Here we go.

I finished polishing the older chapters as I said in my last chapter, but accidentally deleted when I polished that one, nothing that changes the plot so there's no need to reread anything. But it looks and reads better.

Thanks for the comments on my last chapter.
It's great to hear you like it, and that my story has been improving.

Also, a thank you to my Beta, tejaswrites, who helps me with my grammar. :)
She also writes her own stories on AO3, so If anyone's into Dragon age fanfics, check her out on AO3.

It also feels great that my ¨worldbuiling¨ is over and that the story really is beginning to kick off now.
I hope no one had guessed that Krev survived the first encounter since she didn't in the game.
Got some more plans with her and we'll see her again.

I also started publishing on AO3, in case anyone prefers to read there.
Same writer name and story name.

That said.
Enjoy this one and see you in two weeks, hopefully.

We Grieve

The landscape was beautiful. Stripes of yellow, red, and green. Like spiked waves flowing across the fields of Rorikstead.

"Strange…" My brother said as he ran his fingers over the tracks.

"See that?"

"Those are wolf tracks."

"Four of them"

"But see here?"

"They all turned in their tracks."

"Wolves don't usually do that."

"Unless…" He slowly drew his bow as he rose.

"Run…" He whispered, eyes sharp on what he had seen.

"RUN!" He shouted as he lifted his bow.

And I ran…

As fast as I could…

With fear in my heart, I ran…

Not daring to look back.

COWARD!

WEAKLING!

HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!

HUMAN…

No!

This time I'd save my brother!

This time!

Drawing my bow, I turned.

Yellow eyes facing me in the pitch-black dark.

Like moons, they shone with hatred and disdain.

In a second, terror and fear ran down my spine as I lifted my bow.

The deer hadn't noticed me as it stood by the riverbed.

Slowly, I inhaled through my nose and steadied my aim.

With a jerk, the deer lifted its head as a twig broke behind me.

I let the arrow loose as I exhaled.

But the deer had already moved aside.

"What was that?!" Ria laughed sarcastically behind me. "Didn't you used to be a hunter before you joined us?"

"Maybe if you didn't move like a bear, we would have food right now," I said with an annoyed tone as I turned to face her.

Darkness met me as yellow eyes of hatred froze me in place.

Like the eyes of a wolf in the night, staring down its prey.

Frightened, I lifted my bow in panic.

I felt my heart take a beat as I let the arrow loose.

I saw the arrow bend in the air as it adjusted to its flight path, straight towards the man's chest.

I missed.

A second heartbeat.

Adrenaline rushed down my legs.

A slight sense of panic?

He didn't even flinch as my arrow flew past his head, nearly touching his left ear.

His sword was already upon me.

This is bad!

By instinct, I bent my knees into a crouching position, breaking eye contact, and leaned forward.

¨First rule in a fight; never let your opponent out of sight.¨

A hard thud against my back. A metallic sound as his blade was blocked by my half-drawn great sword.

A third heartbeat…

Slamming my shoulder into his chest, he went airborne.

A grunt of pain. He landed hard on the stone floor, the air leaving his lungs.

With no time to draw my sword, I raised my foot.

Violently my heel reached for the stone beneath his skull.

The sound as horrid as one can imagine.

A fourth heartbeat…

Remembering to breathe again, I inhaled deeply.

With a deep exhale, I tucked away the black strands of hair that had fallen into my face.

Behind me, Farkas let out a whistling sound.

"Welcome to the Companions… Shield brother…"

Removing my foot, from the ¨mush¨ beneath my heel, I turned toward Farkas.

Faced with yellow hatred against black, I froze.

In fear, I no longer felt my heartbeats. As if forced, my eyes were locked into the yellow pair of moons sized eyes glared me down. I couldn't tell if they were distant, or close enough that I could reach for them. But everything in my body screamed for me to flee.

I had my bow.

This fear was… so familiar… yet not.

In panic, I lifted my bow and let the arrow loose towards the monster in the dark.

"Harder," Skjor said as my arrow hit its mark.

He was as strict as ever. Arms crossed and all.

"Your aim is good. But to pierce armor you need to pull harder. Force the arrow further back before you let go."

About to complain, I turned towards him.

