Author's Note:

Dear all,

I hope you'll enjoy this little side story. It's for a contest with a theme 'evergreen'.

It's canon to the main story and it takes place during the events of the third book following the arc in chapters XLIII (43) – L (50) and a few subsequent months. It will also be a precursor to an upcoming chapter in the main story. Regardless, it can be read as standalone one-shot. The context is explained in the story.

Enjoy the read :3

Constants

A gentle breeze wafted through the mountain trees.

He always liked the sound of rustling needles. No matter what, as the other side of the mountain changed through the seasons, leaves turning into vibrant shades, falling and leaving the branches bare through the winter, then springing up again, this side of the mountains stayed the same. It all brought comfort.

The peaceful village brought comfort. The sharp rocks under his boots brought comfort. The summer breeze in the mountains brought comfort. It was always here to be counted on, along with the rustling needles.

Evergreen.

Past the peaks, things always changed. Turbulence and conflict. They had their place in the midst of it. But being here just reminded him of how… pointless the conflict felt. Trees shed their leaves at the season's turn, just like Skyrim shed the blood of all who passed through. New leaves sprung. New people took their place. In the grand scheme of things, the cycle only began anew. But for them… for them it ended. And if it ended in their favor, it would only be followed by a new cycle again. Conflict and war where the previous one stopped. Death in its eternal march.

'Markarth is always going to be lost to us.'

His own words rang in his head, the memories of their attempt to take their rightful place in the City of Stone was fresh in his memory. Blood was spilled, lives were lost. Their efforts failed miserably. And the only thing that stood against the cycle was the stone. The stone and metal used against them. They automaton army barring their assault. One could never battle a constant. The mountain trees would always stand tall around Rudahan just like the stone and the ore would always protect Markarth. Madanach was dead. Their symbol snuffed out. It was a call to greater things – to take what was theirs and right the wrongs done on their people. But in the aftermath, it just felt as pointless as the leaves falling each year from the trees. They died only to make room for others.

'Why do you even want it?'

An unexpected wisdom… from a Nord. From his talk with his sparrow and her companion, that question stuck in his head the most. Why indeed? For their rights? For tradition? Because the Reach belonged to the Forsworn? But why did they crave the conflict, the loss of lives, when their life here at the High Rock border brought so much comfort and stability?

It was all pointless.

"Cael!" His sister's voice disturbed the peace of the mountain clearing. He shook his head softly, trying to chase away his ruminations as he turned his head.

Robin walked over to him, across the craggy rocks, with a somber expression on her face.

"Lost in thought again?" She sighed. She knew exactly what he'd been thinking about while their ravagers argued over their next course of action. Over their revenge. "You're needed back at the village, chieftain," she smirked, though her face was still much more serious than it usually was. "They brought the bodies back."

"How many?" Cael scowled. Ten of their people lost their lives in the siege of Markarth. It took the Nords a long time to even toss the bodies into the Karth River. They would not allow Forsworn warriors to be burned as their own, but that was only fortunate. They had their own rites to perform once they got the bodies back.

"Nine. They couldn't find Iaela's body anywhere," Robin sighed.

She was lost to the land that was not theirs, forever. All because they tried to take it from the Nords. Even if they did, how long before more came? Or before the Dwemer creations turned on them?

All in the name of their conflict.

"You're needed for the rites, Cael," Robin reminded him.

Aye. Nothing more to do than to mourn the loss.

And hope the Old Gods would show their warriors the value of peace for once.

…

He's been in Rudahan so long, he'd gotten so used to the quiet mornings.

He'd rarely spent over a week in the village before. He was always ready for hunting expeditions or raids, battles against rival tribes, visiting the friendly ones, or negotiating barter deals. But so many of the clans suffered losses. So many were still mourning, many were mistrustful, many were weakened. The fracture of the Forsworn brought surprising calm. At least the tangible kind.

He didn't need to be alert, he didn't need to keep watch at night, there was no chance of being woken up by an uninvited sabre cat or a bear either.

That was why the commotion outside was so unexpected.

