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The Flower Day Invasion - Parts I and II

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Part I

The market of Whiterun was alive and bustling under the bright First-Seed sun; Spring had come with vengeance after a long and bitter winter, and the entire city seemed to feel it. I was glad to have chosen this week to visit Jorrvaskr; the icy wastes of Winterhold had been cold and cruel and no doubt still were. Still, it was a pleasant break from my new duties at the College; and I’d been away from the Companions far too long.

Farkas joined me that morning; we had a fair bit of shopping to do and the first harvests from the south were finally in. I’d asked him to join me simply for the fact, that he was big, burly and very capable of carrying most of the parcels of food. He liked to be useful. I stopped at Carlotta’s stand, eyeing off the fresh fruits and vegetables while Farkas grumbled.

“Don’t waste all your gold on vegetables,” he muttered, “We don’t all eat like you, y’know.”

I smirked, inspecting some carrots and potatoes that I added to my basket.

“You’ve got a whole bag of meat there and there’s a deer being salted back at the hall,” I chided; he wasn’t the first Nord to either mock me, or be genuinely confused at my dislike of eating meat. I didn’t see what the problem was; I still liked fish, sometimes fowl… but the smell of burning blood and boiling fat was…

I’d smelled too many human bodies burning to like the taste of meat.

Still, there were a lot of hungry warriors to feed there, and today I knew Tristane would be arriving to visit from Riften and knowing him, he’d be bringing friends. And trouble. He always brought trouble.

“The Emperor murdered, and Ulfric has taken the Jagged Crown; it won’t be long now till the Empire falls.”

We both glanced over our shoulders; Vignar Grey-Mane was bragging loudly to Anoriath at his stall; the little Bosmer shook his head at the Nord.

“The Empire is more than one man; Ulfric won’t find an easy victory,” he warned.

I glanced up at Farkas who was frowning at the conversation; he hitched the pig over his shoulder that had been wrapped in calico and the sack of flour on his other arm.

“You think he’s gonna win?” Farkas asked me drolly. I matched his frown, instead piling apples into the basket over my arm.

“Maybe. This war has been raging so many years, it’s hard to say if it will change any time soon.” The Emperor had died a fortnight ago, it was said to be by the hand of the Dark Brotherhood. Half of Skyrim had been in mourning; the other half stirring restlessly as the fire of rebellion was rekindled.

“What do you think?” I pressed my Shield Brother. His chin jutted forward and eventually he shrugged.

“I don’t like thinkin’ on it much,” he grumbled, “The Companions got history with Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes. I don’t like takin’ sides.”

I tried to hold back my sigh; dear Farkas… I could try to get him to use his brain but in the end he always just seemed… bored with it.

“It’s about more than the families here, this is a Kingdom we’re talking about,” I attempted again, and he just sort of shrugged, watching as I got rather choosy with the few tomatoes the store boasted.

“Y’know, I thought they might talk to you about bein’ the Emperor. Empress?”

I laughed abruptly, thinking him to be joking, “What?”

“The old Emperors had Dragonblood, right?” He said frankly, “My brother said they did.”

I shook my head, choosing a rare aubergine, “The last one was two hundred years ago now.”

“But you done a lot. You killed Alduin, Miirak. And you got a lot going for you. You’re a Thane, a Companion… you’re real important up in the College. You’re a hero, it makes sense.”

“Farkas…” I muttered, shaking my head, “Being a hero doesn’t make one an Emperor. Being a warrior doesn’t make one a King; Ulfric thought so and it’s been many years now, it hasn’t worked out so well for him, hm?” I thanked Carlotta and dropped the septims into her hand, leaning down to pick up my second basket, heavy with eggs and cheese.

“Besides, what would you all do if I was the Empress or High Queen? You barely see me as it is and I’m only Arch Mage.”

He started at that comment, “That’s right… you’d be better off not being Queen. Hey, your brother won’t mind pork, will he? I mean he’s not like you, is he?”

“Don’t worry about Tristane,” I laughed, “He won’t mind what he eats so long as there’s a lot of mead to wash it all down with.”

“Miss Ashwood!”

I blinked and jolted; when in Oblivion did anyone ever address me as Miss Ashwood? I looked through the thin crowd, seeing Belethor waltzing over, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Belethor was the Breton who ran the general goods store in the market, a stocky, middle aged man with rather long dark hair he greased and tied back at the nape of his neck, and wore his sideburns long down his cheeks. I knew him mostly by face, which is why it was quite a surprise when he took my right hand and promptly kissed my fingers despite the heavy basket hooked on my elbow.

“Uh-”

“Good morning maiden!” he jeered in is gruff, coarse voice before liberally reaching forward and sticking a blue mountain flower in my hair; from the corner of my eye I could see Farkas quickly looking back and forth from the merchant to me. I blinked, dumbfounded, and Belethor feigned disappointment.

“What? You can’t tell me the only Breton girl in the city doesn’t know the day!”

Day? 25th of First-Seed?

“Oh!” I gasped, shaking my head, “I’m sorry, of course. It’s been a few years since…” I cleared my throat, stumbling into a quick, awkward curtsey even though I wore trousers and tunic, not a dress. “Thank you sir.”
Belethor chuckled and finally released my hand, nodding a farewell and started back through the market place to open his shop. I felt my cheeks colour and shook my head.

“Uh, what was all that about?” Farkas murmured, looking strangely concerned.

“It’s nothing, just… Flower Day. It’s silly, just a Breton thing,” I said quickly. It was very rare to encounter anyone celebrating Flower Day outside of High Rock.

“Why’d he give you a flower?” Farkas asked and I could feel my cheeks colouring more as I hitched the basket onto my elbow. We began the short trip up the steps home.

“It’s just the way the day is celebrated,” I gave an indifferent shrug, “Young men would greet unmarried women and put a flower in their hair, each colour has a different meaning. Then at night everyone gets drunk and dances till sunrise. Most girls wake up the next morning with half a garden sticking out of their heads.”

“Huh. We don’t really have anything like that here… so what does blue mean?”

“Oh, uh… blue for beauty,” I muttered, “Then, yellow for friendship, red for passion, pink for youth, white is purity, purple is love. Then there’s other flowers that have special meanings, deathbell would mean betrothed, nightshade means ‘I’d give my life’, elves ear for luck. Daisies are only ever given to little girls, like from a parent to a daughter.”

“I never thought give’n a girl a flower could be that much trouble.”

“There’s supposedly a secret meaning behind every flower but most people hardly know the meanings anymore, they just go by colour.”

“Huh.” Farkas considered this a moment as we walked, then went to the edge of the path, setting his sack of flour onto his shoulder and stopping to pull something from the ground. I felt myself smile when he came back with a small yellow dandelion with a fairly long stalk. He ‘carefully’ stuck it into the back of my half-braid.

