Chapter 3 – Aging

The great Prince lounged on his throne, in a massive rock, stone and obsidian castle, and lifted his horned head up when his presence was disturbed when the Dremora walked in, holding a tightly wrapped up bundle of cloth containing the tiny baby. Molag Bal rose and shifted effortlessly to his servant's side.

"Another daughter?" Molag scowled as his child gazed up at him with bright orange eyes.

"Does this displease my Lord?" The Dremora asked. "If my Lord wishes, I shall dispose of—"

"Just make sure she doesn't turn out like my last daughter." The Prince growled at the thought of his previous daughter, Molag Grunda. "Make sure she does not fall in love with such a lowly being."

He turned to leave the throne room. The Dremora glanced with distaste at the child before raising his ebony face back to his master.

"My Lord," he called. Molag stopped and cast a glare over his shoulder, waiting for him to continue. "What do you wish to do with this child?"

"You are in charge of her." He replied, continuing on his way, heavy footsteps pounding into the rock floor.

"But, my Lord…" he didn't get to finish before his master left the room without a backward glance.

The Dremora stood there alone in the giant, empty room. White flames dimly lit his face and the child he was carrying. He lowered his black-eyed gaze to her. She was so innocent and vulnerable, staring up at him with those big orange orbs, completely unafraid of the demon that loomed above her. Her pale skin seemed ghost white in the light of the flames, a few strands of new hair, as black as dark as the pits of the abyss, softly covered her small head. Every feature of this child was perfectly contrasted with each other. The corners of the baby's mouth twitched upwards into a blissful smile.

The Dremora scowled; annoyed that he had been lowered to looking after an annoying little brat for eternity. She was so small and defenceless; he could easily kill her now with little to no effort. He raised a hidden Daedric dagger from his hip to her neck. He watched the red glow off the deep grey blade pour onto her silk coloured face. He expected her to begin to cry, but she turned her gaze down to the dagger and lightly placed her hand on the edge of the blade, and giggled softly.

Unsure of how to continue, the Dremora drew his weapon away, sheathing it.

"I despise you." He grumbled as the baby laughed.

Later that day, the Dremora constructed a crib out of bone and cloth for the child by the order of his master. Placing the baby into it he stepped back, slightly proud of his handiwork.

"Are you done yet, Dremora?" Molag Bal crashed into the room, impatience crossed his reptilian face.

"Yes, my Lord." The Dremora respectfully stepped back to let the Prince inspect the crib, slightly confused at why he cared. "Is it to my Lord's favour?"

Molag Bal didn't answer straight away. He stared at the small child's bed for a few seconds more, before a look of satisfaction put the demon at ease.

"It's fine." He muttered, stepping closer to look at the babe.

"What would my Lord like the name the child?" the Dremora glanced at the Daedra, wondering if he will even answer the question or just give him that burden too. However to his surprise Molag Bal answered, quietly:

"Athenasia."

"My Lord?"

"Name her Athenasia." He repeated before briskly exiting the large room which would now be the child's quarters.

The Dremora gazed after his master and stared at the empty doorway a few moments after he had left. He had never seen the Prince show any type of affection for anything and for him to show the sudden slight care was completely out of character.

Blinking slowly, the Dremora turned and shifted next to the crib and leaned on the bars, staring down at the baby.

"So, then. Your name shall be Athenasia."

-oOo-

Athenasia, now five years of age, burst through the doors of her butler's room which was situated next to hers.

"Dremora!" she giggled. "Get up! Let's play!"

The Dremora stirred in his sleep and opened his deep black eyes, annoyed at the loudness of the dark, Coldharbour morning. He turned his head to glare at little Athenasia who just smirked back. She had grown fast, and now had five, dark purple, pointed horns that sprouted evenly across the crown of her head like a widespread hand. Her long pitch black hair matched his eyes and was messily sprayed past her shoulders. Her large, almond shaped eyes were bright with the orange of the mortal sun which contrasted vibrantly against her cloud white skin. To match her eyes, glowing orange and black bat like wings had developed from her back, though she could not fly yet.

"It is still too early, girl." He mumbled, wiping a hand over his tired eyes. "Hurry back to sleep."

"But look!" she stood back and twirled. "I dressed myself today!"

