Day Keeper, Night Reaper

by Metatron Alastor

Eons pass, and Serana still sleeps. She feels only cold, hears only silence and sees nothing but darkness. On the surface, her kin are starting to get restless. The Vampire menace isn't a tale. Fear spreads like a ghastly blight, carried on the dark wings of mortal feebleness. The Godsplitter rides once more into the unknown, knowing a sole thing: The Winds of Change are blowing.

9. Chapter VIII: Times Have Changed

Chapter VII: Times Have Changed

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A soft, undefined whisper brought her to her senses. The haze in front of her glimmered before disappearing, pierced by bright rays. The light of the rising Sun struck a small sliver of her face, heating it up and causing painful vibes to irradiate. As soon as she was capable, she turned her head away, covering it from direct light. The black hood lowered on her forehead protected her against the contact with the skin, but she still felt her life lymph boil in her veins and burn her undead flesh. She remembered those times when she'd been exposed for so much time that the heat inside her seemed to be ripping her from within. It wasn't pleasant, she thought, making a definite understatement. She had felt miserable.

'Serana,' she heard someone call her again. Now that she'd heard it again, she realized that all the other whispers had been her name, too. They had been her name.

She raised her head ahead, avoiding the auburn light. 'Yes?' she asked, her eyes slowly starting to pinpoint with more precision the outlines of Azrael's dark armor. A little later, she became aware of the bumping of the mare underneath her. It took her a couple moments before she realized something concerning the frequency of the bouncing. We're cantering, not galloping. She shook her head, now that there seemed to be something important. She reminded herself that Azrael had called her at least three times and had patiently awaited her to awake on her own, so it couldn't have been something dangerous. 'Is something going on?'

'No, but there's something you should know.' He pulled Shadowmere's hair gently, and the creature slowed down to walking speed. Azrael always left a little silence in between his premises and the real conversation. 'We're stopping in Dragon Bridge. It's daybreak now, and I'll be handling personal matters with a contact of mine until Noon. Maybe later. My idea was to start riding again as soon as I'm done and keep riding in the night. Is that fine for you?'

'It's completely fine,' she said, giving him a strange gaze. He had turned backwards a little, but not nearly enough to see her or her eyes. 'Why did you even ask?'

'Because it makes no difference to me,' he said, ending a note that intuitively left her waiting for him to continue speaking. Serana had picked that up on their third day of travel. He ended all his phrases on a downward inflection in his voice, and if that wasn't there or wasn't very marked it meant he had more to say. She hadn't seen him talking to any other person other than her, not counting the three vampires he'd shortly after slew and burnt to a crisp, but as far as she was concerned he never said things like 'There's something else'; sometimes a quick 'One more thing', just to link two sentences together. His voice said everything, and this time there was something more. 'Do you need to feed while we're in town?'

Asking questions that came out of the blue was a specialty of his. If not for the impossibly complex logical links he made, it was because there was nothing off limits. If he stonewalled against a limit, he usually broke it with some deadpan humor. 'Well…' she said, 'no, I don't, really. Pureblood vampires can hold off their thirst for longer than others.' That was the diplomatic answer, but she had learned to voice her confusion when it came up. If she didn't, he'd often ask what was up with her. 'Doesn't…' she began looking for the right words. 'Doesn't my bloodlust disturb you in any way?'

Immediately after having asked her about the riding on in the night, he had turned his head away, but now he brought it slightly in her direction again. 'No,' he said after a moment. She couldn't say if he had had to think about it or if that silence had meant nothing significant. 'Living women,' he said, turning his head away again, 'lose blood every month or so and you ingest some every week or so. It is simply the way it is.'

'It's not just the female vampires who—'

'I'm not an idiot,' he cut her off, firmly but not aggressively. 'But I was thinking of you when I said it.' His voice was sonorous enough to overpower hers in any circumstance. She had tried to intervene before, and she'd barely heard her own voice over his. On that term, it was an uneven fight. And yet again, she was under the impression he hadn't said everything. 'One last unpleasant thing you should know. If my calculations are correct, which I presume they are, over four thousand and a hundred years have passed since you were sealed away.'

She had seen that coming and had doubted it would have been reassuring, but like this? No, she had never imagined this. It's only a quantity, she said to herself, trying to reduce the weight and find the meaninglessness of that amount. It's only a quantity. But as always, her thoughts worked against her better than they worked for her advantage. It maybe very well be a quantity, but you know how large it is. It's over fifty times the life you've lived, and that already felt long. Obstinately, she fought fire with fire. But fifty's only a number, too. Ignorance was her shield of choice, she barred behind the hope that she didn't know what that much time could feel like. Besides, I have been away all that time. Had I lived it all, that would be a different thing. That was another defense, one that seemed to work a lot better than the previous one. It only felt logical that, if she hadn't lived it, it was as if it had never actually happened. Another barrier. Another angle to prove that ignorance was her only defense. It's as if nothing ever happened. She took a deep breath, but the life the burned man's blood had give her had completely flowed away from her. The chilly air floated in her lungs and then gently went out of her mouth pure and unused. The sensation didn't give her any comfort.

'I can almost hear your thoughts,' Azrael said, pulling Shadowmere's hair to the right and guiding her off the road. The mare obliged and moved off the road, on the grass bordering it. 'Muse over that number however long you like, but remember that as much as times have changed, the people haven't.'

It was undeniably eerie how that simple thing was able to comfort her more than anything she might have thought or made up to hide her fear and sense of not belonging. The people haven't, she repeated in her head. Of course they hadn't. The court's alchemist always said as much. He was already old when he was offered to become a vampire, and to his credit he'd been the only member of the court who had refused it. Serana remembered asking him that precise question, although in entirely different tones and with entirely different perspectives. Won't the world change around us? The man had raised his gaze to meet hers and had smiled gloomily. As far as I'm concerned, people never change. Some make up principles as they grow old, while others, very few, get shrewder. They don't change. They never do. That simple memory hadn't emerged because, as always, her mind worked better against her than in her favor. Furthermore, the further she thought about the alchemist the more she realized he resembled Azrael in many ways. They were very different people, but they had some things in common. I should tell him about that, one day. For the time being, she was calmer and content with that.

Shadowmere paced in the grass, heading father and farther away from the road, keeping her head up and casting flaring glances at her surroundings. Azrael, probably knowing that she was on watch, was looking straight into the distance. Serana could see his hands disappear behind his frame, and she guessed they were grasping the steed's hair. She had noticed that he alternated between various demeanors, that despite seeming very different were each part of a whole. Most of the times he was a mixture of the three, of the first two more precisely, but at times one became more clearly noticeable. There were moments when he was fully present and fully awake, and those were the moments when he was most terrifying. One could almost feel his connection with the present moment, she certainly could, and that contact gave him an amount of inner strength that seeped from his frame like fire. His presence because imposing and commanding, and very different things happened in relation to what was occurring around him. She remembered the first moments with him, when that overpowering force had choked and caged her, and it felt like a cold impenetrable irradiated from him. During the journey, however, he had been like that again and the strength he had was molded in a protective and soothing vigor. That was the first. Then, there were other moments when he seemed to cool down and drop every immediate contact with the present. He could snap tersely right back if anything happened, that she didn't doubt, but he appeared distant and focused nonetheless. If she had to guess, those were the moments when he channeled all of his immense mental energy on the creation of one of his fiendishly complex and intricate plans and thoughts. In those moments, an intense energy sizzled around him and screamed to leave him alone to his investigation and his analyses. Lastly, there were moments like the one they were in. Even though incredibly rare, as far as she could tell in the almost five days she'd been with him, they were the ones that intrigued her the most. Whereas normally he kept an impenetrable aegis around him, there were lapses of time when he alleviated his defenses and became absent and indifferent, his usual coldness turning into an unresponsive and apathetic temperament. Are you all right? she had once asked, doubting if he was feeling well. She'd even thought about the vampiric infection having taken hold and the Sanguinare Vampiris already spreading in his body, or something along those lines, but he had simply shaken his head in an extremely sluggish manner. Daydreaming, he'd said, without even structuring a sentence. She couldn't imagine him daydreaming, but what reasons did he have to lie? Many, she told herself, but she still thought he was being sincere.

