Interlude: Harkon's Displeasure

Warning: No explicit detail, but there are mentions of rape, dubious consent and incest. This is thanks to Harkon remembering the degrading ritual in which he, Serana and Valerica became vampires. A ceremony which Serana mentions in game as a family activity that they all took part in. That had some disturbing implications.

Harkon stood before his shrine to Molag Bal, glaring down into the well of blood in the centre. His great enemy the sun had set far too many times now since he'd sent out his entire court to bring Serana and her pet back. Another day had passed, whiled away dozing in his coffin, and still nothing, no sign of his servants, or even news.

'Have I surrounded myself with fools?'

Worse, he'd killed all of the cattle in the castle in his anger at the delay. It hadn't been intentional, Harkon was merely too rough with feeding in his rage. He couldn't leave the castle to gather more cattle as he needed to await any of his court returning. Besides, it was servant's work to hunt like the beasts and thinner blooded.

Harkon sighed. His thirst was unbearable. He would have to drink from the shrine. From the bitter blood of terrified innocents, sacrificed so long ago, and ever-flowing from the altar he'd built for his Lord within the cathedral.

He lowered a goblet into the blood and brought it to his lips. Harkon paused, locking eyes with the wrought Ebony visage of Molag Bal. He raised the goblet in a toast. "To ending the Tyranny of the Sun!"

Unfortunately drinking from his Lord's shrine came with a high price. Harkon collapsed onto his knees, clutching at the edge of the fountain. What would it be this time? What vision would his Lord send him? He knew better than to hope for guidance in his time of need. Molag Bal would never give him that when cruelty could be inflicted instead.

The past ensnared Harkon's senses, taking him back as if he were experiencing it anew.

'No. Not that… Anything but that…'

The ritual.

His Lord, brutally taking his daughter in front of his horrified gaze.

"Do not look away, Harkon. Unless you want to die?"

Harkon swallowed hard. He watched, hardly daring to blink. He shuddered, sickened by his illness, but more so by the ritual. It dragged on for hours, although perhaps it was only minutes. A second was eternity in that ordeal.

Molag Bal laughed. "She's already dying. Pity, she'd be the loveliest of my Daughters if she survived." He caressed Serana's ashen skin with sharp claws. "But I haven't finished." Those claws dug in viciously, drawing blood.

Harkon almost closed his eyes, a fatal mistake if not for Valerica's intervention. His eyes widened at his wife's words, ragged with grief:

"Please, my Lord! Take me. Take me now!"

That surprised their Lord. So much that he stopped, and released Serana's dying body before it was too late. He placed a drop of his blood on her throat, blessing her with his gift as a Daughter of Coldharbour.

"You surprise me, Valerica. I've never been begged like that by one of my offerings, not to take them. Continue. But beg me to stop, and I will kill you all."

As Valerica did as he commanded, Molag Bal turned to him. "Harkon, consider your eyes your own again. You'll need them. Carry on where I left off. That's right, take your own daughter."

For the first time Harkon had been thankful for his illness. Weakened by it, he'd taken the Stallion's Potion to prepare for the ceremony. Without that he'd have been unable to perform his Lord Molag Bal's will. Even with it, it was difficult to be physically capable of it, to rise to the occasion, as it were. The travesty of taking his own daughter while his Lord took his wife.

Serana's bloodied, broken body was cooling under his, the drop of his Lord's blood on her throat smoking. Molten silver spread from it, snaking around her neck, rapidly cooling into a collar of ownership with Molag Bal's face glaring from it.

"Serana… Rise."

At Molag Bal's words, her eyes snapped open, glowing with the fires of Coldharbour. Her wounds healed, the ancient blood growing strong within her.

"Do as I command, Harkon. You will be rewarded. Serana, my Daughter… turn him as he takes you."

Her fangs penetrated his neck as he finally girded his loins and took what no father should have to. The only mercy was that Serana never seemed to remember that her own father was forced to wrong her as she sired him.

Valerica's last sight as his beloved mortal wife was what his Lord forced her to see. Her wide, horrified eyes locked with his as their daughter, newly arisen Daughter of Coldharbour, bestowed the blessing of the ancient blood on him.

Pleased, Molag Bal named Harkon His eternal champion and gave him power beyond His Daughters... His Lord had the newly turned Valerica share her own potent blood with him in a triumphant brutal kiss, their fangs piercing lips, blood mingling.

The waking nightmare of the past released him. Harkon was alone again, kneeling before the altar. He traced his lips, still stinging with the memory of long healed wounds.

Harkon revelled in the power it gave him, but that kiss was so cold. As everything was with Valerica after that, despite the eternal bond formed in that kiss, linking them so close they could feel each other's emotions almost as their own. That was why he would know if Valerica was on Nirn. That meant she must be hidden away in some plane of Oblivion. But where?

"Where are you, Valerica, my darling?" Harkon stroked his beard, lost in thought. "Where are you hiding? I would have felt your death. Instead I feel nothing. What blocks our bond, my love?"

