Chapter 11: Different Lives

Hroar felt a cold, wet cloth being gently laid on his forehead. His eyes snapped open, and he glanced around frantically as the light from the torches on the wall burned brightly.

"You have to take it easy." Brelyna Maryon's voice reached his ears, and his body relaxed. "You've been out for several hours."

"Bjorlam…" He managed weakly.

The Dunmer pursed her lips. "He didn't make it."

"Who…who attacked us?"

"Later. You need to rest; my healing magic works best that way."

He nodded and allowed darkness to consume his vision again. Meanwhile, Brelyna made her way down the steps, where Babette sat with her hands in her lap.

"How is he?" She asked softly.

"He'll recover, but the burns will be slow to heal, even with my magic aiding him."

The Breton girl gritted her teeth. "Dammit, he's a restoration mage; his body should be able to accept your magic!"

Brelyna knelt down so that she was at eye level with the seated girl. "It is, but burns do not heal easily. He'll be fine, provided he's able to rest." She glanced up toward the stairs. "He was lucky; Bjorlam was dead the minute they attacked."

"I should've seen it coming," Babette said with an air of bitterness in her voice.

"What are you talking about, Sweetie?"

She ignored the nickname; it was just how Brelyna talked. "I was an assassin. I know how to observe, how to pick things out that no one else can. And yet…I didn't."

"So, you're going to blame yourself?" The Telvanni mage shook her head. "Don't even think about it. You know as well as I do that none of us saw it coming. Plus," she placed her hands on Babette's shoulders, "Hroar's alive; that counts for something. I'm sure he'd agree."

At the mention of his name Babette shut down. Her shoulders tensed, and she stood up. "Thank you, Mother. You've helped me immensely."

Brelyna's eyes widened. "Babette…what did you call me?"

Realization struck the girl as to what she'd said, and her eyes grew larger than Brelyna's. "Sithis, I—I'm so sorry, Lady Maryon! I just—"

"Calm down, Babette," she said with a smile. "It's alright, you know; you can call me whatever makes you happy."

Babette shook her head. "No, it was improper. I shouldn't—" Her voice caught in her throat. "I…"

"What's wrong?" Brelyna sat her back down in the chair. "Are you alright?"

The Breton bit her lip. "No. No, I'm not. I can't make sense of any of it. I've lived for three hundred years, but…but I've never felt anything like this. Not that I can remember."

"Felt like what?"

She glanced up at the mage; tears began to form. "Why have you shone me such kindness? I haven't done anything worthy of what you've done for me."

Brelyna sighed. "Sweetie, I can't imagine the disconnect you must be feeling, the confusion. But you have to know that we love you. You're a member of the family, and that will never change."

Her eyes narrowed as the tears began to roll. "And what if Riordan Storm-Blade decides I'm no longer welcome?"

Divines…she has to deal with her years of experience conflicting with the change that she's gone through. How am I supposed to reassure her?

"Riordan may be harsh at times, but he does care." She lifted Babette's chin. "This is new to him, too; he took a risk. But you and I both know that he'll fight to the death to protect those he loves. That includes you."

Babette chuckled mirthlessly. "I remember…he was trying to protect me before I even agreed to his terms, and I didn't even need his help."

Brelyna smiled warmly. "And you think I do? It's just who he is; he protects those he loves with everything he has."

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry…I just—I don't understand why everything's hitting me at once."

"Just wait 'til you fall in love," the mage replied with a smile. "That'll add a whole new set of emotions to the mix."


"So, Riordan Storm-Blade has left for Solstheim?" Ondolemar asked before sipping some alto wine from his goblet.

"I…" Niranye, a high elf merchant, stuttered as she glanced back and forth between the Justiciar and the guards at her sides, "…yes, he left on The Northern Maiden. Why…why do you want to know?"

The Thalmor ambassador raised an eyebrow. "None of your concern. I can only thank you for your cooperation." He waved her away. "You may go. However, when he returns, I want you to let our informant in the city know immediately."

Niranye bit her lip. "You aren't planning on harming him, are you?"

"It doesn't really matter what I am planning. All you need worry about is that shop of yours; it'd be a pity if the guards discovered who you fence for."

Her eyes widened. "Yes, of course…"

Ondolemar nodded toward the guards. "Take her home, and then return to Northwatch Keep immediately."

As they left the room, another Justiciar entered. "Ambassador, should we proceed?"

"No," he replied. "I'll wait a week, at least, before moving. I don't want to inconvenience myself longer than necessary. Plus, I have it on good authority that a member of the Dawnguard is still with them, so that complicates things. This will ensure that he or she is gone by the time we make our move."

The Justiciar frowned. "Forgive my forwardness, but is this plan really the best idea? It could go very poorly."

"Ambushing Riordan Storm-Blade is out of the question. We only noticed him when he entered Windhelm; before that, our spies were ineffective at determining his route. We need him to come to us of his own free will, but that is easier said than done."

"Ah," the elf said. "I understand."

"Good, now tell the men to get moving to their designated positions, quietly. I will meet them at the staging area in a week."


Hroar opened his eyes slowly this time, allowing the light of the torches to gradually appear. He removed the damp cloth from his forehead and pressed his hands against the bed, attempting to sit up. Much of his back and chest felt like they were on fire, and when he looked down, he noticed why. Burn splotches were etched on his midsection and up around his shoulders. Added to that, he noticed bandages wrapped around his abdomen and around portions of his arms.