She had just seen it again, but it lasted even less than the last. 'Get down,' he said, turning towards her and giving a last pull on Shadowmere's hair, making her stop. By the time she had finished recalling, he was back to his usual self. The mixed one, without any trait clearly having the better of the three.

As soon as she understood the situation, she furrowed her eyebrows. 'Why are we getting off here?' Bending her right leg and bringing it to the left, she leaned on her hands and jumped down the saddle. As she touched the ground she turned right back in his direction and removed the locks of black hair from her face. 'You said we would stop in Dragon Bridge.'

Azrael was brushing his gauntlet with two fingers of the opposite hand, but she couldn't guess what he was doing or looking at. 'We are at Dragon Bridge. The first windmill is just behind that turn,' he said, casting a glance at the road, which continued onward hidden from their view. 'We'll walk the remaining distance. Shadowmere can't be seen in my company. Don't worry about the Scroll. It remains with her and she wont' be noticed.'

'Has no one beside you ever seen her?' It was possible, but nonetheless quite difficult to pull off. 'Not even once?'

'Someone did,' he answered, putting his hands on the saddle, jumping down and landing on the ground. 'Not common people though. The members of the organizations I work with have, several times over.'

'But we've met someone on the road,' she argued, keeping her tone tranquil but dropping every courteous note she felt complied to put in it. 'Isn't it possible that they'll talk about what they saw and spread rumors?'

'There are rumors beyond counting.' He opened the two bigger saddlebags and took out a letter and a sealed scroll, which he fastened to his belt. The seal bore and impression resembling the print of a bloodied hand's print. 'However,' he continued, 'I don't understand what is there you're not understanding. It should have functioned the same way in your father's court. The best way to keep people silent is to make sure they all know but without letting them know others know.' He left her a short moment to wrap her head around it. She needed it, and he knew. She found that attitude a little condescending on his part, but she couldn't deny the need of that little interval to think things through. Normally, she'd wait until the end of the conversation before processing all the information, but the conversations with him weren't much about predetermined subjects and templates to follow, but more instant reasoning and quick flow from topic to topic, something she didn't have too much practice with. Meanwhile, he had closed the saddlebag and knotted the ties firmly. 'I should think nothing of that reasoning was unknown to you. If you really want to hear the rumors, go to the inn and ask anyone to sing the Hymn of the Dire Rider.'

She gave him a sideways glance. She feared the implication of that sentence. 'Well, if you had the time it would be great.'

'I won't have the time,' he answered, turning towards her and giving her a downward look, which could be felt even without being seen. She clenched her teeth a little. That answer hadn't been direct, but then again she hadn't asked directly. But it was coming. He had his ways with her, both to understand and to convince her. 'While I handle my dealings, you explore the town. Don't,' he said firmly and coldly, probably seeing the marks of anxiety tensing her face. He turned in the town's direction and paced towards the road. 'Follow me,' he said, 'We meet my contact together, then you're free to go.'

She lowered her head a little and made two quick steps to catch up to him. It seemed she had to improvise, which she didn't like. If he had at least given her suggestions or instructions, she would have known what to do. I've never been one that strikes out on my own, have I? she realized, noticing the reaction and managing to understand what its point was. She preferred to follow instructions. Or, rather, to be given instructions. Because then I can choose to follow them or defy them. Without instruction, there's no choice. She was honestly surprised of the introspective streak that had caught up to her in the last few days. She couldn't trace it anywhere specific, but it could have been the vas amount of time she had at her disposal during the days of travel. There was little else to think about rather than how she felt. She wondered, however, if Azrael's remarks about her and the brief discussion they've had had made her thoughts more in tune with his. It seemed a very strange idea, but even common sense could tell that if you spent five days alone with someone you'd change slightly in according to what that someone said or did. Especially if he was the first person seen in four thousand years.

While thinking of that, she suddenly caught up with the fact that she was about to see an enormous amount of people in possibly the next few minutes. It was alleviating to think that probably none of those was like Azrael, but still. She felt exited and frightened at the same time. She knew she'd be alright, but the thought still lingered in her head. Once there, everything would have felt normal, but the anticipation she was putting into it was scaring her. She did miss conversation, and there was one thing in particular that kept her on spikes of curiosity and excitement, which was the fact that no one there knew her. No one. She could say whatever she wanted and smile however much she liked and no one would have had a problem with it. She'd probably had to fend off some curious people and enthusiastic admirers, but that wasn't a problem at all. Speaking without saying anything, getting others to say things they'd never agree to say and avoid dangerous discussions were the three basic skills she had needed to survive at court all her life. Everything that might have happened was going to be exceedingly easier.

In an attempt to keep her preoccupations at bay, she thought about what she remembered of Dragon Bridge. A small town in her time, consisting of just the iconic bridge and a few buildings that served the occasional travelers. She did remember being there once, at a young age, when her father was traveling and had taken his family with him to show his daughter something of the world outside of the castle. The days when he was still able to smile, she remembered, a sting of painful sorrow striking her heart. They hadn't stopped, but she remembered looking at the few houses and musing how life was there, without stone walls to defend you, without guards and without the halls. Father smiled, she recalled. He didn't answer. Did he not know? Or did he want to keep me in the dark? Nevertheless, there was little more than those few, poor structures at the time. There was some eagerness in her to see what had changed and what hadn't, but a lot of that was buried under her fear of what indeed changed. Or the fear that painful things she wanted to have changed hadn't. She rolled her eyes, Azrael couldn't see her anyway. Just enjoy it for what it is, she told herself.

She quickened her steps again to stay close to him. He was walking very fast. She observed his pacing, but it wasn't overly quick. The length of his steps was the strange thing, or the normal thing considering how much he had to move around. If he couldn't bring Shadowmere near cities, he had to be a resilient hiker. She gazed over at him, and distracted herself in being reminded how strangely amusing it was to look higher than her to meet his eyes' hypothetical position. The only person at court she had to look upwards to meet gazes was Vingalmo, one of those people she was hoping were dead. The Altmer, if his race hadn't too transformed into something else becoming shorter in the process, was taller than her and was probably taller than Azrael too. She instantly regretted thinking about him. The Elf was important to the court, to be sure, but he was an opportunist like she had never seen before. How many copies of his Treatise on the Altmer Antecedent did he bring to court? Forty? Fifty? She didn't remember, but she remembered the rage she felt and the burning glares other people fired at him. She almost wanted to see Azrael have the pleasure to meet him. Her father had kept him at bay, for all he could, almost involuntarily. That Elf looked for alternative ways to do things, and his words meant very little. Harkon would lose his temper and scream, roar and bare his fangs in bursts of anger that were effective as much as they were frightening. Her father wasn't a good man, a smart man nor a wise man, but he knew how to keep his subjects in check and not be run all over by them.

Why am I even thinking about this? she asked, becoming aware of the immense tension that was blocking her shoulders and forcing her to lower her head. She looked around, but mainly to the West to avoid the sun. Thankfully, the West had the more interesting landscape. She knew that the other side was a mountainside covered by woods. The West, on the contrary, overlooked the vast canyon of the Karth river before it forked and then flowed into its delta, forming the marshes that surrounded Morthal. The gorge was covered by grass wherever it found somewhere to grow, but the rocks were emerging from the sides of the ravine. She remembered it, and the canyon wasn't so deep. It had shaped the dirt and the rock significantly in all those years.

Straight ahead of her, instead, the road took a turn and now she could see the first buildings. The windmill Azrael had talked about was just over the mound of stone and dirt that forced the road to curve. She could see the blades moving in the weak wind coming from the valley. The first constructions to come into her view were houses, more solid than what she remembered. In her days, those buildings would only be seen inside some thick city walls. The first two in particular were built with strong planks of umber brown wood and covered with seam roofs and were isolated from the next of the buildings appearing beyond. The houses of the windmill's proprietor and his family, she guessed, not without difficulty. It always seemed strange to her that many people first built their workplace and then built their residence around that place. Thinking of where she grew up, that logic didn't seem familiar. Not until the alchemist had explained her why Castle Volkihar had been built exactly where it was. It's a place in the middle of the sea with large banks and no high shores. This was a port, princess, she remembered him saying, and something linked in her mind. Something else that linked Azrael with the alchemist. They both called her "princess", and for different reasons they both put a very slight ironic tone in that word.

