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ROË

Unseen Visions

Castle Volkihar

"My wondrous daughter returns," Lord Harkon welcomed them (well, Serana) with arms outstretched when he saw the Elder Scroll slung across her back. Roë even got acknowledgment when he said, "Safe and sound, as I had expected from you both." It wasn't much, but it was better than she'd expected. Of course, Harkon's giddiness at seeing the Scroll doubtless explained his good cheer.

Serana handed the Scroll over, but Harkon stopped her. "No, my sweet child, as I said, the honour of reading the Scroll should befall you."

"The honour of going blind? Why, thank you, kind father," Serana sneered.

Harkon laughed as if he didn't have a care in the world. "My dear daughter, no. The Moth Priest knows of a way to read the Scroll without exposing oneself to danger. It involves a ritual, but for the time being, he is unwilling to disclose the details." With a chuckle, he added, "He fears I will no longer consider him necessary after his revelation."

"Yes," Serana grunted. "How mistrustful of him."

"Isn't it?" He grinned broadly. "But fear not, Garen Marethi is preparing a serum that will have him singing like a nightingale."

"Thank Molag Bal for that," Serana said, exaggerating her tone of relief to mock her father.

He either ignored it or didn't notice (Roë suspected the former), and motioned for them to follow. "Let us see what Garen Marethi has… cooked up."

They followed him to the library, where the priest was strapped to the table, stripped to the waist and still blindfolded, not that that made any difference. Garen Marethi greeted them with a silent bow.

"Now then, my good friend Dexion. I may call you Dexion, yes? We've come to know each other these last weeks, after all." Harkon asked affably, as monstrously charming as he had been the first day Roë had entered these gates.

"You may call me whatever you wish," the Moth Priest simply said. "But that doesn't change anything. I am not disclosing the ritual for you until I have a guarantee of my life and my freedom."

"You do not take me on my word? I am wounded," Harkon put on.

"Not you, no," the Priest said. "But perhaps…"

"Yes, Priest? Perhaps what?" Harkon asked in a bored tone.

"I know your daughter is present, and from what I know of her, I trust her far more than you. If she promises to let me go and escorts me to the mainland, I swear I will tell her all about the ritual before we part ways."

Serana exchanged a look with Harkon, who returned it. Abruptly his face turned bitter. "No. You will tell me what the ritual entails, not my daughter."

Interesting. Now which of them did Harkon distrust? The Priest, or his daughter? Or both?

"Father, if we can resolve the situation peacefully like this, why can't I – "

"I said no, Serana," Harkon snapped, his previous amicality gone. "The Priest does not get to dictate the terms. I do."

Serana threw up her hands but stayed quiet.

"Now, Priest. The situation, and the balance of power, are clear as day. You will either tell me about the ritual voluntarily and trust my word as a nobleman, or you will tell me unwillingly, and forfeit any chance at mercy."

"I'll tell you nothing," the Priest spat, "Without your guarantee. If I tell you, I'm dead anyway, so there's nothing you can do to me."

Casually, inspecting his fingernails, Harkon said, "I can torture you."

The Priest laughed hoarsely. "I'm not very good under torture. The ritual is very complex and I can't stand pain. I would say all sorts of things."

Harkon was not bothered at all. "Yes, I imagine you would. That's why I took precautions. Garen, if you please?"

Marethi bowed. "At once, Lord Harkon."

"Dexion," Serana said quickly as Marethi decanted the serum. "You don't have to do this. Just tell him now and – "

"Serana," Harkon scolded. "He's made his choice."

The narrow-faced, ginger-haired Vampire held the serum out to Harkon. "My Lord, if it would please you…?"

With a dismissive wave of his fingers, Harkon said, "You do it, Garen. Orally, but if you must, intravenously."

Roë wasn't too bothered by the whole thing. It was only a truth serum of some sort. The Priest would divulge the ritual, and what would happen next, was bound to happen anyway, serum or not. She shared the Priest's conviction that once Harkon had what he needed, he was a dead man.

"Drink up, Moth Priest," Marethi said, holding the cup to the Priest's lips.

Predictably, the old man spat the drink out in Marethi's face, prompting a surprised yelp from the Vampiric alchemist.

"For Oblivion's sake, Garen, don't offer him a drink, force him to drink. You," he pointed at Roë. "Pinch his nose closed."

"Pinch his…?"

"Do it, you dog."

