Chapter XII: Innocence, my Sister

The sensation was very weak at first. It almost seemed to come from beyond, from somewhere different from the real place he occupied. But instead of going away, it lingered high above. A serpentine flow of unknowable kind that slithered around near him. It was getting stronger and stronger, creeping closer, as if spreading tendrils that would at some point envelope him. The sensation crawled along, dispersing and giving him the feeling of being shaken violently. It was a smell, a taste and a sound at the same time. The only thing reaching him from beyond some sort of veil he could not understand the nature of. There was something intense about that sensation, something that he craved immensely. There was life in that scent.

Blood.

The solution to the riddle came naturally, too naturally to have been formulated by the mind only. In fact, several things of him had understood it at the same time, in several ways, each warned in their own language. The mind had been, in fact, the slowest. By the time it had waken up to the fact that there was blood in the close vicinity, the rest of the body had already started acting on its own, fiercely independent from every sort of control. There was a harmony in the action which it was preparing to take. While he hadn't fully felt it as it originated, a strong pulse had come from his gut and had spread across all his limbs, as if in anticipation of the great feast ahead.

The perception of the body came back fully in just one moment. He couldn't have hoped to understand or even feel fully all the overwhelming amount of sensation, and thus information, that was being sent. His flesh felt, at least thus far, intact. There had been a clear impulse going to the legs, commanding them to stay down and be the hinge of the movement. Another strong stir was coming from the arms, which were just ready to dart into the air in the direction of the blood. The head, flooded and inebriated with the slinking feelings of life, felt tense and contracted, but intact as well. The neck was vibrating powerfully, as it would serve to bring the head in the blood's direction.

After that meager attempt of examination, the impulse sent by his gut was acted upon without him giving consent. It had been too fast and too strong. It was completely beyond his control. The legs did what they had been told to do and remained down, pressing against the soft surface underneath to aid the hands in their lightning-fast movement towards the air. His fingers gripped something, the ones of his right hand something harder on the surface then those of the other hand. His back and neck sprang upwards as well. The last, strong sensation he could clearly make out came from somewhere strange. His teeth had suddenly seemed to gain a heightened sense of touch, sending impulses of the cold air touching them right before sinking into something warm.

After that, there was no more attention left for the singular senses. There was just one thing in the whole perceived world that seemed to have persisted, and that was the explosion of pleasure and vicious bliss. All at once, everything regained its form. Everything around him, alongside himself, sparked and was inundated with new life.

The taste of blood was somehow less intense than before, and even the feelings of the substance in his mouth was unimportant. The fangs were just digging deeper and deeper into the warm flesh, battling fiercely against the resistance of the tissues and lacerating new skin and new flesh to search for more. His hands clawed the surface they were in contact with so strongly that they were close to make it collapse. The arms were shaking violently and hysterically, overflowing with renewed life and unimaginable quantities of energy, which in turn increased the strength of the fingers' grip. An amount of power so big that it could never be controlled was swiftly gushing across the body, contracting it and the releasing the tension in a new surge of might and desire.

After having run through all of the body, awakening again, something began to change in his mind. Forcefully brought to the senses, his reason had been clouded by a thick red mist ever since his fangs had sank into the prey and he had started to drink. The haze was turbulent and growing thicker, until at one point it reversed its motions. It shrank, a lot faster than it had gathered, leaving only emptiness behind. Azrael began to understand something only then, finding himself in the familiar space of his awareness as the emptiness began filling with thoughts. Along with those, a freezing fear crept up on him, somewhat cooling the warm sensation. What in blazes am I doing?

The fear proved, for a short moment, stronger that the weakening need to swallow more blood. Enough. He pulled back his mouth, feeling the sense of touch fade from his canine teeth and the tremors shaking his arms starting to wane. He attempted to close his mouth shut, but a miscalculation in the timing made him bite raw flesh. It was too late to reassess the movement, and so he drew his face away anyway, barely hearing the sound of the flesh being ripped apart. There had been resistance, but it had been no match for him. There was a new, never felt strength brimming inside him.

He turned his head around and spat the lump of flesh he had in his mouth beside him. As he did it, he felt another impulse coming from something deep within his gut. It was something akin to remorse or guilt, but a more malicious and brutal version of it. Why did you have to spit it? it was asking, but in a way that couldn't be explained in words alone. Azrael listened to that whim for all the time it persisted, coming to a rather strange conclusion. I was too afraid to notice, but I think I liked the taste of that piece of bloodied flesh.

'Azrael?'

That was the first sound that had anything to do with the concrete world. Aside from the taste of blood in his mouth, nearly everything he had felt thus far had been exclusively internal. His eyes were open, but they couldn't make out anything specific. Likewise, he hadn't heard anything prior to that voice calling his own name. Even his sense of touch, not considering its extension in the canine teeth, had been mostly silent regarding to what surrounded him. He had very briefly felt a soft surface underneath him when moving his legs, but not much else. The mouth was still flooded with the taste of blood and raw flesh, and he had already noticed that his sense of taste had significantly diminished after his turning. Almost the same went for the sense of smell, which could detect hardly a thing. The only thing he could safely feel was a strange feeling, very similar in form to the scent of blood, that was warning him of something.

