Disclaimer: I quote extensively from the game in this chapter. Those lines are not mine.
At The Throat of the World - Chapter One – Aak, part one
fos monah saag wah fril mon
gein fend pel au ven ahrk lom
Serana smelled blood even before she opened her eyes, even before she collapsed on the ground in a heap.
One thing at a time.
As she pushed herself up she opened her eyes and saw a woman standing over her – a woman who was not a vampire. Why would Valerica send a human to wake her? Valerica wouldn't. Serana rose to her feet warily and the strange woman stepped back. Harkon wouldn't have sent a human either. Something went wrong. Her senses were fogged. She tasted dust in her mouth. How long had it been? She had closed her eyes only moments ago, but that wasn't true, not really. "Unh… Where is…" She paused, trying to figure out exactly what she was trying to ask. It's hard. She smelled blood. "Who… who sent you here?"
Thoughts spun in and out of Serana's head like demented mage lights. The last thing she remembered was Valerica promising to pacify Harkon and then wake her. If Valerica had not come to wake her, if Harkon had not come, if no one from the court had come… What was the fate of her family?
The woman, a Nord by the look of her – or maybe a Breton – shifted nervously. No, not nervously, Serana thought, pushing her mind to ignore her hunger and the maelstrom of fearful thoughts assaulting her. Purposefully. She was a warrior, dressed in hard leather, carrying a drawn sword, and she was shifting her weight in case Serana attacked. She wasn't wrong to do so. The idea had crossed the vampire's mind. The human's blood, coming from a nasty wound in her left hand, smelled of all things good in the world. But in that moment, such plans left her. Serana didn't know how long she'd actually been sleeping. She had no idea how strong she still was. There were dead bodies, slain over an hour ago judging by the stale smell of spilt blood, a short distance away. Hard as it was to admit, the warrior would likely be able to best her in a fight. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to die for it.
The woman replied, speaking slowly as if she were choosing every word with care, "Who were you expecting?" Her voice was quiet but filled with a power that did not come from volume.
Serana watched the woman's angular face beneath her leather and steel helm, her blue eyes, the slight wrinkles in her pale skin, for some clue as to what the warrior was thinking, but in vain. All she could tell from the woman's flickering gaze was that she was being sized up, evaluated as a potential threat, and judged. Fear crept into the pit of her stomach. She was weak and alone. Valerica had left her defenseless. Even if she wasn't cut down, how could she find her way home without help? She was at the unknown warrior's mercy. She needed to give an answer that would satisfy the woman but also avoid revealing anything… volatile. "I was expecting… someone like me, at least."
"What do you mean like you?" Again, the woman measured out her speech with care. It was impossible to tell what emotions she might be feeling when every word was so deliberately monotone.
Serana almost laughed in disbelief, but she restrained her expression just in time. The woman's question was precarious. A true answer could provoke the warrior. But what if the woman already knew and was only asking to see if Serana answered truthfully? But there was a hole in the question. "Well, you're… human," Serana said.
It was the woman's turn to laugh, and her laugh shook dust from the cavern ceiling. It was unnerving, to say the least, and Serana now recognized it as the Thu'um. With her next question, the warrior abandoned restraint in her voice. She now sounded like a real person, curious and perhaps even friendly, albeit a frightfully powerful real person. "Why were you locked away like this?" The words had an almost physical presence and a sense of compulsion to answer went with them. It was good, Serana thought, that she had not tried to fight the woman. Never before had she encountered a Master of the Voice with so much raw power that it leaked into their casual conversations.
Serana had never had much cause to manipulate people, and thus she had little experience in it, but she needed to now. Instinctively, she knew she needed to be honest and sound vulnerable. "That's… complicated and I'm not totally sure I can trust you," Serana said. But in order to get out of the cave, she realized, she'd have to trust the woman at least a little. She didn't have a choice. And perhaps some small show of faith would help her cause? "If you want to know the whole story, please, help me get back to my family's home."
Like magic the woman's demeanor relaxed. She didn't shift her posture or anything so drastic, she probably wasn't even aware herself that she'd been put off guard, but to Serana's keen eyes, tense muscles loosened and hard eyes softened. "And where is that?"
"My family lives on an island to the west of Solitude."
"I can take you there," said the woman. "But I want to ask some questions first. I think you'll agree it's only natural."
Serana nodded her assent. It would be a simple game. She would be asked questions, and if she answered correctly, she'd get an armed escort and guide home. And if she answered incorrectly – well, she wouldn't.
"How long were you in there?"
An easy question to answer, though the answer itself... "Good question," said Serana. "It's hard to say. I can't really tell. I feel like it was a long time. Who is Skyrim's High King?"
"That's actually a matter for debate," replied the woman.
"Oh, wonderful. A war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders? I assume Harald is among them."
"The empire supports Elisif, but there are many in Skyrim who are loyal to Ulfric."
