A/N: Yay! Internet's back! For those of you who have mentioned it, yes, I do try to update daily, or as close as I can get to that. Writing this has been so fun, and I'm eager to get to the ending. (If you're wondering, we are about 2/3 of the way through as of this chapter - providing I don't hijack my own brain and add a bunch of unforeseen stuff.) There is a good chance I will be writing a sequel to this as well. I love updating for my readers, and I love reading what you're thinking and predicting in the reviews.

**Random aside: have you guys downloaded the new console patch yet? I was excited to see the Legendary Skills, less excited to see that it fixed the misc. quest glitches (I still have a lot of problems with some of mine that the patch didn't fix. Why can't we inform Leifnarr's family of his death for god's sake!). It also removed the quest status from Gallus' journal so you can actually drop it now, haha. It also removed the Oghma Infinium glitch. I'm already about halfway into upgrading my archery skill into Legendary. Fun stuff!**

Chapter 35

Seeing Riften again couldn't come sooner for Aldric. He'd been through many things in the past week, and his mind was blank with overstimulation. He hoped Rory would understand that he was going to sleep when he returned to Honeyside instead of traveling to Nightingale Hall first thing.

His trip to Fort Dawnguard had been a disaster.

At first, he'd been pleasantly surprised upon seeing the massive old structure. That pleasant surprise grew into hopeful excitement when he glimpsed the armored soldiers practicing outside. He'd met a battle-hardened Orc by the name of Durak who'd handed him a new kind of weapon he'd never seen before—a crossbow.

The device was constructed of a wooden stock held easily in both hands. It used a short string cranked back by a lever to create tension that projected steel bolts upon releasing a trigger found on the underside. The weapon was fascinating, and although it was slower than using a traditional bow, Aldric loved anything new that he could tinker with and take apart. He'd procured a second crossbow from Durak and couldn't wait to get it down to his cellar in Falkreath to start working with it.

Then he'd entered the fort.

The leader of the Dawnguard was a tall, strong Redguard man named Isran. By watching him argue with a Vigilant of Stendarr, it wasn't hard to grasp that Isran himself had been part of the Vigil. Apparently, spreading the God of Mercy's "compassion" across Skyrim hadn't been enough for him, and he'd founded the faction of vampire hunters.

That had almost been enough to turn Aldric away before even speaking to the man. He, like most anyone who traveled Skyrim's roads, had encountered his share of Vigilants on their unending quest to purge all daedra. He'd seen them battling lesser vampires, witches, and once even a Hagraven who'd strayed too far from her roost.

He took no issue with those who wanted to fight against the creatures that would otherwise harm innocent people. Unfortunately, though, the Vigil also pledged itself to rid Skyrim of werewolves. He'd had enough conversation with many different Vigilants that had passionately sworn that all werewolves were evil, murderous creatures, even lesser daedra.

Heart sinking, he realized that there was very little chance of procuring Isran's help without revealing that both he and Rory were werewolves. Isran's hatred of vampires was powerful, but it most likely wouldn't be enough to override his residual fear of shapeshifters like himself.

Then he'd caught Isran's gaze as he walked toward him. The man's eyes were liquid, nearly reflective silver, the same eyes every werewolf possessed. For a moment, he'd wondered if Isran was wolf. It would make sense—why he left the Vigil, why he fought against vampires.

Then he'd come close enough, and his scent confirmed it. He was a man—only a man. Isran held no beast of his own.

The other man, Vigilant Tolan, told him that the same vampires that had destroyed his headquarters, the Hall of the Vigilant, were deep into some kind of research that had led them to the crypt. They were searching for something, something of great importance to them.

He agreed to travel with Tolan to the location he'd tracked the vampires, Dimhollow Crypt, purely for selfish reasons—he wanted to know what they were up to.

Tolan hadn't made it far past the entrance of the cave. He'd managed to take down some of the vampires inside with him, however. Aldric encountered another of the undead canines inside, the same black, skeletal-looking beasts he'd fought with Rory in Riften. The bite on his elbow had stung uncomfortably for hours.

The deeper he made it into Dimhollow, the more suspicious he grew. He was about to turn back and withdraw, feeling like he was burrowing his way into a trap, until he hit the main cavern.

It was massive. The only other underground cave he'd encountered that was bigger had been Blackreach. Another Vigilant was murdered inside before he could help, and then he'd battled two other vampires and one of their thralls.

A steel spike had been driven through his hand after pressing an old mechanism in the middle of a platform. He'd felt some kind of magic siphoning his blood, and then the floor had burst into vivid light around him.

After healing his hand to the best of his ability, it took him nearly half an hour to figure out the key to the puzzle around the platform in the center of the cavern. After he'd discovered the combination to make the heavy braziers light up with the same pulsing, unfamiliar energy, a stone sarcophagus had risen from the floor.

Aldric had immediately drawn his weapon, expecting the coffin to reveal a draugr, or worse. He couldn't have been more wrong.

As he caught the woman that spilled from the inside, he barely registered that she was a vampire. All he knew at the moment was that she was unconscious and appeared weak. He gathered her in his arms gently, lowering her to the floor.