Upon realizing his lack of focus, he started paying attention to what was around him. There were a thousand questions to answer. I'm not dead, he thought, only realizing it fully now. He certainly hadn't departed that world yet, because much of what he had already experience was overly familiar. The lingering sensation in the body told a story of its own, though. I might not have died, but I feel as if I came very close to it. The dead flesh still attached to his bones irradiated a unique, primitive kind of incredulity. And, he thought a moment later, my mind feels a bit clearer. That was another things that could not be argued. Even though all the questions he had generated a great deal of mental noise, he was able to reason clearly and to focus sharply on a single things at the time. A subtle sense of gratefulness arose at the thought. Oh yes, you never realize how much something is dear to you until you're on the verge of losing it forever.

He turned his attention to the sounds around him. There weren't many, only a series of distant noises. It almost sounded like the far echo of a voice, its echo still lingering. For a voice to retain that amount of reverb, he reasoned, we must be indoors. In a series of tight spaces or rooms, most likely. He couldn't hear any other sounds, and that single one was constant and almost always the same. One person talking, he concluded, with an even tone, a fair distance away. However, that voice from before was way closer. Whose tone was it? he asked himself, simultaneously doing one last check if there were any more noises he hadn't paid attention to, but no. Everything else was quiet, and the answer to his last question was probably best answered by looking around.

Bringing his attention to his sight, he first noticed the light. It was strange, unnatural. It was of an igneous color, between yellow and red, but that wasn't the strangest thing. The tint was only slightly noticeable, because mainly the real colors were preserved. What was strange was that part of that light seemed without a source, or being way too bright for the few sources there were there. He quickly spotted the only two things that could give off light, and they were a few candles above him and another one on the floor a few paces from him, against the wall. One solution, albeit strange, was the logical one. A vampire's sight is supposedly able to adjust to any light, which is how they see in the darkness. I didn't know it acted involuntarily, however. It's vaguely amusing that I haven't been able to notice until now.

With that out of the way, he was beginning to recognize some objects around him and piece the image together. He had his head turned to the right, that he had sensed before, and there were a few things in front of him. And above. Above was an iron bar with three upward extensions, each holding a lit candle of bright white wax. The rod was nailed to the wall in between the cracks. It was stone, the stone of a mountain excavated from the inside. Further on, a few paces from him and next to that other candle, there was a small piece of wooden furniture with a few papers, a quill and quiver and a couple of fat coin pouches laid on its surface. Right beside it, hanging from another rusty iron bar, was a bone white banner with red lines along the sides and with a black heraldry in the middle. The black shade left by a bloodied hand.

The Dawnstar Sanctuary, he understood. My chamber, judging by the objects. Exactly as I left it. Now, the voice… The options were very narrowed down now, and they pretty much were restricted to the members of the Brotherhood. He could remember very little of the voice that had called his name, but there were two things. Firstly, there was only one Brotherhood member who called him by name and, secondly, there was that strange feeling. Almost certainly related to his vampire powers. A vampire can feel another vampire. The options narrowed down to one. Babette. Of course.

The situation seemed rather clear now. He remembered vaguely that, upon falling from the saddle, his right foot had remained suspended in the air. It wasn't a distorted perception. My foot was stuck in the stirrup. Shadowmere knew the way to the Sanctuary and had dragged his unconscious body all the way to the secret entrance into the Brotherhood's haven. It wasn't clear what had happened immediately after, if the neighing had made some of the Dark Siblings curious or if one of them had merely stumbled outside by accident and found the Listener's body outside. Babette had then brought him to his own chamber, still cataleptic, and had brought him fresh blood. The only thing that could have reanimated him. It all seemed rather linear. The events and the outside clues lined up perfectly. What didn't was his internal world, but that would have to wait. He knew once again how to prioritize, and his internal anguish could wait a little longer.

He turned his head around, to the left, where the voice had come from a moment before. He moved very carefully at first, wary of moving stiffened muscles too fast, but quickened the movement after a moment. He fully expected his body to be sore and tired after that long comatose state, but that didn't seem to be the case. None of the things that allowed him to move ached anymore. It moved thanks to the otherworldly energy flowing in him and in minimal part thanks to the blood he had just imbibed. He could feel his heart beating, extremely faintly, and his veins barely tickling. The same things happened to Serana after drinking blood, so I imagine this is normal. Some texts did detail a partial regain of normal life functions for a few hours after blood consumption. Regardless, he wasn't tired. His neck didn't crack and the muscles weren't throbbing.

Upon turning completely to the left, two distinct things caught his attention. There was Babette sitting on the side of the bed, which wasn't surprising. Her legs dangled down the side bedstead and she leaned on her left hand, lain very close to his side. Her hair had been skillfully combed in an elegant braid and she wore a clean red dress with grey framings and the Brotherhood's black hand embroidered on the chest. Her face was almost blank, but the lips were tight and there was a feeble spark in her eyes. She was worried.

Azrael, knowing his face was fully exposed, did his best to hide a grimace. I can't stand people who are worried about me. The intensity of the thought was complementary to the strength of the emotion, which was a sudden flow of shame and humiliation instead of the quiet signal of antipathy he would usually feel. The feelings had almost emerged on his face and it had cost him some effort to conceal it. That wasn't normal, not for him. He was in no way used to all those sensations reaching him. That would have been analyzed later too, because they were probably a sign of a bigger issue. As if they were not big enough on their own, he thought disdainfully, trying to focus on the other thing that was lying right beside him.

