Summary: Ancestor Glade awaits, but given the new Jarl is someone with no reason to love Eola or the Reach, Eola's not looking forward to it. However, it appears the main danger isn't from the Jarl's forces...

Eola had always forgotten just how far Falkreath was from anywhere, and from the Reach in particular. True, Markarth was also isolated, but it had portals, and a carriage service and managed to feel much closer to Whiterun and Solitude than it actually was. Falkreath on the other hand? Miles from anywhere and about the only good thing about it was that at least you weren't up to your backside in ice. The countryside, in fact, was quite nice.

The people, on the other hand… Eola could swear this entire Hold had it in for her, as was evidenced by the fact that they'd passed by Half-Moon Mill just as the sun was coming up, only to find the placed roped off, the door of the millhouse hanging off by its hinges, and guards wearing the new regalia of Falkreath Hold, the silver deer head on blue but now with a small circle between its antlers that on inspection turned out to be golden goat horns on green. Someone just couldn't let go, could they.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" one of the guards snapped, sword drawn as he approached.

Weary sighs from Athis and Cicero both, and Eola stepped forward, resigned to the inevitable.

"I'm the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr," Eola sighed. "Passing through Falkreath on official business from the High Queen." She always found reminding Nords she was Harbinger now generally resulted in a marked decline in snide remarks. Elisif's name also helped. But not apparently in Falkreath… not during a murder investigation.

The guard did at least sheathe his sword.

"Oh. Harbinger. Sorry, didn't recognise you," the guard said gruffly, which was a total fucking lie because literally the entire province knew who Cicero was by this point. The Fool of Jorrvaskr was notorious everywhere. But Eola kept her peace. Nothing was ever gained by antagonising Hold guards in public. "Do you know anything about this?" He gestured at the crime scene, and Eola was surprised to see Faleen herself there, standing over a pile of ash and shaking her head. Whatever had gone on, it must have been something for the housecarl herself to be involved.

"No, we just got here," Eola said, casting her eyes over the mill and trying to remember who'd lived here. A young couple, kept themselves to themselves, quiet, didn't get out much… bandits? Did they have enemies maybe? "We've been in the Reach lately, also visiting the High Queen. She had something she needed investigating in her own Hold."

"I'll let the housecarl explain that," the guard grunted, motioning them forward. "If you really are on the High Queen's business, maybe you can help. Housecarl! The Harbinger's passing through. Wondered if you wanted to speak to her."

"Not unless she was here sometime last night," Faleen said, making her way over. "Valdr was here last night placing an order for timber on Runil's behalf so he could refurbish the chapel, and he got back to the inn around ten. Next thing we know, we've got hunters from the lodge arriving in town in the early hours telling of fighting near here. We thought it might be bandits… or rogue elements from the Reach. But no. Judging from the dust, I'd say it's vampires."

Vampires. Attacking an innocent pair of mill owners. Low even by Harkon's standards.

"Now that's a coincidence," Eola purred, sensing an opportunity. "Queen Elisif's organising a fightback. We have a lead on who's organising all this. I imagine you'll be hearing from her directly in time, but if you've got some men and women with weapon skills and a desire to serve their Queen and country, you could do worse than send them to fight. Send them to Castle Dour, Captain Aldis can point them in the right direction."

"So I heard," Faleen said, pursing her lips. "Her steward's messengers came a few days ago, loudly proclaiming we were not true Nords if we turned down the opportunity to abandon home and hearth to chase vampires. Half the Hold's talking about it. I swear, Eola, the High Queen needs to remember her Jarls made her Queen, not the Divines. She's not actually a god."

"She knows," Eola said cheerfully. "She knows her duty when she sees it. And it's her duty to protect all Skyrim, particularly when we're being savaged by vampires. You don't have people to spare, you don't have people… but remember, this isn't some vanity project. This is a strike at the very people who caused this murder scene. You want to not have to go over any more murder scenes like this one? You'll let me go about my business in Falkreath without any trouble, if you do nothing else, and if you can spare any soldiers, even better. Queen Elisif will remember who helped."

And who didn't, but she didn't need to belabour that point. Faleen knew it all too well. All the Reach did. Igmund was fortunate to have got Falkreath out of the whole thing. And Nenya, but that was another matter entirely.

