Author's note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! You've all been wonderful, and I'm sad I can't reply to everyone, since lets me reply only to people with profiles!
This is the longest chapter as of yet, damn!
Onwards with the story!
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Ever since she left with Farkas and bid her goodbyes, Vilkas found himself restless and worried. She hadn't let him down so far, so why was he so worried about her success or failure? He told himself that he was just fretting over that new Wuuthrad fragment, but he wasn't even half convinced. He knew he wasn't worried about his brother. He was practically invincible on the battle field, and a dusty ruin wouldn't do him in. However, their lack of presence seemed to have left a void in Jorvaskrr, one that he maneuvered himself around but still felt, like a constant ache.
The mornings were still loud and filled with whelps and friends, but they seemed emptier, somehow, and her seat at the table felt like a beacon, even though it was almost always filled by some other trainee stuffing their faces. Whenever he smelled blueberry pie coming off from the Bannered Mare, he felt the need to go buy two pieces, one for himself and the other for her, but he knew that it'd probably spoil by the time Farkas and her came back.
He found himself going to the whelp room in the first few mornings she was gone, to go wake her up for training, but all he saw was an empty bed. And then after a few days, he stopped, but also realised training just wasn't the same. The other whelps simply weren't as much fun to toy with.
At dinner time, he toyed with his food, not enjoying it much. If he brought his head up from his plate he could almost see a glimpse of her, smiling at him from across the table. With a snarl, he got up from the table, scaring the few whelps that were sitting next to him, and went to his room. He slammed the door, the noise reverberating through the whole of Jorvaskrr. He buried himself in a good book, the tension still not leaving his body. Unfortunately, the first book he grabbed was The Book of The Dragonborn, which helped his mood none.
Would she be able to face this whole ridiculous destiny laid before her, he wondered. She was barely learning the ropes, barely becoming battle-adequate, graceful and purposeful like a warrior should be. And she was so young, and she hadn't seen as much of the world as he had to realize that now her life wasn't hers, and that her choices were steered towards a certain direction. By the gods, by the Jarls, by the common folk, and yes, even by them.
Kodlak wanted her to be part of the Circle, and he wanted that soon. Privately, he had told Vilkas that he had hoped to help her avoid induction in the beast blood, but Vilkas doubted Aela and Skjor would let it slide. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. For so long he hadn't let his beast run free, and even the mere thought of the blood set his skin on fire with the desire to transport and run free, if only for a little time. The beast snarled and growled and asked and pleaded and groveled inside his mind, a sequence of animal emotions in the briefest flashes of time, and then he snarled right back, and it quieted…for now. It would get out again, it told him. One way or the other, whether he liked it not. The wilds and battle called, and in the end, all succumbed to the beast. Even his precious little protégé, if she were to rise in the ranks. Vilkas snarled once more, and threw the book away, grabbing his head and wishing for the voice to stop, stop, stop calling him to the hunt and wrestling control away from him.
Stop, just stop, just shut up, leave me alone.
But Vilkas, it purred, why deny your true nature? Was this not what you chose? Was it not blood and battle and running free that you wanted, power and glory and being part of the pack?
It was not an informed decision!
Oh, please, don't deceive yourself into thinking you knew nothing. You did, that you did, and you went with it anyway. Just relinquish control to me, stop bothering that head of yours with stupid notions, and we could have the world, your woman, and everything beyond it.
SHUT UP!
"Everything alright, brother?"
Aela was in the doorway, leaning against it like she didn't knew exactly what his issue was. But perhaps she didn't – she was in perfect agreement with the she-wolf inside her, and it showed. She was half-human half-beast in perfect proportions, and both sides worked together, not against each other, and the woman's desires were the wolf's and viceversa. Only she and Skjor had showed that kind of symbiotic relationship, but Vilkas had it the worst out of the other members of the Circle. Farkas let the wolf's words slide over him like water, while Kodlak was old enough to reign it in. But he? Too hot-headed and too big hearted to play deaf, and so he and his wolf snapped at each other and ran each other ragged, all made worse by his promise not to transform made to Kodlak.
"You know very well it's not." He snapped.
"Tsk. Still fighting your wolf, brother?"
"As I should do."
"It's not a curse, you know!"
"For you it's not. For me, it is. I'm not saying not to enjoy it, Aela, I'm saying I don't."
She smiled, showing her canines. "How diplomatic of you." She then sighed, her face a gentler expression than before. "I'm sick of the strife between us over this subject, Vilkas."
"As am I, Aela."
"But I don't want to get cured, and the old man is adamant about it. So what shall we do about it?"
Vilkas sighed. "Make our decisions in due time. Perhaps we should follow Farkas' lead on this matter, and ignore the topic altogether."
"Perhaps, if that brings us peace. I'm sick of fighting with everyone about this, Vilkas. And so is Skjor, though he doesn't say it. We were a pack before, and now we're a Circle divided…"
"…almost broken."
"Yes."
Vilkas nodded. "Then we won't take about it any longer. I won't mention your…nightly outings, and you won't preach about the benefits of the beast blood to us. And if a cure comes…"
"We disband the pack." She said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
"We're still shield-siblings, Aela, beast blood or not. You are our sister, and we are your brothers."
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She wished she had visited these woods in the summer time. Falkreath looked dark and haunted in the winter, plagued by cold winds and endless nights. It didn't snow so close to the border and the jungle plains of Cyrodill, but chills drifted from the northern tundra and from down the Jerall mountains enough to freeze your bones. It was windy and frigid, the cold snaking through the forest's tree trunks, biting at her legs and nipping at her ears. Yes, Falkreath might've not suffered from the snow the rest of Skyrim did, but it was haunted by the ghost of winter, Morning Star ever present like a hand laid upon the land.
