"Alright. This isn't a run against bandits, as you no doubt know." He explained to the eight Hjaalmarch guards arrayed before him. They stood at the edges of the swamp, a fair distance away from where they suspected the lair was, that Valios could brief them all without risk of interruption. Hopefully.

The guards were all male except one, and of them, only two weren't Nords. They'd been introduced to him once they left the town, and he had memorized their names, in case any of them fell in battle.

"Vampires are stronger than you, faster than you, and trickier than you. Engage one alone and you'll probably die. That's why you have shields, however. It's a cave system I bet, so spaces may be cramped - but wherever possible, form a line between yourselves, try to surround your adversaries and kill them quickly - cut off the head, if you can. Don't worry about my companion and I, we're trained and experienced in this sort of thing." Only half-true, though Serana had certainly lived longer than him.

"What about their magic?" One of the guards, a Breton, asked. Talanna, he recalled.

"Be very wary of it. Vampires are fond of lightning and ice magic, so you don't have to worry about your shield bursting into flames. I'll try to do my best to take their attention, since I know a few ward spells, same for my companion."

He turned to look at her, face not visible to the guards, and raised a brow as though to silently ask, You do know warding spells, right?

She rolled her eyes. Obviously.

"Right." He looked at all of them, most of them clearly some degree of nervous, and he tried to summon up visible confidence. "Fear not, my friends. Stendarr is with us this day. Before we go, I would grant you all His Blessing." They shifted, confused, but he paid it no mind as he knelt. He only looked to Serana - seeing what was in his gaze, she took a few steps back.

To Bless was a privileged ability usually taught only to Paladins, Council Members, and priests; the most devout, dedicated, and strong. It was, in essence, a commune with their god intermixed with their own magic. It was only as strong as the user's resolve, and he hoped that in light of his recent trespasses, Stendarr had not abandoned him.

"Stendarr," he called, stirring his magicka reserves inside of him, "we go now to face darkness, to do Your will. In our hearts is the flame of Your Forbearance, in our bones the strength of Your Conviction. As a Paladin, I ask for your assistance. Guide our hands this day. Let our steel be as sharp as ebony. Let our speed be as the wind. May we be the rocks against which evil throws itself, only to be broken." As his words flowed, his magicka flared, and he felt a familiar warmth settle unto him. He could hear and feel the guards shifting; they must have felt it too. He opened his eyes and stood.

"He has not abandoned us." He stated. Outwardly, the words were for their benefit, but inwardly, he was speaking it into reality for himself. He had not voiced his fears, but he had suspected that… that he had strayed from His path. He was relieved to find that was not the case.

He turned to see Serana with her arms crossed. She hid it well, but he saw very quickly the tension in her posture, the way she tightly gripped her bicep. He couldn't bring himself to wince, but he felt a pang of sympathy; no doubt a vampire in close proximity to a Blessing, even one working with (or at least, not against) Stendarr in this case, would feel very uncomfortable if not outright in pain.

"Come, friends. We fight." Most of them were Nords, and so predictably gave a triumphant cheer, resolve solidified. He put on his helmet, a spare one from the barracks, and tightened it. He led the way forward.

There were more vampires than expected. This was, as one might easily conclude, a problem.

Oh, the beginning of Movarth's lair had gone smoothly - barely a few thralls to keep guard, and rather than retreat to find safety in numbers, they attacked the ten of them single-handedly. Predictably, their defiance did not last long.

No, the majority of Movarth's coven resided in the 'dining hall', which was really just a cavern with a long wooden table in it. Vampires just had a tendency to be much more grandiose than they really were. Movarth had even attempted to grace them with an eloquent speech before Serena, of her own volition, sent a frost bolt across the room, nearly catching him in the head. It was a pity she didn't because it would've made everything much easier.

As it was, Movarth had retorted with a lightning bolt that struck Valios' raised ward and immediately shattered it, stumbling him.

"Well… shit." He'd said, and then sent a Light of Day spell into the center of the room to buy them time. "Form up! Leave Movarth to me!"

