Teldryn is ten years old, and quite confused. For months father had been busy taking care of mother, but every day for a week now they had set time aside to visit the St. Nerevar Gardens. He loves the gardens, adores seeing all the different people that visit and the beautiful displays of flora and the occasional celebrations that take place. But he doesn't understand why mother can't come, not until the day father starts weeping in the Gardens and Teldryn has to pull him into one of the corner shops before a crowd gathers. Father kneels down slowly and tells Teldryn his mother is dying, and then they cry together, ignoring the stunned shopkeeper and customers. That afternoon was his first encounter with death.

"Serana!" Teldryn screamed, jolting awake. He leaned forward for a while, breathing hard, before taking in his surroundings. There was something soft under his back, but he couldn't see anything at all. There was no sound, either, except for his panting breaths, and the air smelled of nothing in particular. Is this death? Just a silent, eternal blackness? The last moment he could remember, a huge Argonian had been standing over him on a stone balcony. Was the Argonian my friend?

Runa. Jax had asked him to protect his daughter. Have to find Runa. Where had she gone, again? Teldryn recalled asking her to wait somewhere, while he went into the Soul Cairn with the vampire.

"The vampire"? His mind chided. Don't you remember, you s'wit? You kissed that bloodsucker, more than once if you remember. Her name is Serana.

"Serana." He said the into the empty air, and the darkness swallowed it. We were fighting the Argonian. Dances-Like-Lightning, or something like that. The Thalmor took his children.

Teldryn couldn't remember if they beaten the lizard or not. His presumed state of currently-being-alive seemed to indicate some measure of success. But where is Serana? She could be hurt or something, you lazy fetcher. Get off your ass and go look for her.

He made his way off the bed, moving slowly so as not to aggravate any possible injuries. Surprisingly, his muscles did not ache with soreness, nor did he feel the sting of any healing cuts anywhere on his body. Either that fight went a lot better then I thought it did, or I've been asleep a while.

The floor was made of stone, cold but comfortably solid under his feet. Teldryn was pretty sure at this point he wasn't dead, unless death was just a very badly lit version of Castle Volkihar. Yes, I'm definitely still in that Divines-forsaken fortress. Now that he was more awake, he realized he could focus his hearing to detect the distant sound of crashing waves, and the occasional cry of a seagull. Must be low to the ground, if my dragon-roar deafened ears can make out all that.

His off-hand drifted down to his sword belt, but found only air where the familiar hilt of an elven sword usually was. Someone has disrobed me. The weight of the chitin armor that had become a second skin to Teldryn was gone. He felt vulnerable without the gear, standing in the darkness, unknowing and unprepared. He also felt strangely hungry. I guess it has been a while since I dug into the ration bag.

Teldryn moved forward through the room, arms outstretched to warn him of any possible hazard. Fortunately, he encountered no obstacles until running into what he presumed was a thick wooden door. He hesitated for a moment, unsure. What if something nasty is waiting for me on the other side? Even the greatest swordsman in all of Morrowind couldn't hope to handle much dressed in thin cloth trousers with no weapon to speak of. He closed his eyes and tried to summon forth magicka, but was still too weak to do little more than confirm his link to Aetherius was intact.

Oh, well. Here goes nothing. Teldryn pushed the door open with his shoulder, and darted backwards as it swung open. He appraised the new enclave of darkness, though seriously doubting he would be able to see a dragon if it was a foot away in this kind of light. After confirming that there was at least no immediate danger, the Dunmer moved through the doorway. He checked for stairs before going more than a step, recalling the Castle had quite a abundance of staircases, which is why he didn't break his neck on the second step forward. Teldryn proceeded methodically down the stairs, measuring each drop of his feet with painstaking precision. It seemed like hours passed before he finally encountered smooth and solid ground, though in reality it had probably only been a minute or two.

Damn vampire house and its lack of windows. If he only had a little moonlight, he might have been able to figure out which direction to go. Sighing, Teldryn extended his arms and blindly continued through Castle Volkihar.

