The Boy With The Crimson Eyes

Chapter 7 – Reunion

Here's some advise for the next one

Don't let him lead you to the dark

Don't tell him all your secrets

He'll leave you with a broken heart

He'll try and tell you that he wants you

Just to keep you on the line

And right when you're about to move on

He pulls you back in every time

Here's advice for the next one:

Run. Run. Run

- Run by Nicole Scherzinger

The fortress of the Blades was imposing and ominous as it stood tall and solitary in the Fall Forest. By its size it was clear that the numbers of the Blades had become vast over the years. The massive keep was a fortified palace built in stone and mortar. Around it wrapped a tall shell wall that was surrounded by a mote. Anyone who wished to enter or leave the fortress had to await the lowering of the drawbridge, then ride through the outer and inner baileys before seeking entrance to the keep. Once within, six towers stood tall above the central courtyard, stretching toward the heavens. The main door to the keep lead to passages and chambers that were full of warmth and soldiers. Within the stronghold there was a great dining hall, multiple barracks, training rooms, assembly halls, kitchens, a blacksmith, and a large dungeon.

Wolf stood staring up at the fortress that had been his home for the past five years. Within its halls contained the only people he associated with besides the occasional letter to his twin brother Farkas, and even then he only associated with a rare few. He lived a solitary life that was centered around tracking down Alduin's soul and destroying it. He was rarely here, hating to stay in one place for too long, preferring to live life on the road, hunting down the abomination that housed the World-Eater's evil soul.

The Commander of the Blades was covered from head to toe in the black blood of the two dragons he'd just slain outside the keep. Using the last light of day, he decided to take a bath in the cold stream that ran across the grounds behind the Blades fortress. He removed his soiled armor and washed it first before getting into the icy water himself. Wolf scrubbed his body, washing the black dragon blood from his skin and hair using the hardened oil from Sandalwood.

"Well now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" called Benor with a broad smile.

Wolf looked up to see one of the three friends he had come walking over to him and sit on a large boulder beside the stream. The tall and broad Nord with the shoulder length dark brown hair reminded him of his twin brother with his immense strength, friendly demeanor, warm eyes, and unwavering loyalty.

Wolf looked away from Benor and dunked his head under the water. When he resurfaced, he asked casually, "How are they?"

"The woman and the kid?" Benor asked as he tossed dark pants, a leather jerkin, a woolen tunic with sleeves, a heavy black mantle lined with fur, and leather boots onto the ground beside the stream. "A little banged up, but they're alright. The kid sprained his arm and suffered a concussion, but Esbern used his healing magic to patch the kid up. The woman hit her head pretty hard, she's still out. Her armor had been torn, bloodied, and ruined so Esbern had the servant women bath her and dress her in new clothes." Benor rubbed his jaw, his expression concerned. "Although, Esbern was acting really strange after he went to see her and check her injuries."

Wolf grunted in acknowledgment as he scrubbed his broad chest, washing away the blood from the fresh wounds that adorned his torso, adding to the many scars he already had. They were scars added upon scars. Every inch of his body was covered in scars. Deep, jagged gashes from blades and daggers, small circular punctures from arrows, burns from dragon fire, whip marks from months of torture, it was all on the road map of his body. Some of the women he took to bed found the scars that covered his body ghastly, found his large warriors body that was riddled with disfigurements too gruesome to even look at. And they couldn't even see the ugliest of his scars, which were internal, buried beneath his skin, hidden from view.

Wolf's blood rushed hot as the look in Fianna's eyes when he'd removed his shirt in front of her to change his bandages came into his mind's eye. She hadn't looked at his mutilated body with revulsion. She'd looked at him with admiration and burning heat. She liked a man with scars, did she? What would she think of the scars of his soul?

"So… you disappear for two weeks and return married with a kid?" Benor asked with humor.

Wolf lost his footing on the stream floor and stumbled in the water. His head snapped up and he stared at Benor in amazement, "What?"