Elisif? Ulfric? "Empire? What empire?"
The woman's face shifted into open shock. "The empire from Cyrodiil," she said.
Serana imagined she herself must have looked as confused as the woman she stood across from. "Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire?" She hadn't even heard stirrings of that. "I must have been gone longer than I thought." It was amazing she even spoke the same language as the woman.
The woman whistled. A sign of amazement, perhaps? More dust fell from the cavern ceiling. "Next question. Is that an Elder Scroll on your back?"
Serana had forgotten it was there. Valerica had taken both of Harkon's scrolls from his study when they left the castle. One she had given to her daughter, the other she had kept for herself. "Yes," Serana said. "And it's mine." She let a hint of jealous anger slip into her voice. People who were too nice didn't feel genuine.
The woman didn't press the issue. "Last question. You seem amicable enough. Are you going to attack me for my blood?"
The question took Serana off guard. So the woman knew after all. Even so she wouldn't have expected so direct a query. "No!" she hastily answered. Then, to lessen the effect of the panic in her tone, she added, "I'm not planning on it, at least. You're helping me. I don't really know why, but you are, and I'm very grateful. Don't bleed on me and there won't be a problem. I…" Serana hesitated, partly for effect and partly because she wasn't sure how much she was willing to actually share. She had to trust the woman if she wanted to get home. "I just need to get back to my mother and father." Mother and father? Hah. She hadn't thought those thoughts in so long. "I need to find out what happened, if they're even still alive."
"Hm," said the woman. "What can I say? I like helping people. It's how my mother raised me and it puts meaning in life, don't you think? There's something I need to see a little deeper into this cave though, so we'll go that way first. And I've been through enough of these ruins to know there should be a shortcut out if we go in deep enough." She turned and began to walk away, then stopped and turned to Serana again. "I'm not sure I like the idea of a hungry vampire at my back."
Serana froze. The woman's tone was contemplative but her words sounded like a threat. There was enough distance that if the warrior attacked, Serana could probably defend herself even in her weakened state, but… If Serana's heart still beat, she imagined she'd be able to hear it. That was how books always described fear. It seemed irrational, the woman had declared she'd help, but it was real nonetheless.
When the warrior raised her hand though, it wasn't the hand holding the sword. Blood still oozed out of the puncture wound – a hole straight through the palm, it was a wonder the woman wasn't on the floor screaming in pain – and the smell of it washed over Serana like an ocean wave over a grain of sand. There was so much saliva in her mouth she had to swallow before she asked, "Are you offering?"
"What do you think I'm doing if I'm not?" the woman replied.
It was hard to stop herself from just lunging forward, but Serana's caution overpowered her hunger. "Most people wouldn't offer. Why?"
The woman shrugged "I don't know if you realized it, but when you fell out of that crypt you looked terrified and vulnerable and about to cry. My gut tells me you're not a bad person, and I've learned to go with my instincts. There's no use in always second-guessing yourself. So I'm trusting you. My nerves won't survive a week thinking you're always about to attack me, nor will my conscience survive a week thinking you're always starving. So long as you ask and don't just take, I will do what I can for you."
Serana needed no further prompting. She crossed the distance between them in an instant and took the woman's wounded hand in both of hers. For a moment she glanced up and met the warrior's eyes. They were as unreadable as ever. Serana didn't fully understand why the woman was helping her at all, the idea of just helping someone for the sake of helping them was so foreign to her, but then, did she really need to?
Determined to let nothing of the gift go to waste, she ran her tongue over skin, first the back of the hand, then the palm, tasting dirt and salt mixed in with blood. The blood itself was heady, overwhelmingly so. It was powerpowerpower and had Serana's fangs been in the woman's neck, she would never have stopped drinking, she would have had to be cut away from such a feast. As it was what little she'd gotten so far was not enough. Desperate for more, she pushed her tongue into the wound, cleaning away what blood had already been spilled and sucking hard to coax more from the flesh. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the woman hiss. Serana herself couldn't be bothered to suppress a moan. She scraped teeth over skin, pushing the ragged edges of the hole aside and worsening the injury with no thought for anything but the blood.
When finally the wound had nothing more to give, Serana released the woman's hand and backed away slowly. Her own lack of control was disturbing. She didn't entirely trust herself not to simply lunge for the woman's neck. That would be a poor repayment for kindness. She briefly wondered how many times over she'd owe the warrior her life by the time she reached home.
"Those were interesting sounds you were making," the woman said lightly. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her guarded eyes.
Serana ignored the comment and licked her lips just in case she'd missed anything. Never in all her immortal years had she tasted blood quite so strong. She looked at the woman, feeling like she was seeing her for the first time. Despite wearing covering armor, she was quite attractive of form and her face had a classic Nordic beauty. But her body was nothing compared to her blood and knowing the power beneath her skin would drive Serana mad if she thought too much about it. An earlier piece of their conversation drifted back to mind. Serana's eyes narrowed. "You're not human."
