Chapter Twenty-Six
Vorstag had been through a lot of shit in his life.
Aye, life in Skyrim was dangerous, and often fleeting, but he felt he had suffered more than his fair share of trials. Abused. Burned. Trapped. Abducted. Presumed dead. Tortured. Blinded. Lost. Just to name a few.
He tried not to take it personally, though he had every right to feel like the gods were taking a dump on him.
If anything, these little 'lessons' in his life only served to make him stronger. When he and his friend had been abused as young men, he had worked hard to become so physically intimidating that very few would be able to take advantage of him again. When he'd been taken by the Thalmor, he'd learned ways to protect what was important, and had grown an inner strength of endurance.
When he had ended up in Blackreach, lost and alone, buried beneath miles of earth, he'd learned how to face his deepest fears and function in spite of them. So far he had taken everything that fate had to offer, and found a way to either cope or defeat or twist it to his advantage.
But fucking Oblivion! How was he supposed to deal with this?
He walked beside Gerhild, the woman he loved, the demon he feared. He was listening to a tale spill from her lips, a spine-tingling tale of horror and monsters and life-threatening situations. She had seen Ogmund die—gods, he still couldn't accept that his oldest friend lay dead in a crypt, his throat ripped out by vampires. After his death, she had fulfilled her promise to Ulfric. The Civil War was over, Skyrim was free from the Empire, the Thalmor were driven from the land, and in a unanimous vote—considering every Jarl either supported him or had been instated by him—Ulfric had been named High King.
But the story didn't end there. With Skyrim at peace, Gerhild had set her sights on the vampire threat. She had joined the Dawnguard, anonymously of course, and after a few mishaps and misadventures found herself in Castle Volkihar, the very heart of the vampire stronghold. There the leader, Lord Harkon, had offered her a choice: accept his gift of vampirism, or flee like prey. He had only given her the choice—instead of killing her outright—because she had proven herself worthy by rescuing his daughter, Serana. Gerhild had chosen to join the vampires, reasoning that it would be easier to destroy them from within—she would have intimate insight into their strengths and weaknesses.
Vorstag listened, horrified, as she described the past few months, her search for these Scrolls that would help Lord Harkon destroy the sun and cast the world into eternal night. The thought chilled him, the whole world, as dark and dismal as this place. Gods, if he wasn't so desperate to get the fuck out of there, to get above ground and back in Skyrim, he'd… he'd…
His hand twitched near the handle of his sword…
No, this is Gerhild. She may be a vampire, but she was still the woman he loved, just… misguided. He had to try to help her, to reach her, to save her. Just like she was saving him now, by helping him get out of there. "You're not serious," he asked her, as they neared a Dwemer tower, testing her motives. "You're not going to help him plunge all of Nirn into darkness, are you?"
"Of course not," she waved his concern aside, never seeing the nervous shifting from foot to foot. "I'm going to destroy the bow, but after I use it as bait. Pretending to give the bow to Lord Harkon will make him lower his defenses; he'll be too focused on his plans to notice the Dawnguard attacking, at least at first. When he finally realizes he's under attack, he'll be distracted again and not notice that I'm poised to destroy him and the bow."
"You sure about that?" he pressed. "He's a stronger vampire than you."
"Maybe," she shrugged, unconcerned. The door to the tower was locked, so she knelt and pulled out a pair of lock picks. "But he doesn't know that I'm the Dragonborn. And no one, not Man nor Mer nor Draugr, possibly not even any dragon, is stronger than I and my Thu'um."
"Including Alduin?"
The lock gave way, and she turned to smile up at him over her shoulder. At least, he was fairly sure she was smiling from within her helmet. "That's the hope. Lord Harkon won't be counting on my Dragonborn nature, and Alduin won't be counting on my vampire nature. With any luck, I'll have defeated both of them and assured Skyrim's continued peace by the end of the year."
"What then?" he asked softly, walking into the tower behind her. Immediately there was a lift, activated by a lever.
"Hmm?" she hummed, pulling the lever once he was beside her. The floor beneath their feet rattled a moment, then the walls began to slide downwards as they were lifted upwards.
"After Harkon is destroyed, and Alduin is killed, what then?" He fiddled with his leg joint. It had been sticking off and on while they had been walking, and he took the time to give it a swift punch to unstick it.
"Norilar," she said as if it was a foregone conclusion. "Wanna come with when I hunt him down?"
Vorstag swallowed. There were too many emotions and memories associated with that name. He couldn't think clearly when his mind was full of pain and humiliation and despair. He set them aside for now; he had to focus on saving Gerhild first. "That's not what I meant. Look at you, Gerhild. Look." He grabbed her shoulder, making her face him, knowing she couldn't get away while the lift was moving. "You willingly became a vampire, the very thing that killed our friend Ogmund."
"I did what I had to do," her voice was dangerous and low.
"You had to become your enemy? A monster? Tell me, would you become a dragon to defeat Alduin?"
"If that's what it took, then that's what I'll do! You don't understand, Vorstag, this isn't easy!" She pulled out of his grasp and took half a step back, all the room she had, unwilling to see his point of view. "All that I have to do, all that fate has in store for me, it's too much for one person, one mortal person. So I made a few sacrifices, a few deals I'm not proud of. I can't afford pride. The fate of all existence is riding on my shoulders, and I will do what I have to—what must be done—to finish this! I have already freed Skyrim from the Empire and the Thalmor. I will destroy Lord Harkon. I will destroy Alduin. I don't care the cost!" The lift stopped, and she pushed open the door and stomped through what looked like an old campsite. Her anger kept her from seeing her surroundings, her only thought to get away from Vorstag before she did something she would regret.
