Can we all give a huge thanks to my amazing Betas. I may have been a 'little' late, but they had the patience to not kill me.

The Stann

Golden Soldier

Lore-Master (Not his real user name)

If you have any thoughts or comments on any of the work I've please a review, so I know what I should keep doing, or what i should burn in a holy fire inside of a Flamer's heart and soul.


"If you don't learn from your mistakes, then they become regrets." John Cena

Chapter 11 – Regrets

Lydia

204 4th era.

Thrust. Feint to the right. Shield bash. Upper cut.

The straw doll made a dull thud when her wooden sword hit its fake wrist. She wiped the sweat of her forehead with the back of her hand and flicked it away. He shrugged her shoulders slightly to readjust the armour straps and held her shield out in front of her. She let her weight drop on to her knees and let out a long breath.

She peered over the top her round shield at her foe. The crudely drawn face stared back at her with a creepy grin. In her mind's eye she saw a charging bandit, swinging an iron battle axe above his head. She lowered her stance and brought her sword up to her shoulder height.

The bandit was getting closer.

Thrust. Feint to the right. Shield bash. Upper cut.

The bandit parried the first two moves, but was knocked back off his balance by the third and his wrist almost cut off by the last. He staggered back a few steps clutching his bleeding wrist before disappearing into nothingness.

She inspected the straw doll once more and found a satisfying dent on the bottom of its wrist.

"I assume," a voice came from behind Lydia. She span round, with the tip of the wooden sword pointed out. Serena was stood leaning on her left leg, arms crossed over her chest, apathetic of the point in her face. She knocked it aside nonchalantly, and carried on speaking, "That technique is used to disarm an opponent by debilitating their wrist."

Lydia stabbed the sword into the dirt by her feet. "Yeah it would do that." She glanced round at the door of the garden and found that it was open. She was surprised that Serena was out, as the sun was high in the sky over head.

"What happens if your opponent was a mage or simply didn't fall for the first two moves?" Serena said taking a step to the side around Lydia. She leant over and inspected where Lydia's wooden blade had hit the fake wrist.

Lydia grimaced in thought. "That's the kind of technique that you only use once in a fight, and I'm still alive so I guess it works. As for mages, most of them have less balance then a drunk, so a single hit would take them out easy."

Serena stood straight and turned to look at Lydia with a raised eyebrow. "Less balance than a drunk?" Lydia gave a half nod and fixed Serena with an icy stare cold enough to freeze a horker. Serena responded by narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms again. Lydia's left hand twitched slightly, as it hung above the wooden sword's handle.

Both Lydia and Serena burst into fits of laughter. Lydia bent over and clutched her sides, while Serena started to make the most un-ladylike snorts. The sound of their laughs echoed of the cold, stone walls and escaped out of the open roof. For a few moments the castle seemed to lose its veneer of seriousness and adopted an air of joy. Lydia tried to stand, but fell over onto her back which only worked to enhance Serena's snorts.

Eventually the laughter died away and the castle returned to its sombre self. Lydia slowly stood back up and pulled the wooden blade out of the ground and walked to where all her weapons were leant against a rock. 'Two swords, one wooden and one steel, a dagger and shield. Not exactly the Whiterun guard's armoury but it would do for some training.' Serena followed her over and picked up the dagger. She tested its weight before grimacing slightly and putting it down again.

"It's not much, but you vampires seem to detest the idea of having any kind of functional weapon. I'm lucky that I found this steel sword when I did. It looked like it was going to disappear into rust before I cleaned it." Lydia said, picking up the blade and looking over the length of the edge. There were still marks and chips but it was better than nothing.

"Are you trying to relocate the blame of your lack of and quality of weaponry on your most generous hosts?" A sly grin tugged at the corner of Serena's mouth. 'Use all the damn words it doesn't change the answer. And, since when am I guest?'

"Yes,"

"Well, I've heard that the bad smith blames his forge."

"How about we test that, my oh so generous Serena?" She stepped into the makeshift training circle.

"It would be my pleasure." She entered the circle from the opposite end.

Lydia tightened her grip on her shield and clasped her sword's handle until her knuckles went white. Serena pushed her hair behind her ears and stared at Lydia with those orange eyes. Lydia made a step to her left and Serena mirrored perfectly. Lydia watched Serena's hip and shoulders: looking for a sign as to plans. But she made no move. It felt like they had been standing there for hours when Lydia's patience finally snapped.

She leant forward to begin her charge. In the corner of her eye she saw Serena's right arm flicker in for and instant before falling back to her side. Instinctively Lydia brought up her shield. She heard the sound of ice shattering on her shield, but she kept moving forward. She held her shield up and headed towards Serena. She felt two more icy attacks hit her shield before throwing it out in a wild arc headed straight for where Serena was stood.

