Author's Note:

This is another short story written for a competition :) This one's theme is 'bloom' to celebrate the spring :)

So this one ended up a little tied to the main fic plotline, mainly one specific character's backstory that had been revealed in the third book. But it will be reiterated here again for those who haven't read through it yet and it's not too big of a spoiler either :) The time when it takes place is irrelevant, but context-wise it's some time after chapter LI (51).

I hope you're all gonna enjoy this little story full of bittersweetness.

What They Deserve

There were only two reasons why he could be here for this service.

At least the only two reasons that he could think of. He'd been wondering about this. It wasn't standard that someone of his rank in the order would be sent to deal with something like this. Of course, someone from the Vigil needed to come and handle the situation properly and there was always danger, but… this was something for those who just finished their training. A safe and contained situation. Not much could go wrong. So why would Keeper Carcette send him?

Vuaerion let out a somber sigh as he brushed his long hair behind his ear. It caught on his cuirass, because it always did. After all his years in this gear, he expected to lose a few hairs each time with this stunt, but it was a small price to pay. He needed to present confidence and perfection as always. The citizens needed to see the righteous hammer of Stendarr come to their defense, not a ragged warrior after a full day's journey with his hair disheveled and sticking to his face with sweat.

Funny.

It seemed more frivolous to him to care for the impression of the masses than it used to. He used to think it was important to reassure them about the stellar paladins with gear in perfect condition, always ready to lend a helping hand and offer a smile, a healing touch, or spiritual advice. It was how they were meant to be seen, whether they really offered this or not.

What they stand for. Never ruin that impression. Never do anything to make people doubt you are on their side, there to protect them from monsters. No matter what. Or who.

He shook his head at himself, chasing the thoughts away. Best to get on with this. He knew why he was here after all.

Two reasons.

Either it was punishment.

Or a test.

It was quite likely his last chance to atone for his transgressions against the Vigil. It was not the first time his orders drove his men against the coveted doctrines. In fact, it was starting to become a disturbing habit with him. He couldn't blame the Keeper for her hesitation and suspicions. After all, his actions spoke volumes more and more.

But how could they not?

He was not the only one with doubts, he was merely answering for them.

But that should not be an excuse. He was there to dispel doubts of the younger Vigilants. He was there to reassure them in their purpose and to lead them on the right path if they needed guidance.

And yet he was the one who'd been feeling lost.

Because no matter how much he tried to chastise himself for his choices, he felt like a petulant child inside. No matter what he told anyone else, how stoically he took his punishments and how sincerely he seemed to be listening to the reprimands, the feelings inside still couldn't be denied.

He was not apologetic. There was no regret. There was confusion and questions and despair, but no regret.

He was just angry that he got punished for his doubts.

He let a monster live. He let another monster live.

He told himself he spared her life to save the world. Her death would have meant everyone's doom after all. But he knew that reason was just… convenient. A relief. An excuse he could hide behind. No matter how much he would have denied that merely some time ago, the encounter awoke something in him.

Realizations. Truth suppressed under insistent prayers and mantras.

They would rear their heads again once he came to regret his actions in earnest. He knew what would happen. Everyone lost control at one point or another. He would be forever responsible for the lives lost because he refused to act.

But right now, that was a distant truth that somehow didn't sound as convincing as it should.

He was clearly here to have his eyes opened to the familiar monstrosities.

"Welcome, brother," a guardsman stopped him right at the open gates, bowing respectfully. Vuaerion could see how awe-struck the man was by the Vigilant looking perfectly divine and untouchable even after a long journey. People never got to see the grit and grime. They never got to see the harsh wounds that were denied healing for every little transgression against the order. They never got to see the sorrow behind the smiles, dedicated to yet more of their brothers and sisters lost in this pointless hunt.

'Pointless'? No. He meant 'endless'.

He was here to kill a monster. Nothing pointless about that.

"Thank you, my good man," Vuaerion nodded at him, flashing him a bright smile. It was almost funny that without that signature armor, he would get a much colder reception. Especially as an Altmer.

"Are you here to deal with the murderer, Brother?" The guardsman looked at him hopefully.

"Yes. That's right," Vuaerion nodded. "If you could direct me, please."

"Sure. Sure. I can take you to the prison," the man noted promptly. "Legion took over most of the barracks, but they don't come near the prison. 'Specially not with that beast in there."