He hurried out of his hut when he heard the loud footsteps outside. People were gathering around the center of the village. He couldn't see what's happening over the crowd.

Cael rushed towards them, pushing a few out of the way, until he finally saw what had everyone so rattled.

Ialea?

She… she died in the siege, didn't she? But she was here. Her garb was torn and filthy. She had no boots on and there were bruises and shallow cuts all over her body. She sat on the ground with Anu holding her around the shoulder, trembling.

"Ialea? What happened?" Cael's eyes widened as he crouched down in front of her. She was nowhere to be seen after the siege. They had a designated place to meet and she never showed. Cael hadn't seen her for most of the battle either. They assumed the worst. It's been a couple of weeks.

"Cael," Ialea reached out for his hand, grasping it in hers shakily. He quickly pressed his other hand to her palms, trying to steady them. The whispers around quieted, letting her speak. It didn't look like they knew the circumstances yet either.

"She stumbled into the village a moment ago," Anu scowled in concern as he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Arveg already ran to get the shaman." Good. Cael wasn't sure if she needed to be healed, but better that someone checks.

"What happened to you?" Cael prodded again while Ialea continued to weakly hold his hand.

"The… the Nords…" she spoke, her voice raspy and weak. "I… one of them… he killed Uawo in the streets. I followed him. I wanted to rip out his spine!" She snarled hatefully. Uawo. They did retrieve her body. The rites for her and the others were long finished. They couldn't hold the rites for Ialea, though apparently the Gods had other plans for her.

"One of the soldiers?" Cael asked, but Ialea only shook her head somberly. A citizen then? Some of them were out on the streets, though very few. This one must have been very determined to draw some Forsworn blood.

"He… ran into one of the buildings that wasn't boarded up," she continued, shaking her head with palpable anger on her face. "There were more of them. They knocked me out."

"You were still in the city?" Cael's eyes widened at her. Did they take her to the Jarl? Did they keep her imprisoned? But then how would she get out of there? Even with the lack of guards, especially after the city got attacked by the dragon after the siege, they still had the Dwemer automatons at their command in the guards' stead.

"No…" she let out a deep breath. "I thought they'd kill me, but I woke up in some… cabin by the road. Tied up. They came every now and then. Beat me. Said I will pay with my pain and blood for every 'rightful' citizen of Markarth killed that day before they kill me."

Gods. She didn't deserve that. Nobody did. Cael should have felt more anger over that. But all he could think of was how many people the Forsworn killed in the city itself.

"I… I managed to escape and find my way here…" she continued shakily. "I knew they wouldn't… follow into the wilderness. I… rested and made camp but…"

"We'll get you taken care of, Ialea," Cael spoke soothingly. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm… sorry we were a part of this." They never should have done this. They lost too many. And Ialea suffered for so long.

"'Sorry'?!" He heard Gurig's voice behind him as he spat angrily. "Those Nords should pay for what they did to her! They take our land, leave us to rot and toil in their mines and now they think we are the ones who should pay for the pain they caused?"

Many voiced their agreement, murmuring in accord. He understood them. They were right. But the doubts never stopped. The people of Markarth… they did not choose what their armies and leaders did long ago. The slights were old, only traditions at this point. Only a matter of pride, not need. They thrived in the wilderness. They had no need for the stone city.

'You just keep losing your lives over this. For something you only want out of principle.'

The sparrow's words rang in his head again. Their anger was justified. But wasn't it time to let go and focus on their future? Without losing any more.

"We need to find them and retaliate. We need to send a message," Gurig continued to speak loudly over the murmuring crowd. "We've been idling here, doing nothing, letting them think they beat us. The Old Gods would spit on our cowardice!"

"You want more death? Haven't we lost enough?" Anu scowled at him as he continued holding Ialea in his half-embrace.

"If we let them break our will to fight, we lose everything that we are," Gurig snarled, again followed by a few murmurs of accord.

"Warriors is not the only thing we are," Cael scowled at him. What did the war ever bring them? Conflict was endless, among the tribes, with the Nords, a never-ending cycle. What did they ever gain from it besides more death?

