[A/N]: Hey guys, for quite awhile I have been excited to write this chapter! I have added my own court member to this story, simply because I'm going to write a whole short story about her later on. (Which you can find the summary under 'upcoming fictions' on my profile page. So if you have time check it out and tell me what you think.) Honestly, I'm very excited to present this chapter to you lovely readers. So here is another chapter from Harkon's perspective. Enjoy! :)

Thank you ShoutFinder, for everything, truly it means a lot to me! :)

[DISCLAIMER]: I don't own the Elder Scroll Series that is Bethseda's gig not mine, I'm just giving them the credit they deserve. But Arela, Enden, and Celta are my characters and I call all rights to them.

~Black Veil Brides, Unbroken

Now you're adrift in a sea of lies
A foolish Villain in an endless chapter
The demons writhing behind your eyes
A simple shadow we can fight together

Harkon sat in his throne idly watching the candles flicker. There was nothing better than sitting in his throne, presiding and watching over his court as they ate. It was a rare luxury he indulged himself in.

Mostly because he enjoyed having his privacy, but it was exhilarating listening to the fearful silence; the type of silence that not a soul was brave enough to break. The dining hall and its members were mute, save for the occasional obnoxious chomp from Modhna and Namasur, his lower court members. They did nothing of value, but their allegiance to him was enough. So he would spare their lives... for now.

But he knew if Arela and Serana were here they would dare break this tense atmosphere. Yes, their willingness to challenge his authority was frustrating... But he was formulating a plan to conquer their rebellious attitude.

Serana and Arela had been incessantly getting under his skin. Before their departure, their whispering and hushed talking in the halls of his castle were maddening. Whenever Harkon had been near, they had shut down their conversation and he was certain their words were nefarious in nature.

But Harkon would not allow it. Great generals often implemented the strategy of divide and conquer, and he was going to make sure those two would be unable to plot against him. Together, those two were a formidable alliance, but separated, they could be controlled.

Harkon let out a sigh. It had been a few days since anything had happened. Arela and Serana had not returned with his Moth Priest yet, and Harkon could feel impatience growing in his very bones. By Molag Bal's name, how long must they take?!

Arela and his daughter weren't incompetent, so a small task of this magnitude shouldn't take this long. It wasn't as if he'd asked them to try and destroy the Dawnguard.

Harkon started twisting his amethyst wedding ring around his finger. It was a nervous habit he had fallen into hundreds of years ago, and was his method to keep his mind off all this damnable waiting.

For the first time since being wed, Harkon took off his wedding ring to examine it.

The ring itself had been a gift from Valerica, but now all it served as a painful plague of memories, memories best left buried. Harkon soaked in its details; from the abundance of scratches, to the silvery metal that had dulled from years of use. Harkon felt bitter rage rise in his throat, and for a moment, he was tempted to throw the ring across the dining hall, but he wouldn't break his self control. Scoffing at his marriage, Harkon realized he hadn't seen Valerica in a few thousand years. This was quite a strong marriage, he jeered in his mind.

Valerica had fought him from the moment Molag Bal had entered their relationship, and things had only worsened once he discovered the prophecy – the most prominent discovery for vampire kind.

She never saw the potential a prophecy such as this one could hold. Blocking the sun could let the vampires conquer Nirn, and once again he would be a king, but this time he would be king of all Tamriel.

Scanning the dining hall, Harkon watched all the members shift uncomfortably. He was amused; they all realized they weren't supposed to speak, unless he spoke to them. But of course, something had to break the silence.

A loud bang echoed through the dining hall, indicating a new visitor. Harkon hoped it was Arela returning with the Moth Priest. He could hardly express his desire to discover the knowledge locked away in Serana's Elder Scroll. Knowledge that could help him achieve his goal of blotting out the sun.

Harkon got to his feet to receive a better view of the small entrance hall.

But felt a pang of slight frustration and disappointment when he saw who actually appeared at the balcony – Celta.

Celta was one of his longest lasting and most loyal court members. She was very soft spoken and reserved. But over time Harkon had observed she always avoided the court politics; that was probably the reason she was still alive.

He watched as she elegantly made her way down the stairs. She pushed away silvery locks of hair from her dull red eyes, her eyes were very different as well. Instead of a different hue of blood red, Celta's eyes were a dusty red, almost pink in color.

