Chapter 3: Truth

A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is longer than the last. I aim to update this story every Monday at 12pm AEST (Australian Eastern Standard Time). Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome. Enjoy!

Rain speckled the cobblestones and clouds masked the moons as Vafiél emerged once more into Dayspring Canyon. It was a humid night, dark and cold and uninviting. The kind of night most would spend at home in bed.

It had taken him the better part of a week to journey across Skyrim again, and he hadn't broken out of his nocturnal pattern yet. A strange emptiness plagued his travels. As foreign as it had been to have company, he found himself missing Serana; Vafiél told himself it was merely a lack of routine, and he'd adjust to solitude again soon—he always did—but he had to wonder if that was the truth or a lie of comfort.

Now he walked alone. No one accompanied him to watch his back on his travels, no one but him would face Isran's wrath. Part of him recoiled from the idea of returning to Fort Dawnguard, but Vafiél was not eager to cheat fate by avoiding this place. He had to confront Isran and tell him about the vampires and their Elder Scroll.

As he climbed to the front entrance of the fort, he began to hear commotion and the sounds of a struggle. Wary, Vafiél made haste, and found Isran and a few other Dawnguard locked in battle with three vampires.

Vafiél shot forward to alter his angle. With two of the vampires in his line of fire he unleashed a beam of lightning that turned them to ash within the space of a heartbeat. Isran felled the other with a crushing hit from his warhammer.

"Look at this," Isran spat, glaring hatred at the dead vampire. "I should've known it was only a matter of time before they found us. It's the price we pay for openly recruiting." He shook his head and turned to the other warriors, which Vafiél recognised as Durak and the other man he'd met the first time. "We'll have to step up our defences. More guards and fortifications." He turned his hard gaze on Vafiél. "I don't suppose you have any good news for me," Isran grated out.

Vafiél stepped closer while the other warriors left. "I have news, but not the kind you want to hear," he replied evenly.

Isran exhaled sharply and put a hand on his hip. "Of course. Why did I suppose differently? Fine. Tell me what you know."

"I found a woman in Dimhollow," Vafiél murmured. "I don't think the vampires knew exactly what they were after in the crypt."

Isran frowned. "A woman? Trapped in there? That doesn't make any sense. Who is she? More importantly, where is she?"

"In a castle west of Solitude." Vafiél didn't trust Isran with the exact location. His fanaticism and obsessive hatred was evident, and Vafiél didn't know enough about Serana's situation to make a judgement on her nature. "She is the daughter of an ancient vampire lord."

Isran seemed to become more incensed by the second. "And you delivered her to them. You gave them exactly what they were looking for," he snapped.

"There's more," Vafiél said, keeping his tone calm despite his frustration with Isran. "They have an Elder Scroll."

Fury engulfed Isran. "They what? And you didn't stop them? Why didn't you secure the scroll?" he demanded.

"You expect me to steal an Elder Scroll from an ancient vampire? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?" asked Vafiél, icily. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if I took it."

Isran shook his head and rubbed his face. "By the Divines, this couldn't get much worse. This is far more than you and I can handle."

Vafiél sighed and folded his arms. "What do you plan on doing?"

"We… We need help," Isran admitted, anger dissipating. "If they're bold enough to attack us here, then this may be bigger than I thought. I have good men here, but... There are people I've met and worked with over the years. We need their skills, their talents, if we're going to survive this. If you can find them, we might have a chance."

"Fine. Who are they, and where can I find them?"

"Right to the point, aren't you? I like that. Not like those fools in the Order," Isran said with begrudging approval. "We should keep it small. Too many people, and we'll draw unwanted attention to ourselves." He paused thoughtfully, touching his beard. "I think we'll want Sorine Jurard. Breton girl, whip-smart and good with tinkering. Fascination with the Dwemer. Weapons in particular. Last I knew, she was out in the Reach, convinced she was about to find the biggest dwarven ruins yet."

"Will she agree to help us?" Vafiél asked, putting aside his distaste.

"Might need a little convincing, but she should. You'll also want to find Gunmar. Big brute of a Nord, hates vampires almost as much as I do. Got it into his head years back that his experience with animals would help. Good with trolls, from what I hear. Last I knew he was out scouring Skyrim for more beasts to tame. Should be in the Rift, sniffing around caves. Bring the two of them back here, and we can get started on coming up with a plan."

Vafiél took a deep breath. "Alright. I'll make my preparations. I expect these friends of yours will arrive back before I do."

