Finally, I got this done.

First off, I feel the need to put a warning here since I've threaded upon a topic I didn't intend to touch.

If you don't want to get spoiled, skip my A/N and go straight to my story.
If you're uncertain, keep reading.

To put it shortly:
I stated at the beginning of this book that Rape would be implied.
Well... let's just say that it's not implied anymore.
It's happening.
If you're uncomfortable with that, then I suggest you skip the part where things get 'cute.'
Because things won't stay 'cute' for long.

That said,

Enjoy!

Erik the Slayer - Part One

His name is derived from Erik West, whose internet alias was "Immok the Slayer," a visitor to Bethesda's HQ during Skyrim's development. Bethesda was so impressed with his knowledge of Oblivion that they gave him an in-depth tour of Bethesda studios and decided to create a character named Erik in his honor.

Erik died of cancer six months before the release of Skyrim, hence Bethesda immortalized him in the form of ¨Erik The Slayer.¨

As I sat down on the wagon and looked back, I took a last look at what I was leaving:

Rorikstead—home. After all these years, Whiterun was more of my home than anything. But this place, the place I grew up in? Something about it will always remain with me. It's my childhood home after all.

I looked at the townsfolk—gathered to see the wagon and take farewell. I saw my parents in the crowd. My mother waved, the way mothers usually do: with tears running down her cheeks. My father started pushing through the crowd toward the wagon.

The driver shouted at the horses and whipped the reins and we started moving again.

I sat at the back of the wagon and looked at my father. He made it too late through the crowd to talk to me, and so he gave me a nod. For a second I wondered what he had to say, but I understood… no words were needed.

'Take care,' 'return safely,' or 'stay safe.' The things fathers say.

I grabbed my axe and raised it over my head with one arm, and returned the nod.

I could still see him smile awkwardly with worry as the wagon turned the corner and descended down the hill, but soon, only the scent of farm animals, manure, dry grass, hay, and soil remained of Rorikstead, distant farms, and widespread fields.

So that's it then? As great a goodbye as I had had a greeting. Did I need more? No.

With a sigh, I leaned on the backrest of the wagon, but before long, I felt eyes on me. I looked to my right and was met with a face: Erik, grinning happily at me.

"So?" he started without delay. "What did my father want?"

With another audible exhale I looked away from his eager freckled face, past the other faces of strangers riding the wagon, and looked over the fleeting hills: a sea of spring-green—the sweet scent of white flower pollen. I've never thought of it, but I've missed this childhood view. Around Whiterun, the grass is almost always yellow, tall, and sharp to the touch. Here, it was soft and alive. Lush. Blossoming. Warm on the eyes.

"So?" I heard him repeat impatiently beside me.

¨Lies are for condescending fools too cowardly to speak their own mind.¨

"He asked me to watch over you," I answered, looking at fleeting clouds and blossom with my back against the wooden railing. Sitting in sunshine. Smelling the farts of horses.

"Really?" he said out loud, "I'm not surprised." He sounded disappointed. It made me tilt my head—look over. He was looking forward, "It's always Erik Greenthumb or Erik Hoe-Pusher with him. I don't know what he wants of me, but it's not what I want."

For a moment he sat quiet, looking ahead in inspired thought, and I listened to the chatter of the others and the wheels of the wagon. Still, he looked eagerly lost in thought.

"And what do you want?" I asked after a while. For some reason, it felt forced and uncomfortable. Talking with Erik after all this time? Thinking back, I only remember remembering him. If that makes sense. Where did the years go? Where did… so many years go? And I don't like to reflect.

"Oh, you'll see. I wanna make a name for myself," he said and turned for me with such excitement that I couldn't look away, "No more Erik the barkeeper and such! Every good Nord warrior should have a famed name… Erik the Slayer!" he let out, chin held high as he looked up at the sky. "Erik the Slayer! That's what I'll be called. That's what my enemies will call me as they quake with fear…" he looked back at me with eager eyes to finish, "once I do get some enemies."

"Erik ¨The Slayer?¨" I repeated skeptically.

"Yeah, sounds good, right? I've been thinking about it for a good while now."

'No,' is what I wanted to answer. It sounded like the kind of name a child would come up with. And no great warrior would be pretentious enough to choose their own name—¨Skjor the Scared,¨ Aela the Huntress,¨ Vilkas, Spawn of Coldharbour,¨ and so on. Those are all names given by others. "I don't think renown warriors don't choose their own names," I said and looked back forward.

"Well they should!" he said abruptly with honest innocence, "Imagine the great names we'd hear about if they had—Beast Slayer, Troll Slayer, Ogre Slayer!"

"That's?–" I looked over, "None of those are good names," I said, and suddenly Ysgrammor's nickname 'The Elf Slayer' had lost part of its charm. "And what's with all the ¨Slayer?¨"

"That's the thing," he started eagerly, "If I'm only ¨The Slayer,¨ it means that I slay everything. How awesome isn't that?"

"Hm," I let out in further skepticism.

"Oh, you sound just like my father," he said, "You'll see. Once word gets around everyone will fear my name."

"I'm sure they will," I sighed, arms crossed over my chest.

"But what about you?" he let out with reborn enthusiasm. "You must have earned some fancy name by now?"

"Me?" I looked over at him.

