Chapter 11: Serana 4

The Best Laid Plans

She lay in bed, too sickened and exhausted to pull the curtains shut as the first burning rays of morning sun pricked her skin. She had not slept, and her shame at running from Beric after a simple kiss twisted within her with vindictive spite. She could just imagine what her mother would say, the arched eyebrow she would examine her with if she was here, and the suggestive comments that already nestled amidst the short lines of her letters now came itching back into her head, wriggling like maggots. It was a weakness, she told herself firmly. One that must not be repeated, no matter how temporarily pleasurable it was. She blushed furiously and pulled a pillow over her head, allowing the cool linen to blind her a minute longer.

When Beric had been mortal, they had spent many long nights sharing a tent together in the wilds, and when they had stayed at a village or town inn they had often saved money sharing a room. She had grown comfortable with his constant closeness of his presence, and she had found comfort in having him next to her. They had been happy together for a short while despite everything, and he had been one of the few friends she had ever had in her life, perhaps the only true friend she had ever had, and she hated the idea of ruining that. Over the last few years exhaustion, the disorientation that following the bestowal of the gift, and an unspoken desire to let sleeping dogs lie had left anything more than simple companionship on ice. A subject mutually acknowledged but never broached. Besides, she had much to teach him about being a vampire, and she took that responsibility seriously, as did he. She had taught him the way to feed stealthy, quietly, without killing when necessary for them to hide amongst humanity as they travelled across Skyrim. She had also taught him the sport that it was to hunt for live and free blood, racing down prey across the moonlight moor, but most of all she ached for a more civilised mode of living. A little keep for themselves, a small guard of thralls and a herd of blood-cattle. But now it was hard to imagine such dreams now without a repeat of….that.

A nasty voice asked her if she had really expected that she and Beric could play this silly game for eternity. They had flirted in the past, quite often actually, and she had enjoyed his company and attention. Beyond anything, she had felt safe, away from the insincerity of the court she could let her guard down for a true friend, for a man who had never learned to dissemble for political gain. But they had never laid a finger on each other until last night, as the needs of survival and fear of embarrassment had kept them away- they both had no desire to drive away the only person they could really trust through some sordid romance. She was not naïve, she knew Beric had been…intimate with women before. Beren had mention once that he had abandoned a woman when he had fled Whiterun- what was her name? Ysolda. That was it. That busty redheaded peasant girl who had worked her way up to landlady of the Bannered Mare. She possessed a simple sort of charm and she could see why Beric would fall for her when he was a member of the town guard and she a barmaid. Did she really expect that when he would settled into his new life, he wouldn't want that…intimacy? That companionship?

She felt uncomfortable, imagining Ysolda in his arms, kissing her, them in bed together. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, and forced her mind away from the disturbing scene. He was hardly likely to go mooning over an old relationship she told herself sternly. The thought was comforting for a moment, before new visions floated from the depths of her mind, of herself, naked and moaning under Beric, as he kissed her lips and whispered sweetly into her ear. She pushed the scene away after a second's hesitation, embarrassed at the lewdness of it. She couldn't bear the thought of that. It was disgusting to her, and he felt tears prick her eyes once again, as confused signals rushed through her brain, telling long-dead lungs to gasp for the air they no longer needed, her long silent heart to beat and pump dead blood to blush her cheeks. But was she really proposing to lock him away forever? What choice did she really have? She would either have to bear the thought of such intimacy with him, or likely accept he would turn elsewhere for companionship.

She felt horrified and terrified at either option. It was exactly the sort of thing Vingalmo would do to manipulate a fledgling. Exactly the sort of thing her mother mocked her for, for her weakness, her indecisiveness. She couldn't imagine allowing herself to be…..intimate with anyone, and her eyes burned as she curled up on her side. She knew how the mortals gossiped about her, how Beric and her looked at each other, the taunts thrown from Stormcloak lines. They were crude and wrong but that did not dull the pain she had now felt as they all swum back in a cacophony of mockery.

