Day Keeper, Night Reaper

by Metatron Alastor

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

24. Chapter XXIII: Heart of Darkness

Chapter XXIII: Heart of Darkness

---

The howl of the wind was silencing the muffled nighttime noises of the forest. There was also a distant sound of music and human voices that came from very far away, carried by the wind. Serana felt on edge. In more ways and more meanings than one. On the one hand, there hadn't been a day in which she had felt tranquil after leaving the Keep. She had never experienced anything like that in her entire life, and she was surprised that she was experiencing it now. She was distraught, but it wasn't a general sense of anguish. It revolved around the Castle, and her sudden departure from it. There was a physical sensation of no longer having a protection to shield her. She felt herself becoming smaller and smaller, and it felt like she could implode at any moment.

She couldn't attribute this to anything in particular, but there was a hint. Azrael had provided it, and perhaps not on purpose. Is there a thought, any at all, that eases the sensation? he had asked. There was indeed, and it was the thought of home. Of the red, dim light that came through the stained glass of the main hall of the Keep. Of the grim brightness that filled her room. Of the low voices of the court members, whispering among each other. Of so many things she could hardly keep count. She didn't remember that sense of crushing longing, not even when she had escaped with her mother. That time I thought I would soon see the castle again.

There had been a moment when she had seen the black walls of the castle had disappeared in the darkness of the night. They were on the boat when it happened, and she was at the helm. She had looked back, only to see that the walls were no longer in sight. A thought had struck her, too loud not to be heard. You'll never see this place again. Not like you left it. It was a hunch, but Azrael's sureness made that feeling more tangible. She still had no idea what he meant, but it was as if something deep inside of her knew. When she had managed to retrace the feeling to that moment, she had come to the inevitable and confusing solution that she was homesick. What was tormenting her was nostalgia.

However, there was also another way in which she felt on edge, one that was so relevant to the present that it made her wistfulness into a backdrop. She had first realized the extent of her perception of the bond between her and Azrael in the Soul Cairn, and back then she had considered it an advantage. Now, however, she was reconsidering it, because she felt on edge. On the razor's edge. Her perception conjured an image in front of her eyes, the image of a crossroad. One small touch could have made her tumble down either side of the thin blade on which she was treading. Or are we both walking on it?

She sat on the ground, a dry reddish dirt. She kept her knees bent and her arms encircled them, her fingers intertwining. She felt fearful, and her first reaction was to swing back and forth slowly, as if she was in a crib. It was puerile, she knew that, but she couldn't help it. It calmed her, and that was what mattered. Her eyes gazed to the side, to the tree where Azrael was leaning on. He stood on his feet and still hadn't sat down, and had stayed like that ever since she had awakened. Well, I'm one to talk, she thought, I think I've been staring at him for as long as he has stood.

It was hard not to, however. How easy is it to be like him? Seeing the world in concepts and symbols, playing around with them to see what happens. That which she had thought of as a weakness until a few days before now seemed an immense advantage. Those cryptic words he had left her with before he had left her to grab her few things at the castle, the night of their departure, were ample proof that he wasn't blind to their connection. And that wasn't nothing. It was thin as the thread of a spider's web, and very few people other than the two of them had noticed. And yet, seen from the inside, there was much more than any old relationship she had ever heard of. There was fear and resentment as much as there was closeness and desire on her part, and of that she was sure. And who knows what's going on inside that tenebrous head of his.

She really couldn't find a better way to think of it than being on edge. On the edge. But there seemed to be something at that crossroad that prevented them from going forward. At the very least, the road they had to travel in the real world was clear. They would have arrived there that very day at midnight, but Azrael didn't seem willing to start the night's ride yet. He was thoughtful, as he had been every hour of every day since they had left the keep. However, for the first time since she had known him, he seemed preoccupied about the content of his thoughts. When he was thinking, he usually progressed quickly, whereas this time it seemed he was obsessing on something he had having a hard time resolving. And there was one question that she kept asking herself. What if he's trying to resolve the unresolvable? A feeling, for instance.

However, the pendulum kept swinging, and this time it was weighting heavy on the side of rebellion and resentment. How long do we have to go on? It was a single-minded way of thinking, that didn't take into account that she was probably having a similar influence on him than that his had on her. But it was the nature of her ambivalence, the thing she had been tormented by forever. And resentment was taking over.

'Will it be long before we leave?' she asked. That was how resentment influenced her. It never took any form that others could recognize as open questioning, most times. And most times she felt it and tried to vent it, but this once it was different. Moments passed, and she didn't hear any answer coming and suspected none might come. 'I'm talking to you,' she said, raising her voice.

'I know,' Azrael said, without a single motion. He kept looking forward, through the trees and towards the horizon. The weak light of one of the moons shone from the side, brightening up his dark figure.

Serana understood from his tone that he wasn't going to add anything more. 'Then you might as well answer me.' She felt herself quaking at the end of that sentence. A strong shiver shook and seemed to lower the temperature in her entire body. Her veil of anger shattered.

'You sound impatient,' he said. 'What is it?'

She felt herself freezing solid, because he had caught her by surprise and she didn't know what to answer. She hadn't paid too much attention to his words as well. She had heard them but had not really listened to them. And besides, she pendulum had swung past the focal point and now she felt afraid. This once I was lucky, but I might have pushed too far in saying that. Still, something of her anger was lingering, and that could have given her the courage to go on.

'Nothing,' she said, 'I was just… confused.' She considered it wise to specify and go through with what she had said before. 'I don't understand why we're not departing, you said yourself that we haven't got much time.'

'We gained a few hours taking a shortcut. We don't have to move at once.'

'And what do you need the time for? You're the one who often figuring out ways to occupy precious time, and yet here you are not occupying it. You've been standing there was at least an hour.'

He didn't answer. Now immediately anyway. His gaze was still fixed on the horizon, but a quivering motion ran across his neck and head. 'As I said in the Keep, I need to think.'

Something happened, at first deep inside her and then on a more surface level. A great number of things seemed to be moving all together, and the purpose was apparent. They were all converging. There was a thread that seemed to guide all others. You mentioned the Keep, he said to him in her own head. You mentioned it yourself. You drew a parallel. For the first time ever, she saw something weak in him. You're almost begging me to understand that whatever you're thinking about is the same thing you were thinking of back in the Keep. And anyone could have guessed what he was thinking about in the Keep.

All of her questions, all of her feelings seemed to rally around that one thing. That small sign, which was nonetheless something to take into account. And with the help of every feeling and every thought, she finally sensed something coming from a deeper place in her heart. It was something ravenous, the thing that was eating and consuming her when Azrael had left her alone, back in the Keep before their departure. It was something dark, monstrous, a small yet perilous feeling. It had the strength to strain her and pull her from all sides until she dissolved into dust.

When she spoke, she didn't have full control of her words and despair melded with anguish in her mind. 'Azrael, we can't keep on like this. I can't. I feel like I'm going to burn alive if we do. You're trying to think your way out of something that you won't ever be able to understand with logic—'

'Serana,' he said, raising his voice just enough to overwhelm the sound of hers. 'That's enough.'

'No,' she said, feeling her throat clenching and her voice on the point of breaking. 'No, you've had your time but now—'

'Please.'

'No,' she said. Her hands moved away from one another and she put them on the ground. 'No.' She changed the angle of her feet and put the against the terrain, too, pushing with both. She gave a push with all four of her limbs and rose to her feet. 'I can't believe I'm saying this, and I'll only be able to say this once. You might be able to withstand the tension, but I can't. And no matter what you think or do, just know that this does involve me. It doesn't have anything to do with my family or out mission, but it does involve both of us as if it did. We're both ravaged, and you do see that. You even admit that it's the case, but you refuse to do anything about it. You were even trying to stop me from doing it. I—'

'I said that's enough.' She heard the thundering note in his voice, and she saw the shiver that shook him; she didn't listen to the former and didn't pay attention to the latter. She only understood that he had, in turn, predicted clearly what she was about to say and had stopped her in her tracks. Even then, it seemed he only had his intellect to cling on to.

