We made our way back to Jorrvaskr, weary but victorious. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that Vilkas was waiting for us – it was his brother after all. Farkas hailed him with a grin, but Vilkas merely lifted his chin in a nod, though he looked more relieved than he’d admit. Me, well, he just gave me a rather stern look, then grunted and shrugged his shoulders.
“The old man told me to wait for you; since you’ve made it back. Give me the shard..and follow me. Now.”
Farkas brushed some of the dust out of his hair and strode past his brother without anything further, but he shot me a reassuring smile. I could sense his brother bristling at the look. Yes, I really was in the thick of it, but it wasn’t my problem.
I went round to the Courtyard to find the Companions assembled…well, not all of them, merely those who moved “wrong” – what I learned was the Inner Circle. I knew what had happened, and I knew now why they all moved the way they did. I also found the significance of the ceremony rather worrying. Were they going to offer me a part of their beast-blood? Why, when it was obvious some of them didn’t particularly want to use it? Misery loves company, I suppose.
Kodlak stepped forward and turned to study me with his piercing eyes. I stood my ground, though I won’t lie and say I wasn’t a little intimidated. These were die-hard Nords, purists the lot of them, and I was a Bosmer – I didn’t like to think what my own people would have thought about what I was doing, but I was still doggedly insisting on doing my own thing, right or wrong.
“Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into the Companions.”
I darted a glance round at each face – Vilkas had his arms crossed, his face impassive. Aela and Skjor exchanged glances. Only Farkas grinned at me, and Kodlak…his expression was difficult to read. This was proving more awkward than I previously thought it would be. But what was the alternative? Dovahkiin? I’d rot in a galley first. I set my jaw and paid more attention; the whole mission had been a test of my will. For whatever reason they wanted to know if I was of strong enough stuff to do something so foreign to my nature. It irritated me – that sort of thing seemed to be happening quite a bit! – but I had to remind myself once again that Nords were more impressed by deeds than by words. Anyone could boast.
“Who will speak for her?”
Of course, Farkas stepped forward – Vilkas narrowed his eyes, but stared stonily ahead.
“I bear witness to the strength of her spirit in battle.”
I admit, the ceremony was touching – Farkas swore fealty to me for eternity, making him a true shield-brother to me. That he meant every word was both charming and shaming; no one had any idea what I was doing, or why I was doing it. A way to hide from dragons and Dragonborn, nothing more as far as I was concerned. They were welcoming me into their inner sanctum and their good graces…and I was going to turn right round as soon as I had enough money and bid them a goodbye.
Still…still…there was something endearing about it. Maybe they didn’t all agree, but it seemed I had the old man’s favour, and Farkas’. I was pretty sure Aela did as well, and maybe Skjor. Whatever Vilkas’ problem was, it was something we’d have to thrash out. In any event, what it meant to me was, for the first time, someone was taking me in, come what may. I felt on steadier ground. I had a home, albeit temporary…it was still a home.
I kept casting furtive glances round the circle. Toward the end, Aela and Skjor exchanged looks again, and I caught the redheaded huntress nodding once imperceptibly to the bald Nord. Vilkas said nothing as the ceremony came to an end, but he called sharply to his brother, who sighed and strode off with him for what appeared to be a very intense argument. And Kodlak himself strode forward, and placed his hand upon my shoulder, speaking quietly.
“I have been waiting for you, Dreema,” he said. I stared at him, not comprehending what that meant. Before I could query it, he was gone back into Jorrvaskr, and I was left standing in the courtyard.
“Looks like time to get back to work, ” Aela said with a grin, as I could hear Vilkas and Farkas’s voices becoming more strident. She turned me toward the meadhall, but I halted and fixed her with a level look.
“I know, Aela.” I blurted out before I even knew what I was going to say.
She stiffened slightly, and narrowed her eyes. I didn’t have to elaborate.
“There were Silver Hand people in the crypt. Farkas shifted. But we managed.”
“I see,” she said, studying me warily. ”And what say you to such a thing? You know we change, and yet you stayed. If we ever shifted in the street we’d be killed and skinned. But you still were there for that pretty speech. Why?”
I answered as truthfully as I could. ”My people are well known for our beast blood. It’s in your history, and mine. Who am I to judge?” I wasn’t going to mention my draugr-terror, and more than I would mention about spiders. That was between Farkas and I, but the answer still rang true. I could have left, but I didn’t.
Still, Aela studied me silently, and then she leaned forward, speaking quietly. ”We’ll talk later. For now, eat, drink, rest. We’ll do some work tomorrow, perhaps.”
And so, leaving Vilkas with a handful of his brother’s chestplate in his fist, both men shouting now, I slipped inside for supper.