It wasn't anything unexpected, but he had not imagined it as bad as it really was. He vividly remembered sinking his teeth into something warm and soft mere seconds ago, but he had no precise idea of what it had been until now. Right next to Babette, who didn't seem disturbed by that sight in the slightest, was the corpse of the one Azrael had drank from. It was a young boy, no more than twenty-five years judging by the skin. Short blonde hair covered his head and the shadow of a beard gave his cheek a slightly lighter color. A thick gag had been pushed into his mouth, but not by force. Strong biceps, thick back muscles, he observed. The young man wore a worker's shirt, now stained with blood near the shoulder. A local miner, he concluded, but how did he arrive here? Abduction seemed quite strange, especially since there was no way to guess what time of day it was. There was second, more probable option however. Babette could have enthralled him. That would explain why the gag was put in his mouth so smoothly. No signs of torture that I can see, and the skin seems still dry from the cold.

Everything suggested that the miner had been beguiled by Babette and led there less than a few hours before. There was nothing else that Azrael could see that could point at something more precise, without counting that the huge laceration on the neck was the most noticeable thing by far. It looks just like that corpse we found at the Hall of the Vigilant. The fang marks weren't even visible anymore. There was a whole piece of flesh missing from the throat, the skin ripped open and the flesh tore away. There was a hole in its stead. The blood had dripped on the neckline and was splattered on the shoulder. The skin had taken an extremely pale, almost sallow color.

'Azrael,' Babette said from right beside his view, 'look at me.' Her voice was somewhat tense, and she fell into a tense mood very rarely. As he shifted his gaze to meet the pain of bloodshot eyes that were looking at him, Azrael noticed her slight stiffness. 'How long,' she asked, the tone firm and unusually serious, 'has it been since you've last drank blood?'

I don't like her tone, he thought, but most importantly he didn't recognize his own pattern or thought. It was as if he was always looking for an escape. He focused back on reality, holding the girl gaze resolutely. That too was something to be reflected on later. 'I had never done it before,' he answered, preferring to observe rather than correct his impulse to keep silent. It would seem normal to answer the question so that she can understand. Now she's forced to ask it in a different way. That was unlike him, even in his own eyes.

As rather predictable, Babette gave a nod and reformulated. What was strange was her complete lack of a reaction. 'How long has it been since you've been turned, then?'

'What's Masser's current phase?'

'It's waxing, since yesterday.'

Azrael noticed only upon beginning that banal calculation that in the last few days, until the Solitude incident, he had no longer paid attention to the moon phases. It was something so habitual, I thought I would have kept doing it nonetheless. But as habitual as it was, he had not paid any attention to it. He had to quickly retrace to the evening when he had encountered the man outside Solitude. That makes it… four days. If Harkon told the truth, which it seems like it, I have remained unconscious for five days. That makes it…

'Ten days, roughly,' he answered, inflexibly. Still, there was something deeply wrong. That's my tone, my voice, I can feel it. But I'm simulating calm now, I'm not calm. I'm restless. And all that anger? Where has it gone? He had not smashed Serana into the wall on a whim, he was wrathful when he had done it. The hard part had been controlling himself as to not kill her. That wasn't not a kind of anger that went away easily, but it had nonetheless disappeared. In its place, there were other, more irritating things.

'Ten days,' Babette echoed, shaking her head. Her eyebrows were raised in an expression that was both mocking and scolding. 'A normal vampire has to feed after four or five. One such as you, because I feel you're somehow different, can't go beyond a week. You were out in the sunlight, blood-starved, and so soon after the turning.' Now she was the one with troubles controlling her expression. She was baring fangs and the skin was tensing even more on the pretty, bony face. It was one of those moments when her appearance completely failed to match her character. 'What in the Void were you thinking?'

Every time his lips parted to utter a word, he tasted the blood left in his beard. That rendered talking even more unpleasant than it already was. 'I don't know. For the last few days I haven't been able to think about anything or decide anything.'

'Something has happened while searching answers, hasn't it? I was right, your arrogance was indeed your undoing.' Azrael was quite used to hearing criticism in her voice, but that kind of worry was something entirely new. He remained silent and let her go on. 'You've become less strange on normal standards, but a lot more so when compared to the you I know. Mainly, you're not answering my questions. Tell me what happened. Something must have.'

Azrael tried to breathe in, only to end up feelings flustered at the thought that he wasn't breathing. A strong tension was running across his body and, once again, he wasn't finding any way to release it. I'd really need a long breath before beginning this story. 'I won't bore you with the details,' he started, excusing himself preemptively for not going too deep into the story. 'I met with the Dawnguard and got what I needed. I followed their most promising trail and found the thing the vampires were ravaging the land for. It was deep within a very ancient crypt. Not very far from where the two of us met, incidentally. The vampires were already there and I had to fight my way through, but I reached their objective before they did. The precious thing was a woman, sealed away for millennia. You know about her, actually. She was the Lord's daughter the dead vampire spoke about in the burned Hall.'

'Oh, yes,' she said, nodding. 'I remember. What do you mean by sealed away?'

'She was enclosed in a stone monolith and under the effects of a powerful stasis.' He mentally followed the mechanism's hypothetical patterns of function before explaining them. Did Serana know how that apparatus functioned? He had never discussed it with her. 'To my understanding,' he continued, 'a powerful spellcaster enchanted the construction that protected her prison. There was a very highly condensed amount of magicka flowing through the rock, but it was turbulent. The mage infused the mechanism with the magic needed to make it function, but rendered that same force a nature that was so unstable that it would have numbed everything in the vicinity. That woman was right in its middle, under the full force of the dazing effect. She was in a strange sort of slumber when I released her.'

