Embla eventually found out where all the vampires had gone.
As she delved deeper and deeper into the ground, she began to find vestiges of battle. Here, mutilated remains of draugrs thrown left and right. There a giant frostbite spider and its daughters, insides spilled over the ground, still fresh and steaming against the ice. The stench of decaying flesh grew almost unbearable the further she proceeded into older chambers of the crypt. More than once she considered turning back, but the idea that she might have to re-do the entire trajectory with a loud, not quite so sneaky Agmaer on her tail kept her going.
She reached a balcony decorated by oppressive gargoyles and quickly ducked behind a pillar when she heard voices coming from below. She laid belly down on the cold stone floor and pulled her dark hood over her head, then crawled close to the rails and poked her head between them to peek.
She could count at least six vampires, their features distorted so their cheekbones were high and their noses were curved and batlike. She immediately registered the vertical line that split their lips and marked their specific brand of vampirism. Embla grit her teeth in frustration. An average vampire was tough to kill enough – they did not actively bleed to death unless wounded in a major vessel, so one had to run them through their hearts or behead them, otherwise all they'd get was a livid, dismembered creature lunging at them. She figured it was the same for half-bloods, but harder.
They were deformed enough that she couldn't tell much about what they were before they turned, save for one – an orsimer with a war hammer about his size strapped to his back. The one in charge, a white-haired man, barked an unintelligible order and another two came from the side, dragging a screaming person with them. Embla did not realize fast enough what would happen next, and as such she could not avert her eyes: the vampires forced down the prisoner's head on a button, from which a spike erupted and ran the man through.
The screams died down with a gurgle, drowned by the sound of laughter. She felt sick to her stomach in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.
I hate field missions, she thought, holding her breath and counting to ten. The white-haired vampire – Lokil, she managed to catch his name – stepped back and watched. Embla wasn't sure at first what they were looking for, until she saw the dead Vigilant's blood run down the pillar and slowly ignite into blue flame, setting braziers alight.
"…very careful when she wakes. You know how she is. We'll have to contain her as fast as we can… move that pillar over there, yes, like that."
It's a puzzle, she realized when the Orsimer started pushing the braziers around. Lokil barked out more instructions she didn't catch, and she rose to a crouching position and ever so slowly made her way down to understand it. She stopped about halfway down the staircase, freezing in place when the sound of stone dragging on stone came to an abrupt pause. She found a nook in the stone wall to hide in and waited.
Looking down, Embla saw all the braziers were lit and the purple fog rose from the floor up to their knees. Then the ground shook, and the stake in which the impaled man rested slowly crawled up and up, revealing a stone monolith.
"This is it, form a circle!" Lokil commanded. "Here she comes, no matter what happens, stay alert and don't –"
The stone groaned when the tip of the spike touched the roof, yet the pillar kept rising, until the sharp end broke and the limp body was pushed up. Lokil took two steps back to avoid the shower of dismembered body parts that came down when the corpse was crushed against the ceiling, and Embla gritted her teeth at the sickening sound of bones breaking apart.
And then the ground stopped trembling, and a single high-pitched sound of metal against metal sounded when the obelisk slowly slid open, revealing the shape of a woman.
Y'ffre preserve us all.
Embla was not ready for it – for how inhumanly beautiful she would look. She knew, in theory, all the effects a Child of Coldharbour could have on the minds of men and mer, and yet none of it prepared her for this. The woman's face was mesmerizing – the sharp angles, the black locks of hair just long enough to reach her shoulder, part of it pulled back in a braid that crowned her head. She stared at long lashes and unblemished skin, noticed how her right ear was pierced by three decorative spikes, and how a single drop of blood rolled down her chin –
Snap out of it!
To Embla's credit, she tried. She really, really did. Her heart hammered hard enough on her chest that she felt certain the vampires below would hear her, even though she knew that was impossible. She forced herself to look away, her mind fuzzy. She took out one of her gloves and bit into her hand, knowing the pain would help make her thoughts clearer. When she thought she had some shape of control, she forced herself to look back, focusing not on her but on the other vampires.
That she had this strong of an aura was more than enough to justify what happened next. The vampires had hesitated, for just a split second but it was enough that they returned to their senses in generalized panic. The woman tumbled limp from the monolith, and was immediately caught by the vampire in charge. In synch, two others stepped closer, each grabbing and holding one of her arms, immobilizing her. These two were tall, bestial even, and their grip lifted her off the ground so the tips of her boot barely touched the cold stone. The three remaining vampires drew their weapons.