"Watch yourself out there," said Isran, and returned to the fort.

Of all the missions to be sent on, Vafiél didn't think repairing Isran's fractured relationships would be one of them. He'd have been a fool to refuse after what he'd done, though, so off he went, the friendship mender.

The title didn't fit him at all.

After resting through the day and leaving Dayspring Canyon at sunset, Vafiél kept the mountains to his right and journeyed north, keeping an eye out for cave entrances.

He'd just passed the trail leading up to Black-Briar Lodge when he came across a man and a boy. The man was slumped against a tree with an arrow lodged in his chest. Tears had cleaned tracks on the boy's dirty face and his hands were stained in blood.

The boy ran to Vafiél and closed small fingers around the edge of his cloak. "Please help me, mister," he begged. "My papa is hurt really bad."

Without hesitation, Vafiél crouched beside the wounded man and placed two fingers at his neck, measuring his pulse. It was dangerously slow.

"My boy… Please… Save my boy… Take him… Take him… Windhelm…" the man rasped, breaking off into a fit of weak coughs.

"Hush," Vafiél murmured. "Be still." If there was even the slightest chance of saving him, he would try. He had to try.

Vafiél placed a hand on the Nord's chest, the blood stark on his pale skin. "Breathe," he soothed the man as the restoration spell began to take effect. The arrow dislodged just so, allowing Vafiél to withdraw it without tearing the skin as the man's flesh wove together again. "Tell me your name."

"Ulfgir," the Nord answered. "You… You've saved my life."

"Papa!" the boy exclaimed. "You're okay!"

"That I am," Ulfgir said softly, embracing his son. He then stood up and met Vafiél's gaze. "You must accompany us to Windhelm, kind stranger, that I may repay my debt to you."

Alarm turned Vafiél's blood to fire. "You honour me," he said nervously, "but I'm afraid I cannot. I have other commitments."

"Ah." Ulfgir looked disappointed, but tried to hide it. "Well… If you should ever need anything from me, pay us a visit. I used to study at the College of Winterhold, and I still have contacts there. Perhaps I can be of use to you in your travels."

"I'll remember that. Thank you," Vafiél said quietly. "Stay safe." He watched the pair leave, then continued north.

He came across a cave within the hour and another burly Nord called out to him, saying, "You there, hold fast! I've tracked this damned bear for two weeks; I'll not let it have any more victims."

Vafiél approached and looked him over. He was surprisingly well-groomed, with ginger hair and a beard to match. "May I ask your name?"

"Gunmar. Animal expert."

Lucky to find him so soon. "I've been looking for you. Isran needs your help," said Vafiél.

"Isran? Needing someone else's help? Never thought I'd hear that," Gunmar scoffed. "I'm afraid he's a few years too late; I've moved on. I have more important business to attend to. Besides, he can handle anything alone—he assured me so himself. What could he possibly need my help with?"

"Isran lets pride and hatred cloud his judgement," Vafiél told him. "But he is right about one thing: the vampires are a threat that must be dealt with."

"Vampires? That... Well, that might change things. Tell me more about what's going on," Gunmar requested, brow furrowing.

"We don't have concrete information yet, but they possess an Elder Scroll," Vafiél murmured. "It won't be long before they find a way to read it."

"By the Eight..." Gunmar took a breath. "All right, look. I'll consider it, but I can't just leave this bear to prey on more innocent people. Once it's dealt with, then perhaps I'll see what Isran expects of me."

"I'll assist you," Vafiél offered. "We could get it done much quicker together."

"I was hoping you'd say that. You got a sword somewhere in that cloak?" Gunmar asked.

"I'm a mage," Vafiél told him. "Lead on."

"Don't know how well I'd have managed by myself. You have my thanks," Gunmar said as they exited the cave. "You've helped me, so I suppose the least I can do is find out what Isran wants. He's still at that fort near Stendarr's Beacon, I assume?"

"Yes. Fort Dawnguard. He asked that you meet him there," Vafiél replied.

Gunmar laughed and hefted the bear's pelt over his shoulder. "He's been working on that place for years now. His own little fortress. Well, I guess I'll get to see what he's been up to all this time. I'll meet you there."

"Safe travels." They parted ways and Vafiél sat on a rock to figure out his next destination. A Dwemer ruin in the Reach… How was he ever to find this woman?

Dread pooled in his stomach. He could be wandering around the pine forest for weeks before he found her. Vafiél sighed and shook his head. This was hopeless. Why had Isran been so vague? Was this a test? Ire and frustration made him grind his teeth.

