[A/N]: Hey guys, I love all the support I'm getting from you followers and reviewers! So thanks, but enough of me, time to get this chapter started and I loved writing this chapter, so I hope you guys like it too! So here we go...
[DISCLAIMER]: I don't own the Elder Scrolls Series or Bethesda. I'm just giving them the credit they deserve, but Arela and Enden are my characters.
~Rihanna, Disturbia
It's a thief in the night
To come and grab you
It can creep up inside you
And consume you
A disease of the mind
It can control you
It's too close for comfort
The night was refreshing against Arela's skin, as the breeze brushed between her exposed fingers, and the air had a soft chill that ran up her spine and hid between her shoulder blades leaving her with a shiver.
Arela had left Castle Volkihar an hour ago to get the Blood Stone Chalice, but the need for supplies has caused Arela to side track to Solitude.
It felt unnatural to walk among people again now that she was a vampire. The sound of heartbeats were deafening as each mortal brushed passed her on their way, and Arela could feel throat ache. Arela's need to retreat to her house Proudspire eclipsed her desire for blood; even though it felt as if needles were being driven into her esophagus.
Solitude was thought to be the most beautiful city in Skyrim, with its intricate brick work on the buildings and the fancy spires that towered in the sky, with the sallow colored shingles lined on the roofs like dragon scales.
The blue-gray stone gave the city a dark complexion, and an old powerful feel, but every building was accented with vegetation from ferns to moss and even small mountain flowers of every color she could think of; these flowers were bright and wonderful with her enhanced vision.
The city walls around were high, with moss curtaining down the walls highlighting the thick gray stones. The walls looked like they could touch the shadowy night sky, they were too tall, so tall they seemed to mix with the back splash of mountains in which the city had been tucked into.
Arela got frustrated with Solitude; there was no escaping the city, the main exits were always covered with an outrageous amount of guards. It was only too often to hear about guards killing fellow thieves; it always made Arela feel fortunate to be blessed by Nocturnal. Her mistress would never be as cruel to allow her to be caught in this city – she hoped.
She weaved between merchants, drunks and city folks, trying not to knock any of them over, because causing a disturbance was the last thing Arela desired.
She quickly made her way down the cobblestone path; passing the hanging lanterns that lined the streets. The lantern light irritated her pale skinned hands, which was the only skin exposed in Arela's armor.
She steadied her pace once her house was in view.
Arela stared at Proudspire Manor; the elegant look of the house was something that Arela would never get use to.
Many in the Guild said Arela had spent the Eyes of the Falmer well, but the house never felt like a home to her, so she had decided to make Proudspire a Guild safe house in Solitude.
The house itself contradicted her style, she had lived in Riften her whole life where everything was simple and rustic. Proudspire was nothing but expensive, cold and empty space.
Though now she was pleased at the houses convenient location to Castle Volkihar, so she didn't have to travel all the way to Riften to get supplies.
When Arela had attempted to buy potions and supplies, Feran had dumped every bottle of value on the floor just to spite her. Searching through her house in Solitude had seemed like a great bet.
Arela ascended the steps to the front door; the decorative metal work on the front door made the house seem more inviting than it actually was.
Arela pushed the doors open and entered the stuffy sitting room; the room had only enough space for a basic chair and table. A juniper tree had fanned its branches wildly from the planter pot. It was untamed from lack of being trimmed.
The limestone colored bricks left the room feeling very primitive and yet chalky. It lacked a natural feeling of being soft and relaxing – Arela feeling like she was trapped in a stone box.
This was where her housecarl – Jordis, had spent most of her time, and currently she was sitting in the room reading a book.
Jordis reacted to the sound of an intruder; her hand shoot for the steel sword attached to her belt, but the tension relaxed when Jordis finally recognized Arela in her Nightingale armor.
"Oh, sorry, my Thane. You never said that you were returning to Solitude anytime soon." Jordis stated quietly, her voice leery, almost unsure of Arela's intentions. Arela's throat tightened in anxiousness at the unease of her housecarl.
Jordis watched her cautiously as Arela turned her back to the housecarl, placing her traveling pack onto a nearby table ready to be refilled.
"Ah, yes I have returned to pick up some supplies. You know some potions, and arrows. Has anything happened in Solitude lately? I have always felt like time moved so slowly in this city." Arela stated plainly, hoping her voice expressed calmness – the thief wanted to put Jordis at ease.
Arela had often avoided Solitude, plainly on behalf of the Empire. She was trying to stay politically neutral, but Tullius and Ulfric were still searching for the Dragonborn, or on the other hand, Arela. As far as they were concerned the Dragonborn was a male Imperial, who was roaming Skyrim just out of their grip.
Keeping her identity discreet from them was one of her top priorities. Often Arela would ask members of the Guild to spread fake rumors to citizens about the whereabouts of a Dragonborn, which only covered Arela's tracks.
Focused back on the task at hand, Arela walked into the kitchen and started rummaging through her cupboards. She viciously searched for health and stamina potions.
She had made plenty when she had first bought the house, but Guild members tend to use things and not replace them.
Jordis' words suspended Arela's thoughts and search.
