Summary: With vampires in possession of an Elder Scroll, their logical next move would be to locate someone who can read them... and, Delphine being nothing if not logical, the Blades are moving in to find him first. Meanwhile Serana is settling in at Jorrvaskr and getting used to being out in the world again, and Eola has a few questions.
"I swear, Brynjolf, I must have spoken to every villager in this sodding town," Sapphire snapped. "No one has seen anything, no one even knows what a Moth Priest looks like, I've been snubbed by the Oculatus, barked at by the dog, accused by Faida of eyeing up her Gaius, had that Skjarn fuckwit in the inn try to impress me with his vocal talents, and no one, no one, has seen a Moth Priest!" She had her hands on her hips, staring down Brynjolf in the shadow of the Dragon Bridge itself, the sun setting behind her, and all in all it was fair to say Sapphire was not impressed.
"Ah, don't be like that, lass," Brynjolf said, smiling. "That lead I had was solid, I'm telling you. Sorex wouldn't lie to me. The lad knows his rumours. A Moth Priest came through Haafingar days ago, on the way to Winterhold. We need to track him down and persuade him to come to the Reach for his own safety. Someone here saw something, I'm telling you."
"Well, who? I've asked literally everyone, Bryn," Sapphire sighed.
"Everyone?" Brynjolf asked. "What about the guard?"
"The guard." Sapphire was staring at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. "Are you serious. Me. Talk to the guard. Do you honestly think I want them seeing and remembering my face? You think if something goes wrong on a heist at some point and a Haafingar guard sees me, that I want them thinking 'I know her, she was asking after that Moth Priest!' Seriously, Bryn, think about it!"
"All right then. What about him?" Brynjolf pointed out the young boy playing with his dog, and he was the sole villager Sapphire hadn't approached.
"But he's just a kid," Sapphire began, only to feel her heart sink as she saw Brynjolf smile.
"Aye. But kids have eyes and they see more than most adults ever give them credit for. Here, let me ask. I know what you're like with kids." This was true enough. There were people who doted on kids, people with natural parenting skills, people who were indifferent and the avowed childfree... and then there was Sapphire. Sapphire, with the maternal instincts of a rock. Sapphire, who could be guaranteed to run screaming in the other direction at the mere sign of children. Of course she'd not talked to the kid.
But Brynjolf could talk to anyone he felt like and charm them into liking him, and it wasn't long before he was coming back with a smile on his face.
"Got him. Came through here earlier this morning, crossed the bridge, heading for Winterhold via Morthal. If we hurry, we can catch him."
"If," Sapphire muttered. But she had to agree a cart wasn't much faster than travelling on foot, especially not in Skyrim's rough terrain. So she followed Brynjolf over the Dragon Bridge, preparing for a long journey.
What they got was an upended cart, bodies everywhere, including Imperial guards and one crumbling vampire, a trail of blood leading south-east towards the hills, a discarded book on Elder Scrolls... and no Moth Priest.
"Well, shit," was all Brynjolf said, running hand through his hair. "Looks like they got to him first."
Sapphire swore under her breath, but she'd not got to where she was today by being willing to give up. The head of Thieves Guild operations in Solitude wasn't going to just let her prey get away from her. So Sapphire started going through the vampire's pockets and sure enough, there was a conveniently-placed note in there advising her to bring the Moth Priest to Forebear's Holdout for interrogation.
"See, Del would have our hides if we were stupid enough to go on dangerous jobs with the orders just sitting in our pockets," Brynjolf smirked. "Half the time she sends messengers anyway with verbal orders, or she codes them. Whereas this isn't – it's clearly referring to Forebear's Holdout which is a cave just over that ridge."
"Which is where that blood trail seems to lead, and looking at these corpses, this attack only happened a few hours ago," Sapphire realised. "He might still be in one piece! Or, you know, still able to read an Elder Scroll anyway."
"You're all heart, Sapphire," Brynjolf sighed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's go rescue a Moth Priest."
They finally found him trapped in some sort of force field, deep inside the cavern in the ruins of a small fort. Just who would build a fort inside a cave was beyond Sapphire, but they had, and the vampires guarding this Moth Priest were using it. Or at least they were until two Nightingales slipped into the cave.