A sharp burning pain across my face as the flat side of Skjor's blade hit my cheek.

"Lift your shield higher! Between your nose and stomach."

Regaining my footing I lifted my shield above my nose.

"Like this?"

My right leg gave way as Skjor's blade smacked my thigh. Forcing my knee down against training ground soil.

"Too high and you won't see low attacks."

Regaining my footing again, I rose, lifting my sword arm to take a stance.

"Come at me." A quick gesture with his hand as he spoke.

With my shield between me and him, I charged, lifting my sword to plunge.

He sidestepped and his sword locked on the inside of my shield, bending towards my shoulder as he jerked. And before I had time to react, my shield was on the ground, followed by his elbow striking hard into my face.

My eyes closed by reflex as I blindly stumbled back and tried to regain my footing. Skjor's arm pushed against my chest, his foot kicked behind my heel and I found myself falling through the air. My sword flew from my hand as I landed hard on my back.

"As long as you have weapons on your body you're still in the fight," he said.

I was annoyed now. Feeling my ears heat, I reached for my dagger and drew it in defense as I pulled myself up.

"Again!" he said.

Quickly moving forwards I charged, focusing on his feet this time.

He was fast!

Barely grazing my arm, he brushed against my shoulder as he used my movement against me. My dagger cut through air as he disappeared from my vision to place himself behind me.

Grabbing my dagger with both my hands I quickly turned, charging its tip towards where I believed him to be.

The world turned black as my dagger broke furred skin, all the colors in the world fleeing with its sound.

In shock, I let go of the blade as a bestial roar of pain echoed through the blackened void around us.

The roar was… almost human.

His claws let go of my shoulders. The towering beast toppled backward.

For a brief moment, the one-eyed beast glared at me, shocked… disappointed… afraid…

In that brief moment, I felt as afraid as his returning one-eyed look.

As if pushed by a wind, he fell over backward.

There was no sound when he landed on the eternal darkness beneath his back.

Only emptiness.

My hands were shaking as I stood in shock. Hands covered in red.

"Skjor?..."

I sunk to my knees before the limp beast.

Around us was nothing but silent darkness.

I felt like a child, locked in a pitch-black closet with nothing but tears, fear, and despair.

"Skjor. I…"

I could barely breathe.

I reached one hand towards his limp body, afraid to touch him as my fingertips grazed his fur. And as I touched him, his furred skin tore open as if a knife was cutting through it, skinning him from within.

My hand drew back in shock. Pieces of fur began falling from his body. One by one they folded over and dropped into the darkness beneath us, some larger than others. His fur and skin continued to peel off and fall. And I could do nothing but watch in horror, until nothing but a bloodied, skinless werewolf lay before me.

Horror given form.

With my dagger still in its chest.

The smell of blood and flesh, so strong I could taste it. So strong it choked me.

My stomach turned as I doubled over.

Belching between my knees.

Vomiting into the void beneath us.

My eyes were watering, and I felt the tears run down my face as I slowly straightened and lifted my head.

And again I froze as my eyes met the darkness before me, this time more so by hopelessness than fear as I was faced with yellow eyes the size of moons.

Glaring in the dark.

Sharp, hungry eyes.

The darkness around us wasn't silent anymore.

I could hear it.

A deep growl.

Like a wolf in the night… hunting its prey.

My body felt like ice as my eyes were locked onto his, unable to turn away.

I was afraid.

More so than ever, I was afraid.

Quickly I glanced at the dagger embedded in Skjor's chest.

The growl deepened as I had looked away from it. Vibrating around me.

I needed to defend myself.

Barely able, I slowly reached for my dagger.

The growl only grew deeper and louder the closer my hand got. Deeper and louder, louder and deeper. Until its volume was so loud it was deafening around me.

But I needed to defend myself from it. I knew I did.

The growl was now so loud it shook my body as my fingertips barely touched the hilt. The yellow eyes glared so sharply I could feel their hatred weighing me down.

I couldn't take my eyes off them. If I did, it'd devour me. I knew it would…

Just a little further.

My fingers grasped the cold hilt, desperately embracing it.

My heart skipped, like lightning the giant beast charged its white teeth toward me. And like lightning, its giant teeth of horror and white encircled me and snapped shut.

I never even screamed.

