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The smell of blood filled Jorrvaskr as Vilkas slammed through the doors, half collapsing into a pillar as he lowered her to the floor. The last thing Gwyn heard was Skjor and Aela shouting.
When she woke she was on a table with Tilma leaning over her, carefully ministering to the claw marks across her chest. Her body was heavy, a freezing ache spread from her limbs. Eyelids barely open, the high ceiling of the main hall faded in and out of focus, just slightly too slow to sync with the pounding in her head.
“Are you sure?” Skjor’s harsh voice came from somewhere by her feet.
“I'm positive, it was Arnbjorn.” Vilkas grumbled back through what sounded like gritted teeth.
“Traitor.” Aela was nearer to her head than the others.
“Did he say anything?” Kodak was calm and soothing.
“Not much that I heard b- ow FARKAS!”
“If you held still this wouldn't hurt as much.” Farkas was trying not to sound bothered. Vilkas let out an exasperated and painted groan as Farkas returned to tending his wounds.
“He knew her name .” Vilkas’ teeth ground together.
“So he had been following you? And you didn't notice?” Aela’s voice seemed closer, was she pacing?
“He might have -” He cut off his own thoughts with a deep breath. “ No, he didn't even seem to remember me, but he knew her.”
Nausea gurgled up from Gwyn's stomach. Half focused memories flickered in her mind. The Sanctuary. Dark Hallways. Whispered threats. Arnbjorn’s pale eyes, constantly watching.
“You think he was after her?” Skjor sounded unconvinced.
“He lured me away, a trick for easier access to her.”
She wanted to speak. The nightmare had finally caught up to her, and she needed to explain herself. Her head continued to pound, the pain in her chest was suffocating. Her first attempt at words came out a quiet groan.
“Shhhhh,” Tilma reached up to place a soothing hand on her forehead. Footsteps drew closer until Kodlak appeared opposite her. His face was calm, a hint of concern only noticeable in his brow. The metallic taste and smell of her own blood was nearly overwhelming.
“D-dark,” she finally managed to barely squeak out a word. Kodlak’s hand replaced Tilma’s.
“Breathe slowly child,” Kodlak's voice was even and soothing. “Slow full breaths.”
Gwyn followed his words. Long slow breaths that strained against her bruised ribs. The nausea subsided slightly. The room was silent.
“Try again, Gwyn.”
“Dark,” the word clawed its way out of her throat. Jagged and sharp against her scream strained vocal chords. “Brotherhood.”
There was a long deafening silence. Kodlak's brow furrowed deeper, the concern seemed to shift to anger.
“The Dark Brotherhood?” Skjor finally broke the silence. “Are they hunting you?”
“Yess” she exhaled.
“Do you know why?”
“I-I…” her eyes squeezed shut as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Left.”
More silence. No more running now.
“You left the Dark Brotherhood?” It was Kodlak's voice directly above her. Gwyn didn't dare open her eyes.
This was it. Everything she had worked for, the years spent rebuilding herself, gone in an instant. Nausea crept back in. She was a liability. She would return to wandering, this time with a werewolf haunting her every move. Hello little lamb. Arnbjorn's taunts echoed in her pounding head.
“You were an assassin ?” Skjor nearly laughed. “She's lost too much blood to make any sense.”
“We should get her to a bed,” Tilma's voice was quiet.
“Put her in mine,” Vilkas volunteered quickly. “She'll need it more. I'll sleep with the welps.”
“You're all going to ignore this?” Aela's voice was angry.
“She's not exactly capable of coherent conversation, Aela.” Vilkas snapped back.
“We could be inviting the Dark Brotherhood into our home .”
“It does not matter. ” Kodlak's voice cut off Vilkas before he could get a word out. “She took her oath, she has proved her honor. She is a Companion , and we take care of our own.”
Arms slid underneath her to lift her from the table. The warm light of the main hall was replaced with the cool dark of the downstairs. Her fellow recruits whispered amongst themselves as she was carried past.
“It looks worse than it is. She will recover.” Tilma said as she was lowered onto a bed. “She needs rest more than anything.”
A large hand rested on her shoulder.
“We will talk about this in the morning.” Kodlak's voice was firm.