As usual, Chip didn’t sleep very long or very deeply. After the relative silence of his cabin, the comings and goings of people in Jorrvaskr didn’t lend itself to rest. Still, when he rose after a couple of hours to head out on his job, he felt refreshed.
By the time he got out onto the plains west of the city, the sun had begun its descent behind the western mountains, and the long twilight common to mountain valleys had taken over the hold. He slipped quietly through the tall grasses, keeping low so as to avoid announcing his approach.
He didn’t know much about the bandits at Silent Moons Camp, but he did know the place, at least from the outside. It was an old chambered cairn with the outlying structures of a small, ancient Nordic city, arrayed up the side of the mountain; and it was still in excellent condition. He could easily understand why bandits would favor such a place over a dirty, damp cave. He could also imagine such a group of bandits being tougher and more dangerous than many others. They’d almost have to be, in order to keep such a base for themselves.
He extended his senses as far as he could, listening to the quiet breathing of the land around him, feeling the gentle touch of grasses whispering over his hands and the breeze caressing his face. He expected to hear saber cats, or deer running from them; but all he heard was the faint rumbling of mammoths plodding around the huge bonfire at a distant giants’ camp, and the monotonous ringing of a nirnroot at the edge of a small pool. He swerved to his right, thinking to pluck the nirnroot for use in potions, and stopped in surprise at the sight of a skeletal arm, silently holding an orcish blade just above the water as if offering it up to the first passer-by.
Well, I’m not one for full-sized swords, but this is a beauty. I’ll take it back for Eorlund to look at. Maybe he can make a few extra septims off it.
He plucked the nirnroot and continued on his way. The saber cat he’d expected yowled from somewhere in the foothills north of him, and an elk dashed in front of him, heading south. He peered into the darkening west, trying pick out anything moving around outside of the ancient fortifications.
Finally, Chip was close enough to see a single guard stationed at one of the outbuildings. There were several large rock outcroppings just downhill of the structures, and he sank as low into the grass as he could to reach them and use them as cover. He took careful aim at the guard, waiting until it seemed the man was facing back toward the main encampment, and then released. A moment later, Chip heard the single loud groan as the arrow hit its mark. He waited, straining to hear anything moving in the camp; but all remained silent.
There was another bandit, standing just outside a double door into the barrow. Chip took a chance on a very long shot; but as he had feared, the bandit moved before the arrow sailed harmlessly over his head. Chip slipped into the shadowed interior of the shelter where his first victim had been stationed, and took aim again. The bandit had, of course, heard the arrow clattering onto the stones nearby, and had cast an armored skin spell; its glow, ironically, made him a far better target in the gathering gloom than he had been before. The second arrow took the man squarely and lethally in his unarmored chest. Chip slipped forward and up the hill toward the dead mage, only to be met by a third bandit rushing down the stairs toward him.
“Can’t wait to count out your coin!” the bandit yelled at him. Chip fired a quick arrow at him and took him down.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he murmured. He was reaching down to check the man’s pockets for coin when a sound from the highest level of stairs above him caught his attention. It was another magic-user, this one a cagey sort who kept moving back and forth, making it impossible to aim. Chip shot an arrow at him anyway; useless, as it flew by to the right. He moved up toward the base of the stairs and caught a whiff of the second bandit he’d killed. To his dismay, his mouth started watering. The sun was fully down at this point; and while he hadn’t felt the moons exerting their influence over him the wolf within hungered at the scent of the dead bandit’s blood. Chip shook his head and shot again. The bandit side-stepped again, and Chip’s anger flared.
“Damn it!” he shouted.
And then he turned.
He hadn’t had any forewarning, or intention to change form. All he had wanted was to get the bandit who was taunting him, dancing back and forth. The change seemed to happen more quickly this time, although it was no less painful. He gasped as his bones broke and re-formed, and gasped again when a fireball cast from above exploded in his newly-elongated face.
Kill. Eat.
