Chapter XV: You and Me, Against the World

Upon hearing the sound of the ice crackling, she opened her eyes. Winking twice because of the bright light that shone around, she turned ever so slightly to the left, enough to catch the shadow that was approaching the place where she sat. You can be almost imperceptible to the ear when you're on normal ground, but not when walking on such thin ice, she thought with a grin. She recognized the pace of those steps. It was very familiar to her, to the point that she couldn't tell if its distinctiveness was real or just imagined.

'Did you find it?' she asked upon seeing him entering the small hollow.

'I did,' Azrael replied. 'There is a long ravine that runs along the whole path to the upper sanctuary.'

She moved her head, trying to ease the stinging pain that still marked the line of the cut. Every inch of that incision on the throat could be clearly felt, and almost constantly. Even while trying to rest, it remained no matter what. Right there and then, however, she was a bit distracted. 'It sounds like you didn't expect to find it,' she told him.

'I didn't think I'd find it this quickly.' Azrael had walked over to the other side of the hollow in the ice. He was raising the cloak with his hands to prevent it from touching the thawing ice. 'That's all.'

'You underestimate yourself sometimes.'

Azrael's head turned ever so slightly to his left, in her direction. 'I really don't.'

Serana smiled. Paying attention to every motion, she reclined her head backwards and against the ice wall. When she stopped, all the attention she had put in the movements flowed on to her gaze, and she looked once again at the strange place they were in. Actually, we're in a strange place inside another strange place. All she could see from there was the hollow in the glacier where Azrael had brought her, but when she had peered outside she had seen that it was only one part of that frozen place. The Forgotten Vale, that was the name he kept using to refer to that valley. I wonder if that Elf gave it this name. Speaking of which…

Lowering her head, she looked at him for a moment before asking. However, she saw him nodding silently. 'I know,' he said, 'you want to hear how It went down with the Snow Elf.'

She stopped in her tracks and closed her mouth, even if she had managed to barely move it. A grin twisted her lips, and she slowly moved backwards against the wall of ice. An interesting thing she noticed was her lack of a reaction, both a mental and material one. Other people, including myself not so long ago, would have made a witty remark asking themselves why did they even bother to ask. But such a thing had not arisen in any form. Instead, she just felt a bit of tenderness, which was perfectly appropriate in spite of it being strange.

Actually, she had never noticed that Azrael became slightly amused when he witnessed her traits working in situations so small that they didn't require an approach based on personal values. He had told her, because she would have never guessed it. For instance, he said that he particularly enjoyed the moments when she was left to her own devices with a stranger. The perfect example had been in Falkreath just a few days before. When she made use of her ability to captivate someone in a context when it wasn't really required, he had a bit of fun for himself. In a perfect parallel, she had a bit of fun when he applied the very abilities that had led the two of them that far for something as simple as guessing what she was about to say.

'His name is Gelebor,' Azrael said. He grazed two of his armored fingertips together, shattering a small shard of ice that he kept in between them. 'As I told you, he has walked this plane for longer than any other creature I know of. He's very dedicated to his mission. You would probably say that he's a bit of a fanatic, but I have come to the conclusion that he would have gone completely mad if not for the extremely rigid structure of his beliefs. He has offered to help me look for the bow, in exchange for a favor.'

Azrael knew how she thought and had given her all the information she might have wanted to make a judgment. A rigid mind was something, but a person that had helped them in spite of them being complete strangers was something else. The two of them together pointed to a man with a strong conscience, a strong sense of purpose and a righteous attitude. She scoffed lightly. 'Everyone needs something done and will deal with the enemy of his enemy to get it.'

'Indeed.' Azrael didn't talk for a moment, as if thinking. It was strange, he usually explored all possible branches of a reasoning before getting to it. 'Actually, I doubt I would have been able to convince him were I exposed as a vampire, but there was something about me that made him ignore caution. More precisely, something about you.' Serana saw his index finger rising and lingering for a while in her direction. 'He kept glancing at you in a strange way before coming back to me. I think he was struggling to make up his mind.'

Serana was at a loss. Actually, she had never asked him how the journey had gone. After the wounds received at the Glade, she had lost all consciousness. Azrael had prolonged her slumbering state with potions, and she had woken up a few hours before that conversation. He carried me all the way here by himself. Something about that must have changed that Snow Elf's mind. 'What did you mean? Where was I, even?'

Azrael waved his fingers. He was making a lot of those little movements, but she couldn't understand why that was the case. 'When we entered the cave I was carrying you. When Gelebor found me I drew the sword, but I didn't drop you. I didn't trust anything in that cave. I held on to you with my left while wielding the blade with my sword arm. That was the moment that stuck in his mind, and that suspicion accounts for my nearly perfect memory of it.'

The situations is quite clear to me, Serana thought. She had always observed with interest how Azrael played around with mortal emotions. His mastery suggested a deeper understanding than what might have looked like at first. And still, he didn't seem able to fully to understand how touching the scene he was describing was. That Elf, who has lived in a cavern for centuries unending, apparently guarding a few temples… He hadn't seen anything humane in a long time. And the first sight presented to him was of a fighter who, even in the face of danger, refused to drop the woman he was holding in his arms. She looked at him again, uncertain. He knows what effect it sorted and he probable used it to his own advantage, but he doesn't get it on a deeper level.

'Why are you so surprised?' she asked. 'Do you find it so strange that someone like him might have a soft spot for signs of affection? Or did you consider yourself weak as you did it, and it surprises you that he didn't try to use it against you?'

'Are you changing the subject?'

'Yes, I am.'

He nodded, but other from that remained motionless. The hit of the sword was scratching the ice behind him and carving out crevices in it. The lack of the bow on his back was noticeable. 'Very well,' he said. 'I suppose I had never given thought to what I had done. Not as in I hadn't touched the subject, but I had never entertained the possibility of leaving you behind. It felt natural to me, carrying you along until you were awake again. Gelebor would have done the same in my place. That's why I don't understand his surprise. I don't feel as if I did anything special.'