She lay dazed and miserable in her bed a while longer before reluctantly pulling herself together. She washed, changed and downed the last of her bottle of blood, briefly revived by the taste and the energy that flowed through her afresh. Grabbing her bag, she headed out and braced herself for the sun and a new day. Tolfdir was waiting, and she would not allow Beric or anyone to make excuses for her not being present. She had not run from anything in her life before. She had not run from her turning, or from being forced to kill her own father. In comparison this was nothing, just her foolish pride hurting.


It was horribly awkward seeing Beric again when she arrived in their room in the private collection. Shame forced his eyes downwards and a bare mumble of a welcome was all that greeted her. He looked tired and hurt, dark bags crowding his eyes as he pawed listlessly at his scattered notes. Serana was grateful that the others were there already as it saved them from discussing last night, and after grunts of welcome they worked for a while in a studious awkward silence, waiting for Tolfdir to arrive. Ghagra and Orthorn did not seem to notice the awkwardness, likewise consumed in their own little worlds as stress and lack of sleep took their toll. Serana looked over her notes, flipped through scattered papers, and tried to collect her thoughts. Histories, mythologies and theories ran from her mind like water through a sieve, and she found herself staring at the same place on the page before her, her eyes boring into it and not taking in any of it.

She glanced up, and her eyes fell upon Orthorn, scribbling away opposite her. He looked just as exhausted as she and Beric did. He did not seem to have mentioned to Ghagra or Beric the threats Serana had overheard, and while she was hardly surprised her anxiety increased. She knew well how difficult it was to abandon your family, and Orthorn struck her as a particularly weak-spined Mer for all his apparent magical skill. Foolish pride and fear of discovery are a bad combination, and it would not surprise her if his defiance to Ancano's threats had melted away like snows in the summer sun. The Thalmor knew their work all too well, and doubtless they would not spare the carrot or the stick with the Eye at stake. Ghagra trusted him enough to include him in their team, and they seemed to have known each other for several years. Truthfully however did not trust either of them over much- though that was mostly as she did not know much about Ghagra, for Durag had rarely mentioned her or his brother Mazorn, away in Solstheim with their father. Nor, she sighed to herself in frustration, had she raised the issue of the Dawnstar museum pamphlet or letter with Beric yet. She did not want the others to be party to such a discussion, but she knew that she must not have long before he would discover her deception, and that would doubtless mean that they would have to talk about last night as well. She held her head in her hands for a moment. She needed to find some time to sort these out. Talk to Ghagra, to Beric, even if that meant reopening last night. Maybe instead she should just push Beric and Orthorn down a glacier and fly away into the night with the Eye for herself. The thought almost made her laugh.

Suddenly Tolfdir came clattering in, whistling to himself and seemingly unaware of his tardiness or the depression that filled the room. 'Good mornings' murmured around the room as he settled himself into his chair.

"Well then, what have we found so far?" He asked getting to the matter at hand with a noxious positivity as he peered about them intently. Ghagra cleared her throat and began.

"…Well there are really only two options for the Eye. It is either mortal work, or the work of the gods- Aedric or Daedric- though at the moment we have no real proof that it is the creation of Magnus, despite the rumours..." Ghagra shrugged dismissively before continuing. "Either of these two options represent huge possibilities for the future of magic and our understanding of the nature of Mundus. More to the point, they will help us understand the dangers we are in, and why the Psijic's want it." She ended on that point, watching Tolfdir warily and hoping he would take the hint.

"Amongst others, yes, yes." Tolfdir said airily, waving away this introduction. Serana looked at him alarmed- had he learned of Orthorn and Ancano too? "We have been lucky to keep this a secret so far, no doubt because Skyrim's winter snows and blocked passes keep news from travelling, but the Synod and the Mage's guild will no doubt take an interest in this given its public arrival, and will send messengers and representatives soon enough. but that's a problem for the Arch Mage and his friends down in Cyrodiil. Anyway, enough of the babbling of an old man- what have you found so far?" She relaxed, as he gestured at Ghagra to continue and tried to hide her thoughts. Who knows what spying tricks and old Alteration mage may have up his sleeve?

