This story begins at the start of the Awakening quest of the Dawnguard DLC. In this story, our intrepid hero has already gone through Helgen and Bleak Falls Barrow, retrieving the Dragonstone. No dragon attacks the Western Watchtower then, however, and instead our hero is alerted to the Dawnguard and ventures to see if any of his brethren from the Vigilants of Stendarr still live.
He awoke to find Tolan gone. He was furious.
If it had been bandits, both Tolan and Valios would simply be dead. If it were vampires, then they wouldn't have left Valios there, excepting some bizarre circumstances in which a vampire was only greedy enough to feed on one random stranger instead of two. Which was just… unlikely.
On top of that, not only was Tolan gone, Tolan's things were gone too. Which meant that it wasn't any kind of abduction; Tolan had gone himself. And Valios had a pretty good inkling of where he had gone.
Dimhollow Crypt was almost in the exact center of Skyrim, just east of Whiterun and the Throat of the World. He could have gone to it after he'd seen the Hall, had he known where it was, but instead he'd gone all the way to Riften and back. Tolan, last surviving member of the Hall excepting those few who were out on patrol who were, as of yet, unaccounted for.
Naturally, being as the vampires had come from Dimhollow, they hadn't camped right outside but instead a short hike away from it. Obscured from view, Valios had taken the first watch, and once he'd gone to sleep, Tolan, evidently…
He sighed into the cold air, breath turning into a small cloud of frost.
Valios was accustomed to grief, at least partially. To be a Vigilant, and moreover, to be a Paladin of Stendarr, one had to acknowledge that you faced evils many didn't come back from. Losing the Hall was… a blow, and it ached in his heart. But he possessed the wherewithal to channel that ache and that sorrow into tightly reined fury. Tolan, he guessed, had no such ability.
He was… not young, but perhaps inexperienced, for a Vigilant. He had never known the man, but he could tell by the state of his robes and gauntlets, as well as the battlehammer across his back, that he was certainly no Senior Vigilant. Unused to the same tribulations as Valios, a (relatively young, admittedly) veteran himself, he had let rage and grief consume him.
Judging by the indentation in the snow, Tolan had probably left an hour before he woke up, which would've been, judging by the sun's position in the morning sky, only a few hours after Val had fallen asleep. He'd thought about the situation and still made an absolutely idiotic decision. Clearly, he'd never fought a vampire.
Valios was now alone, without proper equipment, without intelligence of his adversaries beyond their nature, in unfamiliar terrain, with his only ally either captured, or dead. And he had no time to remedy any of the former situations, because if there was even a chance that Tolan was still alive, Valios was going to capitalise on it.
He'd slept in his armor, and years on the road had left a habit of keeping one's supplies close. The tent was quickly disassembled and packed onto the horse he'd borrowed from Castle Dawnguard, and he was ready to go in only a few short minutes.
If he survived this, he was going to write a very strongly worded message to the Council, requesting a new set of armor with proper enchantments. Without knowledge of a Muffle spell or enchantment, each step in his steel armor felt like an avalanche of noise. Caves were naturally acoustic, and vampires had very good hearing. Sneaking… may not be an option.
Fortunately, the past week of performing hardly any magic had shored up his reserves, even if they weren't as impressive as a dedicated mage. Handy use of magic would be his friend, especially against the superior strength and speed of the vampires - hopefully, their forces relied on thralls rather than kin, but considering the destruction of the Hall, he doubted it.
The entrance to Dimhollow was cramped as most cave entrances were, but it quickly opened up into a larger cavern, a small waterfall spewing from an opening in the cave's ceiling. The sound of water might mask his footsteps.
Over that noise, he could hear voices, unfamiliar ones, and his gaze narrowed across the cave to spot two figures standing a few feet from each other.
"...never know when to give up. I thought we'd taught them a lesson with the destruction of their Hall." said one, a male. Valios' hackles rose and his blood chilled.
"To come in here alone… a fool, like all the rest of them." The second, female. He froze. Tolan, he thought. Alive? He couldn't see, and very slowly tried to continue along the path to get a better view.
