The cathedral was a stone barren room of sunken gray and the only light sifted through the cracks of the small windows to cast a beam of light in the center of the chamber. The ray of light fell and caught the gleaming crimson liquid that flowed from the head of the statue to gather in a pool at the basin of the fountain. Reflected in its depths and dressed in his normal robes, Harkon stood at the foot of the fountain with his back to them, observing the spring of blood.

He didn't seem to care for their presence, and continued to stare at his source of musing. Neither of them spoke and the only sound in the chamber was the slow trickle of the fountain. But a noise arose. A faint, erratically beating noise that Whitland could only claim as his heart. He couldn't hold the same dead silence as they could, quite literally he realized.

Harkon shifted and seemed to awake from his trance, but only to speak. "This is the shrine of Molag Bal." he said to no one in particular. His eyes traced the path of red. "He gave us this gift, this immortality and power. He believed the weak must be killed by the strong." At those words, Harkon finally turned to face them. His eyes were glazed over from his obsession. "This will come as I promised."

His gaze leveled on Serana and the glassy look in his eyes receded. "Ah, Serana, my darling," he said, stepping down and spreading his arms out as if to welcome her. His eyes happened to flicker towards Whitland and his progress stilled. He stared.

The glazed look came burning back at full force, and Harkon's lip curled. "I see you still favor keeping a pet." He finished stiffly.

Whitland refrained from commenting, although the masculine part of him made the action difficult. As far as he was concerned, he was way better than a tag along buddy.

Serana kept her composure, but he could sense her steeling her resolve. "You know why we're here." she stated calmly.

Harkon nodded. "Of course I do. You disappoint me Serana. You've taken everything I've provided for you and thrown it all away for this…pathetic being. He threatens us."

Serana's eyes were aflame. "Provided for me? Are you insane? You've destroyed our family! You've killed other vampires! All for some prophecy we barely understand?" Her form shook from her rage. "No more, I am done with you and you will not touch him." Her voice broke no argument.

Harkon's eyes drifted over to him to spare him a glance. Whitland felt like he was appraising him as a prized piece of cattle. "So, I see this dragon has fangs." Harkon's gaze settled back on his daughter. "Your voice drips with the venom of your mother's influence, Serana. How alike you've become."

Serana straightened and her voice was even. "No, because unlike her, I'm not afraid of you, not anymore."

Harkon's eyes darkened and he refocused all of his attention onto him. "It appears I have you to thank for turning my daughter against me." he said to Whitland. "How she refuses to see the bigger picture. I've given everything for our family."

Whitland could not believe what he was hearing. "I'll kill you." he said quietly. It was a promise.

Harkon waved him away. "Yes, yes, always the noble one." He grew more serious. "And what happens when you've slain me? Is Valerica next? Is Serana?" With every word said, Harkon's wrath seemed to build.

"I would never harm Serana. This is about more than killing vampires."

Harkon's eyes flashed. "You misunderstand. This has little to do with vampires, but everything to do with Serana." His figure trembled. "You wish to stop me from taking Auriel's bow and shrouding the world in darkness? Then you will die!" Harkon's form exploded and floating in his place was the grotesque Vampire Lord.

Its hand glowed red and Whitland was yanked into the air before him and hung by his throat. The air was knocked out of him and his mouth parted to draw in a breath, but none came. His lungs began burning from the lack of oxygen and the edges of his vision were fringed in darkness. Grasping feebly at the magic that held him, his arms became heavy and fell uselessly to his sides. His eyes flickered close for a second before fluttering open, but it was a losing battle.

A blurry shape suddenly raced across his vision and he heard a scream followed by a resonating crack. His body was released from its hold and he collapsed onto the stone floor wheezing. He drew in a long, shuddering breath before descending into a fit of coughing. Spots filled his vision, but he forced himself to stand. There could still be danger. Tremulously, he made it to his knees before toppling back over to the ground. So much for that.

The room spun around him in sickening circles as he fought to keep in the contents of his stomach. His hands trembled as he lifted his cuirass up over his head and threw it away. He gasped and lied there, breathing heavily through his mouth. Somewhat reluctant, he tried to stand again. He swayed on his feet but caught himself, and waited for his vision to clear enough to make sense of his surroundings. His eyes widened when they did.

Serana lied braced on the back of the wall, still and unmoving, with blood dripping down from the crown of her head and down her face. But that wasn't even the worst. A rake of claws had ripped through her armor and lay open across her chest. Ribbons of blood streamed forth and the liquid gathered in a puddle beneath her.

He stumbled and made it a couple steps before his legs buckled underneath him and he crumpled to the floor. The last few yards he made it by crawling. Dragging himself over to her side, he went to check her pulse, but realized the action was redundant. Cursing, he scanned the room, but Harkon seemed mysteriously absent and he found he couldn't find a reason to care.

He pulled Serana into his lap and tried to summon a healing spell, but his fingertips merely glowed before dying out. He voiced his frustration and watched as the life bled out of her and painted the ground and him red.

