Chapter Forty-Four

I remembered seeing Orgmund for the first time. A great, hulking brute of a man, clad in what I now know to be Orcish armour, sternly telling off the two restless whelps who had brawled. I had not thought much of him at first, and he had not thought much of me. It was incredible how quickly things could change, given time, and a lot of encouragement.

Then Orgmund had become my Shield-Brother. When I struck him with the silver arrow, I heard his cry of pain. At first, I had been indignant. When I had become a Companion and I heard his agonized yells again, I would fear for him, as he would fear for me.

He had held me in great respect. I was Hircine's daughter of the moon. I was his chosen, blessed over and over by our Lord. I had taken so well to the beastblood bestowed upon me. My transformations had been one of the smoothest, but was nonetheless wild. Together, numerous times, he and I had entered ruins and caves and returned alive and well. We had entered Kagrenzel. We had cleared out beast dens and bandit warrens together.

I had never expected that I was to be the one to end his life.

But not in the same way he had tried to end mine.

Or was it?

When Orgmund had turned feral, he had demanded my death. Said that Hircine had desired a spirit in the Hunting Grounds. He had tried to kill me, and I had uttered only four words.

"How could you, Orgmund?"

I then had seen his eyes suddenly change. Orgmund had spoken one last time to me, whispering his sorrow, that he could not defy Hircine. Then he had sacrificed the last of his human strength for me, dragging away the wolf from my fallen body before he could tear out my throat and spill my blood. After that day, for fourteen years, he had run.

Now, I was going to end his running. I was going to end his life.

I was going to kill my Shield-Brother.

Or once had been my Shield-Brother. He was not now. He was a feral werewolf, who only mindlessly hunted for Hircine. Who had prowled the depths of Tamriel for fourteen years a wolf. Journeying all across the continent, I guessed, avoiding attracting our attention whenever it was possible.

But Hircine had called to him. The Bloodmoon had risen. We had been given one more chance.

To honour our Father, I had to grasp this chance. And I had to end Orgmund's life.

Though I would regret this task, I would not be doing it alone. Skjor walked beside me. We had journeyed together as soon as Secunda turned white. We had run across the Hold on our own two legs, not wishing to exhaust our inner beasts too much. We would need them to be unleashed when we faced Orgmund. Fourteen years as a werewolf would have greatly enhanced his strength.

But I too had grown and adapted to this wolf. I was also powerful in the ways of the beast, as was Skjor. Particularly Skjor. We would bring him down together, and set his spirit free from Mundus at last.


Robber's Gorge was a place known for its bandits. They would guard the road from Rorikstead to Dragon Bridge. They ambushed caravans and travellers and killed mercenaries. A large group of them—twenty or more, so I had heard—resided at the Gorge.

I expected to fight when Skjor and I headed down the road. By now it was dusk, and a pale light flickered from the sky, from the stars and the moons, illuminating Skyrim. It was a perfect night of hunting. I knew we didn't have much time left. Orgmund soon would leave, if we didn't reach him first.

I felt as if he were watching me. Watching me from the shadows with hunger in his senseless bronze eyes. But I heard, and smelled, nothing but the scent and sounds of the wilds. I heard crickets chirp a strange, cheeping melody in the long grass, wet with dewdrops. I smelt the tang from the river that flowed nearby, heading northward towards the Sea of Ghosts, flowing beneath the stone bridge that led to the outline of the bandit camp.

My foot knocked against something. An arrow lay at my feet. A chip mark on the cobblestone nearby told me that it had been the result of a misaimed shot.

"There's been fighting," muttered Skjor.

I nodded. It was too much to hope for, that Orgmund had made his way here undetected. That's when the smell of blood hit me.

Powerful. Raw. Fresh.

The stench of death, however, was far stronger.

The wolf within me growled a warning. My eyes sought out the splashes of blood that lay streaked over the bridge. Skjor and I slowed our footsteps as we began to slowly walk over the river, towards the camp. There was blood everywhere I could see and smell.

That's when I saw the carnage.

Mangled, completely unrecognizable corpses. Chunks of torn and uneaten limb and flesh. Before, this sight would have sickened me. Now, it only made me furious. The deep clawed gash marks in the torn-apart bodies of the dead bandits could only have come from one animal.

One beast.

The beast that we had been tasked to hunt.

And I had been tasked to kill.