Benor's head fell back and he exploded with laughter at Wolf's startled reaction. Wolf scowled at him until the other Nord ceased his laughter. "I take it you didn't run off to find yourself a wife and a kid?"

Wolf grunted, scowling. "I won't dignify that with an answer."

Benor played with a blade of grass. "I met the boy. Drake. He's a good kid. An intelligent one, but not a prick about it like some."

Wolf nodded absently as he continued to bath, seemingly bored and unaffected by the line of conversation, but those who knew him knew it was just part of his armor he kept around him.

"Now, the woman…" Benor continued with a nod of his head towards the fortress behind them, his dark brown eyes still gleaming with mirth. "How did you meet her?"

Wolf's expression was unreadable, his voice flat as he answered, "The dragon cultists ambushed me when I went to investigate in Dawnstar alone. I was poisoned by Hevnoraak's dagger. I fell on the battlefield." His eyes lifted to meet Benor's, their slate-grey depths inscrutable. "She found me and brought me back from the brink of death."

"That was nice of her. I like a woman with a kind and gracious heart. I'd like her even more if she can make homemade snowberry pie." At Wolf's glare, Benor smiled. "What's her name?"

Wolf was silent, an emotionless look on his face, though a muscle worked in his jaw.

"Fianna." Wolf finally murmured, and despite his slow wit, Benor caught the hint of emotion hidden behind the Commander's even tone and impassive countenance.

Benor forced the knowing smile from his face. "So… what is she to you?"

Wolf grunted dismissively, just as Benor knew he would. The Commander kept his thoughts, emotions, and feelings to himself. But sometimes Benor could see them through the cracks in the armor he kept around himself.

What is Fianna to me? Wolf mused, his dark eyebrows pulled together as he pondered Benor's question. He honestly didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted her. He wanted her with a primal intensity that surprised him. He also wanted to take Drake under his wing and show the boy a few things about becoming a man and a Nord, which reminded him a little of himself at that age, being taken in by Kodlak. But those things would require Fianna and Drake to stay with him at the Blades fortress, or him to go with them, both of which he knew were impossible.

Wolf stared down at his reflection in the water and grimaced. The dragon's fire had singed off the right side of his beard and hair. Frowning, he retrieved his dagger. With a regretful grimace, he shaved his beard off and cut his hair short to the length he used to wear it at. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled. The cut looked strange on his now larger frame and more rugged and harsh face. Grumbling with irritation at having to shave his beard and cut his hair, Wolf got out of the stream and put on the clothes Benor brought for him.

While the Commander dressed, Benor got his first good look at his new look and burst out laughing. "Talos, you look terrible without a beard."

Wolf glowered at him as he donned the heavy black mantle.

Benor gave the Commander a lopsided grin. "And Aela's going to kill you for cutting your hair. You know how much she liked it long."

Wolf grimaced as he scratched his clean-shaven cheek, unaccustomed to the air hitting his skin. "Where is the huntress?"

"Out looking for you, of course," Benor supplied as if it were obvious. "We all thought you'd gotten captured again by the Dragon Cult. But we'll get a note out to her to let her know you're okay and back home."

Wolf ran a hand through his shortened onyx hair again as he followed Benor back to the keep, the Nord catching him up on all that he'd missed.

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In a warm bed within one of the many rooms in the Blades fortress, Fianna stirred, half awake, a small sound pulling her out of a fitful sleep.

Fianna rolled over in the bed with a groan, her outstretched arm searching for Drake. Her eyebrows pulled together as she touched nothing but sheets.

The bed was empty.

As Fianna sat up quickly in alarm. She opened her eyes with a start and looked around. The semi-darkened room was completely unfamiliar. It was a large bedchamber with a brass bedstead. A water pitcher and washbasin sat on the bureau, while a pile of woolen blankets were stacked neatly in a wooden rocking chair. A small cast-iron stove stood in one corner, giving off a welcoming warmth.

