Sorry this took as long as it did, but life got a bit in the way as it sometimes does.

And as things look right now, I'm also uncertain of when I'll get the next chapter done.
But I'll aim for two weeks as usual.

That said, I hope you like this one!

Dead Heart Beats

Ba-bump… ba-dump… ba-dump…

I've been staring at it for a while now. It was a weird sensation—suspicion, confusion, wonder, a hint of disgust, all at the same time. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

"Dead heart beats…" her old voice repeated in my mind, her foggy eyes locked into mine in my memory.

It wasn't the first time it had grabbed my attention. Back when I had first joined the Companions, and Kodlak had taken it upon himself to teach me to read, I'd often lift my head from his boring papers to look at the heart he had on his table, sitting on a silver plate. And I'd watch it slowly beat as the seconds passed. Though it had never taken long for Kodlak to tap on the table and return my focus to the papers. The heart had given me an uncomfortable feeling even back then.

Dead heart beats…

I hadn't told anyone about the ¨prophecy¨ that old woman had told me. And even if I had wanted to, to tell the truth, I had already forgotten most of it. But this was definitely how she had stared, was it not? Dead… heart… beats… It was. I didn't spook easily, but if she really had been talking about Kodlak's heart, it was spooky… Or maybe I'm overthinking it.

"You listening, lad?" Kodlak interrupted my thoughts. He was sitting by his desk, next to the table with the heart. He had been talking as he was writing in his journal. But to answer his question; no, I wasn't. I was still too focused on the heart.

I didn't really know how to start, but there was too much on my mind right now not to bring it up in some way. And who better to talk about it to than Kodlak? "I met someone yesterday, you would have liked her."

"Would I now?" He always did that thing with one of his eyebrows when he was playing along to see where a conversation was heading. But his voice was questioning, although in a polite way, as always.

"Yeah," I continued, adjusting my seat by the corner table to face him better. "She told me something, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around what it meant." He remained silent, all while looking at me as I tried to find the words to continue. I'd repeat the ¨prophecy¨ to him if I could, but as I said, I had already forgotten most of it. "I think she was talking about your heart."

"Aye, my heart," he spoke, turning his attention to the beating thing on his table. "What of it?"

"That's the thing... I don't know."

"I see…" he said in a ¨thinking¨ voice. "…As I recall, it's not the first time it has drawn your attention. Did I ever tell you how I acquired the heart?"

"No."

"It was centuries ago, in my time of yore. I was still making a name for myself in Hammerfell, traveling between the cities in search of glory and honor, and admittedly, perhaps, company and coin." I had always spent more time with Skjor than Kodlak. And it felt a bit… different? Being around someone who never hesitated to speak of his past. Most of the time when it came to Kodlak, like now, one needn't even ask. "I lived on the roads, mostly earning my coin as a mercenary for caravans, and so I got to see a great deal of the lands and it's cities—and the many feasts there within. I had no visions for the future back then, and so without question, I spent most my coin on good food, drink, and the company of ladies to warm my bed."

"Ladies?" I had to ask, it was hard to imagine Kodlak as a ¨ladies' man.¨

"Even I was young once. And admittedly, I had a weakness for the more tender touch of flesh." There was no shame in his smile, nor was there brag. It was more of a matter-of-fact smile. "But I was a brash man back then, impulsive, easily offended, and quick to anger. Wisdom was far beyond me, and given the chance, I never hesitated to defend my pride with steel—perhaps a bit too often at times." Again, unlike Skjor, Kodlak didn't shy from admitting his former weaknesses. To think a man, who so often preaches ¨find the calm in battle¨ would admit to once doing anything but.

"And the heart?" It was, after all, how the subject had started.

"Aye, the heart," he continued, gesturing toward the heart. "In my brash behavior, it seems I one day angered the wrong people, or perhaps my reputation grew to annoy the wrong people—who's to say. And then came the day I stood face to face with a dremora."

"You… fought a dremora?" Now, this is a story worth hearing—I've never heard of someone fighting a dremora before, barely even heard anything about them.

