Chapter 30: The Arms of Revenge

Now that the air was clear I felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted between Vilkas and I.

In its place developed a merciless, what I assumed was brotherly level of teasing from my shield-sibling. I knew that he was using my 'Legion sweetheart' as a distraction from our repressed grief and anxiety over what we would need to do at Driftshade, but I found that I enjoyed talking about Hadvar to Vilkas. Vilkas' reactions to the questions I answered were amusingly perplexed, and made me feel as though I was getting a little revenge from his goading.

"What?" he laughed, shaking his head at my latest revelation. "You knew him for a single day?"

"And a night," I added defensively.

"Well, that makes all the difference," Vilkas agreed, baiting. "One night would be all it takes-"

"It wasn't like that," I rolled my eyes and looked away to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. Would a time would ever come where I would not react so naively to allusions to sex?

"Wasn't like what?" he asked; all innocence.

I ignored him and tried to focus on our path and the surrounds, and not my awkwardness. The mountain pass we were ascending overlooked a thin scattering of snow-laden trees and not much else. The icy breeze came as a relief to my warmed face.

"I thought you were a bard?" he challenged, though there was even a sense of mockery to this. "That is a cruel way end to such a pretty ballad."

I cast him an unimpressed look, to see he had looked away, and was smiling to himself. "All right. The next morning, we...said good bye. He left for Solitude and I walked to Whiterun. That was the night I met you for the first time," I pointed out.

"And you've been writing to one another since?"

I nodded.

Vilkas shook his head and exhaled sharply, widening his eyes. "That must have been some night."

"Ugh," I grated through my teeth, suppressing a nervous laugh. "You're fixating on an irrelevant point."

Vilkas smirked smugly. "Was it that bad?"

"Vilkas," I sighed vexatiously.

"Because, to call spending the night with a man as – what was it you said? An irrelevant point-"

I buried my face in my hands and ground out another groan to cut him off. "I should never have told you anything," I mumbled through my hands.

Vilkas' soft chuckle met my ears. "Watch where you're leading that horse, shield-sister," he prompted.

Remembering where we were, I lowered my hands hastily and grabbed for the reigns with a curse.

Vilkas moved on, asking me of what Farkas had been teaching me while he'd been away.

Grateful, my heart rate steadied. I spoke of my practise with the bow, sword and daggers, and then we talked of whatever came to mind, erring away from anything that might involve discussing, or thinking about the Silver Hand, Ria or Kodlak.

Night fell slowly, given our elevation, and with the sun's departure so did our free, easy talk cease.

Vilkas paused at a junction in the road, peering up at the sign, then glancing out beyond the pillar. In a low, dark mutter, he said; "I can smell them."

I sucked in a breath, concentrating on the burn left by the tiny prickles of ice in the air as they clawed against my throat, in an effort to control my heart rate. I didn't want to distract Vilkas from our quarry. "Are they far?" I whispered, drawing my bay to a halt beside him.

Vilkas shook his head, his eyes still on that point somewhere beyond us. I wondered what he could see out there, or if perhaps he was just staring at nothing while his other senses took hold of his focus?

He remained still for a few moments longer, then dismounted, signalling for me to follow with a tilt of his head toward the side of the road.

We must have been close for Vilkas to revert to gestures. I followed suit, dismounting and patting the passive mare gratefully as I slid past her to stand beside Vilkas.

He was collecting his pack. I had been wearing mine, so I had nothing to retrieve, and waited. After he had chucked it over his shoulders, he flipped up the side of his saddle, and retrieved a selection of weapons that I hadn't realised he had brought. They were small, and rested snugly along his horse's flank. The horse had been protected by the leather sheaths encasing each item, between it and Vilkas' portable armoury. He slung a short, curved bow over one shoulder and a slim, wooden quiver over the other, sheathed a short sword beside the great sword on his hip, and finally, untucked a pair of curved daggers.

Vilkas sheathed one in his belt, then turned and held the second's handle out to me. "If you can use these, you might as well carry one," he rumbled a whisper. His words were absorbed by the snow, without a trace of echo.

I took it with thanks. It was lighter than my dagger, which I had left in my room at Breezehome. I sheathed it beside the short sword he had also given me, wincing at my unpreparedness. When I had darted home to change into my armour, I had neglected to retrieve any of my own blades. At least I had brought my bow, for it was highly likely that it would be all I would use during our mission. Yes, I could sort of use a dagger now, but I didn't want to be close enough to an adversary to have to need to.

With a flick of his wrist, Vilkas motioned for me to draw nearer to him. He leaned down at once, his warm breath whispering across my neck as his lips grazed my ear; "If we are to survive, we must be smart. No sudden movements, and we use our heads before our steel. We always, always observe, before we attack."

I nodded my compliance. Kodlak had told me of Vilkas' methods, so I had expected as much, and truthfully, was grateful for it. Stealth would keep us both alive.

Vilkas went on. "We'll have to lead the horses away and walk back," he added darkly. "But, stay close."

"If you are about to turn," I spoke up hurriedly, in a hush of my own. Vilkas froze; paused half way in the act of rising. I met his eyes, steeling myself to voice what I needed to know. "Do you want me to let you?" I asked.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Never," he growled in a low, thick voice torn from the back of his throat. He turned, leading his horse into the woods.

All right, I sighed, steeling myself against bite of his response. I led my horse after him, and used the silent walk to assemble a list of songs that I could use, should the need arise, so I didn't have to worry about my mind drawing a blank while under pressure.

After what must have been close to quarter of an hour of trudging through the thickening snow, he stopped by a cluster of low trees.

"Sorry," Vilkas muttered in a grumble.

I drew my horse up next to his so they could huddle together for warmth. "Oh," I blinked as I looked up and met his gaze; fixed on me. "You meant me?" I had thought he had been saying sorry to his horse, for leaving it here in the cold middle of nowhere.

Vilkas motioned for us to depart, and didn't elaborate at once. He didn't bother tying his horse to anything, so I followed his example and turned into step beside him.

After a few footfalls that crunched and squeaked through the fresh, knee-deep snow, he spoke again in a lowered tone. "I'm sorry if I scared you, before."

I shook my head. "You don't scare me," I reminded him, lifting each foot high as I plod after him.

He huffed, disbelief heavy in his response. "Your heart can't lie to me, so why do you?"

I swallowed, thinking over my answer, suppressing the urge to spin whatever first came to mind. After a few beats, I settled on; "My heart is stupid."

Again, he huffed uncertainly. The resultant white cloud puffed out, obscuring his face.

"No, it is," I poked him in the ribs, trying to grin through my chattering teeth. "It fell in love with a man I knew for a single day and night, remember?"

Vilkas shook his head and I heard a faint, wary chuckle from him. He didn't reply, but led us around a bubbling streamlet frozen on both edges, and then by a copse of snowberry shrubs, with snow clustered thick about their bases and tops overflowing with ripe, ruby globes of fruit.

"You are in love with this Hadvar, then?" he asked quietly.

I glanced to Vilkas, my brows crossing. Had I not...? No, perhaps I had not spoken the exact words out loud to him.

Vilkas' eyes were trained forward; his chin high and eyes flickering back and forth searching the expanse of rocks, shrubbery and snow beyond for the shortest, and safest route.

"I am," I replied softly. A bright, joyful glow bloomed in my chest as I openly confirmed what I had told nobody else. "It might not make much sense to you," I added, when Vilkas said nothing. "But it does to me, and that's what matters, after all."

