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ridingtorohan · 6 months

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𓇻 ft. aela the huntress x werewolf gn reader 𓇻 content. graphic murder and werewolf transformation, gore. 𓇻 summary. after being inducted into the Inner Circle and blessed with the werewolf curse, Aela comes forward to request your help with hunting some members of the Silver Hand. 𓇻 extra. crossposted to dA + ao3. this one was written in 2015 and unedited. descriptors like e/c were used so feel free to use the custom reader insert tool. 𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, share, reblog or send in asks!

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‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───‎‏‏‎

You jostle yourself awake when you hear the door creak open. Your muscles twitch tightly in alarm, before a familiar scent calms you. Pine needles, sweat, and feathers from arrows seem to be Aela's trademark scent, only all the more prominent the day you tasted her blood on your lips - a fierce stab of bitterness that you'd never have guessed. She stands in the doorway, staring into the room, scowl prominent on her face. Ria and Njada were sleeping already, Torvan was snoring away, whereas Athis watched from the safety from his bed.

"(y/n)," Aela says, voice scratchy from trying to be so quiet. Usually she was loud and rambunctious, ever throwing taunts and offering to brawl with you, not caring if one of you got hurt. She had only started acting this way when she gave you the werewolf blood, because she knew you could handle it.

You say nothing to the Dark Elf as you get up from your bed, knowing he is watching and may or may not tell Kodlak later, depending on if it suited him. You dress quietly into your armour, only looking up after you tie your boots, only to notice she is gone. It makes no difference; you can always follow her scent trail - fresh and enticing, always setting your blood roaring when you were near her. You would have been able to locate her blindfolded.

The cool night air presses against you, cooling your warm body. Ever since you were given the wolfblood, your body heat was remarkably high - which wasn't so great when you had to wear heavy armour and thick clothes to persuade the other companions not of the Circle that you were very much affected by the cold.

You pass through the streets of Whiterun, nodding at the night guards patrolling, who seem to recognize you and utter a simple and curt, "Companion," as a way of a greeting.

You spot Aela beside the well, arms crossed and looking almost like an indistinguishable shadow, although you would never have doubted it is her.

The guards let you two pass through the gates; the walls are too high for you to climb over them, even when transformed, and with these guards around, you do not risk it. You aren't particularly fond of accidentally killing innocents either, when your bloodlust controlled you - or at least, not anyone that you knew.

Aela is quiet as you both trek down the pathway and beneath the archways that guard the entrance to Whiterun; it is only after you two pass the stables that she rounds on you, eyes remarkably bright in the starlight. "Can you feel it calling, [sibling]?" she smirks, fingers noticeably twitching.

"I have followed you, haven't I?" you respond, cocking your head in an arrogant way. She bares you her teeth, but you recognize it as a more primitive smile. She turns away from you and breaths in the air, her breath puffing out in front of her when she exhales. You blatantly stare at her, waiting for her to respond.

“The wolfblood cannot be controlled,” she says, finally, voice rising despite the fact that this requires high levels of secrecy. But a quick sniff of the air lets you know that you are alone with her, even though you are both standing beside the road, just upwind of Whiterun Stables. “Some nights, Hircine calls us to hunt for him. Vilkas and Farkas ignore this,” she continues, sounding remarkably upset with them. “Skjor and I are the only ones who accept this.” She eyes you out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. “Then you came along. You take to the wolfblood remarkably well.” There is praise in her voice, and it takes you a moment to realize that you are leaning in towards her. “Will you run with me tonight, (y/n)?”

“Of course.”

She flashes you a triumphant look, arrogance and pride flashing through her emerald eyes. “Good,” she says, mouth twitching into a slight smirk. “Come with me; the road is far too open a place,” she frowns then, eyes darkening. Without so much as another word, she saunters off, feet stepping silently across the stones with practiced ease, starlight glinting off of her auburn hair. There is no moon tonight - not that either of you need it to see.

“Why didn’t we transform in the Underforge?” you dare ask.

She doesn’t spare you a glance over her shoulder when she responds, “It would have drawn too much attention.” She doesn’t elaborate, and you suppose that is alright.