Except Serena wasn't stood there anymore. She over extended and was off balance when Serena's fourth bolt hit her in the back. She was knocked straight over and fell on her front. Lydia lay down for a while and tried to nurse her pride, which wasn't easy when she could hear Serena's badly muffled giggles. She steadily rose to her feet, using her sword as a prop, and turn to see where Serena was stood.

"How?" She could have said many other things, but decided they were too rude for any conversation.

Serena tapped the side of her nose, "Tricks of the trade, I'm afraid." She began to giggle again and Lydia couldn't help but crack a smile.

"What a great show, and such symbolism as well." Both women turned to face the new voice. Stood in the shadow of the door were two figures. Lydia recognised one was Garen, but the other was a stranger. He was probably the oldest person she had ever met. He was bent over and had a cane to support his weight. He had long dark brown robe that had many different patches all over it. His skin seemed to droop from every part of his body. What hair he had left was just tufts of grey, surrounded by liver spots. The only part of him that seemed alive was his burning orange eyes. "How the refined superiority of Vampires is simply better than the common rabble of the mortals. Such elegance in such simplicity."

"What are you talking about?" Lydia said slightly irritated by his arrogant tone.

The vampire blinked in confusion. "Well it has to be show," he said as he started to hobble towards her, "because no barbaric mortal could possibly be foolish enough suppose they would be in equal footing with even the weakest vampire."

Lydia gritted her teeth. She had been at this castle for months now. She had endured the stares and the muttering of all the vampires in the court. But this decrepit old man could not preach to her about his superiority when he looked like a light breeze could knock him over. "Did you call me a fool?"

"I believe," he said in his haughty voice, "that I also called you barbaric."

Lydia made lunge forward, consequences be damned.

"No!" She froze and looked over to Serena. She had a very concerned look in her eye, but that wasn't all, there was… 'Fear.' "Please Lydia, don't." She looked even paler than usual.

The old man chuckled. "Yes, girl, listen to your natural better. She may have beaten you with ease, but if you started a fight with me, your body parts would never be found. I may look like an old bag of bones to you, but I am probably one of the most powerful vampires you will ever meet." With that the old man turned and hobbled back to where Garen was stood. Lydia watched as his back disappeared into the shadows and she was overwhelmed with the feeling that she could nothing.


Two years before.

She was overwhelmed with the feeling that she could nothing. She ducked behind a huge boulder just as another bout of flame was released by the dragon. The sky was cut off by the vermillion hue for a few scorching moments. She heard loud whooshing sounds as the beast took off from the ground. She gave herself a few seconds to get her breathing under control before peeking over the edge of the rock.

The huge grey dragon was circling overhead, around the tower, each beat of its winds crashing on to the ground. Lydia spotted Irileth and two guards sheltering in the western watch tower. Every few seconds an arrow would fly out of the arch and head towards the dragon, although most missed their mark and sailed harmlessly into the night. The only person who was stood in the open was Colden. Held in his right hand was the same steel sword that he had brought with him to Bleak Falls Barrow and pierced into the mud beside him was a two handed sword that he had found in the Barrow. It looked as old as Skyrim itself but somehow it had survived this long. The armour that he had been wearing was discarded on the ground far behind him and now he was only dressed in his breeches.

The grey beast let out a huge roar that boomed into the dark night louder than a thunder clap. Lydia swore that even the ground itself shook under feet. She reached out with her left hand against the boulder to stay upright and she heard a cry from inside the tower as a guard fell over. The rumbling stopped but the fatigue did not.

They had been fighting this monster for nearly two hours now and nothing and gone their way. Three men had died already they were nowhere closer to taking down the beast.

She heard a yell and snapped to look at where Colden was stood. She had thought he was in pain, but what she saw was more terrifying. He had dropped his steel sword and picked up the two handed sword and was running. Running towards the dragon.

The beast must have noticed and had turned around to fly straight at him. The grey dragon swooped low his maw wide open, ready to let another torrent of fire escape. But before he could bathe the already burnt landscape with a another barrage of fire, Colden threw the sword. He must have been aiming at the head, because what happened next had to have been a lucky throw. There was just no way a mortal could do something like that.

Just the sword left his hand, the dragon, seeing what he was doing, dodged out of the way. But that was his final mistake the blade bounced harmless of his hard scales and span before dropping straight down.

Into the beast's wings. The heavy sword got caught in the thin membrane and the dragon shook his left wing. This only helped to tear a bigger hole in its wing. Blood started to gush out of the long slice and the dragon jerked slightly before crashing straight into the ground. All of this in just a few seconds.

Lydia looked dumbstruck for a moment before Colden's yelling brought her back. "Aim for the wings! Keep it on the ground! Lydia to me, now!"

