A few things:
1. I have not finished writing this story.
2. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.
3. I am taking liberties, so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.
Cry did her best to avoid Skjor and Aela both for as long as she could. She needed more time to think, she knew, before seeking them out. Something like becoming a werewolf was not a decision to make lightly, no matter how much she wanted to rise through the ranks of the Companions. It would be a change to her whole life.
Besides, she didn't know how becoming a werewolf would intertwine with her dragon's blood. What if the combination was too much, and she was killed? Then everything would have been for nothing at all, and Skyrim would have to deal with the dragons on her own. She refused to let that happen.
So, while on her job, she paid a visit to High Hrothgar. If nothing else, she'd be able to think easier in the temple's peaceful silence. She did not think she wanted to ask Arngeir for guidance with this issue, certain that he would be against it straight from the get-go. The idea that she realized this already should have been proof enough that becoming a werewolf was a terrible idea, but…
Cry was a Nord. She'd force everything else to wait for her while she made up her mind.
She made a place for herself in the rear courtyard of High Hrothgar, perched on top of a stone as she considered all the different aspects of becoming a werewolf. She thought over what she knew of the beasts, and realized that it wasn't much. She'd gone into making this decision very much unprepared with any helpful knowledge.
"Dragonborn."
She glanced over at where the voice had come from, and found Arngeir standing there, hands within the sleeves of his robes. He tilted his head inquisitively at her, clearly waiting for her to speak first.
Cry exhaled a breath, and faced forward again, gazing out across the vast expanses of Skyrim that she could see from this incredible height. "I needed a place to think," she explained.
Arngeir hummed in response, and stepped forward, joining her. They stared at the view in silence for a moment, until he spoke again: "Master Borri mentioned some of the things you spoke to him about, the last time you visited us."
Cry made a face. "And to think, I thought that conversation would be kept between us." She smiled slightly when she saw Arngeir's expression, and she rested her arms across the tops of her knees. "All right, then. What do you have issues with?"
"Issues?" Arngeir asked, and Cry raised her shoulders. "No issues, Dragonborn. Joining the Companions is an honorable choice; the group has been present in Skyrim for centuries, defending her people. Although we Greybeards do not agree with violence, violence in the name of protecting those who are innocent is a type that we may abide by."
Cry smiled again. "Well, good," she said. "Not that I require your permission or anything."
"Of course not," Arngeir said with a smile of his own. "Now, however. This man you mentioned…"
"Oh, please," Cry sighed, hiding her face in her arms. "Let's not talk about him."
Arngeir chuckled. "Very well," he replied. "We will not. I'm afraid any advice I could offer on that topic would be rather useless, anyway." He paused. "The dragon menace, however…"
Cry lifted her head, glanced at him. He was gazing once more out across Skyrim, and she saw his shoulders raise and lower. "We have wondered about the dragons' return," he said at last, "wondered if it was somehow connected to your revelation as Dragonborn. We easily reached the conclusion that the two issue were… interconnected."
Cry, who'd already heard all this from Esbern, nodded. "I've been doing some research of my own," she admitted, and he glanced at her. "I know about Alduin."
Arngeir sighed. "Then you must know that, as he is the one who is causing the dragons to return, he is also the only one who may end their return." Cry nodded again. "And I suppose you've decided that it is your duty, as Dragonborn, to see to that."
"Well, someone has to," Cry said, and Arngeir faced forward once more. "The dragons are terrorizing cities all across Skyrim. People are dying."
"Yes," Arngeir agreed. "It is what people do."
Cry blinked at him, and stood. "That's it? That's all you have to say?" Arngeir did not respond, and Cry scoffed, shaking her head. "Great."
She turned, ready to walk away. She did so slowly, waiting for him to speak up, say something more, but he did not, and she gave up on him. She should have guessed that the Greybeards would be no help to her when it came to the dragons, after they had barely mentioned their return when she'd made her own appearance.
And to top it all off, she still hadn't made her mind up about the whole werewolf thing.
She pushed her way out of High Hrothgar, not even caring anymore. So what if she died? Apparently, the fact that the dragons were coming back wasn't a big deal. Apparently, the fact that they were killing people wasn't a big deal. So, if she died becoming a werewolf because the wolf didn't agree with the dragon she already had inside her, so what? Who cared? Not the Greybeards, apparently.
"All right," Cry said, planting her hands down on the table in front of where Skjor was sitting. He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised, and she tilted her head. "Are we going to do this or not?"
Skjor smirked, and crossed his arms, leaning back a bit in his chair. "Do what, exactly?" he asked.