It takes far too much time to get to a shielded area, with trees lining the sky and shadowing your steps. You only have so much time left, you know. Something inside of you feels more at ease, beneath the shelter of the tree tops, an insatiable hunger gnawing at you. “Aela,” you try, but she has already stopped, face pointed towards the tree tops, shoulders hunched. She knows.

“You can hear him call to us,” is all she says. She strips herself of her armour, underclothes doing little to stop your mind from wandering. The pieces of cloth are dumped unceremoniously onto the ground with a soft whump. “We will bring him glory, [sibling].”

She looks over her tanned shoulder at you, her eyes glinting an inhumane yellow. She does not cry out in pain; she only folds herself backwards with an echo of bones snapping, vertabrae making themselves visible along her spine. She falls forward, russet hair draped along her front this time.

All you see is her backside; her body visibly breaks out into a sweat, shivers overtaking her form. The crackling of bones that once sounded sickening are deafening loud on your heightened ears. Gore is what meets your eyes next as she sheds her human skin; it is enchanting to watch, no matter how sickening it is to see. You turn away when she looks like some form of twisted monster.

You have to shed your own clothes; you are stark naked, the air of Skyrim breezing through your hair and over your shoulders and in other nameless places. You pull on that instinct that is roaring fiercely in you; when nothing happens, you think of asking Aela -- even though she is underway of her own transformation and isn’t likely to understand you at the moment -- when your knees snap backwards and you fall forward, ankles twisting before reverting back then twisting again.

You let out a shrill noise of anguish, because nothing could ever describe the pain that is transforming. You muscles are constantly contracting and relaxing, knuckles popping and moving in a jarring sensation. Your stomach empties itself, contractions fiercely stabbing through your body. You’ve only had a few transformations that you could count on one hand, and it never gets any easier for you, no matter how smooth Aela or Skjor tell you it is.

Whatever noise you are making is cut off when your vocal cords shred themselves, blood convulsing past lips that are no longer your own. The pain almost blacks you out, the darkness would have been comforting.

Hircine is not a merciful Daedric lord, however; you are aware of every sensation that tears through you, although it all blurs together in blacks and reds. You are not aware of what happens for the rest of the duration, but the next moment you are aware and conscious of what is happening, you are still hunched over, long limbs in your vision.

Aela has never been one for comforting, but a soft growl still meets your keen ears, (y/n)? You shift your weight backwards onto your haunches and hindlegs, strong muscles rippling beneath your skin.

Blood and human skin litters the ground - your sharp nose detects it both easily. Your long fingers grapple at the ground, digging through the soil that once felt hard underfoot that so easily tore now. You pivot unsurely, awkward and gangly as you peer over at her.

Aela? you ask. Her green-yellow eyes glint at you, even through the darkness. Recognition floods through you. Aela.

The wolfblood was always hard to control at first; but recognition had flooded through you faster than when you had transformed with Skjor. Your muscles twitch, remaining in your hunched position as your trot over, snout poking at her shoulder.

Aela, Aela, Aela, Aela, you repeat, sounds vibrating through your throat with each jab of your snout at her shoulder. She does not retaliate; she only watches you with keen eyes. If you had ever thought she was beautiful as a human - which you have thought many times before, admittedly - you thought she was stunning now. She was in her element, tall and lanky, reeking of power and bloodlust. She was more confident in this body than she ever was as a mortal. Your wolfblood keeps thinking alpha, alpha, and your conscious self felt inclined to agree.

[Sibling], is her response, and she tips her muzzle briefly to your own, ears flickering. You do not speak to each other in the sense that you would as mortals - you growled out sounds at each other, words and meanings heard beneath each grunt and whine. It was a language just between you two. An intimacy that you loved to share with her.

We honor Hircine tonight, she reminds you, when she catches your eyes wandering. We will tear a group of Silver Hands asunder, her lips peel back in a feral grin. You return the gesture. In a fortnight, I will help you attack another; Skjor will go ahead of us. Do you understand? She has spoken to you of this mission a couple times before, but now was not the time to worry about it.

Hunt, hunt, kill, kill, comes the simplist mind of the wolfblood, demanding sacrifice. You would never deny Aela though, so you give a jagged nod of your head. Let us taste their blood on our tongues, and smell the fear from their bodies, then, comes a jagged noise that would have amounted to a wolfish laugh.