Babette looked at him for a moment as he finished the sentence, her eyes sparkling with her special kind of inquisitiveness. 'Did you trust her? A complete stranger, that belonged to the opposite faction nonetheless?'

Azrael felt his body tensing. How does she know? She didn't know, that was clear, but something had suggested her something. He very quickly tried to forget about it, placing the control of his muscles above all else. However it happened, she's going to know the truth if she sees me becoming tense. 'No, I didn't,' he answered, feeling something pressing on his throat. 'I couldn't know what could happen if I did. She proved harmless, however. First because she was still numb and afterwards because we established a silent deal. However,' and the pressure on his throat slightly increased, 'there was one point when we had to slay some more vampires on the way out. I incapacitated her, I hadn't come all that way just to be stabbed in the back, but when the fight was over the situation was reversed. I was wounded and nearly dead while she was alive and well, and she didn't kill me.'

Babette raised both her hands, signaling him to stop. 'Wait,' she said, interrupting him come the end of the sentence. 'Despite you claiming it would have been short, this is turning out to be quite long. It's nighttime now. How about we go outside and continue our chat?'

Azrael couldn't find any description, explanation or reason that would aid him understand how he was feeling. The crushing sensation as she pointed out that that was turning out to be a detailed story was completely unknown. He didn't know if it was because it was strange for him to say something and not sticking to it, or because it was the specific state he was in that rendered him so excessively sensitive. What's wrong with me? The thought was accompanied by a creeping and lingering feeling of weakness, spreading all across his body. It was the thing that contracted the most with the uncontrolled, unnatural strength that his barely beating heart pumped in his limbs. He felt powerless, without any control over the present moment. But worse, he felt the absence of his assurance, that special element that allowed him to plan. Now, everything seems accidental and unsystematic.

To make matters even worse, there was something deeper. It was something more familiar, but that kind of familiar that makes it more dreaded. Beside feeling powerless, he also felt physically small. Babette is half my height, by the Three, and I almost feel like she's bigger and stronger than me. It was familiar because he had already experienced it a few times in the years past, and every time in correspondence with a great deal of suffering. I suppose my near death does count, he thought, but the irony didn't lighten the heaviness and didn't dissolve the restlessness. If anything, it increased them. A new surge of tension was accompanied by a thought, mixed and coalesced with frustration. There must be a solution to this.

'Fine,' he said, in an even tone. He moved his fingers so that they would grab the wooden frame of the bed. 'Let's go.'

'We'll have a walk on the seashore,' she said, jumping down on the floor and smoothing her dress with her hands. 'Oh, Azrael,' she added after a moment, looking at him while adjusting the sleeves, 'wash your face before we go. Your beard is soaked with blood.'

He didn't know whether Babette actually planned it or if she was completely oblivious to it, but her idea had actually been good. He leaned more towards her being unaware. The little vampire had something in her that allowed her to do great things without thinking too much about them. That trait of the little girl had not left her despite the three centuries of life. She had largely managed to grow without getting old. Azrael had always put some degree of trust into her initiatives. While rarely carefully crafted and refined, as his were, they were always enjoyable. That time was no different.

The seashore was barren and bleak, the clouds shrouding the moons and leaving only small areas of the sky clear. It was its simplicity that had always fascinated the Dragonborn. Long ago, one of the two other Dunmer he lived with had remarked that Azrael made up for his lack of sensitivity towards others with an uncommon appreciation of all things that were symbolic. Although still rather unsentimental about it, he really could grasp the elusive glamour of a landscape, a sunset or even the patterns of someone's face. He was drawn towards nature because of his capability to see the most striking things where most saw absolutely nothing.

What he had realized with time was that there was something consistent in everything he came to like. Not differently from that seashore, all desolate and glum things had the strongest degree of allure on him. It had always seemed paradoxical and contradictory that someone like him would be able to appreciate those things. But it is still sensible. He drew out the worst from what was considered good, and he likewise could draw out the good out of all the things everyone would consider bad. That seashore, sterile and harsh, was not unlike the Throat of the World and the steppes near Blacklight, covered with colorless ash. They were hostile, but at the same time they stood lonely and strong. There was a sadness, a sense of despair that seemed to seep from the very earth in those places. He didn't know if there was something that resonated with those feelings or what else, but he felt tranquil.

That was why he liked the seashore. And that night, a night that was clouded and dark, he found himself appreciating his own curse. The dull grey of the fog sparkled with colors he had never seen before. The sand glimmered, reflecting lights so far he couldn't even gaze at its source. The waves crashing against the shore, shining of shades so vivid he could not name all the colors he saw. I have always liked the night, he thought, but I never realized it could hide such splendor. He felt his eyes sparking, drawing energy from deep within, and enhancing his sight. A less perceptive observer might have not recognized this, but the night was not brighter. He simply could see the darkness.

'What happened in between? You haven't told me a lot of things.'

Babette's words brought him away from the sweet sorrow of the stark landscape. Something's not right. He couldn't help but think about it over and over. The thirst had withdrawn, his sanity had been almost entirely restored, but there was still something deeply wrong. It wasn't as if something had disrupted a previous order either. The dreading feeling was another. That shock, the complete insanity that had been eating away in the last few days, had merely torn apart the weak equilibrium which he had built with time. Have I really been living in a trance? And if so, for how long? That would have been the key to solving the problem, but it was a question that had no answer. What was even stranger, he didn't want one.

That was why he was withholding information. 'I'm not willing to talk about any of it,' he said.

