Chapter XV: The Hunt Begins

The Dragonborn was used to being the center of the attention. In certain occasions, it was inevitable that the gazes of those present would converge on him. Whether it was because he was speaking to them, or merely because they were trying to get a good look at him, it didn't matter. At times, certain people would not take their eyes off him because they were worried of what he might have done, if given a moment when no one was looking his way. There were many places where he had the reputation of vanishing, leaving naught but rumors and abstruse clues behind. Each time he strolled by a marketplace, people would look at him and salute him. That was why he avoided them as often as he could. The advantages and disadvantages of having that repute were debatable, but it was undeniable that as soon as he revealed himself, all the attention gravitated towards him. It was just the way it went.

And despite this, all the gazes that were turning towards him as he made his way down the set of stairs that went from the ante-chamber towards the main hall of Castle Volkihar were in equal parts amusing and unsettling. The stares of the vampires were fixed on him, and Azrael could almost swear that there were tiny hot pincers nipping on his flesh on every spot of him frame where their eyes were pointing. As Aela once said, they threw me to the wolves and now I come back leading the pack, he thought as he walked down the last two steps of the set of stairs. And if his return alone wouldn't have been enough, there was also the fact that neither Salonia nor Stalf had come back.

Azrael didn't know what the court's plans for him were. Maybe, there had been plans for him that were already supposed to be concluded. There was also the possibility that his own freedom was the result of Lord Harkon's decision alone. The possibilities were many and there were numerous things to learn still. The change in atmosphere that his arrival has caused could be interpreted in a variety of different ways. If I knew, he reasoned, how many members were informed of Vingalmo and Orthjolf's intentions of eliminating me and grabbing the Chalice for themselves, perhaps that would explain more. And even then, it was possible that Harkon had merely used him as a personal tool, knowing that he was strong enough to carry out his will. Perhaps the confusion was due to the Lord's explanation to the court, detailing that they would have never seen him again. His manipulation was masterful, but he didn't know me well enough. Or, he considered, but couldn't resolve on calling that other alternative certain, he trusted what Serana told him too deeply. That woman is sharp in her own way, but she never got a grasp of me.

He strode on the left side of the hall, presuming that Garan Marethi would still be where he had found him last time. He still sensed the gazes of the vampires on his right examining him from the tip of the hood to the very end of the cloak. Deep down in his gut, there was a little flame burning. The sweet taste of vengeance, he thought, recognizing the sensation, acknowledging it and lightly letting it burn. The strength of the feelings that vampirism caused weren't an issue any longer. Once understood, the stimulus released all of the attention it had taken.

He walked by the first door on the left and trod past a court member, who kept staring fixedly at him but didn't even hint at greeting him. Azrael looked back at him, his gaze safe under the shadow of the hood, and tried to understand. He's stiff on the shoulders, he noticed. The face was completely blank, and even the deformed nose ridge and the warped nostrils couldn't have hidden an underlying expression of curiosity or surprise. This one's faking disinterest, he assumed. He's treating me as if I don't matter, which probably means the opposite. Aside from the shape of the nose, the cross-shaped lips were apparent and the cheekbones were gaunt, streaked by livid veins. A quarter-breed. A relatively lesser member of this place, and… Serana's face appeared in front of him as he remember what she had said to him in front of the Castle gates. Every quarter-breed would do anything to become a half-breed. That's aloofness born of envy, then. He turned around towards the hall, averting his gaze from the vampire as a final series of thoughts passed though his mind. I have something you crave and that you don't have. You also think that I received it unjustly. He probably has been around for millennia, and he still hasn't learned anything.

The hall looked different from where the feast they had interrupted was taking place. The tables were empty, although not clean. There were splatters on the wood, and all the residents of that place had surely lost their taste for wine a long time ago. Besides, the flavor would be minimal with our reduced sense of taste. Wine was also easier to scrub away than blood, which could remain in small stains for a long time. Those blots probably were the remnants of decades of feasting, not just last night's one. The goblets were full, and their number was disproportionate with the number of court members, even without considering that some had their own cup in hand. All of those chalices were old, the decorations worn off from centuries, if not eras, of being held by creatures with long nails.

While entering, when he still couldn't see some details, he had wondered briefly if the light had been changed in any way. When he had first seen the keep, along with Serana, his eyes had taken a moment to adjust to the dim light. The two rusty chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were the only source of light in that hall, but now that he returned there with the eyes of a vampire and a clear mind, he noticed that the illumination was just right. It wasn't too bright, and it wasn't too dark to strain the eyes and force them to compensate. I wonder how old they are, he thought. There's enough rust on them to assume they've been here since construction, but it's also fairly humid in here. I would be surprised if they hadn't oxidised. Age notwithstanding, it's strange that they can still hold their own weight. They seemed on the point of falling any moment.

He turned left upon reaching the second opening on that side of the hall. In leaving the hall behind him, the fleeing sensation of diminishing tension reached him. They did not know what to do, even. As he swept his gaze around the small corridors and different ways that were presented to him and eyeing Garan on top of the stairs, he reasoned backwards about what his arrival would have seemed like to the vampires present. Whatever happened, they probably weren't expecting me to come back. Given that, the one person that they hated for almost killing them all had just walked in without any repercussion or greeting any of them. On second thought, if my ghost had walked in instead of myself it might have arisen less interest.

He walked up the stairs, skimming just over the handrail. He had noticed upon entering for the first time that the stone used to build the interiors of the castle and what he had already seen of the exterior was crude, sometimes little more than cobblestone. It was of little significance on its own right, if not to consider the structure of the building by itself, but what was interesting was that it wasn't the same stone used to create the contraption where Serana had been sealed away. Even then, it didn't mean anything substantial, the places were a few days' distance from one another, but they weren't the work of the same person and they hadn't been built in the same style. It could be theorized that they had been built in different time periods, even.

Reflections to be kept for later, he thought, stepping on the elevated floor of the corridor leading to the chapel where he had woken up. 'Garan,' he called, turning his back towards the handrail and leaning on it. He shifted the blade of the longsword and the lower limb of the bow to make them hang down and not be between his own back and the rail, then calmly waited as the Dunmer turned around.

'Azrael,' he said slowly, weighting every letter and every sound of the word and brushing his reddish high ponytail. It was easy to read both his mild amusement and his genuine interest, even if the face showed little of both. They were Dark Elves. They understood one another.

Which is as much a temporary relief as it is a long term problem. Azrael gave the brother in blood a terse nod as he turned towards him. He might be the only one with a chance to guess my intentions, and then… We'll see where his loyalty lies. Unless I can control it beforehand. With slow movements, he began undoing the knot that tied the Chalice to his belt. The strap of leather drawn on top of it was still emanating a light ethereal radiation. Meanwhile, he looked sideways at the older Dunmer, but there wasn't anything significant making its way past the blank and bored expression of that old schemer.