She turns tail and lopes off, picking up speed as she went along. You chase after her, easily catching up to her, the unfamiliarity of running on four limbs almost causes you to stumble, but you catch yourself numerous times. The wind whips across your [h/c] fur, the chitters of the flying owls and clacks of nearby mudcrabs whistling in your ears. Freedom tastes sweet on your tongue, face turned toward the sky as you run with her, both of you free.

* * *

There they are, cowering like cravens, Aela sneers, hunching over the encampment of the Silver Hands. There are only five of them; young blood by the smell of it, with one older. It is likely that they are new recruits with the older man teaching them the warning signs of the lycanthrope. Hah! Do they not know of us here? Are they really so ignorant? [Sibling], shall we go and give them a greeting? She turns to you, eyes not wavering from your face.

Yes, you grunt, blinking slowly at the few mortals; only a few of them were awake. They would be easy prey. Yes; let us hunt them, Aela. You tense your muscles along your haunches, coiling your muscles and leaning forward. Your steps are light as you tear down the slope, giving out a warning howl.

The Nords jostle themselves, raising cries of alarm and surprise. You jaws are parted; their fear tastes like victory in your mouth, and it is easy to tear through their flesh, blood tasting like copper running through your jaws and past your teeth. It is satisfying, seeing the young Nord’s eyes go bright with feverish fear and an instinct for survival, a pleasing crunch of bones meeting your ears as you grip his forearm tighter and wrench backwards. His muscles spread apart like sinew, and the shrieks that wrench from his lips are delicious. If the three others were slumbering before, they were surely awake now as your victim screamed.

It is easy for the wolfblood to grow tired, though. You tear through his jugular and take sick pleasure in seeing his blood pulse outwards, matting your fur and blood spraying across your muzzle.

Aela is already on her next victim, gnawing on his ear in a teasing way before she sprints away, leaving a raspy survivor in her wake. She pivots on her sharp-toed feet and slashes her persuer across the face, claws marking his face like a grave. He instinctively drops his weapon and raises his hands to his face, a guttural cry of surprise rising. She lunges forward and wrenches his ribcage open, gore spreading across the ground in a matter of seconds. He is dead within minutes.

The remaining two try to make a run for it. You give chase, jaws snapping at their heels as they scampered away like scared deer. The eldest of the group suddenly turns and brandishes a blade, sinking it into your shoulder and wrenching a surprised howl from your maw. How dare he!

The silver burns like liquid fire through your veins. You growl at him, springing backwards in high leaps, blood pulsing from the wound, heat flashing through you.

How dare you, you growl out, furious and ferocious all in one heartbeat. You lunge towards him and snap at the hand that bears the blade, snapping it in a quick twist of your jaws. He gives a half-hearted jerk, although there isn’t much of a surprised scent coming from him. The blade catches the corner of your lips, a red hot fire bleeding through you.

He will pay. They will all pay for hunting down your kind.

You tear into his face, blood blinding you; hot and sticky dampening your face further before you retreat. A quick snapping sound resonates through the clearing, and you pivot, [e/c] eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of another Silver Hand going limp, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Aela stands tall behind her, hand clenching from where the other’s neck was moments before. The Silver Hand had held a silver dagger, dangerously close to where you were, blinded and incapitated. She would have killed you if Aela hadn’t been there.

Thank you, you say, more of a breath than actual sounds or words. Aela tilts her head, before she turns. You both leave the bodies, trekking through the forest. The smell of gore is still fresh in your mind, although that could also be due to the fact that it was smattered across your maw and between your eyes.

Aela is always a few strides ahead of you. You do not demand to stride beside her. Protect the alpha, is what your blood sings of.

The wolfblood is what made you mercilessly kill the Silver Hand, you know. Or at least you hope so. It is what comforts you when you think of what Aela asks of you, at least.

The wolfblood is also what whispers to you - things that you think you wouldn’t otherwise think of the Huntress. Protect, is what is echoing, deep in your flesh and bones. The instinct is not unwelcome; it gives you strength, the power to be brave and courageous and every bit of the Companion that Aela seems to think you are.