There was only one thing left he could do; only one spell he could still perform. He drew on the last vestiges of his strength and his hands, dyed red from her blood, shook as he cast it. His wounds that had crusted over now tore open and bled. His face paled and his vision was just as quickly losing color. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears and throughout his entire body. He held on for as long as he could until he had to cut the spell off. He drew in a ragged breath, choked, and hacked up blood. Uncaring, he raised his hands and made the appropriate motion.

They shone a soothing white.

His smile was more of a scowl. He drew his hands to her body and watched the skin knit back together to become whole once more. The damage to her chest faded to nothing but milky white skin, but he could only close the wound on her head. That was all he could do for her. Slumping against the wall, he closed his eyes as he swam on the brink of unconsciousness.

"You are foolish mortal." Whitland's eyes snapped open. No one was in the chamber, except for a fine layer of the mist that must have come through the windows. "Her blood is precious, but there is no point in saving her. Death is her savior, it has been foretold."

Gritting his teeth, Whitland grabbed the wall for support and climbed to his feet. "Show yourself!" he yelled; his chest heaving and his throat hoarse.

There was a pause and then the mist began thickening near the base of the fountain until fully solidifying. Harkon appeared, still in his Vampire Lord form, and looking completely refreshed. Whitland's hands tightened into fists, another one of his powers apparently.

Roaring, Whitland pulled his sword free from its sheath and made a dive for him. Harkon and him crashed to the ground and his blade was sent scattering across the room. They grappled for control and even as Harkon's claws dug into his flesh, his hold was iron. Fingers tore into the skin around his gut and Whitland's howl was painfully animal like. Harkon's smile was feral. His claws burrowed into the wound and Whitland's grip went limp. He held in a scream and Harkon had him pinned in seconds.

He held him easily as Whitland struggled to break free. "So frail," said Harkon. "You should regret turning down the power I had offered you." Whitland continued squirming under his grasp. Disfigured hands came slamming into his chest to hold him in place. "Look at me when I speak!" Whitland had no choice but to look into his acidic yellow eyes. Harkon drew his hand back. "And now, I shall end your pathetic existence." His hand shrouded in magic.

Whitland coolly locked gazes with him. "And to end your daughter's life as well?"

The magic guttered out and died. Confusion glittered in the glaze of Harkon's eyes. He shook his head furiously. "NO! I'm doing what's best for all of our kind! I must bring an end to the sun!"

"And Serana you must sacrifice for it to happen."

"Lies!" Harkon seethed, but the uncertainty lied in his eyes. "All will be fine as long as the prophecy is fulfilled!"

He wondered if Harkon truly had a grasp on his sanity. Had his power turned him to madness? Whitland jerked his head in the direction of Serana. "Did you not almost kill her already?" he challenged.

Harkon stared at the broken outline of his daughter's form. Lucidity seeped into his eyes and his grip slackened. Whitland ripped his arm free and let his fist slam into the vampire's face. Harkon recoiled before pressing the sharp pads of his fingers into his wound. Whitland writhed in pain and his fingers clasped around the vampire's wrist. His hands began to burn like glowing coals. Harkon's skin smoked.

The vampire hissed and released him. Whitland caught a glimpse of his blade and scrambled across the ground. He heard a flurry of wings behind him and his eyes searched wildly around the chamber. He had just seen it! Where could it be? He turned and a sharp point dug into the skin at his neck. His eyes followed the length of his blade to find Harkon holding it. The Vampire Lord smiled and the glassy look in his eyes was back for good.

"Die!" Harkon sneered and brought the blade back to behead him.

Before he could, a sword entered his chest. Harkon's eyes flew to him and Whitland tugged the conjured blade free.

"I couldn't agree more." stated Whitland and waited for the life to fade from his eyes before allowing the sword to dissipate. He smiled, and his teeth were stained red.

Clutching his side, his face contorted into a look of pain. He pulled his hand away to find it was coated in blood. A red light flashed somewhere in the edges of his vision before he wobbled and fell to the floor. He blacked out.

Whitland felt something being pressed to his lips and swallowed. His throat seared. He sat up coughing, and groaned as his body throbbed with pain. His vision swirled before refocusing and he made out Serana kneeling next to him. He let himself relax, but realized the lighting was far too dark for them to be in the cathedral anymore.

"Where are we?" he asked, surprised that his throat didn't hurt when he spoke. In fact, it felt perfectly fine. He spotted a healing potion on the ground beside him and another mystery of the ages was solved. His gaze was drawn back to Serana.

"We're in the hall outside the doors to the cathedral." she answered. "I've been trying to keep you and Elvyr alive these past few hours."

Whitland allowed himself to lie back down. On closer inspection, he noticed that her armor had been repaired and she seemed to be making a full recovery. "How is Elvyr doing?"

"He was close to death when I found him, but nowhere near the state you were in. He hasn't woken yet, but he should be fine."

Whitland closed his eyes. "Good," he exhaled, "And you? How are you doing?" He managed to crack a smile. "Holding up with all the blood?"

