Chapter 4: Of Dragons and Moths

A/N: Welcome back! A few things of note here. 1) Auriel/Auri-El/Akatosh are the same being in my interpretation of the Elder Scrolls universe. 2) You may have noticed slight diversions from the in-game story; these are present to aid the flow of the novelisation and to provide a more 'real' feeling to the world. The most notable changes occur later in the story. 3) For those who are curious, Od-Lah-Unslaad translates to Snow-Magic-Eternal. 4) I researched Dovahzul words and sentence structure to write this novelisation, but if you find errors, please let me know. Enjoy.

He was falling in an endless azure sky. Wind lashed his body and hazy, undefined beings raced past him, some laughing, some roaring. Vafiél blinked to try and clear his vision and found a green dragon in front of him, diving to keep pace with him.

"Fly," it told him in Dovahzul.

"I cannot," Vafiél replied in kind, confused.

"Fool," the dragon rumbled, amused. "Spread your wings and let the wind take you. Here, we fly forever."

It was then that Vafiél realised he no longer resided in his mortal form. His soul spread its great membranous wings and floated on an updraft. The green dragon roared in triumph and flew with him.

"Our Father would speak with you, Dovahkiin," it said, and gestured with its snout toward the great golden light above. Vafiél thought it was the sun at first, until he drew closer and realised it was actually a large white-gold dragon seated in a bed of cloud.

Vafiél soared upward until he could stand before the grand being, humbled by its divine light. "Am I dead?" he asked.

The great dragon rumbled stony laughter deep in its chest. "Not quite, child," answered the being, watching him with kind, all-knowing eyes. "It has been some time since we spoke, Od-Lah-Unslaad."

And longer still since Vafiél had heard his Name of Names, the truth of his existence, the Words of his being. He shuddered as they reverberated within his soul. "It has," he agreed. "But if I am not dead, then why am I in your pantheon, Great One?"

The dragon hummed. He was hard to look at, what with the sunlight he exuded. "You have pushed your body to its limits once again, child, yet your purpose is unfulfilled. You know well the offer to which you have agreed."

Vafiél had not forgotten. It was long ago, but he remembered being in this very spot, agreeing to the terms.

"When you have exacted your destiny, only then will you have the choice of living out your afterlife in the astral plane, or remaining tethered to the mortal world for all time. This is the price for your actions, Od-Lah-Unslaad. Your very Name is a reminder, is it not?" asked the dragon.

"It is," Vafiél said softly.

"Then you should not linger here, my child," the dragon told him. Amused, he added, "I sense someone is very eager for your return. You must make haste."

Serana, Vafiél realised. The memories flooded his mind and filled him with panic. "You're right, Great One. I should not be here another moment."

"Do not hasten to return here, Od-Lah-Unslaad," said the dragon, as darkness engulfed Vafiél.

Consciousness pierced his mind like an arrow of ice and Vafiél shot awake, gasping for breath. Voices bounced around strangely in his mind until his awareness focused and he realised two people were talking about him, urging him to wake up, to calm down, to breathe deeply.

Vafiél sat up with great effort and coughed before he was able to breathe normally. His vision cleared and he met the crimson gaze of a Dunmer man in an ashen cloak, then glanced at Serana, who looked more emotional than he'd ever seen her.

"I'm not going to die," Vafiél rasped through a dry throat. "I'm fine."

"I thought we lost you there," said the man. "It's a good thing you pulled through." He cleaned his hands on his breeches matter-of-factly. "Well, I'd best be going, my lady. Azura knows what Dravin has gotten himself into now."

"Thank you for all your help, Casimir," Serana told him, relaxing a little.

"Please give Dravin and the others my regards. If you all hadn't intervened, things would be significantly more dire," Vafiél murmured.

"I'll pass on the message. You take care, now," said Casimir, leaving them.

Vafiél met Serana's gaze when he heard her breathing stutter slightly. "I—"

"Don't scare me like that again, okay?" Serana interrupted him, though her tone was gentle.

Vafiél's smile was weak. "I'm sorry, Serana," he said softly.