"Look what it's done to you," he said gently, also ignoring the camp and chasing after her. "You're not a Nord any longer, not human. You've lost your way, your reason for doing things."
"Isn't it enough that I'm doing what needs to be done? Stuhn's Shield!" She only turned back to face him when she had put a reasonably safe distance between them. "What else am I supposed to do, let Lord Harkon kill me? Let him destroy the sun? Maybe that'll stop Alduin."
"Gerhild…"
"Maybe I should sit back and let the vampires and dragons battle it out between them, and then step in and take care of any survivors."
"Gerhild…"
"Of course, that would cost the lives of countless innocent bystanders, so that idea's no good."
"Gerhild!"
"What!" she barked.
"Look," he said, slowly and deliberately, pointing over her shoulder. She turned and, through an archway, saw a chamber that would have taken her breath away, if she had any breath.
"By the Nine," she whispered reverently.
"You think this is where the Elder Scroll is?" he asked, walking around her to enter the room first. It was large and circular, almost spherical. On either wall was a ramp that led up to a platform directly opposite the door. But what grasped their attention was the contraption that took up the main area of the room. Hanging from the ceiling was a series of lenses, each of them held and positioned with arms of golden Dwemer metal. Blue-green light filled the room, shining down though some unknowable distance from the surface, refracted and refocused through the tinted lenses.
Gerhild slung her pack off her shoulder, rummaging inside and removing the Lexicon. "Has to be," she decided. She started up one of the ramps and reached the top of the back wall where she found a control panel. There was a receptacle that was the perfect size and shape for the Lexicon. She put the cube in there and stood back, looking puzzled at all the buttons before her. "Now what?"
Vorstag didn't answer her, not that she expected an answer, so she started pushing buttons at random, hoping something would happen. It did, the buttons controlling the arms which moved the lenses around the contraption, but the Elder Scroll remained hidden.
"Allow me," he said at last, having come up the other ramp. "I think I've got this figured out."
"How?" she asked, and he pushed a book at her in answer, his focus on the buttons before him. She turned the slim volume over in her hands, amazed and chagrined at the same time. "A journal? Who's Drokt?" she read the name on the inside page.
"The poor skeleton down there," he nodded to where he had found the journal. "It was his campsite we passed through in that other room. He died here, obsessed with trying to figure out how to operate this machine. Only thing is, he didn't have a blank Lexicon, like you do." He hit the button on the highest pedestal three times, and the Lexicon opened up. He pressed another button to the left twice, and the lenses began moving.
"I forgot you can read," she said softly, idly drifting through the pages.
"Aye, Ogmund…" his voice cracked and he had to swallow, "I had Ogmund teach me. I always wondered, how did you know I couldn't read?"
"The way you'd lean away whenever I handed you a note to read yourself, but you'd lean in and nod whenever I pointed out a particular word. You have a lot of tells, Vorstag."
"Tells?" Light filled the chamber, the lenses focusing the brightest rays through the Lexicon.
"Aye, tells, little bits of body language that tell what you're thinking. Kinda like how I thought you were gay."
"What?"
He turned away from the machine to stare at her.
She felt his eyes on her and looked up. "For the longest time, I thought you preferred the dagger to the sheath."
"How…? Why…? I'm not…"
"Oh, I know now that you're not," she waved it aside, lifting her face upwards, watching the light fill the Lexicon with knowledge. "But when we first met, I thought you might be, and your body language sort of confirmed my suspicions."
His lips pressed into a thin line as he set his jaw, looking away from her, too. "Because of my lisp, right? Everyone fucking judges me because of that damn lisp!"
"That was one thing," she admitted, "But you know me; I don't jump to conclusions that quickly. No, there was also the inordinate amount of effort you put into honing your body, building muscle and showing it off."
"I'm a sellsword," he countered, crossing his arms and pouting, inadvertently flexing his muscles, "I need to look tough and menacing, or I might not get hired."
"And then there was Argis, the matching tattoos, the way you kept blushing around him, and the story of you two in Riften. You did admit he preferred men…"
"I… now… wait… just… aargh!" He put a hand to his forehead, like he was getting a headache. When had this conversation gone awry? "I blush. A lot. I know it, I can't help it, it just happens. And as for Argis, aye, he prefers men, and after Cidhna Mine, when we ended up in Riften, fine, we stayed in the same room. And he offered, because he thought I might be interested. But I wasn't. I'm not. We never… did that. Maybe I blush around him, because the tattoo story is embarrassing, and because I think about his offer sometimes, not that I would take him up on it, but just because I don't like to see him so lonely. But I prefer women!" He looked back down at her, slamming his fist onto the last button. The lenses moved out of the way, and the container holding the Lexicon lowered towards them again. "I love you."
Gerhild was poleaxed. She stood there, the Dwemer contraption whirring and whirling, the container lowering, the Lexicon opened and filled now with the Elder Scroll, woven out of the ether. But the most amazing thing she had ever experience was standing in front of her with the most charming scowl on his features. "That's the first time you've ever said it."
"I… what… no… maybe… but you knew it."
"No," she shook her head. "I never realized it. Not until after I thought you dead." During his stunned silence, she turned and retrieved the Scroll and the Lexicon, now ruined, and stuffed both into her pack. "All that time we had together… Why did you never say anything? You knew we loved each other, didn't you? So why would you just sit there and not say anything? Why would you waste so much time? Why didn't you tell me, explain to me, what that stupid indigestion I was feeling really was?"