Where am I!? What happened? It's dark! I can't breathe!

I flinched in fright as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Ysolda? Why am I sitting up?

"It's okay..."

I couldn't breathe. I was in a cold sweat, and her hand felt warm against my skin. But it was so dark. Is it night? I'm in my bed, aren't I?

"I'm here. It was only a dream." Her voice was soft. Comforting. Calming.

My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my neck and ears, but at least I could breathe again. I let go of the fur blanket as I began to calm, I hadn't even realized I was clenching it. Something warm embraced me as I relaxed. A hug.

"It's okay. It was only a dream."

My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as she let go of me, and I could make her out against the dark background of our bedroom.

"I… I'm fine."

I couldn't see her face in the dark. But by the way I felt her touching my arm, I knew she was still worried. That's how she was. Always had been. Worrying over me before herself.

She seemed hesitant, but then the blanket made a soft rustle as she pulled it back over herself and lay back down in the bed, tapping her hand on the bed beside her.

"...You don't get used to them?" She asked as I, too, lay back down beside her. It was an innocent question.

"They're… They're not the kind of dreams you get used to."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I…" She always asked that. She knows what they are but… She's being nice. And there had been something different with this one. "They always start the same."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah… but… Skjor was in this one." I expected her to say something, but she didn't. Knowing what I was about to say, I already knew my voice would break- "In the dream I- I killed him." -and it did. "It's my fault, isn't it? And the others…" I had never broken down in front of her before, but my eyes had already watered up. And my voice began to fail me. I hadn't cried once in my adult life. It was unbefitting of a warrior, a Companion, and a man.

It felt pathetic.

"No, it's not. You can't blame yourself."

"The others must think the same. And Aela…"

"No one blames you. Least of all, them."

"She hasn't returned since…"

"It's not your fault."

"It's all because of me. He went alone because I was late. If I hadn't—"

"Stop it! Then I'm as much to blame as you are." She was sitting up now. She didn't sound angry. Or annoyed… She was telling. "And you don't blame me, do you?"

"…Well, of course not…" Why would I? At least her tone had stopped my tears.

"See. And the others don't blame you either. He's not the first Companion to die in battle, and he won't be the last. You're always worrying me with that. Now try and get some sleep. The funeral's tomorrow." I sighed, turning on my back as she lay her head on my shoulder when she finished.

It's strange how comfort works… Or doesn't. I knew she was right. But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel differently. Guilt doesn't respond to reason. But she was right.

"Do you know what to say?" She asked as she played her fingers on my chest.

"Yeah… Vilkas taught me the rites." They weren't that hard. All we had to do was repeat after Kodlak. "And… thank you." She's… how could I possibly keep sane without her?

"Always." I could feel her smile against my skin.

"Who will start?" Eorlund had prepared a funeral pyre in the Skyforge, resting atop its eternal flame.

Since ages past, Companions had been burned on the Skyforge upon death. And as the flames reduced their bodies to ashes, the winds would lift them to the sky. Where Kyne herself would carry one's soul to Shor's hall in Sovngarde. Where they would feast and do battle amongst their fallen friends and foes alike until the end of times.

But that wasn't where werewolves went… was it.

It was a beautiful day. No wind. Blue sky. Peaceful, really. But it was cold. Freezing even. The winters of Skyrim always came fast. It had rained when we buried my brother. Which made me a bit sad. I kind of wanted it to rain this time too, or, well… snow. It was far too cold for it to rain. I guess I liked cliches like that.

Everyone was dressed in black. Ysolda wore her funeral dress as she stood beside me. First time she had to use it. I would say got to, but that just felt wrong. It wasn't only the Companions that were present, but Balgruf as well. And a whole crowd of other citizens, people both of importance and not. Everyone wanted to show their respect. Though I did get the feeling some people only came to get a glance at the Skyforge.

Funeral clothing for the Circle meant wearing the wolf armor without plating. Meaning, the fursuit only. It symbolized our vulnerability. How we would allow ourselves to be wounded by the grief and sorrow of his death. Of course, plating couldn't protect against such things… It was… symbolism. A kind gesture, out of respect. And honor.

The pyre was decorated with colorful flowers, painted wooden shields, and patterned rugs and blankets. I supposed Tilma's behind most of the decorations. That was more her area of expertise.

