Blood 's Honour

Return to the Hunt

There was nothing there but darkness and roaring silence. She wandered for a long period, blindly.
And then, an echo of Hircine's fierce voice filled the emptiness,

Ware Companion. The Hunt is nigh. I will not be defied.

Out of the nothing came a snarling black wolf, launching itself at her and sinking its massive teeth into her flesh. And as she opened her mouth to scream-

-

With a shuddering gasp, Lŷke opened her eyes into darkness and cold stale air.
Panicked and confused, the woman thrust her hands upwards forcefully, shattering dry rotted wood and raining debris and dust down onto her face.
She coughed on a mouthful of dust and began to pull away chunks of wood, eager to be out of the coffin, for a coffin it was. Flickering firelight dimly lit the narrow alcove where she had been lain, and all around her was the smell of death.
Ah! But to live! To breath air and to taste the particles of dust and old wood on her parched tongue.
Lŷke continued to tear apart her coffin, pressing the wall outwards and rolling out of the ruined box and onto the floor, landing on her haunches and her hands like a cat, the tattered garment that she had been buried in hanging off of her in rags.
Her hair had grown after her death, hanging now past her shoulder blades, and her nails were long yellowed talons.
She was in the burial room at Arkay's Temple, in Whiterun. Her heart ached, she was so close to home. But how much had changed in her absence? Lŷke stood up covering herself as the rest of her garment fell away. She looked down at her body, almost certain that her flesh would be withered and rotted. But it was fresh and full, smooth. Still marked with every scar she had garnered in her eighteen years of life, but whole. As she ran a hand across her calf, her fingers sank into a soft, wet opening. Glancing down in surprise, she found that the wound Hircine had inflicted so very long ago was fresh and seeping on her skin. How was that? She didn't give herself time to worry about it.
After tying a strip of thin burial linen to this wound, she hurried through the cold chambers of the burial house, up to the black doors that separated the living from the dead.
Lŷke pressed her ear to the door, listening and failing to hear any signs of activity outside. She pulled them open easily, as if the black iron weighed nothing.
The Priest of Arkay was asleep, she could hear his sonorous snores and the gentle, even thumping of his resting heartbeat.
And she was almost afraid, afraid that this was a dream, and that she would awake in the realm of Sheogorath once more, or find herself wandering the Plane of some other Daedra.

