Euric paused to gaze out across the tundra plains, which stretched out around the city of Whiterun to the edges of the looming mountains on the horizon. His gaze moved towards the reddened sun, as it slowly crept down in hiding behind the mountains. So much had changed in so short a time. Everything in fact. Never in a million years could he have imagined such a homecoming. He found he could not quite fathom how or why things had happened. He had lost sight of who and what he was. It felt as if he was being torn apart from 8 different directions. He was a Nord born to a proud heritage in Cyrodiil away from his true home. His father had instilled the customs, traditions and beliefs of their people in him from an early age. The warrior's heart. The dreams of Sovngarde.

Indeed, from early on he had dreamed of nothing but Sovngarde. Of Ysgramor and Ysmir. The warriors of old who walked its halls and waited to welcome him among them when he had proved himself worthy. It was why he had joined the Imperial Legion when he had come of age. It did not suit him. He saw plenty of battle but there was little honour in it, and every step of the way he had felt the hands of Imperial bureaucracy holding him back and denying him the glorious destiny he felt lay before him. So, when his term was up he had not renewed his comission and finally left to venture to the fabled homeland of his people. If he could not find his destiny in battle with the Legion, he would find it in battle against the Legion. Fighting for the home he had never known. Fighting to prove himself worthy of place among his ancestors in Sovngarde.

Did any of that still hold true? He had no answer. With everything that had happened, was he even still a Nord? Had he ever truly been one? Kodlak's words held true. Sovngarde was the final journey of a true Nord. Yet, it no longer owned his dreams. Like Kodlak had described he felt it slip away in the hours of a night in favour of dreams of the hunt. Of Hircine. It was the wolf blood coursing through his veins. It changed him. Robbed him of he was. Yet, he could not turn away from it. Perhaps this was what he had always wanted to be. All he knew, was that he had never felt as free, as when the change came upon him. He could never fully remember what transpired. Only sights, sounds and smells. That overwhelming sense of freedom. Running through the forest beneath the pale light of the moon. Stalking prey. Nothing else had ever come close. Even the rush of battle.

He felt her approach behind him. Her scent had long since become familiar enough to the point where it nearly meshed with his own. Even with everything that had happened, she had been a steady presence in his life. Perhaps it was the blood they shared that bound them together. Perhaps it was the times they had faced Silver Hand together. Or perhaps it was something else. Something deeper. He did not move to greet her. Instead, he leaned in over the railing a bit further and remained where he was. He allowed her to move up beside him. She leaned in with him and then glanced up to try and meet his eyes. Her fiery red hair glowed all the more strongly in the reddened light of the sunset. She did not speak. He could hear singing in the hall of Jorrvaskr behind them. Vilkas and Farkas were doing their share of drinking and feasting. As a child, never had he thought that he would actually lay eyes upon that hall of legend. Nor one day count himself among the fabled companions. Then again, these past few months had seen so many event he would have once thought impossible.

He did not turn to look at her. His gaze remained set upon the fading sun. Neither of them spoke. She turned to let her eyes follow his. He relished the silence they shared. They hunted together every now and then. It was the most intimate experience he had ever shared with someone. He could hear every breath she drew. He could hear the merchants, as they closed their shops for the day in the market-place. The hawk as it soared through the sky high above. The clanking of mugs filled with mead in celebratory toasts behind them. It all faded save for her breath, when he finally spoke.

"Do you think the old man was right?"

His voice was tired and weary. She frowned and looked upon his face in an attemptto read him but he held his gaze towards the sun. She moved in a little closer. Her scent grew stronger. He closed his eyes involuntarily, yet she stood as clearly in his mind's eye as she did in reality.

"I think it is what he wanted. What Vilkas and Farkas wanted."

He nodded slowly. Why did he feel so weary? So drained of energy? No enemy made him so. He let out a heavy sigh. What did he want? He did not know. He could not figure it out. Not just because of the Wolfblood in his veins. No, he was a Dragonborn. Like the great Ysmir himself. The blood of Akatosh ran through him as well. His destiny was to fight and confront the Dragons of old. It was undoubtedly a destiny fated to be immortalised in song and verse. This was everything he had always wanted. Everything he had always strived for and built his life towards: The chance to prove himself worthy of entry into Sovngarde.

Or was it really? What did the Dragonblood mean? Was he truly a Nord? Certainly, he must be. After all, that same blood coursed through both Ysgramor and Ysmir. Yet, if that were so, why then had his path become so muddled? Why did the wilds of the forest call him as strongly as the Hall of Valor? He had tried to follow a path he thought was right. He had joined with the Stormcloaks in an attempt to rid his homeland of Imperial corruption. Yet, was that truly the reason? After all, Balgruuf was a good man who cared about his people. Was Ulfric? Balgruuf no longer sat upon the throne in Whiterun. Vignar did. Nord blood had been spilt to put him there. Did he care in the same manner as Balgruuf? Could he protect his people?