'Fine,' she said, 'if you won't hear it this way than I'll tell it in a way that you'll understand. There is a problem, that's clear, and you're blatantly going about solving it the wrong way. We should be facing this together, each of us providing our experience to it. Instead, you're trying to solve the problem by suppressing the symptoms. You're forcing yourself to repress everything, and you're silently influencing me as well. You haven't even created the conditions for the issue to be solved properly.' She didn't know why, but she stepped forward; they were now rather close, no further than arm's reach. 'If I just try to get an understanding of you, you slip away, you become elusive and devious, you hide from me—'

There was something that happened. Definitely. And yet she wasn't able to understand what. A shadow had materialized in the air, but then everything had ceased to be for a moment. She could not decide if she had stopped talking before she had stopped hearing or vice versa, because both had happened but the sequence was impossible to guess. Likewise, she couldn't know if there was nothing in front of her eyes before they were closed or for some other reason that she didn't have the clarity to imagine in the moment. It was strange because she didn't feel anything under her feet. It was as if she was dreaming, floating all of a sudden in an expanse where putting one's feet on the ground wasn't necessary.

And then she became aware of her body. All of it, and in the same moment. She didn't feel anything at first beside remembering that she had a body and that probably wasn't dreaming, but that didn't last for more than a few moments. Without her realizing it, her vampiric instinct had awakened strongly. The waves of heat that pervaded her made her aware of the solid surface beneath her, but not in the places where she had expected it to. There wasn't anything under her feet, and the she felt sensory signs from other places. One particularly strong one came from the spot she quickly identified as her own cheek. It was a lot stronger than the others, as if stinging.

What happened? It was a frantic thought, but it was the first sign of her mind resuming its normal function after that imprecise yet sudden disruption. She tried to find a link, something that could reconnect everything to what was happening before. But there isn't really a before, now, is there? She could remember things, feelings, some bodily sensations, but she could not go back to where she was. That made it harder to understand where she was now. She almost didn't remember her thoughts, and could recall something as if it didn't really belong to her.

She had to wait until the senses came back, and it wasn't too long a wait. With her fighting instincts active, they permeated her quickly. As the touch came back, something happened to the dull yet stinging sensation to the cheek. She found that it wasn't a generic sensation after all but a stabbing, sharp pain. As if guided by the fact that the pain was near the eyes, the eyelids opened immediately and focused intensely. They pierced the darkness and quickly found what they were looking for. The color red. A tint that belonged to a fluid that lay on the dirt, and that was vaguely transparent. The thoughts had to wait, because the sense of hearing had come back, and it was catching a meld of different sounds, all frightening in their own way.

I'm almost prone. That was rather clear from what she knew. Her head was down on the ground, resting on the cheek that didn't ache. Her eyes had also seen the terrain obliquely. I need to turn around. She felt her left arm trace an energetic swing in the air, giving her enough momentum to turn around. Before her eyes could confirm it, she knew and could feel that she was sitting down, both her arms behind her shoulders and her legs slightly spread and ahead of her waistline. The cheek ached still, but the noises grabbed her attention because they were now louder. She could make out two distinct ones. A lower one, of a living thing, and an inanimate one. A vampire's mind can easily distinguish.

Her eyes focused, and the scene in front of her became quite clear. A freezing fear paralyzed her where she was, still on the ground. Azrael was in front of her, but he wasn't the same as always. He wasn't motionless at all. The inanimate sounds she had heard was the sound of him ripping the tree he was leaning on out of the ground and uprooting it completely. The trunk was on the terrain, its branches stuck in the ones of other trees beside it, and the Dunmer was pummeling the fallen plant. The lower, living sounds were the growls that came from him. It sounded like he was roaring. She caught one of his armored fists, the right one, descending down on the wood. Before it sank in the trunk, her eyes caught something familiar. The red fluid. My blood. The blood coming from the wound on her left cheek was on his right gauntlet.

Now she understood. She even remembered. The shadow, it was his fist. It was moving towards me, now that I think about it. His right gauntlet would hit her left cheek. It was strong, because I must have lost my footing and tumbled backward. Logically, she would have spun around under the strength of the hit. And she had landed on the right side of her face, predictably. So, he hit me. It was the only possible solution.

'Azrael…'

Both sounds ended, and a new, whispering one came. He had turned around, and the cloak had followed his movement. Her eyes didn't linger on the cloak for much longer, because there was something else that caught their attention. His eyes. Two flaring, igneous orbs that shone under his hood like dying suns. And in contrast to their searing heat, she felt so cold that she couldn't move. She had always found him hostile because he was frosty, but now that she saw him scorching something changed. He was baleful.

'Strun…' he roared, shaking his head violently. His voice seemed to stir the very air. 'By the Three, do I really seem like someone who says things on a whim? But no, you had to, because you want to know everything about me…' he screamed, a sarcastic note streaking his wrathful tone. 'And try to find out what you already know. Did you not know that this could happen? Don't you understand that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, I am, and will always be, a monster? Don't you realize what darkness lies inside my mind?' A vibrating snarl escaped his throat. 'I am a blood-sucking fiend. A fiend who is betraying an unfortunate, fanatical madman because I'm bloody enamored with his daughter. And that's not the end. Laegiine, do you remember her? She's a trained killer and I'm her master. I am the mind that is spinning the web that controls half of his land. And that's not all. Do you remember Durnehviir? He's a Dovah, and I'm his youngest brother and king. Yes, king…' he breathed.

He was anticipating and systematically answering to every question that popped in her mind.

'You've heard of the Dragonborn,' he continued. 'It's me. Dovahkiin. Or Dovrahkren, for some. The Godsplitter. I said, back in Dimhollow Crypt, that you would hear of Alduin again. Well, because I killed him. I killed a god, my eldest brother, and took his place. His mantle. And with it, all the unending darkness that he carried inside. When Volun, the darkness, melded with the one that I already carried in my mind, a monster was born.' His eyes flashed frighteningly, but they moved away, farther from her. 'I dare say you have seen it,' he murmured, and his fingers waved rigidly.

The howl of the wind swept away the sound of his last words, which were still vibrating even as they faded. The leaves were waving languidly, and their movement shook the branches from which they grew. There were only a few twigs that didn't move, and those were the ones belonging to the fallen tree. The uprooted tree. They were perfectly still, and if not because they were stuck in a myriad of other branches, because they were so close to the ground that the wind didn't reach them.

Azrael followed her gaze to the fallen tree, or so it seemed. He first looked at her and then his invisible face turned towards the trunk. He was standing by it. He was motionless, but his shoulders seemed relaxed, whereas before they were a bit higher than normal. His eyes moved away from the plant and moved to his gauntlet. His right gauntlet. He raised the forearm and straightened the wrist, staring at the back of his hand. He's watching the fingers. The small barbs on the fingers, that was where the blood had stuck. She didn't see it but could guess it. He never seemed to understand how he felt until he had thought about it, and that moment of interlude might have been precisely a moment to think.

His eyes moved again, and this once the movement was almost darting. They rose slightly above their own height, towards her left. She turned around nonetheless, but she guessed in advance what he was looking at for the second time in a row. Shadowmere. Her eyes fell on the mare, too. She had remained in her corner of the small clearing in the trees, and she didn't seem to have been interested in what had just happened. The beast's eyes were looking toward Azrael, with their steadfast loyalty and fiendish cunning in the gaze they generated. Serana glimpsed at the Dunmer as he entered her field of vision, walking closer to the steed.

'There's a wandering group of bards and thespians who has stopped not far from here.' He caressed the mare's side with his hand, the left one. With the other he checked the hitches that kept the Elder Scroll bound to the steed's side. 'Many have come from the nearby village, and some passers by have set up camp not far from their cart. A substantial number of revelers are now there.' He brought his left hand over the bulky back of the mare, and his right one moved near it soon after. 'Join me there when you're ready.' His fingers closed around the steed's spine, but they reopened soon after. The armored, talon-like fingertips slowly grazed Shadowmere's side as they came down. 'Actually, you ride there. I'll walk.'

His hands dropped to his sides, almost as if they were heavier than usual. He stepped forward, and there was a large shrub behind which he would have disappeared very quickly. He made another step. With the next one, he would have vanished. However, as he made it, he turned his gaze around ever so slightly. His eyes never managed to align with hers, but something seemed to spark from them. They said something to her. However, before she could understand anything more, Azrael's dark frame had disappeared behind the bush.