Sapphire was a former Dark Brotherhood assassin turned thief who'd been killing since she was fourteen. Brynjolf was a career thief turned spymaster who was also no stranger to violence. Between them, sneaking in and tearing down opposition before anyone realised they were there was child's play. Sapphire's arrows took down the Death Hounds on watch. Then quietly to the main fort and Brynjolf's Nightingale powers set vampire fighting vampire long enough for them to slip past and reach the top of the tower to launch a stealth attack on the vampires there.
Of course, once that had happened, all hell promptly broke loose, but it wasn't like either thief was ill-equipped. Dagger in one hand, sword in the other (Chillrend and the Nightingale Blade respectively), Brynjolf and Sapphire entered the fray, laying waste to all before them, and it was Sapphire's Nightingale power that ripped the life from the lead vampire.
And then it was quiet. No sound but the buzzing of the force field.
"How do you think we get it down?" Sapphire whispered, hoping Brynjolf had some ideas because her knowledge of the arcane was close to nil, unless you wanted some magical artefact fenced, and even then she'd probably have to send the description to Eola for a second opinion.
"Dunno," Brynjolf shrugged as he turned out the lead vampire's pockets and uncovered a strange glowing stone of the same colour as the force field. "But I think this has something to do with it – is there any sort of slot it could go in?"
Turned out there was one on the balcony overlooking the whole arcane trap arrangement and as the stone slotted into the slot, the force field came down, revealing one man in his later years, beard down to his chest and hair gone on top, grey robes and a sword looking a little like Delphine's katana... which he promptly drew and turned on Brynjolf with.
"My master is gone... you have killed him!" the priest intoned, and Brynjolf only just held him off.
"Your master – no, he was keeping you prisoner!" Brynjolf shouted, Chillrend flashing in the shadows as he kept his opponent at bay with effort. The old man was stronger than he looked, clearly. "We're trying to rescue you!"
Sapphire reached for her bow, an ebony one she'd 'borrowed' from the High Queen's armoury. Not like Elisif ever did much archery, was it now?
"Hold on, Bryn!" Sapphire cried, taking aim. She supposed she'd better go for somewhere non-lethal, seeing as Delphine apparently wanted this guy alive. One arrow in the thigh later and the man was sprawled out on the floor, begging for mercy as sanity came flooding back.
"Wait!" he cried, raising a hand to try and block Brynjolf. "Wait, that wasn't me you were fighting! I'm sorry! It was that vampire, it... did something to me!"
Brynjolf sheathed his sword and knelt down next to him, snapping at Sapphire to bring the medical supplies over, seeing as she was the one who shot him.
"Misunderstandings happen," was all Brynjolf said to the prone Moth Priest, taking his cowl off so as to get a better look at the man, memories of Mercer forcing him to fight Karliah still haunting him. "Not your fault. How are you feeling?"
"I... I seem to be losing rather a lot of blood," the priest whispered, and Sapphire didn't help by yanking the arrow out. It was Brynjolf who cursed and ended up holding the wound together, using what little Restoration magic he did know to seal it up. It'd hold until he got to a proper healer. Probably. All the same, he still applied a poultice and offered the poor man a couple of potions.
"Thank you," the priest finally whispered. "Dexion Evicus at your service. I don't know what those fiends wanted, but I think you saved my life."
"No worries," Sapphire shrugged. "So. You a Moth Priest then or what? Hope so, that's what I'm being paid to track down."
"I – yes, I'm a Moth Priest," Dexion said, confused. "I just got here from Cyrodiil a few weeks ago – after that Elder Scroll turned up a few years ago in Alftand, I thought I'd come looking to see if Skyrim has any more. I must say, I haven't had a lot of luck so far. So many ancient ruins, and not the faintest idea where to start – I don't suppose you've come across any in your travels?"
"Sadly no," Brynjolf admitted, fairly certain he wouldn't really know where to start with pricing an Elder Scroll. "Not personally. But I have heard a rumour that a clan of vampires has acquired one, and that they're desperate to know the contents. We're trying to stop them, or at least find out what they want. That they took you prisoner would seem to indicate this particular rumour has some basis in reality."
