The werewolf ran across the old Imperial road and climbed the hillside on its western flank, scrambling up the rocky slopes toward the old fort at its summit – Fort Sungard. He knew that if he was careful, he could drop down on the southern side of this ridge and possibly take the path south, toward the campsite where he had devoured a hunter two nights previous.
Chip was a bit surprised that he could think, and direct the beast’s movements, and control his actions as well as he could since on at least two occasions now he’d had no recollection at all of creating the carnage he’d found in front of him later on. He was also intrigued. It had been full day when the Imperial soldiers had attacked him. Yes, the moons were still nearly full; but it was still hours before sunset even now. And yet he’d turned.
Is it the ring?
Sinding said the changes came at the worst possible time. This one came at the best possible time. I’d have been dead if not for this animal I’ve become. I was nearly dead anyway.
Werewolf. Fearsome.
He blinked as he jumped down from the rocks onto the roadway, realizing that those thoughts had come not from him, but from the animal side of him, the part currently in charge of their shared form.
I am crazy, aren’t I?
No. Strong.
He heard voices from the hillside above and behind him. Some of the soldiers manning the fort had seen him; and while this was a very good thing, because it meant that the watch was being kept, it was also a very bad thing because he was within range of a well-placed arrow. He threw himself across the road as fast as he could run, and up into the woods on the far side. It didn’t take long before he was out of sight of the fortress and making his way into the woods, south into Falkreath Hold once more. He headed toward where he thought he’d found the lone hunter’s campsite; but it had been very dark that night, and he’d been not nearly in control of his own faculties at that point, so he wasn’t certain he was in the right area.
He stopped in a spot of shadow beneath a cluster of pines and tasted the air. Downhill from him, he caught the scent of decay; and looking in that direction he spied the small tent where the huntsman had been. That meant that he was going in the right direction; a bit farther on he would be able to cross over to his uncles’ home. And he meant to do so, this time; at least once he reverted to human form. He’d only gone a few paces in that direction when the howls of wolves drew him away, to a spot behind a fallen tree. They touched noses and sniffed each other in greeting, but he didn’t know why they’d called to him. He got the sense that they were guarding his prior kill, next to the tent.
He ran across the opening to the tent and found that, while there was a substantial pool of blood on the ground – that was what he had smelled – the carcass itself was gone. It was just as well. He sniffed at the bedroll inside the tent, thinking that he might well rest there for a moment. Then he doubled over as the pain of reverting to his human form took him by surprise.
A few moments later he stood, panting, and looked down at himself.
“Damn, that hurts,” he murmured.
There was a chest beside the tent – empty, unfortunately; but there was a full quiver of arrows and a bow leaning up against the far side of it. Those he took to sell, or practice with. Then he had a drink of water, took a deep breath, and took off in search of the roadway once more. He’d gone only a few steps when he spotted an elk moving nonchalantly through the forest, and in one smooth movement he drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and dropped the creature, all while both he and the elk were in motion. He grinned to himself as he ran to collect the pelt.
I’m getting better.
He was almost out of the forest when a frostbite spider caught wind of him and attacked. He leapt up to the high ground of a boulder, as he had always done, and fired a shot at the beast. It was hardier than he’d expected, though, and it jumped up onto the rock to attack him. He grabbed for the blade his mother had given him – a Bosmer shortblade, longer than a normal dagger but far lighter and easier to wield than a regular sword – and stabbed down into the spider’s brain. He thought he felt a tingling in his arm as the creature died and as he pulled the blade loose; but then he shook his head.
I’m also very tired, and I think I’m imagining things. Probably just twisted my arm wrong. I’ll know for sure if I have trouble drawing the bow.
He gathered himself up and continued on his way. It wasn’t far, to the road; a few hundred paces along the rock face of the ledge and then around its edge. He smiled, seeing the red roof of Mammoth Manor peeking out through the trees. The last time he’d been this close he’d run away, fearing the reaction he’d get. But he’d been near his uncles’ home three times in as many days and it was clear that he needed to speak to them. Why else would he have been drawn here, over and over?
He didn’t hear voices outside, as he approached the home, so he made his way to the back deck hugging the shoreline. This place was one of their favorites, and one of his as well; it overlooked Lake Ilinalta and their fishing dock, and was usually bathed in sunshine and frequented by butterflies and dragonflies. He stopped for a moment to enjoy the view, and his gaze was drawn left, toward the place where he had hidden that first night as a werewolf.