The Dremora lazily opened one eye to observe the little girl beaming widely, clearly impressed with herself. She was dressed in a dark purple ankle length dress with short puffed sleeves, black adorning the tips of the sleeves, the hem of the dress and the collar and around the waist. She looked fine, except for the fact that she put the dress on backwards.

"You silly girl…" he sighed, getting out of his furred bed and lifting the girl by the back of her dress—or front—and turned her around. "You've put this robe on back to front."

"Huh?" She struggled in his grip and twisted around to see her mistake. "Oh…" she looked down, despondently. "I was sure I got it right this time…"

The Dremora rolled his eyes, and quickly pulled Athenasia's arm through the sleeves and switched the dress the right way.

"You're insufferable, you know." He mumbled, pushing her gently towards the doorway. "Away with you."

"What does insuffernable mean?" she asked, turning her head back as she was ushered out.

"I will tell you when you are older." He replied.

"But, Dremora, I want to play!" she turned and grabbed his hand, tugging it.

"Not now, girl." He snatched his hand away, irritated.

"But…" she cast her glowing orange gaze to the rock floor, sadly whining.

Sighing, audibly he knelt down on one knee and rested a hand on her tiny shoulder. "Fine. What do you want to play?"

"Find the hider!" she cried, giggling.

"Fine then, girl. Go hide." He watched her run out of the room, laughing uncontrollably.

The Dremora sighed and clipped on his black and red Daedric armour. He strolled out of the room, in no rush to find the little girl, as he could smell exactly where she had gone to. As he leisurely walked through the great halls of Coldharbour Castle, he admired the black and grey towering walls, decorated with braziers alight with bright, white flames which illuminated the darkness.

The Dremora suddenly halted. He flared his nose and raised his head into the air much like a wolf catching scent of its prey. He smelt Athenasia, though she was heading for…

"Not there…" he whispered to himself and rushed with his demon speed to the throne room.

He rounded the corner to the entrance of the room, and caught Athenasia by the shoulders, gripping them tightly, afraid he was too late.

"Girl!" he hissed quietly. "You mustn't disturb…"

"My sweet, precious daughter," Molag Bal sat upon his throne, staring down at the small girl and the heaving, nervous Dremora. He lifted his large, taloned hand and gestured to his child. "Come here." Athenasia glanced up uncertainly at her butler who uneasily nodded for her to obey. She wondered over to her father who lifted her onto his knee. "What are you doing, Athenasia?" he asked her, stroking her long ebony hair.

"Me and Dremora are playing." She said, playing with her hands.

"What are you playing?" He questioned, shifting his icy eyes to the Dremora standing in the doorway, anxiously.

"Find the hider." She looked up innocently at her father, a small smile appearing on her face.

"And you were hiding from the Dremora?"

"Uh-huh."

He wrapped his dangerous looking hand around her shoulder. "You know that it is almost impossible to hide from a Dremora. They have an exceptional sense of smell. He could smell you easily."

Athenasia looked at the guilty Dremora, who was avoiding her gaze.

"That's cheating!" she cried.

Molag Bal brought his face close to hers. "Shall we punish him?" he whispered into her ear.

She stared at her butler who stared right back at her, trying to tell her to say yes with his eyes, for he knew that to go against his master's will was most unwise. The daughter of the Daedra shook her head slowly, however and he looked to the floor.

Though, to his surprise, Molag just chuckled, a deep rumble from within his wide chest.

"As you wish, dear child." He lifted her off his knee and guided her to go back to the Dremora. "Run along, then." Her butler placed his hands around her shoulders. He bowed and turned to leave, but his master called out to him. "Oh, Dremora,"

He turned to look at Molag. "Yes, my Lord?"

"It's my Lady not 'Girl'." He hissed and raised his hand, sending a lightning spell to zigzag through his fingers.

The Dremora clenched his jaw and cried out though closed teeth and endured his punishment. He fell to one knee, ignoring Athenasia's gasp of surprise. He breathed heavily, clutching his chest, feeling his heart beating irregularly from the shock.

"Y-yes, my Lord." He panted and unsteadily rose to his feet and took Athenasia by the shoulders again. "Come, then…my Lady." And he guided her out of the room, leaving her father to cackle evilly at the misfortune of his butler.