"Chieftain, it is our pride to avenge our own," Gurig spat back at him promptly. "Ialea. You agree, don't you? We need to avenge what they did to you."

Ialea looked at him tensely. There was shame on her face, plainly recognizable. She glanced at Cael only briefly before meeting Gurig's eyes, locking her gaze on him for what felt like a long time. Everyone seemed to quiet down again.

After what could only be a few seconds but felt more drawn out than observing the sun moving through the sky, she averted her eyes again, staring at the ground sullenly.

"I just want to rest, Gurig. I don't want to fight anymore."

Cael let out a relieved sigh, just as disgruntled voices began to talk over each other in the crowd. Many were clearly resentful.

"The Spirits would laugh at us," Gurig snarled once more as the voices drowned him out. They turned into a familiar hum of passionate opinions – one Cael listened to many times already after the siege. For some, the bloodthirst seemed endless.

"Enough!" Cael raised his voice as he let Ialea's hand go and stood up again. The crowd quieted gradually, though he could see how angry many of them were. "We are lucky Ialea returned to us. We will not risk more death by mindless raids with no purpose."

"Well said," Anu nodded, though not everyone shared his sentiment.

No matter.

Cael was not willing to put the village through yet more tragedy.

…

He stared at the body somberly, the deep gashes across her chest, he drying blood pooling beneath, and a large chunk of flesh torn from her neck.

"Looks like a sabre cat attack," Robin let out a sigh. Yet again a small crowd gathered around the commotion before Cael was even woken up.

"What was she doing out here?" Cael asked in confusion. How did this happen? Just yesterday, Ialea returned to them and the very next morning, they lost someone else. As if in some sick trade. Aievu was not a hunter, not a warrior. She was one of the cooks preparing their feasts and the meals for the children. She would not go outside the bounds of the village in the middle of the night. Why did this happen?

"Nobody saw her leave," Anu shook his head. "Nobody knows why she was here."

"Then what happened here?" Cael asked again in frustration. There was nothing they could do for her. She was gone.

Seemingly for no reason.

"Isn't it clear?" Gurig's voice boomed through the crowd once again and Cael turned to him sharply. Nothing about this made sense. What was he talking about? "The Great Spirits punish us for our actions. We let slights against our people, pain inflicted on one of our own, unanswered. Unpunished. This is our own punishment."

What? He wasn't serious, was he? Did he truly believe that?

"Not this bullshit again," Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Mock all you like, pillager," Gurig growled at her. "Our chieftain forced our idleness and this is Hircine's answer to our cowardice. If we don't spill blood in the Old Gods' honor, ours will be spilled in turn."

"It was a wild animal attack!" Robin snarled back at him. "Far enough from the village we would not be able to hear or see it. It has nothing to do with Gods."

"Lie to yourself if you wish. You all know we've been nothing but idle and lazy since Markarth. Instead of setting our sights on taking back more territory from the Nords, we retreated like cowards. The Spirits don't reward that," Gurig continued. "It was a reminder we deserved."

'Deserved'? How was this deserved? Aievu was no idle ravager. She had a place in the tribe and she cared for their community well. There was nothing 'deserved' about this, even if the bile he spewed was true.

"Show some respect!" Cael barked at him angrily. "Aievu did not deserve this!"

"We decided her fate with our actions," Gurig shook his head somberly.

That was not true. The Old Gods were not punishing the Forsworn for the lack of slaughter. There were tribes around that stayed in seclusion, never seeking conflict. If this was true, they'd all be dead by now.

"Is that true?" Nila, the huntress who found Aievu, asked in a more frightened voice than Cael had ever heard from her. "Could the Spirits really be punishing us?"

"Of course not! As if the Gods have no greater concerns than to check how many Nords we killed recently," Robin shook her head with another scoff leaving her lips.

She was right. This was ridiculous. And disrespectful.

Perhaps this was hard to explain, aye, but there was no shame or disregard to their beliefs by preserving their lives.

Though the disgruntled murmurs around the crowd did not put Cael any more at ease.