She looked to the west, towards the mountains, and closing her eyes she could imagine her father's lands, Hammerfell with its warm sands and vast grasslands, and the city her father was born in, Elinhir, so close to the border that Amina felt she could touch it if only she extended her hand forward. Maybe one day she'd visit there, and see a part of herself unknown, but for now, she was in Skyrim, she was home. She felt a pang in her chest thinking about her father. She hoped that Hircine's hunt would lead her somewhere close to home, so that she may go and visit. She always told herself she'd visit in spring, when perhaps she'd have more things to boast about, but she didn't think she'd resist the two months till the weather properly warmed up.
The town of Falkreath was beautiful, perfectly molded into the surrounding woods, albeit a bit macabre. Shops and locales all had grim names, and at night a thick fog settled over everything, making the houses look dream-like and the people like ghosts. Which wouldn't be much of a stretch considering the large cemetery that surrounded it.
She sat down at the local inn, and listened intently for rumours. When nothing but the usual talk of bandits and tall tales of local ghosts came up, she finally decided to make her way to the most knowledgable person in town: the innkeeper. She knew from Mralki that innkeepers knew everything and heard every whisper that went through their establishment, and that people seldom were discreet enough to keep their private talks private in such a place, lulled in a sense of comfort by the surrounding noise and rabble.
"What can I get you?"
"A herbal tea, please. If you don't have any, milk and honey."
The woman laughed, good-naturedly "A literal milk-drinker, eh?"
"I like to at least give people a reason when they insult me."
"What brings you to ol' Falkreath, lass?"
"I'm looking for a white stag. You don't happen to have seen any, lately, have you?"
She shook her head. "No, but ask Valdr and his friends over there. They hunt around this parts, and if such a beast even exists, they surely've seen it."
Amina finished her milk cup with one big gulp, and went towards Valdr. He told her that they indeed had seen such a fantastic beast, but that it was quick, illusory and wicked smart.
"Ain't no one gonna catch that animal, lass, let me tell you. It's like quicksilver, like a sliver of midnight between the trees."
"You're very poetic for a hunter. Are you sure you're not a bard?" she smiled at him.
"I've woeed many a lady in my day with my poetry. Maybe you're next?"
Amina blushed furiously, but laughed. "Unfortunately, my heart's promised to another." She lied.
"That, and I'm old enough to be your father, aye? Don't hold it against me lass, a man owes it to himself to at least try." He gave her a rueful smile. "I can't help yeh much with the beast, but I can mark on your map where I saw it last."
"Any last advice before I go?"
"Aye. Wait until nightfall, easier to see it then. Bright as a shooting star, it is. Fast as one, too. You'd be better off sneaking and catchin' it by surprise." His eyes then flicked to her bow. "Nice bow, that. Best use it well if you want to catch that beast."
Amina made her way out of Falkreath with a plan in her head and her bow in her hand. Cicadas hummed, filling the forest with music, and starlight lit the canopy of trees enough to make it have an eerie glow. Amina could see well enough, but could she be able to find that white stag?
She went deep into the forest, far enough away from civilization that it was a given she'd have to camp the night there eventually. She searched the ground for hoof prints and the tell-tale signs of antler tree scratching, but found nothing. She huffed in frustration, and by the first light of dawn she was ready to give up and try the next night.
And that's when she saw it, a walking light between the trees. Slivers of its blinding light were caught between the trees like the shine of a torchbug in a half-closed fist, illuminating the canopy and bushes with an ethereal shine. Amina was rooted in place, awed. She realised then, looking at the moonlight-beast, why she hadn't been able to track it with the usual means. It didn't walk on earth, but glided, treading on air a few inches above the ground, stirring the leaf carpeting with its swift movements, leaving a trail of wisp light in its wake. Amina gasped, and the noise startled the animal, who fled. She ran after it, following its light trail between the trees.
And so they chased each other for over an hour, until the edge of the forest and Lake Inalta's shore, until Amina's legs burned and the stag decided it had had enough. It started treading higher and higher, until it was flying like a bird and gliding on the breeze, and Amina could chase after it no more.
Amina took out her bow in record time, and shot out a few arrows after it, but none even grazed its hide. She ran then, faster than she ever did in her life, realizing that she needed height to shoot it down. And a crazy idea struck her. Brilliant, but entirely crazy.
She climbed the nearest and tallest tree as fast as she could, swinging between branches and reaching the top in record time. The stag pranced around, almost gloating at her, and making no effort at all to evade her anymore, too confident in its victory. A mistake. From the top of the tree, Amina could see it clearly below her, perfectly aligned with what she had in mind. If a bow and arrow wouldn't do…a more direct approach was needed. She jumped.
The stag buckled and struggled in her grasp, but her aim was perfect and so she was steady on it, riding it like a horse, holding it by its ethereal antlers as if she had reins in its hand. It gave a whine that chilled her to the very bone, and she still didn't let go. Desperate, the stag turned towards the lake and started losing height very fast. Amina's eyes widened.
"Oh no, no, no, don't you dare!" she screamed.