"I… will mention it to the Jarl, Harbinger," Faleen sighed. "Igmund's not completely unreasonable and he does see the danger. And if I'm honest, rather the High Queen dealing with this than that Isran. He was here yesterday with his Dawnguard. Man sees vampires everywhere. I had to get Runil in to convince him there were no vampires at court. At least Elisif's sensible and willing to listen to reason. Way I hear it, the Dawnguard have killed almost as many as the vampires. He says they were thralls."

Faleen didn't sound convinced and Eola didn't blame her. After meeting Isran, she'd decided the man was capable of anything, and hadn't Argis voiced concerns? He must have had to deal with complainants in person, and read letters from the other Jarls.

"We'll deal with this," Eola promised. "And with organised vampire predation gone, I don't think Elisif will see any further need for the Dawnguard to receive any more official patronage, do you?"

"I hope you're right," Faleen said dubiously. "Go on, go about your business. Keep to the law and Falkreath has no problem with you."

Eola took tight hold of Cicero's hand and nodded politely, before heading for Falkreath itself. Between Volkihars, Dawnguard and Jarls with a grudge, Eola had had enough of Falkreath already.

They'd rested for the day in Falkreath Sanctuary, the one time home of the Dark Brotherhood, left sealed but otherwise still intact. Elisif had decreed it should be left alone and forgotten, lest the memory of the past glorify that which was the opposite of glorious. That suited Cicero just fine – he'd gone in and made the place into a little home from home and now it was a safe house and cache for members of the Blades.

"We're staying here," Athis said, nose wrinkling. "In the old Dark Brotherhood headquarters."

"Yes!" Cicero squealed, bouncing down the stairs like he knew every step by heart, lighting the braziers as he did so. "Do not worry, brother, we have cleaned all the blood up."

"That's not what I-" Athis gave up trying to reason with Cicero and turned to Eola. "We can't stay in the inn?"

"There's not enough room for four of us there, and given the current climate, it's probably not the best idea for me to bring two vampires into a town where the Jarl bitterly resents my entire family, and indeed country, and will be watching our every move, is it?" Eola pointed out. "So, seeing as we've got this place handy, we're using it. Athis, don't look at me like that, they didn't do any murders here. Or any dark rituals. This was their Sanctuary, their home, where assassins chilled out and relaxed after a hard night's stabbing."

"Yes!" Cicero called back cheerfully. "Cicero doesn't think anyone died here before we came and Purified them."

"Wait, you and Cicero killed the last people to use this place… and they were a bunch of murderous assassins?" Serana asked, following with wide-eyes. She'd been unnerved enough by the creepy skull door, and the stained glass window in the main hall just cemented her opinion of the place. "Was that place in Dawnstar Cicero and I crashed in one of theirs as well?"

Hesitation and Eola's eyes slipped inexorably to Cicero, who shrugged and nodded.

"Yes. A long time ago," Cicero said quietly. "It was disused for years before Cicero read of it in the Brotherhood's letters and found it. Now there is no Brotherhood. So Cicero uses the Sanctuaries. Someone should."

"They really really don't – never mind," Athis sighed, seeing Cicero was not to be reasoned with on this one. And yet he could sort of see what Cicero meant. Athis had cleared out his fair share of bandit and necromancer lairs before now, but this place was different. It felt different. Felt cared for, in a way a bandit camp rarely did. This felt more like a home, felt like those who had lived here had cared about the place, and each other. Most bandit caves did not contain stained glass signs of devotion to a higher power – even if it was an evil higher power. Well, Boethiah and Mephala weren't exactly wholesome, were they? All the same, this had been the Dark Brotherhood's home. Hard to just settle in in a home of murderers.

But Serana was either too tired to worry, or too used to living alongside monsters to care, and wasted no time in curling up in one of the beds, so Athis supposed he should probably do likewise. They did need a place to rest, and this was surprisingly well outfitted. And Eola was right – with the Jarl not well-disposed towards Eola at the best of times, and with everyone paranoid about vampires, now was not the time to make themselves vulnerable in the town tavern. With Harkon attacking indiscriminately, and Isran's Dawnguard fanning the flames by attacking people who may or may not be thralls under vampiric mind control, Skyrim felt like a country on the edge. Athis was just thankful that Elisif remained a firm believer in the rule of law and things like trials and evidence, and not evidence procured by torture either, and hadn't given the Dawnguard full reign in the matter. As it was, from what Faleen was saying, the Jarls of Skyrim weren't terribly happy about Isran and friends coming in and causing trouble, and were relieved to have the backing of their High Queen. One thing united Skyrim, and that was that everyone respected their Dragonborn Queen. Who was presently relying on them to find Auriel's Bow and help deal with Harkon. It was quite the responsibility.

