility that surprised not only herself but the many occupants of the room, the Nord flipped herself to her feet and scrambled to a wall. She pressed herself so hard into it that it seemed she was determined to become one with the stone. The entire room seemed to be frozen mid battle, all eyes were fastened on her. The majority of faces began to cloud over as they realised that they'd never seen this woman before. The atmosphere was quickly turning less than friendly. Thaylen's eyes roamed over Aela's brown ones before locking onto the narrowed icy blue pair at the other side of the room.

Vilkas managed to convey 'don't screw this up' through the power of his gaze alone.

She gave a thumbs up to that by unsheathing her sword in, for once, a single fluid motion. That movement was all it took for the room to erupt into frenzied action once more. She saw her mentor plunge his blade into an Argonian's side before her vision was obscured by something lithe and furry. A Khajiit, female and fast, worryingly so. But the one thing Thaylen had ever had going in her favour was her own speed so her blade locked with the cats. For a while they pushed at each other, trying to see whose strength was greater. In the end they sprung apart, evenly matched. Green eyes locked onto green.

Thaylen made the first move, the Silver Hand swung her blade around to meet and the two were off, locked in combat. Surrounded by a flurry of steel, they looked to be evenly matched but Thaylen could see that the cats form was shoddy. It was only a matter of time before a hole opened in its defences and when it did, Thaylen's blade was there, sliding into the deadly area between the armpit and the collarbone. The Khajiit's hiss turned into a gurgle and she fell to the ground in a heap of fur. Thaylen paused for a moment as the fighting continued around her, in deep contemplation. Another life had been ended by her hand, no more would this evil creature pillage and murder. Whoa, whoa, getting a bit depressing there girl, keep yourself togeth-

The Breton caught her around the waist in a first class tackle.

The breath was expelled from her lungs, cutting short the various curses that would usually have spewed forth. She gasped frantically for air that never came, her assailants hands closed around her throat. The Nord kicked out desperately, trying her best to fling him off, but he was too heavy. Kneeing him in the back wasn't an option; it'd likely snap her legs off. One hand scrabbled at the dirt, the others nails dug into the Bretons arm. That was when she remembered the dagger strapped to her thigh.

Painfully slow, her free hand inched down her leg, just barely managing to slide the thing from its sheathe. Spots that weren't quite black but weren't exactly white either obscured her vision. She stuck the blade in his forearm and he rolled off her with a garbled shriek. Sweet air rushed into her lungs as she rolled several times to the side before using the wall to pull herself up. The Breton was on his haunches, pulling her knife from his forearm inch by inch.

"It's much easier if you do it in one go. Like ripping of a bandage." She quipped.

He jerked his head up, teeth halfway bared in a snarl before her knee slammed into his head. Rubbing her throat, the slight woman plucked her knife from the offending limb before wiping it clean on the Breton's pants. Thaylen, grinning, whirled around, light headed from a mixture of success and near asphyxiation, ready to show off her efforts. The grin slid from her face.

"Sometimes I can't believe you two." Her accusatory tone fell on deaf ears.

Vilkas and Aela sat on the chests of their latest kills, surrounded by what looked like half a garrison worth of bodies. The Huntress looked up from where she was adding various arrows to her quiver.

"Eh, you had him. Though if you'd actually forgotten how to get out of a choke hold I would have had to kill you myself." She gave a quick grin.

Thaylen smiled uncertainly at that, the woman barely joked around. Vilkas stood up, sheathing his sword across his back.

"You did take a fair while down there whelp. Get ambushed or something? Stopped off at some underground inn perhaps?" He smirked.

"If only…" she mumbled, hopefully not loud enough for him to hear.

Vilkas nudged her Breton with his foot, eyes brightening when the prone figure groaned. Aela seemed to be at his side in an instant and Thaylen was, not for the first time, left in awe of how smoothly The Huntress moved. Come to think of it, both her companions were looking slightly different tonight, there was something more sharp about their features. The way the shadows fell on them made them seem almost…supernatural.