Breaking the water's surface was like crashing against a wall, and Amina didn't even have time to draw breath. The stag raced through the lake like a wave, and she could only think that this is how it ended, with her drowning trying to hunt a ghost. She pulled out her iron dagger and made a desperate effort. She sliced the stag's throat, and light broke all around her, blinding and hot like the sun exploding. It disappeared around her fingers, dissolving in the water and leaving her to sink to the bottom of the lake.
She struggled, trying to swim to the surface, but…she couldn't. She struggled, but her armour was weighing her down, killing her instead of protecting her. She had but a few moments left, no breath in her lungs left. She hurried to unclasp her cuirass, her boots, her gauntlets, tossed aside her helmet, and they hit the lake's bottom with a thud, stirring sand and dust in the water, blinding her. She swam as fast she could to the surface, the pound of her heart in her ears, her lungs burning. She reached the shore barefoot and gasping for air, rolling on her back to look at the morning sky and thank the gods for being alive. A breeze ruffled her hair, and she touches the bird at her throat, grateful for air and yet another day, for divine protection and inspiration.
That's when she heard it: a laugh like a bark, and the sound of leaves being threaded upon. She groaned. She wasn't in the mood for a fight, wet and cold and shivering and without her armour, gods damn it. She thanked her stars that she hadn't tossed her sword in the lake.
"Well met, hunter."
"Go away, friend. Or I'll punch you in the face so hard I'll be sending you through each Oblivion realm and back."
The person answered with another laugh, this time louder, merrier. "Is that the way to talk with the Prince of Manbeasts, the Hunting Grounds master…Hircine?"
She wipped her head around, scrambling to her feet, her eyes wide and fearful. Had she just threatened a Daedric Prince that she'd punch it to Oblivion and back?!
In front of her was Hircine, part-man, part beast, with a bestial appeal and intelligent eyes. He was leaning on the trunk of a tree, entirely relaxed, his arms crossed against his chest. He had a stag skull as a mask, the antlers large and imposin. gHe was tall, all sinewy muscle and tanned skin, with a speckling of freckles on his shoulders, arms and exposed abdomen. He was summarily dressed, with just a few pelts, barefoot and unadorned with anything else but a tooth necklace. A trail of hair went on from his chest to under the pelts he covered himself with, black as a wolf's pelt. He regarded her with a hungry look, yellow eyes shadowed by thick lashes. It made her feel small and weak, like a deer caught in front of a hunter, like helpless prey, and she found that bothersome and exciting at the same time. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the Prince's allure.
"Now, now, don't mind me. Your attitude is quite refreshing, little hunter, but I assume you didn't try to get my attention just to chat and revel in my handsome presence?"
"A…are you really Hircine?"
"In a sense. I am but a glimpse of the glorious stalker you call Hircine. Now, what is it you desire?"
Amina rummaged through her pockets, but…found no ring. She facepalmed. "I know this isn't proper form, but…could you wait here a second till I go to retrieve what I came here for? I had to shed off my armour because of your stag's little stunt."
"The spirit of the hunt can be quite mischievous, yes. I'll wait, little hunter. You go get the traitor's ring."
"Wait, you know what this is about?"
He chuckled. "I know everything pertaining to my realm."
She sighed. "Do I really have to get back in the lake and get your ring?"
He laughed. "Yes. I could, of course, manifest it back to myself, but what would be the fun in that?"
Amina let out a long suffering sigh, and went towards the lake, grumbling about being toyed with by Aedra and Daedra alike something something. But what was the point in arguing, truly? It always was towards her advantage anyway, and she'd put her foot down if there was something she really didn't want to do. And yet another swim was inconvenient, but not terribly so.
She returns, dripping wet and grumpy, ring in hand, only to see her armour right in front of her, equally damp.
"I took the liberty to return your armour after you got the ring. You'll need it soon."
She glares at him, and she can feel his amusement.
"Sinding says he's sorry for stealing your ring. I'm here to win his freedom. Could you please remove the curse from this ring, so he may go to…wherever dead people go?"
"I may consider it. But you must first do a service for my glory. Sinding isn't dead."
"What?! He had his guts spilled on the floor. How is he not dead?"
Hircine smirked. "The blessings of a werewolf are many. Close call, very close, but you didn't expect me to let him off the hook just like that…now did you?"
Amina gaped. "Well…err, will you still remove the curse from the ring? I've not hauled ass here and down the lake twice to come back empty handed."
Hircine downright laughed. "Oh, little hunter! I can't wait until I see you in the Hunting Grounds with the rest of the Companions. You've got spunk."
"Ok, fine, tell me what I have to do." She asked, temporarily ignoring the whole "in the Hunting Grounds with the rest of the Companions" bit. She'd ask more once she gained his favour.
"The thief has fled to what he thinks is his sanctuary, a cave by the name of Bloated Man's Grotto. But just like a bear who climbs a tree, he cannot escape the hunt, merely delay it. Hunt him, tear the skin from his body, and make it an offering to me."
"What?! I asked you to remove the curse, not send me to kill him!"
"And I'm giving you precisely what you asked. This is what you must do to lift the curse."
"I won't hunt him, and you can't make him."
Hircine snarled at her. "As you wish, little hunter. But you should know…he who does not hunt is the hunted."
Amina jutted her chin up, her mouth in a cocky grin. "Bring it on."
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Farkas didn't stop first to Kodlak, but to his brother, barreling through Jorvaskrr in clothes not his own right to Vilkas' room, ignoring Aela's yell of 'what happened to you?!'.
"I did something stupid."
Vilkas looked up from the book he was studying and raised an eyebrow.
"I transformed."