Our feet crunched through the snow for a few beats.

"I am glad for you," he sighed eventually, though it wasn't an unhappy sigh.

It bore a trace of wistfulness that took me aback, so much so that I stopped, turned and reached out to him, resting my hand on his elbow. "Vilkas?" I prompted cautiously.

He stopped and cast me a brief, sideways glance, before his focus returned to the way ahead. "It may have escaped your notice," he murmured, "but Companions do not usually realise love in their lifetime."

I was still confused, and stammered a nervous laugh. "By choice, surely. There are men and women aplenty in Skyrim waiting to be swept off their feet by a tall, handsome Nord warrior."

Vilkas' mouth quirked at one corner and a single eyebrow rose.

I goggled. "You mean that Companions can't – what, is it forbidden?" I whispered the last.

"Now is not the time for this," Vilkas warned, easing my hand away with a twist to his shoulder as he resumed walking.

"No, wait," reaffirming my hold, I drew him to a halt. "Will I be thrown out of the Companions if anyone finds out about Hadvar?" I asked, paling.

Now it was Vilkas' turn to look confused. "What?" he muttered.

"You said that Companions can't-"

"I said that we don't, not can't."

"Why not?"

With some exasperation, Vilkas glanced in the direction we had been walking, then back to me. "Must we talk about this now?"

"You started it," I pointed out.

"Then let me finish it, shield-sister," he hissed, imploring but with that edge of command he adopted when he was about to give an order.

My hand fell from his forearm and I huffed, creating yet another cloud of white between us and hiding the muddled sadness in Vilkas' eyes. The break from his gaze made me realise with a defeated clarity that I was being ridiculous. Now was really not the time to discuss such a thing, and furthermore, whether my shield-siblings entered into relations or not was none of my business.

I couldn't help but feel burned at reticence, given that Vilkas had over the course of the day been enlightened to the full extent of my heart's desires.

Still, I let the matter drop, and we resumed trudging through the thick snow. The night was clear and still, and the only sounds to accompany our footfalls were the occasional rustle of a bush or hoot of an owl. The snow level lowered to ankle-depth, making our progress easier, and swifter, but the night was so cold that my eyes stung and my nose burned the whole walk, despite my exertions. My lips had cracked as the cold, dry air had puffed over them while I breathed. Above us, the moons were yet to rise and the stars shone and glittered brighter than I had ever seen them, as though by ascending into the ranges we had risen high enough to perceive that we were nearer to the heavenly bodies.

While we walked, a green aurora, edged in pink, rippled across the sky, scattering a patina of colour over the snowy landscape, before it lazily curled in on itself and back into nothingness.

After what must have been close to a half-hour since we had left the horses, Vilkas stopped by a small cairn of stones, and crouched.

I crouched as well, looking between him and the marker inquiringly. Vilkas prodded it with a thick digit almost sullenly, but the cairn didn't budge.

With a regretful sigh, he rose and drew his bow from his shoulder in a single, smooth motion, flexing his fingers around the thin handle as he grasped an arrow with the other. He placed it, but did not draw.

He cast me a swift grimace. We were here.

I stood and acknowledged with a determined nod, mirroring his actions by drawing my bow and nocking an arrow. There would be no more opportunity for talk, and no more cause for distraction. Kodlak's spirit was depending on us to get this right.

–

Another aurora unfurled across the sky, shuddering as it wrinkled over the shadowy mass of stone and rubble. Driftshade refuge.

Vilkas and I were crouched behind a wall of snowberry bushes, watching the dilapidated fort for signs of movement. From what I could determine, from the distance we maintained, there were two Silver Hand standing guard, and a signal from Vilkas confirmed my assessment. One was patrolling a doorway, and another - a lookout, was perched up high on the snow-covered, topmost platform.

With a signal from Vilkas that he would take the door guard if I would take the nearer lookout, he raised his readied bow and drew silently. I thanked the Gods that there were only two Silver Hand out here, for as long as our arrows met their targets, we would be able to enter Driftshade refuge unseen.

I pulled back my arrow, aiming at the stationary man. His back was to me. We had been watching long enough to know that he rarely paced and patrolled, as the other did.

Were I aiming for some random rogue or bandit, or some unknowing animal, I would have felt guilty at how plain a target he presented. But this man was a Silver Hand, and the Silver Hand had taken Kodlak and Ria from me, and while there had been no love between Skjor and I, they had taken him from those who loved him. They didn't seem to care that over half of the Circle had been working to rid themselves of the malady that saw them hunted by the sect.

I set my sights on the space just below and between the man's shoulder-blades, where I knew his cruel heart was beating its final thuds. I narrowed my eyes, clearing my mind of everything but the will to purge Skyrim of this blot; to protect what remained of my colleagues – my family, and free the precious soul they had condemned to serve Hircine.

Vilkas nodded, and we both fired. Our arrows made barely a sound as they split the air. Mine impacted first; my target realised, and the man toppled with not a cry, but a gasp. Though he twitched for a moment, he didn't rise again, so I knew that my aim had been true and the death, swift.

Vilkas' arrow struck his mark half a second later; impacting the patrolling Silver Hand's throat and felling him with a cut-off gurgle.

The tower of muscle by my side passed me his bow as he surged to his feet and charged forward, drawing his great sword. He stood over the fallen, flailing, and now silenced Silver Hand he had shot, lowering his booted foot to the man's hips.

I watched, adrenaline coursing through my veins as my eyes flashed with victory. I saw my shield-brother's mouth move as he pinned him, positioning the tip of his great sword over the man's chest, but heard nothing of what he said.

I rose and stepped out of my hiding place, walking toward the one I had felled. He had been an archer; his arrows were now mine. I glanced toward Vilkas in time to see him lean heavily on his sword and spear the Silver Hand's chest with a grunt.

Turning away, I crouched over the one I had shot, grabbing the fistful of arrows that remained in his quiver. A sense of power, dangerous for its potency, surged through me and I stood, grimacing down at the twisted body beneath my feet. With a jerk of my hand, I tugged the arrow I had shot into the man's back free, and flicked it clean of his blood. I replaced it in my bow, ready to fire when required, as I made my way to Vilkas' side.

He'd put away his great sword, but still looked more the wild warrior than I had ever perceived him to be. By way of contrast to his stance, Vilkas' face was a picture of measured calmness, despite the droplets of crimson blood scattered across his cheek. I handed him his bow, and he nodded his thanks before wiping the back of his hand across his face, smearing the specks. In the same motion, he shifted past me and made for the now-unguarded door to the fort.

I cast a glance at the man he had shot, knowing now that Vilkas had aimed for his throat to deliver the killing blow to his face. I wasn't certain if I felt horrified or awed or appeased by what he had done. At that moment I was more curious at my lack of remorse, or even nausea as I beheld the dead body of an armoured Nord man with short, ashen hair. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. I leaned down and tugged the arrow Vilkas had shot into his throat free with a wet 'slurp', flicking it idly as I watched a flower of glistening blood, like a snowberry juice stain, pool in the wound and trickle down his neck, marring the pristine white snow. The smell of it made my stomach lurch, finally.

I turned and hastened after Vilkas, and reached his side as he opened the door a crack. We both stilled as the hinges creaked, but after a second when no sound came from within, I righted my arrow in my bow and raised it. Vilkas pushed the doorway open a little further with his foot; this time it was soundless.

I inhaled, preparing to exhale and fire, but there was nobody waiting for us in the entryway. All there was, was a short flight of poorly-lit stairs. Vilkas stepped into the building without ceremony, pressing his back to one of the walls, and I pressed my back to the one opposite him, dogging his every step.

