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He's sitting by the campfire.
The orange glow captures his face. He's older now. More weathered and wrinkled. But it's him. I'll never forget his eyes. A cold, harsh steel colour that glints like the pricks of needles in the dim. He doesn't see me. He keeps his gaze towards the fire as he brings a bottle of beer to his lips. He was always one for his drink. Sometimes if I brought him enough drink, he'd leave her alone. Other times it just made it worse and she'd cry for ages afterwards.
She'd be twenty seven today.
He wipes at his mouth with a large, meaty hand. I remember how that hand used to grip me by the throat. He'd only need the one, I used to be so scrawny. Maybe I still am, I'm not sure. No-one's commented on it. The fire spits and crackles and he grunts as he pulls out a log from the side and throws it into the blaze. I inch carefully forwards. The fire only illuminates a small circle around him. I move in the darkness, taking care not to step on any twigs. He breathes a deep sigh, rubbing at his face. He seems more frail now. More human even. Would this even be worth it? He's even older now, a pile of creaking bones underneath pale, bulging flesh. His hair's grown out, long grey strands loose from a pony-tail and framing a sharp face. It would be so easy to just sneak up behind him, draw out my dagger, and drag it slowly across his throat, letting the blood spurt and paint the blade red. But if the Companions have taught me anything, it's that every battle should be faced honorably and with courage. I doubt slitting a man's throat from behind is honorable. I don't really consider myself an honorable man. How can I be? I've spent most of my life stealing to survive, taking from others what they earned honestly, not giving a shit about anyone but myself because it was easier to survive that way. The Companions have been making me see things differently, and I both hate them and love them for it. It's because of them that I stand upright, fists clenched to my side.
"Hrukar," I say.
The Nord doesn't jump, but his head whips to the side, eyes wide and staring back at me. I try to stay still, though I can feel myself trembling under my armor.
"You need something, boy?" he spits, glaring now.
My mouth feels dry but I force myself to speak. "Do you not remember me?"
He narrows his eyes, mouth twisted into a hateful little sneer. "Are you worth remembering?"
"Possibly."
He snorts. "Don't waste my time, boy, out with it. Or I'll cut your throat for disturbing me."
"I don't seem familiar to you at all? I'm hurt, Hrukar. After all we've been through." My palms are sweating underneath my gloves but amazingly my voice doesn't waver. I sound confidant, controlled, everything that I don't feel at all. A storm's bellowing inside me. I want to see this man bleed. I want to run from him. I want to bring her justice but I strongly doubt that I can. I just want this to end. I pull back my hood.
His body stills when he sees my eye. He should know me now. I'm his greatest achievement. The one rat who kept defying him, kept fighting back to the tooth and nail and it cost me my eye. The scar starts from my forehead, ends at my jaw. I wear the hood to avoid talking about it. Sometimes I still feel the blade cutting in. Sometimes I dream about it. But what he did to her was worse.
"Lucale," he says slowly, as though tasting the name on his tongue. "I always wondered what happened to you."
"I'm sure I kept you up at night."
"That tongue of yours was always a marvel. So much spirit in one so small. Your sister though-"
"Do not speak of her," I snap.
A smirk appears on his lips. "She was meek. Obedient. Such a sweet girl."
"And then you ruined her. Defiled her. Treated her like a whore," I say and the words feel wrong in my mouth. Alesene deserved so much better. Had this beast never found us, she'd be in the City now, probably married to some rich merchant who'd treat her well and lavish her with gifts and affections. She wanted three children, twin girls and a boy, a horse of her own, a dog, things she deserved to have. She'd wasted most of her life taking care of me after our parents died. She deserved to have her happy ending.
"You look as though you're about to cry," Hrukar says.
"Pick up your weapon."
He recoils slightly from my words. "What?"
"Your weapon. Pick it up. Unless you'd like to use your fists again."
"You want another beating?"
"I'm giving you the chance to defend yourself. A courtesy you never gave to either her or me. Pick up your weapon."
