Chapter 23: Beast
I screamed, knowing that pain and death was to come. This had all been a trick; Aela had always intended to kill me.
The mass of fur and muscle leapt off me at once, and sprung over the basin beside me to tackle...Aela.
I scrambled back automatically in an attempt to hide myself in the shadows of the cavern as my mind caught up.
It's another werewolf.
The two furious beasts blurred as they slashed and swiped and bit into each other. Skjor cursed loudly over their snarling, drawing my wide-eyed attention to him.
At once I wished I hadn't, but found myself unable to look away.
Skjor's skin rippled and stretched by some force within his frame. His face lengthened and his shoulders widened. Hair sprung up, everywhere - so much hair - and his teeth elongated to points. His armour fell to the ground with a clatter; his eyes, one still blinded white, narrowed and darkened and sank further into a now lupine skull.
Finally, as though to signal his completion, both eyes flared gold. The moment they did, he sprung into the fray.
The raging, furred storm snapped and growled, but it was impossible to see where one werewolf ended and another began. They were like an angry, roiling cloud, so impossibly fast. All I could do was stay where I was and observe and hope that they would forget I was here.
The remains of Aela's blood dried on my palm, caked with dirt from the cavern floor. I wanted to run but feared it would draw their attentions, and they'd fall upon me.
After minutes of frenzied brawling, the three werewolves rolled apart. The one nearest me returned to its rear haunches and stood tall. It bared its fangs and let out a deafening, wrathful roar; its enormous, corded arms shuddered as its hands – paws? – clenched into fists the size of my head.
The other two werewolves turned and ran down the left passage I had noticed earlier. They barked and snarled, but the sound of their retreat, and the trailing echoes, drifted to nothing and the chamber grew very suddenly still, and silent.
The remaining werewolf's head snapped to face me; its teeth bared and eyes shining, glazed over from the light of the lantern, which had somehow survived the ordeal, though now lay on the floor between the beast and myself, flickering frantically in its futile attempt to escape.
I stared back, unable to even flinch as the paralysis of fear took hold. My legs ached, curled awkwardly beneath me on the cold, hard floor. Was this my defender? Or one of the other two? Would they kill me, or force me to drink what remained of Aela's blood in the basin?
I couldn't even remove my hands from my ears, fearing that any movement might startle the creature. My heartbeat raced in my head, thumping like a frantic, caged bird, and I silently begged it to slow down and shut up; surely, the beast would hear its fluttering panic, and be enticed to still it.
In a heartbeat and with a rush of hot, dense air, the werewolf loomed over me. Its front arms caged me as its maw stilled, its nose an inch from mine. The heat poured from its form, crashing over me like a musky summer's breeze.
"Please," I whispered; the word thick with tears I couldn't shed. Its golden eyes bore into mine; accusing, disappointed, demanding that I acknowledge it – or rather, him.
And like that, I knew him; rather, I knew that look. The eyes were the wrong colour, but it was Vilkas.
I was able to breathe again and my vision cleared; my panic ebbed. I lowered my hands, hoping that in this form, he might snarl but wouldn't bite, uncertain of how much control he truly had. I reached one tentative hand up to his elongated maw, examining a gash made by another's claws, deep enough to open the flesh.
He took slow, snorting breaths as his golden gaze followed my hand; a low growl issued from the back of his throat the moment before I touched him. But he didn't stop me from making contact.
I tested the gash, easing a palm across his sweaty, furry head, checking over his injury. I had the notion that the warning growl had not been for me. The cut was not as bad as it looked; it was shallow, but it was a marvel he had not sustained a more serious injury.
"Oh, Vilkas," I whispered; an apology for not realising – for not putting together all I had seen. I could never have guessed this, but I might have understood something ailed them, if I had only paid more attention to their needs, not merely my own. I had done it again; I had used those who helped me ill.
The werewolf blinked; a slow, laboured sagging of eyelids. When they opened again his eyes were desperate; pleading for palliation.