But the fullness of everything, the depth of colour and sound and the biting cold on her bare feet, these things, these little details told her that she was alive. Daedra could create tortures of all kinds, but nothing they created was as authentic as the reality of Nirn.
She crept into the sleeping priest's room, searching through his wardrobe and retrieving a robe, which she slipped on before peering over at the man.
She did not recognize him by sight or scent, he wasn't the same man who'd been been in charge of the Temple when she'd been in the city last. This was discouraging, and she was eager to find out what all had changed in her absence.
Hurrying to the exit, she hesitated in front of the doors. What would she say to her loved ones if they were still alive? They would almost certainly fear her return, the dead were not allowed to walk around as the living.
"But I'm not dead."
She whispered, pressing her hand to her heart and feeling the steady beating.
With a deep breath, she threw open the doors and stepped into the biting Frostfall air. The scents of Whiterun rushing to her nose in a wave, almost the exact same as she remembered them.
As she crept through the residential district and to the square of the Gildergreen, she saw up on the hill, Jorvaskr sitting as ever like an upside down boat. The smell of mead strong even from this distance, and seemed to beckon to her. She was eager to be home after these many long months, or what had been months to her. Only a day or so had passed since her encounter with Vilkas in the Shivering Isles, but what if they shunned her? Or attacked her to kill her?
As she hesitated, a loud howling broke the stillness of the night, coming from behind Jorvaskr.
A werewolf in the city? Had an initiate escaped the Underforge?
Without a second thought, Lŷke broke into a run, charging towards the stairwell that led to up to the hall.
"Wait! Get back!"
A familiar voice stopped her in mid run, and as she turned she saw an armoured man charging towards her.
"Vilkas?" She breathed, and a moment later the werewolf was on top of her, snarling and snapping his jaws in her face.
"Die you bastard!"
Lŷke seized hold of the jaws and pulled them apart, pistoning her feet upwards and into its gut.
Somewhere behind her, a voice was shouting, "Get him into the Underforge Aela!"
With an angry roar, and a surge of strength, Lŷke rolled the monster under herself, reveling in the thrill of adrenaline that surged through her as she beat her fists into the wolf's nose. Drawing blood and breaking teeth as the wolf thrashed under her, tearing at her robes and scoring her sides with long, sharp talons.
She snarled viciously as someone yanked her roughly off of the wolf, and tossed her aside.
"Get him out of here!"
A woman with short red hair and wearing only a shift, cracked the werewolf over the head twice with her sword, knocking him unconscious and dragging him off towards the back of Jorvaskr with uncanny strength.
"Aela?"
Lŷke vaulted to her feet and stared at the man who'd dragged her off of the werewolf.
"Skjor?"
The grizzled man gave her a narrow look,
"What do you want?"
"Why in Oblivion did you let him get out? He could have killed someone!"
Skjor scowled at her, stepping forwards in an intimidating manner.
"What do you know about us woman?"
Lŷke's eyes widened and she glared back at the warrior, opening her mouth to speak as Vilkas and Farkas charged up to them.
"Are you two stupid?" Vilkas snarled at Skjor. "You're lucky that she didn't get killed."
"What is going on here?" Lŷke shoved the bristling warriors apart, noticing that Vilkas and Farkas were dressed for travel. Oh how glad she was to find them alive, if not older and more gaunt. The two of them had developed deep lines around their mouths and wrinkles on their foreheads, and the two of them sweetened to have developed a slight, perpetual scowl.
Both Skjor and Vilkas looked at her in disbelief, teeth bared in snarls of anger.
"Who are you?" Skjor snapped, and Lŷke shoved back a lock of hair and glared at them.
"Do you really not recognize me? Have I been gone so long that you've forgotten?"
"Lŷke?" Farkas asked, sounding confused as he stepped towards her. His eyes searching her face with an expression of hope and disbelief.
With a tightness in her throat, Lŷke nodded, a small smile twitching her lips upwards.
"Aye Far'ika. I've missed you." She stepped towards him and the entire group backed away.
"You- You're dead." Vilkas pulled his sword, in unison with Skjor.
"No Brothers! I'm not, and I'm not undead either! I'm alive!" She held up her hands defensively,
"Wait!" Farkas cried stepping in front of Lŷke as they came at her.
"Farkas, she's an abomination. Obviously someone's been practicing necromancy."
Farkas shook his head, "But her heart is beating! She doesn't even smell dead."
"I'm not dead!" Lŷke put in desperately, peering around Farkas' shoulder, thankful for his unswerving loyalty, "There was no magic involved, I'm here because I escaped."
"Escaped from where? I carried your corpse back to Whiterun. I smelled your decomposition. Farkas! You used to visit her at the Temple!" Vilkas sounded perplexed, and frustrated, "You died."
Lŷke stepped out from behind Farkas, looking at Vilkas solemnly,
"I did die. But I'm back, by no ill means. If the gods would let me back on Nirn, surely I'm meant to be here?"
"I don't think so." Skjor snarled, his expression one of deep loathing. What reason did he have to hate her?
The grey man bared his teeth at her, and looked at his fellow men.
"She smells and looks nothing like Lŷke. I say she's not back from the dead. She's an imposter."
Farkas growled, surprising them all. He was not one for open conflict, but now he tensed as if preparing to fight,
"You're old Scarface. Maybe your nose isn't working, and maybe your going blind too. This is Lŷke."
Furious that the dim man would dare offend him, Skjor charged at Farkas, raising his blade. Farkas took a startled step backwards and Lŷke dodged forwards and hooked her arms around Skjor's waist, pulling him down easily and planting a fist in his eye.
When had this hostility begun in the hierarchy? By the gods, had Hircine already cursed her family?
