"But jarl! 'E's a fuckin' werewolf! Ye can't be-"
"Shut your mouth!" housecarl Irileth hissed at the second-in-command of the Silver Hand group. "You will not address the jarl with such disrespect!"
Helgi, standing next to Vilkas, shook her head. "Why are they still harping about that?"
"No idea," he finished hanging a silver sword on his belt. He asked for one as a means to protect himself on the journey back and the jarl allowed for it.
It kept sending uncomfortable shivers through his bones and flesh, but as long as it stayed sheathed, it was doable.
"Maybe because they pride themselves on proven werewolf kills and now want to use that to slander and justify killing us," he shot a look at the captured group. Half of the guards that came with jarl Balgruuf remained guarding the giant corpse and Farengar until carts large enough to pick it up and bring it to his laboratory could arrive. The other half, including the jarl and housecarl, was going to accompany Vilkas and Helgi back to Whiterun.
That and to deliver the captured Silver Hand members to the gallows.
Let's just say the jarl was none too pleased with thuggish mercenaries assaulting members of the venerable Companions and boasting about stealing their kill.
Vilkas was worried for a moment when the jarl asked the court wizard whether he could confirm the accusations, but the man just waved his hand dismissively, saying Vilkas couldn't be holding the silver sword had he actually been a werewolf.
I guess misinformation can play in my favour too, from time to time.
I can hold it. Just not for long.
"Scum," Helgi growled, her face contorting in disgust.
"Mhm."
She turned to him, expression shifting to worry. "But are you sure you can walk, chief? We could wait some more for you to heal..."
"I'm sure, you worrywart. Besides, you heard the mage - I will live for now. I need to get more specialised healing. And you do too."
She gave him a look. "Are you just trying to escape the stench?"
He shot a quick look over his shoulder. The corpse was being cut into pieces, and all the rotting parts so far hidden inside were releasing the accumulated smells and liquids into the area.
"Maybe."
XXX
Spring 4E 190, The Reach
The wind beneath her wings carried her over the mountains. She wasn't sure how to feel - never after leaving for good did she return to the Reach. Seeing the jagged landscape under her now filled her with both joy and sorrow.
The valleys turned muddy and green, while the peaks glistened with pristine, undisturbed snow. Rivers and streams raced among the cliffs, bubbling and roaring. Snowy eagles watched her fly by from their nests, sometimes letting out a crisp call to greet her.
She even spotted a wrothgarian leopard mother bringing food to her cubs.
Soon juniper groves split to jagged cliffs. Once she flew over, a narrow valley with a redoubt in the center revealed itself, empty and lifeless.
Mori circled around several times, scanning the area.
Orgoch might as well have prepared a trap for me.
Orgoch herself, along with two other people, was waiting hidden at the edge of the juniper grove Mori had just passed. Beasts roamed about, but none strayed into the valley.
There were no people in the redoubt. Something else was. Maybe an involuntary briarheart and a hag?
She couldn't tell.
The way it felt, it had nothing to do with Orgoch. If there was something about her that could always be relied on, it was her hatred for the unnatural.
By the time she had returned to the meeting spot, several birds of various types had seated themselves on the branches around. She didn't ask them to.
A wave of gratefulness flushed her little crow chest.
"Ah, the woman of the hour," Orgoch called out bitterly.
As Mori continued landing, she noticed the other two - an older man in vateshran's garb and a small girl, not older than three.
The girl bore an uncanny resemblance to Orgoch and Mori. Her eyes, though, were ordinary. No strange depths filled with truths unspeakable in words.
She shifted into her human form.
I'm taller than her.
That realisation hit her like an angry bull. She used to cower in front of this woman, who seemed as tall as the mountains and as unmovable.
Now...now Mori stood taller. Stronger. Strangely enough, even after getting wounded by the cursed dagger, more...whole.
"You don't have the right to wear that warpaint," Orgoch spat. "You have forsaken the moons."