"You're a Companion. You must have been in a lot of battles? Glory? I'm sure you have earned some great name that describes you—like the warriors of old?"

"A name that describes me?" I uttered, leaning back to think. Perhaps the people of Riften had come to call me something, but nothing I knew of. ¨That describes me?¨ How solemn, the only names I've ever been called is ¨Monster,¨ or ¨Demon.¨ ¨Wolf.¨ Names cried out by frightened men screaming in terror for their mothers. I guess they were descriptive enough. "Not really," I said.

"So… just 'Companion' then?" he asked, surprised and… oddly disappointed.

"I guess." If even that… anymore. I doubt I'll ever be nameworthy, I don't see how I could ever be—there's no reason in it. Erik might seek it, but… I don't. Did I ever?

Funny, I thought with clear inner sarcasm as he looked at me, how we haven't seen one another in almost a decade yet he spoke to me as if I'd never left. The same friendly tone in his voice. No trace of shyness or awkwardness. No sign at all of the passage of time. The same old eager up-to-no-good voice that I remember from times before I had hair on my chest.

I don't know how I felt about that: the sense of familiarity between people who by no means were familiar anymore.

"Erik the Slayer and his trusty Companion!" he exclaimed loudly, "Soon, all will know of our glory!"

"What?" I looked over.

"Hehe, you've had your adventure already—since you left Rorikstead, remember?—it's my turn now."

"And… I'm the companion in your story?"

"I thought that was obvious. You know… since you're an actual Companion?" I kept looking at him. "It's a play on words?"

"Yeah," I let out in a short breath, "I got that."

"Hm," he hummed, "I thought that would make you laugh?"

"Well…" I gave him a sideways look.

"What? The Big Bad Companion's too tough to laugh now?" he said in an overly silly voice. "Don't Companions laugh?"

"Something like that," I said and shrugged.

That was a lie: there's always been plenty of laughter in Jorrvaskr—Torvar would lose his purpose if there weren't—even with all that's happened. After all, what mead-hall as legendary as Jorvaskr could possibly be without laughter and joy? Screw it.

"You're not at all how I remember, I don't remember you as a pouter," he said to tease with another hint of disappointment. But not disappointingly enough that I'd let it get to me. "You just wait, before this is over, I'll make you laugh."

"Good luck," I said by sour instinct, quickly realizing I wasn't sure if I meant it as sarcasm or not.

"Aah, you'll see," he said and, to my annoyance, bumped my shoulder with his fist. "Anyway, how long you think? 'Till we reach Solitude?"

"I don't know…" I exclaimed, "I've never been this far west. A week or two? Maybe more. Ask the driver."

And that's how those first couple of days went past: Erik speaking non-stop of all the things he sought to be—tales born from imaginations that could only wish to achieve legend—the mind of a child, eh? A dreamer? So far, Mralki's words didn't seem so far off.

The wagon always moved. We slept on it, ate on it, pissed from it. The only times it stopped was when the driver needed sleep, or when more recruits were hailed to climb aboard as we passed small towns and villages.

And all I did, could do, was listen. Arms crossed and sight set forward, looking over the landscape that had slowly turned from wavy hills into small mountains, I listened for nothing better to do, and it seemed Erik had ultimately joined for the same reason that I had—in place of his father.

"So, Mralki finally gave in and let you leave?" I asked if only to make him stop talking about farming and tavern life.

"Mm–not willingly I'll tell you…" he started, "When he got his summons he started to pack right away. Telling me all the this-and-that on how I'd have to take care of the Inn and farm from now on. That it was my responsibility now, ¨as a grown man¨ and as ¨my only son¨ to take over the Inn and farm," he sighed in frustration, "We must've argued all night, probably woke half of Rorikstead before he caved in. And thankfully so! I just– I couldn't stand the thought of being trapped in that village for the rest of my days."

"So… you're not taking over the tavern?"

"One day," he answered certainly. "I'm actually looking forward to it, but I want to live my own life first. Travel, adventure, meet people. See the world and all that."

He had a big grin as he looked at me.

Why do I feel the need to ask? "What made him cave in?"

"I said I'll marry!" he said, taking on an isn't-it-obvious look, "I said that once the war is over, I'll come home, marry, and settle down to take over the tavern and the farm, spread the family name and all that boring stuff."

¨Boring stuff,¨ I reacted. I used to think the same… but now? How different would things be if– screw it. "No more ¨Erik the Slayer¨ then?"

"That's why I hope the war won't be over too soon, I need time to build a name before all of that, so my father will finally recognize me for what I am—the Slayer!—not a peasant or a farmer, but a true warrior, like you!" he turned for me with big eyes as he spoke.

Like me? And, oh, what a ¨great¨ warrior I've been.

Then, a slight shift in his eyebrows, "Speaking of marriage, why wasn't I invited to your wedding?"

My… wedding?

He was looking at me, and... suddenly I could only hear the sound of the wagon, everything else seemed to blur. I saw my knees—my legs—in front of my vision, and, as if the bones had folded within it, my left hand began to pound. Something… was gone.

