Do Vampires ?, an elder scroll series fanfic

A/N: As usual, I do not own Oblivion or any of its associated characters. If I did, I wouldn't be here, writing fanfiction. I'd be on a beach somewhere, sipping fancy drinks with umbrellas in them, writing fanfiction. Yes, to my own work. I'm funny that way. Probably not the "haha" kind of funny, either.

A quick thanks to my marvelous beta: Pheonicia. I owe her cookies. Go read her stuff when you're done with mine.

"Do vampires really drink this?"

That was the first question she asked him. She was carefully carrying a tray with a goblet and a bottle of blood, and she asked just as she offered it to him at his desk.

Until that point she'd been the perfect maid – conscientious, obedient, and above all, quiet. Those who worked in his castle were there because they – to be blunt – knew how to keep their mouths shut. That usually meant his staff was only a fraction of the size that the other counties had. But, so far, he remained safe. Large groups could not keep secrets. And for him, trust was important.

Once it was certain a hire could be trusted, Shum would tell them the truth of his count's peculiar affliction. Better that than have them find out accidentally. Such a shock could be too much for even the calmest of hires. That had been learned the hard way. An incident he'd rather forget.

The girl took the news well, Shum had reported. Barely a blink. In retrospect, he should have found that suspicious, and now he knew why. She was perhaps worse than untrustworthy. She was curious.

"Do vampires really drink this?"

"Yes," he answered her with clipped tones. He found himself annoyed by the question, so he took the tray from the girl with a little more force than was necessary. The bottle of blood rattled and tipped – she made a diving catch to save both it and his carpet. That soothed his mood a little. Bloodstains were much more difficult to remove than winestains. She did well to prevent the accident.

Sitting awkwardly on the floor, she offered him the bottle with downcast eyes. "I'm sorry, sir." After he took it delicately by the neck, he noted she tucked reddened hands behind her back. Of course – the bottle was hot. Cold blood was disgusting. Guilt was not an emotion he usually reserved for anyone but his wife, but he did feel a twinge nonetheless.

He cast a low-level frost spell on the tray and held it out to her. "Press your hands against this, girl. It should ease the pain." She accepted it wordlessly. "Go and get that looked at."

"Yes, sir." She climbed to her feet, using the backs of her hands and forearms as leverage. "I'm sorry I bothered you, sir."

She left as quietly as she entered, head lowered, clutching the tray in her hands.

Pouring himself a glass of the blood, he sipped it absently. Indeed, perhaps a little warmer than usual. She must have hurried from the kitchens. At least she hadn't asked about the source of the blood. She would find out soon enough.

An interesting child. He supposed her curiosity was only natural. After all, she was still young. She would grow out of it in time.

"Do vampires drink wine?"

He gave the goblet in his hand a deliberate look, and she blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. You must think me slow."

He didn't, and that was the problem. Were she stupid, she would be too terrified to ask him anything. Granted, were she stupid, Shum would never have hired her. It was so difficult, trying to find that perfect balance.

Perhaps it would be best to answer her questions. He shuddered to think what would happen if she should attempt to conduct some research of her own. Oh yes, the Mages Guild would enjoy that.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" He found himself smiling humorlessly at her embarrassment, lips pulling tight against his fangs when the girl blushed again.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to be. I just am."

"I see." He sipped his wine – half as an answer, and half as a way to pause the conversation as he considered the girl standing at the corner of his desk. She seemed surprisingly nervous for one so forward. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed she was an unwilling spy. Yet his own sources had told him her home in the town showed no sign of sudden wealth, and she had no secrets she might be blackmailed for. And his enemies knew better than to threaten anyone from his city.

A natural curiosity then, coupled with a natural timidity. Given the number of hunters who passed through over the years as they searched for the accumulated scum, it was more than possible. The latest generation had grown up with vampires as their bedtime stories.

And what harm was there in repeating the common knowledge of the scholars? He tried to not laugh at himself. What harm indeed – with his status, anything could be dangerous.

"What of your hands?" he asked, changing the subject. "Did they heal cleanly?"

Her face lit up and she lifted her hands free of her skirts for inspection. The angry redness was gone and her palms smooth. Surprisingly so, for a girl grown in a city so proud of honest work. "I told them I tried to take a pot out of the fire and that the pot-holders I used were too thin."