The woman grimaced, a face impossible to interpret. "I bleed red, don't I? Are you sated enough?"
Nodding, Serana replied, "Yes. Normally I wouldn't be but… you are very powerful. It's intoxicating."
She laughed. The cave shook. "Thank you. We should get going now though. If we don't get out of this cave soon, I'm going to get hungry." That said, the warrior began to walk away briskly.
Serana rushed to catch up. The cavern looked different from when she'd gone to sleep and she didn't want to risk some unknown danger by herself. She felt though, after that meal, she was probably more than strong enough to defend herself. "Aren't you going to ask my name?"
The woman didn't even look at her as she replied, "Names are rather important, don't you think? I was waiting for you to tell me."
"Well, my name is Serana." She paused, waiting for the woman to respond. When the woman didn't, Serana asked, "What's yours?" Too late she realized that the strange woman might find her question rude. She hastily added, "Feeding from someone is rather… intimate. I feel bad not knowing you."
"Well, that explains a lot," the woman said. "People have taken to calling me Dovahkiin."
Serana rolled the syllables around in her head. Dov. Ah. Kiin. It was a dragon's name. Something about it was familiar, as if she'd heard it before. It probably meant something, but only bards knew much about the dragon's language. "Why do they call you that?"
Dovahkiin sighed. "Because the Greybeards call me that, and because Ulfric calls me that, and between the Greybeards and Ulfric the Nords just can't help but use it too," she said. "Philomel is the name my mother gave me. I like it much better."
"Who is this Ulfric?" Serana asked. "You mentioned him before."
"Ulfric Stormcloak is the jarl of Wind- wait…" Philomel froze and looked around. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Serana asked.
In the black of the cave, something roared.
"That!" Philomel yelled. The ceiling rained down stones and then the gargoyles were upon them.
Serana had just enough time to dive out of the way before the granite monster landed with enough force to crack the stone floor right where her face would have been. Almost tripping over herself in her haste, she backed up to put more distance between her and the advancing monster.
What could she do? She silently cursed her mother for dragging her out to wherever she was in the middle of the morning with no warning and no instructions to prepare. She wore lambskin and cloth, poor protection from anything except chafing. She had a knife with a blade only a little longer than her hand. It was good for ritualistic bloodletting and cutting vegetables.
Serana took another step back, then another. She had magic, of course, but what would work against stone? The creature had no blood or life to drain, no organs to pierce… Serana raised her hands and forced magicka through her fingertips, willing it into blinding bolts of lightning. The power arced through the air, crackling madly, until it struck the center of the gargoyle's chest and then bounced off, fizzling away harmlessly. The only evidence that she'd struck the thing at all were a few scorch marks across its dark rocky torso.
Serana grit her teeth and raised her hands again. This time ice spikes shot forward. One glanced off the gargoyle's side, another shattered upon striking its shoulder, a third hit hard enough to stay sticking out of the monster's thigh. All to no avail. The thing kept coming. Again Serana raised her hands but before she could cast another spell she had to roll out of the way to avoid a violent blow aimed to sever her head from her shoulders.
Before she could recover enough to counterattack, the gargoyle swung again and again Serana desperately dodged. She avoided the attack well enough but this time she tripped over an uneven patch of floor and went sprawling face first into the dirt.
What a terrible way to die, she thought. Valerica spirited her off into temporary hiding while executing some great scheme or another, and then she woke up by herself only to be slaughtered by a gargoyle of all things mere minutes later. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end.
"GOL HAH DOV!"
The end never came.
Cautiously, Serana reopened her eyes and looked up. The gargoyle towered above her, unmoving. Had it returned to its slumber?
Philomel emerged from around it, holding her unsheathed sword. "Sorry, they took me by surprise." She stepped so that she stood directly beneath its head, angled her sword upward, and shoved the blade through so that it pierced from the gargoyle's chin up through its skull. The creature shuddered and then collapsed backwards, as dead as the stone from which it had been made. "Shall we get going then?"
A/N: Spent the past month obsessing over Once Upon A Time. That fandom has crazy good fanfic and you should check it out. But maybe don't watch the show past season one. I have Opinions. Lots of Opinions.
Also, while this fic was going to be my NaNoWriMo, school got in the way. Also my Once Upon A Time obsession. And then I wanted to just do this chapter, but since I got kicked out of the dorm for Thanksgiving and I forgot to email myself what I had so far (I normally work on my desktop, not my laptop), I ended up just rewriting most of this this evening (meaning I probably forgot to write in half the things I needed for the plot and characters to make sense) and not extending the chapter as far as I'd planned.
It just occurred to me - what happens when Greybeards snore? that could probably be its own oneshot: "When Greybeards Snore: Why Paarthurnax reverted to his maneating ways"