None of them were traveling incognito, not intentionally, though none of them were making any effort to announce themselves, or their affiliations. Dralof was still not well known, especially in The Pale, but Ria and Njada were both required to take precautions if they wished to remain anonymous; though those precautions rarely required more than a cloak with an oversized hood. Those cloaks, and their attached hoods, now rested on the floor of the largest room in the Nightgale Inn, as did every other piece of clothing that Dralof, Ria, and Njada had been wearing when they entered that room before closing and locking the door.
Dralof lay on his back, drifting in and out of a light sleep, his green eyes half opened as he stared at the ceiling, Ria's head on his right shoulder, her coarse, dark hair even more untamed than usual. Her hazel eyes were closed, her breathing in almost perfect sync with the blond woman whose head lay on Dralof's left shoulder, her own light blonde hair that cascaded down her back almost to her waist, still retained by a collection of braids that were tied behind her head. Her gray eyes were also closed, the two women almost mirror images of each other as they lay on their sides, each contributing a muscular though still supple leg that lay draped over Dralof's sturdier pair, as each of them had reached across his chest to find the hand of their shield sister before drifting off to sleep.
The two Companions were holding hands still, their arms producing a soft resistance when Dralof breathed in slowly and deeply as he enjoyed their shared warmth. The sheets were still damp, as were the several bandages that he had around his torso, and his arms and legs, but only slightly; their mingled sweat now almost completely dissipated. Dralof did not have the freedom to scratch the top of his head of blond hair, hair that he had begun to grow longer once Njada had told him that she preferred longer hair. Neither could he scratch his chin, and his now quite short beard, the result of Ria offering her own opinion. If anyone had told an earlier version of the Nord member of The Silver Hand that he would find himself so much at the mercy of the opinion of a woman, either singly or in pairs, he would have laughed in their face. Now it did not seem the least bit unusual for him to make those changes if it made these women happy. They had certainly made him happy. The three of them had made each other happy. It had taken only a short time watching the two women together for Dralof to learn what each of them liked. Dralof had been a mystery for them, but a mystery that they had quickly solved, and at this point in time they knew each other quite well.
They had laughed, early in their acquaintance, upon learning that he religiously carried a copy of Songs of Return, as all the members of The Hand did, or were supposed to, at least. There were certainly not enough original copies to go around. Dralof's copy was not original, he had written it himself, a hand made copy of Hellina's original second volume, that had taken him months to complete. Their laughter had wounded his feelings, which they realized immediately, and for which they apologized. It was during their second meeting that Njada produced the genuine article, volume 56, and presented it as a gift to him.
"You will treasure it more than any of us," she had said to his stunned face, "I cannot recall a time when this was ever removed from its place on that shelf."
It was during that extended visit that he had begun to read to them, from his own copy, and the one that they had jointly given to him. He even recited the passages that the Hand used during the final initiation of its members.
"Is it not a blasphemy of some sort to recite those words to The Hand's sworn enemies?" Ria had asked, her head on his lap as Njada's head was on hers.
"You are not my sworn enemy, neither you, nor any other Companion. Not even The Circle, not while they walk the Earth as men, and not beasts."
They had laughed at Dralof again, after he explained the true nature of The Inner Circle, but the stone cold look on his face ended their laughter quickly.
"Ask Kodlak," he had simply answered.
They had done just that, though they did not tell him what prompted them to ask. And when the Harbinger of The Companions, prior to answering their question, inferred that he believed that it was Aric who had told them, they did not correct him. The pair had sat in stunned silence afterwards, sequestered from the other Companions in Ria's bedroom, as their minds adjusted to the changed landscape.
"How is it that The Silver Hand knows more about The Inner Circle than The Companions do?" Ria had asked when they met the third time.
"For us, it is the reason we exist at all," Dralof had answered, "It was the Curse of Terrfyg that broke The Companions apart, giving birth to The Silver Hand. It is part of the catechism that all our members learn. We learn how we came into being, and we look with hope to a future when The Hand and The Companions become one family again. But that future can only occur when the Curse of Terrfyg is lifted." None of them could have known that both the Harbinger of the Companions and the Harbinger of The Silver Hand had already begun to search for a cure for that curse.
They had traded keepsakes during that visit, items that could be worn against their skin, and out of view from prying eyes. Their feelings for each other had deepened quickly, maturing into something far past simple physical desire. If anyone had asked them during that exchange, which marked two months since they had first met, if they would describe that feeling as love, none of them would have offered a strong objection.
