Chapter 8: Home
A/N: Hello again! I've received a review with the opinion that the first few chapters are quite fast-paced, and I agree. I hope to fix these pacing issues in future revisions of the story. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Enjoy.
The second he opened his eyes, agony and confusion fell upon him with the weight of an anvil. Vafiél groaned as he forced himself to sit up, wincing as his battered body screamed in protest to the sudden movement.
He brushed off dark grit from the uneven ground and blinked to clear his vision. From his current position he could only see glimpses of a primitive camp, his view obstructed by thick chaurus legs barring the entrance to the hut that was now his prison.
Vafiél didn't know which wound to nurse, so he tried to think instead. They'd walked into the encampment, he'd been shot with a poison arrow, and…
Panic engulfed him and he scrambled to the bars. "Serana!" he cried, as loudly as he could. "Where are you? Serana!" He could never forgive himself if something had happened to her. The very thought of it made him sick.
One of the Betrayed snapped at him, probably trying to quiet him down. Vafiél did not relent.
"Laas Yah Nir!" he Shouted. The Aura Whisper was a Thu'um that should have been nothing more than a murmur, but in his desperation, became a panicked yell. His Voice made the entire cavern tremble, loosing dust and rocks from the ceiling like an earthquake. There was no time for caution.
His vision became a sea of muted grey, while the life forces around him were illuminated in colour: blue for the chaurus, white for the Betrayed, and a single red glimmer far away.
He heard Serana not a moment later. "Vafiél! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he lied, slim fingers wrapping around the chaurus legs imprisoning him. "Are you?"
"Yes!"
Vafiél swayed with shallow relief. The woman guarding him swatted his fingers lightly and snapped at him, like a mother would chastise a rowdy child. Some of the syllables were… familiar, almost a twisted echo of Vafiél's mother tongue. Befitting of these pitiful creatures.
He caught her hand and held it gently. "Please, you must open this gate," Vafiél begged of her. "I mean you no harm." Even if she didn't understand a word he said, his tone had to be enough to convince her. "Please. I need to see Serana. I have to be sure she's alright."
The gate pulled away and the blind woman urged him to move back with a few flicks of her hands. Stifling keens of pain, Vafiél edged backward until they were sitting in front of each other, and tried to steady his ragged breathing.
"I need to see Serana," he implored the woman. Vafiél touched her fingertip to his canine, even pricked his hand to smear a droplet of blood across her lips. How else could he convey vampirism? "Please, you must let me see her. She… She is very dear to me." To emphasise the point, he placed the woman's hands over his heart. "Will you take me to her?"
For a second, he dared to hope. The woman squeezed his hands and rattled something in her growling degradation of their shared language. Was that comprehension? He was certain if she had eyes, she'd be giving him a pensive look. The woman stood and Vafiél strained to do the same, but his legs shook and threatened to give way.
She grunted quietly and left the hut. He made to follow her but she snapped at him over her shoulder and Vafiél flinched away as the bars closed in front of him. He staggered back and fell to his knees as the crushing weight and poison sting of failure turned his hopes to ash. Anguish twisted inside him, scratching at his sanity, stirring ill-remembered parts of him he'd worked hard to bury.
It was familiar, like a once-bustling city turns into a silent ruin filled with the haunting echoes of its former denizens. Familiar in the way he used to stare over high ledges and fantasise. It was the old scar tearing open, the sunlit grave. The diamond and the statice.
Before the dark imaginations of his mind could tempt him over the edge, light pierced his mind like the clear ringing of a bell. It shook him to his soul.
Do not waver, my child. You have only lost when you refuse to fight.
Vafiél opened his eyes and panted for breath, slowly coming to his senses. The grand voice rang in his mind. There was no going back, only forward. Always forward.
The pain—both internal and external—began to subside as his father's blessing burned away disease and fatigue, like morning dew evaporated before the summer sun. His body brimmed with gold and his spirit thrummed.
I have to escape. The Betrayed cannot understand me, and if we stay here, something terrible is bound to happen. He had to find Serana, and to do that, he needed to get out of this hut.
Vafiél sat meditatively and focused, calming the expanse of his mind to search for a solution. Time blurred in the absence of external light, so it was impossible to determine how long he sat there; it could have just as easily been hours or days. He was trapped in the twilight of the unknown. But twilight was a time for introspection.