'Azrael… When you were in the Glade and I was out, did you consider leaving me there? Would you have had the strength to simply walk away from me?'

There was a more intelligent way to formulate that questions, but she didn't feel the courage to frame it like that. However, she left the possibility opened to him. 'Yes. I always have the strength to walk away,' he said, almost without hesitation, 'I could have left you there. I made a real choice.' That last word send some sort of chills down her neck and into her limbs. He had understood what she meant.

No matter how much she thought of her easing tension, the more she thought herself calm the more she realized that she wasn't calm at all. Right then, something very intricated and hard melted in her chest. A knot she didn't even know she had until it was cut right through as if by a blade. He chose me, just like he claims that I have chosen him. When thinking that, she understood the nature of the knot. That's guilt. She appreciated and liked, almost to the point of envy, his ability to make the right decision no matter the circumstance. The last thing I'd want is to get in the way of his clarity. And I didn't. It was hard living with the idea that her presence hindered him, and it didn't seem to.

The game of what part of her mind could ask the strangest question was on. Wondering on one's choice of companion was a bit of a guilty pleasure in her mind, something that can be indulged only under very specific circumstances. The choice was important now. And he had one with me. He had to decide. But what if there was someone else? Someone that gave him no choice? It didn't have to be a deliberate action on that hypothetical person's part, but it could have happened. Would he even feel affection for someone like that? Wouldn't it feel more to him like a burden than anything? Because if there was one constant in their relationship was that Azrael appreciated her courage, even in the smallest forms. Every time she could show him that she didn't stick around because she needed him but because she wanted, he had answered by reducing the emotional distance.

In her musing, she came to the conclusion that strength isn't the absence of weakness. It is weakness being effectively accounted for. She was afraid of the world around her, undecisive when afraid and constantly in search of support. Though weaknesses, they made for the most relevant of her strengths. Her entire journey from the moment she had woken un in Dimhollow to that very moments were testimony to that. She had remained at Azrael's back, and effectively fueling him with her energy. How far that would bring them was yet to see. Azrael himself, on the other hand, was someone who lived far away from the world and that didn't feel at ease when he had to take care of anything other than himself. Because of this, he treated external things by either demanding independence or temporarily seeing them as part of himself. On the other hand, he could also assess every situation from a minimalistic point of view. Those weaknesses were what made him such an effective leader, planner and overall person. He flew above the ground, never touching it and never even trying to find references. He knew that everything changed, and held himself as the only part of it that he could constantly assess. The world might have crumbled about him, but he would have endured.

At that, something clicked. When I say he has a cold temperament… I am only partly correct. Sometimes it is cold, but sometimes it is just spacious. He was never surprised by anything, he accepted almost everything and didn't seem to ever judge. He understood others without any regard for being understood himself, probably because he knew it was close to impossible in the short term. Only looking at him put things in perspective. Overlord of the Dragons, Dragonborn and first ever person to hold so much power in Skyrim for centuries, if not millennia. Of course everything was put in perspective when talking to him. In comparison to how big the scale of his existence was, everything seemed to pale. It made him inaccessible if one approached it head-on. But I have taken another route. Deep inside, he is still the curious and pensive Elf that he must have been before all of this happened. But that belief was hers. I don't believe people ever change. But was she right? She didn't know it herself.

'Are we seriously?'

Her eyes focused back on the world and the shimmering image that had lingered in front of her dissolved quickly. She saw the blue-striped white of the glacier's ice all around them, with the light coming from the side and glimmering through the frost. A penetrating cold ran across her whole left leg, which she had tucked underneath her thighs to sit more comfortably. She looked towards Azrael, who was still sitting motionlessly in his corner. What does he even mean? He didn't seem to be about to explain further. 'Seriously what?' she asked.

'In love with each other.'

For a moment, she didn't think she would have been able to move anything of her body, especially her arms and hands, even if she had wanted to. There was something that felt disconnected. It's good that… Well… She stopped, unable even to think of something. That really just came out of the blue. 'I guess we are, yes,' she said, sensing how her smile curved in a way that made it look timid. 'Why?'

Azrael made a deep and vibrating sound, that she didn't know how to interpret at first. He stopped, but after a short pause he repeated it. As he repeated it, it became ever increasing in speed until she could clearly understand that it was laughter. A rich laughter, although almost mirthless. His head was moving faintly because of the quick movements that he made with his head as he kept sniggering.

I don't understand the exact reason behind it, but I like it. Serana looked at him lengthily, finding that sight rather strange but also very reassuring. It would have been confusing to anyone that wasn't her. He had been asked a question, and his only answer was almost uncontrollable, grim fit of laughter. There were words she could use that they shared, such as the irony of fate. Because although everything felt quite natural to her, the situation they were in was close to absurd if seen from the outside. It really made sense if, and only if, it had been lived, which they had. This is the great obstacle of the mind. It lacks imagination. Actually, I bet that he's about to say that…

She couldn't finish her thought. 'I don't even know what think,' Azrael said. He was still snickering, but the vibrant sound was dying off in the notes of his voice. He was drumming his talon-like fingertips against the ice next to where he sat. 'It's so eerie. My mind and I, we've always worked together. Now I understand something that it doesn't.' He turned his head around, until the black void under his hood faced her. 'I don't remember this ever happening once in my lifetime.'

He'll probably need a little bit of time. She vividly remembered when, now months before, she had told her father that Azrael's weakness resided in his obsessive clinging to logic. The thought that she would witness the day when he recognized and assessed that part of him had never crossed her mind. Back then, there was only the blood red light of the cathedral shining in through the stained glass. Castle Volkihar was far away now, and they were on their own. It's you and me, against the whole world. We'll manage.

Azrael remained silent even after he had finished, reclining his head backwards and moving his eyes away from her. For a short moment, she wondered what was the best thing to say. Did he need reassurance of comfort? However, after a moment she decided to ignore her first instinct because the best thing to doing nothing forced. She didn't have anything to say and so she didn't. He'll understand. And besides, he's living proof that silence sometimes speaks stronger than words. He took the rule of speaking only when he had something to say to the letter. There were times when she told him something and he would just not answer in words.