And so that was how he was currently crossing blades with a master vampire. It was not the first time (it was, in fact, the second) and it was altogether a better position, where Movarth was hardpressed to resort to magic and Valios was more or less on equal terms.

Valios was a very good swordsman. A prodigy, even - but he was only thirty-five. Movarth was at least a century and a half old, with the skill to show for it. Really, it was impressive that he was able to hold his own. But then, maybe Movarth was out of practice. He said as much, trying to exercise his wit as much as he was exercising his parrying skills.

"Being put off by a mortal, my lord?" He said, dripping with condescension. "How the mighty have fallen, indeed." He had to almost shout to be heard over the din of battle, as the cavern was in chaos. He noted with some dismay the sound of lightning.

"Silence, wretch!" Movarth spat, and Valios was rewarded with a burst of Force magic to his chest, causing him to stumble. Before he met an untimely death, he flexed his own magicka to wreath his sword in holy flames, raising it in front of him to ward Movarth off. It worked, as Movarth's eyes widened and he snarled, repulsed.

"No witty comeback?" He retorted, just barely dodging Movarth's deadly-fast fleche. "I'm disappointed!" Maybe angering the master vampire wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Valios couldn't be full of great ideas all the time; that would just be unfair.

"Comeback here so I can cut off your pretty head and feast on your blood!" Movarth shot back.

"Points for effort - you really think I'm pretty? This helmet is really just getting in the way of things hu-OOF!" And the helmet shot off his head as lightning struck him in the chest, sending him flying off his feet and onto the other side of the long table. His sword clattered to the ground beside him.

Well, he wasn't entirely certain why he wasn't dead, but he wasn't about to question his luck and what was probably Stendarr's aid. The newfound lack of helmet and lack of air in his lungs, as well as the blossoming pain in his chest, meant that he had nothing to do but look, now not in immediate danger of being killed.

When they'd arrived, the long table had been almost entirely occupied with enough vampires to almost equal their number, which was, by far, not a good sign. What was a good sign was that the dark-green cloaks of the Morthal guard still stood, excepting one body slumped against a natural stone pillar. Two more vampires were dead on the ground, one without a head and the other with their head almost cleaved in half. Heeding his advice, the guards had formed a haphazard line of defense with their shields first. They'd not, regrettably, had any spearmen, but the swords were enough. Stendarr must have truly been guiding them if they'd put up such a good fight.

His reprieve was short-lived. A loud snarl was his only warning as Movarth leapt over the table dividing them. Valios rolled to the side, just being missed by the blade the vampire had swung to kill him. He couldn't get fully away in time, however, as a hand gripped the collar of his armor and hauled him to his feet - Movarth was shorter and smaller than him, but damn if vampiric strength didn't always come back to bite him.

So off-put was he by the sudden change in equilibrium, he almost wasn't able to react in time as Movarth shot towards his neck - no doubt to either drain him or enthrall him. Valios wasn't going to go down that easy, and he summoned Sun Fire in his left hand, shoving it into Movarth's face.

The vampire screamed, stumbling back, and Valios was allowed a few precious seconds to recover.

"Really, I'm flattered, but we're just too different!" He shouted. Movarth had recovered quickly, though, the once-gaunt skin on the right side of his face now burnt. The hatred in his expression could've rivaled Bal himself. Valios' sword was on the ground between them, and to bend down to grab it would be to place himself on a metaphorical chopping block, with an easy swing from the vampire ending his life. His dagger wouldn't do anything against the superior reach and speed of Movarth and his sword. So, naturally, he formed his magicka (magicka that was being used a little too quickly for his liking) into an Immolating Glare spell, shot it off, and turned to run.

Not leave, mind. He was no coward; rather, he was tactically repositioning himself into a more favorable location. Much more professional. The vampires assaulting the guards had their backs turned to him, most of them engaged in melee, so he had the genius idea of taking his dagger from his belt and tackling one. Surprisingly, it worked.

His dagger found purchase in the creature's ribs, but to a vampire, this was more annoying than debilitating. Now stuck face-first in the ground, however, Valios could pull his blade out and jam into the thing's skull without reprisal. He left the dagger where it was, ignoring the guards in front of him, and grabbed the beast's discarded sword. Unfortunately, this one was nothing other than regular steel, but it would do.