“There,” he said, smiling proudly at himself and I laughed, continuing along the path.

“Well thank you.”

“Aint you supposed to curtsey now?”

“Don’t push your luck,” I warned with a smile, and Farkas chuckled.

“So when was the last time you celebrated this?”

“That’d be the year before I came to Skyrim… though outside of Highrock it’s not really a celebration, just an excuse for any local Bretons to get together and- Oh Gods…” I put my fingertips to my forehead the moment it struck me.

“What?”

“It just occurred to me. Today is Flower Day, Tristane arrives for a  visit… that is not a coincidence…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really.” I hitched my basket up with a sigh, smiling though I shook my head.

“Is he a lot like you?”

“As day and night. You’ll see what I mean.”




By noon I was out in the training yard; staying inside the mead hall was torture when I could smell Tilma’s cooking wafting up from the kitchen. I’d wanted to fix a snowberry crostata for when my brother arrived but she’d taken up every inch of space, happily humming herself a tune as she prepared the meals; and since she’d already roped Athis into helping her peel potatoes there was simply no room.
It was fair, and I needed the exercise. Giving my shoulder a roll I lifted my bow, drawing back slowly and glaring down the arrow, feeling the cold ethereal feather touch my lips before I released it. The summoned arrow let fly, thudding into the straw target on one of the outer rings. Like the others I’d shot, it was determined to avoid the bullseye I was aiming for. I huffed.

“Damn.”

“Back straight, Sister,” a voice behind me growled and I smirked, glancing over my shoulder. Vilkas was setting his cuirass down on one of the tables, starting to buff and polish it with oil. Though he still wore the black leather greaves his shirt was a soft grey tunic, in lieu of the armour he worked on. His shaggy black hair flopped down over his silvery eyes… he needed a hair cut, the locks that would brush his jaw were now half down his throat. My eyes followed the contour of his neck and down his arm…

He flashed me a rare smile before looking back down at his work, but when I glanced back at the target it was suddenly hard to focus. I drew my arrow back, shoulders proud, and glared at the mark. With that, I let my arrow fly.

It stabbed the top edged of the target, and behind me Vilkas chuckled.

“Oh shut up,” I tossed over my shoulder, my bow vanishing as it was pulled back to Oblivion.

“I hope you’re not so rusty with your dagger and short sword,” he commented, rubbing hard at a patch on the breastplate of his armour.

“Not at all… but then, you were the one who told me to fight to my strengths. Besides, it’s no good sparring unless you’re sparring with someone.”

I turned back to the target, about to summon another bow when Vilkas spoke up;

“You want to go a round then?”

I glanced back at him, and where he’d dropped the old rag onto his cuirass, and a playful tingle ran through my belly.

“…One-hand swords, two of three?” I offered, and he smirked, going to the weapon rack for a shield and training sword, and I walked up to retrieve two blunt short swords. I knew Vilkas wouldn’t appreciate my summoning one instead - and those were a little deadly for sparring.

In the clearing of the training yard we faced off, Vilkas hitching up his shield.

“Alright. Two of three, no magic.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, “I’m better at this than you think, Harbinger.”

With that we edged a moment or two, and I sprung forward, short sword swinging and his shield swung to meet my blow, glancing it off. I dodged aside as he countered, easily out of his reach. Turning both short swords in my hands, I felt my heart race. It had been a long time since I’d fought without using my power, and I was finding something wonderfully primal about it. He swung at me that time and I glanced his blow away, rolling past him and swinging my short sword into the back of his knee, the dull metal thudding against the leather.

“Point.”

“Hn. Not bad,” he commented and we moved back into our positions. His specialty was the longsword, feet too used to balancing that weight and thus less nimble than me; out of his heavy armour, his weight seemed to be off, too. I swung at him, and he parried.

“I had your letter only a day before you arrived,” he said casually between moves, “I didn’t know those vampires were attacking Riften too-?”

“Yes,” I huffed, short swords singing as I swung another blow away, “We’ve not seen them north, but there’s so few people out there I suppose there’s little to tempt them.”

He gave a mighty grunt and pushed me back with his shield - I rolled readily and was back on my feet, huffing a loose curl of red hair from my eyes.

“I don’t like it,” he warned solemnly, “You’re up there alone, if they did decide to target Winterhold there’d be no guards, no fortifications…”

“There's the College,” I laughed breathlessly, grunting a hard swing at him, “I think those vampires would have more than they bargained for should they attack. I’m still going to enchant a few swords for you here.”

I saw him grimace and back off a moment, “We don’t need it.”

“I know,” I chided gently; they’d always been wary of magic, but were making great concessions. “Humour me, please. It’d put my mind at ease, and Gods know I’d better do it than Farengar, he has no idea what he’s doing.”

Vilkas laughed at that, “Arrogant.”

“Pup, it’s not arrogance if it’s true.”

The name seemed to throw him off a second when he went to bash me back with his shield again - I rolled off it, behind him and sprung up, blade swinging into his neck and stopping.

“Yeild.”

“Cheat.”

“Belly-acher.”

“Three of five?”

I smiled and nodded, and when he looked down at me now it was with determination, a wolfish, hunting glare that made something tighten in my stomach. I rallied quickly.

“Have you been keeping up with Dovahsul?” I asked, twirling my blades. But he didn’t answer this time, lunging forward instead in earnest and like that I was on the back foot, glancing his blows back. Training was no longer for words.

I grunted with exertion; I may have been faster but he was far stronger and every heavy blow I glanced away took more energy to recover from, but the action was exhilarating. Then his sword flashed above my head, coming straight down and I crossed my blades above my head to block it, swinging the blade away and turning in the process as he turned the other way - and suddenly his sword belted me hard across the chest, knocking the wind out of me. The ground rushed up to greet me and I was staring up at the clear blue sky, coughing hard at the ache spreading through my chest.

“Fie! Lyrielle!” I heard a sword and shield clatter to the ground, and Vilkas came into view, his arm worming under my shoulders, gently pulling me up, “Are you alright?”

“…Yield?” I croaked and the worry on his face was replaced with an exasperated smile. I rubbed a hand over my sore chest. “Damn… I’m glad that blade was dulled…”

“This is why you wear armour when you’re training,” he chided, but kept his arm around my back even when I was sitting. “Gods, you’re lucky you’re not any shorter, I could have gotten your throat…”

“I’m alright,” I said, twisting to get up when a sharp pain lanced between my shoulders and I hunched back down, “No, nope…”

He suddenly held me in a bit closer, worriedly, and a hand gingerly at the base of my throat where and angry red welt was already starting to blossom. It made it a little harder to breathe, and not from the stinging ache…

No, I was painfully aware of his closeness now, inviting, a memory burning to the front of my mind when I smelt his skin… woodsy, pine and leather. No different than it had been, that one night. It made me reluctant to look at him.

