( Thanks for reminding me The Stann) when I do all my chapters i put through The Stann and then, when we have done all we can, we pass it to the Lore-Master. This chapter took a lot work and betaering, but in the end we got there.

P.s this story originally belonged to The Stann, then we decided to a co-author. The finally it was given to me with a nice ribbon on top.

17/2/15 : I understand that the review I left on my own story is in bad form and I have tried to remove time many times but the report system does not seem to like me that much. If it annoys you as much as it annoys me please report it so it can be banished from this realm.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series. It belongs to Bethesda Softworks. The plot was created by me, The Stann and a, wished to be anonymous, user of this website.

"Freedom lies in being bold." Robert Frost

Chapter 1 – Liberation

Colden

203 4th era.

Colden sprinted through the deep snow, after jumping out of the row boat from the main land, to the main doors of castle Volkihar. As he ran through the open doors they closed shut behind him, cutting him off from Serena.

"Where are you?" yelled Colden through the cold rooms of the old, stone castle. His shout echoed off every wall.

"So you came with my bow," vibrated Harkon's voice from the cathedral. Colden ran through the castle heading to the cathedral doors. When he finally got there he stopped to breathe. He threw open the doors and strode towards Harkon, who was already in vampire lord state.

"Your bow?" said Colden, "the way I see it, I read the elder scroll, went to Darkfall cave and got the bow. I did not go through all that to simply give up the bow."

"I knew it was only a matter of time before your ambition outgrew your loyalty."

"Loyalty? You never intended to let me live."

"A small price to pay for the betterment of our kind."

"You're an insult to our kind," spat Colden.

"Oh, come now. You have barely been a part of our kind for more than a cycle of the moon."

"I could still kill you in an instant!"

"You think that living in a bog with those lizard men makes you better than me?"

"No," said Colden grinding his teeth in anger.

"So it must be when you worked with the backstabbing Dark Brotherhood, you gained this arrogance?"

"'Backstabbing' is rich coming from you," spat Colden.

"Well either way you'll never leave this room," replied Harkon with a calm face, he waved his hand and the cathedral doors closed shut, "And see your wife and new born baby." Colden physically took a step back. 'New born baby!'

"I-I have a child," stammered Colden.

"Yes," chuckled Harkon, "But don't worry, I sent Modhna to go take care of your wife yesterday, but your baby, well he will make very nice cattle for the entirety of his pitiful existence."

Colden snapped!

He let out everything inside of him and his body morphed faster than ever. His fingers turned to claws, wings erupted out of his shoulders, his armour and weapons fell to the floor around him and skin darkened to a dark grey shade of night.

With one hand he flung a drain life spell at Harkon, but he was not there he had morphed into stream of bats, that sped across the room to the balcony, and the spell smashed harmlessly against the wall.

Colden roared and swung his head at where Harkon now stood. With his left hand he summoned a gargoyle, that stood staring at Colden for a second then jumped up to meet Harkon in hand to hand combat. But Harkon simply grabbed the gargoyle by the throat and crushed it to dust while barely lifting his hand.

This gave Colden the time he needed. Through the dust, which was disappearing fast with purple flashes, he shot a corpse curse. The shot hit Harkon square in the chest.

There was a brief moment, where Colden thought that it might of actually worked. Then he heard laughter. A deep booming laugh that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. He glided towards the altar. He lifted his hand and formed a shield of the colour of blood.

But it wasn't just a shield. Out of the shield stepped three skeletons wielding a sword, an axe and a bow. Three of the thousand innocents Harkon had massacred to gain immortality.

Colden swung his right claw through the chest of the sword wielding skeleton. The bones fell to the floor, unmoving. The axe-skeleton swung at Colden's head. He ducked: not fast enough. The axe took off the tip of his right wing. Colden cried out in pain and punched the skeleton's head; it went flying across the room and shattered into dust as it hit the wall. He had no time to get over the pain when an arrow went through his left wing. Colden threw out his left hand gripped the skeleton by the neck until it fell apart into a pile of bones.

Colden looked up towards Harkon. More skeletons were advancing from the shield. Colden tried to step back and nearly fell over something. Colden stared at the floor and saw the answer. Auriel's bow and a sun hallowed arrow.

He picked up the bow, ignoring the pain in both his wings and the pain of holding a Aedric weapon in his vampiric hands, pulled back the arrow and fired. He put every last drop of his vampiric magic behind the arrow as it tore through the shield and pierced Harkon's heart.