"Don't," Cry said, not in the mood for games. "Either this is going to happen, or it isn't. Tell me now."
Skjor examined her for a moment, and then allowed his chair to rest flat on the floor again. He folded his hands on the table. "It's going to happen," he said. "Tonight, you'll meet me beneath the Skyforge. And, please, try to keep this to yourself. We don't want word getting around to the others."
Cry nodded, once, and then she walked away from him, still seething a bit. Her whole trip back from High Hrothgar had been spent sulking, hating the Greybeards, hating Delphine and Esbern for making her hideout while they tried to find Sky Haven Temple, hating the Companions for giving her a reason to seek power within their ranks. She almost wished she were back in Morrowind.
The day seemed to pass by very slowly. She spent most of her time outside in the training yard, swinging away with her greatsword, practicing her technique. She'd noticed that she was struggling a bit, and knew that she needed the extra practice.
As she whipped the blade through the wooden neck of a training dummy, sending the head flying, she spotted Vilkas coming out of Jorrvaskr. He looked slightly apprehensive, catching sight of her, and Cry did her best to ignore him as he crossed the eating area and stood at the edge of it, watching her.
"Your form is sloppy," he finally called, and Cry went still, sword raised. She slowly lowered it, and looked over at him. He stepped down from the dock, and walked over to her. He took her sword, without asking, although Cry did not try to hold onto it, and demonstrated the same swing she'd been about to take. "Like this. Don't let the weight of the weapon carry you. You must be in control of it, at all times, or things will get messy."
He handed the greatsword back, and Cry gazed at him for a moment. There was a reason he'd come outside, and it definitely wasn't to give her fighting tips, considering he hadn't before. She recognized, then, that Vilkas knew what she planned to do that night.
She turned away from him, sliding her greatsword away. "If you've come to try and talk me out of it -"
"I haven't," Vilkas said, and she looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He shook his head. "You are free to make your own decisions. All that I can do is tell you my own experience, and allow you to come to whatever conclusion you like based off of it."
Cry glanced at him once more, saw he meant what he said. Still, she did not think she wanted to hear it, after having struggled with coming to a conclusion for so long already.
"I think I can gather your experience from what I've seen," she said to him, and Vilkas's shoulders dropped as he realized that she would not hear him out. "It makes you irritable, exhausts you. Your mood swings because of it are enough to make any sensible person wary of you. But from what I've seen, you are one out of five." She shook her head, and walked past him, saying, "I'm going to take my chance," over her shoulder.
As soon as she was inside Jorrvaskr, away from him, Cry regretted what she'd said. It had all come off harshly, due to everything she'd dealt with the past several days. She hadn't meant to take her frustrations out on Vilkas, but he'd unfortunately been an easy target. He'd only wanted to help her, and she'd basically spat on him in response.
Still, she couldn't let herself focus on that. As night fell, her anxiety began to kick in. Why had she agreed to this? She wasn't ready to die, nor did she really want to be a werewolf, if she didn't die. She didn't care if all the Circle members had the wolf's blood; she would get to the Circle herself, through her demonstration of hard work. Kodlak would need to notice, eventually, and promote her.
All of these thoughts did not stop her from exiting Jorrvaskr, once the main hall had cleared, and heading for the Skyforge. Skjor stood next to a large rock near the stairs, his arms crossed. He straightened up, spotting her, and nodded, before turning towards the rock. He placed his hand against it, and it slid out of the way of a hidden passage, which he ducked into, gesturing for Cry to follow.
Cry's heart felt lodged in her throat. She ducked into the passage behind him. It curved, and then opened into a small room beneath the Skyforge. Cry paused when she caught sight of the hulking beast standing behind a pedestal in the middle of the room, and Skjor smiled at her.
"Don't you recognize Aela?" he asked, walking around to stand next to the werewolf, Aela, apparently. "She's agreed to be your forebear."
"Uh… fine," Cry said, and she glanced around. "Is there a reason that we have to do this in… here?"
"Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun," Skjor told her. "The Skyforge was here long before it was, and the Underforge, where we stand, taps into an ancient magic that is older than men or elves." He fixed her with a look. "We bring you here to make you stronger, new blood. It has been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers."
Cry let herself take a couple of steps further into the room. Aela, in her werewolf form, gazed towards her with narrowed amber eyes, but oddly, Cry did not feel afraid. She knew that Aela would not harm her. She looked at Skjor.
"Why do you do this secretly? Is it because of Kodlak?"
