Chapter III: Wardens of the Day

Azrael stepped towards the stairway leading to the Ragged Flagon. He had come from the Ratway. There had been business to conduct with people up in the streets and entering from there was his best option. He didn't often go to the Temple of Mara, and there was no logical reason for him to go near the eastern city wall. It would attract attention. Walking around the market and then suddenly disappearing wasn't less enigmatic, but it was expected of him. He had a reputation for getting away unseen and unheard, and if the last place he was seen in was the market, nobody would have doubted anything. He had settled a spiky matter with Maul and consulted a couple of vendors before descending in the bowels of the sewers. They were dirty, but less than on his previous visit.

During the winter there was a scarce amount of water flowing down that gutter. The smell had become unbearable by the end of the cold season. Any thief took the other path, the one leading inside the Cistern. Their clients were less lucky. Surviving the travel through that labyrinth of drains was the price to pay to have the Guild by their side. Generally, the Guild brought the business to their contacts, but there were times when those people might need to come down in the Ratway. It wasn't a pleasant experience, for any of them. With the cold loosening its grip, the water had began to pour again into the pipes and the drains, making the stench somewhat tolerable.

The Dragonborn walked down the short stairway. He opened the door leading to the Flagon, putting a forearm on it and pushing. It was quite heavy. He had ordered to reinforce it a while back. The truce issued between the Imperial and the Stormcloaks had allowed the captain of the guards to have the necessary men to try an assault on the Flagon. Without any real defenses, the thieves had used shrewd stratagems and traps to confuse and disperse their adversaries. Azrael wasn't sure they would have managed if not for him. Karliah had prepared excellent tactics, but none inside the Guild had the decisiveness and the willpower to make quick decisions and coordinate the entire operation. Aside from him.

He shut the door behind. The first thing that came to him was the noise. Voices, both hushed and raised, footsteps, yells, laughs, containers being moved. The sounds coming from the merchants in the alcoves echoed out of the four niches. They all looked fairly busy. There were queues at most of the shops, the longer one waiting at the alchemist. The smith was working his metals, beating the hammer on the anvil and adding its dull sound to the general noise. There wasn't anyone in line at his workshop. It was the only such case. Even Vekel, on the opposite side of the circular pool, looked very busy. The talk coming from the tables of the Flagon was quieter, but it still remained in the category of loud voices.

Azrael looked at the costumers and the non-members sitting at the tables of the Flagon. Most were known faces, but not all of them. There was a woman buying something at the fletcher that he didn't recognize. She had sharp features, high and prominent cheekbones and a stern face. Long black hair hung down on her back. A beautiful woman. Thirty years, not more, Azrael decided. She carried a reflex bow on her back, a excellently crafted one. It was reinforced with moonstone on both limbs and the grip was carefully covered in a leather band. It was strung with a thin cord, almost certainly animal sinew. That was an excellent bow for a possibly excellent agent. Being down there, it was improbable she worked for any legal organizations.

Syndus, the fletcher, moved away from her for a moment. He walked up to the creates on the rear of the alcove, probably looking for something. Azrael caught the opportunity to step closer, moving gradually in the line of sight of the woman. The chances of her turning around or hearing him were slim, and he planned on actively catching her attention. Of course, he didn't have to know everyone that went through the Flagon, but that person looked worth his time.

Upon eyeing him, she immediately turned to face him. She was shorter than him by a full span, but she looked at him straight. Her traits lost their severity and softened in a more welcoming expression. 'You,' she said. 'You must be the Guild Master.'

'I am. Who are you?'

The woman turned slightly baffled all of sudden. She probably had expected a specific pattern of questions which didn't revolve around her identity. She clearly needed a moment to adapt. The Dragonborn did that frequently, intentionally predicting what questions the other person was thinking about and asking something completely different. It rendered everyone more sincere. In case he required information that a person might not give up easily, it worked even better. He gave a surprise request and then kept the pressure on, effectively manipulating other person's anxiety towards coercing an answer they might not want to hand out. However, the reason he had done it with that specific woman in the Ragged Flagon was just to avoid any unnecessary loss of time.

'Dortra…' she said after a moment, a little smile making its way on her thin lips. 'You might have heard of me. I go by Black Lynx in my association.'

'Rings a bell,' the Dragonborn said. He cast a quick glance at the crates Syndus was poking in, noticing that he was picking only bodkin-headed arrows. They also had long shafts and the fletching made of copper. Azrael knew almost everything there was to know about bows and arrows, and he knew what those were for. 'On the hunt for someone armored, are we? And from a distance.'

'Yes,' she said, turning towards the small pile of arrows the Bosmer had put beside himself. 'One of my associates has tried to kill my target before, only to leave nothing but a scratch on the brute's armor. He's garbed in strange suit of metal and leather. Black and red apparently. Not an armor I've ever seen. These arrows should pierce the plate and the chainmail underneath, if he wears any. I got to catch him from a distance because the bastard is sneaky. He always managed to get away once he hears you, and he can hear you from a mile away it feels like. I can't say anything more, I'm sorry.'

Azrael knew what he needed and decided it was high time he left. Without answering or adding anything, he stepped behind her. 'Farewell,' he said, walking away. The woman gave him a last nervous smile and waved her hand faintly. The Dragonborn turned his head around just for her to think he was looking away and kept a close look on her reactions. She just followed him with her gaze a little longer and then turned towards the fletcher, who had found all the supplies she needed.

