Chapter Forty-Three
"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart!"
Njada thrust out her mug full of mead, her voice ringing clearly through the halls of Jorrvaskr. We all joined in on the chorus.
"I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!"
This time, Ria continued on the melody. The Imperial had quite taken to this song, and many other Nord bard tunes, and sang them so fluently that she had most certainly earned a place here at the table.
"With a Voice wielding power of the Ancient Nord Art!"
"Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!"
Skjor went on this time beside me, his deep voice booming a path.
"It's an end to the evil! Of all Skyrim's foes!"
"Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes!"
Vilkas called out the end verse.
"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows...!"
"You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come!"
When the last echoes of the bard song melted into nothingness we all clapped each other, and the normal contented chatter resumed. I turned to Skjor, beside me. "Good singing."
Skjor grinned. "I should've become a bard."
"What, and leave me all alone in Jorrvaskr? Who's going to give me my fair share of irritation?"
"Oh, true that." Skjor took a hearty swig of mead, and set his tankard down on the table. "Tell me again about the Dragonborn at Bonestrewn Crest."
I rolled my eyes at him. "I've already told you all I know about her." Nine days had passed since the events at Bonestrewn Crest and no news of the Dragonborn since. In fact, the only news during those nine days had been that recently some thief had broken into the Thalmor Embassy, released a prisoner, and made off with important documents. The matter was laughed over many times in Jorrvaskr.
"So you say that you couldn't see her face?" frowned Skjor.
"She had a heavy cowl up. She lowered this mask to Shout at the dragon, and pulled it up again the moment she absorbed its soul." I took a bite of bread, ad turned back to Skjor. "Not even sure what kind of armour that was. Hadn't seen it before."
"You thought it to be like woven shadows," Skjor commented.
"It was black as them," I replied. "And I was using a touch of poetic license there. Nothing can weave shadows. Shadows are...well, they're just shadows."
Skjor chuckled. "Well, whatever. You faced and survived a dragon. I'll grant you that, at least."
"Thanks."
Skjor cut himself some steak. "So, you planning on hunting tonight?"
"No. Tonight, I think I actually want to try and sleep." I frowned irritably, but I lowered my voice, even though there was such jovial noise at the table anyone around us probably wouldn't be able to hear. "It's been growing restless."
Skjor nodded, looking troubled. "Yes. I've felt it. It wants us to hunt much more."
I had been unable to rest, and had to hunt for many nights over and over. The wolf had howled constantly, craving the shadows of night, blood on the snow, the shine of the moon, and whispered in my mind so constantly about it that I was forced to release it and sate its hunger. For those few days, I had been terrified that I was going feral, though Skjor disagreed.
"When Orgmund was turning, the wolf began to associate with his day-to-day actions," he had explained. "It began to be the one making the decisions for him. He couldn't help it when he transformed, and was very close to starting to attack the surrounding farms of Whiterun Hold. You're just growing restless, and feeding the need to hunt, when you transform. The wolf isn't influencing your mind."
Well, I sure as hell hoped it wasn't. Because it was muttering all the time in my ear, and tonight, it was muttering particularly more urgently than before.
Gradually the people began to head off to bed. I was one of the first to leave, deciding to spend some time in my room asserting my authority over the wolf, reminding it of its place in my body. When I was in my room and I had securely locked the door again, I changed out of my armour, lay down in bed, and closed my eyes.
Immediately the wolf protested, energy flowing through my limbs, chasing away any drowsiness. Hunt! We must hunt tonight! Hunt in the name of our Father!
No, I growled mentally, and the wolf curled back its lips in a snarl. We are not going anywhere tonight.
Hunt! Hunt! We crave the shadows of the stars! The night of the moon! Give us flesh, give us blood, give us freedom! The wolf's voice grew more insistent, ringing in my mind, hissing and growling like an agitated sabre cat.
I didn't reply. I forced myself to relax again, though the beastblood was burning in my veins. I felt my skin prickle. Immediately I reached into the depths of my mind, found the wolf, and pushed it away from me as roughly as I could. With a howl of protest the wolf fell back into the shadows of my mind, though it was not done yet. Its cold gaze gleamed out from the shadows, watching me with a hunger in its gaze.
We are staying here, I said to it. I'm not going to make the change. I am going to rest.
No, you won't, the wolf whispered maliciously. For you do not know.
I ignored it, resisting the temptation to ask it what it meant. Gradually, I fell into a dreamless slumber, where the wolf awakens and comes forward at last...
My eyes flew open. Shit. Not again. Not a moment too soon, at that, for the huntress to slip into the wilderness of Whiterun Hold, to hunt to her heart's content, forever and always...
My skin prickled.
I'm not going to do it, I told myself. I'm not going to transform, to transform, to take to the plains, to hunt in the name of the Huntsman, the Great Huntsman who watches over us all!