"I'm sorry," I heard him say in sudden correction of thought, "I heard that– I wasn't–"

I don't know why I feel these things yet showed nothing—but my hand is hurting, and my sight is set on my knees. So far, I've heard every whisper of the caravaners, every buzzing bee flying by, yet now? Now! It's gone silent! Why?! If I don't feel anything… then why am I suffering so—staring down between my knees with my jaw hurting from clench?!

"Are– are you okay?" someone asked—might just be—I knew nor cared not who: I could rip them all apart—We could rip them all apart! Nothing but wood, horses, and a band of boys wearing cotton and cheap leather over tightly fit skin. It'd be so easy to just… take it off. To take our claws to their pale skin and see soft red flesh, and… and?... teeth through… warm things. Soft things! Soft and salty and meaty!

Something touched my shoulder, brought me back from… I don't know the familiar, but I looked up with reigned breath in my chest, telling, convincing, myself that that did not just happen.

"Are you ok–" someone said.

"I'm fine!" I snarked, but the sweaty scent of hoodlums, drunkards, and women selling themselves still lingered within whatever wicked place existed between imagination and memory—my fist gripping their necks! "Throw them out!" Keerava bit at me, pointing her clawed and scaly finger.

But someone was speaking, and it soothed away. I saw the steep mountains and calming green grass before me again, and the sounds of the… a wagon? "I'm fine," I said to answer his question… or was it repeated?

With a tired exhale I rubbed my forehead and turned to answer… whom?

Erik?

Erik.

He looked at me from my side as the wagon rocked beneath us. Up and down and down and up it rocked. He looked worried, no, more confused with wide eyes.

"You sure?" I heard him say with his hand on my shoulder. Why was his hand on my shoulder?

What… What was the question? My wedding?

"I forgot," I said, shrugging his hand off of me and straightening up to a… whatever a normal sit is. Erik wasn't the only one looking at me, some of the others did too. But they all turned their heads away as I looked at them, pretending nothing. They would annoy me but, truth be told I was used to it: They all gave off the same awkward feeling as most degenerates in Riften had: we'll mind our own business. As long as they do, so will I.

"You sure?" I heard him ask as I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my head to the left to silently watch the road roll away behind us.

Why… wasn't he invited to my wedding? My parents were there, he could have joined along their ride. I guess I…back then… I guess I was so focused on being a Companion, a newly made member of the Circle, not to mention becoming Moon born. With everything going on back then… I guess I forgot I had friends outside of the Companions.

But most importantly—I felt my head sink—I guess I had been so blindly in love.

Erik never even entered my mind.

"I forgot to invite you," I finally gave as an answer.

"No I– I don't care about that," he said carefully, "Are you sure you're alright?"

I… I didn't expect that. Am I alright? When was the last time someone genuinely asked me that? But it's the same as with the others; I don't need pity. Don't want it. Don't deserve it.

"I'm fine," I told with a hard jaw, reaching for my bag as I placed it behind my head and lifted my legs to rest on the opposite seat of the wagon as I turned to find the best comfortable position I could possibly manage on this accursed wagon of cannon-fodder-to-be! "Don't wake me," I said, knowing fully well I don't ever really sleep. But even pretending will keep his questions away from me for a while. If only for a while.

But the rocking of the wagon did make it easier. The awkward silence of the others too, and I didn't care the slightest that I had been the one to cause it.

"Wha–Yes, yes!" she said, let out, as she grabbed to look at it.

"It's… it's just an amulet," I answered, trying not to smile, but how could I not—she had said yes.

"'Just' an amulet?!" she cried out with sparkling eyes of amber. Such pure happiness and glee. "Of Mara?! You don't think I know what that means? You believe me a fool?" she almost cried of joy.

I didn't answer, I could only smile with pressed thin lips at her.

"Are you growing shy on me?" she teased.

"I'm always shy around you."

She huffed in humor and looked softly at me for a while. "Yes," she repeated her answer in a sigh, looking at me deeply before she tossed the amulet of Mara aside and embraced me, pressed her head and cheek against my chest, and she let out a happy shriek and giggle as I lifted her up.

She wrapped her legs around my waist as I held her. My hands cupping her bottom and slender back. Lips against soft lips, forehead against forehead. Everything's warm, a nice and soft feeling.

"We're getting married!" she rejoiced and leaned back to look at me, her arms still around my neck, her legs still around my waist, and my hands still on her.

Her eyes, sparkling like the reflection of sunshine through sap. "You're beautiful."

The smooth, pink, and freckled skin of my little Nord.

Shoulder long hair that held every color that came with winter fire—yellow and red autumn leaves covered in a thin layer of frost.

Her smile, so joyful and pure. The smile she only ever gave me.

She leaned in to kiss me, her lips traveling down my neck—I could feel her breath, her teeth nibbling on my naked neck—and she pushed me back as we stood. We both fell down in our bed.

"We're getting married," I repeated on top of me as my back lay flat on the bed and I watched her smile. Her hands and fingers were already all over my chest and brushing softly through my chest hair.

She smiled with tease and blushed as she lifted her hands, straightened up, and unbuttoned the top of her blue dress one button a time, stopping at the one by her navel. She pulled down the top, revealed herself, and leaned down to kiss me again—her hair brushing over my face, her lips gently against my own, and I felt her tits press against my bare chest as I caressed her smooth naked back with my hands. One hand moving, seeking out the hair at the back of her head to gently pull her in for another kiss and I felt her hands embrace my head, the other, feeling loose fabric and intimate skin as my fingers searched beneath her dress to untied what little piece of clothing she wore beneath. Once off, our parts sought each other out under the privacy of her dress.