"Excellent, he's still kicking." Aela knelt by the man, digging her nails into the gaping hole in his arm. He woke with a scream.

Thaylen winced in sympathy but the action made her neck throb. The pity promptly evaporated. Aela leaned in closer to the Silver Hand, baring her teeth in what could have resembled a grin but seemed to sway more towards slasher smile.

"Where is it?" The Huntress gave deadly inflection to each syllable.

The Breton groaned, head lolling to one side. Thaylen could see his eyes cross and uncross, she knew the feeling well. Aela was having none of this however, and probed his wound again. Another scream, Thaylen shifted her weight slightly. There was another furiously whispered threat from Aela that she didn't quite catch, the sickening squelch of torn flesh, another whimper of pain. Thaylen's eyes gradually lifted from the scene to where the wall met the ceiling, a sick feeling hollowed out her stomach. Her ears slowly closed to the same insistent question, the frantic replies of 'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know'.

Where is it?

Where is it?

Where?

The howl was rising.

"Thaylen." Vilkas's voice cut through her misted thoughts.

She jerked her head around to him, starting slightly at what the shadows had done to his face. Narrowed, gaunt, strange, dangerous. Vilkas visibly faltered at her expression and she hurriedly composed herself. His eyes were bright, so unnaturally bright, melting ice. More screams from the Breton.

"You should wait outside." His voice was gentle but Thaylen was already shaking her head.

She forced her eyes to harden, to stare him down, don't blink, don't blink. After what seemed an age Vilkas set his mouth in a grim line and gave a short nod. Eye's fastened back onto the cracks in the stone as she felt him shift slightly closer behind her. Somehow this made her feel better.

Her ears wouldn't shut out the sounds now.

...

They got back to Whiterun just as the first fingers of dawn clutched at the horizon. Thaylen craned her neck to see the first halo of pink touch Dragonstone's peak. Her head was fuzzy; the trio had been walking uninterrupted since late in the night, the full moon the only witness to their march. Vilkas and Aela had been highly strung the whole trip back, Thaylen had wisely kept her mouth shut. The pink was deepening into a burnt orange as they passed the stables. A horse stirred in its stall, a flock of birds flew overhead. Her eyelids sank lower and lower. A small nudge in the small of her back from Aela started her shambling steps again.

"Nearly home Giant Slayer." Aela smiled but Thaylen snorted, her companions seemed to have endless stamina, while she would have a hard time dragging herself across the ground at this point.

She wished she had wings, yeah, then she'd float over the lands with no need for this walking business. The people would be ants, the cities their hills and she would be the bird above. A giant, no, a dragon. Something in the back of her mind winced at the word but she was too tired to really care.

The gates.

The streets.

Jorrvaskr.

Home.

Bed.


The Breton lay among the chaos in the room, his throat cut, another body added to the multitudes. He had not revealed the location of the fragment. The mission had failed.


The day before

"And you're absolutely sure about this?" Vilkas was standing, palms flat on Kodlak's desk, eyes fastened on the man sitting behind it.

"Absolutely, we're so close this time. I can feel it. After the attack on Torvar and Athis they must know that we're closing the gap on it each day." The old man was resolute; this trip would end their search for the last fragment.

"But this isn't snooping around in the dark anymore; you're talking about a flat out raid on one of their bases!" Vilkas's tone was more than slightly accusing but also smug. After all this was what he'd wanted; it was about time the Companions had got back some of their own.

"Yes. And I want you and Aela to do it." Kodlak pushed his chair back and stood up, brushing past the younger man to pace the study behind him. Vilkas swallowed all his questions but one, he knew this was hard on the Harbinger; the man had never liked unnecessary violence.

"And somehow you think that possessing all the fragments will help break the curse?" Though he tried to smother it he could feel the brief spark of kindle in his chest. Kodlak nodded, his grey hair moving across his shoulders.

"I can't know for certain, but there's no denying this feeling. Something must happen of it, the dreams…" Kodlak dragged his fingers along the many dusty tomes on his shelves, seemingly picking one at random, "I want you to take the Newblood with you, Thaylen. It's about time she was exposed to our enemies."