…

The leaves on the other side of the mountains were gradually turning all shades of orange and red. Cael didn't get to see them much for the first time in years though. He mostly stayed among the evergreen needles, more than content with his place.

A season passed in relative peace. While some still did not like it, Cael stood firm. They were not risking more lives on raids.

They were hardly idle. They had game to hunt, huts to repair, young ones to train and teach. It was a simpler life but one that Cael grew more and more fond of.

Today was one of the rare days when Cael traveled across the mountains. It was for an exciting reason. He did have to admit that he enjoyed seeing autumn sweep across the wilds across the border. It was a pleasant outing. And it was even more pleasant that he was returning with good news.

The lack of raids and ambushes on the road did bring a few problems, aside from the anger of the few warriors. Rudahan was self-sufficient. But there were a few… excesses they enjoyed as spoils of their endeavors. Alcohol, fruits and vegetables that did not do well in the climate of the Reach, warm mammoth pelts, those sorts of things.

But not everything needed to be won through battle.

They returned well before sundown and soon enough, a feast was prepared for the whole tribe – long logs with a rich selection on top of them; fresh venison, various vegetables, and plenty of wine and mead for every tribesman and tribeswoman to indulge in.

The excited astonishment was plain to see on their faces when they came to the prepared feast. Among the confusion of course. Right as they all settled in the grass and sat down, chattering amongst themselves in excitement, Cael stood up ceremoniously.

"Everyone!" He called out to the rowdy crowd, waiting for a moment before they quieted down a little. "We prepared a special feast today in celebration."

"Cael, where did you get all this?" Someone, Cael wasn't entirely sure amongst the soft chatter, called out.

"Did you find a lost caravan?" Someone else asked promptly. Not quite. They would all love to find out that this was not only a one-time occurrence.

"No. This is actually the result of our negotiations for bartering," he smiled. The most astonishing part of this was that Robin actually made friends with strangers. He wasn't sure how that happened, but she apparently clashed on a hunt with a small group of hunters. After they shared some of their mead with her, her lamentations about the lack of their own supply of alcohol led to this fortunate opportunity.

"Are we now trading with another tribe for the things they loot off the Nords?" Another tribesman spat disdainfully. "That's pathetic."

Ah… no… that was not the case either. No tribe would have enough goods stolen to trade – they bartered with what they could reliably produce or hunt down on their own. Though the discontent in his voice did make Cael a bit more nervous.

But this was a good thing. They would get whatever they wished for their own produce in exchange. They had those in abundance.

"Nothing like that," Cael shook his head, still intent to present the news excitedly. "We have made contact with some locals who were happy to barter with us on a regular basis. For some of our produce, they can get us anything we'd like and can't make ourselves."

Some of the tribesmen and tribeswomen shared his excitement immediately. Unfortunately, not all of them.

"Locals?" Gurig scoffed promptly. "You mean Nords."

Well… yes. The hunters Robin met were not Nords. Robin would have been more wary to approach them if they were. But the local traders they knew were Nords. What did it matter then? They were willing to trade with the hunters for their meat and pelts and they were willing to barter with Forsworn as well. Not every Nord needed to be their enemy. Not every Nord was.

"Does it matter?" Cael scowled as everyone waited for his answer. "They're happy to trade with our tribe and we need their goods."

"We wouldn't need their goods if we were still raiding!" Gurig growled. "This is yet another affront to our ways. You are making friends with the people who stole and occupy our land!"

"These traders didn't steal anything from us," Cael tried to reason with him. "And there is plenty of land for all of us to 'occupy'." Cael understood the grievance, but he was tired of the old conflicts and disputes. Even if this land was still under the control of the Forsworn, they would not need every inch of it. And if that was the case, the Nords would simply avoid the Reach in their trade routes and they would have no way to get these goods… ever. They'd only be seen as the aggressors and nobody would negotiate anything with them.

"You're showing them weakness, chieftain," Gurig argued. "You're showing them we tolerate their presence on our land and yield to their rule."