"That I did," he continued, "And what a battle it was. Truly horrifying creatures, dremoras are. Fierce warriors, wearing spiked armor and weapons of horror, designed to injure rather than kill. That he found joy in inflicting pain quickly became apparent to me, and I had no choice but to use it to my advantage—knowing he wouldn't go in for the kill until I was laying defeated, bleeding in the sand."

"So, how did you win?"

"Fear is their strongest weapon. Most warriors, no matter how skilled in combat, would freeze with fright in their presence. So he underestimated me, thinking I'd fear him when in truth, I did not. I defeated him, of course. And then my days continued. But before I knew it, he stood before me once again. And again we fought and again I defeated him, and again he'd reappeared, seeking me out in the ¨sea of sand¨."

"What?"

"It seems the enemies I had made, were still summoning him to end me for whatever transgression I had made. I realized this and left the caravans to, in turn, hunt them down for myself. Using contacts I'd made, and filling in the blanks on my own, it didn't take long for me to find the culprit behind it. A high-nosed nobleman whose daughter I had unknowingly bedded—yes, it's as storybook as it gets… In hindsight, I may have acted too hastily at the time, but I ended him and his goons without questions, thinking it was all over. But before long, the dremora appeared before me once again. And in stubborn anger, I defeated him once more."

"So he was still being summoned? But if you killed the noble—"

"Aye," Kodlak interrupted my interruption. "As you say, his summoning was still taking place. So again, I used my contacts to search for answers. And before long, I learned the nobleman had hired a redguard witch for the summoning. Working her foul magic against me, hidden and isolated from civilization in that barren land."

"I take it you found her?"

"That I did. It took every piece of coin I had, but I did. When I confronted her, she did nothing but laugh in my face. I still remember the smell of her blood as I freed her from life."

"You killed her?" Witch or not, resorting to murder seemed way out of character for Kodlak.

"As I said, I was a brash young man back then," and again his face showed no embarrassment nor shame, still settled on the matter-of-fact look. "And reflecting on one's past is a powerful tool for future choices. For only the greatest of fools can become the wisest of men. I never did strive to become the first, but I never realized I had until I became the latter." Now that sounded more like Kodlak, but for once, I actually understood what he meant.

"But then, the heart?" Again, I asked. It felt like Kodlak had gone off track, but it was always hard to tell when it came to him—he rarely spoke without reason.

"Aye," he continued. "So I slew the witch, and believing the dremora curse had been lifted from me. And once again I moved on with my life. But it seemed fate had chosen differently, and before long I realized the reason behind the witch's laughter—as the dremora stood before me once again."

"Stood before you once again? But you killed the witch?"

"There could only be one explanation—the curse behind his summoning was bound to my death. And as he failed in his quest to end my life, he'd simply reappear at the original place of his summons to once again continue his hunt for me…" I don't know why he paused, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did so simply for dramatic effect. "And hunt me he did. Across the seas of sands, over mountains, grasslands, into cities, and through villages. Immortal being without the need for rest, food, nor thirst, he sought me relentlessly. And if he somehow died on his search, he'd only start again at his original place of summons." He made a gesture with his hand before continuing. "I realized it didn't matter where I went, eventually, he'd find me. And after every defeat by my hand, he'd sooner or later return to face me once again. For a long time, I traveled the dunes in search of safety, sleeping with one eye open every night, knowing he was never far behind me. It was beyond tiresome. And with every time I defeated him, I realized only more that he'd one day best me, be it by a mistake or time, he'd best me."

"Then how did you stop him?"

"I still believe I didn't." Again he gestured to the heart. "In our final encounter, I'm afraid rage got the best of me. Tired by his neverending presence, tired of sleeping with one eye open, tired of always being on the run, I fought him one last time. And as he lay bleeding in the sand before me, I tore through his armor and ripped out his heart—an act out of petty, and childish, rage. And as I held his beating heart in front of his burning eyes to taunt him, death gripped his mind. The fire in his eyes ceased, one last breath, and his coal-black skin whitened and turned to ash. And as his body crumbled to dust as I had seen it do so many times before, to my surprise, his heart remained in my hand. Beating…" He mimicked the experience with his hand before lowering it. "I haven't seen him ever since. And so, I've kept his heart with me. At first, as a warning to my enemies, but as of late, it has become a reminder to myself that not all enemies can be defeated by death alone."