"Father – "

"Quiet, Serana. This Priest will talk, no matter what it takes."

Roë wanted to disobey, but knowing this would result in her destruction, her body did as it was told. With her thumb and forefinger, she clamped his nostrils closed, her cold fingers feeling his warmth. Marethi tried, again, forcing the Priest's jaw open and pouring in a gulp of the liquid, then quickly holding his jaw closed, his hand over the Priest's lips.

"Good. Now if he wants to breathe again, he'll have to swallow the serum first."

And indeed, the Priest struggled for a moment, but then his larynx rose and fell, and they knew he'd ingested the liquid. They both let go, allowing the Priest to suck in air with loud, laboured gasps.

"The serum," Marethi explained to his company, "works by disabling the part of the brain that controls the inhibitions." He tapped his own skull with his finger. "It won't force him to speak as such, but it'll just convince him it's a very, very good idea to do so."

"As long as it works," Harkon grunted with his arms crossed. "Tell me of the ritual, Priest."

"I… I will tell you nothing."

Harkon glared at Marethi, but the alchemist said hastily, "It takes some time to work, my Lord. It takes some time."

Both Serana and Roë knew what would happen to the herb mixer if the Priest didn't speak.

Abruptly, Dexion began humming a tune. All Vampires, even the regal and composed Lord Harkon, stood looking at each other like guppy fish.

"The… serum disables inhibitions," Marethi explained, wringing his hands nervously. "The Priest basically does and says everything that comes into his mind."

"I met a curvy lass

Who ate naught but grass"

Now the Priest started full-on singing, a dirty song from his young age, probably.

"She kicked out at me once or twice, and how

But she was a great fuck, even for a cow!"

Harkon's face was a thundercloud.

"D… Dexion," Marethi stammered. "Tell our Lord about the ritual."

Suddenly, the Moth Priest burst into cackling laughter. "The ritual? The ritual?" He laughed again, then broke into song again, singing "The ritual! The ritual!" over and over.

"Priest!" Harkon shouted, slamming his palm down on the wood next to Evicus' ear. "How is the ritual performed?"

"It is perforrrmed," he creaked in a creepy, mad voice, "by your daughter taking off her clothes and riding that smooth pale body on top of me!"

Uneasy looks were exchanged. Seemed Dexion had entertained more thoughts than just unhappy ones during his stay here. Roë felt like she should tear his throat out for his thoughts and words, but… they were no different from hers, except in the form of desire.

Her heart ached.

"You're trying my patience," Harkon said, but it was Garen Marethi his eyes were fixed on.

"Forgive me, Lord Harkon, the process can be… unpredictable."

"I can see that," Harkon rumbled.

Perhaps if someone else tried. "Dexion," Roë said gently, kneeling by him. "Please tell us about the ritual. We need to know, and if we do, we'll leave you alone."

"Oooh, the brooding Bosmer," the Priest leered. "Silent and melancholic. I'd ask you not to leave me alone, quite the contrary, but if I were to open your legs, I'd probably discover icicles hanging between them." A cackling laugh followed.

Anger flared up in her chest, but she remained calm. "Dexion. Tell us. What does the ritual entail?"

"The ritual," the Priest sing-songed, "Involves going to a place called…" he paused for effect, then announced bombastically, "the Ancestor Glade! Just east of Falkreath! The Scrolls will help!"

Frantically, Harkon gestured for Garen Marethi to take notes.

"Good, Dexion," Roë said gently. "And what are we supposed to do there?"

"You take your two slender, delicious bodies, you take the Scrolls," he explained, "And then… and then…!"

"Then, what, Dexion?" Serana asked.

"Then… then…!"

"Yes, then?" Harkon barked.

With a pout and in a childish voice, the Priest complained, "If you're going to be rude, I'm not telling."

"Ssh, father," Serana silenced him. "Delicate touch needed."

"Dexion," Roë asked again, "What do we do in the Ancestor's Glade?"

"You cut… the bark!"

"Alright… how?"

"You use a special, special, special knife!" He paused for effect again, and then exclaimed triumphantly, "The Draw Knife!" He fell into a fit of laughing. "I can't believe I'm telling you all this! I'm just telling you everything you need to know!"

"Where do we get the Draw Knife, Dexion?"

"It's right there," he cackled, finding it all hilarious. "Right there in the Glade! You can just pick it up!"

"So how do we cut the bark?"