As much as a man can lust for his woman, a woman can lust for her man.

A deep breath, a gasp in my ear, as we 'found' one another.

I gripped her waist firmly with one hand and went with the motions as she straightened up again, and sought out to grab her tit with the other, as she ground up and down on top of me. Head back and relaxed, she moaned as we went on. After a while, I couldn't help but do the same.

"I'm… I'm almost there," I groaned.

She leaned down at my words, pressed her skin against mine, and moved her hips slower to prolong us as she leaned into my ear. I felt her lips kiss me, "I…" she whispered softly, her octave going up, "won."

A cold sensation abruptly, interruptingly, crept up my spine at her touch, the good feelings washed away, and I felt the sudden breakout of cold sweat on my back and neck.

Hastily, I grabbed her around her waist and she let out a playful giggle as I turned, rolled her over beneath me. My hands flat on the bed, I pressed myself up to look down at her. I suddenly felt out of breath, and not in a good way.

She smiled and wrapped her legs around me as she pulled me deeper and my hand landed beneath her naked breasts as I almost toppled over her. I straightened up and looked back at her.

Why am I suddenly out of breath? Feeling cold?

She took on a confused look as her eyes met me, but then that soft look of hers returned and a warm, almost embarrassed, smile grew over her face and I felt her legs squeeze tighter around me as she skimmed herself closer into my groin. I could feel her tighten. "Take off the rest of my dress," she teased and bit her lip once she could pull me no deeper, "It's in the way."

"What… What did you say?" I breathed above her—I felt cold all over—nervous to the point of shaking—why?

"Hm?" she let out with a tilt of her head. "Something wrong?"

"I?..." I looked at her: her fiery hair; her amber eyes; her smooth pink skin. The dotted freckles on her shoulders. "No, I… it's nothing," I said and brushed the imagination aside. It's nothing, I told myself.

"Well then?…" she continued, that blushed smile returning, and she lifted her hands to lock her fingers behind my neck, pulling me down until I again felt the warmth of her tits press against me as my forehead touched hers, "take off the rest of my dress," she whispered.

I huffed a small chuckle, "Is that so," I whispered back, feeling warmer again as I kissed her. I closed my eyes and slid my head down her chest, felt her reluctant suction let go, and heard her gasp as I pulled myself out of her to go lower. I placed my lips against her chest, breasts, ribs, as I sensually nibbled my way down.

She gently grabbed my hair and guided my head as my fingers found the waistband of her dress, and softly I pulled it down with slight resistance—loose fabric stuck to her sweating skin.

I could hear her suck her own lip as she unwrapped her legs from around me and lifted her hips from the bed to make things easier as I kissed my way down the skin of her smooth stomach—a blind and tasteful bite at the upper edge of her navel.

I felt her dress come off, a sticky feel, and she briefly kicked her legs to rid herself of it. I grabbed her by her waist and pulled her toward me, toward my face, and she grabbed my hair and wrapped her thighs around my head. They felt warm, wet, and moist as they clung to my ears. Her wetness and a sticky feel against my lips and mouth, a sharp, stinging smell entered my nose as I was met with the exhilarating, adult, and familiar taste of… blood?

I opened my eyes—a vision of flayed skin, bare flesh beneath my nose.

I jerked back but her grip on my hair tucked me in deeper and her legs tightened their clench around my head as the overwhelming taste of blood made itself over-apparent in my mouth. I can't breathe. I grabbed at her thighs to pull them apart but my fingers only slid over wet, warm, bleeding muscles. Flayed skin. Soaked in blood.

There was no skin—the parts her dress had remained to cover—there was no skin!

I tried to scream but my head was clenched tight in between her thighs, her hands pressing me in, I could taste the thick blood in my mouth! My hands jerked and slipped off of her stomach and legs as I sought grip to free myself—I can't breathe—only for them to touch more sticky and warm open flesh.

"I won!" she cried out in glee with a disturbing voice. I couldn't see her face for all the red before me, but panic's setting in—I can't breathe!

I desperately shuffled back off of the bed, pulling her with me as her blood-soaked legs still wrapped, clung around my head. Her hands, still gripping hard at my hair. I stood up and she bent up straight with me, clung to my head, and rose above me—I can't breathe!—and my balance shifted. She laughed gleefully above me and I tripped, fell over, and landed flat on my back on a hard, cold, stone floor.

Still, she clung on tightly as she sat on top of me, pressing herself, grinding herself, onto my face as the warm, soft, and flickering light of torches from the oval chamber landed on her. Her head was tilted back—or rather—up, all I could see was her white-skinned breasts moving up and down, forward and back, above me as she rubbed her bleeding clit against the base of my nose, moaning in ecstasy. My heels scraped against cold stone and I felt pinned to the floor as she sat squeezed and horridly intimate on my face.

Her weight was nothing, but my limbs suddenly felt utterly weak. It was panic and a sudden strike of fear that pinned me down.

She leaned, tilted forward, and long, silky, summer-sun blond hair dropped over her shoulders and down onto my face. She gently cupped my cheeks in her hands and I found myself looking up at mid-winter blue eyes filled with pure glee and rejoice. A blossoming smile on her face.