And then the woman opened her eyes, which unlike the half-blood's crimson tones, were colored a strange tone of amber. She scanned the room, lazily smirking and leaving no doubt that not only she was completely aware of just how stunning she was, but also that her current situation did not seem to bother her at all. She didn't speak at all, just tilted her head innocently, looking serene. She lifted her chin and blew her bangs off her eyes absentmindedly.
"Lady Serana," the vampire in charge began while he backed, putting distance between him and her.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
No answer. Serana tilted her head to the other side and rested her eyes on Lokil, the smile disturbingly frozen on her face, her brows furrowing as if she didn't quite speak that language.
I'm about to witness a massacre, she realized.
"Now, I recommend you offer no resistance and please accompany us –"
"Ha," she vocalized, then started laughing.
The sound of her voice hit Embla like lightning, all her muscles tensing at the same time. She snapped her eyes shut and pulled her head back, gritting her teeth, fighting an unexpected wave of raw desire unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Serana's laughter was musical and just so alluring that even the Skyrim cold could not prevent the heat from returning to her burning cheeks.
The mixture of terror and craving was maddening. Part of her wanted to abandon any pretense of stealth and just make a run for the cave entrance. The other part wanted to make a run too, except on the direction of certain death. It wasn't the knowledge of what that vampire would do to her that scared Embla – it was the realization that she would let her.
Alatae Auri-el emero angu, she repeated in her mind over and over. Light of Auri-el guide me.
Serana stopped just as abruptly as she had started, grinning, her eyes gone from unfocused to vicious, and though Embla's mind was still fuzzy, he could see clearly the glint of long, sharp canines. She was unable to follow her movements when she twitched, extending her neck, twisting her body. She did see when she spat out blood and the vampire holding her left arm slumped down to the ground, throat torn open. Serana's hand, now free, struck again, and the neck of the second creature that held her met a similar end, ripped apart by her sharp nails.
She dropped a crushed windpipe and rubbed her wrists, stretching them as if to test them. Apparently satisfied, she wiped her lips with her thumb, the eerie smile and empty look returning to her face. She murmured something inaudible. The vampire leader backpedaled and drew his blade.
"Don't be a fool," he warned. "We have you, and this cave, surrounded. We outnumber you –"
"Lokil," she all but whispered, her smooth voice like liquid to Embla's ears. "It is always such a pleasure. You must've angered father quite a lot, if he sent you to fetch me."
"Lady Serana –"
"Could've sent Garan," she continued, ignoring him entirely. "I wouldn't have killed Garan. But you…" she took a wobbly step forward. "We never did get along, did we? No, I don't think so."
"T-the gargoyles," Lokil ordered. "Get the gargoyles!"
The orsimer vampire took a step back and dropped his hammer, then broke into a run. The other two moved to block her from his path. Serana's expression changed in annoyance.
"Now, see," she sighed. "Dad must have known I would wake up in a terrible mood. And you just have to make it worse, don't you? You just have to be inconvenient."
She stopped paused, shook her head and looked down at her waist. Staring at her own hands, she slowly drew a dagger from her belt. "Oh," she muttered, apparently surprised it was there. Her movements were stiff. She held the blade between her thumb and forefinger and dropped it, tilting her head at the clattering sound it made when it fell. Her eyes followed the object sluggishly.
"Lady Serana –" Lokil began.
"Mmm." She raised her head and faced him again, as if only just noticing his presence.
And then, in an instant, her figure turned into a blur that reappeared millimeters from the vampire's face. She locked eyes with him, placed a hand on his shoulder and tentatively dragged it over to his nape, the other stroking his cheek, and still that smile –
There was a loud crack and suddenly Lokil's neck was turned in a position that no neck should ever be, and her fingers were flexed into claws, and Embla heard a –
R-i-i-i-i-i-p
- and off went the head, rolling down the stone floor. Lokil's skin cracked. A moment later, his body dissolved into dust.
Fuck, she thought, breath stuck in her throat. Across the room something exploded, and she barely had enough time to turn and see the gargoyles near the gate burst into life when the Orsimer ran past them. Or tried to, at least – the last gargoyle woke a fraction of second too early, or maybe the vampire was one second too late. A stone claw caught him by his ankle, but this time, Embla was smart enough to look away.
Or maybe not so smart, because it brought her back to the main event. In that interval of seconds, Serana had offed another half-blood and was currently toying with the last one. She moved far too fast for his blade, dodging it with such ease, it could be said she was dancing rather than fighting – if it could even be called a fight at all. And then the pair of gargoyles made it to her. She lunged for the dagger, grabbing it as she rolled away from a claw strike, and stabbed it on the vampire's foot, driving it to the hilt into solid stone.