'I see you have returned. Lord Harkon will be pleased,' said Garan, his voice poised as always. He still didn't show any signs of surprise, but his eyebrows furrowed. 'I assume you met Stalf and Salonia. The Lord and I suspected they might follow you there.'

'Not of their own initiative, I gathered.'

The Dunmer flashed an ugly smile. 'You have gotten quickly acquainted to the politics of Lord Harkon's court. Yes indeed. They were pawns. Vingalmo and Orthjolf both long for our Lord's throne, but cannot make overt moves against him. Each sought to gain power by using his underling to kill you and keep the Chalice for himself. By ensuring the Chalice reaches our Lord, you have increased his power over them, and at the same time deprived them of their little pets. You've done Lord Harkon two great services.' The smile faded entirely, and he leaned in more closely. 'Some advice from a brother in blood,' he added. 'Take what you've learned to heart, and be careful who you trust.'

Azrael kept his lips from moving. Even the nearly imperceptible grin that would warp his darkened lips could have been spied by the enhanced sight of the old vampire. A lesson on suspicion. I wonder if it is because of the age disparity or merely the little time he has known me for. And of all the things he could have done before saying that, he seemed to have thrown caution to the wind. He had told him that Vingalmo and Orthjolf wanted the Chalice for themselves, whereas he had assumed they would have just been the ones to return it. They wanted power, they didn't want Harkon's favor. That explained why their underdogs had refused to bring the Chalice back together, but it was a suggestion of how strong that artifact was. Generally, he seems to trust me a great deal. He could have just misinterpreted me, but he might also be manipulating me. The person who advised against trust was probably the one to be trusted less than any other.

'I'll remember,' Azrael answered, emotionlessly. He turned his gaze down to his side and looked at the Chalice, hidden in its leather cover, and extended it towards Garan. The smell of resin still came quite strongly from it, and it lingered on his armored fingers. 'Filled with the blood of the two traitors,' he explained. 'I supposed it would suffice.'

The old vampire took the Chalice with both hands, carefully wrapping his fingers around the stem and vertically cupping the covered rim with his other hand. 'It does suffice,' he said, his eyes briefly drawn to the object as he held it in his hands. He brushed the surface of the leather with his fingertips. 'Now,' he said, his gaze rising just enough to meet the Dragonborn's one, 'I think you should speak to Lord Harkon. He hasn't given me any further instructions.'

Of course he hasn't. Azrael rose from the handrail, shrugged his shoulders to adjust the cloak and turned right. He knew the castle's Lord chamber, it must have been the room where he had disappeared after giving him instructions. He focused his gaze away from Garan, who was still holding the Chalice, and stepped forward. The cloak flapped at the sudden move, producing a weak gust and a soft rustle. Of course he hasn't, he repeated again in his mind. He was probably counting on not seeing me ever again. For that to be true, however, a variety of other things would need to be adjusted. As he turned his back to the old vampire, another factor came to his consciousness. Sometimes he undervalued his own ability to keep things hidden. Who, other than Harkon, could guess that I was a step away from insanity?

Upon entering the next room, he halted his reasoning and checked his surroundings. The yellowish light of the candles illumined the several different ways one could take from there. If it could be called a room that intersection had five corridors converging on it, counting the one he was coming from. One came from the main hall, and the one who continued straight up the large set of stairs led to the chapel. The one in front of him led to a gallery that overlooked the main hall. On its left, a colossal, withered banner hung down the wall. Further on in the same direction, a small entryway signaled by two braziers, one on each side. That's the one. He remembered the pointed arch on the entrance. Assuming he wasn't intruding on any conversation, his new encounter with Harkon seemed seconds away.

In that time, he had some things to carefully ponder. He trod swiftly in the corridor's direction, his boots touching the floor silently. His eyes wondered on a sheaf of fresh lavender, left into an ancient vase filled with water. The flowers were withered and there wasn't any smell coming from them. Everything in this place is old. The objects, the building. The people. It felt strange to him, how such a long time had managed to pass without touching anything in there. That, however, was a line of thoughts that was inconsequential at the time. The upcoming encounter was a bigger issue.

I can't stand posing as someone I'm not. If I have to behave differently, that is. He attacked the problem from all angles, resolute on that one simple thing. He wouldn't have pretended to be still insane. He didn't remember what exactly he had said and done the time before, which transitioned the option from merely unpleasant to objectively dangerous. Harkon will see that I'm not the same. He seems to have that kind of intuition. Something sparked right then. Maybe… Perhaps it wasn't possible to keep on the act, but reversing it would have been extremely good. It would either gain Harkon's respect, or make him believe he had embraced his vampiric nature. In the latter case, making him believe he had become dependent on him. Thus making him believe he had gained a mindless underling. The first seems more promising, however. He would not share any kind of information with me if the second one came to be true. As per usual, knowledge was what he needed if the next order of the scheme had to be actualized.

He walked up the few steps leading to the Lord's room. There was no door, and before crossing the threshold he eyes a long dining table. A wooden one, the sides cut with the same technique as the ones in the hall. A narrow white tablecloth covered the center and extended further than its length, and dangled down both sides. Above, a low handrail was visible. The high contract with the lit candles illumining it from behind made it appear completely black. The wall on the immediate right was covered by another banner, this one not as tattered as the other ones. The heraldry, however, was too damaged all the same to guess what it represented.

As he entered, his view of the room became total. Although, in contract with what he had envisioned, it was rather barren. The section corresponding with the handrail was only filled with a large set of stairs with low steps. The size was so disproportionate that it was clearly meant to be either symbolic or just for atmosphere's sake. The other thing were a pair of chairs, a simple one alongside a jacked-up seat, of precious inlaid wood. They both were placed in front of a kindled and lit fireplace. The rest of the room was empty, expect from a drawer on the right side that he hadn't seen from the corridor.

And here he sits… Lord Harkon's eyes had immediately picked up on him entering, and had quickly shifted towards the entrance. The Volkihar's blood patron sat on the more precious of the two chairs, his chin resting on his intertwined hands, which in turn leaned on his knees. His eyes were bloodshot, and Azrael felt them seizing him up carefully. He probably already understood I'm more stable than before, just by looking at how I stand and walk. Despite the eyes, he couldn't help but notice once again how unassuming he looked. He could have passed for a mortal, if he wanted. The mere fact that for all those years he had kept his distance from the mortal world despite everything was quite telling of his character.

'Lord Harkon,' Azrael said. If he wanted to steer the interaction the way he wanted, he had to start from the beginning.