Azrael had heard of her. He had never seen her before, but her epithet was quite known in the criminal underworld. The Dragonborn wasn't too fond of her organization because they had the daring tendency to interfere in Brotherhood affairs. The contract Babette had just completed in Solitude was, incidentally, a hit against her organization. They were criminals, and the Dark Brotherhood didn't have any business with them as long as they kept their distance. They were willing to collaborate, if it was possible and advantageous. However, they could not ignore the request of a man asking the Night Mother for help. The Black Lynx would find unpleasant surprises upon her returning home, but the Dragonborn wasn't about to tell her. Her presence there made him content nonetheless. It showed how large the influence of the Guild was growing. Every illegal organization and many individuals were buying inside the Flagon and were probably bonding with the Guild. The thieves, in turn, were the only association in Skyrim which had direct contact with the Brotherhood, since Azrael was the leader of both. It was all very theoretical still, but with the warm season the two could have accomplished things thought impossible before.

As he neared the wooden footbridge that went across the outlet of the pool, the first members of the Guild started to notice him. He saw Delvin, sitting lonely in his favorite corner with a mug of mead and a pile of papers beside it. He also saw Vex and Tonilia, discussing business with two Khajiits, whose faces looked vaguely familiar thanks to the color pattern of their fur. There was also Vekel, Dirge and a couple of the new members. Most importantly, sitting at a table not far away from there, was Brynjolf. The redhead shifted his green eyes on the Dragonborn only when some of the other thieves started raising their voices. He was in the middle of some talk with two young, wealthy-looking gentlemen that sat at his same table. He interrupted the discussion immediately, joining the general commotion.

'Welcome home, Guild Master!'

'Boss!' Dirge cried, covering all other voices. 'Welcome back!'

'Quiet,' ordered the Dragonborn. Azrael felt his voice echoing in the Flagon, drawing the attention on him. He knew the acoustic of the place, and he remembered the exact note that made the wall rebound the sound of his words. 'I'm not here to stay,' he explained. 'I'll be going in an hour or less. All of you, back to your work. If there's anything you need to tell me, come to me. One by one. Bryn.' He turned at his second in command, who immediately made his attention known with a nod. 'A moment, if you can.'

'Give me just a second to settle things with our noblemen here. Actually,' he added, 'maybe you can join the discussion.'

Azrael gave him a slight nod in turn. He cast a glance at the thieves all around, encouraging them to get back to work. On other occasions, he would have given a short speech enlivened with some of his legendary dark humor and caustic wit. When he did, their laughs and their applauses were enough to confirm that they truly enjoyed themselves. He relished in making those short and satiric orations too. By making those up as he spoke he tested his intellectual reactiveness; by making them laugh he further strengthened the bond with his subordinates and gained a new degree of power over them; last, but not least, he enjoyed himself. Seeing that rabble of criminals gathered before him and laughing reminded him of the long process that had led them there. A path that had taught him a lot about himself and the world. But for this once, no interruptions. His visit had to be brief.

He sat down at the table beside Brynjolf, facing the two gentlemen. Bryn was visibly a bit tense, although the signs that gave it away were hard to spot. On the opposite, the two men looked plainly terrified. They followed the hidden face of the Dragonborn with their eyes as if entangled to it. 'These lads,' Bryn explained, 'are here for an agreement involving trade routes that compete with the East Empire Company. They offered us a deal. They gain our protection and guarantee that they won't get shut down in exchange for a percentage of the profits. Is this viable?'

'By all means,' said Azrael. 'Erikur in Solitude will see that their operation works without interference. A Guild member will need to deliver a letter directly to him with all the instructions. What about the percentage?'

'We have agreed on a thirty-five percent of the net income.'

The Dragonborn turned towards the two gentlemen. They were normal, delusional young men that sought more wealth than what they already had. The rich dresses they wore were embroidered with red and golden decorations. They were both young, certainly not older than the Black Lynx. They were both fair-haired and brown-eyed, but one had square jaws and prominent features while the other had softer and less outstanding traits. Young, spoiled and stupid, summarized Azrael. He always felt his sadistic instinct knocking at the door of his rational thinking, but most times he sent it back where it belonged. In those occasions however, there was no reason at all to have pity for them. It was better to keep them pinned down for the rest of their life to prevent their vanity and conceit from doing any damage to the world.

'Fifty percent,' he said, glacially.

The two looked disconcerted and halted every movement. Azrael could almost see the blood flowing off their bleaching cheeks. A moment later they were as pale as the corpses sucked dry by the vampires. Their lips trembled, trying to open but jarring to a halt every time. 'But…' muttered the one with the strong jaws, but was unable to continue. The embarrassment of not being able to speak caused the blood to flow right back in the faces, dying them of a vivid red. They were pathetic.

Azrael decided to cut to the chase. 'It's not negotiable,' he said. 'Take or leave.'

The two shared a worried glance. They whispered something that he didn't understand, but he didn't need to hear. He could imagine what they were saying. Even if they had changed their minds, they couldn't refuse. They had contacted the Guild. Now the thieves knew their identities and could someway reach the authorities. It wasn't even necessary to bride those authorities into punishing them. It would have been enough to spread the word. Nobody, both in the legal overworld and the illegal underworld, would have ever accepted them. Their riches would diminish and then end. They would become poor. And worst, they now knew the Guild Master's identity, and they knew he wasn't one you just play with. Azrael cast a glance towards Brynjolf, who nodded nervously. He didn't feel at ease extorting agreements out of clients, but trusted his boss completely.

A few more seconds of silence passed by. Azrael was starting to grow impatient, but further vexing the two wasn't a good strategy. It was better to wait, letting their own fears devour them. One of them raised his head. 'It's a deal,' he mumbled. His lips were trembling.

'Good,' Azrael said. 'We'll contact you as soon as we're able. A pleasure doing business with you.'

The sarcastic undertone of his last sentence closed the circle. The two, if they still hadn't realize, had been trapped and exploited. Squeezed like a fruit. They rose, holding the expensive furs covering their shoulders. They bowed quickly, turning away and walking hurriedly towards the exit. Dirge gazed down and gave them a dark look, making them retreat to the side. One of them almost fell into the lake, and didn't only because his fellow aided him. A short and merry laugh rose from the thieves as the two proceeded. Humiliated.