"Evidently," Dexion whispered, glancing around the cave at all the vampiric bodies. "Well, young man, my guards appear to be dead, I don't fancy my chances travelling Skyrim on my own, and if these vampires send more people after me, I might not be so lucky next time. I don't know what your organisation does but if you're working against these bloodsuckers, count me in. I'll happily help."
"You're awfully trusting," Sapphire commented, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know this isn't an elaborate double-bluff and we're in league with them?"
Dexion grinned and laughed, seemingly unbothered. "I don't, of course. You might be brigands of the highest order for all I know. But you fought and killed them all, risking your lives against powerful vampires. They already had me enthralled and helpless, there was no need for you to intervene at all if you were allied. Whoever you are, you can hardly be worse."
"We're not going to enthral you and drink your blood," Brynjolf promised. "And Sapphire's not going to shoot you again, are you Sapphire?"
"Not if he doesn't wave his sword at us again," Sapphire replied, pointedly picking it up and handing it over. "Here. Keep it sheathed unless bad guys turn up."
"I will do that very thing," Dexion promised. "Now, do you have a base we can go to? I'd feel so much safer with strong walls and lots of men and women with swords in between me and the nearest vampire."
"Don't know about walls, but there's a Reachfolk outpost not far from here," Brynjolf promised. "I've got security clearance and there's likely to be a proper healer around, and it's on the way to our base. No vampire's getting past them in a hurry."
"We're going to a witchman base?" Dexion gasped, eyes widening. "Really? How fascinating! I read Madmen of the Reach, you know. Always felt sorry for them. Do you think they have any Elder Scrolls?"
Brynjolf sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long journey, he could tell.
"I... don't think so. I think they prefer communing with spirits and working out new ways to modify the physical. Matriarch Keirine's never hired me to track one down, I know that much."
"Yeah, if she can't sacrifice it or reanimate it, she doesn't care," Sapphire laughed as she helped Dexion up. "Come on. Let's move, and if you see a guy wandering around with a plant embedded in his chest, don't point, stare or gods forbid ask him any questions. They really don't have a sense of humour."
Dexion's eyes widened yet further, a little gasp of excitement escaping his lips and both Brynjolf and Sapphire hoped fervently that there really were no Briarhearts at Dragon Bridge Overlook, because Dexion Evicus was clearly going to do all three of those things given half a chance. Honestly, scholars. How any of them survived on their own out there was something approaching a miracle. But this one at least seemed to have luck on his side. All that remained now was to get him to the Reach.
Collapsed on the bed in the aftermath of sex, and Eola remembered what she saw in Cicero all over again. Yes, he was rather needy and clingy and all over her whenever he was in Jorrvaskr... but the camp exterior masked a vicious and bloodthirsty killer who also happened to be quite the kinky little deviant. On top or bottom, Cicero threw himself into the role with gusto either way, and always noticed the little details that others might miss. Yes, she'd missed her depraved little fool of a husband.
"I knew I married you for a reason," Eola sighed as she lay back on the pillows, Cicero sprawled on the bed next to her with his face in the pillows, blood-red hair splayed over white linen. A vaguely conscious murmur was all the response she got. Smiling, Eola nestled in closer, wrapping her arms around him. Good to see him feeling better after earlier. He'd cuddled in her arms whispering mamas shouldn't leave their babies, they shouldn't, they shouldn't, and Eola had whispered she knew, sweetie, she knew, but her own ma would have done the same to her if she thought she could have got power out of it and not everyone's mothers were good and Cicero was lucky his blood mother had cared for him like she had. Cicero had dried his eyes and nodded and whispered Serana would need all the help and friendship she could get, wouldn't she, and was she all right, really? Eola hadn't known the answer to that one but did promise that they'd be her friends. Cicero had nodded, smiled, thanked her and kissed her, and kissing had led to groping which had led to frantic sex and Cicero curled up next to her, both of them feeling glad to have the other. And yet something was still nagging at Eola.
