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whispersafterdusk · 5 years

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Raven Among Wolves - ch 5

As he'd suspected they were hunting more Silver Hand -- specifically, they were hunting the stragglers that had escaped Gallows Rock.

These were men and women who saw the Companions as little more than mongrels to be put down and they'd never stopped to determine if a captured member actually carried the beast blood; Vilkas still remembered some younger members in the past that had been killed by the Silver Hand who had barely spent a month within Jorrvaskr. He despised them and did agree with killing or running them off wherever possible, if only to protect those who were of innocent blood...but he couldn't help but feel a shred of anger still toward Aela as well -- if she and Skjor had just come back for help then maybe he wouldn't be beside her now to avenge him. ((Continued below cut))

It was clear that these survivors of Gallows Rock were not prepared for their immediate retaliation; Vilkas almost pitied them, but not enough to spare them. They had set up camp about a half day's walk from Gallows Rock to the north in the shadow of a cliffside which amounted to little more than a fire pit and a few bedrolls. There were only nine Silver Hand there and three were visibly injured -- none of them that tried running could avoid Aela's bow and even exhausted as he was Vilkas still had no trouble cutting down any that couldn't get out of his way.

"Was that all of them?"

Aela carefully scaled down the side of the cliff and stood at his side (she was clearly admiring his kills) and gave him a curt nod. "That's all of them."

"Good," he muttered. The exhaustion was really setting in and he didn't think he would have been able to run anyone down; at least being this tired somewhat silenced the beast inside him and he was relatively unbothered by the scent of fresh blood or the rush of battle. "Let us return to Jorrvaskr then. Skjor's spirit has been avenged."

Aela nodded but he noticed her attention lingered on the dead longer than it should have, though there wasn't any real reason to scold her; he turned his back to the carnage and took a deep breath - all he wanted was to be home asleep but that was several days away. They left without fanfare and about halfway back Aela cleared her throat.

"So who exactly is that woman again?"

"She is kin to Kodlak."

"But how?"

"His great grandfather courted a woman he did not know was already married, and sired a child on her. He left to spare her and her husband's honor and never went back."

Aela made a thoughtful noise. "She has been around often, I hear."

"Aye," Vilkas replied. He thought to elaborate but then, with as tired as he felt, he decided not to unless pressed.

"Around you a lot, too."

He shot her a sharp look. "What are you implying?"

Aela snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "You're blind if you think no one else has noticed. It was the first thing Athis and Torvar mentioned."

His mouth went dry but he fought to keep his expression steady. "And? She is a skilled mender, I have learned much from her-"

"-you're as far from a mender as I am the throne."

"Even still. I enjoy her company, and the time spent listening to Kodlak's stories. My not being a mender does not mean what I learn is useless, nor that it's impossible to be her friend."

"Vilkas. You've never been the sort to just make friends. It took years for you to warm up to Skjor and I. You keep a clear line between yourself and the rest of the new bloods with your temper, and you don't go out of your way to seek anyone's company but your brother's." She looked over at him. "Suddenly all that's changed?"

"Don't be foolish," he muttered. He sped up his pace with an irritated grunt. "You look for meaning that isn't there."

"It just seems out of character for you."

He stopped and spun on a heel to fix her with a glare. "You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on their actions, Aela. Watch yourself, sister."

She stopped too; her expression was one of mild indifference but by the way she gripped the hilt of her dagger Vilkas could tell he'd made her angry. "And just what does that mean?"

"You and Skjor were supposed to be scouting. You should have come back for help but you didn't and now Skjor is dead. You both knew better."

"We DID scout and it was within what we could handle!"

"Then how did Skjor die? How did so many escape?"

Aela went silent, lips pressed together in a thin line; after a few tense minutes she blew out a sigh and turned her face from him. "There was a hidden entrance we couldn't have possibly seen unless we were inside or directly on top of it. It wasn't our fault."

Vilkas let out a noisy exhale that was half growl. "Then how many were there?"

"We thought just fifteen. It was closer to thirty when we actually got in there, and by the time we realized it it was too late to retreat." She fixed Vilkas with an empty look. "If we had known about the hidden entrance we could have used that to go in and it would have been easier to retreat through it after."

"It hardly matters now," Vilkas grunted. He turned and started walking again; his head was pounding with that type of headache one got when they were on the brink of total exhaustion and his limbs felt like lead. "Skjor is gone but avenged, and the Silver Hand's little establishment is wiped out."