"I've examined a short curse found on the Draugr guarding the eye, along with several amulets and other materials. The curse names him as Jyrik, the murderer of Gauldur. This Gauldur may well have been the mostly forgotten and semi-mythical Breton conjuror to High King Harald who reigned between 143 and 221 of the First Age, and this timing is consistent with what the dating charms showed for the scrip and amulets. It seems that Jyrik was sealed away as punishment, possibly as an eternal watchman to the Eye. This would seem the be the last time anyone entered the chamber- or survived the encounter at any rate, which would imply the re-occupation and continued use of the chamber after the Night of Tears. However, this tells us little other than they felt the secret of the Eye worth keeping and guarding-maybe out of religious purposes?" It was a bad guess, and Ghagra didn't look convinced even when she voiced it.

"Serana what do you think? You're out expert on the early Nords and their religion." Tolfdier asked and Serana took a moment to gather he thoughts, suddenly surprised to hear Gauldur's name mentioned, and she paused to drag the memories up from the corners of her mind. It was true that Harald had been Kigh King then, though his claim to rule all of Skyrim had been contest by many, including her father's kingdom. She could remember whispers of some treachery that had befallen his court, but the details had been vague and her father's depleted armies had lacked the strength to exploit the weakness Gauldur's murder had caused. She cleared her throat and began.

"…Well, it would probably be best to consider how the Nords worshipped back then. People worshipped a mix of Aedric and Daedric deities, often taking a Patron God for their clan, and they would preserve a token or gift from their master as proof of their faith, and as an expected reward for their dedication. In terms of the Aedra it is probably best to use the nordic or Breton pantheons as a frame of reference. For the Daedra it's also worth considering the Ayleid pantheon. The elves were the dominate force culturally then and those ideas would have coloured worship across Skyrim, at least before High King Borgas. If this was an Daedric artefact then it makes more sense for the site to have been abandoned after Alessia's revolt, or during Borgas's reign, especially if they were using Draugr as a punishment- I support that might have been intended to stop his soul entering Sovengarde or Aetherius…."

She trailed away in thought- where exactly did Draugr souls go? She'd have to run some experiments on that sometime! However, she was brough to back to Tamriel at Orthorn shaking his head in disapproval.

"Really this just confirms that the site way abandoned around that time, and there's nothing so far to indicate that this is a Daedric artefact- the script certainly isn't Daedric otherwise we'd have translated it by now."

"What do you propose then?" Ghagra said, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms, curious and attentive.

"We should take more account of the myth of the Night of Tears- the Mer have always maintained that the tale was embellished by the Atmorans, alleging betrayal and fear of the Falmer as the main motivator, which renders them blameless for the unprovoked slaughter of the Night of Tears, and justify their response. This is simply imperial propaganda. This artefact clearly does not belong amongst the Nords or any human work- it is far beyond human skills. We must look to the Merish races instead. The tales of what magics the Dwemer and Dunmer achieved in this time are legendary, and we should not discount the advancements of a similarity cultured elvish race. I propose that the eye is a Falmer artefact, hidden in the city, which was raided in an attempt to recover it. The script may well be Falmer too, perhaps even the entire chamber!"

"It's not." Serana stated bluntly, with a disparaging shake of her head. She wasn't going to sit by and listen to her people insulted that that.

"How do you know what ancient Falmer magics or script or architecture looks like?" Orthorn snapped.

"Because I've seen it, and spoken to one." She responded calming, enjoying this opportunity to needle the bookish elf. Beric was staring at her but she ignored him.

"You've spoken to a Falmer?" He repeated disbelievingly, as if he had misheard her, or thought her stupid.

"Actually, he preferred Snow Elf." She responded primly, unable to help herself.

"….Did you speak to Yagrum Bagarn too?"

"That's enough you two." Tolfdir intervened, cutting back Serana's response and Beric's quizzical look. "We need to focus, not to argue. Bedsides which Serana is right, despite some of her more outlandish claims, the writing is not Falmer."

"It could still be an artificial magical construct though." Orthorn put in, unwilling to let matters rest. Serana rolled her eyes. Beric sighed and leaned back in his chair, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. She ignored him, angry at how he had said nothing to support her claims.