Azrael turned towards Brynjolf. 'Deal with their matters from the day after tomorrow. I want them to have a little pause before they're thrown into the business. Now, to the matter at hand. What can you tell me about the Dawnguard?'

Brynjolf cocked an eyebrow. 'As much as anyone in this city,' he said. 'Why me, lad?'

The Dragonborn generally couldn't stand people who asked explanations, but he had always made an exception for Bryn. Ever since the center of power and decision-making of the Guild had moved into the hands of Azrael and Karliah, labeled "Dunmer buddies" by the Guild, Brynjolf had managed to relax and embrace his extraordinary ability at understanding and supporting others. He had everything Azrael lacked and vice versa. He was sensitive and empathetic, but sometimes he focused so much on others he overlooked his own abilities. That led to ask confirmation or seeking approval, chiefly from those he respected.

Azrael had his ways to comfort him. 'Because out of all this damned herd of thieves you're the most reasonable,' he said, but the key was the conclusion. 'And, I forgot to mention, you're the one I trust. There's Karliah, fine, but she's not here. Answer my question.'

The redhead grinned cheerfully. 'Well, if you put it that way…' He sat straight, resting a clenched fist on the table and looking absently at the mug of mead. 'Well, there are lots of unconfirmed things being told. The most reliable source we have is a boy from Stonehills that wanted to join them. He left after two days because the training was too intense. He described the life inside the caste where they hold up, and they seem serious about their business. They subject the novices to a hard and intense training to hone not only their fighting capabilities but also their resistance and endurance. They are rumored to teach their recruits to sleep a lot less than ordinary men so that they can sleep using a small time of the day and stay awake at night.'

'These are just preparations and investments, however. Have they done anything material yet?'

'No, they haven't. A few of their trained members are scattered around the cities, supposedly to convince more people to join their cause, but they take action when there are vampire attacks. They are skilled and know their enemy, but they constantly remark that they lack the equipment necessary to pull off any bigger actions. When I heard of a new organization being created I thought it was a chance for profit, but I realized that they're doing everything with their own hard work. They haven't bought a single stone slab to repair their crumbling caste. They mine it directly out of the mountain. They're looking for armorers and smiths, that much we know. They could use some money, too. Karliah even considered sending them funds anonymously.'

'How come?'

'The best heists are pulled off by night,' Brynjolf sighed, turning towards the Dragonborn. 'But the night is dangerous as of late. The leeches are stealthier than any of us and they smell anyone from far away. It's becoming more and more difficult to work without considering their threat first. It is part of the job to be where no one can see you or hear you. But they don't hear your cries, either. Long term tasks have become more complex, as well. Our agents can't afford to sleep in the open. A group of outlaws or some wild animal doesn't pose much of a threat, but roaming vampires do. The Dawnguard promises to find out and eradicate the vampire threat from the roots. They seem to think this increase in their numbers isn't random and there's someone behind it.'

They reached my same conclusion, Azrael thought, but they could have arrived to that assumption through different hints. Either way, they know something. They even might have more information about the Hall of the Vigilant. There were still many unsolved mysteries surrounding the matter, and maybe, just maybe, the Dawnguard had the solution to some of them. Going there seemed worth his time, if anything. However, for a group that was recruiting from all over Skyrim they managed to remain pretty secretive. They might have wanted to avoid giving their existence away to the vampires, but there was too much talk around. If the vampires wanted to know, they could. Especially those Volkihar purebloods that were remarkably similar to common mortals.

'Nothing else?' Azrael asked.

Brynjolf shook his head. 'Nothing worth the mention. You're headed for their headquarter, I suppose?'

'Yes. As soon as I can.'

Fort Dawnguard was well hidden in the highlands. Azrael had almost gone past the mountain pass leading to the castle, since it was small and out of sight. It was more of a gorge rather than a pass, with both rock faces looming over the pathway. The lush foliage further hid the passage. The green that dominated the vegetation of the Rift was alienating if compared to the dry, frozen trees of the Pale. There was no snow, no sleet and no melting water. The white fields of the mountains were very large, but they didn't reach the elevated, apparently flat ground where the most important portion of the Rift was. The gorge, however, was constantly in the shadow and there still was a layer of snow inside it.

The Dragonborn had resigned to leave Shadowmere outside. He had thought about bringing her in, but he feared the passage would reduce in width and force them to turn back, which might have been difficult given the scarce space. No wonder they didn't buy any materials, Azrael thought, searching the saddlebags for any useful things he could bring along. I can't imagine them carrying a plank or a chunk of stone inside here. A cart cannot pass. Maybe a mule. Still, good luck crafting something big inside and then bringing it out. It was roughly twenty feet from bottom to top before the colliding faces of the mountain neared enough to prevent anything from going through. But even the space underneath was quite narrow.

The Dragonborn closed the saddlebags and tightened the buckles. Shadowmere was fine on her own, but in case she started galloping it was best for the carriers to be steadily fastened. The mare snorted and neighed quietly. Azrael smiled faintly, patting her on the strong sides. He hated to depend on people, because they might someday decide that helping wasn't convenient for them anymore. That was the reason he worked alone. Shadowmere was different. He knew he could safely rely on her. Her origin was still practically unknown to him, but any degree of pragmatism could lead to trust experience when nothing else existed. She had always remained loyal to him, even in the most dire of circumstances. She had no reasons to betray him. Her animal intelligence and unnatural cunning was useful and pleasant at once.

He did his usual check and walked inside the gorge. The soft snow made hushed noises as he stepped on it. The air inside the passageway was fresh, much colder than outside. There was no sun heating the stone and there also was the snow keeping the temperature low. A few snowberry plats had managed to grow where rays of sunlight came through cracks. Azrael looked at the end of the ravine, a triangular opening in the rocks illumined by the Sun. It wasn't too far away. He looked up, noticing that the rocks didn't draw nearer as he expected. In retrospect, he could have led Shadowmere inside; it was better to leave her outside either way though. The valley in which the Fort rose was described as a small glacial dale, but its precise morphology was unknown to him. The Dawnguard definitely had put some effort into keeping some things a secret.