I don’t know how to begin to ask them what I need to know. I don’t know whether they would have any advice for me about that, to begin with. But I do know that they need to be told about the Imperials. So I guess I’ll start with that.
The house was oddly quiet when he let himself in, and he frowned, wondering whether they were even at home. He stepped around into the kitchen and peeked down the stairs toward what had once been their friend Lydia’s room, and saw nobody there.
“Uncle Dar?” he finally called out. “Uncle Roggi? Are you guys here?”
“Chip?”
Dardeh’s voice was unmistakable, even slightly muffled and coming from the upper floor. It was a very deep voice, and had managed, at times during the years Chip had heard it, to carry overtones of power that could make the very ground beneath their feet vibrate with it. Today it did not have that quality; and that made Chip frown. He bounded up the stairs to the second floor and found Dardeh sitting in a chair near the alchemy table.
“Hey, there you are!” Chip said, grinning at his uncle. “It’s been a while. Where’s Uncle Roggi?”
Dardeh inclined his head toward the bedroom. “In there. He’ll be out in a minute, I’m sure.” One side of his mouth quirked up into a grin.
The look on his face made Chip want to giggle, to the point that he had to fight it down. If there had ever been one thing abundantly obvious to him, throughout his life thus far, it was that his uncles were deeply in love with each other and would take any opportunity to slip away for some “private time.” It had never been any different, as long as he’d been aware of such things. Even his mother and father, who were as connected as any two people he’d ever met, didn’t come close to displaying the same degree of inextinguishable fire that these two men did for each other.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said to his uncle. Stepping a bit closer, he looked down at Dardeh’s face and had something of a shock.
Dardeh, like him, was half-Nord, half-Redguard. They shared the same mellow tan skin color. While Chip favored his Nord side, looking like a slightly sleeker copy of his father, Dardeh was clearly more Redguard. He’d always been able to outrun any of them – not in a sprint, not by virtue of his speed, but by sheer endurance. Chip had always envied that, wishing he’d gotten a few more of his mother’s Redguard traits. On top of that, Dardeh was the Dragonborn – the only man alive who could absorb the soul of a dragon. He was ridiculously powerful because of it, and Chip had always admired that about him. Dardeh wasn’t a hunter the way Chip was; but he was the hunter: the dragon hunter, the only one who could do what he could do.
But today, Dardeh looked different.
As he’d grown into a young adult Chip had, of course, noticed the people who had raised him aging, even though he never thought very hard about the fact that they were so much older than he was. His father, Brynjolf, had begun to get creases and wrinkles in his face, albeit light ones, and his hair was fading from its original vibrant red. His mother, Sayma, was also visibly aging; her formerly jet black hair was a lighter, faded brown because of the large amount of it that was gray. He liked the way his Uncle Roggi’s beard had streaks of gray in it, and the way the deep lines around his eyes and in his forehead had gotten even more pronounced. King Ulfric, who had been a regular part of his life as well, had gone from blonde to completely white-haired during Chip’s lifetime, although it was hard to tell because of the crown he wore.
Dardeh, though, had never really changed very much. But today, Chip noticed the deep shadows around and under his eyes. Dardeh looked exhausted.
Is he… ok?
Chip did his best to put that thought aside and smiled down at his uncle. This was his chance to get some guidance, maybe, and he had just the way to lead into it. But he needed to be careful. How would Da approach this, I wonder? He frowned at the thought. Brynjolf would just handle it. As he always did. Sometimes I wonder if he’s really my Da, I take after him so little.
“It’s good to see you, Uncle Dar. But…”
“What is it, Chip?”
“I thought you both might want to know. There was an encampment of Imperial troops out in the middle of Whiterun Hold.”
“What?” Roggi’s shocked voice erupted from the bedroom, and he followed not long afterward. “Where, exactly?”
They spoke for a few minutes, Chip describing where the Imperials had been and how many of them, what sorts of weapons they had and any other details he could recall from that half-hour or so of complete carnage.
“That’s where we found a group of them once, too,” Dardeh said. “Not all that long after the war had ended. That wasn’t a pretty thing to come across, the aftermath of a battle. We needed them to be gone, but they weren’t all gone.”
