(Suffice to say, if you haven't done the Companion quest that far in..you may want to skip this one. This portion of the storyline kicked me rather sharply in the chest)
Ignorance is bliss. Again, we do not know the future, not even we who know the way of Thu’um. It’s a mercy. Past memories hurt enough – what fool would wish to gaze into the future?
The hunt for the witches was harsh and bloody, but quick. It took very little time to kill the wretched things once I had found them, for all their skill with magic – I am Dovahkiin, and since I was on my own I was able to use my Shouts without a qualm. I had been given this task by Kodlak himself, and I had no time to tarry. However, when I returned to Jorrvaskr with a witch’s head in a sack, the smell on the wind made me quicken my steps. I didn’t need my heightened senses to tell me something was terribly wrong – there was blood on the wind. I cringed – if there had been a dragon attack …but no, I could smell no flames, no burning.
I bounded up the steps to the meadhall’s quarter and found Torvar and Aela defending,blades drawn and faces grim. The ground was littered with Silver Hand corpses; Whiterun’s townsfolk were being held in check by Dragonreach guards. My worst fears were now fact. They’d come to our very halls.
“Get inside,” Aela rapped out tersely. ”They came while you were gone, they finally had the courage to attack us here.” Hastily I sprang for the doors of Jorrvaskr and flung them open.
Inside was a charnel house. The stench of blood and death hit me like a blow. I took in a huddle by the door but barely had time to look before Vilkas rose and rounded upon me. I could see the fire in his eyes – the Wolf was upon him, lurking just beneath the surface. He didn’t let it come as quickly or as loudly as his brother would do, but it was there. It turned him cold and silent and swift and deadly, more so than I’ve ever seen him before. His eyes were dark and deep, his lips set in a grim line.
“Where have you been? Where were you when we needed you here?” He was bristling with rage, and his hands shook, but he wasn’t in full fury, not yet. I was certainly aware of his fiery temper, but I’d never had it turned upon myself before.
There were dead Silver Hand members everywhere, and a body on the floor behind him. Farkas was kneeling on one side, and Njada on the other – to my horror, Farkas was weeping, his spirit broken, dressed sloppily in armour and holding himself as if his ribs were on fire, his hands were slick with blood. Njada was glaring daggers at me, tears streaking her face and smearing the war-stains upon her cheeks. Between them both I could see white hair spilling down over the steps to the eating table, and blood seeping over the stairs into a crimson pool.
Oh no.
My knees nearly went beneath me – I certainly swayed where I stood, and the world grew dark at the edges, but I stood my ground, biting my lip and using the pain to clear my mind. No. Oh no. Kodlak. Once again, I had been sent on a fool’s errand, and once again someone else had paid the price.
“Well? ANSWER, ‘sister’, if sister you are!” Vilkas’s voice made the rafters ring. It was practically a howl. He was yelling at me and yet…not. Grief moves this way, after all – the Companions had failed to protect their Harbinger in their own halls, and that stung his pride as well as the pain, as the Silver Hand intended. I still didn’t understand why his anger more than anyone else’s stung so deeply, but it wasn’t the time.
“Kodlak sent me to perform a task for him. It was the old man’s wish,” I managed to murmur through my numbed lips as I stared back at Vilkas. There was little else I could say; his rage and grief was welling up in him as he struggled to keep from weeping like his brother. My answer calmed him a little, but only a little.
“We weren’t strong enough,” Vilkas said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, though I could hear tears in his voice. ”I wasn’t strong enough. They killed him. Kodlak is dead. They even took the shards of Wuuthrad.”