The pureblood remained silent. His gaze remained fixed on one spot, which were the precise one where Azrael's eyes were. He can see the light, but I doubt he can understand anything. The seconds went by mutely, without a single one of the two shifting or averting their eyes of a vampire are dry and after a few days after the transformation the eyelids stop closing and reopening to water the eyeball. That makes a vampire's gaze particularly intense. Azrael had noticed that his own eyelids had stopped moving only on the way back from the Throat of the World. A good five days had gone by since then.

The gazes of both remained still, steadily. The crackling sound of the fire came from beside the man, and its flames cast strange shadows on his face. He hadn't changed since last time. The mustache and then beard growing on the chin were of the exact same length as two weeks before. He donned the same clothing as he did when he had received the Dragonborn and Serana, a lightweight armor. He had already taken note of the striking resemblance with the one worn by the Altmer he had killed at the beginning of his investigation.

'My daughter's savior,' Lord Harkon said, ending what Azrael could only describe as a subtle confrontation. 'Safe and sound.' His head turned around and gaze went back to the fire. His shoulders lowered, and his back bent even more. 'Given that you're here,' he said, 'I assume you brought the Chalice back with you.'

Azrael nodded his head once, slowly. 'That I have.'

'Good.'

The echo of the words resounded twice in the small room before disappearing. Once gone, the crackling of the fire substituted it. The sound was sporadic. The fire was burning well, albeit not having much more fuel to it. Two logs were stacked inside, leaning on each other and burning from their lower end. The smoke rose to a point where it was impossible to see where it went, but there must have been a cylinder bringing it to the roof. That fireplace itself was the remnant of a time long passed, when the cold air inside of the castle was a good enough reason for its inhabitants to light fires. Now, they were only for show or, as it seemed the case for Harkon, merely habit.

Azrael had eyed the dinner table beside him. The silverware was painstakingly laid out on the table, that had three chairs around it and three plates in front of each. Two parents and an only child. The sum is obvious. There was a thin layer of dust on the tablecloth and the forks and knives, but that wasn't as indicative as it would be at first glance. Dust forms mainly as the human skin shreds. I can't imagine the outer tissues of a vampire behaving in the same way. That considered, there was no exact way to guess how long that setup had been there. And four thousand years isn't an option to roll out lightly.

Harkon pointed at the chair next to him with a wide gesture, recapturing his attention. 'Sit,' he said, still looking in the coils of the fire.

Azrael stepped forward and lowered, holding the lower limb of the bow and the blade of the sword exactly as he had done before to keep them from causing problems. He had not been asked to lay down his weapons and he had no intention of disarming himself in that situation, so he did the best he could. He also let the cloak drop on the ground, and then sat comfortably in the seat. It might have been simple, but it was rather large and the armrests were to his liking. He laid his forearms on them, cracked his neck, and moved his head in Harkon's direction.

The Lord of the castle raised his eyes ever so slightly. His long fingernails were ticking against one another. 'I underestimated you.'

'Is that so?' There was no curiosity in the Dragonborn's voice, so it didn't sound like a question, but there was neither scorn to make it sound like mockery. There was simply no emotion in his tone.

'Yes,' Harkon replied, calmly. 'When you woke up from your slumber, I assumed you would have been of no more use to me. You seemed, and in fact I think you were, insane.' He paused briefly, leaving that last word hanging in the air. 'I thought sending you to recover the Chalice would have been the last thing you would have ever done. I didn't even think of telling you that. You didn't seem in the conditions to fully understand whatever I might have told you. But tell me, how did your quest in search of the Chalice go?'

'Garan Marethi was meticulous in his description. I had as little trouble in finding the den as in getting through its inhabitants. I also had to dispatch of the two who were hunting me down there and then, but I have been told that the encounter it had been anticipated.'

'Salonia and Stalf were both good fighters.'

'Not good enough. They would be here in my stead, otherwise.'

Lord Harkon didn't reply right away. His gaze still wandered the flames, but whether it was actually looking at the flames or was lost in his own thoughts, that could not be told clearly. His fingers had stopped tickling together, and now he sat completely still. Azrael moved his left hand on the side of the armrest and flexed the palm once, not shifting his gaze from the man's face and waiting patiently. He brought the hand back on the armrest.

'You may not realize,' the man said, 'but in recovering the Chalice you have done me a great favor. Furthermore, you have proven yourself a strong and indomitable ally. Because I can consider you one. Or do you still intent on slaughtering us all?'

The gauntlet's metal fingers grasped the armrest once again. 'I have yet to understand your angle on the matters at hand, Lord Harkon.'

The man sniggered. The teeth blinked dimly, and the lines that were drawn revealed the unnatural thinness of the skin. Aside from that, he showed little else. His tone was even, as was the one of most court members, and the unknown accent in the voice made it difficult to understand. It wasn't quite the same as Serana's, which suggested a small evolution in the language even among that small group. The two things combined made it difficult to understand anything that he didn't want to communicate. 'My angle,' he said, 'is really rather simple, and I trust you will understand it by the end of this conversation. Which I hope to be very fruitful. All men can prove their loyalty, but not many can prove their strength. You have done both, even when I suspected you might not have been able to demonstrate either. My intention is to make up for that, and reveal everything that concerns you right now, man to man.'

'I'm listening.'

The blood patron's head moved, and his eyes shifted on the place where Azrael's ones were. The man's words, as he breathed out the necessary air to speak, carried the scent of blood. Not the maddening, strong scent of fresh blood, but the natural smell of the life lymph of any common mortal. He had fed recently, as suggested by the suppleness of the face.

'We need to go back to before your rebirth,' the Lord said, 'when I withheld my trust because we were still on opposite sides. When I told you that I was grateful for my daughter's safe return, I told the truth. But I did not tell you everything.'

'I never imagined you had.'

'Good. Strong instincts and a cunning mind will serve as well as blade, spell of claw. It is for that reason that we need to start from the beginning. As you will know by now, vampires are immensely powerful, but we too have too limits. Our great enemy is the Sun, and until recently it's an enemy we've had no way to fight. For millennia I have searched for an answer to this problem, and at last, I have found it. There is a prophecy written by a Moth Priest, those Scholars who read the Elder Scrolls. The foretelling tells of a time in which vampires will gain power over the Sun, and will no longer fear its tyranny. I believe the secret to unraveling that prophecy is written in Serana's Elder Scroll. Shortly, the court will assemble and a new task will be given to them. And now, that includes you.'

Azrael tucked away everything he could, to be dissected later. There was too much precious information to be gathered, but that was not the time. 'May I ask something else?'

Harkon gave a nod. 'You are worthy of trust, so yes. Ask me what you will.'