"So," she continued, knowing full well he wasn't asleep yet and would no doubt rouse himself a little given time, "what else happened out in Dimhollow? Yeah, you found this Harkon's minions scouring the place after offing the Vigil, and you had a fine time stabbing them all, and then you went poking around this hidden tomb and found Serana, who just wanted to go home. So you took her home, said no to vampirism because you'd miss roaming the tundra in beast form and ripping people to pieces with your shiny, pointy teeth..."
Cicero growled into the pillows, shifting his hips against the bed and glanced up, grinning at her with said shiny, pointy teeth on display, not as sharp as they'd be in beast form, but sharp enough.
"Keep talking like that and Cicero shall be aroused again, my love," Cicero purred. Namira, but she really did like being married to him.
"Ah-ah," Eola purred, hand on his back pinning him down. "No sex for you until you answer the questions. I don't care how much you pout."
Cicero was definitely pouting, but Eola was quite used to resisting that cute face by this point.
"So Harkon kicked you out and so you went to alert Auntie Keirine who sent you to alert Del and then you came home," Eola continued. "Except you kind of missed an important detail."
Cicero had gone very still and when he did speak it was in a faux-innocent high-pitched gasp that indicated he knew damn well what she meant but didn't want to answer.
"What sort of detail, my lovely? Cicero is sure he's told you everything about Serana."
"Serana, yeah," Eola growled, narrowing her eyes. "But you didn't set out alone, did you? You had company! You had a Shield-Brother with you! Cicero, where in the Void is Athis! You said you and Athis took Serana home and then nothing. Did you leave him in the Reach? Did Delphine send him on a secret mission? Is he... is he all right?"
Eola's exterior finally cracked as she let her worry show and while she was near certain Cicero wouldn't have done away with her lover in a jealous fit of pique, she knew he was hiding something.
"Oh he is well, he is well!" Cicero chirped. "He is not... Only he remained behind at Hag's End. Er." Nervous laughter and Eola had had enough. Grabbing Cicero roughly by the shoulder, she spun him on to his back and pushed him back into the pillows.
"Where. Is. My. Boyfriend!"
Cicero stared up at her, terrified, and then he cracked. Apparently an angry wife was too much for him to handle.
"Cicero is sorry!" he wailed. "Cicero did not know! Cicero knew nothing until it was too late! Cicero could not have prevented it, it wasn't his fault!"
"What wasn't your fault?" Eola cried. "Cicero, what happened?"
Cicero whimpered something that sounded a bit like 'athisgotinfectednnowesavampereolaplsdonhitme'.
"Athis is what?" Eola demanded, brain trying to unscramble Cicero's rambling. "Wait a second, did you say he got turned into a vampire?"
Piteous whimpering as Cicero nodded. Eola tried to understand how this had happened.
"But you turned Harkon down," Eola whispered, rolling off Cicero and lying back on the pillows, wondering what Athis looked like as a vampire, wondered how he was feeding, was he feeding? Was he happy? Worried? Upset? Namira, of course he was, he'd not come home, he'd sent Cicero on alone. He must be thinking she'd turn away for good if she knew.
"He was infected in Dimhollow, we think," Cicero whispered, wretched. "Cicero did not know, Cicero doesn't think Athis knew, neither realised, not until we left Harkon's castle, and the change suddenly came upon him! So... so Cicero took Athis to Hag's End and they've registered him on their vampire registry and given him blood potions and... and Cicero left him there. Cicero didn't want to but he had no choice! Athis... Athis wouldn't come, Eola! He thinks... he thinks you will not love him any more!"
"What?" Eola gasped, staring at Cicero as she tried to process this. But Athis was sweet! Athis was fierce and sometimes grumpy but quietly affectionate in a low-key way, and he'd been difficult to court and seduce but it had been worth it, so worth it. She'd found herself with a quiet and serious gentleman who'd firmly believed in treating her like a princess, and she'd loved every minute. How he thought she'd leave over a little thing like turning into a bloodsucking monster, she had no idea. She was a flesh-eating monster after all and he still loved... well, he didn't actually know. But he still loved her. Just as she'd still love him.
