4E 175, Whiterun, Skyrim

Jorrvaskr was lively today. Seasoned warriors were eating their midday meal while some of the whelps trained outside, eager to prove themselves. The atmosphere was jovial, with members joking and telling stories, drinking their mead without a care in the world. Kodlak Whitemane, a man who had barely hit his thirty-fifth summer, sat with his Harbinger, Askar. The two men were close and trusted each other's judgment on most matters. Kodlak felt he owed his life to the man after he found him in Hammerfell, serving for a weak-necked noble. He was grateful to his Harbinger, and held a deep respect for the man.

The men's attention was averted when they heard a loud noise coming from the front doors of Jorrvaskr. A cool fall breeze gusted into the building and nearly blew out the candles that were lit upon the long table. Kodlak grinned when he saw his old friend enter the ancient hall. He was a tall and muscular Nord warrior with tousled brown hair that fell above his shoulders. His brown eyes gleamed with excitement and his large toothy grin could be seen beneath his thick beard.

"I am home my brave and gallant shield-siblings!"

Jergen.

"For the love of Talos, Jegren," a Nordic woman groaned from the long table, "Must you always make a grand entrance?"

She was a tall and strong woman, with auburn hair that glowed in the summer sun. Her green eyes were the color of the pine forest, with a menacing glare behind them. She was a huntress, deadly and beautiful. Her name was Hera the Huntress.

A powerful gust of wind closed the wooden door behind him and he looked at the Nord woman, grinning, "No entrance is too grand for me, Hera."

"Papa!"

Jergen cocked his head and coming his way were two little twin boys who had just seen their fifth summer. The Nord warrior knelt down and opened his arms, letting the boys run into them. "There are my little warriors!" Jergen exclaimed as he hugged the boys tightly in his arms. "I missed you so much! Look how big you've gotten!"

Hera chuckled as she took a swig of her mead, "It's only been a week, Jergen."

"A long and painful week without my boys," Jergen said dramatically, looking at the young twins in front of him, "I've thought about you every day."

Kodlak smiled at the scene before him. Jergen always loved his sons, ever since he found them in a cave in the Pale near Dawnstar. It seemed like just yesterday when he came to Jorrvaskr with two dirty and frightened toddlers, claiming he was going to raise them in the hall. Askar protested his intentions but it didn't stop the warrior from keeping them. He saw and loved those boys like they were his very own. And Kodlak admired that.

"Guess what I have?" Jergen asked the boys, who both had a large smile on their little faces, "Presents!"

The twins jumped with excitement as Jergen pulled his knapsack off and opened it to view its contents. He looked at the boys with surprise as he pulled out two wooden swords from his knapsack. "Swords!" One of them cheered, reaching out to grab one of the toys. The other frowned as he grabbed his own wooden sword, "They're not real."

Jergen chuckled as he looked at one of his sons, Vilkas. He was the most stoic of the two. Between him and his brother, Farkas, Vilkas was always the pedantic one, who saw everything in a literal light. Farkas was the more imaginative of the two, always so free of worry and lived life every day with bliss.

"You're right, Vilkas, they're not," Jergen shook his head, "But you are too young for real swords. Real swords are dangerous and can hurt people."

"Do you hurt people?" Vilkas asked so innocently, looking at the large steel greatsword he had strapped to his father's back. Jergen smiled softly at the young boy, "I protect good people from bad people. I only hurt bad people who want to hurt the good people."

"I wanna hurt bad people!" Farkas exclaimed, holding his wooden sword in the air and swinging it half-hazardly. Jergen laughed as he placed both his hands on each of their shoulders, "That's good, channel that energy over there." Jergen pointed over to the open corridor of the hall, next to the long table. The two boys nodded and ran over there, racing to see who would arrive first. The older warrior stood up and looked over at the table where his shield-sibling sat. Hera, Arnbjorn, Kodlak and his Harbinger, Askar.

"Great," Arnbjorn spat, "They can walk, talk, and now they have weapons."

"They're just toys, Arnbjorn," Hera scoffed, "Relax."

Arnbjorn was a seasoned member of the Circle. He had been there the longest aside from Hera, who was inducted not much longer after him. He was a… minacious man, for lack of a better word. He bore the blessing of Hircine proudly and jumped at every chance he had to take on the form of the beast. Jergen never liked him much. Aside from his violent tendencies, he was mean to his sons, and that pissed him off.

"You better put a muzzle on those boys soon, Jergen," Arnbjorn insinuated, taking a swing of his mead, "Sooner or later they're going to hurt themselves."

Jergen glared at the lycanthrope, "If I didn't know any better I'd say that sounded like a threat."

It was Arnbjorn's turn to glare, "I'm just saying that maybe you shouldn't let your boys loose in the wolf's den."