"Orthorn's right." Ghagra shrugged. "The possibility of it being created by a mage is something we've not yet really explored, and it makes more sense than it being an Aedric item that Aedra worshippers sealed away. Daedric artefacts don't tend to sit quietly forgotten. From what I've read they have a mind of their own, and they want to be found- look at the Vampire mace, or Mehrunes Razor- it's no coincidence given their Damned Master's that they keep turning up. Likewise, for Aedric artefacts, they will either to call a champion to them or just move themselves- just look at attempts to count the Elder Scrolls, the Hearthgods' Blessings and Lady Isabella, or Beren and Auriel's Bow. If this was a mage's experiment then maybe that's why they sealed it away..."

There was silence for a moment, as they pondered these thoughts. What Ghagra said made sense. The Vampire mace it was rumoured had reappeared in the reach, Mehrune's razor had found a champion to remake itself, Auriel's bow had appeared and disappeared across the ages before coming into Beren's ownership. Such things certainly had a mind of their own, and she felt annoyed at herself at having fixated on the eye being a Daedric Artefact for so long as she tried to recall the arguments in An Examination of Fundamentals for Mundane-Magical Communion. Thinking it over, much of what they were saying made sense. Either the Eye and its master wanted to stay down there all that time, or it couldn't escape- some sort of purpose made prison, or a shame to be buried away. While the power of the artefact was humbling, and there was clearly some glimmer of sentience inside it, the possibility that this represented some sort of sealed consciousness was a strong one, albeit a disturbing one. Why did it sleep still? What could happen to a consciousness sealed away like that for thousands of years? Would it be a dreamless sleep like she had experienced? A disorientating jolt that thrust her millennia into the future or had the eye been imprisoned like the Draugr? Bound and forced to count the years second by second within its confines, unable to speak, unable to move.

"Why was it created then? It doesn't seem to do much right now" Beric asked no one in particular.

"….Ritual purposes? Ancestor worship? Eternal punishment?" Ghagra shrugged.

"….There is one person that the library mentioned- Dunlain, a teacher of yours I believe." Serana said delicately as she produced his book and slide it across the table to Tolfdir. He took it hesitantly, some emotion playing across his face. He picked it up, his wrinkled hand stroking across the surface in though.

"My my, you have been busy." Tolfdir said, staring at the book in wonder and his hands reached out to grasp it with reverence and regret.

"I understand you were once a student of his." Serana said once more, prompting him again.

"Now who told you that?" He murmured, unable to tear his gaze from the book.

"Well, A lady wouldn't tell..." she said delicately. She had no interest in revealing that Mirabelle had gossiped away that little morsel absentmindedly, but she was relieved that he seemed to have taken no notice of her, engrossed in the book and memories freshly risen by the sight and feel of its leather, and the name that sat embossed upon it face.

"His book was very useful in outlining magically constructed consciences, soul gems, and entombed sentences. I don't suppose you can remember his teaching for us, or if he wrote any other books." She paused for a minute, considering Tolfdir's age it was likely the man was long since dead, but her chain of thought was interrupted by Tolfdir's ramblings.

"Hmm….My goodness, it's been years since I've thought of him…spoken with him. I suppose he's still down there…down in the Midden….but I haven't checked…."

"He's living down there?" Serana asked, confused.

"Well, in a way I suppose so…one might say he put many of his ideas into practice." Tolfdir was speaking mostly to himself now as he was carried away with his memories.

"I'm sorry I'm not following any of this." Beric grumbled, frustrated and ill-humoured. Serana looked at him sharply to shut him up then turned back to Tolfdir.

"I'm sorry Master Tolfdir, did you say he's down in the Midden?"

