Chapter 7: To Fort Dawnguard

It didn't take long for Serana to find someone to use as a substitute for the meal she really wanted. A pretty poor substitute at that, but the only thing that would come close to matching Sithia was a dragon. All things considered it was just as well one of those wasn't available.

Dinner was provided in the form of a Breton man, slick dark hair tied back. He was drunk, reeking of wine, staggering after a young Nord woman hurrying away from him.

Serana followed them. She watched the man catch up with the woman, shoving her against the wall of an house near the city walls.

The Breton buried a hand in the woman's short hair, and leaned in to steal a kiss. "Everything's for sale, Ysolda. Except for what I can get for free."

Ysolda grimaced and turned her face away. "Get away from me, Belethor!" She brought her knee up.

Belethor groaned, and fell over when Ysolda shoved him away. She bolted to the door of the house, unlocked it – hands impressively steady despite the unwanted attentions of the man – and slipped inside, slamming the door behind her. The lock clicked.

"By the Eight…" Belethor gasped. He lay there in the dust cradling his groin. After a minute or so he shakily picked himself up from the ground, and stumbled to the door. He hammered on it with a fist. "Ysolda! You'll pay for attacking the goods!"

"Go away!" Ysolda's voice was muffled, but still clearly audible even to mortal ears.

Belethor started to ram the door with his shoulders.

Before the racket drew the attention of the guards, Serana stepped in. She wrapped an arm around Belethor's throat and tightened her grip until he fell slack against her, a few heartbeats later. She carried her prey around to the back of the house. Isolated and out of sight of anyone around. A perfect spot for clandestine feeding.

Serana crouched down and tucked in. Definitely not her best meal ever, but at least he was only slightly bitter from fear. She hadn't given him time to feel much other than surprise and that little spike of fright. Tasting his pain and lust second-hand wasn't terribly pleasant, but everything was dulled by the alcohol in his blood. She drank until it took the edge off her frustration, and let Belethor fall to the ground, his heartbeat weak and faltering.

She didn't particularly care if he didn't wake up. Being drunk was no excuse, if not for Ysolda being able to take care of herself… Skyrim would be better off without scum like him. It was tempting to make sure he didn't survive, but he wasn't worth the effort. Let his precious Divines decide if he deserved to live or die.

Serana straightened up and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her mother always hated it when she did that – hardly ladylike, after all – but her mother wasn't there. She licked the traces of blood off her hand, grimacing at the taste. Contact with air didn't improve Belethor.

She wandered back to Breezehome, and browsed the bookshelf near the hearth. There was a pile of gold coins and a note on the top shelf, as well as books. Serana picked up a coin, examining it. They'd changed since the last time she'd handled any. The head of a bearded man on one side, presumably Talos or one of his descendants, and a stylised dragon on the reverse, wings forming a diamond. She set it down and picked up the scrap of parchment partly buried under the coins.

It took a moment to decipher the messy scrawl. Sithia's handwriting was terrible. Clearly whoever taught her to write hadn't been concerned with setting the sort of example Serana's mother had.

'Lydia – leave these septims alone! Souvenirs from a Nordic ruin. They were sealed inside it since long before the time of Talos. You explain what the fuck they were doing there to my satisfaction and you can have them.'

Serana raised her eyebrows. These coins – septims – must have some magic to them. Except if they did it must have worn off or the shining metal would have hummed against her skin. Hmm… Maybe it was Cyrodiilic Luck at work. Well, Imperial Luck now that Cyrodiil was the seat of an empire. She'd read about it, how the natives of Cyrodiil found gold in any container that might hold valuables.

She retrieved a quill and added her theory to the note, signing it with her name. It might win her some gold, not that she needed it with Sithia around. It might also give Sithia an idea of what handwriting should be.

She turned her attention to the books and picked out a tome that sounded like it should be a romance, one of her guilty pleasures. 'A Kiss, Sweet Mother.' She flipped it open and started to read.

"Oh," she muttered. "Definitely not a romance." Why did Sithia have a book about how to summon the Dark Brotherhood? That became obvious as Serana read further. It mentioned Sithis. Hardly surprising – the Dread Father was all about death, so a bunch of assassins were likely to revere him. Did that mean this questionable cult of Sithia's mother was the Dark Brotherhood? This book was a souvenir of that in addition to that barbaric branding seared onto Sithia's back?