Vilkas sighed. "You know that's alright, brother. I…I don't expect you to live up to the draconian standards I set up for myself. I'm just glad you're back."
"No, no, I transformed in front of Amina."
"You what?!"
"Silver Hands. I had to. Amina was caught in a trap and there were seven to one."
Vilkas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you weren't my brother, I would beat your ass."
Farkas grinned. "I know. She seemed okay with it though. We found a dying werewolf in the Cairn. Promised she'd run an errand for him. We're not in danger. She's one of us. Won't tell anyone."
Vilkas groaned again. "Where is she now?"
"On that errand."
He paled. "You're telling me she saw you transform, and you let her go…just like that? What in Oblivion was in your head, brother! How do we know she's not out and about telling the whole world we're werewolves!"
"It's Amina. I trust her. Last I checked, you did too."
"I don't trust her! She's been here for what…a few months?!"
"But you tease each other and get along fine. Why not trust her?"
"Because we barely know her! You should know better. I'm going to Kodlak and see what he says. For all of our sakes, I hope she comes back soon. Gods know what will happen if word of this goes out."
But Amina did not come back soon. Days bled into weeks, and there was still no sign of her, not even a note. Vilkas' slow burn of worry turned into a raging fire, and his mood swings made every whelp steer clear from his path. He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the Jarl to storm their Hall, for a Silver Hand invasion, for anything at all, but nothing happened. Days went by at Jorvaskrr without a hitch, and he felt the only thing that had changed was this burning in his chest. He was angry at Amina for not returning, for running away, for being scared, angry that he'd never see her again, but more angry at the fact that he let himself become friends with someone who was as cowardly as to run away without saying goodbye, someone who feared their nature. He was furious at her for being afraid.
Farkas tried comforting him, telling him that she was running errands for the dead werewolf, but Vilkas snapped at him until Farkas gave up and just waited for Amina to show up again. But as the weeks went by, even he quieted, and lost faith that she'd ever come back at all, and settled for isolating himself at the Skyforge and on the training grounds out of guilt.
The rest of the Circle was equally agitated…all, except Kodlak, who went about his days as usual, and every time they brought up the issue, was unusually calm. He ordered her whelp bed to be left untouched, to wait for her return.
After the first three weeks of her absenced, Vilkas had had enough.
"Master, she's gone. We should just go after her and make sure our secret is safe."
Kodlak laughed. "Why the lack of faith, Vilkas?"
The younger man bristeled, almost growling. "Why the favoritism, Kodlak? Ever since she came here you've followed her progress closer than of the other whelp's, and gave her special treatment and special training. Just because we've now found out she's Dragonborn doesn't mean she is fully trustworthy. What has gotten into you?!"
"Vilkas, I know things that you do not, and have spoken to her closer than you had."
"I train with her every day!"
"You do. But do you know her worries, her insecurities…her dreams? You push and prod at each other, but your interactions so far lacked any true substance. You do not know her. Why do you think Aela doesn't pace the halls? They've talked, so she knows Amina is, for all her greed and fearfulness, as brave as any of us. She's come to me for advice, and I've seen her soul, Vilkas. That's why I patiently await her return."
"Then maybe you've become soft with old age!"
Kodlak rose from his chair, and Vilkas was suddenly transported back to when he was a child and Kodlak was god, father and emperor. The older man seemed ten times taller and bigger, his mouth in a disappointed frown. Vilkas was reminded that Kodlak, for all his mild manners and easy going personality, had once killed a hundred and one orc berserkers just with Skjor. Sometimes his fatherly manners made you forget he was the wisest and strongest of them all. In that momement, he towered over Vilkas, even though the younger man was taller than him, and Vilkas' wolf could only cower in fear, alpha!, alpha!, our alpha is angry.
"I've had enough of this, Vilkas. Return when you've had more time to think about this."
"I apologise."
Kodlak sighed. "Just wait, Vilkas. Trust me, if not her."
"Why the trust in her? Is it because she's Dragonborn?"
"No, Vilkas. It's because she's a good person, and I know her mettle by now."
"So you truly believe she's gone on an errand? Then why no note?"
"Knowing her, she probably though Farkas telling us where she was would probably be enough."
Vilkas nodded. "True." He sighed, then made to leave, but stopped in the doorframe, a question wiggling at the back of his head.
"So…what are her dreams? She's Dragonborn now, wouldn't the fame and prestige that come with it be enough to satisfy her?"
Koldak laughed. "She doesn't have any dreams, Vilkas. She had the dream of adventure before she came here, but now that she got that she's aimless and content."
"So you're telling me that she has no other ambition than to explore and make money out of it?"
Kodlak laughed. "Precisely. It's incredibly refreshing, isn't it? To see someone so unambitious and easily pleased, whose sole purpose is to stave off boredom and be happy. Now, that's rare."
"I'd say she also has the purpose of becoming rich and looting every piece of gold in Skyrim."
"I didn't say she was without fault…or greed. Just that she was unambitious." He sighed. "Unfortunately, I fear her being Dragonborn will only ruin this…aspect of her. Not now, perhaps, but later. The Dragonborn has the soul of a dragon, after all. And while I genuinely believe in the goodness of her heart, heroes are often forced to do things contrary to their nature for the greater good. I can only hope we'll be able to help her make the right choices when the time comes."
"So you trust her because she's a good person…and because it's the right political move to side with the Dragonborn?"
"Yes, but you don't get to my age without combining pleasure with business. It's my pleasure to be her mentor, and it's good for business, but that wouldn't change the fact that I would not be on her side had she been an inherently evil person."