A lot of things happened then. The vampire tried to run but his foot was stuck and he could do nothing but wait for the gargoyle to reach him. He attempted to strike it with his blade, but with a single swipe of claw the monster ripped off not only the sword but his hand with it. From then on all he could do was scream as the beast struck him over and over, ripping the skin of his abdomen open and spilling out his intestines.
They're pale, Embla thought incoherently, thoughts blanking out with horror, because they were – his viscera, instead of the usual pink, were almost white, save for the spots where the intestines had been torn open, leaking brownish half-digested blood. They're pale because he has no blood flow.
The gargoyle struck again, this time reaching the vertebra on his back. Stone sliced through bone like butter, and the vampire's upper half went flying off. Resisting the urge to vomit, Embla turned to see how Serana was faring, afraid of what she would find.
She needn't have. As it turned out, Serana was doing just fine. She was just in time to see the vampire dodge a claw strike and slide right under the gargoyle's legs, swiping at its leg on the way. The beast stumbled, and Serana took the chance to climb on its back, wrapping one arm around its neck on a choke hold. With her other hand, she grabbed at its horn and pulled until it broke off. Serana tossed the horn into the air and caught it again, sharp end now pointing forward. The monster screeched. She struck the into its throat.
When she hopped off its back, it was already crumbling into bits of stone. Serana turned around to find the other gargoyle already on her, and hissed in annoyance when one of its claws caught her on the cheek. A line of blood ran down her cheek. When the gargoyle struck again, she sidestepped and grabbed its wrist, yanking it forward. The beast lost its balance and took a step to stabilize itself, but Serana was faster and put her foot on the way to trip it.
The gargoyle fell to the ground with a loud bang. Serana's eyes scanned the room, stopping at where the orsimer had left his war hammer. She was there and back in a flash, and before the gargoyle had a chance to stand, she grabbed the hammer with both her hands and used it to smash the creature's head into pieces with a single blow.
Serana removed the hammer from stone and leaned against it. Embla released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. At first, when the vampire didn't move, she figured she must be recovering from the battle. After a while, however, it became clear Serana was doing nothing but hug herself, the corners her mouth twitching, lips moving. Embla heard sounds, though she could not distinguish any words. It ended as abruptly as it had started, with Serana shaking her head and turning around. She wiped the blood from her cheek – why does she bleed – and walked towards one of the many pools of flowing water, where she crouched to wash her hands.
This is it, Embla thought when the vampire turned her back. As a person who had in her lifetime survived through a great number of things – and people – she knew when she was faced with an opponent she could not best. She had no illusions whatsoever that she could kill that woman, even with a perfect shot. No, her only chance was to leave. She pulled out her bow – she still rather be armed than not – and then ducked from pillar to pillar, making sure to check periodically. Serana was muttering to herself again, a constant reminder –
Silence.
Embla turned around, a chill climbing through her spine, already nocking an arrow –
Serana turned.
For a moment, their eyes met, and Embla felt the vampire looked not at but through her. The next second, she could see surprise cross her face, and she hesitated then because in contrast to her frozen smile, her fear seemed so genuine and so very human.
One fraction of second of indecision, yet that was enough. She was a healer, not a killer, not if she could help it, and the same impulse that had gotten her head on the chopping block made her lower her bow, against all logic and good sense. Not because she thought there was anything left to save in there, but because she knew the kind of person she would be if she did not hold on to her principles, particularly when they were tested like that.
The astonishment washed off Serana's face in exchange for scorn, and she scoffed. Embla did not expect to be spared, not after what she'd seen her do, and yet the snap of her throat did not come. There were no words, just that exchange of looks, and then the vampire dissolved into darkness, taking the shape of a cloud of bats that flew away.
She wasn't sure how long it was before she finally decided it was safe to move again, but her knees were stiff from the cold and from staying still for so long. Since Serana had disappeared and had apparently no intention of committing one extra murder, she went down the staircase, looking for something, anything that could be of use against whatever had just been unleashed. Yet between splashing in the blood and parts of men and vampire both, she couldn't stomach staying at the area for too long. Exhaustion began to take its toll on her, her limbs heavy and her mind just as weary.
"Serana," she muttered to herself as she combed over the place, tasting the name on the tip of her tongue. She repeated it three more times for good measure. Isran would certainly want to know what had happened, and she would have to pretend she did not have access to all the classified information she'd snatched.
