A/N: Phew, I have finally completed this chapter, it's long as hell, or at least longer than your usual chapter. So I guess, sit back and relax and enjoy the story? Anyways, warnings: it is very tragic. I thought this idea up a long time ago and finally my randomizer gave it to me. All I did throughout was complain about how long it is XD. Also, everything that happened up until the story starts is indeed part of the main story. The town of Blackthorn is included and this is a modded town that you can find on the Nexus, etc.
Rowan stumbled into a stone wall, pale and weak from blood loss. His left hand painted a bloody trail over the wall, his other hand clutching onto the wound on his neck that hurts like someone had taken a pike to it. He could hardly believe that they were only mere pinpricks when he ran his fingers over them earlier, hissing at the flare of agony that caused him to fall back onto the ground, writhing in pain until it ebbed down into manageable levels.
He found his way to the river bordering Blackthorn, the sky brightening as dawn approaches.
Rowan fell to his knees, sinking into the soft mud. He regarded his sickly reflection. His hair was in disarray, his skin taken on a deathlike pallor. His eyes were wild and half of his neck was covered in blood that's beginning to dry.
He had no idea it bled so much, he looked like he'd been mauled by a wolf.
Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, shaking the fuzziness from his head.
He splashed water onto his face, washing the blood from his skin. Rust swirled into the river and attracted several fishes, nibbling at clumps of dried blood.
He hissed as his wound sent out a dull throb as he gently scrubbed at it, wincing as red blood trickled out of the hole in the middle of the raised skin and down his throat.
Rowan wiped at it and stretched out his neck, peering at the watery view of his wound. The two pinpricks were almost black to the look, the skin around them seemed inflamed.
He carefully cleaned them until no more blood lingered on his neck.
He couldn't do much about the dark stain on the shoulder of his doublet, he might have to find a way to discard it.
Rowan sighed and washed his hands in the river, ignoring the fishes that darted curiously around his fingers.
He finally stood up, feeling less pained and nauseous since earlier and headed back to town.
"Greetings, my lord," a guard bowed as he walked passed.
Rowan nodded, regarding him with a wan smile and carefully pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around his neck.
He walked by a few more citizens who greeted him, the man responding with strained politeness.
Rowan finally made it to his manor on shaky legs.
He scrambled to the door, almost tripping on the step and slamming his face into the pillar.
Rowan hurriedly opened it and entered the building.
He sighed as he shut the door with a click.
When he turned around, he caught sight of his steward walking up to him, peering at him curiously.
"My lord," Belle started, reaching for his cloak.
Rowan stepped out of her reach immediately, his back hitting the doors and sending a faint rattle through them.
"Sir?"
"Leave it," Rowan said, trying to keep his voice from trembling, "It is a little... chilly."
Belle studied him, "Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes, I am quite alright." Rowan said, "I've had a long night and would like to rest, so excuse me."
He brushed past her and made his way up the stairs, disappearing into the bedroom without another word.
Rowan found himself feeling incredibly exhausted over the next few days. He stayed in his bed for most of them, hardly able to get out without feeling sick and dizzy. He must've looked awful. He was shaking, cold sweat shining on his forehead and his skin pale, even his hands looked white to him.
Belle brought his meals up to him but he couldn't muster an appetite past the first few bites. He pushed his food away when nausea seized him next, the morsels he consumed threatening to spew out next.
She sought out a healer then, the physician examined him and left them with some medicine, telling her to find him if Rowan's illness didn't improve.
It tasted awful, the bitter taste of boiled herbs stinging his tongue and turning his stomach.
He expected to throw up after drinking it but somehow didn't.
Rowan spent the days sleeping like the dead and nights were spent dozing restlessly and shaking as if his bones were freezing.
When he awoke next, it was the evening of the third day since he returned from his disastrous journey.
Rowan sat up in bed, feeling much better than he had the past couple of days.
There was a gnawing hunger in his stomach.
Rowan turned to the bedside drawer and found a bowl of soup. It looked like potato soup but he couldn't be sure as he wrinkled his nose at the smell of it.
His throat felt unbearably sore too and he quickly poured himself some water, gulping it down, hoping that it'll help to sooth his parched throat.
He soon drained half the pitcher but didn't feel any better.
Rowan eyed the unappealing soup next, taking the bowl in hand and stirring distrustfully at the contents within.
He was so hungry.
He braved a mouthful and choked, spitting it out immediately, almost dropping the bowl.
It tasted worse than the medicine that he was forced to drink.
Rowan grimaced as he set the soup down and drank more water to wash away the taste.
He could hardly ignore the insistent pangs in his stomach.
Rowan left the bed, stretching out his stiff limbs for a moment before making his way down to the first floor.
Belle was nowhere to be found.
He made his way into the kitchen, looking for food, anything to sooth the hunger in his belly. He rummaged through the pantry, looking through the potatoes, carrots and tomatoes.
Rowan picked up an apple and bit into it.
He spat it out, grimacing at the strangely awful taste.
It must've gone bad somehow.
He tossed it aside, the apple rolling across the floor and under the dinner table.
He kept looking through the food, finding nothing but ingredients and apples seemingly from a bad batch.
Desperate, Rowan searched through the other cupboards, finding ash-like bread and putrid cheese.
He settled on something soft and slippery then, he didn't recognize what it was, too blinded by hunger.
Rowan bit into it, groaning at the heavenly taste that filled his mouth. It was sweet and it was savory, delightfully tickling at his senses like spices and herbs. He tore at it like a man possessed.
Soon, it was gone.
Rowan reached out for another and saw the slight redness staining his hands.
He pulled them back, puzzled.
When he looked into the pantry, he realized it was where they occasionally store raw meat.
He gasped, stumbling back and stirring up the pieces of red-stained paper that he'd just shredded.
Rowan felt ill.
He scrambled to his feet and dived over to a bucket, expecting to throw up.
Nothing came up.
Rowan laid heaving and shaking over the bucket, half-sobbing to himself, unconsciously smearing stale blood onto his face at it.
He blanched when he'd realized what he'd done, staring at his stained hands.
He hurriedly gathered up all the mess that he could and scrubbed his hands in the wash basin. He washed the bit of blood off his face.
Rowan returned to his room, feeling ill and dazed as he crawled back into bed.
He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep.
Rowan frowned as he felt someone carding their hand through his hair. He groaned at the surge of nausea that rose with his awareness.
He blearily opened his eyes, blinking away blurry vision.
"Brynjolf?" He uttered in a scratchy voice and cleared his throat.
Brynjolf peered at him worriedly as he rested a warm hand on his forehead.
"I was told that you've been ill," he said, Rowan sighed as he resumed stroking his hair. "I came home as soon as I could."
Rowan blinked at him, noticing daylight filtering through the window, the glass glowing dim and blue.
"What time is it?" He asked as he struggled to sit up.
"Whoa," Brynjolf said at the abrupt movement and helped him up, "Easy, love. You don't look too good."
Rowan frowned, he felt fine, mostly, much better than he'd been the last few days. Aside from the slight dizziness and the hunger.
Memories of last night rushed back to him.
His stomach twisted and before he could get a word out, he was spewing his guts out on the sheets.
"Rowan!" Brynjolf yelped, rushing up and holding him by the shoulders, his actions spurred on by shock more anything.
He paled when he realized that what Rowan had vomited up was a puddle of blood, with bits of pink and red flesh.
"Rowan!" He's visibly panicking now, his eyes wide with fright. "Fuck, BELLE!"
Rowan stared numbly down at the mess.
Brynjolf was frantically calling for the steward now, about to pull from Rowan's side when he grabbed at him.
He looked down into Rowan's alarmed face. "No, don't-"
"You threw up blood!" Brynjolf practically shrieked, "Blood!"
Rowan was wide-eyed as he rasped, blood trickling down his chin, "It's not mine."
"What?" Brynjolf stared at him incredulously, unable to understand what he's saying, "What do you- what do you mean it's not yours?"
His lover looked pale and frightened, "I- I... I might've... something's wrong-"
He trailed off.
Brynjolf gaped at him, "What are you talking about? What's going on, Rowan?"
Rowan was deathly still for a moment, before he burst out, "I don't know!"
