"Where are we going again, my Thane?" Lydia asked from behind her, and Cry sighed.
"We have to go to Winterhold to do a job for the Companions, and then there's a Word of Power somewhere near the border that I need to go get." She paused, and glanced up at the sky. "I suppose we could have hired a carriage, but what's the fun of that? Besides, if I walk, I have more of an excuse for why I was gone for longer than I should have been."
Lydia sighed, but Cry pretended not to hear it. In fact, she almost didn't, because something had caught her attention up the road aways. It looked like a cart was stopped at the side of it. Someone crouched near it, and Cry could hear them grumbling.
"Uh oh," she said, and then she quickened her pace.
"My Thane, wait!" Lydia called. Cry ignored her, and drew to a halt beside the cart. She could see that one of the wheels was broken. Sitting next to it, looking despondent, was the strangest dressed man she'd ever seen. He looked like a court jester, but Cry had never heard of any jarl in Skyrim having a jester.
"Excuse me," she said, and he looked up at her. "Do you need some help?"
"Oh, yes!" the jester said, immediately jumping to his feet. "Cicero would love some help, kind traveler!" He gestured to the wagon wheel. "The wheel broke, and Cicero must get his mother to her new home."
Cry peered into the cart, and blinked at the large crate in the back of it. Deciding that she would like to get away as soon as possible, she turned to Lydia, who had just joined them.
"We need tools," she said, and Lydia frowned at her, before looking at Cicero, and then at the broken wheel on the cart.
"There's a farm up that path aways," she said after a moment. "I can go see if they'd be willing to help."
"Thank you, Lydia," Cry said, and the housecarl turned and headed up the dirt path that she had gestured to. Cry then turned back to Cicero, and smiled at him. "We'll have your wheel fixed in no time."
"Cicero can't thank you enough," the jester said, clearly no longer upset. "I tried to get the farmer to help me, but Loreius refused!"
"Did he tell you why?" Cry asked, frowning, and Cicero stomped his foot.
"No! He just said that he didn't believe me!"
"Huh." Cry could see why, but she didn't say that out loud. "Well, don't worry. My housecarl will get the tools we need, and we can help you."
"Housecarl?" Cicero seemed surprised by this. He bowed lowly to her. "You must be incredibly important, to have a housecarl. Lowly Cicero will be at your service for this, great one."
"I'm not so great," Cry said, and then she placed a hand against her brow and peered in the direction that Lydia had gone. "She's taking a while."
"Oh, the farm is some distance away," Cicero said with a wave of his hand, "and then she has to convince him to help."
"Right," Cry agreed, and she crossed her arms. "Still."
She paced away a few steps, thinking about the best way to excuse herself from the situation. Lydia would forgive her for that, wouldn't she?
All the same, before she could decide, there was the sound of boots on the path, and she turned to see a familiar figure running up the road towards where they were. She frowned as Vilkas reached them, and she raised an eyebrow at him.
"Something you need?" she asked him.
"I wanted to tell you that you don't need to go to Winterhold," he said, glancing first at her and then at Cicero and his cart. "Aela said she has something more important for you to do."
"Oh." Cry uncrossed her arms. "You ran all the way here to tell me that?"
"I figured you wouldn't want to waste your time, going to Winterhold," Vilkas explained.
Cry smiled at him. "Well, thank you, Vilkas," she said. "That was kind of you."
Lydia returned, then, holding a satchel. "I have the tools, my Thane," she said, and then she blinked, noticing Vilkas. "Vilkas, sir."
"Hello, Lydia," Vilkas replied.
"We don't have to go to Winterhold after all," Cry said.
"Oh, good," Lydia replied, looking relieved, and she gestured towards the cart. "Should I -?"
"Yes, I'll help you in a moment," Cry said.
"Wait, what's going on?" Vilkas asked, and Cry glanced at him.
"We're just helping Cicero here with his cart wheel," she explained, nodding towards the jester, who's head had been turning back and forth between the two of them.
"Oh." Vilkas glanced at the wheel. "I can probably help, if you'd like."
"Sure," Cry said after a moment. "That'd be nice."
Vilkas nodded, and then he turned and settled down next to Lydia. Cry watched him reach into the satchel and pull out a tool, and she smiled.
Cicero suddenly appeared next to her, and he said, quietly but gleefully: "You love him!"
Cry started, and she looked at him. "What?" she hissed, turning around and walking away. Cicero followed her. "No, I don't."
"Yes you do, and he loves you!"
"Stop it," Cry muttered under her breath.
Cicero merely did a small dance, and she gaped at him. He was the strangest person she had ever met.
