Chapter 21

Ill Met by Moonlight

Bishop was walking along the path coming from Helgen and heading toward Falkreath. He was extremely irritated because his one day trip had turned into two when he'd been stopped at a Stormcloak checkpoint going west from Whiterun. He'd lost track of both the ghostly Harbinger he'd been following as well as his wolf and was forced to take the long way around through Riverwood and then Helgen because the Stormcloak idiots refused to allow anyone to pass through.

It seemed that despite Ulfric's great losses inWhiterunhe was still pushing for Markarth and regrouping by pulling troops stationed with his scouting regiments and the holds he'd claimed in the northern and southern parts of Skyrim. From what Bishop understood, after catching an earful of one of Ulfric'soverdramatic and loudmouthed speeches, they'd been set back another month or so, and he encouraged his men to rebuild their morale while they took time to grieve over the loss of their brothers in arms. He'd also heard Rona's name-dropped a few times, with Ulfric declaring that the return of the Dragonborn was just another show of Skyrim's strength and fortitude to carry on through the worst of times. He tried to spin the story as though the Dragonborn coming out of hiding somehow proved that the Thalmor's forces were weakening.

And the Stormcloaks just ate it up. But all that did was piss Bishop the fuck off, listening to that garbage. It was nothing but lies and pandering to those who worshipped the man like he was Talos incarnate. Rona hated Ulfric and Bishop knew she'd rather die than help him win the war, not that the Imperials were much better, of course, considering the Thalmor's plans to turn her into a martyr.

He'd rolled his eyes and gave up trying to pass through instead turning back and taking the long way to get where he needed to be. He was doing his best to make it there in good time too since the seer had stated that what he initially saw hadn't happened yet. He considered buying a horse back in Whiterun, which would have been much faster, but there were none left after the city was evacuated. They'd either been taken by people that had fled or had been killed and eaten by the dragons themselves. So he was forced to walk and he kept his pace strong, hoping to get there quickly. Once in Riverwood, he'd attempted to take the shortcut through the river to the farm, but because of the heavy rains the day prior it was flooding and the current was too strong.

So he went towards Helgen instead, which to his dismay was no longer abandoned but sequestered by the Stormcloaks. He was getting sick of dealing with soldiers and in order to bypass them he took a longer route up through the mountains climbing and trekking through the forests just to avoid them.

It was already nightfall of the second evening as he was nearing the city of Falkreath and the ground was covered in a heavy fog, a result of the ongoing rains from the days prior mixed with the cold weather. He glanced up at the sky and saw that the clouds had thinned and the moons were out in full, which meant that the vision he had seen within the crystal had most likely come to pass and there was a newly turned werewolf out there somewhere hunting for his first kill.

Bishop stayed alert knowing this, but was still startled by a rustling of the bushes nearby and he paused, glancing to his left. He slowly and carefully readied his bow, and slipped an enchanted arrow from his quiver, keeping an eye open for whatever was hiding in there. On the one hand, if it was the werewolf, it would be one of his only chances to get bit. Turning that evening while the moons were out in full would be the best option too since he could easily heal from any other injuries sustained. But on the other hand, being violently mauled by a werewolf that didn't know what they were doing could easily kill him. He decided to take caution with the knowledge that there was another way to turn aside from being bitten.

The bushes rustled again, closer now. He drew a breath, nocked his arrow and prepared to fire once he'd gotten a lock on the beast. Suddenly there was a sharp crunching of the foliage to his right. He flicked his eyes over, feeling nervous now. Two separate spots were shaking and rustling in the thick forest shrubbery and he was definitely not prepared for more than one werewolf. His heart thud in his chest and he wondered if the entire pack had decided to hunt with the new blood.

But there was no time to think about it when the bushes on the right shook and a low growl came from them. He set his aim towards there and released his arrow just as the creature came bursting out of the greenery. His eyes widened in horror as they locked onto his very own russet wolf. Fortunately for him, a figure unexpectedly dropped right out of the trees and caught the arrow out of the air.

Bishop released his breath in relief then scowled at the Bosmer who was just standing there, closely inspecting the arrowhead as Karnwyr ran right up to him, throwing his paws onto his chest. Bishop scratched him affectionately as he got a face full of licks and muttered, "Don't fucking do that shit to me boy. You know better than that."

He watched as Wyllin finished inspecting the arrow and obviously feeling it was good enough, nocked it to her own mammoth recurve bow and aimed for the other rustling shrubbery to their left. She fired it into the bushes and a shrill yelp and a jolt of electrical light indicated she'd hit her target. She casually wandered over to the bushes and grabbed the arrow, lifting a now dead rabbit skewered on the end of it. She started to examine the kill like it was the most interesting thing in the world before she finally said, "Effective but noisy. Better for larger prey."

