Part III: Crawling the Waves

They crept into the Underforge in the early morning, when smoke still lingered in the air above the Wind District but most of the Silver Dawn had returned to their lodge. Much of the city had yet to awaken. Vilkas knelt beside the blood font while his shield-siblings entered one by one in dark cloaks. How strange that it was in moments like these that his soul felt most tainted, and not when he was ripping into prey as a monstrous spawn of the Daedra. As a werewolf, Vilkas could drown his conflicted feelings in base instinct and lust for the hunt. Presently he was nothing more than the Harbinger of the Companions in the chamber where he'd watched Athis, Njada, and Ria drink Aela's blood and damn themselves in the name of cursed fellowship. No, there must be no looking back. This is what Kodlak wanted. Who am I to challenge his wishes?

"Air out there smells like it did before," Athis said after the secret door closed behind Ria. "Five years ago, I mean. After they burned the Huntsman. That's when all the trouble began."

Skjor grunted from the shadows near his shelves of dark lore. "Different now. No one knows who burned the Dark Elf's house. Could have been a fallen lantern."

"No one knows who started the fire back then, either." Athis' voice had an edge that seemed out of place on his normally equable brother. "We all knew it was no accident. Only this time we can't just run away and wait for things to sort themselves out, eh?"

Aela rapped her knuckles against the font to attract everyone's attention. Her shoulder brushed Vilkas, and he took comfort from her proximity. "I listened in on a few of Montrose's pawns in the aftermath of the inferno. They seem to believe the fire came from the nursery after the Dark Elf woman's friend attempted to summon an atronach. The elf's name was Javis. They found his charred corpse inside, along with another that has yet to be identified."

Skjor asked, "Could there be any truth to this? The elves are no strangers to dark magic. For pity's sake, the woman had a shrine to Azura in her basement. How well did you know this friend of hers, Athis?"

He replied dryly, "As well as you did, mate."

"Uh, sorry. Didn't mean nothin' by it."

Njada opened her mouth to speak but closed it just as quickly as she glanced between her idol and her lover. Vilkas felt a pang of pity. Caught between two loyalties. But aren't we all?

Ria said from her position near the door: "I see him sometimes when I do my trading with Ruthnasi at the market. Or...saw him, I suppose. Ugh. He never said much. Always ignored my questions. That's kinda strange, huh?"

Aela said sharply, "I will not condemn anyone for seeking to guard their secrets against the rabble of this city."

Enough. Vilkas crossed his arms. "It matters not what we believe. Hrongar has no love for elven kind, regardless of their actions or character. He banished his own brother's housecarl without a second thought, and his imprisonment by the Thalmor only sharpened his disdain for that kind. Our Jarl will eat up this tale of atronachs and dark worship, have no doubt on that front. What we need to discover is what in Shor's name Benajah Al-Bergama was doing in that house...and who it was that died there."

"Is Ben alright?" Ria asked, at the same time Skjor said, "Has he said anything?"

"I was at the temple when the wounded were brought in," Aela replied. "None were gravely harmed. Benajah rests in Jorrvaskr. I expect he will wake soon. Until then, I asked the Slayer to keep an eye on the whelps' quarters."

Vilkas' stomach rolled unpleasantly. "Mara's mercy. You think they'd slaughter a sleeping man in his own bed?"

"It would not be the first time," she said gravely. "If it was one of the Dawn that burned with that house, we should expect retaliation soon. It may be that they no longer even view us as human beings, Vilkas. We have to brace ourselves for the possibility that Montrose knows all."

Ria fidgeted with her hands. "If Ben killed one of them, that's the end, isn't it? Farkas has been avenged twice over now. No one else has to get hurt. We can just go back to the way things were before."

She jumped when Skjor's fist slammed against his bookshelf. He growled, "None of you understand. We're at war. If you'd listened to me weeks ago, Vilkas, we could have been rid of Montrose and his ilk after a bloody night's work. There were no more than a dozen of them when they came to Whiterun. They had no friends, no allies to call on. Now they have nearly tripled their numbers and Hrongar is entranced. Soon they'll outnumber us. Shall we continue hiding in our mead hall, waiting like sheep destined for slaughter?"

He speaks too boldly. Vilkas snarled, "And what would you have me do? They've filled their ranks with people we've lived beside for years. Are you prepared to cut down Belethor's old servant? The Battle-Born boy? The orphan that Sofie is sweet on, who used to beg under the old Gildergreen? You can't ask us to slaughter half the city to be rid of the Silver Dawn."

