Chapter Three: Key to the North

I

"Harbinger! News from the Jarl!"

"What is it?" Drusus barked at Vilkas approaching him while packing his things. Farkas had not spoken to him since. Aela was no longer comfortable with his presence, since she had discovered Drusus was... well a vampire.

"We got ourselves a dragon. It's at Shearpoint, Northeast of here," Vilkas said, checking out the sharpness of his sword. He seemed eager.

"About time."

"Shall we go now?" He asked as he put his sword back in his sheath, satisfied.

"No offense but I'm doing this on my own."

"H-huh? But we're talking about a dragon here."

"So? I killed a few already myself," he said and began to leave the hall. Vilkas, of course followed him. He knew that it could be a dragon of ice or fire, a blood, or the ancient. Obviously, each one has a certain advantage and disadvantage. You just never know until you get close enough or when a dragon spit its elemental secrets at you.

"Well, maybe you won't be so lucky this time," Vilkas offered, mildly disappointed.

Before Drusus left, he turned to face Vilkas with a disturbing smile, knowing that bringing Vilkas would be nothing but inconvenience. "You know what I am now. And you're no longer a werewolf. What odds you have against a dragon? Your mere steel sword? Stay here so that you can live. Here's your chance. Settle down, get married, and breed like rabbits. Or better yet, learn how to read."

II

Since he never been to Shearpoint, a suggestion from a local was to head north till he reaches Lorceus Farm then take the path east toward the mountain and that he would discover a less taken path further between the mountains. Last words were 'Good luck, companion.' Luck? Pfft. Like he needed it. If he could kill a couple of dragons, then surely this one wouldn't be any different, right? So far, he had been so lucky. He wondered how long his luck would last though. Perhaps all the suffering he had in the pasts are being repaid.

Of course, on his Shadowmere, he galloped to the North as the local suggested. The terrains were wide and scattered with boulders. It was impossible for anyone to hide from his field of vision. And when he arrived at the farm about few hours later, he saw a ragged farmer working in the field. He must be working for the owner of the property.

"Hey, Nord. Do you know how I reach Shearpoint?"

The farmer looked as if he was about to retort something about his bluntness but as soon as he saw the red eyes of his horse, he shuddered.

"B-by the eight! What is that breed?"

He didn't answer.

"That way- East. Into the forests. Why?"

Drusus looked at where the farmer pointed his finger. He looked at the mountain range and could not see anything flying nearby. He wondered, was the dragon keeping them awake at night? Then he turned to ask, "Did you not see a dragon flying during the day or night?"

"A dragon?! Oh no! No, we did not. Is there really a dragon there?" he asked incredibly, "I better tell Mister now!"

"Listen, n'wah. Panicking won't do. Stay calm. I'll take care of it right now."

Drusus gestured the horse to take his leave. The farmer probably thought he was out of his mind as he didn't recognize who Drusus was. It also struck him odd that they did not see a gigantic dragon flying around so close to their farm. Because of its size in comparison to the mountain, any idiot could tell whether it was a hawk or a dragon. It had been a half a year since everyone in Skyrim acknowledged the existence of dragons. However, the origins were being questioned and researched. Despite that, Drusus could care less about the history of dragons and was more than happy to kill them. It wasn't that he was doing it for Skyrim, but for himself.

As he went to the forests, he couldn't help but ponder about the purpose of being a dragonborn. And why was he chosen? He was hardly a fit in the first place. He wasn't anyone particularly special. Born an orphan, sold as a slave, and ultimately when he escaped after retaliating against his masters, he flee to Skyrim. But then he was caught because he did not pay his stubs to board the ships. It was much later when they learned he had slaughtered a family before aboarding and decided to send him to execution site. That day of the execution was...

Somebody is here... no... there is a bunch of them. It said.

He stopped his horse to listen for any enemies nearby. He didn't hear anything but the inky substance suddenly came out of his armor. It happened so fast that Drusus lost his composure. He was too absorbed in his thoughts.

Bunch of them! It's a trap!

"Quiet!" Drusus hissed, losing his concentration.

