My first instinct was to search for sources of food and water, thinking one of those places would lead me to the stag. I followed a nearby stream, hoping my guess would pay off. Moments later, the Divines smiled on me, as I saw the shape of antlers appearing in the distance. I lightened my footsteps, grateful for the leather armor I wore instead of my usual iron. As I inched closer and closer, I stayed out of sight, hiding myself behind a tree.
Sinding was right—the creature was majestic. It was larger than most deer I saw in Skyrim. Its fur was pure white, as though it was translucent. The beast had the strangest eyes, so black that they were like bottomless wells.
I readied my bow and took my aim. Would it be better to get it through the heart and lungs, or should I aim for the head? My stomach lurched. When I hunted wolves for Aela, I didn't feel guilty. The beasts were hostile, and they attacked me on sight. This stag didn't. The deer was peaceful, lapping water without a care in the world. It's a pity, but I promised Sinding I would do this.
The bow pulsed in my hands like a beating heart— alive. Fire, it beckoned. I let the arrow loose, watching it pierce through the stag's body, blood gushing forth from the puncture. The beast let out a painful groan, tumbling to the ground. It was a perfect shot, and one I would never replicate again.
I approached the stag, yanking the arrow from its corpse.
Well met, hunter, a gruff voice greeted.
The voice startled me at first, even more so when I noticed a glowing blue stag materialized in front of me. It emanated power, one that I can only describe as primal. Without question, this stag was an aspect of Hircine. I was no follower of the Daedra, but even I couldn't help but show respect. My body knelt for me, as if propelled by some outside force.
"Honor to you, Lord of the Hunt," I said.
Honor to you. I see you have found my bow, the stag remarked, nodding towards the weapon. It is blessed by my own hand. It responds only to the worthiest hunters. Surely you have felt the way your skin prickles when you hold the bow, yes?
My heart dropped to my stomach. This is a Daedric weapon? For all this time I thought I enacted the will of the Divines, Hircine was playing me too. I should have known when it felt so good, I swore. With that bow, Hircine had a claim to me. It taught me never to grab enchanted weapons from a troll's den ever again.
Hircine sized me up, wondering what he could do with me. It made me wish I was back in front of Jarl Siddgeir. For all of his talk, the Jarl was just a man. This stag—this aspect of Hircine— had power I couldn't comprehend. If he wanted to bend me to his will, he could do it. I couldn't disobey the Lord of the Hunt himself.
I've been watching you for ages, it seems. You have the makings of a fine hunter. You may even be my champion. Perhaps.
This was a far more delicate situation that I expected. I didn't want to be his champion, but it wasn't in my best interest to anger the Daedric Prince.
Huh. You're a quiet one. Why have you sought me?
I pulled out the ring and said, "I am on an errand for one of yours. He is repenting for his actions and offers you this ring in apology for his misdeeds. Will you remove the curse from this ring?"
The stag glanced at the ring and let out something that sounded like a snort. I frowned and pocketed the ring again. There had to be a way to convince the Daedra that this was worth his time, and mine.
The shifter sent you on this errand? the stag asked.
"He did. His motivations are sincere."
The manbeast's sincerity is for me to decide, hunter. He stole this ring from my hunters. If he cannot control the beast, he is not worthy of being one of my children. For that, he must atone.
After all my time at Jorrvaskr, I knew how to sense an order.
"What is it you require of me?" I asked.
The fool flees to what he thinks is his sanctuary just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunt, but only ends up trapping himself. Seek this rogue shifter. Tear the skin from his body and make it an offering to me.
His command was enough to make me regret ever snatching that letter from Vilkas' hands. What a damned fool I was, I cursed. I threw caution to the wind—I refused to belong to the Daedric Prince. He may have had his eye on me, but I was not his champion. The same way I honored my promise to the Divines, I planned on honoring Sinding. No fancy bow or threats could get me to comply with his desires.
"He's done me no wrong. I won't kill him. There must be another way," I insisted.
There is no retribution in the hunt, mortal. It is not vengeance I seek, but the blood course of a living hunt. There are others who would gladly accept my favor. However, you have been chosen. Hmm… I see you remain unconvinced. Very well, if I must.
The stag morphed into a man—no, not quite a man, not when his head was still that of a stag with dark eyes. He stood taller than any being I met, making even the twins look short in comparison. He was every bit as majestic as he was dreadful. The Daedric Prince approached me with all the grace and power of a hunter. If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn that he grinned at me with an unsettling glee.
"Close your eyes," he ordered, and I complied. "You will see what you are reluctant to admit."