He raised an eyebrow, "Pot-holders?"

"Yes, sir. They're bits of cloth you use to keep your hands safe in the kitchen. Rags and the lot. I know you don't cook, sir, but don't you use anything for your…your…" she pointed at the alchemy equipment on his shelves, "whatever it is you do?"

He glanced at it and nodded. True, sometimes the calcinator could become rather hot to the touch. "It's a matter of spells, rather than rags – Alchemy requires that your fingers remain fairly nimble and unhindered."

"Well, you don't wrap them around your hands unless you're baking bread or something like that. It's still easy to burn yourself, though. See?" She held out her arm, pulling up her sleeve to reveal a couple of shiny scars. She seemed to have forgotten she was talking to her Count. "I got that one just a month or so ago. I bumped the side of the oven, but it was just before dinner, so I didn't have time to get it healed right. When I got the others, I wasn't working here yet, so I couldn't always make it to the healer, you know how it – " She stopped talking abruptly, hand flying to her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be so familiar, sir."

He waved his own hand at her in a 'go on' gesture. After all, she'd been fairly familiar since she first started talking to him. He saw no reason to stop her now. And in the end, he was…lonely. Yes, lonely. A little familiarity could only do him good.

After some hesitation, she continued.

"Do vampires sleep?"

She found him wandering the halls late one night, after that adventurer came by the castle. The man sought a cure for vampirism. A cure. When Hal-Liurz told him, he thought it could be a trap, but curiosity – always curiosity – drove him to meet the adventurer anyway. Had it been an excuse of one of the vermin, he would have had him destroyed. Perhaps even done it himself, for daring to set foot in his castle. But, in the end, the man – the other vampire – was serious.

He decided to use him. Send him to do what a Count could not. And so, he told him the results of his years upon years of research and sent him to the witch. If the man failed, he had lost nothing. Should he succeed…

Once again, the guilt. He should have done this himself. He should not have let the concern for his station grow above the concern for his wife. But what else could he do? Become hunted, like the vermin? Abandon the people of Skingrad? Bow to the whims of Traven and his Guild? And so, he wandered the halls of his castle, once again cursing the fate that made him a vampire, and a noble.

He almost welcomed the familiar question and, caught off guard, answered honestly. "When not burdened by worries – yes. We do. Why are you still awake?"

She fidgeted nervously and clutched her dressing gown close to her throat. "I was worried too, sir. You never talked to a visitor so long before. And you didn't notice me tonight, sir. Something must be terribly wrong."

He pressed his lips together, studying the little maid. Finally, slowly, he said, "Come with me, girl."

She didn't say a word as he led her through the castle, though he could feel her sharp little eyes on his back. "Have you ever cared for an invalid?" he inquired once they stood outside in the castle courtyard.

"Not really, sir…I helped my mother with my grandmother when I was very young." She shivered in the cool night air. "We're not going down into the town, are we, sir?"

"No."

The girl gasped aloud when he cast the spell to open the wall. He found himself irrationally pleased by the reaction. So she could be startled. He had wondered about that, but he felt that jumping out of dark corners in order to test it was far below his dignity.

She gasped again when he opened the door to the chamber. "Who - ?"

"This is my wife."

The maid's hand flew to her mouth at the sight of the frighteningly gaunt woman on the bed before her. "Sh-she's not - ?"

"Dead? No more than I, but quite a bit more than you."

"Oh." He could see in her eyes that she understood. "May I…look at her, sir?"

He nodded. "She will not awaken," he explained, before adding with some bitterness, "No matter what you should do."

Timidly, the girl walked to the bedside, staring at Rona with wide eyes. "She's beautiful," she whispered. His mouth twisted into a frown, and the girl flinched slightly. "I'm not trying to lie, sir. She really is." She reached out hesitantly and touched the thin cheek. Rona's skin was pulled so tightly that it barely gave under the pressure. "Like a moth's wing."

He knew from experience that her skin felt like thin paper now – no longer the soft fullness it used to have. He'd watched her wither. All those nights he spent by her side until he knew that there was no longer any point to his presence…

His unbeating heart clenched and he turned away.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"I – I'll be honored to care for her for you, sir. Until she gets better."