Suddenly, sequential arrows were being fired from all directions. Some bounced off his armor, some pierced through. Then suddenly one hit his neck. Groaning in pain, Drusus fell off the horse. The impact on the ground was enough to bruise his shoulder badly. He felt and heard it crack. Shadowmere neighed loudly before launching an attack to someone he did not see.

"Die, vampire!" Someone shouted. Vampire hunters?

Since it was daylight, he could not recover quickly. His inky substance was flaring madly as it could not reach anyone nearby. Obviously, these assailants were keeping their distances from him. Drusus looked around to find them but they would not reveal themselves. As he struggled to get up, he could feel arrows continuing to ratchet off his armor. Then before his eyes, he saw lightening spell coming to him, blinding him momentarily. He couldn't remember much after it. It happened so fast that he didn't realize he was on the ground again.

Then finally after a wave of offending arrows, Drusus was bleeding profusely, but he wasn't about to give up. Plenty of energy left. After the last ebb of lightening that struck him went away, he opened his eyes to see a circle of faces looking down on him.

"Quick, behead the vampire. It's the only sure way to kill one," said someone. Then he felt someone pulling his long hair.

Enraged by this beginning of humiliation, Drusus kicked the person in front of him, pushing him off to a good distance. He grabbed the arm that was pulling his hair and with all his strength, he threw the person over his head. Sitting up, he withdrew his daedric swords. Just in time, the other two who were by his sides had their swords blocked. The ink from the armor was still high and reaching the attackers but they seemed to be unaffected by it. Either they were immune or were not afraid to be physically drained. But this assassination attempt was desperate enough for Drusus to realize that he was set up. It was all a trap, indeed.

There were four... or five. He wasn't sure. He got up and there was no time to count heads. Everyone wearing their own outfits of various materials were attacking him simultaneously. Mercenaries hired to kill him. Like second nature, Drusus synchronously blocked each attempt and because there were too many, he could not think a way to counterattack. He kept pushing them back in hopes they'd be the first to stop or talk. But of course, with every shout and order, they were more than determined to finish him. Considering they were mere mortals with frail bodies, the number of them proved to be an efficient way to take turns.

With the arrows pierced into his body and armor, Drusus could feel himself being worn down and losing a lot of stamina.

"Die, damnit!"

"The divines damn you!"

The assailants shouted more insults, threw more profanities to cover up their growing fatigue of throwing unsuccessful attacks with their iron and steel swords.

"Why don't you just... die!" one female elf panted, heaving another swing.

At this point, he was sweating with exhaustion as they continued to pummel him with unskilled moves. Despite their amateurism, one move costed him a deep laceration on his forearm. Drusus cursed in his mother-tongue of Dunmers.

"I'll have your dust, vampire!" the one who threw a lightening spell at him spat. He threw a several spells but they were the same one as before. He could somewhat immunize himself against such a repetitive spell. In fact, shock was his favorite source of pleasure. Drusus was a known as a masochist. Most vampires were. It was quite absurd... the spell that was. Because Drusus had almost no use of his magicka. And the series of shock already drained all of his magicka, something he didn't use often anyway. Who was this dumbass mage- seriously?

After what seemed to take forever, the 'assassins' finally stopped. They were panting heavily, evidently worn out. For some, slow heavy attacks but powerful or fast quick attacks but weak was something every fighter should consider. This tactic for them was rather pathetic. Yet, Drusus gotta give them an A+ for efforts.

"Damn, he is good," the female elf said, huffing over to her knees. Then she took a quick drink of a red flask before tossing it into the grasses. It wasn't blood, for sure.

Drusus' ears began to ring with all that adrenaline rush. His head was spinning. The loss of blood. He licked his lips, suddenly hungry.

"You... done?" Drusus asked, swallowing what would be a very dry air. He couldn't see their face clearly as his vision was becoming very blurry. And being a vampire, seeing in the daylight was irritating. His eyes felt itchy from the dryness. And all in all, he was clearly the in the predicament. Perhaps, it wasn't the right time or place to taunt them.

"Look at you. You're weak now. And there's a lot of us still here." The mage who did not even deserve to be called a mage said smugly. Someone was laughing. It sounded like a deep-hearty laugh that belonged to the Nords.