Before I had the chance to question, a powerful blow knocked me backwards, sending me tumbling to my feet. My head throbbed as I pried my eyes open. The wide-eyed, bloodied face of a corpse faced mine as I turned to get up. I shrieked, scampering backwards, trying to calm my racing heart. I pulled myself up, only to take in my surroundings. The woods were gone, replaced with cold stone and dripping stalagmites. This wasn't Falkreath—this was Bleak Falls Barrow.
How strangely you react to your first kill, Hircine's voice rang in my head.
"Why have you taken me here? We were in Falkreath moments ago and…"
Your body remains in Falkreath. All I have done is take you back to the first time you took another's life. Tell me, was it not thrilling for you, hunter?
The Daedric Prince awaited my response, patient as he was.
"I didn't kill for sport," I answered.
That wasn't what I asked. Did you enjoy killing him or did you not?
I shuddered, remembering the odd delight at taking away my first life, how powerful I was as the bandit fell before my feet. Why didn't my disgust take over? Did that make me a true warrior, or did it make me a monster? I once told Hadvar I did it because it was the right thing to do. The sight of the bandit's corpse now… it was too much.
Do you see, Dovahkiin? This is your nature. You killed these bandits as a wolf devours its prey.
"I was inexperienced, and lucky," I argued.
Inexperienced perhaps, but it wasn't luck. It's in your blood. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to use my bow. Your path is entwined with mine. The sooner you come to accept that, the better.
The revelation struck me like an arrow, piercing the heart of the matter as my arrow pierced the stag. Hircine was right—shedding blood came easier to me than healing ever did. That damned bow. I couldn't deny how it felt in my hands, not when those sparks coursed in my veins that same night. For all of my promises to the Aedra, The Lord of the Hunt gripped me. I once chided the foolish man in the Daedric ballad for entwining himself with the Daedra—now I was no better.
Hircine took my silence as assent, and my eyes fluttered open. I was back in Falkreath. The Daedric Prince resumed the form of the stag, hovering above me.
You understand now that you are at my beck and call? he asked.
"Yes," I answered, my voice not sounding like my own.
And you will kill this shifter?
"Yes."
Excellent. Your arrows have been blessed with silver. Go. Follow my trail, my hunter. My other followers vie for my favor for a bit of competition, but you are my chosen. Prove your worth and don't dally while my prey flees.
The stag vanished, and the forest floor shimmered underneath the moonlight, forming a path that guided me to Sinding's whereabouts.
"Divines forgive me," I whispered, following Hircine's magic.
...
I entered the grotto, not expecting the lush greenery or the sound of rushing water. The place was probably lovelier in the daytime, but the Bloodmoon shone its crimson light, and a nervous energy crackled in the air. My blood thrummed, and every nerve was on alert, waiting for something to happen.
I spotted Sinding near a small fire, warming his hands. Hircine's command echoed as I took the first step towards the shifter. He was absorbed in thought, his eyes never leaving the flame. My chest hurt at his serene expression. I offered him a second chance, and I was about to snatch it away from him.
He heard me coming, whether that was because of his instincts or the hearing that came with his condition. The shifter's eyes darkened, crestfallen.
"… you? Why?" he asked.
My throat was dry. There was no suitable answer. Still, I sputtered out, "I've been told to kill you."
"And I would deserve it, wouldn't I? I can't stop you if that's what you want to do. Hircine is too powerful."
I drew my blade, the regret settling in. "I don't think I have any more choice in the matter than you do. It's not like I can defy Hircine. He's made a claim on me."
Sinding's eyes bore into mine, as if piercing through my skull. "There is always a choice, hunter."
An arrow whizzed past us, missing Sinding's head by less than an inch. He sprang up, glaring ahead of him. Hircine's hunters arrived, at least ten of them.
Sinding clutched at his head, grunting like he was trying to push something back in. His skin bulged and rippled, giving way to thick, dark fur, his hands turning into claws. Sinding was on his knees, still trying to resist the change, while more arrows flying shot past of us. Our eyes locked, and I saw the flash of regret in them before they turned into the golden eyes of the beast, his face morphing into its wolfish form. With his transformation complete, Sinding howled, stopping some hunters in their tracks.
The shifter took advantage of their hesitancy and charged towards them. They continued to shoot their arrows at him, hoping to slow him down, but Sinding was quicker. He dug a claw into a hunter, and the poor bastard didn't have a chance to scream. The carnage didn't end there as Sinding bit into one of the other hunters, entrails dripping out of him.
There I stood, transfixed in horror. Such bloodshed. It wasn't normal. If Hircine discovers I didn't... I didn't want to finish the thought.
Only one hunter remained by the time Sinding was done, and he had enough sense to retreat, but Sinding snatched him in his jaws.
"Sinding," I called out, hoping I could stop this from getting worse.