She was clad in black traditional vampiric grabs, which clashed with her white silvery hair.

Celta made her way onto the court floor and stopped before him. Instantly, her eyes rested on the floor once she saw Harkon watching her.

"My Lord, I have the Ancient Ring of Molag Bal, you desired." She quietly pulled out the trinket, and Harkon leaned forward.

"The Ring of Erudite." He instinctually swiped the ring out of Celta's hand to examine it. He had refused to believe this ring existed, only because Molag Bal gifted this to some of his most loyal followers. And who would be a better candidate than himself for a ring such as this one? He was loyal to the Prince of Domination; it was an insult to think he had not been gifted with a ring of such stature.

"Ah, finally. I have one of these rings. You know, I almost didn't believe they existed." Harkon paused to give Celta an inquisitive look. "Who tasked you with this?"

Celta was still fixated on her classic black vampiric boots. She shyly looked up at him. "Garan did. He said I could keep the ring, b-but I thought I would give it to you. You probably need it more than I do."

"Such loyalty. Your thought and obedience pleases me." The Lord tried to keep his voice from sounding condescending, but he couldn't.

Harkon watched Celta fight a smile. "I think of you more than you would believe..." Celta took his hand and planted a lingering kiss on top of it. The type of kiss a person would give to a suitor. He felt their eyes connect, and for a second Harkon wondered why he almost never paid attention to this girl.

But when Celta turned away from him and took a spot next to Garan, Harkon suddenly remembered. She had very little value to him, with no gift from Molag Bal, and very little skill in fighting; she proved to be a small asset.

And Harkon cared only for large assets. Nothing less than a powerful asset, and that was exactly what Arela was to him...

Another two tantalizing days had passed since Celta's return to Castle Volkihar. Harkon had become increasingly frustrated with this waiting game, so he had retreated to his room once more.

He only desired peace and silence to reveal in his thoughts, and plans for his future after he had completed the prophecy.

There was a small knock on his door, which broke his pensive thoughts.

"You may enter." Harkon found his voice expressing curiosity.

Garan entered, with Celta close behind him.

"She will return today, my Lord," Garan stated, without giving Harkon a chance to ask what the matter was. "I had a vision. My gift has finally revealed some more of Serana and Arela. They will be back today."

"Wait... Lady Serana is back?" Celta sounded confused. Strange; Celta was usually too nervous to actually speak, most of the time. "But she's been gone for so long..."

Harkon waved his hand to cut her off. "Ah, yes, Serana returned, with the assistance of two vampire hunters, a brother and sister. The sister, Arela, has joined our ranks, and she has been quite an asset to our court. She's quite a sly one, trying to disguise her true power from me... But her blood gave away many secrets to me..."

The puzzlement that appeared on Celta's face was well received. She would figure out this little puzzle on her own, Harkon knew. All she had to do was interrogate some of the lower members for information.

"Now, Celta, you are dismissed," the Lord stated curtly. "Garan and I have more pressing issues to discuss."

Celta gave him a bashful bow, but her eyes were still fixated on him. Harkon could tell she was going to try and sate her desire for knowledge in interrogating the new court member. Then she abruptly left without another word.

Finally, Harkon could focus in the task at hand. "Please sit, Garan. We have much to discuss."

The Dark Elf took a seat next to him, and ran one hand through his thick red beard. For once, he appeared exhausted, as though he'd been deprived of any type of relaxation.

Garan had been on this court as long as Harkon could remember. He had always been loyal, and his gift of insight was invaluable.

Harkon tried to keep his tone even. "Have you acquired more knowledge through your visions, Garan?"

"Yes, I have. I've had many visions as of late, and it has prevented me from getting one good day of sleep." Garan released an exasperated sigh.

"What do these visions entail? Do they involve the prophecy?" Harkon gripped the arm of his throne tightly; any information on the prophecy was essential.

"Yes and no." Garan massaged his temples.

"Well, indulge me with the details," Harkon commanded, unable to keep a certain sharpness out of his tone.

Garan cleared his throat. "I keep seeing a blind old scholar," he began. "He is a slave to a person with a strong will. But there is another man. He is clad in brown,thick leather, quick, agile and sneaky. He looks like a Breton from his height, and all I can see are his bright blue eyes... his name is...Kinric, no, maybe it was Cynric. Yes, I think it was Cynric." Garan shrugged. "I don't know who he is, but he is a corrupter of power and people. I think it involves you, my Lord."