Don't tell me you're losing to these mere mortals. it growled. I thought you said biters are strong... You are not...

"I am!" Drusus shouted. "The best..."

"Huh?"

You should not have-

"Just shut up!"

"He's delirious now. Let's go!"

Aw crap!

Drusus barely blocked the first few but soon enough, his battered body failed his strength and vitality. Before Drusus realized it, he had a sword plunged through his stomach, just above his sash belt. It didn't register until the blood came flowing out of his mouth. Then the pain kicked in.

This is it? Drusus thought morbidly before falling to his knees. This is where he is going to die? By these amateurs? How humiliating. Only if they did not know of the beheading, he could've gone only into concussion, and probably survive afterward.

"Alright, we got him. Let have his head. Any last words before you die, vampire?"

"Y-yes," Drusus managed to say, "Tell my kid..."

"... a family?" the female elf whispered. Then a scream was heard. Heads turned to the direction where the scream was heard. Then they realized they had totally forgot one of their comrades. Drusus recognized that noise. Galloping and stomping sounds- It was one of theirs being mauled by a horse with red eyes.

"Shut up! No more talking!" the Nord said hastily, moving swiftly to bring his sword upon Drusus's head. He didn't want to waste any more time than they did. "ARRGGGH! Ahh..! ah..."

"What's wrong?" The mage asked as the Nord froze in the midst of execution. Then a sound of swoosh came snipping the bushes.

"Gyaaahh!" The Nord cried again in agony. He fell right onto the ground, his face hitting the dirt in front of Drusus. A couple of arrows on his back came into view.

The assailants shouted a few comments. "Where did that come from?" "Huh?" "Where!"

The arrow came through once again and struck the mage in the chest.

"Nuuuhh! Stop him!" he ordered the others but they seemed to be at loss.

"I can't see him!"

It was deep and fatal that the mage fell to the ground without uttering another word again. Before the female elf could say anything else, she was struck with an arrow into her stomach. She cried out, knowing that if she was not given another shot, she'd die a slow, painful death.

"Sorry!" one of them shouted to her and began to run away to retreat by himself, hoping it was not too late. Drusus knelt still, watching the whole scenario before him. He did not move an inch. Lucky again?

The man fleeing was not so lucky. His luck came to a halt as an arrow struck him in the back. Then Drusus saw a moment's glare that was reflected by the sunlight that seeped through the canopy of the trees and paid close attention to the type of arrows being used. Glass arrows? No... they do not give off a sparkle like that. It was definitely a material he had never seen before. The man fell dead as the arrow took the heart and his soul.

Drusus slowly got up. He was still in anguishing pain. He looked down, still grasping the impaled sword in his stomach to alleviate the gravity. Otherwise, it'd just tear apart his digestive system even further. He took a deep breath, not even caring to look for the savior who just saved his life. He reached for the handle and again took another breath before he swiftly took it out of his abdomen. "Ggggrah!"

He dropped the sword angrily and placed his hand over his most severe wound in an attempt to cover it but blood was pouring through his fingers. One more certainly would completely wipe him out and left vulnerable to proper execution.

Then wearily, he looked at a figure that came into view. A mortal completely dressed in white. All white. How did the assholes not see that through the pasture of greens and browns? Right... he must be from snowy region. And the paths toward Shearpoint were supposedly to be covered with snow.

"I suppose you're waiting for my words of gratitude," Drusus muttered as the figure in white on a white horse came closer and finally got off. He put his bow away. And his face inched closer.

"You're wounded badly," a male voice came. The voice was very gentle. And it sounded subtly saddened, "And you're a..."

"Thanks for the observation," Drusus said softly, still feeling on a verge to collapse. The inky substance of his armor vanished almost immediately as soon as the figure was close enough for Drusus to see the face clearly.