The shifter ignored me, engrossed in his feast
"Sinding!" I shouted, and the whole grotto shook. Sinding dropped the hunter's body to the ground. He turned to me, his fur matted with blood, his eyes dilated. I could smell the metallic scent of blood as it clung to the air.
"Sinding."
He stalked towards me. Run, you idiot! the voice inside my head screamed. My feet couldn't move. My legs were like tree stumps, heavy and rooted in place.
"Sinding. I don't want to hurt you," I pleaded, my voice trembling, afraid. There has to be a way to get through to him. Somehow.
He slowed down, listening. Emboldened, I added, "I made a promise to you. I want to honor it. The man I met in the forest wouldn't want this. Change back, Sinding… please… I'll defy Hircine and help you…"
If I helped him, it proved I could defy Hircine. That I could still honor my promise to the gods. Then maybe I could prove I wasn't the bloodthirsty monster Hircine told me I was—until all of it shattered.
Sinding's stare was devoid of recognition. A cold terror overcame me—I wasn't a friend anymore. The man who stood before me moments ago disappeared, replaced with the beast that slaughtered that little girl. I pulled out my axe, ready to attack, when Sinding lunged at me, grabbing the weapon out of my hands and tossing it aside. Fear grasped me in its maw as Sinding's hungry eyes fell upon me once more.
Like a rabbit facing a wolf, I scampered away. I was sure that the Daedric Prince watched in amusement as his chosen hunter fled the terrifying beast. This wasn't right—I should have been able to grab my weapon and fight again, but I couldn't. My Thu'um wasn't able to build in my throat, failing me.
I dashed towards a set of stone steps, Sinding hot on my heels. I missed a step, falling on the way up. My knees and palms scraped against the steps. The werewolf had me in his grasp as I tried pulling myself back on my feet. It was too late—Sinding hovered above me, ready to dig into my flesh, until the sound of a horn blared in the distance. His head snapped towards the sound, ears perked. More hunters arrived.
I scrambled away from him, continuing my way up the steps. Sinding lost interest in me, charging towards the sound. There was better prey. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I knew this wasn't the end of it. I took the opportunity to heal myself.
The steps led to a shrine of Talos. The statue of the Divine loomed over me as I tended to my wounds. I don't know how I got into this mess either, I thought, the golden light in my palms flickering as I healed my scraped hands and knees. It could have been worse. It could have been way worse.
The cries of pain echoed in the grotto, as did Sinding's howls. I shuddered. Those hunters didn't stand a chance against him. It was a matter of time before Sinding searched for me again. Another shiver ran through my body. It hurt thinking that the mild man I encountered earlier that night was capable of such violence. He's not in control of himself, I reasoned, though it did nothing to reassure me.
For the time being, it was just the statue of Talos and me. Look, Talos, how he cuts down those hunters. If I allow him to live, he'll take away more lives. That little girl, she didn't deserve to die. The promise I made Sinding happened while he was a man. I never agreed to help the beast. It was a workaround, and it didn't contradict my vow, but it wasn't right. Sinding was the beast, and vice versa—no amount of nitpicking changed that.
I returned my focus to the statue of Talos. The god stood in triumph over the dragon he conquered. Ysmir, the Nords called him. The patron of questing heroes. Would you understand if I broke that promise, fellow Dragonborn? I asked. No answer—not that I expected any.
I drew the bow from its quiver, wishing it didn't feel so good. If I was going to do this, I had no choice but to use it. The guilt tried to push its way into my mind, but I shoved it down. Sinding was beyond saving, and I had my own hide to consider.
The sounds of the hunt grew closer. I kept my footsteps light as I made my way down the steps once more, leading me to another wooded area. I nocked the arrow, keeping my bow ready. Sinding and the hunters drew closer, and I hid amongst the trees, quiet, waiting.
Sinding came into sight, chasing after two hunters. Despite their best efforts, Sinding tore through them, the blood spluttering and splashing around him. I suppressed the gag rising to my throat. Keep quiet. If not, you'll alert him to your presence.
If Aela was with me, she would tell me that the shifter did not differ from any other prey. A beast was still a beast, and any beast could fall prey to a good enough hunter. He was like the wolves I hunted for the traders. I shoved down all of my disgust and fear. Sinding wasn't a man anymore; he was my prey.
Sinding was too distracted devouring the hunters' remains to notice my presence. I took advantage of that, aiming right at his back. I let the arrow loose, watching it fly and pierce through his fur. He let out a howl, trying to reach the arrow, thrashing like a bear caught in a trap. I can't let him suffer like this. It was harder to aim at a moving target, but I did it anyway. One arrow pierced him through the chest, the other in his arm. He tumbled to the ground, groaning as the silver seeped through his veins, poisoning him.
