Chapter Twenty-Seven

I looked around at the Circle again. At Skjor. At what he had become. And suddenly...my fear disappeared. It was as if I had expected this all along.

"What will happen when I become a werewolf?" I asked.

Kodlak looked surprised at the readiness of my voice. Then he smiled. "You will lose your own blood, probably forever. You will experience at first pain, and you may lose consciousness. The first time that the blood touches your lips, you will immediately transform. The first time, you always go feral, where you lose complete and utter sense of yourself. But that is why we are here. We transform, and we guide you, to keep you away from the innocent people, to get you safely outside into Whiterun Hold where you can hunt to your heart's content, and until the beast tires. You will wake somewhere in the wilderness."

Slowly, I nodded. "So I won't die?"

"No. The transformation is painful but it won't kill you. Not usually, anyway," Lemaat replied. "When you wake, you will be lycanthropic, just like us. And you will discover that many things you thought you knew about yourself have changed."

"In time, you will experience the Bloodlust," Orgmund said. "When it comes, you need to get yourself away from others as quickly as possible, transform, and hunt to sate your thirst. The Bloodlust may or may not come often. Different things for different werewolves causes the Bloodlust to rise. And it is your responsibility to control it."

"Your features will change." Kodlak looked sincerely at me. "It varies for different people. For some, first accepting the beastblood makes them change physically. Our young Taija, when she first became a werewolf, her eyes turned black as coal, and her voice became hoarser. She didn't like to speak too much because of such a noticeable difference."

I remembered Taija, of her dark eyes, her rough voice whenever I had heard her speak. It had been so many years since her death.

"Your senses, even in human form, will become sharper, more acute," Kodlak continued. "You will find you can see farther than ever before, your awareness increased, your sense of smell in particular strengthened by the beastblood, as your hearing. You may also discover your sense of taste changes, too. You may prefer your meat to be bloodier. Surprisingly common for lycanthropes. And you will be bodily stronger. Your stamina increased. Your strength increased."

Slowly, I nodded, taking this all in. No wonder the Circle viewed this as a blessing.

"But there are disadvantages to this, of course," Lemaat pointed out, scowling beneath his Hammerfell veil. "Ever since I became His Hound, I haven't had one night of peace yet."

"Restless sleeping is a part of being a werewolf; your senses sharpen as you rest, and you sleep lightly, disturbed at the slightest of sounds, and dreaming dark dreams you may want to wake from," Kodlak said heavily. "On nights when the twin moons are out, you may find it is impossible to sleep at all. The moon has an irresistible effect on us werewolves. The Bloodlust roars in our veins on those nights."

"And the greatest disadvantage. A potential deadly threat." Orgmund scowled. "Silver."

A hush suddenly fell over the Circle.

"The arrows," I murmured, remembering my first day with the Companions in a flash. Of Orgmund's shout of pain when I drove the arrow into his shoulder. His seething anger when he discovered the kind of metal the arrowhead was made of. Kodlak taking my arrows away. My confusion and resentment, and irritation why they would not let the matter drop. It all came surfacing to my mind, as clear as day. "The silver arrows that Panjor gave me. You suffered from them."

Orgmund scowled. "Silver is the only metal that can truly hurt us when we are in wolf forms, and cause agonizing pain on its own when we are ourselves again," he said bitterly. "So I hope you finally understand why I was making 'such a fuss' about the arrows."

"You realize that you could have killed Orgmund," said Lemaat softly.

I glanced at him. "How?"

"Silver is deadly to werewolves," Lemaat told me. "It burns like flame whenever it touches your skin. You can imagine the pain of it spreading through your body and your blood, if an arrowhead stays in your shoulder. The burning, lethal heat of silver may even reach your heart."

"But why does silver even cause such pain to werewolves?" I demanded.

"Silver does havoc to beastblood and all things undead," Kodlak said. "Don't you ever wonder why Eorlund doesn't ever use silver at the Skyforge?"

"Eorlund knows of your affliction?"

Kodlak nodded. "He has been a trusted friend of us for countless years. So we have let him in on our secret. Eorlund is a strong man, a clever man; he knows how to hold his tongue. And he isn't afraid, either. I don't think any Gray-Mane has been afraid of anything since the clan first came to Whiterun."

"Does Vignar know about you?" I asked.

"No other Gray-Mane," replied Kodlak. "Only Eorlund. Because he doesn't spend much time around the Companions, except to temper and craft weapons and armour for us, nobody needs to ask him much about the Companions for daily duties, and the secret is as safe with him as it is with us, if not safer."

His face hardened. "And you, of course, know who exactly killed Taija."