He was shaking as tears brimmed in his eyes.
"I was off with Gisela and Hudri to investigate the new mining sites," Rowan recounted in a tremulous voice, "It all went well, there was plenty of iron and gold and- and, and..."
He took a shuddering breath, tears spilling from his eyes.
"There was a woman," he buried his face in his hands, smearing blood as he rubbed at it. Words tumbled out of him, "I don't remember her face, I don't... I don't know what happened. I just turned and saw her standing there and suddenly there was pain. I was burning all over and I felt knives in my neck and..."
He choked on an inhale, "She was pressed against me and her body was cold as ice. She was..."
Rowan ran a hand over the marks on his neck, his face blank with fear and shock.
"She bit me," he said, realizing. "She drank my blood."
He looked up, meeting Brynjolf's shocked gaze.
"Gods," his voice broke, face crumpling with an ugly sob, "She bit me."
"What?" Brynjolf furrowed his brows in concern and confusion, his voice barely a whisper.
He reached for Rowan who recoiled from him so suddenly he almost fell off the other side of the bed, tears streaming from his wide eyes.
"No, no," he blubbered.
"Rowan?" Brynjolf looked dismayed, all kinds of alarm passing his face.
"Don't touch me," Rowan gasped through his sobbing, "Don't you realize what she was? What I am now?"
Brynjolf stared at him uncomprehendingly, all he wanted was to gather his hysterical husband into his arms and sooth him.
"What? What are you saying, love?" He burst out, distressed. "I don't understand!"
Rowan shook his head, terrible sobs tearing out of him.
"Rowan, please," Brynjolf reached towards him again.
"No!" Rowan screamed, scrambling back.
That was when Brynjolf saw them, his love's eyes flashing a bright red. Everything he was rambling earlier finally clicked.
He gasped as Rowan fell off the other side of the bed with a thud.
"Rowan!" He cried out, running around the bed towards the fallen heap.
"No!" He shouted, his voice strung with panic as he backed into the wall away from Brynjolf. "Stay away!"
Brynjolf ignored him and captured the hands he was holding up in an attempt to ward him off.
"No," he said.
Rowan sobbed, trying to pull his hands back, "Please let me go, you don't understand-"
"No," Brynjolf said firmly, taking another step forward and almost pressed him up against the wall. "I understand now, I'm not staying away."
Rowan shook his head, his face was turned away as he wept.
"No, no," he sobbed, "You don't. I- I'm, I'll be like her. I'll hurt you."
"No," Brynjolf said. "No, you won't, I know you."
Rowan shook his head.
Brynjolf took his chin and gently tilted his head up, until Rowan's tear-filled eyes were fixed on his own.
"I know you," he repeated in a firm yet soft voice, "You will not hurt me and I will not stay away."
"So please," Brynjolf's voice broke as sadness filled his eyes, "Don't push me away."
Fresh tears tumbled out of Rowan's eyes.
"I love you."
His form was wracked with sobs as Rowan wept anew.
Brynjolf pulled him into his arms, ignoring the chill that came from the other's body as he embraced Rowan, stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he cried.
"We'll figure this out together," Brynjolf soothed, kissing him on the temple as he wept into his shoulder.
Belle returned to the manor as the sun began to cast warmth over the morning chill. In her hand was a basket full of fruits and vegetables.
As she reached into her pouch for the key to the front door, she heard a distant squawk coming from the back of the manor.
Belle paused in her search, casting a suspicious gaze towards the garden.
She placed her basket on the porch and made her way around the manor, careful to keep her feet off the grass.
She slowly turned the corner, bracing herself for what she might find.
"My lord?" She blurted.
Brynjolf startled, almost dropping the large knife in his hand.
He spun to face her, then hurriedly put the knife away on the table behind him, "Hello, Belle. Is there something you need?"
She peered at him curiously and belatedly noticed one of the chickens laid out on the stump, limp and headless.
"What are you doing?"
He blinked, turning to glance at the carcass as if he'd just noticed it.
"Oh, yes," Brynjolf cleared his throat, "Rowan wanted some chicken for, uh, lunch, I suppose."
Belle frowned at him, "But... I could've gone to the market to get some, there's no need to slaughter one of our own chickens, my lord."
"Ah, yes, of course," Brynjolf laughed self-deprecatingly, "I must admit that it slipped my mind, I've been away for far too long, it seems."
Belle just stared at him in confusion.
"Well," Brynjolf haltingly gestured to the dead chicken, "Might as well use it for lunch, then, I'll bring it inside so you can prepare it."
"Yes, my lord," she uttered, casting a final quizzical glance at him before returning to the porch to get her basket.
Brynjolf watched her go and turned around, his eyes falling to the bowl of blood he'd been shielding from her sight.
Belle was busy sweeping the floor later that morning when the next strange thing happened.
Brynjolf had gone into the study, intending to catch up on town management and paperwork that Rowan had missed when he'd taken ill.
She bent down and found an apple under the dining table where a bite had been taken out of it. She frowned, wondering who had done such a thing.
Belle spotted the cloudy water in the basin next, sighing when it meant that she had to replace it.
She turned and almost dropped the apple in surprise when she caught sight of Rowan standing silently in the doorway.
"My lord," she blurted, "You're up."
He said nothing and just stared at her, his face framed by shadows.
"Are you alright?" Belle felt unnerved by his gaze, his eyes seemed to glow a reddish hue as he kept staring at her, standing still as a statue.
She began to feel afraid when he tilted his head slowly, his eyes fixed on her.
"Yes," he said, his voice hollow, "Everything is just fine."
Belle instinctively took a step back when he walked forwards.
She gasped when Rowan suddenly grabbed her wrist. His grip was bruising, which startled Belle more than anything as he had never so much as touched her while she worked for him.
"No!" She shrieked, "What are you doing!"
Light returned to Rowan's eyes as they widened, like he finally regained his senses.
His eyes flitted to Belle's wrist in his hand. "I-"
"What's going on?"
Rowan turned to see Brynjolf coming from the hall and immediately released her.
"I heard a shout," Brynjolf stated, trailing off as he took in the scene, looking from Belle cradling her wrist, terror and confusion written on her face to Rowan's horrified and guilty look.
"You can have the day off," he said next, nodding at Belle.
She stared at him and fled the room without another word.
He waited until she was out of earshot before turning to his husband.
"Rowan?"
Rowan let out a sob, his hand flying up to cover his mouth.
"I hurt her," he gasped, his voice muffled, "I tried to- I was going to bite her."
"Hey," Brynjolf started, reaching for him.
Rowan backed up so quickly, knocking into a cabinet and sending glasses of wine crashing down, staining the wooden floor as they shattered.
"Rowan!" Brynjolf captured his wrists before he could react and pulled him away from the broken glass.
"Calm down," he said, as his husband began to panic at the contact. "Let's think about this, why did you look for Belle?"
Rowan lifted his eyes from their hands, his expression stricken.
"I don't- I was..." He started staring at Brynjolf with slightly glazed over eyes, "I'm hungry."
"Why..." Brynjolf frowned, "Did you not drink the blood?"
Rowan licked his lips and he caught a flash of sharp teeth. His voice took on a strange timbre as he murmured, "I did..."
Brynjolf kept frowning at him while Rowan's expression began to turn predatory. He released him and turned to fetch a bowl.
Rowan hardly noticed it, staring at him and swallowing. He reached towards him with a clawed hand when Brynjolf produced a knife from his belt.
He sobered immediately, "Brynjolf, what-"
He gasped as his husband sliced across his forearm, his eyes darkening as dark blood bloomed into a line before it steadily dripped into a bowl.
Rowan took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent coming from the cut.
"Here."
He blinked, realizing that Brynjolf was holding the blood-filled bowl up to him.
Rowan's mouth fell open, both in surprise and dismay when he realized what he had done.
"What..."
"I thought that perhaps animal blood wouldn't be able to satisfy you," Brynjolf explained, "That's a reason why vampires are often heard to be feeding off people, isn't it?"
"But..." Rowan's face crumpled, "I can't."
"It's alright," Brynjolf said softly, "You need it and I'm offering it to you, it's just a bit of blood."