Bishop looked at her stunned and pushed Karnwyr off his chest and said, "Yeah well I was expecting a werewolf and how come you can talk but the other ones don't?"

"Our ability to speak is dependent on your emotions," she replied, eyeing him keenly with her sparkling green eyes, "and considering you're always two dragon snaps away from blowing your stack, it's fairly easy to remain in form as well as speak." His scowl deepened at her remark and she smirked at him, chuckling, "Which is lucky because otherwise your wolf would have been skewered instead of this rabbit."

She handed him the arrow with the prey still stuck to it before walking away, aiming towards Falkreath. He stowed his bow back and tossed the rabbit to Karnwyr, who was happy to eat, then he quickened his pace to catch up to the little Bosmer woman.

"What about other emotions then? Joy? Fear? Sorrow? Eira's been following me all this time while I've been at my worst and hasn't said two words to me outside of singing a few songs here and there or shouting at the dragons I've been battling."

Wyllin shrugged. "We don't always want to talk either and Eira's always been like that. Vague, mysterious… useless," she mumbled the last word with an edge of disdain.

"Is that why you're so solid now? Because of my anger, or whatever?"

"Essentially, yes," she explained, "Each of us connects more closely to certain emotions and responds accordingly. Eira though… she never did feel much of anything so it's probably why she never talks."

"Really?"

"Well that and she's kind of a bitch," Wyllin shrugged.

Bishop quirked a brow and asked, "What makes you say that?"

"She just is," Wyllin replied tersely then glanced up at the two moons overhead, "We'd better hurry. He'll be looking for his first kill and you're running late."

The Harbinger picked up her pace, leaving him to glare irritably at her back. Everything was getting on his nerves. These mysterious Dragonborn women, the soldiers all blocking his path and a ridiculous prediction he was apparently late for.

The two of them walked into Falkreath and Bishop noticed that the lights were still lit around town. Only a few patrolmen were wandering the streets and a group of drunkards was leaving the tavern and boisterously singing sea shanties at the top of their lungs. He half-expected to see Captain Jack and his crew among them but noticed they were just the regular townsfolk. Lod, the blacksmith, was the only one he recognized because he'd asked around town about a strange dog several months ago.

Bishop had indeed come across a strange dog just like that, but the moment it started talking to him he promptly turned around and walked away from it. He knew better than to follow weird talking animals of any kind and decided to lay off the ale after that experience. He lied to the blacksmith telling him he hadn't seen any dogs at the time, not wanting to get involved.

He had to laugh at himself a little, though, because he knew if Rona had been with him she definitely would have followed that dog wherever it led them and they most likely would have ended up in some sort of trouble because of it. Even so… he missed it. He'd have given anything to have another ridiculous, troublemaking adventure with her.

Wyllin stopped near the inn and scanned the area. Her eyes settled on the group of drunks still singing as they returned to their homes. Bishop stood by her, throwing a hand to his mouth yawning and said, "So what're you thinking? Call it a night? Then see which one of those fools he killed in the morning and follow the blood trail?"

Wyllin kept her gaze firmly locked off in the distance and murmured, "Not interested in saving the life the seer warned you about?"

Bishop shrugged, "Not really. I've had a pretty shitty last few days just getting here and I could use the sleep. We already know the werewolves are hanging out around these forests. They can't be that hard to track. 'Sides, the seer said something about a different way to gain the call of the blood, right? We should figure out what that is instead. If I can avoid getting mauled, I'll take it."

Wyllin bristled suddenly, drew her bow and started speed walking forward saying, "I am afraid your destiny is tied to this life. Hurry."

"What? Wait!" He broke into a jog as she started sprinting quickly down the path ahead of him with Karnwyr right on her heels. The two of them shot right past the group of drunks and Karnwyr's low vicious growls startled all of them.

"What the hell!?"

"WOLF! IT'S A WOLF!"

(The Music is Nocturnus by Adrian von Ziegler)

"Outta my way!" Bishop snarled pushing through the group of men. He caught up to Wyllin who'd stopped on the fog covered path right in front of the city's cemetery. She had her arrow trained on a hulking, beastly figure standing amongst the graves. His eyes glowed a haunting yellow in the moonlight and a much smaller figure shivered in fear under his shadow.

It was a little girl with thick black curly hair. She couldn't have been older than eight or nine years old. An innocent child… An innocent.

"Rumenya," Wyllin muttered under her breath as she slowly pulled back on her bowstring, "get the girl and run when I fire. Three…"

Bishop felt his pulse quicken and his adrenaline racing.

"Two…"

The werewolf took one step towards the little girl. His lips trembled with the low growl vibrating from his throat and a long string of saliva dripped from his jowls.