"They won't be allowed to get that close again," he heard Aela mutter.

They walked until Vilkas couldn't stand it anymore then spent an uneasy night sitting in a copse of trees; he couldn't quite allow himself to fall asleep and only felt slightly better once he'd dozed a bit. At the first sign of sunrise they started off again and did not stop until they'd reached Whiterun. Vilkas tried to keep from stumbling as he climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and fell in through the door; he was met with a few concerned looks but those Companions sitting in the mead hall (perhaps wisely) didn't say anything as he and Aela headed down the stairs.

Farkas was on the other side of the door and stood aside to let them pass.

"You look awful."

Vilkas simply nodded at his twin's observation and staggered toward his room. Farkas followed along behind him and made certain he made it into his bed, then blew out the candle left burning on the dresser and shut the door behind him.

After days of terrible (or no) sleep the quiet darkness was a blessing and Vilkas felt asleep quickly but tonight his dreams mocked and horrified him.

He dreamed of Tormlia and the Underforge; there was a flash of a blade as he drew it over the crook of his elbow and bled what seemed like an impossible amount into the basin that stood there in the middle of the claustrophobic space. Tormlia drank it and they left together, forms rippling and changing as they leapt in unison over the walls of Whiterun and tore across the plains at a sprint. They came upon an unfortunate elk and tore it to pieces, reveling in the meat and gore, then he'd flipped her to her stomach and taken her right there, rutting in the blood and the mud-

When he jerked awake he almost toppled from his bed -- he'd moved to the very edge in his sleep and managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor while his legs stayed on the bed. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach, which was made worse when he realized he'd awakened aroused and...messy.

He would never, NEVER, think of letting Tormlia take the blood. And the rutting...his mind had given it such a beastly, primal sound - he'd never heard anything like it before in his life and questioned where his mind could have dreamed up such a hideous noise. It was by far the worst nightmare he'd ever had and it took him an hour or two to calm down enough to drag himself out of his bed and clean himself up. When he left his room he could smell her nearby then heard Kodlak's voice and her gentle laugh; he immediately pressed himself back into the doorway of his room.

While he was still horrified at the exact imagery of his nightmare the underlying tone of it was crystal clear, and it frightened him enough that he couldn't force himself to step out into the hallway where she could see him and he could see her; instead he retreated back into his room and shut the door, dropping into a chair at the table in the corner and first propping his elbows on the wood and then his head in his hands.

He was in love - it could be nothing else - and he couldn't bring himself to tell her -- who could possibly love a beast like him?

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Vilkas was back to feeling nervous and uneasy around Tormlia; it had been over a week but the nightmare (THE nightmare - the worst one ever) was something he had yet to fully banish from his mind and each time he looked at her he could see the blood dribbling down her chin, the transformation, their shared hunt -- like some kind of perverse mating ritual. He took a pair of jobs that took him away from Jorrvaskr for several days at a time but the distance didn't ease his soul any; no matter what he did it was still fresh on his mind, and he was gripped in a constant fear of what she would do or say if she found out about his werewolf curse.

The one thing that cut through his inner turmoil however was noticing that Aela had disappeared from Jorrvaskr - she had to have left sometime very soon after he had, or maybe right before he'd come back from the first job. No one seemed to know where she'd gone and none seemed overly worried either...for some reason it worried Vilkas and he couldn't place why.

He still accompanied Tormlia outside of Whiterun's walls; they were starting to travel further out, especially out into the wooded areas to the south.

Today the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and the smell of a storm on the wind. They were picking their way among the trees - she kept searching among the bases of trees, but not any tree in particular that Vilkas could determine.

"What do we search for?" he finally asked.

Tormlia stood up from where she'd dropped to her knees among the upraised roots of a pine. "-it's a sort of...moss, or lichen. I'm not sure which it actually is but it's a pale green that looks like this-" she scraped her nails over the growths on the tree bark and pulled a small strip of some kind of crusty looking plant free. "Same coloration, sort of. But the one I'm looking for has very tiny purple flower-looking things - they're kind of shaped like tiny hands." She held up her free hand, fingers held together and her thumb sticking out over her palm. "Petals like this, the little pollen part sticking up between the "thumb" and the fingers."