"We are not taking our land back! Have you learned nothing? All our attempts only resulted in our deaths!" Cael snarled back at him. Why was he trying to continue this pointless conflict? To please their ancestors? The Great Spirits? Neither of those had to live with the constant war. Cael needed to think of the future of the tribe and its survival.

"One failed attempt to take Markarth and we should just… give up?" Gurig scoffed.

"Give up on what? What do you expect to gain from butting heads with the Nords again?" Cael threw up his hands in exasperation. "The Silver-Bloods are dead. We destroyed Cidhna Mine and got our people out. What more do you expect to get? Places we don't intend to settle? Goods we can get through cooperation and trading what we already have in excess?"

"Something to be proud of. Honor," Gurig narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am proud of providing our people with whatever they wish without losing more of them. I am proud of what we have and what we've built. I'm not about to jeopardize that for a grudge with people who are long dead!" Cael folded his arms across his chest in determination. A few of the people gathered around the large fire raised their cups to him with cheers and thoughtful nods. They had a good life here. Why would they risk losing it? Why risk raising the ire of the Nords again. Perhaps to the extent they would consider marching their automatons against them? They didn't stand a chance in Markarth and they would not stand a chance now.

"You bring shame to our ways, chieftain," Gurig scoffed as he rose to his feet, tipping over the cup of the mead provided by the dreaded Nords in the process.

A few ravagers stood too just as Gurig stomped away, following him. Aye, that was to be expected. It was not only him who held these views and he was all too eager to share them with whomever he could.

Cael let out a frustrated sigh as the others sat in silence, waiting for his reaction. What could he do? There was no convincing Gurig of the reason behind these decisions.

"Please, enjoy the feast," he only waved his hand in dismissal.

He would not let them ruin the evening.

…

The revelry and drinking continued long into the morning hours.

Cael didn't indulge too much. His mood had been soured by the earlier events, no matter how much he tried to forget the exchange.

He told himself they were just restless. Perhaps more frequent hunts would help, now that they could trade the extra meat that would otherwise go bad. He was sure Gurig would have reservations about that but… it could put the others more at ease.

As he slowly sipped on the wine, pondering the options and watching his fellow tribesmen enjoy themselves, a hand landed on his shoulder firmly.

"Come with me," Robin's voice whispered near his ear. She sounded awfully… serious.

Without a word, Cael rose from the ground. Robin was already walking away from the feast and he quickly followed her. He felt like he hadn't seen her among the others for a while. Where had she been? And where were they going?

Robin led him silently through the village, past its bounds, avoiding the pillager drinking on the outskirts while he watched for wild animals.

They continued a short distance towards a few trees where Cael often liked to find a moment of solitude.

As they neared though, he finally noticed it. There was something… someone on the ground. Lying there motionlessly.

He hurried his steps, but by Robin's silence, he already suspected. It was not going to be anything trivial.

When they got closer, an unpleasantly familiar sight greeted him.

Waur. His chest was open with four deep clawmarks. Bits of flesh were bitten off along his arms as he lay there lifelessly on the fallen needles covered in his blood.

It was the same scene as those months ago.

"Me and Mavras found him as we were looking to get away a bit," Robin sighed. "Looks fresh, but I didn't find any tracks."

Not surprising on the rocky ground. It made hunting a challenge their hunters relished. But this… another animal attack?

"I don't think it was a sabre cat. The bites aren't deep enough for their fangs," Robin shook her head.

What was it then? A bear? There weren't many around, but… it wasn't impossible.

"Gods. Why… why was he here alone at this hour? And how…?" Cael shook his head. How did he not hear an animal approach? Was he that drunk?

"Funny you should mention the Gods," Robin scowled as she continued to look at the body somberly. "You know Gurig will use this to spread more of that bullshit about you dishonoring them. Right after the barter agreement."

She was right. The timing was… unlucky.

Was it? Cael didn't believe any of it. He didn't believe the Great Spirits would be displeased with his actions. But… what if he was wrong? The timing was… uncanny. Would the Gods really do that? Would they punish him for steering his people from aggression and war?