“…Do you need anything?” he asked and I shook my head.

“Just to cast, I’ll be fine,” I said, fully expecting him to let me go - true he edged back, but hand hand was still at my back, on my shoulders. I flexed my fingers and summoned a healing spell, the orange light washing around me and the pain bleeding away from my chest. I drew in a grateful breath and Vilkas helped me to my feet, awkwardly brushing me off.

“That… may have to do it for today,” he said, withdrawing from my coldness. I only nodded, but a tension hung in the air.
Wishful thinking, Lyri…

In that moment it seemed he might say something, when a voice called out from around the side of Jorrvaskr, and Aela came into view, striding over with a small, rare smile. Vilkas pulled back from me sharply.

“Lyrielle?” she waved, “I found someone in the markets for you.”

And from behind her, my brother burst around the side of Jorrvaskr, flanked by some familiar Breton friends from Riften. He spied me across the courtyard, grinned and threw his arms open.

“Ellie!”

I grinned back, hurrying over to welcome the embrace.

“It’s good to see you Triss,” I said warmly, feeling a pure joy wash over me at being back in the arms of family.

When I said my brother and I were as different as day and night, it is in reality surprisingly true; where he was vibrant and social, I tended to be quieter and serious. He was restless and active where I found peace in reading and writing. And even where we were similar in appearances, we were different. He was a feather taller than me (which was not hard to be), and his hair was bright, fiery red where mind was the colour of blood, his curls neat where mine were wild, his blue eyes sunny, mine stormy, his skin pale like sunlight, mine cold like moonlight.

We both tended to freckle.

“Oh, oh, who’s been giving you flowers then?” He said, pulling me back and looking into my half-braid and loose curls. He looked from Vilkas to Aela teasingly, “The Noble Companions? Feel free to stick a flower in my sister’s hair! But if you want to stick her anything else you’ll have to marry her first!”

“Tristane!” I yelped sharply and my cheeks burned - he’d not been here a minute and already tormented me. Aela cracked a low snigger and Vilkas audibly choked on his chuckle;

“Good to see you again,” he said dryly, giving me a sideward glance; Tristane liberally shook his hand then looked over his shoulder to his travelling companions.

“See Vex? Even Ellie’s gotten into the spirit.”

“Tristane I am well in my spirits,” Vex said, swinging a bottle of wine from her fingers pointedly. It was strange seeing her in the light of day; her lovely blonde hair seemed silver instead of gold. She almost smiled at me, reaching out and shaking my hand.

“It’s good to see you Lyrielle.”

“You too Vex - hello Delvin,” I greeted as the gruff man came forward to shake my hand, hard.

“Lyrielle! It’s been too long,” He carefully stuck a twig of lavender into my braid. From there I made the formal introductions, though Vex seemed a touch standoffish to the Companions. Delvin did what he could to be more inviting.

“I’d better see you all down at the Bannered Mare this evening,” he offered.

“I’m sure my brother won’t let us have a choice in the matter.”

“Speaking of, we’d best get down and secure a room,” Vex said, glancing about at the watchful eyes of the Companions; she probably didn’t want her face too easily remembered, “Till later, Lyrielle.”

“Till then.”

Aela then encouraged Vilkas away to leave me some catch-up time with my brother, and soon, he and I were alone in the courtyard. Seeing the doors to Jorrvaskr close I frowned, turning and glaring at him. He blinked back at me innocently.

“…What?”

“So, is this Guild business?” I said stonily and my brother winked at me, throwing an arm over my shoulders.

“Ah, Guild business, family business, fun business! Can I help the stars aligning?” he jeered and I prodded him in the ribs.

“What are you planning?”

“Why are you worried?”

“I just prefer to be in the loop, if you’re going to be getting yourself into a situation.”

I won’t be.”

I grabbed his ear and twisted it, “Tristane Ashwood you tell me what’s going on right now.”

“Fine! Fine! Gods you’re a miserable old thing for six and twenty…”

I released him and he rubbed the side of his head, “I did just want to come up here and celebrate Flower Day…” he lowered his voice and leant in, tone suddenly changing as he swapped out Tristane Ashwood for The Guildmaster:

“But, Delvin has something to take care of up in Dragonsreach, nothing too devious, just fudging some papers to get a certain someone out of a prison cell.”

“And what, you’re throwing a festival to cover your tracks?”

He only winked.

I will clarify now, reader, my brother was living on the wrong side of the law. Now, I myself had been (and I suppose still am) a member of the Thieves Guild, back in my adolescence and days of poverty and struggle; Destiny of course had other plans for me. My brother on the other hand was one of the most talented and daring thieves and agents I’d ever come across. You wouldn’t think it by the way he acted, but that was perhaps his trick; I’d been his sister long enough to know one only ever sees what Tristane lets them see.

Where I bore my troubles openly and frankly, he concealed his under laughter and jokes.

“You cannot stay mad at me Ellie-Belly,” he teased, pulling something from a satchel, “I have a present.”

I snorted a laugh, taking the soft parcel wrapped in brown wax paper. I gently uncovered it, giving a soft smile at the contents, deep purple and lavender fabric.

“It’s not enchanted; since you can do that better than anyone it seemed stupid to.”

“I can’t remember the last proper gown I owned,” I said smilingly, then reached over to peck his cheek. “Thank you Triss, it’s lovely.”
He chuckled, “You haven’t even tried it on yet. Best you wear it tonight.”




They certainly started early.

By the time I made it down to the Bannered Mare, Vex was still at the wine, and the tavern was surprisingly crowded, many out-of-towners visiting. I’d learned later it was thanks to Tristane putting the word out about celebrations and gatherings in Whiterun; his bard friends, mead merchants, jugglers… The Khajit from the travelling caravans were permitted, for once, to come into the city too, laughing with the bards and teaching them exotic songs, dancing their sinuous dances. For the most part I sat tucked into a corner table, enjoying my wine, the dances, and the roguish and embarrassing jokes my brother insisted on telling anyone who’d listen.

The Companions filtered in too, and it was not long before the Bards barraged them to retell their stories.