He was faster than the mage, in this form, and he knew it. So did the mage, based on the terror in his voice as he shrieked, “Die, you monster!” The wolf hurtled up the stairs on all fours, taking three steps in each leap. As it neared the top, what had been hidden in the dark became clear: there were two other bandits flanking the mage, and all three of them were firing arrows at the wolf.
A couple of those arrows caught him. They stung. Most lodged harmlessly in his thick fur. He reached the top step and jumped, landing with front paws flailing. His momentum caught all three bandits and sent them flying backward, knocked off their feet. The werewolf stood over the nearest of them and slashed, twice with its right paw and once with its left, and then knelt, facing out over the stairs, to devour the body that was left behind. The warm, bloody meat tasted good.
The second bandit had regained his footing and stood just to the werewolf’s right, desperately trying to nock an arrow. He swatted at the man twice. The bandit cried out and crumpled backwards against the stones, bleeding. The werewolf devoured him.
I am stronger.
From within the werewolf, Chip recognized that to be the case. He seemed to be stronger with each transformation into his wolf form. Whereas he’d nearly died from one attack the first time he’d changed, now he could take blows from several opponents at once without being in any serious danger. He didn’t know whether this was the case for all lycanthropes, or whether Hircine held him in particular favor; but he did know that he’d flung the mage far enough away in his attack that he couldn’t find the body to consume it. Instead, he ran back down the stairs to devour the man whose bleeding corpse had triggered his hunger to begin with.
Find Faendal.
Yes, Chip thought from within the massive body. We need to find Faendal and get him back to Riverwood. Got to be careful inside. It’s going to be close quarters, and we don’t need Faendal scared out of his mind and attacking a werewolf. He won’t know we’re there to rescue him.
The wolf opened the door next to the remains of the man he’d just eaten, and stepped inside. It looked much like any other ancient Nordic ruin, inside, except that there was a carefully-laid firepit inside the main chamber. Bedrolls were arranged around the fire, and there was a table with provisions against the back wall. It was much as Chip had imagined; an outstanding location for a bandit encampment, dry and warm.
The wolf eased around the periphery of the space and toward a doorway to a downward tunnel, following the scent of men. A moment or two later one of them noticed the huge beast moving in their direction.
“By Ysmir, you won’t leave here alive!” the man shouted, raising a bow. The werewolf stepped back a couple of paces, first, grinning at the man; then, when the man didn’t follow, the wolf leapt forward down the tunnel with its claws extended, and slashed the bandit to ribbons. There was a second man, wielding a pike, just behind him. The werewolf slashed at him as well while Chip, deep inside his alternate form, marveled at the stupidity involved in trying to fight with a pike inside such an enclosed and narrow space. The man got one substantial blow in; the wolf snarled and swatted him aside, stepping forward then to tear his body to pieces and consume it.
Change, Chip thought, just as hard as he could. Change back. Rescue Faendal.
He felt his wolf-consciousness whine internally, knowing that he did need to revert to human form in this small opening but not wanting to release the power he felt at that moment. Reluctantly, though, the wolf subsided. Chip seized his chest once again as the pain shot through him. A moment later, gasping for breath, he looked out through his own, human, eyes and took stock of what he’d done a moment before.
What a mess. I hope Faendal won’t be too terrified. Maybe there’s a back way out.
He was just collecting his wits when a voice from the room beyond the tunnel startled him. It was a woman, and it wasn’t addressing him.
“You should have stayed in your precious forest, elf,” the woman sneered.
So Faendal’s alive. That’s good. Now to see whether I can take her out without putting him in danger.
He reached for his bow while advancing a few steps down the tunnel. He spotted movement and realized that what he had first taken for a shadow was a short-statured Bosmer, standing quietly and wearing a brave face but radiating tension.
Nope. Can’t use the bow in here. Too many chances for it to go wild.