He is 19, and trains hard every day for the upcoming guard trials. His father, a captain in the Redoran Guard, guides him through the arduous conditioning. An officer of the Guard has to be ready for anything, father says. Blacklight is a huge city, full of people that kill men and women and children without remorse and they won't hesitate to kill you either. Teldryn hears the words but does not truly know them, blinded by dreams of toppling skooma lords and saving pretty Dunmer girls. He's strong and tall, and even has a tutor from the local Mages Guild that's teaching him simple Destruction spells. Teldryn feels invincible, and so his fathers words fall on deaf ears.

The time comes for Teldryn to accompany his father on the job, to get a feel for what his responsibilities will be as an officer. It excites him at first, walking beside father on the streets of the capital, looking out for troublemakers, but after they chase off the fourth loiterer he is growing bored and restless. Then a frantic Argonian servant beckons for them to enter a manor, claiming his masters are in trouble, and Teldryn runs inside before his father can stop him.

The Argonian attacks from behind, and has his sharp and bloody teeth an inch from Teldryn's neck when a silver sword slices forward. The vampire is ashes on the floor, and his father stands terrified over the dust pile, his hands shaking. He's not scared of vampires, Teldryn thinks, in a shocked state himself. So why does he look so afraid?

They find the master and lady of the house in the master bedroom with their throats torn out. A small crib sits beside by the bed, and when they first hear the wailing cries they are relieved until they look inside. A small baby, except its skin is too pale and its eyes too red and no baby has teeth like that and how could someone do that to such a small little thing and his father is drawing his dagger and Teldryn is leaving the manor, his father, the Redoran Guard, and not looking back.

Finally, some light. Teldryn had been blindly walking for a while, hoping he was heading towards some kind of exit and not deeper into the bowels of the castle, when he had at last came upon a small window. He rushed to the opening, drinking in the scant moonlight like a fine wine. Teldryn was so overcome by the discovery that at first he didn't notice the courtyard below, and the large fire burning at its center.

Azura take me, that smells awful. A mound of corpses had been set alight in the courtyard, and from the scent of them Teldryn suspected they had been dead for a very long time. The bodies of Serana's clan. He leaned forward out the window, and spotted a slim figure with dark hair standing in front of the controlled inferno. There you are.

She was too far to hear him had he called out, with the hissing and roaring of the fire, so Teldryn resolved to descend to the courtyard somehow and reunite with her. He had regained enough strength now to cast a simple magelight spell, so navigating was made a bit easier.

Serana hadn't moved by the time he opened the door to the courtyard, and the inferno had only increased in intensity as more dead flesh went up in flame. He paused in the doorway, watching her rigid form. There was a stiffness in her shoulders, a weakness in the way she held herself. What's happened? He dearly hoped Serana hadn't been injured during the fight.

Teldryn walked up behind her, and it was a testament to how agitated she was that she didn't detect him until he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Serana." He said warmly, after she had finished practically jumping out of her skin. "Sorry to frighten you, sera."

Serana turned her head to face him, and he gasped. Her mouth was pulled back over her teeth as if she had been involuntarily sobbing, and her face was wet and red with tears. But the worse thing was the downward cast of her eyes, the way she refused to meet his gaze. Guilt. What could she have done to be guilty about?

"I'm so sorry, Teldryn." Serana's face scrunched up as a fresh wave of tears overtook her, and she turned from him. "The healing spells and potions...they just weren't good enough."

"What are you talking about?" He took a step back from her, his danger sense on high alert. His hand ached for the comfortable weight of a sword. "I'm fine, you don't need to worry. Feel like a kwama fresh from the egg. Are you alright, though?"

His confusion seemed to upset her further, and for a minute she could do nothing but weep. Just as he was about to reach for her, Serana took a deep breath and met eyes with him.

"Okay." She wiped some of the wetness from her face. "Your arm. You were hurt very badly, do you remember?"

