Human or Wolf

Brynjolf had just entered Riften when the local messenger thrust a letter in his hand. He had been out of town for several days, researching the mysterious symbol-person on behalf of Frey. In that regard the trip had been fruitless, providing no new information, but he had made a few good new contacts and turned some coin so it wasn't a total loss. Brynjolf enjoyed the challenge of making the best of a situation and had years of experience doing so. He preferred to leave as little as possible up to luck or chance, wishing to mold his own fate.

Brynjolf had quickly scanned over the letter which was nearly illegible. Constance had done what she could for the children while Grelod had run the place, but there was only so much she could instill upon her charges who were mostly concerned with avoiding another beating and not starving that night. Still, at least Jared had been one of the ones to pick up some of the skills she'd tried to impart which meant he could read and write to an extent.

Brynjolf,

I know I don't know you well but Lynn always trusted you and I know you and Everlee are friends. I don't know what to do. Ever has been missing for over a week now. She went out on a mission with Vilkas but something went wrong because on the day they were supposed to come back with the rest of the Companions they didn't. I know something's wrong! Everyone was acting weird and worried but they won't tell me anything! I don't know if they're looking for her or if they have any idea what happened to her. Then last night when I slept they all disappeared and I'm here alone with some of the locals who work at Jorrvaskr. I think she might need your help. Please,

Jared

Brynjolf had read the letter twice before the message sank in. He wanted to believe that Jared was exaggerating the situation. The Companions were a legendary order and a good part of the reason that they had few contacts in the city and even fewer Thieves willing to do jobs there. It had been part of what he had used to convince Mercer that she was worth keeping as a member and not forcing her to leave her new city to report immediately back to Riften. He had neglected to tell Frey that she was in the Companions, knowing that would not go over well even if Brynjolf himself thought it could prove useful.

And the fact that she had joined them at all was baffling. The thief was normally good at sizing up a person, that's how he had spotted Everlee's gift even before she'd been unwilling to admit it to herself. He had known, too, that she still wasn't comfortable, had preferred her traditional training. But he had never pictured her willingly joining the order of warriors in Skyrim. She hadn't seemed to want to stick around after her encounter with the Dark Brotherhood. If he had to be honest, a small bit of him was insulted how quickly she had made herself comfortable in the city.

But the point was the Companions had accepted her, not just to try out her skills, but now as a full member. That meant her chosen talents were exceptional. Even with her knack for trouble, between her own abilities and the other members backing her, surely she couldn't...

No she definitely could find that sort of trouble.

And there was the possibility that whatever trouble she had found herself in wasn't something the order was suited to handle. Though he was unsure of what assistance he could provide that her other guild could not, he had walked back to the stables just as the boy had been leading his horse away.

"I'll be needing her again," Brynjolf said.

The boy, maybe fifteen, jumped, not having heard him. He turned to see Brynjolf's easy smirk and glared as he handed back his horse, Swift, back to him. Brynjolf handed the boy a few extra coins before climbing onto the dark grey horse's back and racing toward Whiterun.

Vilkas was adjusting the last piece of his spare armor when his brother entered his room without knocking. Farkas never knocked, had never learned to or seen reason to apparently, though his brother and (even more so) Aela, had chided him time and again for it. He had learned his lesson when it came to the redheaded archer, but Farkas had never got in the habit of paying his brother the same courtesy, always busting in with his large grin and some new tale or bit of news. This time, however, there was no grin as his brother, fully armored, had to duck slightly to get under the door frame.

"The healers still haven't come out," Farkas said.

Vilkas didn't say anything, just grunted to confirm he had heard him. He could tell his brother seemed a little uneasy about this even if he still held to his steadfast belief that the Breton would somehow survive not only the night but completely recover. Vilkas couldn't...didn't want to think about her right now. She was distracting and he needed to focus. Tonight he wanted one thing: revenge.

Of course everyone else had spoken of saving lives, of justice, of duty in regards to getting rid of the Clan and that held true for Vilkas too. But that wasn't his main concern, and he was well aware of it. The Nord had made mistakes over the years, more than he would ever willingly admit to, but no one had made him feel that...vulnerable, that helpless, in years. He had trained for years to prevent that feeling, the feeling of being trapped, of failure. And they had made him feel it twice, in a cage, and then trapped in rock while he held his dying shield-sister in his arms and could do nothing about it.

They would pay for that, for what they did to her, for that uneasy feeling he could not shake off. He was not some boy who could be used as bait, as a hostage. Tonight they would not find him the way they had left him: wounded and unarmed. No, they would pay for that.

"Vilkas? Have you heard anything I said?" his brother asked him.

Vilkas snapped the last bit of his armor into place, now having all of it properly adjusted as he removed a broadsword from the weapon rack closest to the door and left. "We've got work to do, Farkas."