"...he fought well, though. Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him." No, he thought, and if he knew they wouldn't hear him, he might have growled. Past tense, and -
A fallen torch, and three bodies. He could easily recognise the signature robes of the Vigilant, and the two figures must be the two the male mentioned. He forced himself to remain still, though fury threatened to vibrate every part of him into motion -
Tolan, that fool, he could've lived, they could have exacted justice together. The boy had gotten himself killed for some naive attempt at vengeance. Valios should have spoken to him, should have impressed upon him the importance of staying together - he could've saved him, damnit, and -
It was only finely honed instincts that saved his throat from being torn out by a hound of pure shadow. As it was, he was tackled to the ground with a heavy grunt, sword almost clattering to the ground, and unholy fangs clamped around his steel gauntlet, placing pressure on his wrist.
By now, casting of low-level restoration spells had become second-nature, and his hand flicked and magicka flared as the Immolating Glare spell took effect. With a sickening, low-pitched yelp the hound scattered away from the sudden flash of bright light. The hound, previously unseen in the shadow, was now illuminated as soft tendrils of light flickered over its dark skin, and if the creature was undead, as he suspected, then the light was burning it.
He heaved himself to his feet and swung his Dawnguard blade horizontally, catching the creature in its face. A snarl, of both anger and pain, but his magic was still affecting it and he jumped forward to stab the damned thing just as it made to bite him, and his blade found purchase in the creature's throat. A guttural choke as whatever energy had kept it animated faded away.
"Ah, I do so love it when dinner comes to us." A voice, infinitely haughty and speaking as though from several stories above him rather than a several metres away.
He turned to face them, and had time only to take in their unfamiliar robes before a lightning spell was flung at him. He dived, landing in a practiced crough, and splayed his left hand to cast Light of Day.
An orb of light, not dissimilar to a magelight or candlelight spell, took form and quickly shot across the space. It functioned the same, except to a vampire it was as a miniature sun. The sounds of their cries as their skin burned was music to his ears and he burst into motion, intent on seizing the advantage.
One, the male, was beheaded with a deft slice, but the other managed to duck his next swing. The Dawnguard's recently refashioned blades were forged to fight vampires, a special alloy of steel and silver that even the Crusaders and the Vigilants didn't know how to craft anymore - their special armaments normally relied on enchantments instead.
Even if it wasn't that special, Valios had always been one hell of a swordsman, and he was very, very angry indeed. The female vampire, likely used to leveraging enhanced strength and speed, was unprepared for actual technique applicable to just such an adversary. Valios parried her axe by subverting her momentum off to one side, and then driving his blade through her ribcage via the opening he'd just created.
She made a choked sound, and he pushed the hilt downward, pulling the actual blade which was impaled in the vampire's body upward, seeking to drive it through whatever beating heart the cursed thing still had.
The part of him that grieved, that raged over the deaths of his friends, stared into eyes of burning coal, looking for the pain therein. That part of him listened to the gasps of pain as the vampire died, then he jerked the blade out, and she fell, dead and in no danger of rising ever again.
He turned to look behind him, breathing a little heavily, and if his exhales became a bit shaky at the sight of Tolan, lifeless on the ground, he thought he could be excused.
He knelt next to him, and with one hand, reached forward to close his eyes.
"Let they who do the will of His Righteousness be rewarded, forever to walk His hallowed halls." He whispered, a soft prayer to send him into the beyond. He allowed himself a moment more to mourn Tolan, Carcette, Landon, Adalvald. Everyone who had died in the Hall. Then he stood, looking to the closed gate that lead further into the Crypt.
He had work to do. Stendarr's Will would be done that day, and in this, His Mercy would serve only for a swift death.
These were not ordinary vampires. He thought now that perhaps he'd gotten lucky in his first confrontation, because as much as he wasn't dead after he'd fought several draugr, some skeletons, a massive spider, and just under a dozen more vampires, it was only because he'd been supplied with some healing potions that he wasn't liable to stop and try and rest.