He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging within his slipshod armor, and pulled his helmet off his head. He rifled a hand through his long, lanky brown hair before answering. "Would you have believed me if I told you? No, you needed to discover it for yourself, or you would never have been able to accept it. So I kept silent and waited. And hoped."
Gerhild stared at him, saw the sincerity in his eyes, and knew it had cost him to sit back and wait and hope she would come around. She had been too blind, too stubborn to realize the truth in time. But he could've given her a hint at least. Just like she had given him hints, the whole time he was blind and she pretended to be a stranger. Aye, she knew exactly what he had gone through. "Just like I did to you."
"What?" he asked softly, watching her as she removed her helmet and hood. Her eyes were an even brighter amber, her features more angular, as if the vampire part of her was getting stronger. She didn't seem to notice, her focus on trying to find the words to explain.
"Stuhn's Shield," she moaned, tugging off her gauntlets just to have something to do while she thought of what to say. "Vorstag, I was the Ebony Warrior." She waited, watching his face, hating the remembered fear and pain from that time stain his features. And she feared she was only going to make it worse. "When Vilkas came to Whiterun, with news of your death, with proof, I couldn't accept it. I… I didn't want to live, not without you. I tricked Vilkas, got him so mad while we were sparring that he lost control and ran me through. I was hoping to die, but I didn't, stupid luck. Tripped on a shield at the last possible moment and his sword missed my heart.
"When I recovered, I realized how wrong it had been to try to make Vilkas kill me—so he would suffer from guilt—all because he delivered the news of your death. I knew I needed to make it up to him, to everyone. I started by volunteering to find out what happened to Eorlund's son, Thorald. He'd gone missing around the time I was… indisposed. It wasn't really a matter for the Companions, even if Eorlund worked so closely with them, because the Thalmor were involved. After a few discreet inquiries, I discovered Thorald was at Northwatch Keep. I went there to rescue him," she reached up a hand to touch his cheek, so warm and ruddy with life, "But I found you."
It was all there, in his expression, the remembered pain and fear and dehumanizing Norilar had put him through. And now the knowledge that she had tricked him, that she had seen him at his lowest point, and kept silent…
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, the hurt and anger and betrayal in the forefront. "I was blind, Gerhild, I couldn't know who you were. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I couldn't," she shook her head, wishing she could produce the saliva necessary to swallow that damn lump in her throat. "Thorald and Avulstein knew me from Whiterun; I couldn't let them know it was Lady Gerhild within the ebony armor. They know now, but that's a different matter. I… I couldn't tell them then who I was, and I didn't expect to find you there, so I couldn't tell you without telling them. And after they left…"
This was hard, so very hard, all the more so because she needed him to understand so badly. Ah, gods, there was so much he needed to understand, that her words tumbled over themselves as she tried to explain. "Vorstag, I… I wanted to tell you… I tried… but you were so hurt… so adamant about not… not being a burden to anyone who knew you… I thought… I hoped… after you got your sight back… if it worked… things would be different… you'd feel different… you'd come to the Ragged Flagon and see me and then… we'd talk and… and…" her words stopped, her bottom lip trembling so hard she had to bite it.
"Aye, I remember what I said. I meant it, at the time—I didn't want to be a burden to you or anyone. After my sight was restored, well, I wasn't sure what to do. I meant to find the Ebony Warrior and work off my debt to her—you—whatever. Only, things didn't work out that way," he finished lamely with a shrug, closing his eyes and pressing his thin lips together. He paused for half a heartbeat before he leaned his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him, hearing the sound of his armor clanking against hers as he returned the embrace.
"After Riften, I thought I lost you," she whispered, trying to ignore the pulsing artery close to her lips, "Again. I couldn't find you, no matter how hard I tried. You had simply… vanished. I figured, either you were unable, or unwilling to come to me. Whichever one it was didn't matter, the end result was the same. You were out of my life. So I had to go on. I had to do those things I promised to help others with, like end the war for Ulfric. And find a way to defeat Alduin. When I ended up in Castle Volkihar, and Lord Harkon gave me the opportunity to join him, I did. I didn't think it would matter. I mean, after I defeated the vampires and Alduin, maybe hunted down Norilar, there would be nothing else for me. Whatever dreams I might have once entertained—even subconsciously—no longer mattered. Not without you. But now…" She was choking, not needing to breathe, unable to cry, but feeling the emotions from her deadened heart come alive. "I'm so sorry, Vorstag…"
He knew how deep her emotions ran, how strong and overwhelming they were and how badly she feared losing control. Always she tried to keep herself—her heart and soul—subdued within a prison of ice. He had managed to break through that barrier once, and though she had rebuilt it in his absence, it seemed he was breaking through again. Even though she truly was dead, or undead, or whatever—her strong emotions still clung to her like a miasma, making her dead body wheeze and cough as she tried to cry without being able to form the tears.
Vorstag endured the dry storm, not out of any sense of responsibility or duty, but out of love. Even if her heart no longer beat, even if her lungs only breathed to give her voice, even if her body was dead to his touch—he still loved her. He held her, and when the mumbling turned to moans he kissed her hair. When she grew overwhelmed and her knees buckled, he supported her weight and lowered them both to sit on the floor. When her body forcibly trembled, unable to express her strong emotions and she digressed into dry hysterics, he cradled her as tenderly as if she was a mountain flower caught in a hurricane.
Slowly Gerhild came to her senses, finding herself sheltered within his arms. She smiled, a little rueful, and murmured, "I haven't done that for a long time."
"Done what?" he asked quietly. His thoughts had been drifting while she lay, silent and still like a corpse, and he had barely kept himself from starting at her sudden words, even spoken so softly. He knew she needed him now more than ever, however, so he schooled his features and reactions, ignored his primal fear of vampires, and kept his love for her foremost in his thoughts.