"And if she is, what then? What if she will be corrupted?"
"Then we take her down for the safety of Skyrim."
And the days passed more, until she had been gone for almost three weeks. Life went on as usual, except that he and Farkas were still tense around each other, Farkas blaming himself for showing their secret, and Vilkas feeling guilty for snapping at his brother.
In the end, after a few quiet days, they went back to their own routine. They trained together in the wee hours of the morning, as usual, learning from each other. Afterwards they would bathe and settle in, Vilkas studying and Farkas playing the lute while he did so, each honing their own craft. In the afternoon they'd go train the whelps, and after the evening meal they'd both go back to their own passtimes, Farkas at the forge and Vilkas in his library, passing the time and trying to forget that there was a liability, out there, and that their secret was now open and vulnerable.
But the days did pass, and at least they were talking to each other now, Vilkas' ire gone and Farkas' guilt buried by his brother's returned calm. If Vilkas was calm, he thought, all was well. At night, when they were both sleepless, they'd lay under the stars and talk about everything but Amina, and Farkas knew that until she returned, Vilkas' calm was just apparent. Of course his brother had forgiven him the moment he told him, but he couldn't shed his worry and unease. But underneath the stars they forgot it all, and day by day with no news, but no disaster either, Vilkas settled, and Farkas settled with him, and Amina's absence was replaced with talk and busyness.
One time he caught Vilkas staring at the corner of the training grounds where he and Amina trained, eating blueberry pie and doing nothing else, and Farkas wondered if perhaps his brother was not worried just about the secret, after all.
But another time, news came, and it seemed to throw Vilkas more off a loop than Amina's absence did. A courier approached Farkas, and when Farkas read the note, he was overcome with joy. But he knew his brother, with his broody moods and tendency to overthink everything, would have a bad reaction to it.
He made his presence known to his brother by knocking on the door frame, even if he knew he had caught his scent him ever since he entered the hall.
"Brother, I have news."
"Dare I ask?"
"A courier came and gave me this letter…" he handed his brother the letter, and braced himself for his reaction. "Father's coming back."
"What?!" Vilkas exploded, ripping open the letter and reading it, his eyes darting across the page at record speeds. He snarled, crumpled it and tossed it into the fire. Farkas shot after it and took it out before it burned, scorching his fingers and blowing at its singed egdes.
"Don't do that!"
"How dare he shows his face around here, after all this time! He ups and leaves one day, not even a goodbye, and now what? He thinks he can just come back and we'll be happy, fussing around him like pups?!"
"Father-"
"DON'T CALL HIM THAT!" Vilkas yelled. "He wasn't our father then, and he's not now, especially not after leaving."
"He raised us! He saved us from those necromancers!" Farkas yelled reproachfully.
"My gratitude for that ended when he left. You can't claim parentage and then up and run away when you get restless."
"Don't be cruel, Vilkas."
"Don't be naïve, Farkas! He didn't care, he was just feeling guilty about leaving two urchins in their own filth and blood, and then never had a place where to drop us off to, so he kept us here. Don't you remember? He was not our father, the whole of Jorvaskrr was, and aside from providing for us, there was no more parentage from him. We learned how to fight from Skjor, how to hunt from Aela, right and wrong from Kodlak…what did our so called father teach us? How to abandon things when we got bored! Thank the gods that lesson never settled, eh?"
"I am still going to greet him. And happily. Your issues are your own this time, brother." Farkas said, frowning, but softly, as not to give his brother more incentive to argue with him.
"Fine. But don't ask me to come and sweeten him up."
"I wont. I wish you would understand him more, though."
"There's nothing to understand."
Farkas shook his head, and muttered as he left: "And yet, they say I'm the stupid one…". He sighed.
At least his lute was never so stubborn. Yes, a little lute playing would soothe his nerves after this argument with his brother. Now, to find a place where nobody could hear him…
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Bloated Man's Grotto was nothing short of a work of art. The cave was obscured by a curtain of moss, and once in, Amina's breath stopped. It wasn't a grotto as much as it was a clearing between the rocks, a forest in the heart of the mountain. There was greenery everywhere, so thick that the light that filtered through it was green and gold. A constant spray of water from the nearby waterfall floated through the air, looking like glitter when the light hit it.
But what was next to the waterfall made Amina pause. The camp was bloody and in total disarray, and for one moment, Amina thought she was too late, Sinding dead, promise unfulfilled and a ring she didn't want or need.
"Hunter…" a voice called, and she turned her head to see a wounded Khajit.
"Are you alright?" She crouched next to him, and started inspecting his wounds.
"The prey is strong…stronger than the hunters. We…we can't bring him down!" She tried giving him a health potion, but just before she could uncork the bottle, he stilled under her hands, and gave a last shuddering breath.
A howl, and screams. Amina ran towards the sound of the noise, but found only a strew of corpses and blood. And that's when she hard his voice, different somehow, like a growl in the night, half-wolf howl half-man.
"You…what are you doing here?"
"I was sent here to kill you-"
"And I would deserve it, wouldn't I?"
"Will you let me finish my sentence?! I was sent here to kill you by Hircine, but I told him to shove it. So I'm here to help you."
Sinding laughed, more like a quick succession of barks than anything. "So you chose to become prey for a stranger? The honor of the Companions goes far. Thank you, stranger."
"Thank me later after I get you to safety. Now, for the love of Kyne, will you show yourself? We don't have much time until the rest of the hunters get here."