As a youth, he would always as Aerindor for answers he couldn't glean himself. His old master always had a knack for seeing beneath the unknown. What would Aerindor do? Vafiél asked himself, casting his recollection back to earlier days.
The laboratory reeked of distilled spirits when Vafiél entered. Then again, it wasn't often that it smelled of anything else. Aerindor used the clear alcohol to clean the tables and surfaces that the dead came into contact with, and had taught Vafiél to do so as well—"Death carries disease, and diseases must be eliminated," the old man insisted—but the intensity of it was enough to give anyone a headache.
"That you, Vafiél? Put your gloves on and come here," Aerindor called. He had a sharp voice that reminded Vafiél of cracking ice.
"Yes, Master," Vafiél replied, softly.
Aerindor the Wise had a refined, austere face. The first signs of old age lined his eyes, which gleamed a piercing crystalline teal. He never styled his hair—Vafiél doubted he even took the time to brush it most days—and it was haphazardly stuffed into a knot at his nape.
What Vafiél liked most about him were his hands. Rough though they were, his fingers were still as dextrous at four-hundred-and-three years as they'd been at twenty, and they found their way into places others did not. They were precise and quick and clean. The hands of an artisan.
Vafiél looked down at the specimen on the steel table as Aerindor pulled back the cloth covering the body. The young woman looked to be in a peaceful sleep, like she would wake at the slightest tap.
"What happened to her?" Vafiél asked, frowning. "She looks… fine."
"Looks can be deceiving, my young pupil," Aerindor rumbled. He folded his arms. "Consider this your examination. Discover the cause of this young lady's death, prepare her body for the funeral, treat her with respect, and I'll consider your role as my assistant."
Pressure made Vafiél take a deep breath to steady himself. Aerindor had already performed the opening incisions on the woman's torso and moved her ribcage; all he had to do was identify the problem.
He started with a proper observation of her body. Several months ago, this would've made him uncomfortable—and Aerindor mocked him for blushing—but no longer. The mortician examined many elves, both men and women; Vafiél got used to it over time. However, as he'd soon come to realise, a naked woman in a laboratory was very different to one in his bed.
There weren't any external signs of illness or disease, much to Vafiél's dismay. The problem had to be in her organs and viscera. It seemed Aerindor was testing the very limits of his knowledge and experience.
Vafiél cleared his mind and eased open the woman's torso. With the ribs pulled away, he ran his hands over the viscera, applying gentle pressure and searching for resistance. "The heart is enlarged," he said to Aerindor, frowning.
"Indeed. You may extricate it," the mortician replied.
Carefully, slowly, Vafiél held the engorged heart in both hands and drew it up what little way he could to sit atop a lung. "It's quite… stiff. Even for muscle tissue. Especially here," Vafiél murmured, pressing with his thumb the lower part of the heart. "Something happened to her heart."
Aerindor nodded approvingly. "Now, you may ask questions. Make them good questions."
Vafiél adjusted the woman's organs to sit where they should and closed the folds of her chest before turning to Aerindor. "How old was she?"
"Ninety-three."
"So young," Vafiél lamented in a whisper to himself. He cleared his throat. "What were the symptoms around her time of death?"
"Intense chest pain, fatigue, dizziness, that sort of thing," Aerindor replied.
"Has a death like this ever happened in her family?"
"Ah!" Aerindor rewarded him with a triumphant grin. "Excellent question, young man! Yes, it has. In fact, her father and her grandmother both died the same deaths."
Vafiél blinked in surprise. "Whatever this disease is, it has a strong family affiliation," he commented. "Is it inherited?"
"Some say it is. Others say these kinds of heart failures are spontaneous. I believe the truth is somewhere in between," Aerindor explained. "It's very likely there exist several causes which all result in the same type of death. You saw for yourself the hardening of the muscle, the thickening of the heart's walls."
Vafiél took a breath. "Is there any way to prevent it?"
Aerindor hummed thoughtfully. "In my experience, it is an illness that affects lazy artists and those who do not engage in daily exercise," he answered with a wry smirk. "As such, I have decided you will train with Elwing the Swift every morning until you not only defend yourself from her attacks, but best her in battle."
"Elwing the Swift?" Vafiél echoed, dismally. "Master, what have I done to warrant this punishment?"
Aerindor laughed. "Oh, hush now," he said with reproach. "This is a reward, not a punishment! It is a high honour to be taught by Elwing herself."