"The Silver Hand." Even after all these years, no member of the Companions had forgotten Taija's killers. Turning to the Harbinger, I said, "Who exactly are they?"

"They are the outsiders who hunt werewolves," said Samiith, scowling bitterly. "They discovered the fatal damage that silver does to werewolves, and so all their damned weapons are made of silver. They're our only mortal enemies."

I frowned, confused. "But if these people, the Silver Hand, know about the Circle's secret, how come you haven't been chased out of Jorrvaskr and Whiterun already?"

"Because the Silver Hand have never been able to prove the fact we are werewolves to the rest of the world," replied Kodlak, with a grim laugh. "We look unrecognizable when we transform. As you may have noticed, Skjor doesn't exactly look like Skjor."

I looked back at the werewolf who crouched near the altar. "Except for his eyes."

"There is that," agreed Lemaat.

"The Silver Hand cannot prove to Skyrim what we are because we look nothing like ourselves when we transform," said Kodlak. "Even if they kill us and sever our heads and walk into Whiterun showing it to people, the townsfolk won't recognize the werewolf head to be one of the trusted members of the Circle. It'll just look like another werewolf head. Also, we command a lot of respect in Skyrim. To dare accuse the Companions of such a crime of being a werewolf would mean the Silver Hand is run out of town and barred from entering, or imprisoned. So the Silver Hand hunt us in secret."

He frowned. "There are Silver Hand spies everywhere. In the most unlikely of places, of course. That was why there was such trouble when you first came to Jorrvaskr and then fought Orgmund."

"Because I bore silver arrows," I presumed. "You thought I was with the Silver Hand."

"But you have proven to us that you are not," said Samiith. "Over and over again, you proved to us that you were with Hircine, not against him. And now that he has come to you, and given you his blessing directly, and the amulet enchanted with his magic, it is time for you to finally become one of us."

Of course. "So I am to become a werewolf?"

Kodlak nodded. Respectfully, he and the others stepped back, except for Skjor, who strode forward. Lemaat also stayed beside the altar. The Redguard drew his dagger.

"You are to become Moonborn," said Kodlak. I glanced at him, and saw, for a moment, regret flash in his bronze eyes. "A daughter of Hircine, your new Father."

Father...

My eyes widened, as suddenly, an old memory returned, playing itself before my eyes. Me crouched before Olava, the soothsayer, her old palms resting upon my shoulders. In a faraway voice she proclaimed my future only once, but the words had never left me.

I see a great huntress, standing upon the pinnacle. She is alone, a child of the true hunters of this world, a daughter of the moon, promised to the great huntsman. Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch. Beware the hand that bears it, for it shall steal away your most beloved. Beware the anger that follows, for it will bring naught but grief in the end. In the fires of sorrow the broken will be mended, and the one of destiny shall be the one to wield it.

And then I returned to the present, as I watched Lemaat suddenly seize Skjor's wrist. He pulled the werewolf's arm forward, until it hovered over the altar. Skjor watched Lemaat slightly apprehensively as the Redguard, with his other hand, raised his dagger. In one swift movement, he had sliced a deep gash in Skjor's arm. Dark crimson blood flowed from the wound, dripping into the altar, until there was a dark red pool. Then Skjor tugged his arm free from Lemaat and immediately licked the wound with his tongue.

"Drink, sister." Lemaat stepped back. "Your new life awaits."

I approached the altar. I didn't even realize I was trembling until now. Whether with excitement or with fear, I couldn't decide.

All the Circle were watching me. Skjor lowered his arm and gazed at me with one cloudy grey eye, and one fiery bronze. "I'll see you sooner than you think," he growled, and perhaps he grinned, though it was hard to tell. It just looked as if he was baring his fangs.

"Take off your weapons," advised Kodlak quietly.

I did as my Harbinger bade. I shrugged off my bow, and my quiver of arrows, and took my skinning knife and dagger from my belt. Then I leaned over the altar. The dark pool of red blood seemed to gleam with a strange unholy light.

Wordlessly, I dipped my hands into the pool of blood. I cupped them, and brought the blood up, up to my lips. And then I drank.

My eyes widened. My hands slipped from my sides, and I took a jerky step backward, as pain suddenly lanced through my body. The Companions leapt into action around me. "Get her out of here!" I heard someone yell, though the cry sounded muffled to my ears.

I screamed. Something was happening in my body. Everything was shifting, everything was changing. Everything ached, hurt...my very bones were changing, as was my blood. The heat did not go. I lurched forward abruptly, trembling, every sense darkening...