All the tension he had constantly borne; the fragments of conversation I had caught between him and his Harbinger; his talk of abstaining and of course, the soothing effect that my music had on him – it all made sense. Unlike Aela and Skjor, he despised what he was. I couldn't begin to understand the demands that such a power – or curse – held over their forms and minds; all I knew was that somehow, my performances appeased the beast, and made it easier for them to bear. Vilkas' intensely devoted gazes while I sang weren't love in the traditional sense of a man whose heart had been momentarily captured by the alluring romanticism of a trained bard. He looked on me with relief, and deepest gratitude, for the brief peace that the notes brought him.
A peace which he needed help obtaining, right now.
"That is not cruel which cures, O faith, charity, rigour," I sang quietly. My voice wavered, full of emotion and adrenaline. I paused; watched him for response, suddenly wondering if the beast in facing its suppressor might lash out at the sound of my voice.
The werewolf's huge head sagged against my palm in defeat; his golden eyes closed again.
"By faith true heart endures, O hope, clarity, vigour," I continued, my voice gaining strength and timbre at each moment as the song worked its magic to soothe me as well.
The werewolf began to shudder and shrink as I continued to sing. Its coarse hairs and ears and elongated nose retreated as the creature expelled another weighty gush of air.
"Seventy-Seven shall guide us, O praise, honour, and duty," I sang softly, letting my hand fall to my lap as I shifted backwards so Vilkas wouldn't fall on top of me when he recovered. His arms, legs, and shoulders all shrank, growing pale in the flickering lantern light.
"Alessia lives inside us, And truth is one with beauty," I took another deep, calming breath of my own as I intoned the last of the lyrics.
The inky-haired Vilkas I knew and treasured crashed down, leaning heavily on his bare knees and forearms.
He groaned as though he'd woken from a deep sleep and lifted his shaggy head slowly, though remained doubled over; clearly spent from the demands of the transformation.
"Thank you," he muttered. "I haven't..." he faltered, arching his back with another pained groan as he lowered his head. His fingers curled, trying to find purchase in the rock of the cavern floor.
When he recovered from whatever spasm had caught him, and glanced back up to me through his hair, I met his eyes with a look that I hoped conveyed empathy. He simply watched me, his uncertainty plain. I would have found his wariness of me amusing, had the situation been less startling and raw, but at this moment I could only feel compassion, and deep within, a prickle of rising guilt. The gash that he had sustained in his werewolf form glistened in the lantern light; a diagonal slash across one of his cheeks, but shallow enough, even now, that I knew he would not suffer from it.
"Why did you come here with Skjor?" he asked finally, aghast, in a whisper. "Do you want to become a monster?"
I flushed, shifting a little further back and up onto my knees, giving myself time to collect my thoughts, and find some way to explain that wouldn't render me a mess of quaking tears, or screaming fury. Vilkas didn't deserve either response from me, but I could feel the adrenaline of the incident thumping through my veins and demanding action and retribution.
"Skjor gave me no choice," I told him simply, as evenly as I could manage, so I came off sounding a little more tight-lipped than I had wanted to. I shuddered at the realisation that I had very nearly drunk Aela's blood, and become one of them. "It was either drink, or be hunted."
Vilkas shook his head in vexation and growled; his sweat-slicked hair covering his once-again silvery eyes. I was relieved to see them rid of gold. "Better to die and ascend to Sovngarde, than to serve Hircine eternally!" he berated the cavern floor, his fury plain.
"I didn't want to die!" I fired back at once, my tone becoming even harsher. I bit my tongue as I winced, and took another deep breath to try and appease my own inner monster.
Vilkas regarded me with that astonished disappointment that made my chest ache. "There are worse fates than death in this world."
I maintained his gaze, and trembled as I demanded that my response be controlled. "You can't understand," I said in a lower voice. "It is nothing for you, who has always been strong enough to fight, with a family who can fight beside you," I sat back on my feet, resting my clenched fists on my knees, glancing around the cavern to give myself a reprieve of his judgement. The knowledge that I had disappointed him burned more than I could have imagined, and thick, hot tears rose in my throat, threatening to choke me.
"You are one of us," he drawled, though there was a sense of appeasement to his otherwise flat statement.