'And here we go again,' groaned the girl, her voice filled with exasperation. 'I don't even know why I'm upset,' she said, shaking her head, 'I knew we would reach this point. In between you leaving that crypt and you winding up here something substantial has happened.'

'How would you know that?'

The girl spun on her feet and looked at him, her eyes directly into his despite the difference in height. Azrael had just the time to briefly examine the main lines on her face. She's furious. 'It's so obvious, by the Void!' she growled, her fangs appearing and shimmering weakly. 'You come back from a hunt against vampires, now a vampire yourself and you arrive here on the brink of death. A death you could have avoided. It's always been difficult dealing with you, but you always had the redeeming quality of having a solution for everything. Now even that is gone.' Her face was even more contracted now, but Azrael didn't feel his usual curiosity or slight scorn at that outburst. Instead, he was feeling terrifically uncomfortable. 'Let me spell this out for you, because you seem to have not understood yourself,' she concluded, eyes flaring. 'You tried to kill yourself.'

'Why would I do that?'

'You should tell me that!' she replied angrily. 'You're denying me exactly the pieces of this story that would allow me to at least give you a hint. Right now, you're the opposite of the person I know. Not only you're not looking for a solution, but you're keeping me from helping you find it. That can only mean that you are scared of it. But why? I know you for someone who isn't scared by any truth. You, who have time and time again shown to value knowledge above anything, now resist it?'

'Yes, I am resisting.' He answered, and he felt something in his chest crack, as if one of his ribs had been snapped. 'I need to defend myself against a great deal of things in this world. I just didn't know that knowledge was in the picture as well.'

He looked briefly at her. Her eyes were glowing as if blazing with dragon fire. 'You're raving.' Azrael caught something else in her gaze, but didn't recognize it immediately. 'You're putting up new walls between you and the problem, stubbornly refusing to notice that the issue won't simply go away. What are you waiting for, for it to fade away? For someone else to solve it for you? You're behaving like a child! I can understand you having a problem, but I can't fathom you hiding from it.'

Azrael looked away from her. 'Things change,' he muttered under his breath.

'And for the worst, by Sithis! You know what is surprising me most of all?' Having said that, she paused. She waited for a moment, but continued soon after. It was clear he wasn't going to guess. 'Every time we have one of our discussions, even when we heavily disagree on something, you always defend yourself. I'll admit, it's difficult for me to debate with you because you can reason your way out of almost any corner I force you in. Even when what you say isn't what I believe to be right, you always convince me that it's the best way to do whatever we're talking about. And now? You're being elusive. You don't defend yourself.'

'I've never cared of others' opinions about me, except when it is beneficial.'

'You see what I mean?' she asked back, and Azrael understood at once. 'I know you're not stupid. You understood what I was asking and said something completely different. Where's your taste for intellectual sparring gone? If I didn't know you I would assume I'm talking to a complete icebrain.'

'Insult me if you will, if won't change anything.'

He didn't see, but he felt something getting a hold of his gauntlet and dragging him down. He imagined she had gripped it and pulled him closer. He caught a brief glimpse of her eyes once again. 'I'm just trying to help you!' she screamed.

'I don't…' Need any help, he wanted to say, but didn't find the strength for it. The grip around his throat closed harshly and suddenly, leaving him choking. That feeling was faded, after those last few days in which he had had not need to breathe. Regardless, he didn't manage to finish the sentence. Not only that, but merely trying to consumed all of the will he had left. When the words didn't come out he struggled, he clenched his fists and tried to force them out of his throat, to no avail. They would come out. He felt his legs quaking faintly.

For a moment he felt like he had lost his balance. What's happening? That question kept echoing through his head as he used his arms to remain on his feet, while simultaneously looking for somewhere to sit. There was a small moss-covered rock, eroded heavily on the side where the tidal waves struck. He put a hand down and leaned on it, slowly sitting and giving careful attention to his equilibrium. He felt as if he could fall to the ground at any moment. Only as his back became less tense and he felt he had his balance he let go of the boulder. What's happening? He snapped his fangs in the attempt to discharge some tension and brought both of his hands to his face.

A complex reasoning outlined and then was executed quickly in his head. Its result was important. As he decided to be sincere, he immediately felt some determination coming back to him. 'It's not vampirism, is it?' he said, voicing the doubt for the first time. He had always hoped, and had clang to that hope for too long, that what he was going through all was the curse's doing. Somewhere deep within he knew that wasn't true, but for once he needed confirmation from outside. 'Everyone I've encountered thus far was willing to sacrifice the unimaginable to have what I have now. I can't believe that all of them were willing to undergo this.'

'Of course they would not be willing, and of course this is not vampirism's fault.' The girl's voice was remarkably softer and calmer. There was a lot of relief in it. 'The first days are difficult, but we've had different experiences. For me, the infection took hold little by little, whereas you woke up a full vampire. Trust me, you were spared the worst part, but I can't deny that it must have been a shock to face every change at once.'

'What is it, then?' he asked, slowly removing the hands from his eyes but without lifting the eyelids. 'What is happening?'

Babette didn't immediately answer. Azrael sensed his own hearing enhancing significantly in the attempt to catch any noise that could have told him something. He not only didn't resist the reaction, but stimulated it further. His ears, now extremely receptive to anything that reached them, perceived a weak vibration. The sand was being moved. Her shoes sinking in between the grains were making that noise, and every new instance was closer than the one before.