She moved the leg she had slipped underneath her thighs and sat more comfortably on her own ankle. She didn't like feeling the cold, even through the leather trousers' protection. She looked once again at the rays of sunlight that came through the entrance to the small hollow they were in. Even the light seem cool. The azure color it gained from flowing past the ice gave that impression. Around them, the landscape wasn't much different. When Azrael had left her there, she had crawled to the exit and looked around. There was ice everywhere, expect for the large stone walls that surrounded the valley. That place was as stunning as it was also desolate and barren.

'I managed to gather some allies while you were still sleeping.'

Serana turned towards him. Allies? In this place? Actually, he was answering a question she had asked him earlier. She was wondering what they could do against the other Snow Elf that they should have defeated. 'What do you mean? There is no one here apart from us.' All entrances on land were blocked, and the only one that they could use went through that other Elf, Gelebor.

'Do you remember the large wall with the inscription I read to you in Dimhollow?'

'Of course.' She remembered it as if it were yesterday. She even roughly remembered what was written on that wall. In all honesty, that precise moment had been when the questions about Azrael had started clouding her mind.

'Quite inexplicably, there was another one here,' Azrael said. 'I went towards it, hoping that it would reveal something about the history of this place. There was a big ice lake right beside me as I walked there.' He drew a horizontal line with his fingers as he spoke. 'When I began to walk beside it the ice started to break, and then two Dragons emerged from it.'

'What?'

'Two Dragons. I almost couldn't believe it. I had to briefly fight them before we came to an agreement.'

She held still for a moment. So, the two Dragons were the allies he was talking about. She would have never guessed it. Maybe he had reached an agreement with the Dragon there is the Soul Cairn, but that was a different thing. He came to terms with two living Dragons who tried to kill him. But yet again, he was apparently their leader. 'All right,' she said, conscious that her surprise had probably showed itself, 'and what did they say?'

'That they'll come to my aid if it is needed.' Azrael cast his eyes to the side, out in the frosty expanses of the Vale. 'We should get ready. It will be dark in around two hours.' He turned towards her, his hand fishing for the lace that held the satchel on his bandoliers closed. 'I'll apply the last bit of salve to your wound. It should close by itself afterwards.'

The wings of the palace were dead silent. Serana felt like she had been walking in those corridors for hours unending, and yet no more than one had gone by. At times, the occasional squeaking sound reached their ears, but it rarely was anything more than a crumbling piece of rock frozen in ice that fell down as the ice melted under the sun. The walls, the floor and the ceiling were all encrusted with a thick layer of ice, and its quantity was clearly unnatural, even for a place like that.

The most disturbing thing of all were the frozen Falmers that stood all around the place. They look as if they were alive moment ago, but it couldn't be. They might have actually been there for centuries, or even millennia. Or maybe I'm right and they were the ones that Gelebor saw coming in recently. They were frozen solid, watching the halls with their dead eyes embedded in a deep layer of frost that covered their whole body. Whoever this Vyrthur is, he must have surely mastered the Destruction branch of magic, and the ice one especially. In their own way, those ice statues along the corridors were gruesome works of art. I wonder what kind of madman he is.

Azrael was glancing over everything that was in reach. He seemed to be his usual coldblooded self, but Serana managed to pick up the right cues and saw that he was ravenously interested in everything that surrounded them. She missed a lot of the finest points of architecture that the palace had to offer, in part because she was lost in her own thoughts and partly because she had nothing to compare them to. She had seen how Azrael looked around Castle Volkihar, and she knew that he probably had built up his own knowledge about architecture. He had once managed to explain her a very complex system of balancing the weight of heavy ceilings with columns and pillars. When asked how he knew those things, he had told her that he just figured them out on his own.

She pressed a hand against her throat. The wound was healing all right. Azrael had actually found out that infusing a healing salve with some vampire dust made the healing effect take place in minimal part on undead creatures too. The cut looked bad still, but he insisted that in a short time there would have been nothing but a thin scar in its place. She still felt the piercing cool of the healing lotion on her skin. She pressed harder, with her fingers this time. She felt the small bump, but there was nothing more. They had found no mirrors in the palace, and certainly not out in the glacier, so she still had to look how bad the wound was by herself. She wasn't excited to see it, but certainly curious. I'm the girl who's throat has been cut and who still lives. And it wasn't over. Azrael said that Isran, the man carrying him and the woman with the charred arm had escaped.

Azrael seemed to be particularly interested in what a member of the Dawnguard had told him after he had put him under the effect of a calming charm. Serana had so wished that Dawnguard had stumbled upon them by dumb luck, but apparently it hadn't been so. Upon being asked who had given away the Dragonborn's position, the fighter had said that it had been "G". The letters were signed like that. Serana didn't remember that moment, although when Azrael had told her about it a vague cracking sound had played out in her head without her actively trying to recall it. Serana thought that G as an initial that was meaningless and likely made up, whereas Azrael was convinced it was the beginning of the double agent's real name. He had listed a few, including an Orcish name, a few Nord ones and others. Of all of them she knew only one: Garan Marethi. He was on the list.

They had not put much more thought into it. In the Forgotten Vale, they were beyond anyone's reach. Time was largely against them, but that was a decent stalling position. Nobody knew where they went and nobody could have ever known since the Scrolls were still with them. Technically, they are with Shadowmere and she isn't with us, but they'll never catch her. As far as the two of them were concerned, there wasn't a thing from the outside world that could bother them. That place was lot like the Soul Cairn in my regards, with the exception that there wasn't anyone out to actually kill them. Even if this Vyrthur had seen them coming, he had yet to make any overt moves against them.

'We're close,' Azrael whispered, looking around the hallway. He cast his eyes first at the ceiling and then at the walls. 'The structure is tightening, and we're reaching the gorge you could see from the entrance.'

'Couldn't it just continue beyond that point?'