Vafiél sighed. "Thank you, Master," he mumbled. As he was eviscerating the woman's body for her funeral, he noticed something else, like a growth in her throat. "Master, I've never seen this… thing before. What is this?"
The old elf leaned over to feel for the structure under Vafiél's fingertips and grunted. "It's present in all of the bodies I've examined, though I haven't been able to pin down its exact function. Leave it for now."
After weighing the major organs and recording statistics—as was most often his job in the laboratory—Vafiél readied himself to perform the death rites. The funeral itself would be performed by the woman's family, but at this halfway-point between Mundus, the world of the living, and Aetherius, the realm of the Aedra, it was Aerindor's duty to wish them a safe journey between planes. Now, that responsibility was Vafiél's. His hands were shaking with the weight of the words he'd never said.
"Speak with peace and honesty in your heart, and Auriel will hear you," said Aerindor, uncharacteristically soft.
Vafiél laid his fingertips over the woman's chilly brow and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. "Auriel, father to all, giver of light and guardian of time, I, Vafiél of the Snow Elves, call to you. May Magnus' radiance be the guiding hand of this soul, who I commend now to Aetherius. Receive her gently, and help her find her place in your pantheon."
The second he'd said the last word, blinding white-gold light filled the room. The woman's surgical incisions closed over, and her body became clean, smelling of morning dew.
Vafiél stepped back in alarm, snatching his hand away. "I—I didn't mean to—That wasn't me," he said quickly, looking to Aerindor for help.
Aerindor looked upon the woman with glistening eyes. "Never in all my years have I seen such a thing," he whispered, raspily. He met Vafiél's gaze. "From now on, you will perform the death rites. It seems Auriel has made a conduit of you."
"Y-Yes, Master." His mind and body reverberated with the weight of what he'd done, yet he had only one question.
Why him?
He hadn't known it then, but even at the meagre age of twenty-two—barely a man grown, by elven reckoning—Auriel had a hand in his life. Vafiél knew the answer now. Discovering he was the Dragonborn had eased the pain in his existence just as much as Auriel himself had.
And in his reverie he realised that he'd yet again asked the wrong question. When Master Aerindor hadn't known the answers, when not even the cleverest of the Snow Elves could solve the problem, it was Auriel who guided him. The only true father he'd ever known.
Vafiél placed his hands in his lap, palms facing upward, and tilted his head back.
I need your strength and wisdom to save Serana. To save everyone. Please… Help me. I cannot do this alone.
You are never alone, my child. Your resilience and wit are characteristic of the dov; use them now.
Clarity and warmth suffused his mind, soothing his weariness. I need a distraction, Vafiél mused, something to draw all of the Betrayed into one place while Serana and I escape.
Vafiél scoured his mind for the Words he needed, searching for a Thu'um that could draw all of the Betrayed into one place. If I throw my voice…
He sat at the entrance to the hut and focused on the far side of the cavernous room, the way they'd first entered. With his mind clear of everything but the far-off wall and the crystalline Words, Vafiél Whispered—"Zul Mey Gut…"—and the shadow of a person speaking appeared in the dark passageway.
The Betrayed flocked to the illusion, growling and clicking amongst themselves. Vafiél forced his way through the bars and sprinted to the other side of the camp, as quickly and quietly as he could. Serana scrambled to her feet the second she saw him and he broke open the bars imprisoning her. "Vafiél," she said, his name falling from her lips with a confluence of fear and relief.
"Run," he breathed, taking her hand and forcing his body to its limits as they dashed out of the encampment. The Betrayed hastened after them with a barrage of indignant growls.
With Serana close at hand, Vafiél sprinted under a freezing waterfall and through gloom-filled passages, avoiding traps and collapsing rock. A dead end soon loomed before them. He tugged a pull-chain and the wall slid away, and Vafiél didn't hesitate to rush through it and close the passageway on the other side. He Shouted to turn the hidden entry into a mess of rubble, sealing the Betrayed on the other side with no way through.
Only then did they stop to catch their breath. Serana released his hand and doubled over, gasping for air, and Vafiél slumped sideways against a natural pillar of rock. When he could manage to speak, he asked, "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" He could hear the urgency in his breathless tone.
"No, no," Serana panted, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Are you?"
Vafiél could've answered that question with a hundred words, but now wasn't the time. "Shaken and exhausted, but I'll live," he said grimly. Looking at her, he realised there was more he'd forgotten. Vafiél took a step closer and held her fiery gaze. "Serana, I… I'm sorry. I led us into danger, and almost got us both killed. I swore I'd keep you safe. I don't take my oaths lightly. I… I hope you can forgive me." Shame made him avert his gaze.