Had he had his armor, his old sword, had he been prepared - all in the tomb would have been slaughtered handily. As it was, Valios had only his anger to account for his lack of all those things, and it was, unfortunately, a poor substitute. His shoulder ached, and the cut over his ribs wasn't healing very well, but he pushed on.
This was no ordinary Nordic tomb, either. The architecture was nothing like Bleak Falls, for one, and looked more like it had once been some form of palatial castle rather than tomb. Who would build something like that?
You get three guesses, and if the first two don't involve undead creatures with fangs they don't count.
The rock of the mountain faded to chiseled stone and lit candle sconces, and he passed through a door - a wooden door - and was met with a small alcove, a balcony beyond. Around him were several statues of beastly, winged creatures, and he ignored them because there were voices beyond -
"...my oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me." His eyes widened, and he made for the stairs, as quickly and quietly as he dared, because that was Adalvald's voice, and if there was a chance he could save him -
"I believe you, Vigilant. And I don't think you even know what you've found here." Found? It figures that Adalvald would be the one to discover something, as curious and studious as he was. "So go and meet you beloved Stendarr." He rounded the corner just in time to see a vampire raise his sword to a kneeling figure -
"NO!" He shouted, but it was too late, for the blade had already fallen and Adalvald, kind Adalvald who always had a piece of advice to give to the Novitiates, who had embodied Stendarr's mercy, who had shown Valios the wonders of Restoration magic and healed him after daunting excursions, fell to the ground.
His cry had only served to alert the vampires to his presence, and they turned. He snarled with an animalistic fury to rival a werewolf, and he didn't even give the vampires a chance for a haughty remark as he came down upon them.
There were two of them, and his blade burst into holy flames as his spell took effect. The fire had the effect of stopping their immediate reprisal, and that moment of hesitation allowed him to send the nearest vampire, a female and not the one who'd killed Adalvald, on the defensive with a powerful overhead blow against her axe.
He only just dodged a lightning bolt, probably more by luck than anything, and neatly parried the other vampire - Adalvald's murderer - and shoved his bulk into him. Typically, the vampire relied on mortals to be weaker and slower than them, and hadn't expected such aggressiveness. Unfortunately, such aggressiveness worked against him after the initial offensive, giving him a berserker's tunnel vision.
(His father told him that his mother was a Nord, and that as cold as their homeland was, they all had a fire inside of them; his mother was no different. Even though he'd never known her, he was proud of that same fire inside him, a legacy from the only woman his father had ever loved)
An axe skidded off his shoulder guard but made sparing contact with the area just under his shoulder blade, on his back, and he grunted in pain. He twisted his waist to change his angle of confrontation; with his free left hand, he stuck out to form an Immolating Glare spell directly in the beast's face, and she cried out.
The same hand that had cast the spell darted out to grab her weapon arm, and his sword-arm came across to neatly cut her hand off, magic-fire lending the ordinary steel sword a far more powerful cutting edge. She screamed then, and he dispassionately kicked her away from him.
His small victory at momentarily removing a foe from the fight was cut short by lightning finding purchase - in his chest. Sharp, arcing pain blossomed in his chest as he was knocked off his feet, because of course vampires were usually more powerful mages than ordinary mortals.
His adrenaline only granted him minimal reprieve, because it still fucking hurt, but he wasn't going to be stopped now, not after coming this far. The vampire was upon him in an instant, raising his blade to strike a mortal blow and Valios struck out with what little pure Destruction magic he knew.
Rimebolt, a spell he'd learned alongside Carcette, and had taught to Landon before he'd left, a small sphere of ice that had the benefit sword of, you know, hopefully killing a man, but also draining a small portion of magicka from the victim into the user if they were close enough -
And this vampire, standing over him with his blade raised to kill, was certainly close enough.
Close enough, and the ice was fast enough, that it struck him directly in the chest. If vampires needed to breathe, such breath would've been driven from his lungs. As it was, he stumbled back, energy needed to raise a sword momentarily sapped.