Vafiél steadied himself and quelled his anger, knowing it wouldn't help him now. All he could do was visit the Dwemer ruins in the Reach and look for Sorine Jurard nearby.

As it turned out, the only ruin of note was Bthardamz. Vafiél scouted around the area but encountered no one around the main site; what he did find was an overgrown pathway leading north and a small footbridge across the river. A few broken Dwemer pillars littered the ground and some mudcrabs sat half-buried near the bank. A woman milled about, pacing back and forth, muttering to herself about something.

Vafiél approached her and tilted his head curiously. "Are you Sorine?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh. Hello. Yes, that's me," the woman answered. "Have you seen my satchel? It's full of Dwarven gyros. I need them for my research. They're very important. Who are you, again?"

Brilliant. A scatterbrained scholar. "Isran asked me to find you. He needs your help."

"Isran? Wants me? Oh no, you must be mistaken. He made it exceedingly clear the last time we spoke that he had no interest in my help. I find it hard to believe he's changed his mind," Sorine told him, serious in an airy, distracted sort of way. "He said some very hurtful things to me before I left, you see. Anyway, I'm quite happy in my current pursuits. So if you'll excuse me…"

Vafiél was in no mood for pleasantries. "Vampires threaten Skyrim. This is a dire matter you cannot ignore," he said.

"Vampires? Really? Oh, and I suppose now he remembers that I proposed no less than three different scenarios that involved vampires overrunning the population." Sorine folded her arms. "Well, what are they up to?"

"They have an Elder Scroll."

She stared in surprise. "I... Well, that's actually something I never would've anticipated. Interesting. I'm not sure what they would do with one, but in this case Isran is probably correct in thinking it isn't good." Sorine hummed in thought. "Alright. If nothing else, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to learn more about what's going on so I can better defend myself. But I'm not just going to abandon what I've been working on here. It's too useful. I need at least one intact Dwarven gyro. You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?"

Vafiél sighed. There isn't time for this. "Fine, I'll find your satchel," he droned. "Where did you leave it?"

"I think the mudcrabs took it," she mused. "Check by the water while I pack my things."

What, am I everyone's errand boy, now? he thought dryly. Vafiél found the satchel within the space of a minute and handed it back to her. "There. Now, Isran is waiting at Fort Dawnguard, so get there as quick as you can."

"Ah. Been working more on his secret hideout, has he? It'll be interesting to see how much progress he's made. I'll finish up here and head in that direction as soon as I can. See you there." Sorine went into her tent and Vafiél was glad to be away from her as he set off down the road again.

After another long trip across the country, Vafiél arrived yet again at Fort Dawnguard. He was pleased to find an increase in fortifications and sentries. It seemed like Isran had made some progress in turning this into a proper fortress—and recruiting people, if the new additions in the training yard were any indication. The sun had just risen; exhaustion weighed him.

When Vafiél entered the fort, Gunmar and Sorine were waiting within, and Isran stood on the balcony, watching them.

"Hold it right there!" Isran shouted. He touched something on the wall and bright sunlight flooded the room in a circle that surrounded them.

"What are you doing?" Sorine asked, squinting.

"Making sure you're not vampires," Isran answered darkly. "Can't be too careful." The bright light dissipated as he turned off the mechanism. "So, welcome to Fort Dawnguard. I'm sure you've heard a bit of what we're up against. Powerful vampires, unlike anything we've seen before. And they have an Elder Scroll. If anyone is going to stand in their way, it's going to be us."

"This is all well and good," said Gunmar, "but do we actually know anything about what they're doing? What's your plan, Isran?"

"We'll get to that. For now, get acquainted with the space. Sorine, you'll find room to start your tinkering on that crossbow design you've been working on. Gunmar, there's an area large enough for you to pen up some trolls, get them armoured up and ready for use." The two he mentioned nodded and left to start their work. "In the meantime," Isran added, staring at Vafiél, "we're going to get to the bottom of why a vampire showed up here looking for you. Let's go have a little chat with it, shall we?" Hatred bled into his voice, but Vafiél hardly noticed.

It has to be Serana, he realised. He wasn't on speaking terms with any other vampires.

Quickly, Vafiél climbed the staircase and followed Isran to a room tucked away in a dusty corner, full of bones and torture devices. And there she was, with the Elder Scroll on her back.