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, everything came rushing back to her. She remembered, and was instantly on edge. She swiftly looked herself over for injuries from the dragon attack and was surprised to find herself not injured, but also freshly washed, clean, and dressed in a soft kirtle and a gunna of lavender wool over it.

She frowned. She never wore skirts. She hated them. She preferred armor. She felt safe in armor.

These weren't her clothes.

That was when she noticed the two plain gold bands around her wrists. Puzzled, she held them in front of her eyes, examining them. She tried to find the clasp to unhook them, but there was no clasp. She tried to pry them off, but they wouldn't budge. Her pulse raced as her hand flew up to touch the gold band about her neck that looked more like a collar than a necklace. There was magic in these simple golden bands, and she had an ominous feeling that it wouldn't bode well for her.

What in the name of Azura is going on?

Muddled and starting to feel uneasy and apprehensive, Fianna eased her body from the bed, her hand going to the bump on her head that throbbed, the gold band sliding down her arm. Confused, she looked around the room, trying to figure out where she was and what was going on.

It was then that she realized how quiet the room was.

She was alone.

She swallowed convulsively as the cold hand of fear gripped her.

Drake. Where is Drake?

She suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated, panic edging to the surface. Worry and fear in equal measure began to gnaw at her brain as she frantically searched the large bedchamber and the living quarters connected to it. Her packs were all located in the room, neatly assembled against the wall.

But there was no sign of Drake. Nothing. He was nowhere to be seen.

Fianna stood in the middle of the living quarters, standing in the middle of the room, her hands trembling fists at her sides. She felt a wail of terror congeal in her throat. Her chin trembled as she fought the suffocating dread and utter helplessness as every fear she'd had in the past six years came rushing forward until her breath came fast and ragged.

Oh, gods. My baby. They've taken my baby!

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering a sob. Her eyes widened with terror, her alarm spiking as her hand cupped her bare mouth, her fingers frantically touching her bare face.

Her mask was gone.

Her hand flew up to touch her hair that was uncovered and unbound.

Her cowl was gone.

An icy river of dread ran along her spine, a cold terror trickling and spreading through her body.

Sweet Mara, someone has my son!

Fianna's lungs expanded, desperately trying to catch her breath, but the panic that had lodged itself in her throat prevented it. Her heart clenched with the worst kind of pain. It was what she had feared most.

Talos, this couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. Any minute she was going to wake from this horrible nightmare. Haunting memories of the night she'd gotten the scar on her face surfaced unbidden, bringing tears to her eyes.

She took a deep breath and shoved those unwanted memories to the back of her mind and forced the tears from her eyes. She was stronger than this. She hadn't allowed herself to cry in six years. She wouldn't allow herself to cry now. Not when her son needed her.

Fianna closed her eyes, pressing her clasped and trembling hands to her forehead in prayer. She had to remain calm. She was no help to Drake if she became hysterical. Hysteria, she had learned a long time ago, was a useless reaction.

Growing up in the orphanage, all she'd ever wanted was a family. And now she had one. A family of her very own. It may be small, and it may be broken, but it was hers and it was wonderful. The most precious thing. It was all she had.

Her eyes slowly opened, glowing with the power of the Dragonborn as she stood tall, her face set with resolve. She would find her son. She would protect him. All others be damned.

Her jaw tight with resolve, Fianna quickly donned a pair of soft hide boots set on the floor beside the bed. She then made her way silently from the room. With a low creak of hinges, Fianna pulled open the door and slid outside.

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The moment they entered the fortress, Benor left Wolf's side and headed for the dining hall where everyone was gathered for dinner. Though he was starving and the food smelled delicious, Wolf headed straight for the tower where Fianna's room was located. It seems Benor had taken it upon himself to put Fianna and Drake in the room across from his.