The spark that had come from his eyes seemed to reach her only now, too late. She felt a strange sensation at first, nothing more than an intuition, but that intuition immediately turned into something stronger. She felt like she had grasped something, something important, and that it could be understood. She had comprehended it, but could not yet explain it. That further layer came moments after when, seemingly on its own, the intuition unrolled as if it was a scroll. I have the strength to walk away, but not the one to come close, was written on it. In that instant, her eyes seemed to open anew, on a completely new sight, even though they had never been closed in the last minutes. Vampires never blink.

I can… think, she realized. It wasn't so immediate. She could think now, but she could draw a line on the exact moment when she had become unable to do so. Her own voice was her line. When she had turned around to find him striking the fallen tree, she had said his name. And after that, she hadn't been able to think. It was as if another person had lived those moments for her. She couldn't recall anything that had happened to herself in that timespan. She remembered what happened around her but not what happened to her. It was probably far from relevant. Moreover, she could recall one other such moment when she had found herself somehow present as a mere witness to what happened. The Ritual. She tried to cast away the thought. She had no wish to link the two memories together. One was terrible and gruesome. What she had just witnessed was different. Frightening, of course, but something more. It was… She searched for the word. Enticing. Again, Elisif's word of choice rang in her head.

She rose to her feet. She was alone, and not just in fact. She felt alone. So alone that if someone had asked for how long she had been on her own, she could have said that it had been days. All that had happened in the short timespan before seemed a nightmare. A hallucination. It had happened so quickly. I was sitting right there… she thought, remembering the moment when her frustration had made her speak. She could see a shallow dip in the ground where she had sat. She moved a step forward, not really going anywhere but merely making a note of the fact that she could decide what to do and when to do it.

She heard a snort coming from behind her. And there's you, of course, she thought, reminded that Shadowmere was there with her. The mare didn't make her uncomfortable, but she didn't feel anything particular towards her. Unlike Azrael, it seemed. He shared a deeper bond with that animal than with any living being she had seen him interact with. She didn't think about it, because now that she had moved the first step she felt drawn to the fallen tree. Or what remained of it, now that she could see it more clearly.

She looked at the trunk more carefully. If not for the fact that the dips in the wood had overlapped, she could have almost counted precisely the number of times Azrael had hit the tree. Each strike had crushed the wood and had made it sink at least a few inches. He's strong, she thought, more than a lot of vampires I've known. He had not attempted to break the trunk, he had merely punched it, but the damage had been great. The wood was full of small cuts and lines, signs of the barbs on the gauntlets. He hit me with the same fists that he hit this tree with. The whole trunk was much more resistant than her face was. This means that he has attempted to slow down, to not hit me. If he had hit her with the same strength he had used for that tree, her lower jaw would have been several feet away from the rest of her face.

Was that why I felt drawn to the tree? Had some of his inquisitive and observant attitude gotten into her? Before she had seen the tree, she had assumed that he had hit her with all of his strength. However, she saw now how inaccurate and blind that idea was. But it was the only one I had. It was one explanation of the few things she wished to acknowledge. But the truth is important. More important than what I want to believe. And now, the truth might have just been in her grasp. Azrael had thrown a punch at her, but he had changed his mind. Perhaps he had regained a semblance of control before the hit landed. But he did control himself. He blew off steam on this tree, she thought, this time glancing at the torn roots encrusted with dirt. If he hadn't controlled himself, I would be dead. He would have done to me what he has done to this tree instead.

But that was what he did with those who crossed the threshold, wasn't it? He killed them. No matter their intentions, his reaction was to kill them. For one time, he has shown a lack of originality, she thought, but it wasn't funny to her mind. Not one bit. She couldn't describe exactly the state of mind in which she was in, but it certainly wasn't one for jokes. She had done something serious, something that potentially no one had done before. I have crossed the threshold once, and I'm alive. That maybe wasn't true for other people who had done that. It wasn't true for Elisif. She had never crossed the threshold. She had not taken the risk. She had accepted Azrael's offer, which was his protection against himself. He could have killed me, and he didn't. There was something, something hidden in that concept. He restrained himself.

There was nothing else left for her to do there. She brought her gaze away from the uprooted tree and turned around, towards Shadowmere. There were weak images flashing before her eyes, especially when she recalled those dips in the wood. She remembered Forbear's Holdout, the man torn clear in two. The one with the crushed skull. The source of the violence had been different, but the effects where similar. She came close to the mare, but the same thought floated past her consciousness. I could, and perhaps I should, have ended the same way as those Dawnguard fighters did. Culled down. She thought that one last time before she could distract herself by looking in the steed's eyes.

Shadowmere's gaze was unnatural. The minuscule size of the pupils could have been part of the reason. Serana searched for a sign in those wicked pits, looking for anything that could have helped her. He trusts you. Why? And yet the answer was easy enough. Acceptance. Azrael knew that his mare, despite the fact that she was smarter than any other animal, still accepted him. I will love all which you love, and shun all which you shun. So recited the lords who came to swear fealty to her father. That seemed to be true enough for the steed as well.

However, Serana didn't see anything in Shadowmere's eyes. She only saw something reflected back to her, as if those ruby red, burning hollows were nothing more than looking glasses. She didn't guess it at first because it was something strange, almost alien to her. Obsession. That was what scarlet mirrors were reflecting. It was alien to her because she felt well, right there and then. There was no doubt, no fear. I quite like being obsessed. She knew that there had been something hypnotic about the scene she had witnessed. There was no magic in it. Just a girl's… She halted the thought, reconsidering. Just a woman's mind, playing tricks on her.

She did what Azrael had done, but this time she intended on finishing it. She walked to the huge mare's side, looked upward and threw her arms over her back. Her hands grabbed her spine, and she pulled herself up, putting her feet on the beast's abdomen as soon as she was comfortable. Shifting her hands on the horse's neck, she collected her left leg and lowered it on the mare's opposite side. 'Come on, lass,' she said, grabbing her mane and saying the same words that Azrael often said to her. 'Find him for me, will you?'

Shadowmere snorted and turned around. She looked to various sides, searching for a way out of the small glade, and when she found it she nimbly trotted towards it. Serana sensed the familiar bumping underneath her and felt her whole body relax. The mare walked through the trees and then turned left, in the direction where Azrael had gone.

Meanwhile, Serana sank back into her thoughts. They were mostly stirred by her inner turmoil, and many of them were substitutes for sensation she was unable to feel. Many of them were translations of what she sensed. Others were attempts to reconstruct the scene, give many of those senseless things a meaning of their own. Something simple, something that she could cling on to for certainty. And yet, she also felt a stronger pull towards the truth than normal. The truth at any cost, that was the phrase that sometimes floated through her mind. However, as it was often the case, the only holder of the whole truth was Azrael himself. She had to find him first, and get him to talk second. Even without knowing where he had gone, the latter step would have been harder nonetheless.

Among the things she was uncertain of, there was also the precise emotions the Dunmer had been driven by. Ire? Fear? Confusion? The reaction had been typical of someone in anger, but anger often arises from completely different things. Her father turned angry when he was sad. Her mother when she was anxious. And there was also the word he had uttered, or rather screamed, before he had started talking. Strun, doubtlessly a word in the Dragon Tongue. There are words in the Dovahzul that are more precise than any word in any mortal tongue, he had once said. That left more questions. Was the thing he had felt incomprehensible by mortal standards? Or, perhaps, the Dragons manage to conceptualize even the things that cannot be abstracted in our language. Although… Dragonborn. Godsplitter.

Regardless of the facts, there were still things that she had felt and that she couldn't deny to be her own truth. The sense of burning heat, the fury, but also the space that his anger had created had felt immensely eerie to her. Even now, after some times has passed, all my problems pale in comparison. He had communicated so much beyond the meaning of his own words that it required a conscious effort to put it all into place. There was craving, there was fear, there was an unwilling attempt to control oneself. There were things that she struggled to understand, and that were probably beyond her ability to understand. She felt sure of everything that had happened inside of her, but as soon as she ventured outside, everything seemed to be hazy once more.