There was a louder noise right before she spoke again. She had sat on the ground, right beside the rock where he rested. 'I'm nearly three hundred years old.' The girl's voice was pensive, as if lost in thought. More specifically, in memories. 'I have seen the Brotherhood on the verge of annihilation multiple times and I have long been its oldest, most respected member. When you arrived a year ago, I thought you were like everyone else. You would come and you would go, as many people have in my lifetime. I reconsidered that the very moment I had the opportunity to talk to you in person, and I have not changed my mind since. Despite having a sixth of my years, you proved wiser and more farsighted than anyone in our organization's recent history. I thought I had seen it all, and yet you managed to teach me some things. It's one of those that helps me now.'

To his own surprise, Azrael sniggered faintly. 'That was quite the premise.'

Babette laughed too, with her childish sound. 'Wasn't it?' she said, her tone drifting back to a serious one shortly afterwards. 'It was when you stopped in the Sanctuary for the last time after heading to Whiterun to capture that Dragon. You told me that every problem that seems insurmountable, your own words, isn't one problem at all but an blend of several issues. I wasn't completely unaware of the idea, but I had never heard it put so accurately. That is precisely why now I think you're facing more than one problem.'

'More specifically?'

'I can only guess. You don't open up much at all, so it's difficult for me to say.' She was silent for a moment longer, at the end of which she made a curious humming sound. 'I can tell you what I definitely see clearly in this moment. Before, you always appeared quite keen on not letting some things reach you. You gave away the impression that you had something to hide. That is nothing strange, mind you,' she said, a giggling sound in her voice. 'Most people on this plane do. However, your need for it has been quite unusual and it has become stronger and more marked ever since the issues with the Dragons have ceased to bother you.'

Some connections had started assembling in his head while she was talking, but that last element made the network connect and spark to life. Good girl, he thought, you gave me the time coordinates for that one riddle. He had been unable to find it, despite the several minutes of thinking he had put into it. Given the specific solution, the moment might have not been as important as the event that made it start. That short timespan she was talking about had been full of changes and decisions made. I tied up every loose end that I can remember before the winter. I reorganized the operations in the Guild and gave the first hit to Maven. I concluded unfinished business within the Brotherhood and finished training the new members. Then I went to the College. He stopped there, letting go of the train of thought. That was enough. The moment when he had headed for the College was the first he associated with a strange sensation. The memory was unnaturally vivid, as if something particular had happened. Something internal, though.

'After that,' Babette continued, perhaps not even noticing his moment of absence, 'you grew… droopy. Or better still, you became a bit contradictory. There were moments when it seemed nothing at all mattered to you any more, and others when you were frantically searching for something to do. The last two times you were here you even refused to stay here for the night. Also, the others might have not told you, but we found really strange that you offered to complete the two contracts you got two months ago. You seemed restless, always traveling here and there despite the snow covering every road. It was the heart of winter and you were riding all across Skyirm, doing this and that. There are people who do that, but you didn't seem one of them. You're not dutiful, you're not obsessive about any of the things you did, and you were not worried about anything related to them. It almost seemed like you were fleeing from something. That left us with very few reasons, and I still haven't figured out.'

'I think I have, though,' he whispered, having to hold on to his thoughts in order to continue them later. 'I can't really understand what the cause was, but there are two strange things. Firstly, I think I know what I was fleeing from. Secondly, I only now remembered how largely unaware I was of my own motivations. The only thing I can clearly recall was the endless reasons I gave myself for going at the College. Irrational ones, if I observe them now. I did happen exactly when they had need of someone like me, but I couldn't have known.' That all made sense to him.

'Right,' said Babette, with a thoughtful tone. She wasn't fully convinced or was having trouble keeping up with the reasoning. 'So what's your point? Why were you doing that?'

Azrael pondered his words with more care than usual. He chose each one carefully, not to make it sound in any particular way but because he never thought he'd have said something like that about himself. 'I think I was trying to distract myself. To ignore something that was also present in that moment. I can't know if the similarity holds completely true, but I may have been doing to myself what I was doing a moment ago with you. Trying to sidetrack you and throw you off the subject. I was fleeing from myself, or a part of me.'

He felt more calm now. He had never fully understood how much that precise combination of the roles made him more certain. Now that he was the one doing the mental work and Babette was the one trying to keep up with him, he felt more tranquil. I've been inside a thousand cages, he thought, and I have never realized. In that moment, he was trying to continue his thought but he was not sure of what route to take. He waited for Babette to vocalize the same question he had before continuing.

'So, what I take from it is that the strategy doesn't work anymore. But why?'

'Something,' he said, stressing the word and pausing briefly after it, 'managed to infect and debilitate the very weapon I was using to apply that strategy.'

'Vampirism,' murmured the girl. 'So this is where it fits. You were using your mind to stay away from the thing that you wanted to stay away from, keeping it active by doing other things.'

'Precisely. And the moment I woke up turned into a vampire, my mind started running away from itself.' That fit into everything that had happened in the last few days. In the moments of lucidity, it wasn't strange for him to think of himself as split between two parts. One that held all the suffering, meaning the one where he returned in those periods of clarity, and another where he sought refuge for the last majority of the time. The one he typically thought of as completely empty. And there was another thing. 'Furthermore, vampirism took away all the things that reminded me I was still alive. I couldn't breathe, my heart wasn't beating. I really felt as if I had lost the will to live.'

'Which isn't new.' Babette's voice was faintly wily. 'You have said that before. When you told me of your departure from the Crypt, you said that same exact thing.'

