Rabz (Guest): There is just one thing that's bugging me like a gnat that I thought I should let you know. It's Acolyte Jenssen. You call him Acolyte, but Acolyte is a title for a religious assistant or follower, not a name.

Okay, wow, oops! I'm so sorry, and thank you so much for correcting me. In the future, I'll refer to him appropriately, and once the story is complete, I'll definitely go back and fix my error.(( Just to defend myself a little, I did know what the word meant; only I figured that it was his first name in reference to his role in the temple, and Jenssen his last name.)) Obviously, that was a dumb mistake, but I'm really grateful it was pointed out! Anyway, if I make any more of these mistakes, and/or typos, I'm grateful for the help!

ps. Chapter 11/15

Chapter Eleven

My daughter had green eyes, like mine, and like her grandmother's. She cried a lot: when she was hungry or when she wet herself, when she wanted attention. She slept too. She fell asleep easily in my arms, and I hoped she was comfortable. I was not. I felt awkward and out of place, and often I found myself searching for her mother to return her to before I would realise my mistake.

"Talk to her," Lydia would coax, and I would try, but my words felt hitched in my throat.

"Sing to her," my own mother suggested once. I sang her some old nursery hymn, which had coaxed me into slumber only once, years and years ago. Only, Vittoria screamed louder than she had before.

When Mother could see my incompetence at motherhood, we hired a wet nurse named Lila, who agreed to come to Falkreath with us. She was a young girl, a few years younger than even me. She had mousy brown hair and dark, doe eyes. She was small and youthful. She had skinny arms, but there was something matronly about them; the way they held Vittoria as if she were her own. Vittoria took well with her, and while she lay in Lila's arms, the both of us were at ease.

Still, I felt heavy in my heart when I saw Lila and Vittoria together, seemingly like mother and daughter. Lila knew how my girl liked to be carried; she knew the soft tunes to sing. Vittoria listened carefully to her little tales and swooned to the song of her girly little voice.

Though I knew I was no more a competent mother than I had ever been, it still felt wrong that I should be so distant, so much so that I could run away and Vittoria would not know the difference… Even Elaira had loved me once. In one of her evolutions, she had been a real, true Mother. Yet somehow I could not be. It seemed easy to blame my mother, for the example she had been for me. Distant, indifferent, growing so large there was no room left for me. If anything though, I should have made myself better because of how she was to me.

A tremble in my bone suggested it could have been Lars' fault for leaving me with his child, blaming me for what was both our doing. But really I had never blamed him, or thought of him. He was gone now, and I had accepted that the moment it had happened.

This distance, this passive neglect of Vittoria was my own fault. I was supposed to pull myself to love her, if not for her than for me. I had spent all my pregnancy forgetting because I knew when she was here I would change, and it would be instant: the love I would have for her. But I didn't—I couldn't love her. She may have been half me, half dumb boy, but as the weeks passed, and days would pass between the moments I took her in my arms, I knew that for the rest of her life she would just have to be a different person all together.

"I guess you can't go riding," he said. His eyes twinkled, and a small grin met my lips. I had come to say goodbye; we would leave three days from now. My legs soared with pain from the little walk, but I ignored it, knowing I would have regretted not visiting Blaise.

"No, not for a while." He nodded. His eyes shifted lower, taking a brief look towards my abdomen.

"It's strange to see you without your belly," he noted. I placed my hand where it had been, and was surprised from its deflation. It wasn't flat, and mother told me it would not be flat for a while, but it was not the solid, roundness it had been only weeks ago.

"It's strange not having it…" He nodded one more, looking back up at my face.

"How is she?" he asked.

"I named her Vittoria," I said, remembering her fat little cheeks. "She's well, and she's taken a liking to her wet nurse."

"I'm glad!" Blaise smiled, and I wondered if he felt awkward too. I couldn't remember if he knew I was leaving. The air was sharp, even as the sun lay lazily in the sky, and my skin felt tight from the cold. Blaise looked comfortable, even dressed in thin breeches and only a fall cloak. He looked away as the branches rustled around us, the snow falling like a miniature blizzard.

Blaise and I said no words for a while, and I realised that I would miss the softness of our friendship, how when we had nothing to say, we said nothing. I would long for his steady smile, the way he always seemed to be so warm. Blaise was a presence which was heavy the same as it was light.

He was watching a rabbit hop behind a bush when I spoke again. "Well, I came down here to say goodbye, actually. Our estate in Falkreath is ready, you see." I explained, trying to read his expression when he looked back over. His smile faltered. He fixed it quickly with a lazy grin when he noticed. Suddenly, sans provocation, Blaise stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug. He was warm and strong, and smelled like the wind, the kind that whipped at our faces as we rode on the backs of our horses.

"I'll miss you," he mumbled into my shoulder, and I nodded. My heart swelled only a little and I wished I could stay here with him and we could pretend we were children. I imagined the little boy he once was, with skin so dark and red and dirty. I imagined me, dressed in rags, and fat with youth, missing nothing, and wanting everything. I imagined us together, holding calloused hands. We were friends, and good ones at that, whose futures were large and as entwined as our chubby fingers.

Even though it was just a silly dream of a past that never happened, I knew Blaise was important; to me, to the world, to my horses. He wasn't Runa, and he wasn't Lydia—he was Blaise.

"Come visit us, though… you know, you're my only friend." He nodded now, and I broke our hug. The walk back hurt more.

