Fingertips, smooth and dry, streamed in a sluggishly silken flow down her back, resting heavily with cool pressure along the ridges of her spine. Serana raked in her silent sob, sucking in the air in a harsh gasp. Using the ruined sleeve of her shirt she scrubbed away her tears, pulling away from the haven of Maesa's warm body.
Glassy and glistening, Maesa's eyes slid open and shut. Barely clinging onto her conscious thoughts. Serana could see the ebb and flow of her exhaustion roll out and in, a gentle tide that would soon sweep her into deep, dreamless sleep.
"My darling." Serana soothed, caressing Maesa's drawn face as she felt the woman's touch slip slightly, becoming slack. "Don't sleep just yet, you need to wash first."
Maesa peered up at her, heavy half-lids arced over a wispy smile. "I'll try." She promised.
A frown, barely a murmur of her muscles, crossed her dear face. Her fingertips drew in a whispering meander from her back to Serana's cheek, where the older woman's best efforts had not managed to completely dry the trail of her tears.
"It's alright now Serana." She soothed, skimming her thumb across the damp curve of her cheek.
Serana took her hand from her face, and tenderly pulled the palm to her lips. She kissed the skin just long enough to leave a blush of tingling warmth, hidden where no one would see.
She turned the woman's fingers inwards to cover her kiss. They would soon be interrupted by the servants, laden low with the bath Ulfric had demanded. She would not show weakness in front of the Jarl, she would not show him where he could hurt her.
Serana caught once again the weariness in the other woman's eyes. In an attempt to keep her there, awake, she turned her efforts to humour.
"Calder was right, that mage who tended you was a little lacking in his bedside manners." She smiled, though her expression soured as she glanced at the sticky wound.
"Wuunerth means well." Maesa chuckled. It was a dry, rasping sound that made Serana wince. "He's never been a much of a mage for the arts of Restoration."
"I can see that." She observed, glimpsing the twitch of exposed muscle with the open gash. She was alive, that mattered more. Yet she could not help some small bitterness rise in her at the crudeness of it. Distantly she wondered if Maesa would be able to draw her bow again.
"I can mend it." Maesa interrupted her thoughts, the weakness in her voice taking almost all assurance from her words. She looked to her own shoulder and grimaced as her body twisted. "I can mend it in the morning."
A business like knock from the door alerted both women to the arrival of the bath. Serana gave Maesa's hand a final squeeze before parting from her briefly, walking across the room, and opening the small heavy door.
Three servants, dressed well, if plainly, stood there, the two men bearing between them a large metal tub. She stepped aside to allow them to carry the vessel into the room. The woman accompanying them brought a small basket.
It took a few trips for the servants to fill the tub, hauling up from the kitchens no doubt, pitcher after pitcher of steaming water. Once it was filled they departed respectfully, the female staying just outside the door to wait for Serana to summon them to remove everything when they were done.
With the door firmly closed and barred, Serana turned her attentions to the contents of the basket. In several neatly folded layers, separated by crisp white linen, lay clothing and bathing supplies, bottles and tonics, along with two wash cloths. The Jarl seemed to have thought of everything.
Serana worried, her nerves itching slightly with the realisation that such supplies were so readily available in what had so far proved to be a most unlikely of settings. Ulfric did not seem the sort to preen, and there had been no sight of any women within the palace, bar the servants. Though on reflection their entrance had been somewhat rushed.
She let the suspicions sink into the depths of her mind. She had another task to attempt before she had time to theorise and concoct conspiracies.
"If I help you, can you sit?" She asked attentively of the still prone woman, walking back across to her, catching sight of the wound once more, its prominence pulsating defiantly.
Maesa glanced back to it, narrowing her eyes, wetting her lips and gritting her teeth. "I'm not sure. Let's try."
Serana bent low over her. There was a slight tremble in the younger woman as their bodies drew close. Serana slid her hands around her, weaving her fingers around the tensed muscles, over the warm skin.