Hrukar smiles smugly, eyeing the bow on my back and the sword on my hip. He probably doubts that I can use either. I draw my blade slowly, twirl it easily in my hand. My legs feel as though they're about to give out underneath me. I feel clammy and cold. A knot tightens inside me when he rises to his feet, towering me, then stooping to lift a war-hammer from the ground. Dried blood cakes the steel. My sword nearly falls out of my hand.
"I'll weep for your death, Lucale."
"I wish I could say the same for you."
The war-hammer gets thrown backwards and his muscles tighten and flex with effort as it's flung forwards. I narrowly miss it, feeling the air rush at me. The hammer thuds against the ground. I swoop in to stab him in the side. He lurches sideways, shoulder ramming into my chest, sending me flying to the ground. I hit the dirt hard, the wind torn from me. My sword flies out of my grip. He rushes towards me and I roll to the side, feeling the hammer dig into the ground next to my head. I'm up on my feet, I hear the swoosh of the hammer flying again and it connects to my shoulder. The bones shatter, the muscles tear and I bite my lip to avoid making a noise. I duck behind a rock, my arm hanging loosely beside me. The pain is raw, burning and to make matters worse it's my sword arm.
"Hiding Lucale?" Hrukar is panting but I can feel the smirk on his lips. "I'm not surprised. You were always one for letting others fight your battles for you. That's why your sister died, boy. You pushed her to it. You and your cowardice killed her."
A bitter taste creeps into my mouth. My eyes sting but I force myself up, quietly, and roll into the shadows of the trees, careful to avoid landing on my bad arm. I lean against a tree, out of view of the camp. He's walking about, heavy boots snapping twigs and crunching leaves. I try and control my breathing. The sweat rolls off my forehead and down along my face. I swallow back down the lump, try and relax, because that's what Aela taught me.
"You're more focused when you're calm. You're useless when you panic." That's what she had said.
Hrukar stops a few feet away from me, peering into the darkness. I see the wicked gleam in his eyes. My hand reaches for the dagger tucked into my boot.
"Lucale? You're still here aren't you?" He takes a step forward. I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, quietly, pull back my arm. The moon catches the blade and his eyes latch onto it. I throw. It flies through the air, heads straight for him. I turn my head away, hearing the sickening squish of blade sinking into flesh, of Hrukar gurgling on his blood, of the hammer thudding against the ground for the last time. He falls to his knees. I stand on my feet.
He's still alive, eyes wide and staring up at me. The red's covered most of his neck, the dagger buried deep. Athis taught me well.
I pull the older man into my arms and lie him gently on the ground. He ruined my life. He ruined my sister. He took our innocence and set it aflame. He took our chances of a better life. I tell him to close his eyes.
They close and the sharp grey of them is gone forever. I'll never have to look at them again, or know that they exist. I release a shuddering breath.
He dies next to me. I wait until the blood stops flowing to pull the dagger out. I don't return it to its place inside my boot. I toss it aside instead. I don't think I'd be able to stomach looking at it if I kept it. Gripping my bad arm, I stumble into the clearing, feeling light headed and sick. The wind starts picking up, making the trees tremble and the branches rub against each-other. One or two leaves break free and sail across the sky. There are no stars out tonight. Which is appropriate, I think. I always thought of stars to be rather pretty, and I can't imagine anything pretty being associated with this. This was an ugly ordeal. This was an ugly night. I probably won't be sleeping for awhile. I suppose that's okay, I can keep Vilkas company during the long nights at Jorrvaskr.
I make my way down the track I had walked previously to confront Hrukar. The smell of pine and blood fills my nostrils. I still can't quite believe what I've just done. Ever since she died, ever since I found the letter, I'd always imagined killing Hrukar. I imagined having him on his knees, begging for forgiveness, for mercy. He'd be crying, regretting everything he'd ever done, showing remorse. I'd be merciful. I'd make it quick.