Lila had gone with Lydia and Lucia. It was only Elaira, Vittoria and I in the carriage. We rode in the new carriage, now tarnished with its own wear. Mother stayed silent, bearing a small smile as she looked out the window. Her eyes were lazy as they watched the view pass by. I felt light and heavy when I looked down at the infant in my arms. Vittoria's small mouth was curved into a nostalgic smile, and her green eyes rose up to me with a curiosity I had never had. I felt her body expand as she took in breath, and it was strange to think it was breath I had given her.

I felt only a little pull at my heart when I gave her over to Lila once we reached Dragonsbridge.

I had only been to the Manor once before, during a long, hot summer, the year we'd turned four. It was a short ride from Falkreath, up a slope where the trees had been chopped down to make a clearing. The manor overlooked a lake for which it earned its namesake. As we made our way, I remembered the soft summer wind as it wisped through my hair while my brother and I leaned over the balcony rail. The gentle waves kissed the shore, with a soft whoosh; the bugs whizzed near the tall, pines, their buzz turning into background noise.

When it rained, which it often did in Falkreath Hold, we gathered in the main hall, and the cook Alexander brought us fresh fruit. Their juices bit freshly against the humidity. Summer rains tapped against the walls of the manor and my heart steadied to its beat as I looked around me.

Mother would discuss money and horses and the necessities of the year with Adelaissa Vedicci. She was an old Imperial, with the look of someone I knew not to mess with. She sat straight, and pulled back her hair, and I had wondered if all Imperials were like that.

Father would dance with Hroar and would teach him the steps I doubted Onmund even knew himself. The bard, whose name I could not remember laughed along with them, never missing a beat.

The man Lydia would sit with was one who did not live in the Manor. He was tall, and from the broadness of his shoulders and the way his forearms curved, I knew he was strong. His eyes had been golden and far apart. I only heard the roar of a lion when I looked upon his face, and Lydia must have too.

At the head of the hall, the stable boy sat at the fireplace, sharing a cool mug of ale with the maid Lliana, who smiled at him warmly, her lashes batting and her giggle flirtatious.

Sometimes, I only stayed for a few bites of food and maybe a song and a dance before I headed past the main hall, and down to the cellar. The darkness of the cellar followed me, matching each of my clumsy steps with an echo. A shrine of the eight divines had been built. I had found it on the third night, but I had not said a word. Surely my mother or my father would not have wanted me to go explore in the darkness down below. Only I could not resist, not even with the blood pumping in my ears and the guilt weighing down on me for being disobedient. When I had seen it first, long and tall and cryptic, I had not known what it was. The display had stretched in front of me, my nose barely reaching the surface. I had had to stand back to see the display in its entirety.

On each shrine my eyes lingered: a stone dragon swallowing a helpless sword, an unseeing sun, an owl watching with unforgiving eyes.

I wondered now, as we trudged through snow and the manor rose before me, if it was still there, untouched by the plans of Elaira and her stewardess. I didn't look, however, because even if guilt couldn't stop me, the echoes could.

"The last time I saw you, you were hardly out of your babehood," she said, with almost a smile. If she were not still the same prideful Imperial, with only a few more wrinkles than I remembered her, I would have expected an embrace or a sloppy kiss on the head. Adelaissa only stood before me, her hands clasped in front of her regal garment.

"I remember you," I told her, smiling hopefully. It was out of place, however, and the words left my throat dry.

"I am pleased," The stewardess responded. She looked over to Vittoria and her wet nurse, and I shifted, not ready for the lady's judgement. "This must be Vittoria,"

"Yes," I said. She smiled, her hands still clasped in front of her, unwilling to reach for the child. "I remember the name. It's Imperial, is it not? I knew a girl once who shares your daughter's name."

"How do you enjoy having a mother?" I asked Lucia. It was a warm day, the beginnings of spring peeking through the cracks of winter, and I had decided to go with Lucia and Lydia into town. The latter had gone off to visit an old friend, suggesting I take Lucia to the Hall of the Dead. Unsurprisingly, Lucia had been enthusiastic.

"I love it, Loralei. Sometimes I used to think you and Miss Runa were like my mommies though,"

"I didn't know that, Lucia. I'm glad you have Lydia though. She is good… in all ways sometimes," I responded. My heart thumped and contracted. I looked away from Lucia's wide eyes, trying to forget my jealousy, or resent or whatever it was I did not mean to feel.

"I'm sorry I stole her from you… but you don't need a mommy like I do. A mother doesn't need a mother, right?" She watched me, waiting for affirmation and pardon, but I was not the kind of person to appease a child.

"Everyone needs a mother," I turned to her, wondering what she saw in my eyes. "Especially me."

In the fading winter, most of my days were spent in the Manor, reading, or helping the house's caretakers. On the warmer days, Lila and I would bring Vittoria out to the wagon, and we would explore the region. I liked how it smelled so south in Skyrim, like pine trees, and sap, and dirt. The air was either too fresh or too humid, but over the weeks I grew to enjoy the bite of the cold, and the embrace of wet warmth.

But the winter rolled away quickly and discreetly, leaving comfortable warmth and familiar rainfall. By the spring, Vittoria sat up all by herself, a pleased little girl that should have made her father proud. She waved goodbye, and kissed hello. She played with a dolly and a shoe, all the while giggling wickedly.

It surprised me how fast my daughter grew, how much she could do, how she learned. She was strong and plump, healthy and smiley. Her hair grew thick and curly, a healthy light brown that curled at the ends. Each day I looked at her, and she became more of a person than a symbol or a sign or a mistake. Her laughter filled me with warmth the same way as nice honeyed mead. I wondered more than once if these were the beginnings of love.