I did a few odd jobs during the week, after recovering from the crypt-foray. The new fragment was mounted on the special display in the meadhall, where all the other shards of the Wuuthrad was interred. Whatever had brought the twins nearly to blows was now over and done, and Farkas continued to speak to me as a good friend. Any mutual attraction was nipped by the fact Vilkas was almost always watching over us. Besides, as charming as Farkas is, he really is thick as a brick. He never told me what the argument was about, and all I got out of him with a rather wide grin. ”Actually, for once, I won an argument. I was right.” And that was all he said.
In any event, Vilkas slowly loosened up around me although he was always rather stiff for all his hovering around, giving me more work and even sharing a story or two from the Nord history for me. I began to learn everyone by name, and since we rarely left Jorrvaskr for any reason, any rumours of Dragonborn were minimal. There were dragons about, and sometimes a few of our number came back rather grim and singed, saying there had been a dragon in a nearby village, but nothing more was said. I never spoke about being Dragonborn, and no one asked.
Finally, came a day when Skjor approached me, and he stood and folded his arms as he brought me to one side.
“I’ve got something special planned for you, Bosmer.”
“Sounds fun,” I replied, finishing my mug of mead and putting it down on a nearby chair. ”When do we go?”
“Not here. I need you to meet me by the Forge at midnight tonight.”
My brow furrowed. This sounded rather questionable. I darted a glance round the meadhall at the other Companions, but Skjor just shook his head. ”Just you…and I won’t talk any more about it. Just meet me after dark.” And then he was gone and I was left to carry on with the day.
I spent a bit of time working with Eorlund – just as I had been told, he was intrigued by the idea of making bows out of metal flexible enough to use, and we had been poring over details. He added a few embellishments to our initial designs, and he presented a bow modelled after the Altmer fashion, made entirely of metal and moonstone. I was actually rather impressed – for a Nord he was incredibly gifted, and I felt better carrying it around rather than the pact-breaking hunting bow of wood I had been toting about. Gratefully, I paid the man for his time and expertise, and then as night fell I sat on the steps of the Forge to wait.
I didn’t have to wait long, although I almost didn’t hear Skjor coming – for all his size he moved like a shadow thanks to his werewolf blood. He stared out into the night, one seeing eye gleaming, and then beckoned to me, pressing on a panel on the forge wall, which slid away and revealed an inner room.
Inside, the smell of wet fur and blood made me stop sharp and short, and the sight didn’t help – a werewolf, so large its ears were brushing the low ceiling, turned and regarded me with golden eyes, calm but wild. Before her was a huge stone basin, roughly hewn and mounted on a low stone pillar.
“Of course, you know Aela,” Skjor said smoothly as he strode forward and stood at the werewolf’s side. I blinked. This all seemed rather unreal.
“That little laughable ceremony a few days ago wasn’t the way we Companions would normally do things,” Skjor said with a fair bit of derision in his voice. ”Was a time when we brought a wild, strong heart into our Circle here in this room. I know Kodlak’s reasoning, and why. And I’m well aware that the two lads are under his thumb and will do as the old man asks – but Aela and I are of the old way and the old vows, if you’ve the stomach for it, and I think you do.”
“You want me to join you as a werewolf,” I responded slowly, dread rising in my belly.
“Yes. You’ve the strength, and you’ve got a fighter’s heart. I don’t know what brought to us or why, but you could have left if you were really that worried, yet you remained. You are worthy of this gift, and it -is- a gift, Dreema. Your people are no stranger to the wild ways, and this has all the benefits of what I believe you call the Wild Hunt, with none of the drawbacks.”
“Other than the fact I’ll be hunted for the rest of my life by Silver Hand,” I said rather dryly.
“We’re all hunted by something,” Skjor said with a grim smile. ”But are you prey? Or are you the hunter? We can control the shift, we can call upon the blood when we need it. It does need to be sated, but I think you can handle yourself. So…Aela has offered to be your blood-sister, to initiate you into our fold. You do this of your own free will. What say you?”
To this day, I can’t quite say why I did it; perhaps I wanted kinship more than I would admit to myself. I believe that was a part of it. I also feel that on some level I felt if I changed my path so dramatically, I would never have to deal with being Dovahkiin ever again. Or maybe the idea really did appeal to me. In any event, I gave my consent, and I watched as Skjor drew a dagger at his side, and slit Aela’s wrist. I watched as the werewolf’s blood dripped through her fur and into the stone basin. I stepped forward, cupping the warm blood into my hand, and raising it to my lips.
I drank it down, and the room began to spin. I remembered absolutely nothing until I awoke.