"This vampire showed up while you were away. I'm guessing it's the one you found in Dimhollow Crypt. Says it's got something really important to say to you, so let's hear it," said Isran, folding his arms and staring death at her.

"Serana," Vafiél said, nearing her and meeting her gaze. "What are you doing here?"

"Weren't expecting to see me again, huh?" Serana offered him a wry smile. "I'd rather not be here either, but I needed to talk to you. It's important, so please just listen, before your friend here loses his patience. It's... Well, it's about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me."

"Go on," Vafiél murmured.

"The reason I had it—and why I was down there—it all comes back to my father," she explained, folding her arms. "I'm guessing you figured this part out already, but my father's not exactly a good person. Even by vampire standards. He wasn't always like that, though."

"What happened?" Vafiél asked.

Serana frowned slightly. "There was... a turn. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kind of lost himself in it."

"Lost himself? What do you mean?"

"He just became absorbed. Obsessed. It was kind of sick, actually. The prophecy said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. For someone who fancied himself as vampire royalty, that's pretty seductive."

"I could only imagine," Vafiél agreed.

She nodded. "Anyway, my mother and I didn't feel like inviting a war with all of Tamriel, so we tried to stop him. That's why I was sealed away with the Scroll."

Vafiél thought on that for a few moments, letting it sink in. Finally, he said, "Thank you for coming to tell me this, Serana. You risked your life coming here."

"I did." Her smile was small. "But something about you makes me think I can trust you. I hope I'm not wrong."

"You can trust me," he assured her. "We just have to convince the others you're worth trusting, too."

"This is all very touching," Isran interjected, "but is there any reason I shouldn't kill this bloodsucking fiend right now? We've heard what it has to say."

"Put aside your hatred and look at the larger picture for once," Vafiél said, low and sharp.

"Put my hatred aside? Never. It's what keeps me strong," Isran argued.

"Strong, yet blind," Vafiél said icily. "We're going to need her help, whether you like it or not. This goes beyond individual resentment."

"Why, because of that story about the prophecy?" Isran said sardonically. "About some vampire trying to put the sun out? Do you actually believe any of that?"

You speak of things you know nothing about, Vafiél thought bitterly. "Yes. It's an old prophecy. If you don't trust Serana, you should at least trust me. I've been all over Skyrim looking for Gunmar and Sorine, mending relationships you broke for the sake of pride. I did it because enough innocent people have died already."

Isran exhaled gruffly. "Fine. It can stay for now, but if it so much as lays a finger on anyone here, I'll hold you responsible. Got it?"

Vafiél simmered in silence.

Irritated, Isran turned on Serana instead. "You hear me? Don't feel like a guest, because you're not. You're a resource. You're an asset. In the meantime, don't make me regret my sudden outburst of tolerance and generosity, because if you do, your friend here is going to pay for it."

"She isn't a beast to be spoken to like that," Vafiél snapped before Serana could reply. "And her name is Serana."

"You expect me to show it respect?" Isran demanded. "You watch your tongue, boy."

"Call me boy again, and you'll lose yours," Vafiél retorted. The room grew very cold.

"Listen," Serana said to Vafiél, meeting his gaze. "I have the Elder Scroll with me. Whatever it says, it will have something that can help us stop my father. But of course, neither of us can read it."

Vafiél sighed. "We'll need to find a Moth Priest," he muttered.

"Right, except they're half a continent away in Cyrodiil," Serana told him.

"Some Imperial scholar arrived in Skyrim a few days ago. I was staking out the road when I saw him pass by. Maybe that's your Moth Priest," said Isran, quietly.

"Do you know where he's staying now?" she asked.

"No, and I'm not going to waste men looking. Talk to some innkeepers or carriage drivers. You're on your own." With that, he stalked away.

Exhaustion swept Vafiél and he rubbed his eyes, sighing.

"Any idea how you're going to find a Moth Priest?" Serana asked, her tone softening now. "Skyrim's a pretty big place."

"I was hoping you'd have some idea," Vafiél admitted.

"Well, back before I... you know. The College of Winterhold was the first place I'd think to go for any kind of magical or historical thing. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people shouldn't know about," she answered. "I think I'll come with you. I've been wanting to get out and explore a bit."

That, at least, brought him a smile. "I'd be glad to have your company," he murmured. "But… I'm about to collapse. I should get some rest before doing anything else."

"You're going to sleep? It's dawn," said Serana, confused.

Vafiél laughed weakly. "You made me nocturnal. I'm stuck like this now."

She laughed with him, and he finally felt himself relax.