"If that's what it takes. This dance can't last forever, Vilkas. No one here bears the blame for Farkas' death. But now our eyes are open to the threat. He died so we could be ready. You failed to purge this blight when the odds were in our favor, and now the rot is spreading. If we don't act soon there won't be anyone to escort our remains to Ysgramor's tomb."

Njada stepped forward and rested her elbows on the fountain's rim. She pinned Vilkas with her eager gaze. "Skjor's right. All this waitin' around ain't our way. If we kill the leaders, the rest will give up and go home."

They are far too eager to join Farkas. "Yes, I'm sure Hrongar would look kindly on us killing his new friends. One of which, in case you've forgotten, happens to be his cousin. Will any in the city not call for our execution for killing the Dragonborn's old housecarl? Not to mention a scarred hero of the Blades, and a survivor of the Thalmor attacks. Montrose could not have picked a more untouchable right hand."

Skjor chuckled harshly. "I wasn't planning on being recognized. The bastards have been spreading stories of werewolves since they arrived, stoking flames of fear in the weak hearts of the city. I say we pay a visit to Fort Greymoor. Give them a real reason to be terrified, and cut the head off the snake in the process. Njada's right. Take out Montrose's little circle of knights, and the rest will scatter like frightened cattle."

"No." Vilkas' wolf gnawed on the bars of its cage and hungered for release. Gods, how he loathed the beast. "We must notbecome the monsters they believe us to be. Damn it,Skjor. Ben was fortunate to survive. The boy's just a whelp. He didn't ask to be pulled into this madness."

Athis grumbled, "He's got his own trouble following him."

Skjor said, "Somethin' we knew when we took him in. I'm certain that ghost Vilkas keeps dragging home has similar burdens, as did many of us when we came to Jorrvaskr. None of it matters. We all earned a fresh start. No questions asked."

When Vilkas laughed, he felt as ancient as the Daedric spirit nesting deep inside his soul. "And what have we made of our clean slates, brother?"

"More than you think. Kodlak had his doubts, but in the end, he made the right choice. The blood is a gift. I'm coming to believe these knights have been sent to challenge our resolve. A test from Hircine. Are you so afraid of the trials ahead that you'd dishonor Kodlak's memory? Any one of us would have died for that man."

Aela interrupted, "While we squabble like pups, Montrose marshalls his strength. His hands move unseen, already plotting our next confrontation. Athis. Tell us all you've learned."

The Dark Elf looked up. "Right, well. Here's the thing. I'm not so much the sneaky sort, Vilkas. I think they've seen me skulking around their lodge."

Njada offered, "Sneak better, fool."

Vilkas waved aside Athis' preamble. "Fine. So they know we're watching them. Just tell me who in the Nine these people are."

"Most of what I know comes from a book I swiped from one of the new trainees. Seems that the Silver Dawn first cropped up in the Second Era, during the Interregnum. They were a knightly order devoted to fighting werewolf clans. S'pose werewolves were a real problem back then, since the Dawn eventually lost that fight."

"Hmm. Then it isn't the same order. Even a small remnant couldn't have survived unseen for so many years. Montrose is cloaking his beggar's guild in fine-sounding history, that's all."

Athis shrugged. "Don't know. They seem pretty close to the real thing, so far as I can tell. Like, err...the purifiers, they're in charge of the other knights. Lydia's one of those."

Njada punched his shoulder. "We already knew all that. Tell us something worth hearing!"

"Ow...you'll pay for that later. Okay, here's something odd. The original Dawn had a banner, yeah? Big shield set against light blue, all covered in dragon writing. Our bastards have the same banner, as I'm sure you've noticed. Something else they both have in common...they make the new recruits bleed on the damned thing."

Vilkas grimaced. "I can only wonder at the purpose of such a ritual."

Njada: "They bleed on all the banners? Seems like a lot of work."

"No, stupid." Athis squinted off to the side, as if in remembrance. "They all bleed on one certain banner they keep in that lodge. I peeked through a window and saw Lars Battle-Born faint at the sight of it."

"Enough," Vilkas said. On this kind of night, even the teasing between Njada and Athis could not clear his dark musings. "We need more. I fear Skjor is right. They will not simply return from whence they came if we stay quiet and bend to their whims. The burning of the elf woman's house makes that clear. These people are not interested in co-existence...which leaves us precious few options."

Athis nodded firmly. "Just say the word, Vilkas. You want me to start scouting for potential targets? Might be that we could scare off some of the new recruits before their heads are filled with madness."

"I want to keep you on information-gathering. Find out what's happening at that fort of theirs, if you can."

His shield-brother frowned. "Aye. Well, as I said, I'm no Dark Brotherhood assassin, but I'll do my best."