“They were after we got done with them,” Roggi said flatly. “What was this group doing, Chip? Could you tell?”
Chip froze for a moment. What do I tell them? How can I tell them?
“Um… when I left the area,” he said quietly, “they weren’t doing anything. They’d all been mauled. I didn’t find any papers or anything else that might indicate what they’d been planning.”
“Mauled?” Roggi said in a startled tone, his eyebrows nearly touching in the middle for the depth of his frown.
Chip nodded. “Like an animal had gotten to them. Eaten them. There really wasn’t much left of them, but it was clear that they were imperials. Red and brown armor. Imperial swords.”
Chip managed to keep his voice level, but inside his emotions were churning. Nothing he’d said was false. In fact, there’d been very little left of the soldiers after he’d gotten finished harvesting their souls for Hircine. But he wasn’t telling his uncles the whole truth and that was tearing him up just as much as his claws had torn up the soldiers.
“By Talos, Roggi!” Dardeh exclaimed, his eyes round. “Do you suppose it was that werewolf?”
“Did it get loose?” Roggi asked, staring at his husband in obvious dismay.
“I’ll bet it did!” Dardeh yelped.
“What… werewolf?” Chip asked, his blood freezing inside him as he pondered the awful possibility that someone might have seen him in his alternate form.
“A little girl was mauled a few days ago, in Falkreath,” Roggi told him. “They captured the beast that did it. It was a werewolf; it turned human again not long after they threw it in the pit.”
Chip’s legs wanted to turn to water as, once again, he realized that it had been Sinding to take the blame for a grisly killing. The first time, he hadn’t known that it was Sinding’s doing. This time, he knew it wasn’t. Of course they would have known about Sinding. Dardeh was a Thane. He would have been notified of the situation right away.
“There are others around here, too,” Dardeh said. “I’ve had a couple of close calls with them, at night. Gods. I don’t know which is worse, the idea that the Imperials are sending people north again or the idea that there may be werewolves in the area.”
“I know,” Roggi said, frowning. “Neither thing is something I like the sound of.”
“About all we need is for one of the clans to have moved south. It’s bad enough that we have all of the vampires on our doorsteps all the time.” Dardeh shook his head, and his eyes took on a far-away look. “Did I ever tell you about the werewolves on Solstheim?”
This had Chip’s interest piqued. “No. Werewolves… on Solstheim?”
“Yeah!” Dardeh said, rising from his chair. “Hang on a second, I’ll be right back!” He disappeared around the corner toward their bedroom.
Roggi sighed. “Chip,” he murmured, shaking his head. “We don’t…”
Whatever Roggi had been about to say was interrupted by a loud bout of coughing from the bedroom, followed by Dardeh’s return. He was holding a piece of parchment in his hand, and clumped heavily over to the chair to plop down in it before unfolding it and waving Chip over to join him.
The parchment turned out to be a map, with several marks on it. Dardeh looked up, obviously making certain he had Chip’s attention, before pointing at it.
“See? Up here. Near Miraak’s temple. That’s where they were. Oh, and over here, along the coast. I ran into some werebears there. Nasty things. But these were a family of them. Weirdest thing ever.”
“A… family?” Chip leaned over Dardeh’s shoulder to look at the map and saw only two marks – one in the northwest corner and one at the head of an inlet near the southwest.
“Yeah. Let’s see. That’s Raven Rock,” he said, pointing to one of the marks on his map, the one near the inlet. That’s where the boat from Windhelm lands. Up here is…”
Dardeh was off, nattering about this or that landmark on Solstheim, shaking his head, cringing from time to time, waving his hands around. He reached for a piece of charcoal on the table nearby and drew a rough circle on the map, saying that was where he’d “gone in” to fight Miraak. He frowned, and his face looked even darker than it had a few moments before.
“Up there. A family of them. At least that’s what I heard.” He slammed the map onto the table and coughed. “Nasty business. I need some water. Be right back.” He stood and made his way down the stairs.
Roggi tugged on Chip’s sleeve and pulled him around the corner again, out of eyeshot of the kitchen.
“What is it, Uncle Roggi?”
Roggi sighed, and Chip cringed to see the sadness in his eyes. He couldn’t remember ever having seen his strong, willful uncle look this way before.