I did turn my eyes back to him, to give him an unimpressed look. "Am I? When all I do is take what I can?" I asked, as flatly as him. The shock was now making me shake more forcefully; willing me to scream FUS and flee this dark, dank cavern that smelled of earth and blood, and drink in breath after cool breath from the skies. "I am weak, and Skjor promised me strength," I managed around the claustrophobic feeling throttling me.
Vilkas growled in frustration again, sounding more like his werewolf form than himself, and I startled back. He knelt, sitting back on his feet as well; his hands falling automatically to cover himself. Only then did I realise that he was naked, but my own fear and shame had already turned my cheeks pink, and my reeling emotions left no room to feel embarrassed on his, or my, behalf.
"You have rendered us a service equal to, if not exceeding the worth of what little training you have been given," he thundered. "Do you honestly believe, after all you have seen, that your talents haven't helped us in turn?" he demanded, sounding more anguished, but continued on hurriedly, shaking his head as though to dislodge some of his rampant emotions. In a less passionate, though still quite loud voice, he added, "You will never have the might of Ysgramor, but your strength, Celeste, has given us hope again. Hope that our souls might not be lost to Hircine's hunting ground upon our deaths after all; hope for salvation."
On the edge of my awareness, I thought it odd that he was yelling this at me; Vilkas' words seemed too earnest for his chosen level of ire and volume. Perhaps it was the werewolf within him, so recently subdued, driving him to rage.
You shouldn't be angry, either, I reminded myself. You're allies. And, he just saved you.
I closed my eyes and made myself breathe deeply yet again; my regular calming exercises had done little to comfort me in the wake of Skjor and Aela's ambush. I coughed; the air of the cavern was stifling, and too thick with bad thoughts and smells. I grimaced at it, opening my eyes to Vilkas' flashing ones in defeat. I could not find my calm in here.
"Can you lead me out of this place, please?" I asked, my voice shivering as I unsteadily rose to my feet. "I need to see the sky," I added in a rush.
It was the break from our argument – why were we arguing? – that both of us needed; the fury in Vilkas' eyes abated; a process reminiscent of the recent shifting of his golden eyes back to their natural silver.
His look was once again uncertain as he regarded me, and he faltered, replying to me with a question of his own. "Can I borrow your coat?"
"Of course," I placed my hands on my lute strap immediately, drawing the instrument over my shoulders and setting it aside so I could undo the toggles and remove my coat without becoming entangled.
"Thanks," Vilkas murmured gruffly as I passed the bundle to him. He tied the material around his hips, by the arms of the coat, then rose slowly, as though testing his balance. He seemed so young; so vulnerable; the muscles on his pale chest and arms shuddering as he closed his eyes and tested his breathing. It was as though he had to check that he recalled how to act on the base, human instincts that we usually took for granted.
It was this image of him that I would remember for the rest of my days; the man recovering from his war with a demon. I watched him, noting how his calming technique was not all that dissimilar from my own. If this disaster of a night didn't see me cast out of the Companions forever, I vowed that I would work harder at being a decent person – a decent friend, to these troubled souls.
After another long exhale, Vilkas opened his eyes. He seemed more himself; or at least, at little more in control than he had been. "Take my arm," he instructed. "It is too dark for your eyes, to follow behind me," he added begrudgingly.
I wordlessly took his offered elbow, realising that of course, that had been why Skjor hadn't needed any light to traverse the dark walkways earlier.
Vilkas' arm, and entire body beside me, seemed to exude heat, but it was not an unwelcome sensation, given the consuming pitch we were striding into. It reminded me that I wasn't lost and alone in the nothingness.
Once we were on our way, I felt easier, and from the cover of darkness, I realised aloud; "Skjor and Aela must have...planned this..."
I trailed off at once, wishing I had never voiced my thoughts; unable to suppress another shiver as I recalled their strange behaviour during my performance. They had stood there, observing me, knowing what was to come. They had acted, the moment I had finished; Skjor making his way through Jorrvaskr to intercept me on the other side, and Aela distracting Kodlak and Vilkas long enough for him to do so.