To hold her close, to embrace her like this…
She could not afford to let her thoughts free for the moment.
With a moment's hesitation Maesa hooked her uninjured arm up behind the older woman's neck, her fingers spread flat on the plain of her back, the warm pressure of the contact causing her heat to soak into Serana's bones.
"Are you ready?" Serana asked, her pale lips close to Maesa's ear, their cheeks brushing lightly.
Maesa gave her accent.
With the greatest of care affordable to her within the circumstance of the moment, Serana began to lift. Maesa could do little more than hang on and be held as the freshly blooded vampire eased her up. Her body was solid, warm, real. It pressed against her own as tenderly, Serana slid her off the table, standing her against its supportive solidity.
She did not let her go. She would not let her fall.
A sheen of sweat glistened upon Maesa's face. The pale pink swell of her lips parted a slither to take in deeper breaths. There was pain in her face. New pain. Fresh pain. Serana immediately wished to stop.
The ever-present rancid smell of the blood and gore reminded her she couldn't.
Instead she urged the depleted woman to lean against her, her trembling frame slumped forward, forehead resting within the arch of her shoulder blade.
The undressing process was neither dignified nor arousing. There was a time and place to address such niceties, and that was stolen from them both, for the moment, by exhaustion and injury.
Once finished, the last of her ruined clothing falling to the flagstones, Serana encircled the now naked woman in her arms. She held the fading ghost of Maesa's own warmth within her veins. The Imperials blood alive and nourishing her. For a brief time she was warm enough to provide some small comfort in the chill of the deep night.
"Can you walk?" she asked against the tight skin of Maesa's neck.
She felt her give the smallest shake of her head. It seemed she had been drained of energy to talk.
Serana scooped up her weakening frame, one arm beneath the fold of her legs, the other around the curve of her back. She felt lighter now, more a being of paper, her limbs lolling like that of a doll.
Taking each step slowly, conscious always of the risk of further injury should her movements judder or shake, Serana carried her over to the bath. It was a haven of steam, the tendrils weaving around her toes and fingers. Warm, inviting. She knelt at its edge, lowering Maesa carefully into the waters waiting embrace.
Maesa swayed in the water, her head hung low as the prop of Serana's shoulder moved away.
"Stay awake my darling." She pleaded again.
The poor woman tried. The effort of it pulled at Serana's chest. Maesa tried to place her uninjured hand on the base of the bath, seeking to steady herself. Within a breath its strength collapsed, and it was only for Serana's quick reactions that Maesa did not fall bodily against the hard metal.
Maesa's smoky gaze found her with great difficulty, her mouth only managing a limp twitch, mistakable for a small smile.
"I'm so tired." She breathed, her words shifting the rising coils of steam. "I'm sorry."
This wasn't going to work. There was no chance she could hold Maesa steady and wash her if she could not keep her own body upright. And it would only get worse not better.
A bubble of fear, of nerves broiled in her chest. She knew was she must do. It was all she could think of to do. The practice of it make her soul wince. It wasn't fair, to either of them, too be forced into something like this.
Something so… intimate.
Leaning right over the side of the tub Serana reached to Maesa's jaw, catching the firm angle of it with her fingers. She drew her eyes towards her own, at once gaining the woman's entire remaining attention.
"Hold onto the edge of the tub." She ordered.
She was not used to giving orders, and the words fell from her too harshly.
Seeing the confusion in Maesa's troubled face, she softened her hold, turning instead to caress her jaw with the gentle curve of her finger tips.
"Just for a while my darling." She promised softly. "Just whilst I change."
After a moment Maesa nodded languidly. With Serana's help she moved her uninjured hand to the lip of the tub, and gripped it, tightly, her knuckles bleaching with the effort.
Serana stripped with haste, not caring, or at least not having time to care for her own modesty.
She stepped gingerly into the steaming waters behind Maesa, her curled frame hunched forward, towards the edge she was focused on holding. Serana sat, her legs slipping around, the blush of her inner thigh touching Maesa's hips.