“We try not to remind Dar of Solstheim, son,” he said quietly. “I’ve never really gotten him to spell out what happened there, but whatever it was really changed him.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed heavily. “It brought the two of us together, in a real sense, so I shouldn’t hate it so much. But I do.” He opened his eyes again and shook his head. “He gets very distressed when something reminds him of that experience. It’s the one time since I’ve known him when we weren’t together, so I can’t argue with him about it. But it’s not good for him, to get that upset. He hasn’t been feeling all that well, lately.”
Chip felt a shiver work its way up his spine. He wasn’t used to seeing his uncles distressed, or vulnerable, or anything other than cheerful and confident.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Roggi. I wouldn’t ever have asked him if I’d known.”
“I know,” Roggi said, smiling and patting him on the back. “We’re getting older, now – or at least I am.” He chuckled. “Time for you young ones to be in charge of things soon. Do me a favor. Take that map out of here. And let me know if you hear anything else about Imperials. Or werewolves. By Ysmir, we don’t need either one of those things hanging around at the moment.” His face dissolved back into a frown. “Dar takes it on himself to solve everything. And I don’t think we can solve either one.”
Chip was completely dismayed. He wanted to grab his uncle and give him a hug; but he was afraid that he might somehow smell like a wolf, even to someone who wasn’t one. He couldn’t even tell Roggi what had happened to Sinding, to reassure him that at least one small part of the problem had been taken care of.
“I’ll take the map,” he said. “And if I see any more Imperial camps I’ll be sure to let you know. Or at least someone. I’m sure Da has people who can get word to King Ulfric, if nothing else.”
Roggi sighed. “No, don’t bother Brynjolf with it. I guess I’m going to need to make a trip to Windhelm soon. Ulfric will need to know about what you found.”
“I could…”
Roggi put a hand on his arm and shook his head. “No, son. Let me do it. I can always get in to see him. He and I have been close for a long time. You might have trouble, especially since now you’re all grown up and don’t look like a cute little boy anymore.”
They heard Dardeh clearing his throat and coughing as he came back up the stairs. Chip heard him groan quietly, and heard the chair squeak as he plopped down into it.
“Hey, Roggi?” Dardeh called. Roggi swapped a glance with Chip and returned to the main room.
“What’s up, love?”
“Can you make me one of those tonic potions you’re so good at? I have this damnable tickle in my throat again today and I can’t seem to get rid of it. Not feeling my best.”
“Of course,” Roggi said, leaning over to kiss Dardeh on the cheek. “And then some of your favorite tea.”
“Oh that would be good,” Dardeh said, smiling at him.
As Chip moved into the center of the room Roggi stepped back from Dardeh. Chip felt the contact of Roggi’s very warm hand, pressing a small square of folded parchment into his palm as they passed each other. He slipped the parchment into a pocket.
Chip looked down at his uncle and smiled. Dardeh looked contented and happy, just like always.
I must have been imagining things because I’m worried. He looks fine. He could take down a dragon right now. People sometimes have an off day. That’s all it is.
“I probably should get going, Uncle Dar,” he said. “I want to get back to Riften before Ma starts worrying about me. Again.” He grinned. “It doesn’t matter how old I get, I’m still a little kid to her.”
Dardeh chuckled, and reached up to give his hand a squeeze. “Tell her hello for me. We didn’t grow up together, but you know it’s always nice to know I have family still.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, smiling again and then turning to go down the stairs. Roggi was pouring hot water over something, into a tankard. Chip moved to stand by him and said “I’ve got it. And thanks for letting me know. Take care of Uncle Dardeh, yes?”
“Oh, you know it,” Roggi chuckled. “We always said we’d end up little old men making each other tea. And here we are.”
Chip waved and made his way to the back door and outside. He stood staring at the roadway for a moment as his eyes started to sting.
I came for advice, and I didn’t even have a chance to ask. I didn’t want to worry them.
He shook his head.
What would I have said? “Help, I’m a werewolf, what do I do?” It’s clear what they would have thought about that.
He reached into his pocket for the map of Solstheim and flipped it open for a moment, staring at it. It hadn’t made a single bit of sense, what Dardeh had babbled about, but there was at least one thing that had stood out. There had been a family of werewolves on Solstheim – or at least he believed there had been such a thing.
