Dawnstar is cold, the icy wind cutting through even the thick snowbear fur that cloaks Aldariel's shoulders. The horses' breath gushes out in great clouds of white as the small party travels east through the town and around to the Sanctuary, hidden now behind wards that took nearly two years to set up.

The wards ripple as they pass through, but do not set off the alarm. They do after all, belong to the Brotherhood, and carry a part of the wards' magic with them. The horses are stabled in the large room chiseled out of the cliff and closed in by large stone doors that kept the stables hidden from the outside world.

"Welcome back, Listener," Minal says, closing the stall door behind Shadowmere and bowing to Aldariel. She's one of the older members of the Brotherhood, having come all the way from the Dune Sanctuary to assist with this Sanctuary's reconstruction. The Imperial's dark eyes are still sharp despite her age, deep-set in her weathered face.

"How have you been, Minal?" Aldariel asks.

"Well enough, Listener," Minal replies. "Will you be leaving again soon?"

"I think I'll be here for about a day or so," Aldariel says. "We will see what the investigation turns up."

"I wish you luck, Listener," Minal says, and resumes tending to the horses.

The inside of the Sanctuary is warm and welcoming, Babette splits off to check on her garden, leaving only Nazir and Aldariel to enter the Sanctuary proper.

The hall is crowded, and even from the entranceway Aldariel can hear the shouting that accompanies the debates that often occur on Fredas evenings.

"I'm telling you," Calia's high voice cries as Aldariel and his party enter the main dining hall. The Breton is perched on a chandelier, swinging dangerously back and forth from the ceiling.

She's grinning like a madman too, Aldariel notes, as she deftly dodges the tomato that Arlas flings at her head, chortling as it hits Moira in the shoulder. Moira snarls, baring her fangs at Arlas, who ducks under the table to avoid a knife that the Khajit hurls back in retaliation.

"The Night Mother is but an aspect of Mephala!" Calia calls, ignoring the fight that has broken out between Arlas and Moira, and the subsequent betting that has begun as a result. "She is the Whispering One, and does She not whisper to our Listener?"

"It's more like a normal conversation, dear Calia," Aldariel calls, "than an actual whisper. Now, please, get down from the chandelier, I'd hate to have to replace it and the table you are threatening to fall on."

Calia grins, saluting cheerfully, managing to return to the ground in a series of leaps that somehow appear elegant.

"Arlas, Moira!" Aldariel shouts as several large cleavers go hurtling to embed themselves into a wooden platter that Arlas is using as a shield, "If you need to fight, take it to the training rooms!"

Moira pauses in her attempts to turn Arlas into a pincushion. "Must we? The terrain is more varied here."

"Yes," Aldariel says firmly. "Besides, the one you should be getting annoyed at is Calia. She dodged the tomato after all."

Moira growls quietly, and Arlas scuttles away to the opposite table, squeezing in beside his husband, Loren. The Bosmer looks relieved to have averted Moira's wrath.

Moira glares at Calia, who only smiles sunnily, and exits the dining hall in a huff, tail swishing angrily behind her.

"Would you say, then, Listener," Calia continues, striding up to him. "That our Night Mother is Mephala?"

"I will not speculate on the exact nature of our Unholy Matron, Calia," Aldariel says softly. "I am told that some of our number have been fed upon by a vampire. What can you tell me?"

Calia is one of their healers and would have treated all the affected members of the Brotherhood.

"Well," Calia says, leading the way to the healing wing of the Sanctuary. "Loren got bit last week, said he didn't even see the bastard. He's not infected, thank the Lady, but he did need a few potions to replenish what blood had been lost."

The healing wing is not empty. Bjorn is seated near the back wall, the large Nord wincing as Za'kir binds his arm tight.

The Khajit's grey tail lashes back and forth agitatedly as he ties off the bandage, his soft scolding barely audible. Bjorn rolls his brown eyes and looks away from Za'kir, jaw tight.

Calia ignores the two, heading for a small bookshelf where she pulls a ledger down, thumbing through it.

"We've had about ten incidents so far," she reports. "No turnings or fatalities yet."

"Make everyone carry around silver," Za'kir calls. "Should solve the problem."

"Not helpful, Za'kir," Calia retorts. "Silver works on werebeasts, not vampires."

"Blessed silver will do harm to them," Nazir says, over the sound of Za'kir's scoff. "But we have little of that and I do not think that the Night Mother's blessing would aid in the scourging of vampires."

"You would have to appeal to either Stendarr or Merida," Aldariel says, "though such appeals would take time and that is not something we have much of. We want the vampire taken care of as soon as possible."

"Babette said she'd narrowed down to where he might be," Nazir says. "We can use that."

"If he's a Volkihar then he could be under the ice fields," Aldariel retorts. "We'd be at a larger disadvantage. The fields are nearly twenty miles across."

"Boil the ice fields," Za'kir suggests, coming up to the group as Bjorn slinks past. "Good evening, Listener," Za'kir adds.