He twisted, sensing Movarth's approach (or perhaps fearing it, but still reacting accordingly) and meeting it. Again his blade burst into consecrated flames, lending it power that might broach the gap between their natural capabilities.

Annoyingly, Movarth's sword held, shooting off sparks when it made direct contact but not falling beneath the onslaught. Valios' style was that of conservation and vicious offense: manipulating his opponent physically into creating openings, and then exploiting those openings. He was big and strong, relatively, but he wasn't always that way, and he'd learned not to rely on those attributes.

Movarth was no slouch. He was reminded, suddenly, that this vampire had given Master Teluik, an experienced ranger of Valenwood with then-decades behind him, much of a challenge, and had even managed to survive despite technically losing. He had never expected an easy fight.

Fortunately, his compatriots were having more success. With the vampires' numbers thinned, and with Serana's magic harassing them when they couldn't defend for fear of being cut down by the guards in front of them, they were quickly being pushed back with nowhere to run.

"You are losing, Movarth," he said after a deft parry, even as the fire on his blade began to thin.

"I have waited a century for my vengeance. This will not be the end, boy!" came the retort, and Movarth caught their blades in a lock. Utilising his strength and leveraging it towards the pommel of Valios' sword with his own, Movarth darted past his defense and sliced into his exposed left bicep. Valios used his footwork to carry him back with a curse. He missed having proper Paladin's armor that actually covered all his extremities.

With a grim smile made all the more fearsome with his half-burnt face, Movarth rushed onto the offensive, nearly overpowering him with his blade before suddenly resorting to a kick. He planted his foot in his chest, and for the second time Valios was sent hurtling back, only this time his back met a natural stone pillar in the room. The breath was again driven from his lungs.

"Now you die!" cackled Movarth, raising his blade above him. Too quick, too quick, and Valios' arms wouldn't respond in time -

A bolt of frost embedded itself in Movarth's weapon arm, nearly amputating it. The master vampire howled, dropping his blade and lurching forward, free hand moving to grip his now useless right arm.

As if it were a spell meant for him, he felt energy flood into his limbs. Enough for him to push off of the pillar and swing his blade upward just so - the vampire wasn't wearing armor, only opulent clothing that didn't inhibit his movement, and when the steel sword cloaked in flame met undead flesh it passed through like butter. Movarth's left arm was bisected at the elbow, and Valios continued to arc his blade overhead, then swinging it horizontally.

The vampire's head sailed through the air, frozen in an expression of pain and malice. His body slumped then fell without any impulses to guide it, hitting the ground with a satisfying thump.

He had not the time to contemplate what had saved him, only that he was alive and Movarth was dead and there were still vampires alive. His death had not gone unnoticed, however, as the remaining vampires - only three, he noted - all growled their displeasure. The fighting had stalled, though, as the six of the remaining guards, plus Serana, were closing in, pushing them against the cavern wall.

"Surrender and your deaths will be swift!" He called across the space, moving forward and stepping over Movarth's body. The three vampires, two female and one male, traded quick glances. "Your crimes will not go unpunished. But this need not be troublesome." Prisons wouldn't hold a vampire. Not any that one would find in Morthal, at least. No, the only good vampire was a dead one.

Mentally, he noted that he wasn't including Serana in that number. A thought for later, he pushed it away.

"We will die in battle or not at all!" One cried, and the other surged forward. How unfortunately Nordic.

The time spent speaking had allowed them to gather their magicka, and a combination of ice and lightning shot out towards the guards. He was too far away to be an immediate threat. One of the guards cried out, lightning having struck his knee. Another stumbled into his comrade, an ice bolt having embedded itself clear through his shield. The third lightning bolt just barely arced overhead. Valios found the energy to sprint towards them.

Two of the vampires tried to attack the guards, while the third turned towards him. A lightning bolt met his ward spell, and then the vampire's legs were encased in a thin sheet of frost, preventing her from moving - but not preventing him from moving her.