The younger woman did not react to her presence at first. Not until Serana drew her back, the curve of her spine coming to rest against her chest.
"I'm here." She whispered as Maesa turned slightly, her muscles tense, uneasy, panicked.
Soothingly, she rubbed her hands up her arms, rivulets of water caressing their skin. She was careful to avoid the wound. Slowly, ever so slowly, like the melting of spring snow, Maesa relaxed in her arms.
"I'll always be here."
Maesa melted back into her embrace.
An inner heat, not from the water, nor from the precious mortal, stirred within Serana's belly. The tongues of this ghostly pyre licked and crept across her body, weaving around every rib, catching a small ember in every hair.
She stole a slow deep breath, hoping it would steady her. If her heart were capable, it would be pounding. If she had a pulse, it would be rising to the surface of her warming skin, joining with Maesa's. Mingling, entwining. Till neither could tell where the other ended and they began.
She washed Maesa and the blood trickled away. It stained the water a rosy-red. Behind it their skin was left smelling sweetly of the soaps and lotions, perfumed with rings of supple scent, that curled hypnotically into Serana senses.
She did her best to wash them both. To clean away all the sins of the last few terrible hours. To leave only the glimpse of a memory, soon to fade away like the steam.
Cleansed, the older woman took up the younger in a thick embrace and lifted her from the muddied water. She towelled her down, shrouded her sweet scented body in a haven of a snowy cotton night gown, and warmed her with a lingering embrace as she tucked her beneath the blankets and furs of the deep, wide bed.
The servant that had waited beyond the door, was stooped, half-asleep on her feet.
Once roused she fetched the other two and together they removed the dirtied water, the remnants of the bathing things, their dirtied clothes, and the stained table. Only one dared pause in their tasks, and only once. Their eyes had been caught, and then mesmerised by Maesa's dark curls swept back across the cream white pillows. Serana fixed their attentions with a glare and they hurried out.
Bolted and locked away, the world retreated from their haven.
Serana padded her way across to the bed, lowering the lanterns light, casting the room in the sole honeyed glow of the flickering fire place.
She lay low in the folds of fur and cloth. At once Serana let her eyelids shut, she was so tired. She found contentment in listening to the steady easing of Maesa's calmed breaths.
Cautiously she reached out, her fingers creeping across the space between them, pushing fabric aside till she could once more feel the warmth skin. She ached to feel its solidity, it's warmth. She wanted nothing more than to gather Maesa in her arms, and sleep with her slumbering soundly against her chest. But she would make do with just a touch, a brush, an assurance that she was still there, in the dark.
Sernan almost withdrew when she felt Maesa shift. But another set of fingers seeking her closed around her wrist, halting her retreat. The touch came to rest, the fingers laying lightly over Serana's absent pulse.
When she dared to peek between her lashes Serana saw the murky outline of Maesa's beautiful face in the low light. She could see the glisten of her eyes. Watching her, waiting for something.
"Sleep now my darling." Serana soothed breathlessly, swallowed up by the thought of her gaze.
But Maesa did not close her eyes. She remained still, waiting.
When Serana said no more she weakly tugged at her wrist, urging Serana closer.
Only when Serana's ear was a breath from her mouth did Maesa whisper her fears.
"Promise me you'll stay."
Serana swallowed, throat dry, eyes scratchy and sore from a day of tears. She eased herself back a little ways, so that they could both lay comfortably.
"I promise." She said, meaning every word. "I couldn't leave if I tried. You have my heart."
Silently, softly, Maesa fell into sleep, surrendering finally to the tide that carried her off to distant shores.
Serana would follow shortly. Once she had taken in every aspect of this precious moment.
It was a gift. This quiet. Peace came so rarely.
"Why did you help me?" Serana asked, sipping the pale wine between her red lips, tilting the ringing cup smoothly.
Beside her, nestled amongst pillows grey of silk, Maesa traced the veins of her arm with a listless finger.
