*Rumenya – friend

*Parwen – female lover

*Paradan – male lover

Chapter 22

A Parwen and Her Paradan

Bishop stared down at the ring in his hand. He turned it over a few times and scoffed a little to himself. It wasn't anything spectacular. Just a beat-up old, silver ring. One thing about it struck him though which was that it looked oddly a lot like the ring his brother had carved for him ages ago with a howling wolf's head etched into it. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he grazed his index finger over it again, studying it closely.

"You'll sooner burn a hole in your palm than transform from staring at it for so long." Wyllin prodded the campfire with a long stick, turning over a smoldering log, making it reignite again. The fire illuminated their surroundings in the dark nicely; casting shadows back on every rock and stone in the vicinity of their campsite.

Bishop glanced up at his traveling companion from his spot on the ground. He fisted the ring in his palm and leaned back against a fallen log, throwing his elbows up on it. He looked her over for a moment before his eyes fell on the wolf beside her. Karnwyr, to his dismay, had chosen to curl up next to the little Bosmer instead of him that evening. She scratched him idly behind the ears while he slept soundly, snoring into his paws.

Bishop's golden eyes roved from his wolf back over to the Harbinger. He couldn't understand why Karnwyr was so taken with her. No… that was a lie. He knew exactly why.

Because she's a werewolf, he told himself.

"I know it bothers you, Rumenya," she said as if reading his mind, "Once you start wearing the ring and have your first turning his loyalties will fall to you again. No worries there."

He quirked a brow at her, then maneuvered the ring from his palm between his thumb and index finger and held it up. Squeezing one eye shut he peered through the hole of the ring at her and asked, "But it's addictive or something? That's what Hircine said, right? That I'll crave the power it gives me and my mind will turn into a beast's."

Her green eyes flicked up at him. He could see the flames dancing in them giving them an impish gleam. "You were moon-born before, were you not?"

"Yeah, I was."

"It will be the same then, but stronger - much stronger. Do you remember what it felt like?"

He propped his arm back up on the log again, spinning the ring between his fingers and said thoughtfully, "I remember smelling every fresh, steaming shit from a mile away."

Wyllin laughed and he grinned back at her as he continued, "I could sense the pulse of anything living, taste the steel in the air from the forge, hear every hushed, bullshit rumor spoken behind closed doors and gods! Could I smell her! One whiff inside our house and it was like going feral. I can't tell you how many times I had to sew the buttons back on the crotch of my trousers."

Wyllin snorted loudly at that and rolled her eyes. "So much like him," she murmured.

He smirked at her, "Like who?"

Her smile softened as she looked into the fire and said, "My paradan… my love. You remind me of him. A little too much if I'm to be honest."

"That so?"

"Very much so," she replied. "He was an absolute womanizer to start. Boasting, boorish, and far too cocky for his own good. But after traveling with him for a time, he started to grow on me. I saw something in him, something he tried very hard to keep hidden at all costs."

Bishop's grin faded as she told this too familiar story, yet he felt curious and asked, "What was he hiding?"

She looked up at him and said simply, "His heart."

Bishop met her piercing gaze with a knowing look in his eyes. "But you broke through his shell and he opened up to you right?"

"Yes," she said smiling again.

"Then you two went off and found your happily ever after I take it? Since you gave up your destiny and all…"

She looked away from him, scowling harshly into the fire and said with a tone of anger, "No. We did not."

Bishop furrowed his brows, knowing he should stop now. Seeing that face – hearing that deep-seated rage beneath her words – there was no good story there. And yet he probed her further, despite himself, "What happened?"

"Eira happened," she said tersely.

"What did she do?"

Wyllin prodded the fire again with a stick, no longer looking at him. "It's wrong to speak ill of the dead."

"Yeah, but you're dead too, so I'd say that rule of thumb doesn't apply anymore."

