Gosh, it's been a long time since I've written fanfiction .

I own nothing. Skyrim belongs to Bethesda.

Fae crept slowly closer to the old fortress, nestled against the side of a rough cliff edge. Some farmers had been complaining about strange wounds coming from the snow-shrouded fort. Rumors of werewolves were even going around. To calm things down, she had agreed to go take a look, but she was beginning to regret that. Two very human guards had attacked her, but they fell to her arrows fairly quickly. Deciding not to take any chances, she crouched and pushed open the keep door, letting the tip of her arrow lead the way in.

It was considerably warmer inside, but the air was thick with the stench of blood. Her stomach turned. Just inside the doorway was a metal spike. The severed head of a werewolf was stuck on the top, it's blood staining the floor around the stake. Not quite what Fae had expected to see. She swallowed, trying to get her stomach to settle.

A roar echoed from somewhere deeper in. Fae gripped her bow tighter, her nerves jumping. She crept closer to the hallway on the other side of the foyer. The sound made her heart race, it was so raw and...inhuman.

There was a guard standing by the other end of the hallway, his back to her. They were easily taken care of, and she slowly followed the halls farther into the fort, and farther down. She guessed that she was below ground level, and the stench of blood was becoming overpowering. She became aware of a growling noise after a while, and followed it carefully. At the end of one partially collapsed hall, a room opened before her. Fae froze.

The room was large, lit by both torches and the light of a large fire pit in the center of the room. Metal irons were heating in the pit. Blood had stained the majority of the floor a dull brown. Three metal cages lined one wall. Two were entirely empty, the third held an un-moving mound of dark fur. A table nearby dripped filth onto the floor. The partially dissected body of a werewolf lay on top, surrounded by bloody, dirty tools. Hooks hung from the ceiling, dangling bits of flesh that she tried not to look too closely at. On the wall near her were racks and shelves filled with all manner of sharp and painful things. Two men in armor sat idly on some wooden chairs near a doorway opposite her. Another was heating irons in the fire. A fourth stood with his back to her, observing something. Fae shifted to the other side of the hall, trying to see what the man was looking at. Her heart leapt into her throat.

The fourth wall was dominated by a mass of silver chains, shackles, hooks and blades. hanging from the chains was a man, dressed only in torn linen pants. His arms were shackled out to the walls, above his head and he hung from the chains weakly. The silver had burned his wrists to the point that the metal shone red with blood. His bare chest was crossed with shiny burns, bruises and cuts. One of the hooks had been driven into the front of his shoulder and blood ran down his chest and stomach. The man kept his head down, dark hair obscuring his face. As Fae watched, the torturer held out one hand and the guard near the fire pit placed the wrapped grip of one of the hot irons into his hand.

"I am a patient man, wolf, sooner or later, you will tell me what I want to know," the torturer said.

The chained man raised his head and spat in the other man's face. the torturer wiped the spittle away slowly. Then, he lunged forward, yanking on the hook embedded in the man's flesh, and pressed the hot iron against his belly. the bound man howled. with a few more vicious jerks, the torturer released him and stepped back, throwing the cooling brand to the floor. The prisoner hung with his head down once more, growling, panting and shaking.

Fae swallowed hard and bit her lip. The captive, she guessed, was a werewolf, seeing the carnage around the rest of the room. She hadn't expected a werewolf to seem so... human. She slid an arrow from her quiver and took a deep breath. She would end his suffering...