He pulled out his daggers instead, inching down into the opening. Faendal looked at him, saying nothing, but communicating with his eyes that the woman in question was just out of Chip’s sight, to Faendal’s right and Chip’s left. He moved ahead, placing each step slowly and gingerly, as quietly as he could manage before shifting his weight out over the leading leg. There was a dogleg into another tunnel; and at the bottom of that tunnel was the female Nord bandit.
Chip couldn’t imagine why she was there, standing before a closed set of doors rather than keeping her prisoner in eyeshot. It didn’t matter, though. He rose to a standing position and rushed down the tunnel, crashing into the woman with both daggers flying. It took only a moment before she fell to the floor, her eyes glazing over as she died. He turned and darted back up the slope to find Faendal.
“Thanks for telling me she was down there. She’s not going to be a problem any longer. Are you ok?”
“Thank the divines,” Faendal said, heaving a deep breath. “Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t dare move, though. Let’s get out of here. I don’t know what’s behind those doors but they’ve come and gone that way.”
“Alright, let’s go.” Chip led the way back down the slope to where the woman had been guarding the locked door, and shook his head. It still made no sense. Perhaps, he thought after the lock yielded to a single pick, it’s that it’s such a crummy lock they didn’t trust it to keep people out – or in. The doors opened to a room holding a shelf or two and a chest with a few potions. Of more interest to Chip was the ladder up to the outside world; and this access point, he decided, must be why the area was double-guarded. Faendal took the arrows and longbow from the dead bandit, and they made for the ladder.
It was very dark and very clear outside when they emerged into the open, and they made good time running quietly across the grassland back toward Whiterun. About halfway back, the saber cat Chip had heard earlier attacked. It had been almost inevitable, particularly with two of them making sound instead of just one; but both of them were expert archers, and it took only a moment or two to drop the cat. Faendal approached and lit a torch, examining the carcass.
“Take the pelt if you like,” Chip said.
“Nah,” Faendal answered, shaking his head. “I just want to get back.”
Chip nodded. “So why didn’t you just shoot your way out of there?” he asked. “You’re an archer…”
Faendal shook his head again. “Nope, not in a narrow place like that. Too many of them and only one of me. First of all, they smashed a club over my head to take me. I spent the first couple of days just trying to get my brains working again. Then I was watching to get a sense of what was going on. They thought they could get someone to pay ransom for me. I don’t know who. Anyway, if it had gone much longer I would have tried something, I guess; but I’m not exactly armored and I don’t know where they put my favorite bow. I’m glad you showed up.”
After that it was an uneventful trip back to Riverwood. They ran through the night, not speaking. It was clear to Chip that Faendal and he were cut from the same type of cloth, if not from the same bolt; the Bosmer was quiet and observant, and an excellent shot with even the low-quality bow he’d picked up. Chip would have preferred not to see the wolf go down to that bow, but he hadn’t known how in the world he would explain why it was even an issue. The wolf had attacked Faendal, not him; it was Faendal’s right to slay the beast. They were within sight of the bridge into town when Faendal stopped, and turned to face him.
“I can make it from here. I’m ever so grateful. Please, give my regards to the rest of the Companions,” he said.
A small thrill ran up along Chip’s spine. He couldn’t help but chuckle.
“How’d you know I’m with the Companions?”
Faendal grinned. “Who else would get sent? The Dark Brotherhood?” He reached out for Chip’s hand and shook it. “Thanks again, Companion.”
Chip headed back toward Whiterun, smiling. Who would have imagined it? One of the Companions. Well, I guess that’s a respectable enough thing for a Nord to do, isn’t it?
Once he was well out of town, he dropped to his knees to thank Hircine for his success.
Vilkas was sitting in the corner of his room, engrossed in a book and so quiet that Chip actually missed seeing him when he first tucked his head in to find the man. It wasn’t until he was turning to leave and Vilkas unconsciously cleared his throat that Chip stopped and swung around, noticing him for the first time. He approached and stood there for a moment, waiting for Vilkas to look up at him. When Vilkas didn’t acknowledge him after a minute or so, Chip sighed loudly.