He peered into the room beyond, then leaned back swiftly, holding up his hand to me with two fingers raised. Two Silver Hand.

We can do this, I realised with a surge of bright confidence as I edged toward the room, lining my sights on the Silver Hand nearest to us; a bored-looking man with white-blonde hair, sitting with his legs crossed, dressed in scanty hide armour that left his chest and arms exposed. He was speaking to the man sat opposite him, though their words were quiet enough that they came to my ears, at least, as incomprehensible murmurs. I wondered that he didn't freeze to death in his ensemble. But of course, the cold would never trouble him again.

Vilkas fired, and I fired immediately after. As both of our marks had been unmoving; sat at a table in a junction between opposite hallways, our arrows struck true. The Silver Hand crumpled in their chairs, silent; my target with an arrow protruding out of his temple, and Vilkas' with an arrow between his eyes.

I glanced to Vilkas, unwilling to move without being given leave to do so. He glanced to me, his mouth set straight, though he raised an eyebrow at me and nodded, somewhat appreciatively.

I smiled a small, gratified smile in return, and my cheeks pinked at the notion of Vilkas being impressed, thus far. He had been my first real teacher, and it was pleasing to think that he was proud of me.

He slid into the room and made for one of the corridors. While he begrudged it and strove to keep the beast from taking control of him, it was clear he was letting the werewolf, or at least its senses, guide us.

The Silver Hands' refuge was no great challenge to traverse, owing to Vilkas ability to detect all bodies that stood before us. He was able to sniff out our targets, well before they might have heard our approach, had we been blundering through the keep.

I had expected that I would fall into the role that I had taken with both Hadvar and Faendal on this expedition; that while Vilkas felled the foes before us, I would trail behind, carrying whatever needed carrying, and collecting anything that I thought might be of use to us. But, surprisingly, the roles were somewhat reversed.

He always led, but he didn't allow me the leisure of falling behind to be his pack horse. Each time we stood in the shadows before our next targets, he would issue wordless instruction to me with hand signals and nods. If there was only one Silver Hand in the room, he would motion for me to fire, and would only raise his own bow as cover once I had taken aim.

I fired a lot of arrows, and I didn't miss. Sometimes my aim was off; the arrow would land in a leg or shoulder instead of a chest or head, but Vilkas' contingency arrow would silence the lone man or woman a second later.

While I was pleased that Vilkas and I had adopted a determined focus since entering the building, which served to make our aim truer and actions more certain, there was only the mildest sense of grim satisfaction roused by each Silver Hand we finished off. This was a grisly task that needed undertaking, and while I could not care for the lives I was ending, no sense of comfort grafted itself onto the bursts of potent power that tore through me. Hours ago I had been Celeste Passero, Thane of Whiterun, Dragonborn and bard, but within Driftshade, I became simply a shield-sister exacting revenge on those who killed my Harbinger, with my shield-brother. But, the revenge did not feel sweet, as stories insisted it was.

We fell into a pattern, of sorts. After we cleared a room I would retrieve our arrows, if they were retrievable. Sometimes, they would snap when I tried to tug them out of the felled Silver Hand, and other times they were so far embedded into a body that I left it, rather than waste the time and energy it would take to free it in one piece. Very occasionally, Vilkas would appear by my side grasping a spoil, usually in the form of a book he thought was worth liberating, or a potion that we might find useful. Either he would put it in my pack, or he would hand it to me, so I could place it in his.

After purging what seemed to be the wine cellar and the vat room beyond of its somewhat tipsy inhabitants, Vilkas and I stood motionless before a large hole hewn into the wall, which opened up into an icy, rocky tunnel.

We exchanged a grimace. We had hoped that we would find Wuuthrad in this cellar somewhere, and that out task would be complete. Shor knew how long this tunnel would go on for, or where it would lead, or how many Silver Hand might be on the other side. But there was nothing to do but go on.

After no more than three steps into the ice tunnel, Vilkas stilled, standing tall and inhaling a sharp breath.

I jumped at his reaction. "What is-?" I hissed.

He instantly held his hand out to cover my mouth, shooting me a hard glance and shaking his head pointedly.

Again I grimaced and he lowered his hand and leant down, biting out a single, shuddering word against the shell of my ear.

"Werewolves."

He withdrew, and I saw a glimmer of gold wash over his narrowed, silvery eyes as he turned away.

A bolt of fear crashed through me, not at the thought of werewolves but at the thought of him turning. I reached out to grasp Vilkas' hand, shaking as I squeezed it to encourage him to turn back to me.

He did. His eyes were silver again, though he looked guilty as he met mine.

I leaned up to him cautiously, pushing his hair back to cup his ear. Standing on my toes, in sotto voce, I sang:

"When frost returns and the rivers choke-"

"I'm fine," Vilkas murmured gruffly and tried to push me away. There was little effort behind the shove; he was clearly distracted.

I let him detangle our hands but swiftly replaced it on his chest, gripping his armour around one of its segmented seams. He would hear me.

"The sun dips in the sky beneath evening smoke.
The wise Nord knows though his strength may fade,
It is time to plan, and time to save..."

I withdrew far enough to check his eyes. Still, he looked ashamed.

"You can do this," I told him quietly, resting my cheek on his breastplate with a sigh as I settled into an encouraging hug.

He was tense, coiled like a spring. I felt the ghost of his hand hover over my back, and clenched my eyes closed when he didn't make contact.

His hands fell to my arms, and he detangled me, shaking his head. "I said I'm fine," he repeated in a grim mutter.

He un-shouldered his bow and made a motion with his hand for us to proceed, and in silence.

With a quiet sigh, I trailed after him. Vilkas knew his limits, and I had to trust him. He was master of his emotions. His eyes might flash gold when he was surprised or fearful, giving temporary way to the beast, but there would be no yielding to it. He was too controlled for that.

The ice tunnel led to a hand-carved ice cave with a low ceiling. Vilkas motioned for me to pass and shoot first. I obeyed, and once I had taken out the first of the Silver Hand idling in the room, Vilkas fired upon the second before she had realised what was going on.

I turned back to my shield-brother, expecting him to step past me as was the routine, but he was rooted to the spot. When I lay an enquiring hand on his arm, he jumped and his eyes gleamed that deadly, amber hue so swiftly that I pulled my hand back as though he had burned me.

The gold was gone but he glared and shook his head in warning. However unwanted my contact was at this moment, it seemed to have been the awakening he needed, for he then proceeded into the room.

I stepped in after him and gasped at what I had failed to see from the shadowed tunnel; cages. A wall of cages, each wedged into the long ice cave wall. Within most of the cages were werewolves, standing tall and silently watchful, their laboured breaths creating puffs of fog before their small, shining eyes and massive maws. I froze as my instincts commanded I flee, and clamped down on them as a remorseful pity overwhelmed me, squashing the fear.

I glanced into each cage as we walked through the terrible room. The beasts were littered with lacerations and welts, shorn patches of fur and pepperings of brands. One of the werewolves had been blinded, some time ago, and had only dried scars where its eyes had once been. Its jaw rose, its wet nose sniffed the air, and its head swivelled in my direction as I beheld it.

I took a step toward its cage, though I was not fool enough to draw near enough to touch it, or for it to reach through its bars to me. But – I had to wonder. Could singing for these beasts help them, as it helped the Circle? I had to try. If I could ease their torment – this torture they had suffered, for Shor knew how long – I had to try.