The sound of laughter rang in my ears. I lowered my bow, and the regret crashed over me. I did what Hircine wanted me to do.
I jumped down from the small ledge, rushing towards Sinding. The beast struggled, whimpering. The golden light flickered in my palm, but it never built enough to become useful. I swore, trying to have him hold on for one more moment. Whatever I did was enough to get him to stop whimpering and open his eyes. The recognition flooded in, as did the shame.
"Hunter…" Sinding said, his voice gravelly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my tears pooling. "I wanted to help you… I didn't want to…"
With his last bits of strength, Sinding put a bloody paw on my arm. "No. I am. We were… both trapped. But… you don't have to… f-follow him."
"How, Sinding? You see what he's capable of…"
"Find a way," he urged, his golden eyes still boring into mine as their vitality vanished. "G-good… luck."
His breathing stopped, and the tension eased away from his face.
A strangled cry escaped my lips from the anguish and regret boiling inside of me, until it exploded into rage. I pulled myself off the ground. This was Hircine's doing. Hircine inflicted Sinding with this curse, a curse he was so desperate to control, but failed. Hircine roped me into this game, first with the bow, then with Sinding. The Lord of the Hunt made me act against my own principles and made me believe I had no agency when I did. The Daedric Prince won this round, but he couldn't control me, not any longer.
One hunter that Sinding attacked dropped an axe. Though it wasn't mine, it was a fine weapon. I thought I had no choice, but the shifter was right; there was always a choice, so I chose to do this on my own terms.
I made my way to the hunters stationed near the waterfall. They cheered as they saw me return. The wrath seethed and bubbled in my chest.
"You brought him down for the glory of Lord Hircine," one remarked. "We honor you and praise you, hunter. Come, join us. Celebrate your victory."
Another held a flask towards me. Sinding's death wasn't a victory. I wanted no part of it, and I wanted no part of them.
The world turned redder than the Bloodmoon. A shout tore through me, clawing at my throat, desperate for release. Some of them fell on their backs, others kept their balance, but I didn't care. My instincts overtook me, the axe an extension of my body. All I remember was the blood, their cries of pain, begging me for mercy. The hunt was merciless, and so was I. Hircine had no claim on me. He would never have a claim on me.
I ended my slaughter with one hunter's head rolling away. My breaths came out in heavy pants as a piercing whistle rung in my ears. The world was still again, the Bloodmoon's crimson illuminating the violence surrounding me.
The grotto had bodies strewn everywhere. Those hadn't just been Sinding's doing—they were mine, too. For the first time in months, the putrid stench of death became too much, and I retched.
Sinding was right—there was always a choice, but he failed to mention that all choices had consequences. I thought of that as I took his hide, hatine every moment of it.
...
Once I collected myself, I left the grotto, the hide in my hands. I tried not to look at it. My weariness settled in, and I groaned at the sight of the stag waiting for me. My willingness to deal with the Daedric Prince dwindled the moment I skinned the shifter.
Well met again, hunter. I see you've returned bloodied, but victorious. I see you have the hide in your hands too. Hand it over and I will gift you with my blessing.
"No. The hide is mine. I defy you and your vile tasks," I snarled.
So you may think. You proved yourself a worthy hunter tonight. By bringing down my other hunters, you turned the chase inside out. You're deserving of my blessing.
"I want nothing to do with your blessing," I protested, but I heard it come out as a whine.
You dare refuse my gifts? The stag shot me a menacing gaze, its dark eyes challenging me.
The Daedric Prince wouldn't intimidate me, not when I wanted to avoid becoming his instrument. Sinding's death at my hands was too much. I didn't want to picture what else the Daedric Prince would ask of me if I put myself in his service.
"I do. You play wicked games, Daedra. I refuse to take any part in them ever again."
Very well. Keep the hide. I hoped I would be able to persuade you, but I see you're beyond reason. I shall have you by blessing or by curse.
Hircine covered me in a suffocating fog. My frayed nerves were alert once more, assessing the situation, realizing that this didn't bode well.
Hear me, hunter. We are ill met by moonlight, Hircine's voice boomed. In rejecting my blessing, you have damned yourself and your pack. You have cursed them to become prey, and they shall suffer great losses at your hand. In time, they will come to resent you.
But you, your punishment will be all the worse. You will be tormented by the blood at every step. It will call to you, entice you at every turn. You will crave it, desire it, and heed its power. You will never escape it, and you will always succumb to its power.
"But why me?" I asked.