Vilkas' lack of verbal reply to my thoughtless musing was somehow deafening, but I felt his arm under my hand tense, and his pace increased. I matched his speed, wondering suddenly if Aela and Skjor would suffer any ramifications for their premeditation, or if by being members of the Circle they would somehow be exempt? Surely not. Even mercenaries – even werewolves – had to have some sort of moral guidelines, didn't they?
"How did you know I was here?" I asked the shadows to break up the void. I felt Vilkas' eyes on me, though I couldn't see him at all to confirm my hunch.
After a considerable pause, Vilkas' answer came, low and frustrated, almost like a growl in itself. "I can smell your heart beating in your chest," he rumbled, his tone one of regret. "Sometimes," he continued gravely, "when you are embarrassed, or frightened, and it quickens, the smell gets...stronger."
"Oh," my eyes widened in surprise as my face grew hot, to match the heat pouring off my escort. This was all getting a little too intimate. "Well...sorry about that," I stammered, hoping that would be the end of it, and wincing as my heart began to race again. There was no stopping it, and what was worse was knowing that he could sense it.
"I could smell your fear tonight, while you were performing," he told me gruffly, ignoring my non-verbal reaction quite pointedly. "When you left us tonight, I expected it to recede. But it didn't. I tried to ignore it, believing it to be my mind and not my instincts tormenting me, and it grew even stronger. So I followed you," he owned simply.
I bit my bottom lip, remembering what I had seen in his eyes in the cavern, when he had been a beast. He hated that he could do, and sense, these things. What reason did I have to be embarrassed? It wasn't as though he was declaring himself to me.
"I'm sorry," I told him sadly, not sure of what else would suffice.
A disbelieving huff resounded from the Nord.
"I am," I insisted, my resolve to be more observant of their torment hardening.
"I know," he sighed. "That is not why I laugh."
"Then tell me why," I countered.
He didn't reply, and silence reigned between us as he led me on. After minutes of only more darkness, I sighted a silvery light ahead that my brain told me was moonlight. It was the exit!
Vilkas released me, and I had the notion that he had sensed my relief. While I would have to attempt to reign in my emotions around the Circle in future, I couldn't mask them now, nor stop myself from running the last few steps. I broke out from the crushing weight of the tunnel to gasp in great, deep breaths of the frigid night air. It was so cold and piercing that my throat burned, but I drunk it in desperately, blissfully, as though I had been parched. My calmness inched over me as I leaned back against the rock wall beside the opening, and stared up to the moons, forcing my eyes to adjust to their radiance.
I'm free.
Vilkas stepped out of the rock tunnel, and in the corner of my eye I saw him press the knob that Skjor had to open the sealed entrance. For the moment I was reluctant to turn my eyes away from the skies. The tuneless hymn of rock scraping rock sang around us, and the place I leaned vibrated slightly.
Once the grinding sound ceased, I turned to Vilkas, grasping my own arms against the stiff cold of night as a breeze whipped my hair, escaping its braid, across my face. The moonlight lit his pale body; his grim apprehension steadfastly back in place and his jaw locked. The light reflecting from the moons heightened the animalistic sheen to his eyes and rippled over the plains of his chest. He seemed an apparition, bared and brooding, and I wondered if now we were free of the oppressive tunnel, and the danger of the moment over, he might fade entirely.
His hands fell to the arms of my coat tied securely around his waist, holding it fast in what seemed to be insecurity; somewhat breaking the spell as he cleared his throat.
"What do we do now?" I asked him uncertainly.
Vilkas glanced from me, to the moons above, then back down to Jorrvaskr beyond. "Talk to Kodlak," he sighed; melancholy once more.
–
It should have come as no great surprise to me that we found both Kodlak and Farkas awake and alert in the living quarters. Both seemed tense; Kodlak sitting straight, his hands balled into fists on his knees, and Farkas pacing the flagstones beside him, pausing as we entered the hallway.
Vilkas sidestepped me, grumbling as he passed; "I need a bath."