She was still lost in thought when Azrael slowed to a halt and put a hand to his side to make sure she didn't surpass him. She stopped mid-pace and stepped back to avoid beating her head against his forearm, looking up and following his gaze. 'Is something wrong?' He was looking in between the windmill and the building right next to it, which had a low, wooden roof. The windmill itself faced the valley and its blades still rotated slowly, making a strange howling sound that coupled with the noise of the millstone on the ground. The lower parts of the tall structure were made of stone bricks, while the upper one was wooden. Its shadow was cast directly onto the low building below, and the tight space separating the two was very dark.

Not too dark for her though, and neither for Azrael it appeared. She could clearly make out the silhouette of a humanoid creature looking at them, and he too had lowered his arm and had turned fully in that direction. He stepped forward, towards the figure, which in turn moved on the edge of the wall where the shadows still hid her. Serana saw her bend forward in what seemed like an informal bow. 'Greetings, Listener,' the figure said, in a soft and respectful voice. A silky contralto.

Serana looked better at the woman. It was a human, and presumably a Nord. She was lean though, and it was easy to guess if spite of the leather armor she wore and the scarf and shawl pinned to the chestpiece, which covered her throat and head and fell down her right shoulder. The studded leather leggings and boots were light, reinforced with heavier protection on the spots more likely to get hit. The cuirass had steel reinforcements, but the general design was similar. The gloves were half-fingered, with a thicker cover on the whole vambrace. The leather used was both black and dark red, black for the camouflage and red because of the heraldry the craftsman had in mind when designing and creating the suit. At first glance, it seemed designed not so much for combat as for being work for long periods of time. There was sufficient protection, true, and the combatant inside could have used if effectively if agile enough, but for any kind of fight that looked a bit too light. She was no expert, but she knew something. This woman doesn't fight fairly with her opponents, I'd say, she thought, seizing her up with a glance. Thanks to her empowered vision in the dark, she could make out her features, including the light green of her eyes and the auburn lock of hair coming out of her hood and disappearing in the folds of the scarf.

'Laegiine,' Azrael greeted her back. By name, unless that was a title in a strange language or something else she had too little imagination to think of.

The woman had greeted him in a tone that was, albeit very courteous, too familiar and too tranquil to make that meeting fall into a chance encounter. They know each other and they know each other quite well, she said to herself, never taking her eyes away from the woman, Laegiine, for too long. Azrael's tone had, in turn, been somewhat softer than his usual one. That not only meant he knew her, but had some degree of regard for her. The reason was unknown, but if he looked very much like a rogue, then she did even more so. A longbow was strapped to her back and the grey fletching of a dozen or so arrows were visible in between the shawl's folds. From her belt hung down a sharp and extremely thin black dagger, which wasn't so much for fighting as for cutting throats and piercing armors, if thrust precisely. She brought along no other weapons she could see, but killers of her kind usually had something more hidden away from view. A dagger in the boot was normal, but sometimes they found more creative ways. An assassin for hire she had sometimes seen around the court, a woman, always presented herself with a gorgeous hairstyle, but only very few knew that the only purpose of that was to hide a small stiletto inside her hair. The more she looked at Azrael's partner, the more she suspected she might have been one of such people.

Laegiine's eyes shifted on Serana, and the two women held each other's gaze for a long moment. Serana, in any other occasion, was sure she'd have won that subtle fight, but not while feeling so isolated and lost. Her vampiric powers barely made her presence known. She felt a familiar bristling in her eyes, but it wasn't powerful enough to make a significant effect. If anything, if gave her the necessary flare to hold the woman's gaze without hesitation. Besides, despite her need to defend herself, Laegiine's eyes weren't aggressive. Merely curious. Probably understanding that she wouldn't have gotten anything out of her, she turned again to Azrael. Listener, she called him. I wonder what that means.

'Who's her? A new recruit?' she asked, rather directly.

'Nothing that should concern you right now,' Azrael answered, equally if not more directly. Those two, in their time together, certainly didn't mince words. He turned slightly behind towards Serana. 'You're free to go now,' he said.

That was it. He spoke truly before. He was dismissing her, nothing more. 'That's it?' she asked, slightly crossed. He had warned her and she was prepared, but she didn't really want to believe it. 'You won't help me?'

Azrael stopped his head from turning fully towards Laegiine and reverted the movement, rotating and hinging on one foot to fully face her. The cloak flatted on his left and the hood shook momentarily. The black void hiding his face was pointed directly at her eyes and all his imposing stature towered over her, until she felt the need to step back. 'I won't pretend to be your knight in shining armor,' he said, his voice harder and deeper than usual. 'Despite the saying, your wish is not my command and neither is your feminine whim.'

Had there been any saliva in her mouth, she would have swallowed every last drop of it. All she could do was lower her gaze, something the woman couldn't make her do. He knew. It wasn't him, it was her. He knew that she wasn't comfortable, but knew better than her that there was no reason to require assistance. I can do everything on my own, I'd probably do more than what I could do in his company, she admitted unwillingly. The remarkable thing was that he had said nothing of that to hurt her. He understood me, even guessed my struggles. If only he didn't lay them out that way… It was just the truth, what he had said, but it was his way of framing it that made it sound every bit as hard as it really was. It was a good thing, under a certain light, but then again, he seemed to treat others as if he was speaking to himself. He was strong, nobody could deny that, but others weren't. Not as much as him. If said to him, he could endure every one of the statements he had made about others, but those people couldn't. And, while her mind was on its tangent retracing those things and thoughts, her still heart was sinking deeper and deeper into her ribcage. From somewhere deep within, she found the strength to block her head going down and then raise her gaze again. It was pointless to fight him, but maybe he could understand.

And strangely, it seemed so. The silence immediately felt less heavy, and it was soon broken by his shallow sigh. 'You have till Noon,' he said, unemotionally but less hard. 'The Sun is getting hotter with the advancing season, so I'd suggest you do everything you want to do outdoors in the next hour. Find a place indoors next, safe from the light. If I were you, I'd go to the new bookshop and try to learn something. I'd advise you not to get me into any trouble, but you're an adult, euphemistically speaking,' he said, lowering his voice enough to render the jest obvious, 'and you're smart enough to handle yourself. More importantly, to handle people. You're good at that, so make that count.'

'You've been handling him,' Laegiine said from behind him, resting against the building's corner, 'I can't think of a better training.'

'Hilarious.'

Much to Serana's surprise, the woman laughed silkily, lowering her head and suffocating the sound in the shawl. There was no one around near them, but there were people walking about further onward on the road. Their humming of the crowd reached the three of them, and Laegiine was probably worried her laughter would reach the lot of them. Has anyone in this city even seen her? Is she supposed not to be seen by anyone?

'Regardless,' Azrael continued, 'you're off. When I'm done, I'll find you.' She didn't doubt that. He would find her, anywhere she went.

He turned around with a shrug meant to adjust the cloak and cast a short glance at the woman, who nodded silently, unfolded her arms and made way through the two buildings. He followed her, lowering his head and bending his back to make sure the black bow didn't hit the bulging part of the roof. Serana looked as both of them turned behind the corner and disappeared behind the stone chunks that made up the windmill. She could hear Laegiine's silky contralto murmuring something indistinct. Clearly something she doesn't want me to hear, she thought. There was a low rustling, and then the vibrant note of Azrael's voice. Who is she? What are they talking about? The rationale she was using was curiosity, but deep inside something murmured that she had to discover what her savior was up to. Her own strange kind of obsession was taking hold. What if she's here to capture me and he's briefing her on how to do it? Maybe she's an expert on vampires who knows how to torture one. What if…

She looked in between the two buildings, in the tight, shadowed space where they had both disappeared. No light brightened up that passage not, nor in any time of the day probably. The soil was completely bare, without even a grass blade growing. It was so simple, merely a matter of following them and hiding somewhere they weren't looking and wouldn't have probably looked. Her hearing was better than any mortal's and she could have picked up anything they said from a distance that they wouldn't have thought possible. The only problem was getting rid of the physical obstacle, the windmill in her case, standing between the source of the sound and herself. All it took was a little caution; she was as silent as ever, and her vampiric powers helped her. At any point, if required, they could have made her disappear from view without fail. There was no risk involved. Who cares what happened in the world while I was gone. I'll have time for that. Right now, I want to know what they're up to.