"You were lost my love." She explained, her nail grazing the sensitive skin, leaving naught but a shiver. "I saw it in your eyes, streaming in the dim-light of the crypt, like a new born. I could not do anything else."
Serana placed her goblet atop the low table beside them. Her crimson gown whispered as her fingers caught and captured her lover's restless hand.
"What of after?" She asked touching her lips to each of her fingers in turn, leaving only a blush behind her.
"You never stopped." Maesa continued laying back with a sigh, amongst their hoard of finery. "Not when we reached your father. Not when you came back to me in Whiterun. Not even when you kissed me for the first time. You always seemed so lost. So fragile."
At the mention of that distant kiss the older woman obeyed, brushing her painted lips across her languishing lady.
"I never wanted to leave you there, I hated it. Every step that took me from you that first time, it tore at my soul."
Serana shushed her, lying beside her. "You are here now. We are together. Not even that 'Lord' could take you from me."
Maesa surrendered to her as Serana lifted her lips to meet her mouth. Caught up and carried in the bliss of each other, the world beyond them crumbled into a dreary haze. All of colour, all of life, all of love could be found in each other's arms. They need want for nothing more than each other.
Serana looked out across the many dishes. Steaming bowls of terracotta, laden with hot porridge, swirls of honey breaking the pebbled surface. Swathes of cold meats, set out in fans of cooked flesh on a wide platter. Shining apples taken fresh from the palace stores. Small loaves still aglow from the ovens heat.
In the face of all this food, the perversity of its grandeur, Serana had never felt less hungry in all her life. How were two people supposed to eat such a feast. Surely even the most glutinous of house guests could barely manage a quarter of what lay before her, even then at a great push.
Perhaps Ulfric meant to show off the bounties of his household and wider province. If that was his aim, her feelings would leave him greatly disappointed.
She drew away from the table, turning her attentions away from the food, cast her gaze to the window, and then out into the pale grey light of the early morning, the sky already dusted with thick, fluffy snowflakes.
She shouldn't bear unfounded prejudices against the man or his motivations. In her own mind she'd already labelled him the villain. Yet she'd barely heard him speak two words to her, and what's more he had freely given Maesa shelter in his palace.
Her thoughts turned to all that Maesa had told her about Ulfric and her good graces soured a touch. Gracious host or not she would have to keep an eye on the Lordling.
Having made her way over to the window she sighed and leant her forehead against the icy glass, relishing its predictable chill grimly.
That said, of course he would also be keeping a close eye on her. She'd seen the first hint of it last night when he'd looked at Serana. He was weighing her up, her use, her threat.
Yes.
He would be watching closely.
He, and all of his advisors, servants, and possibly subjects. Maesa was something to be prized, loath as Serana was to say it. She was not naïve enough to miss the meaning of the 'alliance' the young woman had mentioned.
If her father had taught her anything useful he'd taught her something of the delicate dance of politics. And in politics the best and most lasting form of 'alliance' was marriage.
The word thundered around within her mind forming a dull ache as it echoed there. Ulfric may be seeking to marry Maesa. Probably not to himself. Not with the problematic relations between the races that seemed to thread through everything in these strange times. No, it was more likely that he'd marry her to someone in his court, or close relations, if he had any.
In this game the most powerful piece to be bartered was Ulfric himself. Maesa would have to wield a truly remarkable amount of influence to tempt the 'future king' of the 'true sons and daughters of Skyrim' into wedded bliss.
She softly thumped her head against the moulded glass, closing her eyes tightly. There was a tugging within the cavity of her chest. Between her breasts, where her heart had once been. With every unspoken syllable of a possible future where Maesa was taken away from her, something within her tightened. It grew tighter and tighter till it was so taut Serana felt breathless. Tension, fear, terror.
She lifted herself from the glass and stood straight.
It would not happen.
Silently she padded her way across the room to the bed, her route meandering and hesitant though she didn't really understand why. She pulled her thin shawl around her shoulders tighter, not for the warmth that she could not feel, but the memory of the comfort such an action had brought her in the past.
