Mixing Beastblood - Ch. 6

Mixing Beastblood
Chapter Six – Planning the Hunt

Leaving Whiterun's plains brought on an almost instantaneous chill; ripping winds that coursed through the mountains seeking to yank warmth away and leading Di'kana to be thankful for additional layers beneath her armor. Knowing that they'd been going to Dawnstar, a great deal of her pack had been devoted to additional garments she could put on both beneath and atop her heavy plate, kept cozy by way of a large bear fur over the top of armor and a thick shirt and trousers made of wool beneath. Aela, too, had put on more to protect from the harsher environment, casting herself with a cloak that doubtlessly was made from furs the woman had trapped and treated herself, though the sources of said fur were too numerous to name. However, she layered nothing onto her body directly; no extra clothes beneath her leather armor, no extra shirt or otherwise atop it all.

When asked, she explained that she'd rather suffer the cold in the heat of battle than suffer a loss of agility. A cloak warmed her upon her horse, but could be thrown off when the time came that it was better to be fast than comfortable.

Di'kana considered that reasoning fair, even if her own differed. It wasn't far into the mountain road that she could no longer feel her nose, ducking it down within her furs to warm it whenever Aela was not looking at her, her tail tucked up tightly around her body to avoid even the smallest part of her being exposed needlessly to the wind. She'd traveled this road plenty of times, none of this was unexpected, but it didn't mean that Di'kana took any pleasure in Skyrim's bitter cold.

She also took no pleasure in their first stop along this road. As the mountains rose and the snow began to crunch beneath their horses' hooves, the sun having reached its apex long ago and beginning the twilight swing downwards, Windhelm hovered upon the horizon... a place that was characterized by a disdain for everyone who didn't look like a Nord, with those who appeared the least human receiving the majority of the scrutiny by the populous. Di'kana had some respect within the walls for solving a murder case there, but it didn't change the fact that slurs were still thrown at her when she walked the streets, and more than a dozen times she'd been accused of pick-pocketing when she'd done no such thing. It was a sore reminder that no matter what she did, in some peoples eyes she would always be a sneaky Khajiit and nothing more.

It also reminded her that, compared to Windhelm, Whiterun was rather hospitable.

“Must we?” Di'kana quested, aware of the setting sun and their tiring steeds. The stables would house their mounts, feed and water them for a few septims, and while she did enjoy the idea of a warm bed and food, she wondered if it was worth all else that came with entering Windhelm.

“If you would rather rest your horse in the snow, I will not stop you, but I for one will be enjoying the warmth of a fire and a tankard of mead.” Aela answered simply, shrugging, ever a follower that every companion was their own master... but not callously so. “But I would advise that you come inside and face them-- never let them see your fear, sister. As long as they do, they will prey upon it. If you've distaste for the feeling that you do not belong, simply walk as if you do. Nay-Sayers will be less confident in their accusations, and onlookers more likely to take up your banner than theirs if you refuse them before they even try.”

“Says the woman without fur. You are welcome there.”

“My lack of fur is conditional.” Aela noted dryly, looking back to Di'kana with an arched brow that wondered how long she was going to carry on whining. “And my welcome would wear out soon as yours, if these common fools knew me to the fullest.”

Blinking, Di'kana realized the insensitivity of her remark, nodding slightly as she surrendered her position. “This one values warmth over insults. There will be no sleeping in the snow.”

“Very good.” Aela chuckled. “We'll make a grown cat of you yet, sister. Until then, expect no coddling.”

“From you?” Di'kana laughed in return, a bitter thing that was eager to get out of the cold. Despite Windhelm's shape in the distance, they still had quite a ways to go before they would be through the gates and hunting up a hot meal. “Never... though, a question from this one?”

“You've had many questions, kit, and yet I expect you have been circling around the one you truly want to ask.”

Oops.

“I value patience as much as anyone, but maybe after a day of riding you might cut to the chase? Even my nerves grow thin.”

It was true, Di'kana had been avoidant with the subject. While several opportunities had gotten her close to asking, it always felt as if the moment were not quite right. Talking to Aela was not like talking to Farkas, where he'd directly offered her the opportunity to peer into his struggle with the wolf and how he felt about it. Aela made no such offers, and Kodlak's warning not to ask too many questions of the Circle was still remembered vividly. The last thing she wanted to do was to anger the red headed huntress and make the rest of this hunt filled with unpleasant and awkward silence.

She pushed past her discomfort. Best to be out with it.

“... Farkas spoke to this one, about becoming like you. Like him. About the blood, and how Skjor wants this one to share in it. This one asked him what it was like to be a werewolf, but his description was lacking at best. Di'kana thought to ask you, that you might say it better, and greater understanding might lead to a decision.”

Aela's eyes shifted to look back at the younger girl. She was inquisitive about something that most rejected on its face. The fact that she hadn't instantly drawn a blade on Farkas when he'd transformed before her was something Aela still marveled at. The further fact that they were intimate was all the more surprising. And now? Here she was, asking questions and trying to figure out if she wanted to become like them, her curiosities coming without judgment.

