Chapter 1:
The Hills Have Eyes
Athene was full of grief. Although she hadn't been a member of the Companions for more than about a year, she had come to greatly admire Kodlak, the leader of said group. And now he was dead. She peered over at Vilkas from atop her horse. His face was a bunched jumble of hatred as he urged his horse on faster. She wasn't sure the horses could take much more of this abuse; they had been riding nearly non-stop for two days toward the main hideout of the Silver Hands.
Athene had been all over Skyrim; completed training at the College in Solitude and become a bonafied bard. She was the leader of the Thieves Guild down in Riften (although, admittedly, the group proved to be more trouble than not); she was a mage in training in Winterhold, and, although she wasn't sure how to feel about it, had come to learn that she was Dragonborne.
She focused on the path ahead. The last few nights had been a blur. Where had Mercurio gone? She wasn't sure. She had participated in the Blood Ritual and blacked out, awakening as a fearsome werewolf with guards surrounding her, and Mercurio loyally protecting her. Her mind had been fuzzy from the ritual, and she in her monstrous stupor had attempted an escape, to figure out what had happened. She assumed Mercurio would have followed, but she blacked out again shortly after, and Mercurio was gone.
She'd gone to the jail in Whiterun and searched for him; searched the Hall of the Dead for his corpse, and had been happy that he was in neither. But that still didn't tell her where he had gone. She decided, as soon as she and Vilkas were done re-gathering the Fragments of Whuunthrad for Kodlak's funeral, she would travel to Riften to see if he'd gone home.
Right now, though, more pressing matters urged her forward. Vilkas was a quiet fire, brimming with white hot rage. She had known Vilkas to be a blunt, sometimes crude, but often humorous Nord and had grown to like him. Now, she felt sorrow for him, for he had lost his leader. Kodlak had been good to all the Companions, and while it had taken Athene quite some time to gain the members' trust, he had been good to her as well.
Vilkas started to slow, throwing Athene out of her ruminations. Ahead was the hideout of the Silver Hands. She squinted. She had been here before.
With a pang in her chest she remembered that night. That had been the night she lost Lydia.
"Let's double back a ways and tether the horses." Vilkas murmured, yanking the reigns to his giant thoroughbred. "And make sure that dog stays quiet." He ordered, motioning to Barbos, the Daedric dog Athene had been encumbered with.
She silenced the mutt with a finger and followed Vilkas. The dog was a great help most times, being gifted with immortality by his dark Prince Master, but more often than not he was also a great pain in the ass.
They tethered their horses and quietly unsheathed their weapons, creeping silently toward the hideout entrance. Athene had recently been inducted into the Dark Brotherhood after accidentally robbing them of a high dollar contract. Between her membership with them and leading the Thieves Guild, her skills in sneaking were unmatched.
Vilkas once more shushed both Athene and the dog, and they ventured quietly inside. The start was not encouraging as they happened upon a group of SilverHands preparing their evening meal. Athene snuck as close to them as they could before unleashing a mighty Thu'um, encasing at least three of them in a blanket of flames; she swung her sword swiftly at the flaming men as they charged her, enraged and full of adrenaline despite being cooked alive. Vilkas let out a furious cry, no longer holding out for a pretense of stealth, and hacked one of the SilverHands straight through the neck. The man grabbed his wound, gurgled pitifully, and fell to the floor. Barbos was a blur of teeth and fur as he helped discharge the remaining members of the werewolf-haters, and the trio continued on through the damp and solemn hide-out.
It was a cave of immense proportions, full of dank and twisting turns and crevasses. Athene kept her thoughts at bay as she crept through the familiar tunnels. She and Lydia, her prior house Carl, anointed to her by the Jarl of Whiterun, had ventured upon this hide-out a couple of years prior. It had been inhabited by some Forsworn, then, and they had been badly out-numbered. While the women had ultimately conquered and removed the heathens, Lydia had succumbed to her wounds and died quickly in the hide-out. Athene had carefully wrapped Lydia's body in the best pelt she could find, and carried her all the way back to Whiterun for a proper burial. Lydia had been a good and faithful woman to Athene their entire relationship, and while they were never romantic, Athene had felt a deep and perpetual connection between them. Her loss had been devastating.
She knew, then, how Vilkas felt as they trudged through the halls of the weeping cave. The Companions had lost much to these monsters, the SilverHands. Tonight, Athene and Vilkas would end the suffering, and bring the fools to their knees. She felt a renewed sense of energy then, and forged ahead with a much quicker pace. Vilkas clung to the crackling energy and strengthened it, imbibed with a profound sense of duty.
