Yay! We're finally on the chapter I worked so hard on. Things will start moving a little bit more quickly now (in more ways than one).

Have I mentioned that my self-confidence is non-existent? Because I keep wondering if I'm being true to the characters. Ah, well. No time like the present, right?

"These guards are looking at us weird," Serana muttered.

"I know," Nathan replied. "Just ignore them, and they should ignore you."

"That's the advice you give someone when they're dealing with bears, not people, Nathan!"

He snorted. "Don't worry. Most of these guards would be lucky to have the intelligence of a bear. We'll be fine."

She wasn't so sure. They'd arrived at Dragon Bridge an hour ago, and had wasted time asking dozens of people if they had seen a Moth Priest around. None of them had, and they all asked questions that neither Nathan nor Serana could answer without raising even more questions.

Dragon Bridge was a small town, with only a few people living in it. As such, they were a tight-knit community, and everyone knew everyone else's business. It sort of reminded Serana of her father's court, though far less malevolent and (literally) blood-thirsty. And like Harkon's court, people were starting to get suspicious of simple actions.

She didn't like it when people stared at her. It made her feel like an object in a display case—boxed in, and only there for someone else to use or enjoy. She refused to be any of those things. That was part of why she was in this whole mess in the first place. Well, that and her psychotic family members.

"Relax," Nathan advised her under his breath. "You look like you just assassinated the Emperor."

Serana relaxed her shoulders. They were standing under a tree for the shade that it provided. The sun was high in the sky, and since there was no cloud cover, it seemed even more oppressive than usual. Despite the hood she wore to cover her face, she felt like a group of angry villagers were burning her at the stake from the heat. They'd been searching for a while, had found nothing, and now people were getting suspicious. And he wanted her to relax?

She turned to glare at him. He had managed to stay calm and collected, like this was something that happened every frustrating day. His posture was almost slouched, and he crossed his arms as he leaned against the tree. His glowing amber eyes scanned the village behind her, but if she looked carefully enough, she thought she could see a trace of worry there as well.

The words had burst out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about them. "Why are you doing this?"

His eyes immediately flicked to hers with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Serana could have kicked herself. What a stupid, blunt way to put it.

Then again, she usually was fairly blunt. Why did she care this time?

She tried again, attempting to be a bit more gentle with her question, but not really sure why she made the effort. "Why are you helping my father?"

There a million other questions she wanted to add. Can't you see that he's a lunatic? and Don't you know that thousands of people will suffer if he manages to complete the prophecy? made the top of the list.

Nathan made a thoughtful face as he contemplated her words. Now that he had his eyesight, his facial expressions were much easier to read. He seemed unsure, then conflicted, and finally…sad?

"I suppose," he said eventually, his voice slow and deliberate, like he was being careful. "That I owe Harkon a debt for the eyesight that he gave me."

She realized two things as he spoke: that Nathan had neglected to use the title "lord" for her father, and that the "gift" that Harkon had given him had been purely eyesight, not power. No, this half-elf was not obsessed with power like the other vampires of the court.

"And it's not like I have anything else to do," Nathan added. "Besides, I'm curious to see how this turns out."

The last two reasons sounded much more compelling that the supposed "debt" that he owed her father. At least, that's how Nathan made it sound.

Curiosity and boredom. She could work with that.

Serana opened her mouth to speak—though unsure what words would come out—but another voice interrupted before she had a chance.

"Hi! Are you a soldier? Someday I'm going to be a soldier!"

Nathan and Serana both turned to find a young boy of about eleven staring back at them. He wore a blue tunic and red pants (which seemed like an odd combination to her, but who was she to judge?) and, strangely, had a goat at his side. He had brown hair shaved close to his scalp, and his dark eyes were lit up with a sort of childlike excitement.

Serana felt a sort of ache in her chest when she looked at the boy. He had an innocence about him, and seemed happy. As a child, she'd never really had naivete, which seemed like a bizarre thing to wish for. She'd been happy, of course. But that was before everything had gotten so messed up. She was loathe to admit that she still yearned for both things. As a result, she wasn't sure how to react to the sudden appearance of the child.