"We can't keep this a secret," he sighed. Everyone needed to know Waur was gone. They needed to perform the rites and give him a fitting send-off.

"I know…" she growled in frustration. "Maybe we don't have to ruin their night."

No, that was true. Everyone was enjoying themselves together… it was not something Cael had the heart to ruin.

But he knew what was coming. More whispers about the Gods' wrath, more discontent.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking but… he was starting to worry there was something to it.

…

The early winter chill made him shiver. He did enjoy Skyrim's harsher weather and he did enjoy his walks to the shrine.

He didn't go nearly as often anymore, but he still sometimes liked to pay homage.

Another season had almost come as the peace in Rudahan continued with the ever-present tense undertones. Gurig and several ravagers who agreed with him were still not happy about Cael's leadership. The attacks that always followed some of his more anger-inducing decisions only made it worse.

But when he came here, to the shrine of Dibella he discovered years ago, he always managed to put his worries out of his mind for a spell.

He liked looking at the various objects the people of Skyrim brought to the small shrine by the road. Sometimes they were simple, such as a mountain flower or a piece of colorful cloth. Sometimes there was jewelry or gold. He wasn't sure why he liked the contrast so much. People brought here whatever they found beautiful. Whatever they thought Dibella would like. He respected the ancestors and the Old Gods, but the sacrifices his shamans made to them were always much more… bloody. He understood why Dibella would like a sparkling token of faith. He was not so sure that any Spirit would be that thrilled about a goat with a slit throat.

Maybe he was only sour about this because of Gurig. He knew the importance of the sacrifices. Didn't he? But he did also like this Nordic custom. The Forsworn showed their devotion through the willingness to spill blood and the willingness to take from their own resources to give to the Gods. Though was it that different? The Nords put hard-earned gold or valuable things here, giving up something as well.

Even though he didn't come here often, Cael always brought his own offering.

He rummaged around the pouch on his belt and pulled out the simple bead necklace he had made the previous night. He'd liked how it turned out and the idea to offer it to the Goddess came to his mind immediately.

"Chieftain!"

As he examined the necklace, a voice called out to him from the nearby slope. He almost managed to forget his worries, but now they came craning their disgruntled heads in, apparently.

Gurig. What was he doing here?

Cael quickly placed the necklace on the shrine before anyone could see him doing that. He didn't keep his little trips a secret from Anu and Robin, but he was sure Gurig was the last person who would be understanding about his fascination with the Goddess of beauty and art.

Gurig wasn't alone as he scaled down the slope. Luri was with him. They went on a hunt together before Cael left Rudahan. Shouldn't they be back there by now?

"Cael? What are you doing here?" Luri prodded curiously as she jumped down the last bit of the slope onto the road.

"I only came for a stroll," Cael only shrugged noncommittally. There was no need to tell them the purpose of his walk.

"All the way here?" Luri gaped at him in surprise. They were all the way here too.

"I guess I wandered further than I meant to," he sighed. "What are you two doing here?"

"Following an elk," Gurig explained as he caught up with Luri and joined them by the shrine. "It escaped us down the mountain."

"Ah…" Cael nodded in understanding. An elk was a rare find around here, worth a chase.

"Why are you staring at this thing?" Gurig scowled at him before he shifted his gaze to the shrine.

"I… wasn't…" Cael winced a bit. He hoped the location they found him at would not be such a point of interest.

He worried Gurig was going to question him more, but then his eyes landed on something else. The offerings.

"This looks valuable," his eyes widened as he reached out to the silver necklace placed by the small shrine. What? What would they even do with that? They had no need for it and there was no need to take someone's offering.

"Leave that alone," Cael promptly smacked his hand away. "The Nords don't steal our offerings either."

"Because we would gut them if they tried. It's their own fault they leave these unguarded," Gurig scoffed as he reached out again, but then his hand stopped short. "What is that?"

"Oh. Those are the beads Vangin carves," Luri's eyes widened. Oh no.

"Did you… make an offering to this thing?" Gurig narrowed his eyes at him instantly. Well… there was no way to deny that, was there? They recognized the beads of course. He didn't think of that before.