He came out of the shadows, a brown werewolf thrice her size, with a chest like a barrel and claws like knives. His eyes glinted golden in the sunlight, and his fur was spattered with blood. Amina reigned her fear and desire to vomit in, but she couldn't quite shake the primal terror she had at seeing him, just as she had with seeing Farkas. After all, men are always afraid of predators, and what predator is better at what he does than a man with the power of a beast?
"You are afraid of me." He said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Of course I'm afraid of you, you're covered in blood. I'd be afraid of any person covered in entrails and juices, godsamnit. Now let's get a move on. What do you know of these hunters?"
"I killed most of those who used swords and axes. They got too close." He gave her a toothy grin. "But those with bow and arrow I couldn't get to…"
"Without becoming a pincushion, I get it. I'll watch your back and deal with them."
He nodded, and started running towards the exit, Amina following him. She had a hard time keeping up with his long legs, and she thanked the gods that Aela made her do moving target drills, because there was no way in Oblivion she'd've been able to shoot at the hunters like this had she not. As she ran and jumped she pelted them with arrows every time they appeared, aiming for the spots that would give the hunters a quick, clean death. Soon, they were all dead, strewn like dead leaves across the Grotto, their bodies illuminated by light as if they'd fallen to a holy battle. Amina felt guilty and torn for causing such bloodshed, and every arrow missing from her quiver felt like a piece missing from her heart.
She had done the right thing, hadn't she? They couldn't've been good men if they were so quick to hunt someone just because they were ordered to…right? Maybe they had families too, or children, or people who loved th- Amina stopped that train of thought, and shook her head. She felt like her heart was in her throat. This was different. This wasn't killing for a need, but for a choice, and it felt like it changed her completely.
But a small part of her, a fire she never noticed until now, relished in her victory, in her power, in domination over mortals. It felt like Mirulmnir, coiled in the pit of her stomach and whispering things in her ear, things of being more powerful, gaining more strength, and how the whole world would be at their feet if she only discarded her guilt. Once Amina caught that train of thought, she felt like vomiting, like she itched out of her skin, like she was not herself anymore, but something alien and new, molded out of that union of souls. And she was deathly afraid that the more dragons she'd kill, the harder it would be to fight those thoughts.
She was interrupted by Sinding transforming back. He was bare as the day he was born, unashamed by his vulnerability and wet with blood, a stark contrast against the Grotto's greenery. He was panting and trembling, and holding his hand to his torso, where a large raised scar was, pink and irritated, ready to split open again. He sat down on a bedroll in the camp.
"You're lucky to have lived with that wound." Amina said, her eyes lowering to the scar, remembering how when she first saw him, it was not skin, but an open wound out of which is entrails were spilling out.
He laughed. "I think I'm even luckier to have been found by you." He smiled at her. "Thank you, friend. It takes a lot of guts and good will to stand up to a daedra for a stranger."
"You're not a stranger. We're friends. Been friends ever since we met in that Cairn and you poured your soul out to me." She smiled back, and sat in front of him, on another bedroll.
"What will you do now, Sinding?"
"I'll make my home here, where I can't hurt anyone…and where no one can judge me and be afraid of me."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded. "A bit of solitude will do me good after this whole thing."
"Suit yourself. Still, I'll make some delivery arrangements for you, if that's alright with you. You know, a clean set of clothes every few months, cheese and eggs and sweets weekly, stuff you really can't get in the woods."
He made a face. "You've saved my life, I think that's enough without you throwing money away at me."
"Bah! I've made a small fortune looting corpses and stealing from tombs while adventuring. I won't miss it." She smiled, looking to the side and blushing. "Besides, I have a few werewolf friends myself, and I would never want them to have to fend for themselves all the time. Consider it my good deed for the day after desecrating so many tombs."
"I don't know how comfortable I am taking stuff bought with your blood money."
"I'll make sure everything I arrange for you is bought with my real Companions' salary and not my stolen money. Deal? Now, please, let's rest, I feel like I took a shield to the head."
"Spending the night here?"
"Yeah. Can't believe we've run for our lives for hours, but I can't get on the road in the evening."
In the morning, when she woke up, she saw Siddgier fiddling with a shiny trinket, which caught the eye and shone light beams every time he moved it in his hands.
"Listen, I want to repay you in some way…I've had this amulet ever since I left home. It was my father's, and my father's before him, and well…I won't have any children to give it to, so I think it should be yours. As a token of my gratitude."
He handed it over to her, and she saw it was an Amulet of Mara.
"You gave me back my life, so I'm giving it to you to start a new life when the time comes. But mind you, make sure it's someone you love, or I'll come back for it!"
Amina laughed, and pocketed the Amulet. And in that moment she realised that a gift from a friend was more precious than all the loot in the world.
As she exited the cave she wasn't greeted first thing by the first sunrays of morning, but by Hircine, a feral apparition leaning against a tree and looking at her predatorily.
"Well met, little hunter."
"Your hunters are dead. I'm not letting you hurt Sinding. I've not participated in your little hunt, and I'm not your plaything. Go away!"
Hircine waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, my servant, how naïve you are. By turning against the other hunters, you've turned the chase inside out. And they were no base prey. You continue to amuse and impress. Go forth with my blessing…and oh! Keep the ring. You'll need it soon, precious. We'll meet again."
And he disappeared, melting into the tree trunk as if he never were there.
Amina then realised that there was no escaping Daedric machinations. No matter how hard she tried, she'd still be a plaything. She could just alter the course of the game, but she was still subject to their whims.