Nathan, on the other hand, grinned widely, and the expression seemed to melt away all his previous exhaustion. He kneeled down so that he and the boy were at eye level, and if the kid was perturbed by Nathan's glowing eyes, he didn't show it.

"Actually," Nathan said, still grinning, "I'm a Legate in the Imperial Army."

The boy's face split into an amazed smile. "Really?"

Nathan nodded. "Really."

It was hard to explain, but to Serana, it seemed that Nathan's eyes were lit up with the same childlike energy that the boy possessed. This came as an unexpected surprise, especially when the thought, he's really very handsome when he does that, ran through her head. She immediately tried to silence it, but it was like trying to break a brick wall with a bale of hay.

"What's your name, bud?" Nathan asked.

"Clinton," the boy replied in a proud voice. "What's your name, mister?"

Nathan stuck out his hand for the young Imperial to shake. "Nathan."

Clinton looked absolutely starstruck as his small hand shook Nathan's larger one, and Serana couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Say, Clinton," Nathan said, cocking his head at the boy. "You wouldn't have happened to see a Moth Priest come through here, would you?"

Now he's being ridiculous, she thought. If none of the other townsfolk knew, how can this boy—

Clinton frowned, though he still looked eager to help. "I don't know what a Moth Priest is, but…I did see an old man in a robe not too long ago. He was riding in a wagon with some Imperial didn't stop to visit, though."

Nathan's grin widened, so much so that Serana thought it would crack his face in two. "Did you see where they went, Clinton?"

The boy scrunched up his faith in thought. "They rode through town, heading south, and went across the big bridge. It was only just a little bit ago. I bet you could catch them if you hurry up."

Now Nathan was positively beaming. "Thanks, Clinton." He dug into his pack for a moment and dug out a small coin pouch. "Why don't you go buy yourself a wooden sword, or maybe some sweets?"

Clinton's grin rivaled Nathan's. "Wow! Thanks, mister!" He hugged Nathan briefly, then grabbed the coin pouch and ran off, his goat trailing behind him.

Nathan dusted himself as he stood, still grinning a little bit. He paused when he noticed Serana staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "You're just really good with kids."

His smile turned a little rueful at that. "I just treat them the way I wanted to be treated as a kid." His grin faded without warning. "Come on. Let's go get that Moth Priest."

—||||||||||—

Nathan thought it very fortunate that he had decided to take his bow and arrows with him this time around. It was even more fortunate that they were his best bow and arrows.

Both had take him an incredibly long time to craft. The dragonbone bow originally had spikes jutting out of the front of it, but after a few cuts and torn clothes, Nathan had carefully whittled the spikes down to nonexistence. The pale bone of the archery weapon had been dyed a dark gray so that it wouldn't stand out in darkness, and the grip had been painstakingly adjusted to fit his hand perfectly. Paarthurnax called it Vokunos, or "Shadow Striker." Nathan thought the name was a bit dramatic.

The arrows had taken significantly less effort to craft, but it was by no means easy to get the dragonbone that narrow, and just the right weight to be shot from the bow. Normally, he wouldn't have wasted the arrows in a small cave such as Forebears' Hideout, but when he saw who was waiting for them, he was immediately glad that he had brought them.

The Dawnguard had arrived.

Before, if someone had told him that the Dawnguard would take out a large group of vampires, he would have laughed. When he'd arrived at Fort Dawnguard, it had been little more than a storage facility, with a maximum of three people guarding it at all times. But when Nathan and Serana snuck into Forebears' Hideout, he couldn't deny that the group of vampire hunters had grown very organized very quickly. There had to be at least twenty of them in the small cave system, all armed to the teeth. They'd somehow managed to take out the rival group of vampires that he and Serana had tracked from a wrecked cart along the road leading from Dragon Bridge.

"Mara's toenails," Nathan cursed. He ignored the strange look that Serana gave him at his words and notched an arrow to his bow. He hadn't been expecting the Dawnguard to be there and didn't want them to be.

It wasn't that he had lingering loyalty to the vampire hunters. For one, he'd had nominal loyalty in the first place, after the racist treatment he'd received from their hands. For another, he accepted that he was a vampire, and he didn't particularly want to be around vampire hunters—which just seemed like common sense. No, his reluctance to be around them was for an entirely different reason.