"I have not," Mori's eyes slid over to the vateshran and child again, "and you are not the one to judge that."
Orgoch narrowed her eyes.
"Bickering is not what I came for," Mori forced herself to remain calm. "Let us see what you can find out and be done with this."
"You are going back to them?" Orgoch scoffed. She walked over to Mori and reached out to grab her.
Mori jerked away. "I am." She lowered her arm to Orgoch's hand after that.
"Blood-traitor."
"Mayhaps. But the moons and the land deem me worthy nonetheless." She pointed at the grey wound. "I received these while on a quest to rescue an ailing spirit tree. I slaughtered every last one of the coven which had kept the blade around and cleansed the valley they had defiled. I have sang with giants and helped renew their sacred stones. I have planted new trees after an all too heavy lumbering season and helped them grow. I have gained fathers, friends and love. I am returning to all of those."
"Filthy Nords," Orgoch growled as she examined the cut. Tiny, barely visible roots of energy spread from her fingers and touched Mori's skin.
"People are just people, Orgoch. If you don't teach them, they will never learn."
Orgoch's lips twisted in displeasure, but she didn't comment further. The vateshran, however, stroked his bushy greying beard, eyes sparkling with joyful curiosity.
I can see how someone like him could soften Orgoch's withered heart.
He...looks kind of familiar. Did I ever see him somewhere before?
Orgoch's brow furrowed. She poured more power into her spell and Mori could feel the grass gently twisting around her ankles.
Don't panic. I know this feeling. It's healing, not imprisonment.
She felt...more vigorous. Replenished.
But not cleansed.
A single drop of sweat rolled down Orgoch's temple. She gritted her teeth. A wave of power radiated from her, making everything around them turn vigorously green and lively. A grove of spectral trees rose from the ground around them, forming a perfect circle.
Hers looked almost real and lacked any whimsy.
As Orgoch poured magic in, Mori felt something slither around. It reeked.
Heartbeat later Orgoch screamed in pain and released her spell. The trees fell to nothingness, absorbed by the ground that spawned them.
A single wisp of grey energy twirled around Orgoch's hand, then dissipated. She bent over.
The vateshran took a step, but then stopped, a sad look in his eyes.
"What is that thing?" Orgoch's voice lowered almost to a whisper. She was shaking.
"The blade meant to kill what is natural," Mori's voice remained steady.
"And you got cut twice?" Orgoch looked up. "How are you still standing?"
"I grew stronger," Mori resisted the urge to avoid Orgoch's gaze. "I have discovered vast potential within myself and now I'm working on unlocking it. I am sure you and Yvaine have it too."
Orgoch shook her head. She straightened up and dusted her shoulders, even though there was nothing to dust off.
"As much as I hate to admit it, I can't do anything about the taint, Moriwen."
Mori nodded, hiding her disappointment.
She started turning away, but the vateshran called out. "Might I have a word with you, Queen of Beasts?"
Mori stopped moving and arched an eyebrow at him. He made an inviting gesture towards a fallen log. To make it more comfortable for her bare bottom, he folded his outer cloak and put it on the log.
Mori waited for the little girl to sit down first and then she joined them.
"My name is Rhys," he put a hand over his heart, "also known as the Voice of the River."
"Wait a moment," Mori tilted her head. "I know that name. Where...did you fight a battle of rhymes with bards in one of the river tribes? The...Morning Reed tribe?"
"I did," his smile widened, "and I won."
"I remember. We were there. We listened."
"O? What a coincidence. Why didn't you tell me, Orgoch?" he turned to the other witch, impish sparks in his eyes.
"I don't remember unimportant things," she sulked.
"And yet you decided to join hands with me," he winked at her, unbothered by her remark.
She made a face and then crouched to gather some herbs, poking their heads out among blades of grass.
"The little one is Soirche," he caressed the girl's head. She smiled shyly. Her eyes remained on Mori, even though her body slunk little more behind her father.