He kicked out at the vampire's knee, further knocking him off-balance, and stumbled to his feet, having given him enough time to catch his balance. His sword was still wreathed in flames, and he held it forward to ward off immediate reprisal, but the vampire, apparently an experienced enough swordsman (because who wouldn't be versed in some form of weapon, given a few decades - or centuries) batted it aside to jab forward.
Valios, though, was in his element. He'd been the finest swordsman in Colovia at sixteen, and now, almost twenty years later, it wouldn't be too outrageous of a wager to say he could outduel almost anyone in Cyrodiil. His chest still pulsed with pain, his shoulder ached, and he was tired after continued magicka usage; he was also furious and a Paladin of Stendarr. This vampire didn't stand a chance.
They traded blows, none of them landing, but the creature was clearly wary of the flames on his sword, and he was standing between himself and his vampire fellow whom Valios had disarmed (ha), who probably could still cast magic.
The vampire was frustrated, though, he could see it in the beast's face. Probably something along the lines of No mortal should be able to survive this long in an infuriatingly snotty tone. Valios was hyper-focused, in tune with each parry and counter, block and riposte, and that frustration was all it took to create an opening. He overextended himself on a lunge, and Valios' footwork allowed him to spring forward.
The fiery blade cut into the beast's midsection, burning beyond the blade, and the vampire howled. His distraction meant he had no defense when Val arced his blade overhead then back down, a swift motion which ended with the vampire's head separated from its body.
He wasn't done yet, though, because the other vampire was still alive, and he surged forward to where she was crouched on the ground, cradling her amputated limb - cowering, almost.
"Wait!" She cried, raising her only remaining hand. Despite himself, he stopped, mostly because if the creature was going grovel, he wanted to hear it.
"Speak," he spat, full of contempt. The blade was now pointed towards her throat. The flames were not as plentiful as before, his magicka waning, but they were enough to cow any reprisal from his distraction. This one probably thought she could live based on deception - not all vampires were prone to combat, after all.
He could see the twinkle of something in her cursed eyes as he responded. "This doesn't have to end in my death. I am clearly no match for you in combat." Debatable, because skilled as he was, his strength was waning, and a wounded vampire was still very dangerous. "I have information to offer you." When he didn't respond, simply stared, she took it as her cue to continue.
"Don't you want to know what's down here? What we were searching for?" She said, clearly hinging on the hope that this would be enough to further stay his hand.
"I think," he said, deceptively mild, "that I want my friends back." Her eyes flashed in recognition as he stabbed forward, she found herself impaled by the throat on his blade. Fire burnt undead flesh, and she didn't possess the ability to scream. He watched as the ancient magics that gave her life where she should have had none faded, and her body slumped of its own accord.
The magic that gave his blade power faded, his reserves almost entirely exhausted, and he slumped. He looked over.
"Adalvald," he choked, fury forgotten, and he shambled forward towards his fallen friend. The fellow Imperial's shirt had been removed, and across his torso were cuts and bruises - evidence of torture.
"My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me." He'd said - his last words. A final statement of noncompliance against the evil Valios himself had slain, a statement of devotion to their god. His sword fell out of his hands, and with almost numb fingers, he turned Adalvald's body over. His face was frozen in his last expression of defiant contentment, eyes closed. His eyes would be brown, he knew. Valios folded the man's arms over his chest, the burial position.
He cried.
It was all the energy he had left to do, he thought, and it had been several days coming. He hadn't cried when he'd finally seen the burnt remains of the Vigilants at the Hall, nor when he'd made it to Castle Dawnguard and been told where the vampires were. Nor when he found Tolan, who probably knew Adalvald, who had foolishly given in to anger and been cut down for it.
He cried because his friends were gone, the ones who had killed them were dead, and nothing had changed. He knew, in the back of his mind, that nothing ever would have, that justice was just a stepping-stone in the stages of grief and that few people even got what he had. He was tired, and he hurt, and he was alone, and for all his faith as a Paladin, for all that he had devoted his life to his god and found safety and comfort in his profession, nothing could change those facts.
His tears didn't last long, but it was long enough, and he wiped those that had fallen down into his beard away. With clumsy, gauntleted hands, he took his hair down to put it back up in a bun, because strands of it had fallen down through his foray into the dungeon.