"Hmph." A small smile perked at the corner of her mouth and then she tossed the stick into the fire and dusted her hands off on her knees. "So be it then. I don't care for rumors or gossip," she said looking him sharply in the eyes, "so what I am about to tell you, be sure to take with as many grains of salt as needed. She may not be all bad, I don't know how she treated the others, but every memory I have of her is awful and I have never forgiven her for what she did to us."

"Us?" He asked almost hesitantly.

Wyllin was staring into the fire, a brooding shadow falling over her face. Finally, she spoke, her words etched with a trace of melancholy for a time long since passed.

"If it isn't obvious, I was born in the forests of Valenwood, in the city of Cormount to be precise. I'd always believed my lineage was pure Bosmer, that is," she scoffed, "hah… until the day I learned that I was Dragonborn. That's when I found out that my great-great-grandmother on my mother's side was a Nord. I never did accept my fate. From the very beginning, I did not want it… very few do. Eira seems to believe that she can convince us all otherwise and perhaps she did with some, but not with me. I'm a Bosmer damn it!" she shouted, clenching at the grass beside her, "Not some mythic Nordic hero! At least… I never should have been. I just wanted my freedom," she looked up at him, knitting her brows together.

This was an admission that Bishop was all too familiar with. Rona, too, only ever wanted her freedom from the destiny that bore down on her. He felt sympathy for the little Bosmer. So many times he'd tried to guide Rona away from her path, to save her from it somehow, to no avail.

"My paradan," she said, releasing the blades of grass and lacing her fingers together in her lap, "he was a Nord, like you, but he was nothing like the Nords of my time, the haters of the elves… he was a loner and a free spirit, a man who lived in the wilds and rejected the ways of his kind. We met, oddly enough, when we were both attempting to set free a pack of wild wolves that had been captured by some men. They were starved, tortured and thrown into a pit, forced to fight each other."

"Pit fighting," Bishop grit and scowled into the fire, "Bastards."

Wyllin nodded dejectedly. "It was a little bit of a mix up at first. I'd thought he was one of them and he quickly found himself under the edge of my dagger," she smirked, shaking her head at the memory, "Once I found out that he was there to help the wolves I quickly let him up and we worked together to free them. I'd like to say it was love at first sight and all that fanciful nonsense, but that was hardly the case. My trust for the Nords was sparse, to say the least, due to my past experiences with them. Although I have to admit his near-immediate interest in me took me by surprise at the time…"

Bishop noticed her intense blushing and the suppressed smile she could scarcely hide under her long strawberry blonde locks. Grinning himself he said, "He was a real charmer I take it?"

She pushed her long hair out of her face and looked him straight in the eyes. Her wide grin showed off her sharpened canines as she stated matter-of-factly, "Well we had sex that same day if you really must know."

Bishop busted up laughing at her shameless declaration and slapped a hand to his face, "Gods be damned woman! Think I'll ever get to meet him? I think I need some tips. It took me all of two months before Rona even considered letting me bed her!"

"Hmm," she gave a light laugh, "Heh, well, unless you wish to join us in the Hunting Grounds, I doubt that you two will ever meet. Probably for the best really. I can only imagine the sort of trouble you two would find yourselves in. Two idiot horn dogs running amok..."

Bishop chuckled at her shrewd remark and asked, "So you were already Harbinger when you met him or…?"

"Hardly," she snorted, "I'd only just become a member back then. That mission was one of my firsts. I had to prove myself ten times over the average Nord who came calling at the doors of Jorrvaskr, all because I was an elf. Even being Dragonborn didn't benefit me much, although I believe that may be why I was allowed in at all and I was begrudgingly accepted by most of my Shield-Siblings."

"Sorry to hear that," Bishop said sincerely.

She shrugged, "Its fine. I proved myself again and again and before you know it I was Harbinger of the Companions and I assure you, I earned that title and gained the respect of my comrades with it."

"Well if it makes you feel any better the Companions offer a bed and a blade to anyone who can prove themselves a true warrior these days," Bishop said, patting the scabbard of his sword beside him.

"It warms my heart to know they made such great strides since my time."