When he arrived at the exit he was hit by an intense light. A snowy, verdant landscape appeared in front of him. The firs were still heavy with snow, unlike the tress outside. The mere fact that there were evergreen coniferous and not the beeches and birches that grew in the Rift proved that the valley where the Fort was situated was an ecosystem on its own. The rocky tors and white peaks surrounded the vale, enclosing it in a frigid circle. Azrael walked onward, looking at the large glaciers that came down from the summits, melting and creating torrents which formed majestic waterfalls. He couldn't quite see where all that water ended up, but it was presumably a lake. The fragrance of fresh resin and cold air was welcome to the Dragonborn, that still hadn't managed to get rid of the Ratway's stench.

The path started to incline, going down. Predictable. The bottom of the valley surely wasn't as high as he was in that moment. He went down the hill, finally getting a glimpse at the lake where the thawing water gathered. The trees were luxuriant, and the grove which surrounded the lake had some deciduous trees as well. A green grass grew in the few clearings and a thin undergrowth sprouted where the foliage obscured the sunlight. The snow diminished, and the path was mostly free of it. On the edge of lake was a figure. Azrael looked at it, and quickly realized he was a man, probably a Nord. Dark blonde hair, peasant clothes, some rough leather boots, an iron axe and little else to his name. He was calmly washing his hands in the lake, crouching near the water. There were no fresh footprints, so he might have been stationary there for quite a while. Or maybe he had come from the Fort. He couldn't guess anything on what he saw, since there were no prints coming from the other end of the valley either.

The man didn't hear him. Azrael chose not to intrude and walked onward.

A stag ran out of the copse on his left and darted through the path, jumping in the grove that bordered the lake. Azrael followed it with his gaze until he couldn't. A sad smile lingered for a moment on his lips. There was something within nature that managed to calm him. He frequently felt united with it. Certain parts of it more than others, clearly, but it was a frequent feeling nonetheless. Fire was part of his essence since the day he was born, but with time he had acquired a queer closeness with water and ice. The cold air, unspoiled landscape and fresh smell of that valley was welcome to him. If anything, those men know where to build their fortresses, he thought. The path proceeded upward. There was a rock formation blocking the path and hiding the bottom of the valley. It could have been a peak once, but the melting glacier had eroded its sides. The path was slowly circumnavigating it.

Azrael felt his mind slow down, halting its never-ending activity. The tranquility laced within the glade was slowly influencing him, emptying the void that he usually filled with intellectual activity. His thoughts lost the rigid bounds, starting to flow more naturally. He sorted them and listened to them, letting them flow heedlessly. Those were the moments when his whole conscience melded in a unique and natural series of concepts and ideas. It was also the moment when his inner daemons started first knocking at the door and then smashing through it, if kept away. He often let them in, welcoming their pitiless remarks and accusations. He allowed them to speak. There was nothing that could disrupt the chaotic order that had formed in his mind. Why are you doing this? his inner daemon asked. Why are you even involving yourself in such a matter?

The Dragonborn breathed deeply, listening to the fibers of his body replying the question. He gave voice to his own essence. Because I'm curious, he thought, answering the daemon. I'm ambitious. I crave knowledge. Yes, I admit that my first answer wouldn't be that. It would be that I'm saving the world again, but the world can end for all I care. Don't think you're the evil one, because I'm worse than you are. When reminded they were not the fouler of all the voices of the Dragonborn's mind, the daemons usually kept their silence. They were useful advisors. They served to highlight the impossibly tiny problems and inconsistencies. Most people would try to ignore them, but he found them vital for his mental stability. They were a necessary part of him, the one that allowed him to approach the world the way he did. When people lamented he was too distrustful, it was because he was paying attention to those voices.

The path went up a final slope, passing the huge monolith. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Fort Dawnguard appeared in all its enormous proportions. Bigger than I expected. The walls were simple piles of stone hunks and cobblestone bricks, still even and smooth after all that time. The round towers rose at the angles of the outer fortifications, with a great central keep rising in the sky above every other structure. The opposite side of the stronghold leaned against the mountain, which were fortification enough. The entire fortress was built on a rise of the terrain. The bottom of the walls was roughly four meters higher than the ground level where Azrael stood. The path went forward, Azrael couldn't still see where exactly. It was bordered by thick bushes and plants with all sorts of flowers blooming. There were two towers looming over the pathway, the same round ones that were also built at the corners of the walls.

In between stood a man. Brown-haired, a bit too short to be a Nord. He had a full beard and traits that, again, came from somewhere beyond Skyrim. Azrael looked at the armor he wore, a suit which he was not familiar with. The main protection was a sturdy plate on the chest and abdomen which also covered the back and a small portion of the thighs. Underneath he wore a more common brown leather gambeson. He also wore gloves, reinforced vambraces and plated boots. Hadn't it been for the heavy coat on the upper parts of the body, the armor might have been light. It surely had its uses, although its design was particular. The Dragonborn noticed the thick gorget. It was clearly a defense designed to fight with vampires, down to the most meticulous of details. The sturdy chestplate protected from the strong but imprecise hits a starved one could deliver; the neck protection made sure that the monster's teeth wouldn't reach the flesh and the vambraces could have been useful for blocking incoming swings without those slicing off the wearer's hand.

The man raised his head. Upon seeing the Dovahkiin, he swallowed. 'Welcome, stranger. What do they call you?' Apparently something had suggested him Azrael wasn't there to join their organization. There were clear thoughts racing through the man's mind. They were so intense they seemed lo leave a mark on his forehead. He was obviously trying to remember where he had already heard or saw about someone looking like the person walking towards him, but clearly couldn't remember. Or maybe he had heard stories and was trying to figure out if he was or not the person he had heard so much about.