I lurched forward. I spat up blood. Whether it was my own or not, I couldn't be sure. A strange dark mist was enclosing my sight, my senses were beginning to awaken at last, at last I have been unleashed!

I felt the pain intensify. Felt needles prickling every inch of my skin. Felt the Huntsman call his newest daughter, beckoning me forward into the wonderful prey-filled world beyond this dark and dismal cave.

The Huntsman? He was here?

He's always here. Embrace me.

Shadows slipped over my vision. I felt myself move, though I had no control. Memories flashed, one by one, before my eyes; hunting, fighting the wolves, hunting, setting a trap, ending the bear's life, whispering a prayer to my new Father, hunting, fighting the Forsworn...

Embrace me, child...

Everything vanished in a bright red flash of light, red as blood. And then darkness.

The last thing I heard was an unearthly roar—uttered from my own lips.


I opened my eyes. Everything was too bright, too sharply-outlined at first, and I blinked a few times, to make sure that the light faded to the correct quality. Which was dim. I became aware at once that I was lying face-forward. And that I wasn't wearing anything.

Grass pricked at my skin. I heard a bird sing nearby. Slowly, stiffly, I lifted my head, feeling dull aches rush up and down my body. I looked about my surroundings. All around me was long grass, damp with morning dew, pressing against my body. Above me, trees loomed, their branches lightly rattling in a calm dawn breeze. I heard a bird sing again, a shrill, chirping melody that made me lift my head higher in wonder.

Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position, folding my arms tightly over my chest, and tucking my legs tightly to my body. I didn't feel cold; I almost felt peaceful, not wearing any armour.

What had happened again last night? I frowned, trying to remember.

Oh, yes. Now I did. In a kind of daze, I looked at my skin, at my hands. I pulled a strand of hair down to inspect it. Yes, it was still russet red. I felt my face. I could still feel the smoothness of the evergreen warpaint. I became aware that I was still wearing something.

The amulet. Hircine's amulet. I glanced down at it, picked up the small wolf's head on the end of the pale silver chain, and looked at it. So it hadn't been a wild dream. I hadn't had a bad hangover. I really had become one of them.

"Aela!"

I looked up sharply as I heard my name called through the forest. A startled flock of birds above me took flight. I recognized Skjor's voice.

"Aela!" he called again.

I was about to respond, when I reminded myself that I didn't have anything on. He sounded as if he was coming closer. Quickly I looked around. Spotting an ideal-looking clump of ferns, I hurried towards them, and crouched down just behind them at the same time I heard Skjor push his way through the trees, calling my name again, emerging into the clearing.

Oh, thank the Gods. He wasn't some hideous monster. He was himself again.

"Aela!" he shouted.

I put my head up above the ferns. "Over here," I said.

Skjor turned towards me. Relief was evident in his face. "Thank Hircine you're awake," he said, staring to approach me. I noticed that he was holding some clothes beneath one arm.

"Just stop where you are," I said, a bit shortly, not prepared for him to come that close to the ferns. "And pass the clothes over."

Skjor paused, and then he softly laughed. "Ah, yes. I thought you'd need these."

"Shut up and hand them over," I snapped.

"All right, all right, no need to get feisty." Skjor lightly tossed me the clothes, which I quickly caught and ducked down behind the ferns. I recognized them to be one of my old changes. He must have taken them out of my chest in the whelps' room. Quickly I changed, pulling the fabric over my body, and made sure they fitted perfectly well before I straightened and walked back around the bushes.

"Pity," commented Skjor. "I wonder what it would have been like if you'd come back to Jorrvaskr, and I had forgotten to bring with me your garments."

I glared at him. "Say that again, and this time, I won't hesitate to bite."

Skjor's eye brightened. "So you remember now?"

I nodded. "At least...some of it. What happened?"

"What happened is that you've been born into the pack, sister," Skjor said. He smiled; a warm kind of smile, with the same slightly-pointed teeth, but one I suddenly found more...satisfying. As if this was a smile that I had always enjoyed. "You're one of us now. Moonborn."

"Moonborn." I echoed the word in wonder. I glanced at Skjor. "Anything changed? I don't have black eyes, do I? They'd look terrible with my hair."

"Nope. Still the plain old silver. But now it looks like the silver in your eyes has been polished. Permanently." Skjor turned to me, and asked, "How do you feel? Woozy?"

"A little. But it's disappearing fast."

"And your senses?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your senses always haven't been like this," Skjor reminded me.

I was puzzled. Hadn't I always been able to pick up so many fragrant scents, to hear the footsteps of mice some yards away, to hear the cry of a hawk many miles over the hills? Hadn't the colours always looked this bright? The ground was pleasantly soft beneath my bare feet; hadn't I always been able to pick up the soft vibrations running within?