He heard her sigh. "It's over now, and we aren't hurt. That's what matters," she told him, her tone trying to be soft but failing to mask what lay beneath. "Of course I forgive you, Vafiél. Let's move."
Vafiél swallowed his bruised pride and followed her.
They emerged onto a ridge in a spacious cavern awash in shades of blue and magenta. Giant glowing mushrooms gave off their strange luminescence, and flora native to the Vale stirred on a whisper of chill wind.
"I see the next wayshrine," Vafiél pointed out, nodding across the way. A long, winding pathway led down the slope, past lakes and waterfalls and ponds glowing from fluorescent algae, and then up again to the cavern's end.
To his surprise, Serana didn't follow his gaze or answer him. She just looked at him with hungry, glowing eyes, then turned away.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, quietly.
"Yes," Serana answered. Sounding forced, she added, "I've spent my fair share of time underground. The sooner we're out of here, the better."
Vafiél simply nodded and kept at her side.
When needed, he Spoke to the animals—sabre cats, mostly—to soothe their hostility. He watched with a tired smile as Serana inspected a Vale deer, marvelling at its fur; where a normal deer had white patterning, those patterns glowed blue-green in the cave.
As Gelebor had told them, the pale blue ghost of a Prelate awaited them at the wayshrine.
"Welcome, Initiate," the spectral man said. "I am Prelate Sidanyis. This is the Wayshrine of Illumination. Are you prepared to honour the mantras of Auri-El and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"
"I am," Vafiél responded.
"Then behold Auri-El's gift, my child. May it light your path as you seek tranquillity within the Inner Sanctum." The Prelate turned to the domed roof of the wayshrine and cast the resonance spell on it, making it rise out of the ground as the proper shrine. Vafiél entered and filled the Initiate's Ewer from the basin in the centre, then turned his attention to the portal before them.
"I know where this leads," he said, quietly.
Serana glanced sideways at him, waiting for more.
Vafiél met her gaze with uncertain longing. "Home," he whispered, and led the way through the portal.
The portal led them to another tall cavern with a large hole at its apex. Serana followed Vafiél as they climbed the path that spiralled around and led up to the opening.
A valley stretched before them in the cool embrace of the border mountains, illuminated by Masser and Secunda as they waxed full to brighten the night. It had been at least three days since they first entered Darkfall Cave. She was starving.
But not even her dark thirst could detract from the beauty of the Forgotten Vale. Everything from the valley itself to its inhabitants reminded her of Vafiél; ancient, guarded, with a certain beauty and majesty beneath the surface.
"I'll be amazed if the cottage isn't destroyed or completely overgrown," Vafiél said softly as they climbed down and started on the path. "Look at this place. It's… It's all ruined." Old white arches lay broken on the ground and the remains of pillars and pale masonry littered the path. "I laid down spells to protect my home, but… Well, I suppose we'll see if they worked soon enough."
Serana followed a few steps behind him as they picked their way through the snowy ruins. She could hear his heart beating, the tantalising rush of his lifeblood. Stop it. Control yourself. Easier said than done.
One of the largest waterfalls she'd ever seen roared into a swift-flowing river across the valley. She kept close to Vafiél as he led her north on the path up to the mouth of the river. He tried to make conversation, and at any other time, she'd be glad for it, but not now.
"I don't feel like talking," Serana told him, perhaps a little too abruptly. He glanced back at her, his disquieted expression making her sting with guilt. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean… Wait, Vafiél…" But he kept on walking in complete silence.
At the top of the waterfall, they found a broken arch. Serana watched uneasily as Vafiél placed a strange marquise ruby the size of a duck egg in the receptacle, activating a portal. He stepped through without a word and she was forced to follow.
They emerged into a densely wooded area. Large, ancient pines with trunks wide across as she could stretch her arms watched over the grove, like old sentinels. Serana couldn't shake the feeling she didn't belong here.
She exhaled softly when Vafiél stopped. Tucked into the mountainside sat a delicate cottage with a snowy roof, made of pale birch wood. Serana frowned. Everything seemed dead except for a tiny radius around the house itself; the garden was utterly destroyed, and the small structure off to the side had been ruined. It looked like the cottage was frozen in time.