"It's true, isn't it?" Serana watched him, her expression difficult to decipher. "You're a Falmer. He wasn't lying."

"The name 'Falmer' carries negative connotations these days because of what the Dwemer did to my people," Vafiél told her, averting his gaze. "It's more polite to say Snow Elf. But… yes. It is true."

"Is that why you avoid the cities?" Serana whispered. "Do they all treat you like that?"

Vafiél sighed heavily. "A very long time ago, a terrible war happened between us and the Nords. It ended with the Snow Elves' defeat and a genocide of my race," he explained. "The Nords have never forgotten the atrocities of that war. Even though I wasn't even involved, they hold me accountable."

"But surely they did things that are just as bad, if not worse," Serana pointed out, frowning slightly. "Don't you have the same resentment?"

"Of course I do. I have… personal reasons to despise them," Vafiél answered, lowly.

"I don't see you going after every Nord you see and beating him to death."

Vafiél laughed, short and bitter, as they stood. "I suppose that is the difference between us, is it not?"

Serana exhaled tiredly and shook her head, taking his hand. Her touch was soft and cool. "Here," she whispered, pressing something metallic into his palm. They lingered like that for the space of a heartbeat, but Serana soon pulled away, clearing her throat. "Let's keep moving."

Vafiél smiled to himself when he realised it was his dragon brooch. He used it to secure the other hooded cloak he kept in their travel bag. "Why don't you stay here while I find somewhere we can rest?" he suggested. "You'll burn if we leave this shaded place, and it could take hours."

Serana looked of a mind to protest. She opened her mouth, but said nothing, and soon closed it again before asking, "Are you sure you'll manage? You nearly died, Vafiél."

"I'll be fine," he assured her lightly. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He'd barely taken a few steps before Serana caught his wrist. Vafiél stopped and met her gaze quizzically. "Is everything alright?"

"You'd better come back," Serana told him. "If I don't see you three hours from now, I'll come looking for you."

Vafiél offered her a soft smile and touched her shoulder. "I promise I'll come back soon," he murmured. With that, he raised his hood and set off into the sunlight for the first time in weeks.

It took him about an hour to find a shallow cave they could stay in, and around half that time to return to Serana in the shadowy glade. She was relieved to see him, and made use of a cloak and gloves to protect herself from the sun as he led her to the cave. Both of them were relieved to be inside; Vafiél had grown accustomed to the dark, and the midday sun was hard on his eyes.

"I'm so tired," Serana admitted. "Maybe we should just barricade the entrance and stay here a while to get our strength back."

The idea certainly was appealing. With some well-placed runes and proper fortifications…

"We should," Vafiél agreed. "It's a long way to Dragon Bridge, and I don't think it's wise to try a horse and carriage. Word spreads quickly; the Nords all over Skyrim will be on the lookout for me within a few days." He put their things down and turned to Serana. "Here's what we need to do."

With the entrance blocked by stones and boulders and runes guarding both sides of the barricade, their work was finished. The explosion of the runes would wake them if someone came near, while the runes themselves would quickly dispose of any potential threat. Now, Vafiél sat brushing out his hair, a torch on the rocky wall providing the only light to see by.

"What was it like, living in Skyrim before the war? Were you… Do you remember?" Serana had asked him, not moments earlier. He took some time to reflect before answering her.

"I do," he answered. "Everything was peaceful and prosperous. My race were the first of the Mer to inhabit Skyrim. None were poor, and the crime rate was almost non-existent; most of us spent our time in pursuit of arcane study and hobbies. It was… a time of arts and advancement, I suppose." Vafiél paused to ease a tangle out of his hair. "When the Atmorans arrived, most of my race were content to coexist, so long as we stayed out of each other's affairs. But… most is not all. A splinter group formed who thought themselves superior to the Atmorans, deserving of their secrets and their magical artefacts, and they slaughtered an entire city known as Saarthal." He sighed. "It was the beginning of the end, and came to be called the Night of Tears."

"And then the Atmorans fought back," Serana said, quiet and solemn.