Maybe, but she did not feel like mine, not the way I thought she might. Runa was mine, Lydia, my father… but not her. In the sense that she belonged to no one else, Vittoria belonged to me, so I tried as hard as I could to see myself in her. I spent time with her, as much as I could. I read her stories, and she fell peacefully asleep against my chest. She was warm against me, heavy in a pleasant way. Her breaths were long and thick as she slept, quiet and soft when she woke.

She would cry sometimes too and stretch her arms out for my embrace. When I took her, she would wrap her tiny body against my breath and her tears and her wails and the voice of her mother would soothe her breaths until they were long and steady once more.

There is darkness everywhere. It is found in the obvious places, like the bottom of a well, the blue of the night sky. It is also found in the places people tend to overlook, the places where most are too oblivious or too naïve to see. I saw it though; I saw it in a man's steady, reassured breath, in the curve of a woman's lip, the kind that made good men thieves and old men regretful.

I saw it even more when I looked into the foreboding face of the man standing in front of me, one spring night. He glowed unnaturally, and his eyes were orange and green and red, hungry, thirsty.

I had read of vampires, dreamed of them; of their evil sensuality, their leering glare. Something predatory and desperate clung onto and spilled off of the vampire in front of me, something grotesque rather than attractive, a nightmare rather than a dream.

He looked at me now, so wrong and so horrible, that only the shock kept me planted in my spot. I was ready for him to leap, to grab me and drain me of my essence. But he didn't, and moments passed before I looked away, up into the sky, where the sun was drained of light. Not nighttime.

"Not nighttime," the Vampire repeated. His skin stretched across his bones, shrivelling, and then thickening. He leaned back to sky, and wings sprouted from his back. His face shrivelled grotesquely and he rose. "Vampire night," he laughed, an evil cackle as he rose to the sky, which was growing redder, dark, darker still. He rose and rose and rose, and I woke with a shriek.

My sheets were wet from perspiration, and my hair clung to my back. I looked out to my window, where the sky was black, but the moons shone brightly, dancing with the stars while the sun shied away.

20th of Rain's Hand, 4E 213

Loralei,

How are you? I don't believe we have ever gone so long without speaking to each other. If I am honest, I had forgotten the date until Meeraj reminded me this morning. Rain's Hand always reminded me of you (for obvious reasons). Rain and springtime and grey remind me of you.

I know I'm supposed to apologize, that I'm supposed to plead mercy, and beg you to forgive me. But I won't. And don't think it is because I am too proud, stubborn, and ridiculous, because though they may be true, the reason I won't apologize is because I am not sorry. I will not lie to you, not like that anyway. You can choose to ignore this letter and any that may come, and I don't expect to hear back from you, but I am writing anyway.

I am aware that friendships aren't built on ignoring issues or whatever it is I am doing by refusing to apologize, but we are more than friends. We are soul mates in just our own little way. I don't care if you don't agree, but I am sure of it. You might have stopped loving me a very long time ago, and I may have forgotten who I am but, our souls are unchanging in the essence. The chains we have forged with the memories we have made together are unbreakable, and though we have been struggling to break free from each other, we cannot. It might be years before I see you again, if we ever meet again at all. Sometimes I feel as though it has been years already since we've seen each other for true.

I've tried searching for it—our "last goodbye". I thought maybe it was back in Whiterun, when you would brush my hair. But that cannot be. I was lost then, and you did not try and find me. Perhaps it was the night you told me you were leaving, back in that grey city, when we were both just motherless children, wandering around, never truly lost, but never truly home. But maybe we never knew one another at all. You hardly talked, and I lied more than I breathed.

Maybe it was just our souls wanted us to collide on this Earth, to be matched for companionship forever, but instead, we failed them. Perhaps I was—am too stubborn to apologize and you don't care about a thing in this world, not even out of spiritedness, but out of nonchalance. But how would I know? All I know is that we are soulmates, though I do not even know what that means.

Anyway, I am tired now, and my hand is cramping. I will write to you again, because I remember more than you think. I won't forget you, is what I mean to say.

And I hope know you will not forget me.

Happy birthday, and give my blessings to your daughter.

Yours,
Runa

"Mother!" I shouted, gathering my skirts to run to her. She was dishevelled, her hair mussed, and her clothes cut up. There were long scrapes where her dress was torn, and blood was splattered messily across her skin and garment. In the summer sun, she looked pale, chalky, as if it did not touch her.

"Damn me," she cursed, sucking in her breath, as I inspected one of the more serious gashes on her left arm. "All I had on me was my god forsaken dagger," She pursed her lips, as I helped her walk up to the manor. Servants came rushing out, as we walked up the dirt pathway.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" I asked, pushing through the doors.

"Nothing worse than that cut you were playing with," she said, trying to fix her sour tones with an air of dispassion.

"Well, tell us, what happened?" someone said curiously. Then, strangely, mother started laughing. No one laughed with her, of course, left out of the apparent joke.

"Elaira, what went on? And where was Lydia? Is she not supposed to protect you?" Adelaissa demanded.

"Oh calm down, we all know I can handle myself! Lydia's probably with that blond haired man again." Gently, my mother lay back in her chair, and I began the remedy. "It was another vampire attack. I was out doing errands, and when I walked out from the goods store, basket in my hands, there they were, ransacking the place! Honestly, it was disastrous—I don't know how none of you even heard the screaming. I dropped the basket, paper rolls and apples rolling around my feet, and reach for the dagger—the good one with the glass pommel. I threw it at one of the vampires' heads, then ran to the forge, where I grabbed the first sword I found.