We won't let you down, High Queen.

Quite when a Dunmer of House Redoran had started feeling loyal to a Nord High Queen, Athis couldn't have said. Was it first meeting her as a young adventurer looking nervous and terrified and a bit out of her depth, but nevertheless skilled at dragonslaying if nothing else? Or again after learning who she really was, at the Battle of Whiterun during which he discovered the woman did genuinely care about ordinary people and was definitely braver than everyone thought? Perhaps it was Elisif returning to Jorrvaskr with his old friend Aranea in her entourage, freely associating with non-Nords as friends and apparently not being bothered who they worshipped as long as their conduct was honourable. And then there'd been her allying with the bloody Forsworn of all people and righting a generations-old wrong with one controversial treaty and then marrying the feared Reach-King himself. Who'd turned out to be not quite the Dark Lord everyone said he was, and certainly as far as the Dawnguard were concerned, had been turning them back at the borders, tersely informing them the ReachGuard had this under control, thank you very much.

High Queen Elisif had turned out to be an odd mix of compassion, bravery and a pragmatism that made use of whatever was at her disposal, taking what was there and putting it to use in a way that made you feel like you were more than you'd thought you were. No wonder half the country was a bit in love with her.

And so Athis lay down his head in what had once been a den of murderers, and decided not to ask questions or think too hard about why Cicero felt so sentimental about the place despite having gleefully massacred its inhabitants. They had a job to do, and Skyrim's safety depended on them doing it well.

"Are we there yet?" Serana sighed as she trudged up the mountain trail after Eola and Cicero, Athis bringing up the rear.

"I think so," Eola answered, frowning at the map, a magelight gleaming over her shoulder as flakes of snow floated past her, the snowline not far away now. "Dexion said the entrance was in a cave just off the trail starting south of Falkreath, almost right on the snowline – it can't be far away."

"YOL!"

Cicero, bouncing up ahead and making the most of his new found gift by breathing fire every so often to light the way ahead. Never mind that he had a knack for Alteration spells and could cast magelights. No, in Cicero's mind, the best way of lighting the way ahead in the dark and the steadily increasing snowfall was breathing fire.

"I swear to Mephala, Cicero, if that starts an avalanche..." Athis warned him sternly, and Cicero had the nerve to giggle.

"Brother, there are hardly any landslides on this path, also it is the wrong time of year."

"It's spring, the snow and ice in the mountains has thawed and if it's still there in any amount, your Thu'um could dislodge it," Athis snapped. "It's exactly the right time of year. Cicero, stop that."

Cicero was now pouting at Athis, eyes big and wide and his lower lip jutting out, and frankly it looked ridiculous on a forty-something but since when had Cicero cared about that? (Back when Cheydinhal Sanctuary was still standing and the Brotherhood still had a Listener, but no one else other than Eola knew that.)

"Really. Stop it. You're a grown man," Athis sighed, before turning to Eola in a desperate appeal for aid here. Eola sympathised, but she had more pressing concerns, such as finding this glade before they got snowed in. It had to be up here somewhere.

"Hey, I think that's it!" Serana cried, vampire night vision enabling her to see what Eola and Cicero hadn't yet seen. "Look, up ahead, there's a cave!"

That gave them all a new lease of energy, and all four raced up the hill and dashed inside. Inside turned out to be an overgrown, dimly-lit cave which didn't seem to go anywhere, in fact the only source of light was a tunnel of sorts that seemed to be up on a ledge, only reachable by following a path to the ledge opposite and crossing over by means of a fallen tree that looked half-rotten and liable to collapsing at any minute. Needless to say, Cicero skipped over it without even blinking and stood on the other side, cheerfully waiting for the others to follow.

"You must commit to it wholeheartedly!" Cicero called to them, fairly bouncing with enthusiasm. "You will only fall off if you hesitate!"

"Impending broken ankle in five," Serana muttered, staring down into the darkness beneath. But she took a deep breath and made the attempt, and Eola followed, with Athis bringing up the rear, and with Cicero patting them on the back and congratulating them on their grace and dexterity, they made their way into the glade, light inviting them further down the passageway, warm golden light more like sunlight than anything else… but it was night.

Cicero skipped ahead, singing to himself, turning a corner and emerging from the passageway, stopping dead and squealing.