"This is your home?" Serana whispered. If she focused hard enough, she could see the air shimmer and distort ever so slightly around the house.
Vafiél nodded quietly and held a hand out. At first she hesitated, but Serana eventually took his hand and let him guide her through the ward—chances were she couldn't pass through on her own—and together they entered the cottage.
Warm light suffused the entry room from the fire in the hearth, ornate rugs decorated the floor, and bookshelves adorned the walls. On their left as they walked in, she recognised a shrine to Auriel, sitting in an alcove overflowing with golden flowers. The same blooms were woven into wreaths as wall decorations, too.
It felt like a home, she decided.
She turned to Vafiél and together, they matter-of-factly went about discarding their travelling gear. Cloaks were hung by the door. She helped him unbuckle the Elder Scrolls from his back and he did the same for her. He loosened her leather armour, unlaced her bodice, and she eased his hair loose. Everything was so practiced, so methodical; they'd done it so many times it was almost a ritual.
With everything unpacked and their things put away, Serana stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Now was usually the time they'd sit together and share stories while Vafiél brushed his hair and healed any minor injuries.
"Serana," he said, his voice dragging her eyes up to his own. He looked so… soft, in the firelight. "I feel… I feel like I'm losing you. You aren't yourself." Vafiél took a breath. "How long has it been since you fed?"
"More than three days," she answered, with great effort. She watched him look away, considering what she could never ask of him, as shame and unease rooted in her. "Vafiél, I…"
"Come with me," Vafiél said, very quietly, and led her down a hallway. The first door they passed was closed, and the one at the end of the corridor opened to what she could only assume was his room. As neat and beautiful as if he was just returning from a peaceful moonlit stroll.
He sat on the bed and brought his hair over his shoulder. Serana sat close to him. She'd never felt so… intrusive.
"Vafiél, I don't want to feel like I'm forcing you into this," she said, soft yet urgent.
"I trust you," he murmured. "Just… be careful. Please."
"I'm so sorry. I wish it hadn't come to this," Serana lamented. He closed his eyes and sighed. Feeling more than a little awkward, she edged forward until they were touching, at first unsure of what to do with her hands before settling them on his shoulder and jaw. "Relax, if you can," she whispered.
"I'm trying," he whispered back.
Serana heard a sharp inhale when her lips brushed his pulse point. His hands were shaking. She found herself wishing her only intention was to leave a tender kiss on his pale skin, but as always, that was too much to ask.
Eager for it to be done, she pierced his neck with a swift prick of her fangs and sated her thirst. The relief was instant. Her dark powers subsided and calm drifted over her, clearing her mind.
When the agonising moments were over, she pulled away and let him heal himself. He looked a little faint.
"Vafiél, are you okay?" Serana asked him, trying to catch his gaze. He answered her with silence. Fear crept up her spine. What have I done? "Vafiél?"
He finally met her gaze. Serana held her breath as Vafiél brushed some hair away from her face and dusted his fingers over her cheek. "There you are," he whispered, his expression difficult to interpret; somewhere between far away and fond.
A smile warmed her from the inside out.
Vafiél said nothing else as they settled in to sleep. In the soft candlelight that whispered through the room, she could just see him. Her father couldn't find her here—no one could follow them into the Vale without Gelebor's approval—and the spell outside kept the Falmer from getting in. Deep down she knew they couldn't stay here long, but right now, she felt safer than she had in a very long time.
Serana reached over and skimmed some hair away from his face, earning her a contented hum.
"Can we stay here for a few days?" she requested, quietly.
"I think it best if we do," Vafiél answered in a murmur. "We haven't stopped for more than a day since we first met. I'm… exhausted."
She brought the blanket up over her shoulders and shuffled closer to him, smiling serenely as he stroked her hair. "Me too," Serana admitted, tentatively placing a hand over his heart. "I'm glad you're here with me, Vafiél."
She thought she saw him smile, but it was hard to tell in the half-light. "So am I. Sleep well, Serana."
A peaceful sigh left her as she closed her eyes. She was aware of a kiss on her forehead, then nothing more as sleep took her.
To her disappointment, Serana woke alone. The rose light of sunset greeted her, and as she sat up, she realised flowers and a note had taken Vafiél's place at her side. Curious, she read the note.
I hope you slept well.
By the time you read this, I'm likely in the adjacent room bathing. Make yourself at home—I'm sure you'll find something more comfortable to wear in the wardrobe.