Wolf wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Benor had said Drake was in the kitchens with Brill who was fixing the boy a plate of dinner. Apparently, the boy had charmed the entire kitchen staff into preparing him a bowl of snowberries and cream. Wolf's mouth ticked in the corner with a smile that couldn't be repressed.

He strode purposefully down a long hallway with plush crimson carpeting whose walls were lined with sconces made of goat horn heading for the stairs that would lead him to Fianna's bedchamber. Frowning, he scratched his bare cheek, missing his beard already.

Trying to come up with what he was going to say to Fianna to get her to stay for a little while, Wolf turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt when his eyes collided with the back of a woman standing at the end of the hallway.

The woman was short with a slender figure, her slight curves accentuated by the mauve gunna she wore. But it was her hair that caused everything inside of him to come to a hard, freezing stop. Her hair fell loose like a heavy mantle down her back to brush against her hips.

Her hair was golden, like the color of pure sunlight.

The woman's body visibly tensed, as if she felt his scrutiny, and she slowly turned to face him. The blazing light cast from the sconces on the wall created flickering shadows on the woman as her face came into his view.

His heart stopped beating, it stopped beating in his chest.

In the soft light she was… too enchanting to be real. Her milky-white skin was smooth and flushed. Her lips were pink, full and luscious. Her facial features were soft, delicate, and exceedingly feminine. A thin white scar ran from the edge of her right eyebrow down to her chin, though it did nothing to diminish her loveliness.

And her eyes… Talos help him… he recognized those eyes. They were large and expressive doe-like eyes that were the richest shade of green and lined with thick full lashes that were so long they tangled in the corners.

They were Fianna's eyes.

But seeing them now… set within that small, unforgettable porcelain face… he also knew that they were Faye's eyes.

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. His surroundings, the keep, the sounds of his men's laughter and chatter coming from the dining hall, just fell away in that moment. All he could do was stare at her, his nerves fraying with each pulsing second, as her chin slowly lifted and her eyes opened into his.

His chest constricted as he fell head first into those deep green pools of liquid malachite glittering in the firelight. He tried to drag in a breath, but it was as if a boulder was crushing his chest. Moving, breathing, thinking - impossible. His heart was a staccato beat against his ribcage as he tried to control his breathing.

He blinked, sure this was a hallucination, or a nightmare his subconscious had conjured up.

He blinked again.

She was still there, staring right back at him.

Faye.

It was her.

She was alive and more beautiful than the memories that haunted his dreams. Her - standing in front of him - struck him like a blow to his vitals, arousing pleasant and painful memories, sending his thoughts spinning backward in time.

This was the woman he'd fallen for.

This was the first woman he'd loved.

This was the only woman he'd ever loved.

"Faye?" He hadn't realized he'd spoken until he heard the sound of his own damaged and grating voice rasping out the syllables of her name.

Those jade orbs narrowed slightly as she searched his face, searching for identification but not finding it. She didn't recognize him, he realized.

Several heartbeats later, those green orbs slowly widened with recognition until they were as large as saucers in her small, heart-shaped face. Those eyes were filled with utter shock, raging alarm, and wistful melancholy. They became glassy as they flitted back and forth between his, her lips parting in a silent cry, her chin trembling. Her hand reached out to grab hold of the wall for support, as if she was going to faint.

"V-Vilkas?" Her voice was soft like summer rain, breaking slightly, too many emotions in her voice and face to define in her expression or thoughts.

For the longest moment, Vilkas stared at Faye in frozen shock, as an old wound was ripped open inside of him. The pain she'd inflicted was still raw and fresh even after all these years, an unhealed wound festering inside him. His senses were suddenly filled with the echoed images of his memories with her. Of the days he loved her and she loved him back. Of the days he searched for her and the nights he cursed her.

In the blink of an eye, it all hit him at once like a dragon's tail to the gut – all of the hurt and agony, the grief and anguish, the loneliness and despair that this woman had caused him.

