"Forgive me," Serana looked to Maesa with a quip on her lips, her head cocked slightly to the side, "but I'm having trouble matching you to the image of a reckless youth, as charming as it might be."
"I had my moments. I still do on occasion." She admitted mysteriously, her eyes twinkling in the starlight with glorious mischief.
Some small change came across her dear face, and she softened into a peculiar melancholy, looking to the dirt road beneath their boots. "You're right in a sense though. After leaving the chapel I had to change. I had to abandon my wilder ways, I suppose one could call it 'growing up' but..." She smiled sadly at some memory that danced wistfully beyond her eyes. "…I do sometimes miss her. That wild reckless child of my early youth. Who snuck street cats into the vestry, and clipped grisly faces into the altar candles."
They were not that far from the city now. Its grand black walls rose proud atop the rocky hillock near the left most sweep of the snow dusted valley. The domineering bastion arced up to the churning storm clouds, a block of resolute presence, all hard edges chipped by time, sustained on the bitter meal of stubborn pride.
Serana glanced at it and noted that sometimes things that should have changed simply hadn't. Besides a few new scars, Windhelm, the city of long dead kings, stood as it had in her time. Still it failed to really capture her interest.
No. Her interest had a new devotion, and she walked beside her, hand clasped in hers, fingers long, delicate, criss crossed with callous and scars. Maesa's gaze was still upon the road, still lost in her own past. Serana gave her hand a gentle squeeze, bringing her gently out of her thoughts. "I like who you are now."
Maesa looked to her, a cautious fragile smile on her lips. She squeezed Serana's hand back, and moved to reply, but her attention was caught by the shadow of the nearing city, and the words were swept away on the gentle breeze. A tension stiffened her shoulders, she coiled some pre-emptive action tightly in her chest, whether to fight or flee, Serana could not be certain.
Her fear made Serana protective, and as they drew close to the cobbled thorough fair she moved to stand closer, their shoulders brushing against one another as Maesa paused.
"We step into true Nord territory," she warned softly under her breath, little plumes of white mist telling of how truly cold the night was becoming. With an apologetic smile the Imperial gently unclasped her hand from Serana's. "We do not want to draw attention to ourselves." She explained pulling up the hood of her cloak.
Serana protested within the safety of her own mind that holding hands would surely not bring too much attention, but her aggravations were hushed and Maesa lifted her touch to her face. Tenderly she lifted Serana's own hood, deft movements delicate and with only the glimmer of hesitancy. She settled the black fabric around her, lingering just for a moment to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
"I'll explain more once we are inside." Maesa promised. She held Serana's gaze, cool ghostly grey soothing her bristling tension.
A soft little sigh escaped the vampire. She wanted dearly to take up Maesa's hand again, she wanted dearly to kiss her, but she restrained herself. Taking as much comfort as she could from their proximity alone as Maesa began to lead them across the cities ancient bridge.
As they walked Serana watched those they passed. At this hour only the cities guards patrolled the cobbled expanse, their fur trimmed armour glittering with forming crystals of ice as the mountains breath brought the promise of a crisp morning frost. From beneath the full faced helmets Serana saw dark glistening eyes follow their every move.
She drew closer to Maesa.
The great gates loomed before them, monoliths of dark wood studded with lumps of wrought metal shaped into stunted spikes, that pointed as one in grim unison to all who stood before the entrance. Another equally edgy guard, clad no differently than his brethren upon the bridge, barred the gateway.
He looked them over slowly. "Arriving a bit late aren't you?" Came the gruff voice, partly muffled by the metal of his helmet. There was little point in denying the suspicion in his voice, it was plain and obvious, more so than if he'd verbally announced it.
Maesa spoke, Serana noticed that she made sure to keep her hood at just the right angle that it cast deep shadows to conceal her face. "A Dragon attacked the road from Whiterun, we barely made it through alive. We had to make our way through the forest."
At the mention of a Dragon Serana could taste a sharp tang of fear on the air. The guard stiffened, his posture abandoned all bluster.
"Damn monster!" He cursed under his breath, shifting his weight in a nervous fidget from one foot to the other. Then his concealed gaze was once more locked on Maesa's cloaked form. "Still, what brings you to the city in the first place?"