"I'm not concerned about the Legion's presence," Vuaerion merely shrugged. They were not supposed to be politically involved but he knew that regardless of the armor, some Stormcloaks might still at the very least try to be unpleasant. Legion was of no concern though.

"Right. Guess you wouldn't," the guard chuckled a little nervously as he ushered him through the city.

Vuaerion always felt like Falkreath had a strange atmosphere. Quite… sinister.

He knew it wasn't really cursed, of course. Putting a curse on a whole town… that would require some divine or Daedric influences that would be hard to miss. But there was always something that made him uneasy here. He wondered if everyone felt like that.

"Tell me about the man again," he prodded the guard. He knew the basics – a werewolf imprisoned after slaughtering an innocent child in the city. It should be clear-cut. But it always should be.

"A monster. He came here to look for work. A regular laborer. So it seemed. He seemed a decent man and then one day… well… I heard he ripped her to shreds," the guard shuddered.

A monster. Yes. Remember that. A monster that killed a child.

"He admitted he was a werewolf the moment we arrested him. Even told the captain he has that… ring. We had him take it off, but nobody wants to touch it," he cringed a bit.

"Good. It's for the best. I will take care of it," Vuaerion nodded. A ring. The word Keeper received claimed it to be cursed by Hircine himself. It was debatable how true this was, but Vuaerion was not dismissing any claims. Of course, this could be true. In the most extreme case, this could even be a Daedric artifact – maybe even the Ring of Hircine. But either way, it was not important as long as it would be taken into the vaults by a Vigilant. They were all instructed on how to handle them and transport them safely.

"Thank you, Brother," the guard smiled in relief. "Captain thought it would be best to call on your people." He finally stopped, right in front of the barracks. Vuaerion knew where they were – he didn't exactly need the escort. He just wanted to hear the information from this rank and file guard. It was always good to hear from the people – see what rumors were about, what those affected thought. Only this time, he was apprehensive about approaching the bereaved parents. The girl was so young, according to the reports. He didn't wish to overwhelm them.

He would discuss the situation and the propriety of it with the local priest of Arkay after the werewolf was dealt with.

"Yes. Better than to risk your men dealing with him or risk anything happening with the ring," Vuaerion nodded.

"You should announce yourself to the captain. He's the one in the full-plate armor. You can't miss him," the guard noted. "He'll tell you where the cell is."

"Very well. Thank you," Vuaerion bowed a little. He hoped the captain wouldn't insist on going with him to the cell proper.

Vuaerion wanted to speak to the werewolf alone. He wanted to look into his eyes and see what kind of monstrosity drove him to it. He wanted to see that undeniable evil in his soul that took hold of him. Without it… things like this shouldn't happen.

And yet… the doubts were still there.

He didn't see it in her eyes. He didn't see it in his sister's eyes either.

Just… desperation.

He feared he would see the same story reflected on this monster's face.

…

It was so quiet.

He was almost sure he could hear sobs as he entered the cell, but now he could hear nothing.

Vuaerion asked the captain not to be disturbed, no matter how long it took. He told him he needed to consider if the ring was dangerous and to see what he could do about the werewolf. The captain looked a little apprehensive about the indefinite time, but he agreed.

Good. Some time ago, Vuaerion would simply slay the beast with his spells within seconds, but… he wanted to see.

He wanted to speak. The urge was stronger than him.

And he needed to know he wouldn't regret his actions. He had done too many judgments on who deserved death in the past.

It seemed wrong now. It shouldn't – that was what he was supposed to do, but here was where the guilt came in.

Perhaps it was always there. Just… hiding.

Much like this beast.

The man had his back to him when Vuaerion reached the barred doors to the circular cell. It was in a separate area – clearly meant to hold whatever dangers from the forests were in need of secure containment. He was curled up there, hugging his body as he sat on the cold ground in nothing but some small clothes. He seemed to be shaking.

"Sinding?" Vuaerion spoke, letting his voice echo through the cell.

The Nord slowly turned his head around, only to give Vuaerion a very brief glance, then he looked back into the wall.

"Make it quick, Vigilant," the man hissed. He still remained with his back to Vuaerion.

The Vigilant stepped closer towards the barred door and sunk down by the wall there. He could see something glinting on the ground by a drain inside the cell, but he couldn't see it properly from a distance. He was sure he was going to hear all about it soon though.