Serana woke to a soft tap on her shoulder and met Vafiél's gaze, shadowed as it was by the hood he wore.

"It's an hour before sundown," he told her quietly.

Serana sat up and rubbed her eyes, yawning. "So, have you got a plan to track down this Moth Priest?" she asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot and watching him as he sat on a chair in front of her.

"Yes," Vafiél answered, reluctantly, "but I don't like it."

"Uh oh. What is it?"

He sighed. "I saved a man's life while I was on Isran's errand. He has ties to the College of Winterhold."

Serana frowned. "That's perfect. Why—?"

"He lives in Windhelm."

"Oh." Definitely not the best place for an elf, she realised.

"I can't see any other way of finding the Moth Priest in time. By the time an innkeeper tells us where he is, he'll have left Skyrim," Vafiél murmured resignedly. "We have no choice, so I have to risk it."

"Are you sure? Maybe I could go in your stead," Serana offered.

Vafiél shook his head. "He won't trust you, but he'll recognise me… or my voice, I suppose."

She could hear the anxiety bleeding through his voice. Something about Windhelm had hurt Vafiél in the past, be it the city or its people; it seemed like going there was as dangerous for him as coming to Fort Dawnguard was for her.

"We'll be in and out in no time," Serana assured him, gathering her things and following him outside.

It was refreshing to be out in the wilds again. Whenever animals became hostile toward them, Vafiél would soothe them with a gentle Shout; he described it as a promise of peace, an exchange of respect. Serana wasn't sure she understood, but she appreciated his pacifism. She welcomed the change after being around her father for a few days.

Peaceful though he may have been, Vafiél was far from relaxed. The further north they travelled, the more tense he became, constantly alert and oddly skittish for someone so capable.

They made camp in a sheltered nook beside a verdant pond under the watchful eye of the mountains. Eager to pull him out of his brooding silence, Serana sat close to him and asked, "Have you been in Skyrim long?"

"My whole life," he answered. Now that he'd pushed his hood back, she could see his slightly disturbed expression. "I was born in Skyrim, but someday I'd like to visit the Summerset Isles."

So he is an Altmer. Guess he's just pale. "From what I've read, it's a beautiful place," Serana agreed.

He gave her a strange look. "Were you always a vampire?" Vafiél asked.

"That's… a long story."

"I'd like to hear it," he prompted her curiously.

Serana thought for a moment. "I guess... We kind of have to go way back. To the very beginning. Do you know where vampirism came from?"

"Yes. From what Molag Bal did to that girl, Lamae," he answered softly.

"Exactly." Admittedly, his knowledge surprised her. "She… was not a willing subject. But she was the first." Serana looked away. "Molag Bal is a powerful daedric lord, and his will is made reality. For those willing to subjugate themselves, he will still bestow the gift, but they must be powerful in their own right before earning his trust."

Understanding lined his expression. "I'm sorry that happened to you," Vafiél whispered, his tone saying more than his words ever could. "Do you… regret becoming a vampire?"

"Nobody's ever asked me that before," she admitted, frowning. "I... I don't know. I think... mostly I hate what it's done to my family."

Vafiél watched her with sad, pale eyes. "How has it affected your family?"

"Well, you've met most of us. My father's not exactly the most stable, and eventually he drove my mother crazy with him. And it all ended with me being locked underground for who knows how long. It's definitely been a bad thing, on the whole," Serana answered distantly, worrying at her sleeve and wondering how he'd managed to make her say these things.

A light, warm touch on her forearm made her meet Vafiél's gaze. "Are you alright?" he asked, quietly. The world was dawning, and the chilly twilight turned his gaze a soft blue.

"I… I'm fine. I just—I've never spoken about this to anyone. We should get some rest," she made herself say, breaking eye contact.

Vafiél nodded silently and moved away, sitting against the rocky wall to keep watch. She could see thoughts whirling behind his eyes like snowflakes in a blizzard.

They reached Windhelm by dawn the next day, and in the interest of saving time, Serana insisted they enter the city and find Ulfgir before they rested.

As they passed through the bridge that led into the old city, she thought Vafiél would lose his nerve and turn back, but he never did. He just looked ahead and said nothing, like he was marching right into Oblivion to certain death with quiet acceptance.

A few of the city's residents gave them looks as they looked for Ulfgir's house. Vafiél tensed every time. A man passed by them and drew breath to speak. This is it, Serana thought, alarmed. I'll have to get Vafiél out of here. Maybe that gate—

"Come by my stall in the Stone Quarter. No finer game or fish in Windhelm," the man said, and moved on.