He hadn't killed a human since becoming a vampire.

He'd killed people before, of course. As Dragonborn, it was sort of part of his job title. But he'd never killed people when he had a raging thirst for blood inside of him.

He'd felt it ever since his visit to the College of Winterhold, even more strongly than it had been before. He wasn't sure if it was because of how long he'd gone without a blood potion, or if had been because of his agitation, or another reason entirely. All that mattered was that on the boat ride back to Solitude, Nathan had drunk himself stupid so that he'd pass out—because the thumping of Guy's blood in his veins had been too loud for Nathan's ears. The only time it hadn't been present was when he had spoken to Clinton, which relieved him in some ways.

It was maddening. Nathan wondered how the other vampires in Castle Volkihar dealt with it, then realized that they didn't—they just ate and drank whatever (more like whoever) they wanted, whenever they felt like it.

The only upside was that he did, indeed, feel more powerful. For some reason, he just knew that he had a strange set of abilities brought about by his lack of feeding. For example, he knew that if he really concentrated, he could turn invisible for a few moments, without the use of a spell. He also knew that he could convince a man not to fight just by looking into their eyes. Powerful abilities, to be sure, but Nathan would have preferred a blood potion. He'd forgotten to take one with him when he and Serana had left the castle.

To sum it all up, he felt nervous about the Dawnguard, not because of what they would do, but because of he might do when he smelled their blood.

"Are you all right?" Serana asked him, when she noticed that he seemed to be breathing slightly heavier than normal.

Nathan snapped himself out of his reverie. "Um, yeah. I'll be fine."

He focused on the layout of the cave to distract himself from his thoughts and the millionth odd look that Serana had given him that day. Forebears' Hideout was a large cavern, with what looked like a collapsed fort inside. Nathan wasn't even sure how the fort had even gotten underground, and he didn't want to think about it lest he give himself another headache. There also seemed to be some kind of magical barrier set up at the top of the fort, and if he squinted, he thought he could make out a gray-robed figure huddled inside of it. Impressive, for a rival group of vampires.

However, the more important part was that several hounds were patrolling around the base of the small fort, and a Dawnguard was walking along the parapets.

It was terrible planning, really. Any archer worth their fletching could easily take out all of them. But Nathan was no ordinary archer. He'd never shot with eyesight before, but it didn't really matter. With magic, he was the best shot in Skyrim.

He closed his eyes and instinctively reached out with his magic, letting the familiar shapes and senses wash over him. Luckily, any magical interference seemed to be limited to the top portion of the fort. In his mind's eye, the Dawnguard members were all outlined in blue, and some of them even had purple mixed in. The disturbing part was that now, with Nathan's enhanced sense of smell, their bodies now had red veins. It didn't really help his matter of thirst much.

He ignored the flash of anxiety that brought on and breathed out as he drew back on the bowstring, just like Niruin had taught him all those years ago. He lined up his arrow with one of the patrolling canines below and released the arrow, letting magic guide his shot.

It was flawless. Nathan barely paused to admire the shot as the first dog went down before drawing back and firing at the next one, and then the one after that. It had taken a span of about four seconds. The Dawnguard patrolling atop the parapets didn't even notice. That was his mistake, and he fell a moment later to a dragonbone arrow.

Nathan opened his eyes to admire his handiwork. The other Dawnguard in the fort didn't suspect a thing. Perfect.

Serana was staring at him. He hated it, but he felt the tips of his slightly pointed ears reddening. He thanked Talos that the cavern was dark, so that she couldn't see.

"What?" he asked her.

"You're just full of surprises today, aren't you?" she replied.

Nathan made a big show of rolling his eyes. He nodded down the steps that led deeper into the cavern and said, "Come on, Castle. We've got a Moth Priest to retrieve."

He heard her hiss in displeasure at the little nickname he'd given her and grinned. Oh, yes. Traveling with her was going to be fun.