For a moment Maesa seemed to hesitate. Serana kept her own head low, though she longed to help, she did not know how. She knew nothing yet of this Skyrim, if she were to say something it was more likely to make matters worse.
The guard shifted a little, he took half a step closer, the casual grip on his sword hilt creaking as his gloved fist held it with growing tension.
Then Maesa spoke, softly, on a whisper loud enough for the guard to hear with some ease, but quiet enough to seem secretive and hesitant. "There are Thalmor agents in Whiterun."
The guard paused, peering at Maesa, then Serana, though the pique of his interest appeared with the Imperial. "Why should I believe that? You could be spies yourselves for all I know. For the Thalmor or the Empire. How do I know you're telling the truth?"
Serana's first notion that she had truly underestimated the Thalmor began to take hold in her mind, and a slow creeping dread began to steadily pool in the pit of her belly.
There was no hesitancy when Maesa next spoke. "Your Captain. Calder. Send for him if you still doubt us." Her use of the name was so casual Serana might have been under the impression he had little weight in the city, but on seeing the sudden rigidity that seemed to seize the guard she let herself indulge in a secretive smirk.
"Calder is…" it was his turn to hesitate, only this time Serana was certain it wasn't for show. "…elsewhere tonight. But you can pass. Keep your head down and your nose out of official business and we'll have no problems." With that he stepped aside and let the two cloaked, unnamed women through the gate.
Books had been Serana's escape in her youth. They allowed her a glimpse of the world beyond Volkihar walls. They had offered her excitement, insight, and even on occasion a dash of romance that she voraciously devoured. She had read about Windhelm in many of her books. The city of the Kings, the grandest of all Nord settlements.
Before her imprisonment she'd managed to visit it, just the once, under cover of a night much like that they now walked through. She had been equally as disappointed then.
Beyond the tall imposing walls lay squalor and broken buildings. Everywhere she looked she could see structures in desperate need of repair, walls crumbling, pavements pock marked and cracked, dotted with stagnant pools of slush, mud and substances too vile for contemplation. The sight of it all seemed to sap the colour from the world, turning everything to a dark, damp grey.
Hanging from a rickety upright swung a battered sign. 'Candlehearth Hall'. Serana thought it looked about as far from Nordic architecture as you could be, but considered that perhaps it was simply a later addition to the city, the only relatively new building in sight.
Maesa wasted no time and immediately headed for the 'Hall', picking her way deftly around the decay of the street. Serana followed closely, eager to be out of this miasma of apathy that thickened the air. Their progress was brought to an abrupt halt as the silence of the night was shattered.
"Maesa!"
The Imperial visibly cringed as her name echoed and rang off the stony walls. They turned to their right, Maesa lifted her hand in a weak greeting as a tall, young Altmer woman hurriedly approached.
"Good evening Niranye." Maesa said politely, bobbing her head slightly when the woman was a half dozen steps away. "You're out late."
Niranye swept forward and captured the shorter woman in a ferocious embrace. "I could say the same about you." She gave a short but pleasant enough laugh, stepping back from Maesa so she might give her a detailed once over. "What on Nirn are you doing in Windhelm?"
An all too familiar prickle caught and pulled at the skin between Serana's brows, burning the flesh beneath her skin. She needed to supress this, lest it cause her constant distraction. This woman was just another friend of Maesa's, there was no reason to wish her any sort of harm.
Maesa could not contain her warm smile, and consequently laughed prettily once she'd regained solid footing. "Just passing through. A change of scenery was much needed. How have things been here?"
Niranye was soon divulging a goodly amount of news, a little of business and a few bits of local gossip. It wasn't until the golden skinned mer turned to Serana that the vampire truly took notice.
"And who is this?"
The question was delivered without a hint of malice but Serana still tensed none the less at the direct address.
"This is Serana." Maesa lay her hand upon her upper arm, completely unaware how it made the Nord's breath catch. "She's travelling with me for a while."
Niranye bobbed her head. "A pleasure."
Serana returned the gesture.
"You're a Nord. You'll get along here well." It seemed a strangely out of place sentence to say. Though in the face of what Maesa had already explained perhaps it was justified.
"Will you take rooms at Candlehearth?" the Altmer asked Maesa.
"Yes, if Elda will have me."