The Silver Hand had cut an old man down in his own hall, and even though I knew Vilkas had spoken so harshly to me because he couldn’t help himself, I still felt the guilt. If Aela and I hadn’t raised the Silver Hand’s anger in the first place, they wouldn’t have felt the need to attack the hall. If I hadn’t joined with the Companions, I wouldn’t have spurred on the whole bout of dissention among the Circle. If I hadn’t come to thrice-damned Skyrim at all, I would not have been Dragonborn and none of this would have happened. Wyrd. Damned wyrd, how I was tired of it. I had been fond of Kodlak – he had been a Nord and I a Bosmer, but still he had treated me as a daughter, as family. I was just Dreema, shield-sister, friend, when I needed that most. And now…gone.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and blinked back my own tears. I was still a Companion, and though the head was now useless, I was here now. Anger was filling me as well. Anger at the futility and stupidity of it all. So I was Dragonborn. What of it when I couldn’t even protect an old man? The beast blood was howling in my ears, calling for blood and vengeance, and this time I wanted to finish what I had started once and for all. This time, the Silver Hand were ended.
“What do you want to do, Vilkas?” I asked, but I knew before he ever spoke.
“We will bring vengeance upon them,” he replied in a flat, rasping hiss. “We will wipe them off the face of Skyrim, blood for blood, and take back what is ours. For Kodlak. We leave now, you and I. Come.”
It was a Wild Hunt. The beast-blood was nothing new to me – every Bosmer has it – but that a Nord could come close due to werewolf blood, it felt like a kinship of sorts. And yet there was worry in the back of my mind, even while the need for revenge was singing in my blood and in my ears. I was afraid, but not for myself. I was afraid for Vilkas. The mere thought of that brought me up sharp and short even in midrun to Driftshade, staring at Vilkas’ back as he surged ahead, nearly silent even covered in the Circle’s wolf-herald plate.
He turned without a word from me to halt, so well did we know each other’s moves, even then. He had reached back with one hand over his shoulder, grasping the handle of his huge blade, his eyes gleaming in the light of the moons overhead.
“What is it?” How stern he looked! Pale with fury, and yet his voice was flat and level as ever. He was holding the shift in check – he wasn’t going to turn, not even now. There wasn’t even a tremor in his gauntleted fist – deadly calm, his jaw set, his black hair blowing round his face as he stared at me. I knew, then. In a rush, I knew.
“Vilkas.” I opened my mouth, but nothing would come. He wasn’t going to listen to caution or restraint, not now. All I could do was travel with him and be sure he came to no harm, as a shield-sister and a Companion. It was my oath and my bond – and anything else I’d have to keep to myself, at least for now. What else could I have said? It was not the time for such heart-felt revelations anyway.
“Don’t lose yourself, Vilkas.” I brought it out rather lamely, really, but I could think of nothing else to say. At least not now with Kodlak lying dead upon the very boards of Jorrvaskr, and the fragments of Wuuthrad itself in the hands of our enemies. “My people know all about such hunts as these, as well you know.”
Perhaps it had some effect, or there was something in my voice that calmed him, for Vilkas lowered his hand from his blade-hilt and stepped closer to me. He stared at me a moment then nodded, his voice taking on a hint of warmth – not much, but enough to let me know that he was still in charge of himself. “I am not my brother; I will not howl my fury to the skies. I think I’ve killed one of everything in Skyrim by now…I know what I’m doing. Revenge will be taken, blood for blood spilled, and it will end tonight as we bring death with us. We will make the halls ring with our victory song in Jorrvaskr. But I will not be lost, Dreema. Vilkas will remain.”
He turned his back and continued on. I was reassured, but the fury still seethed beneath the surface as we made our way ever nearer to the Silver Hand’s lair. I had found the map of their main base, and here it was – a crumbling ruin, werewolf heads on sticks, and a small cadre of lookouts upon the roof. The time to kill was at hand, the same familiar thrill through my veins which now the beast-blood fuelled further still. Or perhaps the blood of Dragonborn had something to do with it at as well. Regardless, the lookouts had not a chance. I drew my bow and shot one in the throat as she ran for the door into the headquarters. Vilkas charged, blade drawn and rage in his blue eyes.
“For Kodlak! Is this what you want? Huh?” He roared his challenge and moved with such speed the silver-bearing swordsman only had time to exchange a few ringing bows before he fell, his blood black in the snow. Vilkas didn’t even watch him fall, his sights already on the second one who was backing away into the trees. My bowstring spoke, and down that one went as well.