“Farkas is no conversationalist, but this is a matter that even I struggle to describe clearly.” The huntress admitted. “Let me ask you something first, kitten; you saw Farkas. When he changed before you, what did you think of him? When he came back to you, were you afraid?”

Di'kana went quiet for a long time, letting the sound of snow-muffled hooves be the pervading rhythm as her answer took time to build up in her head. Her feelings at that time had been more than mixed going into Dustman's cairn. Coming out of it, she'd been hurt and struggling to remain conscious. Amid all of her own concerns, finding what she'd been feeling in that specific moment took some consideration, and memory.

“He asked this one to help do away with his armor when the Silver Hand came. Free him of the straps so the change would not ruin it. This one was scared from being trapped, confused, did as she was asked and not knowing what would happen next. Those attacking us made claims on only his life, like this one was not there... and then...” Her head swayed, side to side. “The change was horrifying, and magnificent, in the way the dragons are both majestic and terrifying. To look upon him, know what is within him, and yet still know his kinder touch...” Di'kana trailed. Beneath her cloak, the very base of her tail fluffed a moment before smoothing; the Khajiit equivalent of an amorous blush. “He came back, smiling, joking, apologizing for frightening this one... and she sat, unable to move, staring at him. Unable to think. Just... breathing.”

“Sounds like he broke you for a minute, there.”

“Perchance. But it was his voice that brought this one back.”

“His voice?”

“This one finds it pleasurable to the ears.”

“... well, I suppose everyone has something they go for. What did you think of him, after? Think of us, knowing what we were hiding?”

“Admiration. The world considers lycanthropy a curse, and instead the Circle celebrates it as a gift. To be so proud, so wild, with no shame, this one sees it as grand and beautiful in its own way.”

Aela listened from beneath her own layer of furs, nodding along. Truly, Di'kana's thoughts reminded Aela of her own when she'd been just a girl.

“To be a werewolf is to share part of yourself with the wild world around you. It is to open a vein and join nature itself in its grand balancing act of hunter and hunted. There is such passion in it, truly. You will find no one in the Circle who does anything half-way; even Kodlak, calm and patient as he is, still has a tenacity that cannot be stopped by any roadblock. When one is already wild, it takes that part of them and makes it greater. When one is already patient and stubborn, that, too, is brought to bare. The beast brings out the parts of us that are already like it, and makes them the center of who we are. Honestly... I wonder what it would do to you.”

“To this one?” Di'kana questioned. “Why?”

“You are already like us, in a way. Your teeth are not unlike the wolf's fangs. Your claws are sharp-- I've seen the way you've had to refresh the padding on your bedposts to keep Tilmo from scolding you for your morning scratchings. You smell and hear and see more than others do, and I've seen you fight with the sort of unstoppable will that usually comes after someone has taken the blood, not before.”

“Is that dangerous?”

It was Aela's turn to go quiet for a long while, musing upon the question. Whether or not to answer it. Eventually, she nodded beneath her cloak of furs, agreeing with herself on something before she spoke. “Not all handle the blood well.” She answered. “... some are consumed by it, turn feral. They become the beast, and never come back. Why, I am unsure. Maybe they take to it too greedily, and forget that they were once something else. Maybe it brought out something in them that was repressed, and when it came forth it was alien and unknown. Or maybe those traits were too strong, and it was impossible to return. All I know is that it happens, and it is a true danger you should know of when you consider Skjor's offer. If you take the blood, and you do not come back to yourself...”

Aela could not bring herself to complete that thought, the quiet ominous now. The options for a feral werewolf were limited at best; either to be put down by friends, her herded into the wildest parts of the world where the rage and blood-lust would give travelers further reason to avoid those places... only to be later hunted by strangers who seek to put the danger down themselves.

“Skjor would have forced this? Knowing these things?”

“He thinks passing it on is more important than anything else, particularly with Kodlak's recent... studies.”

“You disapprove that he's looking for a cure?”

“I wouldn't call it a cure.” Aela snorted. “It is his right to do as he will, but the desire to shed of power to go on to some mead-swilling afterlife is something I will never comprehend. He took the blood of his own will, and now he wants to put it back because he fears for the sake of his soul. One does not commit to a life of hunting only to take it back and claim they had no joy in it.”

“Perhaps... but what one wants while they are young is not always the same as what they desire once aged. Kodlak has lived longer than most. If he is tired, he has the right to desire rest at the end of it all... same as hunters have the right to desire the hunt, endless and eternal.”

“... I suppose so.” Aela still sounded uncomfortable.

“Let us hurry.” Di'kana dismissed the subject, pushing her horse into a canter. “Warm meals and beds, yes?”

“Yes.” Aela agreed, sure that she'd given Di'kana plenty to think about.

The girl still had to make her own choice, after all.

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Farkas had a terrible time leaving the amulet alone, once he'd put it on. He found himself reaching into his armor to draw it out, rub his thumb over the engraving, whenever he thought no-one was watching him. At first, it was an action that made him smile faintly, both bewildered and pleased with whatever sort of connection he'd managed to fumble himself into. Confusing and sudden, and yet he wouldn't change what had happened nor how it came to be in the slightest.