"Lost control," she sighed. "Let my emotions… just…" she shrugged. "I thought they were dead, or at least dormant, especially now that I'm undead. But around you, I don't know, I feel safe. Protected. Loved. I know I can lose control, and you won't judge me or use what I say to your own advantage." She affected a stern look. "I don't know whether to thank you, or blame you."
He smiled his most charming smile, and pecked her nose with a kiss. "You're welcome."
She stared at him, once more losing control of her emotions, and eventually had to give in to the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "So," she sat up, more to distract herself than because she was uncomfortable. She truly didn't trust herself that close to his neck. "What happened to you? In Riften. I know you won a drinking contest against a Breton mage, and the two of you left Riften together, but your trail just vanished. Stopped."
"Stopped?"
"Aye. I tracked your footprints; you have very large feet, even for a Nord…"
"Thanks."
She missed his sarcasm. "I followed your track down the road outside Riften, but suddenly your footprints stopped. There were no signs of a different mode of transportation. No horse. No wagon wheel. Your prints just ended mid-stride."
He took a deep breath, blowing it out forcefully. "Don't know. Honest," he pulled away, throwing up his hands in mock defense as she made a fist and pretended she was going to hit him. His smile faded, though, as he continued, "I left the Face Sculptor, intending to head to the Ragged Flagon, but I didn't know my way because, well, I was blind just a few hours before, wasn't I? Never saw how to find my way through the tunnels. Anyway, after a while, I found myself outside by the canal and," he shrugged, "I just wanted to look at the sky, the sun, ya know? So I climbed the stairs, and there was this tavern, and some coin in my pocket…"
"Aye," her eyes narrowed only slightly, knowing of his love for mead.
"…and inside, I ordered one drink, just to bolster myself before heading back downstairs again…"
"Right."
"…only this Breton says I don't got what it takes, to keep up with him, drink for drink, ya know?"
"Insulting."
"And so he takes out this bottle, and we each take a swig. It was pretty potent stuff, but I managed one more swig than he could, and won."
He was positively beaming, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. "Imagine that."
He had stopped, though, and the smile faded again, somewhat sheepishly.
"Well," she prompted, "What happened next? Why did you leave Riften?"
"I… ah… well… you see… I…"
"What?" she dragged the word out, exasperated.
"Idonrember." The words came out in a rush, and she had to ask for clarification. He squared his shoulders and, mustering as much dignity as he could, admitted, "I don't remember. One moment, I'm drinking with Sam…"
"Sam?" she asked.
"Aye, that was his name, Sam Gwee-something. Anyway, one moment I'm drinking with Sam, the next, I wake up with the biggest hangover of my life, in the Temple of Dibella in Markarth, no pants, slaughter fish scales and juniper branches everywhere, a mammoth tusk leaning against a statue kinda phallus-like, and a priestess who says I've defecated the Temple."
She blinked at him. "Don't you mean desecrated?"
"No," he rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing away, "I meant what I said."
One delicate golden eyebrow rose.
"So, I ran. Out of the Temple, trying to avoid getting arrested, ya know. Saw Ogmund," again that damnable lump threatened to choke him, "And he gave me a pair of pants. Gods, Gerhild, I wanted to tell him who I was, but I couldn't, ya know?"
"I think he knew," she assured him, remembering her conversation with him.
"I left Markarth. Wandered for a bit. Finally found this farmer who needed some help, in exchange for food and a place to sleep. Well, these soldiers came one day—Imperials looking for 'volunteers' for their army—and I hid until nightfall. Helped the conscripts get away and ran with them. Got separated, and by morning found myself with the farmer's shovel," he nodded at the tool sitting off to the side, "At some pond in the middle of nowhere. And there was Sam, saying he was disappointed in me. Me! I told him to leave me alone, and he said some strange stuff. Anyway, there was this flash of light, and the next thing I knew, I was in… what did you call it… Blackreach.
"First thing, I came across this group of Falmer fighting a Dwarven centurion. The Falmer lost to the centurion; the centurion lost to me." He tapped his chest. "Made some good use out of the scraps."
"That explains the armor."
"I was… scared. I'll admit it. You know I don't like being trapped underground." He might've heard her murmured empathy, but his words continued so quickly he probably hadn't noticed. "But there wasn't much I could do about it. I mean, sure, I tried to find a way out, checked a couple of buildings, but they were all locked. Even tried climbing the rocks along the walls of the cavern. But there was no way out that I could find," he swallowed loudly, "So instead of giving in to my fears, I focused on doing what I could. Got myself a couple of weapons, a place to stay that was free of Falmer, found a source of food, and… well… survived. Every once in a while I'd set out, looking for an exit, but most places were either locked, or so full of Falmer I knew I couldn't get through on my own." He nudged his shoulder into hers, "Then you came along, and now we're getting out."
"Aye," she returned his nudge a little distractedly, something in what he said earlier tickling at her memory. "Wait, go back to Riften. What was this guy's name?"
"Who? The Breton?" At her nod, he shrugged. "Don't quite remember. Sam something."
"Sam what?" she pressed.
He thought about it, trying to remember, but he had been very drunk at the time. "Sam… Sam… Sam Gwee… Gween… Gweeve…"
"Sam Gween?" she repeated, sounded astonished or shocked, he couldn't tell which, though her voice did rise in volume as she continued. "Sam-gween? Sanguine?"
The realization finally hit him and his jaw dropped.
"Stuhn's Shield, Vorstag, you had a run-in with the Daedric Prince Sanguine!"