"Hurry up."

Vilkas grabbed my arm and towed me in his wake.

"No – wait," I tugged against him and skidded for a moment, stumbling as I wrenched out of his grasp. My knees impacted the cold, hard ground and I winced.

"Don't look at them," Vilkas growled as he stooped down to help me up. "Stop looking at them and remember why we are here. For Kodlak."

I glanced up, my eyes wide and suddenly filled with tears.

"Stop doing that," his commanded, his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched. "Your heart cannot bleed with compassion for these monsters. You will send them into a frenzy."

"But, can't we...do something?" I whispered. He made to grab for me, and I leaned back in time, shooting him an accusing glare. I was tired of his manhandling me, and shuffled back further, pressing the palms of my hands against the floor and rising for myself.

He rose and huffed in frustration, glancing everywhere but me. I dusted myself off and retrieved my bow, which I had dropped when I had fallen. Vilkas' eyes fell to the nearest caged werewolf; a great, hulking creature with a twisted arm cradled to its chest. I blinked and froze as I realised its narrowed gaze was fixed hungrily on me. When I met its eyes, it growled warningly; a low rumble from the back of its throat.

Vilkas stepped between us, blocking my view, baring his teeth to the creature and growling back.

"Stop it," I told him sharply, shoving past him to look upon the werewolf again. The beast was frightened, and posed me no threat from within its cage. Its breaths wheezed between its sharp teeth, and there was a lot of fresh blood matted in the fur on its broken arm.

Vilkas' hand felt to my shoulder; encouraging me to turn away.

"You can't help it," he told me in dour frustration.

"Why not?" I asked quietly.

Vilkas' hold grew gentler, and he coaxed me to step back a few more steps.

"Because they are lost," he said flatly. "They have been tortured to the point that they forget what it is to be human."

His fingertips were on my chin, turning me gently to look up to him. I allowed it, meeting his defeated, silvery gaze; my own pleading for him to tell me not of their defeat, but of hope. There had to be some hope for them.

"They will never shift back again," he spoke evenly, lowering his hand slowly.

I shook my head in disbelief. "How can you know that?" I questioned softly.

"Because, shield-sister," he sighed, easing his arm over my shoulder and guiding me toward the tunnel that lead out of the room. "I have been doing this for a lot longer than you."

Vilkas didn't guide or command because he craved power; there was always more to his orders, and they were always governed by his common sense and own expanse of experiences. Admonished, I lowered my eyes and let him lead us. "You have seen rooms and treatment like this before?"

"Mm hmm."

"Many times?"

"A fair number," he replied flatly.

I exhaled weightily, closing my eyes as the subjugation exuded by the room tugged at me. "And you tried to help them, didn't you?" I made myself ask.

"Once," he admitted, slowing as we neared the tunnel. He lowered his voice and his arm, turning to cast a final glance at the horrific room of tortured beasts, who, should we succeed, would die abandoned where they were from hunger, or their injuries. It may have been cowardly to think it, but I was grateful that Vilkas had not suggested we put them out of their misery.

"What happened?" I asked

I already knew what he would say.

"It attacked me," Vilkas grimly squared. "It was fraught with hunger and bloodlust – beyond any token of reason. I had to let the beast take hold of me to kill it, or it would have torn my throat out," he muttered. "Yet another failure."

Vilkas shook his head then and strode past, gripping his bow tightly. I trailed after him, trying to push the sights of the cage chamber from my mind. We were here to put an end to the Silver Hand. That would put an end to such torture.

The hallway led to another chamber. I stole a glance around the end of the tunnel. Vilkas whipped me back, but I had seen enough. I closed my eyes and shuddered as I reigned back a scream. It was worse than the previous chamber.

Before I could recover, Vilkas urgently shoved his bow into my arms.

My eyes flew open in time to see him unsheath his great sword and dart into what I knew, from that brief glance, to be the torture chamber.

"No!" I whispered, throwing Vilkas' bow over my shoulder to fumble for my own, placing an arrow hastily and drawing as I turned into the open room.

It was already over. Vilkas had beheaded the torturer; a Silver Hand woman wearing a plain set of dark, blood-splattered robes. The only other inhabitants of the room were two werewolves. They were both restrained, chained to altars. Wherever the chains met their fur, curls of smoke rose. The air was thick with the smell of singed hair and warm blood. My eyes locked onto the laboured, slowly rising and falling chests, but the beasts were otherwise completely still and didn't utter a sound.

"Move," Vilkas broke through my trance, blocking my view of the suffering. His voice was full of furious authority. "For Kodlak," he insisted.

I lowered my bow, un-shouldered his, and hurried back to his side as I fumbled for a way to stave off the horror and nausea and regret.

"Can we not at least remove the chains-?" I asked as I reached his side and determinedly set my eyes on him. I was too afraid to look back.

"They will attack, and you will die," Vilkas reminded me. "Better that they die from silver poisoning and we finish what we started, so this doesn't happen again."

I wanted to scream at the injustice our cleansing had exposed, but remained silent as Vilkas forged our way through the next passageway. I followed, asking myself, honestly, what had I expected to find? I had gone into this mission knowing that the Silver Hand revelled in torturing the werewolves they captured. This, I realised with a jolt, was what they had done to Skjor, and what they would have done to Aela, had Farkas not saved her. No wonder they had been out there, night after night, to eradicate as many Silver Hand as they could find.

Nausea rose within me at the reminder that each and every werewolf we had passed by had once been a person, with parents and friends, possibly even a family of their own. What had possessed them to devote their souls to Hircine? Had they been tricked into accepting the beast-blood, as the Circle had by the Glenmoril witches? Or had they embraced it freely, to gorge on the fleeting strength it would grant them before they had been captured?

The next chamber was smaller, and gratefully, contained no more scenes or torture, but when I shot the only occupant, he fell with a loud, startling clatter and cried out loudly. Vilkas and I stilled, and waited. If there were any Silver Hand in any adjoining rooms, there was no way they could not have heard that.

Unfortunately, there was, and they had. After a pregnant pause, a clatter of booted feet on the icy rock floor came to us. Vilkas tensed, slipping past me and drawing his bow with the leading arrow.

A Silver Hand, short sword raised, burst into the room. "Amider's down! Fall back to your positions!" he cried into the hallway he'd emerged from.

Vilkas fired on the man. The arrow speared his eye, and the man let out a blood-curdling scream, falling back from the impact and clawing at the arrow shaft as his body convulsed.

The call to fall back was ignored, and as the Silver Hand Vilkas had shot shuddered his final throes, nine more Silver Hand darted into the room with their weapons at the ready.

Vilkas turned to grab me and run, but I whipped out of reach as a raging, potent influence commanded me to face these torturers and murderers. It pushed me forward, into the room.

"FUS," I shouted, uncaring of whether the Silver Hand saw me or not.

The chamber was relatively small; all nine Silver Hand fell back from the force of my thu'um, crashing into the wall.

I lifted my bow, but Vilkas managed to grab my hand before I could draw. He towed me after him as he bolted back toward the torture chamber. I kept on with him, or my arm might have been pulled out of its socket. As we ran, I acknowledged that there was no way, even with my thu'um, that we could take nine Silver Hand at once. I could fire on one and Vilkas another, while the remaining seven descended on us. But, my shout had bought us some time to gain a little ground. Maybe, we could find somewhere to hide. Maybe, we could pick them off, one by one. I could use FUS to scatter them, at each turn, and maybe, maybe, we would survive this.