Skjor sighed. "Kodlak has been busy, trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted," he said. "How can something that gives us this kind of prowess be a curse?" He gestured towards Aela. "So, we take matters into our own hands. To seek the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf."
Cry let out a breath. "All right," she said. "I'm ready."
Skjor nodded, and pulled out his sword. Without much ceremony, he grabbed Aela's arm and drew a slice up it. Immediately, Aela's blood began to pool in the pedestal, while the werewolf growled slightly. Once the pedestal had filled a decent amount, Skjor allowed her to move away. He put his sword back in its scabbard, and looked again at Cry.
"The blood calls, sister," he said.
Cry blanched. "You mean, you want me to drink it?" she asked, and Skjor raised his eyebrows. Cry stared at him for a moment longer, before she looked at the dark blood in the bottom of the pedestal. Exhaling, she approached it, and leaned over it. She could see her reflection in the pool.
She swallowed, thickly, and dipped her hand into the blood. It gathered in her cupped palm, which she raised to her lips, and drank from.
Almost at once, a searing pain ripped down her throat and into her chest, spreading into her limbs. She staggered away from the pedestal, her vision going black, fading back in, and then darkening again. Eventually, she knew nothing but pain and darkness.
Cry awoke, feeling the sharp prick of grass against her shoulders. Her head ached, and she struggled to understand where she was, or even remember what had happened.
"Are you awake?" She turned her head towards the voice, and blinked when she saw the blurry form of Aela standing nearby. Aela, as a human, no longer a werewolf. Memories began to flood back, and Cry groaned, pressing her hand into her eyes.
"I was starting to think you might never come back," Aela said, sounding slightly amused. "Yours was not an easy transformation. But, you're still alive, so congratulations."
"I don't feel very alive," Cry mumbled, and she struggled into a sitting position, frowning down at herself. "Where are we?"
"Near Gallows Rock," Aela responded. "As a celebration for you, we're going to slaughter a group of Silver Hand that have posted up there. You've met them before, haven't you?"
Cry recalled the Silver Hand to have been the ones to attack her and Farkas inside of Dustman's Cairn. She nodded, and glanced around. They seemed to be in the middle of the woods, and she wondered how Aela and Skjor had managed to get her out here.
She then blinked, and looked at Aela. "Did I kill anyone?" she whispered, realizing that when she'd blacked out, she must have transformed, which was what Aela was referencing.
Aela shook her head. "You ran around Whiterun for a while, terrorizing some people who were still on the street, even this late. Skjor and I found you beneath the bridge leading into the city, back to normal but unconscious. We then carried you out here, before people could put two and two together." She smiled. "To be honest, you gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning, which I didn't think was possible."
Cry blinked a few times, and forced herself into a standing position. She found that she did not struggle to keep her feet, and she looked at Aela again. "All right," she said, and she rolled her shoulders. So long as she didn't kill anyone, she supposed she could be okay with not remembering what had happened.
As she stood still, letting herself readjust to wakefulness, she realized that she felt… different. She did not struggle to see, even though it was pitch-black in the wooded area in which they stood. She could smell all sorts of things, from Aela's woodsy scent to a deer that she could hear stepping through undergrowth yards away. She could hear Aela's heartbeat, which was a steady thrum.
Cry winced, and cradled her head between her hands. "Shit," she muttered, and Aela chuckled.
"It takes some getting used to," she agreed, "but eventually, you won't even notice some things, and you'll only see the use in others. Now, come on; Skjor's already scouting ahead, and I told him we would follow as soon as you woke up."
Cry nodded in agreement, managing to raise her head. She reached up and touched the hilt of her greatsword, just to assure herself that she had it, and then followed after Aela as she headed into the trees.
It didn't take long to come upon Gallows Rock itself, a stone fortress complete with a wall guarding it. Standing within the gate-space was a member of the Silver Hand, who Aela wasted no time in shooting down with a well-placed arrow.
As soon as they were down, Cry heard a few shouts come from beyond the wall, and she ducked through the space in it, pulling out her greatsword. An arrow thunked into the ground to her right, and she looked up, catching sight of two archers standing on top of the fortress itself.
She replaced her greatsword with her own bow, and shot two arrows in succession, aiming first for one, and then the other. Her first arrow met its mark, but the second did not. Thankfully, however, Aela had been right behind her, and an arrow of her own finished off the second archer.
"You need to work on your marksmanship," she commented, and Cry had to admit that she probably had a point. "Inside."