Mori performed a gesture of pleased greetings. "Call me Mori. What wish do you have of me?"
"Two wishes, if fortune gives. First, you have travelled far, have you not?" After her nod, he continued: "My nephew has left his home in Markarth quite some time ago. I heard he went south to look for luck, and last he let my sister know, he was in a land of deep forests. His name is Owen-"
"Is he a slightly shorter, brown haired man with dark brown eyes? Always a little messy, likes to carve small animals out of wood and is a complete chatterbox?"
"Oh? Have you met him?" Rhys turned lively. "How is he?"
"I did. He's the left hand man of my father's," Mori shifted on the log. "Maybe instead of asking me about him, you should visit."
"No! We must not leave the Reach," Orgoch, listening in, barked. Soirche flinched. She hid behind Rhys, clutching to his robe.
"Calm down, love of my life. You don't have to leave. I will be back with you once I have conversed with my dear nephew," Rhys lifted the flap of his robe so Soirche could slide under. She did, immediately hugging his waist.
Orgoch's face contorted in anger. She opened her mouth to scream. Mori shrunk.
"Hush, love. Do not scare the child," Rhys gave her a stern look.
To Mori's surprise, Orgoch slunk back. "We'll talk about it and I'll convince you not to go. Can't he come back, instead?"
"We'll talk about it," Rhys nodded, voice completely calm and as silky as ever. He turned back to Mori.
She quickly adjusted her stricken expression. "Look for Falkreath Hold and there for the village of Lakeview. My fathers rule it, and if you tell them I invited you, they will let you in."
"Won't we meet there as well?" he lifted an eyebrow.
"I do not know whether or not I'll live," Mori shrugged. As much as she tried to hide it, her voice was shaking. "These wounds...eat at me from the inside."
"Maybe destroying the source would help?"
"I...hoped so. So far I haven't found any way to even leave a scratch upon it."
He stroked his beard again, his brow furrowing in thought. "It is meant to destroy the natural, correct? Spirits, spriggans, you three," he looked at her for confirmation.
"Correct."
"Then I'd advise looking for something divine. Something ancient, like the foul dagger that harmed you."
Mori nodded, lost in thoughts. There was this flare of old power that had connection to the tree. In Jorrvaskr.
I need to speak with Vilkas.
First the tree, though. I can take it for more time. It could die any moment.
"Thank you for your sage advice, Rhys," she bowed her head.
"Did you think of something?" his eyes grew livelier.
"A possibility, yes."
"I hope it proves fruitful," he smiled. "I do wish to converse with you more, Queen Mori."
"Why the interest?" she tilted her head. "I can't imagine Orgoch told you anything good about me."
"She didn't, and that's what intrigued me. You are also an aunt to my dearest daughter," he looked under his arm and tickled the girl's nose. She giggled. "I would like to know you. And, last but not least, I have grown increasingly interested in the Daughters Three. I would like to learn more about each of you, as well as the legend and ritual itself."
"I am sure Yvaine would love to meet you. She is enamored with stories of all kinds."
"Still?" Orgoch scoffed. "Doesn't she have better things to do?"
Mori bared her teeth and growled. "Keep your roots away from her. Don't you even dare to judge!"
"I see you are as terrifying as my dearest love," Rhys swallowed, nervousness creeping into his disposition.
Mori hid her teeth. "Sorry. I would enjoy sharing a conversation by the firepit. If I live, we shall eat soup and talk together at Lakeview."
"I will take that promise," he smiled. "See you when the roads carry us close once more, then."
Mori rose from the log and nodded.
"So there is at least a partially proper Reachman for you in there?" Orgoch called out. "You should bring someone for Yvaine. You need to give birth to-"
"My children will have a different father!" Mori snapped. Her teeth grew into fangs once more and her nails turned to claws.
Orgoch scoffed. "Don't tell me you allowed some thuggish, reeking, earth-plundering Nord between your legs. Did you grow fondness for the stench of stale ale?"