They walked in silence back to her quarters where he sat her on her bed crafted from quartz and volcanic rock laid with soft crow's feathers and black bear furs. He sat next to her and began to braid one side of her hair in a single, thick braid.

"Are you hurting?" Athenasia asked.

"No, g…my Lady." He lied, still feeling the great stinging effects of his punishment.

"But you look hurting." She pressed, staring up at him.

"I'm not hurting, my Lady."

"But you look so sad." She pushed out her bottom lip and pouted. "Why are you so sad?"

"I'm not sad, my Lady."

"I don't like it." She folded her arms and huffed.

"Don't like what, my Lady?"

"I don't like 'my Lady'."

"My Lord, Molag Bal wishes me to call you my Lady." He replied obediently, feeling like he had hit a new low.

"Well I don't like it." She shifted closer to him and hugged him from the side, placing her head down on his chest plate. "I want you to call me by my name. Call me Athenasia."

"As my Lady wishes."

"Hey, Dremora?"

"Yes my…urm, Athenasia."

"Do Dremorases have names?" She lifted her head to look up at the butler. He gazed down at her, amazed at how gentle and innocent a Daedra can look.

"Yes, we do." He answered.

"So what is your name?"

This surprised him. No one had ever wanted to know his name. Not his previous master, Sanguine, nor his present master. No one cared. No one cared to know who that Dremora was. He had always believed that was just how his life was going to be. An unimportant demon serving whoever summoned him or whoever ruled over him.

"It would be wise to just call me Dremora." He replied. "You father…"

"Then it will be our secret." Athenasia smiled sweetly at him and shock struck him like his punishment. Why did she care?

He didn't answer right away, hesitating to tell a five year old a secret.

"…Vulcan." He finally said, softly.

"Vulcan…" she repeated.

"It means—"

"Fire." She finished.

"Indeed." He was surprised that she knew that, but he chose not to ask. He knew that the Daedra were mysterious in their own ways.

-oOo-

Eight years later and Athenasia was now thirteen and her beauty was blossoming. Her soft features were deceiving to her newly mischievous personality. She now enjoyed travelling to Nirn to create small misfortunes for mortals. Of course, Vulcan came with her to make sure she didn't get caught or to drag her back to Coldharbour if she was. Her small wings grew larger and she finally learnt to fly—with the help of her butler.

The two of them were walking through a forest in Cyrodiil. Athenasia slightly smiled at the beauty of the trees against the night sky and marvelled at the darkness. The air was cool, but not cold and a breeze caused a few strands of her pupil black hair to tickle her pale cheeks.

Vulcan walked slightly behind her, always alert for any dangers, though he did not doubt Athenasia's growing powers.

"My Lady," he spoke up, breaking the calm silence. "We should get back to Coldharbour. I fear your father may be…wondering where you are."

"But Tamriel is so interesting!" she complained. "We don't have trees like this in Coldharbour. Or night skies like this. Ours is always clouded by dark mist. It's either here or going to Aunty Nocturnal's realm. Even Uncle Sheogortath's realm is prettier than ours."

"That would be unwise to say to your father." Vulcan advised, though a grin appeared on his ebony face.

"Why can't I have my own realm?" she sighed. "I would have a night sky permanently. And the trees would glow." They stopped at a long body of water. "I would have rivers and streams everywhere with golden paths. And I would have a golden palace just for me…and I want you to be there."

"Unfortunately, my Lady," he watched her kneel down and stroke the cold water with her fingertips, "I was a gift to your father from my previous master…"

"Uncle Sanguine, I know, you've told me before." She rolled her eyes and stood up, wiping her hand dry on her deep purple and navy blue dress. "I'm sure if I ask nicely I can have you."

"I'm not sure." He admitted, though he knew that life would be much better if he were to serve Athenasia instead of Molag Bal. "However you are only half Daedra."

"Yes, but my mother was a vampire." She retorted.

"That doesn't make you a full Prince."

"Hmph." Athenasia pouted and turned away.

"Stop sulking." Vulcan flicked her back of her head and she turned and glared at him, poking out her tongue at him. "However vampire you may be, you are a Daedra. So perhaps you should act like one more often."