Later, however, he found it made him miss her more. He'd been the one away so many times, heading off on jobs for the Companions, that he never really realized how much time one could spend feeling lonely when they were the one left inside the walls. He'd tried to force the feeling off, redoubling himself in the yard, training with his great sword if only to occupy himself... but hefting his blade to swing and hack at the straw dummy upon its pole was an action so natural to him it was like breathing; mindless, not needing thought, so still he felt her absence in a way that worried him for how it clung onto him.

Maybe he should have made the argument to go with them. Aela would have teased him and Di'kana the whole way, yes, but it would have been better than waiting around for them to come back. Anything would have been.

“Skjor is looking for you.”

“Huh?”

Farkas's head twisted about-- his brother was on the patio, watching him, projecting his voice over the sound of his blade biting into the dummy yet again. The poor thing was getting to the point where most of the straw had been beaten off of it, and Farkas's sword was beginning to hack into the pole it was all tied to.

Withdrawing the heavy weapon, he turned himself to his twin.

“Skjor, he's down in the living quarters, looking for you.” Vilkas reiterated, coming down the steps of the patio to join his brother in the yard, looking at the maimed dummy. “... let's hope he has something for you to do besides punishing straw men for existing.”

“I'm bored.” Farkas complained, shaking his head. “Better to train than do nothing.”

“I've seen you bored.” Vilkas scoffed. “This is past bored... what's wrong?”

“Nothing-- and I'm not going to keep Skjor waiting.” Farkas shook his head, moving to head inside. He loved his brother, but he felt as if he didn't have the words to explain what was going on with him right now... not without saying more than Di'kana wanted him to, anyhow.

Vilkas, however, wasn't having it. He turned, grabbing Farkas's shoulder, tugging him back with a questioning look on his face. The two were all but mirror images of each other; bright and shining eyes, dark hair that was thick and resisted any sort of taming besides the way Vilkas wore his shorter, height, general build-- they were twins, after all... but Vilkas had a lot more lines on his face from making looks like that, always fussing about something. Always worried that something was building up towards trouble.

Poor bastard was usually right, too.

“Is there something I should know about?”

Farkas looked at his brother, halted in his steps, his jaw clenching for a moment before it released.

“Nothing I can talk about right now. I... I promised. It's not bad. It's... actually really good, but...”

He trailed off as Vilkas stared at him. It was a very particular look that could be shared between brothers and Farkas knew exactly what it meant. Vilkas knew something was going on, and he wanted to know what. It was a look that told Farkas not to even think for a moment that he was getting away with something.

All the same, Vilkas let him go. What might have gone into a standoff, that might had further ended in the pair of them having a tussle over it, Vilkas yielded.

“Alright... but if there's a problem, don't hide from me.”

“I know, brother.” Farkas nodded quickly.

“And after Skjor talks to you, fix the training dummy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Farkas waved off the ordered chore. He'd do it, of course, he did everything his brother told him to do.

Eventually. But right now he'd hold onto the hope that Skjor had something less tedious for him to do. Heading inside from the yard, Farkas grabbed a hunk of cheese as he passed from the patio to Jorrvaskr itself, chomping away at it while he turned himself to the stairs and descended into the living quarters. By the time he'd arrived by Skjor's room, the cheese was gone and his hand was empty to open the door without thought towards knocking.

“You were looking for me?” Farkas asked as he sighted the man within, Skjor currently caring for his blade with a worn rag and a tub of oil to protect the recently sharped edge from rust. He sat upon the edge of his wooden bunk, the hilt of his weapon held securely in one hand while the other dipped into the oil-- likely rendered bear or wolf fat, gathering up an amount on the rag and bringing it to the shining length of the sword, rubbing it up from base to tip and ensuring that the coating made it into every crevice.

He didn't look up from his task when Farkas entered, his good eye focused to his work, and the dead one half-closed as his face squinted and scrutinized the metal in his care. “I was. I have a task you could help me with. Please, come in, shut the door.”

Skjor's voice had something in it that made Farkas wary. He wasn't sure what-- the man sounded calm, quiet, speaking softly and bidding the younger man closer... and yet, Farkas got a feeling in his gut that demanded he be tense, alert.

Within him, there was a desire to growl. The beast stirred, watching and waiting for a sign of treachery.

Still, he did as he was told. He stepped inside and shut the door. “What did you want?”

“Aela's departure was an abrupt decision, one that was of poor timing.” Skjor explained. “She and I had been hunting something together during our nights-- we think it might have been a feral. The last few nights, she and I had been tracking it together, and before she left the last trail we found had it heading up into the mountains just south of Whiterun. If it is a feral, it would be right to put it down before it comes down and causes harm to any of the local farms or people, but I would think it a poor idea to hunt it by myself. If you had the time, I would like it if you helped me. We could go tonight, ensure it doesn't have time to wander elsewhere.”

“Have you told the old man about this?”

“He's busy with his own studies.” Skjor disregarded, turning his blade several times before deciding he was pleased with his work, tossing the rag into the tub of oil and standing up. “All the work of finding this creature has already been done, Farkas, I just need a strong partner to finish the job. Don't tell me you're not equal to the task?”

“I didn't say that... where do you want to meet?”