Pointedly ignoring the torture chamber, we turned and skidded around the corner into the next tunnel. Vilkas reaffirmed his grip; his fingers squeezing a firmer hold of mine. I clamped onto his hand in response.

The sound of running boots in pursuit came to me. I could hear shouting; taunts, by their tone, echoing through the tunnel behind us, and sounding too close for comfort.

As we entered the next chamber, the one full of cages, an idea came to me. I twisted my wrist free of Vilkas' hold and darted to the nearest cage, unsheathing my short sword for the first time since Whiterun and levering it around the lock.

"What are you doing?" Vilkas thundered.

I groaned with effort as I strained all of my weight into a push. "Buying us more time!" I uttered through my teeth.

I was rewarded by the sound of twisting metal, and the gate holding the werewolf at bay swung open.

Without waiting to see what the creature within did with its newfound freedom, I darted to another cage, catching a glimpse of Vilkas as I ran. He was standing before another cage and was breaking the hinges with his great sword.

The trapped beasts seemed to all at once realise that they were being freed, and started howling and barking, snarling and growling, filling the room with a cacophony of ravenous, echoing cries.

The cage before me sprung open as my short sword found the right angle to lever the metal aside, and I was flung back as the werewolf surged out, its jaws frothing and its sharp teeth bared as it raged at me. It pushed the cage door onto me, slamming my back into the outside bars of its prison, effectively caging me. It gripped the door in its clawed hands and tried to bite me through the gaps between the metal rods, but its jaw was too large to push between the bars. I was stunned; my head swam from impact, but understood that if it discovered I was merely caught behind the door and not caged myself, I was dead.

A furious growl broke through the confusion and the pressure holding me between the bars let go as the werewolf was hauled away. Vilkas, whole and himself, dragged the creature back by the scruff of its neck and redirected it, pushing it toward the hallway that lead to the torture chamber.

The beast didn't seem to care that it had been denied its meagre feast, for it immediately saw that another larger one laid out, and loped toward it.

I startled back, my back aching and bruised from the cage bars, as I realised that all nine Silver Hand had made it to the room already. Gratefully, they were occupied in the process of fending off the three werewolves we had managed to free.

The cage door was flung aside and I leapt again at the suddenness of the near movement. Vilkas said nothing, his eyes narrowed accusingly, but the look was gone in a second and he grabbed my wrist in a truer hold than before.

"Come on," he hissed.

I realised that, regardless of his look, the plan had worked. The Silver Hand were too busy fighting werewolves to fall on us.

And now we had to leave, for no matter what happened in this room, the victors would hunt us down next.

So we ran, back through the ice tunnels and into the main building, through the cellar, and all the way back to the vat room.

Vilkas let go of me and fell down onto a bundle of furs that might have once been a bedroll, crashing onto his forearms and knees as he gasped for air.

I fell beside him, rolling onto on my back and coughing up dry air as my lungs burned and my chest heaved. My vision swam and stars exploded then twirled before my eyes. Momentarily, I closed them, trying to steady at least that sense. I was relieved to feel the pain in my chest begin to subside.

"We form our defence here," Vilkas told me through vaguely laboured breaths.

I opened my eyes and turned just my head. He had sat back on his heels with his eyes on the route we had just run, and if not for the rising and falling of his chest, I would have ventured that he had already entirely recovered from our mad dash.

Turning back to stare at the ceiling, I winced as the hard floor, lumpy backpack and my quiver jabbed at the bar-shaped bruises on my back. "Who do you think will come after us?" I asked in a strained voice.

"If they don't all kill each other, the beasts," Vilkas replied at once. I felt his eyes on me, but didn't meet his gaze. I knew that the accusation I had seen before would be back there.

"We won't have long," he added pointedly.

I nodded, closing my eyes again as an ache in my ankle made its presence known. Had I done that when I had stumbled earlier? Strange that I was only feeling it now.

"Are you all right?" he persisted in a quieter tone.

No scolding, I noted with relief, opening my eyes and nodding. I reached my hand out and he clasped it solidly, easing me up into a sitting position. "I just need a potion."

"Here, let me," Vilkas reached over and eased my pack off my shoulders gingerly, then began rifling through it.

After he'd handed me two little red bottles and I'd devoured the disgusting contents, I felt more myself, and Vilkas and I were able to prepare to meet whatever stuck its nose out into the vat room.

We waited, sat against one of the back walls of the room, hidden in the shadows, with eyes trained and bows readied with arrows placed, but not aimed. Vilkas had said he would tell me when he smelled anything approaching, and then we could stand and take aim.

Time ticked away in silence. Minutes passed, and there was nothing, not even a distant echo of a sound.

After perhaps fifteen minutes of still nothing, I hazarded an enquiring glance at Vilkas. He noticed my look, then lazily drew his eyes back to the opening we had been watching, shaking his head. "There's nothing. No one," he corrected, leaning his head back against the wall with a thunk.

"What do we do?" I prompted.

There was a moment's hesitation, then he leaned forward and rose with a groan. "The only thing we can do," he turned, extending his hand. "We go on."

Once I was up, Vilkas made for the door leading to the cellar.

"Remember. We go in quietly and observe," he told me over his shoulder.

"I remember," I acknowledged, falling into step behind him. I repositioned my arrow, fiddling with it to ensure it was secure and ready to be loosed at a heartbeat's notice.

We traversed the cellar and ice tunnel silently, and reached the cage chamber swiftly. Vilkas peered into the room and then whipped back, holding up his hand before I was able to look into the prison room for myself. I could hear nothing from within; the battle was, evidently, over.

I shot Vilkas a questioning look; why delay? I couldn't ask, of course, so I settled for a slight shrug and a perplexed shake to my head.

He grimaced, flicking his hand into the signal that meant 'stay back'.

I obeyed, as I had sworn to do in Jorrvaskr, leaning against the cool, hard tunnel and modulating my breaths so that I could keep my heart rate slow and steady. The last thing the room full of caged werewolves, or any of three we had released, or Vilkas for that matter, needed, was the smell of a fluttering, anxious heart. I watched Vilkas slip around the tunnel and disappear into the room, and still heard nothing. No sounds of alarm, or attack; no howling or growling. Nothing.

I waited, confused, desperately trying to calm my escalating nerves as the silence lengthened. After a minute or two that felt like a week, Vilkas appeared in the tunnel opening, and motioned for me to enter.

Racing to his side, I glanced around the cage room fitfully with my bow raised and ready as I let my anxiety take hold of me. My heart leapt and thudded as I beheld...nothing. Sure, the cages were still there – as were the werewolves, excepting the three we had released. But there were no bodies in the middle of the room...or anywhere else.

"What's going on?" I whispered, narrowing my eyes and lowering my bow. Had they fallen back to another room?

Vilkas put his hand on my shoulder as he passed by, casting me a hard look. "Clamp down on those nerves, shield-sister," he murmured.

"Vilkas, where are they?"

He met my eyes and I caught a flash of regret. "We're safe. They're gone."

"Where?" I asked genuinely, glancing back to the empty scene. I had expected to see nine twisted, possibly partially devoured bodies littering the ground.

With a frustrated sigh, Vilkas charged onward for the adjoining tunnel. "Is it not enough to know they have killed one another? Must you see the evidence for yourself?"

I hurried after him. "That's not – I'm just surprised," I admitted, taken aback by Vilkas' response. "It seems strange that nobody won..." I added in a murmur.

