Sailing, Serana discovered, was not a skill that came naturally to her. Pointing the small boat in the direction of Haafingar had been simple enough. Keeping it in that direction, working against the waves and wind, was another matter entirely. Only an hour after she'd left Castle Volkihar, Serana was struggling just to stay afloat.
"Come on, work with me here!" She wrestled with the sail, her feet solidly planted on the deck. That was one benefit of vampirism, at least: sure footing. A wave splashed over the side, and Serana tasted salt and brine. She spat water and clung to the mast, searching the darkness for any sign of Solitude. A lantern, a distant forest, a campfire, anything. In vain. Even with her enhanced senses, there was nothing in sight but the endless churning sea in every direction.
She stepped towards the rudder and felt water slosh in her boots. A few inches of ocean now covered the bottom of the boat. Well, that's that then. My shoes are already ruined.
More water splashed over the side. It seemed only a matter of minutes before the vessel would make acquaintance with the bottom of the Sea of Ghosts. Serana crossed her arms and sighed.
"Well, it was worth a try." She slung her pack over her shoulder and stepped out of the boat. The ocean was as solid as stalhrim under her feet. Behind her, the vessel began its slow descent beneath the waves. "Sorry about the dinghy, father. Add it to my list of failures."
There remained no hope of salvaging her dry state. Serana trudged miserably across the surface of the sea, in what she could only hope was the right direction. A compass. Now that would've been a good idea. But it had never occurred to her how fast the weather could change, and on a clear night she could even see the lights of Solitude from her balcony. In the current conditions she'd hardly be able to see a giant's campfire ten meters ahead.
"Months of planning, and I forgot a compass," she spoke to herself between waves. Against the billowing gale, her voice was consumed in seconds. "I was too upset at them, too eager to just get away from it all. I wasn't thinking."
Her timing, at least, would still be accurate. If I ever do get to shore, she thought dryly. Serana maintained an accurate calendar, with the assistance of the moon dial in her mother's courtyard. The Tales and Tallows festival should be in roughly twenty hours, unless she had made some grievous mistake in calculation.
"That'd be a fitting end. Walk into Solitude on the fourth of Heartfire instead of the third, and be burned alive by a mob of townsfolk." Such a fate would mean the end of Solitude, as well. Lord Harkon would never allow the city to continue to exist, after killing his only daughter. She shivered and wiped the salt from her eyes. Let's hope you haven't led me wrong, moon dial. Or a lot of people mighit de for it.
One blood potion and many hours of waterwalking later, Serana's boots finally found solid ground on a craggy stretch of frozen coast. No signs of civilization, no fishing boats or campsites, no gawking children or barking dogs; in other words, no one to witness the soaked vampire plod in from the Sea of Ghosts. There were no gods watching out for her (of this, Serana was certain), so she simply gave thanks to her good fortune. The round stones of the beach felt reassuring under her feet.
Although the morning sunlight fell short of being lethal to a full-blooded Daughter of Coldharbour, especially one in a sated state, Serana was not quite comfortable stretching out on a rock to dry. So as the new sun blistered on the horizon, she ducked into a small cave and started to gather supplies for a campfire. She couldn't freeze to death, but her wet clothes would soon stiffen like an old corpse. She stripped and arranged her clothes around the fire, not content to wait for the sun to dry them. While the fire did its work, she stood at the mouth of the cave and looked out at Skyrim.
"A lot of climbing in my future, I think." She crossed her arms and studied the shape of the land. Serana's knowledge of Skyrim's history was severely outdated, but for the most part geographical maps of Tamriel remained constant throughout time. This cave was on the northernmost tip of the peninsula; Solitude stood proudly above the cliffs of the southeastern shore. In between them was an expanse of mountainside and many winding roads and paths. Could always turn into a cloud of bats. But she had been fortunate no one had seen her walk on water; best not to test what luck remained to her.
"I'm a villager from one of the little islands off the coast." Serana practiced her story while she dressed. "I came to Solitude to attend the festival. Oh, yes, it's my first time in the city. My village is isolated, so I don't hear much in the way of news. Ah, how is the fishing this season? It's…going very well, thank you. Whole buckets of fish. We're swimming in them, really." Hopefully no one would ask her to sail anything. Her last vessel was likely playing host to a whole family of mudcrabs by now.