"I helped the guards fight them off. Some are fine now, but most of them needed healing from all that pagan magic the vampires were using and at least three are still rotting in a pile; ash and corpse! Thankfully, the only citizen injured was some crabby lady that needed a good slap in the face anyway. She'll probably be infected, but I've made sure she's being treated and cured before her Change can be completed. Anyway, after the fight, some other citizens who were fighting came up to me, and told me the Dawnguard was recruiting… the Dawnguard! It's been centuries since that whole group has done anything.

"The men told me they were heading east for Fort Dawnguard in a fortnight, and I, as well as any other I could find, should join him." She finished. I removed my hands from her, and took a seat on the arm of the chair on which a new kitchen scullion sat.

"So you're joining a cult," Adelaissa said with indignation. "Do you think it is wise?"

"It's not a cult! They are hunting a cult! Are you not so anxious to solve the mysteries of the increasing vampire attacks, and the rumours? There must be something larger going on; something we won't know about unless we make it our business to find out!"

My heart thumped, and I bit the inside of my lip. Around me began the rustling of conversation—the servants urging to know more, and Adelaissa expressing her disapproval. A whirl of voices spun around the room, dancing off each other, yelling over each other, until, soft in the distance, a small cry was heard. I stood up abruptly and when the silence cut like a knife, I nodded and excused myself, making my way to the nursery.

Elaira found me later on the balcony, sipping silently on wine while Lila rocked Vittoria on the bench across from me. The sun was setting on the horizon, and I could see smoke in the distance. I imagined I could smell the burning of corpses even from where I sat.

With a look from mother, Lila excused herself, and placed Vittoria gently in the cradle next to me. Neither mother nor I spared the child a second glance. Once Lila had returned inside, mother opened her mouth to speak. I interrupted, "Are all vampires bad?"

She looked startled by the question, and her mouth gaped slightly before she closed it again, pensive now. I looked down below, where the stable boy stole a horse's apple, and a servants' daughter stole him glances while her sister gossiped with their friend from town.

"I don't know," Mother confessed, pouring herself some wine. "But how can anyone tell?"

"I've read books… all sorts of books about vampires. Some were informative, and told me of their powers, the conditions of their illness. I read of legends where vampires do not die, but get stuck in oblivion, where they sleep until the doors are open once again. There are tales too—of love and sensuality, where vampires love and take and destroy. There are others where it is the humans, mother—us who cannot understand."

"Do you think it is like that? That it is us who is evil at essence?" Mother asked.

"I do not know, Mother. But I think possibly we are the same—vampires feed off of humans, only we do too. Someone said to me that we are all links part of one great chain. When we are born we are alone, one link without a partner, until we grow and grow and other links catch onto ours and we are all trapped together, forced to never be truly free all so we do not have to be alone," I sighed, looking now at the lake, her soft, teasing kisses as she stroked the shore. "Except, that cannot be true," I realised, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Mother asked, looking at me intently.

"I have no links. I could step into that lake, and let the tides take me away, and no chain could keep me anywhere," I said.

"Perhaps," she began. She closed her eyes, only a moment too long to just be a blink. "But I used to think the same thing of myself." I met her gaze, and I felt a throng of pinches run along my body. My nerves felt tight, but loose and as a summer wind blew, I felt as though there was nothing at all. No end, no beginning, and no present. I thought perhaps all life was, was a series of ifs and moments that would never matter, moments like this, which would change nothing.

A fortnight passed, and I watched from my window as mother rode past the furrow of pines, clad in armor and strength. I watched her go, and wondered once more if my black knight would ever look back.

"He's a good man," Lydia promised, holding my hands. She smiled at me hopefully, as if she had been waiting for my reaction all along. I stretched a smile across my face and fell into her embrace.

"I'm so happy for you," I reassured her. I felt Vittoria tug at my skirts before I let go. She smiled at me, pulling herself up from her grip on my garb. "Have you told Elaira?"

"I have written your thane mother, and she rides at dawn. She has bought us a cottage up the road where we might live. Lucia is so excited—she absolutely adores Erik…" Afraid she would notice as my smile stretched thin, I turned and picked up Vittoria, kissing her cheek as she sat on my hip.

The wedding took place only days before Mother's forty-third birthday. It rained, and the manor filled with music, mead, and wet clothes as the night wasted away in celebration. Mother went back to the Dawnguard the day after her name day.

Rainy days came and went, and alone with my house of servants and a curly haired daughter, I wasted away, waiting for who-knows-what.

Once when the leaves were changing colour, I wandered down to the edge of the shore. I stood there, wind blowing a little too sharply for the autumn, and when the water met my toes, a hard chill was sent up through my body, the small hairs on my arms and shoulders standing up in defensive shock. I wanted so badly to step in, and then keep walking until I was nothing more than debris clinging onto the bottom of the lake floor, too lost in wonder to try and swim up.

When the snow began to fall, and the pines trees around the manor were covered in white, I thought about walking, just walking and never stopping. I took one step, three, ten, and I made it to town, but I was cold, and wet, and stopped when Valga Vinicia took me into her inn and wrapped me in an old blanket. I kept my manners but said nothing else as she fed me and gave me a place to stay the night. By the fire, she told me jokes, and shared gossip, and though I didn't care for it, it felt nice to be wrapped up in someone's care, and hear them talk up your ear because they just want to.