"Like Papa?" she asked quietly. "I don't want to be so ruthless. I like playing tricks on mortals, but not torturing them or even enslaving them. But…" She raised her gaze to her butler and he saw a glint of her father in those orange gems. "…I don't mind giving karma to those who deserve it."

"Now you sound more like my Lord." Vulcan said with a grin. "You don't have to be wholly evil. Like your Aunt Meridia or Azura. However that may not agree with your father."

"He can't make me be evil." She said, walking alongside the river, balancing on the bank.

"My Lord wants what he wants. And always gets what he wants. You know that." He answered, slowly following her.

She sighed and was about to retort, when she heard rustling amongst a few shrubs that were growing against a tall tree.

"My Lady, let me take you back." Vulcan said, gripping her arm.

"Not yet!" a mischievous grin grew on her slightly purple lips. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to another tree. With one mighty flap of her wings she grasped a tall branch and looked down, Vulcan climbing after her.

"You are too much trouble." He grumbled.

Out of the shrubs, two people came out of the shrubs, giggling and laughing. One was a Nord man with short brown hair and a close cut dark beard. He gripped the hand of an Altmer woman with her golden hair cascading in curls around her shoulders. They stopped at the river and pressed their lips together, her hands snaking around his neck and his around her waist. Athenasia looked on, a lump forming in her throat. Were Daedra even allowed to fall in love?

"I didn't know Nords and elves even liked each other." She snapped, suddenly in a bad mood.

"This is forbidden love, I suppose." Vulcan replied. "Come, we should head back."

Athenasia didn't move, however. She kept her bright orange eyes on the two lovers. "Are Daedric Princes allowed to fall in love?" she asked, only faintly aware that she was.

Vulcan glanced at the girl and sighed. "It's never happened between them."

"What about them and mortals?" She continued throw questions to him.

"Again never been done…for love." He replied remembering what happens when his Lord gets bored.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

Athenasia huffed and looked on as the lovers began to undress each other.

"This isn't for young eyes," Vulcan muttered, tugging on her sleeve.

He looked at her when she didn't answer. Her eyes were sad, yet tearless, her pale face was despondent, yet untwisted. She had never cried in her life, though she had a way of making her face looking sadder than any tears could do.

"Athenasia…"

"Yeah, let's go." She finally turned away, however just as she did, the couple by the river screamed.

She and Vulcan snapped their heads back to the mortals. They were looking at something across the river and before they could run, their limbs were ripped apart by an invisible force, leaving them only torsos and heads. Athenasia gasped at the sight, and Vulcan covered her mouth.

"Hush." He whispered, unsure of what had happened to them, though he had inkling.

A tall, slender figure strode across the water and looked at the barely alive mortals. The figure gripped the Nord by the neck and slowly squeezed his head off, bones breaking and flesh squelching. Athenasia watched the figure shift to the Altmer and do the same thing. A sudden spark of anger flared within her chest. She was angered by this figure that stopped these two lovers from having a romantic night. She struggled free from Vulcan's grip and glided down to the ground.

"My Lady!" he called after her and leapt down by her side.

"Hey!" she shouted at the figure. "Why did you kill them?!"

The figure slowly turned to face her and the Dremora. "Now, now, is that any way to talk to your beloved Aunt?"

The figure revealed herself to have a grey tinged body with deep green serpents slithering around her body.

"Aunty Boethiah?" Athenasia exclaimed. Slight fear spiralled in place of her anger. Her father had told her to keep away from Boethiah as she was dangerous and the only one out of her Aunts and Uncles to actually hurt her. She glanced at Vulcan for help.

"My Lady Boethiah," Vulcan stepped forward. "I was just about to take—"

"You will not address me, Dremora." Boethiah dismissed, her cold, violet eyes staring at Athenasia. "The girl can speak for herself."

"As you wish, my Lady." He bowed respectfully, though was alert to anything the Daedric Prince may try to harm his master's daughter.

"Now, precious niece," she smiled and she looked just like the snakes shifting queasily around her thin body, "tell me what you are doing here on Nirn and not in the safety of your father's castle? It's a dangerous place here, you know."

"I-I'm not afraid." The girl stammered. "Papa's teaching me Daedric magic and Vul…um…Dremora is teaching me melee combat."