"Cicero is sorry, sweetling," Cicero said, miserable. "Cicero told him you would love him anyway, that you accepted people for what they were, always! But he did not believe me. Eola? Eola?"
Cicero had sat up, placing a gentle hand on Eola's back, nuzzling softly at her ear while Eola stared into space, trying not to panic. Athis... poor Athis. Had it hurt? Was he all right? Did the hunger gnaw at him? Was he getting used to it or did he want it gone? And she couldn't help but think that if he got used to the idea, if she could persuade him to indulge by feeding rather than subsisting on blood potions... maybe he'd one day accept her own secret.
"I need to see him," Eola whispered. "Whatever else we do, we go to Hag's End and check on him first, right? I need my Athis, Cicero!"
Cicero's arms slipped round her waist and Cicero gently kissed her shoulder.
"And he needs you, and that is as it should be," Cicero whispered. "Cicero shall bring you to him tomorrow, after we have all rested. The carriages go that way now, yes?"
Yes they did, fifty septims to Hag's End from anywhere in Skyrim, one way only because the drivers stopped outside, kicked you off the cart and rode out as fast as their horses could manage rather than stay anywhere near the place. A bit unfair, but Keirine didn't care. Keirine had a public portal to Markarth available and a Reachfolk-run carriage service to Solitude, Markarth and Karthwasten, she didn't care that the Nords wouldn't stop by her town.
Eola could wish she had a portal to the Reach available in Whiterun but so far Jarl Balgruuf had been very unreasonable when she'd tried to broach the subject. No matter. She'd been researching the rite to open one, and the thing about the portals was that the key thing wasn't the departure portal, it was someone having a portal set up at the other end. Like her aunt did at Deepwood Vale.
"Never mind the carriages, this is an emergency," Eola decided, considering her options. "Think Serana will mind if we do a little portal-opening over at White River Watch?"
The one time bandit haunt near Whiterun had been cleared out by Cicero and Eola and was now their little love-nest... and impromptu abattoir for rites of Namira. Cicero usually cleaned all the bones and blood up in between feasts but the magical signatures were still there and some bloodstains were never coming out.
"Her childhood home features bloodied human remains as table decorations, I do not think she will mind," Cicero yawned, leaning back against the pillow and reaching for Eola again. Eola snuggled into his arms, hoping he was right. She wasn't going to leave Athis hanging for any longer than she had to.
Not for the first time, Serana wondered if this had been a good idea. Not quite sunrise yet, so she was sitting up on the Skyforge watching the stars and fingering the blood potions in her pack. Enough to keep her going for a few weeks if she was willing to put up with being hungry half the time. It would have to be. It was that or creeping into someone's room and sinking her teeth into them, and Serana wasn't... that is, she didn't... she wasn't like that! She wasn't that sort of person, she was a polite, respectful girl, not the sort of deviant who liked biting people and drinking their blood, whether they liked it or not.
Remembering the face of the cattle in her father's stable – human or elven men and women, terrified, confused, half-mad from pain and blood loss, average life expectancy about six months from capture, crying in terror as Serana approached, sometimes pleading for her to stop but mostly just terrified confusion. The last one a twenty-something Imperial woman who'd sobbed as Serana bit into her and the whispered apology from Serana's lips before it happened did nothing to salve Serana's conscience.
Serana shivered, closing her eyes and knowing deep in her heart that her family were monsters, her father's entire court could only survive on human misery of the worst sort, by snatching people by force and brutalising them until everything that made them people was taken from them. Serana always felt sick after feeding on one of the cattl- no, prisoners, she reminded herself. They were people. Had been people. Fuck.
And the worst thing of all was that she could feel her brain adapting to the necessary reality of humans being food by shutting it off, by slowly adjusting to it, by denying the true horror of it all and starting to see them just as cattle, not people with hopes and dreams and families and feelings, but just meat containers for the blood. Just like everyone else at her father's court did.