'No. The ravine is deep inside the mountain range that form the outer perimeter of the Vale. Unless there is another peak in between, which I doubt, the gorge should overlook Skyrim once again. I doubt there could be a full blown palace right in the mountains that no one has noticed in millennia.'

'Did you actually manage to keep exact track of where we are even after traversing through the cave?'

'I tried, but I miscalculated. I recognized those peaks, though.' He pointed through two large cracks in the ice-covered ceiling; the two summits were quite generic in her eyes, but they did have some unique features, primarily in the shape of the tor itself. 'Unless there are twin tops with the same frame, then the North face of those mountains faces Skyrim directly and there is no elven palace on them.' He glanced around. 'I think this is it.'

She looked around too, but there wasn't much more than ice. The walls were drawing closer to their position and it had been a while since she had seen a doorway that led to the sides. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

'We're in the gorge.' He turned, and gazed exactly ahead of him to the very end of the hall they were walking through. 'And somebody's waiting for us.'

Serana looked in the same direction. I don't see anything that might… Oh well. She had looked through one of the ice spikes that emerged from the ground. Big chunks of frost like that one dotted the enormous space they were now in. There was ice everywhere. The hall was enclosed in the stone walls of the mountains and the ceiling was made of a layer of ice, littered with rocks and boulders that had fallen from the mountains as the winters passed by. The big chunks of frost rising from the floor, however, were not merely pieces of ice. They're falmers too. She could see their arms and legs emerging on the more external parts of the ice.

'That's quite a grim welcome,' she chuckled, staring at the frozen elves one by one. Some were blocked as if mid-movement. And why in the world did he freeze them here? 'Actually, a very cold welcome.'

Her laughter died out in the hall, and an unnatural silence fell. Before she could understand that something was wrong, she felt a strong grip in the stomach and her throat clenching. This is not normal. She turned towards Azrael, who was looking exactly where he had turned a few seconds before. She saw his hand, halfway towards his shoulder, ready to dart and grab the sword. What did I miss? She looked forward, trying to follow the exact trajectory of his eyes. It led to a white throne at the end of the hall. Someone was sitting on it, but the white skin and the pale armor made him almost indistinguishable from the seat where he lied.

She felt the tension rising. She didn't like that figure, whoever it was. And she had an idea of who he was. She looked around. Stupid, she told herself, it's obvious. 'You weren't talking about the falmers, were you?' She cast a glance at Azrael, and then back to the figure.

'Of course I wasn't,' the Dunmer said from beside her. He had slowed down a little bit. His tone had grown colder ever so slightly. He's thinking, she thought.

It was Vyrthur. Arch-curate Vyrthur, if she remembered correctly. Since she was out when Azrael and Gelebor had met, he was the first Snow Elf she saw. And I'm still the second person to see them in millennia, apparently. His skin was extremely pale, of an almost unnatural white. He had sharp features and his face was thin and bony, the skin stretched across the cheekbones and the chin. His eyes were half-closed, but the gaze that came from them was shrewd and cruel. I guess he's very old and he's been alone all this time, but he looks… strange. There was something off about him.

'Did you really here expecting to claim Auriel's Bow?' The voice echoed in the hall, but it wasn't hard to imagine it was coming from Vyrthur's mouth. The tone was croaky and unpleasant. 'You've done exactly as I predicted and brought you fetching companion to me.'

There was something that shifted quite abruptly by her side. It was Azrael; his right had hand darted to the handle of the sword, and his left had closed into a clenched fist. 'You…' he whispered, and Serana noticed his head protruding towards Vyrthur in spite of his body remaining stationary, in a fighting stance. He then shook his head and looked to the side for a moment. 'Gelebor, you fool.'

Serana looked at him, but there was something else that troubled her. Vyrthur had quite clearly talked to Azrael, so there weren't many choices as to who he referred when talking about his companion. 'Is he talking about me?' she muttered, more thinking aloud than really asking the question.

Azrael didn't seem to hear her even. 'Vyrthur,' he hissed, the deepest notes of his voice vibrating. His voice was filled with a chilling anger. 'You bastard. Do you know what you have done? However big it seemed to you, was all of this worth it?'

Serana looked at the two of them repeatedly. Why are they talking about something that I can't follow? Was it something that Gelebor said? However, the voice of reason told her it was unlikely. Azrael had uttered the words that made it almost impossible. You fool, he had called the other Snow Elf thus. 'Azrael, what is this all about?' She wasn't really looking forward to an answer. Azrael seemed to focused.

'I have watched you for quite some time, Dunmer,' Vyrthur said. There was a hint of mock in his voice. 'You didn't seem to be the person who is angered easily. Certainly not in the face of such a display of foresight.'

'True,' Azrael growled in response. 'I normally don't. But I do when it concerns me. And she…' He pointed his index finger towards Serana. His arm was slightly bent, but it was completely rigid. 'She does concern me. She's one of the few things I care about in this world.' His tone was wavering, going in slight ups and downs in pitch. 'You're in for it now, Vyrthur.'

'It doesn't matter.' Vyrthur, who had been resting his cheek on his closed fist, opened the fist and put his chin in his palm. 'Your usefulness ends here.'

The sound of ice cracking was the first thing that reached her ears. It did as soon as the echo of the Snow Elf's voice began to wane in the air. It came irregularly. It was not one crevice opening. They were many,. and they were cracking open at the same time. And from different places. From all around her, the ice was starting to break. The sound was increasing in clarity, but not because of the noise itself. It was her hearing. It was sharpening, catching more and more sounds with every passing fraction of a second. She inhaled deeply, but this once there wasn't any scent of blood coming in. She only smelt a vampire's scent. Azrael's, no doubt.

The borders of her field of view pulsed red. The sense of touch heightened and crept up to her teeth, and she felt her hands tickling. Here we go. She pointed her foot to the side, ready to turn. She knew where the cracking came from. It wasn't difficult to imagine. It wasn't loud and deep, so it wasn't something as big as the ceiling. Moreover, what else could cause such a movement all at once? The trapped falmer. Vyrthur had weakened the spell and they were now trying to set themselves free. And in seeing us, they will attack us.