"No." He tried to smile reassuringly, but something had come loose in his head. He recalled looking down on a kneeling Dunmer, and pitying the poor fool. "No, that was a dream. Or a nightmare. My arm is fine, Serana, the hand it connects to was on your shoulder just a moment ago."

She inhaled quickly, the sound like a punch in the gut to him, and bit her lower lip. "I was able to reattach it with spells and potions, but you had lost too much blood. Do you understand what I'm saying? You were going to die. It was the only way."

"The only way?" He tried to grin again, but couldn't quite manage it so an ugly grimace took its place. The fire in front of them was beginning to die down a bit now. "I really don't know why you're so upset. I'm feeling simply spectacular."

"Teldryn." Serana's voice was shaky. "I had to turn you. I'm so sorry, it was the only way. You had lost too much blood, too much. I couldn't lose you, I just couldn't."

He flinched, some of her words finally breaking through. She couldn't have done that to me. This must be some sort of cruel joke.

But then Teldryn held up his hands to see them clearly for the first time, in the light of the flames. They were pale, nearly white, not at all the flattering shade of gray they had been before. This can't be happening, a quietly panicked voice inside his head was saying. She wouldn't do that to me. He used one of his very pale fingers to feel around inside his mouth, and winced when he felt a sharp prick against his digit. She wouldn't do that to me. Not Serana.

His ring finger now sported a drop of black ooze at its tip, and he stared at it, shaking. It appeared quite similar to the vile ichor that had fallen from that Brotherhood devil child Babette when Serana's dagger had cut down her side. Serana couldn't do that to me. How could she have? He closed his fist so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palm, and more of the ichor oozed through. Teldryn Sero can not be a vampire.

"Take it back." His voice sounded unfamiliar, sharp and hissing. That wasn't the vampire speaking, Teldryn knew; it was the Dunmer. The Dunmer that had loathed bloodsuckers all his life, until he had been stupid enough to fall under the spell of a pretty one. "Take it back, I don't want it."

"I can't." Serana sobbed, hiding her face in her arm. "I didn't want to lose you!"

Teldryn's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he wrestled against the fury building inside, comparing it against the love and affection he had held so close to his heart. Love that had turned black and corrupting. He wanted to punch her, to kick her, to make her feel the pain that he was feeling, but couldn't bear the thought of being alone in this awful place with this new terrible thing inside him.

He turned, and left Serana and her burning clan.

Their boat by the dock had been smashed into splinters. Teldryn stood over the shattered remains, his new night vision making him quite capable of seeing every detail of the destruction. The Brotherhood had done it, to prevent pursuit, or the Argonian, to prevent escape. It didn't really matter to him what had happened. All that mattered was that he was now stuck at Castle Volkihar, stuck with the vampire who had forced him to become a monster.

He considered finding a particularly sharp piece of wood and falling on it, but the thought of being stuck in Coldharbour for eternity didn't sound any more appealing than when he had feared that fate for Serana. Teldryn had already survived one meeting with Molag Bal, and thought that quite enough for one lifetime. More of an un-lifetime, now.

So what to do, then? There was only really one thing to do, truly, but he didn't think he could face Serana yet. Even if it was only to plan their escape off this miserable rock. Every time he looked at her he would be reminded of what he had become. What she had made him. How could she think this is what I would want?

Teldryn shuddered as the full realization of his recent days hit him. They had brought the Dragonborn back from the dead, only to lose him to the Dark Brotherhood. Along with his daughter. Would Jax be enraged upon waking up, killing every assassin in sight? Or would he join them in their plan to bait the Thalmor Emissary, returning to lead the Brotherhood as their "Listener"? And another doubt plagued the Dunmer's weary mind. Will Jax simply cut my head off when he discovers my new affliction? The Dragonborn had spared Serana, and eventually befriended her. Teldryn hoped he would be afforded the same benefit of the doubt. It would be damn hypocritical of him not to, considering his secret allegiances.