Chip started trotting down the road. He needed to get home, to make sure everything was in order and to replenish his supplies. And then… With every step he took, he became more certain of it. He needed to go to Solstheim.
He set off at a slow trot, wishing yet again that he had his uncle’s ability to keep up a faster pace almost indefinitely, for it was a long way to his cabin near Clearspring Tarn. First, though, he had to head for Helgen, and make it through the pass to the Rift.
The sun was beginning its long descent as he started the ascent toward the eastern end of Falkreath Hold. A deer ran across the road in front of him, and without missing a stride he shot one, and then a second arrow into it, and it fell. He happily gathered its pelt and started back up the roadway. When he made the turn to climb the hill south toward Helgen, he heard something behind him and turned to look across the valley to Bleak Falls Barrow. There was no threat there, that he could see, but the view was stunning. The only problem, in his mind, was that the sun was going down.
Am I going to turn again tonight? Or can I make my way home in my own body?
Or do I even want to do that?
Just having that thought run through his mind made him frown. There was, after all, something exciting about being so much stronger, and Hircine had praised him for harvesting the souls of those soldiers.
It was almost too much to take.
He passed Helgen, and turned east up the mountainside as the stars began appearing above him. There were scattered clouds and a few lazy snowflakes drifting down through the sky, and he felt no vastly increased heart rate, no drumming in his ears. He breathed deeply, relaxing into the beautiful evening.
A few moments later, he pulled up. The roadway was almost completely blocked by two broken-down carts, a downed tree, and a number of bodies – horses and people both.
“You’re mine!” a voice called out from Chip’s right.
“You won’t leave here alive!” came another, from his left.
From somewhere else, he couldn’t tell where, a Khajiit said “Well ain’t this interesting!”
Chip fell backward a few paces as he heard arrows begin whizzing past. He ran up the hill toward the east, pulling his bow as he did and then swiveling back down toward his attackers. He sank an arrow into one of them, but didn’t kill him; and before he could do anything else he was nearly surrounded. The three bandits were closing in on him.
The next thing he was aware of was standing just uphill of the carriages, peering in horror at what looked like a sea of bodies. He sniffed the air and looked around himself, and was appalled by the carnage, once again.
Did I do all this?
He looked around again and shook his head.
No. They did some of this. But by the gods. Look at this.
He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes. Lord Hircine. I hope this has pleased you. I hope you will continue to guide my hunt.
He felt no response from Hircine, and frowned. Stepping closer to one of the nearest corpses he realized that it looked different than those he’d left behind at the Imperial camp on the plains of Whiterun. It wasn’t shredded; instead, there were many long, deep cuts in it.
This man wasn’t killed by a werewolf. Is this someone the bandits took out?
He looked more closely at the body and realized that it was wearing an odd but solid combination of armor. The body just downhill from it, on the other hand, was dressed in light, loose clothing. Obviously this person had been riding on one of the carriages and had dressed for comfort rather than protection.
He moved among the bodies, a sick feeling washing over him as it became clear that he had, in fact, killed the bandits. He’d done that with his short blades, not his claws. He pulled his Bosmer blade from its sheath and examined it, and gasped as he realized that it was indeed coated with blood.
I killed them. I did. Not the beast. Not the werewolf. Me.
He’d always been proud of the fact that he’d never purposefully taken a life except in self defense. He’d always been very careful to keep out of situations where he would fight people rather than animals. Right at this moment, he was horrified. He’d taken out half a dozen bandits, with his blades and his own two human hands. And he didn’t remember doing it. During his last transformation he’d been at least somewhat aware, somewhat in control. Not this time.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he moaned as he pressed east, into the pass through the base of the mountains. There wasn’t anyone he could ask for guidance – not among his family, not among his friends. Anyone who might see him in his werewolf form would likely simply attack him. He passed a sizeable patrol of Stormcloak soldiers and cringed, hoping they would not notice how covered in blood he was; and in fact the dark disguised the extra blood on his black clothing.
“Talos guide you,” at least two of the soldiers told him as he passed; and he grunted a response to them. Talos had never done a single thing for him, as far as he could tell. But there was, potentially, a family of werewolves in Solstheim. They might be able to tell him what to do. How to be. How he might stay alive.