She could ask, but Serana had her doubts that it was something Sithia would be willing to talk about. The past seemed like a pretty touchy subject with her Dragonborn, especially where it concerned her parents. It was doubtless connected to whatever weighed on Sithia's conscience too. Added to the fact that she'd been trained to kill… It would be kinder not to bring it up, really.

Serana returned to her reading. "A contract bound in blood… Sounds tasty, although I doubt it means a meal for a vampire." The rest of the book was blank. Perhaps it was intended to record these contracts? Something else to ask Sithia about, in the event she ever opened up enough to—

"Elenwen!" The strangled scream shattered the silence.

Serana looked up at the floorboards forming the ceiling, abruptly realising that heartbeat was racing. Another nightmare. The worst yet.

Serana cursed herself. If she hadn't been so focused on her reading, she could have woken Sithia before it got this bad. She hurried upstairs and burst through the bedroom door. She skidded to a halt by the bed, reaching down to grip Sithia's shoulders. She gently shook her.

Sithia cried out again. "No! I won't, you can't, don't…" She sat bolt upright, struggling out of Serana's grip. "Elenwen," she whimpered, eyes snapping open. She looked around, wild eyed, before she focused on Serana. Her shoulders slumped as a shuddering sigh of relief escaped her.

"Oh, thank Sithis, just a dream." Her voice was raw, her body shivering. Serana wanted to wrap her arms around her, but touching her Dragonborn would only make those shivers worse. She hadn't been standing close enough to the fire for it to warm her enough.

Maybe she could help her verbally if she couldn't physically… "Who's Elenwen?"

"Don't!" Sithia jerked as though struck by a shock spell. "Don't say her name. I never want to talk about her. Ever."

"I'm sorry. It… it might help—"

"Drop it. What would help me is for her never to be brought up again."

"Is it to do with your mother?"

"No," she snapped.

"The Thalmor?"

Sithia flinched. "I said drop it!"

Serana held up her hands. "All right, I'm sorry, I'm only—"

"I know you're trying to help, but you're also curious. I'm not a puzzle for you to figure out," Sithia ground out between clenched teeth, glowering up at her. "And you can't help me. Not with this."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Just leave me alone."

Serana sighed. She gave Sithia's tense shoulder a tentative pat, and reluctantly left her hugging her knees. Whoever Elenwen was, it was definitely to do with the Thalmor. Maybe she was the one Sithia had loved and lost to Thalmor torture?

The next morning, Sithia didn't say a word about anything that occurred the night before. She didn't really say anything beyond an unintelligible grunt when she caught sight of Serana sitting by the bookshelf. Her grumpy Dragonborn was at her worst – or was that best? – when lacking in sleep.

Sithia wandered over to join her after helping herself to some of the stew that had been kept warm in the pot by the fire. "Imperial what?" Sithia waved the note at her.

"Luck. If what I read is true, it's a racial ability like my Nordic resistance to cold."

"First I've heard of it, but it would explain a lot. Okay, you win." Sithia swept the gold into a leather pouch and handed it over. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Serana caught it and tossed it up and down, smiling at the satisfying clink of shiny gold.

"Better let Lydia know she's a loser, then we head out." Sithia scribbled something on the note before retrieving her cowl. Apparently it was too much to hope that she'd feel safe enough to leave it off in her current hometown.

Sithia paused after she opened the door, looking back at Serana. "Unless you want to read your way through my bookshelf some more?"

"Tempting, but I'd rather see the sights of Whiterun." Serana flipped her hood up. It was overcast at the moment, but that could change suddenly.

Experience the sounds of Whiterun too, Serana mused, perched on the wall of the well in the middle of the market square. She regretted her decision to come with Sithia once the sun came out, and with the more she heard of some fanatical ravings about the love of Talos. They came from the next district uphill, presumably near the shrine she could feel even from here.

After her close encounter with Akatosh's shrine, she didn't want to go up there to explore Whiterun further. Finding Jorrvaskr, the legendary home of Ysgramor's Companions, and the Skyforge, and maybe seeing the Jarl's palace up close wasn't enough for her to venture any closer to an Aedric influence.