He met her blade first, consecrated flames extinguished to preserve magicka, and drove his blade into her heart, lifting her off the ground with his momentum before shoving her off. The other two, entirely outnumbered, were quickly surrounded and, unable to defend themselves on all sides, were veritably hacked to pieces.

He stood, breathing heavily, as silence descended upon the cave. Similar sounds of exertion and/or exhausting came from the remaining guards who, in the face of combat's end, tore off their helmets to breathe fresh air.

The air was, unfortunately, fresh only with the stench of death, but it was marginally better than the heat of a helm. He should've known he wouldn't need one, they only ever fell off or restricted his vision. Rubbish things.

"We did it." Caldorn said, voice full of resolve but also resignation. He glanced across the cave.

"Who did we lose?" Valios asked, because there were only six guards standing. Sort of. Olmer was being cradled by Higik and Herainn, having taken an ice bolt to his leg.

"Vildunn and Talanna." Caldorn answered gravely. He didn't have the energy to sigh. Vildunn was the eldest of the guards, a veteran of the Great War. Talanna was a Breton, quick with a sword. He'd not known them well at all, but they were still deaths to be mourned.

"Take care of your own injuries first. Caldorn, can you run back to town and ask them to send assistance down here? Of the medical variety." Valios asked, and Caldorn only nodded before turning and half-jogging back, worn out himself. Olmer would need assistance before he could be moved, and the ice bolt was melting, which would leave a large hole to be mended. He looked to Serana.

"Can you heal him?"

Panting, she nodded. "I can do my best. If you have any potions, those would help." Whether she meant magicka potions or health potions, he didn't know, but it didn't matter because he had neither. Regardless, she knelt down next to the poor man, her hood having been pulled back up just in case.

In the meantime, he walked back over to Movarth's body. The torchlight glinted off of the deceased vampire's sword, and his eyes narrowed. Ignoring the gore of a man decapitated and amputated with practiced ease, he knelt down to inspect the blade, discarding the steel one he'd 'borrowed' in the process.

The blade was clearly older than Valios was, no ordinary thing. A large sapphire was set in the pommel, and a matching blue grip was tied around the handle. The crossguard was fairly standard design, flat with a slight curve towards the blade, but still of high quality. The blade was wide and long, a single groove extending about halfway down its length. It was clearly meant more for flashing and cleaving rather than thrusting, but its point was well-defined.

It had seen better days, however. A myriad of scratches, pockmarks, and small chips had found their place in the blade's hilt, crossguard, and most of the blade. It was not un-salvageable by any means, and indeed clearly still held an edge; it'd worked well enough against him, after all.

He picked it up. Unfamiliar runes were carved into the base of the blade, of a style he couldn't read. It sat well in its hand, its size belying its weight, or lack thereof. A fitting trophy, considering he had lost his original sword back in Helgen. Fortunate that he hadn't gotten too attached to that one. He walked over to retrieve the Dawnguard blade as well, certain that Isran wouldn't appreciate him leaving such a thing in a vampire's lair.

Then again, Isran probably wouldn't appreciate a lot of the things Valios had been doing. He took a seat at the long table, inspecting his newfound blade.

"You look like you're in love." Serana said, moving over to sit down the length of the table.

He sniffed. "It's a pretty sword." He said simply, as though this explained everything. It was a very pretty sword, and he was very glad to have liberated it from an owner who clearly didn't appreciate it all that much. "How is Olmer?"

"Stable, I think. I don't know, healing isn't my specialty by far. He'll live until they get some potions, and I am soon to pass out." He glanced to her, eyes narrowed.

"You didn't sleep over the night, did you?" She shook her head. "Well, I think there are still some coffins around, so…" he said quietly, not wishing for the guards to overhear. They were busy amongst themselves, however.

"Ha-ha," Serana intoned sraight-faced. "You know, speaking of healing, this is the second time I've saved your life."

"Oh? I don't know what you mean." He feigned ignorance.

"Yes, because the ice bolt that impaled Movarth's arm spontaneously appeared out of thin air. Stendarr's will." she deadpanned.