He didn't have any will to remember that. When he had said that, it had been on impulse. He needed to say it, and had resorted to saying that in Dragon Tongue to keep Serana from asking questions. He had told it to Babette, and again, he didn't rightly know why he had. It's as if I need or like to tell it aloud, but that makes very little sense. It didn't make any before a few moments ago, though, so it can be considered an improvement. He hadn't found a link with that feeling for all that time. When he lay, wounded, there in Dimhollow, he had indulged in that thought only because he suspected there would be no awakening. Between waking up again to everything he was leaving behind, it was perhaps better to die there. He wasn't even mortally wounded. He thought Serana would have stabbed him in the heart. That was the logical thing to do. I almost regret pointing her at the Dawnguard. That last dying wish was supposed to be vengeance exacted. A last satisfaction before he left this world.

'I did say it,' he whispered, slowly lowering his hands and exposing his face. 'I was convinced I would have died there and then, and I didn't much care. I was quite surprised when I awoke.' His mind instinctively and unexplainably turned to Serana, the way she sat in front of him during that conversation and the strange feeling of having her so close as she searched about his possessions. 'I even treated her gently for a moment afterwards,' he finished, noticing but choosing not to react at the placid note his voice had acquired.

In spite of everything they had discussed, there was one thing in particular that was leaving him shaken. He was in the face of an enormous opportunity to learn something substantial about himself and the truth about a good deal of recent events. But even that wasn't enough to wake him up and make him feel alive. And it's not vampirism. On that I agree with the eerie girl.

'There's probably a lot more to go through,' Babette said, from beside him. Azrael turned his head around slowly and looked at her straight in the eyes. They were, at last, calmer than when he had seen her when he woke up. Her voice backed up his hypothesis. 'You are probably best on your own. We've knocked down the wall, now it's your turn to explore what's beyond. You're quite good at unraveling mysteries.' She smiled faintly, playfully. 'I have no doubt you'll manage this one, too, but I'll take full advantage of your moment of weakness and give you some advice that you wouldn't listen to otherwise.'

The Dragonborn exhaled slowly. He stopped for a moment right afterwards, noticing something unique. He usually breathed out in that way when he felt disgusted by something, and that act of blowing the hot air out of his mouth had become habitual. Now there was no reason to do it, since he didn't breathe anymore, and that one time he was not disgusted. He was merely feigning disgust. 'Fine,' he said, after having completed the evaluation, 'let's hear it.'

'There are a lot of people in your network that owe you more than you think. Take your associates at the Guild, for example. You think that you have brought them wealth again and that by working for you they're repaying their debt in full; you think you're even with them. What you maybe don't realize is that you're giving them something more. Purpose, direction, a strong leader to rely on. You're not one who needs those things, so you might not realize, but they do. They have a debt that goes beyond material wealth, and they would be happy to repay it. So, wherever, whenever you need someone to confront, remember that they are there and they're willing. Is it clear?'

'It is. Anything else?'

Babette licked her lips and then she scratched them with her fangs. 'It's not easy to explain,' she said, half-closing an eye. 'The thing is, you always live for yourself. When you drift into sleep and ask yourself what you've done in one day, everything tends to center around you. If you've not done something good for yourself, then the day was wasted. Now… the moment that idea is brought to the extremes, it becomes more dangerous. The moment inside Dimhollow is an example, as is your cavalcade from Solitude to here. You felt like there was nothing more for you and so you were ready to give up everything, even life. Am I right?'

'Nearly. Go on.'

The girl took another brief pause before continuing. He couldn't guess if it was because she couldn't find the right words or something else. 'Well, if that ever happens again, I want you to remember something. Your egocentrism is your strength, unquestionably, but it requires a lot of resources on your part, which you don't have right now. The next time you think there's nothing left for you and there's nothing left to do, remember the people around you. The Brotherhood needs a Listener, the Guild needs a leader, the College needs an Archmage and this land still needs someone who solves problems in unconventional ways. Right now, as much as you're suffering, there's surely people somewhere who are counting on you to solve this problem for them.'

The Dragonborn's gaze emptied and became hazy, as he focused all of his attention on understanding that idea. He felt something akin to a sour taste in his mouth, and this was a clear sign of true distaste. It does make sense on a purely rational line of thinking, he thought, now able to grasp the concept but unable to understand it or share it in any way. 'I'll be dead,' he calmly replied, not antagonistically but with genuine curiosity. 'I won't know what happens to you. And whatever happens, no matter how many times I save those fools, there'll be something new. What difference does it make it if happens today or in two centuries' time?'

Babette scoffed teasingly. 'May the Void take me if I don't envy you that logic,' she muttered. 'Your life is so simple! It's difficult, I know, but very simple.' Her gaze rose to the clouds in the sky, her lips pursing. 'I don't imagine you to change that, that idea is probably what has allowed you to overcome all the challenges you've had to face. However, just think of us if you ever find yourself doubting. Even if you feel like there's nothing more and there's no meaning left at all, remember that. Do the irrational thing and continue to fight.' Upon finishing, her eyes sparked brightly for a short moment and a sly slime made its way on her lips. 'There I have it!' she exclaimed. 'When you have that sensation, that nothing's important anymore and you might as well just let go, remember that it's irrational!' She stressed that last word. 'Irrational, by Sithis!'