The next moment, Mori grabbed Orgoch's throat and slammed her against the ground.
"Don't you DARE insult my FATHER, my FRIENDS and my LOVER EVER AGAIN!"
Orgoch hissed back at her. "Or what? Will you sulk in the bushes?"
The grass grasped at Mori's legs and the juniper trees started moving through the earth towards them both.
"Oh, nothing so pathetic, let me assure you," Mori growled to Orgoch's ear. Her grip grew even tighter, not allowing any air to enter Orgoch's lungs. Mori raised her other hand, claws out.
Ghostly animals wrapped their bodies around the trees, effectively stopping their movement. Not bothered by the grass tying her legs, Mori stood up, lifting Orgoch like a sack of potatoes.
"If I hear your poisonous hissing once more, I will haunt you in your dreams, without rest or respite, not allowing you to sleep to the end of your days. If I hear your poisonous hissing twice more..."
She shook her and then lowered her so they were face to face. The tips of Orgoch's toes barely reached the ground.
"If I hear your poisonous hissing twice more, I WILL KILL YOU."
An echo of a giant beast's roar shook the mountains around them. Mori released her grip on Orgoch, a look of absolute disgust on her face. As she hit her bottocks on the ground, Mori looked down on her.
"I am willing to welcome you if you behave. No more poison. No more abuse." She turned away, but then threw a look over her shoulder. "My man smells like blood, metal, books and lavender. He has midnight hair and eyes like starlight. He's smart, vicious, loyal and gentle. If more Reachmen were like him, we wouldn't have lost so much of the Reach to others."
She huffed. Shooting an apologetic look to Rhys, she invited: "You are welcome to visit whenever you wish, if you still want to."
With those words, she changed into a white crow and set to the skies.
XXX
Whiterun
The celebration of Helgi's rise in the ranks was in full swing, long past midnight. Loud singing spilled even downstairs, along with the smells of delicious food.
Kodlak's antechamber, however, did not share the joyful mood.
"We can't afford that!" Skjor snapped at Vilkas.
Gods, spare me this idiot. I'd rather be upstairs, even in the midst of all that noise, than here trying to convince him about the basic needs of our members.
"What do the accounts say?" Vilkas ignored the outburst and turned to Kodlak, strain in his voice.
"We could get enchanted or skyforged weaponry for all the members, but we'd have to make sacrifices elsewhere," Kodlak rested his head on intertwined fingers.
"It doesn't have to be for everyone," Vilkas threw his arms. "Just enough so that we can equip those who go to places where magical things lurk!"
Aela, so far sitting quietly in the corner and looking bored, turned to them. "You need to cull the weak. The pack will grow less numerous, but stronger."
"That's just stupid," Erika scoffed. "We need whelps to stay alive."
"Yea. How else are we gonna train warriors?" Farkas scratched his head. "I'm not good at making corpses run around and swing swords."
"The ones who died would not have lasted anyway," Skjor shook his head. "When you can't hold your own in battle-"
"It's not about personal mettle!" Vilkas snapped, jumping up. "This is about things you literally CAN'T fight unless you have something magical! Your hands and weapons go through like nothing!"
"Shhh," Farkas pulled him back down to the chair by the shoulder. "We don't want the others to hear."
"Don't touch that shoulder," Vilkas hissed in pain. He obeyed nonetheless. "We could be sending so many to their deaths, even on one damned job, if we don't account for that possibility. It doesn't have to be anything fancy or big - just daggers, or saexes, anything would do. Just enough to equip the groups that are out at a moment."
"What do you propose, Vilkas?" Kodlak, voice steady like flowing water, cut in before any more arguing could break out. "We can't just summon funds out of nowhere."
"I'll make the money, then," he huffed. "I'll pick the expensive jobs no one wants. And I'll leave most of my part of the payment for the funds."
"Alone?" Skjor grunted in annoyance.
"I'll help," Farkas and Erika said unisono.