Alesene used to talk of sending me to the Fighter's Guild. I'd always been good with a bow, our father taught us, and she imagined me going on various quests around Cyrodiil, helping people, making a name for myself, being a hero. She'd always wanted best for her little brother. She had only borrowed that money from Hrukar just to keep me fed when she lost her job at the warehouse. She lost and suffered so much because of me. She told me that I was the greatest little brother in the world, her best friend, but in reality I was nothing but a burden to her. What if Hrukar was right? What if I did kill her?
*
It's my second bottle of mead. I'm usually not one for the stuff, but I need it. It burns my throat and makes my eyes water but it dulls the pain in my arm. Or at least dulls my senses. The healer wasn't awake and I didn't want to wake her. I couldn't find any health potions. So I sit here in the hall, drinking, looking and feeling like a pathetic whelp.
The doors swing open and Farkas strides in carrying a bunch of wolf pelts. He dumps them onto the ground, turning on his heel to slam shut the doors. It's raining outside, I realize. I didn't notice the thudding of rain against the roof. Farkas' hair drips with it, his dark strands resembling rat tails. He shakes his head like a dog would and a smile tugs at my lips.
"They have you out late," I say to make conversation.
Farkas looks up and smiles. "Oh. You're back. Skjor was looking for you earlier."
"What for?"
"Dunno. He said to send you to him the minute you got back."
"I doubt he'd want me to wake him now. I'll talk to him later."
Farkas grunts something in reply before pulling up a chair next to the fire. He glances at me and freezes.
"Your arm's broken."
"I've noticed."
"And didn't do anything?"
"I'm tired, Farkas," I say.
"You're not gonna be able to sleep like that."
"I know."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. He screws up his face, looking very disgusted at me. He's taken to calling me friend and I'm not sure why. I was very sarcastic and cutting with my remarks to him earlier. So much so that Vilkas shoved me up against a wall and told me to quit it or he'd slit my throat. I don't know why he bothered. I'm like that with everyone. Farkas was no special exception. I try to be nicer to him now. I try and be nicer to everyone but I'm not a nice person.
"How many wolves did you get?" I ask, just to ease the tension building up.
Farkas shrugs. "Twelve. Maybe."
"So are the pelts to be used to fashion yourself a magnificent wolf cloak?"
"You need a healer."
"I need a lot of things," I reply. He fixes me with a dirty look and I sigh. "I'm planning on seeing one tomorrow. I didn't want to wake anyone."
"Even though your arm's smashed?"
"I'll live." The raw, biting pain is still there however and when I shift in my seat I fight not to wince or make a noise of discomfort.
Farkas turns his seat to face me properly, casting one side of his face into the glare of the fire and the other into the dim. "How'd it happen anyway?" he asks.
I twirl the bottle in my hand, watching the bronze coloured liquid whirl around the inside of the glass. "You don't need to be troubled with it, Farkas. You should go rest."
"You're my friend, Lucale. And I'm here to help."
My chest squeezes and I let out a breathy laugh. "I'm sorry to cause you worry, Farkas. It was only a bandit who did this. Caught me off guard."
He looks at me as though he doesn't believe me. Farkas is a lot smarter than other people give him credit for, more perceptive, aware. He knows I'm lying, and I know that I can't tell him. Not yet. I'm not ready. The situation still doesn't feel real to me.
Farkas gets up from his seat to walk towards me and I don't know what to expect but he holds my good shoulder and brings me in for a one armed hug. I blink slowly, unsure of what to say or do. I'm not one for openly displaying my affections. I uselessly pat his meaty arm and he lets go.
"You're my friend," he repeats, firmly this time, as though I had doubted it before. "You can talk to me."
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I reach out for that same large arm and give it a squeeze because I'd seen Kodlak do it once with Vilkas.
"Maybe later," I say. "I... thank-you."
Farkas smiles down at me and I let him go. He doesn't return to his seat, instead avoiding it to head downstairs to the sleeping quarters. I listen to his thudding footsteps fading away before looking down at my bottle, still half full.
I don't drink any more mead.
When I eventually fall asleep I dream of Alesene talking to me. She's not crying, bloodied, or dead. She's just talking to me. Smiling. Laughing. Ruffling my hair like she used to. It's the best dream I've had in ages.