"…fuck…" His eyes were wide, like an elk's eyes in the torchlight.
"You should be lucky you got away with your soul…"
"Fuck!"
She was astonished at his vehement outburst. "What is it?" she asked, instantly alert, almost losing control. She was more vampire than human right then, thanks to the lack of blood, and it would be all too easy to change into that monster. But if there was danger near them…
"I… I'm sorry… it's my fault," he said as softly as he had shouted a moment before.
One delicate eyebrow rose, as she stared at him in confusion. A moment before she had been on the verge of turning into a vampire lord right in front of him, and his sudden change in mood left her uncertain as to what to do. "What is?"
"It makes sense now, what he said," Vorstag continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "Sam… Sanguine… whatever… he said, well, a bunch of stuff that sounded like gibberish. But I understand now." He took her by the shoulders, mindful of the spikes on her armor, and elaborated. "I exchanged my fate for yours. Back in Solstheim, when you went into the Black Book to fight Miraak, you were gone for so long, and I prayed. I prayed to Stuhn, that he would protect you and keep you safe from Hermaeus Mora. But I knew Stuhn was the god of ransom, so I offered my fate in exchange for keeping your fate clear of Daedra."
"That… that was…"
"He did it," he continued over her words, one hand now stroking her pale gray cheek. "I remember you saying that something or someone stood between you and Hermaeus Mora and kept him from taking control over your fate. That must've been Stuhn, answering my prayer. And that left me open for any Daedra who came along. Sam/Sanguine said he was the first to get to me. He challenged me to a drinking duel, fitting for the Prince of Debauchery," he gave half a laugh, as if he finally got the joke, "And got me so drunk I couldn't remember all the crazy shit we did. He said I was supposed to try to figure it out, only I didn't play his game. So when he finally caught up with me, he sent me here, knowing how much I hate being underground. I bet he never thought you'd come here and find me." He practically shone he was smiling so brightly.
She blinked again. "Vorstag…"
"What?"
She turned away, "Never mind."
"What?!"
She looked back at him, "That is the single most… stupid… foolhardy… inane… aargh!" She shook her head at his wide-eyed, innocent expression. No, he wasn't remorseful that he had done something so idiotic as to exchange his fate for hers. And it was hard to stay mad at him—what was done was done—when he looked so boyishly proud, damn him.
A thought occurred to her, and her brow grew a tiny wrinkle as she spoke it out loud, "But it does explain something else. I, er, had my own run-in with a different Daedric Prince, only Nocturnal wouldn't have anything to do with me, said it wasn't allowed. I was kinda hurt at the time, but now…" she tilted her head, "I guess your bargain worked; Stuhn has been protecting me from Daedra. But now that you've had your little adventure with Sanguine, hopefully Stuhn will protect you, too, because I love you."
That was the first time she'd said those words. As a sort of miniature celebration, he kissed her lips. The sensation was odd, and in the back of his mind he kept thinking of how he was kissing a corpse, but he loved her, damn it! "That would be nice. There's enough shit to deal with as it is."
"Aye," she agreed sadly, wondering how they would work through the mess she made by becoming a vampire. Well, one thing for certain: they wouldn't find the answer to that problem sitting on their asses at the bottom of a Dwemer ruin. "Speaking of which, we should get going."
"Gerhild," he said as they stood, his hand reaching out to take hold of hers before she could put her gauntlet back on. His voice was uneasy, like he was working himself up to performing an unpleasant task. She automatically dreaded the next words coming out of his mouth. "Listen, whatever happens, whatever our future holds, we're gonna face it together, from now on."
She turned away.
"I mean it." His other hand forced her face upwards, and he pointedly waited until she lifted her burning amber eyes up to his soft brown. "I'm not gonna leave you again, even if I have to become a vampire…"
"No!" she shouted, pulling out of his grasp.
"I won't lose you…"
"Nor I, you," she affirmed. "And becoming a vampire would do it."
His eyes narrowed. "You're already a vampire, and immortal, but I'm still human. I'll grow old and die, or be killed in a battle—gods willing. But you won't grow old, and it's very hard to kill a vampire."
"Not impossible."
"Gerhild, if I become a vampire too, then we won't have to worry about that. We'll be immortal, together…"
"Vorstag, no," she said firmly and clearly, feeling like she was scolding a child or commanding a dog. "Listen to me. When you become a vampire, you lose your soul. I don't know where it goes, but I do know it's gone. Maybe it can reach an afterlife of a sort, Sovngarde even. But I don't know." She stepped even closer to him, her nose less than an inch from his, her lips fanning his with her dead breath. "I won't take that chance with you. Live. Live your life, for both of us. Die in battle if you must, or live a long life with me and die of old age. But live. And after your death, let your soul go to Sovngarde. Hopefully, you'll find me there one day."
His eyes, always and ever the most expressive part of his self, were full of hurt. "I'd rather cease to exist altogether, than be in Sovngarde without you." He paused to press his lips against hers again.
"Don't say things like that," she murmured, pulling away slightly, "Besides, I… well… I sort of… still have my soul… in a manner of speaking…"
"What?"
She winced at the alarm and shock in his voice, an abrupt change from the determined hurt of a moment before. Why were things always awkward and complicated between them? Deciding there probably wasn't an answer, she started to explain.