None of them believed that they could keep their clandestine meetings perpetually secret. The senior members of the Hand and the Companions were nothing if they were not observant. Dralof was convinced that Hellina knew something, just as Ria and Njada were convinced that Aela had her own opinion on what was drawing the two women away from Jorrvaskr so frequently. But they had all agreed that no good would come from telling their respective leaders just how intimately The Silver Hand and The Companions were mingling, and how frequently.
"Hellina observes me as I walk my horse up to the stable," he explained once, when they had been similarly positioned, "I can see her face in the window as she smiles and shakes her head slightly. But she says nothing. She knows that I meet with someone, but she does not know that I meet with Companions."
"She is not jealous, surely," Njada had replied, her voice muffled slightly as her lips caressed Ria's back and shoulder, "She has Soran to tend to her needs."
"Not jealous, no. They are husband and wife in all but name. And even that I believe they will rectify shortly. They will ask Carcette to marry them soon, I would wager gold on it."
"Aela is suspicious of us," Ria added, her voice growing thick as she guided Njada's hand across her breasts before moving it downwards slowly, "we tell her truthfully that she does not have cause. But if she discovered we met with a member of The Hand she would not understand, and she would never trust us again."
"We invite her into our bed occasionally, but it seems that she has eyes only for Aric," Njada said as Ria began to gasp, her passion rising to its climax.
"He seems to cast a spell on every woman who lays eyes on him," Dralof said as his lips found Ria's breast, causing her to cry out in ecstasy.
"He is very beautiful," Njada said as Ria collapsed against her, her breathing still coming in gasps, "and Aela has been alone for quite some time. It would be strange if she did not pine after him. But the line of women seeking his attention is much too long, and she shows no interest in forcing her way to the front."
"Urul has fought beside him twice now," Dralof said, "both times they fought night walkers. Urul says Aric is no simple warrior. He wields destruction magic with great skill."
"His daughters Lucia and Runa likewise," Ria said once she had recovered her breath, as her hand reached back and caressed the face of the blond woman behind her, "we have more than a passing familiarity with them. Vilkas and Farkas are under their spell, just as Aela is under his."
"Just as I am under yours," Dralof said as he kissed each of the women passionately.
Njada crawled slowly over her shield sister before straddling Dralof and fitting her hips to his like two perfectly matched pieces.
The trio was becoming too well known in Morthal and Heljarchen, the two villages that were approximately at the midpoint between The home of The Companions and The Silver Hand. The Nightgale Inn and the Moorside Inn were their preferred lodgings, but there were too many eyes, and too much leering, when any of them would arrive and request a room. If any of them had business that took them to Windhelm they would share that information, and they could enjoy the luxury of Candlehearth Hall, or the anonymity (for which they paid) of the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Dralof would not risk Dawnstar, Ria and Njada would not risk Whiterun. If duty forced them to miss a rendezvous, well, all the sweeter the next meeting would be.
"Kodlak is convinced that we will have a mild winter," Njada said, her face turned upwards to the afternoon sky as they rode west. They were halfway to the point where their paths would diverge, Dralof continuing west while Njada and Ria turned south, "he says he can taste it in the autumn air, and when he places his hand upon the damp earth he says it removes all doubt."
"And he asks the farmers in Whiterun what they think," Ria said with a smile, "which he finds even more convincing."
"Farmers have a special sense where it involves weather," Dralof said before a sound caught everyone's attention.
Dralof had never seen a werewolf, let alone fought one. They had all been taught that werebeasts in general, and werewolves in particular, displayed a supernatural speed, but this was the first time that Dralof witnessed it first hand. It was only the distance that the creature was required to cover to reach its prey that gave him the time he needed to jump from his saddle and give his horse a slap on her rump to encourage her to run for her life. It was encouragement that the mare had not needed, and barely noticed as she fled as if The Banshee herself was at her heels.
Dralof's bow was in his hand immediately, and the silver tipped arrow was in flight in instant afterwards, but by that time the creature had traversed most of the distance, and so Dralof's left hand was still filled with his bow as his right hand began to draw his mace from his hip when the creature collided with him.