Njada knocked against him. "'Course you will. Because I'll be right behind you, kicking your arse whenever you leave the shadows."

Ysgramor, grant me strength. Vilkas steeled himself and said, "Njada. You'll not help with this."

"What?"

"Think for a second. Montrose will have people watching us. If two of the Circle are off poking around the Dawn's affairs, he'll know for certain we're on to him. We have to be smart about this if we want to prevail."

She made an exasperated sound and turned away from him. "You don't hold my leash, Vilkas. I'll do what I want."

Aela said, "Your Harbinger offers wisdom, young one. Certainly, you are not bound to his word, but you'd be foolish to ignore him."

"Is that what everyone thinks?"

Skjor grunted assent. "Oftentimes there is power in numbers when running with a pack. This ain't one of those times, kid. You'll just make for a bigger target if you help."

"Fine, whatever." She scuffed her boot against the stone floor and half-turned towards the secret door. "Are we done here? Today's gonna be a mess. I was hoping to sleep a couple hours before it begins."

Vilkas nodded. All the energy seemed to drain from his body at once, and he sagged against the blood font like a drowning man seizing driftwood. His shield-siblings looked through the peephole to check for witnesses before donning their cloaks and slipping outside, until only Skjor and Aela remained.

The former stepped forward to stand across from Vilkas. When he spoke, his voice sounded more weary than upset, and for whatever reason that rended Vilkas' heart all the more. "Where's the man that wiped out the entire Silver Hand in a matter of hours? Who burned their banners and left their fortress a crumbling ruin? We need him, Vilkas."

That wasn't me, Vilkas wanted to say. That was the thing you and Kodlak put inside me, when I was too young and foolish to realize the consequences. But deflecting blame was not his way. No one had forced him to accept the blood.

Instead he replied, "The Silver Dawn's fortress is all around us, brother. Their banners hang alongside those of Whiterun. You'd have me kill a city to save us. We are not worth such bloodshed."

Skjor just cursed under his breath and made a quick exit. After he'd left, Vilkas fell to his knees like a child. Aela's hand was on his shoulder in an instant.

"I don't understand," Vilkas whispered. "Skjor seemed my closest friend at the feast. I've always turned to him for advice. But this talk of assaulting forts and slaughtering knights..."

Aela murmured, "Skjor is afraid. He still mourns Farkas, as do we all, and this foul business with Benajah has shaken him. Our shield-brother will do anything for his family."

"I'd like to think I could say the same. A line has to be drawn somewhere, Aela. Or else we are no better than beasts. Perhaps...perhaps I don't have what it takes to lead us. We all know the old man was hazy towards the end. Could he have made a mistake, choosing me instead of Skjor?"

Her hand drew his chin up so he looked into her eyes. Her attention was firm and unblinking. "The thought has never crossed my mind. You are our Harbinger. There could be no other."

Vilkas accepted her hand and she pulled him to his feet. "I'd be truly lost without you. Let's leave this awful place, now. Njada was right: when the smoke clears, we don't want to be found missing." Though as he watched Aela reach for the secret door's lever, he knew he'd find no restful sleep before sunrise. The wolf would not allow him even that small measure of peace.

"Guess I made your bed for nothing, huh?" Njada Stone-Arm's painted face materialized in an assault of brightness. Cold stone against Miraak's cheek: a very low object above his body. He made some sort of groaning sound.

Njada's mouth pressed into a thin line. She reached out with one muscular arm to seize him by his cloak. Miraak could do little to stop her from dragging him out from under his bed into the irritating brilliance of the whelp's quarters. He waved her off, rose groggily to his feet and steadied himself against his bed frame. In all honesty, he'd expected to feel far worse after such a night of celebration, especially after such a long period of abstainment. The throbbing in his skull was little more than a dull ache.

"Came to tell you I'm going out on a hunt. Won't be back for a few days, so that'll give you some time to get that job done. Hey. You hearing me?" She pushed at Miraak's shoulder and he collapsed on the bed.

Something she'd said pierced the fog of his mind. "Job. What job?"

"The one I gave you last night, ice-brain. Surprised you don't remember it, since it was all you did yesterday except for sleep. You waltzed up as bold as Talos and asked for the toughest writ I had. Not sure whether you're brave or stupid. Guess we're gonna find out soon."

Miraak settled with his back against the wall and stared dully at Sofie's bed across the room. They were alone in the quarters, for now, save for a slumbering Redguard a few cots down. "Did I say anything else?"