'Judging by my own calculations, a very long time has gone by since Serana and her mother left the castle.'

'My wife betrayed me and brought Serana with her,' he said. His gaze became more inflamed for a short moment, and the short phrase felt like a correction. 'But yes, they disappeared long ago. I commanded every vampire in the court to look for them, but after centuries of searching without success, I lost hope. In my heart, I know that it was my wife, who took my beloved daughter away from me. If I ever see her again, she will pay most dearly for that betrayal.'

'You assume Valerica fled, then.'

Harkon's head turned abruptly to the side. Azrael felt his forearm stiffing and pressing down, the fingers spanning straight and flexing. His hand wandered over the grip of the dagger for a moment, but aside from that sudden movement the man didn't seem on the point of attacking him physically. 'Where did hear her name?' he asked.

Azrael withdrew his hand. 'From Serana. She didn't directly tell me, but it seemed obvious once I pieced together what I knew. You confirmed my suspicion.'

'You're clever,' muttered Harkon. 'Much more so than you're strong, probably. Yes, I think my wife fled. We didn't part on good terms. She has been gone for so long now, and I can only assume she has left this world, one way or another. For a long time, I supposed she had brought Serana with her, and that I had to find another way to bring the prophecy to fruition. Thankfully, she was less clever than I first thought.'

'Why do you think she left Serana behind?'

Azrael was sensing a strange sort of weight pressing on his shoulders and forcing him to lower his head, almost as if the air itself was getting heavier and heavier as time passed. It was nothing physical, that he had understood very early, but the overall tone of the conversation. Even through small, isolated and seemingly inconsequential details, he could guess that the memories were reigniting a resentment that had been buried deep within the man for a long time. That anger had taken root in him, probably giving him the strength to carry on for millennia. I doubt he could even try to vent it. It's just part of him by now.

'Valerica wasn't stupid,' Harkon replied. 'I think she was planning something different for her, but something she didn't foresee stopped her.' Weaving that semblance of praise for that woman seemed to be costing him a lot of effort. His fingers had stopped drumming against each other and his hands were intertwined, rigidly. 'Deep inside, I know that whatever managed to stop her is something I, too, should be wary of. I don't think what happened is how she envisioned it would. At least I have the satisfaction of having thwarted her schemes.' As he spoke, he seemed to be thinking about something. His voice waned as he reached the end of each word and each sentence. 'You should be the one telling me, in truth,' he continued. 'You were the first person Serana saw as she woke up. Was she surprised to see someone?'

'She was vastly uninformed. There's only one thing that could concern you: I had heard some vampires speak your name, and when I asked Serana who you were, she asked back if they had mentioned anyone named Valerica. Knowing how careful she is in speaking, I only imagined she knew about the conflict between the two of you but wasn't sure what had happened while she was sealed away.'

'Which might mean my wife left her with some unclear news, yes…' murmured Harkon. 'And I'm glad you caught on to my daughter's crafty habits. She's good at playing people around with words, all the while retaining such an innocent appearance you would never doubt her.'

'You speak of it almost as if you've been played around yourself.'

The man shifted his gaze back to the crackling fire. 'At times, I really fail to understand her. Again and again I've tried to steer her the right way, explain what she's expected to do. Yet for every time she obeys, there's another when she resists. She never opposed me, she simply doesn't comply. When she does that, I flow into a rage and find it hard to control myself.'

Azrael felt his lips pressing against one another, the scars of dryness of the upper lip grazing the lower one. 'Daughters are always a challenge,' he said. 'Their ways of thinking, even if similar to the parent's, are marked by quaint feelings. Sometimes tainted by them.'

Something hard seemed to melt in his throat. His attention had been focused outward for so long that now it was almost strange to be brought back to his own sensations. The sense of lightness wasn't new, but the mere presence of the thought had obscured that feeling for a while now. That's a perspective worth using. I always viewed this from Serana's eyes, but the opposite can be made. In spite of her age and experience, Serana was still very much a daughter. That, however, as interesting as it might had been, had to be analyzed in full detail later. Nevertheless, recollecting and ignoring that thought required more effort than usual.

The trembling light revealed Harkon's features sparsely, never all together. His expression never seemed to change considerably, but a sum of singular elements suggested a trace of curiosity. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his lips were tight, probably an attempt to control the fact that they were naturally parting. He looked rather pensive once again. Just as I have changed my viewpoint on him, he's probably doing the same with me.

'My instinct tells me you're speaking from experience,' he said, weighting every word. 'That of a sibling?'

'No,' Azrael said, taking note of the fact that he hadn't been as perceptive as he had thought. 'That of a father.'

Silence fell again between them, and once more only the sparking of the flames in the fireplace was there to fill the void. The light cast on the table behind, on the chairs and on the columns moved periodically, when the wind sucked more air out of the cylinder connecting the heart's ceiling to the rooftop, or so Azrael found plausible. The waves of heat that reached them were waning and barely warm, and they carried the scent of ashes, contrasting the smell of blood.

Lord Harkon straightened his back, laying fully on the high backrest of his seat and crossed his hands on his lap. 'I never would have imagined it. You seem to be fairly used to living alone. I had assumed you had lived your whole life in seclusion.'

'True, but only to an extent.'

The man's head bent subtly. 'What was she like?'

The flow of memories was too massive to allow either glee or sorrow to come with them. The images, some blurred and some sharper than they could have ever been, coursed in disorder, sometimes overlapping one another. 'If you consider Serana a challenge,' he said after a moment, 'then you'd not have managed her. She was smart and inquiring, and her mind was cunning. But as much as she was those things, she was argumentative and impatient. She was impossible to control.'

'For any particular reasons?'

'Has Serana ever told you what you represent in her eyes?'

'No. I would have liked, but she never did. I understand why she didn't in her adult years. Even I can understand how strange it might have been for her to live with us for such a long time. After all, my own father died when I was but a boy, whereas she lived for more than half a century with us. Again, that I can understand, but not even when she was younger she ever told me anything. What about yours? Did she ever tell you?'

'On her fifteenth summer. She had angered a group of priests in the city, and I decided it was high time she stopped. I asked her to cease, and she answered that she wasn't rebelling, but trying to prove me wrong. She grew with me, alone, for her first few years. She had acquired my view of the world, and once she had grown up she had tried to question my perspective. It was probably too grim for a child. She concluded that she had still not found a way to oppose me. She was briskly pushing my vision to its limits, making her behavior seem extreme and brazen. That was the reason why she was such a maverick. I started seeing something invaluable in her, and I voiced my thought that perhaps I should have taken better care of her. It was then that she told me, and resisted my opinion fiercely, claiming I was the best father she could have ever had.'