When finally the Old and New Life rolled around, and I received three letters.

The first was from Runa.

25th of Evening Star, 4E 213

Loralei,

We have been in High Rock for a fortnight, and have been gradually heading east.

Did you know in Aldmeris, High Rock is called Dawn of Beauty? It is quite beautiful, so the name suits it well. At first it reminded me of home, of Skyrim and its plainness, but now, as weeks have passed I can see its unique beauty; the insecure tremble in the wind, and crookedness and roundness of all its structures. It reminds me of one giant, interloping grove of magic and pixies, of a whimsical forest where old witches prosper and grow old into hagravens, stealing the beautiful and feeding off young.

It is strange but beautiful.

Anyhow, we took a detour to Wayward, which I'm sure you know is in the Iliac Bay of High Rock. They celebrate Old and New early, and welcome visitors with open arms. They give gifts and throw massive parties, three times larger than Solitude's, and people from all over come to join the parading. I have quite high hopes, and in honour of their tradition, I've sent you and your daughter small gifts.

Tell her of me will you? I want to be Auntie Runa, even if it is just in stories.

Anyhow, we should be in Solitude to pass through to Morrowind during the real Old and New. I hoped perhaps we may meet, though I will not look for you—I am not so naïve.

Good tidings,
Runa

The second was from my own mother.

28th of Evening Star, 4E 213

Daughter,

I am completely exhausted, and utterly lost of hope. Obviously, the Dawnguard must think me some sort of pawn or mercenary! At first they gave me quite interesting, dangerous jobs, but now I've spent the last two months searching for an old Moth Priest who no one seems to even know about. All I even know as of this moment, as I make camp somewhere just north of Markarth, is that he is still in Skyrim, though who knows a few weeks from now.

My first assignment from the leader of the Dawnguard, was to investigate Dimhollow Crypt; a large cave on top of a mountain just a while southwest of Dawnstar. When I entered, my heart throbbed in my ears, like it always does and I swear it stopped beating when I heard the voices. They spoke of nothing, in particular, only conversing with each other. It made me think of you for a moment—of what you had said to me about vampires and humans being the same. But I admit, I never much hesitated to kill a human either, not when they are the enemy at least.

The Death Hound which accompanied them was enormous, and grotesque, massively deformed. I was afraid when I first saw it, but I soon learned it was all for show. It seems ugly dies just as easily. Unfortunately, when the vampires and their bitch were dead, I noticed another body, lying bloody and unmoved. It was Vigilant Tolan, I know now. At first I could not place a name to the face which I recognized. I had seen him only once, when I had first arrived at Fort Dawnguard, while he'd been arguing with Isran about the vampire attacks. Poor man. I brought him to Dawnstar to be buried as Stendarr's followers. I can appreciate his taking of action, however foolish.

Anyway, once I was done looking at poor Tolan, I noticed a locked gate, so I made my way to the opposite wall, where there was an entrance to another room. I took some good loot, and pulled the chain. I know you wouldn't be learned on the subject, but those mechanics make quite the amount of noise. (So much for vampires and their super abilities and whatnot) Honestly, right there in the next room passed the gate was another vampire with his skeleton familiars. I doubt you will ever need the advice, but always go for the conjurors, for the beings will die with him. I killed seven with one arrow.

I could have sneaked past them, but it would only be messier in the end. Better die by being shot by and arrow that came out of nowhere than die from a disease you think gives you power (is what I would always say, if the opportunity came more often).

Anyway, the rest of the cave moved along quite the same: vampire slaughter, and looting, not to mention getting lost more than I would like to admit. I ran into some draugr as well, the bastards. I was scared of them when I was young, but now they drop like flies. I worry about the Death Lords and Dragon Priests now, more than anything. Disarming makes me nervous—I've never been quite great with brawling with dead things.

Note: vampires are getting stronger and stronger at this point, and their magic is red and awful. It feels as though the very veins in the body are thinning, stretching, disappearing. I wouldn't wish a pain like that on my greatest enemy.

I also found some dead frostbite spiders, with a couple vampires and their death dogs to warm their corpses. The vampires may grow harder to defeat, but their bitches are still nothing. Did I tell you? The Dawnguard have huskies, strong, and powerful like wolves, stealthy and smart. They have trolls too—and other things, like crossbows. At first it been hard to grow accustomed to, but they are powerful, and as I came to realise, very useful against a hoard of vampires.

Soon enough, I made it to Dimhallow Cavern, where I could not see the ceiling, and gargoyles lined the walls. Never trust a gargoyle… since when did Skyrim have gargoyles anyway? Pardon me, dear, back to topic—inside this dark, and old, strange cavern, I overheard a vampire interrogating his captive. I peered over to see the vampire called Lokil, a disgusting once-Nord, with a long, gaunt face. His eyes were empty, white where there should have been colour, and his skin was grey-green; wrong. His captive was another Vigilant of Stendarr. Adalvald, I had remembered. They had been searching for him. I should have acted—killed the vampire without thought, but I didn't. Adalvald died a strong Nord, following his God in death, revealing nothing to the vampire's thrall. I remember his last words…peace at last.

It wasn't long after he died that the vampire saw me. It was a nice battle between us before he died, and I made my way to the circular stone structure, which dominated the massive room. In the center stood a tall podium, a button just screaming for my hand's pressure. I gave in, and it punctured me. I whelped, and stilled, afraid I had been heard. I prayed to all the gods no one did. I could not fight yet, and my hand was still impaled in a spike.