As the crowd became rowdy, laughing about the Flower Day tradition, my hair began collecting more stray blossoms and soon every woman in the tavern was starting to sprout gardens from their heads. The noise and joy and madness only began to grow with the evening, people getting drunker, and crowds getting thicker as merchants closed up shop and came to see the commotion. And almost every Breton in the place was starting to get a little mad…

That was when Vex clambered up onto a bench after much pestering from Tristane, swinging her goblet around, and the bard strummed out a tune for her to sing to:

“Well, Johnny be fine and Johnny be fair he wants me for to wed,

And I would marry Johnny, but my father up and said,

“I’m sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew

But Johnny he’s a son of mine, so he’s kin to you!”


I blurted a laugh into my wine as the crowd cheered and laughed; next to me Torvar and Aela yelled and hammered their tankards onto the table. Vex rallied and continued on-

“Well, Willie be fine and Willie be fair he wants me for to wed

And I would marry Willie, but my father up and said,

I’m sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew

But Willie he’s a son of mine, so he’s kin to you.

Well, Jimmy be fine and Jimmy be fair he wants me for to wed

And I would marry Jimmy, but my father up and said,

I’m sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew

But Jimmy he’s a son of mine, so he’s kin to you.

Well, never was there a girl so sad and sorry as I was

The boys in town, they’re all my kin and my father is the cause!

I will not be contented for to die a single miss

I think I’ll go to mother and complain to her of this."


I was laughing too much at the old song not to join in, raising my goblet at the end-

“Well, daughter, haven’t I taught you to forgive and to forget?

So, your father sowed his oats, oh still you should not fret.

Your father may be the cause of all the boys in town, but still…

He’s not the one who sired you so marry who you will.”


The crowd roared with laughter, and a few burly men came and hoisted Vex onto their shoulders. A few began cheering for a more familiar tune than the cheeky Breton song, all bellowing along when a Bard struck out his next tune:

“Ohhh…. The once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!”




Night fell thickly, and the round of the marketplace was being lit with lanterns as the noise and party spilled out of the front of the Bannered Mare, when it was too crowded for dancing; though the night air was crisp, fires burned from braziers and warmed the night around us. On the covered well in the centre of the markets, two bards were drumming their drums and singing their songs to the sound of raucous, drunken laughter.

Flower Day may not have been a Nord holiday, or even a prominent Breton one, but it was good to see the city waking up, dancing, laughing, shaking off years of hardship even for just the one night. Many of the young ladies danced around the well to the music, little girls with daisies in their hair holding hands and running about their skirts, squealing.

And in the thick of it all, Tristane was dancing with the girls, singing with the bards and joking with Jon Battle-Born, who was relishing every moment. He had the heart of a true romantic, that man, secretly pinning a red flower into Olfina Grey-Mane’s silvery hair. Belethor was cheekily grabbing at the girls - he was deep in his cups with Torvar. Aela was drinking away and laughing with Adrianne, and Farkas was sitting with two pretty maids, one on each knee who were unashamedly fawning over him. It astounded me how easily they would be won over by big muscles and a few impressive scars, that he was the twin they’d prefer. Not that Vilkas’ brooding manner, or lack of civility, or his arrogance was particularly endearing… But he was thoughtful; he had a powerful mind and where I came from that was prized higher than being built like a bear.

It was then I spied the man himself; he sat on the steps to the Bannered Mare, watching the dancers with some amusement. Vilkas at a festival; it didn’t seem very fitting. Though out of his armour for once and in a dark blue tunic he still wore his warpaint. Ludicrous man.
Ysloda spun by him then in the middle of a dance. She smiled her pretty smile at him, swishing her skirts and beckoning him to dance with her and I felt my stomach bubble hotly. Vilkas smiled and quickly shook his head, no. She beckoned him a second time, even trying for his hand - my guess however, was that Vilkas couldn’t dance.

Eventually she waltzed off, disappointed. I could not deny the relief that trickled through me, another of those sensations I worried over and tried to crush. When Vilkas and I had first known each other we were different; I was unsure, young, and he was… well, a bully. Of course, the years have a way of changing people. Or perhaps we simply understood each other better. It took time, becoming the close friends that we were… especially after our history. It wasn’t worth jeopardising that friendship.

So I carried over a bottle of mead, offering a smile.

“Enjoying the display?” I asked lightly; he glanced up as I approached, eyebrows lifting when he looked me over. I halted. “…What?”

“Nothing, nothing…” he said quickly, actually standing, “…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”

“I- oh…” I glanced down at my garb, having to give a small chuckle. “Well, don’t get used to it. It’s pretty enough but I’ll go mad washing hems and petticoats day in and out.”

Privately, I enjoyed the feeling of my dress swish about my ankles; certainly not something I’d put up with every day. But for tonight… I could indulge a little. And it had been made for me after all, a gift; surely it would be rude to let it moulder away in the bottom of a chest. The underdress and petticoats were a soft lavender cotton, the overdress, warmer and sturdier wool, but dyed (rather expensively I imagine) to purple and laced up tightly at the front, a little silver embroidery around the hems and sleeves. Yes, this was the first fine gown I deigned to wear, since the usual high fashions in the courts of Skyrim looked dreadful on my petite frame.

Vilkas actually stood to the side a little and offered for me to sit, the action causing me to snort out a laugh at him. He frowned.

“What?”

“The effect of skirts on the minds of men,” I chuckled, taking my seat, “You’re actually treating me like a lady.”

As if to prove a point, he slouched back down next to me and took the mead bottle from my fingers, taking a mouthful for himself.

“Never thought you one for festivals,” he commented, pausing when he looked me up and down again. I nodded, watching the dancers laugh and trip their way over the cobblestones. With the flowering gardens around the buildings, warm firelight with torch bugs floating about them, an old childhood memory itched in the back of my mind.

“I like the Moon Festival better, it’s closer to my Name Day,” I said with a smile, then added, “It’s nice to be reminded of Highrock sometimes. Not that I can remember much at all, but… so much darkness in the world these past few years, it’s good just to see people smiling.”

I felt Vilkas nodding, “There has been turmoil… but I suppose I should thank your brother for bringing this festival here. The city needed it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “He’s up to no good.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he always is. That man goes off and finds trouble wherever he can.”

Vilkas chuckled then, “So do you.”

“No. Trouble finds me,” I corrected with a wry smile. We sat in silence for a moment watching the dancers when I felt Vilkas brush a lock of hair behind my ear, and the stem of a flower brushing my scalp. I couldn’t hide the surprised smile, fingertips coming up and touching the nightshade blossom he’d tucked in my hair.

“Thankyou,” I said quietly, glad the darkness could hide the colour coming to my cheeks.

“…I didn’t just threaten to kill you did I?” Vilkas asked after a moment and I blurted out with a laugh.

“I’m fairly sure that’s only if you’re in the Dark Brotherhood.”