"I have not see anything purple."

She sighed heavily and tossed the peeled lichen to the ground. "I know...it's irritating, but I guess not too surprising. It can grow anywhere in Skyrim, on any tree, and it's highly valuable."

Vilkas scanned the trees around him and saw no hint of purple but plenty more of that washed out, pale green. "What is it for?"

"The flowers sort of...bring out the potency in a lot of medicines and salves. A small bit of them and you can even get away with using half the amount of the rest of the ingredients without losing strength, assuming you infuse it correctly. I was hoping that I could find even just a little bit to see if it makes a difference..." She trailed off, glancing at him then quickly looking elsewhere.

It had to be for whatever potions she'd been providing Kodlak; he wondered at what might afflict the elder -- Kodlak hadn't seemed sick, just...old. Aging. And while he knew there were potions to help with the various ailments that aging brought to the body he hadn't noticed or ever heard Kodlak voice problems with it.

"I understand now in the literal sense what it is used for," he said slowly, carefully picking his words. "But, what is it for?"

For a long moment she remained still, then slowly turned her head to look back to him. "It's not my business to say. But, I swear I'm going to do what I can for the person it's for."

She said it with a determination and a steely gaze that wasn't so much looking at him as it was through him; Vilkas decided not to press the issue and continued to follow in her wake, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. It was already dark when they finally returned to Whiterun and he knew she was highly disappointed that they'd returned empty handed. As they passed through the market her steps turned toward the inn; before he could stop himself he'd reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping her.

She turned around to fix him with a questioning look; he floundered a bit under her gaze. "You- come take your evening meal with us. In Jorrvaskr. There's no reason you should be wasting your coin here."

"I don't feel I really belong there among all you warriors," she replied, giving him a faint smile.

"You are kin to Kodlak and- and friend to me," he added, swallowing hard. "No one will question your presence. I promise you."

She was silent, considering it, then to his relief she nodded. "All right. I guess."

She walked behind him as they returned to Jorrvaskr; once inside the mead hall the smell of roast mutton hit them. Most nights they fended for themselves but often Tilma was kind enough to cook them dinner -- it was usually something simple like a roast or stew. There weren't two empty seats next to one another so Vilkas took his usual corner seat while Tormlia moved to the far side of the table across from him and slid into a chair beside Kodlak.

Something about the smell of the meat turned his stomach; he kept to bread and cheese and quietly watched Tormlia and Kodlak - he couldn't quite make out anything they were saying over the chatter of everyone else. When she got up to leave later he nodded to her and she smiled to him before disappearing through the door.

With her gone he found his attention wandering and it occurred to him that Aela wasn't here again; as before something about it bothered him but he couldn't figure out what. It shouldn't feel unusual to him for her to be absent (they all took jobs without much input from one another - it was a common thing) but considering the events of the last several weeks...

He tried to put it out of his mind but much like everything else it was something of a losing battle; later, while sitting listlessly at the table in his room he heard a thud at his door and turned to find Farkas in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," he said simply. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Farkas snorted. "Even I can tell you're lying."

Vilkas inhaled through his nose and out his mouth. "Fine. Yes. I am bothered by many things. I'd rather not speak of them at the moment."

His brother grunted but didn't move from the door. Vilkas turned back to the table, hands clenched on top of it; he was very aware of his brother's gaze and he had the feeling that Farkas wasn't going to leave until he got something out of him.

He huffed out a sigh finally. "Fine. Skjor's death weighs on me. And Aela's absence has me worried."

His brother came in to drop into the empty chair on the other side of the table. "She's been gone awhile. Left not too long after you did."

Vilkas frowned, not at all pleased that his suspicions were partly correct. "Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Of course not," Vilkas grunted. "I hate that I am suspicious of what she may be doing." They were both silent for a long time before Vilkas sighed again. "Has there been word of the Silver Hand at all?"

"Not that I've heard. Between Gallows Rock and the camp you and Aela cleared out we've killed a good number of them. And if they try to get that close again we'll kill those too."

He could appreciate his twin's simple solutions to things at times. "If they are smart they will stay far away."

"Yeah. But they're not smart."

"I'm afraid that you may be right."

Farkas sat in silence with him for awhile; it was incredibly late when Vilkas decided to try sleep. His brother left for his own room and then he laid there in the dark, alone, wondering what sort of nightmare his mind would present him with tonight.