He came for explanations, not quick actions.

"I will not. I wanted to speak with you first," he sighed.

"Why? Came to gawk at the monster first? Haven't you seen enough of them?" The man scoffed. Vuaerion hoped his casual approach, the fact that he didn't come brandishing his hammer or with spells ready, the fact that he sat down haphazardly on the floor in his full armor, would help get the werewolf's guard down. But no. Was he defiant? Or resigned?

Truth be told, it wasn't just a tactic on Vuaerion's part. He felt drained already by the constant conflict in his head ever since he got assigned this mission. He felt like that often lately. The old passion, his… calling, it seemed to exhaust him rather than fill him with purpose.

Perhaps the time has come again. He found a different purpose in his life once before. This one. Was he wrong about it all along?

"I've seen too many of them. So many I'm starting to wonder if I'm not just seeing them everywhere. Even where I shouldn't," he shook his head at himself somberly. This wasn't a tactic, but it did work. Sinding turned to look at him curiously and Vuaerion could finally see his face properly.

There were no distinct features to see – nothing extraordinary, monstrous, not that he expected anything, but he at least hoped to see something in his eyes. He hoped to see him get excited over the prospect of Vuaerion considering that he might not be a monster. He wanted to see him light up at the chance of his escape. At the chance he wouldn't need to face justice.

There was nothing of the sort.

This was the face of a broken man.

Damn.

There were never any easy solutions once one's eyes were forced open, were there?

"Tell me what happened," he surprised even himself with how sympathetic he sounded. It was Sinding's face. It just… broke him a little more as well.

"Really? You want me to make excuses? Want to hear my sob story? I killed a little girl. Ripped her apart. Isn't that the only important thing? Isn't that the only thing you need to know about what happened?" Sinding scoffed. It may have sounded like he was disparaging anyone who only looked on the surface, but Vuaerion felt like it was quite the opposite. That he himself thought it was the only important thing. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

Maybe he wanted to sympathize with him. Why else would he be doing this? Why else would he convince himself to listen to him at all?

Why did he want that? Why did he want to remain filled with regrets over the lives of monsters he ended? Why did he want all these years in the Vigil to be proven… wrong?

"Go ahead. Give me the sob story," Vuaerion smirked a little. "After all… why not? What have you got to lose? Might as well have someone hear what you have to say for yourself, right? Keeping it inside will not give her her life back anyway."

Sinding remained quiet for a while, staring into the ground. Only after what felt like several minutes of dead silence, he raised his head to look at Vuaerion.

"I chose it for myself. The curse, I mean. It was my decision to become a werewolf," he began. Good. That meant it should be easier to condemn him. He chose his own fate – unlike many others. Why did it disappoint Vuaerion? Why did he feel like he wanted to sympathize with him? "I couldn't control myself during the transformations though. Every time Messer entered the new moon stage, I would lose control of myself, my actions and my decisions. That was not what I wanted and I wanted to learn to stay in control. So I looked for a way to do so."

"Is there one?" Vuaerion asked somberly. It didn't look like he found one yet, based on what happened. Some said that control could be gained overtime or through acceptance of the beast within. There were many theories, but the Vigil dismissed them all. There was no control of the beasts, no matter what the werewolves thought. More lies spewed by Daedric servants to make people think this was something to strive for – something to want. Sinding seemed to be a living proof of that and there was yet to be a logical reason for Vuaerion to dismiss any of the Stendarrite teachings.

But his doubt didn't seem to listen to logic lately.

"I found some records of an artifact that helped one master the bestial form. Hircine's own artifact," Sinding sighed.

"The Ring of Hircine," Vuaerion peered at the shiny thing inside the cell. Was this really it? Did Sinding find a Daedric artifact?

"The one and only," the werewolf shook his head somberly. "But the effect of it… it's the opposite of what it should have been. I suppose I didn't earn it. Not in a way Hircine would approve of. There was no hunt, no prey, no challenge. I stole it. And I think he didn't like that."

"You think it's corrupted? Cursed?" Vuaerion raised his brow. All Daedric artifacts were evil in nature, but they were naturally beneficial to the one that held them. The adverse effects, the power they held, the sway towards Oblivion, that was not something one would notice themselves. What did Sinding mean then? He said it had the opposite effect.