'What happened to her?'

The fingers of the gauntlet closed slightly, stopping at the right moment not to scratch on one another. 'A topic for another time. Should I tell the court to assemble?'

Azrael noticed Lord Harkon's head bending slightly to the side, while his eyebrows drew imperceptibly closer to one another. There wasn't the smallest trace of a twist on his lips and the corner of his eyes were still as if made of stone, the thin skin relaxed. Of what the Dunmer could see, not one of the signs he displayed could commonly be associated with scorn or contempt. Rather, he seemed to be quite surprised, and somewhat curious.

That conclusion was highly probable. The conversation which Azrael had just ended had gone through several phases, and a considerable amount of contradictions on his side. If they made him confused, good. They could have also made him suspicious, but then again, there was no trace of it. As all the members of the court he had encountered thus far, the Lord was remarkably good at concealing his facial expression. All mentions of display of emotion, such as his own admission that Serana brought him close to losing control, had to be put in perspective. That aligned well with the shock that Serana had described to him when citing her father's moments of rage. Her mildness and charming attitude also needed to be considered in its rightful place, because in that place of poised individuals, one of the few who can flash a smile is sure to attract more attention. I think I'll fit right in. I'll bend the rules just enough to outdo them at their own game.

Meanwhile, Lord Harkon seemingly had pulled every thought together and his face was once again dignified and nearly blank. 'Yes,' he said, 'tell Garan to gather our kin.' He put his hands on the armrests and straightened his back, gazing intently at the void hiding the Dragonborn's face. 'I will not address you directly during my discourse, but remember that I want you in the frontline on this. You're undoubtedly the one who knows the outside world better than anyone here. My daughter also claims you have useful connections in this land.'

'Correct.' Azrael brought his weight forward and rose to his feet, once again shrugging his shoulders to make both the cloak and the weapons attached to the hangers fall in their place. 'I'll listen carefully,' he added, with a slow and terse nod of his head.

Lord Harkon replied with a nod himself before turning his head to the fading flames in the fireplace. The logs were crumbling to cinders and the fast-fading flames were sprouting from the layer of embers that emerged from the ashes. The Dragonborn brought a hand to his side, grasped the rim of the cloak to keep it from blowing a gust on the fire as he moved, and then turned around. The last thing he took note of was how the Lord was touching softly the three rings he kept on his middle finger. They were grey and crafted to resembled a sequence of small scabs, and each one was adorned with a bone claw. Of a bird of prey, judging by the size. A hack or a small eagle.

Azrael crossed the threshold and trod down the stairs, recollecting and putting together everything he had gathered during that conversation. There was one thing he was musing on most of all, and that was the moment in which he had opened up to him about Layla. That wasn't like me… Which doesn't mean it wasn't effective. In the last few days, something about vampirism's state of activation had become more apparent. It was capable of very quick thinking, that wasn't any of the automated reflexes that made him such a dangerous fighter but also wasn't his longer-term, analytical thinking. It was something new, a part of himself brought to the surface thanks to the Blood. It was the first time he gave it free reign, and all seemed to have gone well. The effectiveness will be measure in the long term, however.

As he constructed the more complex things actively, his mind was linking all the information in the background. He had began to understand the social climate, the habits and the links inside the court a little bit better. He could now link what Serana had said with information gathered from sources that had a perception ever so closer to his, and that in turn had allowed him to piece together a filer to reinterpret everything Serana had said during the journey. Which, counting the things she had directly said and those she had implied, were a vast amount. That small lapse in the knowledge surrounding her family, which was her mother, had been filled with enough elements to make any assumptions sufficiently reliable to be the base for further speculation.

He walked by the crossing of corridors and returned to where he had left Garan, presuming he would had still been there. As he did, he tried to temporarily get out of his mind. I'll have time to think about this on the way, wherever I'm headed next. Still, once thing about all of that was still profoundly unclear. Serana had always refused to confirm his presumption that there was something about her, her as a person, which was useful to Harkon. The Lord himself, a few minutes before, had clarified that the thing he most cared about was the Scroll, but his daughter's fearful and obstinate silence meant more than his words. But does he not know something which she does, or did he hide it from me? Both were possible. Indeed, he had admitted his wife was a astute woman, but likewise, he was not one to be trusted.

As he turned into the elevated corridor, he saw Garan. As predicted, he had returned there. Returned as if the Chalice was no longer there, so he must had put it in place and gone back to his place. He was leaning on the handrail, forearms extended forward, his fingers drumming on the back of his other hand.

'Garan.'

The old Mer turned his head around, giving a nod. 'You have spoken with the Lord, I presume. What did he tell you?'

'Gather the court members. The Lord wishes to speak to us.' The one thing he could recall from one time he had spoken to Garan before being send to fill the Chalice, was that he had admonished him sharply for calling Harkon with his name alone. Although the instinct of only saying the name again emerged, he quickly changed his words. He didn't desire friction, not right then and not with that one person.

'I see,' commented the old Dunmer, sounding pleased. Whether he had allowed it to emerge or had feigned it to cover for his surprise, that was what could be heard in his tone. 'Great things are afoot, indeed. The court will assemble.' He spread his right arm towards the stair beside him, his gaze hardening somewhat. 'Go. You should be the first to be there.'

The note of compulsion in his voice was the only thing that matched the tougher look. Azrael had nothing to gain from openly opposing him, and so he remained silent and strode behind him, towards the set of stairs, descending them two steps at a time. He felt the piercing stare of the older Mer on his back or a brief moment. Was that meant to test me, or was that merely a request to be left alone? In the first case he doesn't trust me individually, in the second he doesn't trust what Harkon and I are up to. But is Harkon really the person to have a reputation for making such unstable alliances?

As he paced down the final few steps he considered how many times the concept of trust, if not the word itself, came up in his reasoning and in the few conversations he'd had up to that point. Specifically, the lack of it was blatant in that place. Of course, wherever power was near, everyone around would try to get his or her hands on it. The problem with that place was that it had been drawn to extremes, if only because of the time span. Grik Los Lein, he thought. Such is the world. You then either turn into a manipulator, like everyone inside these walls, or a misanthrope, like me. He stepped onward, avoiding the corner and walking around it.

The extra distance allowed him to halt sharply as he came face to face with someone. He locked every muscle up tight and stopped. Taking the wide path around corners was so automatic he did it even in places and situations where there wasn't the need to. It was one of the smallest and more lethal mistake in any infiltration missions, but is often quite useless when being seen isn't an issue. Although in that particular case, it had stopped him from colliding against the person who was walking past the corner as well. Let's see, he thought, shifting his gaze to see who had been the reckless or distracted person who had almost smashed into him. It's either some thrall with too little blood in his vessels or… His thoughts stopped as if cut away with a sharp knife. No, I was dreadfully incorrect.