She heard Vafiél let out the breath he'd been holding, even as she did the same. They hurried to Ulfgir's house and found him just outside, tanning leather.

"Ah! Good to see you, friend," said Ulfgir. "Come, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"This may sound a bit outlandish," Vafiél said, "but I'm looking for a Moth Priest. Rumour has it there's one in Skyrim. I was hoping your associates might know where he is."

"Funny you should say that," Ulfgir remarked. "A friend of mine mentioned this not two days past. A Moth Priest, heading to Dragon Bridge. If you hurry you might find him."

Vafiél's sigh was one of relief. "Thank you, Ulfgir." He turned to Serana. "We should move quickly."

"Let's go," she agreed.

They hurried back down the street and had almost made it to the main gate when a Nord man in furs called out, "You there. Halt."

Vafiél stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"Yes. You." The old Nord approached him with heavy menace. "You're a stranger to Windhelm, aren't you?" He spoke loudly, definitely trying to draw attention. "Let me see your face."

"We were just leaving," Vafiél told the Nord.

"Are you deaf? I said, take off your hood," the man growled. The others in the area turned to see what the commotion was about.

When Vafiél didn't react, the Nord took hold of his cloak and ripped it off. The silver dragon brooch that secured it clattered to the stone, loud and discordant in the silence that followed.

"I know what you are," the man growled.

"You're making a mistake," Vafiél said, but it sounded weak, a shadow of his usual tone.

"You're a Falmer!" the man roared. "Looks like we missed one, eh boys? Look at him! He's a freak! Oh, we can't hurt the Dark Elves, no, but we can hurt this elf. What do you say? An eye for an eye. One Falmer for the thousands of Nords your kind have killed!"

Many in the crowd that had gathered were yelling agreement. The adrenaline and hatred were overwhelming, staining even the walls and the ground.

Vafiél looked at her. She'd never seen such grief and dread on anyone before. "Serana," he rasped, "you need to leave. Please. Go and find the Moth Priest. I'll never forgive myself if they hurt you too."

"No," she protested. "It's a lie. It's not true!"

"Go, Serana!" he insisted, wincing as the first few stones battered him.

She backed away, holding a hand over her mouth, and watched, waited, for the ordeal to be over. It seemed like it would never end. They stoned him without mercy. Even when he fell to one knee, head bowed and shaking, they did not relent. A scarce few shouted for it to stop, priests mostly. No one listened.

Serana could barely believe what was happening. She'd been so certain—she thought he even confirmed he was an Altmer when he spoke of the Summerset Isles—but he'd fooled her, just like he fooled everyone else… except that old man. At some point she thought she might have cried out, begging for the abuse to end. It didn't. Vafiél didn't fight back.

The accusing Nord stepped closer to the battered, bleeding Vafiél, and unsheathed his sword. He raised it high…

…and a gout of fire spread in an arc around Vafiél, staggering everyone away.

"Leave him, you sons of whores!" shouted a man, a Dunmer with flames writhing around his fingers. He stood to shield Vafiél. "You call yourselves honourable, and yet you stone a stranger in the streets without trial? How dare you!"

"Out of the way, grey-skin, or we'll stone you as well," growled a black-haired man.

"You'll do no such thing," said a Dunmer woman. A group of Dark Elves joined the first, all of them armed, be it steel or arcane. "This ends now."

Serana rushed forward as the first man helped Vafiél to his feet and steadied him when he swayed. The Dunmer looked at her sternly. "Get him out of here," he murmured. "Casimir will go with you."

"Thank you," Serana whispered. Vafiél looked drunk with pain and on the verge of collapse, but with Casimir's help, she managed to get him through the gate and across the bridge. They'd barely made it into the shelter of the trees before Vafiél collapsed, breaths shallow and rasping, barely conscious.

"Vafiél," Serana said urgently, crouching by his side. "We can't stop here. They'll find us."

"Follow me, my lady," said Casimir, scooping up Vafiél and hurrying away to somewhere more sheltered.

The Dunmer stopped in a dense copse of trees and set Vafiél down, performing a few restorative spells. Vafiél didn't seem to improve. He'd lost consciousness, and only the slightest rise and fall of his chest could be seen.

"Will he be okay?" Serana asked in a whisper.

"Only time will tell," Casimir answered solemnly. "I have done all I can. Now… Now, we pray."

And they prayed.