"I… did," Cael gritted his teeth.

"What's wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!" Gurig instantly snapped at him. "Are you just intent to spit on everything we hold sacred?!"

"This has nothing to do with our tribe," Cael growled. "I happened to admire the values the Goddess represents. The offerings I make are a personal business."

"Offerings? You've done this before?" Luri stared at him in shock.

"There is nothing personal about you flaunting your disloyalty to the Spirits," Gurig snarled. "They are already forsaking us, punishing us each time you disrespect them. Your actions doom us all!"

"The animal attacks have nothing to do with my actions!" Cael shouted at him. They didn't. Did they? It was a coincidence. An… unsettling one, but still a coincidence.

"How do you know that?" Luri shook her head in palpable panic.

"If something happens again, this is on your head, chieftain," Gurig spat disdainfully. "You are supposed to honor our ways, be an example. Not defy them!"

"Honoring another faith does not mean I am any less devoted to the Spirits," Cael scowled. Taking an interest in the culture and habits of the Nords did not mean he forsook their own. The Spirits didn't… they wouldn't punish them for it.

"Come on, Gurig, let's go," Luri frowned at Cael pointedly. "We have to tell the others to be vigilant tonight."

Gurig spat at the ground by Cael to make his disdain even clearer before turning on his heel. Gods, that was… unpleasant. And completely unwarranted.

Cael let out a sigh, turning to the shrine once more as a heavy feeling gripped his chest. He didn't believe their warnings and fears, did he?

Then why was he suddenly dreading the coming night?

…

Cael took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sap and needles that used to put him at ease.

It seemed that nothing could achieve that anymore. Not even the bottle of wine in his hand and the warmth spreading through his stomach from the alcohol.

His fears were not unwarranted. The next day, another body was found and he was left with the ire of his tribe, so many of them calling for action, berating him for his disregard for the Gods and their ways.

He feared he might have brought battle into their very midst.

He had no choice but to relent. A few days of the arguments and the scorn and he called for the first raid in months.

And for what? For Gurig to come back, victoriously announcing they killed two Nords and stole some of their pelts. And Luri… dead. An acceptable price, apparently. It was battle. It never came without dangers. They all knew it.

It was all so pointless. Cael feared they might have been right, but what good did going back to the old ways do when they lost people anyway? The wrath of the Gods or that of the Nords. It made no difference.

He forbade further raids earlier tonight, earning more hate and scorn from the warriors, even if the rest of the tribe agreed with him while they mourned Luri. But the ravagers were unconvinced. Gurig claimed they had yet to win the favor of the Spirits again and Cael… feared that his insane reasoning might be the truth.

But how could he in good conscience let this continue and let more of his warriors risk themselves again?

Conflict and death were a constant. There was no peace to be found. Not even here in the very place he always came to seek it.

The mountain trees were never silent, always rustling, always reminding him of the gentle wind or the smell of winter in the air. But tonight… tonight they felt… restless. Angry even.

Cael could have sworn he heard them growl at him at times.

Maybe he was too drunk.

He didn't know what else to do. He was faced with an impossible dilemma – to stop the raids and risk the ire of the Gods, or to continue them and leave more warriors to carelessly lose their lives in their eagerness and overcompensation.

The Gods were angry either way. They taunted him with the very trees that used to comfort him. The growls didn't stop. Snarls and huffs as if they were trying to chase him out of his seclusion. A peaceful glade was no place for him anymore. The Spirits of the trees wanted him gone. Hircine wanted him punished for his inaction. It was all true. No matter how much he tried not to believe it, the lives that were lost were on him.

But maybe more would have been lost if he hadn't called for peace.

What was he supposed to do?

He took another swig from the bottle, his head spinning, as the branches of the trees started to look like they would try to grab him. They were swinging in the wind, reaching out, eager to tear into his flesh.

He could even hear it happening. He almost felt it.

He… needed to leave. He was no longer welcome here. Nor was he welcome among his tribe.

He stood up from the ground, his steps wobbly as he took a few tentative ones.