His grin faded as he sneaked forward. He could smell the blood that he'd just spilled. Most of it was canine blood—which seemed far from appetizing. But the closer they got to the small fort, the stronger the smell of human blood became. His throat suddenly felt dryer than a desert, and the thing in his chest jerked unexpectedly, stronger than before. He stopped for just a moment when he felt it, then continued on. They were mere feet away from the entrance to the open-space interior of the fort. He drew Vokunos from off his back and readied a bow on his string. He started to lean around the corner to see how many Dawnguard were inside, then realized he was being stupid and reached out with his magic instead.

What he saw gave him pause. "They have an armored troll!" he whispered as quietly as possible to Serana.

She looked worried for about half a second, and then her expression changed to nonchalant. "I guess we'll have to show them how many of those it takes to subdue two vampires."

By the Divines, he liked this woman.

Nathan smiled a small smile to himself and turned back to the entrance. He was about to charge in when he heard a conversation.

"Those vampires put up a hell of a fight. You think they turned him?" a female Dawnguard asked.

"I don't know," another, distinctly male, voice responded. "We won't know until we get him out of there."

"How do we do that?" a third Dawnguard asked.

"Vanik's working on it," the first Dawnguard told the third.

The second one scoffed. "Vanik's dumber than a box of rocks. We're gonna be here for weeks."

"Shh!" a fourth Dawnguard exclaimed. "Do you want him to hear you! Shut it, all of you."

And that was when Nathan rolled out from behind cover, releasing his arrow at the first Dawnguard he saw. With magic, the dragonbone arrow took the heavily armored vampire hunter right in the eye socket. The three other Dawnguard had approximately one second to look surprised before an ice spike from Serana took the one on the right in the chest and a bolt of lightning from Nathan took the one on the left. Both fell, leaving one armored troll and a very scared looking Dawnguard left behind.

The last Dawnguard opened his mouth to shout for help, but an arrow caught in his throat. Blood spurted everywhere as he dropped, and Nathan froze in a half-crouched position on the ground.

The smell of human blood was overwhelming now. As a mortal, the iron-like scent had disgusted him. As a vampire, it made him feel dizzy and weak in the knees. He had to have some of it. Just a drop. Just—

Something crashed into him, knocking him to the side as the armored troll charged forward with a horrendous roar. The troll missed Nathan by mere inches.

Nathan landed hard on his back, and a juddered heartbeat later, Serana was rolling off of him.

"Thanks!" he told her, feeling his ears heat up despite the dangerous situation.

"Icebrain!" she retorted, pulling him to his feet.

Right, Nathan reminded himself as he drew his dragonbone sword. Dawnguard. Armored troll. Moth Priest. Focus, you dolt.

Serana raised her hands—a spell in each—and together they face the armored troll, which was slowly turning to face them. Nathan began to raise his sword, sweat coating his neck due to the burning campfire behind them.

An idea struck him.

"Make it angry," he told Serana.

"What?"

"Do it!"

She shook her head in disbelief as she lifted her hands. "This is idiotic."

"Yep!" Nathan exclaimed with glee.

She rolled her eyes and launched an ice spike at the troll, which had been glaring at them uncertainly. The spike struck it in the chest, but unfortunately the beast's armor plates protected it. Fortunately, it did succeed at making the beast furious.

I think I need to reexamine my definition of "fortunate," Nathan thought as the beast began to charge. He called the telekinesis spell to his left hand, and tugged as hard as he could on the troll's chest plates, turning its trajectory toward him. It roared in rage, and Nathan stood waiting for it.

Three paces.

This was a bad idea.

Two paces.

Was it too late to change his mind?

One pace.

Now!

Nathan dove out of the way at the last possible second, and felt his arm scrape against the troll's shoulder plates. He hit the ground hard about a yard away, and heard a terrible screeching sound behind him.

He rolled over onto his back to see the troll consumed in flames, roaring in agony. As he suspected it would, the troll had charged right into the bonfire that had been behind Nathan. Since the beast's fur was naturally flammable, it was the perfect recipe for roasted troll.

He barely had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before a crossbow bolt thudded into the dirt beside his face. He turned his head to look at it for a second before his instincts kicked in, and he rolled his whole body to the side, right as three more crossbow bolts struck where he'd been a millisecond before.

Nathan jumped to his feet and looked up. The second level of the miniature underground castle overlooked the first, and it was filled with Dawnguard soldiers, all of them wielding crossbows.