“Vilkas.”
“Yes, whelp?”
“I’ve rescued Faendal.”
“So I hear,” Vilkas said, much to Chip’s surprise.
How in the world would you have heard that? Did you have someone else watching the place?
Vilkas still didn’t look up, but he smirked. “You brought honor to the Companions, and to yourself. Here’s your payment.” He did look up, then, and handed Chip the bag of coin that had been on the table next to his tankard.
“Um…” Chip started to ask about the situation, but paused as his mind raced trying to sort through this new information. It just didn’t make any sense that Vilkas could already know about Faendal’s rescue. Maybe the whole thing had been an elaborate ruse to test him, or even to get him killed and out of the way. Faendal might easily have been waiting there on purpose. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t fought his way out. He’d certainly had no trouble identifying his rescuer as a Companion.
By the gods. I’m getting paranoid. It doesn’t matter; nobody’s worse for wear except for the bandits, and Faendal’s back home. I know Vilkas doesn’t like me, but I can’t imagine him plotting to get me killed.
Would he?
“Thanks,” he said, finally, accepting the coin purse. Then he decided he’d best cover the fairly obvious pause he’d taken. “I … hope you don’t mind my asking, but why did you join the Companions, Vilkas?”
Vilkas looked back down at his book and chuckled. “To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us here as happy pups. Running around, biting knees…” He snorted. “I love my brother, but his brains are not his long suit. We were brought here by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don’t care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. So he’s not my problem anymore.”
Chip stared, fighting the urge to gasp at that. Not his problem? He’s talking about his father – or the man who might well have been his father. Doesn’t he even care? My gosh, I’m proud of my Da even if he has had kind of a less-than-stellar background. I’d be horrified if he’d left and never come back, always wondering whether I might have found him…
His opinion of Vilkas had just dropped lower than it already had been. Not only did he disrespect his father, he made fun of his brother as well. Chip had to force himself to return his attention to Vilkas, who was continuing to speak.
“We’ve been here as long as either of us can remember, though. So try to show some respect.”
Chip nodded curtly and then left the room before he could say anything unfortunate. He was simply appalled. Show some respect? To a guy who shows none of his own to his own family? Chip cast his mind backward and realized that Vilkas had only shown grudging respect to Kodlak, the Harbinger, in spite of Kodlak treating him with patience and gentleness.
And Kodlak’s the alpha. I don’t trust this man. He may be older than me – a lot older, if his Da fought in the Great War – but he’s going to find himself facing my claws if he doesn’t watch himself.
He shook his head. It was a stupid thing for him to do, getting angry at Vilkas – a pointless waste of energy and time. It was bad enough that being irked with Vilkas was the reason he’d joined the Companions in the first place. If it had been Vilkas’ doing that he’d had to put himself in danger to “rescue” Faendal, so be it. He’d just keep a keen eye out and watch to see whether he got double-crossed again.
In the meantime, he decided to see whether Farkas might have another job for him. He crossed the hallway to Farkas’ chambers, to find him seated at the bar that filled half the room.
“Hey, Farkas. How are you doing?”
Farkas looked up at Chip and smiled. “Well, Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor. And my brother has his smarts.”
“Eh, don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got plenty of smarts. Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Why did you join the Companions?”
Farkas grinned. “Vilkas and I have been here since we were little whelps. Our father Jergen raised us here. Even Vignar couldn’t remember Companions younger than us.”
Hmm. Well that sort of matches what Vilkas said. But Farkas doesn’t seem to have a chip on his shoulder about his father being gone.
“I see. So, I did that job for your brother. What else can I do to help?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s some trouble in Haafingar. They’re hiring us to take care of their problems.”
“Ok. What kind of problem?”
“Oddly enough, spriggans. Usually they let alone, but for some reason this particular grove isn’t. Shadowgreen Cavern. Do you know the place?”