Athene crept down a small crevasse in the wall, guiding the hulking man through obstacles he would not have thought to try, and pointed below them quietly. There were a dozen or so SilverHands milling about in a massive opening of the cave. Cages were lined against the wall, some holding Pit Wolves, the pitiful beasts that were often trained simply to live and die fighting; and some holding Werewolves, or their dismembered remains. A lump formed in Athene's throat. She, too, was a werewolf, inflicted with an un-wanted curse, but she knew that beneath the fur of the dead, there was a real human with ebbing and flowing human emotions of every magnitude. These SilverHands would surely die tonight, she thought solidly.
In hushed tones she commanded Vilkas to begin a descent to the left, and she would begin toward the right. If they could ready their bows and take out a couple before the bastards realized they were being attacked, all the better. She equipped her bow, an enchanted piece of ebony art with fiery arrows, and steadied it. Athene glanced toward Vilkas to ensure he was at his appointed spot, and saw him readying his quiver as well. He glanced at her and she nodded curtly.
We have to make this count.
She thought, and narrowed in on a pair of SilverHands standing before a cage. Athene drew back the arrow as far as she could muster, exhaled slowly, and released. The arrow shot true, criss-crossing with Vilkas' as both projectiles hit their marks square in the skulls. Athene's burst in to flames, thoroughly and instantly killing her first victim. The entire clan of SilverHands was at the ready, weapons drawn, shouting orders to each other, but unaware of exactly where their attackers were.
The warriors managed one more shot each, each arrow hitting a target, although not fatally, before they jumped down from their perches and ambushed the frenzied bandits. Vilkas leapt and managed to slice a SilverHand straight across the throat before spinning around and bashing another off of him with his steel shield. Athene readied her hand with a fire spell and began spitting blazing hot flames across any soul that shadowed her path. She stabbed a SilverHand straight through the chest, using her boot to extract her ebony blade from his cavity. A SilverHand got the drop on her as she did so, and slashed her straight across the back. Athene hissed and spun around, severing the man's head clean off his neck, then Shouted for good measure at the other's that were following him. They screamed as they were engulfed in flames and Vilkas ran through slashing and hacking the fiery specters. There were less than a handful of the monsters left, and Athene ran toward them, blasting them again with fire, her favorite destruction spell. Vilkas managed to take out two of them while Athene lunged upon one and gave him a beautiful three strike death with her glinting sword. The last man fell to his knees, pleading for mercy, but Athene wanted none of it. In true assassin form, she stood before the whimpering coward.
"Your sins are many. You will pay for you and your brothers' and sisters' wrong-doings." And she sent his skull scattering across the floor, his blood splattering like a twisted carousel. She looked to Vilkas. "Where is Barbos?"
As if by way of answer, Barbos barked, the noise echoing across the roomy chamber. The two warriors ran toward a fenced off area and looked down into a lower pit. The Daedric dog was below, fighting off the leader of the SilverHands. Athene jumped down and sprinted toward the man who was distracted by the war dog.
With one last surge of adrenaline, Athene spun, swinging her ebony blade with all her might. It struck true and sliced through the leader's neck, thoroughly severing his head from his body. It landed on the ground with a sickening thud. His body quivered for a moment, blood spurting from the gaping cavity where his head should have been. The knees knocked together and down he went.
Panting, Athene looked to the table nearby. The pieces of Whunthruud! They were scattered about the table, all there. Her eyes met with Vilkas' and they both beamed with triumphant smiles. The first Athene had seen of him since Kadlok's death. Vilkas let out a holler and his blade clanged to the floor simultaneously with Athene's as she leapt into his arms and they embraced with almost frantic laughter.
He pulled back, still holding her, her legs wrapped around his torso and smiled.
"We did it, lass! We can give Kadlok an honorable funeral!"
She smiled back at him in agreement and their eyes locked. His dark Nordic orbs glinted with approval and respect. They stared at each other briefly, and then, overcome with the glory of the moment, their mouths molded together. Athene wrapped her fingers through Vilkas' long black hair, and he pressed his fingers tighter onto her bottom.
Their tongues were a fury of heated passion, battling with the strength of two ensnared warriors. Athene broke away first, panting as Vilkas began to devour her neck and collar bone. She let out a moan, her crotch tingling with excitement.
Vilkas turned and carried her to the bandits' bed, laying her back on it while still making work of her neck, her lips, and her clavicle. She cried out with a throaty moan, burying her fingers in his hair as he yanked open her leather bodice and freed her breasts. He caressed the nipples with his tongue and his lips, murmuring pleasurably as they peaked inside his hot mouth. She pressed him on further.