He had to close his eyes to stop the spinning as he continued to walk, but then, his foot caught on something uneven. Funny. Even the ground wanted him punished. Even the unchanging stone he knew around here like the back of his hand changed just to spite him.

He stumbled and his eyes snapped open. He managed to put his arms up and he caught himself on one of the trees. One of the growling trees that…

What… was that?

His vision was blurry even in the dark, but he could make out a shape in the distance. A large towering shape of a… beast. A tail, broad torso, a furry head and a long… snout.

Cael tried to straighten up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. The beast was… actually there. He could see it just as it bent down with another growl.

A… werewolf?

A werewolf! What was it doing? Was it attacking something? Someone?

It was… Hircine. Hircine's revenge. He forbade further raids and Hircine sent one of his beasts to punish Rudahan. It was attacking someone! Someone from the village.

Cael tried to rush ahead, but somehow he didn't even begin to move. He just stared at the scene in shock, trying to make out more in the darkness.

And then, it happened.

The werewolf straightened up and its form began to shift in front of Cael's eyes. It was turning back. Cael could see the humanoid form under the cover of the night, standing there and admiring his handiwork. This time, his feet carried him without him even wanting to.

A step closer, then two, twigs snapped beneath his feet, one all too loudly. And the humanoid looked back at him.

Gurig?

The ravager's eyes widened. That much Cael saw before his shape started to twist again.

No…

He felt like he was swaying on the spot, but he quickly reached for the sword clasped to his belt. The werewolf stood in the distance again, but the moment Cael brandished his weapon, it hesitated.

A punishment from the Old Gods? The wrath of Hircine? This was it? No… this was a petty man, desperate to be right.

He killed them. He did this. He orchestrated all of it to get the tribe on his side. To get his way.

He was willing to sacrifice their own for his agenda.

Cael felt the grip on his sword tighten and his mouth opened almost automatically. An animalistic roar echoed through the trees, this time his own, as he lunged, hurling himself at the beast.

Monster.

Gurig… the werewolf, stood there, growling lowly, but he still seemed to hesitate. Long enough for Cael to rush over there on surprisingly steady feet and swing his sword.

He wasn't sure what happened. There was a whine, a high-pitched canine whimper, but all he saw in a moment was the beast's back.

It was faster than he could make sense of. He was probably more lucky than he knew, but he was also convinced that he would have killed Gurig in his anger, no matter the form.

He didn't get a chance.

The werewolf ran quickly, leaving Cael standing there, entirely baffled. He didn't fight? So eager to kill, to hunt, and yet… he only ever hunted down the helpless.

Maybe he was wary of killing the chieftain. Maybe he really believed everything he said. Maybe he believed his actions were the very thing the Gods determined to be Cael's punishment.

His eyes went down, looking at the ground. Sose. A farmer. Her body had all the signs Cael had seen thrice before – the gashes, the bitemarks. Gurig must have lured her here. An innocent woman who never sought any conflict at all.

It was all him.

The anger was there, hatred brewing deep in his core, but somehow, it was not the only thing Cael felt.

There was something else beneath it all.

Hope.

It was all lies. The Gods weren't angry. There was no punishment. It was just… Gurig. And conflict and death were not inevitable. They were not the only constant.

Peace could be too. Life could be what they made of it.

Gurig would answer for his actions. Not to the Spirits. To him. One last vengeance, this time not a pointless one. This time only to protect his people.

Even though Gurig knew he was found out and would probably not return to the village, someone capable of all this… had to be stopped.

And Cael would stop him.

If only for the sake of peace. If only for the comfort that constant might bring to everyone. Once they'd see they were all fooled, they could decide their own fate. They could decide to stop the cycle.

And just as the evergreen trees would always bring serenity to this place, Cael would always strive to protect it.

His people were worth it. Over tradition, old anger, and forsworn rights. Their lives would be here and better for it.

He would fight for that no matter what.

Another Author's Note:

I hope you all enjoyed this little story :)

Next chapter of the main story should be released somewhat soonish as well after a longer hiatus and eventually we'll get to see more of the events of this story in the main plotline too.