His cackling stopped, and he went on in a mysterious voice, as if he was telling a horror story. "Very… carefully."

"Yes, but specifically – "

Abruptly, the Moth Priest arched his back, bared his teeth and let out a stifled grunt.

"What's this?" Harkon demanded to know. "Garen! What is happening?"

"I… I think – "

Still frozen in his arched position, the Moth Priest slowly opened his mouth, letting a slow, peeping wheeze escape.

"I… I'm not sure if – " Roë began, but before she could finish, the Priest began bucking and shaking, letting out guttural growls and squeals of pain. The next moment, a spray of blood was ejected from his nose as air was forcibly expelled through it. Roë backed away, watching the Priest buck and jerk on the table, blood now running rapidly from his nose, and a few moments later, from his ears also.

"Garen!" Harkon roared. "If he dies – "

No sooner had Lord Harkon mentioned the possibility, than the Priest began to gurgle, gave one more kick, and was still.

"Well," Serana said, her voice hollow. "Roast my raisins, he's popped it."

"Garen," Harkon growled low. "Explain yourself."

"My Lord, the… serum disables, and… and damages part of the brain. I must have been… overzealous in preparing it."

"Modhna!"

Oh, dear.

"My Lord," Garen stammered, "this is… only to be expected with alchemy and humans. It's… guesswork to determine the right dosage."

Meanwhile, Modhna strode in, the two death hounds straining at their leashes. She obviously didn't have them under her control as Fura did. "Yes, Lord Harkon?"

"Take this… incompetent quack to the dungeon. He can join Fura in the sun pit!"

"But my Lord!" Garen protested. "He spoke! He told you about the ritual! You have what you needed!"

"And what if I had more questions afterward?" Harkon thundered. "Have you thought of that, you witless herb masher? What if there are more rituals to complete? What if – "

"My Lord, you've asked for the impossible! Getting the dosage just right would have – "

"Silence! Look at him. He's not even good for blood anymore."

Roë opened her mouth to speak, but felt Serana's hand on her upper arm. When she looked back, Serana simply shook her head.

"Come on, Garen," Modhna said flatly. "Fura will be glad to have some company."

As he was led away, Garen stopped and locked eyes with Harkon. "You know, Lord Harkon, I find myself all but wishing you'll fail to fulfil the prophecy. I wonder what's worth more, having my agonizing time in the sun pit ended when the sun darkens, or seeing the sullen disappointment on your face when your entire plan fizzles into nothing."

Instead of exploding in terrifying rage, Harkon merely said, "Take him away."

That was two in the pen now, and both for piss poor reasons.

Two people very, very, very unhappy with Harkon. And with the way things were going, Harkon's enemies were likely to be Roë's friends.

"Let me guess, father? Roë and I will be given the 'honour' of travelling to Ancestor Glade and executing some vague ritual?"

He sighed. "I know, my sweet daughter. I ask much of you." He put his hands on her shoulders. "But you are the only one I can trust. You can see the traitors and incompetents I surround myself with. And you, you are my most trusted, my most resourceful, my most dependable asset. I would – "

"Asset?" Serana echoed.

"You know what I mean, child. I can trust you, and you alone."

That was true. He couldn't trust Roë, that was for damn sure.

Serana sighed. "We'll leave tomorrow night."

With a broad grin, Harkon said, "Good. I knew I could count on you. Now, enjoy a meal and a day of sleep. We will speak upon your departure." He turned to leave, but then checked. "Oh, and if you're in the dungeons, tell Namasur to come clean up this mess."

Oh, they were going to the dungeons alright. Roë needed something from there.

Silently, they crossed the main hall, to the dungeons. At the top of the stairs, they walked past Modhna and the hounds, returning from putting Garen in his cell. Roë didn't envy him. The pain of the sun pit, for two hours per day, must be excruciating.

"Namasur," Serana said flatly when they descended the stairs, "There's a dead Priest in the laboratory who needs to be cleaned up. Lord Harkon has tasked you with the burden."

"Of course, Lady Serana." Roë only got a toxic look as he departed.

They settled for vials for the time being, each draining one, making them feel rejuvenated enough. But Roë needed two more. She hoped Serana wouldn't start asking questions when she saw her taking them, but it was idle hope.

"Roë… you're not still hungry, so why are you taking more?"

Serana's tone suggested she knew damn well why, but Roë stayed quiet.