'It will be an impressive display, I'm sure, but you'll be delaying nothing but your own deaths!'

Serana turned around, but she felt something holding her on her stomach. It was Azrael's hand, she recognized it by the black barbed frame before he could look at it better. 'Stay back,' he said. She felt something wild struggling inside. She didn't like the sound of those words, but she remained calm. 'Strike them from a distance and cover me.'

That's better. The breach in Aetherius was already open, the magicka was flowing through her arms and flooding her hands. It was somewhat warm, pleasant to the touch. As she cast her eyes in front of her, she saw all the falmers waking from their ice tombs. They were alive, they were breaking out of their prisons and ridding themselves of the shards of frost still attached to their limbs. They were a lot, and there weren't only falmers in there. There were chauruses as well. They're a lot. A grin stretched across her lips. The scene was quite incredible.

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To think that she's probably looking at the scene and thinking how unique it is. The thought flowed past his consciousness briefly, without being taken and properly evaluated. I see the battlefield and the ice, the beauty of this place and its grim allure. But I also see numbers, possibilities and strategies. There were seventeen enemies freeing themselves from the chunks of ice that had entrapped them. Eight had already pinpointed them, and only four were charging in their direction. One chaurus and three falmers. They're unarmed. They were either at a point in their madness where they attacked with their fists and talon, or they had been frozen without any weapons. Their survival instincts are tested now. Much depends on whether they were conscious or not during their imprisonment.

He followed that trail. The temperature of magic ice is lower than the one that naturally forms in nature. That was the reason it emitted frigid steam when it was summoned into a mage's hands. Any of the human races wouldn't stand it and would freeze to death, but Snow Elves… He didn't have any reference as to their capabilities of withstanding the cold. However, there was a simpler route. They look confused right now, but they are quite active. However, they started agitating before being released. He didn't know the truth, but he knew which of the two solutions was the most likely, and that was enough.

Azrael came down to the hard reality, finding his fingers already coiled around the grip of the longsword. He pulled upwards, weakening the strength of the grip to allow the blade to come out without impairments. He strengthened it again when he felt it was already free. He cast his eyes at the four enemies which were coming, seeing that they would soon become five. Serana will hit the ones who come first. It was unlikely she could distinguish between those who were more dangerous and the minor threats, so she would have tried to cut down everything that got close. That gives me some breathing room. Two possible courses of actions presented themselves given the circumstances. But that one… There was one falmer who he didn't like very much. He had a series of scars and his claws were strangely long. That one first.

He put the weight on his forward foot, and waited a slight fraction of a second longer before he leapt. He had done it ever since he had learned to control his vampiric strength. It's counter-intuitive. The only way to control those energies was letting go of any control. They seemed to be endless, so the more resistance they were put against the more fiercely they fought for control. However, by letting go of control they emerged only when needed. And now they are. A powerful surge of energy rushed all the way down to his knee and then to his leg, filling it with a tremendous amount of energy. He leapt.

The magicka flowed in his sword-arm weakly, because not a lot of it was needed. It coursed through the forearm and seeped into the handle of the longsword. He rotated the wrist, drawing a straight line from his upper right to the lower left. He was watching the falmer in front of him, but he caught the edge of the blade early with the corner of his eye, and saw it changing color, become red. He focused on the falmer. The creature had not yet had time to react, and had only slowed its run and raised his blinded eyes towards the threat. He probably heard me.

The blade cut diagonally, going down. It struck the falmer's skin on the shoulder, and as it did it burst with red-hot flames. His enhanced hearing caught two sounds separately. The surprised screech of the creature and the sizzling of the fire blazing and dying off as the small stream of energy dispersed. The light of the flames filled his eyes turning everything white for a short moment; but afterwards, he didn't see anything in front of him. Obviously, the corpse is on the ground. He glanced down. There was a falmer's corpse on the ground, with a long cut with scorched edges. Dead. He looked elsewhere.

Five again. One was dead by his side, but another one had understood what was going on and was running in their direction. He swept his gaze across the room. More of them were freeing themselves from the ice chunks. He heard a hiss. This is… Before he could finish, a burst of bright light appeared on the right side of his field of vision, accompanied by a zapping sound. That's a good shot. He followed it with the corner of his eye, seeing the chaurus he had spotted tumbling over itself, its chitinous neck seared and smoldering. He returned to his targets. There were two coming his way. Red flashes filled his sight and dark energies were pounding across his body.

He traced a half-sweep, intercepting one of the two creatures who was running his way with his claws exposed. He waited until he saw the pale red liquid sprouting from the spot where the sword had hit him before turning to his left to face the other one. He rolled his wrist and retracted his arm, bringing his left hand to the handle and gripping strongly with that as well. He lowered the sword first and then drew a similar arc with the blade, but this time from the bottom upwards. Before the blade could reach the target, another burst of lightning flashed beside him. The sword slashed the abdomen and the stomach and stopped when touching the ribcage. It wasn't a strong push, otherwise they would have broken through the bones.

That's minus three. He looked again at how many were coming their way. Four more, however. Different options were available once again. I'm not in a position to be in danger, he calculated, and cast his eyes back at where Serana stood. She was a few feet behind him, but none of the falmers seemed to be targeting her. There were another few of them that had stopped in their tracks. They were confused by the lightning bolt. I'm at a slight risk. The awareness of that didn't bother him, thought. His mind was silent, focused. His most powerful weapon was honed and working at its best. He glanced back at Serana for a slight moment. How I have missed this, he thought, a sneer warping his lips by curving the corners upwards. How I have missed fighting for something. Having something or someone to lose.

It was all a continuous flow. A river of cold water, running through his mind. He lunged at another falmer who was coming forward, spearing him through the torso and in between the ribs. Another one was near, extending his claws in the air where his hearing suggested was the enemy. Azrael brought his shoulder away and then stepped off, avoiding the hit. He whirled his blade in the air, above the creature's head, before bringing it down right on its neck. The edge carved a deep wound in the flesh before it stopped.