'Azrael,' the Dragonborn answered coolly. There was no need for further presentation and even less to brag with titles, epithets or whatnot. The nonsense going around was enough without him bolstering it.

The series of incoherent movements on the man's face confirmed his presumption. 'Dragonborn…' he whispered, in awe. 'Can I… Can I do anything for you?'

'You can.' He stopped a few feet in front of him. He put more weight on his left feet, which he had moved a little bit further than his right one. He loomed over the man. 'Introduce me to your leader, and while we're on our way I have a few questions.'

The man nodded energetically. 'As you wish. Please, call me Celann. Follow me.'

He turned at once and walked at a steady pace along the pathway. Compliant, but not in a frenetic way, thought the Dragonborn. That might have actually been someone worthy. He followed him, slowing down the rhythm of his steps. Celann's legs were shorter. He couldn't keep up with him without rushing. Azrael glanced around at the clearings, obtained by cutting down the trees, which where covered with equipment for the recruits' training. There was no one in sight still, but he heard the distant sound of voices coming from somewhere around him.

'Celann,' he said, 'tell me how you're holding up. News from the outside are unclear.'

'I'll tell you, Dragonborn, our situation isn't great.' He hadn't looked directly at him since they had started talking. Not even in the general direction. 'The only thing more surprising than hearing from Isran after all these years was hearing that he wanted my help. He never, ever asked for help. He had his plans and his reasons, ideas that often conflicted with what others thought. If he needed help, things must be pretty bad. And that's exactly what we've got in our hands now. A threat on a scale that we've never faced and that could potentially be much larger than most of us think.'

'You've worked with Isran before, then.'

'That I have. There was a time, years ago, when we were both members of the Vigil, and both equally dissatisfied with them. We had different ideas and didn't understand the single-mindedness of most of our companions. Their hearts are in the right place, of course, but Isran and I were never comfortable. They fought what they were meant to and never focused on the immediate and most important threats. What happened recently with the Hall, same thing. There's a member of the Vigil talking to Isran right now, asking for help. They ignored the menace, they always do, but this time they have found their match. I'm not happy, they were my friends and companions, but it was bound to happen. Isran will tell him just that. The moral of the story is that we left together, but that partnership didn't last very long. I didn't agree with some of his methods. He's always broody and suspicious. He'd rather be sure or something than be merciful to someone.'

'That's an excellent attitude to have to fight your kind of foe.'

'I don't doubt it, but sometimes the goal numbs his heart. He becomes hard, unfeeling, he doesn't trust anyone. Not even himself. He tests the loyalty of everyone continuously, without giving anyone time to relax. He says that rest is where the worst vices and sins are born from. You have to be careful around him as much as you have to when you're hunting the enemy, and on the long run it can be exhausting.'

Azrael didn't react, but he was thinking of how interesting the encounter might be. They were similar, maybe too similar to go on well with each other. That could go either of two ways. First, nobody would trust the other; everything would come down to either a confrontation or, slightly better, a formal and distant exchange of favors, where the best negotiator would have the upper hand. Second, and somewhat more likely in the mind of the Dragonborn, the two would build a distant connection based on their similar and uncommon characteristics. Had the meeting evolved that way, it might have been a breath of fresh air. Either way, the chances of the Dawnguard taking down the vampires seemed marginally higher than before. Someone with that kind of mentality would have come a long way in solving that matter. That is, if he found subordinates who could keep up with him. Azrael also was like that as a leader, but the people under his command weren't normal. They had chosen a life of isolation, and they were generally ready to do anything. More so with the Brotherhood than the Guild, but it wasn't overly different.

They passed by a clearing where an Orc clad in an armor similar to Celann's was busy showing to a small group of people something he held in his hands. The Orsimer wasn't very young. His voice was gruff and his tone very serious, like an old man's. Matted white hair covered his greenish head and his skin was wrinkled. The people surrounding him were mostly Nords, and they looked intently at the object the Orc held. They were all quite young, with a few exceptions. Azrael figured that the older and probably already skilled individuals were attending a different type of training. The clearing had several chopped trunks used as seats by the trainees and several archery targets near the steep stone face of the mountain, which delimited the back of the clearing.

'Celann,' Azrael called, 'what's the weapon your fellow's using?'

The man turned to the left and looked for a moment. 'A crossbow. It's a weapon used by the Dawnguard of old, which has fallen into disuse in the last eras. Mainly because of its inability to take down large amounts of enemies if not deployed in very large numbers. Have you ever seen one before?'

'I have. Every dwarven automaton has one mounted on its wrist. I've never been hit by one, but I studied the mechanism. I can imagine the damage it can cause.'

'It is particularly useful for taking down vampires. The fiends can appear at any moment, it's better to have your weapon already loaded. The damage in can cause is also quite heavy, as you said. It can take down anything before it gets close, and if a vampire gets close to you, you're dead. The most experienced among us can withstand a frontal attack, but a melee fight with one is always a tough situation to be in.'

You don't' say. Azrael gazed over at where the next turn of the path led them. The trail went back in the direction from which they had come from, but on the higher ground level. Several yards ahead was the gate of the Fort. A huge, wooden portal with steel reinforcements. The stone around was of a lighter color than the dark grey which dominated the chromatics of the castle. Two braziers on steel poles stood to light the place during nighttime. There were a lot of stoves and bonfires scattered around. Maybe they expect vampires to attack the Fort directly, sooner or later. With the leader they've got, it wouldn't surprise me if they're already prepared in case of attack. They had better be, because with what he had witnessed he knew that that day might come. And it might come a lot quicker than any common and uninformed person would expect. The vampires seemed scattered and undisciplined, but they probably had a complex power structure behind them.