She hesitated a moment, then knelt beside the bed, her amber eyes watching its occupant.
She was still asleep. Her eyelids fluttering with the untold happenings of her dreams.
A smile crept, quite unbidden, across Serana's lips.
Maesa's hair was a mess. Curls and locks twisted and tumbled thickly, thrown to all angles during the night. She'd never woken before her, never seen her in her morning chaos, clothes twisted and rucked, hair unmanaged, limbs curled loosely as if in memory of infancy, tucked in the cradle of careless sleep.
Serana lay her fingers atop the soft curl of Maesa's, weaving them together delicately as they rested upon the pillows beside her cheek. The renewed chill of her skin woke the younger woman slowly. Serana eased her along, brushing her thumb over the bony peaks of her knuckles.
Maesa blinked a few times slipping reluctantly away from her dreams, her eyes finding and then coming to rest upon Serana's face. She smiled, and she was beautiful.
"Good morning." She breathed, the dregs of sleep making her just a little raspy.
"Good morning." Serana felt her lips reflect her sleepy smile. "How do you feel?"
The Imperial squeezed Serana's fingers lightly. She seemed curiously pensive for a moment, looking across Serana's face, searching for something.
"So, it really happened. All of it." She whispered faintly. "It wasn't a dream."
How dearly Serana wished it was. "No my dear." She replied solemnly. "None of it was."
Her eyes faltered in their calm gaze for a moment, the misty irises dilating. "The murder. The Butcher. Wuunerth. Ulfric… You…" with good cause she did not finish her summary of the day's events, though it was clear from her troubled expression that she remembered.
Serana nodded, knowing immediately of what she dared not speak. There were many reasons not to mention it again. Beyond her own desires to erase the event, they could no longer be certain of who was listening. They were in the Jarl's palace. If anywhere was likely to be well monitored, it was here.
"Yes. Even that." Serana confirmed, looking away for a moment, before forcing herself to look back.
Maesa lay back deeper in the comfort of the bed, closing her eyes tightly for a long moment.
A dry laugh escaped her in a short bark.
"What a day to have lived through." She sighed.
"You're lucky to have lived through it at all." Serana's solemnity drew Maesa's gaze to her again, but before the woman could speak Serana cut her off.
"You could have died." She thrust the words forward, pressing with all her conviction that simple truth.
'You did die.' She added silently.
She took up Maesa's hand, already clasped within one of her own, and held it firmly to her chest with both, her fingers trembling. "Prove to me that your taking that seriously. Prove to me you understand what happened yesterday. What could still happen."
The stones beneath her bare legs were growing uncomfortably cold. She'd prefer to be sat upon the bed. Serana would happily take up the opportunity to be within it again. Lying beside Maesa, holding her, savouring her warmth.
Yet where she now was, knelt upon the floor, their heads level with one another, their eyes meeting neatly, was precisely where she needed to be.
Maesa had seldom portrayed anxiousness, Serana could recount only a few instances. She'd seemed to be able overwhelmingly to be consistently calm. Even in the aftermath of Serana's attack.
Yet, now a small worry was rattling her nerve. Serana could see it there amongst the lines of her brow, her face trembling almost imperceptibly.
"I know what happened." She whispered a tremble to her gentle voice. "I understand. I understood it yesterday. But I…" She hesitated, once more squeezing Serana's hands that remained clasped so tightly around her own. "…I cannot send you away Serana."
She looked so small, so fragile amidst the coverlets of their bed. The bed they had shared. When Serana had awoken Maesa had been curled into her body, her face pressed up against the swell of Serana's breast. She'd protested, murmuring in her sleep when she'd moved away, reaching out for her limply, seeking the ghost of Serana's warmth.