They hadn't died for nothing. Right? They had found something. He hoped, he prayed, that it would be some silver lining, some solace in the dark. He stood and centered himself.
"There is discord, and amidst it there is peace." He said aloud, into the empty cavern. It would take some time to internalize them.
In front of him, across a small bridge, was a circular structure with decorative arches and small braziers spread about the edges, as well as a single pedestal in the center.
He walked forward, examining everything. Long, deliberate grooves were carved into the ground in a linear pattern, but the braziers along the paths didn't move, and there was nothing on the arches. All that remained was the pedestal. He peered down on it - it looked strangely pristine, with something like a button on top. Cautiously, he lays his hand atop it -
A spike shoots out faster than he can react, effortlessly piercing flesh and his gauntlet, and he cries out, falling to one knee though his hand is pinned to the pedestal. After several agonizing moments, the spike retracts and he makes to cradle his hand.
Once he can focus past the pain, he sees clearly that there is a ring of purple energy in the circle around him. Ignoring that for a moment, he whispers a few words and flexes his magicka towards his hand, utilising what little talent he had for healing (much as he was skilled with Restoration magic, he'd found that the magic Tree had a surprising amount of variance within, and just because he was good with evocative spells, his healing… could be better) to bathe his hand in a golden glow.
Warmth suffused him, passing beyond his hand into the rest of his body. Some of the aches faded, but his particular brand of tired was the kind that sunk into the bones, and could only be cured by proper rest. His hand stopped bleeding and hopefully would stay that way.
The purple glow was restricted to the grooves carved into the ground, and one particular lane went through a brazier to the outer ring, and stopped. The braziers had grips on them, and wouldn't move earlier, but clearly could.
"Who… who built this?" He demanded aloud, knowing nobody would answer. "Aren't vampires supposed to be immortal and intelligent? What is this?" He was probably delirious, he knew.
It was exactly as he thought. The braziers moved now, and when he pushed the first to where the line of energy ended, it burst alive with purple flames, and the energy extended along the floor to the next brazier. And the next. And the next. It was almost insultingly simple, but after the day Valios has had, he wasn't going to question his luck.
The sound of stone moving on stone, and the central circle moved. The floor receded to reveal a writing portal of purple energy - and by Stendarr, wasn't purple a theme? - and the central pedestal rose to reveal a circular monolith, of sorts. He stepped towards it, and it slid open.
A person fell out. A woman, in unfamiliar clothing with a - was that an Elder Scroll? He'd seen illustrations, of course, only Moth Priests were ever allowed to see real ones, but it looked just like them. She caught herself on the ground, and pushed herself to stand. Clearly confused, she blinked around for a few moments before her eyes met his.
Her eyes.
Amber eyes. Amber eyes that were almost glowing in the darkness, and pale skin, and architecture that clearly wasn't Nordic but some sort of ancient, powerful magic, and -
He laughed. He couldn't even bring himself to be alert - after all, this woman was a complete unknown, had an Elder Scroll on her back and was probably dangerous - he laughed so hard he couldn't stand and fell onto his backside, laughing until he cried, in complete contrast to the tears of utter grief he'd shed not even a few minutes before.
"Uh… are you alright?" She spoke, somewhat hoarse but otherwise soft as silk, still standing where she'd come out. His laughter faded into short chuckles, before he found it in him to speak.
"Yeah, it's just -" a snort, "of course, right? I should have known the entire time, that if I had found something, it would - you're a vampire!" He probably looked insane, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He might have cried again if he had the energy.
"Is… that a bad thing?" She asked, and he looked up to find her with a clearly confused, cautious expression on her face.
He sighed, raising his hands up-then-down in an 'I don't know' kind of shrug, laughter faded by now.
"Probably. I don't know, anymore. It's been a long day." His sword was on the ground next to him.