Sithia nudged her. "Want to come with me, or do you want to listen to Heimskr screech some more?"

Serana slid off her seat and on to her feet. "I could quite happily never hear him say another word about the mighty Talos. Is this a Stormcloak controlled city?"

"Neutral. Balgruuf has so far managed to avoid choosing a side."

"Then the Thalmor can't come here?"

"Not that I've seen, but rumour has it they're behind the disappearance of a Stormcloak sympathiser. The master blacksmith's son."

"Do you believe it?" That would definitely explain why she had her cowl up.

"I can believe they're capable of it." Choked up with dark emotion, Sithia lapsed into her Khajiiti influenced accent.

"But wouldn't they have taken Heimskr too?"

Sithia nodded. "That makes me suspect that priest is not what he seems. I avoid him because of that. He's also a crazy creep who keeps trying to get too close for comfort. Either because I'm Dragonborn like Talos, or because he's working for the Thalmor and trying to unmask me."

Sithia cleared her throat, her voice back to normal. "But I haven't dealt with him as I would a Thalmor spy because I might be just paranoid, and that's no reason to kill a man who might be innocent. However tempting it can be when he screams the same old thing over and over again."

Her attention focused on Sithia, and always aware of that strong heartbeat by her side, Serana didn't notice the rapidly approaching weaker heartbeat until it almost ran into her.

"I'm not afraid of you, even if you are my elder!"

Serana looked down at the belligerent girl glaring up at her.

The kid's eyes widened. She must've noticed Serana's unusual eyes. Serana smiled, deliberately unsheathing her fangs. She'd give this girl something to be afraid of.

The girl whimpered, raising her hands to instinctively shield herself.

Serana stared at the child's hands, her menacing grin faltering. The girl turned tail and ran away.

"That was Braith. See what I mean?"

"I… You're right, there's something very wrong with her hands. As pale as a Nord's when she's a Redguard. I've no idea what's going on there, I couldn't feel any magic at work. Maybe it's some kind of illness?"

Sithia snorted. "Yeah, a very strange disease nobody has ever heard of. Whatever's at work there, we don't have time to investigate."

"Or the inclination." Serana was curious about it, but she'd lose no sleep if she never found out the truth behind the mystery of Braith the brat's hands. Well, it wouldn't keep her awake if she ever felt like sleeping again after Dimhollow.

"That too."

"My Thane?"

Sithia yelped, jumping away from the little girl who had spoken, and clung to Serana.

The girl giggled. It was the one evicted last night, what was her name? Lucy? No, Lucia. That was it.

"What the fuck do you want, kid?" Sithia must have abruptly realised her tough tone was at odds with the way she held onto Serana, as she let go and crossed her arms.

Serana shook her head and tried not to laugh. 'You're not fooling anyone!' Thanks to the people standing around staring, word would inevitably get around that the big bad Dragonborn was terrified of children.

"Mama says that's a very bad word. She won't let me say it. Why do you get to?"

"Because no one gets to tell me what to do. What is it? I'm a busy woman. Speak up or fuck off, I don't care which. Actually, I do care… Run back to your uptight mother."

Lucia ignored her command. "I wanted to give you this. To thank you for not making my new mama give me up." She pushed something into Sithia's hands and scampered off.

'Your words may be tough, but your actions speak otherwise. The kid is right, you could have demanded that of Lydia as your housecarl.' Serana stifled her smile and peered down at the present. "A sweet roll? That kid is so swee—"

Sithia elbowed her. "Shut up. It's probably poisoned."

"Now you really are being paranoid. If you don't want it…"

Sithia handed the sticky cake over. "Be my guest. Not as if you can be poisoned, after all."

Serana devoured the sweet roll. Sithia's loss – it wasn't tainted. Being immune to poison didn't mean she wouldn't be able to taste it.

"Since when do vampires eat and drink normal stuff?" Sithia said, too quietly for anyone else to overhear.

"You've seen me do both before. I can still enjoy conventional food and drink, it just doesn't sustain me anymore."

"I must have been too busy feeding myself… to…" Sithia trailed off, eyes fixed on Serana's fingers as she licked the stickiness off.