"One…"

Wyllin released her bowstring and sent her serrated arrow spiraling into one of the werewolf's beady yellow eyes. He started howling in pain and scratching madly at his face. The little girl shrieked at the top of her lungs and Bishop didn't hesitate, roaring, "ATTACK!"

Karnwyr belted forward with him and they ran through the fog. He grabbed the girl under her armpits and lifted her off her feet and bolted to the right, towards the lumber mill, holding her against his chest. The werewolf was immediately aware of this, despite the searing pain in his eye. But before he had a chance to chase his prey, Karnwyr sunk his teeth into the werewolf's thigh, giving Bishop a chance to get away.

He ran with everything he had in him. Then he heard a yelp and immediate barking and roaring behind him but didn't look back. He ran up the wooden ramp of the mill, bypassing the logging mechanism and came to a halt at the edge of the building, realizing in his panic he'd trapped himself up on the tall structure. He quickly set the still shaking girl down and commanded, "Stay behind me!" He drew his sword and shield then. If he was going to be fighting a werewolf in close combat he was damn well going to be prepared to do so.

The second Bishop turned around he was faced with the beast slinking up the landing, on all fours and heading straight for them. Wyllin was trying to corral the group of drunks who'd all grabbed every weapon available to them, such as hoes, pitchforks, and torches, stupidly preparing to go down with a fight. His heart sank when he didn't see any sign of Karnwyr.

He steeled himself though and grit his teeth, facing down the beast and spun his blade in hand. The werewolf moved slowly and predatorily. It was studying him and waiting for an opening.

He didn't know if it would work, but he recalled the time Rona had spoken to him when he'd first turned and lost himself in the call of the blood. He figured it couldn't hurt to try and attempted to talk to the man lost in the beast.

"You don't want to do this, Sinding," he said. The werewolf cocked his head in understanding so Bishop kept it up, "That's your name, right? Look. I know you think you have to do this; that you have no other choice. But you don't need them. You can find a cure," he took a breath, gripping his sword tighter as the werewolf slowly rose up on his hind legs and Bishop shouted, "I CAN HELP YOU!"

The beast roared in his face and took a swipe at him. Bishop deflected it with his shield and swung his blade up and under, aiming for the creature's vulnerable belly. The werewolf leapt back though, easily evading the attack. Bishop shouted as he parried back and forth with the werewolf, "HAVE AT YOU!" He was doing everything he could to edge it further away from the little girl who was cowering behind a pile of cut logs.

Bishop had the high ground above the werewolf and nearly had his chance on a downswing when the beast grabbed the blade of his sword, taking the vicious cut between his forefinger and his thumb, but stopping the motion altogether. Bishop tried to pull it back but the creature had too strong of a grip on it. He looked into the beast's good eye and pleaded, "Don't do it. You'll regret it when you change back, trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

The werewolf spoke then, his voice was that of a man's but mangled over a monster's as he roared, "I have no choice! My life is forsaken! I must survive. The innocent. Must. Die."

"RRRRRRAAAAAA NO!" Bishop pushed harder on his blade, trying to cut through but it was no use, he just wasn't strong enough. He needed the power of his enemy.

"Bite me!" Bishop snarled at the creature, "GO ON! BITE ME!"

The werewolf ripped the blade from his hands and threw it back behind him. Bishop's chest was heaving as he left himself open, waiting for an attack that would change him, that would make him more powerful. But instead of biting him the werewolf slashed at him severely, throwing him down the ramp. It bolted up the landing just as an arrow flew past, missing him. Wyllin had finally staved off the drunks and caught up to Bishop who was holding his chest where the beast had carved its mark into him. She pulled him to his feet and they ran up the ramp, aiming to stop the monster but it was too late.

The little girl gave a shrill scream as they watched the man-turned-monster tear into her like a bear ripping into a faun. Bishop couldn't hear anything over Wyllin's anguished shrieking and he watched as she transformed before his very eyes. Her bones broke, snapped and cracked, reshaping themselves and she grew much larger as fur sprouted from her body. Her bellowing roars caught the attention of Sinding who was covered in the child's viscera. He took one look at her before turning away and leapt off the platform before speeding off into the forest beyond. Wyllin took chase disappearing in the dark, foggy woods after him. Their roars and howls echoed and faded into the night.

Bishop clutched at his bleeding abdomen and slowly approached the scene at the edge of the mill. He swallowed hard, looking down at the body of the innocent child in front of him. She'd been nearly torn in half and disemboweled. Her eyes stared lifelessly at the full moons in the sky. His stomach floundered at the sight and he quickly turned away from her, heading back down the ramp of the mill to go retch in a nearby bush.

Bishop pressed a hand to the stone wall and emptied his stomach over the shrubbery. He wiped the spittle from his mouth and slumped down, trying to catch his breath. His heart was still pounding and he was trying to come down from the rush of adrenaline, but it was hard.