"...who sent you here?" She asked. She was very pretty, he reflected. But then, of course she was. That was part of the danger of most vampires; so pretty you couldn't help but keep looking at them, do what they asked, and then their teeth were in your neck and you were their thrall. She was prettier than any other he'd seen, though - not victim to the decay vampires eventually suffered, she almost looked human. Sharp cheekbones and jawline, curved lips and sculpted eyebrows.
"Who were you expecting?" He returned candidly, inner thought mercifully unvoiced.
"Someone… well, like me, at least." I don't think you even know what you've found, that vampire had said to Adalvald. Like he couldn't understand.
"You're important." He said. It wasn't a question. She hesitated even so.
"...to some people." She agreed.
"Who is more important; you, or the Elder Scroll?" She had been locked away with the Scroll, not adjacent to it, or near it, she hadn't been protecting it. It was strapped to her back, for ease of carry. Visibly, the woman tensed - the vampire, he corrected mentally, because even despite her eyes it was easy to view her as a normal person. He blamed it on his exhaustion.
She hesitated again, and just that spoke volumes. He was tired, but he'd been told before that he was also witty, and his swordsman's eye was good for more than just poking holes in someone's stance.
"The Elder Scroll." She said. The safe answer. Who would be more important than an Elder Scroll? This w- vampire, clearly. "Are you okay?" she asked again, "You're injured." She noted.
He sighed, and despite his witty remarks, he hadn't the energy to be anything but honest. "No, I'm not okay. Like I said, it's been a long day. Days," he corrected. "I killed a lot of vampires on my way here." He said placidly, and she blinked.
"You haven't tried to kill me." She observes.
"No," he agrees. "I probably couldn't."
"Would you, if you weren't injured?" She asks, tilting her head. He considers the question.
"...I don't think so." He says, and is surprised to find that it's true, and not just something to say to get her to let down her guard.
"Why?" She frowns.
"I've killed a lot of vampires today," he repeats. "I don't want to kill any more." Her frown deepens.
"Are you a vampire hunter?"
"Of sorts," he nods.
"Then why wouldn't you want to kill more vampires?"
"Why wouldn't you want to kill me for killing the other vampires? You could. I'm exhausted, and you're probably faster than me on a good day anyway." He didn't know why he was being so candid.
"...I don't know them." She answers after a moment of thought. "And I don't want to kill you. You haven't done anything to me."
"You're kind, for a vampire." He decides. Many of them were prone to senseless slaughter just for their thirst. That he was defenseless, easy prey - it would be irresistible to any he'd killed on his way here, the fact that he was already their enemy aside.
"You're kind, for a vampire hunter," she retorts, and he manages a snort. Her mouth curves in something resembling a smile, and he has to look away, because his tired mind is not able to remind him that she's a vampire, and is instead whispering things about pretty lips and nice hair.
"How long were you in there?" He asks a moment later, getting to the matter at hand.
She frowns again. "I don't know," she admits. "Who is Skyrim's High King?"
He snorts again. "That's actually a matter for debate." She looks surprised,
"Who are the contenders?"
"Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm on the side of the Stormcloaks, and Jarl Elisif of Solitude, on the side of the Empire." Her frown deepened.
"Empire? What Empire?" Now it was his turn to frown. He tilted his head.
"...the Empire. From Cyrodiil." She looked astonished, like he'd just told her the sky was actually green.
"Cyrodiil is the seat of an Empire?" She asks, incredulous. So was he, a bit. Cyrodiil hadn't not been the seat of an Empire since the beginning of the First Age, thousands of years ago.
"You're a Nord," he deduces. She spoke with the tone of someone who'd never been there - 'there' being Cyrodiil. Again she manages to be surprised, and he notes that her face is very expressive. Quite unfair, considering vampires were supposed to be undead, and weren't supposed to show emotion beyond 'snarl-i'm-going-to-kill-you' and 'you're-mountains-beneath-me-foolish-mortal'.
"You're not?" She said, and he couldn't blame her. He had brown, almost red hair, long enough to require being in a bun during combat. Not to mention his beard. Oh, and his eyes. Those were bright blue, and his father had said he'd gotten them from his mother.