My fingers brushed the flower again, before I quickly pulled my hands away incase I wilted it. That was unlike him, to be sure, a generous concession for the festival…

Tension grew between us as the silence began to stretch; it felt warm sitting by him, and I recognised the urge to shift closer still… he, of course, remained stoic and unreadable as ever.

“…Are you as lively a dancer as your brother?” he eventually asked when a rather drunken Tristane went by, twirling a laughing girl around him, hands a little too low on her back. I snorted and shook my head.

“On the rare occasion? I’m too worried about where my feet are going to be lively about it.” The sudden thought of my hand in his, of being held close and turned about the square made me shift and sway a little.

“…Why? Do you dance?”

“No.”

Another short silence, then he nudged me and added, “But, I’d be glad to watch you.”

“…It’s this damned skirt, isn’t it?” I asked him, starting to shake my head, “First you’d give up your seat, then have me dancing to a flute, before you know it you’ll be sending me out into the fields to sing at the butterflies.”

Then to prove my point, I drank deeply from the bottle of mead, but when I looked back at him, he was chuckling and smiling at me, one I couldn’t help but return.

“Well,” he said, reaching out and adjusting the flower in my hair, “You’re not making it easy on me.”
I stilled when I felt his fingertips lingering on my cheek, my heart picking up pace. The moment hung in the air when I finally caught his eyes, strange and silvery-blue like Secunda.

“…Vil-”

A loud bell suddenly chimed from one of the guard towers, his attention snapped away, and then mine. He was frowning, as another bell from another tower began ringing, and Whiterun guards began moving down the steps from the Wind District, pushing their way into the oblivious, drunken dancers.

“Everyone! Back to your homes! Move along! Now! Everyone get moving!”

“Come on now, join the celebrations!” Tristane jeered at one of them, swinging a mug of ale in his direction when the guard suddenly smacked it out of his hands. Vilkas abruptly stood, grabbing my wrist and I got to my feet, hairs prickling on the back of my neck. I reached out to try and speak with an Imperial soldier who was pushing through the crowds but he rebuffed me-

“Get back to your home miss!”

“What’s happening?” I pressed but more angry people were being broken up and a drunken dancer stumbled into me, Vilkas pulling me back and out of the way.

“They may not think it’s right, so soon after the Emperors death?” he voiced, but even then he shook his head. There was a frenetic edge to them all, panicked, rushed.

“No, something’s not right… Tristane!” I shouted over the crowd that was starting to get violent at their party being spoiled; Tristane was up on the well still swinging a bottle around, raging with a guard and I began shoving my way through the inebriated dancers, Vilkas still holding my wrist tightly.

“Triss!” I shouted, “Tristane come on-”

Someone in the crowd gave a sudden shriek - the moment I turned the giant, burning stone dropped from the sky and crashed down into Belethor’s shop, obliterating the building and engulfing it in flames.

The market square exploded into screams and chaos.



Part II

People were shoving and running in all directions, screaming with panic as another huge rock came sailing through the air - a mighty crash could be heard far on the other side of Whiterun. In the thick of the crowd I felt Vilkas’ hand slip off my wrist and I turned in a sudden panic.

“Lyrielle!” he called out, shoving his way back and I grabbed his hand, pulling him towards me. He held me by both shoulders, “It must be the Stormcloaks, we need to get back to Jorrvaskr.”

“Alright, see if you can find the others, I’ll meet you back there.” I tried to pull away and he was reluctant to let me go, but I had to find my brother. When I looked up at the top of the well, he was nowhere to be seen. I shoved my way to it, hunting wildly through the crowd.

“Triss?!” I shouted, panic flooding me before a hand gripped my arm, hard; Tristane’s stunned face greeted me and I held on to him as tightly. The crowd wasn’t thinning, many people at the festival were outsiders and had no home in the city; some were trying to flood the doors to the Bannered Mare. There was a loud whistling high about and a fresh wave of screams when another flaming boulder sailed above our heads. Tristane pulled me to the ground, both of us crouched as the boulder thundered into the wall to the Wind District, stone blasting everywhere. Tristane shook me; drunk though he was, he was sobering damn fast.

“Ellie, we gotta move-”

“Wait, we can’t just-”

“What buildings have basements?”

I wracked my brain, “The great houses, Jorrvaskr, Dragonsreach-”

“Dungeons… we gotta try and get people to Dragonsreach, the dungeons would be safest-”

“I have to go to Jorrvaskr,” I said breathlessly and Tristane shook his head.

“No. Ellie we stick together!” he demanded and I wrung my hands, pulling back and turning on the crowd, then clambered up onto the well. We could do nothing while they were shoving about in a drunken panic. I breathed deeply;

“KAAN, DREM OV!

The shout pulsed out of my body like a wave over the crowd, all my sensations of peace and trust rolling with it. They started, screams fading; it was not so powerful over human minds as animal, but enough to make them listen.

“Anyone without a home in the city, get to the Cloud District,” I bellowed, “The dungeons will be safest! Anyone with a basement, take people into your homes!”

And they did, spreading out and thinning away from the Bannered Mare and flooding up the steps. I jumped down, Tristane grabbing my hand and we dragged one another up towards Jorrvaskr, past the Gildergreen to where I saw Ria and Athis standing guard at the steps to the old mead hall, scanning the crowd. The beckoned us up, Ria slinging Tristane’s arm over her shoulder to help him up the steps.

“He’s well drunk,” I warned her, “Where are the others?”

“The courtyard. I’ll get him inside.”

“Ellie-” Tristane called out when he was dragged off but I shook my head.

“Sober up brother!” and with that, I turned on my heel and skirted around Jorrvaskr, into the waiting courtyard. Farkas, Aela and Vilkas were already there, fast strapping into their armour.

“Have you seen the others?” I pressed, going past my Shield Siblings and straight to the wall.

“Inside, preparing themselves. Though Torvar is in no state to fight,” Aela said, following along and climbing nimbly up onto the wall, gazing out over the hold beyond. Her jaw dropped… “Gods above…”

With that we all clambered up the stone, looking out into the night; my lips parted in shock, breath escaping me.

Huge catapults were wheeling out to the farms, slowly turning as they were wound back to be reloaded. Far across the valley, torchlights glinted, carried by the legion of soldiers marching across the hold to the city.

“Kynareth preserve us,” I murmured. I had no idea Ulfric had garrisoned so many soldiers; yes, he’d gotten his hands on the Jagged Crown, but no one had expected that to suddenly earn him so much support.

“How many do you think there are?” Aela asked; Vilkas shook his head.

“They could be spreading out to look bigger than they are but… that could be more than a legion.”

“There’s no way… even with the Whiterun Guard, and the Imperial forces sent-”

“They underestimated Ulfric,” Farkas joined lowly. Aela gritted her teeth, suddenly furious.