In the distance a door creaked open. Harkon stood, and quickly brushed his knees off, listening intently. Only one set of footsteps disturbed the silence of his castle. They weren't heavy enough to be carrying anything either. Whichever of his court had returned empty handed, they had better be bringing news, and for their sake it had better be important. Otherwise he'd be making another sacrifice to Lord Molag Bal. After they went hunting for him first, of course, as that way he'd be spared the indignity of hunting. He didn't want to drink from the shrine ever again if he could avoid it.

"Lord Harkon?" From the shout he knew it was one of his Dunmer fledglings. They had gravelly voices unlike the others.

"In the cathedral," Harkon called back. He turned to the open door as his favourite fledgling walked through it. "Garan. I trust you have news? You would not be fool enough to return without."

"I do, my lord. Forgive me for not returning with your daughter and her pet, but I learned something that may impact on your orders concerning that."

Harkon folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Go on."

"Her pet is allied with the Dawnguard, vampire hunters based in the Rift. They have found a Moth Priest and shelter him in the Dawnguard's fort."

"Then my Scroll has been read? Why did you not bring the priest and the Scroll to me?"

"Even Serana cannot access the fort beyond the threshold, the Dawnguard's security measures drive any vampire back. They keep the Moth Priest inside, out of our reach. As for the reading… I did not overhear it myself, as I could not risk getting close enough to eavesdrop. If I was detected, I fear I would have been unable to return."

"Excuses, Garan? What use are you to me?" Harkon took a threatening step forwards, hands curling into fists.

Garan bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lord. I was alone. My companions were incapable of invisibility and had been slaughtered, either by the Dawnguard or by Serana and her pet. But staying hidden meant that I learned more…"

"Get to the point," Harkon snapped.

"I am, my lord, I am. I enthralled one of the Dawnguard and used her to learn about what the Moth Priest saw in the Scroll. There are two others - three Scrolls contain the entire prophecy. More importantly, it revealed the artefact the prophecy must concern: Auriel's Bow."

"The Bow of the Sun God… Can it be used to end the sun's tyranny?"

"I do not know, my lord, but it seems likely. What are your orders?"

Harkon cupped his chin, stroking his beard as he thought. He wanted his revenge, but couldn't abandon his quest. The Tyranny of the Sun must end.

"Should we hunt for the Scrolls and the Bow, my lord?"

"Yes, Garan. Half of my court are to search for my rightful possessions. But do not give up the hunt for my daughter and her pet. If I know Serana, she's kept the Scroll she stole from me. She won't have left it in the same place as the Moth Priest. Speaking of which, I want that priest."

"Ah. My lord, something else I learned from my thrall is that the Moth Priest is blind now. It's possible he might recover, though."

Harkon resisted the urge to tear at his beard. "Forget the priest, then. Unless he regains his sight. If not, we'll find another." Hopefully when he did get his hands on a Moth Priest again, this time he'd manage to enthral them. The last ones were too strong willed and died before they broke.

"Yes, my lord." Garan cleared his throat. "There was something else."

"What is it?"

"Serana's pet… She is proving far more difficult to capture than we anticipated. I learned why: she is the Dragonborn. The rumoured dragon attacks are very real."

"You are certain of this?" Come to think of it, it would explain the strange scent of the mortal. He'd been unable to identify her race by scent on meeting her, but had dismissed it at the time as being down to interbreeding.

"I witnessed her take a dragon's soul with my own eyes."

"So, this Sithia is the one the Greybeards called for." Their Shout for the Dovahkiin must have been heard all over Tamriel. It had shaken the foundations of his castle, disturbing his slumber months ago.

"Yes, my lord. The time of another prophecy is here, that of Alduin's return and the Last Dragonborn. What are your orders now?"

Harkon scowled. "This changes things," he reluctantly admitted. "Serana's pet is not to be permanently damaged either, not until she ends the threat of the World-Eater. Bring them to me, my daughter and her Dragonborn pet."

Exacting vengeance on his daughter might have to wait until Alduin no longer threatened his domain. This Sithia Dragonborn would slay Alduin for him if given the right incentive… a promise that Serana will survive his judgement of her treason, perhaps. A promise he would eventually break, of course, but Serana would survive until the World-Eater was slain. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it, despite the delay to his revenge. It might mean temporarily having his own pet Dragonborn. Such a soul could not be enthralled, after all.

Harkon looked sharply at Garan. "Was there anything else?"

"Her blood, my lord. It really is dragon blood. It was spilled to make it difficult for us to track them."

"I gift you with ancient blood, and you dare tell me such nonsense?" Harkon snarled. "I may not have hunted in an age, but I remember how. Spilt blood makes it easier!"

"Ordinarily, my lord, yes. But not this time. As I said, it was dragon blood, unlike any other, and overwhelmed our senses. Those who lack control were unable to resist the bloodlust, drawn off the hunt by nearby mortals, and even I struggled. They also took to the sea. The trail was cold by the time we found it again on land."

"I don't care how difficult it is. Find them. Bring them to me. Now, go." Thinking of hunting, though… "Oh, and one last thing: replenish the castle's cattle pens."