"It's a dangerous game you're playing, Roë." Serana said. Was it a warning or a threat? "And I want no part of it. If my father – "

"If you want no part of it, then don't bother me," Roë snapped. It was out before she knew it.

"Fine," Serana said, spreading her hands. "Fine. Just so you know, if my father finds out, there's nothing I can do for you."

"I don't need you to do anything!" Roë shouted. "I'm not your helpless little protégée, and you're not the mighty, benevolent saint protecting me from your father. And I'm tired of you treating me like – "

"Hey. Roë. Hey… easy," Serana said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. Roë involuntarily laid her fingers on top of it. "You're not helpless, you're not little, and you're not my protégée. And I'm not mighty, and I certainly am not a saint. You saved me, remember? I'm just saying, my father won't hurt me because he can't hurt me. Not yet."

Roë sat down, feeling weary and defeated despite the powerful blood inside her. "I'm tired of being seen as your… your pet."

Serana kneeled before her. "I don't see you that way, Roë. I see you as a friend. An equal. The others… who cares what they think?"

Not Roë. She only cared about what Serana thought. But she knew Serana was just sparing her feelings. She was inferior, not only in terms of power, age, authority, charisma and intelligence, but also because Roë had wanted Serana, but Serana hadn't wanted her back. No two people could be equals, not when that happened.

Serana was just being nice. Or maybe, no, she wasn't being nice. She was being something else.

Before Roë could stop herself, she said to Serana, "You condescending hypocrite." She regretted it as soon as she'd said it, but not entirely.

"Hey, Roë, you're really trying my patience now," Serana threatened.

With a snort, Roë simply said, "Isn't that the phrase people always use when talking to their lessers?"

Serana rolled her fiery eyes and got back to her feet. "You're being impossible. Fine, go give those vials to Fura and Garen, to win their favour, because I know that's what you're going to try. Go ahead and try to get them on your side. But believe me, they fear my father ten times more than both of us put together. And if you still need to be convinced of that, go see what Fura looks like these days."

"Look, just… get off my back, alright?"

"As you wish. You better get going before Namasur comes back."

She stomped off, and after feeling sorry for herself for another few seconds, Roë did the same, hiding the vials under the abdomen of her breastplate. She went up the stairs, to the Vampire holding cells. There was no one there, apart from the two prisoners.

"Ah, Lady Roë," Garen said, his arms crossed behind the bars. "Has Lord Harkon recovered from his folly and told you to set me free?"

Roë shook her head, holding out one of the vials. "I'm sorry, but I can't free you. I'm already risking a lot by giving you these."

Garen snatched the vial out of her hand and drained it. "Thank you, Lady Roë. You… will attempt to reason with Lord Harkon before the night is through, will you?"

"I'll… try," she lied, "but he's not very receptive." She looked around the cell and saw a bundle of rags crouching and shivering in the far corner, in the dark, almost invisible. "Fura?"

A weak whimper came from the corner. Roë only now noticed the smell of burned meat.

"I fear she's not very presentable at the moment," Garen said, trying to sound apathetic, but unable to hide the fear in his voice. "I believe she would prefer you didn't see her in her current state. She even ceased her agonized wailing when she heard footsteps."

"Fura…?" Roë asked carefully. "I brought you something."

Garen held out his hand. "Please, I'll pass it to her."

"I'd rather – "

"With respect, Lady Roë, she is in terrible pain and needs to be left alone."

Roë felt terrible guilt over the fate of the girl who'd saved her, but Garen was right. She was in enough pain without having to show it to the one responsible for it. She handed Garen the vial. "Hurry then."

The hand that briefly came from the shadows to snatch the vial from Garen's hand was damaged and burned, entire swathes of skin blackened and peeled back, exposing the burned flesh beneath. Perhaps Roë imagined it, but she even fancied seeing a wisp of smoke curl up from the weeping wounds.

There was the sound of a few swallows, and the vial tinked over the ground, rolling back to Garen. He returned the two empty vials to Roë and said, "I'm know she's grateful. As am I." With a faint grin, he added, "There is clearly more humanity left in you than Lord Harkon would approve of."

Humanity, or just strategic sense? "Alright. I have to go, before anyone sees me, because there's no point in getting thrown in there with you."

"Lady Roë," Garen implored as she made to leave. "The sunlight won't kill us, but every minute we have to suffer in it is pure torture. I beg of you, speak to Lord Harkon, or have Lady Serana speak on our behalf. This horror is… beyond words."