"When Lord Harkon changed me into a vampire, he had to kill me, right? That meant my soul would leave my body. Only, it didn't. I kinda have a surplus of souls, ya know. I… er… I switched, at the moment of my death, I switched my soul with one of the dragon souls. The dragon soul was released, and my soul is still inside me, sort of, in that place with the dragon souls I've absorbed. I can still feel it, sometimes, lost and confused, unable to understand what happened, the other souls brushing against it, through it…" She stopped to shudder. "It's feeling stronger, ever since I found you again. But it's still not a part of me. I'm still dead, I mean. So, that's why I don't want you to become a vampire. You don't have any extra souls to lose instead of your own. Live your life, Vorstag, and after you're gone, after my un-death has ended, hopefully my soul will finally be released to join yours in Sovngarde."
He was so still for so long, she thought perhaps he had died of shock. Then he suddenly let go of her, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself. He stuffed his helmet on his head without missing a step.
"What?" she asked, following behind him as he walked back down the ramp. She had to juggle a little, her hands full of her pack and helmet and gauntlets, as she finished putting her armor back on.
"That… that… that has to be the epitome of female logic! Only a woman could make sense out of that mess. Don't become a vampire just because I am, because I didn't lose my soul, though I'm still dead! Bah!" He pushed through the only other door in the chamber, and pounded his feet down the long hallway beyond.
"It makes perfect sense," she argued, almost skipping to keep up with his long, forceful strides.
He merely shook his head, stopping when he came to a closed gate with a strange receptacle in front of it. It took three deep breaths before he could find his voice, though his tone was not the easy-going Vorstag she knew and loved. "Would you open the door already? I'd like to leave this place."
She brought out the Attunement Sphere and held it over the receptacle, pausing to look at him through her eyeless helmet, and ask, "Are you mad at me?"
He let out an explosive breath, but had to shake his head. "No, I suppose not. I just don't understand you some days. But I do love you, even if you drive me to distraction."
"Ha!" she scoffed, using the Attunement Sphere to unlock the gate, "You drive me to distraction. All those pouty, kicked-puppy-dog looks when you're feelings get hurt…"
"I don't pout," he objected, crossing his arms over his chest as they stepped into the elevator.
"Like now," she smirked within her helmet as they began to ascend. "Then there's your insatiable thirst for mead…"
"Gods, do you know how long it's been since I've had anything to drink other than water? I don't suppose you have any on you?"
"What for?" she taunted him, "Vampires don't eat or drink, unless it's blood, that is. And see, you're distracting me again. Oh, there's your abilities as a bard. You can sing, and dance, and tell stories…"
"I get the idea."
The elevator chose that moment to break into the open, leaving the endless night of Blackreach far beneath them, and reaching the expanse of Skyrim spreading out in every direction. Both of them forgot about their conversation, but for entirely different reasons.
"By the Nine," Vorstag sighed, pressing his hands and face to the bars to look out over the area. They were on the side of a mountain, the slopes covered in white, with more white falling in swirling flakes. The sun was hidden behind clouds, but there was enough light for him to tell it was full day, and to make his eyes water, so unused to the brightness. A cold wind whipped between the bars, setting his skin ablaze with gooseflesh. He inhaled a huge lungful of air, reveling in the feel of the cold stinging from within. "Looks like we've come up just in time for a snowstorm." He wiped the tears from his eyes, turning to look at her, his smile nearly splitting his face in two. It froze faster than the dropping temperature.
"Gerhild!" he cried, dropping down beside her huddled form. She was kneeling, her body crumpling over his arms as he took hold of her. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"The sun!" she gasped. "I can feel it. Feel weak. It's been too long since I've last fed, too many wounds, too little blood. Help me, Vorstag, please, help me…" her voice faded to a whisper.
He swallowed, nodding, even though she couldn't see it. "What can I do? Tell me what to do!"
"We need to go back down," she said softly, her head lolling on her shoulders, "Beneath the earth. Earth and stone will protect me from the sun…"
Anything but that, he wanted to say, his earlier joy evaporated in the face of her troubles and his fears. She needed to go back to Blackreach until nightfall, and he never wanted to return. He looked over at the lever, but he couldn't make himself reach out for it. Damn it, he had just managed to make it out of that accursed place. Was he supposed to give his freedom up so quickly, after only one brief glimpse? Feeling her dead weight in his arms, he knew the answer.
He set his jaw and tried the lever.
Nothing happened. He set her down and tried it again, thinking maybe it had to be reset, but the elevator remained silent. Even a good hard kick didn't seem to help. "Damn! The elevator isn't working. We'll have to try something else." He looked around, thinking he had spotted what might have been a campsite nearby. "I think I see a tent. Don't know if anyone's there, but…"
She didn't answer, other than a somewhat feeble squeeze of her hand around his wrist. He lifted her up, didn't even bother to try to get her to walk, and carried her—armor and pack and all—towards the campsite.
"Hello the camp!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he staggered against the wind and the snow. His arms were aching by the time they reached the tent, from carrying her as well as from the cold, and he barely paused as he pushed his way inside. "I said, hello. Is anyone here?"
The inside of the tent was deserted, but it was also cozy and well protected from the weather. He set her down on an old bedroll, the blanket frozen stiff and the straw long since rotted away. He supposed it might have been the surface campsite of Drokt, the poor skeleton they found in the Dwemer chamber. It didn't matter, as it obviously wasn't being used, and they needed to use it.
"Gerhild," he called to her, removing her helmet. He hadn't quite gotten used to her vampiric appearance—like her eyes—but with the helmet removed he saw the daylight was causing an even more disastrous affect. Her cheekbones were raised, the hollows more gaunt, her nose scrunched upwards like a bat, her skin gray with a thin red line vertically dissecting her mouth. If anyone saw her now, if anyone happened to stumble into this tent, they'd know her for what she was and kill her on sight. "Gerhild, is it…" he spoke softly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer, "Is the sunlight hurting you?"