"Let's see if that works, then," Kodlak straightened up and put his arms down on the table. "We'll put that extra money to the side and if you manage to gather enough for a batch, let's ask Eorlund or the court mage."
"Good enough," Vilkas leaned back in his chair. I was hoping for more, but...I guess this is all I'll get.
"One more thing," he bent under the table, pulling a sleek packet out. He dropped it on the wooden desk with a thud.
"What-" Aela started unpacking it. She hissed and withdrew the moment silver glistened under the cloth.
"Why did you-"
"If I could deal with it hanging at my hip for days, you all can deal with it for a moment now," Vilkas growled. "It's a weapon I managed to get from one of the Silver Hand." He reached out with a shaking hand and unwrapped the whole sword.
"It has a few interesting properties," he commented, his throat dry. "The usual silver business, of course, but I found out something new. This blade," he lifted it and turned it in the candlelight, so others could see, "acquires new effects at night, most strongly under the light of either of the moons."
It shimmered in the candlelight, more so than just with the simple sheen of silver. It had fiery flickers to it, unrelated to the flame of the candle.
"So it is silver and fire together, huh," Erika looked closer at it. "Damn, put it away, I'm getting a nasty headache."
"That would explain the night ambushes," Kodlak stroked his beard.
Vilkas dropped the blade on the table and shook his hand. He wrapped the weapon in cloth again to lessen its effects and put it away.
Everyone breathed out in relief.
"They might be getting cut off of their weapon supply," Erika commented as she rubbed her temples. "The execution was immediate, not even some time to mull it over with them in prison. And Thelma-"
"Who's Thelma?" Skjor interrupted, brows furrowed.
"A guard who's often posted in Dragonsreach. She told me the jarl discussed investigating the Silver Hand with the housecarl. They're bound to find out their deals with the bandits the shepherds from the mountains were grumbling about. I wager the jarl won't be too thrilled and just cast them out of Silent Moons."
Debate about the Silver Hand continued. Aela livened up, but Vilkas started to have troubles with keeping his eyes open.
Damned necromancers and their shit. Damned silver. The wounds are not healing well and I am exhausted.
I don't want to go to the temple. I could change on Imelda and kill her. That must not happen.
I just want to sleep.
But there are terrors lurking in the dark.
"Vilkas," Kodlak's voice brought his attention back to the table.
He looked up. The white-maned man was looking at him with concern. "Are you alright, my boy?"
Vilkas pinched his nose. "As much as I can be after all that. The silver stab is not healing."
"Did you-"
"I'm not going to the temple. I'm short on self-control right now and I don't want to rip the priestesses to pieces and get marked for kill by the guards."
"Are you that weak-willed?" Aela bared her teeth at him.
"Let's see how YOU do after being roughed up by a literal mountain of flesh, acidic ooze that burns skyforge steel like nothing, clouds of poisonous magic, magical graves that freeze you to death, almost eaten alive by skeletons, all your scars opened and bleeding like crazy, and then, just to top it off, pierced by a silver arrow," Vilkas' voice lowered in calm outrage. His eyes shot daggers at Aela.
"Well, I think it's time to go to bed anyway," Farkas promptly got up. "We should discuss things earlier in the evening, everyone is tired." He reached out, gently nudging Vilkas to stand, careful to avoid his injured shoulder.
"I wouldn't have had such trouble," Aela scoffed. "I would have changed and hunted the monster in full glory."
"Aye? And what about Helgi? I was there to protect her, not sentence her to death!"
"The milk-drinking cowards need to be-"
"Culled? Is that what you were going to say?" Vilkas jumped up, making his chair turn and fall on the ground. "You can pull that witless philosophy in your pack as much as you want and run it to the ground, but NOT HERE!"
The shoulder wound grew more intense, sending frosty burns down his arm and the right side of his chest.
His eyes must have been blazing red and his teeth prolonged. He refused to look down at his fingers, pointing his furious gaze at her instead.
Aela growled, her eyes turning gold.