When their eyes met, Drusus found himself dazed. Suddenly, the presence of this person was cryptic. The eyes were of faded emerald. And the skin of light, refined moonstone. Hair that was framing his youthful face was platinum blond. Never before he saw such a light-skinned, light-haired mortal. At first glance, it was obvious to Drusus he was an elf. But... something was off. He didn't have the features of an Altmer, the lightest known race. For example, his eyebrows were nowhere as predominant as the high elf. His forehead was lacking compared to the Altmers. His chin was too thin. Face. Too round.

Although the elf was wearing a hood, concealing his ears, Drusus was quite confident with his recognition skills of known races.

"You're... not a high elf," Drusus said, still astonished by the face before him. Whatever his race was, it wouldn't change the fact that he looked completely untainted by any hardships. He was a beauty. So beautiful and surreal, his face... that could not possibly be worn by a demon, daedra or the like.

Who is he? What does he want? It said. I don't like this. Stay away from this mortal.

"It's talking to you, isn't it," whispered the platinum blond.

"What... what are you?"

"I'm Nynrin. I'm an Altmer."

"Come here..." Drusus whispered, gesticulating him to come closer. The so-called 'altmer' seemed suspicious of him but moved slowly. Drusus did the same. The voice of Boethiah growled at him in protest, trying to convince him that he was in fact, an enemy. But since Drusus could not sense the danger coming from this mysterious youth, the inky powers of the prince failed to commence.

When they got close enough, Drusus quickly darted at the other elf's hood and whipped it down off his head. Then he looked at the ears to confirm his skepticism.

"You're not an Altmer," he hissed with confidence.

"How... do you know?"

"I know... I grew up with them," Drusus said with disgust. "Your ears."

"You can tell by... ears..? Wait, never mind that. Let me help you," Nynrin began to give his hand but Drusus dodged it. Just in time, they both heard a groan. Drusus looked at the female elf that was struck with an arrow to her stomach. Of course, she was still alive. Drusus went over to the figure. He was still covering his abdomen wound.

"Who sent you, s'wit?"

"W-wh..Buh."

"Tell me quickly, and I'll grant you a quick death."

"B-Bu. Bah-"

"Balgruuf?"

She slowly nodded.

"Impossible. He's on my side. Why would he..." Nothing was making sense. Something was a bit off.

"Who is he?" Nynrin asked.

"Whiterun's Jarl... why does he want to kill me?"

"You...gaa.."

"Perhaps because he found out you were a vampire and he wanted to protect his people?" Nynrin offered an explanation. Drusus growled with doubt. "I didn't kill her because I thought we'd get some information from her."

"You're so thoughtful," he muttered. "'Cuse me."

With care, he reached to her neck and bit her, draining some of her blood. But it wasn't enough. She died rather quickly, more than usual and the feeding became next to useless. He felt a little better but he didn't want to get up at all, feeling still weak.

"There's no 'we'" Drusus added to that thought, "Why did you help me?"

He couldn't bring himself to say 'save me' instead. He still felt a bit embarrassed, considering his wounds. When Nynrin struggled with right words to begin, Drusus went on, "I suppose because you want me to do something for you as an exchange of thanks? I didn't ask for any help. I don't owe you anything."

This elf is quite arrogant. Or is it the Dunmers? It's hard to believe he is chosen to be dragonborn. He obviously doesn't care about the people, only himself. Nynrin thought bitterly.

"There is a reason why I came to find you," the blond nodded. "But first, I would like to attend your wounds."

"I'm fine..." he said, brushing the dirt off his armor as if nothing major happened.

"There... are arrows sticking out of you," Nynrin said as he took an arrow from his neck that was bent from the impact of falling to the ground. Drusus cringed as the blond elf pulled it out, spouting some blood. Sure, he was no doctor or anything but he knew mortals suffered wounds differently from vampires. For instance, vampires could almost immediately heal, with a generous amount of blood. Then their bodies could function normally. However, for mortals, the worst way to die was by the arrows. With no potions or rejuvenating magic, they could suffer tetanus, infections, and if the arrowheads were not properly removed, the wounds might not heal up properly, leaving behind scars and affecting their mobility. Of course, long painful weeks, sometimes months to full recovery.

Drusus took the rest of the arrows out himself- one in his lower right side and the one on upper chest. The ebbing of pain were everywhere but there was definitely no poison that was spreading throughout his body like the last time.