"There's a great risk of her finding out if we do." Vilkas warned, gut tightening slightly. Her first reaction to a werewolf hadn't been pretty. Not that he'd helped with that. Kodlak looked him in the eye.

"Regardless, I'm sure you can find some way to limit her interaction with them. I'm not entirely sure whether most of the Silver Hand themselves know what we are. Their higher ups do for sure but the knowledge of such readily available power would not suit the mindless masses," a shadow passed over his elders face, "There's something about Thaylen, somehow she is connected to all this, the time of her coming and the tales of dragons returning once more to Skyrim."

Vilkas nodded, he had heard plenty of these stories. Wild tales of a dragon attacking Helgen, travellers in Whiterun swearing that they'd witnessed it with their own eyes, Khajiit caravans advising others to stay well clear from the smouldering ruin. There were whispers of some mysterious stranger approaching the Jarl with the news, requesting help for Riverwood. The stories intrigued him; dragons lay at the very ancient history of this land. Farkas had wondered what it would be like to fight one. For once Vilkas had not shared his brothers enthusiasm, from what he'd heard of Helgen there where very few survivors. He opened his mouth to ask another question but Kodlak seemed to be immersed in his book already.

"It will be done." Vilkas inclined his head respectfully and left his leader to his thoughts.

...

He found Thaylen stuffing her face with food next to the fire pit. Vilkas could see where his strict regime was paying off, the woman had lost the slight roundness to her features, her arms were no longer soft and the food which she so loved was burned off within the hour. He waited for her to recognise his presence at her shoulder, watching a scar on her cheek flex as she chewed. Finally she stiffened up.

"Hello Vilkas." She mumbled through a mouthful of bread. He was impressed; she hadn't even turned around this time.

"Kodlak wants you to accompany Aela and me on a mission." He sat himself in a chair beside her.

"Please tell me this isn't going to like the last one where we trekked through a waist high snow storm and ended up on the wrong side of the mountain." Her voice was deadpan but she gave him a quick grin before biting into an apple.

"No, nothing like that, that was my brothers fault, not mine." He winced at how childish the words sounded.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Thaylen laughed, green eyes smiling.

"We're to take down a Silver Hand base and see if they have any knowledge to where the last fragment of Wuuthrad lies." He knew what the question was going to be before it left the woman's lips.

"What's a Wuuthrad?" She asked through a mouthful of food.

Vilkas just gave her a look.

"I seem to recall telling you our entire history the first night you stumbled into this place whelp." He watched as she made a helpless gesture.

"Yeah, well I was under the effects of a healing potion, they always make me sleepy." She said lamely. He snorted in disbelief.

"Well make sure it sinks into that miniscule space between your ears this time."

And she did.


Present time

There was a new nightmare tonight.

There was no howl. There was no faceless dance partner. There was no noise. There was no colour.

There was only the twisted king on his throne.

He sat slouched, the very picture of a regal ruler. His hands curled over the arm rests of his chair of bones. Their stark whiteness blinded her as she stood before him. He wore a simple breaches and shirt combination, the only expensive thing in the outfit was his boots. Made of the finest leather, intricate patterns adorned his shins. Her eyes roamed up his figure to his head, which was definitely not human. The big stags eyes blinked dolefully at her, the antlers which crested his twitching ears seemed to extend to the stars.

As she watched he raised a hand, the other gripping harder the wolf skull beneath it, fingers curling into the eye sockets. He pointed directly at her. His mouth shaped a word but there was no sound in this dream and she shrugged, unable to hear it. Angry, he tried again but with no success.

That was when something grabbed her ankle.

Startled, she glanced down, only to scream silently in horror. The tortured Breton was clutching her foot, eyes wide, throat wound seeping blood. She tried to kick him off but he dragged her down until his mouth was at her ear. Struggling wildly she felt his breaths stir her hair as she frantically tried to glance at the king once more.

But he was gone.