Niranye brushed aside Maesa's concerns with a throwaway flick of her hand. "Don't worry. Your human, and in the company of a 'true daughter of Skyrim'. She's playing up her hatred of dunmer at the moment rather than Imperials. Still watch of for Nils. He definitely still hates you."
Maesa cringed for a second time. "I'll buy food elsewhere then I think."
"Probably wise. But I've kept you from your beds too long as it is." Niranye turned from them and waved goodbye over her shoulder. "Stop by sometime and see me before you move on again."
And she disappeared into the night. And they were left alone once more in the seeping cold of the decaying city.
"Shall we go in?" Maesa asked after a moment, holding her hand out towards the twin heavy set doors and hunched roof. Serana considered the building again. She gave an agreeing nod to Maesa and the pair ascended the slippery wet stairs, entering a fire warmed hall.
It was dark inside, the room was lit by a single greasy lantern resting on an elbow high bar, behind which sat an aging Nord, her dusty blonde hair peppered with streaks of grey, braided and tied away from a slowly aging face.
She'd locked her bright little brown eyes on them as soon as they'd entered, sizing them up as they simultaneously lowered their hoods.
When she saw Maesa's face a flicker of recognition darted across her expression. "Back again." She observed, leaning back slightly from the bar as the young woman approached, standing straighter, casting a measuring glare up and down her form. "You want a room, or just a drink?"
This Elda, for that was who Serana assumed it to be, was not exactly rude, but extremely business like. For some reason the clear difference didn't seem to affect her immediate dislike for the woman.
"Yes. Two rooms if you have them, for a few days." Maesa seemed unfazed by the atmosphere.
Elda shook her head, "Only got the one room. You and your…" She looked Serana up and down, silently deciding on something with a firm nod of her head. "…friend, will have to share if you both want a bed."
The look Serana was given was brief. Maesa was asking her, silently with nothing more than the lift of her brow.
Though Serana felt anything but calm about the notion, she gave a simple shrug, hoping fiercely Maesa would understand its meaning. She did not trust herself to speak.
"We'll take it for two nights." The Imperial announced extracting the correct money from a small leather pouch and laying it on the scratched surface of the bar. Elda looked at the money, then fetched a key from underneath the counter, laying it down rather than passing it to the woman.
"First on your left down the way."
"Thankyou." Maesa said quietly, she made sure to keep a steady eye contact with the old Nord, till finally Elda took the money. With their business concluded Maesa took the key and walked swiftly to the left of the bar, through a narrow passageway leading to short corridor, just as poorly lit.
"Here." She stopped before a small wooden door and slid the wrought iron key into the lock. "The reception doesn't usually get any warmer I'm afraid." She murmured as they entered.
"You've been here before." Serana observed.
"A few times." She stepped aside and let the Nord enter before closing and locking the door, leaving the key half turned back again to make certain that no one could enter the room from the outside.
It wasn't very well adorned. It could easily be considered shabby. Serana could never see them being truly comfortable here. It was small, with only the bare essentials in furniture and it reeked of a temporary fix, impossible to settle in.
But is was good to be somewhere indoors, out of the harsh chill that could harm Maesa. Now perhaps they could talk. There seemed much to learn about this new divided populous, and it was as good an excuse as any to listen to Maesa's stories once again.
"Is it just the war that's created all these divisions?" Serana asked, shrugging off her heavy cloak and laying it over the one and only chair.
Maesa moved across the room and knelt before a tiny unlit hearth. It was freshly laid with new fuel, but the arrangement appeared wrong, at least to the Imperial's eye. She set about fixing it.
"No." She answered, pulling exactingly at the split logs, forming a neat stack, leaving ample gaps for the air to feed the soon to be birthed flame. "It's been brewing for years, ever since the Oblivion Crisis."
Another historic event Serana had slept through. She tried to push it from her thoughts. Instead she waited for the woman to elaborate, unfortunately only silence followed.
Maesa seemed intent on the fireplace. She continued to pile the split wood with great care, stacking it a complex pattern. Once satisfied with the construct she tucked a piece of burnt rag tentatively beneath the wood. She reached behind her and began to rummage through her pack, looking Serana guessed, for a flint and steel to set alight her creation.
"Here." The Nord said, coming to kneel beside her. She lit the rag with the tiniest of gestures from her index finger, calling forth her potent magic as easily as she might scratch an itch. The fabric caught at once.