"Yes. Ysgramor and his sons fled back to Atmora, and when they returned, they returned with an army." Vafiél laid the brush in his lap. "It could hardly be called a war. We had no need for militia before the Nords arrived—we hardly even had guards in our cities, since there was no need for their presence—and so they destroyed us with impunity. It didn't take long before most of my kind were either dead or forced into hiding, and the ones that did remain to oppose the Atmorans were pushed to Solstheim, the island just off the coast. From what I've heard, a man who called himself the Snow Prince led one final assault against the Nords. He was slain by a child."

"A child? How?" Serana asked, bewildered.

"It is said that the child, in intense grief, threw her dead mother's sword at the Snow Prince and killed him," Vafiél murmured. "After that loss, the Nords hunted us down and murdered us by the thousands. We were forced to seek refuge with the Dwemer, and… I'm sure you've seen what they did to my race. A sickening degradation, blind and animalistic… Like a cruel joke, compared to the grandeur of our former lives." The words were bitter to say.

"You survived, though," Serana pointed out. "How? Why aren't you…"

"…like the Betrayed?" he finished for her. She nodded. "My sister was a priestess of Auriel—you may know him as Akatosh—and she lived in an isolated valley deep in the northern mountains. I stayed there with her at the Chantry of Auriel for a time and we evaded both the Dwemer and the Nords. But there was one enemy we weren't hidden from." Vafiél took a shaky breath. "A raid by the Betrayed forced us away from the Chantry, and the Nords found us. After that, I took to hiding my identity."

"What about your sister?" Serana asked in a hesitant whisper.

Vafiél met her gaze. It seemed like his expression was enough of an answer.

"Vafiél… I'm sorry. Thank you for telling me this. I know it must be hard for you." Serana attempted a comforting smile. "It's over now. We have to stay in the moment."

"I know," Vafiél murmured, averting his gaze.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"I will be. Sleep will help, I think," he said, hoping it was true.

When they were wrapped in their furs and all was quiet, Serana spoke. "Hey, Vafiél?"

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me how you got that scar on your eyebrow sometime?"

He laughed quietly through his nose. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Sleep well."

"You too."

And sleep she did, better than she had since Dimhollow. Serana thought she'd overslept when she saw that the torch had completely burnt itself out, down to the handle, but Vafiél was still sleeping when she woke. She brushed a strand of long white hair away from his face and watched him. If she'd known before what she knew now, she never would've allowed him to go to Windhelm. Windhelm. The most racist city in Skyrim. It made her appreciate his tenacity; he really did risk his life to find out more about this Moth Priest.

Serana was certain he hadn't told her everything about his past, but she thought she could connect the dots a little easier now. What he hadn't touched on was his Shouting ability. She resolved to ask him when they set out again.

His low, elegant voice brought her out of her reverie. "Do you do this often?" Vafiél asked, without opening his eyes.

Surprise made her jump. "W-What?"

"Watch me sleep." He cracked open one eye and met her gaze with a sleepy half-smile.

She had to laugh. "I try not to… It is a little creepy, isn't it? Sorry. I didn't realise you were awake."

"It's alright." Vafiél sat up and stretched with a sigh.

"How do you feel?" Serana asked.

"Just fine. Casimir did well," he answered. "How are you?"

"Hungry," she admitted, "but good otherwise."

Vafiél hummed thoughtfully. She watched him lace his boots before getting up to take down the barricade. "It's moonrise," he told her over his shoulder. They'd slept an entire day and more. "I'm sure we'll come across some bandits before long, and with any luck, we can take their horses. That would halve the travelling time."

"Good idea," she agreed. "Let's get going, then."

They hadn't travelled far on the southern road when the ground shook with a mighty roar. Serana called upon her necromancy and followed Vafiél's gaze skyward to find a dragon soaring down from its eyrie atop a mountain in the centre of the geyser field.

Vafiél tensed and Serana saw his eyes turn bright, glowing blue beneath his hood. The dragon drew near and hovered above them, seemingly curious.

"Kos vod, dovah," Vafiél said commandingly, his Voice making the air shake. He also said something else, but it was a longer sentence, and Serana didn't catch some of the Words in it. Whatever he said, the dragon didn't appear very cooperative.