He said nothing this time, but he didn't need to. Finally, I saw them; the remains of the bloodied bodies of the Silver Hands, and the dark, furred masses that could only be the three werewolves. They weren't sprawled over the scene; no, all that remained there was some blood splatters on the ground, which I hadn't been able to see when I had first glanced around the chamber. The remains of the bodies had been piled up in one of the open cages.

Vilkas' disappearance when we had reached the room was explained; he had done this, and I could determine only one reason for it. He'd not wanted me to see what a werewolf could do to a human.

Once we entered the tunnel that led to the torture chamber, I doubled my steps to walk beside him.

"Thank you," I told him truthfully. "But. I could have helped you. That must have been – if I'd realised what you were doing-" I faltered, unable to settle on what I wanted to say.

"You had no cause to know," he cut me off, his eyes set on the path ahead. "What's done is done," he added, with finality.

"Indeed it is," I muttered sadly.

I noticed his eyes drift back to me from the corner of my vision, and felt a need to explain.

"I know they were all already dead, either way," I sighed, averting my eyes as we entered the torture chamber, but not soon enough; the two werewolves were also dead; the silver chains had cut clean through them.

I swallowed back a rising lump in my throat as I covered my mouth with my hand. "Oh, Gods," I muttered, swaying a little as one of my feet rolled over a more uneven section of hewn floor.

"Easy," Vilkas grumbled, catching me about my shoulders, then leading me purposefully into the next tunnel. "We've won," he added in the same defeated tone that I had used. "There are no more Silver Hand between us and Wuuthrad," he continued.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Images flit before my eyes; the caged werewolves who had suffered so cruelly; the gooey remains of the Silver Hand piled with the three dead werewolves we had set upon them; the two werewolves who we had seen living, breathing in laborious agony moments ago, whose silver bindings had cut them to pieces by the time we had returned.

I found my voice as we entered new, smaller room, with gold and jewels scattered on a far table and chairs cluttered around it. At one end of it sat a familiar-looking backpack.

Vilkas made straight for the table, with me still under his wing. "Kodlak's spirit will be freed," he murmured, "and both Skjor and Ria have been avenged."

I turned up to look over his wide, set jaw, peppered with black stubble.

"And you?" I asked. "You, and Farkas – you will be freed too, won't you?"

He glanced down as we reached the table, then un-looped his arm to retrieve the pack. He glanced within, then nodded. "Yes. For all the price we have paid to obtain it, Farkas and I will be free," he acknowledged grimly.

That was good, wasn't it? After everything they had endured, their inner torment was nearly at its end.

I could not rejoice in our success. We left Driftshade, and I couldn't help but feel as though we had lost, or left something of ourselves, within.

–

A bleak weariness overcame me as Vilkas and I made our way back across the snow. While we had been in Driftshade, day had come and was almost gone again, and we had seen none of it.

It was dusk; the sky above was the palest blue, washed with pinked clouds lined in burnt orange. The snow about our feet had adopted a dull blue-grey hue.

I felt as though I was wading through an ocean, and was colder than I had ever been in my entire life, both inside and out.

Vilkas didn't speak, and I wished that he would. My own mind was swimming, reeling, preventing me from knitting together thoughts that didn't centre on what we had seen and done. I had to acknowledge that perhaps Vilkas felt the same way.

We had won, as Vilkas had grimly announced back in the bowels of the Silver Hand hideout. But it was a hollow victory, for no success would bring Ria or Kodlak back, or strike the horrors of Driftshade from our memories.

Vilkas bit out a curse through clenched teeth, making me jump at the suddenness.

He turned to me hastily. "Sorry," he grated. "But – this damnable silence – can't you break it? Please – tell a story, or sing – just say something – anything?" he asked, exasperated.

I looked down to the snowy expanse, watching my booted foot crunch through the surface and then sink through the powder, half way up my shin. I felt disconnected from the action. The part of my mind that was still understanding external stimuli reminded me that Vilkas had asked a question.

"I suppose," I agreed flatly, because I could think of no excuse to refuse him. "If you will tell me what to sing for once," I added.

Vilkas sounded more at ease when he replied. "I will hear whatever you offer. You could recite your most recent shopping list and I would be contented; it is your voice that I need," he muttered.

My gaze drifted to him, dimly wondering at his admission, though I was too forlorn to query it. I shook my head instead. "Don't leave it to me to come up with something appropriate tonight. I will cause us both harm."

Again, Vilkas cursed, though it was in an undertone this time. "You are exhausted. We can't stop here – but the horses are not far. I have stamina potions, in my pack-"

"I feel nauseous enough as it is," I grimaced, exhaling sharply in an effort to draw on whatever reserve I had as I took my next deep, shuddering breath. "And, singing will not make me any more tired. What would you hear?" I repeated. I was tired, but I could sleep in the saddle, if he would lead our horses.

He hesitated, considering his options. For a time, the only sounds were the squeak and crunch of our boots through the snow.

"Do you...know Hymn to Kyne?" he asked eventually, sounding uncertain. "It is a song I remember from..." he trailed off.

I nodded hastily, clearing my throat and eager to begin. "Of course. In darkness, your light shines-" I cut myself off, to clear my throat again; it was scratchy and dry.

"Perhaps you should wait until you are rested," Vilkas resolved.

I shook my head, stopping to unhook my water skin from my pack – only to find that the water had frozen solid. I frowned at it, feeling dim and wondering what to do next, when Vilkas' hand, holding his own water skin, entered my field of view.

I murmured a thank you and took a long drink, before attempting the song again:

"In darkness, your light shines through,
Warrior Goddess, for you we strike true."

The tune came easier this time, and I was pleased to see Vilkas' shoulders relax as the quiet notes hung between us. I managed a small smile, suddenly grateful that he had asked for a song. "When hope is lost and war rages on, Warrior Goddess, hear our blessed song."

Singing made me warmer, somehow, and the melody worked its way into the recesses of shadow pooling on my soul, eating away at the bleakness. I sang on quietly as the evening darkened around us, and started to take more notice of the landscape, hearing subtle sounds I had not noticed earlier; the whisper of the wind, the rustle of a few scant trees before us, the flutter of wings as a restless or perhaps spooked bird flew away.

"Grant us courage to fight and sharpen our swords,
Warrior Goddess, mother of Nords," I slowed down at its close, clearing my throat again and staring up to the sky. It was indigo now, and awash with the brightest of bright stars again, just as it had been the previous night, before Driftshade had happened. I could feel Vilkas' eyes land on me, but couldn't look away from the beautiful, sparkling heavens. There was life, everywhere I looked, and it was replenishing.

Vilkas wasn't the type to applaud a performance with raucous hand clapping, so I didn't expect a response. I was surprised when I felt the Nord's arm drape over my shoulder comfortably, and more surprised to hear his long, resigned sigh.

"Celeste," he murmured. "Why couldn't you have been mine?" he asked wistfully to the winds.

My mounting serenity fled, and I tensed at his words, and his yearning tone. Had I...really heard what I thought I had? And, if yes, how he could be so...casual about it?

I must have misheard him, I reasoned, but I remained silent, for I had no idea what he might have said otherwise.

"It's all right," he laughed softly, jostling me under his arm. "Calm that racing heart of yours, and stop thinking what I know you must be thinking."

A response was required of me this time, so I struggled to find one. "I'm not sure of what I am thinking," I admitted slowly, with a frown. "I thought..."