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"I work to avenge Skjor's death."

Aela's voice was sharp and loud - loud enough to wake Vilkas through his shut door. He rolled over, feeling groggy and unnerved by a dream he (thankfully) couldn't clearly recall; Kodlak's voice was just as loud.

"His death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded. You know better."

"We cannot let these hunters establish another foothold."

"We both know that is not what you are doing. Do not mistake foolhardiness for bravery or you'll find yourself back with Skjor."

Vilkas stood from his bed and opened his door in time to see Aela pass by the hall's opening, then he heard the door shut and her footsteps heading up the stairs into the mead hall. He stuck his head around the corner to see Kodlak staring after her, a deep disappointment evident on his face that disappeared as he noticed Vilkas.

"What has she done?"

"Gotten caught up in the hunt, and in her vengeance," came Kodlak's answer.

Vilkas briefly glanced to where she'd disappeared through the door. "Was there any truth to her words? Are the Silver Hand really so foolish as to try and get so close again, so soon after we've wiped out their last foothold?"

"It is possible but we've no way of knowing unless someone goes with her to see." Kodlak sighed, rubbing at his beard and suddenly looking much older. "She takes to the blood too readily."

Vilkas let out a sigh himself and returned to his room to get his armor back on; he met Tormlia on the stairs and got a kind smile that managed to slightly raise his mood, only for it to sour moments later. Feeling angry and disappointed with himself he went out to the training yard and took some of his frustrations out on a dummy and then later Njada with a sparring session.

He purposely avoided going back downstairs until late that evening when he knew Tormlia would be gone and climbed into his bed without any real desire to sleep...so he was awake when he heard a sudden surge of footsteps upstairs followed by a shout for help.

For once he was thankful that, more often than not, he fell into his bed fully armored; he was up in an instant and reaching for his weapon, then shoving his way through his door and out into the hall only to meet a rush of...people. People he didn't recognize but were clearly not friendly as the large Nord male at the front of the rush swung a great sword at him; Vilkas ducked aside and by how the blade flashed in the candlelight he instantly knew it to be a silver blade.

'The Silver Hand? Here?'

There was no time to consider how it was possible for the Silver Hand to have gotten into Whiterun in such numbers -- they were under attack and that was the only important thing right now.

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The night air still stank of blood, even outside of Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas could see the guards that helped the others carry out the corpses; they were so much background movement and noise - something he saw and heard but didn't really register. He was sick to his stomach and sick at heart, and...angry. So, so angry. That the Silver Hand had gotten brave enough to attack them here, in Jorrvaskr...

And they had taken so much.

He tilted his face to the sky and took a deep breath...then his heart stopped as he caught the scent of rain; he looked down and could see Tormlia hurrying up the stairs toward him.

"Tormlia-"

"What's happened? Sinmir woke the entire inn up saying Jorrvaskr-"

Moving quickly Vilkas stepped into her path; she went to move around him and he moved with her, grabbing her by the arms.

"-was attacked," she finished, looking at him in surprise when he seized her.

"You need to stay here."

"What happened? Is anyone injured?" She squirmed in his grasp and her look of confusion was slowly turning into one of irritation - at him.

"Tormlia. You need to stay out here," Vilkas said slowly, hardly able to keep his voice steady.

She stared into his face, eyes narrowing; her struggles against his grasp resumed. "Let go, Vilkas."

She almost slipped free; in a sort of panic he grabbed at her again and snagged her around the waist, crushing her to him. She immediately started beating at his arms and hands and kicking her heels into his shins but he kept hold as she struggled. "Tormlia, please, listen-" He wasn't prepared for her to suddenly slap her hands to his arms and send that calming spell into him. As he relaxed his grip loosened and she pulled free as he sank to his knees, drowsy and unable to stand -- the last thing he saw was Tormlia's angry expression as she buried him under that spell and put him fully to sleep.

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"Who will start?"

"I'll do it. Before the ancient flame...we grieve."

"We grieve."

"At this loss...we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen...we shout."

"We shout."

"And for ourselves...we take our leave."

"We take our leave."

At the front of the gathering Aela stood with a torch, and at the end of the prayer she stepped forward to thrust the torch into the stacked wood of Kodlak's pyre. The flames caught and began to steadily burn; that the smell of burning meat and hair was someone he loved and respected cut deeply and he couldn't bring himself to watch as the pyre burned down.