Just like Embla's.
As much as she was baring her teeth back at him, he could also sense rising arousal from her.
Disgust twisted his stomach.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. After forcing the Beast back, he turned and left. Farkas' heavy steps followed, and soon after, lighter ones belonging to Erika.
They both followed him to his room.
"What do you want?" he growled, stopping in the doorway.
"You're not good, no matter what you keep saying," Farkas started.
"I'll go with you. Please, Vilkas, come to the temple. You're all pale from blood loss and-" Erika jumped in, worry in her voice.
"No. No, just...don't make me go there," he breathed out and leaned against the frame. "It's going to be alright. It's not bleeding anymore. I barely had any time to rest."
"They won't agitate you if I'm there, so you won't change-"
"What if they recognize daedric influence on me?" he looked up, tiredness in his every feature. "What then? Should I doom us all just for quicker healing?"
"We don't know if they can do that."
"Aye, that's why I'm not willing to risk it."
"I can take you to Lakeview," Farkas piped up. "I know Mori probably won't be there, but Yvaine should."
"Just give me some peace and quiet, please," Vilkas groaned, desperation coloring his voice. "I just want to sleep."
They exchanged a look. "Alright. But we'll be watching. If you're not any better soon, you're going to Lakeview," Farkas folded his arms.
"Sure, sure. Now shoo."
XXX
He shot awake.
His heartbeat was ringing loudly in his ears and his ragged breaths sounded like avalanches.
A panicked look to the side revealed...no skeletons. Just a dark room.
It was...just a nightmare?
He looked down at his shaking hands. No bare bones were sticking out of chewed flesh. Just boring bandaged hands.
This is getting out of hand. How am I going to sleep? Not even the hagstone is helping now.
He pulled his knees close to his chest and hugged himself.
How do you even fight dreams?
Not that I have done much to try to resolve them on my own. Always relying on Mori.
But...how? How do I do it?
His head snapped to the side. Again, he found no skeletons.
I could have sworn I heard bones scraping the stone...
He got off the bed and hurried out. The hall was eerily quiet, so much so it reminded him of his childhood. He slipped into an old habit of moving from shadow to shadow, which he had acquired in order to avoid Skjor as a child.
The sky in the east had paled, but the sun had not begun rising yet.
"Hey, chief," a quiet call pulled his attention. Helgi sat by one of the smaller trees, alone and curled into herself. "Can't sleep?"
He shook his head. After a moment of hesitation, he headed over and sat down next to her.
"I keep seeing the wraiths," she mumbled after a while. "Just...at the corners of my eyes. Then I look and they're gone." She shuddered. "Or hearing the monstrous thing. I can still feel how it made my ribs shake."
"...aye. I can too."
"How do you deal with it?"
"I don't know. I haven't."
"Is that why you are always awake so early?"
"Part of the reason." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Doing something tangible helps me forget about them during the day. Training with the blade, for example. Reading, most of the time. Cooking is fine, too." A tiny smile cracked his lips. "Listening to Farkas' bullshit has been calming, strangely enough."
He sighed. "But...I have nothing to offer for night terrors."
"Hm," Helgi rested her chin against her arms, wrapped around her knees. "Do others suffer from these dreams too?"
"I never asked. Farkas...does, but it is...unrelated to our jobs."
"Does it have something to do with you looking utterly panicked when you smashed the black stone back there?"
Vilkas looked sideways at her. The question made him immediately pull up his defensive walls, but then...it was Helgi. The whelp he trained, the shield-sister he fought with.
And she had seen his weakness already.
After a short inner fight, he quietly assented. "Aye."
"What happened?"
"...I don't want to talk about it," he looked away, turning his gaze towards the sky. "Not now, at least."
"Okay."
They both watched the dawn crack through the darkness and spread light over the world in its slow, unstoppable fashion.
"I will go to old Sam's to see if he has some herbs that are hard to get anywhere else," Vilkas got up. "Want to come with to try to sell the book?"