"Bite me."

Drusus looked at him seriously. Why so easily?

"Go ahead, you need some. Potions won't do. And I am not a very good mage. Take my blood."

Why say no? No one had the willingness to approach him. It certainly was much easier than trespassing into someone else's property and bite in hopes the victim wouldn't wake up. But it was often a failure. How could they not feel a pair of fangs painfully digging into their neck while sleeping.

"If you insist..." Drusus then smiled. He approached the white elf once again and saw that Nynrin swallowed nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Y-yes."

Drusus licked his dry-chapped lips. "Alright, just relax your muscles the best you can. It won't hurt... much."

Nynrin closed his eyes, not moving. Sturdy hands tilted his head, almost causing him to lose balance. Drusus was an elf of rather big stature. Perhaps it was the massive armor that was deceiving him. But in comparison, Nynrin felt incredibly small and thin. Then he felt his mouth chomping on his neck. It felt like small spears being inserted into his flesh. The tearing of skin and the fangs pushing through had the sensation of difficulty to reach a certain depth. He went deep down. At first, it was a pair of needles prickling but then as soon as he drank, Nynrin could sense the flow of blood being transported. The suction could be heard and felt. Then there was a feeling of inflaming as his body began to protest the invasion. Unconsciously, Nynrin put up his arms to push him away. As if it was instinctive to defend himself but fortunately, Drusus was strong enough to immobilize him, despite his wounds. In some ways, it reduced the pain. At this point was an experience to understand and estimate the strength of this elf. He was far from a weakling.

As Drusus drank, there was this eerie and uncomfortable sensation of ebbing- his blood pounding menacingly along his heartbeat and the suction of the fangs. It wasn't all in one go, but rather a series of intakes, according to natural blood circulation. The pain was short-lived but only because Nynrin's neck was being numbed and perhaps paralyzed.

A minute passed by, and Nynrin knew Drusus had enough as he heard a deep, pleasurable moan from biter's throat. He had reached an extreme euphoria.

"Enough," Nynrin cried, pushing the other man off of him but he was very strong. Thankfully, Drusus stopped and pulled back but still had his arms around Nynrin securely holding him in place. Nynrin was surprised that Drusus had an amazing amount of control. There was mixture of blood all over Drusus' chin and that sight alone made Nynrin shudder with disgust.

How could I save this man from his own perils? Look at him! An animal! Nynrin thought.

"Your blood..." Drusus sighed blissfully, completely satisfied with his thirst. The fierceness that was in his glossy blacked out eyes disappeared. There were a hint of crimson sparking somewhere in the void- the typical color of a dark elf. That blood... was nothing like any he had tasted before. It didn't taste like corundum at all. He licked his lips, savoring the aftertaste of sweetness.

"Alright, get off me, please."

Drusus did so. Apparently there was an oops. He had put some blood on his immaculate white robe that was hiding his armor... wait a minute... that armor...

"There's no way in oblivion..." Drusus muttered as realization struck him. "You're a Falmer!"

The way Drusus said it certainly sounded he was surprised. Nynrin looked at Drusus who was absolutely flabbergasted. The sudden change from his intimidating look to an awed look was priceless.

"I'm not a Falmer," Nynrin said nonchalantly. It was the truth. His armor was not of Ancient Falmers but rather an alternative, generic kind.

"Falmers. Snow elves. Same difference!" Drusus was still in this voice of surprise, "You should've told- I would not have done it."

Nynrin chuckled. For some reason, he couldn't believe that. Who wouldn't want the blood of so-called Falmers? Especially, vampires? "Why so? Did you want to preserve me? In your man size glass container, or perhaps as a mannequin?"

Silence...

Drusus' voice suddenly changed back to normal. "Alright. You know what. I don't care. So there are more of you, aren't there? How many? You came for me. Why? What is so urgent that you had to come out of your hiding place?"

Nynrin sighed. He couldn't even fool the dragonborn to believe he was an Altmer, so the dealings would have to be readjusted.

"I'll explain later. First, let's leave this place and have you cleaned up."