"Oh… yes sorry, please forgive an old man his…reveries. Yes, he's down there now. A shame. A horrible shame." He shook his head pompously. "They say he would have been the greatest mage of his time. A Breton from High Rock, out to learn his trade in Skyrim before returning home- or so I was told... I've heard the stories, the same as anyone else. He was a brilliant student, an accomplished wizard. Delved into magic in a way none had seen before. But, I think, he became too focused on just how much power he could acquire. That's what led to the accident." He finished gravely, looking around at them hanging on his words

"You know how it goes, so many mages delve into magic to find a way to stave off Lorkhan's gift" He gave a twisted gallows smile to them all. "Just look at the Telvanni, or the Altmer, binding themselves up with potions and charms, or those unsavoury creatures, liches and vampires, desperate to wring a few more years of life at any cost. Well he was, let's say, intellectually seduced by such thoughts, but those traditional methods weren't for him. He created something, deep down there were magic wells up from the depths of the world. He harnesses those streams of magic, and laid his charms and cast his spells. Buti it seems that what he thought was going to happen didn't seem to work quite as intended. Whatever happened, it freed him from his body by utterly disintegrating his flesh, but it preserved his mind and soul, and granted him significant powers of divination. It might almost be worth it, if he hadn't been trapped down there in the dark, forever."

"I've never heard of him before."

"Oh well, He's quite forgotten now, a bad end to a promising career like so many other mages whose ambition exceeded their wisdom. He's down there alone now along with all the other…things…that haunt the midden. They don't quite have a name for what he became, but back then people called him the Augur, the Augur of Dunlain…."

"-What was his name originally?" Beric cut in, curiosity and exasperation mixing below the forced politeness of his tone.

"-Oh…Alfred? No that's not it- dear me it's been so long, he was already the Augur when I met him-"

"-Aelwin?" Ghagra asked

"Ah yes- that's it."

"HA!" Ghragra gave a quiet bark in triumph and slapped her hand on the table, vindicated. Serana felt a little shame at having doubted her, but Tolfdir looked positively alarmed at the interruption. Ghagra spoke over his confused spluttering. "So now all we have to do is just walk down into the Midden and have a little chat with him."

"Well, I'll have to get permission from the Arch Mage for you to go down there-he's banned all access in the last few years, too many accidents you see. It's probably why he's become so forgotten."

"Since when has Savos Aren cared for the safety of his students?" Beric whispered under his breath and Serana kicked him under the table.

"I'm sure we'll be able to get his permission, given the dangerous situation, and I'm sure your recommendation will carry weight with him." Serana murmured to Tolfdir, soothing his ego and hoping that his prestige in the college would carry weight amongst the other masters.

"Well yes, I suppose so-but it's very dangerous down there- you'll need to prepare thoroughly- not at all like Saarthal. You'll need to take account of the possibilities of getting lost down there, and bring plenty of potions and other provisions with you. And you'll need to think carefully about how you'll get his attention- not the arch mage's-the Augur's. He was always a rather proud man, and from what I remember his new body only intensified that arrogance."

"We can take care of that simply enough. All I need is the route from you."

"Yes, yes, I can provide you with what I remember, and a map- it's probably outdated now due to cave-ins and shifting tunnels, but it might prove useful. I'll also revise Clairvoyance spells with you- that should help you find your way, and each other if you get lost. Provided that there's nothing down there who can manipulate such magic-"

"I think we can handle that- and it's not like we have any other options or leads at this point." Ghagra nodded to Serana, Beric and Orthorn. "What do you think?"

"We're out of time and out of options," Beric shrugged "it's the best lead we have."

"It's the only lead we have." Orthorn muttered despairingly. He looked distinctly uneasy at the thought of venturing down there.

"let's go." Serana said simply with a nod to Ghagra. Whatever was down there they could handle it. She was excited by the promise of adventure, the thrill of combat and the intriguing possibilities that this so-called Augur offered.

"Good. That's settled We don't have much time- gather up what you need this afternoon for a five-day journey down there. Pack light- weapons, armour, food, water, potions, bedroll, you all know how this works by now. We leave tomorrow morning at dawn." Ghagra snapped out her orders. Chairs grated across the floor. They thanked Tolfdir for his help, and left with drumming of feet and slamming of doors.


The short winter day was quickly darkened by low grey clouds, and the sun soon disappeared into a kaleidoscopic madness of billowing snowfall that drumming on Serana's widows as she hurried about her room. Packing for the expedition, she was undisturbed for much of the afternoon and early evening until a rough hammering on the door made her jump, and she hurried to open the door.

"We need to talk." Beric stated simply, in a tone of forced neutrality. He looked hurt and disappointed.