Rowan took the bowl, staring down at the dark liquid sloshing around from the movement.
He exhaled and drained its contents while tears began to stream down his cheeks.
They quickly discovered that Rowan was unable to go out in the sun without his skin beginning to sizzle like meat on a roast pit.
He ducked back into the shadows as his face turned a painful shade of pink, gasping in shock, pain and fear, Brynjolf's expression almost mirroring his own.
Thankfully, the burn healed quickly, his skin turning back to normal in just a few minutes.
They were lucky that no one had seen that as well, while they passed the front of the manor.
Brynjolf carted him back into the house and decided that he'll go to town in his stead.
Rowan did not look happy about bothering Brynjolf with his work but he didn't quite have a choice in the matter, returning to his study to continue the research of his condition in any book he could find.
A day after that, Rowan slipped out on his own in the evening when the sun was just a sliver over the horizon.
Brynjolf was under the impression that he was in the bedroom where he'd relocated some of his books. He was none the wiser of his escape, consumed by the work that Rowan left to him.
He felt a little guilty about that as Brynjolf was already busy with the management of the Thieves Guild.
But, well, he didn't recall ever asking him to do all that work anyway.
Rowan stood at the edge of the shadow, cautiously putting his hand out in the faint sunlight.
It was warm, much warmer than was comfortable but not the blinding agony of before.
He moved his forearm into the sun and grew certain that he wasn't about to be burnt up.
Rowan took a deep breath and stepped out into the sun.
It felt hot, almost as hot as the sun during the summers back in West Weald even though it was actually quite dim.
Rowan was just happy that it wasn't literally killing him, at the very least.
He stepped out towards the town, ignoring the oppressive heat beating down on him.
Rowan ran into the guard captain on his way to the market.
"Good evening, my lord," he saluted, still clad in his armour and cloak as if it was cold out.
"Good evening," Rowan said, smiling wanly.
"I've word that you were ill, Lord Rowan." He said, "I'm glad that you're better, as with most of the townsfolk."
Rowan nodded absently, his gaze slowly falling upon his neck, the sound of strong, steady heartbeat beginning to drown out his voice.
"Sir?"
Rowan blinked and quickly brought his eyes back up to his face, "Yes?"
The guard captain looked uncomfortable, "Are you feeling alright, my lord? You looked a little... uh, how should I put it... pardon me, strange."
Rowan stared at him and cleared his throat, pulling at his collar because of the heat, "I must apologize, I'm still feeling a little under the weather."
"Well, I wish you a speedy recovery, my lord." He bowed.
Rowan nodded and walked off, internally berating himself for earlier.
The pounding didn't stop, however.
Rowan couldn't help a little gasp, looking up and seeing the townspeople around him, some noticing him and are now looking at him strangely.
He could feel something rising in him, a predatory urge that made his teeth tingle.
There was a sharp prick on the inside of his lower lip.
Rowan slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing that he'd grown fangs. The pounding was loud in his ears, a muted rushing noise in the background that stoked his hunger.
A man walked towards him and his attention snapped to him immediately. He knew who that was, at the back of his mind but all he's aware of are the sweet, viscous blood that runs through his veins.
He was this close to snatching the human's outstretched hand when he regained his senses enough to shrink back, barely suppressing a warning snarl.
That was when someone wrapped their arms around him, spinning him away from the gathering crowd.
He tensed, fingers digging into the arm across his chest.
Rowan relaxed only when he realized that it was Brynjolf, the familiar scent calming him enough to settle the urge deep inside of him, the deep rumble of his voice going through him as he spoke.
He barely remembered what happened after that, the walk home passing in a daze as Brynjolf dragged him back at a hurried pace.
"I thought we agreed that you're to stay inside," Brynjolf started once they're safely hidden in the bedroom.
Rowan kept quiet, still reeling over the fact that he was preying on his own people earlier.
"Rowan?" Brynjolf folded his arms, sounding displeased, "Did you hear what I've just said?"
He startled, looking up at his husband.
"Yes," he blurted and a worried look came over Brynjolf.
"What happened just now?" He questioned, "When you were out."
Rowan looked at him with wide eyes, "I don't- I was-"
He sucked in a breath almost quick enough to choke him.
"I felt hungry."
Brynjolf frowned at him in concern, "You didn't tell me it was not enough."
"No, Brynjolf," Rowan said gravely. "I'm not hungry but I... I felt it, the hunger while I was there. Gods- I'm-"
He couldn't help a sob, "I was about t-to attack him."
Brynjolf's eyebrows furrowed as Rowan covered his mouth with both hands as he started crying. He could barely make out the words that were muffled behind his hands.
"I can't stay here."
He took Rowan into his arms immediately, feeling despair seeping into him as he wept. He pulled Rowan close,
"Gods, Rowan."
Brynjolf held him close when they went to bed that night.
When he woke up in the middle of the night, Rowan was gone.
Brynjolf searched the house for him but can't find him anywhere.
Horror seized him at the thought that Rowan had ran away, alone and defenceless against wolves and bandits out in the night.
Apparently he'd made quite the racket in his search that Belle had woken to investigate, her hair messy and eyes alert.
"What are you doing, my lord?" She asked.
"Where's Rowan?" He whirled around at the voice and startled the steward.
"I don't..."
He cursed, looking around wildly.
Brynjolf ignored her calls as he grabbed a cloak and a kitchen knife and ran out into the cold, clammy night in only a pair of sleep pants.
He didn't quite know where Rowan went or how long he'd been gone. He picked the roads towards the mountains to look first and took off in a run, barely stopping to acknowledge the guards who looked surprised to see him.
Brynjolf didn't know how long he'd been looking for until he heard shouts coming from the woods.
He ran, gasping for breath as he struggled to slow his descent over the slope.
He ran across the forest and out onto a roadside.
His blood ran cold when he registered what he's seeing.
Rowan was hunched into himself on the ground, blood dripping from a wound that he'd yet to see. There were cuts and scrapes on his face.
And there was a man in blue and white robes standing over him with a sword that glowed white in the dark.
"No!" He screamed.
He barreled into the man and they both tumbled to the ground.
Brynjolf had forgotten his knife in his panic and tried to wrestle the sword out of his hand.
They struggled, snarling and grunting.
Brynjolf managed to get a solid punch into his jaw, ignoring the pain and bruises where the man struck and kicked him.
The sword flew out of their reach in their scuffle, the blade managing a thin cut on Brynjolf's exposed arm.
The man pulled out a dagger and tried to stab him with it until Brynjolf slammed his head into the hard stone ground.
He pried the dagger out of his hand when he heard a whimper behind him.
Brynjolf turned and realized two things at once.
The sun had risen.
Rowan's burning.
He dropped the dagger, ignoring the dazed groan from the attacker and rushed towards Rowan.
The sickening smell of burning flesh hit his nose.
Brynjolf was a whirlwind of panic as he somehow remembered the cloak that he'd dropped. He grabbed the cloak and wrapped Rowan in it, holding him as desperate gasps slipped out of him.
Rowan did nothing else but sob, shaking in the blanket as he fell against Brynjolf.
The sizzling sound had stopped but the smell still lingers.
Brynjolf barely noticed the tears in his eyes as he babbled and gasped, "It's alright, love. It's alright."
They huddled up against each other and wept, not noticing the man who'd sat up and watched them.
Brynjolf stiffened when he heard the scrape of metal against stone.
He turned to stare up at the man, who glared down at them, his face scratched and bruised.
He was young and had dark hair that's tied into a ponytail, his skin pale and his eyes dark and harsh. Blood trickled from his split lip where it was pulled back in an angry grimace.
He pointed the dagger at Rowan, the blade shimmering with magic.
Brynjolf growled, about to reach out and disarm the man when he spoke.
"Are you a thrall?"
"No," he snapped, opting to stand between him and Rowan.
The man took a deep breath, he still looked angry when he said, "Why are you defending him? Aren't you aware that he's a vampire?"
"I am aware," Brynjolf stared him down determinedly, aware of the shivering bundle behind him. "He is my husband."
The stranger's lips parted in surprise. He clicked his jaws shut and said, "You are under his spell."