Is he even still sane? And what was the limit, the thin line between sanity and insanity? Perhaps he truly was a madman, and he knew it and lived in peace with it. Perhaps the hint of scorn that emerged when others challenged him was part of that consciousness. As in saying, 'Yes, I'm insane, and you're the next in line'. There were two sides of him: the blazing inferno inside, and the cold winter outside. It was impossible to know when one ended and where the other began. And even then, they were such polar opposites that neither one was completely balanced. An inhuman desire on one hand and an unnatural need for distance on the other. But what was left in between? Was there anything in between?

There was one option which was worth considering, and it came from Elisif's words once again. The darkness, she had said. The enticing darkness. Serana listened to the flashes that flowed past her eyes, overlapping with her vision of the real world for brief but intense moments. A dark shadow appeared first. A fanatical madman… Azrael's voice, without doubt. Because I'm bloody enamored with his daughter. The shadow flickered and reappeared. Volun… it breathed. The darkness. And in saying that, it seemed to shimmer once more and Elisif's melancholic smile intertwined with it. The darkness…

A feminine voice rang in the air. And this one's not coming from my head, she rapidly understood. The shrill, playful cry that had just reached her didn't conform to her mood in any way. Besides, she didn't remember anyone having that exact same pitch. I must be getting close to the revelers, then. She stretched her ears, and there was the sound of numerous voices in the air. But this one was closer. She cleared her head, letting go of all the thoughts that had filled it, even those which required effort. She had recognized her own determination, and she was willing to make some sacrifices to keep on. First thing, she thought, I have to abandon Shadowmere.

She tugged the mare's hair and instinctively snapped her tongue to make a sound. It was something the horses in her father's stables answered to when she was little. While gripping the huge back of the beast and throwing her leg near the other to jump down, she realized that Shadowmere was the first horse she had used for a long, long time. Other animals are frightened by vampires. Lucky for them. Men and Mer don't seem to have the same gift. She lowered herself and her feet touched the ground. 'Stay here, lass, all right?' she said to the mare. She had no way to know if the steed intuitively understood the language, the tone or merely the will of the rider, but she had never disobeyed orders given by Azrael and even by her.

Now, she said to herself, letting her right hand slide down the mare's side in one last caress. The cry came from over there. There were two trees with thick foliage overlooking thick shrubs, with large leaves and their flowers still closed in soft buds. Spring was in its full. And speaking of spring, which is the season of love… The voice she had heard had something particular about it. There was something mischievous about it. A group of artists coming over and a great gathering is thrown. I cannot imagine an occasion like that without at least two youngsters sneaking away to make love. The best solution was to sneak past in turn. I wouldn't like to disturb them. Besides… She counted the days that had past since feeding. Even without the counting, she remembered the speed at which they had arisen before her vampiric powers were awake. Enough to risk draining the two younglings of their attraction towards one another. Either a hunter or a pariah. That's the choice of the vampire.

She could imagine that those large bushes she saw signaled the edge of the forest, but not its border with the road. Those two wouldn't have kept in plain sight. She stretched her ears once again and pinpointed the place where most of the voices came from. From the right. She tiptoed in front of Shadowmere and past the tree on the right, steering clear of the shrub. She could still hear the whispering coming from inside. They sounded delighted. What's wrong with me and Azrael? she thought, casting a glance at the plants. Why can those two enjoy their passion and we can't? She knew the answer, but she still had a gut feeling of injustice. She shook her head and kept walking, until the shrubs disappeared behind another tree.

She treaded carefully, laying her hands on the trees she walked by. There was the sound of instruments now coming from beyond the rim of the woods. A lute. Two flutes… A drum, too. The noise made by the voices had decreased. They're playing, so the crowd has quieted down. The giggles of the couple behind her were slowly becoming quieter, and she now barely heard them. In front of her, she could see the end of the tress. There were warm lights moving around, but still strong enough to create a contrast. She didn't see very well because of that.

She became aware of her nervousness as she walked by the last trees. She was nearing mortals for the first time after a while. People, she thought, not mortals, but people. They were never called by that name inside the Castle. But it didn't matter how she called them, she still felt tense. It could be pleasant, but I must not botch this. The encounters with the inhabitants of Skyrim that had occurred after her awakening were all less than satisfactory. There would be times when Azrael walked inside a place to talk to someone, but she hardly ever opened her mouth at those times. She had no idea of what she was walking into, but there would be the need to explain her presence at the very least. Why Azrael chose to mingle among people is a mystery. Of course, presuming he will be there himself. Once again, she realized the immense amount of trust she unwittingly gave him. To his credit, he had never lied to her since after he had been turned.

She emerged from the trees, and the first thing she felt were both her eyes sparking and then cooling down. While they adapted to the amount of light, she could already spot something. The light sources were mostly torches and braziers, but there was a proportionally enormous one on the side. Far away from the edge of the woods, there was an enormous bonfire, with blazes that swung twice a man's height up into the air. The crowd, of the vast majority of it, wasn't around the fire but rather on its side, some standing and walking around and some sitting on the ground.

Where exactly are we? She had found herself on a short grass. There were several cut trees around, which made it quite clear that it was the place where the locals gathered the firewood they needed. The people, however, were sitting on the road and the bonfire was just at the edge of it. There was a reason for them being there, and she had considered it even before seeing it. Azrael had mentioned the group of bards, and their cart was parked on the side of the road, not very far from a high wooded wall that was probably the fortification of a small town. Well, only a town would have this much people in it. There were at least a hundred gathered around that cart. Quite bold on their part with vampires on the prowl, she thought, but there had to be something else.

Two guards were standing on the side of the group opposite to the wooden wall. Watches, then. However, there were much more of them who were sitting down. They were all very calm, even the two standing were talking amiably with their hands folded behind their backs. No better way to know than asking them, I suppose. She would have had to go their way to reach the others nonetheless. She cast two lingering glances at the bards' cart before moving forward. Not just poets, she thought, looking at some of them who had masks on. Mimes and actors, too. She would have taken a better look once up close. Okay… I hope I'll be able to quell the bloodthirst.

For now, she came out of the woods and made sure she was clearly in the line of sight of the two watches. Coming nearer the center of the street, she crossed her arms and hunched over slightly while proceeding towards them. They noticed her soon after, when she got into the light of the bonfire. Same suit of armor as the ones we found in Solitude, but a slightly different color and a different heraldry. The symbol on their cuirasses was of an ungulate's head, a stag most likely, with his horns twisting like snakes as they raised. Falkreath, Azrael had said some time before. One of the guards had a closed helmet, but the other had a similar headgear that revealed a young face.

'Halt,' said the one with the closed helmet. The voice suggested a grown man. His tone wasn't hard, however. It was surprised, if anything. 'Who are you, lass? Why are you out here alone?'

Those words were doubtlessly a result of her intended posture. She stopped intentionally, feigning fear, before taking another step closer. 'Where am I, sir?' she asked, casting a sidelong glance at the younger one. She could have played the one with the full helmet as well, but if it came to it, she wanted to have that youngling on her side.

'Why, you're in Falkreath, my lady,' the guard replied. Serana took note of the sudden change from "lass" to "my lady", which was a good marker. The man didn't even seem to remember that she hadn't answered either of his two questions. 'Most of the city is out tonight,' continued the watchman, 'a caravan came by and we took a chance to celebrate. That's why everyone's out here.'

They haven't even asked me to lower the hood, Serana said to herself. She would have played them around even if, but that wasn't all her. They were just extremely relaxed. I'll ask of Azrael later. She looked to the sides, and then brought her eyes back towards the soldier. 'Sir, if I may, the night is dangerous. Why are you two the only ones standing guard?'

'Ha!' said the other, laughing and raising his voice. 'My lady, what need is there of us common folk when the Dragonborn is among us!' He turned around and readily pointed at the side of the cart. 'Look! Over there. He's the one leaning on the wagon.'

Serana looked where she had been pointed, and Azrael was indeed standing next to the wagon. He was resting his shoulder against the wheel, his hood lowered and his hidden eyes wandering over the playing musicians. He was gotten himself acquainted quite well, she thought, suppressing a grin. She wondered for a moment if he had seen her already, but if he had he wasn't giving any signs of it. As per usual, his intentions were unclear, but at least he was there with her. It wasn't a trap, although she had never doubted it. He places each piece of the mechanism in the environment where he functions best… she reasoned. Perhaps, he needs me at my best this time around. But to do what? Or perhaps there was something else to what he was doing.