Serana couldn't resist licking her lips, and delighted in the resulting whimper. That was for her ears alone, too quiet for man or mer to hear.

"Finished?"

Sithia looked up, startled. "What?" Her voice was an octave higher than usual, and the glimpse of her skin under that cowl was flushed.

Serana struggled to keep a straight face. "Shopping. Have you finished?"

"Oh, right. Just one last thing, I should be able to get it here." Sithia almost walked into the door of the shop when it failed to open. "Locked… Is that lazy bastard still asleep?"

A guard spoke up from where he leant against a nearby wall. "Didn't you hear? Belethor has been found dead. Vampire attack, it looks like. Night watch should be ashamed, letting that happen under their very noses."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer man!" At least Sithia hadn't liked Belethor, then… That would have been awkward. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that Nazeem has turned up dead too. Definitely too much to hope that Olfrid's big mouth has finally bragged about his precious clan for the last time, I suppose?"

"Dragonborn! Don't speak ill of the dead. And don't speak so loudly, don't want the Battle-Borns to hear you."

Sithia chuckled. "Why not? What are they going to do, haunt me? As for the Battle-Borns, they can kiss my—"

"Let's go, shall we?" Serana hooked her arm through Sithia's and led her off towards the gates. "You really do need a keeper. If the Battle-Borns are an important family around here, you don't want to antagonise them."

"Why not? It might get me out of being a Thane."

"Maybe, but that might also cost you Breezehome if you do something stupid enough for the Jarl to strip you of your title."

"Oh, right. I guess you have a point. Speaking of points…" Sithia glanced at her lips again, then levelled a piercing glare at Serana before returning her eyes to the path. "Hungry last night, were we? Or have your father's cronies found us?"

Ah. Was Sithia about to condemn her, despite her apparent dislike of the dead man? Serana hoped not, but she wouldn't lie. Couldn't, too, after the oath she'd sworn last night. "That was me. I'd have mentioned it if I could smell other vampires had been around."

"Damn it, Serana, couldn't you have gone for another of Whiterun's annoyances? I need to buy another knapsack, and Belethor would have sold one."

"Wait, you don't care that I killed a man, you're just angry that it's inconvenient?"

Sithia laughed, a mirthless, bitter chuckle. "I don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to killing people. That and I imagine he deserved what he got, I don't think you're the type to kill innocents."

For a moment she heard their screams. Saw their faces. Tasted the ghost of their bitter terror. All the lives she'd taken, back when she was a slave to her bloodlust. Men. Women. Even—No. She couldn't think of them. That wasn't her, not anymore. That was the monster. She couldn't bring back those slaughtered families – she'd tried so hard, too, advancing her necromancy to the limits of her ability… All she could do was make sure her inner monster stayed locked away. No more innocents would die at her fangs.

"Not if I can help it," Serana muttered, once she could trust her voice. "He did deserve it. And I'm happy to carry your knapsack for you. You don't need to buy another."

"I can believe he did. But I'm going alone to warn the Dawnguard, and that means leaving you and my enchanted knapsack in Riften. It's a long enough trek from there for me to need some supplies with me, and my armour doesn't exactly have pockets. Oh, wait! I have an idea."

Serana couldn't resist looking her up and down as she led the way back the Breezehome. "I noticed. Not a lot of room for anything but you in there."

Sithia closed the door on the outside world. "I could say the same to you."

Serana breathed a sigh of relief at being out of the sun. She pushed her hood back and shook her hair out. "I do have pockets, actually."

Sithia stared at her, eyes trailing down to her boots and back up again. Most of the way back up, as she didn't quite manage to get past her exposed cleavage.

Serana brought a hand into Sithia's line of sight and waved upwards. Those grey eyes widened and shot up to meet Serana's amused gaze.

Sithia looked away, flushing. "Where are these pockets?"

"That would be telling." Serana smiled and leaned close. "If you really want to know, you'll have to find them."

"Temptress," Sithia muttered. "It'll take more than that for you to get me to feel you up."

"What will it take?"

"You really want to know?" Sithia tugged her cowl down, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Oh yes," Serana hissed. Was she finally about to get somewhere with her Dragonborn?

Sithia beckoned Serana closer. Hardly able to believe her luck, Serana closed the gap between them until she could feel the heat of Sithia's body through that leather armour.