They were quiet for a moment, both gazing into the fire when Bishop finally asked her the question that was really burning in his mind, "So what did Eira do?"

Wyllin sighed, twisting her fingers together before leaning back against the tall pine she was seated beneath. She looked up at the stars glittering in the clear sky, finally free of the thick cloud cover they'd experienced back in Falkreath. "The night after I learned what I was I met her. It was in a dream. We were surrounded by dragons and a few other women… more of her descendants. Faal Vahdin do Dovah Yolos," she said, and translated for him, "or rather, the Maidens of Dragon Flame as they have been so dearly named by the very beasts who would see them scorched to ash. All around me they were singing to the skies as the dragons flew overhead. Their voices were loud and the music even louder."

She idly scratched at her shoulder and said, "Eira encouraged me to join them in this bizarre ritual. But it felt wrong… like I was worshipping those awful things. All my life I'd only known the dragons as dominators of mortalkind. They were cruel, merciless monsters and while most of them, thankfully, remained in Skyrim, there were some that left their frozen mountains to settle in our lands too. One of my earliest memories was of a dragon that burned our neighboring forest to the ground. It was horrible. So when she stood there, holding her hand out like she was my friend and bade me to join them… I refused. I told her that I would never worship or praise those vile wyrms with the beauty of song."

"I take it she didn't like that," Bishop guessed.

"No," she said shaking her head, "She did not. I'll never forget the way her warm demeanor changed so cold so fast like a winter's gust snuffing out an inviting fire. It was… terrifying. From then on Eira followed my footsteps. She would appear when my emotions were strongest. She meddled in my life and all my relationships. She pushed and pulled and did everything she could to force me to face my destiny and every time a dragon came calling, threatening me or my paradan she used it as a reason to argue her case. But I wouldn't hear it," she glanced up at him, and the fire cast a haunting shadow over her face, "Did you know, if your emotions are strong enough, they can come to life? As if they're really here with us in the flesh again?"

"I've seen it happen a few times before, yeah."

"Did you know you can hurt them?"

He hesitated not liking where this was going, but swallowed and nodded.

She noticed his apprehension and asked, "Are you sure you want to know how I died, Rumenya?"

He took a deep breath, thinking it over for a minute before he finally said, "Yes. Tell me."

Wyllin stood up and approached the dimming fire in the center of their camp. She stared into it and said, "Since we do not have the Book, this will have to do."

Bishop looked up at her from his spot on the ground, totally perplexed by what she meant.

"Don't blink," she said before immediately throwing her hands over the flames, making them spark and rise into a roaring inferno. Bishop's eyes widened in alarm and she shouted through the fire, "RAAN MIR TAH!"

He didn't even have an opportunity to shield his face when he was consumed by the flames. He cried out as they surrounded him, casting him into a world of light before slowly fading, revealing an all too familiar landscape before him. He held his hands out and looked himself over quickly and was surprised to find he wasn't hurt at all. But he was even more surprised that it was no longer night, but somehow dusk again. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, beyond the snowy mountains, indicating it was around five in the evening.

Bishop stood up and looked around. He was near the edge of a forest on a road leading out towards what appeared to be a grassy plateau, untouched by winter. Further off beyond several stone towers were the walls of Whiterun. Had he somehow made it all the way back to Whiterun? He didn't understand.

Then he heard a cocky laugh behind him and turned. There, walking along the dirt road was the little Bosmer, scowling in annoyance and beside her was someone else, snickering at her sour face. Bishop had to do a double-take because he was almost positive the man with her was himself, or perhaps a close relative. The likeness was utterly uncanny.

The man was significantly taller than the little Bosmer, towering at least a full foot above her. He was sporting a short haircut, shaved on the sides and combed back out of his face. His facial stubble was undeniably like Bishop's, except that he kept a section around his chinstrap a bit longer than the rest. He had a swath of scars across his face, definitely from a sabre-cat or maybe even a dragon and he had a distinct spattering of blue warpaint over his right eye. He was the definition of an old fashioned traditional-looking Nord and just like his short friend he was fully equipped in the famous Companion's wolf armor.