The two of them headed into the fortress, using the entrance at the top of the building, rather than the main one. A gate blocked the way, but after yanking on a chain, Cry led the way down the passage that the gate had guarded, her greatsword once more in her hands.
In the room at the end of the passage, sitting around a fire were two more Silver Hand. Aela remained at the rear while Cry dodged forward, swinging her sword out ahead of her. She easily cut through the one closest to her, but had to duck out of the way of the second, who hurled a mace towards her head. His shout was cut off into a bloody gurgle as one of Aela's arrows found its way into his throat, and Cry looked at her with a grateful nod.
Aela nodded back, and gestured. They kept moving.
They cleared Gallows Rock methodically, working together to do so. Cry couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this, a pure bloodthirst to end the lives of all the Silver Hand she encountered. She supposed that the last similarity had been when she'd dealt with the Forsworn in their many camps, killing them off secretly, one by one, with a blade across their throats.
This was different. This was hand-to-hand combat, running straight at a large man in full armor who wielded a battle axe. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with each clash of her weapon against another's, and she thought she understood Galmar's love of a battlefield just a bit better. Aela's constant words of affirmation were merely a bonus.
They passed through a room filled with cells, and Aela paused in front of one that contained the body of a dead werewolf. Cry frowned, eyeing it herself. She would have thought that werewolves transitioned back to their human forms, when they died, but apparently, she had been wrong.
Aela did not say anything, however, and merely forged ahead, leaving Cry no choice but to follow her. She supposed there was no point in grieving over a werewolf they had not known.
After traversing through Gallows Rock, they came upon a final room, where a large group awaited them, having all converged there as they were alerted to the Companions' presence. Cry dodged backwards as one swung a silver blade towards her, and then she lunged forwards with her greatsword, catching the Silver Hand in his exposed belly.
Useless armor, Cry thought, pulling her sword free. Might as well not be wearing any.
A Silver Hand carrying a silver greatsword charged at her, yelling. Cry braced herself, and used her own sword to block his attack. The two of them clashed swords for several moments, neither able to get a solid swing in. Cry could feel her muscles straining, and she could hear Aela grunting as she defended herself with her bow and nothing else. This fight had to end.
Cry heaved one leg upwards, and kicked at the chest of the Silver Hand, sending him stumbling backwards a few paces. With a shout, she raised her greatsword, swung it over her head in the move that Vilkas had demonstrated for her, and cut the Silver Hand's head clear off his shoulders. It rolled away cross the room, his body slumping to the floor. Cry exhaled a shaky breath, and turned away, hurrying to help Aela. She came up behind the Silver Hand that was attacking her, and shoved her greatsword between his shoulders. The point of her blade almost reached Aela on the other side of the man, but Cry drew it back out before it could with a grunt.
The room was silent. They'd done it.
Cry breathed outwards, and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her arm fall to her side. And there went the adrenaline, right out of her.
She heard Aela curse, and her eyes opened again as the huntress rushed passed her across the room. She dropped down to one knee. Cry warily approached, and felt her heart jump into her throat when she saw what Aela had fallen beside.
Skjor lay in a pool of his own blood, pale. His eyes were closed, and he had an expression of rage on his face. Cry winced, and glanced at Aela, who's own face reflected Skjor's.
"Those bastards," she hissed under her breath, and she looked up at Cry. "We need to make them pay for this."
Cry nodded. "What do you have in mind?"
"I'm going to stay here, see if there's any information to be found on other Silver Hand locations," Aela replied. "You and I will clear them out, together. The Silver Hand will tremble at our sight."
Well, Cry thought as she headed through a barred off door, that led to the main entrance of Gallows Rock. At least I didn't die.
Her heart ached for Skjor, however. He should not have gone into Gallows Rock alone. Cry knew that if she hadn't had Aela at her back, she would have been struck down in that first room. However strong Skjor had been, numbers could overwhelm. Clearly, they had.
She only hoped that Aela would be able to bury him on her own. She hadn't asked for Cry's assistance, and Cry thought that maybe Aela wanted to do it herself.
She just had no idea how they were going to explain everything to Kodlak, if they did at all. She had a feeling that they would be keeping at least some of the truth to themselves, considering Kodlak's feelings on the matter of the Companions being werewolves.
Cry frowned to herself as she poked her way towards Whiterun, glad that she could see in the darkness. Skjor had made it seem as though Kodlak wanted to get rid of the idea of werewolves within the Companions completely. She had no idea if that was true, but considering that Kodlak did not deem it a requirement to become a Companion, she supposed it was possible.
Maybe she should try to stop thinking so much.
