#Or like a starving wolf ready to lash out and attack anything that approaches

[compassmili]

Cried and I'm more normal now 👍👍

[daedriclorde]

A Thief In Wolf’s Clothing, Part I: Chapter 4, “A Death In Fire, A Birth In Steel”

As always, here on Ao3! 

Brynjolf squinted, the harsh sunlight blinding him as he stepped from the cave. He raised a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he tried to get his bearings. Surveying his surroundings, he could see the road a long ways down from the mouth of the cave. 

Limping, Brynjolf slowly began to make his way down. He tenuously stepped down boulders, wincing at any landing that was further than anticipated. One hand clutched his abdomen, still screaming from where his should-be fatal wound was. With every breath he could still feel the Imperial blade penetrating his skin. The Thalmor healer knew what she was doing. No visible trace of the injury remained, but she had made sure that it would still hurt.

The sun was just beginning to descend when he made it down to the road. 

Helgen. Which way is Helgen?

As if an answer to his silent inquiry, a signpost became visible among the trees. It pointed him up the road.

Brynjolf lurched onward, grimacing. Nothing would stop him in his quest. He had to free Aerisif. For all the questions the Thalmor tore into him with, tortured him for answers, he only had one for them:

“Where did the Imperials go?”

He had seen them pack camp. The Imperials were buzzing with a nervous energy, whispering excitedly to one another. It wasn’t hard to hear what they were saying: We have Ulfric Stormcloak. We have Ulfric. We’ve won.

Brynjolf sat alert, bound and gagged, searching the camp for any sign of his partner. Exhaustion clawed at his eyes, but he refused to rest. He had to find Aerisif. The camp grew louder as the Imperials began loading a wagon, surrounded by guards. Ulfric was pushed onto it, along with one of his soldiers.

He watched helplessly, as they tossed Aerisif’s unconscious body into the wagon. Brynjolf starting to shout, muffled by the rag in his mouth. He ripped at his bindings. He managed to break free of the worn rope, tore out the dirty cotton they had used to silence him. 

Now he had attracted the attention of the guards and the conscious prisoners in the cart. They looked at him with sad eyes, knowing his own fate before he did.

That’s when he felt the icy burn of steel.

His last images were of the cart pulling Aerisif away.

Until he awoke in the cave. Surrounded by stone faced High Elves, wearing the most hated robes in all Skyrim.

Thalmor. 

Brynjolf yanked himself from the recollection. He didn’t want to relive this, not now, not ever. He had to get to Helgen. 

By sundown he made it to Helgen, and stopped in his tracks. It was a smoldering ruin.

His heart began to beat faster.

Brynjolf pushed open the wooden gate, and it nearly crumbled to ash at his touch. What lay inside made his blood turn cold. 

There was not a single structure that was still completely standing. He saw skeletons of houses, remains of shops reduced to ash, stone towers gutted and exposed.

Is that stone…melted?

He stepped forward for a closer look. Never before had he seen anything like it, and shivered at the thought of the mage that could wield fire magic like this.

Another step forward dropped him down further than he expected. His foot was in a small crater.

No, not a crater. A footprint. A clawprint. 

Divines…

Then the smell hit him. The acrid, decaying smell of death and fire. Brynjolf gagged at the odor, searching for its source.

A few paces away from him lay the answer. A burnt, unrecognizable corpse. The fire had eaten away at both flesh and bone, leaving little for the ravens.

Brynjolf wretched, unable to stomach the sight and smell in his weakened state. 

What in the name of Divines and Daedra could have done this?

Everywhere he turned, he found more destruction. More bodies. He saw the cart that took the prisoners away, or what was left of it, upturned and smoldering. The remains of the horse pulling it were rotting, still attached to the cart, unable to make its escape. 

The smell and still hot air made Brynjolf’s eyes water and sting. He searched frantically now, calling out Aerisif’s name. He was answered only with echoes. 

Brynjolf pulled himself up the steps of a tower. Maybe Aerisif was sheltering here, away from the massacre that remained on the ground. He reached the top, carefully stepping over gaps in the stairs, but found no living soul. 

A strange sound brought his bleary gaze to the sky. He heard it again, still unable to identify it. Brynjolf turned his head, and couldn’t believe his eyes.

A dragon. 

He closed his eyes, shook his head. I must be hallucinating, this can’t be real. I’m just sleep deprived and starved.

But when he opened his eyes again, the dragon was still circling the mountain nearby.

Brynjolf’s heart sank to his stomach and his jaw dropped. The beast was larger than anything he had ever imagined, even in his days as a young lad with a wild imagination. The wings spread wide, and blotted out the sun when they passed in front of it. The tail looked to be thick as the wide trees in the oldest parts in the forest. Ominous obsidian scales armored the monster everywhere.

Then the beast turned its head, and looked at Brynjolf.

Or at least, it seemed to look right at him. The sight of those piercing red eyes was burned into his memory, burned into his soul.

Gods and shadows preserve us.