"I…" she started as a chirpy smile grew beautifully over her. Her voice, shaking? with joy? "Won!"

She arched her back and folded down, kissed my forehead, and let go of my cheeks as she, again, pressed her thighs tightly against my ears as she slowly returned to grind as to pleasure herself. She moved her torso away from me, straighten up, and drew her slack hands over her flayed thighs, sensually moved them up her peeled abdomen until she reached skin and continued to lustfully smear blood up her pale stomach as her hands traveled to caress her breasts, to pinch her nipples. She tilted her head back and moaned joyfully as her hands continued drawing lines of blood up her chest, her neck, and into her hair until she gleamed crimson in the torchlight. Blood smeared hands through her hair, she let out a sigh and her hands went to smear down and over her own face. Fingertips stopping by her lower lip, she let out a soft sigh and opened her eyes to look down on me.

"What?" she asked teasingly and high-pitched with a blood-covered smile as she looked down on me—the blue of her eyes so horridly apparent against the red on her face. "Is this your first time?!" she said, let out, laughed at me with degradation.

K– Krev?!

The suffocation was getting worse, panicked lungs craving air. Reverted coughs had me suction her lower lips as my body desperately attempted to breathe, my heels scraped against stone and my hands fought for grip on slippery open wounded thighs, finding none, the thick taste of her blood and wetness filling my mouth and throat. Air!

Yet she continued to laugh, to giggle girlishly and clear as she grabbed her own tits and squeezed them before caressing her way down over her stomach until her hands retouched flayed skin, rewetting themselves with the touch of her own blood. She slid her palms down on my cheeks, her thumbs over my clogged nose, and drew them up over my face. I had to close my eyes, blink as she smeared her blood onto me until her bloodsoaked hands grabbed my hair at the top of my head and her blond hair fell in my face once more, stuck to the blood on it, as she folded down to reach my face with hers until her blue eyes were all I could see.

"In the end…" she whispered happily before rejoicing, "I won! Every time you think of them!" she slowly shook her head to emphasize every word, smiling all the while.

She cupped my head again, arched her back, and pushed her hips tighter against my mouth and leaned her head to the side of my face, placed her tongue against the bottom of my blood-smeared chin, and drew her wet tongue all the way from her own labia up to the top of my forehead with a single self-satisfied stroke.

Air!

I was gagging. Choking. Unwillingly sucking her for air.

"I won," she said, sighing in shivering relief as she placed her bloodied hand on my forehead and pushed, straightened up above me in pleasure once more, strands of her long hair cutting at my skin as it unstuck from the blood. Again, she pressed and rubbed her nub hard into the underside of my nose, clogging it further with a foul combination of liquids. Things were going black before my eyes, my limbs only went weaker.

Is this… how I die?!

She smacked her other hand on top of the other and slowly smeared both of them down my face as she moaned. Down over my eyes and nose until her palms brushed over her flayed sex and her fingertips dug into her skinned gender to peel back her folds, to spread them, opened up to finally giving me horrid air.

Desperate nasale inhales choked on blood and female liquid as I snorted for air in respite and frightful disgust. But my mouth found no air, it still only found to forcefully pleasure her genitalia in attempted coughs. But my vision was slowly coming back.

No. This… is not how I die!

She spread herself further with the fingers of one hand and lifted the other to gently lick and suck on the tips of them with a soft pleased moan as she looked down on me in blood-covered beauty.

Air, the panic subsided. I forced it away, feeling heated as I looked at her from between her thighs.

She took her fingertips out of her mouth with a light smack-of-her-lips and let out a soft "Oh? there he is," and smiled. "Are you angry?" she continued teasingly, going to personal sarcasm, "Do you hate me?"

Oh, I am and do, so, so very much.

She leaned closer, smilingly until her blood-soaked hair landed on her skinless thighs and brushed over my face again. "Just do it," she whispered with blue-eyed anticipation as I snorted her groin in growing anger. "Just do it," she said as my hands searched her slippery legs for grip until one of them found wet soaked hair.

Oh, I will. Finally, something to grip!

"Do it!" she laughed girlishly out loud in challenging joy as I hastily twirled my hand and wrist around long hair and tore her aside. She laughed as she fell over, off of my face, and I finally tasted musky air as I drew a heavy gulp of a damp breath. I grabbed her shoulder, pressed her down as I turned on top of her. "Yes!" she shouted, crystal clearly she laughed as I mounted her waist, "Do it!"

"I've killed you before and I'll gladly kill you again!" I barked as my hands gripped her firm, yet fragile, neck, fingers digging into pale skin and her laughter turned into choking, hoarse, sounds as I pressed down hard. Still, she smiled as she choked with blood-shot bulging eyes—diluted blood dripped down on her from my face and chin.

"Die!" I screamed in desperate rage with red hair twined in my hand as I pressed her down on the bed. "Die!" I screamed as her choked laughter turned to gasps of sudden shock and surprise. "Die!" I screamed as she looked at me with confused amber eyes that desperately begged 'why?' "Die!" I screamed as they glassed over and went dim and cold.

Amber… eyes? No?!