She lost her breakfast between the bushes, and then straightened up. She'd just have to learn to accept it.
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Rorikstead was just as she had left it. She had expected it to look different, to change in some significant way now that she was gone, but it had not. In that moment, she realised how small she actually was in the whole scope of things, Dragnborn or not, and how easily the town had moved forward without her.
It was late evening, and most folks had gone inside, preparing for bed. The sweet smell of grass and wheat floated in the breeze, the sounds of the night soft and heart-achingly familiar. Erik probably was home at Frostfruit, with Meeko and Mralki. She could visit Sissel first thing in the morning, and say hello to Jouane then, too. But first…her parents.
She reached her house and took a big breath. Would they tell her she was not welcome anymore? Would they scream at her? Tell her they were disappointed? She just wanted a chance to make things right, to apologise for running away like that, for being stubborn and uncaring of their feelings.
She touched the mark on her neck and calmed her nerves. She'd faced bandits, and dragons and Daedra. She could face her irate parents…right?
She knocked on the door. She preened herself quickly, straightening her armour and running a hand through her hair to make sure she looked clean, presentable and nice.
Her mother opened the door, and she stood there, gaping at Amina. Amina shuffled her feet in the dirt a bit, and smiled.
"Hi?"
Her mother hugged her fiercely, and started crying on her shoulder.
"Oh, sweetheart, we thought you'd never come back!"
Amina hugged her back, crying as well. "I thought you wouldn't want me to come back after I run away!"
"Don't be silly, darling. We were…and still are, upset, but you're always welcome here. We were worried sick until Erik came to us with your note!"
A beat. "And on that matter, did you think only sending us a note and some money would be enough to quell our nerves and worry?! Shame on you! If you'd still live here I'd ground you until you forgot how the sun looked, young miss!" Then her mother started sobbing earnestly. "Never leave like that again, without keeping us up to date with where you are, and what you're doing! What if you were dead in a ditch? We'd never know!" She let out a wail. "We'd never know if our baby girl would never return!" She then hugged Amina again, and the girl pat her mother awkwardly on the back.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
Her mother wiped her tears from her face, and let out a big sigh. "Damn right you're sorry! Now get in and have supper with us before I bash you in the head with my mace! Dinner's almost ready and your father should return any minute now.
The house smelled like blueberries, wheat and some elusive spice his father always kept in jars. She knew she'd've never appreciated the subtle beauties of her childhood home had she never left.
Her mother fussed over her, oooh-ing and ahhh-ing over her new armour, and scolding her for letting her hair grow out to an unmanageable mess, twin braids and all.
She took out Amina's weapon, and weighed it in her hands. "An iron scimitar, eh? Just like your father, in the good ol' days. I think he fell in love with me because I was the only girl that didn't make jokes about his 'curved sword'."
"Mom, ew! I don't want to hear about dad's sword."
Her mother's eyes twinkled with an untold idea, but changed the subject. "Your father should be home in an hour, so let's have some girl time until then, hmm?"
"Oh Mama, I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, sweetheart. But let's tame that hair of yours before it gets you killed so I have one less thing to worry about."
And so her mother took apart her braids, letting Amina's hair loose in its wild, curly glory, and started combing it until it was waves upon waves of dark brown cascading down her back. She ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, humming a Redguard song, just as she did when Amina was a child, and time seemed to stop for a moment. It was good to be home, Amina thought, where people loved you unconditionally and you could always return, no matter what happened, or who you were.
"I used to be an adventurer like you," her mother told her, "but then I took an arrow to the knee."
"You never told me you retired because you got hurt. I thought it was because you got pregnant with me."
"Oh no, silly. To take an arrow to the knee is just an expression for getting married. When I was with child, your father and I bought this farm house, and gone were our adventuring days. We tried so hard to raise you as to want a normal life, because we knew first hand how dangerous it could be out there…but I guess nature won over nurture on that one, huh?"
"Don't worry, mama. I'm part of the Companions now, as safe as can be. I'm sorry I ran away like that though."
Her mother sighed. "I should have expected it. I did the same thing at your age. Your grandparents never really forgave me, and when I came back home…they'd move out. I never did find them again, and I guess that was the whole point." She caressed the top of Amina's head as she finished braiding her hair. "When I saw you were gone, I knew you'd one day come back, and…I promised I'd never break your heart like that." She started sniffling.
The door opened, and in came her father. "Freja, are you talking to yourself again?" he laughed, and took off his boots without even noticing Amina at the table, since his back was turned.
"Ruslan, don't you see we have guests?"
He wiped around, and let out a gasp. Amina got up and spread her arms. "Aren't you going to give me a hug, Papa?"
He laughed with happiness and took her in his arms, swinging her around the house while she shrieked with joy.
"Let me have a look at you!" he said, brushing the hair from her face, looking at her new scar, at her armour, at the sword at her hip and the way she stood, the way her whole posture was changed, sure and steady. "You've really grown up into a fine warrior. Everything your mother and I prevented you to be and never knew we actually wanted you to."
Amina laughed. "You like it that I've followed your footsteps now that you're faced with the fact, huh?"
"Don't get me wrong, I was furious. I was ready to come back and drag you by the hair. I still have half a mind to lock you up in your room and marry you off so you can live a quiet, gentle life. But you'd probably run away again."
"We talked to Mralki." Her mom interjected "He helped us make peace with your decision, as he did with Erik's."