He was so angry. Angrier than he'd ever felt in his life. Even after witnessing the atrocities his father and his brother had committed against him and his siblings, the act of pure evil he just witnessed enraged him in a way that he didn't know how to express. He hoped the feeling was at least enough to keep the ghostly Harbinger going strong so she could catch and slaughter the werewolf that had committed the crime.

It wasn't long before the townsfolk came around to see what all the commotion was about. Valga, the innkeeper spotted him and ran to his side. "Bishop! Oh, gods! What's happened?"

"Werewolf," he breathed, "Don't go up the mill. It's bad Valga. Real bad."

"I'll get help," she said and ran towards an old Altmer man who was watching with a group of townsfolk as the guards cautiously went up the mill. Word spread very quickly when they announced the death of the child and immediately informed her parents. The child, whose name was Lavinia, had of course been well known to everyone in the small hold. Her murder was felt by everyone. But even as Bishop listened to the anguished wails of the girl's mother and the broken sobs of her father, the rage boiling inside of him would not stop. In fact, it only reinforced his desire to seek out some form of justice.

Valga brought over Runil, a priest of Arkay, to heal him. The elderly Altmer did what he could with his magicka, while Bishop unemotionally relayed everything that had happened to the head of the guard and the Jarl who'd both come out to see what had happened. He did not speak with the girl's parents. He had failed to protect their child and couldn't bring himself to interrupt their grief, not even to apologize.

When his healing and bandaging were finished, he got up and wandered back towards the cemetery where he found Karnwyr licking at a bad slash on his back leg. Runil was kind enough to heal him up and Valga offered Bishop a bed at her inn for the evening. He took it wanting nothing more than pass out and forget everything he'd just witnessed. He wanted to forget just how weak he'd been, how incapable he was of saving that little girl. If he couldn't even protect a child then how could he ever help Rona?

He stood in the doorway of the inn and looked out at the silent, foggy forest for a moment. There was no sign of his Bosmeri companion anywhere. He tried not to concern himself with it though and quickly went inside. He laid down on the double bed with his wolf at his side and closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep.

That morning Bishop roused to a light scratching sound. He blinked his eyes a few times, letting his vision adjust to the few rays of light that were casting through the nearby window. The memory of everything that had happened the night before quickly came back to him. He ran a hand over his face and groaned before pushing himself up on the bed. He grit his teeth and clutched at his abdomen where the werewolf had slashed him. Runil had admitted that he wasn't the greatest at restoration and Bishop could definitely tell, as he was sure some of his wounds just reopened.

He heard the soft scratching sound again and looked over to his right. The noise wasn't coming from Karnwyr, who was still dead asleep next to him snoring quietly but from the Harbinger. She'd changed back to normal and was sitting cross-legged on the floor carving what looked like an arrowhead from a piece of bone. He noticed a decent pile of arrows she'd carved and fletched set off to the side her. There were at least two dozen or more.

He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed his trousers from the floor and started to dress himself.

"Did you kill him?"

"No," she answered promptly as she finished off carving the arrowhead and started to wrap it to a wood shaft.

"Fuck," he finished pulling his boots on and buckling his leather cuirass, taking care not to agitate his chest wound. He walked over to her and asked, "So what's all this for?"

"For the hunt," she said as she carefully fletched feathers to the arrow.

"My enchanted arrows will probably do a better job than those, no offense."

"These aren't for the beast. They're for your challenge," she wrapped the bundle up in twine and held it up to him, "Here, take them. He's expecting us."

He took the arrows, but raised a brow at her, "He who?"

She pushed herself off the ground and gathered up her belongings, fastening her quiver to herself and taking her bow in hand. "The Huntsman of the Princes; Hircine." She went over and started stroking Karnwyr's fur, rousing the wolf from his dream. He gave a deep yawning whine and nuzzled her hand. "We'll need all the help we can get to catch him," she said, "I'll heal your wolf and see about mending your wounds as well."

Bishop watched as she cast a powerful healing spell over Karnwyr which seemed to wake him up more and gave him a sudden burst of energy. He gave a low whine, stretched and started wagging his tail happily before hopping off the bed.

Bishop smiled down at his furry companion and was suddenly surprised when Wyllin grabbed at his leather cuirass and started to quickly unfasten it. "Whoa!"

She got it open and immediately pressed a warm hand to his bare chest and whispered the incantation needed to further heal him. He felt relief as the cuts slowly sealed shut and healed over much better than Runil had done the day before.

"There, that should do for now. You're lucky he didn't disembowel you," she said idly as she looked at the mix of scars on his chest and belly.

He raised a brow at her and smirked, "Damn, you are all so alike."

"Hm?" Wyllin glanced up at him.

"A bunch of feisty little runts just looking to get their hands on this hard body of mine," he smirked at her suddenly reddening face and then he laughed, "See? You even blush the same!"