You nearly bump into her, so deep in your thoughts you are. Aela? comes your whine. She says nothing, only lopes forward again and splashes into the river that you recognize as the one that tears into the earth beside Whiterun.

There isn’t much cover nearby, but at least it is close to where you two transformed. She sinks beneath the shallows, or at least, as much as she can. She has no shame in rolling over to get her back, and as soon as she deems herself clean enough of the gore that had once stained her fur, she instructs you to wash off as well.

You emerge soaking wet, fur matted close to your body. Aela gives a sharp bark of laughter at the sight of you, even though her russet coat isn’t much better.

The sun will rise soon, she explains as she moves again, silent as ever. You pad alongside her, tail brushing against the undergrowth as you let out soft huffs of air. The other Companions will suspect something if we are not back soon. Especially Athis, you respond, thinking of how the Dark Elf watched you leave. She looks over at you, making a quizzical sound but does not otherwise question you.

When you arrive at the site of where you transformed, you both simply stand quietly. Aela quickly becomes restless and moves around the clearing, simply enjoying the last bit of freedom she has before she transforms.

You like being a werewolf, you observe.

Yes, she responds without looking at you. Her gait quickers before it stops altogether, and she turns her snout towards you. There is no worry of how others will react to what I say or do. I am my own person. I own everything; nobody can hold me back. I am free. You decide you have nothing to say to that, so instead you return to watching her pace.

You do not know how much time has passed before she suddenly stops and looks at you, an amused glint in her eyes. You are always watching me, [sibling]. Am I? I haven’t noticed, you reply wryly, offering a quick session of barked laughter. ..It is hard not to.

She hesitates, eyes keenly watching you. You are interested in me, she says boldly, although with a very confused accent underneath.

You are an interesting person, you confirm, although you know that is not what she meant. Her ears fold and she bares her teeth. She trots forward, a warning growl ripping from her throat.

Your ears fold and you tuck your head quickly, wolf instinct whispering harshly, alpha, alpha. You are tired of it telling you what to do, what to think of her. You never let yourself be subjected to your more primal nature; it tells you to rebel and challenge her, even though it remembers her as alpha. You wish to be her equal, in more ways than one. She has always called you [sibling], or even, once with a sneer, ‘pup’. Aela is an enigma; power in her movements and grace in her steps. She is mistress only to Hircine, daughter of the wild. She is untameable, untouchable, unreachable. These intimate night strolls with her is all you have to seeing her carefree gestures, the only time you listen to her howl freely and without care. Subconsciously, you had been watching her - judging her movements, watching her reactions. The primal instincts first saw her as a challenge, a rival for prey and territory, but now it saw her beyond the folds and safety of the pack. She has since achieved the title of ‘alpha’ - surpassing even Kodlak. She was the only one you answered to.

She was the one who had given you the wolfblood; she was the one whose blood coursed in your veins. She was always there, scent thick and choking, something that you reveled in. As your forebear, she was more intimate with you than anyone else could be.

Aela, you say, and this time she flickers her ears. This time she listens to you. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. Aela, Aela, Aela, you say, her name rolling through your throat and past your lips. You are dizzy with the sensation of knowing that only Skjor and you have the privilege of hunting with her. Of being with her. You are the only one who I could be interested in.

She offers a wolfish grin, and lopes a bit closer to you before bumping muzzles with you. I am inclined to agree, [sibling]. She does not elaborate, and while your blood hums with the knowledge that what she’s just said implies means that she feels the same doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s carved in stone.

Tonight, you are alive. Tonight, all you want to do is live with her, in this moment where you are eternal beings and only the moon is your witness.

I am glad to hear that, Aela, you rumble back. Taking the initiative, you continue, There is still some moonlight left; do you want to walk with me, still?

She laughs, ears folding and lips peeling back in a grin. There is nothing that requires my assistance. Let us go.

The night welcomes you like lost lovers, your blood roaring to know that you are safe with Aela by your side. There is nothing that could stop you; just the inner wolf roaring and making you twine beside each other as you pace the earth.

For now, all is well.