Many in Whiterun had come to the funeral and when Vilkas turned around he saw that there was still a rather large gathering but that people were slowly staring to disperse...and, he felt a surge of alarm when he could not see Tormlia among them but could somehow still catch a whiff of her scent as the breeze shifted. When finally most of the crowd had left he spotted her -- the Skyforge had a wide area paved with flat stones but it was edged with rough stone outcrops and she was perched on the edge of one of them sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and hunched over, pulled into as small a form as she could manage.

The outcrop wasn't large enough to sit by her; Vilkas stood behind her feeling his heart and stomach twisting but cleared his throat. "Tormlia..."

Her shoulders were shaking and he heard a quiet sniffle.

"...I'm sorry," was all he said after. He turned his back to her and sat down on the outcrop's back half.

The pyre had died down and fallen down into the forge - he wasn't brave enough to look and see what may remain of Kodlak within it - when he heard the scuff of a boot on the stone and turned to find Tormlia standing right behind him. Her eyes were red and she looked...empty, and defeated.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said quietly. His armor scraped against the stone as he stood, turning to face her fully.

She stared over his shoulder at the dying fire then moved her empty gaze back to him. "W-when I first came here I gave Kodlak a book with my family's bloodline and history in it... I'd like to retrieve it before I leave, but I don't want anyone to think I'm stealing."

"Leave?" he repeated, eyes widening. In truth that was all that had really registered with him. "You can't - you can't leave."

An anger cut through the emptiness and she narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't hold me prisoner."

"That's- no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that," he replied quickly. "It's just - why? Don't leave. Not like this."

Her angry look softened but into something like suspicion. "Kodlak was the only family I had left. And now he's gone. Nothing holds me here."

"Don't leave. Please."

'Tell her,' came the thought.

"I'm no Companion. I don't belong here. I never have."

"Please do not leave."

'Tell her. Tell her everything.'

"Why? What reason should I stay?"

'Tell her. Tell her right now.'

'She'll hate me.'

"Kodlak...he was our family too. You are our family now."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Please. None but you and Kodlak cared I was here. I don't belong here, Vilkas."

"Please don't go."

In his mind he sounded desperate and pathetic, and the need to tell her everything -- how he felt, what afflicted him, everything -- warred with the fear of her scorn and judgement and the fear that she would leave and he'd never see her again.

She was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read, waiting for his reasoning...and the words wouldn't come.

'Tell her, now!'

'She will hate what I am.'

'Just tell her!'

'Why should she even look twice at me? How could she care for a monster?'

'Tell her now or you'll lose her-'

'-I will lose her anyway if she knows.'

"No one will challenge you," he whispered, looking away. "If they do, I will handle them."

As the words left him his heart sank, and disappointment crossed her features. She nodded though and stepped around him; he could hear her soft footsteps going down the hill toward Jorrvaskr. As the sun began to rise he remained standing there - he couldn't even be certain what he was feeling...so much was warring in his head right now. Anger. Loss. Disappointment. Fear. Emptiness, and with a keen sense of failure that was a hard knot in his gut.

For a time there was just silence save for the final pops of the smoldering funeral pyre; finally he heard the sounds of Whiterun stirring -- he'd stood there all night, silent and still, and grieving for so many things.

But as the sun finally hit him he felt...a sudden stirring. Something cutting through the grief and the fear: the need for truth. Withholding the truth was the same as a lie and it pained him to keep lying to her, and if she was going to leave anyway...why should he fear telling her the truth of things?

No... No. He couldn't let her leave without telling her everything. If anything...she at least deserved to know the truth of Kodlak, the family she had come looking for. Let her learn the man he was, what he struggled with, and what his final wish had been that he'd never have now.

He hurried into Jorrvaskr but she was nowhere to be found; rushing out of the hall he then ran down to the market -- Ysolda was kind enough to confirm that yes, she'd seen Tormlia come this way and that she'd continued to the gate without stopping. He'd thanked her and ran onward through the small residential area and out through the gates; when he reached the stables he stopped to catch his breath - her scent wasn't that strong here and he didn't see her near. Movement to his left drew his eye; a Nord man with stringy dark hair and beard was moving in the stalls of the stables.