"Yes, my lord." Garan bowed. "It shall be done." He turned on his heel and left. The front door creaked shut behind him.

A slow smile spread across Harkon's face. Dragon blood, eh? Just a little longer, exercising the patience of a vampire, and he would regain his Scrolls and taste dragon blood.

The door creaked open again. Harkon's smile faded. Garan couldn't have returned with cattle already. Even his favourite wasn't that competent. Muffled sobbing reached his ears. No, not Garan. He was far too controlled to show such weakness.

"You call yourself a Volkihar?" Harkon shouted. "We are ice, we do not weep. Stop that pathetic nonsense and come before me."

The sobbing ended with a stifled whimper. There was a distinct lack of footsteps approaching.

"Come here. Now!"

Feet shuffled closer. Harkon wasn't surprised by the sight of the snivelling Bosmer appearing in the doorway. Ronthil. The runt. His cheeks still damp, although at least his eyes were now dry. Harkon curled his lip at another reminder that the ancient blood in Ronthil was watered down. Blood did not stain Ronthil's face, unlike when tears escaped Harkon. Not that they ever did in public.

"Speak," Harkon demanded. "You know the price for your flesh remaining on your bones, having returned empty handed."

Ronthil nodded. "Yes, news, my lord, your daughter's pet, she's Dragon—"

"Dragonborn. I know. Garan already shared this information with me. Didn't you see him leaving when you arrived?"

Ronthil shook his head, trembling.

"Interesting." If Ronthil hadn't seen Garan, then why had he been sobbing on arrival? If not the fear that his news had already been shared, then what?

Also of interest was the fact there hadn't been time for Garan to leave the island before Ronthil's arrival. No, there was something far more deliberate at work here. Garan had always been fond of his invisibility. And to use it now… Harkon smiled. The petty infighting of his court amused him. Garan had put Ronthil at quite the disadvantage just by ensuring he left unseen.

"Do you have anything else for me, Ronthil? You know what I'll do if not. I do not make idle threats."

Ronthil swallowed audibly. "My lord, please, I did return with news!"

Harkon started to close the distance between them with slow, menacing steps. "It's not news to me, Ronthil. Does that leave you with nothing?"

Ronthil's eyes were wide, the reek of terror pouring off him. Weakness. That was not tolerated in his court.

"Please, my lord!" Ronthil dropped to his knees, hands clasped. Begging. Unforgivable weakness, if entertaining. "I do… I have something. A message from Serana's pet. We tried to capture her, ten of us. She and another mortal killed them all, except me. Your daughter wasn't there."

Harkon paused, a single step from the runt. "So you were spared to bring me a message. Then share it. Do your duty, messenger."

"I… You won't like it, my lord."

Harkon bared his teeth, fangs descending. "Then you have nothing."

"No, please! It's this: 'Dragons are my prey.' And that you—we, I mean! We are nothing compared to them."

Once he had no need of her, Serana's pet would pay dearly for calling him nothing, and worse, implying that he was less than prey to her. First, though, there was someone very close at hand to suffer for returning with worse than nothing. Stripping the flesh from his bones was the least Ronthil deserved.

"You dare return to me with such an insult?" Harkon breathed. Ronthil flinched as though he'd shouted. He cringed when Harkon let his true form burst forth in a shower of blood.

Harkon's wings beat, lifting his clawed feet from the floor, a red glow flickering beneath them as he drew upon the power of a Vampire Lord. He raised a hand, claws grasping as the gesture brought the magic around Ronthil.

Ronthil dangled in the air, body rigid. Harkon loosened his hold just enough to allow the runt enough movement to speak. A little more begging might be satisfying.

"My lord, please!"

"Thank me, Ronthil."

"Oh, my lord, thank you! Thank you for sparing me, I'm sorry—"

"No, Ronthil."

"My lord?"

"Thank me for putting you out of your misery. You never deserved the ancient blood. Who dared give it to you?"

"My lord, no, please!"

"Then tell me."

"Feran, my lord, it was Feran Sadri!"

"Feran?" His alchemist should have had more sense. It would not go well for him when he returned. If he returned. Had he been one of the vampires slain by Serana's pet? Ronthil would know. "Where is he?"

"Dead. The Dragonborn…"

"I see." Disappointing, to be robbed of his revenge on his foolish fledgling. Something else that his future pet Dragonborn would answer for in the end. "You have outlived your usefulness to me, runt. Give Lord Molag Bal my regards."

The cathedral echoed with the music of Ronthil's screams until Harkon finally allowed his suffering to transfer to Coldharbour. As for his remains, Garmr and CuSith must be hungry.

AN: Poor Ronthil. It would have been far more merciful for Sithia to have killed him. Harkon is very much not a good person, even by vampire standards.

Coming up next: Serana sees the sights of Helgen, battles some bandits, and learns some more about Sithia's past. Then back on the road to Karthspire. Potential hazards en route which may or may not be encountered by Serana and her pet Dragonborn: bandits, Thalmor, Forsworn, bears, wolves and dragons.