Mentally, he thanked the girl for figuring out what he was going to ask, and cursed her for saying what she said. Until she gets better… He didn't have the strength to correct her…to tell her what would really happen should the adventurer succeed. Rona…his Rona…

He risked a look back to see the girl kneeling at the bedside, one withered hand held gently between her young ones. She was talking to Rona, introducing herself. Explaining what it was she would be doing. Behaving as he used to be able.

She would do well enough.

"Do vampires breathe?"

If he wasn't mistaken, she was trying to make a joke. He gave her the same look he had when she asked him about the wine, and she giggled.

It had been a while since he'd heard honest laughter directed at him. He smiled back, and to his surprise, found it genuine. For an answer, he took her wrist and held her hand up to his mouth. Again to his surprise, she didn't struggle or startle. Rather, she watched with wide, excited eyes. He noticed that she was unconsciously holding her own breath as she waited for him to breathe. Eventually, though, she had to gasp for air – a gasp that turned into another giggle.

"That was unkind, sir!"

"Unkind?" He released her. "Your pardon. I didn't realize that your wrist was connected to your lungs."

She dissolved into giggles once more. For a moment, he felt wistful. Had fate worked differently, he and Rona may have had children, setting the old walls of the castle to ring with their laughter. Instead, it remained as cold and empty as he. He missed laughter. And warmth. Rona would have liked his little maid.

He was gripped with a sudden urge to know more about her. And urges for anything other than blood were so rare he knew better than to deny them. "I think that you owe me several questions by now."

She stopped giggling and said, slowly, "I suppose it's only fair, sir."

He searched his mind for a fairly innocent question, so as not to scare her too much. "Why did you come to work here?" There, that was a good one.

She played with the hem of her apron, as she always did when she was nervous. "I'm not strong enough to work the vineyards like most everyone else, sir. I used to be at the West Weald, waiting tables and the like. Master Shum took a liking to me and offered me a job in the castle. The money was good enough, despite the rumors…"

"Rumors?" He raised his eyebrows. "No, don't tell me – Glarthir."

The girl giggled. "The last time I visited my mother, you were secretly a Telvanni Lord. The time before that, I think you might have been the Mane."

"I daresay someone might have noticed if I were. Someone else, I mean." Not for the first time, he wondered if he could have the odd little elf shipped off to Bravil. Regulus would deserve him. But on the other hand, the reports of his latest insanity never failed to amuse – especially since he had yet to come up with a vampire theory. Even if he did, who would take him seriously? It might even help; that was a possibility to consider for the future. On the subject, however…

"You seem to be rather…interested in vampires. May I ask why?"

This time, she twisted the hem so much he was afraid she might tear it, cheeks starting to stain pink. "I – It's silly. Are you sure you want to know, sir?"

"Quite certain."

She blushed for true, and began, "I was sick a lot when I was young, sir. And pale, too. Too much time in the sun would make me pass out. Some of the other children, they took to calling me a vampire. My mother laughed it off, but when you're young…you know how it is, sir. I was scared that they were right. I didn't know how one became a vampire or anything like that, and it's not something you ask. I got over it, of course, but it always worried me a little. I was happy to find out about…about you, sir. I could set my mind at ease."

"I can tell you without any doubt that you are not a vampire."

"You mean for reasons other than the no fangs, and the having to breathe, and the not drinking blood, sir?"

"Impertinent child." He smiled again. "I meant that I cannot stand most other vampires, and I do not mind your presence at all."

She turned pink.

"Do vampires bleed?"

The little maid was surprisingly good at caring for Rona. She'd taken to dropping by every few days, with new candles and an armful of books. She would light the candle, sit in the room's single chair, and read the books aloud – as though Rona were simply resting her eyes.

She'd obviously only had the most basic of schooling. As she read, she'd pause and sound out words that troubled her, before stumbling over them and pressing onwards. But she was a natural narrator, nonetheless.

He'd followed her invisibly a few times; curious as to what she was doing after Shum reported her actions to him. She had to ask another to let her into the chamber – the spell was beyond what she could do. Then, once he'd seen what she was up to, he started planning his visits to coincide with hers. Seeing another treat Rona in such a way calmed his conscience.

