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The Blood of Hircine

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As soon as they cleared the first few bends in the pass, Bjarke relaxed and set a slower pace. He was confident that no one would be able to find the pass that had remained a well-guarded secret for eras. The narrow, winding trail was hidden among the craggy rocks and dense foliage, making it nearly invisible to any but the most knowledgeable travellers.

 

The snow continued to fall steadily, covering their tracks and adding an extra layer of concealment. Bjarke glanced back at Lilja, bound and silent on Egil’s horse behind him. Despite her defiance, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes and the pallor of her skin from the cold and her injuries.

 

They emerged into a sunlit clearing, the golden rays filtering through the treetops casting a warm glow on the snow-covered forest floor. Though the sun still hung high in the sky, Bjarke's sharp eyes noted the severity of Lilja's wounds; they required immediate attention. His voice cut through the crisp air, commanding Egil and Sten to set up camp with an urgency that brooked no delay. Her body was alarmingly limp when he lifted Lilja from the horse, yet she summoned enough strength to weakly resist, her instincts driving her to fend off his touch despite her dire state.

 

“Soon, you will accept your fate,” Bjarke muttered, more to himself than to her. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at the thought of breaking her spirit.

 

Bjarke laid her down on a makeshift bed of blankets Sten had hastily spread on the ground. He glanced at Egil, who was already preparing a fire, his hands moving swiftly and efficiently. Sten approached with a bundle of supplies and kneeled next to Lilja when Bjarke turned to tend to the horses.

 

“What were you thinking, Lily?” Sten's voice was a harsh whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and frustration. “Egil could have killed you. And if Bjarke finds out that you escaped only to leave a blood trail, he…” Sten's words trailed off, the unspoken consequences hanging heavily between them. They both knew the wrath Bjarke could unleash.

 

Lilja's lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “You called me Lily.” Her voice was barely more than a breath, but the warmth of her tone was unmistakable. In that moment, they were transported back to a simpler time, when the world was less cruel and their biggest worry was sneaking extra berries from the kitchen.

 

Sten stared at her, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face—relief that she was alive, anger at her recklessness, and a nostalgic longing for the days when they were just children, playing around the pack home. He could almost hear the echoes of their laughter, and see the innocent light in her eyes that had since been dimmed by heartache.

 

He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his touch tender and careful as if she might break under any sudden movement. “I am still your friend, Lily,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers for understanding. “Even if you think me a monster like Bjarke and Egil.”

 

Lilja's eyes, though clouded with pain and fatigue, held a spark of curiosity. Sten took a deep breath, the weight of his past actions heavy on his shoulders. “I tried to warn your father and brother,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “But after your father’s death, Freyr thought me a traitor. He died believing it because I could not save him.”

 

The memories of that fateful day came rushing back, a torrent of guilt and sorrow. Sten was close to Lilja’s family, a trusted friend and ally. But in the chaos and betrayal that followed her father’s murder, misunderstandings had turned allies into enemies.

 

Lilja’s expression softened, a flicker of the old trust they once shared appearing in her eyes. “You tried?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, each word a struggle against her pain and exhaustion.

 

Sten nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “I did. I pleaded with Freyr to listen, to see the danger coming, but he was blinded by grief and anger. He couldn’t see that I was trying to help.”

A tear slipped down Lilja’s cheek, and Sten gently wiped it away with his thumb, his touch lingering. “I never wanted any of this, Lily. I….” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I wish my mother never married that man.”

 

Lilja jumped when Bjarke’s voice lashed out at them, cutting through the air like a whip. “What are you whispering about? Sten, tend to her wounds and keep your mouths shut.”

 

They both fell silent, lost in their memories, as Sten meticulously applied potions to Lilja’s wounds. The clearing was filled with the soft sounds of nature: the whisper of the wind through the trees, the distant call of a bird, and the crackling of the fire that Egil had built. Each sound seemed amplified in the stillness between them, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts that raced through their minds.

 

Sten’s hands moved with practised care, the potions mixed from knowledge passed down through generations. As he worked, his thoughts drifted back to the days of his youth, when he and Lilja would run through these very woods, carefree and unburdened by the weight of their current reality. He remembered the laughter that once filled the air, the innocence they had shared, now replaced by pain and regret.

 

Sten’s father had been killed by a hunter when he was just a small boy, a tragic event that had cast a long shadow over his childhood. Left alone with his mother, Trina, he had clung to her as his only source of stability and love. But their fragile peace was shattered when Trina took a new mate, a man from a pack in Cyrodiil. From the moment he arrived, it was clear to everyone in the pack that this man’s youngest son was up to no good. His eyes were cold and calculating, his smile never reaching the depths of his soul.

 

Trina dismissed the whispers of the pack, believing that her new mate would control his son’s behaviour. She clung to this belief even when Sten came to her, tears in his eyes, pleading for her to see the cruelty he was suffering. She turned away, unwilling or unable to face the truth.