"Mara's toenails," he swore for the second time that day. Above him, the archers cocked their crossbows.

One of Serana's ice spikes hit a Dawnguard right in the groin, and they screamed as they fell off the edge. She launched a lightning bolt, which actually managed to hit two Dawnguard. Both dropped like rocks.

Nathan grinned savagely as he called the telekinesis spell to both hands, and pulled on the front of two Dawnguard warriors' armor. Both fell to the ground below them and did not get up again.

The rest of the archers must have recovered their senses, because they actually fired their crossbows. Nathan was forced to roll to the side yet again to save himself, and as soon as he was upright again he pulled two more Dawnguard to their deaths.

Talos curse him, but this was fun. Nathan was having the time of his life, exhilarated for the first time in weeks by a proper battle—even if the other side didn't really stand a chance. When he glanced at Serana, she seemed to be grinning (just slightly) as well. They made a good team.

Finally, there was only one Dawnguard archer left. Frantically, they loaded their crossbow and aimed it at Nathan, but he lazily waved his hand and the man went flying—but not before he fired a crossbow bolt that nicked Nathan's cheek as it flew past.

He cursed as he felt his face with one hand, wincing at the sting he felt. Blasted Dawnguard. If there had been any doubt before, there wasn't now: Nathan was not a fan.

There was still shouting coming from the top level of the fort, and the blue barrier was still strong. Still a few more to go.

Nathan looked at Serana, who was standing a few feet away. He gestured at the stairs leading up to the second level. "Shall we?"

She nodded, somehow managing to look determined and amused at the same time. "Let's."

They strode forward in unison, and Nathan took the free moment to secure his weapons as they climbed the stairs. Sword in one hand and a spell in the other, he stepped up to the second level to find only two Dawnguard waiting for them.

The first was a woman in standard Dawnguard armor. She carried a strange, glowing blue stone in one hand and stood above the body of an orcish vampire. In her other hand, she held a large war axe with the Dawnguard symbol engraved in the metal.

The second had to be Vanik, then. He was a man in heavier armor than the previous warriors. He was completely bald and appeared to be middle-aged. He carried an elven sword and a steel shield with the symbol of the Dawnguard on it, and his lip curled in disgust when he saw Nathan.

"So," Vanik said, sneering at Nathan. "The half-breed decides to be a traitor to all of Tamriel as well as his bloodline. Have you come here to die?"

Now Nathan remembered. He'd met Vanik, at Fort Dawnguard. Vanik had been the most verbally abusive (though the others certainly weren't innocent), calling Nathan a "race-traitor" despite the fact that, technically, he was neither Bosmer nor Nord (his mother had been a fierce Nordic woman). Vanik had also said a lot of other things that Nathan didn't feel comfortable repeating, even in his own head.

His grip tightened on his sword. "We'll see who dies, Vanik. Vampirism is surprisingly good for things like survival."

Vanik scowled. "I'll burn you at the stake, monster."

"I'd love to see you try, prick."

Vanik charged forward suddenly with a fierce yell, and Nathan rushed forward to meet him. The back of his mind, the more analytical side, noticed that Serana stopped the second Dawnguard woman from rushing him as well with a spell that was quickly dodged.

Then Nathan was in the thick of it, thrusting his sword toward Vanik's chest only to have it blocked by Vanik's shield. Vanik slashed at Nathan from the left, and he dodged out of the way, using the telekinesis spell to draw the stalhrim dagger from his ankle into his left hand as he did. For a moment, he and his opponent circled each other, each looking for weaknesses in the other's defense. Across the room, Serana's magical battle with the Dawnguard woman raged, almost loud enough to drown out Nathan's heartbeat in his ears.

He could end the fight very easily by giving Vanik a taste of his thu'um, he knew. But where was the fun in that? No, he'd do this the hard way.

Nathan's eyes flicked to the Moth Priest, who was still cowering inside the blue shield. A second later, they returned to Vanik, and that was all the invitation the vampire hunter needed.

Vanik ran forward, sword thrumming in from the side, aimed for Nathan's neck. But that was exactly what Nathan was counting on.