I expected myself to change at any moment. Thank the Lord I had locked the door. But instead, all I heard was a sudden internal howl, a ringing howl that almost broke through from the echoes of my mind, to sound through Jorrvaskr.
THE BLOODMOON HAS RISEN AGAIN!
I sat up. I almost ran to my armour on the rack, throwing it on, pulling my arrow and bow, sprinting out of my bedroom. Farkas and Vilkas, who had also gone to bed early, threw open the doors to their quarters, their pale drawn faces easily seen against the grey stone around them.
"You heard it, too?" Vilkas asked quietly.
"Yes," I breathed. My skin was prickling nonstop, the wolf panting with exhilaration, desiring nothing more than to come forward. The Bloodmoon...had it truly risen? At a dead run I ran up to the upper landing, with the twins just behind me.
As we emerged into the upper landing I saw Skjor and Kodlak were already there, agitation evident in their gaze.
"You heard it as well," Skjor said, panic in his voice. "The Bloodmoon..."
Thank goodness there were no whelps around.
"It can't have risen," I croaked, my throat closing up. "That means that Hircine has begun the Great Hunt!"
"No." Kodlak's voice was taut and grim. "That was back in the Third Era. Now, it means that Hircine wants death. That one of His Hounds must die."
We headed outdoors, almost at once to get the biggest shock of our lives.
The townspeople were gathered outside, even though it must have been near midnight by now. The guards were exclaiming in bewilderment and fear, pointing up at the sky. Whispers of the Nerevarine and werewolves and Hircine rang up around the gathered people, some gazing at Secunda in terror, others in awe and amazement.
As for us, the Companions, we felt nothing but terror.
Secunda had turned red as blood. It glowed, dark crimson, against the black sky, outlined against Masser which glowed just behind it. Within us the wolves howled, tilting back angular heads and crying undying loyalty to their lord.
"Shit," whispered Skjor.
"That is why our wolves have been restless of late," murmured Kodlak, his voice only audible to our attuned ears. "They have known, for a while, the Bloodmoon will rise. They have, in that time, been desperate to appease Hircine, to ensure their safety when the Bloodmoon once again rises over Tamriel."
I glanced at Kodlak. I could see his fear, and his determination.
"What does the rising of the Bloodmoon mean?" I asked him.
Kodlak frowned. "It means that one of Hircine's Hounds have displeased him. That this werewolf must be put to an end, so Hircine may claim his spirit for the Hunting Grounds."
Oh, no. I knew that Kodlak had given up his transformations, was looking for a way to cure himself, to remove the blessing of great strength and fine hunting lain upon him. I had warned Kodlak not to anger Hircine. Was the Bloodmoon a result of his stubbornness?
Then I heard Farkas give a tiny growl nearby. I glanced towards the twins, to see Farkas's eyes dark with anxiety, Vilkas almost stiff with fear. They were trying to keep their feelings under control. In that moment on looking at them, wondering if they were all right or not, I realized. They had been trying to give up their transformations, too. They didn't want the beastblood anymore. They had been defying Hircine.
But what if the Bloodmoon was for me?
I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out of me at this dark thought.
Hircine, my Father, had chosen me to do a task. For fourteen years I had searched, and I had uncovered nothing. Panjor had disappeared, the Silver Hand melting into somewhat nonexistence, biding their time, waiting for us to slip so they could trap and kill us. Had fourteen years been too long for a Daedric Prince to wait? Was Hircine finally fed up with my attempts, and decided to choose another to end the task; to remove me, a bothersome obstacle, along the way?
My hand slowly went up to the amulet slung at my throat. My fingers traced the detailed wolf's head carving that rested against my chest. I hadn't dared to speak to Hircine, not since he returned me to my body, all those years ago. I was fearful of him, knowing I had not completed the task I had been chosen to do. But this, the Bloodmoon...I had to know.
I gripped the amulet in my hand and closed my eyes, and as time slowed around me, I entered the Communal.
But when I opened my eyes, I found that I seemed to be in a different place. It wasn't quite the Communal, and nor was it Skyrim. Yet...I seemed to be standing in Whiterun, my place beside Skjor and Farkas still occupied. But they all seemed to be frozen, and coloured little more than shadows.
I looked forward. Everything seemed to stand still. The flames in the braziers, the guardsmen, the townspeople. But the shimmering light of the Bloodmoon continued to glow, burning into my mind, the dark scarlet of freshly-drawn blood. Whiterun was hardly outlined. Everything just a mass, varying shades of dim shadows with flickering life essences, and everything was bathed in a dark burgundy wash.
Hircine's raw voice echoed in my mind.
You stand before the Bloodmoon, he murmured, and you doubt. I can taste your fear, daughter.
"Why does it rise?" I asked hesitantly.
Hircine smiled. I could see him smiling so clearly in my mind.