"Half-Nord," he answers. "Half… Imperial. Cyrodiilic, if you prefer." The wom- the. Vampire. - groans, and raises a hand to her temple, like she was getting a headache.
"I think I was out for a bit longer than planned…" He raised a brow at her word choice, but he had already guessed that she was part of some vampiric plot.
"What was the plan?" He inquires.
"That's… complicated," she answered, and it was more than he had expected, "and I'm not entirely sure that I can trust you." He shrugged. Fair enough - he had admitted he was a sort-of vampire hunter.
"But if you want to know the whole story," she continued, "help me get back to my family's home." His brows shot towards his hairline, and he groaned. He leaned back onto the ground. "Uh." She intoned. "Are you alright?" She'd asked that too many times. She was a vampire, they weren't meant to be concerned, damnit.
"'Family'. You're a higher vampire." He deduced.
"...yes." she admitted.
"There's more of you."
"Yes."
"But I'm a vampire hunter," he almost-whined, and really, the spectrum of emotion he'd displayed in the past twenty minutes alone; he should be an actor. Or, really, he should rest. Because it was probably not healthy, and somewhere along the line the grief and exhaustion had blurred into delirium.
"...You're really not alright." She concluded. No, he really was not.
"I'm on the verge of passing out, yes." He says towards the ceiling.
There were a few seconds where nothing was said. Then -
"Do you need help?" This made him frown, and pushed himself off of the ground to look up at her. She'd stepped closer, but still maintained a cautious distance, and her hands were gripped hesitantly in front of her.
"I just admitted that my obligation is to kill your family. How does that warrant an offering of help?" Because really, that wasn't at all what he expected. He was surprised the conversation had lasted this far, as he thought for sure he'd be dead before now when he saw a vampire step out of the monolith.
"You're not going to kill them," she said, as though it were a fact of life, like the sun rising in the morning (and wasn't that an annoying fact of life for vampires).
"You don't know anything about me," he scoffed, looking away. He wasn't just a vampire hunter or a Vigilant, he was a Paladin: the most devout, the most skilled, the most resolute. That he hadn't tried to kill her at all was already an affront to Stendarr - but then, what had He done for him in the past few days?
He winced, and banished the heretical thought. He was far too tired.
"No," she admits, heedless of his inner monologue, "not a lot. But you haven't tried to kill me."
"I don't know you, either. I could have made a very large mistake," he points out, looking back to her.
She straightens. "I'm Serana. Pleasure to meet you. What's your name?" She offers a small smile.
What an unfairly pretty name, he has time to think, before his exhaustion catches up to him and he passes out.
AN: hullo!
this is a pet project. whether you've come here from my other story, or happened upon me via the lists of stories, there are a few things to keep in mind.
the idea for this came to me because of an armor mod for Skyrim SE, 'Stendarr Paladin Armor Set'. it's really high-quality, good stuff, but when i then went on to do a roleplay-through of Skyrim with a journal mod, i found the inspiration for this story.
i will admit i'm not the most voracious reader of skyrim fics, but i've never come across any story about a particularly virtued main character, let alone one beholden to a religion or order. it intrigued me very much. there is no such canon thing as a Paladin of Stendarr, but this is fanfiction so i can't be assed to care about canon.
i'm also a sucker for romance, and come on, an apostle of Stendarr, the god who advocates His Mercy to all undead and unholy creatures, and Serana, arguably the most beloved character of Skyrim? it's just asking for angst. v exciting.
however, i'm incredibly sporadic. if you're a reader of my other Dragon Age story, A Whole New World, you might be aware of this, because my upload schedule does in fact rather resemble something of a disaster area instead of a calendar. i actually got this idea months ago, and wrote out a lot of notes for it, but i only actually executed it these past few nights. i'm a writer of motivation, not discipline, and if that motivation leaves me, it's hard for me to find it again.
that said, i do like this story and i think it has a lot of potential, especially with some of the ideas i've got for it. if you have any questions, comments, concern, whateva, leave it in a review! or if you just like stuff. or hate stuff! just don't be a twatwaffle about it.
cheers!
~ylri