"Oh, yeah. You called me a joor. I was gonna hit you for that, but I didn't know what it meant. So. What does it mean?" She cracked her knuckles and grinned. Miraak wasn't entirely sure she was joking, but he'd almost welcome a beating right now compared to facing the reality of what she was saying.

"It means mortal," he murmured, suddenly feeling extremely sober. "Something my older brothers used to say. Pay it no mind."

"Whatever. Just make sure that matters are settled with Nazeem by the time I get back. If I have to give the job to someone else, I really am gonna punch you. It's time to learn there's more to being a Companion than saving trees and drinking mead."

"Yes. It seems so."

He did not watch her leave. Settling matters with Nazeem before Njada returned, whatever that might mean, abruptly seemed the least of his problems. I thought the dragon cowed, but now it dares to walk around in my body and dictate my future path. What could it possibly be hoping to accomplish? Did it expect Miraak to abandon his entire venture out of fear of completing this single task? But that made little sense, considering it feared death far more than he did. And yet completing the job would bring him closer to obtaining the beast blood, which would mean the dragon's certain demise; surely it did not intend to help Miraak along this path. And was it the heavy drink that allowed it to take control, or must I now fear its return every time I sleep?

His unsettling contemplations were interrupted by the noisy arrival of Sofie and Hugs-the-Shadow, who looked as exhausted as he felt. What hour is it? Have I lost yet another day to useless sleep? Sofie's golden hair had come loose from its usual bindings and hung wild and untamed across her shoulders, and both of them were splattered with dirt and grime. Despite their obvious fatigue, they went to the Redguard's bedside without wasting a moment. Miraak reclined on his own bed and closed his eyes nearly shut. He was in no mood for idle conversation, but it would be useful to know what had transpired in the time since the feast.

"I knew something like this would happen," Sofie said. She knelt to wipe some soot from the Redguard's face with a clean rag. "I just didn't expect it so soon."

"We must be grateful he's alive," Hugs replied. "That's more than can be said for that poor Dunmer...and whoever else was claimed by the fire. The second body is still yet to be claimed."

The Redguard stirred, and a hazy grin spread across his face. "Hugs. Surprised to see you here, among us mere w-whelps." He tried to sit up, but Sofie stopped him with a firm hand.

Hugs smiled toothily. "Sometimes I like to come and visit you little fellows. Reminds me of where I came from. Though I don't remember ever saving squalling babes from burning houses, Ben. What are we proven Companions to do, when unworthy little whelps get up to such heroism? I'll need to rescue a dozen orphans just to break even."

"W-was Ruthnasi that pulled me out, I think. Pretty sure I passed out in the nursery." Ben swallowed. "Is she okay?"

Sofie nodded. "I stopped by the temple on my way here. She and her child are unharmed. Physically, at least."

Ben let out a long breath. "Ruptga's blessing. I...I've never been so scared in my life. I thought I was dead. I was almost certain of it."

Hugs squeezed Ben's knee, and Sofie entwined her hand with his. Ben seemed to take comfort in their touch, strangely enough. These Companions continue to mystify me. Now would be the perfect time for Sofie and Hugs-the-Shadow to take advantage of Ben's vulnerability to leverage their own positions of power. And yet they wasted time with acts of meaningless compassion and sentimental camaraderie. If all of my so-called shield-siblings display such weakness, I'll be a member of the Circle in a matter of weeks.

"I suppose you'll w-want to know the grim details." Ben's brow furrowed as if he were preparing himself.

"No." Sofie glanced at Hugs. Some unspoken message passed between them. "We're sure we'll know what we need to, when we need to know it. You'll probably have to speak to the Harbinger soon, anyway."

"Fair enough." He bit his bottom lip. "Then I guess it w-wouldn't be fair to ask where you two have been the past day. Haven't seen you since the night of the feast."

Hugs said quickly, "Out on a job. Close to the city walls. Bandits set up camp near one of the sewer outlets. Trust me, friend, you don't want to hear the specifics. Very dirty, very bloody."

Ben laughed. "You're an awful liar, Hugs."

Sofie gave her nervous partner a pointed look. "Yes, he is. Don't worry, Ben, we aren't up to anything too dangerous. There are just some things we've learned that you might not be ready to hear yet."

He soothed her with a raised hand. "I trust you. We're shield-siblings, after all. I know you'll have my back w-when the time is right. Now get some rest, both of you. I've seen better-looking draugr, heh."

They seemed to take his advice to heart: Hugs-the-Shadow bid his friends farewell and left bound for his new room, while Sofie fell into her bed without taking much note of Miraak. All the better. I do not have time to waste. After a few minutes, Miraak slid from his bed and made for the door. He left his spear behind; something told him that even Njada wouldn't appreciate it much if he ended up skewering this Nazeem character.