Nevertheless, she would have discovered in due time. She returned her eyes to the guards, not worrying about the time she had spent staring at him. They would have surely interpreted it as either awe or fear. 'I see,' she said, lowering her gaze a little. 'May I join your people? I lost my companion in the woods, but I can't search for him now.' She pressed her crossed arms stronger against her chest. 'I'm cold.'

'Come in, my lady, come in,' said the older guard, stepping aside and leaving a wide space between him and the other watchman. 'Take a seat by the fire and have a mug of something strong. That ought to warm you up.'

She smiled faintly at him. 'Thank you.'

She stepped in between the two. She kept her arms folded and her shoulders hunched, because she could feel their gazes on her back. It's been a week since we left the Keep, she calculated at last. She sensed the dark energies rising from her body like smoke and clouding everyone around her. Those two men, alone and far from the others, had probably felt it very strongly. A vampire plays an evil trick. He's cold inside but can make others feel warm. In theory, and if taken alone, that ability was a precious gift, but in that case it was only the weapon of the monster hiding underneath the fair visage.

Soon enough, she felt the two pairs of eyes leaving her. However, there were already a number of people looking at her from up ahead. People in the crowd, seeing her arrive and wondering who she was before catching themselves unexplainably enthralled by that slim frame. Normal. She didn't care about it. She straightened her shoulders and uncrossed her arms while also raising her chin and twisting her lips into a smile. It wasn't hard, especially since the music had already had a positive effect on her.

The tune had ended not long ago, she had heard the last notes as she walked past the guards. Now, gazing at the cart and the people traveling in it, she saw the four musicians, the singer and the three mimes that she had spied before. Their faces were rough and their physiques were strong. Traveling artists, probably rejected sons of farmers and woodcutters. They were very different from the clean, sophisticated bards that had played instruments in Solitude at the Burning of King Olaf. Her eyes moved almost automatically to the three bows stacked in the back of the wagon. They don't even have the money to hire a guardian, it would seem.

The crowd wasn't very different. All simple people, with working clothes. There were some young women too, and in any city that was at least a little wealthy, they would have one dress that they would wear in special occasions like those. These ones didn't. They were all daughters of the local workers. A lot of woods around here, she thought. Most of the people living there were loggers and hunters. People who lived out there in their town and didn't often have a chance for merriment like the ones they were offered. I wonder how much this war they talk about has influenced them.

She shook off her thoughts and listened. There was quite a bit of noise around. 'I say, people,' cried a broad-shouldered man from the side, 'I say, we have the Dragonborn!' His words were almost overwhelmed by the thundering sound of applause, but he raised his tone even more. 'I say to sing and drink to that! Bottoms up!'

'Come on, down the hatch!'

All the people with a bottle or a mug on hand either took a long gulp or emptied what they had left. Serana strolled at the outer rim of the crowd, among some people in the background who stood up in order to see what was going on in the center. They're having the time of their life, it would seem. She was looking for a way to get into the crowd quietly and without making a scene. She was noticeable enough just by her outfit, and the less people had a good look at her the better. Both for her and for them.

'Well, well,' said one of the traveling caravan's. The lack of masks and the absence of an instrument meant he was probably the singer. His booming voice was also a hint in that direction. 'If we have the Dragonborn with us, nothing better than the Tale of Tongues! Are you up for that, mated?' he asked to the musicians. They all nodded energetically. 'Then,' the man continued, 'let it be! But first…' He stole a lingering, smiling glance at the crowd, sweeping his gaze across the entire semi-circle. 'First, we will need a lass to sing alongside! The Tale of Tongues is always better as a duet! I propose—'

He stopped in his tracks because the blare that had come from the gathering was too loud even for him. Serana squeezed in between two people, and looked at the events while standing in the background and grinning. It might have been true that those people were ignorant, narrow-minded simpletons, but they were Nords just like her and she felt alive among them. The energy, the strength she sensed were something fresh and blissful. Even their confused screams, of men vouching for someone and of ladies proposing themselves as the candidate, was something that made her happy. It was a mess, but a good mess. She wasn't able to explain it.

'People, people!' the singer called one once again. You're good in rhetoric, Serana conceded, but you made a mistake just a moment ago. He was now trying to fix it in any way he could. Or maybe that had been his plan all along, to generate so much enthusiasm to choke even him. 'Good people of Falkreath, listen to me!' The agitation of the crowd had been cooled enough so that his voice could once again be heard. 'You have an iron gut to want to do it, but I say…' he paused briefly. 'I say… we let the Dragonborn himself choose!'

A blare even louder raised from the gathering. Serana felt her lips tightening in the attempt to stiffen her face and muffle the noise. Her enhanced hearing wasn't doing her any good in that situation. How unbelievable is it, that giving the choice in the hands of another is even more thrilling that having to have to choose. There were many more things. Just imagine the girl who's going to be chosen by this land's savior in the flesh. How good that would feel. And Azrael wasn't one to do things on impulse. He had foreseen that his presence would have yielded that result. It was very true that his plans often harmed others, but in that moment he was using his reputation to maximum effect. And if he knew that by bringing me here he would have made me this happy… Because she was. She was tense, but she was happy. The memory of his outburst wasn't so scary anymore.

Azrael had risen from his leaning position and was now carefully scrutinizing the crowd, searching for a candidate. Serana, as it happened when they managed to breach a problem together, felt as if she could sense the light-heartedness of both herself and him. And let's face it, he didn't come here for these people. He came here for me. How confusing he was, but in his own way a great person. Most people would have sulked for weeks after such a breakdown. And yet there he is, calm. And he was calm, she could tell. She alone could tell among all of those people. She saw it, she smelt it, and she simply knew it. You felt like you couldn't give me what I wanted, and you used your intellect to make up for that. Even in those small things, he remained the smartest and most foresighted individual she had known.

Azrael brought his armored fingertips together in front of his chest. Serana had been lost in thought, and only now became aware of one thing. She had drifted off into her mind with booming cries all around her. But now, there was dead silence. No one was speaking. She easily picked up the shortened breathing and racing heartbeat of the four people surrounding her, but that wasn't an option for everyone. A sentimental mortal who's a bit hard of hearing would swear that the wind has stopped blowing. The sort of connection she had persisted, and she felt exuberant as a direct response to the extent of her companion's control over the people in front of him.

Azrael moved his eyes past the people on her left, and then her gaze crossed and locked with his. 'That one,' he said, disjointing his hands and pointing with his left index exactly in Serana's direction.

No, no, wait… Her thought was cut clear off when something, possibly a hand, struck her back and pushed her forward. She stumbled forward, and a surge of energy coming form her vampiric core prevented her from putting her feet down right on the wrist of boy that was sitting in front of her. She raised her left arm to keep her balance, but that shove had awakened her instincts. She had better not show too much of her nimbleness or things might have gone sour, but as long as she avoided crushing anyone's bones, nobody would have complained. Was someone stupid enough to push me forward? It seemed the only explanation possible. On the other hand, her mind was slightly clouded by the new wave of insanely loud noise that had come from the crowd, although it rose and lowered at intervals. The sound was drilling a hole into her ears.

'The Dragonborn has eyes like a bird of prey, it seems!' the caravan's singer was crying above the yells. 'Come closer, my dear!' he said, and Serana caught a glimpse of him making a gesture at her. She raised her gaze and looked in his direction. 'And such a fine lass!' he shouted to the crowd in response.

Serana quickly shifted her eyes to Azrael. He could see underneath her hood a lot better than anyone there, and she looked at him questioningly. New shouts came from the gathering and someone in particular cried above the others, but she didn't listen. She kept her focus on him, but apparently in vain. The Dunmer didn't move an inch, but she could somehow tell that he was slightly amused. Not in a mocking way, though. It was as if he had been smiling teasingly.

She quickly turned around, not willing to ignore the attention of the people any longer. I'm not afraid, she realized upon wondering what she was feeling. She was surprised, yes, but she didn't mind being at the center of the attention. Furthermore, there was something coming from the deepest depth of her flesh, which was reveling in the notice she was receiving and enjoying the prospect of the power she could have held over that audience. Those things combined gave her the strength. She beamed down at the people in between her and the cart, who quickly moved to the sides leaving her the space to walk freely. A lot of space. And Azrael was right again. Regardless of me being a vampire, the reactions I elicit are the ones that a princess would get. There is still something about me that screams royalty.