She stepped forward, in the shadows, immediately feeling some relief as the sun ceased its direct contact with her protection. The lymph in her veins cooled and moments later stopped boiling as it had before. She was much pleased, and she used the resolve given to her by that newfound comfort to steel herself into pursuing her goal. She wasn't always aware, but in the few days they had spent together Azrael had put himself in a very strange position in her life. The first impressions she had about people were extremely strong and almost impossible to change, and the place where the Dunmer had ended up was a curious one, that mixed the traits of a protective and hostile figure at the same time. Aside from the hundreds of characteristics that combination could create, the immediate effect was that she had an impossibly hard time disobeying his orders and doing so required a tremendous willpower. On the other hand, she felt as if she had to defy those orders to become better and to separate herself from him, resulting in independence. However, she never felt strong enough to openly defy him for long. Her attempt to resist him sending her away had been the strongest one by far since they had met, and his reaction had been exactly what feared would happen. Thus, she needed to find other ways to defy him. Hidden ways, if necessary. That was what she was doing.

She peaked out at the end of the passage, focused on the sounds. The voices came from a dip in the terrain, which looked accessible through a passage between two rocks that the two had probably used. Instead of following the obvious route, she got up in a mound that overlooked the general direction from where the voices came from. A few bushes hid its top portion somewhat, which would have been a decent place to hide. To eavesdrop, she pointed out in her mind.

She skulked to the top, crouching in between the bushes and listening intently. She heard their words now, clearly. 'Yes, Listener, of course,' Laegiine was saying, in a voice that was different from before, lower and more serious even if with her particular lightness. Looking ahead, she realized that the dip was actually a very small pond. There was some snow on its sides that was thawing inside it, and the water was opaque and blue. The other side of the mound she'd climbed was rocky and almost vertical, and she saw the woman's boots on a rock lying right on the water's side. They were sitting there comfortably, talking like the partners or friends they probably were. That title, Listener, was still unclear to her. Probably something else that happened in the four thousand years I've been sleeping. Meanwhile, some other thoughts were laying siege to her head. Voices asking and wondering if those two, who clearly knew each other, were or had been at some point in their lives, lovers. It made no sense to her, why should she care, but she cared nonetheless.

'I don't want to disrupt your activities, Master. You summoned me to ask me a favor and I obeyed, but I supposed you'd be in quite a rush.'

'I am,' Azrael answered. 'But I have time for you. I had the time for Wildach, I had the time for Agarur, and I have the time for you now. What is it?'

'Recently,' she began, not resisting further and answering the question without further ado, 'we have received a few contracts that require us to eliminate some targets that, on paper, seem quite ordinary. Only later we discovered that they were all vampires. Every one. Sometimes ones that hide at the very end of a den filled with the filthy entourages. The problem is that none of us, except Babette on special occasions, can fulfill those. Too high a risk. We'd die if we dared to enter.'

'Tell our Siblings to put those aside for the moment.'

A brief pause separated Azrael order with the request for explanation that could be heard coming from a mile away. 'Can we afford to do that? We've been a consistent presence around for less than a year, wouldn't that be a clear message that we are not powerful enough to deal with those threats?'

'We can afford it, precisely because of your concern. The people hiring us will see how long it will take us to complete those, and with time they'll opt for other methods. We're not fighters and certainly not crusaders. That isn't our area of expertise, and it will be apparent as soon as we show that they are not our priority.' His explanation wasn't different as far as the unemotional delivery was concerned, but he was clarifying things point by point, very clearly and with a sort of coolness that resembled, but superficially didn't seem the same as, patience. 'Financially wise, there's nothing to worry about. The uproar caused by our return is still strongly felt and it will continue to be like this at least until the next winter. By that time, the Civil War will resume. And as soon as it does, both us and the Guild will drown in gold. Anyhow, who's issuing those contract on the vampires?'

'A female Bosmer, goes by the name of Beleval. Do you want…' The voice trailed off, but Serana could only imagine Azrael had guessed the question and had given a nod or some other sign of confirmation. 'A strange fella,' she continued afterwards, 'wearing only a leather gambeson during her interactions with us, almost as if she had left her armor somewhere.' There was a wry and conspiratorial note in her voice. 'Nazir met her outside Riften, where she presented him with a series of people she wanted dead. Nothing strange there, but then she handed him a bag of gold that he could barely carry. He brought back the gold along with the details to the Sanctuary and we discussed for a while. Babette was immediately put to work, but there were problems.'

'She was working for someone, was she not?'

'She didn't say it, but we know she does. And if our little elder Sister is to be trusted, it's someone you know well. The—' Once again she trailed off, but this time it was less natural than before. It sounded as if she had been interrupted. 'I can understand they want them dead,' she continued, like nothing ever happened, 'but from what we know they need resources desperately. I just don't know and can't figure out from where all that gold is coming from.'

'We might know,' Azrael said. 'When I went to the Guild, Brynjolf told me they were intentioned on sending them anonymous funding, but as far as I know their leader would never lower himself to such methods. Furthermore, that gold could have been used more effectively elsewhere. I'll check back with Karliah and I'll have someone inspecting if this Beleval is on patrol duty in Dayspring Canyon, but my guess is that she received the gold to be brought to her superior and she thought she could use it in more efficient ways. I've met Isran, and if he had received that amount of gold I'm sure we'd have heard of it by now. Despite his sense of honor, I feel like he's enough of a realist to forbear from asking questions when the money's coming his way.'

The Dunmer paused for a moment. Serana guessed many things could be asked, but the silence endured. Laegiine was distractedly drumming the tip of her boots together on the stone on the pond's side. She was probably waiting for her Listener, or Master as she had called him a few times, to continue. Serana, as far as she was concerned, was trying to piece together something meaningful from all that but with very few results. Besides, that silence was laden with tension and she had the feeling Azrael would abstract and start planning. This was one more way of him being always a step ahead. What to Laegiine might have looked like a normal discussion or reasoning was merely a outline and assembling for him, as if he was thinking aloud. That had ended. Now the pragmatic and the real came, the moment when his theorizing became concrete by the means of his schemes.

'If they're involved, even minimally, this might turn into a nightmarish conundrum,' Azrael said, slowly and coldly. 'Forget what I said earlier. Tell our Siblings to abandon immediately every pursuit of the vampire contracts. Do not, under any circumstances, recommence those before I explicitly say you can.'

'Of course, Listener. As you command. May I—'

'One moment.'

What's happening? Serana wondered, sweeping her gaze around her and behind her, looking for anything that might have been the cause of that reaction. One moment, the Dark Elf's voice was still echoing and the next a tear had been opened in Aetherius and a steady stream of magicka was bleeding out of it. The ethereal power was channeled to a spot underneath her, generating a pulsing beacon of energy. It took a few more moments to realized that Azrael himself was the source of the tear, and it was the first time she had seen him use conventional magic. What is he doing? I can't quite understand what spell…

'Serana.'

She tried to trick herself into thinking it was a mention and that they would now start to talk about her, but she knew it wasn't the case. Whatever spell he had used, he had found her. An incantation that locates the absence of life, probably, she thought, while stepping back outside of the bush almost involuntarily. The attempt was to get away, but the sudden movement made the branches to move and scratch one another, making it painfully clear that whoever was hiding in the vegetation had now come out of hiding. Still, the smart thing was to do nothing. The teasing thing was to nonchalantly respond, but she didn't feel in the position to do that. Azrael wouldn't have needed confirmation, so she waited. Not overly long.