Boethiah cackled loudly. "How can a half breed possibly be powerful enough to use our powers?"

That struck Athenasia hard. She was just as powerful as any Daedric Prince!

"I'm powerful!" She insisted. "Papa is the most powerful! And he's training me."

"Oh really?" Boethiah's face dropped into a look of disgust and hate. "Shall we test that then?" She summoned a blue flame to her hand and pointed it to the girl.

Athenasia stepped back a little, unsure is she should fight her. Vulcan stepped forward before she could act.

"My Lady Boethiah, that would be most unwise to attack my Lord Molag Bal's daughter."

"I told you not to address me, Dremora!" Boethiah cast a blue flame spell towards him, sending him flying back into a tree, snapping the thick trunk.

"Vulcan!" Athenasia cried, running to where he landed heavily, though she was stopped by Boethiah's fire.

The girl turned to face the Prince, summoning orange flames to her hands. Her heart was pounding with fear, but she stood her ground. She had to learn to defend herself and not have her father or Vulcan doing it for her.

"L-Leave him alone!" Athenasia stood bravely against her powerful Daedric Aunt.

She shot searing, sun orange flames out her hands and they burst against Boethiah. Pride was suddenly devoured by fear as the fire cleared and her Aunt remained unscathed. Grinning evilly she raised her blue flamed hand and aimed at her niece again. Athenasia surrounded herself in a veil of her own fire to absorb her attacks. Boethiah chuckled mildly and sent a snake shaped bolt of her spell to Athenasia, suddenly transforming her orange protection into harmful blue spirals. She screamed in agony as the tongues of flames licked at her pale skin, causing parts of it to blister and burn horribly and painfully.

Just as the blazes were about to scorch her face they ceased as quickly as they began. Athenasia fell to her knees, cradling her left bicep where the worst of the burns were.

"I will not allow you to do any more damage to my Lady." Vulcan stood before her, back to her and facing his Daedric opponent.

Athenasia weakly raised her head and gazed up at the Dremora in full battle stance. Legs slightly apart, ready to brace for an attack; hands gripping his long, red and black Daedric blade which was pointed securely at Boethiah. Athenasia had never seen such a frightening expression on the Dremora. A blazing hot glare in his soulless black eyes, nostrils flaring, mouth thin and slightly curved down into a grimace. Blood trickled from his nose and ran down the side of his face and dripped off the edge of his sharp jaw.

Boethiah cackled loudly, fully amused that a simple Dremora servant was challenging her, however if he was afraid, he showed no hint. Not waiting for the Daedra to attack, Vulcan swung his greatsword to the right, sweeping it horizontally with his famous speed. Boethiah yelped in surprise as the blade lightly slashed her lower torso before she blurred back, with greater than or equal to his speed. Her eyes flared like a fierce lion that had been slapped in the face. Dark red blood slowly dripped from her wound. She glanced down at the damage and smiled, sliding a finger across it and licking her copper tasting liquid. Vulcan's eyes slightly widened in surprise as the wound healed itself.

"You'll have to better than that, Dremora." She spoke in an even tone, though it was low and aggressive.

All Athenasia could do was watch as Boethiah attacked her butler again and again with tremendous speed and agility, cuts, wounds and snake bites covered his pitch coloured skin. Where ever there was skin showing out of his armour, there was blood. His face was wet with the liquid which was mixed sweat. Poison from Boethiah's snakes swam in his veins, making him increasingly weaker, but he refused to give in. He would not allow anything to happen to his Lady.

"Why won't you die?" Boethiah hissed, her anger growing more and more potent as Vulcan refused to give up.

"I…" but before the Dremora could continue he coughed hard, blood spurting out from his mouth. The poison was working efficiently and was beginning to shut down his organs.

Vulcan's vision blurred and he fell to one knee, quivering violently, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. Athenasia's heart stopped as she saw Boethiah raise her hand into the night air, summoning a spear—its blade head was a sapphire blue and glistened like the night sky; its grip was long and slender and the colour of shiny obsidian. Athenasia rose to her feet, forcing her pain back and began to sprint towards the blade, hoping to stop the thrust of the weapon towards her butler, though she was too late.