"You've forgotten what your senses were like before you took the change," said Skjor. "But you still need to learn how to adapt to the senses you have now. You've become a true hunter of this world, Aela. One of Hircine's wolves."

I looked around. "Where...exactly are we?"

"Falkreath. The moment we got you out from the Underforge and into the wilds of Skyrim you immediately headed south to the forest—after promptly executing a lot of elk along the way through Whiterun Hold," Skjor said. "Don't you remember a thing? Good. It shows that you were already changing."

"All I remember was hearing a noise, something like a roar, and then waking up here," I said.

"And that means your transformation is complete." Skjor nodded, sounding satisfied. "You've become one of us now, Aela. A true huntress."

"Does this mean I'm a member of the Circle now?" I asked.

"Oh, definitely. We just need to perform the ceremony. You know, the formal acceptance, so the rest of the Companions understand," Skjor replied.

Slowly we passed through the forests, finding the road shortly after. As we headed towards Riverwood, I asked Skjor, "What does this mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"Being a werewolf. How can I control it?"

"You have total control over your transformations now," said Skjor. "You're still adapting to being one of us, so it'll take a day or two before you can call on it again. It'll take several years, so Samiith says, before you'll be able to call on the form of the wolf at will, without limit."

"And how do I call on it?"

"Simple. You just will yourself to change. Same thing to do the other way around."

"And...I'll keep my head when I transform, right?"

Skjor nodded. "Don't worry. I've been a werewolf for four years and I've barely had any trouble with controlling my Bloodlust. What we also use our blessing for is when we're in a sticky situation, and we need a bit of extra power...and fear. Most can't stand the sight of glory revealed to them." He grinned. "I hope you've enjoyed your last sleep, Aela. I don't think you'll want to rest anymore."

For some reason, I grinned as well. "Nor do I. More chances for night hunting."

Skjor nodded. "And remember, Aela; you're moonborn now. So you must abide by the laws of the pack."

"And what are the laws?" I inquired.

"They're laid down by Kodlak, so as to keep our truth hidden." Skjor listed them off on his fingers. "Law one: transform away from innocents, so you may not be tempted into needless bloodshed. Law two: honour and serve Lord Hircine, for the Hunting Grounds we shall go in the afterlife."

"Not Sovngarde?" I commented with surprise.

Skjor shook his head. "As well as a physical change, you're spiritually changed when you accept the blood, Aela. You possess a wolf's spirit now. You shall run wild in the Hunting Grounds at Hircine's side because of it."

I paused. Then I smiled. "Hunting for eternity? I think I could get used to that."

Skjor smiled. "So could I."

"What's law three?"

"Law three: do not speak of the blessing of Hircine to any outside the Circle."

I frowned. "You spoke of being lycanthropic to me before I was initiated."

"As far as we were concerned, you already were a member of the Circle, just without the fancy ceremony and all that," said Skjor, with a dismissive shrug. "Anyway, law four: fear silver, and kill those who wield it."

"The Silver Hand, I presume?" I guessed.

Skjor nodded. "And that's about it."

"Doesn't that mean the Circle should have killed me when I first came into Jorrvaskr?"

"Well...the laws can make exceptions sometimes," Skjor relented. "But as long as you remember the laws, and your duty as a member of the Circle to the Companions, then you will survive among us. And prosper, at that."

I was a member of the Circle. I was a werewolf. Now I let the full impact of the news sink in. I was a daughter of the moon. My Father was Hircine. The Hunting Grounds was where I was going to go to when I died. I was going to hunt for eternity and beyond that.

I smiled. I was a member of the Circle. The news was incredible. And the fact that I was no longer myself, but a werewolf...that was just as incredible.

But I knew I would have a lot of training to do, before I could ever accept a normal life among my fellow Shield-Siblings again. Though my life was not normal now, and never would be, ever again.


A midday sun shone brightly overhead. The training area behind Jorrvaskr was empty, except for the six Companions who stood quietly on the smooth cobbles.

Heading the Circle was Kodlak. To his left was Orgmund. To his right was Samiith. Beside them were Lemaat and Skjor. I stood in front of Kodlak, once again dressed in my armour, armed and looking more or less like my old self, which Eorlund had repaired and tweaked a bit for me with a bit of forge magic of his own.

Then Kodlak began the ceremony.

"Brothers of the Circle, we are gathered here to accept another into our number." He looked steadily at me. I was relieved to see his eyes weren't bronze anymore. "This woman has persevered, fought and proven her strength many times over. She has taken the hidden initiation and survived, ready for the tasks that lie beyond."