Sithia reached up and pulled her head down, an arm looped around her neck. She brushed Serana's hair out of the way with her free hand and moved closer yet. Sithia's warm lips brushed against her ear.

"That's for me to know and you to guess." Sithia pulled away, that smile twisting into a smirk, a spark of mischief in her eyes. She turned away, heading upstairs.

"Tease!"

Sithia turned at the top of the stairs and winked at her. "Two can play at that game, Princess."

Serana growled. That fucking title… and that damn mortal testing her promise to give her time to the limit.

Sithia disappeared into a room on the left. She emerged carrying a knapsack.

"Is that your housecarl's?"

"Yeah. I'm… borrowing it."

"Stealing it?"

Sithia shrugged. "Same difference."

The journey to Riften was uneventful. Almost a week long carriage drive in non-stop drizzle. Sithia resorted to pitching her tent in the back of the carriage so they weren't always wet and miserable, just even more bored as it limited the view. Conversation wasn't really an option thanks to their nosy driver. At least this one didn't sing all the time. He just talked. A lot.

Well, the journey was uneventful apart from the assassin. Sithia took her down with contemptuous ease, slitting her throat. An Argonian female, clad in armour similar to Sithia's, except most of the leather was dyed the colour of drying blood.

On helping Sithia search the body, Serana discovered that the armour was also buckled together at the side instead of laced at the back.

Sithia kicked the corpse off the back of the carriage after they'd taken anything of interest. Including a note revealing that it was no random attack.

As instructed, you are to eliminate Cynthia Dragonborn by any means necessary. The Black Sacrament has been performed – somebody wants this poor fool dead.

We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option.

-Astrid

Sithia folded the note back up and tucked it away in her knapsack.

"You collect things like that?"

"A girl's got to have a hobby. It'll also remind me that I have a bone to pick with this Astrid."

"The Black Sacrament… that was a Dark Brotherhood assassin?"

"I don't need to ask what book of mine you've been reading, do I? Yeah, that was what passes for an assassin around here." She looked back at the crumpled body on the road behind them and muttered, "Amateur."

Serana wanted to take that opportunity to ask those burning questions about Sithia's past and her connection to the Dark Brotherhood, but their driver made it impossible. Of course, chances were that Sithia would have told her to drop it anyway.

The only other remotely interesting thing that happened on the boring trek was an encounter with what currently passed for bandits in Skyrim.

"Whoa there," their driver called, reining in the horse.

"Why're we stopping?" Sithia demanded.

"Bandits," Serana said, peering at the men on the road ahead, clad in ragged armour and wielding rusty weapons. They stood in the shadow of two ancient towers spanning a ravine. "At least I assume that's what they are."

"Aye, the bandits of Valtheim Towers. I asked Jarl Balgruuf to deal with them, but has he? No! Clearly the road to Windhelm isn't a priority for him. Makes it harder for Ulfric to court him."

Serana exchanged an incredulous glance with Sithia. Did he really mean… "It makes it harder for Ulfric to try to get Balgruuf to support his rebellion?"

"Aye, and… You didn't hear it from me, but they say Ulfric will do anything or anyone to win this stupid war. Anyway, these bandits, they demand a toll. Two hundred gold. Each, if we're unlucky. I hope you ladies have enough to cover that, or they'll take your lives as payment. Although... young and pretty..." The carriage driver inhaled, whistling between his teeth. "They might just take you as payment even if you have the gold. We'd better turn back and take the route through the Helgen pass."

"I've got a better idea than adding at least another fucking week to this trip." Sithia jumped down and drew her sword. "I kill them all and take their gold."

Serana followed her. "No, we'll kill them. I'm not just a pretty face." She curled her lip at the driver in passing.

"Look boys, fresh meat," one of the bandits said to his equally filthy friend. Serana could smell the stale stench of their unwashed bodies and sweaty fur armour.

It was a disappointingly short and easy fight. The bandits tried to run after Sithia cut down the first before he had time to do more than raise his axe. Ice spikes to the back stopped them in their tracks. While Sithia ransacked the towers – and exterminated the bandits lurking inside judging by the screams and begging – Serana put any bandits not instantly iced to death out of their misery.