Vilkas snarled, then ducked down to the main entry and kicked open the door before I clapped my hand upon his shoulder and made a downward motion with my hand. We were only two, and they were many. Stealth would win the day, and I hoped the fury wasn’t too upon him to realise it. I needn’t have worried; he took a deep breath, exhaling sharply and then crouched down, nodding for me to go ahead. I could barely hear the clink of steel behind me, so quietly he moved. We no longer spoke – we did not need to, so well we knew our quarry and how to hunt it. We stalked through the shadows and evaded the traps. The guards fell to my arrows, and with more grace than I would ever imagine a man in full plate could possess Vilkas dispatched two more. He ran the last Silver Hander straight through, lifting the hapless enemy clear off his feet before he flung the corpse into a corner with a growl.
Vilkas was spattered in blood and sweat, striding forward as unstoppable as a hero of old; not as strong as his brother, but just as fierce. What he lacked in brawn he made up for in ruthless calculation – he was beauty in motion and I beamed at him. He watched as I slicked the blood off my short sword and tasted the blood of my enemy. Even though he grinned fiercely at me for the first time, he did not do the same to his blade – I felt more relief than disappointment. He was still in control. His eyes were gleaming gold around the pupils now and his canine teeth gleamed, but he still was in control.
If anything moved, we killed it as quickly as we could; no shifting, no howling. We spared none of the Silver Hand; not one of their number escaped our wrath. When we came upon the final room where the werewolf-hunters had holed up, they were pale with terror and clutching their silver weapons. The shards of Wuuthrad were upon the table behind them.
We burst into the room and counted our quarry; I slung my bow almost casually over my shoulder and Vilkas strode forward, swinging his huge sword with a flourish. We were covered in the blood of their comrades, and there would be no mercy for these three. Well did they know it, though they fought like the cornered dogs they were. Drawing my Skyforge blade, I leaped forward and closed with the first, sheathing my blade in his throat just as the second swung his sword at me in a scything arc. I ducked round and twisted, bashing the Silver Hander in the chest and staggering him backward. But before he could charge anew Vilkas came up behind and broke the Silver Hand thug’s neck with a savage twist. Down the rogue fell, and Vilkas grimaced, nursing a wound in his side where the third’s silver dagger had managed to catch him under his guard.
“Let me see,” I insisted but Vilkas shook his head.
“Later. Get the fragments and let’s go. We are done here.”
We left the refuge dead and silent. With each step, the rage and fight flowed out of Vilkas; revenge had been served, and he was silent, although I could feel now that his reason was returning. The disgust on his face as he gazed upon the dead face of a Silver Hand woman at his feet was not entirely due to his loathing on his enemy. ”So much for control.”
We came out into the open air, panting in the evening chill. Vilkas rested his blade point-down upon the ground and closed his eyes, speaking quietly. ”I thought…I thought it would ease the pain. But it hasn’t. He was a father to me, even more than Jergen. And now gone.”
Hesitantly, I sidled forward and only managed to nudge Vilkas’s arm. My own revelation and grief was too close to do more. ”It’s done, Vilkas. If there is any fault, it is mine for going with Aela to hunt the Silver Hand down. I’m sorry. I wish I never had.”
He shook his head, saying nothing further. All too soon, he was master of himself and he stood tall and grim again. He sheathed his blade after wiping off the blood on his cloak, silent and brooding. Our hunt-pact was over, our togetherness done. I dared to actually reach a hand out to him when the shadows beneath our feet shifted, blinking out for a moment, from east to west. Something had passed through the light of the moons overhead. Something big.
Now, why now? Oh, why not? Damn this wyrd! There was no time for curses, or even to hide. There was also no hesitation from me now – even before I heard the rush of air behind and above me, even before the first roar split the night, I knew the dragon had spotted us. I leaped forward and clapped my hand down on Vilkas’s shoulder, whirling him round and speaking sharply into his startled face.
“Stay behind me. Do -not- even think of trying to fight. Just stay behind me!” There was no time to argue, and even though I knew he’d be reaching for his sword even as I turned back, I had no time to convince him. The dragon was upon us.