"Eola! EOLAAA! Look, loooook! Isn't it pretty!"

Eola followed him out and stared in amazement at the sight before her. The cave was open to the sky, a vast underground grove with silver-barked pink-leaved trees that seemed to radiate light, and streams cascading down the cliffs towards the grove at the bottom, and the whole thing gleaming in the starlight, thanks to a pillar of light in the very centre of the cave that lit the whole thing up. Whether it was coming from the stars or emanating from the ground, Eola had no idea, but she could see the hole in the roof it was allegedly coming from, and it showed a clear sky with stars that bore little resemblance to the clouds outside. She couldn't recall a beam of light anywhere on the mountain either, which meant the light likely came from the grove itself. Lovely. A glowing, pretty grove that had already entranced Cicero. Eola distrusted it.

"Oh wow!" Serana breathed. "Look at it, it's beautiful!"

"You're not wrong," Athis murmured, enthralled. Eola could only survey it with a weary sigh, appreciating the surface beauty, but even something as pretty as this had to have the rot hiding underneath. Some of the plants would have fungi on their roots, the soil would be full of bacteria, if you died down here, your body would rot as surely as if you dropped dead in the streets. Maybe there were even vermin here. A witch could hope.

All the same, it felt calm, peaceful even. Possibly even welcoming. The atmosphere didn't feel hostile, so Eola decided even a child of Namira was welcome here. So she followed her husband in, took his arm and smiled as he led her onwards, marvelling at everything.

"So where's this draw knife then?" Athis asked as they reached the central glade at the bottom of the cavern. "Dexion said it'd be here."

A two-handled knife, left ceremonially in a sacred stone – in, not on, which was strange unless you remembered Reachman tales of sacred adder stones, often called Hag stones by the ignorant, which were stones with holes worn naturally in the middle and said to be a way of warding off dark magic, or a source of healing and fertility for anyone who was passed through the hole.

And oh look, there was one right ahead, a round stone with a hole in the centre and a two-handled knife nestling in the centre.

Cicero had skipped forward but did not touch it, just looking and cooing and motioning for Eola to have a look. Neither vampire seemed keen to touch it, which meant it was down to her. A child of Namira performing a rite of the Moth Priests. Would wonders never cease?

So Eola reached for the knife, admiring the way it almost seemed to glow, reflecting the unearthly light that seemed to be everywhere, hands curling around the twin handles… and then it was in her hands, the glow gone and it was just a knife. A knife useless for battle because it had no point, and it wasn't the most efficient for carving meat either. Or anything else for that matter – you could tell it was a religious implement of Aetherius. Daedric goods were far more practical.

"So where's the canticle tree, then?" Eola sighed, and Athis nodded at one of the silver-barked trees with the pink leaves.

"Must be one of them, there's no other trees here."

Eola sighed, made her way over to one and started shaving bark off the tree, and all right, the knife did sort of work for this. But shaving anything else? Forget it.

"Got the bark," Eola sighed. "I don't need to chant anything, do I?"

"I don't think so," Serana said, trying to recall the details of the rite. "Dexion said to wield the bark and the moths would come to you."

"There's some over there!" Cicero said, pointing at a flock of moths fluttering on the far side of the cave. "Take the bark to them, and see if they run away!"

When Cicero had ever seen moths running, Eola had to wonder, but she said nothing and gave it a go, canticle bark clutched in her hand.

I'd rather have a dark, dank dungeon with rats and spiders if I'm perfectly honest. All this flitting around in a pretty glade with pretty trees and pretty yellow flowers and moths fluttering around her like she was some sort of fairy princess was just not her. But Cicero was gazing up at her adoringly and Athis was smiling at her and Serana was giving her encouraging looks, so Eola put up with it.

"Hey. Moths. I've got… bark."

And to her eternal surprise, the moths descended, fluttering around her and she could swear she heard singing, and yes this was definitely getting a bit Fairytale Princess for her liking, and not the traditional Reach fairy tales either, where fairies had sharp teeth and claws and liked to kill unwary humans, or at least toy with them. No, this was the full on anodyne Imperial/Breton sap that Elisif had grown up with and was probably even now telling to Maia as a bedtime story.