"I told you not to try it Springlock. But do you ever listen to me?" He chided playfully as he carefully stowed his old wooden bow back under his thin black cape.

"Oh? And since when have you ever listened to me either, Fleet-Fang?" She said glaring up at him and holding her hand up, listing off several amusing tales on her fingers, "Like the time I told you not to poke that cave-bear with a stick? Or the time you thought it would be funny to shoot fire-arrows into that nest of frost-bite spiders? Or how about when you stupidly scaled off the edge of a cliff just to pick some rare flower that only grows on steep inclines under a full moon? Each and every time getting yourself into trouble and forcing me to save your dumbass."

"Hey! That last one was for you, yah know. It was a moonflower for the loveliest werewolf I know," he said, flashing her a charming grin. Wyllin rolled her eyes at him and he seized the opportunity to lean back and spank her on the bottom, making her yelp loudly.

"OW!"

He laughed and declared, "Besides! The only ass who needed saving today was yours, considering it's the only one here with six bee stings and bark rash on it."

She rubbed at the seat of her pants and snapped, "Look! If I had known there were Spriggans I would have been better prepared okay!" She threw her hands out, "How was I supposed to know that Giant's camp was infested with them!? That's by far the weirdest thing I've ever seen in all my time in Skyrim. Spriggans hate Giants! Everyone knows that…"

Her companion burst into laughter again, holding his stomach and she couldn't seem to help herself and started smiling along with him and shouted, "Oh! Stop giving me such a hard time, Paradan! You know I would've been more careful if I'd have known."

He caught his breath and wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning at her. Then, without warning, he quickly grabbed her around the waist, drawing her closer to him and looked down into her face, "I know Harbinger. But you'll have to forgive me for taking a rare opportunity to laugh at your expense since it doesn't happen very often."

"Hmm," she pursed her lips and bat her lashes at him, trying very hard to stifle the blush rising in her cheeks. Bishop could see the love she had for him in her eyes and even more so the passion he held for her. Fleet-Fang bent down, taking the opportunity in their seclusion to catch her lips in his. The two lovers shared a beautiful and intimate moment that left Bishop blushing for once and turning away from, but he stopped the moment he saw her.

The red-headed ghost with sparkling green eyes in a simple tunic and tan trousers shimmered into being behind the little Bosmer. Fleet-Fang noticed upon opening his eyes and pulled away from Wyllin, scowling and said, "She's here again."

Wyllin's lashes fluttered and she turned around confused for a moment before her face fell in anger. It was clear that the Eira's presence was entirely unwelcome. "Go away Punahdok."

Eira smirked at her and spoke derisively, "You insult me o' mighty Harbinger. But you would do well to be aware of your surroundings. Do you not feel your blood boiling?"

Wyllin paused as the sound of a dragon's call broke the air, far too close for comfort. Both Fleet-Fang and the Harbinger immediately ran off the road, seeking cover while looking to the skies for their quarry.

"It came from the east," he said, "I'm sure of it."

Wyllin looked to the east and murmured, "There. I see it."

A sleek, green, Blood Dragon came flying over a mountain and swept low, coasting along the plains of Whiterun. It was turning its head every which way, searching for something or rather, someone, which was made evident when it landed a mere twenty feet off the path where Wyllin and Fleet-Fang were hiding.

"Zu'u vis sahlon hi, Dovahkiin," it hissed out menacingly.

"Shit," Wyllin growled under her breath.

Fleet-Fang slowly drew his bow and Eira stepped towards them, cocking her head and said, "Do you wish to know what it is saying Dragonborn? I can give you the language. All you have to do is ask."

Wyllin glared at her and whispered in a hushed voice, "As if I don't know the language having studied it myself for ages. What I really want is for you to just fuck off already!"

The dragon growled and turned its head in their direction and started to sniff the air. Eira narrowed her eyes at Wyllin and put a hand to her hip. "No. I think not Dragonborn. You have evaded your destiny for far too long now. It is time to relinquish it to someone able and willing to face it."