She scowled at him and quickly walked away, clicking her tongue so that Karnwyr would follow her.

"Wha-! Hey!" Bishop fixed his cuirass, grabbed his bow and ran after her, "You don't have to keep stealing my wolf damn it! It was just a joke!"

"Keep it up and I'll make him one of my familiars for good," she said smirking at him. But then her face fell and she spoke more seriously, "We have important matters to attend to… but first I would like to pay my respects." He looked at her bewildered as she continued onward, aiming for the graveyard behind the inn. The fog was still thick in the air and they heard an elderly man's voice and the sounds of people weeping. As they drew closer they saw figures appear amidst the graves and Bishop's heart sank when he saw Runil standing beside the smallest casket he'd ever seen.

"The god Arkay was once like us, bound to winding mortality," the old priest was delivering a sermon to the townsfolk and giving the last rites for the deceased. The entire city had turned out for the funeral, except, Bishop noted, the Jarl and his entourage. He stood by Wyllin, in the back of the crowd, listening quietly and respectfully.

"But he willingly gave up his existence that we might better understand the vagaries of life and death. It is through the ebb and flow of this cosmic tide that we find renewal and, in the end, peace. May the spirit of Lavinia and all those who have left this world and its suffering know the beloved serenity of Aetherius... ...and may we one day rejoin them in eternity."

The onlookers placed offerings and flowers on the girl's coffin, one by one. But it wasn't until two men lifted her coffin and lowered it into a hole in the ground that the child's mother released deep, gut-churning sobs. Bishop immediately felt sick with guilt. He went to turn away, to leave, but Wyllin grabbed him by the sleeve of his armor and shook her head, "We still have to pay our respects."

He looked at her exasperated, pleading with his eyes to leave but she just held him firmly and made him wait. Finally, after another twenty minutes of listening to the priest give the final rites and the townsfolk consoling the family, they'd all been ushered off to mourn elsewhere. Only two remained.

Wyllin walked around the graves and stopped in front of the freshly stamped pile of dirt on the ground. Bishop stood beside her, knitting his brows together as he looked over the plot. The Harbinger took a single arrow from her quiver and placed it sideways on the mound. "Arkay may watch over her soul, but it is Hircine who will bring her retribution."

Bishop twisted his lips, holding back the scoff in his throat and he crossed his arms, "Like Hircine gives a shit about any of this."

Wyllin cut her eyes angrily at him, nearly making him flinch with the fury she held in her gaze. She stood up, dusting her knees off and said, "What that monster did was evil and wrong. He has offended the Lord of the Hunt by taking the life of a defenseless innocent. That is not his way. As Hounds, we are meant to pride ourselves on hunting the strongest of beasts. There is no honor in senselessly killing the young."

He looked her over and asked, "So you must have hunted Alduin when you were Dragonborn, huh? Did he kill you too?"

Wyllin evaded his questioning gaze and she quickly brushed past him. "No I did not hunt the World Eater and no, he did not kill me."

Bishop started to follow her as she began weaving her way through the forest. "Hang on. You just said you're all supposed to pride yourselves on hunting the strongest beasts or whatever. So why the hell wouldn't you go after Alduin?"

"Because I wasn't about to live out some preplanned destiny foretold in an ancient prophecy on how to live my life. No matter how many ghosts tried to herd me on that path."

Bishop looked at her incredulously, "You can't be serious. You had all that power and a chance to take down the greatest prey of all time and you just ignored it?"

"Considering the dragons never stopped hunting me, I'd hardly say I was able to ignore it, as much as I wanted to."

He stopped walking and barked angrily at her back. "You could have killed him! It could have ended with you ages ago. You had the power of a dragon and a werewolf."

"Perhaps," she said regarding him, "But I can be very stubborn and when a certain red-headed bitch wouldn't stop pestering me to do as told like the rest of them, I couldn't help but do everything I could to spite her instead."

"You mean Eira?" He snapped at her, clenching his fists, "She tried to help you! To put a stop to it all!"

Wyllin halted her march, standing beside a tall pine and looked back at him, "She is not who you think she is, nor what the legends tell of her. Eira is a selfish woman who only cares about her dragon and herself. Everything that happened to her was her own doing. She's not here to help us, she's here to use us, to exact her age-old vengeance on a beast that took everything from her. And I promise you, she's used her too. All the pain and the misery on her path? That's because of Eira. It's a cruel path that she set in motion for us millennia ago. To chase the World Eater is to chase nothing but tragedy."

Bishop was feeling his burning anger again, building into a rage. He was so sick of it all and he felt more than betrayed, not only by Rona, who had lied to him and left him behind like he was some helpless child but because the one who'd been following him while his heart ached for her all those months had been Eira. She'd been like a gentle beacon reaffirming that Rona was still alive out there somewhere and she gave him hope somehow that everything would be alright.