It was him… As he tugged the sword out of the frozen flesh and looked in front of him, that thought intensified. All of this, everything that happened, because of him. Why, even? There were more falmers coming his way, but he was slightly distracted. He let his mind wander away for those few moments. He trusted his instincts. They would have kept him alive. He continued to see, but in the back of his mind the questions wasn't easily put down. He must have been infected by someone, and when he did Auri'el forsook him. And so, Vyrthur had hatched a plan so large in scale that it had become part of the Elder Scrolls. The blood will blind the eye of the Dragon. He was the one.

He drew a wide sweep, severing a falmer's head from the neck and then sinking into the shoulder of the one that came afterwards. He infused a stream of magicka into the blade, and the edges spurted with flames. The creature screeched, moving in such a way that Azrael could carve out the blade without moving it. He will die, he thought, looking at the severity of the wound. If not for the pain and the shock, the bleeding would have weakened him to make him remains still until his demise. He will die, and so will you, Vyrthur. All of that. The journey, the vampires, everything had been a consequence of his plan.

You're blind. Serana's lightning annihilated a chaurus that was walking in his direction, at which point he leapt to the side and slashed down another one. It's true, I do appreciate an intelligent scheme when I see one. But you were not smart. You're shrewd and fanatical and there's a difference. He had not predicted anything. He knew what had to be done, and he had released that secret onto the world idly waiting for the day it would have been found. He had not foreseen what consequences it might have caused, what fate awaited those who fell victim to the prophecy he had crafted. And for what? Because you lost something you cared for? Because your god turned your back on you?

Fanaticism. It was a common story as of late in his journey. Revenge against something greater than themselves, for something that was considered an affront. Snow Elves, Azrael said to himself. You know nothing. Long after you were gone, a god turned her back to my people. He was different. Azrael had lived a whole life feeling distant and estranged, but sometimes he reminded himself that he was a Dunmer of Morrowind, and that nothing could have convinced him not to be proud of it. What do you know, Vyrthur? What do you know about loss? You don't take revenge on a god. The Nerevarine had struck down the Tribunal for having betrayed their gods. And I'm striking you down, for having betrayed Auri'el. For having betrayed Akatosh, my own father.

No matter what, fate always seems inescapable. The Wheel turns, nothing is ever new. Any person who was awake enough to see the world for what it truly was could comprehend it. He focused back on his surroundings, retracting his hands and performing a large uppercut that flattened the falmer who was charging towards him, leaving a gaping gash on his chest. But first, Vyrthur, you have some explanation for my companion. Serana didn't see the patterns in the world. She was not that kind of person. She knew it on another level. She still hasn't understood. But I will make sure she does.

There was something else flowing through his limbs aside from the dark surges of strength from his vampiric core. He tracked it to the tight jaws and the heat he felt in the palm of his hands. Anger. He twisted his wrist and sliced to the left, interjecting a falmer's extended claw. The blade severed the bone and the sinews. The creature screamed, stumbled and crashed against his shoulder, which he had out in between himself and the blind Elf. He raised his left hand and reached for the neck of the falmer, gripping it and pulling. He felt resistance ceasing and also heard the sound of bones shattering, very faintly in between all the other noises.

'No…'

Azrael cast one last glance in front of him and then listened. It had been Vyrthur talking.

'No, no, no,' he said, only repeating that monosyllable. 'Centuries of waiting, for this? Never!'

There was a loud cracking sound. The ceiling. That was the direction it had come from, and it was the only thing that could have possible made that noise. If he was strong enough to do something to the stone of the mountain, he would have done so already. He raised his eyes, just to make sure. He was right. There was an enormous crack in the ceiling, and although it hadn't reached the ground yet, there was a drizzle of small frozen crystals coming down from the fissure.

'Azrael!' Serana's voice. She wasn't exactly behind him any longer. 'The ceiling's coming down!'

'I know.' He looked around. There were now eight falmers coming in his direction. More of them were breaking free of the ice chunks. There were three coming his way. One was visibly a female, he could tell even from the shape of the skeleton alone. Can I handle this? He calculated. That one first. He saw himself moving. That second. He needed to guide it only at first, and then the entire plan unfolded itself. Yes I can. 'Go after him.'

'What?'

Why do you need to hear things twice? he thought. He recognized that a momentary irritation had influenced him, and he pushed it away. 'Go after him, I said. I'll handle these ones. You go after him and make him tell you the truth.'

There was a burst of lightning. Azrael followed the flash from his side all the way to an isolated falmer that had been unsettled by the ceiling cracking. Many of them were, actually. The thunderbolt touched the frozen skin of the creature, and he could see it becoming yellow and then red before the full force of the spell reached it. 'What truth?' Serana cried from behind. 'And why does he have to tell me?'

'Just go.' He brought his right foot backwards, nearing the longsword to his chest and preparing strike. 'I don't want to be the harbinger of that information once he's dead.' He extended his hands to their maximum length and struck a charging falmer with a horizontal strike.

In between all the different noises, there was a new one that came. It was alternate, as if repeating twice at a time. Good lass. They were Serana's running footsteps. He focused again on his hearing, trying to pick up as much as he could. I will need information on the state of ceiling and of what they might do to one another. He balanced his attention, looking for a brief moment in front of him. There were four more falmers who were after him. They'll only multiply. He had seen several dozen of them spread all across the corridors, and he had seen a couple of them coming from the way they had come in. They're gathering from all over the palace. The one, obvious solution was nearing the point of implementation. It's a pity to damage this place, but nobody will likely ever see it again. Let it be a trial of what will happen to Castle Volkihar.

He checked the three things that he would constantly need to control and manage until one of them was no longer relevant. First, the sound coming from the ceiling. The cracking was still deep and sounded more like a rumbling that came from another place. It still hasn't collapsed. But it will in the next minute or so. Second, where the falmers were attacking him from. The same four as before were now closing in, probably having discarded the noises as something not immediately dangerous. They will come two at a time. He moved his fingers, mentally rehearsing strikes accurate enough to cut down two at a time. Lastly, he checked on what was happening behind him.