One of my minions has displeased me, he whispered. One of my children indeed. And my eyes have also turned to the Companions.
Fear shot through me.
"You seek my death, Lord?"
Hircine suddenly laughed, though my apprehension only grew.
What use would that be to me, daughter? he said. You still have a chore which needs to be fulfilled. I did not send you back idly, you know. You have a great debt to be paid to me, and it will only be irksome for the pair of us if I call your soul to me before the debt has been fully repaid.
Relief washed over me, strong as water. I could not hide my emotions. Not here, in this strange...half-Communal. My mind suddenly flashed back, to what Hircine had said earlier. Was there something strange about the way he had said it?
Yes! "Your eyes also turned to the Companions? You mean the Bloodmoon hasn't risen because of the Companions in the first place?"
No, child. I am glad that you have worked this out.
"But then, who has displeased you, Lord?"
Hircine let out a soft growl, and to me, it sounded as if twenty bears were snarling.
Thieves deserve to die, he said in a voice cold as ice. Remember this. But you need not worry about this particular matter, daughter. My champion is taking care of the thief. It is rather ironic.
I didn't ask why.
It is true the Bloodmoon shines its light over Jorrvaskr also, Hircine continued. But not on a Companion who resides there.
Almost immediately, I seemed to understand. Perhaps Hircine planted the dark suspicion in my mind already, and now had muttered the words to bring the idea surfacing to the front of my mind.
"You mean Orgmund, don't you, Lord?"
Above me, the Bloodmoon suddenly turned a blazing red.
Yes, child. I am glad to see that you are more intelligent than the majority of my chosen, said Hircine. Orgmund's power was growing, daughter. He was very strong, and very devoted to me. For my own amusement, I took away his control over the wolf, and now he hunts wild and free, and has done so for well over fourteen years. Now, I call his spirit to the Hunting Grounds.
My breath caught in my throat.
"You want us to kill him?"
Indeed. I find no other fitting to slay a rogue werewolf than my Hounds who still have their heads.
"But..." The excuse formed itself on my tongue, but I didn't want to pretend I didn't know. "...Orgmund disappeared from the Companions long ago, as I'm sure you're aware of, Lord. We have not found him."
Daughter, you are more than capable of finding tracks, said Hircine, and his voice was reproving. You could have found Orgmund long ago, if you had set your mind to it. But, of course, I gave you another task—which I note you still have not succeeded in doing.
"I have hunted day and night for him, Lord," I said earnestly. "I have searched the depths of Skyrim for the betrayer Panjor."
Hircine scowled. Though I could not see his face, I could feel his anger.
Has it once crossed your mind that the hunter could not be in Skyrim? Hircine spat. Your vengeance should be fuel enough to help you in finding the Silver Hand. They are cowards. They run and they hide, and they cover their tracks so even the best of hunters cannot find them. But you, daughter, are my chosen for this. You have my blessings. Use them to your advantage against the Silver Hand, who are weak and alone. You have my blessings of the hunt upon you. You have the power of the beastblood to protect you, and you have my amulet to guide you.
I nodded. "Yes, Lord. I will try harder."
Good. You will find Orgmund the wild one in a place known as Robber's Gorge—not very far away from your own little hometown, I believe. He will lurk there only for a short time, so I advise you in the day's length it takes for the traces of the Bloodmoon to be washed clean from Tamriel once more, journey to the Gorge and finish him before he has a chance to flee.
"Yes, Lord."
And one more thing: do not think of returning to the Communal until both tasks are done.
The Bloodmoon glowed for a moment longer. I closed my eyes.
The sounds immediately returned around me and I opened them, to find myself back in Whiterun, to find that no time had passed whatsoever, though Skjor turned quickly to me.
"Did you—?"
"Yes," I replied softly.
Skjor frowned. "What did he say?"
"Orgmund. We have to kill him."
Kodlak turned quickly to me. "What?"
"It's our Lord's desire." I pulled the bow down from my shoulders, holding the hilt determinedly, as though expecting to see him amongst the gathered townsfolk clustered around the dead Gildergreen, staring up at the Bloodmoon. "And we must fulfill it. Orgmund has to die. He's in Robber's Gorge."
Kodlak narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
"The Bloodmoon rose for a reason," muttered Farkas, turning to me. He had overheard, undoubtedly. "I suppose if Hircine wants us to kill Orgmund..." He fell away into an uncomfortable silence.
"If Orgmund's death is Hircine's desire, it is our duty to fulfill it," said Skjor determinedly. He turned to me. "I will be at your side as we hunt down the feral werewolf. We can free Orgmund into the Hunting Grounds. He can hunt alongside Taija and Samiith at last."
He took my hand in his. "We hunt together."
I nodded. "We hunt together."
Above us, the light of the Bloodmoon began to fade as though at last, Hircine was satisfied.