"The ring makes me transform unexpectedly, not helping me control my transformation. I lost control whenever it wished, I suppose. At the most inopportune times. That's how… that's how I killed her," her voice quieted as he said that, choked up. "At least… at least before, I knew when it would happen – when I would lose control. But now?"

That was indeed quite a dire effect. It sounded like a curse Hircine put on the ring out of spite. It wasn't unheard of for the Princes to corrupt their own artifacts when they fell into the wrong hands – to someone they deemed undeserving.

"Why did you keep it?" Vuaerion scowled. He suspected he knew the answer already though.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It happens even when I don't have it," Sinding sighed somberly. "There is nothing I can do. My fate is sealed, ring or no ring. The only hope I had… well…"

"Well?" Vuaerion perked up a bit. Was he hoping for a cure as well, just like the Dragonborn? Was he going to search for it too? She promised Vuaerion she would tell him once she found it, but he hasn't heard from her since that promise. He remained hopeful regardless. He wasn't sure why anymore. It would shake everything he used to believe to the core.

He wanted that to happen.

"That's why I came here. I learned of a beast roaming these forests. It is said that Hircine will commune with whoever slays it. I thought I could return the ring and beg for his forgiveness. Beg for him to remove the curse. And instead I'm here," he shook his head at himself. "I don't even deserve forgiveness."

That… that just made Vuaerion angry. This was one of the problems. So many thought the way Sinding did and so the Vigil saw the vision of the cure in the same way. It all boiled down to the Princes. Begging them. Pleading with them. Bargaining with them. Everyone was digging themselves deeper in instead of seeking a way out. If there was to be a way out, there had to be another.

"You wouldn't have been forgiven anyway. Hircine is a Daedric Prince. If you got what you wanted, you would have paid a price – perhaps a bigger one than you'd be prepared to pay. There is no mercy when you commune with the Princes. There is no absolution. There are only more deals, more power, more… chains," Vuaerion scowled at him sternly. A lecture he was very familiar with giving, but it was one he still believed in. That was one of the ways of the order that he still knew to be true.

"What else could I do?" Sinding snarled a bit defensively. "Who else to beg but the one who cursed me?"

"You need not beg anyone. Don't look for control when you volunteer to be a puppet. Find a way to cut the strings. The power you hold is not yours. That's the thing you should strive to return. Not the ring," Vuaerion shook his head. Aeyrin claimed she was sure there was a cure. And even though Vuaerion had yet to be convinced of that, somehow the hope of it being true was enough to make him believe there was a way out for Sinding too.

"I suppose that's going to happen now anyway. There will be no curse when I'm dead," Sinding lowered his eyes to the ground somberly.

"Won't there? There can be anything Hircine wants when you're dead. Your soul belongs to him," Vuaerion scowled again. How would eternal servitude be preferable? "Would you not rather try to avoid such fate?"

"What are you talking about, Vigilant? You're here to kill me," Sinding scoffed at him. "How can I avoid that fate exactly?"

"Is that what you deserve?" Vuaerion gave him a thoughtful look. Maybe it was. He killed a child. He did this to himself voluntarily. He stole from a Prince and now hoped to bargain with him. But why couldn't Vuaerion just leave him to his fate like he did so many others? Why did he feel like this misguided murderer deserved to see hope instead? "There was a woman some time ago. A lycanthrope like yourself. She did not choose her fate. She did not volunteer herself to Hircine's sway. But she killed. She was a beast, just like you. Her death… my conviction called for it. But her death would have meant the deaths of many more."

"You spared her?" Sinding narrowed his eyes. "What does it matter? My death will only appease those I hurt. It will only make these citizens feel more at ease."

"Nothing will appease the grieving," Vuaerion shook his head. "I should know. Nothing will ever appease my own grief. You see, letting that woman live, no matter what her death would mean, it was a betrayal of myself. Not because of my faith alone, but… because of what I've done. I had a… sister. A sister in blood, not in the order. She was turned as well and begged me not to kill her. She swore to me that she would not harm an innocent and yet… she did. Despite her promises, she did. Whether she wanted to or not, the damage was done. And I saw no other choice but to end her life. But when I had another one begging me to let her go, I did. I spared her while I didn't spare my own sister. Did she deserve to die for what was done to her?"