Azrael looked at her, his amusement surpassed by his curiosity. While that was something important, there would be a lot of time to think about that during his journey. What he was finding new was that he had finally understood why Babette sometimes was so inexplicably overjoyed when she managed to explain something to him. She treats it as a challenge. Between the two of us, I'm the thinker. Thus, when she managed to construct something complex and manages to explain it fully, she reacts like this. There was also a quite revealing deduction he could make that from that. She told me countless times how much she respects me, but this is the first time I see it with my own eyes.

'I'll think about it.'

Babette slowed down, letting her arms fall to her side. The laughter slowly vanished and she stopped shaking. The wide grin became thinner, her fangs disappearing behind the thin, parted lips. She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was wandering over the heaps of sand in front of her, accumulated there by the waves during the low tide. Soon enough this very spot will be covered by water, Azrael thought, observing how far they were from the reef where the Black Door had been placed. At nighttime, the water sometimes lapped the area in front of it. He brought his gaze back from the rocks to the girl, who was still staring thoughtfully with her smile still lingering.

As soon as she noticed he was looking her way, she straightened her back. Her features tensed a little once again. 'Sorry for my excitement,' she said wryly, 'I couldn't deny that to myself. So, now that you might have a chance to make it after all, we can return to practical matters. Where do you intend to go now?'

I'm not sure myself, he thought. Despite everything, he knew that he had merely revealed the problem. He was far away from solving it. I still don't have anything to direct me. Staying here would be just fine, but it wouldn't do anything. 'I suppose I'll continue with the mission I've been given,' he said. Saying the words caused the mixture of frustration and fear to become even more present to his perception. 'I decided I'd eliminate the vampire threat and, to some extent, I couldn't be in a better position. Unwillingly, I infiltrated their ranks.'

The girl assumed a strange expression. 'So, the plan is still to continue alone? No changed whatsoever, no matter what happened?' Her features moved further, making it clear that she was both surprised and amused. 'Maybe you have your ideas, but I don't know how you'll accomplish anything from where you are right now.'

'I know,' he said. Azrael noticed the automatic repression of his own hurt, which had disappeared without leaving a trace in his voice. She struck where it hurt. Whatever she had meant it, she had reminded him that there was no real plan of action. He was just following an idea, a clue that he had. 'I'll remain on this track,' he continued, unsure about telling the truth of not until the last possible second, 'as long as it takes me to find a solution. I'll remain part of the Volkihar, I'll know everything that could help me, and I can wait. Thanks to them, I can wait forever.'

'Are you sure? That this is the best way?'

'I think I am.' His gaze emptied for a moment as he focused solely on his thoughts, identifying the thread that was giving him some degree of certainty. 'Truthfully, I don't know what I should do now. I feel like I know nothing. Whatever decision I took when my faculties were still intact will always be better than any I take now. I guess there would also be the option to stop and think, but it wouldn't work. If there's a lesson to be learned here, is that I think with my body as well as my mind. I'll never find a solution to this problem if either one is idle.'

'Oh!' cried the girl, giggling afterwards. 'The first time I can't really argue with you tonight. I guess that makes sense.'

If only it made as much sense to me as it does to you... I'd be a happier Dunmer then. In the years, the last one in Skyrim in particular, he had learned how strange a thing persuasion was. How many times I have confronted someone acting like I had the power while I really had none, only for them to believe me and give in. Some other times, not unlike the one just underwent, he managed to convince others of things he wasn't sure of himself. He occasionally explained a thought he had to someone in order to start a discussion, to deconstruct that belief together; the times when he accidentally convinced the chosen person of that initial idea were many more than the alternative, and they were in equal parts satisfying and irritating. I've always blamed that malleability on stupidity or ignorance. But maybe there's very little rational thought involved in accepting an idea. There is for me, but I've never been normal.

'Azrael, one last thing,' Babette added, bringing him away from his thoughts. He noticed at once that both her tone and her face had returned to a more serious one. 'You're going to Riften, right? Or in the Rift in general, wherever that place is.'

'I am.'

'That's a long journey, even with Shadowmere it's at least a few days.' She stopped momentarily, probably making sure he was listening. Her bloodshot irises moved, as if checking what she could see of his face. 'No reluctant vampire likes it at first, but you will have to drink some blood before you get there. If you don't, you'll be in a lot of pain. You'll not be able to ride in the hours where the sunlight is directly hitting you, which might add a day or two.'

The resistance he felt to that idea was something new. 'It's five days, I'll manage without. I don't like the idea.'

The girl's eyebrows cocked abruptly and she started smiling wryly again. 'Why? What is the problem? Every new vampire has one, but in reality there is no particular reason.'

'It's not right.' The answer had been an impulse, an excused he had come up with without even realizing it. Why that, of all thing? That's so idiotic. No matter. He would have had time to investigate it later. Now, let's hear what she has to say about it.

Babette merely laughed. 'That's going down in our records,' she said, scratching her teeth together. She did that sometimes when she was amused. 'The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, one of the greatest takers of lives, doesn't do something because it's not right. Neither is killing, as far as I know, and yet we do it anyway. Besides,' she continued with a wicked smile, 'what's life greatest illusion?'

Azrael felt his lips tensing into a very faint sneer. 'Innocence, my Sister.'

A/N: There was a thing I wanted to share, which isn't particularly relevant to the story but that I found very interesting: despite having thought about it previously, I never quite realized how subtly erotic a vampire's bite can seem until I had to write it. There isn't any clear description of what it feels like to drink blood within Skyrim, but there is plenty in the literature surrounding vampires, which is what can be partially taken into consideration.