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daedriclorde · 4 years

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A Thief In Wolf’s Clothing, Part II: Chapter 8, “Feed The Wolf”

This is it folks! Last chapter of Part II! I hope that you’ve enjoyed it. Part III is in the works, but I’ll be honest, I just started, so it’s gonna be a minute.

Read here on Ao3, and enjoy the full chapter below!!

Summary: What Kjolti finds in the Imperial camp has her losing her grip on humanity. Can Farkas bring her back from the brink?

Farkas had hunted with his shield-sister countless times, and he was familiar with her hunting patterns. Kjolti was a fierce hunter, but this aggression was beyond her normal tactics. Something was wrong.

Kjolti was terrorizing her prey. This was unlike her. Kjolti didn’t waste time playing cat and mouse with her prey when in her beast form. She was a highly efficient hunter.

But as Farkas watched her systematically disable her prey, Farkas knew that something was very wrong.

Farkas circled around, hoping not to see what he suspected. He caught her eyes, and was filled with dread. Where he normally saw sharp, intelligent eyes, Kjolti’s silver moon eyes were wild.

Farkas felt his heart sink to his stomach. He had seen this happen once before, when he was new to his beast form. It had not been a member of the Companions, but they had been hired to hunt down the feral werewolf. When he saw the beast, it was clear they had lost grip of their humanity. It’s all in the eyes.

And Kjolti’s eyes looked nearly feral.

Farkas knew he didn’t have much time. He let his beast form fall away, begging to change quickly. His blood was pumping so fast that it didn’t take long for his wolf blood to filter out. Farkas was returned to human form, but he still felt the power of the wolf surging through his veins.

“Kjolti!” she either couldn’t hear him, or chose not to.

“Kjolti!” He bellowed. “Kjolti! Come back! Kjolti!”

She ravaged the Imperial before her. Blood and gore didn’t bother Farkas, but the pure rage Kjolti released made him turn his head away slightly. She sprung away, searching for more enemies. Farkas chased after her.

“Kjolti! Come back to me! Kjolti!”

She was upending the tents when he saw her ears prick up. Slowly, she turned to him.

If Farkas had been a lesser man, he would have likely run at that point, such was the wild rage in her eyes. He searched for a sign of his friend, of Kjolti in them. He couldn’t see her.

“Kjolti, it’s me! Farkas!” She snarled and stepped toward him.

By Hircine, no.

“Kjolti!” he shouted. “That’s who you are! You have a name! And friends!”

Her eyes wavered then, releasing the beast for a heart’s beat, but fell back to the wildness that had overcome her.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and Farkas charged at Kjolti.

The brash move startled her, and she was unable to stop him before he reached her. With all his weight and the element of surprise, Farkas managed to knock Kjolti down. She snarled at him, but Farkas summoned every scrap of courage he could and gripped the midnight fur on either side of her violent face in his hands. Sinister teeth were poised to sink into him, just inches from his face.

“You are Kjolti of The Companions! You are my friend!” He shouted at her.

For a moment, nothing changed. Farkas thought all was lost. But then her eyes softened, and her maw closed. Farkas could see Kjolti in her eyes again, and then she began to shift. He released her and stepped away.

Kjolti, returned to her human form, lay prone on the ground.

***

Farkas stepped forward, his heart racing. “Kjolti?”

She moved slightly. He hesitantly sat next to her. “Kjolti, it’s okay. You’re back.”

Sniffling, Kjolti sat up. Human as they were, her eyes looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. She was looking around the destroyed camp, her expression vacant.

“Kjolti? What is it?”

She swallowed. “Did…I did this?” Her voice was cracked.

Farkas scooted closer. “You…yeah.”

She finally turned to look at him. She looked scared, and that frightened Farkas more than her werewolf form. “What happened to me, Farkas?”

He swallowed. “You almost went feral.”

Kjolti’s eyes went wide. “Feral?” Her voice trembled.

“It’s okay, though, you didn’t. You’re back.”