"Do I deserve to die? I chose this. Did your sister?" Sinding gave him a somber look.

"What do you think?" Vuaerion turned the question on him. He didn't mean it in a challenging way. He genuinely wanted to know what Sinding thought was the answer here. Because he had none at this point. Everything just felt convoluted. How do you hold someone accountable for something out of their control? Something done to them? But he made the first step – craved power that he could not control.

"What happened with your sister?" Sinding prodded. Did it matter? Did one need more information to pass judgments on which monster got to live or to die? Shouldn't they all be allowed the same chance at redemption? Or should none of them, like the Vigil believed?

"She was ambushed by my men and slaughtered them," Vuaerion noted bitterly. The memories still pained him. It was the hardest decision he had ever made and now he knew it to be the wrong one, no matter what his faith and training told him.

"Then she acted in self-defense," Sinding noted.

"She could have run. She could have done many other things than to rip them to shreds, but she didn't. Now tell me, did she deserve death? Do you?"

"I don't think she did," Sinding shook his head. "But I do."

"How does that work?" Vuaerion looked at him curiously. It was a similar situation. He knew his sister probably didn't want the men dead, much like he didn't want to kill the girl.

"I don't know. I think she thought she deserved death too, didn't she?" Sinding asked carefully and Vuaerion slowly nodded. His sister… she begged him not to kill her, as painful as it was. She was terrified of the Hunting Grounds after everything. But when he asked her if she thought she deserved to live for what she had done, she admitted it. "It's the guilt. Monsters shouldn't feel guilt, should they? So why do we? Maybe we're not monsters. Maybe we just made mistakes. And you hate yourself for the ones you make but when someone else makes the same ones, you understand and sympathize."

"So should I kill you like I killed her? What if there is a chance you could rid yourself of this corrupting power?" Vuaerion asked.

"You mean… a cure?" Sinding gave him a somewhat surprised look. It was probably not an expected proposition from a Vigilant.

"Would you give the power up?" Vuaerion prodded.

"In a heartbeat. But what does it change? I still killed her. Don't I deserve to die for that?" Sinding looked at the ground again, his voice filled with regret.

"Is it you who did it when you were not in control?"

"Even if it wasn't… then who was it? Someone killed that girl. Someone is responsible. And there's nobody else to blame but me," the werewolf's voice cracked again in a somber display of emotion.

"Are you the beast then? Or does it have a mind of its own? If you rid yourself of it, are you not killing the culprit?" Vuaerion asked. He wasn't really sure what the answer was, even though his voice naturally sounded like he was just trying to make Sinding see the truth he already knew. Years of sermons and preaching did take their toll.

"I… don't know. How long can we debate such things anyway until you have to kill me? It's all the same. You're here to punish me for it anyway," Sinding sighed.

"I am here to deal with the werewolf and the ring. I intend to do both. I am only wondering how," Vuaerion explained. "As you can see, there are possibilities. And we have much time to debate. I asked not to be disturbed."

"So you want me to make a case for my life? Do you even know if there is a cure?" Sinding scoffed.

"No. I do not. But… lately I learned to hope. Maybe you should do the same for yourself," Vuaerion smiled a bit. He wasn't sure why he was smiling. If he believed all this when his sister did what she did, she could have survived. She could be here too. The guilt would never stop tormenting him.

But was more suffering the answer? If there was a way out, could he really allow himself to condemn more of them to their fate in the Hunting Grounds? Was that not the purpose of the Vigil to eradicate the Daedric influences? Why did that mean binding people to an eternity in Oblivion by slaying them instead of giving them a chance to be freed?

"I don't know what we do here…" Sinding gave him a confused look. That made two of them.

"We speak, like we are now. And we hope we find the answer eventually."

What more could they do? There was only one question to figure out.

Who was the monster?

Was it the broken man before him, on the verge of tears whenever he thought of his horrid deed?

Or was it the beast within that he let control him? Wasn't he to blame for allowing it to do as it pleased?

It was a conundrum that Vuaerion never thought he'd consider, but he was glad he was now.

If only the answers were simple.

…

A strange sound woke him up.

Did he… fall asleep? He remembered talking to Sinding for hours and hours. They debated everything from his guilt, through faith and lycanthropy and the cure, all to lead into lengthy philosophical questions. He remembered the tiredness of the long journey catching up with him eventually and it didn't help that he neglected eating the whole time he was here.