#skyrim #skyrim x reader #aela the huntress #aela x reader #werewolf #skyrim imagines #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #aela #aela the huntress x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #x reader #werewolf lover #monster x human #monster x monster

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expended-sleeper · 2 years

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The Honorable Companions vs. The Murderous Dark Brotherhood: How they Differ, and Why it Matters

One essential aspect I often see ignored in stories dealing with the Companions is that they are NOT just cold-blooded mercenaries for hire. There are specific lines they won't cross, and these lines are important to distinguish because they're the same lines that tell us the difference between the Companions and the Dark Brotherhood. We can identify these crucial aspects of distinction by examining the dialogue and actions of quite a few in-game characters.

So, you have two guilds that both accept gold in exchange for hurting and/or killing people. What sets them apart from each other? Their acceptable targets, and their methods. You can't hire the Companions to kill your neighbor. To beat him up, sure. But not to kill him. We know this because you fail the "Hired Muscle" quest if you kill a target you were just meant to intimidate. When you steal items from shops or generally cause trouble, generic Hired Thugs show up to kill you, not Companions. The bottom line here is that the Companions are not assassins, or even mercenaries that will accept any paying job—just as they have standards for recruitment, they also have standards for which jobs they'll accept.

Methods: this is why Arnbjorn was exiled from the Companions, and why he joined the Dark Brotherhood instead. His methods were too violent for the Circle to accept. If the Companions considered extreme violence acceptable, he'd still be around.

His dialogue:

You are moon-born. You are wolf. So you're a Companion, then? I can't imagine you got your gift anywhere else. I hope you have better luck with them than I did. Oh yes, I was once brother to the Companions. Let's just say they found my methods "unsettling." The Dark Brotherhood, obviously, feels differently."

It's heavily implied here that Arnbjorn's tendency towards excessive violence made him a poor fit for the Circle. He had to seek out a guild of assassins in order to find appreciation for his brutal talents. The lesson we can take from this is that skill at killing alone is not enough to merit the Companions keeping you around: you also have to demonstrate a respect for the company's honorable ideals.

We also have evidence that the Circle keeps an eye out for these violent tendencies in their prospective recruits. The mercenary Uthgerd is barred from joining because she accidentally kills someone during training. Even in this violent world, the Circle isn't willing to tolerate such senseless killing.

Her dialogue:

You must really love to fight. "The heat of battle is the fire that forges the strongest blades. It's an old Nord proverb. That, and a true Nord never misses a chance to test her worth."

Sounds like you've got a grudge. "You been talking to those Companions? "Too hot-headed," they cried. Weak, pathetic cowards, the lot of them!"

Why'd the Companions reject you? "It wasn't my fault! I told them over and over that it was an accident! They wanted me to prove my worth, so they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. I guess they thought a woman wasn't strong enough to hurt him. I didn't mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just... lost control."

Judging from this interaction, the Companions are actually less hotheaded than your average Nords. They don't want mad berserkers in their company--they want disciplined warriors that don't let their emotions control their actions. This makes a whole lot of sense when you consider that anyone who joins might eventually become a werewolf. The Circle is aware that maintaining their code of honor is very difficult in the beast form, so they only accept warriors that already have a significant amount of self-control.

When you encounter the Companions, they're in the middle of a schism over this very issue. Aela and Skjor represent the side that says might makes right. They believe their Daedra-granted powers grant them leave to pursue bloody slaughter and revenge. This is a corruption of the company. It's not the way all Nords behave. In fact, the Harbinger is specifically trying to cultivate an atmosphere of cool resolve in the current batch of whelps:

Under Kodlak's watch, losing control of yourself as a Companion is seen as a sign of failure. It got Arnbjorn kicked out, and kept Uthgerd from joining. Perhaps most importantly, it's a sign that you will never be worthy of the beast blood.

Kodlak: "How are the young ones coming along?"

Farkas: "Some are too happy to fight. Blood runs hot."

Kodlak: "I remember when you were the same way. The more they train, the more they'll cool down."

Farkas: "I hope so."

Kodlak: "Just have them focus on the calm in the battle. Control the rage, don't let it control you."

Kodlak and the twins represent the classic ideals of the Companions: honor, integrity, and loyalty. So far they have maintained a tense balance between this code of honor and the violent temptations of the blood.