***

Aerisif took a deep breath and turned the corner of Jorrvaskr. As she expected, all the Companions had turned out to see her test again. She laid eyes on Farkas, who was approaching her.

“Remember, keep your feet moving. Balanced grip. Stay sturdy, but be flexible.” His eyes were intense with focus. You’d think it was HIS testing.

Aerisif nodded. “I know, Farkas.”

“Stop trying to coach her, Farkas, she knows what to do.” Aela strode over, her voice full of confidence as always. “You’ve trained her well. There’s nothing more to say, just words of encouragement.” Aela smiled at Aerisif, and she felt a hint of relief.

Farkas considered this for a moment. “You’ll do great, Kjolti. And you can always disarm him again like you did last time, that was a laugh.” He clapped her on the back and walked off. 

Aela turned to Aerisif. “Good luck, Kjolti. I long to welcome you into Jorrvaskr.” With a squeeze of her shoulders the huntress walked off too.

Aerisif took a deep breath in and sighed. She could see Vilkas waiting for her, the circle of warriors already formed. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over.

She didn’t bother to look at him as she approached. Aerisif reached the weapon rack, and this time, she effortlessly picked up the daunting greatsword from where it hung. Where before it had felt like reaching for her grave, now it felt like an extension of Aerisif herself. 

Her ease with the blade did not go unnoticed. Vilkas raised an eyebrow. “I see you’re more comfortable handling my massive weapon than you were before,” he said with a smirk.

Aerisif fit her new helm on her head. “It’s fitting you are Master at Arms, Vilkas, seeing as how it is your own arm that has the most mastery with your weapon.” She took a fighting stance and began to slowly circle Vilkas.

The gathering of Companions hollered and shouted at her taunt. But Vilkas only grinned wider, matching her movements, blade raised. “Your tongue is sharper than your sword, Kjolti, but seeing as these are dulled blades that is no great feat. However, if you wish you can sharpen your tongue on my whetstones.” 

This ignited the crowd even further. Aerisif adjusted her grip and continued to sidestep around the circle. “Such a shame that these dulled training blades are sharper than you shall ever be, and have seen more action in their short lifespan than you shall ever see!” Aerisif swung low at Vilkas’s shins.

The low swing surprised Vilkas, who hasten back a few paces. He threw his blade up to parry and it was met with a jarring clang by Aerisif’s blade. The onlooking crowd cheered, ready for a good fight. 

Releasing the crossed blades, they each took a pace and swung again. Vilkas surprised by whirling around and slashing at her calves. She grit her teeth as she felt the blow swipe against her greaves. Aerisif spun and hefted her blade down, clipping Vilkas’s shoulder. Vilkas recovered quick, returning the attack almost instantly. Aerisif was able to see the blow coming and block his blade with her own.

They retracted and began circling another again. The crowd egged them on. While most were cheering for Vilkas, Aerisif could hear Farkas and Aela calling out her name. She smiled under the steel covering her face. Aerisif threw up her sword in defense as Vilkas lunged again. With some clever footwork and quick thinking he swung his blade and slashed at Aerisif’s ribs. She let out a small cry.

Don’t lose your head, idiot.

Aerisif lunged forward. The spontaneity of the attack surprised Vilkas, and while he escaped the brunt of it, Aerisif did manage to catch some of his mail with the tip of her sword, and the steel scraped against each other audibly.

Vilkas lunged back. Aerisif threw her blade up in defense. She caught the blow but her block faltered slightly. With a twist she turned and was on the offense again. She struck once, twice, thrice in succession. Each was met by a block from Vilkas, making the training grounds reverberate with clashing steel and jeering warriors. 

Now Vilkas lashed out rapidly. He swung his blade gracefully, effortlessly, the massive sword dancing through the air like one of those funny curved swords the Alik’r carried. Aerisif, against her will, had to admire Vilkas’s skill as a swordsman. She furiously tried to block the barrage of blows being thrown at her, forced to retreat several paces.

Steel clashed against steel, ringing out. Vilkas was getting more heavy handed with his attacks, and Aerisif’s strength was waning. I can’t wait for him to tire out, he’s got too much stamina. 

She continued to match blows with him, but analyzed his patterns. And then she had it. His system clicked in her head like a picking a lock.

He wanted to show off, so she let him. She danced around the training grounds, dodging swings when she could, blocking when she could not. Aerisif stayed light on her feet, a skill she had learned long before ever meeting Farkas.

Vilkas lunged forward and Aerisif quickly sidestepped. She swung the brooding greatsword fiercely around with a twist of her body, and her blade met Vilkas in the ribs. Another flash and she knocked the blade clean out of his hands.

The crowd of Companions was silent, allowing the thud of Vilkas’s greatsword hitting the dirt to echo across the grounds.

And then came the roar. Aerisif found Kodlak in the crowd. The old man’s wisened face was set in a modest yet approving smile, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. He stepped forward and the Companions silenced themselves once again. 

“Vilkas, what is your assessment?”

Aerisif held her breath, expecting a barrage of insults.