"I'll talk to him," she lied again. "But he's not being reasonable now. I need to wait for the right moment."

"Of… course."

"I'm sorry. I can't do anything more for you now."

She had to leave. If anyone saw her here, she'd get more than a disapproving frown from Harkon. They only knew part of the ritual, so he would be even more on edge than normally. She wondered if it was even a good idea to spend the day here. For all she knew, Harkon might decide from one minute to the next, to drag Serana and her out of bed and wring them both out like dish rags. All he needed was for the ritual to be completed… and the Bow itself, and he could probably just do those things on his own. And she might be angry with Serana, and mistrustful, but that didn't mean she wanted her to die. She cared about Serana, even now, more than about herself.

Oh Serana, why didn't you want me…

She returned to the hall, furtively dumped the empty vials on one of the tables, and headed to bed. Fura and Garen would not sleep this day, or the days coming.

She awoke without incident, from a dreamless sleep. Well, not sleep. Just… unconsciousness.

Serana stood waiting for her in the great hall. "Ready?"

She didn't seem very cheerful, but maybe she it would be a good idea to leave her to stew for a bit. "Yes, Serana. I'm ready."

"Come on."

The atmosphere during the walk was as cold as the weather, and the only things Serana said were complaints about the latter. They slept the day away in a cave in the central region of Skyrim and fed themselves with the blood of two of the wolves who had, unfortunately for them, seen the two frail-looking humans as easy pickings for the seven of them.

They turned to the east just past Falkreath, Serana claiming she could feel a tug of the scrolls every once in a while, barely perceptible, but definitely there. Roë didn't know if that was even true, but better a possible guide than none at all. After all, these were Elder Scrolls, they'd already shown to rather make fun of the laws of nature and magicka.

The tugs proved to be accurate, as they soon found themselves looking at a face of rock, covered with creepers, thorns, vines and even tree roots.

"If there's something behind here, it's impassable right now," Serana remarked, looking up at the wall of plants and rock.

"At least it's not behind a waterfall," Roë remarked sourly. "That would have been a bit too predictable."

As Roë finished speaking, the Elder Scrolls on Serana's back emitted a gentle glow, and the plants, slowly at first, moved out of the way, opening the path to a cave in the stone.

"Three cheers for the Scrolls," Serana said, heading into the cave.

Roë drew her shortsword and followed.

There were no threats, no incidents inside the cave itself, and after a short walk, they found themselves looking up at the night sky again, in a secluded grove, ringed by unscalable mountain faces. In the middle stood an enormous, gnarled tree, at least ten Roës or Seranas tall, looking down at the glade from its perch on the hill.

"Well, the Priest was right so far," Serana pointed out, drawing Roë's attention to the knife that lay on a pedestal in front of them, looking impossibly old and brand new at the same time. Its haft was gnarled wood, like the tree and pedestal, but the blade was a kind of dark grey iron, that looked immensely old, but still sharp and rust-free. No doubt it was protected by powerful magicks.

Still, the Moth Priest hadn't mentioned the knife being protected from potential users, so they had to assume the magicks warded against age and decay.

"Think it's protected from the uh, uninitiated or something?" Serana echoed her thoughts.

"Only one way to find out," Roë shrugged, reaching for the knife. What was the worst that could happen, after all? A jolt? A flash of flame? Instant obliteration? As long as destruction wasn't likely in her own mind, her body allowed her to take risks. She'd found that out as time had passed. It was rotten, because it meant the only way she couldn't self-terminate was if she was actually trying to.

Her fingers closed around the handle of the knife, and nothing happened. No jolt, no flame, no being turned inside out by a quasi-divine force. Just the cool wood in her hand.

"Roë. Over there."

She looked where Serana was pointing and saw several branches levitate off the ground on their own, finding each other and turning into a cluster, hovering at chest height, leaves swirling around them. The next moment, the branches snapped together, forming humanoid shapes that moved towards them, with trembling, lurching steps at first, but gaining dexterity and confidence as they moved. They looked vaguely female, with short branches and leaves for hair and no facial features, as if they were trees grown in the shapes of female skeletons, with sharp branches sticking out on their shoulders and heads, forming jagged wooden crowns and pauldrons.

"Spriggans," Serana told Roë. Ancient tree spirits or some such. Probably guard this place. They're not known for parleying with defilers."