Then he was gone, stepping into one of the nearby side hallways, and I was alone before the chasm of a hallway and the agitated men at the end of it.
"Brother?" Farkas called out in a concerned rumble, moving to go after him.
"Leave him," Kodlak extended an arm to the larger man, stilling his motion.
"He's injured-" the brother protested.
"Vilkas will come to us when he is revived," Kodlak cut him off evenly. "I suggest we hear what our shield-sister has to tell us, while we wait for him."
I swallowed nervously at his naming me thus, and my eyes settled on his frame. He looked just as he ever had; he was Kodlak; but I knew now that he was also a werewolf. As was the mountain of a Nord next to him. A primal force stilled me, urging me to turn, and leave, and forget I had ever heard of the Companions.
Ungrateful, logic berated me immediately, and I hastened forward. Kodlak has shown you nothing but kindness and support, since you have ever known him. His curse does not change who he is to you.
To replace the fear, nerves arose as I folded my hands in front of me so I wouldn't fidget with them.
The pair watched me approach closely; Kodlak with a caution to his eyes that made me even more determined to express that I accepted this truth about them. My respect had not diminished; if anything, it was greater than before, as now I understood, in part, what they endured in silence.
Kodlak motioned toward the seat beside him as I drew to a halt; his voice accompanying the action as kind and steady as ever. "Please, Celeste. Make yourself comfortable."
Driven by an impulse that I had not anticipated, I shook my head, and instead leaned forward, wrapping my arms around Kodlak's broad shoulders, hugging him fiercely. He immediately tensed, and I gasped a tearless sob as I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and determinedly maintaining my hold.
"What happened?" I heard Farkas asking urgently. "What's wrong?"
Kodlak's arms encircled me gingerly, finally, as though concerned his grasp might crush me.
I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, trying to dispel a rising flood of tears, as I whispered, "I'm so sorry."
The Harbinger sighed; one of his hands patted my back comfortingly. "You are safe now, little dove."
"No, that's not what I mean," I managed, retreating from the embrace to meet Kodlak's saddened gaze. I maintained it, shaking my head for emphasis. "I'm sorry that I didn't realise what was wrong," I confirmed, taking a shuddering breath and standing tall to wipe the unspent tears from my eyes. "I have torn your family apart," I voiced, horrified as I realised it. I clenched my eyes closed with regret. "I will do everything in my power to make up for my selfishness, Harbinger," I vowed.
After a beat, Kodlak spoke up calmly. "Farkas, would you?"
"Sure."
Large, warm hands were on my shoulders, urging me forward and down, into the seat Kodlak had offered when I had first approached. Farkas released me, and I glanced up to the large man, my eyes flitting over his features, so similar to his brother, but for the gash that currently marred Vilkas' cheek.
"You will forgive me?" I asked Farkas.
Farkas frowned in confusion, and his eyes drifted to land on Kodlak for an explanation.
"There is nothing to forgive," Kodlak assured, drawing my attention back to him.
I turned, my sudden fit of remorse clutching fiercely about my chest.
"You forget, little dove; we did not wish to be exposed," he raised an eyebrow at me as his mouth curled into an amused half-smile.
I huffed a laugh at his smile, and I looked down to my hands as I did. The tightness within me unfurled a little.
My hands were filthy; the right more than the left, as it bore the dried, brown stains of Aela's blood.
"I don't get it," Farkas droned. In the corner of my eye, I noticed him sit in front of us, on the floor, crossing his legs as he looked between us; an expectant pupil, waiting to be enlightened.
I wondered that with their superior senses, he could not smell her blood on me, but perhaps her scent was being masked by my own; by the beating of my frantic heart, that Vilkas had made me aware of.
Kodlak was silent, and also expectant I felt, and I knew then that while it seemed he understood more from a single look than I could have ever voiced, he wanted to hear me say the words.
I raised my bloodied palm to Farkas slowly, watching him for signs of acknowledgement, but none came. He glanced between my hand and my eyes, his brow knotted in confusion.
"It's Aela's blood," I began quietly. "She and Skjor wanted to make me...one of you," I settled.