Haven't seen him since? "You're saying—"

"Aye," he answered my question before I even had time to ask. "It is my belief that he is alive, right there, on that plate. For was he not, he'd be searching for me still. And no longer in my prime, he would've bested me long before I even got to proudly call myself Harbinger."

I knew fairly little about magic, almost none at all to be honest. But the little I did know always seemed to involve curses; lycanthropy, witches, Kodlak's dremora. No wonder most people are against magic users.

¨If you ever face a mage, close the distance fast and hit hard…¨ Skjor's voice spoke in my mind, "…That's the only strategy you'll ever need.¨ I might not know much about magic, but at least I know how to fight the ones using it. In theory.

"There is wisdom in my old tale," he continued, "which brings me back to my original reason for calling you here." He rose from his desk and walked over to join me by his corner table.

Of course, there'd be wisdom in his story, he wouldn't have told it if there wasn't. This was one of the things I found annoying with Kodlak—there was always a deeper meaning.

"Which is?" I asked as he took his seat. I didn't mean to ask with skepticism, but that was the tone that took shape in my voice. Kodlak seemed to ignore it.

"I allowed anger, and fear, to rule my heart back then," he began. "And at the time, those emotions alone determined my actions far more than I cared to admit to myself…" I already had the feeling I knew where he was going with this… "…And now I fear you are beginning to head down a similar path." …exactly.

He gave me the same speech after Sjor died: Revenge is never the right way. Hatred clouds one's judgment. Anger is dangerous, especially for people like us. And now he clearly intended to repeat the lesson.

"Krev needs to be stopped," I said before he could continue, and his eyes responded that he'd listen. "She's too dangerous. She killed Skjor—acted as if it had been nothing—and back then, both Aela and I didn't stand a chance against her."

"I'm not disagreeing her danger. But—" Kodlak said.

"You weren't there," I interrupted. "You didn't see what we saw, the things she had done. And… did." I still hadn't told anyone what she did to Ysolda, don't think I ever could. Kodlak remained silent, and for a moment so did I. "She was laughing all the time, you know. As we fought. As if it was a game to her. I… fought hard, but I don't think she ever even tried. She was just… laughing." Pictures, memories from our encounter. The feeling of uselessness dug itself into my stomach, as it had back then. "She'll come for all of us… Unless we stop her, she'll come for all of us. I'm sure of it."

"You sound afraid," Kodlak said, eyebrows low on his forehead. I didn't realize I did, surely didn't mean to.

"You know what she did," I said, returning his hard look. "You know how far she went as she set her eyes on me. She…" I couldn't bring myself to complete the sentence—She killed Ysolda—so other than in my head, I didn't. "And no one's heard from Aela ever since Skjor. Who's to say Krev hasn't gotten her already? And she won't stop until she's killed us all."

"You don't know that. And Aela can take care of herself," Kodlak said with a calm voice.

"Oh, but I do," I said with less of one. And by the way Aela had acted when Skjor died, I wasn't so sure she could. "I don't know the Silver Hands reasons for hunting werewolves. Maybe they do it for honor? For Ysgrammor? But she's not like the Silver Hand… no, she isn't a Silver Hand—she's just using them. Her reason for hunting us is for nothing more than self-pleasure, joy. And like I said, she won't stop!"

"If so. It is true the Silver Hand has been a thorn in our side for a long time. But don't believe I don't see what you're getting at," Kodlak said, he had that I-see-it-in-your-eyes look on his face. For some reason, it made me think of the first time I met him.

Hm. Yes… perhaps… a certain strength of spirit.

Back then it had felt as if he stared straight into my soul. It almost frightened me, the way his old eyes studied me. And now, I felt the same. But did he? See what I was getting at?

"You speak as if stopping Krev was for the sake of honor—for the Companions—and your reasoning is sound." He did, didn't he? "Perhaps my teachings haven't fallen on deaf ears, after all, you've chosen your words wisely. But I fear you're telling me what you believe me to want to hear, in order to sway my mind in your favor." His expression hadn't changed at all during our conversation. "Which is why I have decided Vilkas and Farkas will handle her, when the time comes."