Dialogue on Kodlak's view of revenge:

Again and again during the questline, members of the Circle are punished for blindly pursuing violent solutions. However, it's also important to remember that their two great acts of violence towards the Silver Hand are both reactions to attacks on members of the Circle, and both attacks are on fortified encampments: Aela and Vilkas are basically attacking bandit forts, not villages of well-meaning werewolf hunters. The first time we encounter the Silver Hand is when they ambush Farkas at Dustman's Cairn. He defends himself and kills them.

Farkas: "Kodlak did not care for vengeance."

Vilkas: "No, Farkas, he didn't. And that's not what this is about. We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood."

Skjor and Aela alone are the ones who point you towards the Silver Hand fort and commence the slaughter. Given that Kodlak and the twins aren't involved at all, it's probably safe to assume they wouldn't approve of these bloodthirsty activities.

In fact, Kodlak is intensely worried that Skjor's reckless nature will get him killed:

Skjor dies because he rushes ahead and tries to wipe out a fort of Silver Hand on his own. When you tell Kodlak that you and Aela have been attacking the Silver Hand out of vengeance, this is his response:

Kodlak: "You're a strong warrior, Skjor. Your heart is fiery and that serves you well in battle."

Skjor: "Thank you, Harbinger."

Kodlak: "But even the bravest of men consider their actions. I want you to survive long enough to take the mantle."

Skjor: "Don't worry about me."

Aela and I work to avenge Skjor's death."Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time."

Kodlak dies because you and Aela provoke the Silver Hand into a bold strike on Jorrvaskr itself. You avenge Skjor by killing Krev the Skinner, but then you and Aela go past honor into something far uglier. Vilkas refuses to follow you in order to purify Kodlak's soul, because he feels his honor has been tainted by his own need for vengeance.

Vilkas' words:

"Kodlak was right. I let vengeance rule my heart. I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade. But I can't go any further with my mind fogged and my heart grieved."

For the Companions, vengeance leads to senseless death and grieving hearts.

The DB questline is about the fantasy of being a morally destitute assassin. The Companions questline is about restoring honor to the Circle, and it treats revenge and violence very differently. These two factions are not the same merely because they're in the same game. The difference between them defines their driving themes and purpose in the larger TES world.

Compare this to the revenge you enact in the Dark Brotherhood questline. You can just slaughter Commander Maro in broad daylight on the Solitude docks, as vengeance for wiping out the Falkreath Sanctuary.

His extreme fear when you show up out of nowhere to kill him is treated as a joke—and this is GOOD, because that's what the Brotherhood is thematically about! Performing ridiculous assassinations on the innocent and guilty alike, and going home at the end of the day to your torture chamber. No punishment, no repercussions, no guilt felt by anyone in the Brotherhood. At no point are you asked to question the morality of your actions, because the story assumes that if you choose not to kill Astrid in the abandoned shack, then your character is fully on board with cold-blooded murder and assassination.

The behavior of characters in a certain setting cannot be reduced to the lowest common denominator of the most ruthless villains. These characters do have moral codes, and that can't be waved away by pointing to the darkest acts of the setting. Sinding is a werewolf that commits horrible crimes under the influence of his curse, and that makes him a very interesting fallen character--however, the Circle would never dare go near him, because he represents the ultimate failure that likely even Aela and Skjor fear: a total loss of control leading to the killing of innocents.

This is WHY the Companions are so potentially interesting to write about. They're in a constant state of conflict between their honorable ideals that place value on restraint and discipline, and the reality of their Daedric corruption that tempts them towards slaughter. Even when they surrender to this pull, however, we have to remember that it is only werewolf hunters that they kill. None of the Circle ever fall even close to the level of Sinding. If they did, they would no longer be fit to be Companions, and they would likely follow a similar path to Arnbjorn.

This isn't me applying real-world morality to Skyrim: this is me comparing the morality of the Companions at their best to the Companions at their worst. The story very clearly indicates which path is the honorable one, and which path gets Skjor and Kodlak killed. There are many shades of gray here, yes. But suggesting that every warrior in Skyrim is acting under the same set of morals does a disservice to the complexity of these themes, and the clear evidence that there are grave consequences for the Circle when they cross such lines and surrender to bloody temptation.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #the companions #werewolves #lore #vilkas #farkas #aela #kodlak #skjor

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