Now though he realized that was all a lie too. It started to become plain as day to him. Eira had just been keeping an eye on him, fighting all those dragons alongside him for months and keeping him alive so that Rona would not lose herself to despair like before. And she did it all so she could keep leading Rona towards a path of vengeance. He could literally feel a vein pulsing in his head as these thoughts swirled in his mind.

He didn't even notice Wyllin standing there until she touched his arm and spoke gently to him, "I can feel your anger burning inside of you. It fuels my presence, but it hurts me too. You must learn to control this emotion and use it to your benefit."

He unclenched his fists and looked down at her, softening his gaze. They really were all alike and there was something about her that soothed him. He didn't know why, but he began to confide in her as though he'd known her his whole life, "There was someone who taught me how to control and ease my anger once before… he helped free me from the pain of my past. He was a Harbinger, like you."

She smiled warmly at him, revealing her sharpened canines, "I believe I know of who you speak. I met him on the Hunting Grounds before he left for Sovngarde. Kodlak was a good Companion and Shield-Brother. It was strange meeting an old man like that, one who knew of my tale and who behaved more like a young lad, thrilled to meet his greatest hero for the first time."

Bishop gave a light laugh and shook his head, "Of course he would."

Wyllin grasped his chin and pushed his head up, "Chin up, Rumenya," then she gave a light pat to his shoulder and turned back towards the forest, "We have prey to hunt. Stay close to me and keep your eyes open for him."

He called to Karnwyr who'd gotten distracted chasing a hare into its burrow and caught up to Wyllin quietly asking, "What exactly are we looking for if not the werewolf?"

"We are looking for Hircine," she replied as if that was obvious.

He furrowed his brows, "And what exactly does he look like?"

She shrugged, "Not sure what form he chose yet. But you'll know it when you see it. Now try to be quiet, we don't want to alert him to our presence."

He clammed up and stifled the exasperated sigh building in his throat. The two of them and his wolf walked for hours through the forest. Occasionally Wyllin would stop to study some animal tracks or look over the foliage, almost as if she actually knew what they were searching for, then she would turn to the left or right suddenly and follow a new path.

He was trying to keep a handle on his anger but he was growing impatient with it all. The sheer frustration of not knowing what they were even looking for was slowly driving him mad. Not only that but he noticed that Karnwyr caught on that they were hunting and instead of the wolf looking to him for guidance, he kept his attention more on the little Harbinger, waiting for her command. He knew he shouldn't let it annoy him as much as it did, but that was his wolf damn it!

Bishop was so caught up in his own muddled thoughts that he hadn't noticed Wyllin stopped right in front of him and he bumped into her back. Luckily she barely budged, almost as if she was expecting him to do that. Instead, she shot him an irate glare and when he went to snap at her she quickly threw a finger to her lips and shook her head slightly. He clammed up again and she nodded her head forward, motioning to a small clearing in the forest ahead.

(The Music is The Hunt by Brunuhville)

Bishop looked out into the foggy haze and his breath caught in his throat when he noticed something he had seen once before many, many years ago; long before he ever knew Rona even. Back then he'd thought it was something out of a dream, but now he knew better.

A beautiful, pure white stag stood in the forest, grazing idly between several trees. It was a creature of sheer beauty, with a heavy, glowing coat that was whiter than the freshest snow. The hair drifted up around its body, almost as though it were floating underwater. Its eyes were like two pearls, shimmering under thickly lashed hoods. But its horns were something magical to behold. They were like a pair of enormous detailed sculptures which curled into spectacular, symmetrical shapes and if you stared long enough into the gaps between them you could see the history of all the greatest hunters from an age long past conquering the fiercest of prey. The beast had a powerful, yet elegant figure as it stood there, softly chewing on a clove of alfalfa.

It took a single step forward to pull at another knot of the purple flowers and a cluster of flora bloomed all around its hooves. Bishop also noticed that it was eerily quiet in the grove and he looked around the area and saw what appeared to be an audience of birds and rabbits all silently observing this mythical being from their spots under the brush and in the trees as if they were just as in awe of it as he was.

Wyllin started to draw her bow, nocking an arrow to it and Bishop looked at her incredulously. How could she think to kill something like that? It was like… a god. In fact, it was a god. It was Hircine; there was no doubt about it.

When he didn't make a move Wyllin nudged him by the elbow and nodded sharply to her bow as if to say, draw and shoot. Despite the bad feeling he was getting about it, he drew his bow and nocked one of the serrated arrows she'd made for him and lined up his shot, aiming between its eyes. Karnwyr, as always, slowly and quietly prowled around the perimeter.