 

The torture began subtly at first—a harsh word here, a cruel glance there. Egil, Trina’s stepson, revelled in his newfound power and quickly escalated his torment. What started as minor slights soon grew into a relentless campaign of physical and emotional abuse. Egil made Sten’s life a living nightmare, his sadistic pleasure evident in every malicious act.

 

In stark contrast, Bjarke, a few years older than Sten and Egil, seemed like a beacon of kindness and strength. Friendly and helpful, Bjarke was well-liked by everyone in the pack. He went out of his way to protect Sten whenever he could, stepping in to shield him from Egil’s wrath. His demeanour was a sharp counterpoint to the cruelty of his younger brother, and for a time, Sten found solace in Bjarke’s presence.

 

Freyr, Lilja’s older brother, and Bjarke became inseparable as they grew older. Their bond was one of mutual respect and shared ambitions, and soon, they were rarely seen apart. Freyr, who was poised to take over from their father as the pack leader, found in Bjarke a confidant and advisor. The two young men complemented each other’s strengths and covered each other’s weaknesses, forming a formidable duo within the pack.

 

Freyr often spoke highly of Bjarke, praising his insight and leadership qualities. He even began to openly discuss the possibility of Bjarke serving as his advisor when he assumed the role of pack leader. These talks were well-received by many in the pack, who still saw Bjarke as the friendly, dependable figure he had always presented himself to be.

 

However, Freyr's admiration for Bjarke extended beyond leadership. He began to hint that Bjarke would make an excellent mate for Lilja. To him, it seemed like a perfect solution: solidifying alliances within the pack and ensuring a strong, unified leadership.

 

As they grew older, something inside Bjarke shifted, a transformation he kept hidden from the pack. While still outwardly friendly and protective, Bjarke's ambitions began to cloud his judgment. Darkness seeped into his soul, fed by his unrelenting desire to lead the pack and his growing frustration with its dynamics.

Bjarke's public persona remained unchanged. He was still the charismatic figure everyone admired, always ready with a smile or a helpful hand. To the pack, he appeared as a beacon of strength and reliability, the natural choice for an advisor when Freyr, Lilja's older brother, would eventually take over leadership from their father.

 

Bjarke's invitation into their ring of friendship initially seemed harmless, even exciting. For Sten, Orm, and Egil, it was a chance to bond with their older brothers, explore the wilderness beyond the pack's boundaries, and experience the freedom that came with it. The hunting trips started innocently enough, with promises of adventure and camaraderie.

 

But as they delved deeper into this world outside the pack, Sten began to see the darkness lurking beneath the surface. What had once been exhilarating soon turned sinister, as he witnessed the cruelty and ruthlessness of their companions. The shifters they encountered lived by their own rules, unbound by the moral codes that governed pack life. They revelled in the thrill of the hunt, seeing their prey not as fellow creatures deserving of respect, but as mere objects to be pursued and conquered.

 

Sten found himself increasingly uncomfortable with their actions, but he felt powerless to speak out against them. The allure of belonging and acceptance by his brothers and their companions clouded his judgment. He ignored the nagging voice of his conscience, pushing aside his doubts in favour of the thrill of the chase.

 

With each excursion, Sten felt a part of himself slipping away, replaced by a cold detachment that mirrored the callousness of their companions. He watched in silence as his stepbrothers and the others in their group revelled in their brutality, their laughter mingling with the cries of their prey. It was a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within them all, a darkness that threatened to consume him if he wasn't careful.

 

As the line between right and wrong blurred, Sten struggled to reconcile the person he was becoming with the values he had been raised with. He knew deep down that he was betraying everything he believed in, but he felt trapped, unable to break free from the grip of his brothers and their companions.

 

Bjarke's desire for power simmered beneath the surface, an ever-present force that guided his every move. He understood that as an outsider, he would never be seen as a contender for leadership within the pack. But Bjarke was not one to be deterred by such obstacles. Instead, he saw them as challenges to overcome, stepping stones on his path to dominance.

 

In Lilja, the daughter of their pack leader, Bjarke saw an opportunity to solidify his claim to leadership. He knew that by winning her affection, he could gain influence within the pack and position himself as a potential successor to the current leader.

 

From the moment he laid eyes on her, Bjarke knew that Lilja was the key to his ambitions. He watched her with a predatory gaze, his intentions clear for all to see. He began to stalk her like prey, shadowing her every move, making his desires known in no uncertain terms. But Lilja rejected him from the first day with her fierce spirit and unwavering resolve.

 

Her refusal only fueled Bjarke's frustration, stoking the flames of his desire until they burned with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He saw Lilja as a prize to be won, a symbol of his dominance over the pack and a means to cement his claim to leadership. But her rejection gnawed at him, driving him to ever more desperate measures in his pursuit of her.

 

The woman who rejected him ultimately gave Bjarke the means to fulfil his desire to become the pack leader. Lilja’s defiance, her refusal to submit, only sharpened his resolve and provided the perfect cover for his plan. When they went hunting in Morrowind, Bjarke and Egil devised a scheme that would set the stage for Bjarke’s rise to power.