Azrael took a deep breath. His previous inner harmony had now been replaced by his methodical and systematic mind structure, which calculated everything around him with surgical precision. The icy veil controlled his thoughts, reducing the perception of emotions and other feelings that needed a lot of brainpower to be deciphered. Instead, it drained them to receive mental energy and stored the sensations they caused to be analyzed later. He focused solely on the world around him, concentrating all his attention into the reading, understanding and domination of himself and the world around. By simply looking at Celann, he understood a lot more things than the man could think. He had long since concluded he was a Breton, and had also guessed he was probably a very energetic person when in control of the situation. There mere fact that he had rebelled against the Vigil and had chose a lonely life was proof enough. In case he needed to, Azrael could squeeze information out of him. He understood him. He knew his weaknesses.

There were two young men in a suit of armor similar to the one wore by the other novices waiting outside the door. They were probably standing guard, but they were quite relaxed. One was sitting on the stone stairs, the other leaned against the wall. Azrael saw Celann stiffening a little by his side and quickening his pace. Azrael, in turn, slowed down a little bit. It wasn't any of his business.

'You,' Celann said snappily. 'What are you doing here?'

The two immediately turned and looked at him. Their voices trembled a little. 'Isran told us to stay outside until he's finished with the Vigilant.'

Celann sighed. 'When Isran tells you to stay outside he wants you to do something. Go down to learn the crossbow basics with Durak or down to the yard to train with the axe. I don't want anyone walking about doing nothing.' He spoke firmly and hardly, but there was a note in his voice that showed his understanding of their behavior. His words were Isran's words and he was making sure they would be respected, but he didn't think along those lines. The Dragonborn had assumed, and now he knew, that despite his disagreement with his methods, Celann trusted his leader beyond measure. He would follow him in the jaws of Oblivion.

The two younglings nodded, sharing a glance. 'Yes, Celann.' They walked past him and glimpsed fleetingly at the Dragonborn, only to turn their gaze away as soon as they recognized him. They left, probably wondering what he was doing there.

'Celann,' Azrael called for the third time, 'tell me about that Vigilant Isran's talking to.'

The Breton had to suppress the emotions from the exchange with the two boys and reorganize his feelings. Again, it seemed words were being printed on his forehead as he thought them. 'Tolan?' he said, checking one of the braziers. It was filled with ashes, but there were still some coals in it. 'He's a member of the Vigil. A Nord. He's a fine warrior and a great companion, but he's irritating at times. He needs a place to stay, protection, and people to talk to. He always has to find somewhere to belong. I bet he came here seeking refuge, and will do anything to win Isran's trust back. Tolan was one of fiercer supporters of the Vigil's positions, and he often came to blows with him. Now, his world must be upside down.' He walked towards the portal, clearly with the intention to open it.

'Leave it,' Azrael said. The man turned towards him with a confused gaze, his hand still leaning on the wooden portal. 'I'll go in alone.'

He nodded. 'As you wish, Dragonborn. Isran's right inside, probably still in the main hall. You can't miss him. Good luck.'

The Dragonborn walked up the short stairway leading to the gate. The steps were ruined and eroded, cracked by the water that every winter seeped in and then congealed. Judging by the condition of the stone, the wood should have been completely decomposed. And yet, that gate was standing there. Azrael looked at the grains in the tattered wood, and realized the lumber that made the gate hadn't been cut much earlier than three or four months. That meant that the rumors saying the first members had traveled there in the winter's first days were correct. The hinges of the portal squeaked, but there was no rust on those. They had been put there recently too. An incredible amount of work had been done during cold season.

Azrael was growing curious. He rarely, if ever, grew curious of people as of late, but this Isran surely looked like a gritty individual. He knew how to get things done and knew how to convince people into helping him. If someone like that Vigilant, who had been battling him since forever, was willing to shelter under his wing, it meant he inspired a significant sense of protection. The fact alone that so many people were there, ready to fight an enemy stronger than they could ever become, was proof enough of his great conviction and possibly rhetoric ability. He had managed to make the vampire menace common knowledge, thus facilitating the achievement of his goal. Some people would say it was obvious, since his goal was a noble one, but Azrael didn't side with those people. If that man hadn't cared about the vampire problem, he wouldn't have done anything. His desire was winning his war. That came first. Saving Skyrim was right after. The order couldn't be reversed.

The door opened just enough for the Dragonborn to walk through. He moved his first steps inside, turning just to push one of the gate's wings. Celann pulled the other one shut. A brief gust of fresh air had entered, but it wasn't enough to neutralize the nasty stench of humid, so typical of a dark, airless place like that one. Azrael had walked into a small rectangular corridor that worked as an antechamber of sorts. The stone was less damaged than of the outside on the Fort, obviously, but was still covered in wet moss and a weave of spider webs. It was hardly illumined at all, in fact the only light coming in was the weak one coming from the next hall. A tight space, easy to defend, observed the Dragonborn. They really valued security here. This is the only part that could easily crumble. Not only is it an endless walk to get here, it's also easy to block from the main hall. The strategies and means of the Dawnguard seemed never-ending. Any foe would be a fool to underestimate them.

The first thing Azrael heard as he entered was a voice. A hoarse, nasal bass. 'Why are you here, Tolan? The Vigilants and I were finished with each other a long time ago.'

The Dovahkiin approached the main hall silently, staying out of the light. It was almost instinctive. The room was circular, large and with a very high ceiling. There were two balconies on the higher levels, overlooking the center. Small stone brinks fitted together created an even floor, which had two semicircular grates near the middle. Banners depicting the rising sun on a black field hung on both sides of every one of the four doors that opened on the hall. Despite its magnificent structure, its sight was rendered less heroic by the amount of barrels, crates, splinters and nails scattered all around the place.