Brynjolf glared at him, "I am most certainly not. He wouldn't harm me."
"That's what they all say."
Brynjolf clenched his fists as he growled in frustration, "Have you ever seen a thrall?"
The man faltered and he pressed forward, "Do you even know what they look like?"
"No," he admitted, "But I have heard of them, they are ensorcelled, forced to serve under their vampire master and protect it at all costs."
Brynjolf gritted his teeth. Truthfully, he hadn't known what thralls are until the man had mentioned it.
He wondered what he could say next when he felt a nudge on his back.
Brynjolf turned to where Rowan had stood up, still wrapped up in the blanket where he heard soft panting coming from under it.
"It's... too hot," he mumbled miserably, shifting under the covers.
Brynjolf turned to the sky, where the sun slowly inched upwards, brightening the land. He then turned to the vampire hunter, glaring at him, "Leave us alone."
"I will do no such thing."
Brynjolf seriously contemplated killing the man at this point, he eyed the sword lying in the grass.
The man tensed as he saw that, he raised his other hand where it glowed blue and crackled with energy.
Before Brynjolf could dive for the weapon, Rowan had grabbed his arm through the blanket.
He chanced a look back, where Rowan was shaking his head.
"Don't..." he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Brynjolf grabbed him when he stumbled, his legs barely holding him up.
He cursed, pulling the cloak more securely over him.
He turned to glare at the man, who's still in the same position, staring intently at them.
"We'll be returning, don't follow us or I'll call the guards on you."
The man scoffed, "What? Are you some sort of noble?"
Brynjolf looked him dead in the eye.
"I am the Lord of Blackthorn."
He left the man standing stunned in the middle of the road as he carried Rowan back home.
He cursed under his breath, retrieved his weapons and followed them, staying well behind.
They managed to sneak back into the manor without anyone seeing them, just narrowly avoiding a confused-looking Belle who ventured into the town all freshened and dressed.
Brynjolf breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bed where Rowan collapsed into it immediately, eyes drooping from exhaustion.
He insisted on feeding Rowan after dressing the stab wound in his side, the latter protesting feebly before giving in.
He looked much better after that, dozing deeply in the darkness of their room as the day started outside.
Brynjolf tended to his own wounds later, thankful that the vampire hunter was so inexperienced that they'd managed to get out of it.
He knew that the man would follow them and debated sending guards after him and putting him in jail.
But there's the possibility of the man exposing Rowan. He could also gather some of his friends and they'll have a real problem on their hands.
Brynjolf sighed, rubbing his forehead.
He'll have to kill him, then, without anyone finding out.
It'll have to look like an accident.
Brynjolf was thinking of who to pay off when he heard a commotion downstairs.
He slipped a small dagger into his belt at the back of his pants. He glanced at Rowan's sleeping form before heading out the door.
"Stop, stop right there!" Belle shouted as he closed the door behind him.
He looked down the stairs and found the vampire hunter from earlier storming up the steps with Belle running after him.
He came to a stop at the top of the stairs, a determined look on his face.
"What do you think you're doing?" Brynjolf demanded. "Leave before I call the guards!"
Belle took the hint and scurried back down stairs, the front door slamming close behind her.
"My name is Tristane Hearthwind," the man declared, "I am a Vigilant of Stendarr and I am here to warn you of the danger you are putting yourself in."
Brynjolf glowered at him, "Leave this instance."
"I will not, my lord," he said firmly, "Not until you understand the situation."
"My husband is not a danger!" Brynjolf roared.
Tristane took a step back, startled.
The door opened just then and two of the town guards rushed in with their swords drawn.
"You are making a mistake," Tristane said but Brynjolf could see his resolve wavering as the guards crowded behind him.
Brynjolf was about to order them to drag him to the dungeons when the door to their bedroom opened.
"What's going on?" Rowan stepped out, casting his eyes over at the group.
He straightened immediately upon seeing the guards and took on the air of authority that he'd adopted while serving as the Lord of Blackthorn.
"What is the meaning of this?" He questioned, staring straight at the Vigilant.
Tristane glared at him with his teeth gritted.
"You deserve to be burned, vampire."
One of the guards jabbed his sword into his back, "Hold your tongue, that is the Lord you are speaking to!"
Rowan raised a hand, "Stand down, there is no need for violence."
He lowered it then and cast his gaze over Tristane, as if studying him while the man glared at him.
"We will speak," he finally said.
Rowan dropped the demeanor when they're alone in the study, the guards standing just outside.
Brynjolf eyed Tristane warily, his hand resting on the dagger on his belt.
"Why did you come to us?" Rowan asked from where he'd taken a seat at his chair.
"I am here to destroy you," Tristane said bluntly.
Rowan's hand shot out to grab Brynjolf by the arm as he surged forward.
"I will cut your tongue out myself!" He spat, stepping back to stand protectively by Rowan.
"Ah, yes," Rowan cleared his throat, "But you sought Brynjolf out and spoke with him first, why?"
"I believe that he is unaware of the danger he is putting himself and the town in," Tristane declared, "I want him to understand why he should not protect the likes of you."
"Because I am a monster?"
Brynjolf spun to face Rowan, "No, don't listen to him-"
"Precisely," Tristane said.
"I understand where you're coming from," Rowan said calmly.
"Rowan!" Brynjolf looked dismayed.
He resolved not to look at his face, "I think so too, myself."
Tristane looked confused for a second before he schooled his features into an unaffected mask.
"I will not be fooled by your lies, vampire," he snapped.
Rowan directed a horrible, pained look at him, one that caused Brynjolf's breath to catch in his throat.
"I was turned not too many nights ago," he said in a rush, "I have yet to wrap my mind around it myself, the hunger, the need to feed on blood just to retain my sanity. I hate that I cannot seem to control myself around my people and fear that I will harm them one day."
Tristane stared at his sorrow-filled eyes as it brimmed with tears.
"I cannot bear it," he admitted with a hitch of his breath. "So I will ask you, perhaps, to spare me this suffering."
"Rowan, no," Brynjolf protested, moving to stand in front of him, "You will ask for no such thing!"
Rowan turned a tear-filled glare on him, his eyes gleaming red. "This is why I told you to wait outside!"
Brynjolf slammed a fist into the table, "This is precisely why I will not leave you alone! You're not thinking clearly, you will retract your foolish request!"
Rowan surged up, grabbing Brynjolf by the collar of his tunic, "You don't know how I'm suffering here, I never asked for this!"
Tristane drew his dagger at the sight.
Brynjolf choked on a breath as he stumbled forward.
Rowan's eyes widened.
He let go of his shirt suddenly, backing away with a horrified look on his face. Brynjolf fell back, stumbling against a chair as he gasped for breath.
He stared at Rowan in disbelief.
He shook his head, tearing up, "This is why, this is why... I cannot remain."
"Rowan..." Brynjolf muttered as he reached for him.
"No," Rowan cried out as he snatched his hand back.
He turned to Tristane, who startled at the ferocity of his gaze.
"I need you to do it," he ordered, "End me!"
Brynjolf spun towards him and drew his dagger, "You will do no such thing!"
Tristane hesitated, looking between them both.
"Rowan, will you be reasonable for once!"
"I want my suffering to end!" Rowan snarled at him.
"I suffer too when you are suffering!" Brynjolf shouted back.
"Then isn't it better if I'm no longer here?" Rowan countered with wide-eyes, "So you no longer have to suffer."
Brynjolf stared at him in disbelief.
"Rowan," he uttered in a whisper, "How can I live if you're no longer here?"
Rowan flinched, looking away from him.
"I can't possibly go on without you," Brynjolf begged, "Don't you know that?"
Rowan bit his lip, unable to meet his eyes.
"How could you be so cruel?" Brynjolf whispered, his voice filled with despair.
He stormed out of the room next, letting the door slam behind him.
Tristane gave Rowan an awkward stare, "So, uh..."
"Leave me," he said weakly.
Tristane fled the room immediately, leaving Rowan standing alone in the study.
He found Brynjolf sitting by the river a few minutes later.
He stepped on some dead leaves as he approached, alerting Brynjolf to his presence, where the latter whipped around to regard him, sighed and turned back to face the water.