'What did "you're off" mean four thousand years ago? That would be your only excuse.' As always, it was hard to read his voice, but he sounded as if he had almost expected it to happen. 'You have nothing to worry about. You're not the center of anyone's world, rather obviously, and no one is coming to get you. If it's me you're worried about, know that you're not the center of my world all the same. I have other matters to attend to. Matters I'm giving over to Laegiine so that I can come with you.' His brief pause began, where she was supposed to sort out everything he had said and where she was allowed to ask questions. 'If everything's clear, go.'

As silently as she could, she opened her hand and let go of the branches she'd grasped to keep them from making noise. It hadn't helped her in the end. As had been the case for some other times in the past few days, Azrael had synthesized and melded the whole content of her vague thoughts into one and linear reasoning. Surprisingly enough, she trusted those more than her own mental chatter. That's something I hope goes away when we get back, she thought, but she was uncertain. It's only because he's the first person you've seen in four thousand years, she repeated herself. She hadn't yet wrapped her head around that, as if her mind was unable to understand its full meaning. Whatever, we'll see what happens now in the town. Then I'll know. I'll see people other than that Elf, at least.

She didn't see a link between him and other people in her past, aside from the alchemist, but there had to be a reason for her feelings. Mixed feelings, she frequently reminded herself. Of everything, I value his opinion most. I always try to ask or understand what's on his mind. There were times when she almost suspected herself of doing things just to get a response from him. She had noticed her need for strong reactions at her words or feats time and time again, and Azrael wasn't the best person for that. Best case scenario, he picked up the intellectual thread but didn't react emotionally in almost any way. Actually, she had never seen him display clearly any emotion that wasn't anger, and she wasn't so sure about that even. He went beyond emotions sometimes. For instance, when she expected a reaction from him, he coolly stated his opinion on the matter, whether similar or utterly conflicting to hers. Perhaps he realized that a passionate reaction was the way she understood where others stood. He merely found his own way of saying it, though detaching strongly from her expectation.

She shook her head and found herself still standing still. Neither Azrael nor Laegiine had uttered another word. Maybe they're really talking about you and he was lying… she considered, but upon recollecting Azrael's words she remade her decision clearly. Let's go away from here. And stop thinking about him all the time. I know, it's the only thing I can think about, but that doesn't change anything. She raised her head and looked at the way she had come, the tight space between the mill and the building with the low roof. There seemed to be a magical or at least symbolic significance to that passage now, but she couldn't understand it in full. It was an emblem of her lack of trust perhaps, and crossing it again to get back to the road made her slightly nervous. I'm always nervous, though.

She walked through the space not so long after, and of course nothing happened. Upon arriving at the other end of the passage she put her gloved hand on the vertical log functioning as corner pillar of the building and looked towards the town. There seemed to be more people than before, but she was fully aware that it might have just depended on her noticing them more now than before. It might actually be better not to have the Scroll on my back. Of course, everyone would be slightly baffled upon seeing a hooded figure garbed in an elaborate armor, the design of which probably didn't exist anymore, walking around their streets. However, if there was anything she trusted herself with, was dealing with others. People were her specialty. It wasn't as if she didn't foresee any problems, but none unsurpassable.

She came around the corner, sticking to the shadow as long as she could. Azrael was right. The sunlight wasn't enough to impede her, but as the Sun rose higher it would inevitably become painful to endure. There wasn't much time she could spend in the open, and she intended to make every minute count. A step followed another, and despite her few insecurities she kept walking at a regular pace, getting closer and closer to the small crowd and eyeing the first real buildings of the city that weren't merely residential. A couple had insignias hanging from metal rods set inside the wood. The seam roofs continued to be the standard solution for the houses, hinting at the fact that the snow fallen that winter had been exceptional, because very few things about those houses were planned to sustain heavy snows.

After the buildings, she looked at the people. They were all members of that group that wasn't so well known at court, that was both treated with distance and regard, disdain and care at the same time: the populace, the common folk, the plebs, all terms that seemed so alien inside the castle walls. Only in her later years she had found herself among them and, to her surprise, enjoying their company. Her father always said they were dangerous, that they would kill her if they knew who she was or what valuables she carried. As far as she had traveled, none of those things had ever happened. She had encountered kind and warm people along with rude and unwelcoming ones, but at least they didn't wear masks all the time. If they did, they were considerably simpler than the ones at home. They were simple. And like everything that's simple, it's also easy to exploit. She had always found the minds of mortals to be extraordinarily malleable. Like clay.

A boy in a rough white apron walked past her in a hurry, and by the look of it he was probably headed for the windmill. She cast a glance at him, observing what she could. Blonde, rough hair and hazel eyes. Broad shoulders and strong legs. A worker, clearly a Nord. He hadn't seemed to notice her, which mildly surprised her. He must have been lost in thought or very focused on his task to completely ignore her. She had not yet entered the small crowd and she could almost sense six eyes staring at her from different directions. Shoulders open and back straight, princess. Ever since Azrael had started using that name to tease her, she had taken a liking into it. She didn't know why exactly.

Of the three gazes she felt, she could swear two of them at least were women's. She knew a woman's stare from a man's, even when that man wasn't interested in her. She looked around, discreetly searching for those discreetly gazing at her. Upon turning to her left, she met the eyes of one. The hood gave her an advantage, and she was able to move a little past the girl without her suspecting of being watched. But from the shadow, she took a good look. A redhead, her face bristling with freckles. Her eyes were inquisitive but shy, and they immediately lost their energy when Serana shifted her head and made it clearer she was being observed. A young one, she thought, sweeping a glance to the other side and trying to find the other two. I was curious too, when I had your age. Almost to show her the irony of it all, the other person locking a stare on her was an old woman. Sixty, I'd say. Yes, well… She grinned, careful not to show her fangs. Externally, I'm more like that girl, but internally I might resemble her more. Such is my world. That irony that had caught up to her seemed another of Azrael's passive influences over her. He had a way of drawing the pathetic and the deplorable out of the most noble and virtuous things. It was an interesting point of view to have, and she had absorbed some of it.

'Fish! Fresh fish!' she heard in the distance, sharp even in between the voices and the buzz. In the corner, at the end of a long series of buildings, stood the man that had hollered, positioned behind a stand with various fishes laid on it. Only a few people turned around, and those that did walked straight in the man's direction. Dragon Bridge's a small town, Serana thought, looking at the indifference of all the rest of the people around. They must all know each other and be on first name basis with everyone.

She walked by the stall of what looked to be a leather tanner. A couple of cloaks, a collection of rough brown hoods and two pairs of boots were the most noticeable things on display. There was a woman examining the hoods with a keen eye and a man discussing with the furrier himself, but their voices were rendered indistinct by the humming around them. There was a meat vendor on the other side, with many salty beefs on display. Passing by her was a woman carrying a wooden bucket with water lapping inside and spilling on the ground at every step. There are no wells that I can see. The river's water must be clean then.

There was a smaller building just ahead of her, on the right. Her side of the road. She was still on the shadowed part of the street, avoiding direct sunlight as long as she could. The edifice was well kept and had two windows of thin glass on its side. That's expensive, she thought, I wouldn't think someone from here might afford that luxury. She looked at the door, or more specifically at the engraving on its wood, made with a very fine scalpel by a very precise hand. Dunard' Bookshop, the carving read. This must be the one Azrael talked about. It was undeniably strange to find a bookshop in such a small town, but it was the only way to travel safely from Solitude to the other provinces. Even though it bordered with the Reach, it was still considered safer than the road passing through Morthal. That says something about those marshlands. If people prefer…

Something sturdy and hard, clearly not a person, grazed her on the waist. The armor absorbed the impact and nothing at all happened, but she stepped forward involuntarily. She turned, only to see a young woman with a large pushcart filled to the brim with jugs bending to look at the wheelbarrow's wheel. 'Awful sorry,' she mumbled, glancing briefly at her.