Serana had stepped back with her right foot and was passing a hand through her black hair to remove the locks that had fallen on her eyes. Her head was down as she tried to bring them away from her face. Whether she had her eyes closed or not, she clearly didn't see anything of the person that she had bumped into.

That brief moment in which she did that gave him all he needed. His eyes ran through every tiny detail in the little time they had. Firstly, her hair were shorter. The reason why they had fallen all over her face was that now they could hardly fall down to the shoulder blades. The color and the obsessive thought still bouncing around in his mind made him remember that when Layla cut her hair, something significant had happened. Not that it was that much a leap of logic to assume that everything that had gone down was significant for Serana, but it was further confirmation. Secondly, she wore a long and elegant garb, not overly different from the red tunic her father had worn on the day of his awakening. The fabric was the same, with those sections that resembled scales. It had its great differences from Harkon's one, which was hardly surprising. Tunics made for the poor were often similar in the models, but those were dresses made for royalty. Each one was tailored to perfection, and there was no denying that that one fit her flawlessly.

'Pardon me,' Serana said, bringing her hands away from her face but without raising her head. 'I was just—' She stopped, and the way her whole head moved made it rather clear she had seen something particular. Her eyes darted upwards, in an irregular series of motions that were quick enough to be easily mistaken for one movement. First, her gaze stopped at the height of her own waist, then slightly to the side at roughly the level of her arms, and then it moved vertically to gaze above her own head.

Azrael quickly managed to put together what exactly she had looked at. Firstly, she must had recognized his boots. There was nothing of the like around the castle, even more so than outside of it. The second bounce of her gaze had doubtlessly looked for the tip of the longsword and the bow emerging from behind his cloak. The other movement was harder to guess, but it had seemed like she had looked at his gauntlets. There wasn't any reasonable explanation to justify it, beside some disparate theories that he didn't even began to consider. Lastly, and that was where her eyes were still firmly directed, was his hooded face. She was still gazing intensely. Her face, unlike the one of the other court members, definitely showed numerous hints of surprise, and many other emotions.

'Azrael…' she whispered under her breath. Small signs in her expression began to rapidly change, in ways that he couldn't piece together. But overall, she seemed conflicted. Very much so. 'You're back,' she continued, still whispering softly. Following her words, flashes of violent anger marked her traits, but not a single element of that feeling was its way into her tone. 'You're alive.'

'It greatly depends on the definition.'

This once, a very familiar chain of expression marked her face. First a moment of tension, probably of slight embarrassment. The thin skin on her cheekbones tensed and her small jaws clenched, but immediately after the muscles loosened and the corner of her eyes were marked by small wrinkles. Why do I even remember that? Azrael wondered, a feeling of frustration emerging along with that. That's the most senseless piece of information about her to remember. I don't even remember all of Elisif's expressions, and I do hers. Regardless of his unwillingness to remember, he had remembered well. After that, a wary smile made its way on her lips. However, and he was almost ignoring it as given, there was a strong tension in her body.

'I mean…' she said, hesitating briefly afterwards. 'You're here and you can speak, and…' Her voice trailed off, but it was quite clear what she was trying to say. How she would have said it was irrelevant by that point, but the concept had gone through. It wasn't that uncommon while they spoke to one another. Her phrases were linear enough for him to guess quite precisely what she would say next. She regained her composure, although now there was something different in her smile. 'I'm happy to see you here.'

She skipped one part, but I'm not going to play at pretending it didn't happen. Actually, she's pretending two things never happened. However… There was a huge hole now in all his presumptions. He had predicted her acting like she had, forgiven him. But he never imagined she would have truly forgotten. Not even in his most detailed attempts to imagine what she would say to him in a case like the one at hand. And that smile… No forced twist, the angles were perfectly natural. Either she's become even more proficient at feigning her smirks, or she's telling the truth. A possibility that none of his options incorporated. I'm happy to see you...

'Are you?' He listened as his interior perplexity emerged in a sarcastic note on the outside, even despite the impassive tone. 'Last time we saw each other I smashed you into a wall. Unless that incident made you amnesiac, allow me to have my share of doubts.'

'What about me?' she replied promptly. She had been a fraction of a second away from talking over him. It was debatable whether she had listened to his last words. 'I too did something bad to you.'

Azrael released the tension that had gathered at the height of his chin, and allowed his lips to close tightly. What in Oblivion is going on here? He had his answer though. While before he had interpreted Serana's strange actions as an incoherence in the small problem regarding the two of them alone, it was now rather clear that the way she was acting was being influenced by a context much larger than the two of them alone. It's not a matter of solving the problem here. It's a matter of defining a new one. Still, he empathised with Harkon more than he could with her. She truly does act in ways that are incomprehensible to people such as Harkon and me. And now that he had her under his own eyes, he understood one thing. It was different with Layla. I understood her, I just couldn't control her. He too was a different person back then, which didn't change the present situation. Understanding and failing to control is not the case with our princess here. She can't be understood from the start.

The matter was more complex than he had first thought, and complexity meant more time spent. 'Your father will give the court instructions, soon,' he said slowly, coldly, complementarily matching the rashness and the heat of her tone. 'Go to the back of the hall,' he continued, pointing at it with a slight movement of his head. 'We'll finish there.'

Her hands, which she had stiffened and raised while talking, slowly fell down by her sides again. She loosened, losing the tension that had gotten a grip of her as she spoke. Her face also showed signs of surprise, and even slight confusion. It would be safe to assume that she didn't respond me in any way. She merely reacted to what I said, he thought, making a distinction that had been vital many times before that one. A distinction that everyone accusing him of being completely uncaring clearly didn't make. That time around, it helped explain her loss of tightness quite well. A reactions sustains itself continuously, until it is no longer required. In stopping their talk in its middle, he had given her time to think clearly. Which is something she seems to have trouble with. It wasn't the first time that suspicion struck his mind.

Serana wordlessly turned around, grasping the side left side of the dress to keep it from flapping unnecessarily. She was agitated, but still Azrael could not see any trace of hostility towards him. He could feel his own curiosity getting more and more voracious with every moment of silence, and with that also the passive thoughts of how she could be playing him. Quietly, he followed her right in toe, staying closer to the wall, the perfect occasion to steal a second, cautionary glance. Her movement with the dress had raised its lower portion just enough to expose the boots. It might be irrelevant, but… Solid leather, excellent craftsmanship. A rather thin layer in that case, striped with red decorations. No symbols. Irrelevant, yes, as all of her clothing is, he thought, letting his gaze rise again, which doesn't mean she doesn't look stunning.