"That's enough." Hera commanded sternly. The two men backed off, glaring at each other as though trying to assert their dominance. In truth, Arnbjorn never liked Jergen. He thought he was too soft for the beast blood. And after he brought back the twins from what he understood as some dank cave, the man became even softer.

The day went on as normal. Jergen and Kodlak caught up on the details of his job, and Hera went home to spend time with her husband and daughter, Aela. Farkas and Vilkas played for hours with their new toy swords, pretending to be real warriors. They had grown so much since their time at Jorrvaskr. They couldn't have been more than eighteen months old when Jergen carried them through the front doors of the ancient hall. They were certainly Nords, with

their headstrong personalities and battle hungry eyes. Kodlak remarked to Jergen on multiple occasions that they would make fine warriors one day.

And the Nord warrior felt his heart swell with pride at how much they had grown, emotionally and physically. Farkas was a kind and gentle soul, who wouldn't so much as hurt a fly. It was apparent to Jergen that he was the more sensitive of the two. Vilkas was the opposite. He was stern and stoic for his young age; didn't trust anyone. Though he could speak more coherently than his twin, he spoke far less than he did.

Jergen would stay up with the twins almost every night and read to them the plethora of books he had on his shelves in his quarters. Farkas would fall asleep rather quickly just to the sound of Jergen's voice, but Vilkas stayed up and read along with his father. Jergen would take his finger and read the words aloud with Vilkas in an attempt to teach the young boy how to read. And he was a natural. Vilkas picked up quickly with most of the commonly used words, and his grammar was far more advanced compared to other children his age.

"You know," Jergen sat down in his bed with Vilkas, holding a copy of The Battle of Sancre Tor, "If you keep reading like this, you could make a fine scholar one day."

Vilkas frowned, "I want to be a warrior, though."

Jergen smiled softly, "You can be a scholar and a warrior. A man must keep his tongue as sharp as his blade."

"Hey papa," Farkas inquired innocently, crawling onto his bed and over his legs to sit beside his father, "What happened to our mama?"

Jergen's eyes widened. The twin's had never asked about their mother before, and truthfully Jergen liked it that way. He wasn't sure what happened to their parents. He found the boys in a metal cage within a necromancer's coven in the Pale some years ago. It was a simple job, really; clear out the cave and secure any civilians inside. Though there weren't any civilians inside. He found that the only innocents within the coven were the twins. There were no bodies of any civilians that he found. He only assumed that perhaps they belonged to one of the necromancers in the coven.

"You're mama…" he pondered what to tell the boys, "was a beautiful and kind woman. So kind and beautiful, in fact, that the Divines came down and carried her to the heavens so she could live with them."

"She left us behind?" Vilkas asked sadly.

Jergen shook his head, "No, it wasn't like that. She left you with me, so I could take care of you. She loved you both very much and wanted to give you the world." Farkas seemed satisfied with the answer. Vilkas, like with most things, had doubts.

"I think it's time for bed now," Jergen said suddenly, closing the book that he had been reading with Vilkas. The two boys groaned and got up from Jergen's bed, making their way to their own beds in a room across from his. Jergen followed them in and made sure the boys were dressed for bed and tucked them in. Both now tucked into their furs, Jergen placed a quick kiss on both their foreheads before blowing out the last of the candles in the room. "Goodnight my little warriors."

"Goodnight!"

Jergen closed the door gently behind him, letting out a long sigh. "They're in bed early tonight?" Jeregn cocked his head and saw Kodlak leaning against an archway down the hall. Jergen chuckled weakly, "Yeah."

Kodlak narrowed his eyes at his friend, "Something troubling you?"

The Nord warrior softened his gaze as he approached his friend, "Farkas asked about their mother." Kodlak's eyes widened in surprise, "That's odd, they had never been curious before."

"I know," Jergen affirmed, "I wasn't sure what to tell them. I don't know anything about the woman."

Kodlak crossed his arms and shrugged, "Well, it shouldn't matter anyhow, you're their father."

"Their adoptive father," Jergen corrected him. Kodlak shook his head, "You are their father, blood doesn't matter. You are raising those boys and loving them as your own, that's more than can be said about most men, who wouldn't so much as bat an eye at children that aren't theirs."

Jergen lowered his gaze for a moment, "I'm not enough for them. They deserve to know what happened to their mother; where they came from."

Kodlak stood silent for a moment, somewhat understanding where Jergen was coming from. Truthfully, at the end of the day, Jergen was their father. However, Kodlak understood that Jergen wanted everything for his sons. He would do anything for his sons.

"I'll hire a private investigator," Jergen said suddenly, "See if they can scrounge up any information about that coven. In the meantime, I'll go back, see if I can find anything that I missed."

"The cave is most likely ransacked, you cleared it out years ago-"

"Well it's worth a try. I need to do this, Kodlak. I owe them that much."

Kodlak smiled weakly and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Whatever you choose to do brother, I'll support you."

A month had passed.