The words came out of Serana's mouth faster than she could think. 'Pardon me, madam,' she said, still struggling to keep her fangs hidden in spite of the smile and thus putting even less thought into her words. 'I was in the way.'

The young woman stopped fumbling with the wheel and raised her head promptly, a blissful but mock-serious expression on her face. She placed both hands on the hips and grinned. 'Huh! Madam! Nobody has ever called me a madam before!' She had bright blue eyes and a pair or meaty cheeks that, despite her not being older than thirty, gave a a very seasoned-soul look to her. She bent and looked at the wheel again, but without shifting her hands from her waistline. 'And where are you from, kind lass? Not from here, that I know, but your accent… It sounds ours.'

You've not said a thing, and you're already in trouble. She nodded twice, even though the woman wasn't looking at her. 'Yes, I'm from Skyrim, but I've traveled a lot in my life.' There were ways of fixing the mistake she had just made, luckily. 'I went in different places, I had to learn etiquette far further than its basis.'

'You're very young to have traveled a lot. You're a lucky girl. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-five?'

Those mistakes were harder to fix. Of course, she showed around a third of the years she really had. She's not wrong on the age, I was twenty-three when I undertook the ritual. The thought of the rite cast a shiver down her spine, which she suppressed. As for my real age, well… I'm seventy-eight in the head, but it seems like I've left behind just a couple of years. The humor pushed away the gloom and the sorrow. She returned to the topic at hand, which was dismissing the woman's curiosity in a non-caustic way. She could have disappeared right in front of her if she so wished, but then it wouldn't be wise to show herself again. No, she needed something more simple. But she was already feeling her fear rising, gripping her throat and threatening to choke her.

'My mother was a traveler,' she said, blatantly evading the question about her age. 'I was born in foreign land and I've been wandering ever since.' The lie crashed hard against her desire to further connect with the woman. She wanted to, she really did, but it wasn't safe. But what is safe, exactly? It's not here, it's not at home. I guess I haven't found any safe place yet. And I'm old.

'What a fluky lass you are!' exclaimed the woman, nodding vigorously. 'How long will you be staying here?' she asked, tilting her head. 'I'd like to hear your stories!' Her cries had attracted a small crowd, two younger girls and three boys. All quite young. The older ones were working and hadn't given in to the curiosity.

Serana glanced carefully at them. She had her back against the wall and little way of going away without looking rude, something that would have only reinforced the attention she was receiving. A vampire's presence is powerful, and even those who cannot consciously perceive it feel naturally drawn to it. That she knew. And she hadn't calculated to the full extent. She truly was the center of the attention. The two girls had opposite feelings for her. One was smiling at her benevolently and full of interest while the other was glaring at her, forcing a beam on her lips just to avoid suspicion. Of the three boys, two were genuinely interested. The last was on the verge of falling to her feet at any moment. She could tell. She could always tell.

This is my way out; probably my only way out. Her body sizzled with strange energies for mere moments while she looked at him, feeling her own gaze becoming more intense and forceful. The wide green eyes of the young boy couldn't bare the contact and broke off the link, but she knew at once she had succeeded. She felt the energies relapsing back to her instinctual core and plunging into the half-sleep where they waited her to go thirstier for blood. As far as she was concerned, she didn't need them anymore. They would come, if needed. The young man she had glanced at wasn't merely seduced, it was practically hers to control. There were people that were more vulnerable than others to the charms of a vampire, and he was one of them. Considering that he was vulnerable in his own right, that she had a pretty figure and was a pureblooded vampire, the chances of him resisting were non-existent.

'I'll be staying a while,' she said, shortly glancing at the woman with the cart to avoid looking too iffy, but then turning immediately to the boy. 'You, youthful sir, why don't you accompany me in the bookshop. I'd very much like to see it.'

He still didn't have the strength to look at her. His head raised a little, but she couldn't probably see higher than her neck. 'I…' he muttered with difficulty, 'I'd be honored to do it.' Even with his gaze lowered, she could still guess it. She had seen it so many times. At first, it was difficult to make use of someone showing such feelings, but with time two things had become apparent. One, that it wasn't worth it to consider the goodness of the act because, second thing, those feelings weren't genuine. In most cases, they were born of dark powers she unleashed at will. Those people she used weren't themselves, and as long as they weren't themselves she didn't feel guilty to the point of giving up the opportunity. And in that moment, saving herself from the question of the woman was more important than any of those thoughts.

'I'll be back shortly, with stories of my travels,' she said, giving a respectful bow to her small crowd. 'I'll see all of you.' Another lie. And once again, I'm counting on Azrael. This time I'm counting on him being discreet and subtle. She looked at the young boy and smiled faintly. 'Shall we?' she said softly. I hope I look normal. If my heart were beating, it'd be pounding like a hammer on an anvil.

He nodded stiffly. 'Yes, yes… Let's.' He stole a very quick glance back at the other two men, which did have clear signs of confusion on their faces. After that, he raised his head and breathed nervously, walking beside her so that his shoulder grazed her pauldron. She looked for any signs of blushing, but she didn't see any.

He didn't regret that, she thought, holding back her grin. It either meant he was more used to deal with women than she thought or, more probably, she had done a really excellent job. The boy opened the door with an eager vibe in his every motion, ignoring the puzzled or scolding looks coming his way. The woman with the handcart had moved away, to fix her wheel. The other two boys had distanced themselves, not wanting to intrude, and the two girls were walking away. Not without casting glances at their backs, though. I'll be the talk of the town for two days straight, she told herself, feeling the impulse to sigh but not finding any air in her lungs to do so.

Meanwhile, the young man backed away from the door and smiled shyly. 'There you go, m'lady.' He signaled the inside of the building with a stiff but wide gesture. 'You'll find anything you need there. I…' This time he blushed somewhat, very faintly. 'I have to go, but if you need anything, I'll be around. Ask for me. Name's Advon.'

'Thanks, Advon,' she said neutrally. She didn't want to blind the man with desire, a power that was realistically at her very fingertips. He needed to be pushed away, so that the magic wouldn't find ways in his head that it wasn't supposed to. 'Who could help me inside? Is there a shopkeeper?'

'Dunard. He's a Breton, settled here some months past.' The man's gaze was blank, as if he was thinking of something. He was thinking of ways to stay there, or to compel her to come with him.

Men are so predictable, and when my powers enter the picture they're stripped of what little complexity they have. Such simple creatures. Looking into Advon's eyes was like reading a book with his every thought written onto it. And still, in spite of that success and in spite of how relatively easily she had resolved the matter with the peasants, more and more fear was clenching at her throat. She knew her own fear, but she had never learned to deal with it. In that moment, everything she wanted was to have someone else beside her, a person she trusted who could say everything was secure and she was doing all right. That wasn't easy though, because to enter that list of people certain requirements had to be met. Firstly, one would need more wit and a clearer mind than the young boy, smitten and cloud-minded, who couldn't reason clearly. A thrall, even one not bound by blood, would jump into the abyss for his master. He'd certainly say whatever controlled demands. Secondly, she didn't just trust anyone. Very few people had that requirement, and everyone that had was far away or gone. Except one. Azrael. He wasn't there with her. He had abandoned her, too. No, he hasn't. He's coming back, and when he does I'll be displeased to be leaving. And again she thought about it. She couldn't know if he would be her first choice, if given one, but he was the only person he had. He undoubtedly knew it. And he was probably exploiting it.

Do I envy him?

She quickly understood two things. That she didn't know how to begin answering that question and that her mind was rushing too fast for her to take a moment and think about it. Right now she was afraid, and she wanted to do something that would decrease her anxiety. Entering that opened door seemed a tempting option, and she would do it in a moment, but knowing it wouldn't any good to quell her worries.

'Thank you again,' she said, turning back to the young man and stepping on the threshold. She grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open, but she could almost hear him trying to say something more. 'What is it?' she asked without turning around.

'Will you be staying here? Like you told Gure?' There was the vampiric slave's plea in his voice.

Gure must be the name of the handcart's woman. 'I believe I will, unless something strange occurs. I bid you farewell, Advon. I must really get inside the bookshop.'