"Oh..." She leant on the door, unable to keep the guilt and embarrassment from her voice. Her room was a mess- old Dawnguard armour laid out on the desk, her sword and dagger carelessly thrown on her bed. An adventuring pack, half-filled lay against the wall, while an assorted clutter lay scattered across floor as she carefully weighted the space and weight of each item. She had hoped that they would not have had to have this conversation, and she tried to steel herself to endure the awkwardness of it.

"I visited the library this afternoon. They said that you were holding onto something for me." Beric stated.

"Oh. Yes, of course- I completely forgot. I'm sorry Beric." She dived back into her room, swearing under her breath a string of blood-curdling curses. Beric's foot caught the door with a thud, leaving it open and her back bared to his stern eyes. She wished it had been about the kiss rather than the museum. She could feel that gaze boring into her back, and the chilling unfriendliness of it- stern, disappointment with restrained anger just stirring into wakefulness beneath. All to quick she had found the pamphlet and papers, and proffered them, embarrassed at herself beyond words. He snatched them away.

"Thanks." He snarled, and turned on his heel.

"Beric! Wait! I-"

"I don't want to talk about this." He snapped, head already buried in the pamphlet, before he quickly turned to the letter. There was little information on either piece of paper and he read it at speed, ignoring her babbled excuses and apologies. His expression changing rapidly to one of barely controlled rage and betrayal, and he turned, waving his arm angrily, waving her reaching hands away from him.

"-I just forgot!" She cried miserably, hurriedly-saying anything now. He turned on her, eyebrow raised in disdainful disbelief, and she winced as he crushed the letter and the pamphlet in a shaking hand.

"You expect me to believe that? I might not be a smart as you Serana, but I'm not stupid."

"Look- just come in and we can talk about this, just for a second."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Beric look- don't be stupid-" She snapped and quickly glanced around her. With a wave of her hand she cast detect living, revealing several silvery outlines of students in their rooms around them, none of whom currently seems to show signs of interest in their argument. "Just listen to me please-" she hissed, pulling him half-resisting into her room, careful with her strength not to thoughtlessly rip his clothes. She slammed the door shut behind them.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I should have told you- at first I was worried about what you would say- and then I forgot about it and-"

"Serana, do you know what this proves?" Beric cut over her, waving her words aside with his bandaged hand. "it's a lead! The first we've had in some time. This Silus Vesuius must know something! He must have made the knife, or know someone who did, and then the Dark Brotherhood got it from them. I find Silus- I find the Dark Brotherhood. It's as simple as that."

"Beric we don't even know that the Dark Brotherhood are behind this!"

"And we don't know that they aren'tt! but who else could do this? And it's better than doing nothing! At the very least this gets me one step closer to revenging my brother- a revenge you swore to help with me with, by the way." He finished angrily with a pointed finger.

"And I will keep that promise Beric. By the blood and mace I swear I will." Serana pledged solemnly to him, solemnly folding her hands over her heart. "Can we just think this through first? If Silus made this knife he must be a powerful mage-or have powerful friends. And the Dark Brotherhood? If they are behind this then they won't forget where the knife went after Beren's death. Silus would be watched, at the very least. And how long will it take you to get to Dawnstar? It took us a month to get here by horse. It is Frostfall, Beric, Frostfall! Winter in Skyrim! The passes will be closed by land, and no boats will sail on the sea until First Seed! Think! We need to make a plan Beric- transport, horses, provisions- we need all of those things. More than that, we need proof, and most of all, we need to stay hidden amongst the mort-amongst the common people. We can't just drop everything!"

"And I too made a pledge Serana." Beric held up his bandaged hand solemnly. "I know my God's no longer hear my prayers, but I honour them all the same. I swore an oath to revenge Beren's death, and now I have information to keep it. Nothing else matters." He stated, before adding. "And I'm leaving- tonight. With or without you your help."

"What? How? What about the Eye?" She asked, automatically, barely believing what he had just said to her.

"Fuck the Eye!" He snapped back. She looked at him aghast.

"Beric! Just think for a moment. You can't just run away- we need you here- all of us."