He twirled out of the way right before Vanik's sword would have made contact and slammed his dagger into the back of Vanik's unprotected knee. The man cried out in pain as he fell to one leg, and Nathan spun, using his momentum to carry his dragonbone sword through Vanik's neck, separating his head from his shoulders cleanly.

Nathan sighed as flicked blood off of his sword. Luckily, the stench of burnt troll was still strong in the air, so he focused on that instead of the blood pouring from—

Nope, he told himself, stubbornly looking up at the cavernous ceiling. Don't think about that.

He looked back down when he realized that it had gone almost completely silent in the cave, save for the soft buzz caused by the swirling blue shield around the Moth Priest. He looked over at Serana and found her leisurely leaning against a coffin, examining her nails as if she'd been standing there for hours.

"What took you so long?" she asked, smirking. Her glowing eyes were lit up with amusement, though she pointedly avoided looking at Vanik's body.

"Oh, you know," Nathan replied, cleaning his sword on the back of his leg. "Had to stretch some sore muscles." He leaned down and took his dagger from Vanik's body, cleaned it, and placed it back in his sheath in one smooth motion. Nathan looked back up at Serana. "What now?"

She held up the strange glowing rock that the other Dawnguard had been holding. "I'm willing to bet that this shuts down that forcefield. You wanna do the honors?"

Nathan shrugged, and she tossed the stone to him. He caught it with both hands and examined the strange markings on it for a moment before looking up yet another set of stairs, where a stone podium sat. Reaching out with his magic, he could feel a small amount of power originating from it, the same kind as the forcefield he stood next to. It was a simple thing to plug the small focus stone into the podium. There was a faint rumbling, and then the shield was gone in the blink of an eye.

The Moth Priest was a man in his mid-forties, with balding gray hair, a long, bushy beard, and worry lines all over his face. He wore simple gray robes, and had a sword that reminded Nathan of the design of the Blades' at his waist. The Moth Priest was hunched over, but suddenly straightened.

His voice rang out in the cavern. "But my master is dead, and his enemies will pay!"

Well, crap, Nathan thought. Whatever control Malkus had exerted over the Moth Priest before his death still seemed to be in effect. Marvelous. Now they'd have to—

The Moth Priest started to step forward, drawing his sword, but then Serana was there. She ducked under his blade and hit him in the back of the head with a rock. The Moth Priest collapsed.

Yep, Nathan thought. I definitely like this woman.

He quickly descended the stairs and stepped up to Serana, who stood over the Moth Priest with an unimpressed look on her face.

"I hope not all priests are this lame," she said, prodding the gray-robed man at her feet with a toe.

Nathan swallowed and didn't answer. Instead, he leaned over the Moth Priest, trying to see just how injured the Imperial was. Other than the bump on the back of his head, he appeared to be in fairly stable condition.

"Now what?" Nathan asked.

Serana looked uncomfortable for half a moment. "Now you need to make him your thrall."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "My thrall? How do I do that?"

She quickly explained it to him, sounding slightly discomfited as she spoke. Nathan assumed that she thought the practice of making thralls was distasteful, and he'd have to agree with her. Although, the feeding part didn't sound half bad to his blood-starved mind…

The Moth Priest at their feet suddenly thrashed, and Nathan put a foot on his chest casually, like stepping on a rock. Below him, the man glared.

"If you think I'll help you," he spat, "you're mistaken."

Nathan said nothing. Instead, he grasped one of the newfound powers that he knew he had and fixed the priest with a hard stare. As soon as the Imperial's eyes met his, his whole body went limp, like a freshly boiled noodle. Nathan hauled the Moth Priest to his feet, and the man didn't protest. He looked around in a daze.

Nathan knew he had a limited amount of time before the spell wore off, but he looked at Serana, partly to tell himself that he was doing what needed to be done. She nodded levelly at him.

Nathan's mouth was watering. Taking a deep breath, he cocked his head back and buried his teeth in the Moth Priest's neck.

It scared him how wonderful the blood tasted.

Imma get right down to business: I probably will not be able to update this weekend, because I have a retreat that I'm going to. I'll probably be too busy to write, so there's that. See you Monday, I guess?

Please remember to review, guys! :)