He was holding his steel sword again and was running straight at the downed dragon. Irileth and one of the guards had returned to their senses and were hailing it with arrow after arrow. This time they hit their target.

"Lydia!" She looked up to see Colden stood on top of its bleeding wing. "Go to its head and keep it busy, but be careful. If it opens its mouth, run." She nodded to him before dashing towards the front of the dragon. They had a chance. The dragon was down and they had chance.

She reached it head just as it began to rise from the ground. She released a shot from her bow to catch its attention before dropping it and drawing her sword and shield. The arrow bounced off the scales around its head, but it was definitely focused on her now. For all her hours of guard training and years of practise, she had never been taught how to deal with a dragon.

The monster made a lunge forward and she jumped the side, slashing as she fell. She jumped back to her feet just before the dragon's jaws snapped close where she had been a few seconds before. The dragon's head started to rise up and it opened its mouth wide. She saw an orange glow spread up its neck and she froze. Her mind screamed at her to jump out the way, to dodge, to just damn well move. But her body was frozen stiff and her legs didn't listen to her. She saw the beginnings of an inferno build up behind its teeth just as shadow flew over her.

Just as the torrent of flames was let loose, Colden smashed into the side of its head in mid-air, his steel sword held out in front of him. The flames burned into the ground a few metres away from Lydia but it was enough to snap her back.

Colden's blade slid of its neck, but he was now sat astride the dragon, gripping on to it head with one hand and hacking at it with his sword. The dragon thrashed back and forth but Colden kept his grip until finally the dragon finally stopped moving and fell to the floor. Colden stumbled away from the corpse, his sword forgotten and covered in blood. He almost made it to Lydia before the dragon burst into fire and white lights flew from the flames and straight into his back. He stood for a few more moments before collapsing to the floor in fatigue.


Derlun

His steel dagger made a satisfying sthink as it slid into its sheath. He looked up and checked that he had all he needed. 'Dagger and a crumpled drawing. When did my existence become so small that all I own is dagger and bad drawing.' Even through the depression of this idea, he still clung to the crude drawing like it was his closest family.

Because it was. The little scratchy picture was the only thing that connected him to his past life. It showed an imperial woman in profile, her hair curled on top of her shoulder and her sparkling staring back at him. All of this faded and scratched to the point where she could have looked like any woman. But Derlun knew her. 'Isabelle.'

His best friend, his first and only love, his wife.

The woman he had killed in blood lust. He could still see her blank eyes staring up at him. Her tanned skin covered in blood. Her dark hair ripped apart and matted with drying blood.

He stopped himself before he threw up. He could feel tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. He wiped his eyes and pushed the drawing into his pocket. He moved to the door of the wooden hut that had been his home for the past months. He pushed the door open an inch and stared out into the night.

His enhanced senses let him survey the outside easily. A few hundred metres up the hill was the grand castle, staring down on to the slums that lay before its majesty. Surrounding him were many other houses that looked like his. Further out was the dark night, with splinters of sunlight breaking into the sky. The perfect time.

No one would be about at this hour. He pushed the door open till he could slip out. He closed the door tentatively and began to slink away. He made it round the back of the other houses on the shore before going round the tower. He could see it now. The boat. His way out of this hell hole. He stuck his head round the corner and looked around. There were no guards posted at the boat, which meant he had timed it right. A minute or so either way and he would have been caught.

He dashed from his cover when he was sure no one was there. He made it the boat and pushed off immediately. As soon as he was off the ground he grabbed the oar, jumped in and began paddling. Each of his swings brought him further from hell and closer to the mainland. It was a few agonising minutes before he hit the shore and jumped out.

He turned round, elation growing his chest at the prospect of making a clean break. What he saw replaced the warm joy with stone cold dread. On the opposite bank was an old vampire with his hand pressed against the water. Ice was spreading at an astonishing rate and it was already half way. But what scared him more were the monsters that prowled at his feet. At least four of them.

They looked like death hounds, but much, much bigger. Their dark coats glistened in the rising son and their burning red eyes glared at him across the water. There was only one intent on their minds: ripping him to shreds.

He ran. He knew deep down that it was hopeless, but it didn't matter he had to run. The deep sin made it hard to cover ground and by the time he had made it only a few hundred metres heard yelps and barks as the monsters made their way across the ice.

He kept running, hoping that maybe the snow would slow them down as well. His legs began to burn slightly but he ignored the pain. Pain was nothing compared to what awaited him now. He pushed past tree as he hears the sounds of the beast running behind him. He pulled his dagger and turned to face the monsters.

He was right. There had been four. But the monsters up close were so much worse. Patched of their skin had fallen out in places and all that remained was bones and muscles beneath. They stank of blood and decay. A part of him wanted to throw up from the stagnant odour, while another part wanted to breathe in heavily and savour it like a delicacy.