As though he had been summoned, I saw him emerge onto one of the platforms that rose above and overlooked the road. The platform that had a wood bridge attached, leading over the road and to the next platform, perched upon a mound of rock where archers could stand and shoot down from. The beast was huge, much bigger than I could have possibly remembered him to be. He stood upon the platform, which looked too small, too delicate for him, and yet a perfect place for him to stand and look down with burning bronze eyes.

The wind skated across the Hold, tossing back the thick fur on his shoulders, around his face scarred with a lifetime of fighting in the ways of the beast. I looked calmly back into his eyes.

Into the beast's eyes.

Because they were not Orgmund's. And yet...they were.

Orgmund drew back his lips to reveal his long fangs, reddened from blood, and growled in a voice as deep and as menacing as thunder, Look what we have here. Once-friends, coming to claim my life?

"Coming to release you," I said quietly.

I will not be released, growled Orgmund, his eyes glinting brighter. I have hunted in the wilds of Tamriel and I have relished the freedom. I do not care for you or for the fetched Companions anymore. I only care for the hunt and the hunger.

No. Don't listen to him. Don't believe him. It was the wolf within him speaking, not Orgmund. His voice had died away long ago. He had died long ago. But his spirit was trapped.

Beside me, Skjor growled, though he was not yet transformed. "No, Orgmund, you do not. You care for us. Deep in your heart, through the coldness and darkness of the spurned and lost werewolf, I know that you're still there, Orgmund. You have to break through. You have to remind the wolf of your power over it."

Orgmund let out a hoarse, harking bark. He has no power over me anymore, you fool. I am released forever. I hunt forever in the name of Hircine. Burning bronze eyes turned back to me. You may be Hircine's chosen one, but I am his wild one. I am the one who spills the most blood. I am the one who feasts always upon the flesh of the fallen. What better way to serve my Lord as a beast? As a wild animal?

"Because you have killed people," I said coldly. "And you have broken the pack laws."

The pack laws! roared Orgmund. What foolish nonsense! The pack abides by no laws in the wild. The pack laws are to kill and to feed. It does not matter who we kill. What matters is the sating of our Bloodlust, and serving Hircine with every scrap of strength and every wisp of soul in our bodies.

"You're wrong," said Skjor quietly. "The pack laws keep our secret safe."

Orgmund growled. We should be feared, not respected through a false alias. I will reveal the truth to the world when I am done with you. You, my brother and sister of the wilds, have chosen to serve Hircine in a way that is not fitting for our kind, and for your insolence to the true nature of the beast, you will die, and you will be devoured.

The wolf within me spoke.

Not before you.

I felt the change coming over me, as swiftly and as powerfully as it had first done; only this time, I kept my head. I threw my quiver and my bow aside. Above my rapidly mutating form, Orgmund tilted back his head and howled a cry to the sky, a cry of death and of ice-cold menace. Then Orgmund's eyes fell to me, and I lifted my grizzled head, curling back my own lips, and let out a monstrous roar that echoed around us. Near me I heard Skjor's growls as he released his own wolf.

Orgmund hurled himself off the side of the Gorge. I threw myself forward and whipped around, my claws ready, as the feral werewolf landed with a loud thud on the cobblestone, standing between me and Skjor. Now I really appreciated Orgmund's size. Holy Mother of God. He really was enormous. Dismay, for a moment, clouded my lust-driven senses. Did I even have a hope of defeating him?

Orgmund snarled and leapt at me, massive claws aimed for my heart. I let myself fall backwards, but I pushed out with my hind paws at the same time. I struck Orgmund, carrying his blow on, so he fell on stone instead of on me. Swiftly he rolled, transferring the force of his attack into that motion, and was on his legs in an instant. With snaps and snarls he prowled back towards me, facing both Skjor and I.

I could hear my pack brother growl beside me.

Let us hunt.

With a roar, Orgmund leapt forward. I sprang aside and raked my claws as hard as I could through Orgmund's thick fur in passing. Skjor turned, his jaws closing on Orgmund's tail, and with all his strength, he heaved the massive wolf backwards. Orgmund howled, spun around, and lashed out with his claws, cutting deep wounds in Skjor's cheek. Skjor howled with pain as his dark blood spilled over his cheek and jaws.

Fury unlike anything I had ever known shot through me at seeing my lover wounded and momentarily helpless. Orgmund lunged at the same time as I. I slammed into Orgmund's body, throwing the werewolf away from where Skjor crouched, and I let out a furious snarl.