Had he been wrong in swearing his axe to Ulfric's service? At the time it had seemed so right. Yet, now everything was unclear. How could he follow in Kodlak's foot-steps and guide his fellow Companions, when he could not even guide himself? He could not escape the feeling that the old man had been wrong in placing trust in him. That for all his pride he could not live up to that trust. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance and it caused him to twitch a little. He felt the familiar longing stir within his heart. Suddenly, he felt her hand place itself atop his own on the railing.

"What is it that you want?"

He glanced away from her, ashamed of his inability to answer her. Her words cut all the deeper, because he could no longer hide that he was lost. Despite her presence he felt alone and abandoned. A victim to the idle fancies of fate and plaything of the Gods. Despite all his pride, his desire to live up to the deeds of his ancestors, he was but a mortal man thrown to the winds. Had the great Ysmir felt this way? Had Ysgramor? Had they been equally lost? His thoughts were interrupted when he felt the tips of her fingers trail along his hand. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. Her hand crept up along his arm and shoulder to his face. It rested at his neck. She looked straight at him. Her lupine eyes glistened in the light of dusk.

"Let me show you what I want..."

She moved in closer to him and overpowered his senses. Her scent, sounds and the feel of her skin overcame and shut out everything else. Her words were interrupted when she pressed her lips against his own. He answered with a deep and sudden need. A need to share himself, as he did when they hunted through the woods together. Not to stand alone. Their kiss grew primal, as their hands began to wander driven by need, lust and something else. As they started to undress each other, their movements grew all the more raw and bestial.

He dreamed of Sovngarde. Tsun stood ready to greet him at the whalebone bridgeand bade him pass without quarrel. He walked slowly, as the great longhouse of the Hall of Valor rose up before him, and stopped at the enormous towering oaken doors. Inside, he could hear music, jolly banter and singing. He closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath before he leaned forward and let in all his strength to push the oaken doors aside.

Inside, was a great party. All the Nord warriors of old were there, as they feasted on succulent pigs, venison and barrels filled with sweet and frothy mead. They stopped for the briefest moment to acknowledge his arrival and then returned to their feast. He began to make his way through the crowd. He recognised some of the faces from his days with the Legion and others which were more recent. Then he suddenly stopped. Kodlak Whitemane stood before him, grinning. They embraced as brothers. Euric looked at him, uncertain.

"Euric my boy! Why have you come here? This is not yet your time!"

Kodlak gripped widely, as he thumped Euric's shoulder. Euric glanced away for a second and allowed his eyes to take in the scene of the feast around him, before he turned back to face Kodlak.

"I am lost. I do not know what to do. How can I guide the others, if I cannot guide myself? Why did you choose me?"

Kodlak let out a heavy sigh, as he nodded slowly. He seemed to understand. Immediately, it put Euric more at ease.

"I am sorry that we never really got to speak. It was never my intention to drop all of this on you. But..."

He trailed off, as he let his hand rest upon Euric's shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. The old man's gaze was every bit as vibrant and powerful, as he remembered.

"Euric. I have seen you fight. You are a true Nord and your heart holds true. I know that you would die for any of them, as they would die for you. You are true to your word and honor. Look into your heart and you will know the truth. It matters not what others say or what you think you are. It matters who you choose to be."

As Kodlak's words began to sink in and he began to understand, Euric smiled and allowed it to grow into a wide, wolfish grin.

"Perhaps I shall see you when the time comes. Perhaps not. Until then, perhaps you are willing to share a drink and a tale with an old man?"

They both laughed, as Kodlak handed him a pint of frothy mead from the table and they clashed their mugs together in a loud, booming toast.

When he woke up he felt her body against his own and looked down to see that she was awake, wrapped in tight embrace of his arms. The songs of the Hall of Valor and the words of Kodlak still rung in his ears. Her fingers drew patterns along the many scars of battle which littered his body and even to the new ones she had made along the edges of his back. She placed a soft kiss on his chest, before she looked back up into his eyes.

"You seemed far away."

"I was."

He nodded, and allowed his hand to brush through her fiery red hair and rest on her cheek in a gentle caress. Night had fallen and her lupine eyes burned as brightly as ever in the pale light of the moon.

"I had lost sight of who and what I was. Of where I was going. I thought that I had lost myself..."

He paused, as he leaned down closer to her face.

"...but I see now that fate left me with a choice. A choice that is mine alone. For all of my desire to answer the legacy of my ancestors, I have never felt so free, as when the change overtakes me. When we stalk and kill our prey. I feel unbound by shackles of expectation or society. It is a freedom that goes beyond anything I had ever expected. I realise now that who and what I am is not determined by my blood, but by who and what I want to be and where I want to go. And if I am to make that choice..."

He held his breath lightly, as he brushed a few stray locks of red hair from her face.

"..then this is what I choose."

As he finished his words, he leaned in to kiss her deeply. When she answered it, he felt all of his concerns and misgivings fade away into nothing.

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