Tristane cleared his throat, "You're, uh, alright?"
Brynjolf nodded his head, then covered his face with both his hands, "No, I'm not alright. I can't believe that he..."
He heaved a sigh and tucked his arms around himself.
"Are you not supposed to slay him?" Brynjolf asked bitterly.
Tristane paused, "I'm... not sure. This is not what I expected."
"What did you expect then?" He scoffed, "For him to run at you with his fangs out?"
The Vigilant shrugged, "That's usually what the older members tell us, there's not much else."
"Is it wrong?" Brynjolf asked softly, "For me to want to protect him? Wanting him to live?"
"I..."
"He hasn't attacked anyone," he said firmly, "He hadn't the heart to do so, he wouldn't even hurt a damn fly."
Brynjolf shook his head, biting his tongue against the stream of words that threatened to slip free, a string of 'why's and only 'why's.
"I need to check up on him," Brynjolf muttered, standing up and brushing grass from the back of his trousers.
He raised his eyes to meet Tristane's, who lowered his own and stepped back.
Tristane watched as he walked back towards the manor, ignoring the guards who stood watching him suspiciously from the deck.
Brynjolf had a brief moment of panic when he discovered that Rowan is nowhere to be found inside the study.
He only let out a sigh of relief when he found Rowan in bed, lying with his back turned towards the door.
He quietly made his way over to the bed and sat on the other side, careful not to cause it to creak too loudly.
Rowan stirred anyway, turning to face him with a sleepy look.
"Brynjolf?" He croaked, blinking at him. He yawned, running a hand over his face, "Sorry, 'm tired."
"It's fine," he said tonelessly.
"I'm sorry," Rowan muttered, forcing his eyes open and hesitantly reaching towards his husband.
He faltered, about to retract his hand when Brynjolf took it in his own.
"It's alright," he murmured, eyes softening.
"I forgot to think about you," Rowan mumbled, blinking tiredly, "I was selfish and I forgot about you, I'm sorry."
"You're tired," Brynjolf said gently, "We'll talk about this later, after you wake up."
He nodded and laid back down.
"Good night, husband," he mumbled.
"Good night."
They decided to move a few days later.
Rowan got the steward to manage Blackthorn in their absence, instructing her about her duties and putting in a letter to the jarl about the developments.
He and Brynjolf agreed on having a house built on the southwestern border of Riften, where it will be located relatively far away from civilisation and where Rowan will be less of a threat to his fellow men.
They have yet to figure out how to keep Rowan fed, as it was anticipated that Brynjolf would have to return to the Guild. He hadn't decided who to pass the role to. While Delvin could handle the Guild on his own, he's much too old by now and Brynjolf hadn't found anyone he trusted enough to hand it off to.
He wrote a letter to Delvin saying he'll be a few weeks late, in the meantime.
While they racked their brains for the solution, the answer walked right up to their doors.
"I've heard that you're... relocating," Tristane said, standing on their porch with his arms folded, his face set in a scowl.
"What about it?" Brynjolf demanded, crossing his arms too, his large form an imposing sight compared to the slighter form of the Breton.
Tristane's scowl deepened, "I can't let him out of my sight, he's a-"
"Say it out loud and I'll show you what I'll do to that measly skull of yours."
Tristane accidentally bit the inside of his lip as he clamped his mouth shut.
He flinched but refused to let his pain show.
"Whatever the case," he fumbled, lowering his voice to a normal pitch, "I'm coming along."
Brynjolf was about to protest, when a thought crossed his mind.
His lips stretched into a devious grin as he leaned against the doorframe, "We'll let you come along on one condition."
Tristane felt unnerved by the display but wouldn't let it get in the way of his duty.
"Name it."
Brynjolf passed Tristane a knife, handle first.
The Vigilant grimaced at the sight of the blade, gingerly wrapping his hand around the hilt.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.
"You agreed to it, so don't complain now," Brynjolf said, sounding more gleeful than he should be.
He found it to be justified, this idiot almost killed his husband after all.
They were in the kitchen of the new house, the smell of sawdust still lingering in the air.
Tristane turned pleadingly to Rowan, who sat watching him, trying not to stare hungrily at the man.
He shrugged, "I tried."
"You certainly don't sound regretful enough," Tristane muttered.
"Get on with it," Brynjolf urged, pushing the bowl up to him.
Tristane sighed, taking the bowl and placing it near him. He propped his arm on the table and pulled his sleeve back, exposing his forearm.
He looked uncertainly at both of them.
"Come on," Brynjolf said, "He's hungry, you don't want him to run out into the mountains and attack people, do you?"
"Stop being mean," Rowan said but he didn't sound very reproachful as he kept staring at Tristane's arm.
"I hate both of you," Tristane muttered.
He placed the edge of the blade on his forearm and took a deep breath.
Tristane squeezed his eyes shut as he sliced right across, bracing himself against the sharp sting.
Blood spilled down his arm, dripping into the bowl and onto the table.
"Oh, that's too wide of a cut," Brynjolf said nonchalantly.
He reached out over the table and grabbed Tristane's arm, tilting it so that all the blood fell into the bowl.
Rowan stared at the dripping blood, his pupils dilating like a cat's.
Eventually, the bowl was almost filled to the brim.
Brynjolf tossed a piece of cloth at Tristane, who grabbed it and pressed it to his bleeding wound.
While Rowan gulped down the blood, Tristane whispered a healing spell under his breath and sealed the cut, leaving only a faint pink scar behind that'll eventually heal into nothing on its own.
Tristane removed the blood-stained cloth and glared at Brynjolf.
"What? You agreed to it," Brynjolf said with a raised brow.
"I'm supposed to do this every week?"
"At least every week while I'm not here," Brynjolf said, "You can give him less at a time if you prefer, but that means you'll have to bleed once every few days."
"A week is fine," Tristane muttered, defeated.
Rowan sighed as he placed the bowl back onto the table, licking his lips as he wiped away blood that had gathered on the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He licked his hand clean afterwards, smacking his lips.
He looked up to where they stared at him and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry."
"Was it good?" Brynjolf asked with a lilt in his voice.
"Yes," he answered immediately, "It's mildly sweet." Rowan licked his lips again, "And so delightfully fragrant, and-"
"Gods, I don't need to hear about that," Tristane muttered, rubbing at his freshly healed cut.
Brynjolf chuckled wickedly.
Tristane glanced at him unhappily as he wiped off the knife with the cloth.
Brynjolf didn't mind Rowan's new aversion to sunlight. He was perfectly content to spend more nights awake, accompanying him while sleeping during the day.
He didn't care about his new paleness, if it means that he wasn't ill. Nor did he care about how Rowan's eyes shine bright red sometimes, as if they're from a vicious creature. He didn't fear the sharp fangs that protrude from his lips while he was hungry but he did get concerned when Rowan's briefly distressed by their appearance.
He didn't mind his new diet, Brynjolf was happy to provide for him. Rowan seemed to slowly adjust to it as time progressed, he isn't so upset now whenever he had to drink from either of them.
He didn't miss the slightly guilty look Rowan had afterwards and did his best to distract him.
Brynjolf didn't mind how Rowan's body now radiated cold like the chilly wind that heralded the snow, he still wrapped his arms around him every day while they slept.
He was a Nord after all and wasn't as bothered by the cold as others do, he'll gladly hold Rowan even if he's as cold as the waters of the northern sea.
They still behaved as if Rowan wasn't a vampire.
Except, they aren't as intimate anymore.
Rowan seemed hesitant to touch him. He no longer resist his attempts to hold him every night but he'll reject everything else.
Rowan is reluctant to kiss him, to bring his lips near Brynjolf's body. Anything more intimate than that is certainly out of the question.
Brynjolf found that he missed some of their earlier interactions but decided not to push him.
He wouldn't mind it though, even if Rowan's no longer as warm-blooded as he is.
Despite the changes, Brynjolf would not think of him as anything but human.
While he didn't mind the absence of intimacy, sometimes he just couldn't resist.
They laid in bed together after an evening out in the forest, walking and watching the sky light up with greens and blues.