'Come here, young lady!' the singer had sat on the side of the wagon now, and had extended an arm in her direction. 'Come closer.' He was loud and sure of himself, but Serana wouldn't have said he was a man of the ladies. And there was something else. She looked carefully at him for a moment and she could read his thoughts on his forehead. I would try to have you, she read, but I'm too afraid that the Dragonborn already has you.

Among all that, there was one problem that she didn't know how to solve yet. The Tale of Tongues, he said. I imagine it's a song. But she didn't know it. All the people of Skyrim apparently knew it, but she didn't. Something clicked. That's what made you so amused, wasn't it, Azrael? He had chosen her knowing that the lie she would have to weave to get out of that situation would have been entertaining. But again, it wasn't malevolent. He knew she could, and he was just playing around. He had done something that was the equivalent of asking her, 'Entertain me while having fun yourself.' I'm fine with that, actually. She made the last steps to reach the side of the wagon.

'There you are!' The singer's hand grasper her shoulder and shook her before letting her go. There was a huge smile on his mouth. He was a fair-skinned, chestnut-haired young man with strong jaws and wide brow. 'So? When shall we start?'

Serana felt a surge of excitement, because despite the embarrassed facade she would have to put on, she was about to captivate that crowd and there was something that felt blissful about it. She brought her feet closer to one another and lowered her gaze ever so little. 'Sir,' she said, 'I am immensely regretful, but I do not know the Tale of Tongues.'

On her side, the crowd fell silent for a moment. Some voices lingered, probably unaware of what she had said, but before they could die out a low buzz had risen. The songster, similarly, had appeared shocked for a moment but had recovered his smiling demeanor in an instant. 'How can you not know?' he said, chortling friendly. 'It has been sung all winter!'

'I know, sir, but I was away. I was in Cyrodiil during the year we left behind us, and during the winter I was on a journey to come back here.' She needed to conclude with something that would justify any incoherencies with what she had said and the state of the world. 'It's a long story,' she thus added, 'and it wasn't easy.'

'From Cyrodiil?' the man asked, his features assuming a perplexed expression. He was not suspicious, however. Serana felt her energies starting to have an effect on him. He was blinking too many times for it to be natural. 'How did you get here from Cyrodiil with the Pale Pass closed off?'

Of course, there had to be something, Serana thought, but the annoyance was almost entertaining. 'Yes, I know…' she whispered, making the time that she would need to think seem like time spent in not so happy memories. However, she kept smiling. She didn't want to come across as a torment soul, but as a adventurous yet delicate woman. So far, it had worked. 'I had to come here by ship.'

The eyes of the songster half-closed. 'Through the waters of the Aldmeri Dominion?'

She had heard the name, Azrael had talked about it, but she didn't know how the Nords felt towards it. However, there was a trace of hatred in the man's words. 'Of course not,' she replied sharply, feigning a little of repressed offense. 'I had to travel to High Rock and take a ship from there.' She observed the man's face, and this time it was impressed but not puzzled. That was one plausible. She could finish it from there. 'I'm on my way back to the Rift,' she continued. 'I disembarked in Solitude three weeks ago. I took the long way home because I hear the Whiterun border is unsafe.'

'Stromcloaks…' a voice murmured amidst the crowd.

The singer didn't pay attention to it. He seemed to only have eyes for Serana, and he kept looking intently as if lost in his dreams. When he awoke, he seemed to have been torn off from a place much better than the one he was in. But, once again, he regained his composure quickly. 'Very well, fair lady, I dare say you are justified. Here,' he gestured one of the bards, the one with the lute, which picked up a book with a green cover and handed it to Serana directly. 'Page seven,' said the songster.

Songs of Skyrim: Revised, the title read. It was fairly new, certainly much more than her mother's tomes. She opened it with care and turned one leaf after the other. Ragnar the Red, the first song was titled. The Dragonborn Comes followed and in the page afterwards there was another one by the name of The Age of Aggression. The one that followed was a long song in a strange tongue. The sound… she though, trying to read it. It was Dragon Tongue. Two pages after, The Tale of Tongues was in front of her. She rose her eyes on the singer. 'Go,' she said. 'I'll sing along.'

A thrumming of the lute started it. She turned her head around and looked at the words, listening. The singer soon began.

Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky…

Serana nodded to herself. The tempo was easy enough. She loved to sing back when she was a girl. She hadn't done it in a long time. She read and followed along.

His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes.
Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died.
They burned and they bled as they issued their cries.

The people were whispering the words as well.

We need saviors to free us from Alduin's rage,
Heroes on the field of this new war to wage.
And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world,
Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled.

But then came the Tongues on that terrible day.
Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray.
And all heard the music of Alduin's doom,
The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um.

And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin's rage,
Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age!
And if Alduin's eternal, then eternity's done,
For his story is over and the Dragons are gone.

The lute quieted down after the voices faded away into the final sound. Serana raised her eyes from the page, with nothing more to read from it. She found the people in front of her as if hypnotized, their eyes opened wide and an expression of peace on their faces. Their fear of the Dragons was strong, if being reminded of their defeat brings this much relief. Still the sound of the string was dying away with the wind, and none moved. Not even the kids. And there was something she deemed very good in all of that. No part of that calm was because of her or the strange powers that were hidden inside of her. It had been the music, and all that it had arisen in their hearts.

One man, the broad-shouldered one who had been screaming for a song to the Dragonborn as she had arrived, was strong enough to break the spell and cast a new one in its place. He was a rough-faced worker, with a strong upper body and black hair, a prominent chin and a strong jaw. He was one who dictated rules, if not by nature then by habit, and he did that time, too. He clapped once. Just once was enough. As he clapped twice, three more had joined him. As he repeated it for the third time, twenty more had joined.

It wasn't long before a mighty applause overwhelmed every other sound Serana could hear in the still evening air. In the background, a little girl no more than six years of age, shook her mother's arm and pointed vehemently in her direction, crying something in the woman's ear, who nodded in turn. Serana felt her grin widening. The overwhelm, the guilt, they were all evaporating in the thundering sound of those hands clapping and the shouts of the crowd. There was something in her mind that was cooling down her fears. I know none of these people, but I feel like I belong here. And it had been so long since she had dared feeling like that.

'Dragonborn!' screamed the broad-shouldered man. 'Dragonborn, a story!'

Another cheer came from the gathering. That defeating noise didn't seem to be about to stop. Serana turned around in the songster's direction, closing the open book in her hand and raising it higher. She found the man's gaze as soon as she shifted. He was smiling radiantly, it she didn't find it too difficult to find in his eyes the same sense of satisfaction that she had felt herself. I quite like him, she thought, finding that reciprocity rather warming. 'Thanks,' she said, raising to book enough so that he could grab it.

'Oh, thank you,' he said, grabbing the tome. He glanced at the back of the cart and threw it before turning back towards her. 'You were extraordinary! Ever thought of applying to the College up in Solitude?'

Serana had to think of something, but she found an answer almost on the tip of her tongue. Fortunately, she had already introduced herself as a traveler. 'Not a lot of free time in my trade,' she said, with a smile. 'I'll certainly think about it, though.'

'Well,' said the man, 'all the luck in the world to you. You seem a good person.' He glanced to his right and his smile took on a jokingly malevolent twist. 'You had better get back into the crowd now. The Dragonborn's going to take the stage.'

She bowed her head courteously and stepped forward. She followed the side of the cart, but she didn't return from the way she had come. There were several reasons that made it a better decision. She didn't want to come in contact twice with the same people, and she didn't want to run into Azrael as she walked back. If the man had glanced that way, it meant he was coming. A glance too long between them, and someone might have suspected something. Although, I could relax a little more, she thought, letting go of those thoughts. I'm not at the Court. Nobody here lives to spy on their neighbor. She saw several heads turned towards her with the corner of her eye, but just the ones who weren't shouting indistinctly.