At first, she was hesitant to read in front of him, not realizing that she already had. But soon she grew comfortable with the arrangement. She even insisted that he take the chair, sitting cross-legged on the floor instead.

The question about blood came one day as she blushed her way through The Real Barenziah. One passage made her so embarrassed that she turned the page rather too quickly, slicing her finger open in the process. The cut finger went immediately into her mouth. Her face crumpled up – more with annoyance than pain.

"Foofid," she muttered around the finger.

"I beg your pardon?"

She went pink (How often she did that! As though she had more blood in her veins than most.) and pulled her finger out of her mouth. "Stupid – me, not you, sir. I'm sorry; I think I bled on your book."

He sniffed the air. Only the barest hint of blood hung in it – though it was sweet as only the blood of the young could be. "Hardly enough to make a difference if you did."

She examined her finger and then the book, before turning her gaze to him. "Do vampires bleed?"

"Not…technically. Vampires have blood, but it does not flow. We do not heal like humans do."

"And is that why you have to drink blood? So you don't dry up?"

A few weeks ago, he would have dismissed her at once for such a question, sitting right beside his wife as she was. But now he knew that the girl didn't often think before she spoke. Questions would simply tumble from her lips, driven by her impossible curiosity.

If only he hadn't hidden himself away in his castle, Rona would still be as fresh as the girl sitting before him. What was it that kept him? Fear? The need to maintain his station? Why hadn't he gone?

"I should have been the one to retrieve the cure for Rona," he muttered, only half to himself.

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I…" Why not tell her? Curious she may be, but she didn't seem to be the type to betray a confidence. "I was merely thinking about the past. The adventurer who came by recently – I sent him to try and find a cure for Rona's…condition. And I must admit that I do feel guilty for not being able to do so myself."

"Why?" She actually seemed honestly confused by his words. "If you can't, you can't, right?"

"Well, yes…I suppose so. But it has taken me fifty years to get to this point. I feel as though I have betrayed her. Left her behind in some way."

The maid opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. He waved his hand at her. "Go on. Speak your mind. What are you thinking?"

"It isn't my place, sir. I – I shouldn't say."

"I wish to hear it. Speak." The tone of his voice indicated that it was an order.

She wrung her hands nervously. "It's just…I don't think you should feel so guilty, sir. She left you first, didn't she? She chose to sleep."

The girl may as well have stabbed him. How dare this maid speak in such a way about Rona? His mouth fell open, as she pushed on, staring at the floor, oblivious to his anger. "It's just…sometimes things get to be too much, more than anything else, and people leave. She was only human, sir. And it was her choice…" Her voice faltered. "S-sir?"

The pit of his stomach felt empty of everything but rage. The very tips of his fingers tingled with it. He wanted to strike the impertinent girl, to teach her of her place, to…to… And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and he was empty.

"Get out," he ordered, voice dull.

"I'm sorry, sir," she pleaded, tears in her voice. "I only did what you - "

"Get out."

"I'm so sorry!" Hands at her mouth, she fled from the room, leaving the book still open on the floor. So fast did she run that the door didn't close properly, instead bouncing against the doorjamb and the wall behind. The noise was distant to his ears.

What had he been thinking, telling a mere maid such things? She couldn't possibly know, or understand, the truth of things. She had been wrong…so horrendously wrong about it.

Hadn't she?

With one swift move, he snatched the bottle of wine he'd brought along with him and drained it, before staring helplessly at the empty bottle.

Gods above and below…he wished that he could get drunk.

"Do vampires dream?"

He drifted for a while in his dull anger. During that time, he saw neither hide nor hair of the little maid. How dare she say such a thing about his beautiful wife? Rona was not like that. Rona would never have left him.

But then…

Perhaps it was foolish of him, but then he'd thought about her words. After all, they weren't meant in anger or spite. The little maid honestly believed that they would make him feel better. And, after all, he had ordered her to speak.

His mistake was in thinking her a child. Young, yes, but a grown woman nevertheless. She deserved to be treated as such. Her opinions deserved to be considered. Was he the one acting like a child who doesn't want to hear a truth?