"Are you going to be alright? Your leg -"

"Is fine. I paid good money to have it healed so do not worry about me," he said. "Let's go."

"Vilkas -"

But Vilkas had already left the hall and was on his way up the stairs. Tonight couldn't come fast enough.

It had been getting darker early in the days leading up to winter so that when the Circle left Whiterun, dusk had been setting in, leaving the now overcast sky to cast the world in a gloomy grey. It had been a long time since the entire Circle had left the gates of Whiterun together. By the time they reached the farmhold they had chosen as their stopping point, there was only a few streaks of light in the sky as Aela ran ahead to scout out the Vampires who had taken residence in a small abandoned ruin.

The rest of them had split up, looking for any survivors left behind. This had been the last place raided. Unlike the previous farmholds, they had left one survivor though it was unlikely they had known that. The small argonian child had left her mother who had worked as a servant in the house and run all the way to Whiterun to inform the Jaarl where he had sent her to the Companions, unable to deal with the vampire threat and aware that the Order was already looking into them. She had arrived just before they had returned, waiting, and her report had been invaluable in giving them the exact location of the remaining clan members.

Part of Vilkas wondered what had happened to the girl after she had spoken with Skjor and Kodlak while he had been seeing a healer. Whiterun had no orphanage and few Argonians (who would be more likely to take in the child if need be). He brushed the thought aside, it wasn't his concern, he had a job to do. Still, when they found no survivors, he couldn't help but think of her once more. By now the members of this farmhold were dead, of that he was certain. Skyrim seemed full of orphans these days.

Aela returned quickly as the darkness had completely settled over the land though a large full moon was rising to take its place. The Circle gathered to her as she gave them her report.

"There are nineteen of them. The leader is with them. The ruins on the west are against a cliff. Part of the ruins go underground which is where they keep their leader, guarded. There are two entrances, a tunnel from a nearby cave to the east, and one directly from the ruins themselves facing the west cliff. There are three sentries, two at the ruins, and one at the cave," Aela said.

"One of us who turns should go to the ruins, the other to the cave entrance," Kodlak said.

"Whoever takes the ruins will need to take out the sentinels fast. We don't want them to have warning," Skjor said.

"Whoever goes through the cave entrance will have to move quickly as well," Aela added. "We don't want one of us in there alone for too long."

"Then we will have two of us at the ruins and one at the cave entrance for anyone who tries to flee," Kodlak confirmed. "Now, Aela and Skjor, I assume you are up to the task of transforming?"

"Yes," Aela agreed.

"Looking forward to it," Skjor said, nodding.

"Good, then Farkas and I -" their leader continued.

"Kodlak," Vilkas interrupted. "I would go into the ruins first, if you would have it."

"You?" Aela asked, surprised at his volunteering.

"You wish to transform?" Skjor asked.

Vilkas looked Skjor directly in the eyes. "Yes."

Skjor smiled, "I see no problem with this if Aela doesn't disagree. I would enter with him."

"No, I'm just surprised is all," Aela said. "But I am willing to stay back."

"Are you sure about this Vilkas?" Kodlak asked.

It took Vilkas a moment before he could meet his mentor's eyes. When he did he said firmly, "I am."

"Brother -"

"I am sure, Farkas."

Farkas stayed quiet but he could tell his brother wished to say more.

"Very well. Vilkas, you will take the cave entrance. I will go with you and kill those you send fleeing out. Skjor, Aela, and Farkas will take the ruins. We will give Vilkas and Skjor twenty minutes. Then Aela will go into assist, and transform if the situation is desperate. Otherwise it is best not to so as to avoid pack mentality. We want this to be quick so we can return to Jorrvaskr to see to our injured members and report to the Jaarl. When there are no more fleeing within, Aela will come inform Farkas and me and we will clear out the ruin and burn the bodies," Kodlak said.

"What's left of them," Skjor said in his gravelly voice, sounding eager.

Kodlak said nothing to that as the Circle split up to go their separate locations. Vilkas continued on with the his leader in the seemingly peaceful night though he refused to look at him, staring determinedly ahead. He had thought of asking for Aela to come with him instead of the old man or his brother. He knew they disproved of his choice, that they would want to have words with him even if Kodlak had agreed to his knew it was best this way though. This way he had no choice but to follow through with the plan as there was no one else to take his place. Kodlak had refused the Form for years, and his brother seemed more determined than ever to avoid using it since he had his first experience losing control. If Aela were with him, he could change his mind, ask her to take his place. And he didn't want that.

"Vilkas, you do not need to do this," Kodlak said gently as they neared the cave.

"It is a good plan and I could not let my brothers and sister down now," Vilkas said, ignoring what he meant.

"I know that you are angry. I know you want revenge. But revenge mars the soul and you have worked so hard to still the calling in your Blood," Kodlak said.