"Dir, lo-joor!" it roared.

Vafiél glanced at Serana as the dragon took flight again, wheeling around and speeding toward them. "Look out!" he told her urgently. It was just enough warning for her to dodge a jet of flame from the dragon's maw.

Serana helped in the fight, but Vafiél soon bested the dragon with practiced ease. It died with a shrill cry and slumped to the ground.

Before she could ask what he'd said to the dragon, its corpse caught fire and began to burn away, revealing the bare bones beneath as the flesh and tissue disappeared. She watched as a strange energy flew toward Vafiél and surrounded him in unearthly light. It looked like he was… absorbing it?

"Woah. What's going on?" Serana asked as the light faded.

"I absorbed its soul," Vafiél answered, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say. She must have made a face, because he laughed and added, "Have you heard the term 'Dragonborn' before?"

"The dragon slayer?" Serana said, staring in surprise.

"In a way. Someone who is Dragonborn has the blood and soul of a dragon, but the body of a mortal," he explained. "As Dovahkiin, I can absorb the soul of a dead dragon and learn its knowledge. At this point, I'm fluent in the Dragon Tongue."

"You were talking to the dragon," she realised. "What did you say?"

"I tried to make peace with it, but it wasn't interested," said Vafiél, wryly. "The dov are prideful creatures. By displaying my Thu'um, I inadvertently challenged it; every time a dragon uses breath attacks, it is actually speaking. I suppose I'm at fault for inciting a verbal battle," he admitted.

"You become more and more interesting by the day," Serana joked. She thought she saw him grin, but he turned away before she could be sure, and she only heard his quiet laughter.

Vafiél turned out to be right about the bandits. They encountered a trio of them by a broken cart on the road, and Serana fed while Vafiél followed a game trail up to their camp. He returned with two horses, one a dappled grey and the other black, with splashes of white on its muzzle and hoofs.

"Which is which?" Serana asked.

"The grey has taken a liking to me," Vafiél answered.

"Oh, good. I like the black one." She went over to her new horse and gave it a pat on its flank. "Got any names?"

"I think I'll call this one Storm." The horse whickered at Vafiél in what looked like approval.

"I'll go with Midnight," Serana decided. "Cliché, I know, but it fits, don't you think?"

"It does." Vafiél went over to her. "I can help you up, if you want," he offered.

She laughed. "Thanks, but I think I'll manage."

"Alright." Vafiél went over to Storm and swung up into the saddle. His stallion was the bigger of the two.

Serana mounted up and followed them on Midnight. The mare was very responsive, moving into a trot at the lightest touch.

They rode side by side and made good time, passing between the mountains toward Whiterun by moon's high. They reached Rorikstead near dawn and spent the day resting by the river just beyond, sheltered by a small overhang of rock. That night, after sleeping in shifts, they passed through Robber's Gorge—the bandits were all sleeping—and found no further trouble, until they encountered an overturned wagon and corpses.

Along with the dead horse and slain Imperial guard, Serana noticed a vampire. She and Vafiél quickly dismounted to examine the scene.

"I found a note," Serana told him.

"What does it say?"

"It looks like our Moth Priest has been taken to a cave called Forebear's Holdout," she answered.

"We passed a cave not long ago," Vafiél said. "Could that be the one?"

"I think so." Serana showed him the note, which had a scribbled drawing of the cave's location relative to Dragon Bridge.

They tied their horses a short way from the cave, among some trees, and Serana let Vafiél lead the way into the cave. Judging by the fresh bloodstains near its entrance, it had to be the one.

After a short tunnel, they emerged onto a balcony overlooking a huge cavern. A river trickled across it, and just beyond stood what looked like an old unused fortress. Strange blue light emanated from the top floor of the fortress, almost like a forcefield. The fort itself was almost entirely open to the air, and decorated with gargoyles along its ramparts. In fact, the architecture reminded her of Castle Volkihar—not that she found the resemblance pleasant.

They crossed the roaring river and skirted the wall of the fortress until they passed under an archway into a courtyard. A couple of thralls and death hounds fought them, but Serana and Vafiél defeated them without much effort and ascended a spiralling staircase beyond the central fire pit.