Still, his pride kept him from summoning her back to either his side or Rona's.

The letter from the witch, written like she was the noble and he the common petitioner, told him the adventurer had been sent for the ingredients of the potion and to expect her within the week, if you please. A week. A mere week.

Even the nightmares of a vampire were now better than staying awake for hours, thinking of what was to come. Even the nightmares of Rona vanishing, dissolving into dust, because he knew they were but dreams. The truth would be…different.

One night, he woke and realized: no. No– he would not allow his selfishness to last any longer. Rona would not suffer for him. And were he any kind of gentleman, or noble, he would tell the little maid the truth about her charge.

He pulled on a dressing gown and tugged the bell cord in his room to summon whichever member of his staff was awake at the moment. None of them would think twice about being summoned in the dead of night. Such things were common in his castle. The only one who would even think about questioning his motives would be Shum, and he could tell him the truth.

To his surprise, his door was timidly opened by the very person he wished to apologize to. Her gaze fixed on the floor, she asked, "Yes, sir?"

"Have you a question for me?"

Her head shot up, eyes wide in surprise. "Sir?"

"It has been several days. I expect a question by now. Out with it."

She glanced around, obviously casting about in her mind for something to ask her Count. Her gaze settled on him, in his dressing gown, and she brightened. "Do vampires dream?"

As always, she managed to land, entirely accidentally, upon a most difficult issue. "Yes, but not pleasantly. Nightmares." He related a few, and her eyes widened again.

"Oh, sir…if I'd known, I'd have woken you!"

How many young girls would wake a vampire in order to keep them from having nightmares? A fond smile threatened to break through his scrupulously straight façade.

"Does…does her ladyship dream as well, sir?" Her hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry! I won't speak of - !"

"No. No, it's all right. I have missed your stories. Tell me, where were you that you would have woken me?"

Shamefaced, she admitted she'd watched him sleep those few days after he'd sent her away. She'd been too frightened to come into his rooms while he was still awake, so she'd begged Shum to change her schedule. She'd been the one to take away his clothing and wash it, and the one who had left a sweetroll by his bedside every morning. Bought with her own wages, she confessed, blushing deeply.

A peace offering, if you would.

Suddenly, she stopped talking and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what I was talking about before. With her ladyship. I was wrong."

The apology was forcibly formal, but heartfelt. He could tell from the way her hands wrung the front of her dressing gown. The poor girl was so afraid that he was still angry with her. And, to his surprise, he wasn't. Not any longer. What point was there in anger now?

"No…you were not wrong." It hurt to say those words, to face the truth he'd ignored for fifty years. Rona was already gone. She'd left him then. And he had left her. Their choice had already been made. And soon, Rona would have no more nightmares.

He sighed, a wrenching sound that he'd have been mortified if any other had heard, and waved at an empty chair. "Sit, girl. I've something to tell you."

"Do vampires cry?"

The cure was complete. Four simple words hadn't chilled him so much since: "It was a vampire."

He should be happy. He should be looking forward to the end of Rona's pain.

He just wasn't that good of a man. In the end, he was still selfish enough to wish the adventurer had never come, or he'd turned him away at the door, or he'd never even heard of the witches.

While he was wishing that the past be changed, he may as well wish that vampires had never been created.

The chamber was utterly silent, save for the sounds of life from the two mortals – the witch at his side and the maid at Rona's.

It was only right the little maid be there. Even though she'd only known Rona for a few weeks, she deserved to see what was going to happen. Most of all, he trusted her…enough. She'd cared for Rona, and that was enough.

The horrific scraping sound of the wall opening filled his ears. Had it always been so loud? The maid winced when it echoed through the chamber, one hand flying to the side of her head.

The adventurer entered alone, eyes darting about, the flask – that flask – clutched in his hand. His heart was beating wildly. He was no longer a vampire. "I…er…brought it. Er…Here."

He looked at the adventurer, saw that he was no worse for the wear for his ordeal, and hated him. How dare he survive? How dare he be so untouched by the departure of his disease? The look of shock and fear in the man's eyes as he looked around the chamber only made him hate him all the more. He wanted to rip the cure from his hand, shove him out the door, but he could not. To do so would be ungracious.