"Oh! Hello again," Ben called from his cot when he passed. "How're your preparations going, brother?

Miraak froze. "Preparations?"

Ben propped up his bandaged head with one hand and raised an eyebrow. "For the trial of lore. W-we're still the only two that threw our names in the running, as far as I know. Most people here care more for swordplay than scribe-work."

"A trial of lore, you say." His mind raced. What else has that loathsome wyrm dragged me into? For surely this could only be the work of the dragon. "Remind me again what that is."

"It was only yesterday morning. Don't you remember? The Harbinger announced he was taking on a lore apprentice. We both signed up on the spot." Ben made a thoughtful sound. "You spoke a different language at the time. I thought it was a show of dominance. Y'know, look at me, I know lore in two different tongues. Only know Cyrodiilic myself. But may the best w-warrior triumph, yeah?"

Lore apprentice. He dimly remembered Sofie mentioning such a thing on the road to Valtheim, but nothing recent came to mind on this matter. The dragon guarded its recollections with a petty possessiveness that seemed all the more absurd to Miraak when he recalled how eager it had been to consume his own memories. Fine. Keep your secrets, foul creature. Nothing you have done will alter my plans to annihilate you.

"Yes, certainly." Miraak pondered. "Did I say anything else yesterday?"

"Nothing I could understand. Though, err...do you recall me asking you to watch out for strangers from Hammerfell? I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me know if you see any. Just as a small favor to me. If it's not too much trouble."

Miraak replied distantly, "Of course. Other Redguard. I will keep that in mind." He left the whelps' quarters behind with his head buzzing with questions. Now that he put some thought to the matter, this lore apprentice nonsense could definitely be turned to his advantage. The opportunity to work closely with Vilkas...this could be my path to joining the Circle. Regardless of what some of these Companions claimed about being equals, there was no question that slipping into Vilkas' good graces would benefit his cause. And evidently, all that was standing in Miraak's way was one wounded man.

Just as cooperating with Sofie and Vilkas had served him on the quest to restore the Gildergreen, undermining this Redguard would serve him now. And what of the thieves I rescued from drowning, hmm? How do I justify that act of foolishness? Mere minutes after subduing the dragon and taking that Argonian's life, Miraak's mind had been in a state of turmoil. I could have just as easily killed the thieves had the coin flipped the other way. No logic was present in my actions. That the rescue had terrified and maddened the dragon was reason enough. Refusing to simply suffocate Benajah with a pillow now would equally infuriate it.

Tilma passed him in the hallway. She balanced a basket of linens in her arms. "Leave your dirty garments at the foot of your cot, dear, and I'll make sure they get cleaned."

He stopped. "These are my only clothes."

"Well, then you'd best buy some more, or wash them yourself. Don't dare walk around in your underthings, now. Got quite enough of that with young Farkas, I'd say."

Marvelous. Another mundane distraction. At least he still had some gold leftover from selling his mask to Ria. From Danica Pure-Spring he'd received nothing, save for the blessing of the Divines. "I would sooner trade your blessing for another pair of trousers," Miraak grumbled to himself.

It seemed an affront to all things sacred that the midday sun blinded him just as the day's chill settled on his shoulders like a needling cloak. He shuffled down the terrace from Jorrvaskr and reconsidered the mild classification of his headache. Everything in this city was much too bright and loud.

He could not bring himself to hate the winter, despite its cruelties. In Apocrypha, he had kept the darkness at bay with dreams of snowflakes melting against his skin: or had they been memories? Over the span of millennia, the lines between remembrance and wonderment had blurred, like ideas seen through a lake's frozen surface. His dreams were no less tangible than the lived realities of that First Dragonborn who had set the world on fire by devouring the soul of a god. That supposed friend of Ahzidal and Dukaan and Zahkriisos, who had led them to certain death.

Miraak stopped to catch his breath and looked up to see the young Gildergreen. Someone had cleared the snow from the square so it stood alone in its large plot with only packed dirt for company.

"Well, this is it." He steadied himself on a bench and squinted down at the little runt. "You will regret coming with me soon. Look at you, an idol to an absent god. Ready to entertain all manner of sniveling faithful. Perhaps we would both have been happier having never come here. You could have remained in your warm sanctuary, and I...well. I would need to go back rather far to find the turn I should not have taken." At least there was light on the horizon, for both of them. Spring would arrive someday, and by next winter, Miraak feels certain he will have finally earned Hircine's gift. An end to the dragon. Peace, at last.