If she could have, Bishop was sure the Harbinger would have burned a hole through Eira with her gaze alone. Fleet-Fang was getting worried and grasped her arm, trying to calm her or perhaps stop her from attacking the cruel ghost altogether and ultimately give away their position. But it seemed Eira had other ideas.

"Let us see if dragons are trained the same as dogs," She raised her forefinger and her thumb to her lips.

Wyllin's expression turned to one of pleading. She shook her head and whispered, "Don't."

Eira gave her a wicked grin and blew through her fingers, whistling sharply, alerting the dragon right to their position.

"I SAID DON'T YOU BITCH!" Wyllin roared and burst from the brush, transforming rapidly into a werewolf. She lunged at Eira and tore her throat open, spraying blood all over her fur. The dragon, spotting the two women on the road flapped its wings hard, casting it off the ground and high into the air over them. It roared to the skies, "Zu'u lost rund faal, Dovahkiin! Bo zeymah!"

Then it sucked in a sharp breath, preparing to shout at her and Fleet-Fang leapt in, firing a perfect shot straight into its chest, where its heart lay. The dragon released a gust of breath, a wasted shout and came crashing down, dead. Its body burned up and Wyllin took its soul. She changed back into human form and looked down at the bloody mess that was once Eira on the ground. The fiery woman still held a sinister smile upon her lips and her body began to fade.

"Is it over then?" Fleet-Fang breathed, "Is she gone?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Wyllin said as she wiped at the blood on her face, merely smearing it around more, "I have to admit that felt good though."

"We should get out of here," he said anxiously.

Wyllin nodded and made to move on with him when they were both stopped in their tracks at the thunderous bellows of many, many dragons. The two of them slowly turned to the east and watched as twenty or more dragons came flying over the mountains.

(The music is Tyrianis by Two Steps From Hell)

"Run," Fleet-Fang uttered, grasping at the fabric of her cloak, "RUN!" He roared and they both turned and kicked off the ground, sprinting away from the hoard of dragons honing in on them.

The mix of creatures flew low to the road behind them and started to release guttural shouts; Fire Breath, Ice Breath and Marked for Death. Wyllin did her best to shout back, "FO KRAH DIIN! YOL TOOR SHUL! FUS RO DAH!"

Breaking every shout before any of them had a chance to obliterate them on the spot. Fleet-Fang continued to fire arrows into his marks with absolute precision, taking down several of them by aiming for their eyes and their hearts. It seemed he'd had plenty of practice, no doubt from his time spent with the Dragonborn herself. Despite their best efforts, however, the dragons were only gaining on them and growing in numbers it seemed as they continued to call for their brothers hiding up on the mountains.

Wyllin threw her hands out, casting a spell to send three vicious spectral wolves up and tearing straight into the Ancient Dragon trailing on her. They ripped into its wings making it hiss and smash into the ground casting thick rubble and dust up everywhere. The two of them aimed for a forest near Falkreath, seeking the cover of the trees. The dragon hoard was forced to rise up to avoid hitting the enormous pines but the ones with the power of fire joined together and began blasting waves of scorching heat upon the trees.

Wyllin stopped a moment, in the center of a thick thatch of pines, catching her breath and looked on dismayed at what they were doing - all to get to her. They would destroy the woodland and kill all of the creatures in it just to get to her. Fleet-Fang grabbed her by the arm and cried, "I'll carry you on my back. I can run faster if I change."

She looked at him, her brows twisting in anguish and her eyes misting with tears at the scene that lay before them. He clasped her face in his hands and whispered lovingly, "I know. I know, love. But we can't help if we're dead. We're going to survive this. We'll avenge them."

She nodded and he turned then, becoming a werewolf. She quickly climbed onto his back and he burst through the trees running on all fours, evading every shout that came crashing towards them. Wyllin sucked in a breath and shouted through the surrounding forest in an arc, "RAAN MIR TAH!"