“Why in Oblivion didn’t Balgruuf tell us?” she snapped, “He called on the Imperial Forces for backup he must have known!”

“We don’t get involved in politics, remember?” Farkas pressed but his brother shook his head.

“No, we don’t,” Vilkas murmured, “But Ulfric has brought the battle to us; we must protect our home.”

I knew what they would want to do; they’d go out into battle head on, get themselves right in the thick of the fight. And I would have to fight, too; after all this time trying to stay out of it, fate had gone and thrust me right into the middle of this Gods-forsaken mess.

Maybe it was fate; maybe that’s why I was here tonight and not back in Winterhold… I am Dragonborn, after all, I will be until the day I die; the Gods don’t grant power for free.

I quietly slipped down from the wall, my Companions still debating their battle plans, and quietly as I could skirted around Jorrvaskr and down into the streets of Whiterun.

There were nearly no civilians now; everyone was being rounded up and herded up the hill, so I was fighting the current down to the main gates. Whiterun guards were filing through the huge archway and over the drawbridge, and a few Imperial Soldiers were marching out or starting to line the walls. I wrestled my way through the throng just as a strong, steely hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me back; an Imperial soldier was scowling at me.

“You there! Get back into the city!”

I growled and tried to wrestle my hand free, “Let me go! I need to see your commander!”

“No civilians, get back within the walls!” he snapped and started dragging me back; with my free hand I grabbed the front of his cuirass and gave him a short shake.

“I’m no civilian you ice-brain!” I snapped, “And I don’t have time for this!”

It was then a Whiterun guard stepped in, breaking rank as soon as she recognised me and tried to get between me and the soldier.

“What’s going on-? Unhand her!” she barked; the soldier let go of my wrist but didn’t back down, looking from the guard to me.

“You know this woman?”

“Know her-?” The guard asked, mouth agape, “This is the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun, Companion of Jorrvaskr!”

“-And Arch Mage,”

“And Arch Mage!”

To say the look on his face was priceless was an understatement; his eyes wide, he looked back at me, instinctively snapping to attention though I bore no real rank.

“I- Dragonborn, I-”

“You were expecting someone taller, I know,” I said, “Who’s in charge here?”

“Irileth is in command, I’ll take you to her,” he replied with sudden deference and, perhaps, a little embarrassment. He lead me down the winding road, shouting to clear the way. Around us the army was hurriedly putting up blockades or moving weapons. As we approached the final post the soldier filled me in.

“They took us by surprise; we knew Ulfric was coming, but the siege was not expected for at least a se’n night. If we can hold off the siege for tonight the Legion and Legate Rikke should be here tomorrow. Irileth!” he shouted; the dark elf looked up from her post, beckoning us over as she finished giving commands to a small troupe of guards. Irileth was truly in her element, new glass armour gleaming in place of her old leather, fresh yellow war paint streaked over her dark grey face. She was an intimidating sight; it was no wonder the Legion fell readily under her command in the absence of their Legate.

“Thane Ashwood,” she greeted shortly, then to the soldier who’d snapped to attention at my side, “Back to your brigade, soldier.”

He obeyed, and Irileth and I turned for the final post, looking out over the long wide fields of the hold to the advancing army.

“You’re not battle ready,” she commented dryly and I glanced down at my dress.

“A mage is always battle ready,” I replied shortly and she smirked.

“The Companions?”

“They’ll be here soon; if I know Vilkas, he’ll want to meet that army head on,” I turned to her then, summoning a breath, “Irileth, I have a plan; there’s a shout I can use that could hold off that army, perhaps even drive them to retreat.”

She looked down at me, reading my expression instantly.

“The catch?”

“…You have to keep your men back here at the wall-”

“What?”

“I can’t guarantee they’ll be safe from it,” I pressed, starting towards the horses tethered at the first watch, “Keep them back here, if any of those Stormcloaks get through-”

“You can’t go out there alone!” She commanded but I was busy untying the reins of a black mare;

“I can’t have the soldiers following me either; I can protect myself out there but not them.” The horse freed, I stared hard into Irileth’s bloody eyes, “Please, Irileth, trust me.”

We’d been through too much before then for her not to; with a dark grimace the Dunmer nodded, turning and giving out the orders to the guard and the Imperial soldiers to stand their ground. Bunching my skirts up around my hips I swung myself up onto the back of the black mare, slammed my heels into her sides and charged forward into the night.

It was eerily deserted out here in the meadow as the horse raced along the road; the cattle and goats were scattered and hiding, the only sound now was the steadily growing march of the army over the fields and the distant cracking as the catapults flung stone at the city. Before me the glints of torchlight spread out over the darkened valley, glinting off the banner men who carried the Stormcloak flags high. I closed in on them, individual soldiers becoming clearer in the darkness, the noise of their marching thudding harder and harder in the air.

The horse huffed and grunted, and with a loud whinny slid to a stop when I pulled hard on the reins. I slipped down from the saddle, knees wobbling, and gave the horse a hard whack on the rump to send it running - she bolted back up the road.

A cool night breeze whipped across the fields when I turned to a mass of blue and brown soldiers, now not fifty yards from me, glinting with flashes of silver as swords and bows were raised. A voice from the thick of them called out.

“Halt!”

With a collective stamp they came to a stand still, though I could see other brigades across the valley still closing in.

For a moment I regretted my decision; of the possible outcomes, there was only bad and worse, the army looked so much bigger this close… But I would try.

"General!" I shouted above the roar of distant explosions. After a pregnant pause the soldiers began to part and a tall, scowling Nord stalked through them, battle-axe drawn. His face was partially shrouded by the bear-skin cowl that signalled his rank, but I could see the malice pulling his mouth into a snarl.

"Dragonborn," he growled, “Do you come to tell us of Balgruuf’s surrender?”

I swallowed, chin jutted forward, “No; I don’t speak for the Jarl. I speak for the people of Whiterun; you are marching on my home. The home of the Dragonborn.” I paused, hoping that might sink in, “I beg you, turn your men around. This is not a fight you can win.”

A titter of laughter rippled through the army; some seemed confident, some stoic, and others looked on me with a little fear. But the Bear-skinned officer scowled, starting to slowly move forward.

“You side with the Imperials now?” He called out, “Have you forgotten Helgen?"

I blinked; why bring up Helgen? It was nearly eight years ago now; eight years of me staying out of this mess till they brought it to my doorstep...

"I side with the people of Whiterun," I corrected, "You're marching on my home and threatening these civilians. I ask you, once more, turn your men around!"

Another murmur of dark chuckles rippled throughout the legion, louder now. The dragon in my blood snarled as if waking from a year-long slumber; my fingers flexed, hands growing hot as I charged my Ebonyflesh spell.