Gods. I hate spriggans. But I’m not going to let these two see me as weak.
“I don’t; but mark it on my map and I’ll take care of it.”
Farkas nodded. “Ok, good enough. Show them no mercy.”
It had always perplexed Chip how the tip of Haafingar’s peninsula could be so comfortably warm and green on one side – the side Solitude was on – and so completely unforgiving just a bit up the road. He pulled his cloak a bit closer around him and made certain his hood was firmly fastened as he trotted along the drift-covered roadway. He rounded the corner and stopped for a moment before a curious structure, a small chapel of sorts tucked into a clearing, and surrounded by gravestones. He pondered going nearer, but then shrugged and continued on his way. It was an intriguing place, but he had a job to do on the other side of the ridgeline.
The roadway lowered toward the northern shoreline and curved around to the west in what was clearly a mostly-deserted stretch. Not far along the drifts there were two roadside markers, piles of stone pointing toward a cavern that opened into the side of the ridge.
This must be the place.
He stopped for a moment and sank to his knees to ask Hircine’s blessing for the coming hunt, probably against adversaries much stronger and definitely more ancient than himself. He then stood, readied his bow, and slipped into the darkened cavern opening.
What he found took him completely by surprise. In this area it might well have been an icy grove of some sort; but instead it was green, and humid, and much warmer than he had anticipated. Light streamed down from above. The air hummed with the sounds of pines and low-lying ferns and shrubs whispering to each other, and a brook splashing its way toward a pool of open water ahead and below him. He was frankly enchanted by the cavern’s beauty. It reminded him of the hunt for Sinding, except that the light was natural, not the blood red of Hircine’s domain.
He pushed forward through the earthy-scented cavern as silently as he could, stopping here and there to harvest a mushroom, or catch a butterfly. He made it to, and all the way around, the crystalline pool and found himself practically mesmerized.
Vilkas sent me on what might well have been a suicide mission. Farkas has sent me to a place that I was bound to appreciate for its beauty.
But beautiful or not it was, still, a job; and he still needed to exterminate spriggans in spite of not really being inclined to do so. He wouldn’t drag himself back to Whiterun defeated and give Vilkas cause to shame him.
Chip slipped into the pool to satisfy his own curiosity. The water wasn’t nearly as frigid as he’d expected, but it was crystal-clear; and as he’d feared, there was evidence at its bottom that Haafingar had been wise to ask for help. A skeleton lay partially buried by sand. Next to it was a water-ruined hide shield, and a claymore which could likely bring in a few coins. Chip took that and rose to the surface, frowning. This was, indeed, a dangerous place in spite of appearances.
There was a short slope up from the edge of the pool to the dry land beyond, and as he moved up it a skeever leapt out from the undergrowth. He reached for his shortblade; but jumped instead as a wolf appeared from another direction and attacked the skeever. Chip just stared for a moment. It wasn’t unusual for wolves to leave him alone, these days; but he wasn’t used to having them actively assist him. There was a pair of wolves, he now noticed as he pushed forward, extending his senses. They seemed content to run alongside him as he made his way toward the far reaches of this huge space. So far he’d seen no spriggans.
Just ahead of him, a huge tree had toppled across the space between the walls of the passage and the opening beneath. He headed for that, thinking to cross it. Perhaps what he was looking for was on the other side, at an upper level. He’d just reached the point nearest the fallen behemoth’s root mass when a familiar sound like the buzzing of an angry wasp’s nest met his ears, and a spriggan stepped out from behind the trunk.
Well, at least we know it wasn’t some sort of hoax. There really is a spriggan here.
Chip, still well hidden by the foliage, purposefully fired one of Hircine’s arrows at the spriggan. A werewolf emerged from the sphere of magic and attacked the spriggan, slashing it to the point at which Chip’s next arrow appeared to take it down easily. He couldn’t tell for certain, though, because out of the green understory barreled a bear, clearly under the spriggan’s influence and intent on killing the werewolf. They backed away from Chip, farther into the dark foliage. He followed behind them, firing one arrow after another at the supernaturally-charged bear from behind. The bear finally went down, and Chip edged forward, searching for the spriggan’s remains.