Rowan was lying on his side, partially facing Brynjolf as he blinked sleepily, yawning as the night progresses.
Brynjolf draped an arm over his waist and couldn't help tracing his arm up his side.
Rowan shivered, his eyes flitted towards Brynjolf's face, wide and alert.
"Bryn," he started in a warning tone as he began to turn away.
"No," Brynjolf muttered, pulling him back by his waist.
"But-"
"Let me touch you."
Rowan stared at him in surprise, he stayed still as Brynjolf gazed into his eyes.
"Are we not married?" He asked.
Rowan closed his eyes as Brynjolf caressed his cheek.
"I'm not the same anymore," he muttered, sounding pained.
"I don't mind," Brynjolf whispered, "I never minded. You're still the same to me, you've never changed."
Rowan opened his eyes, frowning at him, "What are you talking about? I'm not the same. I'm not even human."
"No," Brynjolf said, his eyes softening, "You're as human as I am, you're as human as the idiot who's in the room next door. You fear, you worry and you care about others too much to be the monster they think of."
Rowan stared at him mutely.
"What's a vampire who's afraid of hurting people? That's not a vampire at all, that's..." Brynjolf ran his fingers through Rowan's hair, "Human."
Tears shone in Rowan's eyes.
"Kiss me," he said in a choked voice.
Brynjolf leaned forward and captured Rowan's cool lips on his own.
Tristane stumbled into the kitchen the next morning still in his bedclothes and his dark hair a mess.
He eyed Brynjolf who sat eating a piece of bread with some apples and cheese while Rowan watched him.
"You're disgusting," he declared when they both turned to look at him.
"What?" Brynjolf mumbled through a mouthful of bread while Rowan smirked at him.
"How can you!" He shrieked as he made some exaggerated motions between the both of them.
They just stared at him, Rowan's smirk growing wider.
"I'm moving to another room!" He cried, fleeing the kitchen.
Rowan laughed while Brynjolf rolled his eyes.
A week later, Rowan stood just inside the house, well out of the sunlight as he watched Brynjolf adjust the saddlebags.
Tristane was just a little further inside the house, glumly bringing out a waterskin as Brynjolf has requested.
"Here," he grumbled as he thrust it at the Nord.
"I see you're somewhat useful after all," Brynjolf said as he took it and tucked it into the saddlebag.
"I hate you too," Tristane muttered.
Brynjolf gave him the stink eye before he turned to Rowan, "Are you sure you want to be left alone with this fool?"
Rowan chuckled, "I'll be alright."
Brynjolf walked in then, pulling Rowan into an embrace.
Tristane couldn't help a look of disgust as they kissed deeply.
"I know," Brynjolf murmured, pulling back to look at him, "I just worry."
"Don't fret, my love," Rowan said tenderly, "I'll be just fine, you can trust him."
"What makes you say so?" Brynjolf asked curiously.
"Well, he reminds me of you," Rowan said with a playful smile, "He will protect me well, despite all that he says otherwise. Just like how you did for years."
Tristane shot a look of disdain at the back of his head.
Brynjolf studied his husband closely.
"Please don't sleep with him," he said, while poking Rowan in the chest.
"What?" The Vigilant squawked.
Rowan chuckled, "I won't. Besides, he isn't half as good looking as you."
Tristane's jaw dropped as he stared at Rowan in hurt and disbelief.
"As it should be," Brynjolf said, planting a final kiss on Rowan's cheek.
They exchanged their farewells and Rowan stood inside, watching as Brynjolf made his way down to the road that'll take him back to Riften.
He sighed when he was gone and turned to walk back into the house.
Tristane sat polishing his blades, trying to tune out Rowan who looked more and more miserable the longer his husband was gone.
He doesn't know what's worse, the pathetic pining Rowan is doing or the vigorous way they go at it even though someone else is living here with them.
They're both twice his age, for Stendarr's sake!
Tristane endured another sigh and sad muttering and put down his sword.
"Could you stop talking about him for another second?" He complained, "You're driving me up the wall!"
Rowan peered at him and he was afraid he'd gone too far when he let out another infuriating sigh.
"My apologies, I just..." Rowan muttered, "It's usually not that bad. I suppose I always had something to do in Blackthorn."
He placed the book onto the table glumly, "I miss it."
Tristane concealed the guilt that threatened to show on his face.
While he fumbled for an apology that wouldn't appear too heartfelt, Rowan spoke again.
"I miss him more, though." He mumbled, "Especially his great, big, sexy muscles."
Tristane promptly tossed all his apologies out the window.
Rowan was enjoying a quiet walk in the forest one night, anticipating Brynjolf's return on the morrow.
He was enjoying the fresh air of the mountains and the shimmering fireflies when he suddenly felt watched.
There was a heartbeat in the distance which was strange as the area was pretty secluded.
Then there was a loud mechanical click.
Rowan turned, just in time for a bolt to fly out of the dark and strike him in the chest.
He cried out in pain, doubling over and falling to the ground at the searing fire that began to spread through his veins.
He wrapped his hand around the bolt protruding out of his front and let out an animalistic hiss when it burnt his hand as if it was the sun.
When his senses returned, he could hear more mechanical clicks from the same direction.
Rowan didn't waste another moment and stumbled to his feet, cradling his chest.
He fell forward onto his hands and knees just as another bolt whizzed overhead.
He managed to push himself to his feet as more noises erupted from the trees and ran.
Tristane was half asleep in bed when he heard the front door crash open.
He shot up, forcing himself awake as he unsheathed his sword that he stashed next to his bed.
He opened the door as quietly as he could and crept downstairs.
It was almost pitch black and he began to hear quiet panting from the middle of the sitting room.
"Who's there?" He dared to ask.
A pained whimper was his answer.
"Rowan?" Tristan frowned.
He squinted into the dark of the room and found Rowan on his side on the floor.
"Help... me," Rowan gasped, looking up at him with red eyes that glowed dully.
"Rowan!" Tristane rushed to his side, his eyes finally catching the thing sticking out from the right side of his chest.
"Hold on," Tristane said as he ran to grab a kitchen cloth that seemed clean enough.
He got back to Rowan's side, gingerly putting him on his back and wrapped his hand around the smooth shaft of the bolt.
"Just, I don't know, brace yourself?" He fumbled.
He proceeded to tug at the bolt, hard, hearing it scrape against Rowan's pale flesh as he screamed.
Tristane pressed the cloth to his bleeding wound then, as Rowan moaned in pain, grasping weakly at his chest.
"Hurts," he whined.
Tristan stared down at the bolt as he pressed down on the cloth.
"Dawnguard..." he muttered in horror.
Rowan wheezed as he squeezed his eyes shut, the gleaming red disappearing beneath the lids.
"I... need..." he gasped incoherently, a hand grasping tightly onto Tristan's.
Tristane looked down at him, wincing at the pressure.
"This might be a problem," he uttered to himself as Rowan's fangs slid out.
Brynjolf was riding along at a trot as he travelled back to their home under the afternoon sun.
As he neared the house, he began to notice that something was off.
The flowers and grass along the front looked trampled on, the stems broken and leaves crushed.
The front door was ajar, revealing the inside which looked like it had been ransacked.
Brynjolf jumped off the horse that jerked forward in surprise, rushing into the house on unsteady legs.
Tables and chairs were overturned, plates and pots smashed, cups and books scattered all over the floor.
Brynjolf stepped over the mess and ran upstairs.
All the rooms looked to be in a similar state, their furniture pulled out of place and belongings strewn all over the floor.
He wondered who had done this, was it bandits?
Brynjolf was at a loss, looking all over the room.
When he checked Tristane's room, he found that his weapons and clothes were missing.
He began to suspect that Tristane was behind it, until he found some of his belongings in the overturned room, some religious books and clothing on the floor, his tunic looked like they were stepped over.
Surely he wasn't crafty enough to make up this scene, or willing enough to sacrifice his own things.
Brynjolf walked around the house in a daze and finally spotted bloodstains on the floor.
He desperately searched the house, looking for clues to where they've gone.
Brynjolf eventually headed North towards Ivarstead.
"Come on," Tristane said as he pulled the vampire by the arm.