It's your reluctance to see the truth. You believe you're so principled with your promises to the Aedra, but you cannot deny your true nature, Dovahkiin. You seek domination. You play at your humbleness and your meekness, but those are a facade. Something stronger lurks within you, something more primal. That is the mark of a true predator. A shame you don't see it yet. Now go forth and claim the glory you earned for killing the shifter. But remember—I shall follow you at every step.
The fog cleared, revealing the crack of dawn behind the clouds. The stag vanished, leaving me to deal with the dreadful knot inside my chest and the cursed ring in my pocket.
...
"I demand justice, my Jarl!" a woman yelled as I entered the longhouse. "You promised the manbeast would be dead by morning, and I've seen no proof!"
Nenya, not trusting the Jarl to speak, answered, "Be patient, Indara. We all mourn and lament the loss of Lavinia, but we have a Companion dealing with the shifter."
"And it looks like she's returned," Jarl Siddgeir added, scrunching his nose when he saw me. "By the smell of it, you've dealt with the shifter."
Indara and her husband turned to Sinding's hide. I tried imagining what they were experiencing, the simultaneous disgust and relief at the sight of their daughter's murderer dead. I imagined I would experience much of the same emotions.
I handed the hide to Indara, and said, "It has been done."
Indara clutched it in her hands, a myriad of emotions playing on her harrowed face. Her gaze met mine, grateful.
"Thank you, Companion. How can we ever repay you?" she asked.
"I didn't do this for a reward. I hope it brings you peace," I answered.
It should have been a proud moment, like I accomplished some great deed in service for the people of Falkreath. It didn't. No one said choosing justice was a simple decision—if this was justice at all. It was more like Hircine's game. The Jarl's satisfied smirk made it worse.
"A promise is a promise. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Falkreath. Congratulations. I grant you a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. I'll also notify the guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now. Go rest and celebrate. Being a Thane is no small honor, as you know. I look forward to having you as a part of my court."
Becoming his Thane wasn't so much of an honor as it was being damned between him and Hircine.
...
It was evening by the time I woke up from my nap. I laid on my back, staring at the ceiling. The memories of the night before came flooding back to me. The gore, the sight of those hunters strewn over the grotto. Not just because of Sinding. My sullied armor at the corner of the room reminded me it hadn't just been a dream—it was real.
More questions and doubts gnawed at me. To the outside world, killing Sinding was the right thing to do. It brought honor to me and to the Companions. When I returned to Jorrvaskr, the others would be pleased to hear about my victory. What they wouldn't know was how I acted in the grotto, more like a beast than warrior with my uncontrolled rage. It shamed me and I felt unworthy of being a Companion.
As soon as I returned to the mead hall, I would let them know that I was no longer interested in joining. It pained me to think of all the work I put into my time at Jorrvaskr, but I couldn't continue with them in good faith. Hircine's curse tainted me—regardless of whether I was a shifter or not, the Daedric Prince promised he would haunt me at every step.
There's no sense in travelling back to Whiterun tonight, I concluded. I needed some distance from Jorrvasrk, and a distraction.
I exited my room and into the tavern, with some eager faces excited to praise me for my accomplishment. I grinned and bore it, but the relief settled in when I made it to the bar to drown my sorrows.
About two drinks in, the tavern's resident bard greeted me, offering to buy my next round. I wasn't one to turn down such a gracious offer, and I allowed his company for a bit. He wasn't bad looking—it was those full lips. It's been a while, hasn't it? I noticed. A good fuck always did the trick.
"You've got lovely eyes," he remarked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Why is it always my damn eyes? He's a bard. He's got to be more creative than this.
"Do I?" I asked, trying to quell my annoyance.
"You do. Perhaps one day, I'll write a song about you."
I gave him a polite smile, but the words grated on me like no other. There is a song about me already, but if I hear it tonight, I will end up vomiting again. The last thing I wanted was recognition of my "warrior's heart," or however the rest of the stupid song went. Whatever is between his legs better be enough to compensate for his stupidity.
A man with dark hair approached the bard, offering him an apologetic smile. "Sorry to bother you, Delacourt, but Valga was looking for you. She said something about you owing her rent for the month, or some sort."
"Ah! Damn it! I thought I paid it. Thank you for letting me know, friend." Delacourt flashed me a charming grin. "I hope to see you later, my lady."
"Perhaps. Go tend to your business with Valga," I urged, and he was off to see the innkeeper.
The new man didn't leave, instead offering me a sweet grin. He had such a pleasant face, a stark contrast to the large scar on his left eye. Whatever left that, it was quite a beast, I remarked.
"Valga doesn't need to see Delacourt, does she?" I asked.
The mischief glinted in his eyes. "It's true enough, if you'd like it to be. Can I keep you company?"
"By all means, take a seat. Perhaps you'll want to buy me a drink, seeing as you took away my source of free ale."
