Disclaimer: Alas, Skyrim is not mine – I am merely borrowing that universe to write this story. Characters you do not recognize were created by me for the purposes of this tale. Some quests/dialogue has been changed, so do not expect a word-by-word account taken completely from the game (wouldn't that be horribly dull?). This story is rated M for graphic scenes of sex, violence and gore – you have been warned.

Thank you for reading and for all of you who have taken the time to review – each one is greatly appreciated! :) - Fallon.

Chapter Fourteen

Arkay protect him...

Skjor was dead.

Aela seemed more frustrated that some of the werewolf hunters had slipped away in the chaos then traumatized by the loss of her friend. Idalyn stood before his body, looking down at his mangled form with tears in her eyes while Aela looted the bodies of the hunters they had killed.

He had been a grouchy man, but everyone in Jorrvaskr respected him greatly. His loss was going to hit everyone hard, that Idalyn knew for certain.

"What do we do now?" She asked meekly, her mind too fogged with shock to think clearly.

Aela stood up straight and sighed, "We hunt them down, every one of them, until Skyrim is free of their ignorance."

Idalyn couldn't argue that. Obviously the members of the Circle were not bad people and certainly didn't deserve to be hunted simply because of their beastblood. But to the Silver Hand they were rabid animals that had to be put down in all haste. Such unrelenting hate...targeted at the new family she had found, at Vilkas.

It made her sick.

If they were strong enough to bring Skjor down, what chance would Vilkas have? Or Farkas? Would all of her brothers and sisters meet the same fate as the man lying at her feet?

"Will you help me, Idalyn?" Aela asked as she approached the somber elf.

Idalyn clenched her fists, "Did Kodlak know we were coming here, Aela?"

She looked away from the elf, "He does not really command us, Idalyn. His word is respected, but it is not law."

So that's a no...

Her gaze rose to the huntress, "I...I need to go, I need to get out of here."

Aela nodded and led Idalyn through a side passage that led out of the Fort. They stood in silence, the bitter wind whipping their hair back, until Idalyn walked down the stairs and began the long descent down the mountain.

"That's the wrong way!" Aela shouted, "Jorrvaskr is the other way, Idalyn!"

Idalyn didn't look back, "I know."

Aela barely heard her over the wind, but she caught enough to understand what the elf was doing.

She wasn't returning to Jorrvaskr.

Where she was going...well, Aela wasn't even sure Idalyn knew.

Aela returned to Jorrvaskr a few days later to find Vilkas waiting impatiently for her in the mead hall. He looked extremely tense, like he was about to do battle against a mighty foe.

"Where have you been?" He demanded as she approached.

She wasn't in the mood to deal with his anger, Skjor was dead and a part of her went with him. He had been her truest friend and confidant, and his loss hurt worse than any wound she had ever received. Exhausted, she tried to push past him.

"Where is she?" Vilkas growled as he blocked her path.

She looked at him with unreadable eyes, "Skjor is dead and Idalyn ran off."

Vilkas's eyes opened wide. He wasn't sure he believed what he was hearing, "Excuse me!"

Aela repeated herself then finally managed to make her way past him.

"You attacked the Silver Hand, didn't you?" Vilkas questioned as he followed her, "None of this had to happen!"

She spun around on her heels, "It would have happened regardless! They aren't going to leave us alone forever, Vilkas! Don't be so naive! She wanted to help us and Skjor charged in ahead of us alone, yelling isn't going to change anything!"

"Where was she heading? Tell me!"

Skjor's loss still fresh in her mind, she was in no mood to deal with Vilkas's petty demands.

"No wonder she runs from you," Aela sneered, "you lash out on those who wish only the best for you. I smelled your scent on her; could she not get away from you in time, Vilkas?"

His features contorted in anger and his beastblood boiled, "Why you –

"Enough!" Kodlak boomed as he approached the arguing pair, "You will both wake the dragons with this racket!"

Aela snarled and barged out of Jorrvaskr in a whirlwind. She took off in a sprint, shifting into her wolf form before disappearing over the ledge of the city wall just as the doors closed behind her.

Kodlak had heard the entire conversation, as had most of Jorrvaskr. He believed every word of it, though he wished it was all a lie. Aela had been close to Skjor, had looked up to him for years. The act of mourning was extremely personal and Aela had always been the type to suffer alone. Kodlak understood her too well to take offense and turned his attention solely to Vilkas.

"Skjor is dead, Vilkas. Do not prod the wound while it is still so fresh," he cautioned the impulsive werewolf.

Vilkas paced in front of him, "How could she let Idalyn run away?"

"Calm your fire and think, Vilkas," Kodlak said in an exhausted tone, "she is new to the blood and just witnessed one of our own fall. If you'd only calm down you'd realize you already have the answers to your questions."

"They're not going to let us get away, Kodlak," Vilkas fumed, "the Silver Hand won't let Aela's attack go unchallenged! They've already got Skjor, and now Idalyn is out there wandering by herself? How can I be calm?"

"Because anger will get you nowhere," Kodlak replied evenly.

Vilkas knew Kodlak was right, he always was. But if Skjor had already fallen to the Silver Hand, what was keeping Idalyn safe in her wanderings? They knew she was a werewolf now and would undoubtedly seek her out to avenge their fallen comrades. He didn't really blame Aela. She had been close with Skjor and was likely not thinking clearly when Idalyn left.

But if anything happened to her...

"What do we do now? What is best?" Vilkas asked quietly, a subtle hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Kodlak noticed it and sighed, "I suspect you'll want to venture out after her..."

"Yes."