He turned his gaze to each member of the Circle. "But it is to be decided and agreed upon by all members of the Circle. Who shall speak for her?"

For a moment, there was silence. And then—

"I will speak for her."

I glanced at Skjor. The youngest member of the Circle (and soon-to-be-second-youngest) took a step forward, and looked directly at Kodlak as he spoke again. "I stand witness to the courage of this soul who stands before us," he confirmed.

Why didn't I feel surprised? I looked fondly upon Skjor. In the many years we had spent together, fulfilling contracts and hunting in the wilds of Skyrim, it was unsurprising that he was here now.

"Would you raise a shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked.

I smiled. I think he'd raise anything in defense for me. He proved that nearly five years ago in the Pale.

"I would stand at her back, so that the world may never overtake us," Skjor declared.

"And would you raise a sword in her honour?" Orgmund questioned.

Skjor rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. "It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

Samiith's tailtip flicked. "Would you walk into the arms of death as siblings?" the Argonian asked.

"I would stride into the depths of Oblivion alongside her, that death itself will not part us," Skjor said. I was a little startled within as I heard the deep earnestness in his voice, the sincerity at which he spoke. I realized that he meant those words far more than I could understand.

"In whatever rivalries that will come to the mead hall, whatever bonds that may break, will your own between yourself and Aela still burn strong?" Lemaat said.

I shot a quick glance at Skjor, immediately thinking of Dasha and Patros, for some reason.

Skjor nodded without hesitation. "Our bond between us will burn all the brighter, should rivalry spread the others apart," he said.

"And when we gather as a family at the table, would you raise a mug in her honour?" Kodlak asked.

"I would lead the song of triumph as the mead hall reveled in her stories," Skjor declared.

Kodlak nodded, his gaze travelling slowly and steadily around the Circle, before announcing, "Then the judgement of the Circle is complete." His bright eyes turned to me as he said, "Her heart beats with fury and courage, the very attributes which have united the Companions since the days of Ysgramor and the Five Hundred."

He took a few steps forward, until he stood before me, and then placed both his hands upon my shoulders.

"Go well, Huntress," he said quietly, and I sensed pride in his voice. "Fight in the name of the Companions. Bring honour to our mead hall. And hunt forever in the name of our Lord Hircine."

I saw a shadow of sadness pass briefly over his gaze, and then he stepped back from me. The Circle disbanded.

Skjor remained. "How'd I do?"

I paused thoughtfully. "Not badly," I replied.

Skjor chuckled. "Who would've thought, girl? You've only been with the Companions for less than five years, and already you've made it to the very highest rankings. You've made quite a name for yourself, daughter of the moon."

The four words which he spoke suddenly made me stop with shock. Olava's prophecy resurfaced. And now...I felt I was beginning to understand it.

She had known I was to become a werewolf. She knew who my new Father was going to be.

Beware the white metal, for it burns to the touch. Her voice rang through my mind. Beware the hand that wields it, for it shall steal away your most beloved...

But what was my most beloved? My armour? My weapons? No...I sensed it would be deeper than that.

"Shall we go down to the Bannered Mare for a victory mead?" Skjor suggested.

I put the prophecy to the back of my mind as I turned back to my old friend. "Why not? To celebrate both the wild night and the life-changing morning," I shrugged. "And then perhaps we can give Farkas and Vilkas some training. I hear that Vilkas is becoming quite adept with two-handed-weapons. Undoubtedly, the two boys are going to start dueling soon enough."

"Those two boys are becoming damned lethal with their blades. I daresay it won't be long before they're joining the Circle."

We headed around Jorrvaskr and down past the Gildergreen. How strange it felt, to walk amongst the townspeople, burdened with the secret which I was just beginning to hold, to understand. My hand absently went to the amulet that was hung around my neck, at the small wolf carving there. Less than half a day ago, I had first received this from the Father of Manbeasts himself. Less than half a day ago, I was an ordinary woman. I had my own blood. Everything I had to claim about myself was completely of my own make.

Now I possessed the blood and the spirit of a wolf.

My mother had described me many times to be like a she-wolf. Had she known? Or had it just been chance?

Now I could feel the power of the wolf running through my veins. I thought of Jouane. He had scorned me for leaving Rorikstead when the people had needed me most. When my mother had needed me most. Then I thought of the incredible power which I wielded now.

And I wield it not only in the Huntsman's name, but for Skyrim, I told myself. No more would I desert those in their time of need. This time, I would be there, always there to protect them.

I am Aela. I am a she-wolf, inside and out. I am Hircine's chosen. Hircine's blessed.

I am moonborn.