"A corrupter? A man who is corrupting my members or a man that is cutting off my power?" Harkon asked intently.

"Both, I think. It's hard for me to tell. I only get strong waves of emotion in these visions. I don't get a story or anything told specifically, it's just my speculations."

Harkon frowned. "I promise you, Garan, I will find this man Cynric, and when I do... Well, he will dearly regret crossing paths with me."

Whoever this Breton man was, Harkon would make him pay. Anyone that ever challenged him always suffered the ultimate price.

But Garan's voice shattered the Lord's plans for revenge.

"That isn't the end. I keep seeing two figures entering the dining hall; I can't tell who they are. But I can sense they wish to harm you, my Lord. The visions always ends the same, with... your death," Garan confessed weakly. It was obvious from his fidgeting that he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"That's impossible!" Harkon exclaimed. "I've been alive for thousands of years, I will not die now! Not when I'm so close to completing this prophecy, your visions must be incorrect!" He slammed his fist on his throne after his exclamation, anger coursing through him. How could this be possible?!

Garan scoffed. "Are my visions ever wrong? They may be cryptic, but they are never incorrect. I'm just not quite sure what to make of this. But it could be a vision of the far off future."

"No!" snapped Harkon. "Men like me don't simply die. We endure, we conquer, we remain powerful, we are eternal." Harkon's gaze darkened; he was one of the oldest men on Tamriel, perhaps the oldest. He wasn't going to die. No, not now, not when the prophecy was finally within reach. No, he was going to live, no matter the cost.

"Well," Garan continued warily, "the future is malleable, it isn't rigid. Often my visions change, or they are inaccurate. But never fully wrong. I doubt you are actually going to die, My Lord."

Harkon felt his brow furrowing. Perhaps Garan was right, and everything would change, just one event could change the whole future.

"This... wasn't the news I was expecting, but it's better to know what lies ahead, rather than nothing at all. You're dismissed, Garan."

Garan opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. He got up and gave Harkon a curt bow. "As you wish, my Lord. But let me give you an important piece of advice. Do not stew too long over the future, for a gift like mine can drive a man insane."

"I will do as I please, Garan," Lord Harkon replied coldly.

How could he just overlook this information? The possibility of death, a 'corrupter of power', and the two unknown figures... Harkon knew he would figure out this mystery. It was only a matter of time before the truth would revel itself to him...

It was around midnight when the doors finally opened in the dining hall for the first time since Celta's return.

Harkon predicted it was Arela and Serana's return. It was well overdue, and he could hardly control his impatience anymore. If this wasn't them, Harkon contemplated ripping off Modhna's head just to quell his rising anxiety.

All the members of his court were assembling at the sound of the noise. Their inquiry was getting the better of them, and Harkon was thoroughly curious of these newcomers.

In the dull candle light that illuminated the balcony, a man stepped forward; an old, wary-looking scholar, Harkon gathered from his attire. He marveled at the court before him.

"Dexion, get behind me." Harkon heard Serana's voice ring out across the hall. So, my daughter finally returns, hopefully with her Elder Scroll and the Moth Priest.

"I'd do what she says." A weak and raspy voice perked the Lord's attention. It was Arela's; he knew it well enough from their conversations.

That was when Serana appeared on the entrance hall that overlooked the court floor. She was covered in blood, and hanging onto her shoulder limply was Arela.

Thinly, Harkon smiled.

"Well, look who has finally returned. I was beginning to believe you wouldn't," Harkon mocked them as Serana slowly made her way down the stairs, helping Arela at each step.

"We brought you the Moth Priest," Serana said coldly, and said something else.

But the Lord ignored the snide comment his daughter had just directed at him. His vision was fixated on the figure that was desperately clinging to Serana, as if her life depended on it.

Harkon noticed a rip in the dark midnight black armour that Arela was always dressed in. On further examination Harkon noticed it was a wound, and its placement was right above Arela's heart.

"What do we have here?" said Lord Harkon wonderingly. "Were the Dawnguard too challenging for a minion of the night?"