"Well... my Thane, a man from the Guild brought a letter here today. It's on the kitchen table." Jordis pointed to a bland looking envelop on the large oak table.
Arela paused her search for potions, and languidly made her way over to the table. She quickly picked up the letter and examined it thoroughly.
The handwriting on the outside of the envelop was nothing more than a messy scrawl of letters that seemed to form the name 'Arela.'
Arela smiled; she only knew too well who had wrote the letter. Cynric Endell.
Arela wanted to open the letter.
It took all her willpower to stop her from ripping open the letter and ravenously reading every word and then reading it several times as if his words were not enough. His words were never enough for Arela.
His words were worth more than an amount of septims, or any treasure she had collected over the years. His words made her confident, confident that she was strong and could do anything; that no challenge was too great.
If Cynric had not been there when Mercer had betrayed the Guild; Arela was sure she would have lost the will to fight.
But his friendship had rekindled her belief in trust and loyalty, there was no one in the Guild that knew her so well.
They had always competed to see who was the better archer; it usually ended with Cynric mumbling angrily while forking over some money to a lost bet.
Cynric was the only person that could give Arela a run for her money in lock picking. He had once been a jailbreaker, so picking locks quickly had been his specialty, but they had always broke even.
Arela thought back to them running through Riften, while being chased by the infuriated city guard. Climbing walls and slipping down alleyways had always been their safe getaway.
The nights they had spent in the Flagon, telling stories and drinking every septim rang in Arela's mind. They would drink until their money was depleted or until Vekel kicked their drunken bodied out of the Flagon.
To say they were in love was too extreme; but to say they were friends was an understatement. Arela couldn't describe their relationship, it was relaxed yet competitive, fun yet serious, warming yet slightly cold. When Arela thought of their affections it always turned into a contradiction.
Just the thought of him made her heart fluttered like a birds beating wings, irregular and erratic.
Just looking at the letter she was reminded of all her memories with him.
But all of those recollections had been from before her appointed as Guild Master, when the Guild had still symbolized freedom and regalement.
The moment Arela had been delegated to Guild Master everything had changed... The Guild had shifted to a world of business: finding marks, running financials, communicating with contacts, inflicting fear and keeping thieves in line.
The luster the Guild had once received from Arela was desecrated in months by the hovering expectations of the Guild's need for organization.
Cynric and Arela had grown apart, but he had been distraught upon discovering Arela departing from the Guild to hunt vampires with her brother Enden.
They had become tangled in a brutal fight. Arela had said a few things she regretted deeply, and that made her nervous about the contents of the letter.
Arela knew if she read his letter now she would be reduced to nothing but shattered fragments of herself. She had desperately missed him; he had been Arela's steady rock in an ocean of trouble, and overwhelming responsibility.
Arela stood frozen by the kitchen table, just examining the poorly assembled letter.
There was a small creaking noise upstairs, the sound shocked Arela out of her trance, and she reached for the small dagger in her boot.
Jordis' voice broke the tense silence. "A thief from the Guild is still here. He said that he wanted to rest before he departed the city and headed back to Riften. He insisted he knew you well, so I allowed him to stay upstairs in the spare bedroom."
Jordis looked at Arela with an uneasy expression.
Arela silently cursed the housecarl for innocently following her wishes. Arela had told Jordis when she moved here that thieves would be allowed to bunk here, as long as they said they were from the Guild.
"Thank you for telling me," Arela said weakly.
She tried to force herself to move toward the winding steps upstairs –but she couldn't, it was as if an invisible wire was pulling her away.
Arela contemplating leaving; she didn't need the potions, what she had need was just a little familiarity. She had missed civilization and order, as well as the comfort of privacy.
And now she had wrapped a noose around her neck, one of the Guild members was going to find out the truth. That Arela was nothing more than a... vampire.
Arela cautiously made her way up the stairs, they seemed to be the longest flight of steps in Arela's life as she dragged her body up them.
Finally she had reached the landing, and Arela stared straight into her room. There was no denying it; there sat a figure in the far corner of her room.
He had propped his leg up on the table, and was reclining in a small chair right next to her four poster bed, as if waiting for her to return.
He was definitely from the Guild; the brown thick leather cuirass and leggings that had molded to his body. His boots were caked in mud from his journey here; he must have passed through the marshes of Hjaalmarch.
Arela struggled to make out who it was, his brown hood casting a heavy shadow on his face, but Arela suspected it was Cynric.
He seemed to be napping in the chair; but he shifted at the sound of Arela's approach.
His head lifted and his face was bathed in light exposing his rough complexion and finally showing Arela who it was. Cynric Endell.
He had the features of the average Breton; the slightly narrower face from the average human and the longer nose.
On normal days he wore such a serious expression, but his soft blue eyes burned with a hidden charm. He would never admit it but she could tell he was happy to see her.
He had light stubble on his face from lack of shaving, and his short light brown hair laid lazily on his forehead.
But the one thing that Arela caught herself staring at all the time was the jagged scars on his left cheek. She had always wondered how he got them. She could hardly fathom who would want to inflict such a wound on the quiet and reserved Cynric Endell.
Cynric gradually rose from his seat and his mouth contorted into a wry smirk.
"Long time no see Arela."