It descended soon though and I had to bite my lip as it pulled back out of my hand. I closed my eyes for only a moment, and when they opened, purple light rose up all around me, coming from troughs in the floor. It took not very long before I figured out the puzzle. I pushed one of the surrounding stone braziers into the light, the next ones all being revealed one after another. Once the light was all connected, the ground began to shake, and the moaning of stone moving against stone was screaming in my ears, squeezing my rapidly-beating heart.

The center of the circle then descended, and I had no time to think about my still-stinging hand as I reached for my weapons, terrified of what was happening. I thought perhaps it was an alarm of some sort, or a calling, but nothing happened and the walls began to still. I approached and a monolith beneath the stone pedestal was revealed. Carefully, I descended, and was horrified; confused as I saw a beautiful, young and strange-looking girl holding an Elder Scroll.

She opened her eyes—magnificent, golden. Her pallor, the darkness of her hair, the glow she emitted in the darkness of the crypt. Vampire.

"Unh... where is... who sent you here?" she asked, blinking absurdly. I was hesitant to say his name, but sometimes I am reckless.

"A man named Isran,"

"I… don't know who that is. Is he… like me?"

"Vampire?"

"Vampire, yes." she confirmed. Obviously, I was not going to tell her I worked for a man who killed her kind. I was sure she would find out soon enough.

"Why were you locked away like this?"

I remembered one of the stories I used to read to you, the one about an evil witch who'd stolen a babe and locked her away in a tower. I think of you in the oddest moments, I realise. Perhaps not enough… but never mind that.

"That's... complicated. And I'm not totally sure if I can trust you. But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family's home."

I didn't like this answer… being blackmailed—propositioned. I could have taken her, and tortured her into telling me anyway, yet this girl, weak from who-knows how many years of sleep, wanted to use me!

But I suppose I am soft, and curious, and deep down, I am scared of vampires.

"Where is that?" I asked her.

"My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do. By the way... my name is Serana. Good to meet you."

At least she was polite.

The escape was a mess. As Serana and I crossed the bridge to where she believed would lead the way out, two gargoyles erupted, shaking off the dust of centuries, and attacking. How could I fight stone and immortality with steel and ebony?

Apparently Serana could. She is dangerous as she is beautiful, and I was glad I had not tried to fight her. If this was her in action after being trapped in a coffin, left to rot, I did not want to see her at her best! (Well, maybe I would, but only if she were on my side).

We fought our way through, and made camp outside Dawnstar. In the morning, Serana pulled up her hood, shielding her skin from the sun. I never knew they really did that—vampires, that is—especially since cities are still being attacked countless times during the daylight hours.

The journey took over six hours, before we reached a small little dock, a row boat floating near the shore.

"So this is it, your home then?"

She rolled her eyes and told me to get in the boat. If only she knew who I was, the young foolish wench. Though, I still suspect she is far senior my forty three years.

Soon enough a large silhouette appeared over the horizon and Serana pointed. We reached the island and bone hawks circled overhead. The gargoyles resting on the rail on a bridge to the large castle which stretched into the sky turned to look, and for a moment I wondered if they would join the hawks in flight. It would have been dramatic, momentous, only they did not and their following gaze was only creepy.

Soon enough, after even further creepiness of a watchman and a vampire called Vingalmo, I stood in a great hall, facing the great, Lord Harkon as his guests feasted on blood and bodies. I tried not to gag. I watched as he spoke to Serana, and it was revealed to me of their relationship: father and daughter. Naturally.

When Serana turned to me, and introduced me as her savior, the vampire turned to me as well.

"For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name?"

I refused, and asked him to tell me his name first. As if he really cared for my name. It seems people care less and less about who I am.

"I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are."

What happens next is the catch. He offered to me vampirism. To be a true, pure, vampire lord, unlike all the diseased creatures that walk in the night.

If I am to be true my daughter, I thought about it. But then, once again I thought of you, and how already I am already a vampire, in the essence of a human. Already I am a human of dragon soul, whose veins pour with fire drunk from the sun. I could not be the creature who is harmed by the substance of which I was born. I could not be one who waits for another to save my own daughter.

I said no and I was banished. What was left to do was head back to Fort Dawnguard.

There was a vampire attack when I arrived. All I could think was, come on! I'm way too old for this! Then I laughed and helped the Dawnguard kill them all. It's sick isn't it, how you have never killed in your life, never drawn blood. You heal and protect and make things better, but I kill and say I'll weep only in Sovngarde, though I am well aware Sovngarde does not await me.

I don't even remember the first time I killed, what their name was, how heavy their body was as they went limp around me. I remember only some last words, never last names, and then they sing of how I conquered all. It's sick.

Anyhow, after that I was sent to recruit some of Isran's old friends. After Emperor's Day, I had found them all, and had returned with the last one. Isran welcomed them, then dragged me to some room, where there and behold was: Serana. There it was, the blood-pumping thrill of adventure, coursing through my veins, red-hot like the colour of my hair. We asked her what was happening, and she explained it to us.

She explained that her father wants the Elder Scroll she was buried with, that he wants to have control over the sun; he wants vampires to rule the world! Who knew this kind of malice truly still existed. I had always believed men like Lord Harkon were just made-up. But hell, who am I to speak such clichés? I slayed an evil, time-jumping dragon and can breathe fire.