Serana was stepping on the spikes of ice that separated Vyrthur's throne from the rest of the room. He could guess it by the sound made by her boots as they slid on the ice. She's close. Then why isn't Vyrthur doing anything? The answers were two, both very reliant on the Snow Elf's impaired abilities in logical, complex reasoning. He might have reacted at the last moment, believing in his untouchability, or could have not expected her to manage to cross. The sounds continued, and stopped at one point. A new sound reached his ears. A scream. Serana's. He tensed for a moment, but then released it. Idiot. It's not pain, it's a battle cry.

The first two falmers caught up to him. He executed the first of the two moves he had planned. These two were arriving one behind the other, but by the time he had finished one off the other would be upon him. He flexed his shoulders and lowered them for maximum reach, extended his arms to their longest and drew a wide sweep, but without hitting with the edge. He aimed to hit with the flat portion of the blade. The hit went through, striking the creature on the temple and making it tumble rightwards. Azrael looked at the temple. Smashed ear, the skull is crushed. He's dead. The corpse fell in the way of the one who was coming right behind, who tripped over the cadaver. Azrael retracted the sword and impaled the living falmer on the tip of the blade.

From behind him came a strange sound, but one he was familiar with. It was overwhelmed by a scream. 'You little...' Vyrthur's voice was even more croaking now. 'Get off me!'

I am almost tempted to say that you deserve it. Azrael rarely reasoned in those terms. He knew the world didn't function on the bases of merit and blade, of right and wrong, and so there was no point pretending that it did. However, he saw how that idea might have been so appealing to someone, for instance, of the likes of Serana. And there seemed to be something inside both Men and Mer that believed that who did bad things would receive bad things in the end. Even if it's not true, you deserve everything that comes your way.

There more rustling sounds coming from behind. 'He's getting away!' Serana cried, presumably to him.

He locked his eyes on the two falmer who were arriving, and adjusted his footing in preparation for the second maneuver. This was more elaborate. He gripped the sword with both hands, more for the added maneuverability that for the strength. Ever since the turning, the sword seemed as light as feather. 'Go after him,' he said, not distracting.

'But what about you?'

'I've got two aces up my sleeve.' He thrust the sword forward, catching the first of the two creatures in the wrist. He immediately brought the blade to the other side, putting it low enough to make the second falmer trip on it. He did, and he cut his left ankle when coming in contact with it. The screech was barely heard. Both of them were either slowed or crippled, and now they were both at sword's reach. Time for the final strike. He brought both hands near the right side of his head and charged for a split second before releasing.

The sword disappeared even from his sight. He saw it reappear only when it stopped, leaving behind a trail of pale red blood. Two thuds followed, of both enemies dropping on the floor. One had a gaping gash across the muzzle while the other had its throat ripped open. Before bringing his eyes off them, he focused once again on his hearing. He couldn't hear Serana's steps of her voice any longer. But I can hear the ceiling. The rumble was getting stronger, and now it wasn't muffled. There is a fissure and the sound is coming through. Half a minute.

Lastly, he raised his eyes. By the Three. There were many more falmers coming from the corridors. However, he could see something else trudging towards him from the other end of the hall. It was a titanic humanoid form all made of solid ice, oozing a pale blue winds from across its surface. The head was small and almost lacked any shape, but a pair of light blue eyes shone from underneath the ice. Where in Oblivion did you come from? I have never seen that kind of Frost Atronach. It must be an ancient spell. Well… He stepped back, lowering the sword and opening his arms. Time for the aces.

There was something strange about being a vampire, for him especially. The summoning of the power, the blood rushing through his veins felt different than before. The blood of the Dragon still flowed within him, no matter how little of it there was materially. The energy reached up to his throat. 'Voslaarum!' He took on a deep breath, even if it was not air that he needed. 'Naaslaarum!'

He lowered his eyes to the end of the hall. The falmers over there seemed strangely confused by the sound he had emitted. It might have echoed so strongly that they're uncertain about its origin. However, this had not stopped their advance. They were still pouring in through the hallway and they were coming to that main space in droves. The ceiling. He glanced upwards. The fissure had gotten larger, but it wasn't on the point to come down. It's the first time ever I wished a ceiling to collapse on me. However, it might have been of help right now. It won't come down on its own, but maybe with a little help. He couldn't do anything though. This is much farther than the orb in Blackreach. A Shout wouldn't reach it.

There didn't seem to be any shortcut. He looked at the falmers coming. Thirty, forty maybe. He had to fight his way to the end, until the arrival of the two Dragons. They were not far, but it would have taken a longer time than what he had. He closed both hands on the grip of the sword and concentrated. There's got to be a way. He couldn't fight all of those. None of the things that popped up in his mind worked to defeat them all, especially as there were more streaming from the other wings of the palace. Think. Two different points of his mind joined in a sort of mental flash of light. He released the tension on the sword's grip and sneered balefully. Obvious. I need to flee.

He turned around sharply, already with the left foot forward and ready to make the first step. I need to make most of them lose my scent. I can't fool the Atronach, but it will do. He finished the spin and looked carefully. The path that led up the small slope to Vyrhtur's throne was still covered in ice spikes, and the seat itself was at the highest point. The ice was lucid and seemed rather slippery. There was a breach near the throne, a large crack in the wall of ice. It's very recent. It had opened when he had destabilized the ceiling, it had to. The ran through there. He quickly looked at the ground. The Snow Elf had been stabbed, he was certain of it, but there wasn't a blood trail. He probably hasn't fed in centuries. There isn't a living things in miles.

He darted towards the slope, already measuring his strides to avoid slowing down when having to jump across the ice spikes. He still gripped the sword in his right hand. There wasn't time to put it away, and he didn't know when he'd have to use it again anyway. The confused cries of the falmer behind him and the increasing rumbling that came from the ceiling was filling the air with increasingly stronger noises, but in between them he kept listening. Any moment now, he might have heard wings flapping in the sky. They were the sounds he was waiting for. Vyrthur had been blind in his planning. His project was rigid. If anything went wrong, and it had, he had nowhere to run. I'm not blind. I'm not just hoping for victory. I know I will win. I win before I go into battle.