"They're messing with the wrong defilers," Roë said, setting her jaw, surprised to feel how eager she was at tearing these creatures apart.

"I wouldn't suggest shifting," Serana said, holding up a hand and making a flame dance in her palm. "So far it's only the spriggans, and they're probably mad from the ages, but this grove knows we're unnatural abominations. Turn into something even more offensive to nature and the entire grove itself may turn against us."

"Fine. We'll just destroy them the traditional way then."

"It's just as much fun."

Serana added deed to word and launched the jet towards the first attacker. The wooden creature shrieked, catching fire almost instantly, flailing and staggering across the grass. Roë lunged forward, her blade sliding in between the head and torso of the creature, finding the spot between the two wooden blocks. It felt like sliding through an actual throat, vertebrae and all. With a snarl, she twisted her shortsword and the creature's head twisted off with a pop. The wooden block rolling along the ground did not stop the thing, however, and it swiped at Roë with an arm tipped with sharp branches and thorns. She was able to bring her arm up in time to block the blow, the branches and thorns tearing into her left triceps.

Her shortsword chopped downwards, but it got stuck in the spriggan's 'shoulder'. Again the thing lashed out, and she felt vines whipping themselves around her throat with three hard blows. The vines tightened, and if Roë had still been alive, they would have choked the life right out of her. As it was, they were only a painful, restrictive nuisance, and Roë swiftly cut through them with her sword.

Freed again, she lashed out with a hard forward kick, bowling the wooden, headless marionette over. Then she leapt on top of it, put her boot on the tree spirit's trunk and grabbed a branch, easily tearing it off. The spriggan's head, a few metres further, shrieked, but Roë felt no compassion, grabbing another wooden arm and ripping it from the creature.

"Look out, Roë!"

A second tree creature assaulted her from behind, the thorny branches ripping right across her face, tearing it open. The pain was so incredible Roë was unable to see for a moment, and she felt her nose being torn almost clean off, hanging only by a few scraps of chin. Her hands clapped across her face, cold blood dripping between her fingers.

The next moment, the pain in her face felt insignificant as a burst of pure, terrible agony blasted against her right arm and shoulder. She heard the spriggan cry, and another voice joined in the screaming. She only realized afterwards that it was hers.

She was on fire! She was on fire!

She heard herself shriek, her body flailing wildly out of her control. All she could do was scream and thrash, terror overcoming her completely. "I'm on fire! You set me on fire!" she could hear herself squeal. "You set me on fire! I'm burning! I'm burning!" The pain was so intense, she could no longer think.

She almost didn't feel a body slamming into her, knocking her over. She rolled back and forth, wailing in agony, but slowly the pain lessened to almost-bearable levels and she opened her eyes to see Serana on top of her, her cloak over Roë's arm and shoulder, batting out the flames.

"Sorry, Roë," Serana wailed. "Sorry!"

"Y… You set me on fire," Roë heard herself croak, blood spraying from her lips as she spoke. The pain in her arm and shoulder was terrifying, her destroyed face only an afterthought.

"I know. The spell didn't… end up where it should have. I'm sorry, Roë."

The pain was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. "Oh, you're sorry. That's fine then. Get off me!"

Serana did so, apologizing once again. Roë wondered if it had really been an accident. No, Serana wouldn't do this to her… would she?

"Here," Serana said, pushing her thumb into her wrist and opening her vein. "Have some of mine."

Roë's agony was greater than her pride, greater than her mistrust, greater than anything else, and she pushed Serana's arm against her torn lips, feeling her pale flesh against her bare teeth where her lips were simply torn away. The blood ran into her mouth and she drank greedily until Serana tore her arm away.

"Should give you enough to repair most of the damage."

Indeed, she felt the torn strips of flesh slide back into place over the front of her skull, and even her nose reattached when she held it in the right place.

But the pain in her arm and shoulder didn't abate much.

"I… can't heal the burns."

Serana made a sad face, but Roë didn't know how real it was. "No they'll… take time and a lot of blood to heal. Fire isn't… our best friend."

Her arm and shoulder throbbed with pain, and when she moved, she felt the charred skin pop open in places. Her entire sleeve was gone, and her breastplate was scorched and blackened. Even some of the hair on the right side of her head was burned. "Fuck, Serana."