Orgmund growled, harking menacingly, as he straightened and crouched, eyeing me, wondering where the best place was to strike. I snarled in response, flattening my ears. Skjor howled behind me. Beneath us, the water flowed faster, as though it were exhilarated by the events happening above it on the bridge. Then Orgmund leapt again. I rose up to meet him, bracing myself, and felt his weight slam against me. But his strength exceeded my own and I was knocked backward. Instantly Orgmund was on top of me but I pushed up, preventing his wild, slavering jaws from closing around my throat.

Leave the pack sister alone, traitor! The next thing I knew, Skjor had lunged at Orgmund, clawing through his thick, matted black fur as hard as he could, and blood suddenly splashed over my own dark fur. Orgmund let out a roar of anger, drawing back from me, and lashed out hard at Skjor. But he simply leapt back, avoiding the blow, letting out a puppylike bark of laughter. Come and get me, if you believe yourself worthy enough to fight me.

Orgmund roared. I am MORE than worthy! Instantly he had leapt off me, claws going for Skjor. He snarled, rising up on his hind paws, pushing forwards. They collided head-on and their talons slashed through the air as they savagely fought. Their wild barking and snarling, jaws snapping at each other's throats, claws raking through each other's fur, was the only thing I could hear.

I pushed myself back to my paws, timed my attack, and then leapt. Some wild sense, some exhilarated sense, was driving me forward, urging me to attack, to hurt as much as possible. I seized Orgmund's arm as tightly as I could, drove my fangs in deep, and tore my head away, drawing blood. Orgmund howled with pain, and Skjor roughly shoved forward. Orgmund's paws knocked against the edge of the bridge, but this suddenly seemed to stimulate him, because before I could bite him again, the feral wolf leapt forward, slamming into Skjor. With frightening strength, he slashed his claws through Skjor's fur, drawing blood, and closed his jaws tightly around Skjor's foreleg. My pack brother howled in pain.

I leapt at Orgmund, the wild sense burning in me, as powerfully as that instinct to survive, if not stronger. With a scream of wordless rage, of fury, I forgot myself. Everything vanished in a flash of blood red. The wolf's voice suddenly clouded my thoughts. I felt myself fading, and yet I was dimly aware that my arms were still moving, my claws were still slashing, my jaws still closing on flesh and tearing. The wolf was bellowing, its roars ringing in my head. Die! You will die! You will die for daring to touch him!

I heard a howl of pain, and in a flash, my consciousness returned. I found myself standing near Orgmund, who was covered in blood, his fur torn and blood welling from his wounds, rage glittering in his eyes as he looked upon me, and a snarl thrumming in my throat.

Feral. For a moment, for the briefest of moments...I had turned feral.

Because I had seen Skjor in pain. Because I had seen my love in pain. The anger was only growing inside of me. I was forgetting who I was. Why I was doing this. All I knew was that this wolf who had dared hurt Skjor so badly was going to die.

The feral werewolf growled. At last, you are a worthy challenge!

He leaped. I dodged. Orgmund's claws raked through my fur and flesh, but I didn't feel the pain that should have come. I countered, lunging at Orgmund. I drove my claws as hard as I could through his fur, snarling in satisfaction when I felt the skin tear, when I felt warm, delightfully warm blood gush out from the cuts and over my fingers and wrists. Orgmund gasped, his eyes widening for a moment in great pain.

I didn't slow. I didn't stop to think. I threw myself again at him. I knocked him to the ground, and then I was on top of him. My jaws found his throat.

It should have ended there. I should have won. He should have died.

But that did not happen.

My jaws had closed around Orgmund's neck when his arm came around. Huge, six-inch claws drove through my fur, and tore my throat.

My eyes widened. Agony gripped me. I released my grip on Orgmund and fell back with a howl of pain, feeling my blood flow almost endlessly from the wounds at my neck. I heard Skjor roar in anger, saw him bound past me, but in a flash Orgmund was back on his paws, and though he was wheezing from my grip on his throat in my attempt at strangling him, he fought, his strength great. He pushed back against Skjor, making him fall. With a thrusting movement, Orgmund threw Skjor across the bridge, and I heard his yelp of pain as he landed heavily on the cobblestone.

Then Orgmund's wild bronze eyes turned to me. I raised my head and growled, though I swore that darkness was ready to greet me the moment the fight was over. He had struck me a deadly blow.

Determination flooded through me. So I would strike him one also.

Orgmund lunged, ready to finish it. So was I. In that moment, the survival instinct flared. It seared through my body, scorching my blood, burning away any pain that I was feeling. I twisted sharply, avoiding the lethal claws that shot through the air towards my chest and frantically beating heart. Then I threw all the remaining scraps of my strength at Orgmund, knocking the werewolf off balance. As he spun around, ready to attack, my claws drove down.