Flames rose steadily devouring the stack, leaping from log to log, sending a strong smoky warmth out into the the room. Serana, pleased with her work, smirked and turned to the woman beside her. The self-satisfied gesture melted from her face like spring snow. They were closer than she'd thought.
With an expression all softness and sweet gratitude, Maesa let a small smile cross her face. It seemed bashful, the warmth of it glowed across Serana's cheeks, and when Maesa moved just a little closer the vampire felt the world hold its breath.
"Thank you." She whispered, and then with great tenderness she kissed the vampire's snow white cheek.
Maesa then stood free of the fireplace, and walked over to the little rickety chair, removing her cloak, and laying atop of Serana's. The Nord was left in the somewhat curious task of trying to catch her breath, calm her unbeating heart, and silencing a myriad of swirling thoughts that threatened to rob her of all future incarnations of sanity.
In an attempt to achieve all three, she made her unsteady way to the bed, charging her self to the menial task of removing her boots, her fingers finding the buckles and ties tricky as her mind raced. Eventually her persistence won out and she tucked the discarded footwear beneath the far end of the bed. She sat upon the fur covers, folding her long legs beneath herself, left to sit silently and watch as Maesa began to remove her armour.
"What was the Oblivion Crisis?" she asked, embarrassed by the unusual candour of her own voice, a colourless blush seeping into her chest hotly as Maesa pulled free of her leather cuirass.
The Imperial was quiet when she spoke, deliberate and almost haunted.
"Worshippers of Mehrunes Dagon, calling themselves the Order of the Mythic Dawn, tried to summon their lord so he would inhabit the plane of Nirn. I don't need to tell you how bad that would have been had they succeeded. In short a Bosmer woman, Nirae, came along and fought against the Mythic Dawn and their Lord. She had help from an order called the Blades, and the bastard son of the last emperor. They defeated the daedra in battle within the heart of the Imperial City, but the emperor's son died ending that bloodline."
Maesa was laying out each piece of her armour with great care, making sure not to leave any piece resting crooked or improperly laced. She began the untying of her boots as she explained further.
"The Order of the Mythic Dawn opened many gateways to Oblivion, Nirae closed those she could reach, she apparently drove herself to an early grave doing it. The gates were everywhere though, on every continent. She never managed to reach the Summerset Isles. The devastation there was total. In the chaos the royal family was overthrown and the population was desperate for a solution to their problems. The Thalmor were a fringe political movement then, largely ignored, but somehow they managed to do what no one else could, they closed the gates and ended the crisis on Altmer shores. Suffice to say they rode their success right to the peak of political power and they've held on ever since."
Maesa finished her tale with even greater solemnity, tucking away her boots beside Serana's.
The Nord began to get an inkling of the game she had stepped into. These were not some radical sideliners, whose presence people tolerated. The Thalmor were players of a game that spanned nations, their reach grasping at the thrones of at least two kingdoms. She felt like a small child playing in the dust between bellowing warriors, each stamping their feet a hairs width from her fingers, she would be broken if she was not alert.
"The bad blood between the Nords and the Dunmer is far more recent." Maesa continued on. She seated herself on the bed, a little way from Serana, but easy enough to reach. Her deft tanned, fingers worked at the binding tying back her hair, teasing apart the knot. Her dark curls tumbled across her shoulders. "Ulfric was caught by the Thalmor during the civil war. He was tortured, and made to believe during said torture he'd given away vital information that led to the fall of the Imperial City. He returned home traumatised and seeking revenge for his pains. He took out his anger on the nearest population of mer, and made targets of the Dunmer in his hold."
Serana saw a flash of silver from beneath Maesa's clothing, just below the hollow of her neck. She'd twisted slightly to run a hand through her freed hair, ruffling the collar of her shirt, scrunching up the fabric just enough to reveal the hint of a necklace, with a heavy pendant at its end.
Serana's curiosity torn between it and all this new information. She had so much to learn, so much to catch up on. Where to start? How did you learn a whole new world?
"Do you mind?" The younger woman asked, catching Serana quite off guard.
"Pardon?" She replied, certain she had not missed any predefining explanation, though in her still flustered state she could not be too certain.
Maesa lay a hand between them, stretching out the fingers amidst the fur.
"Do you mind sharing a bed?"