I jerked back, let go of her, and shot up in shock. Holding blooded, shaking hands in front of me I looked around. The chamber was gone. No more torches. No more stone. This is… my bedroom?

Our bedroom?!

My skin went ice cold. I couldn't breathe. I was shaking. With my hands in front of me I looked back down between them, afraid of who I'd see beneath me.

"Ys– Ysolda?" I asked with tremor in my voice as I looked down at her. "Ysolda?" I repeated as I saw her fiery hair… her innocent, pink-hued skin. She… she had… freckles on her shoulders. I… I-I-I-I– I always liked that.

"Noo-no-no-no-no…" I stuttered, slowly reached for her, her chin, "no-no-no-no," my voice shook locked in repeat, as I carefully tried to tap her awake. "Wa– wake up?" I said with words getting stuck in my throat, but her head only fell limp to the side. I reached down and grabbed her shoulders to gently shake her. "Wake up," I pleaded in breaths. "Wake up… Wake up… Wake up!"

But she didn't. She remained limp, unmoving. A corpse beneath my blood-soaked hands, their prints around her bruised neck.

"No-no-no-no," I begged with a cry, stinging eyes, and tears as I reached for her. Reached for her to lift her up, to hold her against me. "Please don't–"

A deep growl behind me was faster—I didn't even have time to turn my head before a large shadow entered the corner of my eye and I felt sharp fangs and teeth dig painfully into the flesh of my shoulder—and something forcefully tore me away, tossed me violently through the air. Away from her.

I spun and landed hard on something cold and rough, rolled over before I came to a stop. Chilled air cooled against my naked skin. My shoulder pounded, warm blood ran down my torso as I pressed my soaked hands flat on cold stone and pushed myself up to stand.

"No-no-no-no," I stuttered as I stood up and looked around, panicked, feeling deep bleeding cuts against my hand as I held my pained shoulder.

Another cold and dark chamber of stone. The smell of rust, wood, and blood. Old chains hung from the ceiling, rattling as they swayed.

This… this is where I found her.

Where I found them.

"No," I repeated as I turned around, "No, no, no. Not– not– not here."

I heard the growling before I had fully turned, and was faced with a grand black-furred beast as I turned fully. Glaring, sharp yellow eyes. Snarling, frothing, showing white teeth stained with my blood. Standing on all four with a massive, tense, and hard posture. The thick fur raised on its back as it growled a deep, threatening, and ominous growl from deep within its hefty chest. A bushy tail, low and still in warning.

Its head alone was the size of my chest:

A 'God' amongst wolves.

"No," I exhaled shakingly, clutching my shoulder as I looked past and saw her behind him. "Not– not this, not– not he– here."

She was lying curled up on her side with her back against me in a pool of red on the stone floor. Unmoving, limp, and flayed. Just as she had been back then. She was holding something—I couldn't see it, but I could hear it.

I could hear it cry.

No, I teared up in shock. Going cold and still as my circulation stopped. I couldn't look away from her.

It tore at me as I stood there. Naked in the cold, bleeding, and afraid. With nothing but the sharp cry of a child echoing against the stonewalls. A tiny voice, crying clearly over the deep and low growl of the monster between us.

"J… Jida?" I could barely hear my own voice. I could only hear her cry.

But she was crying. With every breath. Crying with healthy and strong lungs. Crying for me? She– she needed me.

"Jida?" I reached out with a shaking hand, trembling as I stepped forward. The growling went louder, intensified as it stopped me after taking a single step, and the muscles of the beast went stiffer as it drew my attention. Its upper lip drew back and it snarled louder at me as it glared with sharp, large, and yellow-glowing eyes—body seemingly growing larger as the fur on its back rose even further. Its head was low, a twitch in its tail, as it stood between us and looked at me with warning.

Is… is it protecting them? From me?

"No…" I said as I stood locked in its sight, "No it– it, it wasn't my fault." But it only took on to growl louder and more threatening from deep within its throat. Jida's clear cry began ringing louder behind it—echoing through the chamber around me—she's afraid. "She… she needs me," I said with a clot in my throat. Still, it only threatened and warned. "No! It– it wasn't my fault," I repeated, "It was– it was Krev. It was Krev! I-I-I didn't do this!" I pleaded, "It's not my fault! I'd– I'd never harm them!" I shouted and cried to no avail. "Away with you!" I shouted. It twitched back in low defense and snarled ferociously as I waved my free hand at it. "Away!" I shouted, swatting air as I stepped forward—hearing Jida's cry call for me. "She's alive!" I shouted, stepping closer to the stiff muscled snarling beast, "She's alive! She needs me!"

A twitch in its body, yellow eyes going sharp, and it moved for me, charged with a sudden leap. "No!" I screamed as it jumped at me and I stumbled back, feeling its massive weight hit me and sharp teeth took hold of my neck, arm, and torso. A crushing pain as my ribs broke and crunched under the pressure of its jaws.

And the world flashed to instant white.

Someone shook me awake, "Hey!" that someone shouted—dazed, I looked to my side—Erik?

Disoriented, and heart-pounding, I looked around. It took me a while to get too—to wake up—and it took me longer still for my heartbeats to settle. The landscape had changed—the grassy hills had turned to rocky mountains and cliffs around us as the wagon rolled forward.