"A little weak, but I'm probably doing the best out of the three of us. All I have is a little head pain and a headache here or there." She sighed. "As for the blood, it isn't that bad. The worst is over now that you're no longer staining the stones red. I found a blood potion in the castle and take a few sips whenever it gets hard."

"Mmm." he replied and felt himself about to nod off. He felt Serana shake him. Unhappily, he forced his eyes open to look at her. "What?" he asked weakly, hearing the deep stirrings of sleep.

Serana's bright amber eyes were concerned. "You can't go to sleep right away." she said softly. "You might not wake back up."

His eyes opened a little further. "I see." he said mildly. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall for support. He clenched his jaw as his wounds were jostled from the movement and his hands grasped at his side.

Looking exasperated, Serana pushed his hands aside and pulled the tattered hem of his shirt up to see. A white bandage had been taped to his wound to prevent infection and to allow the gash to seal over. Blood had seeped out and blotted the cloth in dark patches of crimson.

"Your wound reopened." said Serana distractedly. Her eyes had turned dark, almost as black as her pupils. She took a breath to steady herself. "I'll have to put a fresh one on."

He said nothing, not until she ripped the bandage off in one sharp yank. His side stung and his breath escaped through gritted teeth. "What was that for?" he managed.

Serana regarded him calmly. "That was for almost dying and getting into this state. It's the only thing I can do to you right now without you bleeding out. Didn't you bring any health potions with you?"

"Didn't you?"

"Yes, I had to use them all on Elvyr and you, and that wasn't even enough. You're avoiding the question." she accused. She grabbed a roll of cloth and tore a new bandage to wrap the wound.

"Guilty," he admitted cheerfully and watched as she patched him up. Her fingers were cold and pleasant on his skin. "But you know me. I rather have the thousand year old potion I found in a burial tomb than anything I cooked up."

"What would you do without me?" she muttered, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

"I don't know." he said, and his eyes were serious. "That's why I need you."

Serana paused in her work, and her entire body froze. She risked a look at him and a tension filled the air that was almost thick enough to bottle. Her touch was sudden electricity on his skin and their eyes caught. Her lips parted, but a groan stopped whatever she was going to say, or do. With quick efficiency, she finished taping up his wound and headed over to Elvyr. For the first time since waking up, Whitland finally took notice of him. The Nord was tossing and turning in his sleep and perspiration beaded on his head. However, it appeared all of his injuries had been tended to and healed.

Serana felt his forehead and swore quietly to herself. "I think he has a fever, but it's hard to tell." she said and gestured to her naturally cold hands.

"Perhaps you should make a comparison?" he suggested innocently. "I believe I have no fever as of yet."

She raised an eyebrow at his boldness, but scooted over until there was almost no space between the two. He could feel her breath on his face and watched as she placed the back of her hand on his forehead with a look of complete concentration. His eyes slipped close on their own accord. He could be content all day like this.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" she murmured, making him come back to reality.

His eyes opened to find her staring at him, her hand still on his head. He smiled at her tiredly. "Never."

A tiny smile appeared on her face, but it was strained. Up close, he could see the light circles starting to appear underneath her eyes and the raw pain hidden in her expression. He sobered up quick. It was not the time to share jokes and laughs with her father's killer.

Serana seemed to sense the change within him. She withdrew her hand quickly and the moment was lost. She went back over to Elvyr to recheck his temperature. His thrashing from earlier had stopped now and he laid quite still, his breathing deep and sound. Serana's lips pressed together to make a line. "I was right, he has a fever." she confirmed.

"What can we do?"

She shrugged. "There's nothing much I can do. I'll put a wet piece of cloth on his forehead and let it pass. I'm out of stock in potions."

He nodded and watched as she did it, his eyes growing impossibly heavier by the second. It was through half lidded eyes when he saw her come back over and take a seat next to him against the castle wall. It was quiet and he hated it, this feeling of self loathing.

"I'm sorry," he grated, knowing Serana would realize what he was talking about. He felt her draw closer to his side and suddenly felt the cold emanating in waves from her body. It sent a small shock to his system, and his eyes opened fully for a handful of seconds before returning to their earlier state. She shifted.

"It's okay," she said, her tone hushed and sad, "It had to be done." She wasn't convincing.

His eyes were shut, but he drew an arm around her and brought her close. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice laced tight with the pain he had caused her.

He felt her head rest on his shoulder. "I know," she said. "You're forgiven." She sounded as tired as he felt, but he could hear the sincerity in her voice. Feeling more at peace with himself, Whitland allowed the warm blanket of sleep envelope his mind just as Serana did the same next to him. A few thoughts drifted across his mind before he went out like a light; Harkon had fallen. The threat was over.

How foolish he was.

A/N As you can see, I changed up the battle between Harkon and the Dragonborn. Also you might be able to tell that the story is far from over yet… I haven't even started the next chapter yet so don't be expecting miracle work. Please send reviews, they're always greatly appreciated. Heck, half the time I wonder if anyone even reads my author notes (I've been guilty of such crimes), send me review just saying you read this.

Your Author,

M.M.