"I need you- let the others deal with the Eye!"

"I can't just run away. Think about how that would look- just taking off in the middle of winter-"

"-Fine." He snarled, turning away.

"Beric!" She snapped.

"Just fuck off Serana!" he yelled over his shoulder, turning and hurrying from the room. He wrenched the door open and disappeared at a run. Serana followed as he tore down the hall and up the stairs to the roof of the tower, running heedlessly like a child from an angry parent. She snarled and ran after him.

They burst on the tower roof. Snow swirled and billowed all around them, kicked up into a torrent by the wind smashing against the titanic castle walls. The tower door crashed shut behind her in the wind, and Beric was practically lost in the whirling storm. She was thankful for it, its driving snow and blustering wind hid them from sight as they stood in a freezing, howling gale without cloak, hat, or gloves to hide their gifts from mortal curiosity. She followed Beric through the winds to where he paced on the far side of the tower roof, careful to keep the door at her back. She would not let him get past her-if he made it down out of the castle and to the stables there would be far too many questions about where he had gone. And if it came to a fight, while the blood had given Beric many gifts her line was pure. She was by far the quicker, stronger and more skilled, she was sure of that. She did not want to hurt him too much, but she had to protect herself, and Beric, and the other mortals. If she needed to incapacitate him she could do it quickly, as she was keen to make sure he did nothing that would reveal their true nature. She had seen before in even elder vampires how quickly anger turned to bloodlust and madness.

"What now Beric?" she asked, cornering him against the college battlements, his back against the wall, and the crashing surf five hundred feet below. She raised her voice over the storm even as tried to keep her tone neutral, though frustration creased her voice. "Is this the way a hero acts? A great prefect of the Imperial Legion. You once told me the legion always won its greatest victories by loyalty, skill and discipline amongst its soldiers, not simply by brute strength alone! You have always told me how proud you were as the inheritor of that tradition. Would you forget that proud history? The Empire your Legion and brother fought for? But now you would abandon your friends and run?" She let the scorn fill her voice, shaming him with her words before softening. "We need you here Beric. Come on, come stand over here with me. I know how much this must hurt. Come over here. Talk to me." She pleaded with him, infusing her words with magic to calm and pacify his anger and confusion, she kept her arms wide, palms open and empty as if to embrace like they had last night. She could see the anger, the fear and the tears freezing on his face in the storm. He looked at her, then turned and looked over his shoulder at the battlements and the long drop, before turning back to her, his face set in a rictus of confused pain and anger.

"No!" She screamed. Beric stood still for a moment, and then she felt the magic that surrounded them twist and stretch he called upon a spell of bestial strength. He let out an inhuman scream of rage and bloodlust and she watched horrified as his body contorted against himself. Bones snapped and shifted, stretching in ways no human bones ever should as powerful and ancient magics wormed through his body, and he embraced the change with a screaming of rage and triumph. Blood spurted as fingerbones turned to talon and punched clear through skin, ripping flesh and nail away. His scream was cut short as he contorted forward, doubled up in sudden pain even as he clawed at himself in confused agony. His fine clothes were ripped into shred and a welter of blood suddenly blossomed into the air above him, turning snow into red hail as two great wings burst from his back with a piteous scream of pain and rage, rags of cloth and skin falling to the floor as he rose from his crouch in blood-stained macabre triumph. She stood, horrified before Beric in his true form as a vampire lord as he tore the last shred of clothing away and stood naked and monstrous before her, a mass of grey muscle and savage triumph. She felt the primeval beast within herself stir in response, lusting to strip her own flesh and skin and join him this freshening night. To hunt in this storm under the moons, to feed tonight with a partner and turn the tables on the mortal who she skulked amongst in fear, to rip and tear their weak flesh and indulge her thirst in exquisite gluttonous excess. To make them remember who was master, and who was slave and live as she was meant to be. She bit back the temptations and their false promises, the lies and temptations of Molag Bal, mastering herself and the savage impulse. Beric revealed in them, staring at his clawed hands in wonder before unfurled his great wings, wet with his own blood. They caught the wind, filled, and he was gone.


A/N