I thought you didn't care for me that way. I couldn't voice it. Did he-? But – no, of course he didn't – I had spent the better part of a day telling him all about Hadvar – about how much I was in love with him!

"Ah. Good. Now, you are thinking about your Legion sweetheart," he supplied casually, casting me a sideways smirk. "Your heart flutters for him – I can hear it, now that I know what to listen for. I will never try to rob you of that."

I couldn't help but flush as incredulity swept over me. "That's not fair," I muttered, looking away, hyper-conscious of his arm on my shoulder. It wasn't the first time he had offered warmth, openly and without agenda, and I was too uncertain of how to react to shrug him off; it would be taken the wrong way, no matter how I did it. "Your senses read me like an open book. I have told you everything, and you still know more about me than I do."

"I don't want to hear your heart," Vilkas offered with a shrug.

"I know," I sighed. I trained my eyes on the shadowy clump of bushes before us – I was certain that was where we had left the horses. Thank the Gods, we were nearly there.

"And, I want to be able to speak truths to you, as you do to me," he went on as though I hadn't acknowledged. "You are difficult to ignore. Particularly when we're in contact, which I thought you must have known, and then..." he trailed off, reconsidering. "Before you told me about Hadvar, I thought..." he faltered again, then huffed out yet another sigh. "But of course you didn't."

I turned from under his arm to look at his face, perplexed, but his expression was flat. He was attempting to make light of...whatever this was, but his last had failed him miserably. Truthfully, I wasn't certain what exactly he was admitting. He did not love me – that was clear. So, what was he saying? That he would have liked to love me, if I had been able to love him?

Guilt flushed through me. I had encouraged him, first with songs, then conversation, then the comfort of contact, but it had not been out of want of a lover. I had yearned for his acceptance. To belong to the Companions; to be needed by them. I had laboured to win him, for this new family I had been assembling about myself since I had left Solitude.

"I'm sorry if I..." I whispered, but faltered as I searched for the right words.

"Don't be," he supplied.

It sounded as though he meant it. When he turned down to regard me and half-smiled, my heart twisted in apology, but the sorrow was bittersweet. In a moment of disconnection, I wondered what might have been had I not met Hadvar the day before I had met Vilkas. Had my heart not been swept away to the Pale with my Legion sweetheart, might I have come to care for Vilkas in that way? Would I have loved him?

He noticed this change of course, and tilted his head to one side. "What was that?" he bit back a laugh.

A laugh rose out of me in response, and I turned away from him swiftly. "You know that I love you as a brother, Vilkas," I admitted, grateful for the cool air on my flushed cheeks.

"I did not know that, shield-sister," he replied with evident amusement.

He was about to start teasing me again, wasn't he? "Yes, you do," I persisted with a sideways glance, elbowing him in the ribs. My elbow met armour, but still he must have felt it, for he arched himself out of range.

"I am a Companion, and you are family. And as such, you know," I smiled at him, determined to hold onto him – as he was – and not lose him to an awkward conversation to be blustered through after such a horrible, strenuous day. "You know that what we have is important. It binds us. In some ways," I shrugged, "it's stronger that love. Family can never..." I faltered, realising where I was inadvertently leading us. We were nearly back to Kodlak. His presence, his importance would never leave us, no matter the void his loss wrought, now and forever.

"Indeed we cannot leave them; for they will forever remain in our hearts and minds, for as long as we live and breathe," Kodlak had once said to me. His words floated through my mind; clear but quiet, in a trace of a whisper.

I sighed, and the fleeting lightness I had felt dissolved again.

Vilkas shuddered a breath and his hold around my shoulders tightened; "Yes. I know."

We left the conversation there, and we reached the horses in silence. They were huddled together for warmth, just as Vilkas and I were, and all around them were visible signs of their temporary habitation of the little grove, and reluctance to leave the place they had been left; snow kicked up and tossed aside to expose green shoots that they had grazed on, and piles of manure sank through the snow drifts here and there.

"Good girl," I murmured as my bay clopped toward me and pressed her nose to my palm. Her breath snorted warmly against my skin in reply. Skyrim's horses were known Tamriel-wide to be the most loyal and sedate of breeds, and Vilkas had somehow chosen the two that most lived up to this standard.

Vilkas left me by my horse to ready his own, tucking away his extra weapons under the saddle rug as before. I mounted up slowly, carefully, then remembered the dagger he had loaned me.

"Here. As grateful as I was for it, I'm glad that I didn't need to use it," I held it out to him, handle first.

Vilkas turned enquiringly, then spotted the dagger and shook his head. "Keep it until we're back in Jorrvaskr," he rumbled, folding down the flap of his horse's saddle, to mount up for himself. "Shor knows what we'll encounter on the journey home."

The words 'but it's over' died in my throat, and I nodded in acknowledgement.

Somehow the journey down the mountain was slower than the ascent had been. Perhaps it was because I was so weary, or perhaps it was that we were no longer being driven by a vengeful desire to complete our goal. Either way, we rode the entire night away. For parts of it, Vilkas did take my bay's reigns, and I was able to lean over the enormous horse's neck and close my eyes for a few precious moments of rest.

These snatches of sleep during the still, clear, freezing night made our descent even more surreal than any other part of the quest had been. I would wake from terrible, short, vivid dreams with a small start, all harkening to the events of the past few days, and then the smell and warmth of the horse would invade my senses and I would sit up and pinch myself to check that I was not still dreaming. I would glance up to the stars, Masser and Secunda, and trace how much further across the sky they had travelled while I had dozed, in a futile effort to keep track of the time.

The sameness of the frozen landscape continued on with the only real variation being a few more taller, snow-laden evergreens here and there. As the skies pinked and the sun rose over the eastern ridges, Vilkas broke our silence.

"We're nearing the Nightgate," he told me quietly. "Another half hour, at most, at this rate."

I nodded, grateful, turning in the saddle to face him. "I'll pay for the room this time, since I am the one who'll make use of it."

Vilkas scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. He opened his mouth to reply, but then his brows furrowed, and he closed his mouth at once, glancing to the other side of the road across a snowy plain between rises.

"Vilkas?"

My shield-brother held up a hand for us to stop, his eyes fixed on the embankment.

I was too tired to be scared, though my heart gave a weak leap at the sudden change, perhaps out of habit. Vilkas seemed merely cautious or even curious.

He dismounted. "Stay close to me," he murmured absently.

I nodded and followed, trailing after him toward a pair of tall pine trees. After a minute I realised we were making not for the trees, but for something between them; something low that was neither rock nor shrub.

As we drew closer my face drained of blood as I realised it was a body lying in the snow.

I doubled my steps and bounded to fall into step beside Vilkas. "What has happened here?" I asked in a murmured hush.

Vilkas didn't reply.

Nearer still, it was evident that the crumpled mass was a soldier; Legion leathers, a ruby-red undershirt and chain mail across one of the arms. With a start, I realised that I recognised the fallen officer.

"But that's –" I whispered, then stopped myself, running the final steps to the Imperial scout from the Nightgate inn, and kneeling down beside her.

I turned the courier's head toward me. Her hazel eyes were glassy, her skin was so pale that it was nearly blue, and her lips were devoid of colour. There was a puncture mark, from an arrow I supposed, in between her eyes, but the arrow had been removed.

Regretfully, I sat back on my feet and an emptiness filled what was left of my reserves. There had been too much senseless death in the past days to cope with.

Vilkas crouched beside me,and I glanced toward him, wondering why he had brought us to her, when he would have known, or smelled, that she was already dead.