Every emotion slowly bled from his body until there was nothing but pure, uncut hatred. It was like a living, breathing thing - his hate - inside his chest, digging its claws into his soul and shredding it to pieces.

Unadulterated rage contorted Vilkas' features, turning them dark and murderous and terrifying, as an erupting volcano of anger and bitterness and loathing that had six long years to fester and turn rotten exploded within him.

She said she loved him.

She lied.

She wore his mother's wedding ring and promised him forever.

She lied.

She promised he would be the only one.

She lied.

She left him standing at the altar without a backward glance to be humiliated in front of all of his friends and family, to be made a fool in front of all of Skyrim.

This woman had no heart, and if she did, he was certain it was as black as the hells of Oblivion.

Rampant, inconceivable bloodlust pumped wildly through him, numbing his mind with a killing rage the likes of which he'd never felt before. His blood roared through his veins like wildfire, burning and stinging as his mind screamed for blood. Her blood. His entire body was shaking violently with murderous intent until he saw nothing but red.

This was the woman who betrayed him.

This was the woman he hated with every fiber of his being.

This was the woman he was going to kill.

His sword cleared its sheath before he realized he'd drawn it. Vilkas flew across the hall like a streak of lightning across the sky. His body slammed into hers, which was as rigid as a plank with shock and they flew backwards together until her back slammed hard into the wall behind her.

Vilkas glared hatefully down at Faye with flames of wrath raging in his hardened grey eyes while he held the razor-sharp edge of his blade to her delicate neck. His lips drew back from white teeth and a low growl rumbled in his throat. He looked wild and feral, like a wolf set to seek vengeance on a hated enemy.

He wanted her to bleed. Slowly. He wanted her to feel the same pain he'd felt. He wanted her to suffer the same way he'd suffered. He wanted her to die the same way he'd died. Anything else would be too merciful.

His body began to tremble with the need for vengeance, his knuckles turning white around the hilt of his sword. With one flick of his wrist, he could be free of her. He wanted his life back - the life free of pain, anger, and sleepless nights. Her death could damn well give it back, he was sure of it.

But gods dammit, he couldn't kill her. Not yet. Paarthurnax wouldn't allow it. She was the Dragonborn. The Blades had been searching for her for years. The Blades needed answers, answers he knew she had. It was clear to him now that her being in Dawnstar when the dragon had been resurrected was no mere coincidence.

She knew something.

She knew something about what had happened to Alduin's soul. He needed to know what she knew. He needed to destroy Alduin's soul.

He would get the answers he needed from her, one way or another.

Despite what his rational mind was telling him, his body shook with the effort not to drag the blade deep across her neck and be done with her forever, obtaining the revenge he wanted, and deserved.

With the sharp blade pressed against her carotid artery and her face completely drained of color, Faye could do nothing but stare into black-grey eyes that were nearly black with rage, his compressed mouth white with fury. Loathing, anger, and disgust were carved into every inch of his chiseled face. He radiated such a powerful aura of black menace and animosity that he was more like a daedra sent from the Deadlands to devour her soul than a man.

Vilkas…

Shock at seeing him again turned Faye's legs to water, a haze of unreality surrounding her. Her heart pounded so hard she felt physically ill. The earth seemed to be crumbling as her carefully constructed world fell apart around her. Her body was frozen stiff, unresponsive, her thoughts a welter of disbelief, panic, confusion, and dread.

No. It can't be, she thought as she tried to fight all rational thinking that told her this was Vilkas. It's impossible. It can't be him. He's in Whiterun with his wife and three children. He is the Harbinger of the Companions, not Commander of the Blades. It doesn't even look like him. It's impossible. His eyes… they aren't the same color. Eyes don't just change color. It's impossible. Impossible, she thought frantically as she continued to wage war with reality.

But the truth sliced her open as she stared up at the cruel visage that was glaring down at her with such undiluted animosity, knowing only one man on earth could hate her this much.