This is when the Moth Priest thing happened. They are the only ones who can read the Elder Scrolls, and most are all the way in the Imperial City. 'Luckily', there is one passing through Skyrim still. Only, it's been months and Serana (who had decided to tag along) and I cannot find him. We're heading to Solitude, and might stop for a while at Dragon's Bridge. We plan on spending New and Old life there as well. Apparently, a new up-and-coming bard group will be passing through. If I see Runa I'll let you know.

I've sent some trinkets and niceties for everyone, and if there's something you would like in Solitude, tell me before I depart.

I wish all the best, and give my regards to Lydia and her family, as well as those in our service.

Yours Truly,
Elaira, part-time vampire huntress, full-time dovahkiin
(Sounds quite nice, doesn't it?)

Finally, and most surprisingly, arrived a letter from Dagny, only three days late.

1st of Morning Star, 4E 214

Loralei,

How have you been? It's been a very long time since I have written a letter in my own hand. I believe the last time was when I wrote to you a year ago… or was it two? It seems I have forgotten time.

I am writing to you because I miss you, and I miss friendship. I hope this time you will write back and we may become somewhat of pen pals.

I hope not to alarm you. Eight bless you and your family.

Signed,

Dagny
wife of Emperor Tobias I
Empress of the Imperial Empire

My girl took her first steps one week exactly before her first birthday. She fell into my arms and I tickled her until she was breathless with laughter.

Mother came home for her birthday, and with her came a husky, alert and beautiful. She called him Bran, and steadied Vittoria as she sat atop his back. The two girls giggled, the freckles across their noses bright, and their curls bouncing around them.

Often during that Winter, I found myself making my way to Falkreath, where I would spend time helping others little by little with their chores. Sometimes I would help Mathies and his wife gather wheat, listening as they told stories of their poor, dead, daughter, who had been shredded to pieces. They would bring me in at dusk when it rained and we would eat by a hearth. Once the rain cleared they would send me on my way. Indara would kiss my cheek and Mathies would pat my shoulder, bidding me good luck.

Other times I found myself at Grave Concoctions, a name which made me laugh each time I saw it. Zaria would laugh with me too, and teach me all which I had never bothered to learn. Once, when it was late, and she had closed up, I had stayed behind and she had made us some sweet tea so we could rest and let the rain fall. "I belong here," she had confessed to me, spilling the story of why she had come here, how a town known for its death and rain made her feel welcome and needed. I wondered how someone could come from so far away, to a place so cold and unkind, boring and proud, and find her home.

That night I spilled my story too, but not all of it, just the important parts. I told her of the lady with big ears, the blue flowers, and the lonely skeever. I told her about the grey of Riften, the throaty laugh, and the twirling laughter of my first friend. I remembered aloud the funny accents and the pretty daggers, and the tea and the door. I told her about all the colours of Whiterun, and how I fell in love too many times in the city where love affairs and clashing clans were spilling over the tall walls. She cried with me when I told her of all the death of Solitude, and all the goodbyes. She smiled when I said all the Names, the Names which at every moment I repeated in my heart, a prayer so silent not even I could hear.

Zaria and I never spoke about the night, not directly at least. I was grateful that she did not look at me any differently than before, that no pity washed over the back of her dark irises. I was glad that she joked with me all the same, light as if those moments had only been a release of what we had been holding in for far too long.

On slow nights, when Zaria and Mathies and his wife, and all the rest of the town needed a break, all headed down to Dead Man's Drink. I would send for my daughter, and she would be passed around the room throughout the night, growing more and more loved. Her name might be forgotten, the colour of her eyes changing with each memory, but I knew that to these people in Falkreath, her name would ring in the back of their minds forever.

I thought of Evesa one of the nights in early Rain's Hand, and the years that had passed since the last I saw her. I found her an old book, and I wrote her a short little letter. I tied it in a pretty bow and sent it off, hoping maybe it would find her.

The bard, Delacourt had a nice voice. It was young and rugged. Someday many years from now, it would be deep and throaty. It was later, only weeks after my birthday when he played the Tale of the Tongues. All those in the inn sang along, our voices loud and off key, nearly drowning out the bard's nice voice. Our tankards were raised high, as homage to my mother was made. Ale spilled over, splashing onto the wood of the floor. At the last note, the inn erupted into drunken cheering, and Delacourt took his bow. Bran jumped off of some Nord's lap and howled to join our cheers. The crowd burst into laughter, and returned to their previous conversations.

I reached to silence the dog, grabbing him gently by the collar, when the door burst open. The crowd silenced, looking towards the newcomer.

I looked too. The door clang shut behind a tall man, draped in a heavy cloak. One with no hood, however and his wet curls sagged over his face. The newcomer's eyes passed over the crowd before they landed on me, and I felt a strange pang as I looked back. He had blue eyes, a little too far apart, and even in the distance, I could see the sprinkle of light brown freckles across his nose.

"Loralei," he said, exasperated. He smiled, a crescent of a dimple forming on his face. He moved towards me, and I froze. He seemed to miss the confusion and disbelief building in my expression as he continued towards me. I turned away from him quickly, to Bran, who had padded up to my side. He growled at Lars, and I dropped my hand to the top of his head, hoping to calm him—to calm myself.

I had not seen the boy in over two years, and the encounter bewildered me. It felt wrong to see him in such a place, where it rained and smelled of pine and sap. I remembered the last time I'd seen him; the contempt on his face—how he'd blamed me for all that had gone wrong. He had been so childish, selfish, but I had forgiven him. I had forgiven him, even though he was supposed to marry me, even though we were supposed to be simple and boring. I had forgiven him, even though he had not thought there was a sin to forgive.