"My thoughts exactly. He works in mysterious ways." He crossed his arms over his chest, wincing when it agitated the cut on his bicep, which he'd forgotten about.

"Incorrigible. He was about to kill you, you know."

"I had him on the ropes," he protested weakly, knowing that he had not, in fact, had him on the ropes. She scoffed.

"I sit corrected. Not incorrigible. Impossible, more like." She amended her earlier statement.

"Thank you," he said thereafter, and was rewarded with a quick snap of her head to look at him. He had to keep her on her toes, after all.

"You're welcome," she responded, affecting an air of pomp.

"Come along. We should be getting back into town to report to the Jarl." He stood, and, as he went, grabbed a bottle of mead from the vampire's table. Serana shot him a look. "What? They won't be needing it anymore." He gestured to the myriad of dead vampires. "It's been a long day."

"You say that. I'm going back to the inn and passing out. You can talk to the Jarl." She wouldn't have done much talking anyway. He bowed his head to the guards as they passed, trying to hurry past them in case they wished to stop and thank him or something dreadful like that.

He used some magicka to replenish his strength on the way, and to stop his arm wound from bleeding. All things considered, he really hadn't gotten it that bad. The sword wound would heal, and though he was certain hid chest would ache in the days to come, his armor and Stendarr's Blessing had protected him from the worst of it. It was just that he had almost died, and maybe his pride had taken a small hit at being saved from a vampire by another vampire.

True to her word, Serana had branched off once they got back into town, heading for Moorside inn. He waved her off in place of goodbye, knowing that his debrief shouldn't take very long. He carried with him Movarth's sword, the Dawnguard blade sheathed at his side. The guards at the side of the Jarl's hall recognised him, sending him in with a nod.

"The Paladin returns," Idgrod announces, "bloodied - but victorious, yes?"

"Indeed. We lost Vildunn and Talonna, and Olmer was injured, but the vampires are dead. Movarth included - I made certain of it." He raised the taken blade as proof - it seemed distinct, and perhaps she would recognise it. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she did.

"Lanfael," she said. "The blade wielded by the housecarl of my predecessor, Danil Longbeard. Stolen during Movarth's machinations a century ago, I suspect."

He resisted the urge to sigh longingly. "Ah. I had no intention of keeping an heirloom of the village. You should take it, then." He stepped forward to offer it. The Dawnguard blade was of decent make, and would still serve him well, he decided.

Idgrod waved a hand. "No. Grom has no need of such a sword, and you have earned the blade by combat. It is rightfully yours. Though I see Movarth did not care for it as perhaps he should have." He withheld a wince.

"Something I had hoped to remedy through your blacksmith, Jarl. And - thank you for allowing me to keep it. It is a fine blade." He paused. "Now that Morthal is safe again, my companion and I should be leaving soon. We had only intended to stop here for supplies before continuing on. We'll recuperate then take our leave." He could rest in the meantime, and then they could venture off at nightfall once more. With luck, they could reach Solitude sometime the next day.

"Ah. And where is your companion? She never spoke, never gave her name. I understand she used her magic to aid the battle." Valios hesitated.

"She is resting, Jarl. The fight drained much of her magicka. Her name is Serana." He made no excuse for her lack of speaking, nor for her further reason of needing sleep. Less clues to her origins.

"And, if I may be so bold, what is a Paladin of Stendarr doing fighting alongside a vampire against their own kin?" He stiffened. The hall was sparsely populated. The steward, Aslfur, stood at Idgrod's right, standing respectfully and entirely neutral. Gorm was, as ever, standing offset from the Idgrod's throne, but he was not in a position of alarm. He had his burly arms crossed over his chest, simply watching. Idgrod's eyes were focused on him, sitting casually on her throne, but her look clearly communicated that she wasn't going to accept his natural response of feigned ignorance.

"Respectfully, Jarl," he said slowly, "my business is my own. That is, the business of the Order." Technically true, except no one of the Order had any idea what he was doing. If Idgrod would see fit to put Serana in danger, then things would grow very complicated.