Thaylen lurched upright in bed, clutching her head in her hands. These dreams, these nightmares, they weren't stopping. Night in and night out they plagued her. Always there was that man, that king, in various shapes and forms he'd come to her but she'd felt the same presence under each charade. Taking deep breathes to calm herself down, the black haired woman swung her legs out from the confines of her sheets. At least she wasn't falling out of bed anymore. The only bed that had been occupied was hers so Thaylen guessed that it was midday or late afternoon. She rose and struggled into her breeches, before tugging her boots on over them. Today she had her own mission, if these nightmares weren't going to leave her alone she was going to make them leave the only way she knew how.

By drowning them in alcohol.

She raked her hands through her hair twice before giving up. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed her dagger before leaving, strapping it to her waist. Last but not least she crawled under her bed frame and prised a slightly dusty coin purse from between the slats. It never stood to be too careful.

Before she left she made the bed, she'd never had a maid like the old lady Tilma to do it for her before. Old habits die hard and all that.

...

The sun seemed intent on searing her eyeballs from her skull as she shuffled through the panicky streets. What the people were panicking about exactly she didn't know. She didn't particularly care either, as long as whatever is was presented no immediate danger to herself. Somewhere a woman was crying hysterically, a group of guards tramped past. Whispers of the Western Watchtower being destroyed reached her ears. Thaylen shut them all out, they weren't her problem, not yet anyway, and she was Oblivion bent on 'The Bannered Mare'.

Finally, she squeezed through the crowds and into the inn. There was no bard today; in fact, there was not much of anybody today. That suited Thaylen just fine, the less people here to observe her inevitable drunken ramblings the better. The innkeeper looked up, eyes brightening as they landed upon a new customer.

"What can I get for you today?" the red haired Nord leaned her elbows on the counter.

"As much mead as this can buy, keep 'em coming please." Thaylen dropped her coin purse on the wood. It gave a satisfying clink.

"Rough night?" The barkeep inquired, brow creasing in sympathy. Thaylen almost laughed.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

...

She was halfway through her second drink as the customers began to drift back to the booze and warmth of the Mare. Their conversation was loud, excited, with undertones of worry. Thaylen blocked it all out as she sat at the bar, she seemed to have a knack for that. The afternoon sun shone through the windows. Thaylen tended to drink slowly when alone; her eyes stared broodingly at her glass. She paid no attention when the door opened once more, no attention as all conversation abruptly ceased. She didn't even look up when someone lifted themselves into the seat next to her. Faintly she heard them ordering food and drink.

Thaylen only fully registered the stranger's presence when the smell hit her. Burning hair, smouldering clothes and smoke in general. It wasn't the generic smoke either, she'd only smelt this stuff once before in her life. Flashes of Helgen penetrated her mind, the dragon was swooping overhead and the town was ablaze once more. Grimly, the black haired Nord downed the rest of her mead in one go, putting the empty glass on the table with a loud clunk. The figure next to her slowly turned in her direction. Finally Thaylen turned her head.

"You!?"


Oh god I am so sorry I haven't updated in an AGE but I honestly have reasons. A tonne of shit has been going down IRL for the past few months. There's been funerals and exams at school and Christmas. Finally, things came to a head a few days ago where me and the family had to come back early from camping because a bunch of shitheads decided it was fun to break into our house. They took some stuff, among which was my Xbox, and, most sadly, Skyrim itself. Sooo, that sucked but on a happier note it's given me more time to finish this :L Just in case I need to clarify, a the lines that separate some sections indicate a change of perspective while the four dots indicate a time lapse, that's what I'll be doing from now on ^^

Once again I can't stress to you enough how important it is for you to read XDropbearX's story about the dragon born of this universe. Here's the link to it so pleaseeeee check it out, shes my first reviewer and in my favourite authors if you want to find her. Her story is The Strings Attached. :)

I'm pretty sure that I've replied to all your reviews in PM but since a guest left one I'll do it here.

Guest: Thanks for reading! I'll definitely go through the earlier chapters later on today and root out all these inconsistencies. Thanks for pointing them out! I think I avoided them so far in this chapter :)

Cover Image (c) The-Lazy-artist on deviantart