He just… still didn't know what to do. He came here to do a quick job, but nothing seemed simple anymore. If this was a test by the Keeper, he was failing it miserably.

But in his own opinion, he was doing exactly the right thing.

Nobody's life should be taken lightly.

He wasn't sure how long he was asleep, but now that he opened his eyes to the strange sound, the cell was dark. All that illuminated it was the moonslight from above. The cell was situated beneath the ground, with a hole for natural light above, leading outside the barracks.

But just as he blinked away the confusion and tiredness, his eyes landed on the source of the sound.

Before he could even make sense of what was happening, there was another loud noise – a grating sound of metal shifting, breaking, bending.

Sinding.

Not Sinding. The beast. The bars above the cell bent under its might as it clung to the stony walls. Vuaerion's body tensed in panic, but before his hand even lit up with magic to stop it, the beast already escaped.

Stendarr's mercy. It was going to hurt someone.

This was a mistake. All this time he thought he was doing the right thing, contemplating the right or wrong, questioning instead of punishing. But in the end, he endangered everyone instead.

He had to stop this.

He ran out of the cell, through the barracks. The guards there looked confused and startled to see him. They'd been concerned this whole time after all – even knocked once to see if Vuaerion was alright in there after all those hours, but he told them the artifact needed special attention to buy himself time to continue to talk to Sinding. All he did with the ring was to take it into his secure lockbox he had ready for whatever the ring would turn out to be. He just needed to transport it to the vault like that.

But the ring was not important right now. Sinding was.

He brushed off the guards, only calling out to them to stay calm and let him do his job. He didn't want them to follow him outside.

He quickly rushed towards the cell from the outside, but he didn't see Sinding anywhere. He didn't hear any screams or commotion in the town either.

It was the middle of the night. Fortunately most citizens were either at the tavern or asleep, but that still didn't mean that they weren't in danger. There were guards outside. Soldiers. Maybe some citizen stragglers.

He doomed them all with his indecision.

He promptly conjured a little light to illuminate his path and looked down on the ground. He could see the tracks the werewolf left behind. Good. He could follow them. The bad part was that they did lead into the city and not outside it.

He needed to follow. The beast could be just lying in wait somewhere, waiting for prey.

The tracks went on for a while, behind buildings and out of sight of any guards that might patrol around. But quite shockingly soon, there was an end to them.

And they were replaced by… human feet.

Did he manage to turn back without hurting anyone? But then… where was he?

Vuaerion followed the tracks, still tense and wary of what he might find. If Sinding turned back to his Nordic form, did he run away? After all that talk, did he want to escape justice? When they haven't even managed to figure out what 'justice' meant.

He felt a prominent wave of disappointment at the thought. He felt like there was an understanding between them. An honorable agreement, even if unspoken, to debate Sinding's fate together and have him face it how he chose.

He didn't think Sinding would escape. He could have turned himself in again or go back to the cell directly.

This felt… a little like a betrayal. Like when his sister slayed his men, despite her promises.

No. Don't jump to hasty judgments again. You made a mistake with her, don't make one with him.

He had to keep a level head for now and just follow the trail.

He went past more houses, getting more and more wary when he noted how much Sinding avoided notice. But once he passed the main road and another house, he finally spotted him.

What was he doing?

Sinding was at the cemetery, alone and naked, blending into the darkness as he knelt on the ground. Vuaerion always had sharp eyes, but he wasn't sure if they weren't deceiving him now as he observed Sinding's movements of his hands.

Was he… digging up a grave?

Vuaerion dismissed his little candlelight and rushed towards Sinding, trying to avoid attention. The area around the cemetery was clearly abandoned at this time of night though.

But running in his heavy armor was never subtle. Sinding noticed his presence soon enough, though he didn't move. He continued digging into the ground without a pause. Divines, what was the purpose of this? He wasn't digging up the corpse of the girl, was he? Why would he do that? It was the only thing Vuaerion could think of though. It was the only dead person in Falkreath that Sinding knew, presumably.

Yet when Vuaerion finally reached him, he noted that it didn't really look like he was digging something up. He was… making little hills in the dirt. It was around a little grave though with a small headstone above it. The carvings on it looked very fresh. It must have been her grave.