But there was no body.

"I'll do it," Kodlak answered as he stepped forward, grabbing the torch out of Eorlund's hand. "Before the ancient flame… We grieve."

"We grieve." Everyone present spoke in unison.

With no body, a collection of Skjor's belongings had been placed atop the pyre. Things like his sword and shield, mementos, clothes, and the like. All wrapped up in his red Companion cape. The one with Wuuthrad embroidered on it in gold. Every member of the Circle owned one like it.

It had been days. But Aela hadn't returned yet. I'm sure she was taking care of Skjor in her own way. But even if she had returned, to drag a werewolf into the city wouldn't be possible. Even if it was Skjor. The Circle being werewolves was a far too well-guarded secret. Even the other Companions were kept in the dark. Other than the Circle, I don't think anyone but Eorlund, Tilma, and Vignar knew.

I hadn't even told Ysolda.

"At this loss… We weep," Kodlak continued as he placed the torch against the pyre.

"We weep."

The walk back from that accursed place had been… long, to put it lightly. And I hadn't known what I felt at the time. Empty? Hollow? It had all been… so unreal. As if it hadn't happened. I knew it had. But, some part of my mind had yet to accept it. And so I had felt nothing. The real feelings came later.

I was so afraid of what to say when I had entered Jorrvaskr. But I guess my look gave it away. Kodlak had known even before I had fully entered. ¨Skjor's dead,¨ he had announced with monotone sadness. Said he saw it in my eyes. He always did have a talent for that. Reading people's eyes. The others had reacted, well, differently. Guess everyone handles grief in their own way. But Skjor was… had been family, so no one was glad.

"For the sake of our fallen… We shout," Kodlak continued as he stepped back. The fire had quickly taken to the pyre, growing even larger as Eorlund pulled the handle to the bellows, feeding air into his Skyforge.

"We shout."

It hurt. Standing here. My father might have taught me how to hold a sword. But it was Skjor who had taught me how to wield it. Truthfully, Skjor had taught me everything I knew of fighting. He had always been a good teacher. But he was so strict. Disciplined. He always pointed out flaws and errors. Never satisfied. And with a clenched jaw, he would always shake his head in disappointment. No matter how hard I had tried. He always did value results over effort, even though one can't be achieved without the other.

For a some time. I resented him for that. I almost hated him at points. But I realized a long time ago that my hate and resentment for him was nothing more than how a stubborn child resented their parents. A child not knowing better, resenting his father for being strict. In truth, I looked up to him. Maybe even loved him. In my own way. He was so strong. Confident. Nothing ever touched him.

I've sparred with Vilkas more times than I could care to count, and I haven't won once. But at least with Vilkas, I could feel I was getting closer. My skill, approaching his. I never felt that with Skjor. Not once. No matter how many times I sparred him, I never stood a chance. He was truly on a whole different level than me. He didn't even seem to strategize as we sparred. As if muscle memory alone decided his next move. I wonder how many battles he had fought.

¨Skjor has been a warrior for a long time. You would be wise to listen to him. Any warrior that gets to be old is either fearsome or a coward. I'll let you find out which Skjor is.¨

Kodlak had told me that. A long time ago when I was still a ¨whelp¨ and had sought him out to him to complain about Skjor. I was an idiot back then.

"And for ourselves… We take our leave." The flames reached high for the large stone statue leaning over the Skyforge. A statue of an eagle. Proudly spreading its feathered wings over and around the Skyforge, like a mother standing guard over the eggs in her nest. It had always been there, watching over the Skyforge.

"We take our leave."

Everyone lowered their heads for a minute of silence at the last rite. Recalling memories. Giving silent prayer. Whatever people did during a minute of silence.

I could feel the warmth of the fire against the front of my body, even through my clothes, as it almost burned against my lowered face. At least it wasn't freezing anymore.

Ysolda gently reached for my hand. I wasn't the type to show public affection, even something as small as holding hands. But it was nice.

When the minute was over, we lifted our heads. The pyre was gone. Engulfed by the flames and lifted to heaven. Only smoke remained above us, climbing toward the sky.

"His spirit is departed. Let us withdraw, to grieve our last together."