The internal response to that thought was hazy. He almost halted in place, such was the attention that had suddenly been requested to solve the problem up in his mind. Where did that come from? Through a link that was purely intuitive, he noticed that the unknown feelings of longing that had tormented him in the last few days had completely disappeared. The feeling that even Paarthurnax hadn't been able to understand was gone, just like that. In its stead, there was a fiery sort of euphoria. It was a confused turbulence, something that pushed in the almost opposite direction of all his other priorities. What in Oblivion is happening to me? Again, he tried to recall something of the like from the past, but there was nothing. Vulom Yolos Paar. Even those Words didn't help. It was something else entirely.

He shifted his gaze to the side, trying to give him mind something else to keep itself stimulated, lest he drown in those speculation and endless scrutiny of his own sensations. And good thing I did… he thought, locating at least five pairs of eyes looking their way. While he was busy staying in his own head, Serana had lead him across the entire side of the room and they were almost at the end, just past the entrance to the laboratory of Feran Sadri, the other Dunmer living in that place. I guess staring isn't considered impolite here. Or perhaps it's fine to stare at me, since I'm still the mysterious newcomer. Their princess is another thing entirely, though they could pretend to be worried for her.

He didn't give any of them any of his attention. Serana, just as she reached the part of the room overlooked by the elevated sections from which the stairs came down, turned around again. She grasped again the side of her dress and then planted her feet firmly on the ground. If I… He dropped that hypothesis. He was somewhat interested of whether she would stand her ground or not if he had stepped closer, but that was neither the time nor the place. He slowed to a halt, a safe distance away, but close enough so that their voices couldn't be heard in the low buzz that always filled that hall.

'So,' he said, a faint sarcasm still ringing in his voice, 'you were saying I wasn't the only one doing bad things.'

'Yes,' she replied, her body stiffing once again almost to the same that it had moments before. 'We both remember what I did, and I can understand you being angry because of that. I was just…' She hesitated, lowering her eyes. 'That was the only way I could have saved you.'

The sentence was left hanging in the air for a very brief moment, in which the buzz coming from the hall surpassed all noises. Azrael observed motionlessly. He never looked away from her face, alert to every sign, every movement and every possible incoherence with her words. 'You believe what you told me.'

Her eyes rose again, and they seemed feverish. 'Of course I do!'

'Truly? You did that to protect me? After I lied to you, manipulated you and made you guide me here, with the sole intent to murder everyone you had ever known, you think you were the one who did something wrong? I should not even be remarking that I still have my doubts.'

'You brought me safely home.'

'You were giving me access to my enemy's den. The bargain was in my favor, had you not intervened afterwards.'

'You didn't try to kill me once we arrived here.'

'Because it was still too early, among the most important reasons. Don't flatter yourself.' He raised his hand to the height of his waist and kept it there. Despite everything, he was faintly amused by the absurdity of the situation. What's most ludicrous, is that she hasn't yet cited the sole thing I would have no argument against: I didn't judge her because of what she was. When looked through the filter of common values, that attitude was one of his few redeeming qualities, and she had either not noticed it or keeping it for herself. 'You,' he remarked, 'acted to save yourself from my machinations, not vice versa.'

If there was one word that would sum up everything Serana was showing to him, it was conflict. Inner conflict. But what are the warring parties? To know what truly underlay the struggle, the fight had to emerge. He was merely taking the side of that part of her which was trying to resist what she said and did, in accordance to her stronger interpretation. Maybe, in that way, he could draw out that clash. If she acknowledged that part of her own self as a mere projection of Azrael himself, then he could have peered into her interior reasoning. Along the way, he reflected, I have understood the minds of others in very acute ways. I wonder how.

'You did what you thought was best.' Serana's reply, which she had thought about for a while, snapped him away from his thinking. 'It didn't coincide with what I thought was best and neither with what was good or right to do, but you made your choice. I can respect that.'

His gaze drifted away completely from his thoughts and focused on her eyes. Those red globes, cut in half by the vertical pupil, that shimmered weakly in the dim light of the castle. Small blue lines marked them, signaling the places were the blood vessels once sprinkled the eyeballs. 'Which would make me a heroic and selfless martyr.'

'Well…' Her voice chocked on itself, as if her throat had suddenly contracted and kept the rest of the sentence from coming out of her mouth. Her faint smile slowly faded into sharper twists in her mouth. The corners stretched and the lips parted, pursing unnaturally. The fangs appeared from behind. 'By the Blood,' she muttered, baring all of her teeth, 'will you relent?'

'Not until one of us has been proven wrong.'

The woman's gaze seemed to sparkle alight, right before she darted her head to the side. Azrael followed it with a movement of his pupils, noticing that she was looking at the vampires observing them, but carefully avoided moving his head. Moments after, her head bolted right back to him. Her irises were indeed alight. He had never seen them like this before. The skin so stretched on the bones that it was almost exposing them, showing that just beneath appearances the Volkihar were monsters all the same. When their anger or their bloodlust came out, they didn't differ from the other vampires.

'You're always like this,' she groaned his way. 'I try to say something that could mend what has happened, and you prefer to break it. I offer you peace, and you reject it. You don't give anything in return other than more conflict.' Her right hand fingers waved two times, with the nails scratching her palm. 'I try to convince myself that nothing happened, and you bring it back. I do remember. I try to forget and you make it come back. What do I do with you?'

'Those memories…' the Dragonborn said, his tone distant and marked by a pensive note. He remembered her last words only in blurred images, such was the intensity of the intuition. 'They make you suffer, do they not?'

Serana's nostrils flared for a brief moment. 'You can't understand how glad I am that you noticed,' she said. Azrael wouldn't have even defined her tone as merely scornful. Venomous was probably the right word. 'I don't know what this is about you. You always get away with whatever you do. You almost murdered everyone in this keep and yet here you stand. If you want to truth, then listen. I think you're a heartless bastard. You comprehend people and things down to their rotten core, and then you use them for your own ends without any consideration for what they want. That's what an evil person does.'

'And it's a blood-raving fiend telling me this. Now I've really see it all.'

'Welcome among the fiends, by the way,' she muttered, lowering her vice still, but exposing her teeth even more. 'I still can't believe that it's my blood flowing in your veins. But maybe that's for the best. You'll fit right in with that scum. The only reason I even tried to reconcile us is because between you and my father, you're the lesser evil.'