He leapt over the first two spikes. There was just enough space to land safely among two more of them, and he aimed for that small sliver of terrain. His left boot slid on the ice. Though it made a different noise than Serana's one, he could clearly understand that they had slid on the same spot. Or at least, in the same way. I haven't looked where she went, actually. He jumped again, this time casting a glance down to search for any traces that Serana had left. He saw a small scratch in the ice not too far from him, but on a different spike. She took the way that looked easier, he reflected, looking and putting together her track. But it was actually more difficult. She didn't look carefully. On the other hand, he thought that she was probably perplexed or intrigued by what he had said. It's normal that she didn't pay as much attention.

From the ceiling came a crack stronger than the ones before. Azrael skipped over one of the last shards, but took a moment to listen carefully and reason. That's not natural. Something hit the ice. Now that the problem was well defined, the solutions came on their own. Either it's a boulder, or the two Dragons. At that point, he listened more intently. I don't hear any wings flapping, but then again, I don't hear any boulder rolling down the inclined ice. Everything pointed at the two Dragons, even in lack of proper evidence. It was the only logical solution. So much for being smart. One needs only to look. Every object gave clues on how to understand it, and every prey showed how it could be killed.

He hopped over the last spike. Now he heard a sound that resembled wings flapping. It's not quite it… But it's muffled by the ice, that's why. The two Dragons were above the ceiling, trying to get in and the only way to get in was to bring it down. He needed to keep going, and they would handle the rest. They're ancient and strong. They can handle that many enemies. Everything was slowly coming together. He aimed at the breach, casting one last glance across the hall. The number of corrupted Snow Elves had multiplied. How many did Vyrthur keep down in those corridors? From what he had seen, at least a hundred, but they could have been more. They probably are. He was looking at seventy of them at least.

There's going to be the sun shining. He hurried and crossed the breach. The stabbing pain in both eyes came before he could realize that he was facing directly to the East and the light of the rising sun was coming directly at him. East? I thought we would be facing slightly more towards the North. He put together what he knew. He wasn't wrong. The exit did face the North-East, but the breach was in its center and faced elsewhere. The sound of the ice shattering behind him was louder now, but he was outside of the dome that covered the hall he had left behind. What happens in there doesn't concern me anymore.

Now, casting his eyes upwards, he could see the two Dragons. One had dug its way through the ceiling, and the other was hovering above in wait. The Dovah turned his head around, eyeing him and crossing his gaze. 'Dovrahkren, Thuri!' he shouted to the sky. Azrael looked elsewhere, stealing a sweeping glance at his surroundings. The noise of the ice dome collapsing covered almost every other sound, but he could hear something else. Mixed, confused sounds. The sounds of a fight. It was Serana against Vyrthur.

He found them only by looking to the North, where his eyes were less blinded by the light. Serana was repeatedly trying to stab him, in a furious flurry of attacks. She was saying something. '…us! You…' Azrael stretched his ears as much as she could and tried to read what her lips spelled. 'You used us!' There it was. She was repeating that phrase over and over again. I don't find it hard to imagine her anger. But she had to find out, and it had to be from him.

Another sound came from behind. It was like a roll of thunder. Screeches, screams, the beat of the two Dragons' wings. One of them was spewing fire, judging by the sound. Oblivion was breaking loose back there. Azrael darted across the barren end of the fortress, casting glances at the white stone with which it was built. The sounds behind his were stating to become ear-splitting. He resisted the impulse to bring his hands to his ears and block them. The dome is coming down. This should be the end of part of our troubles. There was another thing, but he knew something that might have swung the battle in his favor.

Vyrthur might be whatever we call him, but he is stubborn. He had waited for millennia for his plans to come to fruition. With an infinite amount of time at his disposal, he had waited patiently what what was bound to happen. He never tried a new path. He never surrendered. He was one who backed down from a fight. You could see something of his brother's righteousness in him. Once harm was done, it couldn't be undone. He didn't know what it means to forgive or forget. And this is why I will be able to kill him easily.

Not slowing down, he lowered to the ground to reduce the length of his shade as much as he could. He also slid the longsword back in its place, careful not to make it squeal too loudly. He doubted he would have heard nonetheless, but it was always better to be sure. So focused. He flexed his hand and waved his fingers as he closed in. So single-minded. The Snow Elf was advancing, because Serana seemed to be losing. Azrael looked at her, and her face was livid and wet. She was crying. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Not of sadness though. She's angry.

He came up behind Vyrthur, and his hands seemed to move on their own. They held those movements within themselves almost. They rushed to his neck, first finding their place around it and then closing on it. When he touched his skin, the Snow Elf seemed to be quick enough to react, but the Dunmer was faster and he had the element of surprise. He closed them around his neck and throat, ready to move again. He looked at Serana.

'Did he tell you everything?'

She bared her teeth. 'Yes.'

Azrael finished the motion. After a brief moment, Vyrthur's neck ceased all resistance. A vampire doesn't die from a cut to the throat. It takes something more. And Azrael made sure the corpse he had in his hands was completely limp before letting go.

A/N: This is sort of the bottleneck of the story, I feel like. However, I'm not here to comment on the chapter, I am intruding to give an announcement:

Simply put, DKNR will be slowed down significantly in the coming months. I have a deadline on some other stories I wanted to publish elsewhere that cannot be pushed back. If, for any reason, you would be interested to hear more on that, PM me. I'll not share information on that here. Anyway, the original plan was to finish DKNR before those other projects, but I was delayed and I would have to rush everything. And the ending of DKNR isn't something I want to rush. I already feel like I had to finish thus one in a hurry.

Long story short, I won't be publishing with the same regularity. This book is not on hiatus and is not abandoned. Just slowed down.

Take care, dear readers. 'Till the next.