He snorted. "Another drink for the lady, Narri. On me. The lady deserves a hero's celebration for her bravery."
Is everyone going to bring up the fact that I killed Sinding? I grumbled. Narri tossed me some ale, which I gulped without a second thought. If this was the way the evening was going, I would need more than that to get through it.
The man's eyes turned curious. "I hope I didn't say anything to offend you."
"No offense taken. Not in the slightest," I lied through gritted teeth.
He frowned, which irritated me even more than the praise. "Apologies. I've been watching you since I entered the tavern, and for someone who's done something heroic, you don't seem happy."
"Not all heroic deeds are happy ones."
How could I be happy? I broke my vow to the Divines by killing Sinding after I offered to help him, and earned Hircine's wrath. Even worse, the godsdamned Jarl made me a Thane. All the gold in the world couldn't make up for how much I hated that man, yet I was his Thane! What about my entire situation inspired joy?
I didn't say any of that, instead choosing to ask, "What business is it of yours anyways?"
"It isn't, and I understand you don't want me meddling, but…"
"But what?"
"I have some advice, if you want it."
"Unlikely, but have at it."
This I've got to hear, I thought, amused. What advice did the man think he had to offer?
"I understand you may regret killing the manbeast, but you helped that little girl's family. I won't judge you if that's how you're feeling," he said.
For the first time since the conversation began, I took a closer look at the man who joined me. He spoke with sincerity, and he had an honest expression. I realized who he reminded me of the moment—Hadvar. At least he resembled Hadvar, but not quite—this man's hair and eyes were a darker brown, and his features were softer, despite the scar. That scar—it made him striking. I liked it.
"This next round is on me, Narri. The Jarl paid me enough gold to last me a while, so I should make good use of it. I never caught your name, stranger," I said.
"Krisvar. Anyaie, isn't it? Did I say that right?"
I smirked. "I've heard every variation. Annie-ay, Awe-nee-ay, Any-yay. Take your pick."
Krisvar laughed. "Don't blame me when I call you all three."
"Oh I wouldn't. Not when you'll be paying for the round after this one."
"Tell me what happened with the shifter and I'll pay for as many rounds as you want."
I gave him a watered-down version, explaining how the Jarl tasked me with killing him, and that I tried giving him a chance, but I took his life away. It was a good rehearsal for what I would tell anyone else if they asked, and it didn't include Hircine. He listened to me, courteous as a gentleman. When I finished, Krisvar gave me his insight.
"That's what's hard with shifters," Krisvar said, motioning to Narri for another round of ale. "It's thinking they were humans once too. It's hard to reconcile that with the beast that lurks within them."
I sighed. "It would have been easier if he was just a monster. This shifter had a hard time controlling his transformations. He didn't mean to kill the little girl."
"Maybe he didn't, but that's the problem with the beast blood. It chips away at the shifter's humanity, and the beast emerges. He must have been early in the process to still be able to feel that regret."
"Are you telling me he was doomed?"
He gave me a sad nod. "It's inevitable. Those afflicted by Hircine believe they have control over the disease, but it consumes them. The werewolf would have succumbed to his urges, eventually. You took him out of his misery. I'm sure his soul thanks you for it."
"I guess so," I said, but those words didn't soothe my conscience.
Krisvar tilted my chin to face him, his touch as gentle as a lover's.
"Don't doubt yourself," he urged. "A woman like you wouldn't have killed unless it was the right thing to do."
"You barely know me," I protested, my heart hammering against my chest.
"I think I know enough," he purred, stroking my lower lip with his thumb. "And I know how shifters work too."
"So is that what happened?" I asked, tracing a finger down his scar.
He nodded. "You're troubled enough with your shifter. You don't need to hear about mine."
But I wanted to know. It might have been the ale getting to my head, or the stress from the last day catching up to me, but I wanted to hear it from him. I needed to feel better about my decision. I wanted a connection to someone who understood, even if that was for one night.
"Tell me," I whispered, enjoying the way his hands stroked my face.
Krisvar leaned back, pulling his hand away from my face.
"It's simple. The shifter lashed out at me and gave me this scar," Krisvar explained.
There has to be more, I thought. Questions sprang into my mind, things that my parents drilled into me. I stroked his scar, and he leaned into my touch. Sanies Lupinus, otherwise known as the werewolf disease, took root within three days after a werewolf scratched the victim. He mustn't have been able to heal the scratch when he received it, but why? Wouldn't anyone's first instinct be going to a healer?
"You didn't contract the disease, did you?" I asked.
"Divines no, but I almost did. I… I didn't know who to turn to," he admitted.
"I'm not native to Skyrim, but I assumed that any healer would have done the trick. It can't be that uncommon."