'My lady!' She rose her gaze in search of the voice that had spoken. 'My lady, here!' She found it thanks to that second call. It belong to a relatively young man that sat near the left edge of the semi-circle of people. His cries had gone mostly unnoticed in all the noise. Serana looked, and noticed he was beating with a hand against the grass by his side, as if telling her to sit there.

She went his way without saying a word. It's a good thing, actually. Being alone with just another person would most likely distance other people who might have come to her. Moreover, one person was easier to control. If he became suspicious, she could have easily thwarted his attempts. He was there alone, and the long tunic he wore suggested he might have been a scholar or a mage. Azrael could understand a lot more, but that is all I can gather. Although, even from that, it was plausible that he was somewhat literate and that his intent was in some ways made of curiosity. I can handle that. He could probably be of use, too.

She neared him and kneeled beside him. 'Yes, sir?' she said.

The man smirked. 'Oh, I'm not a sir, my lady. No, no, I just wanted to ask you to sit down here. You seem new to this place, and perhaps I could help.'

Serana gave him a nod and smiled faintly. 'It will be my pleasure.' She turned and sat on the grass, which was dry but soft. She liked it a lot more than the stone slabs of the road, on which most of the people there were sitting. 'Who are you?' she asked, crossing her legs and grabbing her knees with her hands.

'You could say I'm a historian. I am very interested in the history of this town and the area surrounding it.' He glanced in the cart's direction, and his lips closed tight for a moment. 'I think I'll have to tell you later. The Dragonborn will speak shortly.'

Serana looked ahead. Azrael had walked up to the spot where she had stood a moment before, more or less, and was resting comfortably against the side of the cart. The caravan's singer, who had been sitting on the side as they sang, had now withdrawn to a much greater distance from the guest. Yeah, he's well wished but nobody has yet got close to him. Respect and awe mixed with fear, and that resulted in no one daring to get close. 'What did they mean when they asked him for a story?' she asked at the man, voicing a question she had kept for herself ever since she had heard the broad-shouldered man talk.

The historian scoffed, amused. 'The Dragonborn's an eerie fellow. He rarely shows up anywhere and there are more rumors about him than any other living or dead person I know, but when he does appear he sometimes likes to tell one of his adventures. Nobody knows which of his tales are made up and which are not. We never ask, and he said clearly that only a few of them are true.'

The man went silent, and once again he joined the compete lack of noise of the people there. It's like their mouths have been sown shut, Serana thought. Once again, she cold hear some people's breathing and their hearts beating. Our scholar here isn't one to get emotional, she thought, listening to his relaxed breaths and his steady heartbeat. She didn't linger on it, because there mere hearing made the taste of blood appear in her mouth and vicious thoughts came to the surface. Just don't think about it. She batted her eyelids and then rose her eyes on Azrael.

'Let's see…' he whispered. Even his appearance made it overly clear that he didn't fit in that place. All those people with their simple clothes and with at most a dagger by their side were one thing. Serana, with her elaborate cuirass and battle attire was already exotic enough, but Azrael, donning his dark suit of armor, shaded with red and with his black hood and cloak, was out of place. 'There are some stories of interest,' he said, coating his words with a cryptic note that made them somewhat suspenseful. 'However, I think I'll leave my experience behind for tonight and instead tell you of a story that has to do with the most relevant thing that is happening in the world.' He swept his eyes across the semi-circle. 'The vampires.'

Serana felt her muscles in the face and throat moving emptily. She had tried to sigh and to swallow almost simultaneously, but there wasn't any air in her lungs and even less saliva in her mouth. The grip on her hands on her knees had got stronger, and she lessened it. Let's see what games he plays at this time. Because he is playing one, that's beyond obvious.

'There was once a Dunmer, like myself,' Azrael said, expertly moving his gaze between the people listening. 'He had been alerted of the existence of a vampire coven, a vicious group, who were searching for something in a crypt long forsaken by any common man or mer. He had the support of friends who would help him in this task, and that had told him that a most dangerous secret was held in that crypt. He went, but to his surprise didn't find a long forgotten vampiric weapon or an enchanted suit of armor. Instead, he found a woman. A princess of the vampires. A woman as beautiful as she was dangerous. Now, this Dunmer wasn't someone who was faint of heart. His mind was focused on his task, which was to eradicate the vampires in any way he could. So, without consulting his allies, he offered the princess to accompany her home. Little did she know that he was doing this with the sole intent of finding her home and slaying anyone inside.'

'Such an evil man…' muttered someone on the side with a bitter tone.

Serana turned in time to see a woman staring stunned at him. 'They're vampires, you idiot! I think he was justified.'

'Hush,' someone said from the side. 'Keep your opinions to yourself, we want to know how this ends.'

All heads turned once again towards Azrael. 'As I was saying,' he continued, 'he meant to slay everyone. He succeeded in his plan and managed to be guided safely to their fortress, but once there he was ambushed. The princess he had rescued bared her fangs for the first time since they had met and bit him.'

'Did she—'

'Oh, yes,' Azrael said, cutting off the one who has spoken and guessing his thought. 'Of course, she turned him into a vampire as well, but she never intended for him to survive. It was the princess's father, a man who found power one of the most alluring thing in the world, who chose to save him. He also had devised a plan to make so he would be an eternal pawn to him. Unluckily for him and luckily for the rest of the living, he was wrong. My brother in blood did the only thing the king of the vampires had not thought of, and that was asking for help. He surrendered to someone else's judgment and emerged unscathed, and only then did he continue his journey, now with a mind clearer than before. And it was from that moment that he began to think of his plot; of his colossal, fiery vengeance. There was one thing that clouded his judgment and more than once stopped him from moving forward. And that was, most surprisingly, the princess herself. Seeing her for something that nobody in her life had managed to see, he began to value her, even if at first he couldn't admit it. Not even to himself.'

Serana looked at him, once again pausing and letting his eyes sweep across the silent crowd.

'A long time went by, and they got closer as the weeks went by. This Dunmer found out that the princess wasn't so happy in that castle. He discovered that she was to be the sacrifice needed for the vampire's king plans to unfold. The lord wanted to blot out the Sun, make it disappear from this world. And he would have willingly sacrificed his only daughter's life for it. Both outcasts, both feeling that they weren't part of that new future, my brother in blood and the princess continued serving the lord of the vampires, but also hatched a plan to kill him. In time, through endless struggles and many fights, they forgave one another for what they had done. But, as you can imagine, their troubles were hardly over. Especially for the Dunmer, who couldn't side any more with the mortals, now that he had become their sworn enemy and had chosen one of the vampires as his companion. And so, he decided to destroy them both.'

A murmur ran across the crowd.

'In a night of death and blood, he drew both of his enemies out and slew them. All of them. The good ad the bad, the living and the undead. He had torn down the sign at the crossing who told him to go one way or the other. He trampled everything in order to see that new future. And with his enemies gone, he returned to the vampire's king, burned his castle to the ground and killed him.'

Once more, for the third time since she had arrived, Serana heard the silence descend. It was utter, just as the two times before it. However, this once she hardly noticed it. It seemed that most of what had happened that evening had suddenly disappeared into the recess of her memories. Very little of it remained. Incredibly, the melody of the song was among those things, and it still played out in her head. The rest was nothing but haze.

'And how did it end between the princess and the Elf?'

Serana turned towards the man who had asked. Azrael had done so, too. 'What do you think?' he asked.

'It should be obvious, shouldn't it?' shouted a woman from the other side of the gathering. 'With that much secrecy and such a adventure in common? They would love each other and possibly live happily ever after! I would dig a ditch and stick my head in it if I were that Elf and it didn't end like this!'

A laughter ran across the crowd. As the broad-shouldered man's clap had broken the spell before, this time the effort was common. As the giggles ended among the people, the usual round of applause came. Serana heard that now everyone immediately joined them. There were people who had been left pensive, and that joined the round of cheers either mindlessly or distractedly. They were few and far between, however, as nearly everyone was now joining the ovation.

She clapped too, pensively.

'All hail the Dragonborn!'

'All hail the Dragonborn!'