I felt my heart sour, the blood in my veins turn to vinegar. I rose, just as Lars was reaching out to me, and called for Bran to follow. I pushed past him, and shoved my way through the inn door. Sheets of water and salt fell from the sky, but I treaded through the mud, out onto the road, thinking not of the rain. Unfortunately, Lars followed me, and as the door swung behind him, he ran out, grabbing me by the sleeve. "Loralei, wait—"I turned around.

Bran snapped at Lars, but I placed my hand on his head again. Damp hair shielded my eyes, and in the night light, or lack thereof, it looked not rose gold, but black. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, surprisingly calm.

"I came looking for you," he said, trying to smile. I tried not to scorn. I had not realised I had such callous contempt for the boy until now. I felt it in my belly, churning tighter and tighter into a knot. I felt tight all throughout, as though my lungs and my heart were contracting, as if my whole body was falling in on itself over and over until it was a dense piece of iron anger. Tears rose to my eyes, from the pressure more from the emotion, and I could tell on his face he was getting scared. He was such a coward.

My hands were balled into fists, my chipped nails digging into the too-soft-too-weak skin.

"Please don't," I managed. "I wish you hadn't come. It's so much harder not to hate you now," I said. I could not tell I was crying or not, and I was thankful for the rain. "Can you just go, Lars Battle-Born?" Lars' lips pursed and he frowned.

"But you don't understand!" His hands flew up, and he took a step back, exhaling loudly as rain poured off his nose.

"I don't care to." It seemed with that one sentence, all the tension in my body disappeared, and like that, with the blink of an eye, like a raindrop splattering on the ground, erupting, and dispersing into nothing, I was empty again. I tried not to laugh. There had to be something wrong, so incredibly wrong that I wanted to laugh.

"I just wanted to see you before—."

"That is sick, and you might think it is romantic or touching, but it isn't. It's ridiculous, and irritating. You are disrupting my night, and I don't care to see you ever again. I haven't since I left Whiterun. Perhaps you think that I have spent the last years missing you, yearning for you, but I haven't. I am not a heartbroken, lonely, little girl, and I don't cry because of unrequited or—or broken love. I'm sure you believe that all this time, I have leaned over my balcony rail, dreaming of you to come save me, dreaming of you riding up to save me, mounted on a great stallion, offering me a winter rose." I paused, taking a breath, embarrassed from the outburst. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. "So please, Lars Battle-Born, go back to your family, or wherever it is you are headed for. There isn't a thing in the world that I would rather, than to know you are on the path which you, and your family have chosen." He drew a long breath, and let it out before he responded.

"I am a Battle-Born, just like you say it. War is in my blood, battle in my veins, and courage in my heart. That is what my father told me. I only wanted to tell you that I'm leaving, for war. I didn't want to, not really, but my father convinced me. My ma didn't want me to go either. She said my father wasn't even born a Battle-Born, she told me he didn't know the first thing of courage. 'Courage is knowing when to sacrifice, not when to go into bloody battle for the sake of pride' she told me. But then I remembered my uncle Jon, and he didn't like war either, no matter what clan he belonged to. But he fought because sometimes war brings peace, and the Empire fights to defend a peace which has already been fought for. So I left, and ma cried and pa patted me on the shoulder, and grandpa told me he was proud.

"I went straight to Solitude. Do you remember when we went there together, with Nelkir? I do… I thought—I hoped I would see you there, to run into you on the streets, or at the palace, or the temple. When I didn't, I looked for you. I went to Proudspire, the manor you had told me you were born in. I waited at the door, but nobody was there. I went to the temple, but it was also empty. I prayed for a while, to Kynareth especially. Do you still have the amulet? The one I gave you? Right, sorry, of course you don't.

"Anyway, I was alone before someone came in and I asked for you. The bloke told me you had moved here, to Falkreath with your daughter… our daughter…" He pushed the wet hair from his eyes, and even in the darkness of the town, his blue eyes shone. I was glad Vittoria did not have his eyes. She had my eyes, the same green I used to loathe, which I would have loathed forever had they not passed onto her. She had my freckles too, the ones that dotted all our face, down our neck, across our shoulders. She had my laugh, though it was far more frequent, and it was a laugh Lars had never heard—had never wanted to hear. Even the curls on her head belonged to my own mother, and I refused to think otherwise. Vittoria was none of Lars; she was all me, only mine.

Still, my hand reached up, to touch the metal hung around my neck. He was silent as I pulled it out, over my head. My heart beat hard, and goosebumps ran along my arms as I stepped towards him, mud sticking to my boots. The amulet was dry, and warm, the result of being concealed under my dress. I closed in the distance between us, and I didn't stop to wonder what it was that I was doing. He breathed loudly, but unlike Runa. He was not trying to drag in as much breath as possible, afraid someone might take it first. His breathing was steady, strong, as if he knew he deserved the oxygen which filled his lungs.

Lars bent his head; his wet curls tumbling as I placed the amulet around him. I dropped my hands to my sides and met his gaze. He didn't smile, and neither did I, but I slid my hand into his, and I pulled him towards the inn.

I kissed him in the morning, and I watched once more as another rode away, mounted on a great and terrible stallion.

Thank you for reading, and being patient! Reviews are better than candy xx

Published on 13/01/2015