"Good evening, Za'kir," Aldariel says. "I don't think boiling the ice fields would get us anything but magical exhaustion and a slightly roasted vampire."

"But a slightly roasted vampire would be better than no vampire, yes?" Za'kir says, his green eyes wide and beguiling.

"Magical exhaustion," Aldariel emphasizes. "I would rather not experience that again."

"Then get others to help," Za'kir says, waving a claw. "It is obvious."

"Twenty square miles of solid ice is not easily reduced to boiling water, Za'kir," Aldariel argues.

"You realize that it is not a feasible plan and yet you are still arguing over it," Nazir points out.

Aldariel pauses, resisting the urge to rub his temples in an effort to halt the oncoming headache that always comes with arguing with Za'kir. Nazir is right, he should be focusing on coming up with a half-way decent plan.

Surely My Listener, my Child born of Darkness on the day of the Webspinner should be able to discover a mere vampire?

The Night Mother's voice whispers in his ear, soft and hissing. She laughs, Her voice cold when She next speaks.

And you need to hurry, my Child. For another of our number is yet sinking beneath the ice.

Aldariel swears loudly and Calia raises one eyebrow.

"Problem?" she asks politely.

"Someone else just got grabbed," Aldariel snarls, spinning on his heel and heading for the front of the Sanctuary.

The others follow swiftly.

He is thankful that he had not yet discarded his thick cloak, as it holds the chill of Dawnstar's icy air at bay for the moment as he, Nazir, Calia, and Za'kir dash outside.

His Argonian Silencer, Walks-in-Shadows, stalks back and forth beside the ice, hissing frantically. A massive hole gapes open, the water dark and murky beneath.

"Listener!" the Argonian gasps as Aldariel nears, "He came out of the ice! He took Alwaen!"

"I know," Aldariel says, scanning the ice for any movement. There is a low rumble, and a gout of flame erupts further out in the ice field, sending shards hurtling into the air.

Alwaen scrambles out of the newly made hole, dashing towards the shoreline. Blood tickles from her neck, and the Altmer clasps a hand to it to stem the flow, grimacing.

Walks-in-Shadows runs to her, reaching out to pull her onto safer ground.

Alwaen stumbles, the ice beginning to crack under her.

A wispy clawed hand holds her ankle, and yanks her back under, her startled yelp cut short as she is submerged again.

It is a Volkihar, that much is certain.

Aldariel summons sunlight and sends it under the ice. He's shit at Restoration magic, but sunlight will damage any vampire, no matter their particular subspecies.

Za'kir adds his own spells, bombarding the water beneath the ice with the radiant magic that all vampires abhor.

"Let me," Calia says, mouth set in a determined line. "I've been waiting to use this on a vampire for a while."

Aldariel glances towards Dawnstar, praying that the distraction wards will be enough to keep this whole fiasco from spiraling any further. They don't need hold guards jumping in.

"What do you have in mind?" Aldariel asks.

"It's kind of like a rope," Calia says as her hands begin to glow with radiant energy. "I'm going to reel the bastard in, kicking and screaming. Hopefully with Alwaen in tow."

"Or give her enough time to scramble free," Aldariel says. "Do it."

Calia throws her hands out, sending the ball of magic beneath the ice, her hands still glowing. Her eyes are a burning white, the sight eerie even to Aldariel, who has seen quite a few strange things in his life.

Another rumble sounds below and Alwaen reappears, hands scrabbling at the ice as she tries to lever herself out of the freezing water.

Walks-in-Shadows hurries to grab her.

Alwaen swears as her partner heaves her onto safer ground, and Aldariel almost laughs at the absurd things that his Silencer is spitting at the vampire who dared to try make a meal of her.

Calia hums. "Ah, there we are."

A sharp crack and a dark figure sprawls before Calia's feet, tightly bound in glowing magic. The vampire hisses, wriggling in the bonds but is unable to break free.

"Good work, Calia," Aldariel says, summoning a sword. "Best we end this here, yes?"

"I want to chop his head off!" Alwaen spits through chattering teeth, catching the cloak that Nazir tosses at her and wrapping it about her shoulders. "Let me!"

Aldariel reverses his grip on the sword, offering it to Alwaen who takes it gleefully and brings it down, sending the vampire's head bouncing a few feet.

Aldariel twitches his hand and incinerates the corpse, reducing it to ash. "All right," he says. "Everyone back inside before we all freeze to death."

Alwaen hands the sword to Aldariel who vanishes it.

A glint of gold catches his eye as he turns to leave, just the barest flash of metal in the pile of ashes.

Aldariel reaches down and retrieves a ring. It's heavy, an emblem that he cannot quite make out in the dim light of the moons visible on its surface. A clan ring of some kind.

He tucks it into a pocket. He'll look at it later, after Alwaen's been tended to and he's heard her and Walks-in-Shadows's report of their mission.