All of the wildlife, which was either hiding in their burrows or fleeing for their lives came out, running alongside one another in perfect formation. She used the power of her shout to guide them all, leading them away from the danger.

The dragons were relentless in their pursuit and they were reaching the edge of the forest, about to lose their cover. Six dragons had already flown ahead, laying in wait for them. Wyllin used her knees to brace herself on Fleet-Fang's back, holding herself steady as she drew her bow. She nocked an arrow and shouted, "SU GRAH DUN!" In swift succession, she fired serrated arrow after serrated arrow sending them whistling with such intense power that they burst open the chest cavities of each of the dragons ahead of them. She grasped the scruff of Fleet-Fang's neck and twisted to look behind them before steadying herself and doing the same with the ten trailing at their backs.

Down the dragons went one after another. Ten, nine, six, four, three, two – all of a sudden Fleet-Fang roared at the top of his lungs and Wyllin barely had a chance to turn when she saw Eira standing right in front of them, with not a mark on her. Things seemed to move in slow motion then as Eira shouted with all the power in her voice, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" casting a volley of fire at them. Fleet-Fang tried to avoid the fireball coming right at them but it was too late. He stopped, dead in his tracks, twisting his body quickly in a way that forced Wyllin to be thrown and buried under his hulking body as he took the brunt of the attack. The wave of flames washed over them leaving the great beast to roar in pain as his entire back was scorched beyond recognition.

Wyllin was trying to catch her breath and grasped his head into her hands as his body quickly returned back to human form, unable to hold his beast form any longer. He clutched at her, holding her close to him and choked out, "I love you, parwen."

"No," she gasped looking into his exhausted golden eyes, "No! No, no, no, no, no! Just hold on! Hold on!" She started to summon her magic, calling forth a grand healing when his body was snatched from her. His arms, too weak to hold onto her, went limp as he was carried off into the sky by a vicious Frost dragon.

Wyllin didn't even notice Eira swiftly taking out the Blood dragon that was bearing down on her, nor could she hear her own screams as she watched her lover ripped apart before her eyes, utterly helpless to stop it.

All seemed to fall silent then and she numbly watched the Frost dragon drop his corpse before turning back, aiming for her. Would she let it take her? Would she give up?

"No," she grit, clenching her bow in hand. She quickly stood up, nocked an arrow and in all her anguish and fury fired a glowing arrow that pierced straight through the dragon's heart, making its chest cavity explode open. The creature crashed to the ground and burned up while she stood there, shaking all over, surrounded by death and a burning forest. It seemed she had fallen into Oblivion. There was no other explanation for the nightmare she was experiencing.

It wasn't until Eira spoke again that her senses slowly came back to her.

"So only when faced with death do you show true prowess and an aptitude for killing them. You surprise me Harbinger. I didn't know you had it in you."

Eira's words were biting and cruel. Wyllin's face scrunched up in anger and her tears burned her eye. She spun around and screamed at her, "MURDERER! YOU FUCKING MURDERER! YOU KILLED HIM!"

"Perhaps," Eira shrugged, "I did play a small part in his death, certainly, but if you had only chased your path in the first place - if you had faced Alduin – defeated him even-!"

"NO!" Wyllin roared, "WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS!? YOU – YOU EVIL BITCH!"

Eira's eyes narrowed into thin slits as a song cast softly over the fields.

(The Song is Lacrymosa – Synthesis version by Evanescence)

"I can't change who I am."

Wyllin took a deep breath and cast her bow aside, then grasped the twin daggers at her sides and spun them in her hands. She allowed herself, for once, to feel nothing but the murderous rage she held in her heart for the ghost who had been haunting her life for more than a decade.

Eira dropped all pretenses and held out her rapier, still tinged with the blood of her earlier kill. The words of her song rang out, a mixture of Wyllin's pain and her own twisted story. The Harbinger lunged forward, roaring a shout of fire at Eira, who matched it with a shout of ice. The small Bosmer barreled through the dust with a Whirlwind Sprint and came lashing with all the fury of a rabid wolf. Eira caught her daggers with her rapier, making them clash and ring out amid the low crackling of dry grass. They danced, in battle like this, with Wyllin matching Eira's swift strikes one for one and even managing to get a few lethal jabs in.