Sooner rather than later, Lydia and Vilkas had finished with the wheel, and Cicero had paid them both, thanking them happily. Before more could happen, Cry tugged the two of them away, back towards Whiterun. Cry sent Lydia ahead, leaving her and Vilkas to walk alone.
"Did Aela say what she needs done?" she asked him at one point, interrupting the quiet that they had settled into.
"No, she didn't," Vilkas said. "I figured it was her business."
Probably another Silver Hand camp.
Out loud, she sighed. "Well, hopefully it's not something in Winterhold, because I really didn't want to go all the way out there."
"I didn't think so," Vilkas agreed, and then he glanced sideways at her. "You know, you don't have to accept every job one of us gives you anymore. You're part of the Circle, now; you can say no."
Cry chuckled. "Well, thank you for finally admitting it out loud." He smiled as well, and Cry shrugged. "I guess I'm just used to having to say yes, too."
They were silent for another moment, and then Vilkas let out a breath. "I'm sorry," he said, and Cry glanced sideways at him. "I mean… for…" He sighed. "I don't know. I'm just sorry for how I treated you, those first weeks."
Cry merely smiled, and nudged him with her shoulder. "It's all right," she said. "You got better. It just… took a while. And a knock to the head."
"Speaking of which, we haven't fought, yet," Vilkas commented, and Cry hummed.
"That's your doing, I believe," she said. "You refused to fight me the time I offered, and I haven't had a reason to raise my sword against you since."
"I guess that's a good thing," Vilkas said with a laugh of his own. "Still. You've improved in your sword work, I've noticed."
"Oh, have you?" Cry queried, crossing her arms. "Interesting."
"No thanks to me, I suppose you're thinking," Vilkas continued.
Cry snorted. "You're right. I thought that, y'know, something in you would take pity on the slight warrior who thought she was strong enough to handle a greatsword."
"I think you're doing rather well on your own," Vilkas said. "How long have you been using a blade?"
Cry thought about it for a moment, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. "For a long time," she finally said. "Since I was… five, at least." She smiled slightly at the thought. "My father had a friend who was trained in practically every type of weapon. Even though my mother was against it, he thought it was a good idea for me to learn how to fight, so I did. I trained with axes, swords, maces… a bow, too, although not as much."
"Is that why you joined the Companions?" Vilkas queried, kicking the stone away from her. "I mean, you were already trained to be a warrior. It makes sense."
Cry shrugged her shoulders. "Partially," she said. "There was another reason, too, but I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
Vilkas nodded, although she sensed that he wasn't happy with the short end to their discussion of her past and her motives. No doubt he was still curious about what it was that she aimed for, why it was that she had joined the Companions, had risen through the ranks so quickly.
She didn't really know the answer to that second part, and she didn't really want to tell him the answer to the first. No one knew, still, aside from Farkas, and he'd been doing a good job of keeping it quiet. She really didn't thank him enough, for doing that.
She bit her lip as another thought came to mind, and then she sighed and glanced at him. "Vilkas?" He looked at her. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened the night of my birthday?"
Vilkas's shoulders stiffened. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, slowly, and Cry turned her gaze towards the ground.
"Right."
The rest of the walk to Whiterun was spent in silence, and they parted once they'd reached Jorrvaskr, Vilkas walking around to the training yard, and Cry heading inside to find Aela. The huntress was seated at the mead hall table, drinking a mug of something. She glanced up at Cry's approach, and her eyes lit up.
"I've got another one," she said. "Over near the Rift. If we can get our hands on the plans that they've been working on, we'll be able to figure out their next move."
Cry nodded in agreement, and pulled her map from the pack she was wearing so that Aela could mark it with the camp's location. As she was doing so, someone called Cry's name, and she turned around.
Farkas stood near the stairs leading down to the living quarters. Cry took the map back from Aela and rolled it up. She stuck it back into her pack, and made her way over to where Farkas was standing.
"Kodlak wants to talk to you," he said, and Cry blinked at him.
"What for?"
Farkas shrugged. "Dunno. He just told me to find you." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "The old man is very perceptive. Maybe he just wants to confirm a suspicion."
Cry suddenly felt extremely lightheaded. "You think he knows?" she whispered, and Farkas shrugged again.
"Only one way to find out." He gestured towards the living quarters.
Cry inhaled a breath, and started down the stairs. She pushed her way through the door, and went down the hall to the other end. The doors to Kodlak's sitting room were opened, partially, but she knocked first all the same.
"Come in," she heard the Harbinger say.
Swallowing, she pushed the door open.
Kodlak sat at the table in the corner of the room. He lifted his chin when he saw her, and gestured towards the empty seat on the other side.
"Come sit, youngling," he said to her. "We have some things to discuss."
Cry walked slowly to the opposite chair, and settled down into it. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes briefly, and then looked at Kodlak, who waited patiently across from her. When he saw he had her attention, he said: "I hear you've been busy, as of late."