By the time Azrael had finished looking around, another person had spoken. 'You know why I'm here.' The voice of this new person was slightly gruff. 'The Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.' The person talking was standing right in the middle or the room. Azrael looked at his robes for a moment. He knew he was a Vigilant. Celann had said as much. The mage tunic he wore covered him all the way to his feet. Plated vambraces and boots protected his arms and legs and a steel warhammer hung on his back. He kept the hood lowered, showing the bald head with a just a few, thin red hair growing. Nothing overly interesting about him.

On the other hand, the person Tolan was talking too seemed much more intriguing. A Redguard, his skin darker than any other one Azrael had ever seen. He was clad in an ever heavier version of the armor Celann wore, with two large pauldrons and heavy grieves. It wasn't surprising he was the only one donning such a suit; few other people would be able to keep something that heavy on them for long. A black cloak fell down his back, attached to two studs on the shoulders. He brought along a warhammer too. He might despise the Vigilants, but he didn't renounce their legacy. His face was the most intriguing part about him. He was serious, a grimace of annoyance barely making its way to his lips. The clean bald head and coal-black beard gave him a seasoned and severe look. Azrael remembered the sound of his voice. He could couple the sound with the look without any difficulty.

Isran spoke again. 'And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it?' Azrael could almost feel the Redguard's emotions and thoughts echoing within him. He had felt them so many times himself. 'I remember Carcette telling me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the expense and manpower to repair. I insisted, and it was you who defended her. You called me a radical, a madman. And now that you've stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection?'

'Isran…' Tolan whispered, 'Carcette is dead. The Hall of Vigilants, everyone… they're all dead. You were right, we were wrong.' His voice might have sound desperate, but it could have just been his tone that made it so. Maybe it was an attempt to instill some compassion in the stonehearted Redguard. 'Isn't that enough for you?'

'Yes, well… I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you,' Isran said, seemingly backing off, but then regained his usual composure. 'I am… Sorry, you know,' he concluded, withdrawing back to an ironic and hostile tone.

Azrael had already spotted him glancing in his direction. He had approached the two quietly, without speaking or making his breath hearable. He didn't want to disrupt the actions. His presence would have altered the equilibrium too much. Tolan, in his passionate attempt to earn the Dawnguard's protection, hadn't heard him at all. He spotted him only upon seeing Isran turn. The Dragonborn caught a sparkle of fear in his eyes, but decided to ignore him for now. He focused on Isran.

'Hmm…' grunted the Redguard, 'the Godslayer, are you?'

'In the flesh.' Despite the thick dunmeri accent lingering in his intonation, the Dragonborn's voice sounded somewhat like Isran's.

Despite the initial confidence he had showed, Azrael noticed the Redguard moving his mouth unclearly without saying anything. He wasn't scared, which was already a positive start, but nonetheless confused. Azrael knew that feeling. Act rashly and continue on a presumption or stop and admit your ignorance on the matter. He didn't think Isran valued knowledge as much as he did, so the choice might have been harder for him. Azrael always chose to inquire. If confidence was required, he preferred to show it through smart and difficult questions, which gave him information and caged other people in the unbreakable prison of their own words. The Redguard didn't seem to usually follow the same plan, but this time he had to.

'Well…' he said, buying himself some more time. 'I didn't expect the Dragonborn of legend to step inside here, of all people.' The whole phrase, and specifically the mention of Dragonborn of legend was very subtly ironic. Maybe Isran had too understood he was speaking to someone made of his same cloth. 'Judging by what I've heard, your presence here means a lot. You're not exactly famous for coming to another's help of your own will. I wonder though, what could have brought you here?'

'I seek information.'

'As I expected.' The Redguard sighed, but he didn't seem angry or irritated. 'It would have been too much to hope that you were here to join us. Still, I don't think you expect something for nothing. I hope what you'll learn here will aid you in killing some vampires for us. So we both gain. We too have a fire within ourselves to kill the fiends, but as you can see we're not ready yet. We've just only started rebuilding the order. It will take time. But tell me, why have you come here?'

To them, and probably only to them, it wasn't a repetition. 'I've run into one of your foes, two weeks ago,' Azrael said. 'He was strong. He nearly killed me. He was a lone hunter, but I suspect there are more out there. Their activity does seem to be increasing.'

'At least you're not blind. I don't suppose you'd want to help us under my conditions, so say exactly what you need to and maybe we can do something about it. It will help us either way.'

The Dragonborn was unexpectedly content with his encounter. Someone able to use his head and had a realistic way of seeing what lied around him. Isran didn't waste his time trying to convince him into joining or doing things for him. He knew it wouldn't work. What he maybe knew was that leaving Azrael the freedom to act might produce better results than giving him orders. Maybe he too was like this. A leader, an effective one, but also someone able to use the their resolve and decisiveness to make quick decisions and conduct solo missions like no one else can. Azrael was like this. He didn't mind doing something for others, as long as he wasn't being controlled.

'I think,' he said, 'the vampires have a plan. If not, at least an objective. I was wondering if you had managed to gather something about this.'

'Sadly, no,' the Redguard said, shaking his head negatively. 'It would interest me as much as it would interest you. I think they have an objective too. Some of their attacks seem organized. A satire of coordination, but still. I share your fear. There's someone behind these vampires, and that someone is plotting his evil, terrible plans in the shadow while we're here speculating.'

'Whoever he or she may be, I might have read through part of his scheme. All the intense vampire activity has taken place in the southern part of the Pale. At least, the one supposedly out of the ordinary.'

'Including the Hall of the Vigilant…' Isran said, as if thinking aloud. He pinched his eyebrows and kept that stern expression for a few moments. He stroke his beard, murmuring. 'Yes, it does make sense. I guess news arrives to you faster than it does to us.' He finished that sentence, and then a spark ignited his black irises for a moment. He gave the Dragonborn a short and conspiratorial glance and then turned to the Vigilant, who had been standing there mute for the whole time. 'Tolan,' he said, 'tell him about, what was it, Dimhollow?'