Azrael let go of his waist with his right hand and brought both arms at the height of his chest. Ever so slowly, he tucked his left hand under his right bicep and the right forearm under the left one. Once his arms were crossed, he drummed with the metal fingers of his gauntlet on the vambraces. Losing control is never good, when you're in a situation resembling this. Lucky her that no one seems to have heard her. He focused on his facial muscles for a moment, but there wasn't even the hint of a sneer warping his lips. The deadpan expression that so often his muscles assumed in response to curiosity had had the better of it. I suppose that it's a faithful reflection. As amusing as it was, that's a heavy statement. He merely waited for the moment when she would realize her misstep herself. Any moment now.

In truth, she had shown the first signs of discomfort right as she was saying that last phrase. Now, it was plain to see. The most visible things was her shutting and opening her eyes repeatedly, as if closing them every time she wanted to suppress a thought and widening them to restart the thinking. Her shoulders had dropped down, and her arms were dangling down without any attempt to keep them still. Her lips were irreversibly opened, as if she always was on the point of saying something and then eating it right back whatever she had thought of. Those patterns had been losing intensity and were waning.

When she raised her eyes again, the only thing left was a mask of regret. 'If you ever,' she said, her voice so soft it seemed on the point of faltering, 'ever tell my father that, just know that I'm finished.'

'I won't.' He paused for a moment. He had heard a slight commotion in the front of the hall, and it seemed that something was about to happen. Nevertheless, he turned back. Serana's eyes were filled with things he could not understand. 'You, and many others, limit your understanding by defining me as malicious. I'm pragmatic, even coldblooded at time, but nothing more. In our present situation, rationality invites to use information as a threat, not as an attack. A debtor is far more useful than a corpse, under the right circumstances. In turn, this means you have nothing to fear from me.' He caught a glimpse of Lord Harkon's frame occupying the balcony that overlooked the hall. He bent a little closer to her. 'We should probably listen to your father, now.'

That said, he brought his left foot perpendicular to the other end of the hall, where the castle's Lord was about to give his speech. Harkon was unarmed, in the same clothes as he had seen him minutes before. He was leaning on the handrail, and the light of the chandeliers that struck him was partially colored red by the hanging drapes that came down from the top of the loggia. Stealing a last glance towards Serana, Azrael noticed how thoughtful she was.

Pushed by the incomprehensible euphoria that had sizzled in him every since he had first noticed it, a simple question took shape in his mind. 'What's on your mind?'

Her gaze was vitreous as she looked back at him. 'I was thinking that maybe you have changed, after all.'

I should hope so, he thought, but he didn't voice it. For a moment, he had feared what she would have answered to his question. He had trusted a gut feeling, suggesting him that she had been calmed by his reasoning. Logically, it made little to no sense. What real conjecture could he made on how she could have received his words? Meanwhile, Lord Harkon was waiting for the court to go silent. He had his chin raised proudly, and looked like a very different person that the quieter, more humane version of himself than Azrael had spoken to.

The vampires were all gathering as close as they could to the balcony. There were some who had their place of honor from the way they had positioned themselves, and those who had fought hardly for their place near their ruler. The Dragonborn, not with a slight hint of irony flowing through his consciousness, noticed that the ones who had kept enough distance not to end up crammed in the crowed were the three Dunmer. Himself, with Serana by his side, Garan Marethi and Feran Sadri.

'Scions of the Night! Hear my words!'

His voice boomed in the chamber, probably augmented by the a favorable acoustics. The eyes of the man swept across the hall and all the vampires in it, but Azrael clearly felt it crossing his eyes. He had lingered for quite some time around him, some to look at him and, afterwards, at his daughter. There has to be something deeper still to what she said, Azrael thought. Serana, in spite of everything, was ostentatiously standing by his side and held her father's gaze firmly. The lesser evil. But does that make me a shield against her father?

'The prophesized times,' Lord Harkon recommenced, 'is at last upon us. Soon we will claim dominion over the Sun itself, and forge a new realm of eternal darkness. Now that I have reclaimed one of my Elder Scrolls, we must find a Moth Priest to read it. I have spread false rumors about the discovery of an Elder Scroll in Skyrim to lure a Moth Priest here. Now it is time to see if those efforts have borne fruit. Go forth, and search the land for rumors of a Moth Priest within our borders. Look to the cities. Speak to innkeepers, carriage drivers, anyone who would meet a traveler. Go now, and carry out this task. This is my command!'

Once again, Azrael had to tuck away a large portion of information. He claimed to have spread false rumors, but why hadn't Karliah mentioned it? Secondly, had he really left the castle himself to do that work? Many more questions needed answers, and there were a dozen other hints that might have led somewhere fruitful. Firstly, it would be interesting to think about the his intentions. For someone who called me insane, he doesn't look too stable himself. One thing was important among all else, and that was that he knew where to start. He had better resources than innkeepers and carriage drivers.

'Princess,' he said, turning towards Serana. He had just remembered that he used to call her like that when they were traveling back to the castle. She looked back at him rather naturally, perhaps feeling safe in that small habit of theirs. 'Anything else before I'm off?'

'Yes, there is,' she replied. Her tone was alive, very different from how she had last spoken. 'Can I come with you?'

Azrael hissed faintly, motionlessly scanning her face and reflecting silently. 'I trust you know what you're getting yourself into. However, it's dreadfully clear that you have ulterior motives for coming. In all sincerity, it's the sole reason why I'm letting you.' He spotted her feature brightening even before me could finish. 'On one condition.' He waited for her face to return as serious as she managed, and continued only then. 'Do you remember when you bit me?'

'It will never—'

'Let's not finish that thought,' he interrupted, 'because it's the wrong one. I'll not mince words, so listen carefully. There's a side of you, that side that bows to whatever others ask of you, which I can hardly bare. More importantly, you can hardly stand it yourself. If you're going to come with me, I want the Serana who bit me. The one who states what she wants and, if it isn't given to her, grabs it. The one who isn't afraid to hurt others. The one who doesn't shy away from evil. Not her pathetic, deplorable and helpless twin. Do you understand?'

'Was that meant to hurt?'

'Think.' His voice touched its deepest notes, making the rasping part of his accent even more marked. 'What reason would I have?' he asked, speaking slowly. 'None. I stated my observation. A neutral, impartial fact. How you receive it doesn't concern me.' He gave her a moment, as he had noticed time and time again that she needed a moment to reassemble her thoughts. When her eyes became sharper again, he continued. 'Do you still want to follow me?'

'Yes.' Her tone was firm. 'You have a plan, I imagine.'

'Meet me outside the castle once you've grabbed everything you need. The less people figure out we're together, the better. Afterwards, we're bound for Dawnstar.'

A/N: For the ones who check back every once in a while for new chapters, from now on I should be able to publish a new one every two weeks. Three at most.

Thanks to everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed and read thus far. We're almost at the half-way point of this journey, and I'm cover content with how it's been going until now. In conclusion, thanks again to everyone.