Serana drifted away, somewhere far away from those cries and that sound. Her eyes caught Azrael saying something, but she wasn't really looking. She didn't even listen. What did you just do? He hadn't doomed her to a burning stake, there was that. He hasn't revealed anything that might suggest a similarity between that tale and our journey. There would be some people able to understand it, but none of those loggers, smiths, hunters and bards would have ever tried to piece together that story with what was happening. No, he had not played against her. What he had told was a riddle, a riddle meant for her. Yes, he has left a good number of people waiting with bated breath, but he would have had something better. That was meant for me.

If anything, because of one detail. He had told the end of the story. He had gone beyond the point where their journey aligned with what he had told. He had made a piece of it up. But not just for the sake of it. It was enigmatic to say the least, but in a way incredibly clear. The vampires will be lured out and will fight the mortals… The Dawnguard, then. They would fight one another and the Dunmer would slaughter them. And after that, Castle Volkihar will be demolished. But those weren't the words. Burnt to the ground. But how could the entire Keep and the Castle behind be erased? There was no weapon able to do that. Not even the magic of the Dragons, she mused, given that he hasn't got anything even more powerful up his sleeve.

One thing, however, seemed overly clear. The ending of that story wasn't meant as wishful thinking. It was a prophecy of his own. The Scrolls were theirs, and the foretelling that her father was pursuing could have been thwarted. Azrael meant to thwart it, and the ending of that story was his retelling of that prophecy.

She focused back on her senses. The people around her had risen to their feet and were walking around. She tried to look in between them, trying to see the side of the cart. The bards were on it, talking among themselves. It's probably all over, she thought. It wasn't long before the darkness of the night would take over completely. However, she was only looking for one person. She didn't see Azrael near the side of the wagon anymore. A tremor ran across her. Unexplainably, some of her liveliness had come back, but in a different form. That night was a night of cycles, and just as the silence has been repeated three times, not for the second time she had the same goal. I have to find Azrael.

She turned around to her left. The historian was still there, and he was one of the ones who were sitting with a pensive look. 'Where did the Dragonborn go?' she asked him.

The man shifted his gaze slowly. 'Behind the cart,' he said distractedly. His lips were closed tight and his eyes were half-closed. He was thinking. He was thinking about the story that Azrael had told, but there wasn't any chance for him to fully understand it. There were very few people in the world who could have, and he was certainly not one of them.

Serana rose to her feet and tried to look towards the wagon, which was made difficult by all the people moving across. I guess the fun's over, she thought, seeing no other motive for everyone to get up from the ground. The bards in the cart were still talking, and they didn't seem to be willing to play anything else. The bowl they had left beside for anyone willing to leave tips was overflowing with small gold coins, and they would have had a place to stay in the city for the night. But that doesn't concern me, Serana said to herself, as her eyes moved repeatedly over the wagon but never stopping on it. She stepped to the right, nearer to the bonfire, where there weren't as many people, but she couldn't see Azrael anywhere. He's probably leading me to a secluded spot. Fine.

She walked ahead, keeping an eye out for any movements in the trees, where he was most likely to have gone. Unlike the other side, which had that large clearing resulting from the cutting down of the trunks, the opposite area of the road had a thick forest right at its fringes. Quite easy for him to disappear over there. She had once seen him use a spell that made his entire frame, including the weapons he carried, completely transparent. He wasn't short on means to completely vanish, both literally and metaphorically, but he wasn't far regardless. He… Or should I say we, have a language of our own. He wants me to find him.

She walked past the last group who had gathered near the wagon. None of them looked at her, luckily enough, and she kept advancing. It's a matter or going away quickly. If the people's heads cleared out enough, somebody might have head the idea of finding the young woman who had sang and bring her in town. She tiptoed past the wagon and then slipped behind it, slowing down a little bit. Perfect. Out of sight, out of mind. She couldn't go away for too much time if she wanted to come back afterwards if her cover was to remain, but she didn't think she would have to go back. Whereas before she had felt part of that gathering, now there was a predominant sense of distance.

She entered the trees, and immediately her eyes sizzled, making the world spark with a reddish light. Much better, she thought, advancing with care and casting vigilant glances around. The trunks were densely covered by moss and their foliage was thick, blocking even the faintest light of the stars. Where are you? she called in her mind. She didn't say it aloud. She was still too close to the inhabitants of the town, and something told her that Azrael wouldn't have answered. It's a game, still. Maybe it's his way to ease the tension.

The sound made by the people talking faded gradually as she went deeper into the woods. Initially, there had been rays of light coming from the bonfire that had seeped through the trunks and the leaves on the lower branches, but now nothing more came through. The plants made up the horizon all around her, and there was something alienating about that same thing repeating. I can turn around how much I like, but it seems I'm always going in the same direction no matter what. There was a dense smell of humid and stagnating water, which she sensed even through her reduced sense of smell.

She cast a sweeping glance around her, and she spotted a small clearing slightly to the left. The moonlight was shining in it, and she glimpsed at a black frame emerging from behind a tree. There was a dense black shape on one side and a more jagged one popping out of the opposite side of the trunk. There you are. She turned and circled around, acquiring a better sight of him as she moved parallel to him. She felt herself freezing briefly out of surprise, and at first she didn't even understand exactly why. It was only after that she linked that moment of hesitation with the fact that he had his hood falling back on his back and his face in the full light. His skin was even paler with the moon illuminating it.

'Here I am,' she said, briefly touching his gauntlet. She stepped in front of him and then spun around to face him. She beamed at him, and she didn't manage to hide the playful twist from her lips. She looked at him right in the eyes.

Azrael looked back, and she didn't feel like she could have moved them away. It did happen that people who locked eyes with him had difficulties severing the contact afterwards, but this time it was something more powerful. As unnatural as they were with those fiery flows streaming in the irises and those pupils that were vertical like the of a snake, they were entangling. However, the gaze that came from them wasn't the same. There wasn't any chilling frost or any blazing flames; in their stead, a cool breeze and a warm gust seemed to irradiate from them directly into her very soul.

At one point, she felt her hands quivering. She was shaking faintly all across her body. No one else would have managed to notice it, but it was all too real for her. As I said to him before, it's hard to wait. And yet, Azrael seemed perfectly at ease. It seemed to be all the same to him. His hands were behind his back and against the tree. He was open. Yes, it's my choice to make. He has told me what he means to do to my home. I could just kill him now. And while it was a very sentimental concept, the idea of surrendering to someone else, she knew that wasn't the case with him. He knew it would come down to this. She stepped forward, raising her quaking hands. He probably knows what I'm about to do as well. And while she was the one enacting it, it really felt as if he was the one. The puppeteer, the schemer. He was done weaving his reality around her. She was living it in that very moment.

She got closer, enough to feel the cold that came from his armor. As they got close enough, her hands darted upwards to his jaws, and he didn't move by an inch. Their faces neared, and she kept going until her lips found his. She hadn't even been aware that she had closed her eyes shut at one point. Her sight had become a hindrance halfway through. She had never believed those stories when space and time were said to freeze in intense moments. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she sensed that suspicion shatter silently. Time and space did seem to freeze.

At least until she backed away, chuckling under her breath.

'What is it?' Azrael asked.

She let her head rest on his shoulder. His voice had made his entire chest vibrate, which had been strangely pleasant. 'Nothing,' she said, 'just… those two youngsters in the woods.' She raised her eyes. 'Did you meet them?'

'Not the right word,' he whispered, once again making his torso quake. 'I circled around them.' His eyes moved down and locked once more with hers. The junction of heat and cold hadn't gone away. However, she saw what that gaze meant. 'Not now,' he said, making sure it was clear.

She raised a hand to his face once again, but still hesitated before touching it. His skin was dry and tense. It had been a long time since he had fed. A pity. He looks a lot better soon after feeding. She stroked his cheekbone and then his beard. 'Not to worry,' she said, smiling. 'Now, unlike before, I can wait.'

---

A/N: This came out very long. I could have almost split it in two parts, but I don't think it would have been quite the same.
Now, for this particular chapter I would like to explicitly ask for feedback to anyone willing to give it. Needless to say that this is a core section of arguably the most important subplot, and I would be glad to hear your opinions on it. Was it too slow? Did the transition from the introduction to the first part of the chapter feel forced? Did the style fit the narration or not? You can answer these or none of them. As always, the means doesn't matter. There's some of you that usually PM me with comments, and that's fine. And, it goes without saying, you're free to not send anything if you don't want to.

See you soon.