The figured stirred at the sound of his voice. Arela looked up at Harkon; a shadow was cast across her face, and for a second Harkon swore he saw a dark and dangerous glint that gleamed in her eyes. But as quickly as it appear it must have receded, for the Lord contemplated if he had imagined the look.

"This wasn't done by the hand of a Dawnguard member," Arela wheezed. "According to Serana, it was an assassin - and a Dark Brotherhood one at that."

Harkon stiffened. Could this be the trouble Garan's visions alluded to? No. Assassins, braving the turbulent and powerful Sea of Ghosts, then sneaking around a castle of vampires, just for one target? No, that would be idiotic.

"You have quite a large amount of endurance than appears, Dragonborn," the Lord noted. "Should I take that as a challenge?"

"No..." Arela went into a fit of violent coughs that racked her body.

"Once the Moth Priest has read the scroll, we'll have Garan take a look at that nasty wound of yours." Harkon heard Serana whisper to her companion.

The only response Arela gave was a weak nod, but she turned her attention back to Harkon. "I made the Moth Priest my thrall," she explained. "The Dawnguard were protecting him. It seems they defeated your traitorous member; Malkus, if I recall correctly. He was building an army against you."

Harkon rolled his eyes. "I knew of his disloyal intentions... but an army, you say?" He shook his head. "How foolish of him. We both know a band of inexperienced, weak-blooded vampires would have stood no chance again real masters of the blood. But there's more urgent information to unveil, so let us waste no time. Order your thrall to read the Scroll."

Arela nodded, and with Serana's assistance, carefully made her way over to the Moth Priest.

The Lord watched, unable to drag his eyes off the Dragonborn. She must be strong if she can survive an assassination. Not even Harkon had ever had an issue of assassins, which was surprising since he was a former king.

Tapping his foot, the Lord was hardly able to suppress his desire to gain the knowledge locked away in the Scroll.

Finally after minutes of muttering between Arela and the scholar, the man Dexion spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Of course, master.

"Now, if everyone will please be quiet, I must concentrate." The Priest strained his voice to speak over the jittery court members.

An eerie silence fell over the room, and was only kept quiet, because Harkon would kill anyone that disturbed the peace. The anticipation was killing him inside. Roughly four thousand years of waiting has finally come to an end. He watched as the Priest opened the Scroll, and his eyes began to search the ancient parchment.

"I see... a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel's Bow!" Dexion had astonishment in his voice. "Now a voice whispers, saying 'Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise. In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one.'" He paused. "The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort... But wait, there is more here." Dexion took a small pause; his face was tight, and his teeth were clenched as if he were in pain.

"The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls... Yes, I see them now... One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood." Dexion began a sway a bit, so Arela and Serana grabbed his arms to keep him upright.

"My vision darkens, and I see no more," Dexion concluded, his voice growing fainter. "To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls."

That was it? Years and years of waiting for that?! Clenching his fists, Harkon barely controlled his rage.

Arela and Serana slowly made their way back over to him.

"Was it everything you were expecting?" Arela asked.

"That was... Not as useful as I would have liked..." Harkon forced away the impatience enough to grudgingly say, "Even so, you did well."

"So, do know you where the other Scroll is?" Arela inquired.

Harkon felt himself falling back into old and sore memories. "My traitor wife stole one of them away and then disappeared. As for the other, the last, that I heard was lost in the bowels of a Dwemer ruin..." He smirked at Arela, "It seems our work is not yet done. But I have waited this long, and we are so very close now. I can wait a little bit longer." For now.

"I have the other one..." Arela confessed. "The one from the ruin, from Blackreach. I needed it to defeat Alduin the World Eater."

"One step ahead, I see..." Harkon muttered. How this girl has one of the Elder Scrolls is beyond comprehension, but she seems to have quite a bit of power...

He then waved his hand to dismiss the court. No one moved. Everyone was plastered to their seat contemplating what this prophecy might mean to them.

Serana pulled Arela closer to her. "We should go to my room, and get that wound of your treated."

"Yes, let's go." Arela said, as they bypassed him, leaving Lord Harkon standing in the center of the dining hall in bitterness, anger and the tiniest pang of jealousy.

[A/N]: So, what did you guys think of this chapter? Reviews are love, so please leave me some of your thoughts about this chapter. :)