Kjolti rubbed her head in her hands. Suddenly she froze, her eyes latched onto something on the other side of the camp. Wobbling, Kjolti rose to her legs and made her way over to an upset tent across the way.

“Where are you going?”

She knelt beside a worn leather pack. Farkas could see tears well in her eyes as she reached out to grab it. Kjolti felt the leather between her fingers before she opened it, holding her breath.

Whatever she saw inside, it brought her to tears. She rummaged through it for what felt like hours, sometimes pulling an item out and holding it close to her. Farkas watched as Kjolti pulled out a black leather garment that as soon as it was removed from the pack, seemed to disappear into the night. It brought Kjolti fresh sobs.

Eventually, Kjolti sniffed and stood. She walked over to the last Imperial she killed, bent down, and took the ebony sword he had held. Kjolti opened the pack and slid the sword inside.

Farkas couldn’t believe his eyes. The sword had been larger than the pack; how did she make it fit inside? Especially with everything else there?

Kjolti wandered around the camp, picking up items here and there from tents and bodies. To Farkas’s continued amazement, she managed to fit item after item into this pack of hers. It’s enchanted, dumbass, he finally realized.

Finally, she returned to Farkas. He stood, towering over her. Kjolti stared up at him, unfazed by his height.

“Farkas, promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell anyone about what happened tonight, and ESPECIALLY don’t tell anyone about this pack.”

He squinted. “Why?”

“Please, Farkas. Just don’t say anything.” Her eyes were pleading.

Farkas held his breath for a moment. “Kjolti…” He knew there was more here than she was letting on. He crossed his arms. Kjolti was still visibly shaken from her experience. “Let’s get back to Jorrvaskr.”

***

He didn’t answer my question, Kjolti thought. But she didn’t press it for now. She slung her enchanted pack over her shoulder as they began to walk away from the wreckage of the Imperial camp.

The pack slid so comfortably over her back. Having it returned to her almost felt like a friend returning from the dead. Kjolti teared at the thought and bit her lip. Pushing the grief aside, she tried to focus on the positive: she had all her things back.

When she and Brynjolf, Gods, Brynjolf, had been captured in Falkreath, the Imperials took all her belongings. Including her armor, as she had woken up in rags. This enchanted pack held basically everything she owned. All the Stones of Barenziah she had found were still there, thankfully. The Imperials probably didn’t even know what they were worth.

But what made her heart lodge itself in her throat was her Nightingale Armor. Just seeing it brought back a wave of emotion Kjolti hadn’t been prepared to deal with. The mysterious folds of onyx leather called to her, called to a different version of her. Kjolti felt like her old life had slammed into her, and it made her head dizzy.

How long had it been since Helgen? Kjolti strained to count the moons. Shor’s bones, its been more than a year.

Kjolti walked onward, her head fuzzy. She became aware of Farkas walking beside her. He was silent, but every sense she had told her he wanted to say something.

“Farkas?”

He didn’t answer, but turned at looked at her strangely.

“Something on your mind?”

He blinked. “Something on my mind?” Kjolti couldn’t read his expression. “You’re the one that goes nearly feral for no clear reason, then picks up some strange magic pack, and then asks me to keep quiet about it? And you want to know what’s on my mind?”

Kjolti stopped in her tracks. This wasn’t like him. “Farkas,” she started.

“Forget it,” he snapped as he stomped ahead.

Kjolti blinked. What’s gotten into him? She hurried after him. They were nearly at the Whiterun gates now, and the watchfires lit the night with a soft glow.

“Farkas, wait,” she called. He didn’t even turn around.

What the fuck?

Summoning the last of her strength, Kjolti ran as fast as she could till she was once again beside Farkas.

“Farkas, talk to me.” She lay her hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Kjolti was taken aback. “What?”

Farkas’s expression was stormy. “I’m not stupid. I know there’s some big secret you’re keeping from me. You ask me to keep all these secrets, about our transforming and hunting, about your thievery, now about this magic pack. But there’s something else. I know it, and you know it.”