I shook his hand off my shoulder and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, rubbing my eyes. "How long did I sleep?"

He didn't answer at first—I could feel him look at me." Four, maybe five hours?" he finally answered.

Around the usual then, I sighed, leaned back, and looked at the clouds, feeling… oddly hollow.

"I…" I heard him start insecurely, "I didn't want to wake you at first—you were… making awkward noises. But then you started screaming."

Again, the usual then. "Just ignore it," I grumbled as I drew my hand over my face.

"Ignore it? Easier said than done," he mumbled. "What… what were you dreaming?"

What was I dreaming? I lifted my hands in front of my face, looked at them, and for a second they flashed red with blood, blond hair between my fingers—or was it red? I blinked away, rubbed my eyes again, and they had returned to normal—so normal that I wasn't sure they had been bloody in the first place. "I don't remember my dreams," I answered—all that ever remains of them were the feelings of loss, grief, guilt, and… anger.

"Don't remember?" he asked carefully. "Dreams like that?" First now did I notice the others looking at me: same as last time, equally nervous and curious—again, the same looks I had learned to ignore in Riften—but, again, once they met my eyes they all looked away. I crossed my arms and looked away as well, looked at the road as it disappeared over a hill behind the wagon.

"I always remember my dreams…" I heard Erik say behind me—more cheerful this time, "Just a couple of nights ago, I dreamt I was a rabbit," he continued gladly. "I was running over the fields outside Rorikstead, digging up carrots to eat from our backyard. Even in my dreams, my father chases me away," he laughed. "Another time…" –I felt him shove my shoulder for attention—I didn't look back– "I dreamed I was a warrior—shield and all—and I was battling trolls on top of a mountain!" he laughed again. "You should have seen them fall!"

"I bet," I said.

"Ever fought a troll?"

"No," I answered coldly.

To my surprise and relief, he didn't continue talking. He actually kept quiet as the wagon slowly rolled on. Until I finally felt him shove my shoulder again, "Look," he said out loud to draw my attention.

There was a small town in front of us. I could see a wood mill be a nearby river. The smell of farmlands and livestock—swine.

"I guess this is our next stop," he said eagerly as the wagon came to a stop between the old stone and wood building.

"Half an hour!" the driver shouted back at us, "Get your pissing and shitting done, we won't' stop until nightfall from here!"

People were getting up, pushing to leave the wagon. "I'm gonna stretch my legs," I said as I, too, rose, grabbed my bag, and jumped off the wagon. It felt good to be on my feet again, sitting for too long always made me restless. And I have been sitting for too long.

"Coming to the tavern?" Erik asked eagerly and gestured for a grass-roofed longhouse once he had dirt beneath his feet.

"Drinking?" I looked at him with skepticism, not something I felt like doing.

"No, no, no," he said abruptly and shook his head, "Just to buy some… 'provisions.'" he hinted with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Naah," I said and opened my bag to take out a leather pouch with dried venison—getting off the wagon had made me aware of my hunger, "I brought my own food."

"There are other things to buy," he said impatiently.

"No, I'm fine," I said. "Besides, I don't have the coin."

"What?" he asked, surprised, "I mean… you're a Companion—I figured you would have lots of coin?"

"I had enough, but no," I said and tilted my head as I shrugged and took to chew on a salty piece of meat.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"No," I repeated, "I left it all with my parents."

"Your parents?" he asked, even more surprised.

"The Empire will provide what we need once we get to Solitude."

"But that's days from now. Traveling for days without coin?" he pushed.

"As I said," I told and raised my bag—he was getting annoyed, "I have what I need."

"Heeh?" he let out, seemingly distracted by thought and unaffected by my tone. "Well that's fine then," he suddenly said, "I'll buy you something!" He gave a smile as he turned to head for the tavern.

"You don't need to–" I started loudly, but he was already walking away with a brisk and happy pace, waving a hand over his shoulder to silence me. "Screw it," I mumbled and sighed to myself, returning to my meal—he's a grown man, he can do as he wants.

It didn't take long until a tiny crowd had gathered as I ate. More recruits taking farewell of loved ones before they climbed the wagon—it'll be a tight fit from here on—and sure enough, a dry meal, stretched legs, and a piss later, Erik returned with a large grin and an even larger keg heaved over his chest in his arms.

"Some help here," he shouted out of breath as he approached.

"By Ysmir," I mumbled reluctantly, not believing what I saw, as I walked to meet him. "What's this? You paid for this?" I asked as I came up close—that keg was large enough to keep an entire tavern in business for a night, let alone the two of us, as I assumed his intention to be.

"No, no!" he laughed proudly and placed the keg on its side by his feet.

"You stole it?" It actually shocked me.

"What? No! of course not," he exclaimed, seemingly surprised that I had believed so. But at least his answer offered relief. "No," he repeated and shook his head, "My father and I make deals here all the time, I just told the barkeeper here that we had broken ours—said my father sent me to fetch a new one, that he will pay for it the next time he comes by."

"Realy?" I said, this only gets better. "Mralki won't be mad?"

"Ha, he'll be mad alright!" he laughed. "But I'm out here, risking my life in war! So what can the old man do?" he laughed even louder in childish joy.

"Ts," I exhaled from between my teeth and shook my head, "Still finding ways to mess with you father? You haven't changed at all."