She wasn't sure how or why Serana had been put to sleep, for how long or how exactly she'd been awakened. She made herself walk over to the obelisk where she'd first seen the woman, but the bare stone walls told her no secrets even when she ran her fingers over the cold edges. She sighed. She considered going over the bodies of each of the mutilated vampires, searching for written orders, but decided against it for the sake of her mental health.
The vampires were at Dimhollow for her, that much was clear, and from their cautious behavior, Embla could tell they had been aware of what a wild card she would turn out to be, although they severely underestimated the threat. She made her way out of the central area and started looking for the exit. Since she hadn't crossed Serana's path again, she figured there must be a way out other than the one she came in from. Granted, Serana did turn into bats which could conveniently fly, but she knew for a fact that most if not all Nord tombs had backdoor.
She eventually found what she was looking for in the shape of a side corridor that steeply led her upwards. It ended on a large circular room, ancient stone thrones at the edges of what looked like an arena. There had been powerful draugrs guarding that chamber, of which only scattered limbs remained. Whether they had been recently beaten or just dead for centuries, she did not know and did not care to find out, her eyes already scanning the room for the way out.
And then she stopped when something else entirely caught her attention. Across the room, in an arch, mysterious words had been scratched upon stone. She recognized them immediately – in crypts all over Skyrim, the Nords of old had a habit of recording stories on walls, and these were not at all uncommon. No, the unusual part was that a single word seemed to pop to her eyes, almost glow. She took a couple steps in that direction, curious yet cautious, and confirmed without a shadow of doubt that one specific clutter of scrawls was indeed glowing.
What the fuck.
The closer she got, the brighter the light seemed to grow, and as she approached, she began to hear whispering. She turned around to look for the source, then covered her ears to confirm that it was coming from inside her head, rather than from her surroundings. The closer she got to the wall, the louder the sound grew, but she couldn't distinguish any familiar words. Curiosity speaking louder than good sense, she closed the final distance between herself and the wall, brushing the tips of her fingers against the glowing stone –
And recoiled as if hit, the corners of her vision darkening, the voices gone from whispers to roars in a split second. Her heart sped up and the light coming from the word reshaped itself into tendrils that reached towards her. She could feel the energy flow in from the point where her skin had touched the stone, up the whole length of her finger and then her palm, burning, crawling up her arm as if alive. She leaned against the wall, clamping her shoulder, trying to stop whatever it was from following its course into her system, from her armpit to under her collarbone to her chest to her heart –
it burns
She would have screamed but the following heartbeat sent the invading energy into her lungs and all she could produce was a strangled wheeze. She let herself slide down the stone wall to the floor, hitting the ground hard. The light had stopped flowing from the wall and she could do nothing but watch as the last few tendrils breached her body and disappeared under her skin, and then it was back at her heart and Embla gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Her heart contracted once more, pumping the alien sensation into every inch of her body, from chest down her torso to leg and toe. She gasped, her vision blurring, eyes tearing up with the pain.
Most substances are unable to cross into the brain, she thought incoherently, even though she could tell whatever violated her was entirely immaterial.
It was the last thing to cross her mind before blacking out.
Serana Volkihar had one bitch of a headache.
the cat and the rat and the cheese and the geese and the squeeze and the wheeze
She had rushed her way out of a chamber of draugr and into the open night of Skyrim. It was winter, that much was obvious with how much snow had piled up on the crypt exit. She'd had to fight her way out through a couple more gargoyles and at least a dozen draugr who were just as angry at being woken up as she was –
the snow and the blow and the flow and the roll and the
- but she was out, finally, after who knew how many years. That, too, was an issue: she'd been buried for divines knew how long, and the only vague notion of time she had was that it was winter.
the cold and the mold and the fold and the
Her memory was still scrambled, that much was clear. She couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly Dimhollow was, couldn't quite summon the information in her mind, except it was somewhere in the –
the scale and the whale and the ale and the male
- somewhere in the –
the sail and the nail and the gale and the snail
"In the PALE," Serana said out loud. "I'm in the Pale. And I need to go to Castle Volkihar. Which, I don't know how long it's been, but it should be near –"
include allude delude rude nude
She hadn't fed in – she didn't know how long, but it must have been a while. She could tell because of how strong an aura she had when she woke – enough to stagger a half-blood as old as Lokil, however old that was right then. But mostly, she knew she hadn't fed in a while because –
fun run bun sun
- because the Voice was louder and more persistent than usual, and she had a hard time trying to –
the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun
"I need to fucking think," she hissed.