He managed to find his way back to the chamber he had awoken in. Now that Teldryn was actually able to see it, he realized it must have been Serana's room at some point. The archaic style couldn't quite hide the impression that a young girl had once inhabited the space. A large armoire took up most of the space on one wall, and a big mirror and desk sat beside it. The mirror had been smashed a long time ago, but some slivers of glass still stubbornly held on to the frame. He sat down at the desk and stared into one of the slivers. The intricate war paint he had so painstakingly applied every day of his life had faded away completely now, likely mostly washed off during their stop at the pond. Memories of that day, of Serana's soft arms around his neck, did little to soothe his conflicted mind.

Teldryn had always known he wasn't the most conventionally handsome Dunmer, with his facial markings and mohawk, but now he could barely stand to look at himself. At least before, he had chosen to look like he had, and those who who had been drawn to his wild appearance had embraced it. Now, his skin was so pale Teldryn imagined he could've seen the veins in his face, had he still been pumping blood through them. There were black shadows and wrinkles around his too-red eyes, shadows that he knew would not fade with sleep. And, as he bared his teeth to the mirror, he saw the new instruments of his evil consumption. The tools of the slavish life Serana had cursed him to.

He cursed and turned to the bed. He was grateful that bloodsuckers still needed the occasional nap; sleep, if nothing else, was one pleasure that carried over. On his pillow was a squat red potion bottle, with a golden stopper. Teldryn knew what it was; a potion of blood, meant to satisfy the cravings of the new beast living inside him. Drained from the Argonian, in all likelihood. He picked it up, feeling the warm liquid through the glass, and some new and despicable part of him called out for it like an addict lusting after a vial of skooma. Teldryn pushed the desire down and threw the bottle at the far wall, where it shattered with a satisfying bang. Blood dripped down the stones, collecting into a small pool that Teldryn did his best to ignore. Maybe that's how I'll get through this mess. Just wait it out until this thing inside me realizes it isn't getting any of what it wants, and then maybe it'll leave.

Yeah, right. And maybe Jax and Runa would suddenly appear in a war galley at the docks, with Nazir's head pinned at the front to scare away other annoying Brotherhood assassins.

He was about to lie down for some well-deserved rest when he noticed a small note had been pinned under the blood bottle. At first, Teldryn felt the urge to burn the note to ash in his hand, but the part of him that had held Serana so tightly in the Soul Cairn told him to read it. He unfolded the paper.

I'm sorry. The first night is hard. It gets easier.

I love you.

His eyes traced over the words for a long second, over Serana's lovely handwriting, before he let the note fall from his hand to fall somewhere he couldn't see. Teldryn tried to summon some kind of feeling, some measure of emotional reaction to the letter, but he was simply worn out. Maybe tomorrow, I'll be able to bring myself to write a response. He desperately tried to ignore the fact that a significant portion of his apathy was due to the rising, furious hunger that still longed for that blood potion, a hunger that pushed silly things like love and happiness and pain aside.

Teldryn finally into a deep sleep on Serana's old bed, too exhausted to even slip under the covers.

He's 26 and one of the most renowned swordsmen in all of Blacklight when he first has to leave a patron to die. The Dunmer woman is a young noble, in way over her head, who is making far too many enemies. Teldryn is no coward, but nonetheless he warns his patron not to show her face in the more seedier districts of the city until her notoriety has faded from memory. She refuses, and they find themselves caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs. The Dunmer woman catches three arrows in her chest, and there is nothing he can do. Teldryn flees the scene, and carries a guilt that he can find no place for. So instead it haunts him, and before too long it has company. More patrons, more foolhardy ventures, more blood-

Blood. The word broke through his dreams, an unwelcome visitor. Blood, blood, need it need more BLOOD wakeupwakeup need to DRINK BLOODBLOODBLOODFEEL IT IN US-

He woke up with a shuddering gasp, so cold and weak and hungry, and Teldryn leapt off the bed on to the floor. He crawled forward and licked the dried blood off of the stones, and it tasted so sweet and filling and right, and he couldn't stop until no trace of red remained. The glass stung his tongue but he hardly noticed. After he finished, Teldryn could do nothing more than lay panting in the darkness, feeling simultaneously euphoric and abominable.