In the adventure stories Serana read, cloaked travelers were always regarded with suspicion, so she trekked up the coastline with her cloak down under a cloudy sky. The mid-morning weather favored her. The more sunlight she had to endure, the sooner she would need another blood potion. There hadn't been room in her pack to leave much of an emergency supply. It would be difficult to synthesize more without the resources of Castle Volkihar; there was more to the process than just simply bleeding a rabbit into a bottle.
"Just stay behind those clouds," Serana muttered, glancing up at the sky. "I'm not my father. You don't hurt me, pal, and I won't hurt you."
She picked snowberries from bushes and tossed them in the air before catching them in her mouth. They had no taste, but that was beside the point. She fell into the snow and let the softness envelop her like a cool blanket. On Castle Volkihar, no snow was ever allowed to build up before the sickening and unnatural warmth of the isle reduced it to a gray sludge. Serana hugged a tall pine tree and rested her cheek against the bark. How thrilling, to be free of that damned island!
"You feeling well, m'lady?" A comely face looked down at her from one of the upper branches. "It's mighty cold weather to be goin' around huggin' trees."
Serana gasped and scurried backwards. Her instinctive reaction was to assume this was one of her father's men sent to force her back to the castle, despite what he had said about his apathy towards her quest; who else could have so effectively snuck up on her, except for another vampire? But her defenses settled and she listened closely to the air and heard the branch Nord's mortal heart beating strong and steady.
"Sorry if I startled you." The Nord descended the tree in a somewhat clumsy manner, so that when his feet finally touched the snow he was covered in pine needles and sap. "Didn't figure anyone else would be out this far in the woods."
"It's...it's okay. You did surprise me a little." Remember the story! "I'm, uhh, an islander. From one of the little islands, right? We've got a lot of fish."
Maybe it was just the fact that Serana hadn't seen a living man for years, but he was pleasant to the eye; the sap and needles stuck to his body didn't detract from the effect of the long brown hair spilling down over his shoulders, or the smile that came so easily to his sun-weathered face. His eyes were shaped like the tropical almonds her mother had once grown, back when the Volkihar's had drawn breath; they were a startling shade of light green that she had only seen before in her dreams of distant lands, like Valenwood and Elsweyr.
She shook her head to settle her racing thoughts. "Uh, I'm sorry. What'd you say?"
"Said I'm Volfnar, of Dragon Bridge." There was that smile again. Serana was suddenly grateful she couldn't blush. "And I asked your name. What do they call you on this small isle so blessed by Kyne?"
"I'm Serana." She returned his smile without showing her teeth. There was no way of knowing how alert to vampires the average Nord was these days; for all she knew, one sight of her canines might have sent Volfnar screaming to the nearest village. "I'm sorry I got you all sticky and coated with needles. I'm sure that can't be comfortable."
Volfnar glanced down at his sap-spotted clothes, as if noticing them for the first time. He wore a few patches of leather armor over his thin tunic and pants, but was for the most part remarkably ill-dressed for the cold weather. "Oh, I always end up this way when I go wolf hunting. My pa always said that no true Nord should be afraid of getting friendly with a tree now and then. Shows our devotion to Kyne, and all. Though it seems you know that, huh?"
"You saw that, did you?" Serana chuckled nervously. Her senses must have grown dull indeed, to have let this tree-climbing Nord observe her embarrassing episode. "My own father used to say something similar." My father would rip out Kyne's throat and bathe in her blood, if he thought it would increase his power.
"Well." Volfnar tried to brush the hair out of his eyes with a sappy hand, and only ended up sealing a few brown strands to his forehead and ripping some skin off his fingers. He was every bit one of the Nord warriors Serana had read about in her storybooks, minus the swaggering ego and grace. "Any woman that knows a good tree when she hugs one is a friend of mine, Serana. This seems a mighty poor welcome to Western Skyrim. Me jumping down on you from a tree, I'm meaning. But welcome nonetheless." He smiled again, and the dried sap cracked on his face and ran down his cheek like a golden tear.
"Western Skyrim?"
"Aye." Volfnar raised his brow. "I do hope you weren't intending to land in the east. I don't harbor no ill will towards our brothers and sisters across the border, but it's a long walk from here."
"No, no, this particular Skyrim is fine with me." Serana brushed the snow off her shoulders and bowed slightly, as she had been taught to do so many years ago now. "I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome, Volfnar of Dragon Bridge."