The beasts began to circle round him; one licked its lips, showing off very sharp teeth. One to his right jumped at him, its maw wide open. He slashed across its face with his dagger in reflex. His supernatural strength made up for his lack of training. When the dagger made contact with the side of its face, it flew away.

The first beast hit the ground and Derlun screamed in pain. His head snapped over to see one of the beast had its mouth over his left hand. He started chopping at its head, but it made no attempt at letting go. The monster's head twisted and it sent a stab of pain up his arm. His knees buckled under him as he fell to the floor. In his last moments he heard a loud snap as his hand came off.


Lydia

The beast dropped the blood covered hand on to the floor in front of Serena's feet.

"This was all that my wolves brought back, I'm afraid." Lyle said as he hobbled towards Colden's throne, where Serena was sat. Lydia fought back the urge to heave as Serena calmly replied.

"How many escapers have there been now?" Recently more and more low level vampires were trying to escape the island. However, the last order Colden had left before he had disappeared had been rather simple: no one apart, from himself, Serena, Lydia and Garen, were allowed to leave the island. He had stated as a way to protect the vampires of the island, however Lydia had a doubts if instead it was to ensure they had enough bodies for the Dawn Guard to not be able to attack.

Garen leaned over and whispered in a hushed tone so that only the four of them would hear, "Seven in total, but five of those were in the last month. None got beyond half a league from the shore." Serena rubbed her forehead in frustration.

"Increase the guards on the shore and move the boat on to the land to stop quick escapes. Is that all?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"Then you are dismissed." Garen and Lyle bowed and backed away. Lydia watched with mild enjoyment at the pained look on Lyle's face as he had to lean down. Serena stood up and motioned for Lydia to follow. They walked out from the hall and made their way to Colden's rooms. Serena pushed open the door and they both stepped in the chamber. The solid doors closed behind them and Lydia let a huge breath as the sound of the hall was cut off.

"This is getting worse," she said as she fell into her chair. "Not to criticise your leadership, but without Colden this place is going to fall apart."

"I know what you mean." Serena sat down in another chair. "More and more are deserting, at this rate we'll have lost everyone by the years end. And worst of all is that bastard Lyle. He claims that he wishes to serve Colden, but I don't know. I can't make a move against him because he has no weakness, and he's too strong to attack."

Lydia churned through Serena had said, a deep dread setting in. 'Weakness.' Serena had said that Lyle was too powerful for her to fight. But where did that leave Lydia?

She had no chance against every vampire in this court. The only reason she was alive was the fear of retaliation of Colden or Serena. But that was it. From the moment they had met, Lydia had fought beside Colden's side. She'd saved his life more than once. But now he was at a completely different level. She couldn't fight beside him without being a liability. It was if she was trying to reach the gods. 'Weakness.'

"Make me a vampire," she blurted without thinking. As soon as she said it she was angry and ashamed. She looked at the floor in shame, but she could feel Serena's gaze on her head.

She looked up and Serena asked, "Are you sure?"

"I need to be-I mean I have to…," she stammered before calming herself. She stared into Serena's concerned eyes. "After Colden saved my life in Bleak Falls Barrow, I made a vow that I would protect him at all costs, but now my sword arm is nowhere near good enough to protect him from his enemies."

Serena nodded and seemed to think. Lydia began to feel a deep anxiety build in her stomach. 'What if she says no? What then?'

Serena stood and spoke, "Then we need to leave now." Lydia rose from her seat confused.

"Why? Can't you change me here?"

"Yes, but after you turn, you'll be very weak and vulnerable. There is inn not far from here on the mainland, run by a vampire. We pay, and he drugs the patron so they fall asleep and you walk in and take your first drink. If we leave now and I turn you when we get to the main land we should get there just after you change fully."


The door closed behind Lydia, closing off the torch light. But now her enhanced eyes let her see the room as if she was stood in the midday sun. There was a body in the bed. She walked over, barely controlling the urge to jump on him and drink as much blood as she could. When she reached the bed she crouched down and leant over the tall man. He was orc far as she could tell, but she didn't care.

She descended rapidly, her fangs shooting towards his neck. Just before her fangs would have hit his neck and opened his throat, he twisted out of way. She jumped back and looked as the tall orc rose from the bed. The orc was standing at well over seven foot tall. His skin was a dark brown shade. There were scars crisscrossing all up his arms and shoulders. He had dark brown hair, with a close cut beard across his jaw and chin, and charcoal coloured irises. He had two small tusks protruding from his bottom lip; however the left one was snapped in half.

Lydia gasped. "You…it's you!" The orc threw something and she caught it with her new speed and reflexes. She turned it over and saw that it was bottle full of... She ripped of the top and gulped down the blood like a child with a tankard of milk. She looked to the orc when she finished.

"We need to talk."