Bishop sucked in a breath, waiting for his wolf to get in position but then something happened that he definitely had not anticipated, but he should have. Karnwyr barely brushed against a tree when a hoard of green glowing bees sprang out of the leaves and the bark parted like water as a Spriggan stuck its wooden head out.

"Shit!" Bishop snarled as Karnwyr was suddenly being attacked and stung by the bees, yelping loudly as he ran to escape them. The white stag got spooked and leapt up, cantering off through a gap in the trees leaving a bursting trail of flowers behind it.

Bishop started firing arrows into the Spriggan, trying to get to Karnwyr as quickly as he could before the creature had a chance to take control of him. He got a lucky shot straight through the center of the thing's skull as he slid down a muddy slope towards the center of the grove. The Spriggan collapsed and Bishop hurried over to Karnwyr who was twitching madly. He quickly unclasped a potion from his belt and went to douse his furry brother with it when Karnwyr lunged up and sunk his jaws into his wrist instead.

"AUGH! FUCK! KARNWYR STOP!"

A Spriggan Matron and two smaller Spriggans peered down at him from up on the slope through the trees. Of course, there would be more. They were known to live in groups and it seemed the Matron had cast a spell over Karnwyr to take control of his mind.

Bishop thrust his bow aside and gripped the hair on the back of Karnwyr's head, trying desperately to pull him off without hurting him, but the Matron's spell was too strong and his wolf was so far gone he was afraid he'd have to kick him off or hurt him.

Suddenly he was surrounded in an aura of green magic and Karnwyr's grip on him loosened to the point that he finally let go. Bishop snatched his arm back, holding the bleeding wound to his chest and the wolf looked around confounded for a moment. Wyllin stood by them both, looking up at the three Spriggans and said, "His mind should be warded against their power for now. Quick! Help me take down the three of them!"

Bishop shook off the pain in his wrist and pushed himself off the ground, grabbing his bow as he went. More furious than ever, he quickly started drawing his flame enchanted arrows from his quiver and began firing them at the Spriggans on the hill. Wyllin did the same with her own serrated arrows and her bow. He got lucky, hitting the Matron twice in the chest, forcing her to catch fire. The other two skittered away from her as she released a hissing shriek and her entire chest cavity burst into flames. Wyllin sprint off chasing after the two with Karnwyr right at her heels while Bishop chose to stow his bow back and leapt forward, digging his boots and hands into the soft muddy hill, scaling the steep slope as quickly as he could. He pulled himself up onto the grassy knoll and drew his sword, standing over the Matron who was writhing on the ground, trying to douse the flames on her body. Her wood hands caught fire when she tried to smack them away from her chest.

Bishop felt the blood from his hand dripping around the grip of his sword, making it slippery. He was absolutely seething at the fact that this creature had set his own wolf on him.

"Nobody. Touches. My wolf," he growled before he raised his blade with both hands and slammed it down hard into the Matron's forehead. The forest echoed with the sound of a blade chopping into wood repeatedly, as though a lumberjack was hard at work splitting logs, but it was Bishop unleashing his fury into the body of the Spriggan Matron. The creature's eyes faded from their glowing, acid green to dark hollows as death crept over it. He caught his breath and looked back over the hill, down where the blooming hoof prints started.

He sheathed his sword and slid back down the slope and started to follow the path laid out for him. He pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket and quickly wrapped his hand up as he walked, taking care to stay quiet. There was no sign of either Wyllin or Karnwyr, but he knew they'd be alright wherever they'd gotten off to. His main focus was to hunt and kill the white stag before it had another chance to escape him.

It felt very unsettling just thinking about killing something like that. But he was so frustrated and angry with everything that he instead allowed his fury to drive him. He pushed down the thought of just how disappointed Rona would be in him for hunting something so peaceful and then he nearly scoffed at that thought. What right did she have to be disappointed in his choices when she herself had gotten mixed up with both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood? What would she care that he was choosing to follow this path laid out for him by Hircine? Why couldn't he stop thinking about her and her feelings? She obviously didn't care about his.

He felt a vein pulsing in his head because he was grinding his teeth so hard together. Bishop forced the thoughts of her from his mind and took in his surroundings as he passed through a pair of twin aspen trees. The forest was unnaturally quiet. The fog seemed to grow thicker the longer he lingered, so he kept moving, eyeing the lush path of flowers in front of him and then he stopped right at the side of an enormous oak. A light rain started to fall as thunder crackled overhead and the fog began to lift.

(The Music is No Matter What I Will Fight by Brian Delgado)

Ahead of him in a thicket of bushes and trees was the white stag, only this time it stood unmoving, its pearlescent eyes locked onto him. Bishop drew his bow and slipped one of the serrated arrows from his quiver, nocking it and took aim. He moved slowly and purposefully then held very still, hesitating. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing something so terribly wrong, like making the biggest mistake of his life somehow.