Her eyes fluttered open, barely a squint, but she gave a weak shake of her head. "…no… just weak… so very weak… can't… can't…"
He pressed his thin lips into an even thinner line. He could barely make out her words, more reading lips than hearing them. And her eyelids seemed too heavy to keep open. She was so weak, and getting weaker, and turning more vampirish before his eyes…
He'd had enough. It would be best to get it over with before he gave himself too much time to think about it. "There's nothing else to do."
She wanted to argue, she knew she should, but the sunlight was so strong, as was the vampire part of her, and her human part so weak… "…no…"
"You need to feed," he said stubbornly. "You can't go on like this." He was removing enough of his armor to expose his neck. Then he laid down next to her, leaning over her slightly, but keeping his weight off of her.
"…Vorstag…"
"It'll be alright," he assured her, trying to keep his heartbeat from racing. "You'll drink only what you need to help you handle the sun. And it'll only be this one time. Trust me, Gerhild. Even if you don't trust yourself, trust me."
It was too much. She could smell his heartbeat, feel the bright red fluid gushing through his veins, hear his fear and anxiety. And his courage. She had none, reduced to the craven creature who would willingly feed on human blood. Yet a part of her clung to sanity, a part that grew smaller the closer his neck came to her lips. She filled her lungs with air, but could only manage a cryptic whisper of warning, "…don't struggle…"
His flesh was there, warm and flushed, the skin quivering with his pulse. Her lips were poised directly over the artery, ready to give him the kiss of death. No, she wasn't going to kill him. She was only going to drink a little, only a few swallows, only enough to survive the daylight. Her lips parted, her fangs touching his skin, grazing over the area. She felt him shudder, whether from the cold or the thought of what they were about to do, but she was beyond being able to help herself.
He knew he was being foolish. He had no idea—none whatsoever—what it would be like to be bitten by a vampire. And Gerhild was more vampire now than Nord; he could see it in her actions even if he ignored her features. He was literally putting his life in her hands. His life, his blood, his fate.
He felt her lips on his skin, so cold like ice, numbing and chilling him at the same time. He pondered her words, the warning not to struggle, and steeled his resolve. She needed this. She needed him to be strong, to give her some of his blood, and know when to stop. The feel of her fangs rasping across his neck made him shudder, and he clenched his hand so tightly his fingernails punctured his skin. He focused on that, on the pain in the palm of his hand, and tried to ignore the pressure of her fangs as they pushed down, his skin stretching around the tips until with a pop she was through.
There was pain, a mere moment's worth, and a little surprise over the situation, that this was actually happening to him—to them. Then the fangs were gone, removed from the holes they had made. Instead he could feel her lips moving, slow and almost sensual, as her whole mouth worked to suckle blood from his body.
So much for focusing on his hand. His mind was totally absorbed in the moment, in the strong movements of her jaw, the stroking of her tongue, the kneading of her fingers now tangled in his hair. Briefly he noted to himself it was funny that the puncture wounds were numb, but everything else seemed hypersensitive. He closed his eyes—he couldn't see much more than the canvas of the tent fluttering in the wind anyway. That only accentuated the sensations, burning like fire, marking him, branding him, as her own property.
Her hands tugged, and his neck stretched a little further into an uncomfortable angle. It was getting hard for him to breathe, his head beginning to spin with lack of oxygen and lack of blood. He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little shove. He wouldn't struggle, but he did need her to understand that she had probably had enough by now.
She continued to drink, a little trickle escaping her mouth to drip down his neck. By the Nine, this was awkward. He couldn't fight, for whatever reason she had felt it necessary to warn him about that, but he had to make her stop before he passed out. He felt the room tilt, felt himself slip over the edge and fall into that endlessly spiraling abyss.
His hand on the back of her neck, he managed to choke out, "Gerhild, my love…" before he was lost in the spinning void.
The next thing he became aware of was a gentle coolness, like when Gerhild would use a healing spell on him.
He opened his eyes, slowly, the light dim and the shapes before him out of focus. Some sort of sound was penetrating his ears, but he couldn't make sense of it. He blinked, and the shape in front of him began to clear. He saw pale skin, smooth and soft, surrounding a set of blood red lips that were moving. Just above and to either side of the lips were two flushed cheeks. There was a pair of amber eyes glowing like embers near the top of the shape. All of this framed by dark gold hair.
"Vorstag! Can you hear me?"
"Gerhild," he sighed, reaching up to kiss her lips, so red, so inviting, so alive.
She pulled away from him. "Stop that!"
"You're so warm," he hummed, his hands on her shoulders. She had removed her armor, and he ran his hands down her bare arms, "Like you're back with the living."
"And you're the one looking like a corpse. Oh, Vorstag!" she slapped his arms aside, but the irritation was beginning to leave her words. "You're such a male." She relented enough to kiss him again, but when he tried to sit up she kept him lying down with a hand on his chest. "Don't move. You're still very weak."
"What happened?"
"You were stupid. Again." She leaned away, and he turned his head to follow her. She had a small rabbit nearby, or what had been a rabbit. Its fur had been singed off, and the outer layer of skin was blackened, but when she pulled off a haunch the meat came away from the bone easily enough. "Here, eat this. I know, I know, I'm not the greatest cook, and there's no garlic, but it's edible… I think."
He realized he was ravenous. He took the meat from her hand with both of his and dove into it, tearing away the skin and sinking his teeth through the slightly overcooked flesh. "'s good," he said around a mouthful. He did swallow before he continued, "You forget, I've been dining on nothing but skeever and mushrooms for months. This is heavenly." He dove back into the meat.