Immediately, every part of Cry relaxed. This was about the Silver Hand business, not her being a Dragonborn. Thank the Gods.
"Aela and I work to avenge Skjor's death," she said to Kodlak, who glanced downwards.
"Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor," he said. He raised his eyes to meet hers again. "His death, however, was avenged long ago. The two of you have taken more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time."
Cry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that, just as you viewed Skjor as a brother, the Silver Hand you have slain were the brothers and sisters of the ones still living," Kodlak explained. "Do you not think that they will want to avenge the deaths of those that they have lost, just as you work to avenge the death of one you have lost?"
It was Cry's turned to glance downwards. "I didn't even think about it that way," she admitted, quietly. "Aela was just… so dead set on destroying the Silver Hand, and I was upset with them for what they had done… I saw no reason to think twice about killing them." She shook her head to herself. "I should have thought before I acted, but I didn't, and now… now the Silver Hand have even more of a reason to come for the Companions."
She looked at Kodlak again, who was once again watching her, patiently. "I apologize, Harbinger," she said. "If the Silver Hand come, I will be the first to raise my blade against them."
Kodlak offered her a smile. "Of that, I have no doubt, but before then, I have a task for you." Cry tilted her head in curiosity, and Kodlak relaxed back in his seat. "Have you heard the story of how we became werewolves?"
"I've heard two different sides, one calling it a blessing, and the other a curse," Cry said, and Kodlak let out a huff of a laugh.
"I suppose I can guess who those stories came from," he said, and then he exhaled a breath. "One of them has a nugget of truth, all though it was not thought to be a curse when it was first given to us. No, I suppose back then, it was considered to be a blessing."
"What's the real story, Harbinger?" Cry asked him.
"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old, but I suppose you know that, already." Cry nodded. "This matter of the beast blood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors, a good but short-sighted man, made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven."
Cry furrowed her brows. "That's in the Reach, isn't it? Rather far south, too, I think."
Kodlak dipped his head. "You've heard of it, then. Good. That will make this much easier. The deal made was that, if the Companions would hunt in the name of Hircine, we would be granted great power."
"And that was the werewolf thing," Cry concluded.
"The Companions did not believe the change would be permanent," Kodlak went on. "The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But the Companions were deceived." He eyed her for a moment. "You've experienced what we all have, by this point: the dreams, the effect it's had on our spirits. But what you might not know is what happens after death. Werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds when they die on the mortal plane. For some, that is viewed as a paradise. They want nothing more than to hunt with their master for eternity, like Aela and Skjor. For others, it is a fate that would be avoided. I am still a true Nord, and I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home."
Cry smiled at the thought. Like any Nord, she'd grown up hearing stories of the fabled Sovngarde, Shor's Hall, the eternal feast that awaited all brave Nord warriors upon their deaths. She did not blame Kodlak for wanting it, not in the slightest. It certainly sounded more appealing to her than an eternal hunt.
"So, you want a cure," she said aloud, and Kodlak nodded.
"And I've spent many long years trying to find out what it is. And, finally, I have figured it out; the witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can let us free," he said. "Of course, they won't give it willingly, but that should be no problem for someone who can take their foul powers by force."
"And… I'm assuming that this is where I come in," Cry said, and Kodlak offered her a tight grin.
"I'd ask that you go seek them out, destroy their wicked band, and bring me their heads," he said. "They are the seat of their abilities; once we have them, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."
Cry considered it for a moment. "Am I to go at this alone?" she asked at last, and Kodlak exhaled a breath.
"The fewer who know about this, the better," he said. "I do not want to start a ruckus over the wishes of an old man. However, the spirit of Ysgramor goes with you, to restore the honor of his legacy."
Cry sighed outwards, and then she stood up. "I'll bring you the heads of the Glenmoril Witches," she said, "and perhaps you will be able to find peace."
Kodlak bowed his head to her. "Talos guide you, lass," he said.
Cry turned, and walked out of the sitting room. She passed Vilkas as he headed towards his room. He lifted an eyebrow, seeing she was coming from Kodlak's rooms.
"Where are you going?" he asked her. Cry hesitated a moment, and then she shook her head. Vilkas gazed at her, and then he nodded. "All right."
"Wait, really?" Cry asked in surprise, turning around to watch as he kept walking.
"Yep," he said, and he paused before he rounded the corner, resting his hand on the wall. He turned his head to look at her, and smiled. "I can learn, too."
Cry stood where she was for a moment, thinking about that, and then she shook her head and kept going. The last thing she needed right now was Vilkas and his vagueness. She had a job to do, one that the Harbinger of the Companions had given her, and she needed to focus on that.