Rowan stumbled forward, the hood falling to reveal his disheveled appearance, unkempt hair and bloodstains on the front of his shirt. Dust covered the bottom on his cloak, trickling off bit by bit as he moved.
It was in the middle of the night as they travelled, the half moon shining down on them as the sky lit up in a dozen different colours.
Tristane hurriedly pulled his hood back up, glancing at Rowan worriedly at his distant look.
He tugged on Rowan's arm and guided him down the mountain path.
Tristane froze at the sound of an approaching horse.
He pulled Rowan with him as he darted behind a bush, making the vampire crouch down when he was slow to move.
He held his breath, watching and waiting for whoever it was to show up.
A large, bulky form on horseback emerged from the darkness.
"Bryn..." Rowan murmured, stirring as life begins to return to his eyes.
"Wait!" Tristane hissed, pulling Rowan back down when he started to stand.
"But-"
"Shh," Tristane warned, "It might be someone else."
Rowan stared at him blankly.
Tristane looked at him worriedly.
He turned back to the path where the form grew closer.
Tristane could just make out pale skin and red hair when Rowan burst out from his hiding place.
"Bryn!" He cried out before Tristane could advise him against it.
The figure turned towards him.
"Rowan?" He sounded hopeful.
"Brynjolf," Rowan called out as he ran towards him, "It's me, my love!"
"Rowan!" Brynjolf laughed, eyes lighting up in delight. "Rowan!"
He jumped off the horse and wrapped his arms around Rowan as he dived into his embrace, drawing in his scent as he buried his face in his hair.
"Gods, I was looking for you," Brynjolf muttered, "I thought- I was so afraid."
"I'm here," Rowan gasped, pulling him in a tighter hug.
Tristane slowly walked out from his cover, looking uncertainly at them.
Brynjolf paused when he saw him.
"Tristane."
The Vigilant nodded at him.
He let them rejoice in their reunion for another moment, disregarding how all of them looked a right mess, before urging them to move on.
"We were headed for Shor's Stone before you showed up," Tristane informed.
Brynjolf nodded, holding Rowan tight in one arm.
"Let us be on our way."
Tristane closed the door behind him, entering the room the three of them are sharing in the inn.
Brynjolf was holding his husband close as he slowly drifted off, stroking his hair as he murmured loving words in his ear.
Tristane didn't really want to intrude on their privacy but there weren't any other rooms available.
He sat in the chair and carded a hand through his messy hair.
Brynjolf slowly extricated himself from Rowan's side and sat in the other chair that faced Tristane's.
"What happened?" He asked in a low voice.
Tristane glanced at Rowan who looked to have fallen asleep.
"He was discovered by the Dawnguard," Tristane said. At Brynjolf's confused look, he began to explain. "The Dawnguard are an organisation that specialize in hunting vampires. They were formed not too long ago, under the command of one man who deemed the vampires a rising threat against Skyrim."
"He was shot in the chest," Tristane continued, ignoring Brynjolf's look of horror. "Usually it wouldn't be a problem for vampires as such an injury is minor. But the Dawnguard had developed weapons that are especially effective in killing vampires, a combination of silver and holy enchantments."
"Gods," Brynjolf choked.
"He was lucky that it didn't kill him," Tristane said warily. "But he was badly injured. The weapons of the Dawnguard inhibit a vampire's healing so he needed blood."
Tristane glanced regretfully at Rowan, "The blood I gave was not enough."
Brynjolf stared at him wordlessly.
"There was a beggar in Ivarstead," Tristane muttered. "I had hoped we didn't have to do it. I buried the body afterwards to cover our tracks and we hid in one of the barrows nearby."
Brynjolf glanced at Rowan, "How was he, before I found you two?"
Tristane shook his head, "He didn't seem well. He was quiet ever since he fed on that man."
Brynjolf nodded, sullen.
"You should rest," Tristane said, rising to his feet, "You don't look too well yourself. I'll keep a lookout."
Brynjolf nodded and headed towards the bed.
Rowan sat staring at Brynjolf as he and the Vigilant tried to decide on where to go next.
"We could go to Kynesgrove next and lie low for a while," Tristane said. "Vampire appearances are infrequent there due to the heat of the sulfur pools."
"You're certain that they won't look there?" Brynjolf asked.
"No," Tristane answered, "But it is unlikely that they will head there if they're on a hunt. We should still be careful, I heard the Dawnguard usually plant informers in towns and cities for vampiric activities."
He happened to glance at Rowan then and was taken aback by the look on his face.
He stared straight at Brynjolf, his gaze mimicking the intensity of a saber-tooth's.
"Rowan?" He called, causing Brynjolf to turn.
He didn't seem to hear it, still staring at his husband with the look of a predator.
"My love?" Brynjolf said, taking a step towards him.
Rowan blinked, he seemed confused at first when he looked at Brynjolf. Then, his eyes widened, his mouth falling open.
"What's wrong?" Brynjolf asked as he approached him.
Rowan shook his head, managing a shaky "Nothing".
Brynjolf turned to Tristane, who shot him a look of unease.
They were on the road to Kynesgrove when it happened.
Rowan heard them first, a sharp, mechanical click from the darkness.
He leapt off the horse immediately where a crossbow bolt embedded itself into the back of its neck.
The horse reared as it let out a pained whinny, galloping off into the forest in panic.
"Get to the trees!" Tristane shouted, a bolt narrowly missing him as he ran.
Brynjolf grasped Rowan by the wrist and dashed into the forest as a bolt stuck into a tree.
He vaguely saw figures running out of their covers, inwardly cursing them as he pulled Rowan along.
"We need to hide," Brynjolf started, crying out in pain as a crossbow bolt struck him in the shoulder, having been fired from where they're headed towards.
"Brynjolf!"
Tristane drew his sword, backing up towards the two as a Nord woman walked out from the trees with her crossbow pointed at him.
"It was a trap," he muttered, glancing the other way to see two men approaching them with their crossbows aimed at them.
On the left was an Orc who had his light hair tied a ponytail, his face in a dark scowl as he regarded the group.
Tristane recognized him a second later.
It was Durak, the Dawnguard member who'd been going around trying to recruit people into their ranks.
Beside him was a Breton with short blonde hair and piercing eyes. His expression was one of focus as he pointed his weapon at Rowan.
"Shoot them," Durak ordered.
Tristane gritted his teeth as the Breton raised his crossbow.
He summoned lightning into his hand and shot them at the two Dawnguard in a split second. His aim had never been great and he hoped that he didn't hit Brynjolf or Rowan with that as he drew up a shield just in time to block the bolt fired from the woman.
He rushed forward immediately, charging her with his sword.
She deflected his strike with the crossbow, cursing under her breath as he drew his dagger and wielded it in his other hand.
Tristane swung his sword with his right, catching her crossbow with a clash. It created an opening and he tried to strike her with his dagger only to be kicked in his side from the right.
She brought the crossbow back in a violent swing, causing him to drop the sword and bashed him in the face with her weapon.
Tristane staggered back as she put away her crossbow and drew her sword.
As he summoned more lightning into his free hand, he caught a glimpse of Brynjolf fighting off the two men. He had somehow disarmed the two and are keeping them busy with his daggers, keeping them well away from Rowan who was crouching in the bush far behind him, a frightened look on his face.
"You're a traitor to your own kind, Vigilant," the Nord woman hissed.
"Perhaps if we all take a step back and talk this out," Tristane suggested half-heartedly.
"Never!" She growled.
"Well, I expected that answer," he muttered under his breath, hoping he'll be able to withstand her attacks as she's clearly a much better fighter than he was.
She made the first move, swinging her sword in a wide arc.
Tristane couldn't hope to parry that with a measly little dagger and jumped back, keeping his lightning to himself to conserve energy.
She rushed forward on the next strike, a sword swing backwards from the first.
Tristane's eyes widened at the blade shining in the moonlight as he stepped back as quickly as he could.
An arc of lightning flew from his finger, striking her in the neck.
She simply took it with a guttural growl in her throat and rushed forward.
Tristane ducked just as the sword sliced across the tree behind him, sending pieces of bark flying.