'Of course.'

Serana stepped inside and kept one hand on the handle, pushing it close. The door, however, closer way faster than she pushed. She allowed herself to laugh under her breath. Did he really close it for me? There were things about her once fellow mortals that she had completely forgotten about. The vampires had manners, but almost all of them were rugged and bitter on the inside. No one at her father's court would have done something so foolishly genuine such as that. She didn't know which one she preferred of the two. The court was more predictable and hostile, while the common people warm but too spontaneous to be predictable. When I say that people are my speciality, I lie. Nobles are my specialty. I know nothing of the common folk.

The aching of the indirect sunlight vanished gradually as the cool air of the building's interior seeped through the spaces in her armor. Her face felt the quickest change, to the point where she almost felt like lowering the hood, but on second thought she decided against it. She wasn't too keen on showing her face. No one would probably pick up enough signs in her face to immediately guess she was a vampire, especially since she wasn't so visibly touched by it, but just in case it was better not to. There were many a vampires living among men without anyone noticing, but they had less to lose than she did, and they could feed frequently on top. Her eyes in particular worried her. Five days after her feeding and in a place without much light, they would have faintly glowed of the same color as rust.

About light… she thought, remembering the two glass windows and wondering why the place was so dark inside. The building wasn't on one story only, but two. The windows were on the upper one, and the ground level was brightened up only by a coupe of torches and a lantern. The walls were of dark wood, and the floor was made of large planks. There was another window on the opposite side, judging by the paler light, which she couldn't see. The bookcases covered every wall and there was one more in the middle of the room. She could just glimpse at the flight of stairs on the opposite side leading to the upper floor. Just beside the door, on the left if entering, was a desk with an inkwell and a quill. The seat was empty. This Dunard must be somewhere else. Maybe… She could barely hear a foot drumming on the floor above her thanks to her sharp hearing. I wouldn't really like an intrusion, so maybe it's best if I remain silent.

With careful paces, she walked up to the bookcase in the middle, laying her steps only on one of the large planks that made up the floor to avoid any unnecessary creaking. The sections of the case were strange; around half were brand new and another half were humid and almost rotten. She didn't give too much thought about it, there weren't any obvious reasons as to why that was the case and it wasn't her immediate concern anyway. Her concern were the books which, unlike the shelves, were remarkably well-preserved. Someone does like his tomes, around here, she thought, casting a glance above her, where the drumming still continued. Whoever it was, he was unaware or uncaring of the fact that his door had been opened and closed.

So… History books. I always disliked history books. The first titles she found didn't seem to have anything to do with history. They were narratives, not technical texts. The Cabin in the Woods, by Mogen Son of Molag. Doesn't look like anything that might interest me. Next to it laid six books with nearly identical spines, the only thing changing being the number. A Dance in Fire, by Waughin Jarth. Six, no… Seven volumes. The second one's missing. She walked past the board separating the different section, and the ones in the new one were slimmer and shorter books. There was an inscription made with chalk above which read "Drama". The skimmed through most of the titles, uninterested, except for one that caught her eye just briefly. Two short, orange paperbacks with nearly the same spine. The Lusty Argonian Maid… She turned her head around, feeling the urge to sigh. What will they think of next?

That was actually a fair question. The question had been buzzing around in her mind since she had entered, but she didn't really feel it until that moment. Whatever happened during her time, four thousand years before, was probably nothing more than myth to those living in that Era. The Fourth Era. When she learned her family's timeline, she was astonished that there even was a distinction between two Eras. Now there were five. The light feeling of carefreeness given to her by the silly titles she had passed by vanished slowly, despite her trying to grasp its remain. A feeling of helplessness and deep sorrow started to hover above her, like black rain clouds before a thunderstorm. That was the reason she disliked loneliness. She felt more secure, but it was also the time when other thoughts managed to get the better of her. It's the time when…

She halted immediately, because even without her conscious attention her eyes had managed to register something important. It was a book with a grey, tattered cover. Ancestors and the Dunmer, the title read on the spine. That was indeed something she was interested in. This could tell me so much about him… Let's see. What else? She was in the right place, that was for sure. Right next to it were four tomes with the same spine, a greyish and very grim looking one. Brief History of the Empire, by Stronach k'Thojj III. I'll need it. She drew the book out of its place and quickly looked around to find a place to sit. There was a stool, wooden of course, a few paces from her that seemed to have been placed precisely for her. She put the four volumes down and gave a last glance at the section. She also picked up two more. The Oblivion Crisis, Battle of Sancre Tor and… The Book of the Dragonborn? And what might be a Dragonborn?

With enough questions in her mind and all the possible answers right at her fingertips, she opened Ancestors and the Dunmer and began reading avidly. She had some time. And I read fast. What did my father think I did when I disappeared in the crypts? They never noticed the books disappearing, I guess.

---

She heard the sound of boots striking the ladder steps, but she wanted to at least finish the paragraph. The upper room dweller didn't leave her a choice though. 'Good day to you, my lady,' the man said, getting off the last steps of the stairs and noticing her.

Serana raised her head, against her wishes. There was so much more to read, but it seemed she had no choice but to accept the temporary interruption. The man was in his forties by the look of his face, with the first faint signs of wrinkles marking his forehead and the black hair on the temples thinning and getting grayer. Pale skin, lean frame… High cheekbones. A Breton? She looked at him for a moment more, without replying. The ones that came to the court had more evident elven traits. I guess they have watered down, just like as the lineage of Lamae Bal surely has. The garments worn by the man were simple but foreign, with a predominance of various shades of blue that was uncommon. He also greeted her in a more erudite way than any other person, which left one possible guess.

'Good day, sir.' She kept her tone composed and polite. He wouldn't be surprised or made suspicious by it as much as the Nords outside. 'Are you Dunard, the librarian?'

The man tittered, casting a glance at the history section. He probably knew his books and had recognized which ones she was holding, and just to be sure of his guess he had looked back at their places. He turned back, still with a grin on his lips. 'Librarian is a word too big for what I do. I mainly deal in tomes and sell them, that doesn't make me anything special. I am an expert, sure, and back in High Rock I specialized in history, particularly in recent history. The Third Era mainly.' He had gained some eagerness while talking, which he lost suddenly as he stopped. 'I apologize,' he said, calming his tone, 'I don't even know why I said that.'

I know, though, she thought, not breaking eye contact for a single moment. A historian. He could tell me more. He would like to tell me more. It'll take but a little aid from me, and he will. He might have not realized that there was something else in play, something that urged him to speak and reveal everything to the stranger sitting in front of him, that despite being hidden radiated such grace and beauty that was hardly possible to keep a clear head. But there was something. She still wasn't doing anything consciously, but the power of a vampire seeps though its skin like blood does from a wound. There are two ways to go about this. But I could take them both.

'I am very glad you said it, nonetheless,' she said, giving the most disarming smile she could. You have your mother's lips, you should make good use of them, her father had said, when she was still young. From when she was a child, she had learned how powerful of a weapon in can be. It is a means to heal, but an even more effective one to manipulate. 'I'm a traveler, but a lot of my time has been spent in research. I have always been most fascinated with the initial period of the First Era, mainly.' That was an easy angle at which strike. None in the present world would know as much as her about the events she had heard of or witnessed personally. If it would come to it, her cover couldn't be blown. She mostly counted on something else though. On the energy she felt flowing out of her body and encircling the Breton like tendrils. His eyes clouded, but they started twinkling as well. Burning, with mad desire. She knew that gaze, she had seen it many times before. It was incredible how the vampire could merely let out some of its energy and the world around it was coerced to react to it. In those brief moment, she understood what her father meant when he said that the Blood is pure power.

'The First Era?' Dunard asked, but at that point he wasn't interested in the fact itself. He was looking for a way to have on her the same effect she was having on himself. An impossible feat, but they always tried. 'There is very little reliable information from those times, academically speaking. You must have researched quite a lot.'

'And regarding you?' she asked, ignoring the assumption. 'The Third Era, you said.'