They emerged into the open-air level of the fortress they'd seen from the balcony. The odd blue magic kept a man in white robes prisoner, and a vampire seemed to be trying to enthral.

"The more you fight me, the more you will suffer, mortal," the man said, almost sounding bored.

"I will resist you, monster. I must!" the Moth Priest argued. His voice strained and shook; they must have been at this for a while.

The vampire clicked his tongue. "How much longer can you keep this up, Moth Priest? Your mind was strong, but you're exhausted from the struggle."

"Must… resist…" the priest said to himself.

"Yes, I can feel your defences crumbling. You want it to end. You want to give in to me. Now, acknowledge me as your master!" the vampire declared triumphantly.

"Yes… master."

Vafiél gave her a dismayed look over his shoulder, which she mirrored. We have to attack, she mouthed, and he nodded, replying, Follow me.

They made quick work of the vampire as a team, and Serana picked up a strange stone inscribed with glowing blue lines. "Look at this."

Vafiél hummed in surprise. "Perhaps this will bring down the barrier. May I?" He extended a hand for the stone and she gave to him, watching him climb a short flight of stairs and slot it into a pedestal. The standing stones around the Moth Priest sank into the ground and the forcefield dissipated.

"Vafiél, watch out!" Serana called when she saw flames in the priest's hands.

"I serve my master's will. But my master is dead, and his enemies will pay!" the priest shouted, loosing a fireball at Vafiél. Serana attacked with ice and lightning, relieved when she saw Vafiél leap from the platform unharmed and strike at the enthralled priest with the pommel of his dagger.

"Don't kill him," Vafiél warned her.

"Easier said than done," Serana replied, trying to limit her attacks. In the end, it was a bash from Vafiél's dagger to the priest's temple that brought him to his senses.

"Wait, stop! I yield!" the priest cried. "That... That wasn't me you were fighting. I could see through my eyes, but I could not control my actions. Please, stay your hand. The vampire's hold on me is broken."

Vafiél neared him carefully. "Are you alright?" he asked, slowly.

"I'm quite alright, thanks to the both of you," the Moth Priest answered. "Dexion Evicus is my name. May I ask yours?"

"I am Vafiél, and this is Serana," Vafiél told him.

"Good to meet you. I'm a Moth Priest of the White Gold Tower." Dexion gave his surroundings a look of disgust. "These vampires claimed they had some purpose in store for me, but they wouldn't say what. Probably hoping to ransom me, the fools."

"Actually, they wanted for you for the same reason we do," Vafiél said.

"Do go on."

"I am from a faction called the Dawnguard. We have an Elder Scroll we need you to read."

Dexion's eyes widened. "You have an Elder Scroll? Remarkable! If my knowledge of history serves me, I recall that the Dawnguard was an ancient order of vampire hunters. I will be happy to assist you with your Elder Scroll. Just tell me where I need to go."

"You should head to Fort Dawnguard, in the Rift near Stendarr's Beacon," Vafiél told him.

"Very well. I'll hurry on my way and meet you there," Dexion agreed, and didn't waste another moment. He hastened away and out of the cave. Vafiél and Serana did much the same.

The world had begun to lighten in the east, grey in predawn, when they emerged. They mounted their horses and retraced their journey partway to the overhang near the river, and there stopped for the day.

Serana sat by Vafiél's side, and now that he wasn't wearing the hooded cloak, she could see his expression. She always counted herself lucky for it.

"What do you think the Scroll will say?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Vafiél admitted, meeting her gaze with those wise, pale eyes. "Whatever it says, I hope it gives us a clear direction. I feel as though we're meandering in an ocean of our own ignorance."

"I have to agree with you," Serana murmured. "Can you promise me something?"

He watched her curiously. "What is it?"

"Don't… Don't let this twist you like it did my father," Serana requested, quietly. "I'd be all alone again."

Vafiél glanced away for a moment, smiled softly, then met her gaze again. "That won't happen. I promise," he assured her. "I don't want to be alone either."

Her hand found his and Serana smiled to herself, watching the stars twinkle out of existence before the lightening horizon.