The flowers are called shadowblossoms. They're native to the Vale, and they only bloom at night. Their colouring reminded me of you. I hope you like them. Don't worry, they won't die. I've preserved them with magic.
By the way, you spoke to me in your sleep. I'll pretend to forget what you said in the interest of sparing your dignity.
Loath to think of what she could've said, Serana grimaced. To distract herself, she picked up the flowers to get a better look at them. She'd never seen anything so exotic: black orchids, reddish-purple in the centre, almost glowing from within. The perfume they gave off was, sweet, dark, heady, making her feel rather warm… just not in the way she wanted.
Serana placed the flowers in a vase on the bedside table and looked around for the doorway to this 'adjacent room' Vafiél mentioned. The door was slightly ajar. Serana tapped it with her knuckle. "Vafiél?"
"Oh, you're awake. Come in."
She pushed the door open to find Vafiél half-dressed in front of a mirror, patting his hair dry. He met her gaze with a smile and asked, "Did you sleep well?"
"I feel better now than I did after sleeping for centuries," Serana told him with a laugh. "The orchids are beautiful. Thank you. It's been so long since I've had flowers."
Vafiél laughed bashfully through his nose and looked away. "I'm glad you like them."
She inspected the lotions and salves around the room, occasionally sneaking a surreptitious glance at him. Finally, she caved in. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. Anything."
"You're a mage. I've never seen you so much as hold a dagger since we met," Serana murmured. "So, why… uh…" She made a vague gesture to him.
Vafiél laughed again. "Why do I have the physique of a warrior if all I do is stand around and cast spells?" he offered.
"Yes." Serana grinned despite herself.
"Master Aerindor told me that many ailments can be avoided by engaging in routine exercise," Vafiél explained. "I trained with a warrior in my youth to stay fit and strong in case the need ever arose to defend Aerindor. He was already quite old when I became his assistant, so he relied on me. And, well… Eleana never learned how to defend herself." His expression turned sombre.
"Seems like you're a good protector," Serana told him, attempting to lighten the mood.
"I was alone for a very long time," Vafiél responded, shaking off the past in favour of focusing on her. "When we started travelling together, I was relieved. Despite how antisocial I've been forced to become, it's not in my nature. I like being around people." Vafiél put down the cloth and smoothed his hair back. "When I was young, I wanted to be friends with everyone. Maybe it's because I was such a lonely child. Whatever the reason, I got along with my fellow scholars, and when I became Aerindor's assistant, I gained even more friends. But then…"
"The war," Serana murmured.
He nodded despondently. "I was forced into hiding as my friends were slaughtered by the Nords. I managed to make new friends in the Chantry, and then the Betrayed killed everyone, and I was… alone. In hiding again. The life of a fugitive doesn't allow for many friends." Vafiél met her gaze again when she moved closer.
"You're not alone anymore," she told him, quietly. "As long as we have each other, we'll be okay." She warmed at the sight of his smile and touched her forehead to his, enjoying the quiet moment and the scent of jasmine.
Eventually, Vafiél pulled away, his expression unreadable. "Is something wrong?" Serana asked in a whisper. She watched a faint blush colour his face.
"Everything is fine," he replied, a little too quickly to be natural, and ducked out into the bedroom to open a window.
She couldn't help her bewildered laughter as she followed him. "Vafiél? What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," he said nervously.
A grin spread across her face. She'd never tire of seeing him get flustered. Serana slipped between him and the windowsill, arms folded, and simpered, "Why are you blushing, then?"
"I'm not," he said matter-of-factly.
"Liar! You are," Serana laughed. "Your ears are red!"
"They are not," Vafiél protested.
"Stop lying," she chastised him, playfully rapping his arm. "Even your neck is red."
"Serana," he whined, catching her hands lazily. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Not nearly enough," she shot back without thinking. Both their eyes went wide and everything turned silent. The next second, both of them burst into laughter, Vafiél draping an arm over his eyes and Serana slumping against him, weak with mirth. Somehow they ended up on the floor, gasping for breath and eyes streaming.
Vafiél dragged himself up and helped her stand as well when they recovered.
"That was really out of line. I'm sorry," Serana breathed.
"It's fine," he muttered, still a little pink. "We've only been here a day and we're already crazy, it seems."
She giggled and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. "We were already crazy," she mumbled.
He laughed through his nose and held her securely. "I can't argue with that."