The werewolf, however, had not ended the spriggan. Chip was once more just beside the fallen tree when the green creature rose up from behind it, startling him badly. He backed down the path to where his conjured werewolf still stood and then whirled, firing a shot at the spriggan that struck it cleanly, finishing it off. The werewolf disappeared, noisily, as conjurations were wont to do, and Chip started toward the spriggan’s remains to see whether he could salvage any ingredients from it.
There was another spriggan.
Chip had an intense dislike of spriggans. Even the werevultures he’d fought weren’t as unpredictable and single-minded as the most common variety of spriggans, which had no fear and wanted nothing more than to protect the trees they lived near. They were dangerous. This time he had no werewolf taking the brunt of the attack; and his heart pounded so that he wondered whether he was in danger of turning himself. That would be the worst possible thing to happen, for those moments between his forms were when he was at his most vulnerable. This spriggan came around and under the far end of the fallen tree, and headed straight for him. He backed away, unloading arrow after arrow into the creature, trying not to panic; and finally on his fifth shot it crumpled to the forest floor. He stood up from the cramped position he’d taken while shooting, and found himself trembling in spite of having defeated the spriggan.
He looked down over the creature’s remains and shook his head. “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that it wasn’t personal. But you were a hazard to people who came in here and you had to be taken care of.”
Then he chuckled. “Talking to a dead spriggan. You’re losing your grip, Chip.” He grinned at his own silliness and worked his way around the rest of the cavern, harvesting a taproot from one of the spriggans and some sap from the other. There were no other hazards in the cave, and the wolves seemed to have vanished; so he headed out to return to Whiterun.
Chip found himself following Aela up to the doorway of Jorrvaskr. He knew that she had to be twice his age, if not much older. It was probably something he’d never know for certain. And yet he couldn’t help but admire her lithe form as she strode confidently up the steps. He could only imagine what a fierce hunter she must be. Her scent was unmistakable. Just before they reached the doors, Aela turned suddenly to look at him, catching him completely off-guard.
“I’ve heard you may be stronger than you look,” she said, casting her gaze over him bluntly and maybe even appreciatively. “Perhaps we could hunt together some day.”
Chip’s knees threatened to turn to water, right then and there.
“Perhaps. I’d like that,” he managed to say without stumbling over his own words. “Tell me, though: what does it mean to be a Companion?”
She smirked. “It means resting your haunches in Whiterun more than I’d care to, for one. But when it comes to drawing blood, there’s no one in Skyrim I’d rather have at my back. It means waking up every day knowing that you could die, and having to earn your life by clawing for every breath. I don’t know how those cozy lords manage to drag themselves out of bed every day. Why bother if you’re not living?”
Chip stood staring at her, slack-jawed. Not only did Aela have the scent of a wolf, she spoke like one, unapologetically.
“I… I don’t know,” he stammered. “I wonder that myself, some days. But I’m pretty young, and there is much I have yet to see. Why did you join up?”
“My mother was a Companion,” she said. “And her mother, and all the women in my family back to Hrotti Blackblade. I stayed with my father in the woods until I was old enough for my Trial. We hunted everything there was to hunt. Good training. Ma didn’t live long enough to see me join, but I fight to honor her and all my Shield-Sisters through time.”
Chip could only nod, not really understanding all of what she’d said. There didn’t seem to be anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite. He was a bit overwhelmed, though, that Aela had shared that information with him, unbidden. He merely followed her into Jorrvaskr, not even reacting when Skjor, standing near the door, said “You still need to prove yourself, whelp,” as he walked in. He reported in to Farkas in something of a daze, receiving Farkas’ thanks and another fat coin purse, all while trying to figure out what was going on in his own head. Somehow, he was a Companion, and he was mightily confused.