She quickly recovered, however, and began asking him questions. She was unlike any other vampire that he'd ever encountered—he sensed no malice from her whatsoever. And she was old—very old. She predated the Alessian Empire, something that sent a spike of fear through Aldric.

Serana possessed an Elder Scroll. She wore it on her back like a bow. What an ancient vampire was doing with a Scroll, he had no idea, but it immediately unnerved him.

Aldric logically knew that being the Dragonborn gave him no inherent right to any of the Elder Scrolls in existence; but having had close, personal contact with one, he knew that the power they held should not come into the hands of the vampires she was connected with.

If it had been any other vampire, and not the woman he'd just met, he would have killed them and taken the scroll. But something about her wouldn't allow him to harm her.

So he steeled himself and agreed to escort her to her family's home. She wanted to return to the vampires that would be, doubtlessly, exhilarated to see that she still had the scroll.

He should have killed her. He should have taken the scroll. They'd faced gargoyles, which he hated, and even a dragon priest guarding the exit to the crypt. It would have been easy, so easy, to slip a knife in the back of her neck during the confusion.

Standing in Castle Volkihar, Serana's home, and speaking to the powerful vampire Lord Harkon, Aldric had felt apprehension close to what he experienced before facing Alduin. It had taken everything he had to force his heartbeat to remain calm as Serana's father transformed from a man into his vampire beast.

He was surrounded on all sides. Undead members of Harkon's court were everywhere. They feasted with wet, squishing, hungry noises on slowly dying men and women presented on the tables like suckling pigs.

Harkon offered to turn him, to bite him and wash away his wolf blood and remake him as a vampire. Turning the man down, Aldric had been certain he wasn't going to make it out of the castle alive.

But, remarkably, he had. He knew he should have returned to Isran with news of what he'd learned, but he had ignored that plan and traveled straight to Riften.

Aldric had no idea if Harkon had anything to do with the attacks on Rory's family. He needed to get back to the city to discuss it with her, however, and figure out their next plan.

His alarm had slowly given way to sheer exhaustion the closer he got. This new situation with Serana and the scroll felt vast, like he could sense it was an ordeal that would take months of energy and tireless dedication to control.

Iona turned to him, surprised, when he opened Honeyside. "I wasn't expecting you for a while longer," she said.

He lowered his greatsword into her waiting hands. "Why's that?"

"Rory made it sound like you wouldn't be back for much longer than five days." The housecarl shrugged.

"Is she here?"

Iona shook her head. "No. She spent a night here, and then left suddenly the next day. I tidied up all the mail she left scattered on the bed."

He smiled. That sounded like her. "Thank you, Iona."

"It's my pleasure…my Thane," she answered, her voice turning up in a wry smirk at the end.

"Ysmir's beard, Rory," he muttered when he found the bundle of mail.

Iona hadn't mentioned that she'd almost destroyed it all. Every single piece of correspondence was opened and crumpled, even the ones that had been sealed. Many papers were ripped. He frowned as he flipped through it all. Had she been angry about something?

The only letter that was untouched was a small piece of paper folded once and sealed with his own green wax. He recognized the imprint of one of his rings pressed into the seal.

Confused, he cracked it open and unfolded the letter.

Aldric,

Nightingale Hall has been destroyed. It was attacked by vampires only a few days before we arrived. Lilly, Brynjolf, and Karliah are safe. I'll recount the message Brynjolf left with a city guard before they fled The Rift.

Below, she copied what the thief must have written after escaping the Hall. He read it, the pulse in his throat fluttering like a trapped bird, before reading the rest of her letter.

I couldn't wait for you to return. I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone. I left the day after we parted at the city. I need someone strong to travel with me while I try to track down Brynjolf and Karliah—I can't wait for them to contact me first. I don't know who else to go to, so I'm going back to Snowpoint to get Amon. Other than you, he's the strongest wolf I know.

I'll write when we get a lead, and then we'll wait for you to meet up with us. Please stay safe and don't worry.

Rory

Dimhollow had been very close, tantalizingly close, to Snowpoint. It enraged Aldric to know that he had been so near intercepting Rory and preventing her from taking off like this.

It seemed to him that there was very little logic in the decision she'd made. Any scent trail that Brynjolf and Karliah had left was, by now, dead and cold. Rory was surely as clueless as he was when it came to trying to predict where Brynjolf and Karliah might go. But then, logic was likely not a part of Rory's decisions right now. Lilly was in danger, and that's all she would be able to think about.

Irrational jealousy clouded his thoughts. After everything he'd talked about with Rory concerning Amon, she was going right back to pluck him from Snowpoint. She was going to travel with him, hunt with him, sleep with him at night…

A muscle in his jaw twitched when he wondered if she would cuddle to Amon at night the way she did with him. It seemed to be a subconscious need with her. After all, she'd done it with him almost right away after leaving Falkreath.

The small part of his brain that was managing clear thought quickly shut that idea down. Rory trusted him, and he was sure she felt something for him in her own way.

He crumpled her letter in his fist and let it fall to the bed. There was nothing he could do now but wait for Rory's word, whenever that would come.

He was trapped in Riften.