 

It started with Lilja following them on their hunting trip. She was unaware of the deadly game unfolding around her. Bjarke saw this as an opportunity and sent Egil back to the pack home with an urgent message: Lilja was hurt. The ruse was designed to lure Heirleif, the pack leader and Lilja's father, away from the safety of the pack.

 

Bjarke knew that Heirleif would come to his daughter's aid without hesitation. While the rest of the group was occupied by hunting Guar, Bjarke, Orm, and a few shifters from outside the pack lay in wait. They knew their ambush had to be swift and decisive.

 

Heirleif arrived, his concern for Lilja evident in his hurried steps and furrowed brow. He called out for his daughter, his voice filled with worry. It was then that Egil made his move. With a sudden, treacherous strike, Egil drove a dagger into Heirleif’s back. The attack was swift, catching the pack leader completely off guard.

 

Heirleif fell to his knees, a look of shock and betrayal etched across his face. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the ground beneath him. Bjarke approached slowly, a grim satisfaction in his eyes. He looked down at the man who had led their pack with wisdom and strength, now brought low by treachery.

 

“I am taking your life tonight, old man,” Bjarke sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “In a few weeks, I will take your daughter, against her will if I must, and then the rest of your family will follow you to the Hunting Grounds.”

 

Heirleif, struggling against the searing pain that radiated from the wound in his back, managed to get to his feet. Blood flowed freely from the deep gash, staining his clothes and the ground beneath him. He knew he was mortally wounded, but his spirit remained unbroken. He couldn't let Bjarke's threat go unchallenged. He needed to defend himself and protect his family from the monster before him.

 

Drawing upon every ounce of his remaining strength, Heirleif steadied himself. His eyes, filled with determination and defiance, locked onto Bjarke's. “You will not touch my daughter,” he growled, his voice a mixture of pain and fierce resolve. “And you will not take my family. This ends here.”

 

Bjarke laughed, a cold, mocking sound that echoed through the clearing. “Your bravery is commendable, Heirleif, but futile. You are alone and outmatched. Accept your fate.”

 

With a burst of speed, Heirleif lunged at Bjarke, his movements fueled by desperation and a father's love. He swung his arm, aiming to strike Bjarke down, but his strength was fading. Bjarke sidestepped effortlessly, his reflexes sharp and unyielding. He delivered a swift, brutal kick to Heirleif's abdomen, sending the pack leader sprawling to the ground once more.

 

Heirleif gasped for breath, the impact stealing the air from his lungs. He could feel his life slipping away, but he couldn't give in. Not yet. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his vision blurring at the edges.

 

A snarl erupted from behind Bjarke, cutting through the night air. Before he could react, a silver figure launched itself onto his back, biting and scratching with feral fury. Bjarke growled, his surprise quickly giving way to anger as he reached back and grabbed the silver she-wolf by the neck. With a powerful heave, he threw her against a nearby rock.

 

The she-wolf hit the stone with a thud but sprang to her feet almost instantly, her head held low, teeth bared in a menacing snarl. Her eyes burned with a mix of rage and determination, her snarls echoing between the rocky hills of Morrowind. The moonlight cast a ghostly glow on her silver fur, making her look like an avenging spirit.

 

Heirleif, summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, tried to rise, but Egil and Orm were relentless, forcing him back down onto his knees. Egil's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes glinting with malice. "Now you can watch my brother mark your daughter before you die."

 

Heirleif lifted his head to see Bjarke advancing on his daughter, a vision of impending horror. He knew he would die tonight, but she still had a chance to save herself. "Run, Lilja," he urged, his voice strained with desperation.

 

The she-wolf, understanding his plea but resolute in her refusal, shook her head. With a fierce snarl, she lunged at Bjarke, her teeth lodging deeply into his shoulder. Her claws raked viciously across his arms and abdomen, leaving bloody trails in their wake. Bjarke roared in pain and fury, his eyes wild with rage. He shifted, his form blurring, and his newly transformed claws raked against the she-wolf’s flank, ripping through skin, sinew, and muscle.

 

With a grunt of exertion, Bjarke flung her against a nearby rock. The sickening sound of breaking bones echoed through the clearing. Heirleif’s heart sank as he watched the she-wolf crumple to the ground, motionless. She did not stir, and he felt the weight of failure press down on him—he had failed to keep her safe.

"Lilja," Heirleif whispered, his voice choked with grief.

 

Bjarke, now transformed into his beastly form, lifted Heirleif’s head, forcing the pack leader to meet his gaze. His eyes, once human, were now a haunting shade of yellow, filled with unbridled hatred and malice. A sinister grin twisted across the beast’s face, baring his sharp, blood-stained teeth.

 

With a guttural growl, Bjarke raised his massive claw, gleaming in the moonlight, and Heirleif closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable strike. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he awaited the fatal blow, his mind flooded with memories of happier times, of laughter and camaraderie among the pack.

 

With a sickening swoosh, Bjarke’s claw sliced through the air, aimed straight for Heirleif’s throat. The world seemed to hold its breath as the claw closed in, a silent witness to the final, tragic act of a once-great leader.