Kjolti’s mouth was agape. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“No? Well why don’t I go ask my brother? He sure seems to know, to be your favorite secret keeper.”

“Farkas!” Kjolti was indignant. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You know I trust you!”

Their shouting had drawn the attention of a guard, who ran forward. “Who goes there? What’s going on?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Kjolti snapped at the guard. The guard drew her weapon until she recognized Kjolti, then immediately sheathed it and backed away.

“Oh, sorry. I—I’ll be on my way, my Thane.”

Kjolti winced as she said the word.

Farkas turned to her slowly. “Thane?” his voice was a whisper, trembling with frustration.

Kjolti turned away. “Yes,” she said. She didn’t meet his eyes.

Farkas snorted. “You’re a goddamned Thane, and didn’t bother to tell me?”

Kjolti was still looking at the ground. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

“For how long?” His voice was like low thunder.

Kjolti sighed. “Since I got to Whiterun.”

“Since you—“ Farkas cut off in anger. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’ve been a Thane since before you even joined the Companions, and didn’t share that with me? You ask me to keep all these secrets, tell all these lies, but you won’t even tell me that you’re a Thane of the hold!”

“I have never asked you to lie!” Kjolti found she had some thunder in her own voice.

“Yeah, well you sure haven’t asked me to tell the truth!”

“I don’t owe you anything! You don’t get to know everything about me, just because you want to! Just because you have no secrets doesn’t mean I can’t have mine!”

“Have no secrets?” Farkas raged. “You think I have no secrets?”

“Everything you want, everything you think, is just written on your face for all to see!” Kjolti knew she would probably regret that later.

Farkas’s eyes widened. “That’s what you think?”

“It’s true!”

Farkas scoffed. “You have no idea, Kjolti. What I keep to myself!”

“What’s there to keep! You’re an open book!”

“Then you must be very bad at reading, if you can’t tell.”

“Tell what?”

“Tell how much I—“ Farkas stopped himself short. He flushed.

“Tell how much you what, Farkas?” Kjolti’s voice was sharp and angry.

Tell how much I love you, Farkas thought as he sunk inward.

“Companions! Quick!”

Both Kjolti and Farkas snapped their heads toward the sound. A guardsman was waving frantically at them.

“There’s been an attack on Jorrvaskr! Hurry!”

The pair raced onward, argument forgotten. Whiterun blurred past them as they spent the last ounces of stamina sprinting to the hall. Bodies lay strewn about the steps leading to Jorrvaskr.

Silverhand, Kjolti recognized with dread.

They burst in through the doors. Combat had ended recently, the smell of blood still fresh. Athis lay prone by the fire, clutching his abdomen.

But even worse, was the crowd surrounding a body laying too still on the ground. The standing Companions parted when they entered.

It was Kodlak. He was whiter than snow, and drew no breath.

Kjolti stumbled. She felt her breath leave her too as she fell to her knees. She wanted to run. Her blood raced and raged but had no more power to transform, no fire to feed the wolf. She was empty.

All she could do was crumble.

#nerd shit #fanfic #skyrim #skyrim fanfic #tes #tes v #the elder scrolls #Aerisif/Kjolti #OC Dragonborn #The Companions #Farkas #love confession??#ATIWC

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ftb-writes · 6 years

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Eyyyyyyy, it's time for October fanfic #1

Tyranus is a wanderer.

He's a strong Argonian, and a stronger friend. The dragonborn has associates all over Skyrim, and even outside of it; Solsteim is visited by Tyranus often in his travels. He gave his heart to Farkas of the companions, and held Farkas’s in return.

The two had planned to marry, even, or so it is said, but Tyranus seemingly called it off. He loved Farkas, truly, and knew that Farkas loved him. But Tyranus's first love is the open road, and he cares too deeply for Farkas to tie the Companion to someone who is away more often than home. Tyranus has always been this way. Tyranus knows he always will be.