In a golden burst of sunlight Harkon's flesh was burnt away. His bones slowly burnt in pink flames.

Colden crumpled to ground and his body slowly changed back into Kyne's intended form for nords. His blonde hair sprouted out of his head and his beard grew onto his face.

Slowly he stood up and walked to the doors and pushed them open. He turned to the main doors of the hall and heard the thumping on the door and Serena yelling through the solid wood doors. He started walking slowly then sped up and by the time he got to the doors he was sprinting. He flung open the doors and sprinted to the frozen Sea of Ghosts. Just before he hit the sold ice he summoned Arvak and jumped onto his back and without even needing to do anything but hold on, his skeletal horse rode like hell itself chasing it.

Twelve months ago.

His wedding day. He couldn't believe it.

He stood slowly, aware of the many bruises and slow healing cuts all over his body. It had only been a week since the fight with Alduin. A week since he had fought the first born of Akatosh, and lived.

The flap to his tent lifted. Immediately he reached for his steel sword and pointed it at the figure in the tent door.

"Ralof," breathed Colden, relieved, "You scared me."

"Me, scare the high and mighty Dragonborn," gasped Ralof, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. Ralof had been there with him the entire way and had been a much of part killing Alduin as Colden was.

"Oh, shut up and help me put on the cloak." Ralof overly dramatically bowed and mumbled something like "My thane," but you could never be sure with Ralof. He moved in front of Colden and did up the clasp, a steel impression of a dragon head: Grey-mane's finest work.

As soon as it was on, he stepped out the tent in the bright sunlight: Ralof following a few steps behind.

He stood in the land south of Helgen, the border of Skyrim and Cyrodil a mere stone throw away. He turned and saw his wife to be, Lydia, stood in a white flowing dress. This was a rare sight: to see her out of her battle armour. He smiled at the sight of her and all his love and she smiled back.

He walked to Lydia and the only other guest here apart from him, his wife and Ralof, a priest of Mara. He had not invited his family, in fact his family didn't know he was Dragonborn let alone to be married.

When he arrived at the altar, he nodded at the priest who started to recite the entire ceremony only stopping when he needed Lydia or Colden to say something. Colden barely listened: he was caught up by how beautiful Lydia was.

When the priest stopped and pronounced them married, he lifted Lydia in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips and smiled.

Eleven months ago.

He ripped open the front door of Lakeview manor.

And yelled. His wife was gone.

He ran through room after room looking a clue to his wife's abduction, until he finally found a scruffy note pinned to the wall in the armoury with an iron dagger.

If you ever want to see your wife again, leave a sack full of money by the western watch tower on Tirdas.

CS

The Crimson Scars.

What did they want with his wife? Of course. He had worked with the dark brotherhood once and they hated the brotherhood. Colden pulled a steel war hammer of the wall and stalked out his house with a single purpose in his mind.

Revenge.

Ten months ago.

He had followed the assassin's for over a month and had lost them more than once. He had first gone to their lair under Whiterun, but when he had arrived there he had found nothing but a mocking note and lock of Lydia's hair. But now he had his wife in sight. By his count there were five of them and two tents. Two stood on guard outside the tent which housed the chief and the other tent, where the last two were sleeping, was just next to it, nearer Colden. He could see Lydia tied to a post in the middle of the camp by the fire.

He lifted himself over the ridge and ran quietly down the hill towards the first tent, with his steel war hammer strapped to his back. As soon as he got there he slipped under the canvas of the tent.

He stood up and walked towards the first vampire he pulled the specially forged silver dagger from his belt. He raised the dagger high above his head.

He plunged the dagger into the chest of the blood-sucker. Its eyes flickered open and the vampire tried to scream a warning but it came out as blood and wheezing. The second vampire stirred in his sleep.

Colden froze.

After many tense heart beats, he walked slowly towards the sleeping nord. As he raised the blood covered dagger above his head again, the nord stirred and opened its orange eyes and yelled.

Too late Colden reacted.

He forced the dagger into the vampire, but it got jammed in his rib cage, so he pulled his steel war hammer off his back and turned to face the now open tent flap. The two guards were stood with smiles on their faces and iron swords in their hands.