He wasn't surprised. The fire in Vilkas's eyes had changed, but only he was aware enough to notice it flick. Vilkas was not eager to leave in order to exact revenge; he was genuinely concerned for the one who had wandered from the safety of their pack. Kodlak was old, but even he noticed the way Vilkas watched Idalyn and he could smell her scent on him now. He loved Vilkas like a son and had hoped that Idalyn would be able to balance out his anger and that they would find happiness together.

He knew if she did not return, Vilkas would be worse than before - he'd be affectively broken.

"Then go," Kodlak said with a nod, "find her and bring her home, but do not berate her for leaving. Merely be glad should she choose to return."

"Why would she not return with me?" Vilkas hadn't taken that possibility into consideration.

After what had happened between them, the thought of her not being with him hurt more than he expected. He could understand her fear after seeing Skjor's fall, but surely she just needed time to clear her head and sort things out?

Kodlak chuckled, "I don't have all the answers - women are tricky creatures, Vilkas."

At first she had no idea where she was going to go.

Anywhere seemed better than the hole in the darkness Skjor had fallen into. But Jorrvaskr wasn't an option.

She feared facing her shield siblings, but Vilkas especially. When she departed Whiterun with Aela and Skjor, she thought the distance would give them both enough time to figure things out. But she knew that by now he had heard about the part she played in the raid and was almost certain the news would anger him.

I just can't stop messing things up...

While she knew Kodlak would never be angry with her for taking part in the raid, she feared earning his disapproval and had never wanted to intentionally go against him. It was true he did not command them, she still felt like she had gone against him.

Perhaps it was because he was the eldest of those afflicted with the beastblood. Every pack of wolves had a leader, an alpha, so perhaps werewolves were no different?

Not that any of it really mattered. As far as she was concerned, she had lost her place in that family.

Idalyn tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the small tasks she accepted in the city of Windhelm, but the losses refused to stay buried in the far corners of her mind. Whenever she could not fight them back, she retreated to her room at the inn.

She felt more alone than ever.

Two weeks after Skjor's death, she was on the road to Whiterun. She had no intention of entering the city though, or of even going near, but instead would make for Riverwood. While she was certain things were strained if not ruined between her and Ralof, she did love the village and hoped being there would make her feel right again. It was the first place she had seen after narrowly escaping the dragon in Helgen and thusly brought back a lot of memories, but it was still a beautiful community.

Anything would be better than the snowy city of Windhelm...or so she hoped.

She was about a day away from the city when her abnormally easy journey was rudely interrupted.

Idalyn saw the woman stumble onto the road ahead of her from the brush along the side of the path. She was clutching her arm and appeared to be covered in blood and dirt. It looked like she had fallen, though Idalyn couldn't tell from where or if it was more than just an unfortunate accident. Carefully, she approached the injured woman, a destructive spell on her fingertips should anything underhanded occur.

She knew bandits were known to use such tactics, but she did not have it in her to pass the woman by.

"Are you alright, miss?" She asked as she neared, "Have you been attacked?"

The woman glanced up, "Please help me! Highwaymen came out of nowhere and stole my cart! They hit me..."

Idalyn reluctantly lowered her guard to help the woman remain standing. She was so focused on aiding the apparent victim that she did not hear the group of well armed men and women approaching her from behind.

"Where are they?" She asked the terrified woman softly, "Did you see where they went?"

Calloused hands grabbed Idalyn from behind and jerked her back. She let out a gasp of surprise and struggled to break free of the shockingly tight grip. She felt another pair of hands rip her bow and quiver from her back. Without her weapons, she felt more helpless than ever.

The beastblood picked up on her anxiety and surged through her.

Before it could react though, she was struck with something hard and blunt. Idalyn's head throbbed wickedly and her vision began to blur as blood quickly began to matt her hair. She forced herself to look at the faces of her attackers before it was too late and saw the gleam of silver weapons in the waning sunlight.

The Silver Hand...gods no...please no!

Angry, rough hands pulled her onto the side of the road and began binding her arms and legs. She tried to fight them off of her, but her pathetic kicks and attempts to scratch them only angered them more.

One of them leaned over her and hiss in her ear, "We'll teach you to kill our men, wolf-whore!"

Hanging on to consciousness by a thread, Idalyn turned and spat at where she hoped the speaker was standing. She heard someone growl and a hand soon wrapped around her throat.

"Stubborn bitch!"

A fist smashed into her jaw and she let out a strained cry. She wished she would just pass out so her torment would end, but she knew if it really was the Silver Hand who had attacked her that her treatment wasn't about to get any kinder.

"Stop before you kill her," an distant voice commanded, "we won't get what we want if you beat her to a pulp!"

"Why does Frigga want to interrogate the wench anyway?" her attacker asked in a snarl, "We already know what we have to do!"

Idalyn could tell how many of them there were, but she could feel more than just two people around her. She inhaled deeply, searching for scents to get a better idea.

One...two...three...four...

"Be that as it may, our orders are to bring her to the chief in one piece."

Five...and maybe six...

Her attacker cursed under his breath and grabbed a handful of her hair, balled it into his fist, and forced her head up. She tried to remember his scent, so she could tear out his heart at a later date. With him so close, it wasn't difficult. He smelled of smoke and ash. She breathed in deeper and realized the smoke wasn't from tobacco, but from a forge. It had a metal tinge to it that only her heightened senses could detect. No one else around her smelled like that.

I'll get you, you bastard...

"Listen closely, elf," the forge-smelling man demanded through clenched teeth, "you're not going to put up any fuss, you hear me? You and your friend killed a lot of our people and our boss is just dying to meet you. You may think you're not going to tell us anything, but you're wrong. Frigga is going to make you sing like a bloody bird! By the time she is done with you, we'll know all of your secrets!"

Idalyn was unceremoniously lifted and slung over a man's shoulder.

Her head throbbing worse than before, her last thoughts before she passed out were of Vilkas.