Since Jergen left to search the cave.

He had hired a private investigator out of Whiterun, giving him all the information he already had about the coven. Shortly afterwards, Jergen left Jorrvaskr to the cave where he found Farkas and Vilkas. As the weeks went by and Jergen hadn't returned, Kodlak grew worried. He was certain that a search like this wouldn't take more than a week, let alone four. It was unlike him to be gone for more than a week at a time, so for him to be gone for this long was worrisome.

Kodlak asked Hera to accompany on a search for Jergen. Hera obliged, feeling sorry for the twins who had been asking about their father's whereabouts for some time. The two Companions set out north, towards the Pale. The journey was difficult, it being the winter season and the snowfall was relentless. Though with their Nordic and beast blood, the two had fared decently against the cold.

Kodlak and Hera tracked Jergen with his scent, trying to snuff out their pack-brother. His scent was becoming stronger as they journeyed deeper into the woods of the Pale. It bothered Kodlak, as the cave was not in the direction that they were smelling Jergen. And given the seclusion of their location, he wondered why Jergen would be out in the middle of the woods. He was growing very worried at this point.

After walking for what felt like hours, the two Companions spotted a dark figure lying in a thick blanket of snow. The snowfall had almost covered it completely, but the two could see someone was there. The two rushed towards it, hoping that it was their friend that they had spent so long searching for. As they got closer, they realized that Jergen's scent became stronger and… pungent.

The Companion's eyes widened when they approached the scene. It was a large werewolf that appeared to be pelted with silver crossbow bolts. Its face was bloodied as well as its claws, the eyes lifeless. The body was stiff, almost frozen in place likely due to the harsh cold air and snow. A large pool of dried brown blood could be seen beneath the beast, and upon investigating further, they could see that the entire back was skinned of its fur, leaving its spinal cord and rib cage exposed.

Jergen.

The sight and smell became too much for Hera as she turned around quickly and hurled, the contents of her midday meal now all over a patch of snow. Kodlak winced as he looked at his friend, his eyes beginning to water as a million thoughts raced through his head.

"The Silver Hand?" Hera inquired sadly, wiping away the remaining vomit on her lips. Kodalk closed his eyes and clenched his fists, "Yes."

Hera looked down at the corpse of her dear friend, bringing her hand to her mouth, "Oh Jergen…"

It was simple, really. Jergen ran into a group of Silver Hand and was outnumbered. They killed him and skinned him, probably parading it around their base now, celebrating their killing of a Circle member.

"What do we tell the boys?" Hera asked hesitantly.

Kodlak frowned. What were they going to tell them? That their father was brutally killed and skinned by werewolf hunters? All while trying to find out where the two came from?

No, he couldn't.

They were too young to understand.

"The Great War." Kodlak suddenly spoke.

Hera looked at him curiously, "W-What?"

He turned towards his shield-sister, "The Great War. We tell them that Jergen left to fight in the war and never returned."

"T-That would be lying-"

"What else are we supposed to tell them?" Kodlak raised his voice at Hera, his tone dripping with the grief and anger of losing his friend, "That he was a werewolf who was killed and skinned by the Silver Hand?"

Hera stood silent, at a loss for words. Her heart heavy with the grief of losing her shield-brother, she understood why Kodlak raised his voice at her. It wouldn't be ideal, no? The twins were far too young to understand the politics between the Companions and the Silver Hand. On top of that, no one knew of the Circle's lycanthropy, so they couldn't tell them anyhow.

Kodlak approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her piercing green eyes, "We tell them he left to fight in the war. Everyone. The whelps, the Circle, the twins… what happened tonight, stays between us. It's better this way…"

Hera nodded her head silently, forcing herself to comply with his wishes. The two turned towards Jergen's body, preparing themselves to bury him. Kodlak set his things down and started digging a hole nearby, using his bare hands to do so. Hera helped, though it didn't make the process much faster. The two dug for what felt like hours, their hands becoming raw from the digging and the cold.

After digging the hole, the two grabbed Jergen's body and gently laid him in the plot. It was a burial unbefitting of Jergen and his status as a member of the Circle, but they had to make due with what they had. The two filled the hole with the same dirt that they dug out of it, trying their best to level it out. They placed as many stones on top of the plot as they could find. Searching the area, they found Jergen's armor and greatsword scattered nearby. Kodlak grabbed his belongings and placed them neatly atop the grave, taking his greatsword and plunging it into the ground at the head of the grave.

Kodlak kneeled before Jergen's grave, placing his steel wolf helmet atop the hilt of his steel greatsword. Hera knelt beside him, taking his hand into her own as they mourned.

"Before our fallen brother… we grieve."

Kodlak repeated, "We grieve."

"At his loss… we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen… we shout."

"We shout."

Hera's voice cracked, tears falling silently down her cheeks, "And for ourselves… we take our leave."

"We take our leave."