Retrieving his sword from the dirt, Vilkas straightened. “I find this whelp’s abilities to be adequate, Sir.”

Aerisif’s heart leapt to her throat.

Kodlak turned back to Aerisif. “The official part of your training and initiation begins now, whelp.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder, smiled, and slowly made his way back inside Jorrvaskr.

Farkas and Aela made their way over. “Well fought!” Aela praised. 

“You fought with vigor and honor, whelp,” Farkas said with a swell of his chest.

Aerisif was still confused. “So…am I a Companion now?” She watched the crowd disperse, entirely uninterested in her. 

“Not yet,” Aela began. “Once you have run a few errands for us, and proven you can handle it, then you shall truly be a Companion and Shield-Sister,”

Makes sense, Aerisif thought. Wasn’t so easy to be welcomed into the Guild, either.

Vilkas swaggered up. “Well fought, whelp. Only way that could have gone better was if I had trained you myself,” he bragged. “Of course, there is still plenty of time for me to train you in other ways,” he said smugly.

“Talk like that again and I’ll wipe that smirk off your face with my blade,” Aerisif challenged.

But Vilkas only laughed. “Here, whelp, your first errand.” He shoved his sword in her hands. “Go have Eorland sharpen this.” He winked and left.

Once he was a few paces away, Aerisif spat on his sword.

“Don’t mind him, he’s done this with all the women who’ve joined after him,” Aela rolled her eyes. “As soon as he shed the title ‘whelp’ he started acting like Ysgramor himself had hand chosen him.”

“My brother is a braggart. Ignore him.” Farkas was watching Vilkas walk away, hands curled into fists.

“Best go take that sword up to Eorland. The sooner you finish the busy work, the sooner you can truly be a Companion,” Aela advised.

Aerisif sighed. Not unlike joining the Guild at all, she thought as she began to walk up to the Skyforge. 

***

“It’s madness,” Vex raised her mug for another swig.

“Three different people. Three! You think they’re all makin’ up the same story?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Vex slammed the mug down.

Delvin pointed a finger at her. “I’m tellin’ you, the rumors are true. And you’re gonna regret not believin’ them sooner.”

Vex spat. “Delvin, you’re just being your superstitious self as usual. You sound like an old fishwife. The dragons are not rising from the dead. That’s impossible.”

Delvin opened his mouth to answer when a ragged figure entered the Flagon. He squinted and reached for his weapon to hold off the stranger when he recognized the mess of red hair.

“Brynjolf, mate! Bout damn time you came back from that job. Takin’ your sweet time these days.” He took another look at the Guild Second. Brynjolf was caked in a layer of mud and blood, and what skin showed through the grime was pale and sickly. He was limping, and clutching his abdomen. Brynjolf’s expression was shell shocked. Worst of all, he was alone. “Bryn? Where’s the boss?” Delvin asked nervously. 

Brynjolf shakily made his way to the table. “Gone.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

Vex and Delvin shared a worried look. “What do you mean, gone?” Vex asked.

It was then they saw the madness in Brynjolf’s bloodshot eyes. “She’s…Aer—“ He choked back a sob. “There was a trap,” his voice was high and thin. “Imperials. Got us both in the Jeralls.”

Delvin, wide eyed, helped Brynjolf into a chair. 

“They separated us, beat us. Aerisif fought hard and they took her away.”

“We’ll go get her,” Vex stood from the table. She may not be best friends with Aerisif, but no one was going to fuck with her Guild Master.

“Vex—“

“This damned war has gone too far, I say its time for us to use our pull and end this—“

“Vex, they had Ulfric on the same wagon! They took them to Helgen! To be executed!” Brynjolf was shouting. His voice echoed in the cavernous Flagon. “And they were all killed! All of them!” 

“Mate, you said Helgen?” Delvin asked softly.

Brynjolf turned to him, tears flowing welling in his eyes. “Aye,” his voice returning to a whisper. “Helgen. It’s true. A dragon razed Helgen. I saw the monster with mine own eyes, flying away. The damned dragons have returned, and that monstrous black bastard killed our Aerisif.” His voice was trembling with rage.

The following silence was deafening.

“Maybe she got out? There never was a tight situation the boss couldn’t get herself out of,” Delvin tried to sound hopeful. 

Brynjolf turned to him with a crazed look. “Tight situation? Tight situation?! Delvin, she was facing a dragon! A DAMNED DRAGON!” He was shouting again, his voice raw with emotion. “SHE WAS BOUND AND UNARMED, AGAINST. A GODS DAMNED. DRAGON!” Brynjolf was fuming. “I went in. I got there as soon as I could, to the ruins.” His eyes were wide and unfocused. “Ashes everywhere. Smoke, embers still burning. And the bodies, Divines, the bodies!” He sobbed. “Unrecognizable, charred. Desecrated beyond belief.” He sobbed again. 

“Aerisif is really dead?” Vex sounded almost scared. 

Brynjolf nodded through his tears. The Flagon rang with the sound of his sobbing.