Then his heart twist in his chest as his gaze fell into the depths of the stag's horns. Where there were once images of the greatest hunters taking down their prey he instead saw only her.

Scene after scene played out of Rona fighting with all the strength and power inside her small frame, taking down dragons endlessly, both in the past and the present. He saw her struggles, her ferocity, and her unwillingness to give up or give in through all of it.

And then he watched himself die that day in Cyrodiil, as Drogaavlok swept in and slashed him across the chest. He could see the intensity of her horror and he could feel her anguish and then her rage as she battled without a care or concern for her own life. She'd fought for him only to find he'd succumbed to his wounds and then somehow she brought him back, ripping his soul from Sovngarde, even as his brother was consumed by the World Eater.

"She is a true hunter," the harsh voice of a Daedric Prince reverberated through the pines, shaking the leaves, "But so were all the Dragonborn. Whether he meant to or not, Akatosh gave them the cunning and ferocity that all hunters engender. If your desire is to be with such a brave soul, a warrior who fights her prey without fear or hesitation, then you too must learn to embody this. Kill the white stag and I shall grant you the power you seek."

Bishop fought down his reluctance, raised his bow, sucked in his breath and fired, sending the serrated arrow spiraling through the chill air until it splintered straight into the heart of the beast. The white stag gave a soft cry and slumped down onto the grass.

The fog lifted entirely and once again Wyllin was standing by his side and she spoke, "And so it is done. Go on, Rumenya. Claim your reward."

Bishop approached the downed creature and stood over it. He noticed the sounds of animals returning to the forest and the strange aura it had exuded seemed to have lifted. The body of a lean man with the head of a stag appeared before him.

"Well done my champion. You have killed the god of the forest and have released its protection over the wildlife here. My hunters will be much more successful when seeking their prey in these parts."

Bishop looked down at the body of the stag and said, "I thought you were-"

"The prey?" Hircine laughed, "I would never take on the form of such a weak and docile beast. No… but it was simple enough to make you want to conquer it. All I merely had to do was show you the strength and wrath your own mate embodies," he smiled wryly at Bishop, who was feeling his blood boiling over the fact he'd been so easily manipulated again. But Hircine merely mocked him, "You always were one of my weaker hunters. Sanguine's influence on you has cost you the loss of far too much prey… but I am here to rectify that."

Hircine held his palm out, revealing a simple, silver ring in his hand, "This is my ring. With it, you will become moon born without the need of a forebear. You will not be bound to hunt eternally at my side in my realm after death… however, be wary," the stag head of the Daedric Prince grinned strangely as he mused, "You will find yourself steadily craving the power the ring holds with every transformation. The more you use it, the more your mind will warp to that of a beast and soon you will be nothing more than a predator seeking its prey."

Bishop stared at the ring which glowed with a strange red hue. It was a Daedric Artifact, just like the Ebony Blade and Mehrunes' Razor. If he took it he would forever be under the influence of the Daedric Prince that made it. The very notion that he would be controlled by an object like that made him apprehensive to take it. Still… Rona had taken Mehrune's Razor because she knew she was weaker without it and who was he to deny this gift from Hircine? With this, he would be free to change without giving up his soul to the Prince. It was exactly what he'd been searching for. It was the power he so desperately needed to help her.

Hircine snarled at him, "Your hesitation will cost you, ranger. It is not wise to refuse the gift of god."

With that he reached out and took the ring, palming it.

"A wise choice my hunter," Hircine said firmly. Then he looked over at Wyllin who had approached them. She bowed her head to the Daedric Prince and he addressed her, "Aaahh Harbinger Wyllin. What have you brought to offer me?"

Wyllin pulled the strange wolf carved necklace over her head and handed it to him saying, "The lost souls of the Nords turned to dragons, my Prince."

Hircine gripped the pendant which lit up for a moment and a string of spine-chilling wails escaped the mouth of the wolf as the Daedric Prince took them for himself then he handed the pendant back to her which she pulled over her head.

"You've done well, hunter. These souls will make for fine prey on the Hunting Grounds. But you know your task in this realm is not yet over," he looked back to Bishop then and said, "My Hound will guide you to Bloated Man's Grotto where the craven Sinding attempts to conceal himself from my knowing gaze. He dishonors my gifts with his cowardice and his worship of Sithis. You will kill him and take his hide for yourself. Do this and you will receive my blessing."

And with that last, Hircine vanished before them. Wyllin immediately turned around aiming for the northwest and Bishop called to her back, "Wait! We can't," he glanced down at the sad, dead stag and muttered, "we can't just leave it like this."

She didn't look at him when she spoke, "I advise against disturbing the body of a god. The forest will take it back and mourn its loss. We, however, have a job to do. Come along Rumenya, you mustn't hesitate lest your prey escape."