"What are you doing?" Vuaerion hissed at him, half-angrily and half in confusion.

"She was wearing a wreath made out of dragon's tongue flowers when I killed her," Sinding said mournfully as he continued his task. "I took some seeds off one by the road. I don't have water, but… first rain should help them sprout. I think she would have liked these. They will bloom soon too. It will be beautiful."

Oh. He was… planting flowers at the girl's grave? That was both thoughtful and baffling.

"You came here to plant flowers now? You transformed and escaped prison," Vuaerion shook his head at him incredulously.

"I don't recall. I remember you starting to babble incoherently as you got tired. I wanted to rest up a bit too but… I don't remember. I only remember standing outside suddenly. And then…"

"Then what?" Vuaerion prodded. He should have come back! This was dangerous. What if he turned again?

"Then I realized I didn't know if I was going to die or not in that cell. I think I probably will. I mean… I think I should. I don't want to, but I think I deserve to. And I… I thought about what she deserved. She didn't deserve what I did to her. Not by a long shot. But she did deserve to know how…" his voice cracked again and he clearly tried to concentrate on playing with the dirt to distract from the fact that he barely managed to get the next words out. "How sorry I am. How… how I will never forgive myself. Not in life or in death."

"I know that feeling," Vuaerion sighed somberly. He noticed a nearby deathbell flower – there were many of them in the cemetery – it was his sister's favorite when she was alive.

She wasn't buried here, but…

He plucked the flower gently and laid it near the girl's grave. There was no marked spot there, no one laid to rest. It didn't matter though. He knew it didn't matter. It was just something she deserved to hear, even if she couldn't.

"Sondea, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for taking away your chance at redemption. I'm sorry that I only consider these truths now when it's too late for you. I'm sorry I put my duty before you and our bond. You deserve to hear this at last."

He never said those words in his life. He thought them many times, but he never said them out loud. It was… difficult. But also freeing. Like finally admitting them out loud meant something he didn't want to admit to himself.

"It doesn't change anything for her," he looked up at Sinding, his throat constricted with emotion. He forced the words out regardless. "It is for us. What we need to say to see the feelings for what they are. And see… we will never forgive ourselves. Not in life, nor in death. So what would your death achieve?"

"What will my life?" Sinding shook his head defeatedly.

"Maybe more than you can even imagine now. Who are you to judge your future now?" There was enough judgment passed around, people condemned. He was sick of it.

He was sick of not giving people a chance. He was sick of being punished for when he did.

"What does that mean?" Sinding looked at him in confusion. But it was an upliftingly hopeful confusion.

"The flowers will bloom no matter what happens now. Her family will grieve no matter what happens now. It means that more death will bring nothing but more pain and guilt. It always does. It means that…" Vuaerion took a deep breath. He knew that with his next words, he was ending one life at least. The life of the devoted Vigilant of Stendarr. It would become something quite different soon. "It means that you should leave. And if your regret and your desire to escape your chains are real, then you will find a way to cure yourself. Or… accept my help."

"Your help?" Sinding looked at him hopefully.

"I know things will be difficult with your curse and transformations. I… know how to handle a werewolf," he smiled a bit wryly. "I don't want to walk my current path any more than you do. I've seen the dark side of it as well. So… if you're willing, I would like to help you find a cure. You and… perhaps many others. I will handle the guards and deliver the ring to our vaults but… that is what I want." The weight of his words pained him a little, but there was a strange lightness that each word uttered brought afterwards. He hasn't felt so unburdened for quite some time.

"You… you want to leave the Vigil?" Sinding gaped at him in shock.

"I think the Vigil left me. At the very least, it left me with a view of the world that steered me from my God in ways I never saw before," Vuaerion sighed mournfully. "And I would like to serve him in a way that truly befits his acolyte from now on."

What did the Vigil of Stendarr stand for when it wasn't his most prominent doctrine? Why did the Vigilants forget the one thing they were never supposed to?

Mercy.

They were so busy judging who was a monster and what punishment they had coming for it. They were so busy judging what those that lost control deserved, whether they wanted to repent or not.

Well… Vuaerion had his judgment too now. He knew exactly what Sinding and his like deserved.

He deserved a chance.

Those whom Vuaerion and Sinding killed deserved better.

But hope, just like these flowers, deserved to bloom, no matter the darkness surrounding it.