Beside him, the little maid shifted uncomfortably, sensing his sudden anger. She looked anxiously between him and the adventurer, her hand resting on Rona's shoulder in a protective gesture. To her credit, she did not speak.

He forced his anger away with an effort. The strain was getting to him, and now was not the time for this. He would rather die than have Rona's last look at him be tainted with it.

So he stood, and bowed, and thanked him. All the same, he didn't take his eyes off the man until he had the flask safe in his own hand.

He could have just poured the potion between her lips and let her drift off naturally. It might well have been the kinder thing for both of them. But it was not the right thing, and it was not the act of a husband who'd not spoken to his wife for nearly fifty years.

Watching the witch cast the spell to awaken Rona, he had to consciously force himself to relax, lest he crush the glass containing the cure. Maybe…just maybe…would she be willing to take some blood before the cure? It could keep her alive…no. She would never, and he couldn't bear to watch her wither again, this time as a mortal.

When the witch stepped back and nodded, pity in her eyes, he bit the inside of his cheek. His fangs dug into the soft skin, but he did not bleed. He mustn't show sorrow now. Until it was over, he mustn't be anything but happy. For Rona.

"Rona…" he gently touched her cheek, waiting until she stirred. "Wake up, my love."

When her eyes opened, they were so unfocused and helpless that it was all he could do to not pull her fragile body into his arms. "What? Janus…I…please, no. Let me sleep. I beg you, let me sleep." Her voice took on a desperate note. He could tell that she could scent the three mortals in the room and the temptation to take blood might prove too much to bear soon.

"It's all right. It's over."

"I can…rest? Truly?" Carefully, he helped her sit up to lean against his shoulder, holding her as tightly as he dared. As soft as the velvets she wore were, they still rasped against her delicate skin. When he pressed the potion into her hand, it took her several tries to wrap her fingers around the smooth glass. She stared at it. "Is this…?"

He forced joy into his voice. The decision has been made. "Yes, my love. Just drink this, and it will all be better. I promise."

She understood what he meant. She had always been able to understand him. She lifted her head enough to brush cracked lips against his cheek. "Oh, Janus….thank you for saving me. Help me…help me drink it."

Even though it broke his heart to do so, he uncorked the flask and lifted it to her lips. She swallowed…and changed. Her heart beat sluggishly…once…twice. Her eyes were brown. He'd forgotten that. So beautiful…and so tired.

Then they closed, and her heart stopped, and his heart broke again. Rona…!

He distantly heard the maid murmuring to the other two, thanking them and telling them she would see them out for now, please leave. The more logical part of his mind – the part that had always allowed him to live with himself – told him he had to put Rona's…Rona down, or else he'd start snapping bones. Still, he couldn't move until the sound of the wall closing startled him.

Now Rona really did look as though she were sleeping. He tugged the blanket up to her shoulders, hesitated, then covered her face. That done, he sank into the chair and buried his own face in his hand.

Wait. He could still hear a heartbeat, but it was far too rapid to belong to his wife. A quiet sob. That definitely belonged to someone else. Rona had no reason to sob now.

He looked up. The little maid stood by the door, hands clutched to her chest. Her cheeks were wet. She jumped guiltily when his eyes met hers.

"I'm sorry…I-I'll leave, sir. I…I'm sure you wish to be alone."

But she didn't leave. Instead, she stood at the door and continued to weep silently. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something. Say something. He couldn't. All he could think of was Rona. No reassurances could help. It was as though the last fifty years had never happened, and the loss was new and painfully fresh.

For the first time, he wished that vampires weren't quite so mortal.

"I'll leave," she repeated.

"No. Stay." I don't wish to be alone right now. I will be alone all too soon.

She didn't look surprised, or shocked, and for that he was grateful. Explanations were too difficult right now. "Yes, sir." Walking forward, she knelt at his feet and took his cold hand in her warm ones. "I'll stay."

He needed something normal. Something that would ground him. He felt as though he was floating, and one breeze would be all it would take for him to be lost forever.

"Ask something. Anything."

She was silent for only a moment. Then, her voice catching in her throat, "D-do vampires cry?"

Do vampires cry? His eyes stung when she broke into fresh sobs.

Apparently, they did.