It had been the reason she'd left. Easy to feed on humans when you never saw them, but she'd just got out of her tomb prison and spent two days with Cicero and Athis, human and elf but brothers regardless, bickering and fussing and occasionally cuddling, and Athis usually serious but sometimes cracking the merest hint of a smile at Cicero's antics. Both very definitely people, with inner lives and loves and needs, and Serana couldn't even imagine the thought of Cicero in rags, confused and scared and no longer sure who he was.
She'd seen red hair on one of the prisoners and had to force herself to feed, and that had been it. She couldn't stay and let it change her. Serana had loved her father dearly once... but she couldn't cope with this. And so she'd retrieved the precious Scroll he'd spent more time with since her return than he had with her, gathered enough potions to support herself until she could get to Whiterun, and fled to find two people who might just help her again.
What she'd found had been an entire Nord mead hall led by someone who definitely wasn't a Nord warrior and who fairly reeked of dark magic herself – but there wasn't a stable full of thralls or body parts all over Jorrvaskr, for which Serana was thankful. In fact, it felt like nothing but an ordinary, nicely fitted out, home for a group of honourable warriors. Whatever Eola's story was, she was discreet and knew how to blend in. Serana could use the friendship of someone like that.
As if she'd guessed what Serana was thinking, the shadows shifted and Eola was there, gliding into view and settling down next to Serana, sweet smile on her face.
"Hello there," Eola drawled. "Everything going well so far? I hope Jorrvaskr's living up to your expectations."
"Honestly, no, I'd expected an army barracks," Serana admitted, nothing having prepared her for how homey it all looked. "You know, with drunken Nords swilling mead and passed out over the table and a fistfight breaking out every five minutes. But it's all really... civilised!"
"That's because half of them aren't here," Eola grinned. "Vilkas and Ria are away, Torvar's given up booze, and Cicero's really very domestic and has terrorised the new bloods into behaving themselves and cleaning up after themselves. But yeah, people are often surprised by how nice the place is. I keep telling them, we may be warriors but Jorrvaskr's our home. Battle doesn't often come to our home, not if we're doing our jobs properly."
Eola's face flickered as she said this, and Serana wondered if battle had come here recently. Quite possibly, and from the look of it, someone had died on the Companions' side. But Eola's smile was quick to return and Serana decided not to ask.
"So anyway, Serana," Eola continued. "I'm glad you came, and Cicero seems to like you, which is usually good, but I still had a few questions."
Serana tensed up, not at all sure she wanted to answer them, and hadn't she told Eola everything anyway?
"What did you want to know?" Serana asked, wary. "I already told you about the prophecy."
"Yes you did," Eola said. "But you didn't tell me why."
"Why what?" Serana asked, wrinkling her nose. "My father's an ambitious man who hates having a weakness and he's obsessed with finding out how to walk in the daylight. Does he need any other reasons?"
Eola blinked, before laughing and smiling.
"Oh. No. Not his reasons, sweetie. Yours. Yeah, stopping him putting out the sun is a noble goal and all, and I'm totally in agreement, but, well..." Eola leaned forward, smile fading as shadows played across her face, only the stars and braziers illuminating them. "Look, I'm a Forsworn princess. I know all about messed-up families and kin who aren't exactly wholesome and are a little too fond of dark magic and who will do whatever it takes to get what they want. But here's the thing. They're still my family. My ma and I hated each other and I celebrated with her killers when she died. In fact, they're still here – it was Aela and Cicero. But I'd kill either in a second if they hurt my father, and while I hated my mother, we both still backed the Forsworn. You're not just throwing your father to the bears, you're selling out his entire cause. I can stop him, but the price for this is the entire Volkihar court getting wiped out. Including, perhaps especially, your father. Are you really ready for that, Serana?"
"It isn't my cause!" Serana cried, trying not to think of childhood memories of her father, or even post-vampire memories of a man not yet completely lost to her. A man who genuinely thought having handed me over to Molag Bal so we wouldn't die of old age was a good thing. Serana visibly shuddered, looking away from Eola, not wanting the human girl to see her quite this vulnerable.