How long have I been unconscious?

Footsteps echoed as someone came up into the spare bedroom. "Nice to see that you're finally awake," Babette said with a smile. In her hands was a bowl of water.

Hroar winced as he adjusted his position. "What's that for?" He asked before pointing to the bowl.

"It's for the cloth," she replied.

"Ah..." He handed her the rag, which she dipped in the water and left it to soak.

She appraised him with blue eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too good. The burns hurt like Oblivion."

Babette frowned. "I wish I knew restoration magic…"

Hroar shrugged, a movement he instantly regretted. "I'll heal; I'm just glad to be alive."

All of a sudden, Babette's eyes widened. "Wait a minute, there might be enough ingredients here to make some potions!"

As she stood, the young mage held up a hand. "No, don't worry about it. Lady Maryon's restoration spells just need time to work."

She nodded. "If you're sure."

"Now that I'm awake, mind telling me what happened?"

Babette sighed. "Two cultists who worship a being they referred to as Miraak attacked you and Bjorlam to get Riordan's attention. You were injured, and Bjorlam…died."

Hroar frowned. "Who is Miraak?"

"According to the cultist that Riordan interrogated, Miraak was the first Dragonborn."

His eyes widened. "What? How is that possible?"

"I don't know," she replied. "He's heading to Solstheim to get answers and stop this guy, if necessary."

The mage laid his head against the the wall. "And you two are stuck here making sure I'm alright. You couldn't go with him because of me."

Babette shook her head. "No, it's not your fault, Hroar. I—Lady Maryon and I wanted to make sure you recovered."

"Still…" He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," the Breton whispered.

For whatever reason, Hroar chuckled. Babette frowned and placed the bowl of water on the nightstand next to the bed.

"What's so funny?"

"It's nothing," he replied, still stifling his laughter. "Just…Isran's gonna kill me."

Babette's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"He's gonna find out that, after surviving an encounter with a vampire lord, that I went and nearly got killed by some cultists."

"That's not funny, Hroar," she said tersely.

He grinned to hide the pain that had come from his laughter. "It's in bad taste, I know. It just seems so absurd to me."

"You almost died."

His grin dissipated as he realized that she was serious. "Babette…I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of it." What happened to her? When we met, she was confident, cold, and ruthless.

"I was ruthless," she replied softly, and Hroar realized that he'd spoken aloud. "It's funny; you and I seem to do that. Speak, and not realize we're doing it."

"I—"

"Let me finish. I was ruthless, but now, it's almost like I have to be different. The Dark Brotherhood isn't around anymore, and I have no need to be…cold." She glanced up at him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied.

"Why did you join the Dawnguard? You told me before that it wasn't because of me, so why did you do it?"

Hroar pursed his lips. "I never said it wasn't because of you; I said it wasn't because I hated or feared you."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Do you remember what happened when Falion cured you?"

She bit her lip. "Yes…I remembered what happened the night I was turned."

"Do you remember what you said right after Riordan mentioned your blue eyes?"

Babette blinked several times. "I…said something?"

The mage nodded slowly. "What you said…I'll never forget it. You started sobbing, curled up into a ball, and just kept repeating 'I'm so sorry Mommy, so sorry Daddy…I didn't mean to…' over and over." He gritted his teeth as tears began to form in his eyes. "I was young, stupid then. But I realized that I never wanted someone else to go through that. Ever."

Her eyes widened. Why can't I remember this? "Hroar…"

"That's why I joined the Dawnguard, to help anyone that I could. I should've told you sooner, but I didn't think you'd understand. I don't know—damn, I don't know how to say what I want to say."

She smiled sadly. "You…you did fine."

He rested his head against the wall. "I don't mean to sound rude, Babette, but I'm…tired. I…I like sitting and talking with you, but I—"

"I understand," she replied. "I'll let you rest."

"Thanks."

As she walked down the stairs, she noticed steam coming from the kitchen. It was quickly followed by the smell of venison cooking in a vegetable broth. Instead of seeing if Brelyna needed help with the cooking, Babette simply made her way out the front door.

A cool breeze rode off of the lake as she sat on the wooden steps up to the front door, but that did little to curb Babette's mood.

"I didn't mean to…"

The Breton girl pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "Why didn't I remember that?"

"Remember what, Babette?" Brelyna asked, causing the girl to whirl around. "What's wrong?"

"Hroar told me…he told me what I said when Falion cured me."

The Dunmer blinked. "Oh."

Babette looked at her. "Mother, why don't I remember that? Why am I the only vampire to lose her memories? All of the others Riordan's talked about, all of the others I've read about, seem to have no problem remembering who they were and what happened to them."

"Stand up, Sweetie," Brelyna said. When Babette did, she found herself in the woman's embrace. "I know this has been difficult for you; five years isn't nearly enough time to get acclimated to a different life. But I promise, we'll help you as best we can in figuring this out." She pulled away and grinned. "Maybe Serana can help you?"

Babette's lips tightened. "Hroar and Riordan have mentioned her before. I'd like to see what she has to say."

"Alright, then, we have a plan. Come on inside; dinner's ready. You can ask Hroar about it while we eat."

Author's Notes: Having your head screwed with by a vampire and finding out that you killed your own parents while bloodlusted cannot be good for the psyche.