Krisvar hesitated. I didn't want him closing up on me, not after everything he knew about me. I wanted to know what made this man so willing to view the best in me after I killed in cold blood.
"I won't judge you either," I assured him. "Don't you think it's the least I can do?"
Krisvar went quiet, reflecting on what I told him. When his eyes finally met mine, they looked torn, as if debating whether or not to tell me. I didn't want to force the matter. I understood his reluctance better than anyone at the tavern.
"You don't have to listen, but I see you're eager to know. The story isn't that simple," he confessed, taking a pause, his eyes scanning around the room. Is he afraid someone will listen? I wondered. When he was satisfied, he continued. "I knew the shifter, and he has a reputation in Skyrim. No one would have believed me if I explained what happened."
"Did he threaten you?" I asked.
"No, he didn't, but there were others who did." Krisvar laughed, and it was a humorless, bitter sound. "They didn't realize that no one would have believed me, anyway. I was lucky to get a healing potion to cure the disease, but by the time I could find someone to heal the scar, it was too late. I lost my home, and my livelihood because of them. It took me a long time to recover."
People with power could be so cruel. All it took was a simple threat to keep someone in line, or have them lose everything. Whoever the shifter was, and whoever protected them, were powerful. A part of me wanted to ask who attacked Krisvar. The monster didn't deserve protection, not if he had others who were happy to do his dirty work for him. That shifter deserved justice. But one look at Krisvar's face told me it was wiser not to prod anymore.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be," he said, cupping my cheek in his palm. "You did nothing wrong, not by asking me about my scar or killing the shifter. They're all the same, Anyaie. I don't want you to forget that. Enough about manbeasts. I would rather hear about your other adventures. A woman like you has to have at least a couple of good stories."
"I think we have better uses of our time," I said, smirking.
Krisvar flashed me a wicked grin. "I like the way you think."
"You'll like a lot more than that after tonight."
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as we made our way to his room. It has been a long time, hasn't it? The last time I did this was… was it with Hadvar in Solitude? I wondered, and I heard Krisvar close the door. He came from behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist. His hardness pressed into me as he kissed the crook of my neck.
"Tonight, we can both forget," he murmured, nipping at my earlobe, a shiver running down my spine. "No shifters. No regrets. Nothing. We're enjoying ourselves."
No Hircine, no Companions, nothing but Krisvar and I. It sounded so alluring. Then again, so was he. I grinned, grinding against his erection. Krisvar let out a soft moan, and that was all it took for my nerves to shatter.
He slipped a hand in my breeches, his fingers teasing me. I closed my eyes, leaning against his chest, reveling in his touch. He continued kissing my neck, slipping a finger, then two, into my entrance, stretching me. A moan slipped past my lips as he pumped his fingers in and out, the friction making my toes curl.
"You're gonna make me come," I warned, my voice hitching in my throat as he curled his fingers inside of me.
"That's the goal," he said, hitting my sweet spot. The heat built inside of me, and I wasn't able to sustain it much longer. My release came, flooding through me, stronger than anything I'd experienced in a while.
I turned to face Krisvar, who grinned at me, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking while gazing at me with lustful eyes.
"You taste so good," he said, as his eyes ran along my body, "but those clothes are a problem."
We stripped out of our clothes and smalls, flinging them into unknown corners, making it to his bed. I smirked at him, appreciating the sight before me, running my hands up and down his chest. He was toned, with scars running all over his body from what I assumed were claws; no weapon made gashes like that. It gave him character, and I liked it. If I stopped to think, I would have questioned it more, but my lust-addled mind didn't care. I was eager for him to take me, my wetness dripping down my thighs.
I kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip, feeling his hardness press against my entrance.
"Not yet. I want to take you in my mouth," I told him, straddling his face. "But I don't enjoy getting shortchanged."
Krisvar smirked. "I'd do no such thing. I would be a fool to argue with an attractive woman who wants to suck my cock."
I turned around, rewarding him a fine view of my sex and my ass. I might not have the best tits in Tamriel, but I'd be damned if my ass isn't a fine sight. Krisvar's ran a finger down my mounds, slipping his finger into my cunt. Fuck the man knows how to work his fingers, I thought. He replaced his finger with his tongue, lapping at my folds and savoring me, while I took his leaking cock into my mouth. Between the heat building up in my groin and sucking on his arousal, he pushed me over the edge a second time, and I came into his mouth.
"I need to be inside of you," he panted, his voice thick with need.
I stopped, turned to face him, and flashed him a coy grin. "I would be a fool to argue with an attractive man who wants to fuck me."