"You have to understand, I didn't want any of this," Serana said quietly. "I just wanted a happy family with my mother and father and me, and everybody else in the castle. I was expecting to grow up, get married, maybe move away, see the world. But it never happened. Father... he was dying. Healers could do nothing. He didn't want to die. And then the sacrifices started happening. The screams... the blood... Mother just said it was to stop him dying, I didn't want him to die, did I? And I didn't. So I looked away. I tried not to think about it. And then one day it was my turn. Mine and Mother's. Mother told me it would be all right and to just lie back and let it happen."
"Let what happen?" Eola whispered. "Serana?"
Serana felt her throat closing up, and she really didn't want to talk about this with a woman she'd only just met. But there was something in Eola's voice that made Serana want to trust her.
"He gave us to Molag Bal," Serana said quietly. "There was a ceremony. It was... degrading. But we survived, and then Mother and I were vampires, and Mother turned him. And that was it. Happy immortal family."
A little gasp from Eola and Serana felt the warmth of Eola's hand on hers.
"Lamia Opusculae Bal," Eola whispered, quoting the book that told the story of the first vampires... and the violation required to create one. "You never chose to be a vampire, did you?"
Serana shut her eyes but didn't push Eola away. All this time and she'd never been able to talk about it to anyone, her parents making all the decisions and expecting her to obey, and even when her mother realised Harkon was going too far, that hadn't changed. It wasn't even that Serana disagreed with her mother necessarily. It was just that no one had ever asked her.
Serana shook her head. Not her choice, no... but having said that, after all she'd suffered in the process, she wasn't sure about giving it up.
"Serana, if you don't want to... there's a cure," Eola said quietly. "Two if you count taking the Beast Blood. There's this summoner in Morthal who's been researching it, and my aunt's been corresponding with him... if you wanted to not be one any more, there's a way. I mean, there's a price... but don't worry, Cicero and I would be happy to help with that."
"No," Serana said, surprising even herself with her vehemence. "No, I'm not asking any more of you. I went through enough to become a vampire, I don't want to give it up."
"Understood," was all Eola said. "If you ever change your mind, let me know, I can make arrangements."
"I won't," Serana snapped, before realising that probably sounded a bit ungrateful, and she should be a little nicer to the first person in literally thousands of years to actually listen to her. "I mean, not that I'm not grateful, but I don't know if I want to."
Eola was still smiling gently, patting Serana's shoulder, the crackling coals of the Skyforge in the background the only noise as they sat together.
"So if not a cure, what do you want?" Eola asked, still with that same curious tone of voice. "Why'd you leave?"
Why? Gods above, Serana couldn't even begin to tell her. Because she'd missed her father, but she'd come home and realised the father she remembered wasn't there. What she'd come home to was a father who accepted her back into his court but clearly didn't trust her. A father still bent on world domination and he didn't care who he hurt.
"I never had a choice," Serana said softly. "But I'm not taking that choice away from everyone else. And I might have to feed on humans to survive but I don't want to enslave them. I loved my father once but that man is gone. And what use does an immortal have for an heir? Then there's his court, all vying for his position one day, and if that ever happens, I'll be in the way. An obstacle. In a mortal court, one might marry me to secure the throne for his bloodline, but in an immortal court, who needs a wife and children? Harkon doesn't. Not... not any more. So... so I guess we need to overthrow him and put them all down, don't we? Except I can't do it alone. I mean, maybe if I built alliances in the court and assassinated him... but that just keeps the whole thing going, doesn't it?"
"You want the entire court gone," Eola mused. Serana nodded.
"The world's better without them," Serana admitted. "My father should have died a long time ago. This is just putting him out of his misery."
"Now that we agree on," Eola said, voice gentle as she rubbed Serana's back. "Well, you'll be pleased to know we can help. Might need your help first though. Serana, you're probably wondering where Athis is."
Now that she mentioned it...
"I assumed he was out on another job," Serana said, but Eola's eyes told another story. Her face might be half-shadowed but the set of her shoulders said she was worried. "Why, has something happened to him?"