The silver arrowhead had begun to do its work immediately upon striking the creature, who's howl was now a mixture of pain and raw animal fury. If the distance had allowed it, Dralof would have sent a second shaft after the first, and then kept his distance until the creature was weakened by the magical silver and could be finished off with his enchanted mace. But it was not to be. The creature's momentum slammed the two opponents together, but it was the fletched end of Draolf's arrow that struck its master squarely in the breastplate, forcing the silver head all the way through the creature before exiting its right shoulder blade. With the silver no longer lodged in its body the creature began to regain strength.
Dralof's left arm was still extended when the werewolf slammed into him, and the creature did not waste the opportunity to clamp down on that hand and arm with its jaws. Dralof's Valenwood bow was quickly reduced to kindling before the vise-like jaws encountered the silver runes on the steel gauntlet that still held tightly to all that was left of the ruined weapon. The taste of silver was enough for the monster to release its grip, but his massive claws continued to rip at Dralof's helm and gorget, and all the member of The Hand could do was turn and duck his head to protect his face.
But he still held his mace, and his averted gaze focused on an unprotected knee and leg, which his mace quickly found once, twice, and a third time before the werewolf bellowed out in pain and let the man go.
Dralof attempted to retreat to a safe distance before realizing that something was seriously wrong. His legs would not support him, and his vision began to narrow, as if he was passing through a dark tunnel. He had just enough consciousness remaining to see Njada descend upon the werewolf as if she had dropped from the sky and remove its head from its shoulders with one powerful downward stroke.
"Gods, what has happened?" Curwe Loreius asked as the two women carried Dralof into their farmhouse and set him on the only bed in the structure.
"A werewolf attacked us," Ria said as she checked to ensure that the wounded man was still breathing.
"Talos' blood, he is white as a ghost," Vantus said as Njada began to remove Dralof's bloody armor and clothing.
"He needs the house of healing," Curwe was saying in increasingly desperate tones as her bedding was becoming saturated with blood.
"He will die before we can get him there!" Ria said, "he barely survived the journey here!"
"Go to the Thane's house!" Njada ordered as her hands continued their attempt to stop the worst of the bleeding, "tell them we have a man who is near death. He needs healing spells, potions, whatever they can provide!"
"I will go immediately," Vantus said, "but one of you would arrive much quicker than I would."
The two women looked at each other for a moment. Both of them saw their fear reflected back at them, their fear that they had waited too long before coming to Dralof's aid, and that he would die as a result.
Curwe and Njada were attempting to staunch the worst of the bleeding with bandages as Ria stood up. She was covered with blood, as was Njada; though it was a mixture of Dralof's blood and the werewolf's that painted Njada's face and armor, while it was only Dralof's that Ria wore.
Njada was as close to tears as Ria had ever seen her as she spoke.
"Do not fail him," Njada pleaded.
"Never."
"We have done all that we can for him," Freya said as the three women stood a short distance from the bed, and the man who still looked like he had one foot in Sovngarde already, "if he is to live much longer, or make any sort of recovery, he needs a Healer. Someone must fetch Danica quickly."
They had exhausted the supply of potions and ointments in Heljarchen Hall, as well as an ancient staff of healing that could be wielded by anyone, regardless of ability. Its effect was small, but it was enough to stop the worst of the bleeding.
Dralof's left side had been badly raked by the werewolves claws, his mail shirt in tatters, as was the leather and cloth and skin underneath. His arm and hand had been crushed by the beast's jaws. But his face and neck had been protected, and it was at that beautiful face, which was still too white by half, and beaded with sweat, that Ria and Njada looked.
"We hesitated but for an instant," Njada said, her voice overflowing with grief, and guilt, "but he did not. That is why he stands upon the threshold between this life and the next. It is our fault that he lies there now."
"We did not know," Ria started to explain before stopping herself, "we thought that it might be one of…"
Neither woman could explain fully to the man and women who stood nearby that they had hesitated because they thought that the beast attacking them might be a member of The Inner Circle, or that once the danger to Dralof became clear, and the choice might be between the life of Dralof or the life of a fellow Companion that they had chosen Dralof.
The Stewart for the Thane of The Pale did not know exactly what had happened or why, but she recognized immediately how these two women felt about the man in the bed, and she knew what course of action to take.
"I will send Nora for Danica," Freya said, "neither of you need leave his side again. All will be made as well as men and Gods can make it. Rest now."
Ria's chin quivered slightly as her eyes overflowed, but she did not break down. It was not in the nature of any Companion to succumb to grief in that fashion, even at the thought of losing the man they loved.
"Thank you, sister," Njada said simply, as she wiped her own tears from her face.