'Oh, yes. Remarkable things have happened. The Oblivion Crisis, the Eruption of Red Mountain. Fascinating. The end of the Septim line in particular has peaked my interest, because of its incredible historical implications. After all, the end of such a dynasty doesn't come without its consequences, as the Great War has shown. Now, with the coming of a new Dragonborn things might change. Although…' he trailed off, a smile twitching his lips. He was about to say something already fabricated, maybe a common opinion that they were sure to share. 'Well, what can a Dark Elf do for Men, right?'

Serana didn't react, even to the last approval seeker. She hadn't had the time to read that tome about that Dragonborn he had mentioned, but she had assumed they were strictly a Nordic thing. Dragons roamed Skyrim in her time, they only rarely ventured on other lands. If they had something resembling a nest, it might have been the Throat of the World. She hadn't seen any flying during their journey, but they were still a part of the picture. They had to be now, though. Otherwise, why would Azrael have a sword that bore the forms of a Dragon? Why would he speak the Dragon Tongue? The Dragons themselves must had taught him. But that seemed beside the point. The fact that both Azrael and this Dragonborn were Dunmer confused her. She had never known the Chimer to have anything to do with them. It was undeniably strange that something related to them wasn't a Nord at all. Not even close. He wasn't even human. He didn't belong to any race worshipping them, even. They held to the Daedra, and they still did according to the book she'd read. She couldn't be too sure, but the traces of the Tribunal seemed long gone from their culture.

As she drifted away from her thoughts, she heard Dunard's worried and quick breaths. 'Are you well?' he asked, trying to take a peek at her eyes.

'Yes, very,' she said, thinking of something that might have helped her. 'I was just thinking, asking myself the same questions you had. Why a Dark Elf? It's not easy to answer.'

'It is not,' the man concurred without a moment's thought. 'But,' he continued, briefly glancing at the ceiling, 'the Aedra sometimes do things that seem done on a whim. The Dragonborn has done many things to put an end to the World Eater, some good and some bad. Had the Gods chosen a Nord, he might have strived to perfection, letting the world sink into chaos in the attempt. The Godkiller did not stop at anything to save this world. He believed that the end justified the means, and for once it proved irrefutably true.' The Breton took a long pause, seemingly musing. Serana could tell anymore if he was trying to impress her or if he had broken away from her bonds enough to be lost in thought. She didn't know and didn't care. She was busy taking in all the things he was saying.

'This Dunmer,' she said, speaking slowly and focusing on not fumbling on her words, 'what is he like?'

'Well…' began the Breton, clearly holding back his surprise. 'Secretive.' He tilted his head, looking for another word. He gave a nod. 'Shadowy.'

'Is he… Cold? Impassive?'

'I suppose he is,' concurred the man. 'His emotional expression in quite lacking, you might say that.'

'A little… Detracting? Sarcastic at times?'

'He has a very clear mind and doesn't forbear from criticism. Occasionally, that takes the form of mocking. He can be rather scornful, yes indeed.'

'Six and a half feet tall? Clad in a black armor, with a cloak and hood that hides his face? A deep, vibrant bass?'

Dunard leaned on the bookcase beside him, a nifty smirk stretching the corners of his lips. This time, Serana wanted to break eye contact. There was too much going on inside and she couldn't know if she could take any hit. 'You know him, them,' said the Breton. 'Rather well I might add.'

The high cheekbones gave him a curiously eerie look, adding a complacent element to his expression. The elven in him was making a clearer appearance, and even if that wasn't at all what he was feeling or trying to convey, Serana couldn't help but notice and feel every bit as put down as possible. Only in those moments she realized how much her exterior was really different from her inner world, from her heart and mind. Azrael told me I'm a head type, but I'm not. I just try to be. It's what my father wanted me to be. But it has never been me. Because rationally, she would ignore that imperceptible sign of haughtiness, but she couldn't. She felt something burning her belly, something hotter than sunlight but that was fueled by a completely different energy and burned a completely different part of her. Hatred. I hate that man. The why is beyond my understanding.

She tried to put together something to explain her curiosity to him and clear the misunderstanding, trying to put aside the burning sensation she felt. Something that would resume the start. A vampire's power binds someone, but when used as she did often drives them somewhere where they're out of control. I might as well reinforce the grip on him. It loosened when I got distracted. He had already turned more serious at her short silence, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't assurance he wouldn't do it again at the first opportunity. But something was wrong. Halt. By the Mace of Souls, halt. What are you thinking? You need him. Don't destroy him. There were, as always, conflicting forces at work. But not every day she needed someone who she despised so much as she did Dunard in that precise moment. A part of her even felt sorry for him, who stood there taken by her and wondering if she disliked him. His was a paranoia, but in truth, he didn't know the half of it. But for her alone, swallowing that hatred and continuing as if nothing even happened was difficult. It looked impossible, at the moment. She'd manage, but not before the Breton opened his mouth again to ask if it was alright, something that could spark her ire. Her vampiric instincts weren't completely asleep any longer. Who knew what would happen if she flew into a rage? I need to…

A weak snap came from behind her, followed by the whispering of the wind. Dunard's face immediately lost all the traces left from the conversation, both the worried stiffness and the lingering grin, and turned composed again. He moved his head as if trying to look, but Serana was quite sure they couldn't see the door from there. The wind's sound went on for just a moment before another faint clang signaled its end. The door had opened and closed, and had stayed opened for a time sufficient for someone to enter. But no one had. No footsteps, no voices.

'Hello?' called Dunard. 'Who is it?' His voice faded and complete silence followed. He cast a glance at Serana, who was extremely pleased with the temporary distraction. The Breton snapped his tongue, as he had done already a couple of times, and sighed. 'Maybe they changed their minds,' he said, walking along the bookcase towards the door. 'I'll be back in a moment.'

Serana felt like drawing a deep breath, but she couldn't. The sound of his steps getting farther away, even if by a coupe of yards, was so relieving to her. The burning sensation in her stomach ceased and a good deal of the tension was immediately discharged. The thought that he would return caused the grip on her throat to remain though. She focused, using that moment of clear head to think of a way to return to her peaceful reading. She didn't want to know anything more from him. I do control him more firmly, as to push him away…

Cold, hard metal with the shape of a hand clasped her shoulder and completely encircled it.

'Come.' The voice was deep and vibrant. She knew it, she would have recognized it anywhere. She had just described it to Dunard, and there she heard it again. She managed to turn around, a little and strange hope in her heart, but she was faced with what her mind had told her. A black void, without face. The voice that conjured his very image and simultaneously sounded utterly disembodied from any material form.

'Now?' she whispered. A completely different train of thought led her to wonder why he had come. It wasn't Noon yet. Or is it?

'Hello?' Dunard's voice rang. 'Who was it?' He was probably still trying to guess who had tried to enter. And probably, in his mind, he was trying to find the one responsible of attempting to interrupt his chat.

Serana's attention didn't stay with the Breton for too long. Soon enough it came back to Azrael. 'Time flows in strange ways,' he said, his voice marked by the ironic note that sometimes hardened into the sarcastic one she had also described to Dunard. Maybe I do know him, and I just don't realize it. 'As soon as that man comes back, you follow me on the other side of the bookcase,' he continued, his voice cold as ice, just as she had described to Dunard. 'Shadowmere waits behind the building.'

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A/N: Here we are, after a long while. A long chapter, but an important one. A lot of things happening both in the background and the foreground. There was a little bit of both Serana and Azrael here, exploring different sides of them. Serana's slightly paranoid, heavily ambivalent side alongside her crafty one, and a return of Azrael's scheming and analytical vein, along the lines of the conversation with Enthir in A New Threat Looms. There would be a lot of things to say, but that would be spoiling you fun of understanding everything going on.

The usual quick word about the reviews. To ArtemisxHolly, I can say it is much appreciated to hear from someone on the other side of the barricade, I was sure there would be; To Quintus Sertorius, I can say it is indeed already planned. You seem to have some high expectations, which I'll do my best to live up to. But, regardless, hold me to them. I like a challenge.

See you soon, dear readers.