"I've changed plenty," he said in defense.

"Yeah, yeah," I let out and reached down with one arm for the barrel, grabbed the handle on the side, and heaved it up on my shoulder in a single motion.

"Wow?" he let out, big-eyed.

"It's not that heavy," I said at his shock as I looked at him.

"For you," he emphasized.

"Just… Let's get this on the wagon."

"Right," he said and hurried past me as I took to follow.

As soon as Erik had climbed aboard the wagon, I heaved up the barrel and it landed loudly on the floorboards by his feet before he had the time to turn around to help.

"Here," he said, reaching out a hand I didn't need as I climbed aboard behind him. He looked slightly disappointed as I took my seat beside him—I didn't care much of it—and, like last time, the driver whipped his reins, the horses neighed, and the wagon began to move as all were on board.

People were already chatting around us. Sitting shoulder to shoulder. Introducing themselves and sharing memories as they met new faces—Erik was quick to join in, both as an eager listener and very loud and laughing talker. Soon, that village, too, was growing distant behind us as I watched it.

"But hey!" Erik suddenly turned for me and shouted. "Now that the wagon's back on the road, it's time we get this adventure started."

"I'm not drinking," I said with my arms crossed over my chest as he reached for his barrel and clumsily rolled it over between his feet.

"By Shor, you aren't!" he laughed and uncorked it, spilling foam before he pressed and hammered the spigot in place with his fist, "and don't you dare tell me there's no drinking in Jorrvaskr, we've all heard the stories!" he laughed on as he turned for the others, "Who's got mugs?!" he shouted gladly as they already cheered him on, searching their bags for containers and sending them forward for him to fill once found.

I looked away at the landscape again, decided to mind my own business as the noises of the carriage only grew, the smell of mead, homemade cheese, and dried meat began to rise in my nose. But my ignoring was short-lived, Erik gave me a push and showed a mug of mead in my hand the second I turned to look at him

"I told you, I'm not drinking," I said as I looked at his grinning face. Still, I had the mug in my hand.

"Oh, come one," he pushed, "How long has it been since we exchanged a mug of mead?"

I gave him a reluctant glare, sighed, and slowly sunk my head to look down into my mug, swirling its content for brief distraction.

"You're being a bore," he continued in my ear, "and don't tell me you've changed so much that you no longer enjoy mead?"

'A bore.' Ironic, Torvar often said the same. "I don't mind mead," I said. "I just don't get drunk anymore."

"Then don't!" he said. "It's just one mug, besides," –he gave my shoulder another joking punch– "with your size, I'm sure you could drink half this thing and still be on your feet."

"Haa, haa," I sighed, drawing my eyes from my mug to look at the road rocking behind us.

'Haa, haa,' did I seriously just make that sound?

"Come on," he repeated beggingly, "we're going on an adventure—my first adventure! At least try to have some fun. Isn't this what we dreamed of when we were kids?"

"Kids?" I repeated sarcastically in a low voice. "Well… you might still have your inner child but I'm afraid mine died a long time ago."

"Ha! I don't believe that. In fact, I'll prove you wrong," he laughed and gave my shoulder another shove—as if my comment had birthed a challenge. I could tell he turned away from me as he grew louder, "A cheer to Erik the Slayer and his trusty Companion! May our adventure end as it begins, with mead and song!" he shouted gladly, and as the others cheered in response, clashing mugs and beggars, he took to singing: "Ooooh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Roriksteaaad!..."

That song? Of course, he'd choose that damned song.

I took a sip of mead as they sang.

It tasted fresh, clear, and rich.

"You really don't remember your dreams?" he suddenly turned for me and asked as the others sang on.

"No," I answered as I looked down into the foamy mead in my mug. For some reason, Vilkas' dream journal came to my mind, and I wasn't all too sure I wanted to.

But there's one dream I do remember:

I had a dream once
I was on my knees
naked
with a raging boner
my hands were on your thighs as you stood before me
and I undressed you with my bare teeth
you blushed
and you smiled
at me
as I looked up at you from beneath your privates

Thank you for reading my story.
I hoped you liked this chapter.

I have to say, the main reason this chapter took so long for me to write was 100% because of the Sex/Nightmare part.
I originally intended it as a cute flashback with Ysolda, but as I worked on that I came to realize, as I've realized before, that I suck at writing 'cute/romantic' things. So after 3 different versions, I gave up on it and decided to make it into what I know I'm good at.
Gore and horror.

But even then, I rewrote it about 3 more times until I felt satisfied with it. And boy did it not turn out as I had intended.
The second Krev showed up in my mind, she did what she always does. She took over.
I'm not joking when I say that I had to take breaks from writing simply to breathe...

It took a lot out of me to write it since it was both a new and uncomfortable area for me to write. But I ultimately like to push my limits.
So, in the end, I think I did a good job on it all.

I'd love some feedback on that part :)

Also, what do you guys think about Erik?
I'm trying to keep him lore-friendly and positive (considering the currently depressing nature of the MC)

I'd love to hear what you thought of it all, so do leave a comment :)
It makes my day, week, and month.

As for the next chapter:
I want them to get to Solitude before I get back to The Murder of Wayrest.
So expect at least one more chapter before another long break from my part.