But the fiery red-head hardly flinched from them. She'd been killed any number of times over the course of thousands of years and the sharp stabs of a pair of dragonbone daggers were no more than a mere puppy nipping playfully at her heels.

"WHY. WON'T. YOU. DIE!?" Wyllin shrieked lunging with her final blow. She buried one dagger into Eira's heart and the other deep into her gut but she seemed almost surprised then because Eira had put down her guard, allowing her to get that close. And still, the woman hardly moved, even with a trickle of blood dripping from her mouth.

Eira cut her eyes sharply into Wyllin's staggered gaze and answered her with a hollow voice, "Because I am already dead Dovahkiin and now you must join me and pass the mantle on to the next."

Wyllin released a sharp breath then as she felt Eira's blade slide forcefully up into her chest through her stomach. She looked down to see the woman still moving, almost too easily despite her own wounds. The Harbinger fell against Eira, who held her, and stroked her hair as she whispered in her ear, "It was a mistake to give me so much power with your emotions. You can let go now, child. He waits for you in the Hunting Grounds. You know it's for the best. You were not meant for this path… And you can blame it on me and set your guilt-free. And I don't wanna hold you back now, love."

She sang the last as she slowly faded while Harbinger Wyllin's life drifted away. The powerful Dragonborn fell to the forest floor and the last thing she saw was the rain clouds billowing in; a storm. She was relieved. At least the forest would be saved. And as the rain started to fall, softly pattering the ground beside her she could see the animals she'd saved circling around, almost as though they were mourning the loss of her and off in the distance she saw him laying there. She said quietly, "I love you paradan," before slipping away to her final resting place.

Bishop's vision started to recover and he shivered for the first time in a long time as a cold gust of wind cut through him. His cheeks felt suddenly colder as well and he quickly wiped at them, rubbing his eyes and realized he was crying.

"You would cry for me, Rumenya?" Wyllin's low voice startled him.

"Gods! FUCK! Don't-," he snapped and threw his hands out, "Don't scare me like that! Gods! My heart's already going a mile a minute thanks to that – that… whatever the fuck that shit was!"

He got up and started to walk around the camp, looking to shake off the horrible things he'd just witnessed. Now he knew exactly why Rona always got antsy after diving into that crazy book of hers. Wyllin just watched from her spot on the ground, under the pine as he paced around trying to catch his breath and even occasionally looking over his shoulder like he was about to be attacked. Finally, he stopped and put a hand to his face groaning, "Why did you show me that?"

"You said you wanted to know."

He turned throwing his hand out and snarled at her, "Yeah! For you to tell me, not transport me there so I could witness it firsthand!"

"It was better for you to see it," she said.

"How could that possibly be better!?"

"Because now you know just how dangerous she is." She looked up at him, unblinking.

He shifted his stance anxiously, clenching his fists a few times before he went back over to the fallen tree and slumped down, laying on his bedroll. He turned away from her and the fire and said, "I'm going to sleep."

Wyllin made no reply to this. Only the sound of the crackling fire and Karnwyr's light snoring could be heard. Bishop tried closing his eyes and tried to fall asleep but he was still too restless. He rolled over onto his back and asked, "Why didn't you sing? Why would you let her dictate the battle like that?"

He turned his head, glancing her way. Her eyes were locked onto the fire and her face was morose.

"You can sing can't you?"

She looked up at him and said solemnly, "Yes… I can sing. Of course I can. But I don't know songs of power. I never trained with them."

"What songs do you know?" She cocked a brow at him and he stammered, "I just! I can't sleep after seeing that nightmare fuel! So… if you could sing something, it'd help a lot. My girl, she uh," he cleared his throat, "she used to sing to help me sleep sometimes."