"Aw, well, you're kind to say so," he spoke, as he turned to pick something up from the ground. Time slowed: the world shrunk down to the pale stretch of Volfnar's twisting neck: the toned muscles stretched with tension, the deafening beat as his blood pumped to all corners of his hale and hearty body. How long had it been since Serana had been so close to a living man so rich and full of health? Even the best thralls of Volkihar, which were reserved for her father and his chosen few, inevitably arrived to the castle in a somewhat dilapidated state. But Volfnar was untouched, his back turned, his blood roaring in Serana's ears, calling to her-
"Something the matter?" Volfnar looked back to find her looming over him, her eyes wide and heady. "Don't worry yourself, I'm just fetching my spear from the snow. I dropped the damned thing as soon as I got myself up there. Heh - if pa weren't in Sovngarde, he'd have had my hide."
"Ahh, I'm okay." Serana tore herself away, blinking like a newborn first glimpsing sunlight. "Just a little dizzy. Maybe I've been out here too long."
"Been a while since your last feeding, eh?" He smiled slyly. "Suppose you'd like to get those fangs of yours in my neck, get a taste of dumb unsuspecting Volfnar."
The tip of his spear looked as sharp as a mature razor clam, and promised just as much agony should it rip through her flesh. Serana started to stammer out an explanation, her senses screaming for her to flee, but then Volfnar laughed like a child at play and clapped her on the shoulder.
"Your costume! Been going to Solitude for the festival for years, I have, but yours is the best vampire I've ever seen. How do you do the skin? What is that, chalk powder? Bone meal?" He ran his thumb down her cheek, and Serana suddenly felt flustered for a very different reason.
"I...yes, my costume. Of course." She chuckled unevenly. "This is the first time anyone from my island has been able to go, so everyone chipped in to make sure I looked the part." Against all of her protective instincts, she bared her teeth. "Got the extra sharp ones from a slaughterfish. Pretty convincing, huh?"
"You look amazing," Volfnar spoke, and regarded her as if she were some great piece of art. "Heh - I think my costume will look pretty rotten, but if I walk into the city next to you, maybe no one'll notice. That is, if you wanted to go to the festival with me." He drummed his fingers against his thigh. "I'll understand if you've already got friends to go with, pretty lass like you."
"Oh, no, I'd be delighted to go with you." That's what this whole ill-planned sojourn had been intended for, no? So that she could talk and interact with people of her own age - relatively speaking, of course. "Let me guess. You're going as, um, a spriggan?"
"'Twould be a fine idea, were my pa not killed by the cursed creatures years ago. Wandered into one of their groves by mistake, while he was pursuing a mighty bear. Even nowadays, the noise of a beehive sends waves of terror through my mourning heart."
"Oh gods, I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to-"
He waved off her apologies with a wide grin. "Just yanking your leg, Serana. Was drink that felled my pa. He liked mead a little too much. Nah, I was meaning to go as a werewolf, but as I told you earlier I've had ill luck in my hunt."
Serana's tongue outpaced her brain: "I could help you catch a few. I'm pretty good at sneaking up on things."
"Do a lot of sneaking, do you, on your fisherman's island?" She was thankful his laughter seemed to be out of mirth, and not suspicion. "You do me honor to offer, but I'll just have to buy some pelts off my village's old smith. Say, Serana, lemme ask you a question."
She crossed her arms behind her back and rocked back on her heels. For whatever reason, this odd young Nord put her more at ease than she had felt in centuries. "Sure. Ask away."
"You ever seen the Dragon Bridge? That's where I'm from. The village, I mean, not the bridge. Since I've got to head back there anyway for the pelts, I could show ya the bridge and take you to the festival after."
"No," she replied, and at first he looked crestfallen. Like a puppy whose bone had been abruptly snatched away. "No, I've never seen the Dragon Bridge, and yes I would love to come with you and see it."
"You're a tricky one, Serana. My ma is gonna love you. Come on, we'd better hurry if we want to get to Solitude before sundown!" He took off at a brisk jog through the forest, his clumsy gait at once both immensely entertaining and overwhelmingly endearing. No wonder the wolves had seen him coming: he was probably the least subtle man this side of Skyrim. Serana glanced back over her shoulder at the shore, and bit her lip. I nearly lost control, earlier. Maybe my father was right. Maybe going with this Nord is a terrible idea.
"Serana?" Volfnar called out. "Did you lose track of me? Look, over here! I'm waving a branch!"
A sudden jolt of emotion banished her brooding thoughts and sent Serana racing after Volfnar through the white woods, a cheek-hurting grin on her face. It had been so long since she'd had fun that it took her a long time to identify the feeling, and by then she was tripping through the snow with Volfnar and all she knew was laughter and good feeling and that all her darkness had been left behind on that damned island so far from the sun.