The Argonian is a high-ranking member of many factions across Skyrim, supposedly even the Cult of Namira and the Brotherhood of Assassins -- though there is no proof of either of these. Tyranus is the Harbinger of the Companions, and leads the factions he is known to be part of like a Harbinger. He provides help and guidance when when he stops by to check in, but for the most part, Tyranus left the factions to rule themselves while he rides his horse, Shadowmere, across the whole of Skyrim.

Tyranus doesn't really have a home he considers his own, either. He owns a home in Whiterun, but he treats it like his housecarl, Lydia’s, home that she allows him to keep a few things in. There is also Severin Manor on Solstiem; it had been a gift, for helping discover a plot to kill Councilor Morvane. But Tyranus has never been one for politics; he believes anyone should have a chance at success, and joined the Imperial Legion, but he also believes that the Nords should be allowed to worship Talos if they wish, and himself wears an Amulet of Talos to enhance his Shouting ability.

Tyranus is an odd sort, that is for sure to everyone who knows him. Those from the Bard’s College would say, perhaps after a few too many drinks, that the dragonborn is a riddle wrapped in the black scales of an enigma.

Tyranus doesn't seem to mind what anyone may call him, one way or the other -- though the Forsworn and Hagravens unsettle him, a claim Tyranus himself has confirmed. The only person who is ever seen with Tyranus on any regular basis is a dark figure in daedric armor -- though who this man could be is anyone's guess; none of the factions Tyranus belongs to know the man's identity, and he rarely enters towns with Tyranus, instead choosing to skirt the town and meet Tyranus as the Argonian leaves.

--Tyranus the Dragon, by Waughin Jarth

“I mean, Forsworn I understand,” his companion said from just behind him. The two were riding Shadowmere along the back roads of the Reach, searching for Dwemer ruins to explore. “What with Cidnah Mine and all. Hagravens, though?”

Tyranus shrugged and glanced back over his shoulder at his friend. “Remember when I told you about the time I met the Daedric Lord Sanguine? The woman I almost drunk-married turned out to be a Hagraven named Moira who wanted to 'consummate our love’ when I went to get the ring back for Ysolda.”

“Oh. Oh yes, I can see why that would be unsettling. Not the prettiest beings, true.” His companion flipped one of the pages and hummed.

“What about Farkas? Who is he?”

“Probably the only real exaggeration in that book,” Tyranus sighed. “I did enjoy his company, but it wasn't like that. Farkas is a good man, and I wish him all the best, but we weren't lovers.”

“Do you have anyone you would marry? If you had the chance to?”

His companion tucked the book away, leaning into Tyranus's back. “Other than me, obviously,” he added, and Tyranus could hear the teasing smirk in his voice.

Tyranus rolled his eyes, used to the man's antics after so long. “I don't know,” the Argonian murmured, tipping his head back to rest against his companion’s shoulder. Shadowmere walked on, and the mare’s familiar gait lulled Tyranus toward an easy relaxation. “I wouldn't want to marry anyone who won't travel with me, and there are few people willing to travel as often as I do. Maybe one of the Khajiit from the caravans would be willing, but most of them like the idea of settling down one day.”

“And you don't?” His companion’s voice came from beside his ear, quiet.

“Not really,” Tyranus sighed. “I'd rather die in a ruin or cave somewhere than in a city or town, doing some awful shopkeeping job I don't enjoy. My home is the open road. Jarth was right about that, and Lydia's.”

“You don't even call it your house,” his companion chuckled. “You bought it.”

“I'm rarely there,” Tyranus argued. “And when I am there, it's just so I can drop off anything I've found on the road I want to hold onto for later.”

“You really can't stay still long, can you? Your heart belongs to Skyrim's open roads.” His companion sounded almost wondering.

Tyranus laughed, a deep, throaty laugh his companion joined in. “I can't,”the Argonian admitted teasingly. “I'm sorry, my darling, but I can't give you my heart!”

Tyranus splayed his hand over his heart dramatically, and the two giggled together.

“But really, you're the first -- the first anything that's stuck with me for this long in my travels -- after my lovely Shadowmere, of course,” Tyranus interrupted himself when the horse snorts. “So if anyone would be a considerable marriage prospect, it would be you.”