Wyllin smiled at him and said, "I understand. I would do the same for my paradan when he was restless…"

(The Song is Wolf Moon – Type 0 Negative Cover by Kitty Synthetica)

The sound of guitar strings plucking echoed in around them. Bishop found it to be incredibly soothing to his soul in a way he couldn't explain. But when she started to sing, so different from any of them, yet still so beautiful and powerful it made his heartache.

"The twenty-eighth day
She'll be bleeding again
And in lupine ways
We'll alleviate the pain

Unholy water
Sanguine addiction
Those silver bullets
A last blood benediction"

Bishop felt a burning in his pocket as her song filled the air. He reached in and pulled out Hircine's Artifact. The ring was glowing a ghastly red shade. It was calling to him. He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. His anger and his fears were mounting at the prospect of the path that lay before him.

This was no longer a journey just to save the woman he loved from her tragic destiny, but a race to stop the end of the world as they knew it. He started to realize then that his entire existence would always be intertwined with hers. Even if he chose to drop that ring right then and there, walk away from it all and let go… it would change nothing. The world would still be on the verge of ending and she still needed help, not to mention Bishop felt entirely obligated to see it all through to the end. The Gods may have chosen her, but she had chosen him. And now he finally had the power to help her burning hot between his fingertips.

He heard Wyllin speaking over the words of her song, "It is time, Rumenya. That rage you feel inside… you must learn to control it at the peak of your beast form. Focus your mind and channel your anger. But be forewarned, should you let the power consume you I will take the ring and ignore your pleas for it to be returned. I will not allow anyone to abuse a Gift of Hircine no matter how much you crave it."

He took her words to heart and focused his anger into a singular direction. It was not hard to find the source for his hatred, because in that moment a tear ripped through the air above the trees to the west. Bishop quickly sat up, squinting through the dark at the shimmering hole in the sky in the distance. It wasn't long before he heard the high pitched screeching and hissing of the orange furies within as they clawed their way free from the very fabric of space and time. A dozen of them burst into their world from the land beyond and released their cries to the night before diving forth in search of prey.

"Eira was right about one thing," Wyllin said, "It'll never stop until Alduin is dead."

Bishop held the ring up and said, "Then let's finish what that bitch started."

She smirked at him as he slid the ring onto his right ring finger. He felt the power of the Daedric Prince surge through him almost immediately. It pumped into his veins and rushed to his head, clouding his mind. Then he crumpled to his knees suddenly, feeling his bones breaking as they rearranged and reformed bigger and stronger than ever.

It was worse than before. So much worse. The adrenaline and pain were nothing like when he'd been a werewolf before. He was surprisingly lucid for this transformation when before his mind would drift into a sort of feral numbness, instead, he was acutely aware of every second of it.

His body warped agonizingly in a way he had no control over and when it was finished he had to pick himself up off the ground. Bishop looked over his newly changed body taking in the change he'd lost familiarity with. He was at least three feet taller and covered in dark honey-brown fur from head to toe. His fingers had elongated into razor-sharp claws and his senses were heightened to the point that it was almost unbearable. He could easily hear the low scratchy hisses of the dragons in the distance as they attacked their prey, he could smell the acrid stench of molding mammoth curds coming from the Giant's camp over the low rolling hills and he could taste the blood in the air.

He didn't waste a second. He bolted off the ground and bound forward through the forest towards the Giant's camp. His blood was still boiling both from his change and from the atrocities he'd witnessed his newfound companion face in her dark past. He intended to unleash every ounce of rage on the tiny winged furies until he was too tired to move let alone think about any of it anymore. He would become accustomed to his newfound power and follow the path laid out for him.

Wyllin sat by, singing her song to the new moon as she scratched at Karnwyr's head. "He'll be alright little one," she said smiling down at the worried wolf, "He's strong and fast, just like his ancestor… staying true to the name Fleet-Fang…"

"Hey wolf moon
Come cast your spell on me
Hey wolf moon
Come cast your spell on me."