"FUS RO DAH!" The Shout was followed by a piercing scream and a distant splash, and breathless laughter.

Sithia emerged from the tower after a few minutes, wiping the blood off her sword with a rag. Her knapsack bulged with her ill-gotten gains. "That was fun, I hope we meet some more bandits to play with."

Unfortunately they didn't. But watching them slaughter those excuses for bandits did have the benefit of making the carriage driver fall into nervous silence for the rest of their ride. They still couldn't talk freely, though, knowing he was listening.

They slept under canvas the whole way. For some reason Sithia insisted they didn't stop anywhere near Windhelm – she even bribed the driver to make sure he carried on without calling at the stables. Serana only saw it from the distance. Ysgramor's city. For something that was supposedly Skyrim's royal city, Solitude and Whiterun looked much more impressive. Oh, Windhelm's walls were tall and imposing, and the Palace of the Kings loomed high beyond them, but… Much as she hated it, her father's castle was bigger. Maybe Windhelm would look more like the legendary City of Kings from her books if she ever had the chance to explore inside.

The rest of Eastmarch was dreary, although maybe that was down to the miserable weather. The rain finally stopped just before they reached Riften. The Rift was a sight for sore eyes even in the wet. Gorgeous. The colours! Up in the far north of Skyrim there were only pine trees. Here, though, there were trees with broad leaves, and yellow leaves at that. Their trunks were ghostly white, especially in the light of the moons. Not as pale as her own skin or snow, but somehow warm where those were cold. What were they, beech? Birch? Serana wished she'd paid more attention to the illustrations in a book about trees of Tamriel.

The scent of the earth and these trees was wonderful. Even in the rain. Maybe especially in the rain.

The only bad thing about the Rift was Riften itself. Even from the outside it was a shadow of the city she'd read about. She could smell the stagnant water from where they stood by the stables.

Sithia straightened up and shouldered her pack. She'd exchanged the shiny things taken from the dead bandits for some potions and food from the knapsack Serana carried.

"I should be back within a day or so. Two at the most." Sithia hesitated, then held out her map. "Only come to find me if I stop moving for longer than a rest stop. Don't bother if the blood dries. It'll mean I'm dead."

"What? Dead? No, if there's any chance of… I'll come—"

"I'll be fine. You won't be – there's too many in the Dawnguard for us to fight off if they decide to shoot first and ask questions later. Especially as they're armed with crossbows."

Serana reluctantly took the map. "What's a crossbow?"

"Like a mechanical bow that fires short arrows. More powerful than a normal bow, and I think the bolts might go faster. Slow reload, though. They based them on a Dwemer contraption. In fact, they hired me to find it for them." Sithia scowled. "I never want to go into another Dwemer ruin again."

"Ruin? What happened to the Dwemer?"

"No one knows. They disappeared around the same time as the Chimer became the Dunmer. I've no idea if the two are connected. All I do know is that there's nothing left in their cities except death. Traps, their automatons… and worse."

"Children?" Her attempt to lighten the mood and make Sithia smile failed miserably.

Sithia closed her eyes and shuddered. "There are worse things than children in the depths of Dwarven ruins. Fortunately I shouldn't meet them here in the Rift. Or anywhere on the surface, come to that. See you soon."

Serana watched her walk away. She looked down at the map. The thought of sitting around in Riften's inn, unable to look away from that red cross… Of seeing it suddenly stop moving, and that deep crimson drying to dead red-brown, of Sithia somewhere out there all alone and dying—

'No.'

She pocketed the map and ducked out of sight of the guards, the Redguard stable boy and the carriage drivers. Ordinarily she could use her lesser vampiric powers to persuade people to ignore her, but that didn't work if they were too focused on her, and it wouldn't work at all on someone like Sithia.

Time to disappear. Serana let the shadows embrace her. Unlike a thin blooded vampire, or even a half-blood, she could remain invisible all the time if she had the concentration to spare. She would have to rely on her sight and hearing, as the scent of the Rift was far too distracting. Not breathing felt so wrong and uncomfortable, but it was bearable. At least the senses she could still use were her most powerful anyway, except for taste, and she didn't exactly use that for anything except feeding. Ugh, the thought of going around licking everything like a stupid werewolf!