His companion snorted. “Dragons do not marry.”

Tyranus elbowed him lightly, though he doubted his companion could feel it through his armor. “You asked,” the Argonian grumbled. “I was just being honest.”

“I suppose I am flattered,” his companion conceded. “Seeing as you have such a short mortal life ahead of you, it is rather complimentary that you would think to share it with me.”

He'd gone for a haughty tone, but Tyranus knew that it was really more of a placation. He twisted around to roll his eyes at the man behind him before turning back to the road.

“What will you do after?” It was a question that Tyranus didn't particularly like to consider, but his companion had broached the subject, and Tyranus did want to know. “What will you do when I'm gone?”

His companion doesn't answer immediately. “I--” he started to say, and Tyranus waited for him to continue. The silence stretched on, longer than the Argonian expected.

His companion broke the silence with a sigh. “I was about to say I would meet up with you in Sovngard, only, you aren't going to Sovngard, are you, Dovahkiin?”

Tyranus looked down at the reigns in his hands and swallowed. “No,” he admitted softly. “No, I am not.”

Kodlak rested in Sovngard, and the only people that Tyranus would consider family, his late brothers and sisters of Sithis and the Night Mother, would be in the Void and would eventually be joined by the remaining members of the Dark Brotherhood as they passed. But Tyranus knew he would likely end up joining Hircine’s Great Hunt. Tyranus was a werewolf, after all, and he had no intention of curing himself -- though Farkas and Villas had both offered to help him as he had helped them, Tyranus liked being a werewolf. But if he was honest with himself, and if it were up to him, Tyranus would rather rejoin his family in the Void.

He told his companion as much, and the man tightened his grip around Tyranus's waist slightly.

“I do not have as many… abilities, now that I have a human form,” the man murmured. “But if you really want to join your fellow assassins I'm the Void, I could speak to Akatosh. You are Dovahkiin, after all, and so Akatosh had the final say in where you spend eternity.”

“I would appreciate that,” Tyranus murmured. “And I will miss you. You've proven to be a good friend to me, once you stopped being bitter about Akatosh making you sort-of-human after I sort-of-killed you.”

His companion was quiet for a minute, and Tyranus worried he may have offended the man in some way before his friend broke the quiet of the afternoon.

“Thank you. I -- I will miss you as well, Tyranus.”

They rode in silence for another while, before Tyranus squinted up the side of a mountain.

“Never seen that one before,” he told his companion, pointing up at a half-collapsed ruin. “Let's go check it out.”

As Shadowmere pulled up to the ornate gates, set partially into the mountain itself, his companion coughed lightly. “Tyranus?”

“What is it?” Tyranus dismounted, then offered a hand to help the man down, which he didn't immediately take.

“Were you serious when you said I was a considerable marriage prospect?”

The argonian blinked in surprise. “I was being honest,” he told the man looking down from Shadowmere’s back.

“Would you like to marry, if I was ameniable?” His companion took Tyranus's offered hand and let the Dragonborn help him dismount.

Tyranus swallowed, schooling his face into neutrality. “I thought dragons don't marry?”

“We don't,” the man said. “But if I only get a mortal lifetime to spend with you, then I'd like to make an exception.”

Tyranus swallowed again. “I would consider it a great honour to have your hand.”

The two looked at each other for a long moment before the man nodded. “We can make it official the next time we're in Riften,” Tyranus told him, “unless you'd rather elope?”

“Let's just elope,” the man replied with a grimace. “Mara never really liked me.”

“May I kiss you,” Tyranus asked quickly.

Amber eyes flashed as the man smiled. “That is one of the key points of marriage, is it not?”

“Figured I should ask,” Tyranus said.

“Well you can,” his husband leaned in and smiled wider. “Yet, you are not.”

Tyranus found he rather liked kissing this man.

“Now, since we've only just married, you aren't allowed to die in this ruin,” his husband told Tyranus. “Are we clear, my Dovahkiin?”

“Yes, Alduin,” Tyranus laughed, and drew his bow.

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