What?

"By Ysmir they won't!" I snapped. If anyone was to get Krev, it was me! That he even recommended differently was an insult to everything I was, to Ysolda! To my unborn child!

"Don't take me for a fool, boy." His tone was harsh, yet he remained as calm as always. "I know your reason for seeking her is revenge. Which is precisely why I cannot allow you to seek her out. It has gotten too personal. And it's clear to me now your reason is no longer for the sake of honor, nor glory."

"Honor and glory?!" Never thought I'd raise my voice against Kodlak. "Vilkas and Farkas?! No! She's mine!" I was no longer going to hide my intent.

"Sit down, son," Kodlak said with a stern look in his eyes. I never even realized I had stood up, never realized I had clenched my fists on the table either until I looked down on them. It still surprised me how quickly anger grew inside us werewolves. And how out of our control it was—or, out of my control, it was.

"No," I said. "Krev is mine. And you're not sending Vilkas and Farkas after her without me! You don't even know where she is."

"And you do?" He asked calmly. And to answer the question: I didn't—which must have shown on my face as he continued, "If what you're saying is true—that Krev will search for us—then Vilkas will find her as she does so. And when he does—"

"She won't search us out!" I interrupted. Kodlak was more than getting on my nerves now. "She'll draw us out! One by one! Like she did Aela! Like she did me!"

"Your tone is unbefitting a warrior of your standard." How did he always keep so calm? Even during arguments like these? "You are a strong warrior. And you know I would not deny you battle, had I not good reason to. But this is too personal for you. Had it not been your family—"

"But it was my family!" I snapped. Kodlak might hold the aspect of ¨too personal¨ against me, but for me, it was nothing more than demanding reason! He may think what he wants, but she was mine!

"There is no honor in vengeance," he said, no, told. "Some enemies are better left for others."

"For others?" I quoted. "Vengeance? I know you try to behave the wise one. But how can you possibly try to lecture me on vengeance when you yourself have the heart of your enemy literally served on a platter on your table!" A jerk of my arm as I gestured to the dead heart, beating on its plate, before turning back to face him. "And what about their honor?! Ysolda's?! Jida's! Don't they deserve to be avenged?!"

"As I said…" still keeping a calm face. "…That is precisely why I won't allow it."

"But that's not up to you!" I was biting down so hard it was shocking any words left my lips at all. I couldn't tell if he fell silent for my voice, or for my point—his eyes stayed focused on me. But before the tension got too heavy, he drew a breath to speak.

"All Companions, are free to choose their own way towards honor. But as Harbinger, I feel the obligation to guide you young ones to see the struggle taking place within yourselves, and fight it."

That's it, was it not? I've had it! There was always a fight ¨within¨ with Kodlak. A ¨lesson¨ or ¨wisdom¨ or any piece of reason not to fight! Why, by Ysmir, was he so focused on emotions when the real enemy was out there?! How could he possibly know?! No, old man! I've had it!

"You!—" I began, fully intending to speak my mind, as I felt my fingerbones gnarl as I unwillingly clenched my fists even further, before being interrupted.

The sound of Kodlak's chamber-door suddenly swung open, banging against the walls as we both turned out head toward the door opening, by the haste, me before Kodlak.

Aela!

She stood… faltering? Still holding one of the double doors as she leaned against one of the sides of the doors, catching her breath. She looked rough, weathered. All dirty armor and smeared old facepaint in her face and hair. It didn't show, but I could smell blood. She was breathing heavily. It took a lot to take the breath out of a lycanthrope—had she been running? How far?

"Aela," Kodlak said. He actually sounded more surprised than worried—had he expected her gone? Like Skjor?

She took a calming breath before lifting her head to set her sight on me. On me?

My thoughts against Kodlak had washed away. She looked… set? Intent? The look in her eyes clearly said she was here for me, no question about that.

She drew another breath just as I took my hands off the table, a breath clearly intended for speech.

"I found her."