Krisvar flipped me onto my back as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around him, thrusting my hips up to his. He laughed, as if chiding me for my impatience, but wasted no time entering me. Our lips found each other's again for a bruising kiss as he hilted me, and all else ceased to matter. I lost myself in his rough and desperate thrusts, clenching around his manhood. All I cared about was the bliss of being fucked, and Krisvar's mouth nipping at the sensitive skin on my neck.
Krisvar pulled out and stroked his cock over me, spilling his warm seed all over my stomach. We stared at each other, trying to catch our breaths, until he got up and searched for a cloth.
"Fucking and cleaning service?" I asked as he wiped my stomach, pressing kisses along the flesh as he went.
"I figured if you'd fucked Delacourt, you would have gotten a ballad. I can't sing, but I can clean." Now it was his turn to flash me a coy grin. "And we can make another mess."
And make a mess we did, several times until we were both too tired to do anything else.
...
I slept in my own room that night, but joined Krisvar once more in the morning. We shared a quick kiss, which was nice. Krisvar was good company, and just as good a fuck. If we crossed paths again, I wouldn't hesitate for a repeat.
"I like that armor," I said, trailing a finger through his gleaning silver breastplate. It made him look like a knight, and even more handsome.
"Yeah? Well, you know, you could wear it too, if you wanted to join us," he said.
"Us?" I asked, confused.
He nodded his head "yes." An icy wave washed over me. Something wasn't right. Those scars. The offer. He took an interest in me because of Sinding, and I hadn't questioned it. Wait—why was he so interested in what happened with the dead shifter anyhow? Shit, I swore, realizing I was too open, too vulnerable with him. Krisvar didn't just seek me because he wanted sex. He wanted information, and though I suppressed information, he still knew more than I cared for him to know.
My instinct was to shove him across the room and interrogate him, but I had little more than my suspicions to go off of. Be careful about how you handle this. You might be strong, but he can still overpower you.
"Who are you, Krisvar?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
He grinned. What seemed so sweet and sincere moments ago didn't seem that way now. I was played, but I didn't understand how. All I understood was that I was a fool, but I didn't understand to what extent.
"I'm someone who's had enough run in with werewolves to understand the danger they are to society. And I think you know it too, Anyaie," he said. "There's more than just me. There's many of us. We could use someone like you. You'd be a good fit."
An alarm bell blared in my head. Play it cool. I put on a charming smile and played on, acting like nothing was wrong. "Where might I find you?"
"Driftshade Refuge. Once you're done in Whiterun, you can join me," he suggested.
I grinned and said, "I'm a busy woman, but I'm sure I can make some time for you."
Those words satisfied him, and we parted ways. The anxiety coiled in my gut. Something was wrong. I needed to go back to Whiterun. As much as I wanted to avoid it, everything inside of me screamed at me to return home.
...
Fredas, 16th day of Rain's Hand, 4E 203
The storm raged on as we drew near Whiterun. The malaise never waned as Vilkas and I rode closer and closer to the city walls. All the horrible revelations hit me one by one. If something happened at Jorrvaskr, it fell on my head. All of this was because I was complacent. I neglected my duty as Dragonborn, and now I've failed as Harbinger, I thought. Vilkas was wrong—Kodlak would never be proud of me.
As soon as we got to Whiterun Stables, a guard ran towards us at full speed, shouting, "Harbinger! Companion! We've been looking for you. Something's wrong at Jorrvaskr."
My mind shut off, not wanting to think of the possibilities, as I sprung off my horse. Vilkas called my name, chasing after me as I ran towards the gates of Whiterun. Don't let it be anything with Hircine. All the names of the Divines ran through my head, as if my prayer could prevent anything from happening. The guards offered help as I entered the gates, but I brushed them off. There would be time for apologies later. For now, I needed to get back to the mead hall.
I froze witnessing the scene at Jorrvaskr. Farkas held someone in a deadlock, his grip merciless. Athis laid on the steps of Jorrvaskr, clutching onto his side while Danica Pure-Spring, the local healer, tended to him. The Whiterun guards surrounded Jorrvaskr, their weapons drawn.
"Unhand them, Farkas," I ordered, and he dropped the person in front of me. A man by the looks of it, though it was difficult to tell with the hood.
"Speak, coward," I demanded.
"I have nothing to say to you. I delivered a message."
I was about to clobber the man until Vilkas said, "The door, Anyaie. Look at the door."
A bloody hide was nailed to the front door, not just any animal either. Judging by the fur and the size, it belonged to a wolf. Vilkas froze next to it as he recognized what it was. On the hide was a small paper. I unfurled it, trying not to let the others see how my hands shook as I read its contents. Scrawled in messy handwriting were the words that made all my nightmares come to life: Your pack's hide is next.