The Nord gave him back a startled gaze. 'Isran…' he muttered, 'do you really trust this disbeliever and skeptic with this amount of knowledge? Are you insane?'

The Redguard stiffened imperceptivity, but Azrael didn't react. The Vigilant's words were harsh, but he had heard them so many times he had grown accustomed. There's nothing like assuming an insult as a neutral label. His indifference seemed to anger the Nord, but Isran was faster to react. 'Tolan, what you've said is ungrateful and reckless at the same time.'

'It wasn't!' the Vigilant hissed, moving by one step in Azrael's direction and pointing a finger towards his concealed face. 'How can you trust this monster, Isran? All Dark Elves are Daedra worshippers, and that's bad enough, but not him. A heartless murderer, that's who you're dealing with. Dragonborn he may be, but he's a parody of all that is sacred!'

'He might be, but he's not the villain in this tale.' Isran trod forward himself and stood between the Vigilant and the Dovahkiin, letting his words sink in. 'The Dragonborn is here seeking our help and granting us aid. Right now there's a greater evil that needs to be banished. We can't afford to fight one another. Besides, what has he done? Dealt with the Daedra? There are people that would use their power to shred the world, while he only uses it for his own safety. Killed people, maybe innocents? We might be forced to do that as well, one day. For this once, Tolan, put your judgment aside. Your hatred fuels you, and that's good, but don't let it out against the ones who mean good. It's a different way from the one the Vigil has taught us, I can relate, but try to understand.'

Azrael listened, and his admiration for the Redguard grew with every passing second. In the previous conversation, he had proved his confidence and competence. Now he was proving his great powers of persuasion. The two things he had predicted he would possess. Tolan was still reticent however, despite everything Isran had told him. The Dragonborn wondered if he had even listened to his words, which were the wisest he had heard in a long time. Too long. But they hadn't been enough, apparently.

'I don't care how desperate the situation is,' replied the Vigilant. 'I'll not deal with him and I won't give him—'

'Silence.' Azrael waited for the sound of his words to stop echoing in the hall. 'Nothing will come of your resistance. Your friend,' he said giving a nod towards Isran, 'knows that. If I wanted to do anything to you, he wouldn't stop me. He wouldn't risk it. You'd better start talking, or I'll strangle you with the sinews of your limbs.'

Tolan stepped right back and a little bit to the side, hiding behind Isran's figure. Azrael looked at his trembling hands, shaking like branches in the autumn winds. He was mortally afraid. The only thing setting him apart from a true fanatic was that he feared death, something that the Dragonborn was able to exploit quite effectively. The Redguard slowly moved back to his previous position, now that his mediation wasn't needed anymore. The Vigilant raised his anxious eyes towards the Dragonborn. 'Yes,' he mumbled, submissively, 'it is true, what Isran said. Dimhollow crypt. A cave located in the southern region of the Pale. Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran. He was at the Hall when it was attacked…'

Isran nodded coolly, his way of expressing appreciation. Azrael, however, was a bit lost in his own reasoning. His idea of the Hall being a punitive expedition, already confirmed by the reanimated vampire, had been practically verified by what Tolan had just said. There was someone investigating in strange vampire activity. Months, maybe weeks later, the Hall was attacked and destroyed. This is far away from being a coincidence. There something big on the line here, Azrael said to himself. And I'm about to find out. This lead seems promising.

'Is this enough for you, Dragonborn?' Isran asked, brining him back to reality. 'With any luck, the fiends might still be there.'

'I… I would like to say something,' the Vigilant stammered. 'Isran, this killer goes to Dimhollow only if I can accompany him.'

'Tolan, I don't think that's a good idea,' the Redguard warned him, giving him a doubting and serious glance. 'You Vigilants were never trained for—'

'I know what you think of us!' he screamed in his face. 'You think we're soft, that we're cowards. You think our deaths proved our weakness! Stendarr grant that you do not have to face the same test and be found wanting. I'm going to Dimhollow Crypt. Perhaps I can be of some small assistance to you in keeping this maverick under control.'

A mocking half-smile played out on Isran's lips for a moment. 'You should ask the Dragonborn about it. I have no authority over the company he brings along in his journey. If he agrees, good. If he doesn't you're free to go.' Foreseeing the Vigilant reluctance to ask a question directly to the Dovahkiin, the Redguard acted as the moderator once again. 'Godslayer, whatever you want. Can Tolan come with you?'

Azrael shrugged. 'As long as he doesn't get in my way. Once I'm done, I'll send him back with anything I have learned. My return here is not guaranteed.'

Isran turned towards the Nord. 'Tolan?'

'Fine by me,' he said. 'I'll just keep an eye on him.'

Azrael refrained from sighing. He exchanged a meaningful glance with the Redguard, who seemed to share his same fear. This fool is overzealous. Sooner or later, he'll do something remarkably stupid. The best way to prevent any damage was to keep an eye on him just as he planned to do with me. Nevertheless, Azrael saw the Vigilant's doom hanging above his balding head. I'll have to kill him before the end of this journey. No matter.

A/N: I feel like there aren't that many people cut from Azrael's cloth, but Isran might just be one of them. He's the character on which I focused on the most here; I spent quite some time revising his reactions and responses, for a number of reasons. There's very few one liners I've enjoyed writing more than "The Godslayer, are you?".

Also, fun fact, the Thieves Guild's section of the chapter was originally the beginning of a once-shot idea that was scraped. It revolved around Delvin and Vex, but it never came off satisfying. Here, with some tweaks, it puts some emphasis on the extremely large scale of the vampire problem and gave me an opportunity to investigate Azrael a bit more.

Of course, thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, wrote me and read and whatever. I'm glad you're liking this.

See you in the next chapter.