"Know us, Lyrielle," he called back to me, "We march for the true High King, we fight for the freedom of Skyrim and we will overcome anything that stands in our way."

The army advanced further, they would soon surround me. When the General next spoke, his words were tainted with sadness, "Even if it means slaughtering the Dragonborn to do it."

It was then I recognised him… it had been swirling in the back of my mind, but I recognised the Stormcloak soldier who had been there at Helgen with me, helped me escape…

"Ralof," I croaked, "Don't make me do this."

I had no idea if he could even hear me at that distance and over the marching of his men. His army still approached, bows and arrows trained on me. Ralof raised his axe, and bellowed the war cry.

I flicked my hands, the spell snapping around my skin in a rippling green aura just as the arrows let fly and the soldiers howled and charged, some past me to Whiterun, many with swords drawn for my blood. The arrows hammered hard into me, bounding back from my skin when they struck the spell. I tilted my head back, breathing deeply as the thu'um swirled in my chest, making my skin tingle and blood crackle. The balls of lightning charged in my hands, the air swirled coldly and roughly and I shouted to the sky.

"STRUN BAH QO!"

My voice sliced through the air like a thunderclap, an army of men flinching at the sound…

The sky darkened; it turned, slowly circling into thunderclouds, rain beginning to wash over the meadows, a drizzle becoming a torrent in a matter of seconds.

I felt the lightning before it even struck.

With a roar I summoned my own bolts of lightning, twisting the wild, violent flashes from the heavens as they struck the earth and the massive army, all the fury of Kynareth and Akatosh shattering the forces; men flew back from the massive lightning strikes which I swept around me.

The wind swirled like the beating of a dragons wings, washing away their arrows. My rain pelted their eyes and soaked the ground under their feet. If one lucky soldier struck my skin it bounded back from my spell, my whole body a conduit for the massive power of the storm.
Bright blue… hot and cold and crackling, pouring through my body and spreading like a spiders web through the army, and soon I became lost to any other sensation… I could feel it, myself, spreading over the battlefield as far behind me the soldiers and guards joined the fray, beating the dwindling Stormcloaks away from the city with ease; I heard nothing but the glorious thunder, saw nothing but the bright flashes that I swept and blasted, obliterating the enemy. I was one with the wind and sky, my greatest shout, the fury of the storm…

The rebel army was fragmenting, some trying to penetrate the vortex of wind and rain, others still attempting to charge Whiterun. But my lightning struck without rhyme or reason; it blasted them from the earth.

Soon there was no room for rational thought. I was the rain; the rain cannot think.

I never felt the change or thought to recharge my Ebonyflesh spell, till it had already vanished from my skin, and I heard Ralof bellow.

“NOW! FIRE!”

There was a whistling, then heavy thuds pelting me from every side and knocked the wind out of my lungs;

Then the pain, pulsing violently from every spot, each arrow that and pierced my clothes and skin, crippling my senses. Looking down at my torso I was shocked to see the long shafts of three arrows, one stuck from my thigh, another above my hips, the last sticking out of my ribs. My knees buckled and I slumped to the ground, cold mud and water soaking through my clothes just as the hot blood did. And I’d only worn this dress the once…

It was a struggle to breathe; each time I tried my nerves would jolt painfully and darkness would creep in the corners of my eyes. Coppery blood was starting to fill my mouth and I could feel it bubble on my lips… Sounds disappeared under ringing in my head, and through the ground I felt the thudding of someone advancing upon me; staring up at the swirling storm above, Ralof was soon leaning over and looking down upon me. No triumphant smile; nothing much more than regret.

“May the great heroes welcome you again in Sovngarde,” he said lowly, and lifted his sword.

Then, came the great, snarling roar…

Ralof leapt back in shock and terror but not fast enough; the giant black shape barrelled into him, a powerful claw smacking him away and sending him flying. It stood over me then, letting out a deafening, thunderous howl at the soldiers surrounding us and making even the most seasoned warrior flinch. The powerful black form of the werewolf…

Relief washed through me; I couldn’t know which of my Shield Siblings had come, I guessed Aela but right then I cared not. I reached up, hands gripping black fur and one strong, clawed arm scooped me up. The arrows knocked together and tore at my insides, but I thought instead of the warmth and safety of the fur, as the great creature howled again, and bounded forward.

Then we were flying, bounding, jolting through the muddy battle; by then my mind was fogging and I cannot recall much, just the feel of cold wind and rain as the wolf ran on only three limbs, tucking me into its chest.

Consciousness faded further, and sounds of the battle drained away into darkness…




The pain was the first thing to bring me back. Pulsing in my leg, twisting through my middle. I didn’t want to open my eyes, and my ears didn’t want to hear… there was so much more comfort in the darkness. Icy droplets of rain spattered rhythmically on my already soaked skin; I was glad for the numbness. It stopped me feeling the cold.

Then something warm, slobbering and wet was lapping at my face.

I sputtered at the smell of wet dog and blearily tried to open my eyes, hands weakly coming up and batting at the huge black snout.

“Urgh… Aela, yuck! Quiddit…”

I wiped at my mouth and face, as the large nose buried into my neck, nudging me and encouraging me to wake up. The roughness nearly rolled me over, and the pain sliced though my middle, causing me to cry out in shock. I froze, unwilling to move for a moment before shakily resting onto my back, dizzy with the pain. Aela was circling me in a  furious panic, growling and roaring at the invisible threat. A frown crossed my face…

That wasn’t Aela. Aela always had control, she was one with her Beast and could act humanly in her werewolf form. When I went silent the wolf turned on me again, quickly coming over and sniffing at me. I reached up a hand to touch the coarse fur.

No… not Farkas either… Farkas was huge as a wolf, more like a bear. This one was lean, all muscle and long limbs. It took a moment for my addled brain to work it out; the wolf’s snarls began to quiet as it watched me, my hand on the side of it’s long snout. My lips parted in a little shock, when I found myself looking into silver eyes.

“Vilkas…” I ran my hand up the side of the werewolf’s face to a furry cheek, and he licked at my wrist. “Oh Vilkas, what have you done…?”
I’d never seen him as a wolf… he’d always held back from transforming, I don’t ever remember him changing, not the whole time I’ve known him. And here he was…

Gods, he couldn’t even remember himself. He snuffled around me, sniffing at my wounds and trying to lick them clean and I had to keep wrestling his face away, the tension making the pain wrench at my insides again till I collapsed back on the grass.
Where were we…?