There was no way she'd done this by accident. Not Serana, who'd had thousands of years to hone her magick. She'd done it on purpose. Must have.

"Roë, don't look at me like that. It was an accident, I swear."

"Shut up and carve something in that tree over there," Roë muttered, getting to her feet in a lot of effort and pain. More burnt skin popped as she stood up. "Get your Scrolls read."

Serana at least respected Roë's anger, leaving her alone and picking up the Draw Knife while Roë stood hugging herself and shivering with pain. If Serana wanted to murder her, she had an opportunity now. If she did, Roë hoped she could at least die in her arms. And Roë knew what was about to happen. That fire blast had been no accident.

"Serana…?" Roë asked quietly.

"Mm?"

"It's… the end of the line for me, isn't it?"

"What? Oh, come on. I'm not gonna lie to you, they're bad burns, but we put the fire out in time. You'll be alright."

"No… I mean… That fire blast. That was no accident. You don't need me anymore, do you?"

There was a strange look in Serana's blazing eyes. As if she was shocked by what Roë had said, as if it was unthinkable. Or it could also be that she was… in a dilemma. Shocked also, yes, but maybe not because she would never do such a thing, but maybe because Roë knew what she was up to.

"Roë. Oh, Roë, Roë…" she said, looking heartbroken. "How could you even think that? Do you think… I hurt you intentionally? That I want to hurt you?"

She stood there, hugging her burned arm and said, "Want to, maybe not, but… have to? I just need to be… dealt with. Gotten out of the way. It's alright, I know it's… nothing personal."

"Oh Roë, is that why you've been so difficult these last days? Because think I'm planning to...?"

"I know how things work in this life. I know that feelings… can't be involved." For one brief moment, the blood inside her, the Vampire inside her, was silent. And she found herself able to say, "You can, you know. If you want to."

"Roë, what are you suggesting – "

"You can... end me. You want to get rid of me, I'm no longer useful. You've won." She was all too aware of how she stood there, holding her arm, her head drooping, in so much pain she couldn't even lift her arm, or even transform. "I can't defend myself anymore, so… Now's the time. I don't want to play this game any longer. So you… have my permission."

Serana stood looking at her silently.

"But please… just one thing… Treat me as a friend, not as a disposable asset. I love you, and I don't deserve to be… discarded. Like a broken toy. Let me die in your arms, you owe me that much."

In silence, Roë awaited Serana's answer.

"Roë," Serana said flatly, her face hard. "You've been a good friend, but now you're showing your true colours. The colours of a stupid damn idiot. An idiot not worth my friendship."

"What do you…?"

"Roë," Serana said angrily, "I'm not my father. I always considered you a friend, and I cared about you. I'd never try to get you 'out of the way' or 'get rid of you'." Her eyes blazing, she added, "And in fact, you even thinking I might is the dirtiest insult you can ever make."

"Serana, I just don't know anymore, I just – "

"No. Shut up, Roë. How can you think such a thing? And then get all dramatic and play the martyr? First you spring this whole love-thing on me, then you act like a teenager because I don't reciprocate, and now you… you accuse me of planning to murder you?"

"Serana, no, I – "

"I said shut up," Serana said again, seething. Oh what had she done? This anger was genuine, there was no doubt. She was about to lose her only friend, she knew it. There was no way to take back what she'd said, no way to fix this. "You didn't just ask, you were certain. You already judged me without even asking. I've supported you, cared about you, even been understanding after you were acting rotten. But this? This?" She shook her head. "No, Roë. We're going to finish what we started here and return to my father. You can feed on the slaves to heal your injuries, and then – "

"Serana, no. Don't," Roë pleaded, but it was too late.

"… then I'm cutting you loose. Then you and I are done with each other. You can do whatever it is you want to do, but you and I are through."

"Serana, you can't do this to me," Roë begged, falling to her knees. "You're all I have in this world."

"Had, Roë," Serana corrected, cold as ice. "This is… I can't believe what you've accused me of. I don't need 'friends' who accuse me of being a backstabber." She sighed and shook her head. "After all we've been through, Roë. And get up from your knees, your drama is pathetic."

She couldn't. All she could do was hang her head, and fold in on herself.

"Wait outside," Serana simply said. "I'm going to perform this ritual, one way or another, and then we're going back. We'll say goodbye as friends, I suppose you've earned that much."

"Serana – "

"I said wait outside."

"But – "

"Stop. Talking."