That is how his first day as a vampire began, and as Teldryn walked past the broken mirror he could not bring himself to glance at what he had become. At the very least, he knew that no blood would be dripping from his fangs or chin; the hungry monster inside him wasted not a single drop.

He saw no sign of Serana on his way to the dock, but a book had been left on one of the wooden posts next to their destroyed vessel. The title read: Maritime Crafting and Construction, Fourth Era Edition.

A note was tucked inside the cover. Even in the darkness of midnight, Teldryn could read it clearly.

I know you can't bear to face me right now. I understand if you never want to see me again. I understand if you hate me for the rest of your life. I'm looking for ropes in the castle; my father and his clan couldn't walk across water any more than we can, so I'm sure there are some sailing supplies around somewhere. There might be some old logs in the tower near the docks, and a saw or two.

Teldryn sighed. A piece of charcoal had been left next to the book. He picked it up, and scrawled a response under her words.

I don't hate you.

There was a meager supply of rotting wood in the tower, as Serana had thought, but Teldryn suspected it would take them at least a week to make a serviceable raft out of such dilapidated materials. Seven days that he had no doubt the Brotherhood would make use of, dragging his friends across Skyrim while Teldryn was busy sawing wood and tying ropes. He took some small comfort in that he knew where they were going: Dawnstar. That bastard Nazir had let slip the location of their Sanctuary when they had been traveling together, and he would make sure the Redguard didn't live to regret it.

The sunset, a delightful event that Teldryn had come to appreciate over the years, put a halt to his work on the raft. Even the meager rays coming from the rising dawn were enough to set his skin tingling uncomfortably. I flee from the sun now, like some pathetic nocturnal creature. Despite his grumblings, Teldryn welcomed the coolness inside. Now that all the bodies and gore had been cleared from the dining hall, the atmosphere was much more tolerable.

He spent most of the sunny day inside the windowless Castle Volkihar library, reading works new and old alike. Serana and her mother were responsible for stocking the fresher volumes, he figured. There were quite a few tomes about vampires, unsurprisingly. He found novels about the infamous murders of bloodsuckers long gone, legends of vampire clans hiding in the crypts of Skyrim, and scientific reports concerning the disease Sanguinare Vampiris. Nowhere in any of the works did Teldryn find mention of any benevolent vampires. The myriad books all seemed to share the same opinion; those afflicted with vampirism were driven only by their thirst for mortal blood, and whatever sense of morality they might have held in their previous lives was long gone. He found it hard to argue with this, given the uncontrollable fit he had experienced at midnight. What if I had been sleeping in a room with Runa, instead of a smashed bottle of blood? Would I have been able to control myself? Teldryn wanted to believe that he'd have slit his own throat with a jagged piece of glass before he attacked Runa, but he just didn't know.

Upon returning to Serana's bedroom (he couldn't bring himself to call it 'his bedroom' – it simply sounded much too permanent) he discovered another Blood Potion waiting on his pillow. Instead of smashing it, Teldryn picked it up without hesitation. If I'm going to be a blood drinker, it's going to be on my own terms. There was no note with this bottle. Perhaps Serana had sensed he needed some space, or she was still taking in his response. Or maybe she ran out of charcoal.

Teldryn took out the cleanest looking cup he could find in the dining hall and set it on the desk. Then he uncorked the blood potion and let the red liquid fill the cup, trying very hard to keep his hands from shaking with anticipation. A Dunmer can never be a slave, even to his own desires. He made himself set the empty bottle down slowly on the bedside table, and then sat down at the desk with an open book before finally indulging in a sip of blood. It took nearly all his willpower to keep from throwing the cup back and gorging himself, but Teldryn managed. To be Dunmer is to force yourself to adapt, to survive. Even to this. He smiled grimly, turned the page, and took another sip.