The other problem with invisibility was that it didn't muffle her footsteps. Splitting her attention between clinging to the shadows, keeping her eyes and ears open for trouble, and avoiding leaves and twigs underfoot, yet still walking fast enough to keep up with Sithia? Downright painful. A headache soon throbbed behind her temples with every step she took.

It was a relief when Sithia paused to have a little rest. Serana's headache faded away. She watched as Sithia sat on a fallen tree, the skeleton of an unfortunate woodcutter trapped underneath it. She gnawed on a carrot from her knapsack and gulped down some water.

That headache returned with a vengeance at the sight of Sithia pulling out a green potion. Damn it, she should have watched exactly what potions Sithia was transferring to her appropriated knapsack.

'You stupid Dragonborn! Sleep, don't start using those instead again!'

Serana wanted nothing more than to slap that potion out of her hand. Unfortunately that would reveal her presence and provoke an argument she could really do without when plagued with a splitting headache.

Flattering as it was to suspect that Sithia only wanted to get back to her as soon as possible, Serana would rather she didn't do that at the expense of her health. While just a day using those things wouldn't do any harm, what if she started using them whenever she could get away with it? The danger with stamina potions was that they were addictive. Not as bad as skooma, but also worse in that they'd kill you much sooner. The rush of energy… It was intoxicating.

Serana remembered that much from her time at the College of Winterhold. She also remembered that it ended with her in the care of a healer for a week, and her mother taking her back home for good. That was probably a factor in why her mother had suddenly changed her mind about waiting until Serana was a bit older to go through that ritual, although her father's turn for the worse with his illness was the main reason.

She'd have to confiscate Sithia's hoard of those damn potions. Just not right now, as that would be as much of a giveaway as keeping her from drinking that slow poison.

It was maddening, watching Sithia steadily consume those potions and discard the bottles, littering her path to wherever the Dawnguard were based. Serana picked up the bottles – they could be refilled with something better for Sithia, so she stashed them in the bottomless knapsack. The enchantment fortunately prevented any sound escaping from collisions between the contents.

After spending most of the day walking briskly, Sithia ducked into a cave, the entrance flanked by two flaming braziers. Serana followed her and emerged into a canyon, the predominately deciduous flora of the Rift outnumbered with the pines Serana was used to. The air was colder here, with an icy waterfall leading down from the mountains between Skyrim and Morrowind.

Serana didn't have much time to take in the sights, because Sithia was already walking up the path towards… a castle? It was perhaps around the same size of her father's, but less imposing, the shape very different. All curves while Castle Volkihar was so angular.

The Dawnguard's security measures were not terribly impressive – two palisades, but with gates open wide enough for a gargoyle to charge through with its wings spread. In fact, the Dawnguard's guarding of their home was impressively terrible, with no sign of anyone manning their defences, not even a heartbeat let alone a challenge from a sentry.

As they drew closer to the castle, Serana finally heard signs of life. Rapid heartbeats and laboured breathing. A fight? Had something or someone got past their shoddy security?

Then Serana saw it, up by the entrance to the castle. A dragon. Dead. Crumpled, wings spread flat on the ground. Not one slain by Sithia, or it would be a charred skeleton. How convenient – Sithia was in for a treat, a dragon soul for the taking without needing to slay the dragon for it. Although knowing Sithia, she'd actually be disappointed.

Then she heard it. The rush of wind. Wait, no. Not wind. Wing beats.

On the path ahead, Sithia paused. She drew her sword and spun on her heel. Her eyes widened.

Serana turned. She looked up, straight into the gaping maw of a great big black dragon.

'No!'

Serana used that burst of panic to move faster than she ever had before, tackling Sithia to the ground.

No dragon would eat her Dragonborn. Not without going through her first.

The jaws snapped shut.

AN: Cliffie, what cliffie? Sorry about that, the chapter went out of control again thanks to a certain pair who just wouldn't shut up. That meant finding somewhere to split the chapter, and that was it. I hope I'll be able to get the next chapter finished rather sooner than this one – I hope this was worth the wait.

Coming up next: Presuming Alduin doesn't have a vampire and Dragonborn sandwich for dinner, there's bonding over a dragon fight coming up with the Dawnguard, and the tale of the great Moth Priest hunt gets underway.