"This is who I am," Vilkas said. "Denying who I am will get me nowhere."

"It is what you are not who you are. You are not defined by what Jergen -"

"Kodlak, don't," Vilkas said, his voice lacking the anger it had before. "I need to do this."

"I could take your place, son, this doesn't have to be your path."

The man turned to him then, anger and uncertainty in his eyes. "Why would you say that? You have spent years avoiding this, trying to find a cure. You would throw that all away now?"

"If it prevents you from doing this to yourself, then yes."

Vilkas huffed a laugh half-heartedly. "You are getting soft, old man."

Kodlak smiled. "Perhaps."

"If you are right, that this is not who I am, then tonight changes nothing," Vilkas said. "I am still who I am regardless of the wolf and I do not plan on making this a regular experience."

"That is not exactly what I am concerned about," his mentor said but did not elaborate further.

They finished the short walk in silence, standing behind a small embankment before the cave where a Redguard male stood watch. Vilkas quietly stripped down to his underthings, the only clothes he could manage to transform with him and even that had taken years. His bare chest was exposed to the moonlight and autumn air and he was grateful, not for the first time, that the Blood gave him a further resistance to cold.

It had been a long time since he had purposefully called to his other Form and he now found it difficult to do so. He knew that part of it was trepidation. He had avoided Turning for so long that it seemed unnatural to him now. And then of course was the fact that as a wolf there was the barely contained animalistic rage that boiled within. He was always on the verge of losing himself, and though it felt good as a wolf, as a man he reviled losing his control. And there was always the risk that when he lost control he could go too far, lose his mind completely.

And of course none of these thoughts were helping. Vilkas looked up at the moon, the light reflecting off his yellow eyes. He let it wash over him, still low in the sky and partly behind the far off mountain line to the west where, at the top, the Grey Beards sat. He thought of the hunt, of the way his senses, already stronger, became a live-wire. He thought of how easy it would be for him to finally tear out the throats of Cairne and Brenovere.

He bit back a scream as his body contorted quickly to the form. It was easier to go slow, less painful, but he didn't have the time. He fell to all fours, coming up to Kodlak's elbow. He looked up at the man, his familiar scent comfortable, indicating he was one of the pack, a fellow wolf, even if he'd been trying to get rid of that part of himself for years.

Vilkas let his hunting instincts take over. Crouching low and becoming almost invisible in the night, even with the full moon and the vampire's extra senses. It had no heartbeat, and its heat was so low it barely registered, but it was still close, still prey. It only took seconds for him to rip its head off. The man didn't even have enough time to scream. Kodlak quickly approached and opened the door and Vilkas was inside. He howled loudly, a feeling building up in his belly that would have made him laugh if he were human. They were not prepared for him, not like this. He could already smell their fear.

Vilkas ran down the cave hall. At first the path was but a dirt floor and maybe two people wide, but as he went further it slowly began to resemble an underground chamber. Soon after his paws hit down on stone he came across the first grouping. He leapt, instantly dispatching an altmer mid-spell with one bite to her neck. He jumped from her body in time to avoid a warhammer to his right side before rounding to him, growling.

His speed caught the vampire off guard as he bit into his calf, utterly destroying the muscle as the female Orc fell to her knees where he began ripping into her chest with his front claws. He heard three of the vampires begin to flee down the tunnel he had just come from. He chased them down, pouncing on the slowest, a large Imperial who desperately attempted to set him on fire but only caught himself. He screamed as he burned and his fellows fled straight down the tunnel toward Kodlak. Vilkas turned. That took care of five right there, plus the three sentinels above ground for a total of eight.

If Aela were right that left eleven. Vilkas shot down the hall, taking no time to bask in the blood of his foes. He could smell them, their once faint scent now distinct and clear: Cairne and Brenovere. He wanted to be the one to get to them which meant he had to hurry.

The next group he encountered were more prepared for him. One wood elf fled and he let him race down the tunnel. Three bretons remained, two dark haired males, and a blonde female. He dodged spells from the males as the blonde charged him with her sword and shield. He easily avoided both, taking a chunk out of her thigh as he felt the sting of lightning graze his own leg. While the female failed to heal her thigh (too much of the muscle missing for any real repair), he took down the offender, who was quickly one leg short, before ripping out the neck of the second. With one dead and two disabled, Vilkas raced ahead, leaving them for Skjor or his fellow Companions take care of.

It was now he realized he was going a little deeper underground, toward the center chamber of the ruins. The first person he encountered, alone, was Cairne, who spent no time firing lightning at him with one hand, wielding a silver sword in his left.

"You smell the same beast," Cairne said. "Didn't you get enough when you were in the cage? Did you miss being locked up? Come back to your owners, mongrel?"