Serana took in a deep shaking breath, and with every syllable she next spoke she felt her mouth grow dry. "When it happened, when you were… I prayed, Maesa. I begged the Nine to bring you back. I haven't… prayed for centuries." She pulled Maesa's hand to her face, touched the smooth skin to her quivering lips. "I cannot lose you. Not again. I would break."
Maesa looked at her, so sadly, so softly. "I may die tomorrow." She said. "I might die at any moment from any of a thousand different things Serana. I am never truly safe. Neither of us are. We are both in constant danger for our lives. But…" She slid her hand out of Serana's hold and with the utmost tenderness, cradled her cheek against her palm. "I would lose you if I sent you away. And you would lose me."
Sadness and joy mixed so potently within Serana, tumbled and roiled, battling for some form of dominance, that she could not speak. She could only be. Knelt on the cold floor. Lost, alone, and yet not, trapped between the very real danger that she would lose everything if she stayed, and the certainty that she would lose Maesa if she left.
When the younger woman spoke again it was with conviction, a quiet, certain strength that made her every word potent. "I will find a way. I promise I will find a way. Until then, please, stay with me?"
Saturated with growing fondness that was already far more than such a simple word could adequately describe, Serana rocked herself forward on her knees, and pressed a long, lingering kiss to Maesa's forehead.
Though doubt licked cruelly at the edges of her mind she knew she could do nothing but promise what she had already promised in the cool quiet of the night. Her cool lips brushing against Maesa's skin she murmured "I promise."
"How is your shoulder?" She asked, attempting to soothe her quiet worries as she withdrew. "Have you tried moving it yet?"
Maesa's anticipation of the pain drew a tight, premature grimace across her face, her eyes flitting down to the offending appendage a few times between seeking assurance of necessity from Serana. She drew in a shaky breath, and hesitantly, tried to lift her injured arm from where it lay.
She got no further than a breath from the mattress before a sheen of fine sweat had soaked her brow, and a bitten back whimper murmured from behind her clamped teeth, the limb came back to rest limply.
"Damn it!" Maesa cursed softly, wiping aside her perspiration with her uninhibited hand. "Damn it all."
Serana gathered her shawl from her shoulders, then she pressed in carefully to Maesa's forehead and cheeks. "It's alright." She soothed. "It's only been a night. I didn't expect you to be capable of throwing a punch at somebody." Her attempt at humour, weak as it was, solicited a short supressed chuckle and a half smile. Serana took it as a good sign. "Besides, as you said last night, Wuunerth's Restoration skills could do with a little polish."
This coaxed a full smile.
Then, it faltered, and disappeared. In its place Serana saw Maesa stare, her eyes as round and full as the paler moon. Following the direction Serana's breath caught.
The removal of her shawl had caused the light cotton of her nightdress to quite curiously slip aside, revealing beneath its snow white fabric the milky alabaster of her skin as it swept across the curve of her left shoulder.
It was only now, as Maesa reached up to touch her, her fingers curled into supple, tentative arcs, that Serana appreciated just how pale she was in comparison to her. How her skin was like ivory, how Maesa's was like rose tinted gold.
She was frozen in place, the neat bundle of her shawl resting beside Maesa's head, clutched tightly in her hand. She dared not watch the tilting ascent of the fingers, their arduous climb through the thick, still air. She would know when they had reached their peak, she would know when Maesa touched her.
Instead she focused herself upon the anticipation of the moment and watched Maesa. Her smoky pale eyes, lidded low, bordered in thick lashes, her lips ever so slightly parted, the coil of a held breath just beneath the curve. Paper dry, her own breath came slow as her tongue grew large in her mouth, smothering all words. Then she felt it. The first prickle of unrequired explorative touch.
She traced pinpoint stars, those rosy-gold fingers, across the sensitive skin of her shoulder. She wove the pattern into a caress. There was a silent agreement, an understanding, passed between them.
In their want, their affection, their desires, they were not alone. They had the best of company, they had each other.
An agitated, terse tapping came from the door. Maesa's caress fell away like broken glass.
Serana vowed silently to kill whoever was beyond the door.