I could hear the sounds of battle in the distance, under the rumbling of thunder and pouring of rain. Tall, dark trees stretched high above me, stone rose to one said then dropped off on the other. Through the trees on that side, I could see the wide plains surrounding the hill Whiterun sat atop, small fires of the battle glinting through the darkness. They were fast moving away from the city, though. The invaders were retreating…

Relief washed through me and I closed my eyes, trying to slow my breathing. Sleep… it seemed too appealing- there was a loud whine in my ear, a cold nose nudging my cheek and I forced my eyes open. I brought a hand up resting my fingers on his snout again.

“I’m awake…” I whispered, finally turning my gaze down to the arrow sticking out of my side, another from my leg… wood shafts, blue fletch.

“Dammit…” I couldn’t just rip them out myself, I’d shred my insides to bits before I could heal. But there was a steady stream of blood dripping from the wound in my side. Bad news…

I weakly lifted my hands, fingers barely flexing as the soft, orange healing spell began to circle me. I could feel skin tightening and sealing around the arrows. But it’d stop the bleeding.

The spell drained me fast; consciousness came back but I was more exhausted than ever, hands flopping down into the muddy grass. My breath crystallised into a fog before me; it was colder than I thought. I rolled my head the other way seeing an overhang in the stone wall, a small patch that seemed dry and the appeal was too great. Gritting my teeth I pulled myself up, the arrow in my middle tearing again. With one hand I cast the healing spell which kept sputtering out, and with the other, began slowly dragging myself across the mud. Vilkas growled worriedly, circling and trying to stop me from moving; my hands grabbed a fistful of his fur for support.

“Vilkas, shelter.”

After a moment he seemed to understand, and ‘gently’ gripped the back of my dress with his teeth, dragging me like a pup to the overhang. It was all I could do to stop crying out in pain when he settled me down again.

The stone was cold and hard but at least dry, no more rain splattering my skin. Sudden warmth at my side, and a hot huff of a breath ran over my soaked hair as Vilkas curled his huge form around me, blocking out the elements. Gods, he was so warm… I winced and carefully cuddled into his side closer, trying not to knock the arrows.

Rough fur brushed my cheek, and under that, hot skin and a steady heartbeat. His breathing was rhythmic and slow, though when I looked up at his silver eyes he wide awake. It was comforting… my body relaxed through the pain, and I began to doze. How long I lay there with my werewolf in half sleep, I cannot say. The far distant noise of battle was long gone; Vilkas would shift occasionally, nudge me, check on me.

“I’ll be alright,” I murmured to him, gently patting his fur with the back of my hand. Sheer exhaustion began taking over then… I curled in closer, leaning my head against a warm shoulder. Thoughts and worries about how we could possibly get out of here were hard to focus on - I just kept drawing warmth from the wolf, darkness eating into the corners of my eyes.




It was some time later when I was roused- Vilkas was snarling and dropped away from me making me grunt in sudden pain as the arrows were knocked, tearing icily at my insides.

I tried opening my eyes, seeing him standing, hunched over, thick tail swishing as he snarled at the intrusion. Dread turned to shear relief when I heard a familiar voice-

“Farkas! I found them!”

The werewolf roared, and when I looked past him I saw Aela come into view as she climbed over the ledge.

“Whoa, whoa!” she held her hand up, but kept her bow at the ready- Vilkas roared again and swiped at the air; Aela’s shoulders dropped.

“Oh honestly… Vilkas! It’s me!” Her gaze flitted down and she saw me, taking a few steps forward before Vilkas lunged at her again, snapping his jaws. I tried to lift my hand to signal to her, I tried to speak, but my bones were heavy as stone.

“For the love of… Farkas! Get up here!” she roared over her shoulder and Farkas eventually came into view over the rise. He only raised his eyebrows at what he saw.

“Huh… been a while since I seen him like that,” he commented and Aela rolled her eyes.

“Yes, and I don’t think the ice-brain even knows who he is.” She waved a hand at him, “See? This is what happens Vilkas, you snub Hircines gift for years, then think you can just use it whenever it suits you…”

He was standing over me, snarling. Farkas took slow steps forward, a hand tentatively reached out.

“Come on brother, you know me,” he said lowly. The werewolf snarled, sniffing the air and his brother’s hand. Eventually he seemed satisfied that he knew these people, that they were friends, and began to let his guard down.

“Is he stuck like this?” Farkas asked bluntly, keeping Vilkas’ attention as Aela skirted quickly around towards me; her relief was visible when she saw me blink sleepily at her; it was hard to focus on her face. She was fiddling with a satchel, I think. When she spoke, she sounded far away…

“Hard to say. If he can’t consciously change back we’ll just have to wait for the Beast blood to run it’s course… hopefully it will. Lyrielle, can you hear me?”

I swallowed and tried to speak, but a strange croaking sound replaced actual words. There wasn’t so much pain, though. Aela lifted my shoulders weightlessly and put something cold to my lips, a bitter taste of a potion making my head begin to clear and consciousness return. But then Aela said something, something about the arrows, when she grabbed a shaft from one, suddenly snapping it.
I didn’t mean to cry out; it didn’t even really hurt, but it was so sudden I couldn’t help yelping. And in that instant all hell broke loose-

A wild roar split the air and Aela cried out as she was suddenly batted aside by a furious wolf, fangs and claws flashing as he went to pounce on her- just as another wolf crashed into it, tackling him to the ground.

Where Aela crouched, holding her bleeding side was a pile of broken steel armour, and Farkas, in his enormous wolf form wrestled with a rabid Vilkas.

“N-no-”

I don’t know if I actually managed to say it - I tried to lift myself, tried to move but the pain sliced through my body. Vilkas gave a roar of pain as his brother’s teeth sank into his shoulder; the two wolves tore at each other, tumbling through the forest, and thundering out of sight.

It was the last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me.

To be continued...
CONTEST ENTRY for Community-Of-Skyrim. Illustration by NikSebatian, niksebastian.deviantart.com/ar…

This was originally the ending of my other off-site fictions, kinda why so much of it takes place after major storyline events. Depending on reception I may post the other parts...

"Johnny be Fair" discovered though the lovely fic, "Transformations" by copper9lives

UPDATE: Next chapter (finally) added! shadow000angel.deviantart.com/…
© 2014 - 2024 shadow000angel
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decaban73's avatar
Great story!! :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: I loved the description of each part ... and I really liked the bond between Vilkas and Lyrielle!Heart Heart  The battle was exciting, but the best part was to Vilkas wolf version that does everything to protect his mate! Yes, because he would not have turned so easily! Oh, that was exciting! You must go on! I also read the story of copper9lives! beautiful is not it? Heart Heart Heart Heart But you also have a lot of talent! I was involved!!CURSE YOU! :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: :happybounce: