Chapter XVI: In Search of Prey
His thoughts were like the tide under the whim of the moons, constantly moving back and forth. There were moments when he finally intended to act, but then the other faction started whispering words in the back of his mind, convincing him otherwise. Once they had control, the previously broken side rose again and voiced its arguments, shifting the balance once more. It had been going on for way too long. I'm retracing the same steps in my reasoning with every iteration. It needs to stop. Nothing new was emerging from that inner debate, and the hope to make both sides content was far away, now. It wasn't me who made that decision. It was a part of me taking his revenge. That new element moved the thinking forward, onto a new problem.
His conflicting desires had never emerged so strongly as in the days after leaving the Sanctuary, two weeks before. His mind had remained clear in that span on time. Clear, but unstable. When he had taken that decision, it had been a solitary want. He, as in the person who was observing that inner conflict there and then, had not approved it. But what to do? Accept that whim, or destroy it? Although in truth, he could not be destroyed. He could only be denied that small victory, but he would have come back. He was a rational one, and he could see that there was only one solution. I will do it, and in time whoever it was who took that decision will lend me his strength. He had attempted to approach the problem multiple times, and that time was the sole one when he had succeeded in understanding. Reasoning as if there were different people in his mind, discussing about which decisions to take, was something so far from the truth it could never have been directly applied. And yet, it had been his only way to understand the problem.
Nevertheless, now the decision had been made, and his mind was silent once again. He lowered his hood on his forehead with his right hand and brought the left to his side. The leather package laid there, unknotted from his belt but also untouched, on the sharp rocks. He grabbed it and then leaned his hand on his cuisse.
'Serana.'
The light of the rising Sun cast its first shadows on the snow, and a few solitary rays pierced the clouds from time to time. The hollow faced the North, and the diffused light traced a horizontal line on its edge. She was sitting right there, on the rim. Her hands encircled her bent legs, and she had been swinging weakly back and forth, staring fixedly into the unending expanse of water that stretched out before of them. Now, hearing her name, she quickly turned her head, her usual blend of fear and attentiveness shaping every line of her face.
'Yes?' she asked, her eyes moving all across his the void hiding his face in search for his eyes. For a brief moment, her gaze lowered to the leather packet he was holding.
Azrael held it higher in the air for a moment to let her see it. 'Catch,' he said, flinging the parcel into the air. It drew a flat parable and would land slightly to her left. It doesn't behave the same way a perfectly spherical object does does, he noted.
Serana sharply moved both her hands exactly where the object was and grabbed it firmly. She stole a brief glance at Azrael before doing anything, but as soon as she brought back her gaze she turned the package upside down and began to undo the knot. Does she…? Yes. He was unsure whether she would manage to loosen those thin strings with her gloves on, but the two pieces that emerged from in between her fingers dispelled his doubts. I would have simply cut it. Perhaps bearing the mark of the Ender of Worlds influences even these small things, he thought, feeling his lips twisting into a sneer.
'What is it?' Serana said, perhaps more to herself than him. 'Silver… And malachite.' She was still fumbling with the string, but a side of the parcel must had come loose and opened its fold to reveal part of the circlet. Pulling the strings one last time and untying everything, she quickly grabbed the doubled layers and opened them. Her features changed into a blend, half of surprise and half of wonder. 'Did you…' she said, but trailed off, looking in more closely. 'Did you make this?'
'I sketched the design. I had a real jeweler work on it.'
She grabbed the circlet in her hands and raised it. True to what I designed, Azrael observed. The silver mainframe provided a lighter and denser color in the center, while the translucid malachite was well arranged around the edges. The fact that the inner lining was also made of the same material made certain parts blurred, making it difficult to tell how thick it actually was. The final touch was the hexagonal emerald set in the front, right under the silver decorations that adorned the higher part.
'It's beautiful,' Serana said, running her fingers along it. She kept away from the parts made of silver, although the mere touch of it wouldn't do anything more than feel slightly chafing. 'It's for me, I guess.' Her gaze rose, knowing that the answer would come in the form of a silent nod, and so it happened. She shifted her eyes back down once that happened. 'I'm…' she paused. 'Thank you. Does it mean anything?'
'Perhaps. I don't know myself.'
His gaze turned back on the horizon. 'We've had this conversation already.'
'And you left me with more questions than answers, so I'm trying again. How do you make decisions like that? What do you trust, if not those that came before you?'
'I trust my own head. At times, the one of people I know. Living people. The dead hold nothing for me. They have the superlative virtue of remaining silent, and that's good enough for me.'
A moment went past, and even after that she didn't reply. She has grown bolder with her questions, but she still doesn't think before asking. It had taken him only a few days after their departure from Dimhollow to piece together a general idea of what kinds of reasoning disarmed her. In her thinking, there were clear veins of ideas that were not hers, but systems that she had learned or inherited, and that she had never questioned. Upon realizing it, she always fell silent. However, she would also debate around the point, defending it until he had dismantled all of her beliefs. It's quite amusing, in a way, but it's not challenging. It's good exercise if playing fair, and maybe it helps her in some way.
'Right, I understand,' she said. 'You don't like being told what to do, and if there's no one to argue with you prefer to stay away from their advice. But why this radically? Tradition is good, it's what remains of the ones who created the place where you grew and where you probably still live. It's something to live up to, that gives you purpose.'
'Someone else's purpose. True for someone else's life.' Sometimes, he suspected she had never actually applied those ideas. She just declared them true in theory. Her father's purpose is to control the Sun, as far as I know. Her mother's, if my speculation is correct, was trying to stop him. She has followed in the footsteps of neither. There was the possibility that she alluded to some older principles still, but that was momentarily out of the discussion. 'Plants,' he concluded, slowly, 'are given roots to stay where they sprouted. Men and Mer are given legs to walk away. That has to mean something.'
The regular bouncing beneath them was slowing progressively. Shadowmere shook her head as she decelerated, snorting faintly. Azrael, hearing no answer coming from Serana, bent forward and caressed the beast on the strong neck, moving the black hair away. Other animals became worried when they sensed the surface of the gauntlets, but the mare had not shown any sign of fear from the beginning. With time, she had learned to associate that cold touch with her master, and welcomed it, recognizing the Dragonborn without even seeing him directly. You've behaved, he thought. Even when he was in the deepest states of his breakdown, she had always led him where he needed, safely. And when he had left for the Throat of the World, she had remained where she was supposed to. This is loyalty, he mused, not the things I've seen in that castle.
They were close to the Black Door. Speaking of loyalty, I still wouldn't trust Serana with the location of our secret entrance. It was very early in the morning, three or four hours after Midnight. Ideally, one of the Dark Siblings would have the piece of information he needed and they would have been on their way immediately after. If not, the same. He wouldn't sit idly by, waiting for them to gather more gossip. He had other sources and time was of the essence. Furthermore, he would rather not introduce Serana to the Family. I've kept secrets for a long time, he realized. I'm holding off my true purposes from her, and she is doing the same with me. And I'm undisturbed by it. That notwithstanding, he had his doubts that Serana could guess the real extent of his intentions. True, he wanted to capture the Moth Priest. What she probably didn't know was that he aimed to be the first one to do so.
He tugged Shadowmere's hair gently. 'Get down,' he said, turning his head slightly in Serana's direction. He moved his hands over to her neck and positioned them both horizontally along the spine, drawing his right leg up and readying to jump off.
'Do we need to go inside there?' she asked from behind him. Her voice was muffled and came in between the sound of the waves creeping along the sand and then washing back during the undertow. Her tone was wary, but there was a note of enthusiasm in it.
She has not understood fully yet, has she? He pushed and collected his right leg, making it go past the mare's back and then slowly letting himself fall. Again, his vampiric strength made it so much easier than he remembered. His feet touched the ground lightly, without a sound. 'You're not coming,' he said, opening his hands and bringing them down by his side. 'You'll wait for me here.'
'But—'
'No,' he interrupted. He turned towards her, unhurriedly. 'It'll only be a moment,' he concluded, hearing his voice losing some of its harshness.
In the darkness, the thing he could see most clearly were her eyes. She hasn't fed in a while, he noted, looking at the state of her irises. They were more bloodshot then normal, and the red veins that marked them seemed to move of their own will. A vampire's eyes look more and more alive as he or she starves. Beside those, his own gaze was focused and he felt his pupils sizzling, piercing the blackness of the starless night. She was trying to hide it, but there were signs of sadness in her features. Of humiliation, even. It's not that I haven't tried to calm her, he mused, thinking back to all the times when he had seen that expression before. I can't. I don't understand how.
He turned his back towards her, his gaze stopping for a moment on the corner of his field of view, catching a glimpse of the water creeping along the grey beach. He strode towards the Black Door, his mind exploding with questions. He didn't say a word. He didn't know which word to say. I know that I'm risking, he thought. I know she might feel misunderstood, but what am I to do? It was better not to say anything at all. At the very least, it's what I think is better. He had to make a choice, and he would lose something either way.
What is life's greatest illusion?
His head shot upwards, but the voice of the Black Door was all too familiar to be mistaken. He had just been caught off guard, immersed in his thinking. His eyes focused back on what they were directed towards, and the empty eyes of the skull of the forbidden threshold were staring back at him blankly. Just above them, the bloodied palm that marked the forehead were more visible due to their color. As he got a hold of the situation again, his previous thoughts connected with his new ones. As they did, the shade of an ironic leer played out on his lips.
'Innocence, my Brother.'
Welcome home.
The portal trembled and started moving very slowly, gradually opening a tiny blade of air between the inside of the Sanctuary and its outside. Welcome home, Azrael repeated in his head, while the door moved still, always at the same speed. He kept observing the movement absently, as a larger space opened between the wall and the corridor. This is a place I can call home, actually. I even planned to spend the winter here, he remembered, but what he could recall was what Karliah had said. He had no remembrance of his own intention to spend the cold season there, even after the hours he had spent trying to remember.
The Door was opened just enough for him to squeeze through, and he stepped forward, abandoning the darkness of the night to descend into the dim-lighted space of the first few paces of the corridor leading down into the main room. Even as he just reached the Door itself, he could already piece together the exact way he had to go in order to not smash against any wall. He knew that little pocket of Skyrim like his own bandoliers, after all. Most of the time he came in through the secret entrance, but he did pass through the main entry very once in a while. For one, he could get in without risking anyone from Dawnstar seeing him if he came from the East. Even if someone had ever tried to put together his travels, all the movements done from the College to the Sanctuary could never be put together. He had made that precaution a habit. It had happened to him in the past to have tracked someone's movements, and he had learned from the mistakes of those not secretive enough to be found.
As he entered, his thoughts went quickly back to Serana, trying to understand what and how he should have arranged the elements to make her understand. There was one thing that he had noticed and that went hand in hand with what Harkon had told him, which was that Serana never openly opposed him. Whether her barely shown hurt was really felt or merely a way to manipulate him, she had never questioned anything he had said. Although in truth, I never really give her the chance. He could say that she had never rebelled him. I really wish I could worry less about her, he thought. He grinned as he realized what words he'd used. She could teach me a lesson on worry. If what I do is worry, then her normal way of thinking is utterly paranoid. And yet, she doesn't look a bit like Delphine. The thought that was most obsessive, although not with any negative connotations, was the list of things he was keeping secret from her. The repetition wasn't worrisome, but it came around quite often when he left his mind to its own devices. It's completely normal, he thought, and that too wasn't the first time. She has secrets and I have secrets. She was the one among the two of them that seemed to have trouble with it. She knows how to compromise, but this time around she has difficulties. It's as if she demands honesty on my part. But why? For her own inclination to change, something external had to be playing a role. What that was, however, he had no idea.
As he emerged from his thoughts, he realized he was already halfway through his path and at the end of the corridor. There was the antechamber now, a room that they still hadn't found a suitable use for. For now, there was only an old and rotten wooden table on the side and braziers lighting it brightly. The stoves mainly served as a reminder that someday, that space had to be used. Azrael walked by it swiftly, casting a glance to the right and one to the left, checking in if there was some idea that had come to him. None. We don't really need anything else here. Maybe some bookshelves with a few manuals alongside wouldn't hurt. If it comes to it, I'll write something myself. He stepped out, releasing the thoughts. He had bigger concerns, although he couldn't deny that imagining and playing with ideas entertained him to no end.
He spotted a figure sitting on the bench which they had positioned right at the end of the corridor. Reddish, he thought, but the shape of the head was strange and full of folds. Well, I know enough just by that. The dark armor, unique in the design among the Family, was complete with a plate of metal protecting the torso, whereas the arms were covered by a similar cloth to that of the headpiece. Simple iron pauldrons shielded the shoulders and the vambraces gloves were complete with small vambraces and plates covering the elbows.
The figure raised his head, and snigger came from him. 'The Unholy Matron be praised,' Nazir said from the seat. 'If it isn't our beloved Listener.' He turned his head towards the iron grate, behind which shone the light that brightened the main hall. 'Ah…' he grumbled, 'the boys are in their rooms resting, but just say the word and they'll be right here.'
The boys, he said. Laegiine's not here, it would seem, Azrael thought, but he had no real confirmation. Babette hadn't told him enough to guess that, the last time he had been through. He had no notion of his young Silencer's schedule. However, Laegiine aside, the little vampire had assured him that she would have been there herself until he had returned, and Nazir hadn't mentioned her either. She was surely around there somewhere, probably doing something he wouldn't have been too content with. She can act like our mother and our little child at the same time. She really was quite special, but right then she was nowhere to be seen. Although… He focused for a moment, feeling something that crept along his whole body and permeated all senses. I can smell her. She's near. There were other signals in the air, but it was the scent of fresh blood of the prisoners below. Our most recent jailbirds can also make for delicious meals. I wonder if Babette ever considered it.
'Azrael, Azrael…' said Nazir, chortling once again in between and tearing the Listener away from his musings. The man had spread his arms in welcome, revealing the two sabers which hung down from his belt. The short, curved blades were complete with a simple handle and a circular guard. 'How long has it been, Brother?'
'Two months,' the Dragonborn answered with a sarcastic note in his voice, brining his arm forward.
The two Dark Brothers clasped each other's forearm strongly, the metal fingers of Azrael's gauntlet the folds of cloth of the Nazir's arm and the Redguard the cold metal of the Listener's vambrace. They had been doing that ever since they had moved to the Sanctuary in Dawnstar. Azrael knew that the two of them were quite alike when it came to habits, and when one day any of the two would renounce that gesture, the other wouldn't have complained. Between them, the contracts without bonds were the ones who worked better, unlike the ones they were ordinarily forced to deal with.
'Well…' continued the Redguard. Azrael felt his gaze roughly at the height of his eyes, and could quite easily guess why even before it was said. 'Those are quite a pair of eyes,' he said, with a smile. 'Babette did tell us you had joined the dead last time you came by.'
Azrael heard his voice muffled, as if it came from father away than it really was. He had noticed something strange. The smell of the prisoners' blood had become stronger, but on the other hand, Babette's one had completely disappeared. 'I imagine she has,' he rejoined calmly, temporarily ignoring the fact but staying alert. 'Especially because she had to justify her prohibition to see me.'
'Indeed. We were quite worried when she brought you in, but she said that anyone else than her who neared you could have suffered a painful death.' His smile twisted, changing somewhat. 'I doubted her at first, thought maybe she was up to one of her little schemes, but then we recovered the corpse that was left in the master bedroom. His throat was completely ripped open and there wasn't a drop of blood left in him. Sithis knows I don't wish nor I'll ever wish to have been in his place.'
'You can be sure I won't be eating any of you, in the meantime. We'll talk more of this another time,' Azrael said dismissively. 'Now, have you heard about a Moth Priest coming to this land?'
'Did I?' said the Redguard. His slimed widened slowly, until he broke into laughed briefly. He closed his eyes shut for a second, and when they reopened they sparked with something else. 'Why, I thought you were the one involved in this. And it turns out that you are, but you were not the one who made him come here. As soon as we heard someone related to the Scrolls had come along, we imagined it was related to you.'
'We're linked. Indirectly. Can you tell me anything?'
'I can.' He crossed his arms, stroking his rough black beard. 'Let me think… A traveler came by the tavern, two days past. He had some interesting stories to tell. One of those was of a certain scholar of Elder Scrolls, coming here because some of his colleagues had been talking of a miraculous finding here in Skyrim. He was crossing the mountains three weeks ago. He went on and on about how mad one must be to journey through the mountain passes in this season, and I can hardly disagree. The only thing I gathered from it was that this person, whoever he is, is quite determined to come here. Considering that he came here by carriage, and provided he hasn't been captured for ransom or eaten alive, I can only guess that he has reached his destination by now.'
'Which is?'
'Solitude. Where else, if not the capital of imperial Skyrim? I can't think of any other reasons, specifically since this rumor has only spreading lately in Skyrim I, for one, knew nothing of it.'
There is a reason. Solitude is large, and since Winterhold is under Stormcloak control, the Priests guessed the only city with a considerable presence of scholars was the only candidate for the origin of the rumor. Logical, and quite clever in its naivety. For various reasons, their affiliation with the Empire among them, they had most likely remained in imperial territory, and a Moth Priest isn't someone who goes by unnoticed. The only time Azrael had encountered them was in his reads at the College. Scholars of the Elder Scrolls, but by the time he was reading they were left to study the studies their masters had left. The discovery of a new Scroll was sure to have caused quite a commotion in their ranks, which was reason enough for one of them to risk such a journey. There were other things, which he kept in the back of his mind.
'Fine,' he whispered, still tying up all the loose ends of his calculation. Too many things had been left out, and perhaps his return to the normal world could mean that he was about to receive fresh information. Something crossed his mind. 'Nazir,' he said, 'is Babette around?'
'Of course she is,' said the Redguard, turning his head and gazing towards the alchemy lab to the end of the elevated part of the room, where she usually stayed. The stool was empty and there was no trace of the girl. 'Not there… But she's around, I saw her less than an hour ago.'
Azrael reflected for a moment. That was something too strange to be called a coincidence. She was the one always taunting his distrust, but not for nothing. She's the one with who I need to keep my guard up. She was in the Sanctuary, and when he had entered her scent was there. That kind of sensation had no linger. That meant that she was inside those walls when he entered, and now she wasn't anymore. He had not paid attention if it had grown stronger in certain places or certain times. I wonder if she guessed I was here with someone. She has proved to be more cunning than I anticipated.
He raised his eyes and looked at Nazir. 'Give me a moment. Wait for me with the others in the main room.'
'Of course, my Listener.'
Azrael turned around tersely, facing the corridor leading to the Black Door once again. He felt the cloak whirling around him at the sharp turn, keeping him back for the first few moments. Before losing sight of Nazir, he saw him putting a hand on the left saber's pommel and turning his foot around, preparing to go down. He would call the other Dark Brothers for when he'd come down again. Azrael treaded quickly, his head facing in front of him, and intent on coming back to the surface as swiftly as he could.
Meanwhile, in that unanticipated time alone, he assembled everything he had just learned in the clearest way possible. He still knew too little about the Moth Priest to begin piecing together what his angle was or what they were hoping to gain. If anything, the most important piece of information regarding them would have been the exact thing they had been told and in what form the rumor had reached them. However, even more importantly, Azrael had a time coordinate. Three weeks since he crossed Pale Pass. It has been reported that a way past the avalanches has been carved from the ice, but that lengthens the journey. Not counting that Helgen is still a pile of ashes. That journey was perilous and time-consuming.
And on that topic, it seemed Harkon had planned that way ahead of time. Three weeks ago the scholar was crossing the mountains. Sensibly, considering every predictable hindrance, he was in Bruma a week before. It totals to slightly less than two months of travel, if he came from Cyrodiil. The rumors might have taken a few days to spread, thus rounding the time passed up to the whole months. So, Harkon could in no way be the one to have spread the rumors. A few different solutions came to his mind, but there was one that seemed the most effective out of all of them. He must have done something remarkably clever and passed on the anecdotes directly among the scholars. He may have used local vampires to do to. That, depending on what means of communication the Volkihar's blood patron had used, could optimistically be around two weeks' time. If the messenger was swift; I will take it as granted. That was a reliable average, if considering he had indeed spread voices in their headquarters and thus subtracting a degree of unpredictability to the overall plan.
The time summed to more than two months and a half, which was ever so slightly longer than Azrael's own involvement in the matter. This dates further back in time than I initially predicted, he thought, drawing some more general conclusions. Harkon either was surer than he looked about Serana's whereabouts, or he gambled. In no small part thanks to the Dragonborn himself, his plans had worked and the timing had been almost the best he could have hoped. If there was one event that roughly coincided with that estimate, it was the time the vampires had started to cause trouble. It would need further confirmation, he mused, but the implications would be many if it were true. Both regarding Harkon's character and the whole state of this situation.
He had come to the door, while putting that all together. He extended both hands towards the side of the portal that opened to the outside, but he stopped one hand half-way. He didn't need the strength of both. He laid the armored palm on the black metal and pushed. His last musings flowed away, reminding him of how strange that series of events had been that far. Two months… I've almost died twice, discovered a group of beings older than four thousand years and delved into mysteries that were left untouched for centuries. He always tried to maintain a sense of perspective, and sometimes that reminded him of how big some of the tasks he was tackling were. And yet, no matter what, I keep feeling nothing. No matter how big, everything is made of small, trivial pieces. What he called sense of perspective, some would call e sense of detachment. The scraping sound of the Door's lower part part grazing the ground followed the whole arching movement it traced.
A fissure large enough for him to go out opened, and as it did, a strange sensation reached him. He felt it in the nose at first, tingling and the descending throughout his whole body. The scent. The sensation was stronger than before, and it was a meld now. So Babette is out here, and Serana isn't far either, he thought, putting a hand on the bow and blade on his back to make sure they didn't get stuck in the rocks bordering the exit. I wonder, he mused, if I'm worrying too much about the two of them meeting. He almost never lowered his guard. Throughout his time in Skyrim, distrust had served him well. He trusted single individuals, but if they were by themselves. Case in point, I trust Babette. I don't trust her should she be with Serana, however. The thought alone had softened his view, enough for a puerile thought to cross his mind. I'm unquestionably not the first Mer to be overwhelmed by the females in his life.
He stepped out in the open, his eyes adapting to the darkness around him. From the inside of his head, a spark seemed to come to life and flashed towards the bulbs. The eyes sizzled, as if flashing aflame before settling and giving him a decent enough vision of what was around him. Everything looked empty in front of him. The beach was skimmed by the sea when the largest waves shattered against it, and the grey sand lay, wet and heavy, on the shoreline. Trunks encrusted with salt, pieces of wood and other objects were scattered along the barren coast. The high tide brought the water a few yards away from him, not far from the Sanctuary's entrance. A weak breeze blew from the Sea of Ghosts, moving the trees behind them and making them hiss subtly.
There was a sound in the cold air which was stronger than a firs' hissing needles, however. Voices. Unclear. However… High-pitched sounds, small resonances and strange fluctuations in the tone, like a grown girl's voice while going through her voice change. Babette, unmistakable. Due… West. Not only West, but also from higher up than he was. Higher than me, on my left, he repeated in his head, stepping away from the door and looking for any possible places. The beach was lower to his left, and with the high tide it was completely swallowed by the sea. Which is why they settled on the wall of rocks of the shoreline. He knew the place well enough.
There wasn't any way to reach them from the Black Door, if not by climbing the rocks or taking longer route. I suppose they did the latter, he thought, but he had no time to lose and didn't mind a moment to let his arms do some of the work as well. He stepped closer and grabbed the spikes emerging from the stone wall at the height of his head, dragging himself up. He collected both legs, placing them in fissures in the rock. The metal of the greave scratched the stone, but made no hearable sound. He could already reach the last scab with his hands after that.
The voices were very clear now. The little distance had made the difference. '… not by too much.' Babette's voice, still. 'They're evil too, you know? Another vampire had settled in a village not very far from their headquarter, and when they found out they went to kill him. What they didn't know was that he enthralled a woman, who was keeping him hidden. If they had killed him and then waited for a few days, she would have returned sane. Instead, they killed her. Just because she had defended him.'
'For a group that presents itself in the garb of vampire hunters,' Serana said, 'they seem to have no idea what they're doing.'
'Exactly what I told the others. You can't imagine how glad I am that Azrael didn't coordinate the city's defenses alongside them. I mean…' she said, giggling, 'Now it's a lot harder for me to get in them unnoticed, I'm not happy that they're taking those measures, but I also don't want anyone to wreak unnecessary havoc. Those men though… They do concern me a bit.'
'Were the people hostile towards them for doing that alone? Without any concern for the fact that a vampire is finally dead?'
'It's not that simple.' Babette paused, a pause that would have been attributed to her catching her breath had she not been undead. Azrael strode forward, careful not to interrupt them and waiting for her to continue. 'I'm thinking how to explain it, but it really isn't that simple. If I'm to guess you're not familiar with how Riften is doing in these times, then you'd have no idea of the wind that blows in that city. The populous did show some hostility towards them, but there's an organization in that city, the Thieves Guild, that pulls a lot of strings in that city. And the Thieves Guild takes—'
'Babette.' Azrael's voice surpassed the one of the little girl, even without the need to raise it. 'That's quite enough.'
The heads of both turned sharply towards him. Serana immediately lifted a hand from the ground to remove the hair that had veiled one of her eyes. Babette's ones were gathered in a remarkably simple ponytail. Azrael inspected them both for a moment, running his gaze on their faces. The Dark Sister wasn't visibly unsettled, and in fact the smile she must had had during the conversation was still lingering. Serana's expression, on the other hand, had become quite blank. They must have sensed me the same way that I did them, but they probably weren't expecting me to come here. He took one last step in their direction before stopping, still a few feet away.
If there was one thing he couldn't argue with, it was their choice for the venue. The overhanging piece of foreland where the two were sitting was smooth and covered with soft terrain. The rocky stratus below was directly above the water, with the waves shattering against its base. Two centuries at best, and this cape will crumble into the water, he thought, but the idea blurred after a few moments. The tip of the cape faced only slightly away from Dawnstar. The few lights that brightened the town appeared sparse, but from over there the overall effect was of a diffused, warm light. A few of the projected their light all the way to the port, revealing the shape of the boats which swayed in the motions of the waves. There were so many more details that his eyes would have tried to distinguish, if not for the fact that, closer to him, Serana had dropped her previous mask of composure and was now smiling faintly.
Azrael didn't make that scrutiny again, but he always noticed how much more her exterior appearance and character tallied together after he had left her in the castle. Aside from the more obvious change regarding her hair, she was overall more soft in her motions and had gained some more sophisticated attitudes and ways of speaking and moving. What was different now, was that she looked genuinely entertained.
'The two of you…' he began slowly. His intention was to change the subject. He didn't want Babette to finish the sentence she had started; to him, it was exceedingly clear that she was finishing her phrase by saying that they took orders from him. Thankfully, it's quite easy to distract her. 'You were talking about the Dawnguard, I presume.'
'Yes, we were,' answered Babette, assuming her best impersonation of her crossed self. She folded her arms and squeezed her huge red eyes. 'And you had to ruin it. For once that were having a pleasant conversation, you had to spoil our fun. Is it not allowed to talk here anymore?' she mockingly lamented.
'Unpleasant topics can be touched on in pleasant conversations,' he replied. 'Case in point, you mentioned me. I'd rather you hadn't.'
'Then I have a solution to your issue,' the girl said. She waved her index in the air twice, looking at him with a grinning smile. 'You only care about solutions, and here's one. How about you let us talk in piece, but while you sit here and listen? You might even learn something interesting. To people who are not as averse as you are to other people, that's called joining in. You're welcome to do that, and if we say something you can't stand, you just say the word. Is that fine by you?'
'It is.'
Both of them had already turned their heads towards dry land to face him as he neared, whereas before they were looking at the town in the distance. However, since they didn't move back to their original poses, Azrael thought that he could sit somewhere around and they would have continued to look roughly in his direction. There was a fir two feet or so away from him that would have made for a comfortable enough backrest. Not a lot of resin. My cloak might just remain clean. The marked bark of the tree was thick, and the plant itself was quite old. The branches were thick, and would hide the upper part of his field of vision. No matter. Thankfully, I don't need to watch the skies any longer. That was a strange thought. Above all else, Skyrim was associated with Dragons in his mind. It had been some time since that had ceased to be his main concern.
He strode towards the trunk, bending to avoid the lower branches. Meanwhile, Serana recommenced the talk. 'Ignoring the Thieves Guild,' she said, 'was there anything else to be said about Riften?'
'Nothing worth mentioning,' said Babette. Azrael, turning around and leaning down on the ground with his hands, let his back slide on the trunk. As he sat on the ground, he reached for his back with both hands, removing both the longsword and the bow from their hangers. The quiver wasn't an issue. He laid the two weapons beside him, the bow with the grip in the right direction and the sword with the handle as close to his hand as possible.
He let his head rest on the bark, pulling his hood lower so that it would not accidentally fall off.
'By the way,' Babette continued. A wry smile appeared on her misshapen lips and a similar tone was ringing in her voice, 'This Elf right here,' she said, pointing at Azrael, 'has always told me that his blood is venomous to vampires. I never touched him just to be sure, but from what he told me you should definitely know.'
'Believe him,' Serana said, her own smile mixing with a tense expression. 'I would presume you know of how we reached the Castle together, and how I was the one who turned him. In doing so, as you will know, some blood is inevitably ingested. I didn't drink much, and I almost died from it.'
'Well, well… And yet another time he told the truth without me trusting him. You would never guess,' the little vampire said, 'but he detests lying and pretending. He likes to trick people, telling half-truths and spinning riddles and other things that no one can comprehend, but that are never a true lie. There was one time when—'
'Ladies… You're talking about me again.'
Babette groaned, half-smiling still. 'All right, let's talk about something else. Serana!' she cried, eliciting a wide smile from the pureblood. 'There I was, talking about him when there's you to talk about! Tell me, how are the Volkihar holding up? When I… Nevermind, let's say that I came across references of the Clan, but I thought they were all dead. The hunters of the eastern glaciers are long gone, from what I've heard.'
'I'm afraid you might know more than I do. I only witnessed the rise of our Clan, and I have been caught up on all the events leading up to my release in less than two weeks, so you can imagine how little I know. Members of the court have told me that the eastern hunter have been struck down after their blood was so watered down that it decayed. It's been a while since one of them has been seen, and there is no more mention of them. Even their branch of ice magic has been lost to us, with very few exceptions.'
'Truly? I always thought you had remained in contact, seeing the Death Hounds stalking alongside the ones of the Clan.'
Serana's lips pursed. 'I'm not sure there's anyone who still practices that type of rituals. There are very old members of the Clan, some are still alive from its very foundation, but none who can work that branch of vampiric magic. As far as I have seen, only two Death Hounds remain in the wall of the Clan's Keep. The others have either been dispatched or are the creation of lesser branches of that magic.'
'How interesting. And how is the rest of the Clan faring, if you don't mind my asking.'
'Not at all. What do you want to know?'
'Too many things for one night. How long have you been around, what have you done in all this time?'
'If you don't know these things, then I'm to guess you're not of the Volkihar bloodline.'
Babette grinned. 'I'm not. I was born in Cyrodiil, and that's where I was infected. That makes me a far relative of the infamous Cyrodilic vampires, but only in blood. I've not been in Skyrim a long time, and I've never met one with Volkihar blood in their veins. Of course, before he came along.' She pointed towards Azrael with a wry smirk. 'But let's not talk about him, because he doesn't like it. You, on the other hand, cal tell me something.'
'The Clan has been around for four millennia now. Some of their original members are still alive and have been around for that immense amount of time. They're faring decently, although they never show themselves around very much. Especially in the old days, some marginal members set off to found their own dens and create their own little groups, and while they still exist, not many have endured all this time. The bigger group, the eastern hunters, we've already mentioned, and I think a similar fate befell most of those who left the Keep.'
Azrael felt his head pressing on to the side, the muscles in the neck relaxing after the prolonged moment of slight tension. The two had stabilized on topic that were not his immediate concern, and many of which he had already exhausted in his previous journey with Serana. Seeing the two of them, if looked with an outside perspective, was mildly amusing. A three hundred years old vampire that appears a child barely above twelve on one side. On the other, a young woman who in reality has existed for four millennia. And has experienced only eight-rough years of those. And speaking of the latter, he thought, looking at Serana sideways, she is keeping the right things secret. She might think naively, but she knows her way on this plane. It was the positive side of the phenomenon of discrepancy between her declared beliefs and tangible actions that he often noticed in their debates on horseback. In times like the current discussion, the very concept of discretion described her approach quite well. However, prudence wasn't on her list of traditional values she held to, in spite of the common use she made of it. I can respect when someone does the sensible thing, even if he doesn't realize, he thought.
In spite of the minor lies and half-truths that were being told, the intensity of their bond was surprising, considering how little time there had been. The minor lies and half-truths made that connection even more curious to Azrael, who had no patience for people who were not frank with him. If it's related to work or business, then I can accept it. But that's not what they're doing. Having a friendly chat while telling lies doesn't even figure in my list of activities. He lived in shadow, and how much he revealed himself was the only meter distinguishing a contact from a friend. There were no lies with friends. There were questions they were not allowed to ask, but he told them so. Babette and Serana seemed to think otherwise on that topic, as they did about conversations in general, it seemed. They were talking for the sake of talking, and that was something he knew people did but that he had never fully understood. Words are for True Need, he reminded himself. On that, he agreed with the Dragons. Words need to have a purpose. They are a means to an end. Clearly, he thought, looking at the two as Serana started talking once more, we don't share the same view on the matter.
As his focus on the words being spoken and the conversation in general waned, several minor thoughts passed through his mind, only to subside moments after. With every new one that faded, he was left with a clearer sense of calm and tiredness. The cool, voluminous feeling of tranquility was nothing new, although he relished it every time it simmered to the surface. The sense of tiredness, on the other hand, wasn't of the kind he was used to feel after a long day of travel or several nights where he hadn't slept much. It's related to vampirism, without doubt. It's been five days since I've fed, my life functions are on halt. Maybe it was the lack of feeding or the lack of activity in the past days causing that feeling. Perhaps as soon as I sense the smell of blood again, I'll be as active as I'll ever be. No one knows. He tried to respire, but there was no air in his lungs. Solitude's next. I wonder what awaits us there.
His gaze came back to the woman and the girl in front of him, who were still actively discussing something. Babette was explaining something with complex gestures of her hands, speaking at intervals and sometimes stopping for a couple of seconds and staring fixedly at the ground or in at the horizon before recommencing. Serana sat comfortably on an isolated flat piece of rock that emerged from the dirt. She leaned on one hand which was put to her left side and her legs were collected and bent on her right, and the same side's hand grasping her leather cuisse. Her hair fell gently down her neck and temples, and she was looking keenly in the little vampire's eyes. An interest that appeared courteous and composed more so than it looked authentic. But then again, Azrael discarded the detail as something that perturbed him alone; furthermore, how else could she have survived in the place she had grown up? She had learned to hide her true interest and feign it in other scenarios. The feigned expression was the one who had endured, and that appeared even now that she was really involved. Do others even realize it is, or was, a fake?
Despite seeing them vividly, their voices sounded as if they came from far, far away. He didn't ever hear them clearly, by then. They were a whisper, only slightly stronger than the breeze blowing around them and making the branches of the fir move. He felt his head sliding to the side, facing towards the right. The choices were two. Straiten it or let if fall. It would not have remained still. He didn't pose any resistance to the movement, and in the end his gaze shifted along with his eyes. His vision blurred as the movement occurred, and then it centered once again on the new landscape. He saw the edge of the piece of land that they were sitting on, and beyond it, the endless expanse of the sea.
The image mesmerized him. There were barely any light being cast on the restless surface of the water, which appeared and disappeared repeatedly. Blades of light were formed when a wave aligned itself with a light source, but as soon as the crest moved past that temporary state, the whole line plunged once again into darkness. Different point were lit in different times, and the water looked black as tar, thicker and heavier than it actually was. It still moved, up and down, although that simple motion looked to be immensely complex when seen so sparsely. The line separating the water from the horizon could barely be made out, and the sea looked darker than the sky.
A shiver made his upper neck quake, and then it ran down his spine slowly. His arms and legs quaked weakly as well, as if shaken by the corporeal cold that the shudder brought along with it. It dispersed only once it had reached the lower parts of his back. Just as that had gone down along his back, something parallel had seemed to have crept up his spine. He felt his head snipping slightly, and everything around was seemingly slowing down. The waves slowed, the wind suddenly felt weaker. He felt weaker himself. There were voices whispering around him, emerging from the water like shadows. Their whispers came hushed, as if from beyond. The Sea of Ghosts, he thought. Something slithered inside his chest, slowly tracing a way while leaving a dull pain behind, emptying his chest and leaving only a light emptiness behind. A grave for how many? The endlessness of the water, for a short moment, became too terrifying to be remembered.
'Azrael?' The voice was muffled, but it became clearer even as the word ended. He felt as if a curtain was being taken away from in front of his eyes. 'Is everything all right?'
It was Serana speaking. Her tone was soft, but there was a note of worry. Automatically, he felt ready to jump up and grab the handle of the longsword, because he had learned to associate that tone, and hers in particular, to possible threats. That once, however, the worrying was for him. It was less marked. Not the fearful, sharp voice that some people would make when afraid, but it fell in the same spectrum. That's interesting. And why is she asking, anyway?
'Why?' he replied. Slowly and gradually, he turned his head towards them. The bark bent and creaked behind his head, making sharp and thin sounds, and as he came back to his original position and let his shoulders drop downwards.
'Yes, that's an excellent question,' Babette intervened, and Azrael caught her glancing at him before she looked back at Serana. 'Why did you ask? Does he ever ask you?' she said, grinning just enough to show her small fangs.
'No,' Serana said hurriedly. Her eyes were a bit agitated, almost as if she felt uncomfortable. 'He just looked strange. Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything,' she quickly explained, still with her voice matching the feverish look in her eyes. 'I just wanted to ask you,' she concluded, turning towards Azrael again, 'if you could wait here for me a while longer.'
'What do you need to do?'
'Lay off, Azrael,' snorted Babette. She struck the ground with her palm twice, as if calling him. 'I told her she could go and have a quick, refreshing bath in the Sea before everyone wakes up. It's a pleasure denied to everyone who's not a vampire, so we should at least do it! It'll only be a moment.'
He turned away from the girl and towards Serana directly. 'I'll meet you in front of the door where we stopped. Go.'
She put her other hand on the ground and rose slowly. Azrael noticed that she looked towards him fixedly, but there wasn't any reason for this that he could think of. He looked back in her eyes. Despite not being able to see him, she seemed to have developed a kind of intuition that allowed her to guess when he was looking at her. When he looked at her in the eyes, she sometimes said things that she wouldn't have had he not been showing any attention. She wasn't the first person to notice his gaze, but she was the first who reacted in such precise patterns. Many other people cared less or weren't aware of the smaller signals they were given, whereas Serana picked up on all of them; sometimes, she overworried about them too, which was probably a result of her particular perception. In some ways, we're more alike than I first imagined, Azrael thought. She's analytical with people and emotions the same way I'm analytical with objects and concepts.
She stepped towards the edge of the shore, to his right, where he was previously looking. She looked down at Babette, beaming at her and waving her hand twice. The little vampire grinned right back, with a more playful gesture of her small hands, and turned around as the woman walked past her, casting one last glance towards Azrael. He waited for Serana to walk by, but he bent his head slightly to the right afterwards. She's going short way down, he realized, as she seized the rocks up with a sweeping glance to see where the descent would be less arduous.
'Azrael.' Babette's voice came from his left, but the Dragonborn didn't react to it. He was still looking Serana, who had found a place to climb down the rock face. The grass squeezed under her boots straightened almost immediately when she made another step, mainly because the weight was so little it wasn't enough to push them into the dirt. 'Azrael!'
His head slowly turned towards her. 'Yes?'
'While she's off, what do you want to do? Do you know what you came here for?'
'I do.'
'And were are you headed?'
'Solitude. I presume she told you something.'
'That she did,' said the girl, giggling. Her eyes turned towards the sky and she looked thoughtful for a moment. 'I liked her, you know? She was very modest. I never actually thought someone who can stay with you with all this time might have such an agreeable character,' she continued, her smile turning faintly malicious. 'She's charming. I reckon she was dying to talk to someone, after being stuck with you.'
'Possibly.'
'Anyways, you seem to be in quite a tight spot with this matter. She wasn't too open about the Clan. Had I not known who she was from the start, I'd have assumed her to be a minor character, a mole or some other kind of mediator. Who else would have such a diplomatic attitude? And it turns out, she's the daughter of their leader. Fascinating. But,' she said, spanning her fingers and closing her eyes shut for a moment. 'I'm going off topic. So, Solitude. You're going right to meet that scholar, I imagine. And Nazir probably told you everything.'
'He did.' He let his hands fall by his sides and on the ground, spreading the fingers and letting the whole surface of the armored palms touch the ground. 'Now,' he said, pushing himself upwards, 'I'm going back in the Sanctuary. I'll talk to the others and hear out the Night Mother. You're welcome to follow me.'
The girl planted both fists on the ground and bounced up energetically. 'Of course I will!' She rubbed her hands one against the other and then the palm on the back, for both hands. Afterwards, she shook her head, making her ponytail bounce around.
Azrael stepped back and picked up the bow. The Bow of the Nightingales, he thought, looking at the bird inlaid in the enchanted wooden structure. Once back in Riften, Karliah was deserving of thanks for her help. You could say we're almost even now. He grabbed the grip with his left hand and brought it towards his back; he knew where the hanger was without thinking. The peculiar sound played out, and he retracted the hand. He grabbed the handle of the longsword, and held it backwards, rising to his feet in the meantime. While he absently looked for the hook that kept the blade in place, his gaze swept across the small area, seeing if he hadn't left anything.
In front of him, but outside of his field of vision, he heard Babette giggle faintly. 'And there she is.'
He finished his final check and then raised his gaze, his left hand finding the place for the for longsword. The Dark Sister was looking towards the sea, not far away from the beach, her small hands folded behind her back. Azrael planned to follow her gaze, but when he pinpointed the area she was looking at it became apparent what she was referring at. Her sentence, which would have been quite cryptic otherwise, also made sense. She was looking at Serana, who had taken her leather boots off and was bent forward, probably unlacing the leggings. For some reason, Azrael felt the strong impulse to look away. His head moved imperceptivity, but he resisted it. The tension that was left felt like a wooden stick inserted on the left side of his spine.
'I trust,' commented Babette, still looking towards the woman, 'you've pondered well whether we need to talk about her or not.'
The Dragonborn cracked his neck unhurriedly. 'Should we?' he asked impassively.
'Oh, dear…' murmured the girl, 'of course. Well, there seems to be a strange bond between the two of you, no matter how much you continue to distrust her. And for once, I'm not saying that negatively. She is surely holding some secrets of her own, which might be too painful to reveal. But I don't really care about her. I care about you.'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'Well, I think she has struck you too, in spite of how much you might deny it. She is your opposite in some ways, but I think you have much to share. Note that I said to share, not in common, in case you meant to demolish me with your meticulous arguments. And I also think you're quite taken by her, based on some things you have told me.'
Azrael took a step to the right, looking at her. 'Meaning?' he asked, a faint scorn streaking in his voice.
Babette reached him with quick steps, letting her arms dangle by her sides sluggishly. 'Would you kindly describe me if you have any particular feeling that is linked to her especially? Because I suspect it might be the case.'
Bullseye. He waited for her, and then he strode forward. He felt the light breeze blowing the left side of the hood on his cheekbone. 'It's peculiar,' he murmured, not finding the words for it. 'When I'm far away from her, I feel both safe and sad. Feeling safe because of distance is something I can remember well from other times in my life. Sadness is something new. I don't think I have ever felt it related to a person…' He stopped, turning towards Babette. He observed as she chuckled silently. 'What?'
'Nothing,' she said, 'I realized how rare it is for you to say that you actually feel something. I know, I know, you have told me time and again that it's not true, but appearances can deceive very well. I'm sorry,' she concluded, not giving up on her laughter. 'Continue.'
'Conversely,' he rejoined, ignoring the interruption, 'when we were reunited the sadness disappeared, only to be replaced a sort of frenzy. It was a sensation completely alien to me. I have never felt it before.' He stopped, not just because he had said enough. 'You're still grinning,' he observed, coldly. 'What is it?'
'It's something different now,' she said. 'I have finally understood what part of the problem is. It wasn't just vampirism, Brother. You have a mean case of infatuation, and you don't even seem to have considered it.'
The Dovahkiin turned his head slowly, feeling imperfections on the inside of the armor grazing his skin as he made the motion. A surge of energy flowed through his shoulders, stiffing the arms and causing the hands to clench imperceptibly. Knowledge brings clarity, he thought. It's true. Inside his lifeless, dead flesh there seemed to be a flame burning. The greatest contradiction I have ever witnessed. Death beckoning desire. He listened to his thoughts, and kept walking slowly alongside the little vampire who, to her credit, remained completely silent.