Idgrod, however, simply barked out a laugh. "These eyes are old but they see much. You have nothing to fear, Paladin. She helped protect my town, so as far as I am concerned she is not a threat." Imperceptibly, he relaxed.

"That is not all my eyes see." Her tone changed, becoming more distant, solemn. "Your path ahead is long and difficult, Paladin. Your tests will be many. You've walked alone thus far but soon you must look to others to help light your path." The words were vague, unhelpful in any meaningful context, easily dismissed otherwise. But something in him stirred at them, something whispered in the back of his mind that they were worth heeding. He forced his expression to remain neutral, if cautious.

"Your… propensity for prophecy, I see." He said carefully. Idgrod straightened.

"Prophecy? No, no such thing. I see things, and I interpret them. Sometimes the things I see simply have more weight than others. It is a gift, boy, and any who say otherwise simply don't understand it."

"I will keep your words in mind, Jarl. If that is all?" He had had enough excitement for the day, and prophecies - even if Idgrod claimed her words otherwise - were a bit much.

"Not quite. Leave Lanfael with my husband," she gestured to Aslfur, and his brows raised. How had he missed that relationship? "He'll get it to the blacksmith to be refurbished. And he has your payment for services rendered." Sure enough, the man took out a pouch from his belt, and judging by the distinctive clink sound, it had gold in it. He smiled appreciatively - he wasn't going to ask for gold, but he'd been at it enough to know when not to refuse it.

"You have my thanks." He said as a formality, and Idgrod merely waved a dismissive hand to bypass the 'no, you deserved it' line. He stepped forward to offer Lanfael, as it was called - he presumed now that that was what he runes on the blade said, perhaps in Ancient Nordic - hilt first. They traded, the sword for gold (except he would be getting the sword back later).

He bowed his head. "By your leave, Jarl. Steward, Housecarl," he greeted the other two in turn, then turned to leave.

When he arrived back at the inn, he said his greetings to the innkeeper, a different woman from before as it was now daytime and decided it was likely in his best interest to ensure Serana had in fact gone to her room and was not hunting out more trouble for him and the town. He knocked on the door once and opened it when there was no response, peering inside.

Serana had clearly passed out without bothering to undress. Which, he realised with a blush, was incredibly fortunate, because he hadn't even considered that as an option, for some reason. Seeing that she was clearly there and not in some form of mortal danger, he closed the door, shook his head at himself and went to his own room. The innkeeper had missed the exchange, which was doubly fortunate; it probably looked very strange.

He went back into his own room and sat down with a sigh. In hindsight, it hadn't actually been that long of a day, but dueling a master vampire tended to drain one's energy. Despite that he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep, though part of that could have been a sneaking suspicion that he would fall victim to nightmares. After Helgen and Dimhollow, he feared they'd make a resurgence. That, too, elicited a sigh.

"No rest for the wicked, I suppose," he said into the empty air. He grabbed a book from the provided shelf - A Dance in Fire, Book II - and settled in to read. He hadn't been able to do a whole lot of that lately. Maybe tomorrow would be uneventful and they'd reach Solitude without incident or worry. Surely he'd earned that much.

(Naturally, he was entirely incorrect)

AN: another'un bites the dust

i swear that i usually have things that i think are important to say in these author's notes while i'm writing, but then i get to them and nothing happens, and then i remember what i had meant to include whilst writing the next chapter. and then i forget that when i'm writing the author's note for that chapter.

lanfael is a sword added by a mod because as you no doubt know vanilla skyrim doesn't have a whole lot of variance in weapons and such, and the sword looks really cool. like i said in last an, this all came from actually playing, because whatever mods i have installed (there's like 100 of them) gave movarth that sword and it turned out very nicely for the story.

i've noticed that i've forgotten a few things, like what serana has done with the elder scroll in the meantime but uhhhh don't worry about it because these things don't matter and the elder scroll does elder scroll tingz and all will work out for the sake of the story. i don't plan any of these chapters out, genuinely, i just have a vague idea in my head and i get to writing and usually things work out

anywho.

cheers!

~ylri