The slight hint of a blush crept up Maesa's neck, and she peered up at Serana from beneath her dark lashes, effortlessly and unknowingly stealing her breath away once more.
She forced herself to smile, hoping to cover her utter befuddlement that seemed to come so easily around Maesa.
"I don't mind." She said.
As she said it she felt the curious presence of something new. In the light of Maesa's embarrassment she felt something strange. A bubbling tickle in the centre of her chest, a playfulness.
With every outward appearance of calm, she lay her own hand over Maesa's, all the while wearing a holding her gaze with a pleasant, coquettish smile.
"Do you mind?" she asked.
The Imperial's eyes darted down to Serana's hand. She flexed her smallest finger minutely.
"I… No… I don't think so…" She tried to move her hand away, but Serana held it firmly beneath her own. The vampire saw the muscles of her neck swallow. She would not meet her gaze.
"I may be able to arrange for something else." Maesa reasoned, her quivering supressed beneath a façade of planning. "Unfortunately, that would require speaking to Ulfric."
The air between them changed at the mention of the man's name. It dulled, anticipation turning to resignation. Serana's teasing left her, replaced by concerned curiosity. She released the other woman's hand and leant back, settling herself comfortably against the head board. There had been talk of this Ulfric in Whiterun. There was doubt as to whether Maesa and he could cohabit within the same city without coming to some sort of violence.
"Why does this man frighten you?"
"He wants an alliance with me." Maesa said shortly, her eyes glinting with a hint of Nordic stubbornness. "He is a great leader, charismatic and bold. He's also a short sighted fool, who throws childish tantrums when political matters don't go his way. He's so blinded by his hatred of the Thalmor, he can't see that his little rebellion is playing right into their hands."
"But why you?" Serana asked, fitting pieces together with little success. "Why does he want an alliance with you?"
Maesa drew further away, both with her body and her words. She was reluctant to answer it seemed, the distance she wished to lay down rolling off her like a rough tide, forcing the Nord back.
"I have… some sway in the politics of the province." She replied quietly.
Serana knew Maesa well enough, even in the short days of their companionship, that this was an understatement on such a grand scale that it might as well just have been a bare faced lie.
She placed firmly on her brow a look her mother had used on her on numerous occasions, where nothing but the most absolute truth would suffice. With it fixed in place she let her eyes bore into Maesa and pressed her silently to elaborate.
When Maesa met her glare she bore her own conviction as a counter. "I keep my own privacy keenly Serana." She admitted, hushed and secretive in tone. "I and those close to me purposely spread false rumour and gossip. We draw not only the Thalmor away, but all others who wish things from me that I do not wish to give. Ulfric was unfortunately witness to my identity from the very beginning, and as such has sort in the past to blackmail me with this knowledge."
It answered little of Serana's original question, yet at the same time it did seem to reveal a little more of the circumstances of Maesa's story.
"Tell me. Please." She begged, trying a method much more her own than her parents. "I can see it hanging over your head like a storm cloud. Trust me with its name." She reached out and found Maesa's hand once again, only this time as she held it there was no hint of nervous uncertainty. She sought to comfort her, and to understand.
Maesa soon looked away, her fingers limp and motionless in Serana's hold.
"A person deserves to be more and less than a title."
It was delivered with not small amount of melancholy and Serana felt her chest grow tight from its sound.
"I want you to see me, Serana. Not a figure, or a title. Just me. I trust you enough that I want you to know me. I hope that that is a far more precious liberty."
She would speak no more of it that night, and Serana agreed to press her no further. It felt as if a strange formless barrier had been erected between them, invisible and fathomless it truly held no manner with which to restrain them.
Yet, she knew it was there.
Maesa fell asleep first that night, curled over loosely, her face resting in her halo of dark curls. Serana knew she was asleep, for after a moment's hesitation she reached out and touched her loosely clasped fingers. The absence of reaction made her bolder, and tenderly, as if she were cradling a fluttering moth she brushed the tips of her knuckles across her cheek.
A mumble made her snatch her hand back, though she needn't have worried. Maesa's breath fell just as easily as it had before, her dreams making her eyelashes flutter.
She longed to reach out again, but she didn't wish to wake her. Resigning herself to a fingers width gap between their hands she settled herself beside her mortal and bid the sleeping woman a fond, silent, goodnight.