He was expressionless, but for a small tuck of concern between his brows. He reached toward the satchel on the woman's hip.

"What are you doing?" I bit out, aghast. Vilkas was not going to loot this poor woman's corpse.

He tilted his head to peer inside of her bag, ignoring my outburst. "They're all gone."

"Who's all gone?"

"Not who, what," he confirmed, shooing me a look. "Her letters," he added. "Do you not recall who this is?"

"Of course I do," I muttered crossly. "She's the Legion courier who I gave – oh!" my eyes widened in horror as I finally realised what I should have realised at once. I grasped Vilkas' arm, my hand shaking; my voice imploring. "All of them?"

He nodded, grimacing as he closed the satchel. "Whoever killed her took everything in here, but," he motioned toward the rest of her briefly, "they left her weapons, her gold, and her wedding band..."

Dread sank like a heavy stone in my stomach and I asked in a small voice; "Who would kill a courier?"

"Usually nobody," Vilkas rose, glancing down to the woman's face. "But, Stormcloaks are in the habit of killing Imperials, are they not?"

I cursed, rising and turning away, my vision clouding as I looked to the horses waiting patiently for us on the edge of the pass. I crossed my arms and shook my head; as terrible as it was that the woman had been shot for whatever secrets she carried, surely the Stormcloaks would not have been interested in my – well, what amounted to a love note to Hadvar. I tried to recall what I had written and whether it contained anything sensitive, but I was too vexed and fatigued to remember much of it.

"Let's go," Vilkas stepped past me, heading for the road. He hesitated when I didn't follow him, and wordlessly waited for me.

Jaw clenched, I trailed after Vilkas as my mind reeled. It did not matter that they had taken my letter with all of the scout's other documents. Ulfric Stormcloak didn't care what I did; only that I stayed out of his machinations so they could perpetuate the false Dragonborn story to their own ends. And Hadvar – he would simply never receive my letter. I would have to write him another one the moment Vilkas and I got back to Whiterun, and send it by conventional means.

Hadvar. I gasped; my chest clenched and I swallowed a lump threatening to choke me as I realised that my letter would put him in danger. They now had his name and knew that we were familiar with one another, and they would use that to their advantage; possibly even as blackmail.

Vilkas hesitated again, to glance over his shoulder to me. "Don't worry about him. He's a soldier, surrounded by other soldiers," he told me carefully.

Though I had berated him about privacy earlier, I was relieved by his words. I shook my head to try clear it, and hurried to his side. "I can only hope..." I managed, dashing away warm tears before they could fall, and then I could say no more. My throat clenched and I knew the next time I opened my mouth I would sob.

Vilkas sighed, then he stopped, and his arms encircled me in a warm hug. "There would be little point in going after him, for it would encourage you to go after them. Remember what we know; that those orchestrating the false Dragonborn rumours want you to stay out of their way," his hold on me tightened for emphasis.

I clenched my eyes closed, nodding and trying to make myself believe it. It made sense. Hadvar would be fine.

"They will probably get a good laugh out of it, when they realise what they have, and that will be the end of it," he added kindly.

Again I nodded, opening my eyes to draw back, and thanked him. He was right. They would not provoke me, or risk me coming out into the open against what they had designed; not when I had the weight of Jarl Balgruuf and the Companions behind me.

The courier had been killed for the secrets she had carried, but my letter was not one of them.

Subdued, we proceeded down the mountain pass. It was midday when we reached the Nightgate inn. Vilkas took the horses on to the stable, and I went inside to secure the room and sleep for as long as I was granted.

Ten gold lighter, I crashed onto the bed in the same room we had been given during our previous visit, and nothing – neither anxiety, nor grief, could keep me from falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

–

I woke suddenly, and it seemed that only moments had passed since I had closed my eyes. I drew breath as I realised I was moving – no, being moved. There were hands on my arms; someone was shaking me.

"Quick, put this on," it was Vilkas. He released me, handing me my coat, and hurried away.

I blinked back the stars of the abrupt waking and watched Vilkas as my erratic, startled heartbeat thumped noisily in my ears. "What's happening?" I whispered, fumbling to put my arms through my coat sleeves. My movements were shaky as adrenaline washed through me.

Vilkas shifted one of the dressers near the closed door, barricading us in the room with barely a sound of wood scraping wood, then turned back, rushing to the place I had left my pack and boots.

"Hurry up," he insisted, lifting up my pack and throwing it over his shoulder, to rest effortlessly beside his own. "Your boots are here, and – where's your bow?" he glanced about hastily.

I rose, holding my head as stars swam in my vision, and felt Vilkas take my arms; leading me toward my boots.

After a rustle of cloth, he insisted; "Drink this," and palmed a small, cool bottle into my hand.

I didn't even stop to check what it was; I drank it all, covering my mouth to mute my cough as the horrible potion slid down my throat. Stamina.

My vision cleared, and I sat to put on my boots. I watched him pacing back and forth between the barricaded door and the closed window of our room. He spotted my weapons belt, bow and quiver near a side table and grabbed for them, striding toward me with his armload extended.

He was like a caged creature; agitated and tense.

"I'm ready," I shot up, buckling the sword belt around me as Vilkas passed my quiver over my neck and raised one of my arms to loop it through for me, as though I was a small child who needed assistance in getting dressed.

This was getting ridiculous. I grabbed my bow and met his eyes sternly. "Tell me what's happening," I commanded, as steadily as I could.

Vilkas was breathing deeply; his eyes were set and slightly narrowed, and his brows were brooding, but beyond this I caught a flash of acute remorse. "We have to go, now. There's no time for talk," he grasped my arm and started towing me toward the window.

His look, and actions, took what little control I had mustered since I'd been shaken awake and twisted, wringing it from my form. I wavered as Vilkas released me to lift the window up, and placed my hands on the frame to keep from falling down as the cold night air rushed into the stuffy room.

Night had fallen again. Vilkas had left me to sleep away half a day – but now, it appeared that we were fleeing the inn under cover of darkness. Had he gotten into a fight with the innkeeper, or maybe the stable hand? Or was something more serious going on? Was the inn under attack? It certainly didn't sound like it; all both within and without seemed at peace. Had he had a nightmare? But no; Vilkas didn't sleep, so he couldn't dream.

"Go," Vilkas ordered, stepping away so I could climb out. "I am right behind you."

"Go where?" I shook my head. "I don't understand. Please, Vilkas. Tell me what is happening?" I begged. "Do I prepare for battle or run for cover? And from what – is there a dragon?"

Vilkas met my eyes again; the same sense of sorrow struck me anew, and I tightened my grip on the window ledge.

"Stormcloaks are here," he told me in a low, gruff voice; his eyes flickering beyond me toward the stables. "Eleven of them arrived a few minutes ago."

"So?" I hazarded, though the blood drain from my cheeks. His manner suggested that their coming had not been a coincidence – and in such numbers...

"You don't understand," he muttered in swift frustration, stepping forward and turning me around so I faced the open window again. His voice washed over my shoulder. "We'll have to leave the horses. I was listening to see what they wanted, but we cannot delay any longer. They're talking to the stable hand, right now. They're looking for you," he muttered darkly.

"Me?" I squeaked, glancing over my shoulder to him. He couldn't be serious!

"Go!" Vilkas urged again in a hiss. "It will not take them long to find out we are here. They have brought..." he faltered, and he turned his eyes down from mine swiftly. His regret was made plain as he sighed and admitted; "The woman they are claiming to be the Dragonborn is with them."