"You there-" Vilkas called out to the man. He'd seen him countless times but had never asked the man's name. "Did you see a black haired woman with blue eyes come this way?"

"I did - she was out here early this morning as Bjorlam was hitching his horse to the carriage. Seemed in a hurry to leave."

Carriage...damn. She would be moving faster than he could on foot and he doubted the stables would be willing to lend a horse. At the very least the carriage would stick to the roads so he wouldn't be trying to find her in a forest or...or anywhere else.

Vilkas muttered a thanks and hurried down the road; the breeze had blown away any hint of her scent out here but if she was...actually, she hadn't said where she was going. Would she return to Riften? To the temple? It was the only thing he could think of but he didn't want to find her there, he wanted to catch her before she got too far from Whiterun...

There was a place where the road out of Whiterun split, running to the east and west. Riften was to the southeast, and-

For one reckless, stupid moment Vilkas nearly threw caution aside and went to change forms right there, to hell with whoever might see him; the carriage wasn't something he could hope to catch on foot - a horse could go for much longer than he could, as a man...but as a beast...

A sound stopped him; it was the sound of wagon wheels on the stone road, and in the far distance in the east Vilkas could spy the carriage...but, it was coming back toward Whiterun. For a moment he felt his heart lift - was she coming back after all? He rushed down the road to the carriage and darted to the side to avoid spooking the horse; the carriage driver yelled something at him but Vilkas ignored it and hurried to the rear, only to see the carriage was empty.

"Were you hired by a black haired, blue eyed woman?"

The carriage had come to a halt and the driver dropped down; he did not look pleased with him.

"Aye, I did. And then she wanted off and to go the other direction. Took forever to find a place to turn around without tossing a wheel."

Other direction? West? What was to the west? Why would she go that way? "Did she say why?"

"No. 'least she didn't demand her coin back. Now unless you need a ride yourself I want you clear of my carriage, understand?"

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgement and stood there in the road, confused, as the carriage moved off. Riften was to the east...why would she go west?

And if she was going on foot...maybe he could catch her. If he...

He could catch her if he changed into a beast, and he could hardly believe he was considering this again; the desperation to catch up with her won out over his hesitation to answer his blood but at least this time he had the sense to not change forms in the open. His attention turned to the south and the thick woods that were at the base of the mountains there -- if he could get among the trees he could change without anyone seeing, and even if he was seen afterward he was incredibly fast as a wolf.

No one could hope to catch him. No one could stop him.

He sprinted for the trees, not caring if the carriage man noticed him; within the safety of the forest he gave in to the blood and changed, lifting his head to sniff the air. There was no hint of her scent but there was also no hint of danger either; it was good enough for him -- he took off at a maddened sprint through the trees, heading west. He would pick up her scent as he grew closer.

Whiterun had disappeared behind him when he finally smelled her...but mingled with her scent was a metallic one he knew well.

Silver.

'Not here. Not now.'

He pushed himself to run even faster -- he was slavering at the mouth and feeling ready to vomit when he skidded to a stop at the base of three pines that had grown together; he could hear jeering, and the sounds of struggle, and Tormlia's voice pleading with someone to go away.

Slowly, cautiously, Vilkas lifted his head to scent the air, then peered around the trio of pines -- he could see nothing from here but rustling bushes in the breeze - the road was not visible; he crept closer, keeping low to the ground and trying to get his panting under control. Nearer to the road he found a fallen log he could slide beneath, laying there hidden among ivy and dead leaves, and the cramped quarters helped him rein in his sudden surge of anger and instinct when he finally spied the struggle he could hear.

Tormlia was standing in a ring of men and women - all were brandishing silver blades and nasty smiles as the circle tightened slowly.

"Leave me alone - I don't know what you want!"

"This is one of them, right?"

"Aye - I've seen her in and out of there on the daily."

Vilkas's control over himself slipped and he rammed his head on the underside of the log; the group of Silver Hand didn't hear the thump and rustling of leaves, or otherwise didn't care -- their attention was on Tormlia, and they moved in until they were all standing shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounding the woman.

"What do you want?" Tormlia asked desperately.

An orc broke free of the circle; he was a huge male, a head and a half taller than Tormlia and heavily muscled, and held a dagger with a strangely curved blade that glinted bright silver in the sunlight.

"One less monster in the world," the orc growled. He advanced on Tormlia, blade lifted.