The first one swung at Colden, but before he could get his sword even half way Colden shouted.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The imperial flew and landed outside the tent with a sickening crunch. As Colden turned to face the second guard he felt a sword slip in to his stomach. In pain, he swung his war hammer around and it smashed against the redguard's head, indenting the skull.

Colden stumbled out of the tent and walked towards the chief's tent but fell on to the floor, his stomach felt like it was on fire. 'Poison!' he yelled inside his mind. He let his body change. He felt fur sprout from his skin and his mouth turn to a snout. He heard- and felt-his bones snap and re-assemble. The poison in his blood was completely eradicated.

He ripped open the tent but found it was empty. A flame came out of a shadow, as the orc chief stepped forward with flames in each hand. Colden stammered out of the tent and towards the fire. The orc fired again, but his time Colden ducked and pounced forward, tackling the chief.

As he and the orc hit the floor, he opened his mouth over the chief's head and crushed it.

He stood up and walked towards Lydia, his body slowly shifting back to human form. When he got to the post, he ripped the thick rope bindings off with his still semi lupine arms. Lydia fell onto him, unconscious.

He carried her in his arms, away from the desolate camp.

His heart felt nothing, his soul dead.

Alvor

Alvor was behind on his work so he was still working into the early hours of the morning. He was just putting the finishing touches an Iron Greatsword when a chill suddenly filled the area as a skeletal house, with a purple flame for a heart, with its rider ran past putting out the embers in the fire. It is safe to say that Alvor did not get to sleep that night.

Lydia

She slowly rocked her unnamed, new baby boy back and forth in her arms and smiled.

She sighed and lifted the baby back in to its cot and sang a song.

"Our hero, our hero

Claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you

The Dragonborn comes

With a voice wielding power

Of the ancient nord art

Believe, believe

The Dragonborn comes

It's an end to the evil

Of all Skyrim's foes

Beware, beware

The Dragonborn comes

For the darkness has passed

And the legend yet grows

You'll know, you'll know

The Dragonborn's come."

She sighed once more. 'If only Colden was here.' Even though her husband had become distant ever since she had been captured by bandits she still missed him after five months of unexplained absence, except for a note about him finding his true purpose and saving the whole of Skyrim. He blamed himself for what had happened, though he would never admit out loud. She slowly drifted aimlessly towards her bedroom.

She was stood in the main hall when the front door of Lakeview manor was flung open and rain poured all over the floor. She swung her head tiredly, after recent childbirth, to the now open door way. Lightning flashed behind the figure and gave a Lydia a momentary flash of the women face and eyes.

Lydia stumbled backwards in shock. The Breton vampire stood in front of her, a wicked smile, half illuminated by candlelight, spreading across her face, fangs gleaming. Lydia's hand went to her hip instinctively but found no sword. 'What kind of idiot forgets their sword?'

The vampire started walking towards her with a wicked, curved ebony dagger in one hand and a spell in the other.

The vampire stopped and turned as if she had heard something from behind her.

"Ah, Colden, I assume you killed Harkon then," the vampire said, as Lydia gasped, 'Colden!'

"Yes, Modhna," his voice, but there was a new power behind it, came from the shadow in the door way.

"Good, you're just in time to see me kill your wife," she spun on the spot, once more facing Lydia and advanced with the dagger in hand. In a blur of movement Colden jumped forward and grabbed Modhna by the back of the neck and threw her onto the ground. The grin that had been on her face was now replaced by a mask of fear.

Colden raised his right arm and his skin rippled and he hunched as his entire body convulsed. Wings broke from his back and his fingers turned to claws. He pulled his claws in, formed a fist and punched Modhna in the chest.

And again.

He continued again and again until her bones were dust her blood pooled across the floor and then he finally pulled her still beating heart out of her open ribs and crushed it in his hand.

He stood slowly and looked at Lydia as his body shrank back to his human form. Without a word he lifted Lydia in his arms and carried her out of the house.

The tiredness of child birth and the trauma of watching her husband transform into demon that inhabited the deepest fears of humanity caught up to her and she passed out as he stepped out into the raining night.

Feandal

Feandal walked up the path towards his steward's house carrying a pile of fire wood in his arms.

He dropped it when he saw Lakeview manor.

The front doors were wide open with rain water and a corpse on the floor. He ran in the entrance hall and was gladdened it was not Lydia but worried why a stranger's body was in his steward's house.

He backed away through the door when he heard the cry.

Confused, the wood elf moved into the back room and found the unnamed, new baby boy.