Farkas' eyes bulged out of his head, and he fearfully turned to Kodlak beside me. "Why would they do that?" he addressed the Harbinger.
Kodlak sighed sadly. "I can only presume at this time, so perhaps it is better that I say nothing. And Vilkas?" Kodlak turned his eyes to me. "He transformed?"
I confirmed with a single nod. "He saved me," I emphasised.
Farkas made an astonished noise and leapt to his feet. I glanced to him in time to see him turning at a run.
The regret in Kodlak's voice was plain. "Farkas, peace," he called to the departing brother; more a command than a suggestion.
Farkas turned back to us, his face grim. "He hasn't turned going close on a year. You two can talk," he glanced darkly between Kodlak and I. "It's what you're best at. My brother needs me."
With that, he turned again, and sprinted down the hallway, disappearing in a matter of seconds into the side hall that Vilkas had taken.
Kodlak didn't try to stop him this time. The Harbinger sat back, as though tired, or defeated, and lowered his eyes to the flagstones.
"Did our ancestors understand what torment their bargains might wreak in their quest for strength for generations to come?" he mumbled, then raised his eyes to me, considering for a moment, before adding a quiet; "I think not."
Understanding that he referred also to my own desire to obtain the fortitude to meet whatever being Dragonborn required, I acknowledged with a nod, and voiced what I was desperate to know. "What happens now?"
He sighed, his pensive inflections rising to meet his more regular, charitable tone when he asked; "To you?"
I shook my head. "To your family."
Kodlak's smile was sad, and, "We wait," was his simple beginning. "Aela and Skjor embrace their beast blood, so they will not at once understand the error of their judgement."
I forced myself to remain quiet, though I disagreed with Kodlak's assessment of their characters. He might have known them far longer than I had, but he had not endured the hatred and violence that I had under them, nor heard Skjor's gloating declaration that by turning me, he would be punishing Kodlak, Vilkas and Farkas for denying their werewolf forms.
"In a day or two, once they have calmed down," Kodlak reasoned, unaware of my musings, "they will feel the shame of it. Then they will come home," he assured me, casting me a quick glance, beneath which I saw a stalwart promise. "And then, little dove, they will answer for what they have done."
–
Kodlak and I spoke for hours, and we saw no more of the brothers, or anyone else that night.
Eventually, overwhelmed with fatigue, he advised me to rest, and I left him to his writing; so potent was the beast's hold that they were never able to truly sleep. They could calm and deny the wolf through discipline and practise, but it allowed their minds and bodies no rest as they did so.
Rather than return to Breezehome, for I simply didn't wish to walk the dark streets by myself or ask meekly for someone to accompany me, I retired to the bed in the dormitory that Kodlak had offered me when I had first joined them.
I had washed my hands and face, scrubbing at the stain of blood on my skin, then sunk, utterly shattered, onto the scratchy furs that were laid over the lumpy mattress.
I lay awake for a time, staring at the ceiling and listening to the breathing and snores of my shield-siblings around me, hoping that the chorus, and knowing that I was not alone, might ease me into calmness, and allow me a moment's rest.
You're alive, I thought, trying to appease my disquiet. Yes, I was alive, and safe, and had not been cast from the Companions for knowing their Circle's secret. Tomorrow morning, I could continue on, training with Farkas or Vilkas, and learning what I could in the time that I had left.
Three weeks, I reminded myself with an internal groan, and frowned. Three weeks and then, what? Walk away from the Companions, knowing that by doing so, I was condemning Kodlak, Farkas and Vilkas – poor Vilkas who had broken his vow to renounce the beast blood to save me – to weeks, months, perhaps years of torment while they searched for a cure that Kodlak wasn't positive existed?
I longed to help them – properly help them, not only with my music as an interim measure, but to assist in locating this rumoured cure that Kodlak had briefly spoken of. If it could be found, I could leave them, knowing that I was not abandoning them to the beasts.
I cursed, turning onto my side, frustrated by my options, or lack thereof.