Inside his head he was screaming - he needed to get down there, to rescue her, but his beastly form's instincts were shouted down by his logical side; even if he were to rush in to save her right now there were too many for him to take on alone -- he counted thirteen from his vantage point and he couldn't rule out that there might be some in the trees or standing somewhere he couldn't see from here.

If he charged in now they'd just die together.

It tore at him - he'd never felt so helpless. Out of sheer frustration he threw his head back and howled.

Down on the road the orc flinched and spun around, staring into the trees. The other Silver Hand likewise turned their attention outward at the howl, immediately tense and on the alert; Tormlia attempted to take advantage of their distraction and charged at an Imperial woman in lighter armor than the rest but the woman quickly recovered from Tormlia's shove and kicked out at her legs. Tormlia hit the ground on her stomach and scrabbled to get to her feet only to collapse as the Imperial woman aimed a steel-toed kick into her ribs; the orc tore his attention from the forest and moved over to grab Tormlia by the hair, bodily lifting her from the ground.

"New plan - seems they're coming for their new pup." He spun around and threw Tormlia into the waiting arms of two others, then once they'd wrestled with her and gotten her turned around to face the orc he slammed his fist first into her gut then into her temple; Vilkas almost darted out from under the log again at the sight of her falling limp in their grasp and he had to keep reminding himself to remain calm and remain in place.

'Recklessly charging in will get us both killed,' he told himself again and again, and watched helplessly as one of them threw Tormlia over their shoulder and together the group of Silver Hand moved down the road and then abruptly turned north and began to cross the plains.

And so began his hunt; for days he stalked them from the darkness, letting them walk freely in the day time and quickly tracking them and catching up once night fell. Every time he approached their camp he prayed he would see an opening -- some moment, some weakness, that would allow him to either strike and kill them all or at least rescue Tormlia and flee...but each night a rotating group of eight of them stood guard, awake and alert, and they kept Tormlia bound and gagged in the middle of the camp well out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time Vilkas was relying entirely on his altered form; he hunted small game only if it was in his path, he stayed within the form when he rested during the day, and at night his dark fur made him indistinguishable from the shadows he prowled in. It disgusted him that he'd taken to it so quickly again after not having transformed in months...but the disgust with himself could wait. For now this was a tool - the only tool he had - to save Tormlia and he couldn't afford to hesitate or stop to consider what consequences he might personally encounter for this momentary embracing of the damned blood.

The further north they traveled the higher up the mountains they climbed; Vilkas's black fur stood out terribly against the white snow and he was having to fall further and further back during the day to avoid being seen. It was maddening but he comforted himself with the thought that so long as he didn't lose the scent it didn't matter if it he was ten feet or ten miles behind them - he would find them.

At last, after a week's hard march, they came upon a squat, square stone building; there were three Silver Hand standing guard outside and they quickly opened the door for the returning group.

From where Vilkas crouched behind a wide tree trunk he heard the orc order the others to get the "bait" inside and secured, and to get the entire base on alert. All but those three that had been standing guard outside quickly hurried through the door and disappeared inside.

Tormlia was now effectively out of his reach.

Finally he let his form slip away and knelt as a man in the snow; his throat was raw, his chest and legs aching in a way he'd never felt before, and he was sick with fear for her safety -- they had called her bait so he was...reasonably...certain they wouldn't kill her, but he would need to travel back to Jorrvaskr for help, and then return here. It had taken a week to get here meaning she would be in their clutches for two weeks at minimum before he'd be able to get back here with help.

With his heart breaking he turned from the crumbling fort and let himself slip between forms again; he had to get back to Jorrvaskr, and quickly. As he sprinted down the mountain and tore through the trees he slowly loosened his hold on his anger and without it reined in the bestial side of him took over -- it didn't care for HOW he got to Jorrvaskr, only that he did, and at least the anger helped fuel his aching limbs as he cut a direct path back southwest to where he knew Whiterun to be.

When he came within sight of the city he changed back to a man; once he reached the gates he collapsed into the arms of a guard that had reached out to grab him as he'd started to fall, and as he'd slipped into unconsciousness he prayed he'd recover quickly. He had to.

#Raven Among Wolves #raw #Raven Among Wolves ch 5 #vilkas #farkas #kodlak #aela #non-dragonborn #Companions #AU #Skyrim

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