She leaned away a little, allowing him to roll over onto his side and reach for more of the charred rabbit himself. She watched him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and commented, "I'll take this as a compliment to my cooking."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. This is the toughest, driest, most under-flavored rabbit I've ever eaten." He stopped to belch. "And you're welcome."
They laughed. The sound was full of love and relief and hope. He slowed down his eating long enough to say, "You do look almost normal."
A tiny furrow of irritation grew between her eyes. "That's because I drank too much blood from you. You're the one who's gray and weak, now. Why did you do that? You could've just taken me back down to Blackreach, ya know. You didn't have to give me your blood."
He shook his head and finished chewing before he answered. "Couldn't. Elevator didn't work. And it was early in the day, so there'd be hours of sunlight for you to suffer through. And I didn't know; it looked like it was hurting you, like maybe you might get so weak, you'd just fall asleep and never wake up or something." He dropped his gaze back to the meat in his hands, his appetite suddenly diminished.
"I had the same fear," she admitted softly, "When I came to my senses and found you beneath me, your neck in my mouth, your blood inside me. You were passed out, and so gray-looking, and… I thought I'd taken too much. Especially when I couldn't get you to wake up."
"How long have I been out?"
"Twelve hours or so," she answered. "Enough time for the storm to pass, and for me to hunt and cook this rabbit, and lose ten years sitting and worrying about you."
"Good thing you're immortal, then."
"This isn't a joke!" she snapped. "I'm serious, Vorstag, I really could have killed you. I was so starved for blood, I was afraid, if I started, I wouldn't—I couldn't make myself stop."
He wiped his fingers on the blanket before he reached out to touch her arm, realizing part of the reason she felt so warm was because he was so cool. "You did stop. I'm alive." He lifted a tear in her sleeveless tunic and saw her unmarked skin beneath, "You're healed. Everything worked out."
She shook her head. "This time. What about next time?" When her face turned towards his, he saw her eyes fill with bloody tears. "I can't do this. I can't trust myself around you, if I get too injured or if it's been too long since I've fed and there are no Potions of Blood and…"
He put his hand to her face, in part to stop her words, in part to wipe away the tears before she saw how bloody they were. He struggled to sit up, felt a little more confident when the tent only gave one funny little lurch, and put both hands on her face. "Listen to me. Listen, Gerhild. We're gonna find a way to fix this. I promise you. There's a solution; we just have to find it."
She nodded, her cheeks wet and smeared with her tears, and he busied himself wiping them away. When she was presentable again, he leaned forward and kissed her, her body no longer corpse-like since it was flushed with his blood. And his body reacted, as he feared it would. He searched for a topic of conversation to distract himself, thinking that no matter how much blood she had taken, she was still undead, and that was one line he wouldn't cross.
"So, um, why did you warn me not to struggle?"
"What?" she asked, blinking at him with surprise.
"Just before, ya know—that, you said 'don't struggle.' I was just wondering if there was a reason," he shrugged.
Her lips parted, her tongue flicking out to wipe across them before she answered, "Ah, most people don't want to be fed on by a vampire. We usually catch our victims sleeping, otherwise we have to cast a spell to weaken their will to resist. I don't remember saying that, but I suppose I warned you, because if you did start struggling, my vampire instincts would have made me cast that spell, to keep you from fighting me. I would have enthralled you, and the more often I cast that spell on you, the longer it lasts, until one day it isn't needed any longer. And I won't do that to you, Vorstag. I will not make you my thrall."
"You've said that already," he murmured, "But believe me, I wouldn't want to be your thrall, anyway. You need someone to butt heads against."
"Thanks," she drew the word out sarcastically.
He pecked her lips again. "We should probably get going, don't you think?"
She nodded, "It would be better to go while it's still night. I… I could make Castle Volkihar in two nights, but not with you tagging along."
"Some sort of vampire short-cut?" he asked, looking around for his helmet. He decided to carry it, wanting to finish off the rabbit while they walked.
She thought about it for a moment before answering, "Aye, something like that. Listen, it's too dangerous for you to come with me to the castle, anyway. Lord Harkon might kill you on sight, or worse—turn you into a vampire." She shrugged into her armor, and wasn't surprised when he began helping her buckle it in place.
"You're not suggesting we split up," he groused, "Not so soon after finding each other again…"
She turned to grab his hands. "We're not splitting up; we're taking different routes. Go to Morthal; I'll meet you there before the week is out."
"Promise?"
She leaned her forehead against his. "Promise," she affirmed. "Here, keep the Elder Scroll, so you know I'll be coming back. It'll be safer with you, than if I took it with me to the castle. Oh, one more thing: don't get into any drinking competitions, alright?"
His bark of laughter was quickly stifled. "What will we do after we meet in Morthal? Make plans to defeat the vampires?"
"I was thinking Riften…" She smiled at his groan.
"Why?"
She set a hand against his cheek. "I miss your face, your old face. This one is nice, but it's not you. I'd like to have you back, completely, if you don't mind."
He kissed her palm. "I don't mind."
"Even the tattoo?"
A/N: to my guest reviewer, Spartan DJB, I am going to start a Dragon Age 2 story, just as soon as I finish WoE. (Don't get upset, I'll be writing Gerhild's and Vorstag's "happily ever after" in Soul of a Dragon, but I want to branch out a little, and Bugs got me hooked on Fenris…mmmm…) It will not be a cross-over, but a different story with different characters. And I'll probably do a Jak & Daxter, too. Maybe even post one of my (far too many) Assassin's Creed stories. We'll see. BUT I'M FINISHING THIS ONE FIRST! *crosses arms, stomps foot emphatically, and pouts*