Stay, then, and help them if you believe you can, I insisted, my thoughts at war with one another. If the Greybeards need you sooner, they will call for you again, I reasoned, uncertain if this would be the case, but willing to make myself believe it would be so, to have my own way.
Sleep eventually took hold of me, but I was restless, and before dawn I gave up and rose, thinking that I might as well do something productive with my time.
I left the dormitory and purposefully walked down the hallway. Kodlak was still where I had left him, and still writing.
I knew that he would have heard, or sensed my approach; perhaps even sensed that I had not been able to sleep. But he didn't show it, so practised he was at hiding what he was.
I sat down in the chair I had occupied hours earlier, without waiting for his invitation for the first time.
"Unable to sleep?" he asked, his eyes still on his handiwork before him and his pen still scrawling his tiny, careful script.
I shook my head; my eyes flickering to his journal curiously before I drew them back up to his face, determined not to pry into his personal secrets any more than I already unwittingly had. "Would you tell me more about this cure?" I asked in a low voice. Despite nobody else being awake at this hour, I knew that discretion had to be maintained. "Perhaps a fresh set of eyes will help you to unravel it."
Kodlak's shining eyes finally left his journal, and turned upon me with a patient look edged in doubt. He sighed, set down his pen, and closed the book before him again.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but it is not your burden to bear, Celeste-"
"Please, Harbinger, let me," I cut him off earnestly, reaching for one of his hands now that they were freed of book and pen, and clutching the large, warm, gnarled appendage in both of my own. When he immediately tensed, I almost withdrew at once, but a thought flitted through my mind, assuring me that I had done right, and that Kodlak simply was not used to physical contact, so determined he was to give his wolf no stimuli to emerge.
"Oh. Oh no," my eyes widened in realisation. "I make it more difficult for you, and Farkas and Vilkas, don't I?" I asked, loosening my grasp but not letting go, attempting to swallow the guilt back within me.
Kodlak shook his head, lowering his eyes and chuckling in the way that he did when I spoke to him, as his free hand crossed in front of him and rested on top of mine. "Quite the contrary," he raised his shining eyes, and there was amusement in them. "You may put your mind at ease, on that account."
That was a relief. I smiled, and we released each other's hands; the air growing perceptibly more comfortable, and at once I was glad that I had risen. "Then tell me, please?" I asked again. "I will sing for you and the twins every night if you believe it is all I can do to help," I vowed. "But, if there is a chance I might be able to help with the permanent solution, is it not worth telling me of it?"
Kodlak cast me a paternal glance; full of dubiety again, I regretfully noted. "I would not distract you from your own vows, Celeste. You are needed elsewhere," he prompted me carefully.
"Damn the Greybeards," I hissed, waving my hand dismissively and sitting forward on the edge of my seat. "I have entered into no agreement with them. I will never go to them, until you are cured," I insisted. "I cannot leave you to struggle through it on your own if my being here might be of some assistance."
Kodlak sighed, and I felt another counter argument on its way.
I spoke again before it could be voiced, determined to be heard, and believed. "Either I am a Companion, or I am not," I reminded Kodlak of his words to me, what had only been a week ago, but felt like a course of many months. I watched him carefully, worried suddenly that this might be a point on which he would cast me from their hall; not for the sake of what had occurred in the underforge, but in order to push me back, even unprepared as I was, onto the path that destiny demanded I take.
I lowered my head, out of respect, and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my next, which then formed and flowed out of me effortlessly, steeling my resolve. "I understand what you told me now, Harbinger. As you intimated yourself on the night that you welcomed me into your ranks; I now choose to remain with you, and vow that I shall, for as long as it takes to free you of this curse you are under. I will not abandon you to Hircine's hunting grounds. I am a Companion."
After a pause, I felt Kodlak's large hand rest on top of my head, and felt the old man's shuddering breath, before he broke the silence.
"That you are," he agreed in a subdued tone.
A/n: so gratified by the response to last chapter! Thank you :)
Cake-san, your emojis made me laugh - I just wanted to tell you that the commissioned armour will appear, but for the moment the Jarl is leaving Celeste alone to do what she believes she must (until...well, you'll see).