From the corner of his eye, he saw that Brynjolf is now up against Durak, while Rowan is frantically dodging the attacks of the other man, making no move to strike back as he cursed and yelped.
How could anyone think that he was dangerous, Tristane thought to himself.
He sliced his blade downwards, managing to cut his opponent in the thigh.
Instead of slowing her down, that somehow just made her angrier.
"Have I told you that I didn't want to do this?" Tristane tried, panting as he began to run out of breath.
"Die!"
Tristane gasped as her sword bit into his side.
He dodged her next swing, clutching his bleeding waist with a hand.
He wasn't quite lucky on her next attack when she struck him in the face with the hilt of her sword.
Tristane stumbled, dazed.
She kicked him in the stomach next, sending him sprawling to the ground with a hand clutching his stomach.
Tristane rolled away just as the sword struck the ground next to him.
He got onto his knees, dropping his dagger as the woman raised her sword.
"Stop," he gasped, holding up his hands, "I yield, I yield!"
She paused, narrowing her eyes at him.
Tristane's mind was racing, he was planning to blast her with a huge bolt of lightning, either to kill her or to stun her, then grab his dagger and stab her in the neck before going to help Brynjolf and Rowan.
But when she foolishly lowered her sword, he hesitated.
He found that he didn't have the heart to take the life of another innocent, once was already enough.
The Nord woman held the sword to his throat and he flinched, shutting his eyes.
What made his eyes open was a loud, ominous howl behind him.
It was low, sounding demonic and mournful, making his hair stand and sending a chill down his spine.
He dared to turn around.
Tristane's blood froze when he saw two bodies on the ground.
One was of the Breton, who was stumbling to his feet while clutching his sword arm. The other body was Brynjolf.
And he wasn't moving.
He gasped, noticing the darkness beginning to pool beneath him.
There was so much blood.
Rowan was hunched over his husband, clutching at him and covered in his blood. The dark, pained howling was coming from him.
Tristane stared at him, transfixed.
He just noticed Durak limping out from the trees, a crossbow in his hand. There was loud clicking as he reloaded and aimed it at Rowan.
"No!" Tristane screamed hoarsely, forgetting the Nord woman as he turned and scrambled towards him.
Durak turned his crossbow towards him.
Tristane faltered, raising his arms in surrender.
At the same time, Rowan's head whipped up, his eyes glowing bright red.
He let out a demonic screech and rushed towards Durak at a terrifying speed.
"No!" Tristane cried out.
Durak turned back towards Rowan, no doubt cursing his mistakes.
Tristane somehow managed to run past him and crashed into Rowan as the bolt grazed his left side.
He landed on top of the vampire, who kicked and fought to get him off so he could kill the man behind him.
"Don't," Tristane gasped, already out of breath and hurt since the fight earlier as he struggled to keep Rowan down. "You're not a killer. Don't let this turn you into the monster they called you."
"They killed him," Rowan howled, his voice more demon than human, "They killed him!"
Tristane thought Rowan would break free, for he no longer had the strength to pin him down.
He didn't expect the other man to sag and break down, his echoing sobs and howls breaking his heart into pieces.
Tristane didn't know what to do as he sat up and stared at him, as he rolled onto his side and stayed there, seemingly having no strength to do anything else but weep so heartbrokenly that he felt his sorrow keenly as if it his own.
He turned to Brynjolf's body, feeling quite numb. He could hardly believe that he's dead.
A loud crack sounded next to him.
Tristane turned to see the crossbow pointed at him, Durak standing on its other end.
He knew he was going to die, still feeling numb and half in acceptance while the other half of him felt a shock at the thought.
He flinched when the Breton pushed the crossbow out of the line of fire, the sharp movement making him think that it'd been fired.
"What are you doing?" Durak demanded.
"Something's not right," the Breton said, studying him and Rowan with a forced look of detachment.
"They need to be destroyed, the vampire and his thralls are a danger to humanity," Durak spat, turning the crossbow back onto Tristane.
"What?" Tristane blurted, coming out of his daze. "You just murdered a man!"
"He is a thrall," Durak spat, "As you are."
Tristane couldn't help it, he exploded, "I am not a thrall, I am a Vigilant of Stendarr!"
"I find that hard to believe," Durak hissed, still aiming the crossbow at him.
"Sir," the Breton chimed in, "Maybe we should hear them out."
"Are you defying me?" Durak snarled as he turned the crossbow onto him.
"No, sir," the Breton said calmly, "I'm just trying to be rational."
"He's a monster!" Durak snapped, gesturing to Rowan who's still lying on the ground, sobbing. "A creature of the night who preys on the innocent!"
"He'd never preyed on anyone!" Tristane protested, "I have seen that with my own eyes!"
"He has charmed you, Vigilant!"
"He doesn't look charmed to me," the Breton said.
The Nord woman looked between them with uncertainty, she seemed affected by Rowan's devastated cries.
"You don't know that," Durak said.
"He just tackled his vampire master to save your life!"
"It could be a ploy for us to fight amongst ourselves as we're doing now!"
"I don't think that's it, their "ploy" looks genuine to me."
Durak glared at the Breton, "Perhaps the vampire has you under his spell!"
The Breton gaped at him, "That is absurd! Tell him, Vori!"
Vori looks between the two of them in confusion.
"He is under that creature's spell," Durak snarled, "Subdue him!"
Tristane himself was at a loss of what to do.
He turned to Rowan and felt his stomach drop and his heart freeze.
Rowan was on his knees and holding a dagger that's pointed at his own heart.
"NO!"
Tristane was too late.
Rowan stabbed himself in the chest, the blade breaking past his sternum, striking flesh as it was embedded up to the hilt.
He made no noise as he collapsed, crumpling onto the ground as Tristane dropped to his side.
He's already dead.
Tristane's hands hovered over his body, gasping in shock and sorrow.
The group of Dawnguard stared at him in silence as he choked on his cries.
"That takes care of that," Durak muttered remorselessly.
"You murderer," Tristane shrieked, turning to him. "You killed a man and caused another to take his own life! You killed them both!"
He rose to meet Durak, who backhanded him, the force sending him crumpling back into the ground.
"Monster!" Tristane screamed, "You are a monster!"
He got back onto his feet, glaring at Durak, "Why don't you kill me too, I am a thrall am I not?"
Durak shoved him as he tried to attack him again.
"I have no business with you, Vigilant," he spat, turning to walk away.
"Monster!" Tristane howled from the ground, "MONSTER!"
The two others gave him a look varying between uncertainty and pity as they left.
They didn't even take the godawful knife with them.
Tristane returned to Blackthorn with their bodies.
When the guards came out to arrest him, he could hardly care. They eventually realized that he didn't have anything to do with their deaths and released him.
Tristane didn't speak with anyone while he paid his respects at their funeral and left promptly.
He returned to the Hall of the Vigilant and continued his work.
However, he soon renounced his oaths and duties as a Vigilant, as he found that he no longer believes in their ways despite all that they preach.
Stendarr is named the god of mercy and yet the Vigilants have none.
He later became a follower of Mara, spending his days preaching her words of love and compassion, helping the sick and the poor. Never did he raise a hand against another, not to attack nor to retaliate.
And he never did forget Rowan, who had a kinder and more compassionate heart than most men, or Brynjolf who held more love and devotion than any man could carry.
He never forgets.
A/N: Poor Rowan and Brynjolf :( I was not happy when I thought of this. Anyways, all the Dawnguard mentioned exists in the game except for the Breton. He's the protagonist of the Dawnguard storyline. I didn't get the opportunity to slip in his name. It's Edwyn. And due to this event, he doesn't immediately try to kill Serana when he releases her in that storyline. Also, I have chosen Durak instead of any other members for this role as his profile fits this. And I have meticulously looked through all their info. The only other person who fits the bill is Isran but I wouldn't put him in this as he most likely won't spare Tristane after. Durak is less likely to be merciful as he's blinded by vengeance to see what's before him, while the others didn't have enough of a feud against the vampires to be as remorseless as he is afterwards. Also, he actually did feel a slight bit of guilt but he never showed it, ahem.
I promise that the next one isn't sad, but this isn't only the sad one. We'll see it when the randomiser spits it out at me, lol.