"We're still not happy about it…"
"But we realised that no matter how hard we try, we can't showhorn you into what we want you to be. No matter how much we think that would be best for you."
"And that the best thing," her father said "Was to wait for you to get tired of adventuring."
"Or pregnant, like mama." Amina joked. Her father paled. "Not so soon, mind, Amina."
"Now tells us, child, what have you been up to?" her father asked, taking a seat near the hearth.
"Well...I became a Companion and I've gone adventuring. That's pretty much it." She lied. She'd decided, before entering the house, that she'd not tell them about her thaneship, her Daedric blessings, Kynareth's quest, or her being Dragonborn. They needn't more reasons to worry. They had enough already. And if eventually they had to find out…well, she was treating that information on a need to know basis. On that note, she thought, maybe she'd need a mask if this whole Dragonborn thing went overboard, so that word wouldn't spread. It would be a good strategy, too. She was pulled out of her thoughts by her mother.
"So, darling…anything interesting happen on your adventuring?"
I've spoiled tombs and stolen a small fortune, which is growing steadily. I've become a thane. I've killed a vampire that used to be a vampire hunter who wrote a book about vampires. I've become the champion of Meridia. I've received the blessing of Kynareth. The Companions are werewolves. I'm the Dragonborn.
"Oh, nothing much, ma. Just saving people from bandits, killing wolves, that sort of stuff."
Her father arched an eyebrow. "Really, now? Simple stuff, huh?"
Amina knew they'd caught her in her lie, but pressed on, and nodded. "Hu-uh. Just simple stuff."
Her father and mother looked at each other and sighed. "You'll tell us eventually. You always do."
"I'm telling the truth!"
Her father arched his eyebrow again. "And I'm secretly half Khajit, half Argonian and three quarters Elf."
Her mother clapped her hands, changing the subject. "Nevermind that, let's eat!"
And they ate, talking and laughing, and for a single moment, Amina felt like herself again, and not like the gods' plaything, or some child of prophecy, and the greed and fear within her quieted down to a low, barely noticeable simmer. She smiled and laughed, and after their meal, they all laid down on the carpet, in front of the hearth, talking and staring at the ceiling, as they did so often when she was a child.
That night, she slept in her childhood bed. She realised than how much she had changed, and how that room used to define her so much, with its hanging decorations and wooden figurines, the mess and the books and lockpicks strewn around. Now it felt alien, like she was sleeping in someone else's room, taking a peak at someone else's life. She had grown up, pehaps. Or perhaps that room was never hers to begin with, maybe it was the room of the girl she should've been, could've been and never was. But her parents were happy and proud, and the night was quiet, so who cared about that?
She left early in the morning. Her mother was hugging her and sobbing, telling her to please, keep safe, and please, write more often, at least once a week or else! And then her father came out of their room with a package in his hand, something wrapped in Redguard silk.
"This," he said, and handed the package to her. "Was my sword. I've slain many an enemy with it, and it has kept me safe for years. I think it's time it saw the light of day again."
Amina gaped at him, and unwrapped the silk to reveal a long ebony scimitar, its golden pommel set with a wolf's head on the blade, the hilt wrapped in fine leather.
"Oh papa, it's too much…"
"It's exactly what you need. Take care of it, mind you. It needs sharpening often, and you shouldn't let blood settle on it, but otherwise…it's a perfect sword. And I see you favour scimitars…"
"I told your father about it after I saw your iron scimitar."
Amina thanked them, tears in her eyes, and hugged them tightly. She strapped the ebony scimitar to her dominant side, and moved her iron one to her left, just in case she needed it on the way to Jorvaskrr.
When she got out the door, Erik was waiting for her, a warm smile on his face. "Ready to go back to Whiterun, cousin?"
"Of course. Ready to propose to Carlotta yet?"
Erik blushed to the tip of his ears. "No. But da gave me his Amulet of Mara, just in case. He doesn't really agree, because she's older than me, but he knows by now it's useless."
"Older by what, 5 years? A draug, really. Don't be daft, she's barely passed her 30th summer."
"That's what I've been telling him. It's just 5 years difference. Auntie's been telling me how cute it is and him to lay off me."
"Yeah, she did tell me last night she was very happy for you, and that I should intimidate your future wife into visiting them so she can 'have a look at her'. "
"More like gauge her worth like she'd appraise an apple at the market."
"Ah, well. So what are you going to do in Whiterun…aside from Carlotta?"
Erik glared at her. "Don't be crude." He continued "I was thinking of joining the Companions. It's close to her, Vilkas said I'd be a good fit, and well….you said it pays well, and I've grown bored of mercenary work."
Amina jumped up and down and clapped with joy. "That's wonderful! Maybe we'll end up being Shield-Siblings!"
He slung an arm over her shoulder. "Maybe, but I heard Vilkas' got dibs on being your shield-brother."
Amina was spared the embarrassment of answering that when the ground shook. The skies clouded over, and the sky roared with what sounded like thunder. But the thunder kept on for a few seconds, until there was a yell that ripped apart the air with its force:
"DOVAHKIIN!"
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Author's note:
I might've stolen the whole "gifting an Amulet of Mara" idea from woofy78's "A Rose for Farkas" (go check it out if you're in the mood for some Farkas lovin').
Also, the Greybeard's call was delayed becase…well, cmon, it's a giant friggin' mountain, news must come to them very slow, one way or the other. I remember Klimmek from Ivarstead said he doesn't talk to them much, or at all, but my headcanon is that he leaves them small notes with each delivery, telling them the latest news because he loves the old farts.