"Never attack my brothers when I'm around you old snowback." She slugged him in the jaw and Vilkas pulled her off of him roughly, shoving her to one side.
"See it is Lŷke!" Farkas laughed, and pulled her into a rough hug. "You're back!"
Vilkas yanked Skjor to his feet, and the old warrior glared at her with open venom, "We need to talk to Kodlak."
"Aye. Maybe the old fool will be able to convince you that this bitch needs to be put down."
"What did you just call him?" Shocked at his blatant disrespect for the Harbinger, Lŷke snarled, stepping towards him with her fists clenched, "Watch your tongue old man. Or I'll watch it for you."
"Will you now?" Skjor brandished his sword, "I'd like to see that."
Lŷke clenched her jaw and sneered, "You aren't worth it. You're all washed up. Its almost sad."
"Enough!" Vilkas roared, and Lŷke subsided, stepping back next to Farkas, as her brother glared at her and Skjor, "We'll take her to Kodlak. And I'm sure he'd like to hear how Fenris made it out into the city. In wolf form."
Skjor glared at Vilkas, "Lets get this over with. I had plans for tonight."
"Oh. Poor baby Skjor." Lŷke muttered as they started off. Vilkas and Farkas flanked her as if to keep her from running off, and she sighed in annoyance.
"I was on my way to see the Harbinger ice-brains. I'm not planning on making a run for it."
"You aren't a guest here woman." Vilkas spoke in stilted tones, not making eye contact with her as they pushed through the doors of the meadhall.
Lŷke stopped suddenly, shoving her palms into Vilkas' side and sending him stumbling over. He gained his feet quickly, glowering at her.
"When did you become such an ass? Damn it Vilkas! You killed me! And now you're going to treat me like this?"
Vilkas pursed his lips, "You're dead. That's the point. You shouldn't be here."
"Yeah? So I should have just stayed in the Hunting Grounds? Played the rabbit for an angry Daedra? Screw you Vilkas."
Ignoring the group of whelps at the table, she threw a punch at him, catching her fist on his gauntleted arm.
With an angry shout she swung a right hook and connected with his jaw, sending his eyes rolling. He shook his head doglike, and charged at her with a snarl, ramming his head into her gut and knocking her onto the ground. She grinned up at him,
"I guess some things never change."
Lŷke jumped to her feet, not even winded. This new stamina was exhilarating!
Vilkas swung at her and she blocked the blow easily, grabbing his hand and yanking him forwards and body slamming him to the wooden floor, her foot rapidly kicking him in the chest. She was lost in her rage, her body working like an automation.
"Do you have any idea what I had to do to get here? By the gods Vilkas! It cost me everything. And now you're treating. Me. Like. A Bad. Guy!"
Vilkas groaned under her gasping like a fish.
"Lŷke! Stop!" Farkas cried out, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her away. She gasped raggedly and sank to the floor beside Vilkas, coming to herself and crying out.
"By the gods!"
She reached out and flipped him over, his metal plated armour was dented from her foot. And his breathing was raspy.
"Lŷke-" He gasped, looking up at her with pain filled eyes, a grin split his face and he sat up. "Lŷke... By the gods it is you."
She threw her arms around him, "Damn it Vilkas. You're an ass!"
"You kick like one." He retorted, rubbing his shoulder and looking at her in amazement. She laughed,
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Lŷke sighed deeply, "I've missed you so much."
Vilkas snorted, "Aye... I could tell by the way you kicked me in the gut. How did you get back here Lŷke? You were dead."
"It's a long story... I'd prefer not to have to tell it twice, let's go see Kodl-"
"Here she is Harbinger." Skjor sounded triumphant, and as the siblings looked up they saw Kodlak staring at Lŷke in horror.
"It is as I feared."
The Harbinger was white faced with terror, and Lŷke git quickly to her feet.
"Kodlak! Don't be afraid of me, I'm not the Enemy."
His face ashen, Kodlak made a warding off gesture, "Begone foul creature. The gods have warned me of you and I will not be drawn in by your lies."
Lŷke gasped at him, "Harbinger that's absurd. I came here to warn you-"
"Go or I'll kill you."
Vilkas stepped forwards abruptly, glancing over at Lŷke in concern before facing Kodlak,
"Sir, this is a mistake. Maybe we should listen to her."
The old man was shaking visibly, his skin pale as milk and his eyes wide as he drew his sword,
"By the gods." He was practically moaning, and all of the gathered whelps looked perplexed by the scene that was playing out. "How did I not see it? Vilkas, don't be taken in!"
Lŷke glanced at Vilkas briefly, to find him staring at Kodlak with a look on his face that mirrored that of the whelps surrounding them. She herself was terrified by the old man's crazed look, the spittle that had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
"Don't be taken in? By Talos! Have I not told you the same? Kodlak, please you aren't well!"
Kodlak was trembling violently, as one in a fit, "You are exiled from these halls!"
This proclamation raised a chorus of shocked murmurs from the crowd and Vilkas himself went white at his Harbinger's words.
"You are mad!" He exclaimed, and Skjor stepped towards them with a snarl on his lips and his sword in his hand.
"Get out of here or I'll kill you myself."
"I'd like to see you try." Farkas snarled, drawing his own sword.
Lŷke could hear twin hearts beating in synchronized panic. She herself stood in disbelief; how could this happen?
"Farkas. Put that away."
Vilkas spoke in a strained voce, as if he were about to draw on Skjor himself. He seized hold of both of them and began to pull them towards the door, roughly.
The gathered whelps were watching them with a new, open hostility. Their loyalties changing with the winds.
"You're making a mistake." Lŷke shouted, her heart hammering as she pulled out of Vilkas' grip,
turning towards the Harbinger in despair.
"Go!" Skjor shouted and Vilkas grabbed onto her arm again, yanking her roughly out of the meadhall and into the night.