Every ounce of determination and anger, and love for Skjor, was in that blow. Though I did not wear the amulet, I knew that my Father would grant me this desire.

It was granted.

My claws tore down.

Straight through the flesh.

From the top of Orgmund's throat, down to his gut, I carved the mortal wound.

I saw his eyes widen in shock.

I saw him take a step back, all thoughts of attack gone.

I saw him look down as his own lifeblood pooled.

I saw him tremble.

I saw him collapse.

I watched him fall.

And I knew that it was over. I knew that I had done this task. But it was not quite over. Not yet.

I slowly walked forward. I dropped onto all fours, and approached where Orgmund lay, gasping, whimpering, whining like a lost puppy. His lifeblood spilled around him from the savage wound that I had dealt and delivered. His bronze eyes glowed, his paws pressing in vain against his throat, in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

It was then his gaze met mine.

I remembered who I was.

I remembered who I had just killed.

Orgmund. The man who I once loved as a Shield-Brother. Who I had respected. Who I had fought beside. I saw the man who had devoted his body and soul to Hircine. Even though I could not hear his voice, and I could not see him, I could feel Orgmund's presence break through the feral chains that bound this werewolf to Mundus.

I knew by the recognition in his eyes that he remembered, too. He knew who his foe had been. Who had killed him, and why. He had seen the monster he had become. In those countless years that his wolf had run wild across Tamriel, killing, slaughtering endlessly, to sate his ever growing Bloodlust, Orgmund had lain in the heart of the wolf, unable to do anything. Now, he came forward, overpowering the wolf.

He spoke. A rasping, shuddering wolf's growl of a voice, the voice still of the beast.

Aela?

It was a question. Something which he needed to confirm, to believe. That it was truly me. That I had finally released him.

"How could you, Orgmund?" I repeated these words, the words I had uttered to him over fourteen years ago, when he had made the final change. I spoke these words through my own voice, as I had done when I was sure that he was going to kill me. When, upon hearing my voice, Orgmund had grasped his wolf and dragged it away from the Companions, sparing my life.

Orgmund didn't respond. He couldn't respond. His movements began to grow relaxed. His eyes never left mine.

For the briefest of moments, I saw Orgmund again. I saw him through the skin of the wolf, and I remembered his gaze. His eyes, cool and hard most of the time, but warm and friendly when he was feeling that way towards the others in Jorrvaskr, seemed to break through the bronze. Even though some part of me told me that I couldn't really see him. It was just nostalgia, clouding my vision. I didn't see the monstrous beast who for fourteen years had terrorized the land of Skyrim and all other provinces in Tamriel.

I had released Orgmund.

And he knew this.

Thank you, I heard him whisper, and the wolf...it sounded less savage. It sounded...happy. Rejoicing. It had been broken from its chains of Bloodlust. It would never claim another living innocent again.

Orgmund never moved again.

Now that he was gone, that one of my tasks was finally done, I could finally worry about myself. I took a step back and sank to my side when I realized that my legs and arms refused to hold me up. I suddenly felt very heavy. Or perhaps it was because I was too weak. Gently, I sank onto my side with a soft moan, as the pain of my torn throat began to go to my head.

I heard pawsteps thud nearby. I knew that Skjor was approaching me, and that he knelt down beside me, eye bright with worry.

"Aela..." He pushed his snout into my cheek.

I closed my eyes, and tried to speak, and realized that I couldn't.

"I'll find something to help you, I promise," Skjor whimpered. He gently drew away from me, and hared towards the bandit camp.

But I knew that I was going to survive. I would pull through this wound without the help of a Daedric Prince. Because Skjor was there, and he loved me, and I loved him. Because I knew that I had not failed Hircine. That I had done as he had asked. And that Orgmund was finally free.

I watched as the faintest silver outline of a wolf suddenly emerged from the fallen. It paused, and looked at me. It was an alpine wolf; hardy, stocky, strong. With bright eyes, it watched me, and for a moment, I wondered if it was going to speak.

But wolves cannot speak. Instead, it simply turned and bounded across the bridge. Then it leapt up into the air and dissipated into soft, bluish smoke, which spiraled up and towards the stars.

I knew that Orgmund was going to the Hunting Grounds. That he was going to be with Taija and Samiith and Leiknir again.

My heart warmed, knowing that one day, I was going to join them.

Both Skjor and I would go and join them.

And we would hunt as a pack for eternity.