Vilkas growled, anger spiking through him, making his vision sharper and red-tinged as the human part of his brain dimmed. Cairne took advantage of this, swiping the blade along Vilkas's right shoulder. Quickly he dodged, but still the shallow cut sizzled from the metal.

"Is she with you? Your human? Or did you take advantage of her dying when you were buried in rubble?" Cairne asked. "She is dead now, isn't she?"

It was too much, Vilkas felt the last part of him leave, the animal completely taking over. His reactions sped even quicker, dodging blow after blow and avoiding all the spells the monster cast. Cairne's mana drained and he reached for a dagger but was too slow, Vilkas attacked, pulling Cairne's hand free from his wrist and dropping it to the ground. In his anger and pain, Cairne stabbed wildly at the black and silver wolf but was unable to properly maneuver to defend himself. Vilkas knocked him to the ground, his sword clattered out of reach. Vilkas's back claws digging deep into Cairne's hips while he growled, lowering his face to the vampire's. The smirk was gone, the anger vanished, all that was left was raw fear.

"Please, don't. I didn't want this. They made me into this. I can't – I couldn't maintain my humanity. I tried – please -" Cairne begged.

The wolf didn't listen, didn't care. His teeth sunk in, ending him quickly.

"Do you know how hard I worked on him?" a smooth voice said. "Years spent carving him into the weapon I wanted. Of course, he was never what I wanted. I should probably thank you really."

Vilkas turned, growling at the familiar dunmer: Brenonvere. His long ebony hair was in a high bun though one lock fell down on his forehead. His black eyes showed no sign of fear, in fact, they almost appeared bored, as if his clan's destruction were of no interest to him. He then looked down, brushing off a bit of dust from his velvet blue robe.

The black and silver wolf growled, speeding toward Brenovere. Almost lazily he turned his gaze back to Vilkas, somehow managing to raise his arm in time to stop him in his tracks. Against his will Vilkas stopped, struggling against a mental barrier.

"But you, you come in here and you destroy our underlings, your teeth gnawing and gnashing. It took three centuries to convince Auro to start this clan together," Brenovere said. "What we have done over the course of the last century you have destroyed in minutes. Do you not feel ashamed?"

Vilkas growled, low in his throat, the wolf baring its teeth even as inside a part of the animal began to panic against the spell.

"Did you really think it would be this easy, child of the moon? You think that if you get rid of your humanity and embrace that mongrel within that you could really kill me? Kill my master?" Brenovere continued.

The dunmer approached, lowering himself to eye level with Vilkas, his face so close the wolf could smell the overly sweet scent of the leech, like the smell of spoiled fruit. His colorless eyes looked him over before tilting his head. Slowly he stood back up.

"I've spent years losing my humanity, child," he said. Then with a double-resonating voice, "You are but a weak human."

The dark magic that had always emanated from the elf took physical form, seeping in a fog-like form around the wolf. Vilkas's body shook, shuddering against his will. Some fur shortened though most fell from his body that began to convulse, slowly. His bones cracked, rearranging themselves, his skin softened. In the course of seconds, he was human again, his forearms and knees pressed to the ground, his long black hair falling loose over his face. He turned his face back up to Breonvere, his yellow eyes losing their glow.

"You've lost, wolf. Your pack will not reach you in time, I assure you. And as for your human, that half-breton girl? This isn't over. You really should have turned her when you had the chance," Brenovere said. "And now that my clan is dead, I have no one to focus on but her for the next thousand years. I will enjoy breaking her." Vilkas growled, as Brenovere laughed. The dunmer turned from him, going to retrieve a dagger from a nearby table. "But first I will attend to you."

With a great deal of effort, Vilkas forced himself up to his knees, then to his feet while the dark elf's back was still turned. Vilkas had let go of his control to the wolf because of Cairne, he had lost his will from the dark magic because of Brenovere. He had come to prove that he was in control, to end them, and here he was, losing to some leeches as if he were still a pup, unable to fend for himself. Kodlak had said he didn't need revenge, but he was wrong. He said it would mar his soul, but he didn't care.

The black energy surrounding him seemed unable to touch him, its tendrils folding back just before they would lick his skin. As silently and quickly as he could, he moved forward. As he stepped over Cairne he bent down to pick up his sword, the silver on the handle hissing as it burnt into his skin. The noise grabbed Brenovere's attention and he turned around but it was too late. Vilkas shoved the sword upward into the man, hilt-deep. He watched as the vampire's soulless black eyes lost their light but did nothing to hasten his end. When the man had finally died, he dropped his sword and yanked it from him.

Just in time to be thrown into the wall, his sword yanked from his hand by magic.

"I am Auro, and you are going to die."

Author's Note: Sorry this is a day late but at least it wasn't several months late, right? Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone it really means a lot.