"Yeah," Eola said softly. "Got himself infected in that dungeon you were locked away in. Stubborn elf didn't tell anyone he was even ill until it was too late and he turned..." Eola's voice choked on the words, head in her hands and Serana realised she was crying. Not loudly. Not obviously. But the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr's boyfriend had been accidentally turned into a vampire and Eola clearly was devastated by it. Serana felt for her but she really wasn't sure what she could do in this situation. Not to mention feeling a bit insulted that Eola could welcome her to Jorrvaskr with one hand and sob over a newly vampirised boyfriend with the other.
"What did you need?" Serana asked, more for Athis's sake than anything else. He'd not asked to be a vampire – outright turned it down in fact.
Eola pulled herself together, drying her eyes.
"Need you to talk to him. Or offer to listen at any rate," Eola finally said, throat rough from crying. "You didn't choose it either, you might be able to help. He might feel better if he had a friendly vampire to talk to."
"You can't cure him?" Serana asked. If Eola could get her cured, surely Athis could benefit too.
"Yeah, course," Eola whispered. "But he told Cicero to tell me goodbye! Cicero said Athis doesn't think he's worthy of being my boyfriend any more! Serana, I think he's going to be all noble and self-sacrificing and tell me he can't be with me any more! He thinks being a vampire means he's not good enough for me! He thinks I won't want him any more!"
"Is he right?" Serana had to ask. Eola shook her head, staring up at Serana with tears streaking down her face.
"No!" cried Eola. "Of course he's not! He's my Athis! I don't care if he's turned into an undead blood-drinker! I still love him!"
Serana stared at her, realising she meant every word. She truly did look heartbroken and worried and determined to find her newly-vampirised lover, and if Eola wasn't thinking too clearly about how she was going to support two vampires in one mead hall, Serana couldn't really fault her for that.
"Of course you do," Serana found herself saying, taking Eola's hand in hers. "And we're going to find him and make sure he knows that. You need me to talk to him, I will."
A squeeze of the hand back, and Eola looked up, smiling, still sighted eye shining with emotion.
"Thank you," Eola said softly. "Whatever happens, you and me, we're good, you hear?"
Serana could only nod, no idea what to say to this, because this had never happened before. Someone listening and talking and understanding and laughing, and Serana realised this must be what having friends was like, and that she'd gone all these years never really having one before and now she appeared to have three of them... Serana realised her eyes were damp and then Eola was whispering her name, sounding confused and a bit guilty, and then Eola was holding her, rubbing her back and whispering she was sorry, she hadn't meant to make her cry!
"I'm not crying," Serana whispered, and she wasn't, it was just her eyes were leaking, that was all, why was Eola so worried. "It's fine, I just..." She squirmed out of Eola's arms and rubbed at her cheeks and caught her breath, wondering just what was wrong with her lately. She'd never been like this before, she'd always kept her emotions to herself. It must be the aftereffects of being alone in the dark. It'd pass. These things always did eventually, right? Even if Cicero's wide-eyed anxious face and the wailing that mothers shouldn't lock their children away, it was wrong, wouldn't leave her mind.
"You OK?" Eola said gently, and Serana just nodded.
"Thanks," Serana said, feeling she ought to say something after all this emoting. "For listening. I thought you Companions would all be about slaughtering the monster and saving the world. I never expected anyone to care about how I felt about it all. I... thank you."
"You're welcome," Eola replied, extending a hand and helping Serana up. The eastern sky had turned a shade of pale pink and already the city was starting to wake, farmers leaving to go tend to their fields and market stallholders going to set up shop, and the guards changing shifts. Eorlund Gray-Mane would no doubt be arriving to fire up the forge soon and it was probably best he didn't find Eola and a strange vampire sitting up there. "I mean, we do still do the saving the world and killing the bad guy thing. But it's like Elisif always says, saving the world's the easy bit. Rebuilding it, that's the hard part."
Serana couldn't disagree there. Truth be told, she hadn't really thought about what happened beyond stopping Harkon (easier to think of him as that because if she thought of him as Father or Daddy, she'd never be able to go through with this). The thought of a life after that, of figuring out how to live in a world that wasn't a court full of conniving vampires, hadn't really occurred to her. The prospect terrified her. But she had a feeling that with Eola's help, it might be bearable.