SunsunsunsunSUNSUNSUNSUN
"What about it," Serana held her head in her palms. "What about the fucking sun?!"
There was something with the sun, she knew. Something with the sun and the Elder Scroll she was carrying. Something important. She needed to get home and figure it out. There were things that helped her think, one of which was the familiarity of her room. But to find her room she needed to find her castle, and to find her castle she needed to remember where it was. Which brought her back to square one.
brood food intrude seclude protrude fortitude
"No," she muttered. "Where was it?"
Sunsunsunsunsunsunsun
"FUCK!" she yelled in frustration. Situations like that usually ended in her going on rampages and breaking things, occasionally murdering people as she went. But she was in the middle of nowhere, Skyrim – in the middle of the Pale where, as far as she could remember, there was nothing but ice – and she unfortunately had already murdered the people sent to retrieve her, which left her with a total of zero scapegoats to lash at.
Serana crouched on the snow, covered her ears and rocked back and forth. That, too, used to help – at least when she was younger, and the Voice wasn't quite so loud.
the man and the pan and the can – I need to feed – and the span and the plan and the clan and
She didn't need to, of course. Children of Coldharbour were, ironically, the most human of all the vampires. Serana could, if she wanted, walk into a tavern and order a mug of mead and a bowl of soup, and then she'd fill her stomach and perhaps go to bed with one of the nordsmen. Unlike lesser vampires, Children of Coldharbour had the privilege of enjoying the real pleasures of eternal life – food, a drink and a lay. She could even go out in –
the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun
- in the sun. Serana did not technically need to feed, ever – none of her kind did – but they always fed, solely because Molag Bal was a cruel prince whose domain was subjugation, and there was no greater delight than giving those he owned the illusion of choice. It was an endless, futile cycle which got more painful the more she attempted to resist. There was the determination to not do it, and then the shame and the guilt when she finally broke down and did it, followed by the rush – the pure delight that only feeding could grant her – and then…
There was punishment for feeding – damned if she didn't, damned if she did. Just a reminder that if she had been stronger – resisted longer –
Serana didn't like thinking about it. She could give in, of course, let go of that pretense, let go of her will and finally admit defeat and live like the beast she was, hopping from one meal to the next, riding the ecstasy like a skooma junkie who prevented the inevitable crash with another dose of the drug. And yet she felt this – the resistance, that final act of defiance – that was the last shred of humanity she had left, and so she clung to it as hard as she could, and for as long as she could.
Ironic, she knew, particularly for a vampire known for her viciousness.
da da da da da da eeeeeee na na na na na hello. hello hello hello hello
For how long had she not fed? Serana didn't know if others had a Voice like she did, but she knew each and every one of the pure bloods of Molag Bal had their own personal kind of torment. It crossed her mind that right then she might be the Child of Coldharbour to withstand it the longest.
ha! ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
"Please," she whimpered. "Just let me –"
the commotion the motion the potion the notion the lotion the emotion
She dug her nails in her palms, deep enough that it drew blood. That, too, was a thing – unlike other, less pure vampires, she bled. Not like as much as a mortal, of course – she knew from experience that she could not bleed to death – but she did maintain some shape of circulation, despite the lack of a heartbeat. She stared at her own blood them, watched it flow down her hand and drip into the snow.
Blood. Blood was how they woke her up. She'd woken up to the smell of blood in the room – some poor mortal's whose head was on a spike – and the taste of blood on her lips, a blood she knew was her own. She licked her hand. The flavor was metallic and uniquely bitter.
"I never asked for this," she said out loud to no one in particular. "I never wanted any of this."
the father the mother the daughter
She hated Harkon for it. He could tell.
Thing is, Serana thought, and for a moment the Voice was completely still, just so she could arrive at that particular conclusion, Thing is I hate myself enough to think I deserved it.
Yes and woe is you. Poor Serana. You have a body count –
the bowl and the hole and the sole and the scroll
- as high as that of a small army. You must be approaching your dear papa's score –
the scroll the scroll the scroll the scroll the scroll
"I'm losing it," she muttered. "I'm gonna lose my fucking mind. I need to –"
feeeeeeeeed
"Yes," she agreed, standing and turning to where she'd seen a road. "Yeah, I just need to do that."
She ended up finding what she needed – a town and an inn. Serana checked in, ordered a soup and a mug of mead, and then took one of the local miners to her room and fucked him to exhaustion. Then, when she was done, she bled him dry.
The Voice was silent for a while.
And then it wasn't.