This close, she took in the differences and similarities in him. He was older, bigger – angrier. A long, angry scar ran across his throat, as if a blade had been dragged across it. Six years was a long time. When she'd seen him last, he'd still been a boy getting ready to head to the front lines of the Stormcloaks to defend his country.

He wasn't a boy anymore. No, he was a man. A powerful, angry man. She swallowed her apprehension and fought the overwhelming terror. He had every reason to hate her this much, but it was still painful and devastating to see. Her body was shaking, violently, the iciness of reality coursing through her as she stared into his black-grey eyes that were so full of hate and murder she was certain of only one thing… Vilkas wanted to spill her blood.

Her first thought – run. Run like hell. Run and never look back.

"M-Mommy…?"

They both turned their heads to the side to see Drake standing at the end of the hallway holding Brill's hand. The little boy's mop of obsidian hair was falling across his forehead into his forest green eyes that were wide and fearful, his fingers digging into Meeko's fur as if for support. The giant, grey-furred warhound growled in Vilkas' direction, his teeth bared in warning.

For the first time, fear entered Faye's eyes. Seeing her little boy alive and well instantly zapped her from her stunned daze as inherent instinct to protect her child took hold. Faye loved her son with everything that was in her. She would fight for his freedom, safety, and happiness with her last breath. And if there was something she was good at, it was fighting.

Jade orbs backed by dragon fire slowly lifted to lock with arctic black-grey. Her eyes held a silent plea for him to release her, an unspoken warning that if he did not remove his blade from her throat that she would be forced to defend herself. Her Thu'um lived and breathed inside of her, was an integral part of who she was. But when she tried to call upon it for the first time in six years, she realized with a start that it wouldn't come. It was as if something was… blocking it.

Hiding her horror at not being able to draw her power, Faye's emerald green warred with slate grey until finally the brittle tension flowed out of Vilkas' body. With obvious great reluctance, the Commander of the Blades withdrew his sword from the Dragonborn's throat. Slowly, he lowered his arm and stared at her, accusing, as if she had bested him in some way.

The moment the sword left her throat, Faye ran as fast as she could away from Vilkas, scooping Drake up and into her arms without stopping, hugging him protectively to her as she fled, Meeko at her heels and Brill scratching his head.

For an endless moment, Vilkas stared after Faye even after she was gone from his sight. He could barely see or think straight. He couldn't remember being so angry before. Not when the Silver Hand had killed Kodlak, not when the assassin had slit open his throat, not when he'd been captured and tortured by the Dragon Cult. There was a fiery gnawing in every fiber of his body screaming for retribution. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to lock her in a room and destroy the damn key.

The raven-haired Nord ran a shaky hand down his face, a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Turning, Vilkas sheathed his sword and strode out into the central courtyard and called to the keeper of the gate, "Raise the drawbridge!"

Almost at once a tremendous grinding of chains sounded as the huge wooden bridge was slowly raised.

"And do not lower the drawbridge for anyone but me!" Vilkas ordered harshly.

"Yes, sir!" the gatekeeper called back.

Vilkas stalked back to the keep like a wolf retreating to his lair, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, the black scowl on his face vicious enough to send those unfortunate souls that were unlucky enough to get into his path scurrying away from him with a fright.

Faye Ashhart.

She was back in his life due to a horrible quirk of fate, ready to ruin it again. Talos, she looked so different he hardly recognized her. Her face was more mature and she seemed taller, softer than she had before. And how did she get that scar on her face?

A thousand thoughts and questions flew through his mind. Though one thing was for certain. Faye wasn't leaving. Not yet. There were too many unanswered questions and he wanted answers for the Blades, and for himself. Hell, he deserved some gods damn answers. And until he got them he wasn't letting her go, whether she liked it or not.

Author's Note: This chapter has a soundtrack: Run by Nicole Scherzinger. You can hear the whole song for free on YouTube.