"It is working, it is working!" Cicero squealed, and Eola realised horrified that his mother had probably also told him stories of fairy princesses who frolicked through the forest, singing to the birds and animals who would flock after them as if in some sort of trance. Namira help her, Eola would have to supervise the bedtime stories, she could see this now. No fairytale princesses with seductive powers over the beasts of the forest for Eola's kids unless they turned out to be a witch planning to build an army to crush her enemies.

"They seem to really like you!" Serana laughed, impressed. "And is it me or are you starting to… glimmer?"

"WHAT?" Eola yelped, staring down at herself in dismay, and sure enough, the wretched glow that suffused everything here was now starting to appear on her as well. "Oh no. No one told me I'd glow!"

"You look lovely!" Cicero enthused, until a glare from her cut him off and he sidled behind Athis, who at least looked sympathetic.

"How you look's not the important part," Athis said gently. "Let's find some more moths and see what happens, hmm?"

So they explored the glade, Cicero bouncing and squeaking and pointing out moths, all of which would descend on Eola as soon as they saw her. Soon she had a veritable swarm of moths circling her, the glow was getting stronger and Eola could swear she could hear them humming. She'd thought old Dexion was crazy but it seemed he'd been on to something.

Then it happened. A column of light shot up from the central glade, beaming into the sky, and all four of them gasped.

"I think that's what we were waiting for, come on!" Serana cried, and Eola followed, eager to see if this would actually work. So she positioned herself in the light, took the Scrolls from the others, remembering Dexion's instructions to read the Blood Scroll first.

Light blazed into her vision, but the moths didn't leave, drawing closer and the strange hum intensifying, and suddenly Eola knew it all, words from all three Scrolls drawing together, layer upon layer, visions combining to reveal a map of Skyrim, the Karth winding its way across the landscape and the Wolf's Head of Solitude at the top and the Red Eagle of Markarth at the bottom, and by the tributary of the Karth long called the Darkfall River by the Reachmen, not far from Hag's End, and Eola knew that cave, had heard of it anyway, she didn't think there was anything there but there were stories of treasures, had been for centuries.

"Can you see anything?" Athis called. "I mean, any visions?"

Have you gone blind, was likely what he meant, but Eola didn't think so. More importantly, she had the knowledge she was after.

"Yeah!" Eola cried. "It's in a cave in the Reach! We need to tell my father immediately – oof!"

Something struck her in the stomach, sending her staggering back… and then another hit her in the shoulder, and Eola fell to the ground, wondering if that was part of the ritual… and then she saw the crossbow bolts newly embedded in her.

"Oh," Eola whispered, vaguely aware of Cicero's outraged howling, which swiftly changed into something far less human as jester became wolf and Cicero pounced to avenge his mate.

"For the Dawnguard!" one voice cried, and another cried "Die, vampire scum!"

But we're with the High Queen! Eola wanted to cry, outraged and furious at the betrayal. My FATHER is the Reach-King, he will have your entire order destroyed for this!

But that wouldn't save her. Serana was running into battle, magic cutting into the Dawnguard ranks, resurrecting the troll that Cicero had already ripped the throat out of while her Destruction spells slowed them down enough for Cicero to pounce. Meanwhile Eola was lying on the floor, life ebbing out of her, and her babies, her poor doomed babies, but Namira would take care of them, Namira would claim them all, and she hoped the goddess would watch over Cicero too, he would need it.

"You're not dying." Restoration magic poured into her as Athis held her, barely leaving her side. "You are not going to die on me!"

"Athis," Eola whispered, knowing she needed to tell him about the vision or all was lost. "Athis, the bow's in Darkfall Cave. Near… Druadach Redoubt. Da… knows it… Have to… tell Da..."

More magic, and then Athis was reaching for a potion.

"I'll tell him," Athis promised. "You focus on not dying."

Another scream echoed round the cave, a scream cut off mid-wail as Cicero ripped the head off a Dawnguard, and a husky whined its last as an ice spike ended it. Athis held on to Eola, who'd closed her eyes, exhausted, aching all over and the magic not helping. So Eola let exhaustion claim her and gave up trying. She'd passed the knowledge on. That was the important thing. As for the rest, that was in Namira's hands now. Eola was officially done.

A/N: I was originally a bit bored with writing Ancestor Glade and then it occurred to me to make it a little more interesting and have the Dawnguard involved instead. I shall leave it up to the reader's imagination as to whether Isran disapproved of Elisif having vampire agents to the extent he'd order a hit on them in a hold where the Jarl didn't think much of the Reach, or whether a routine Dawnguard patrol saw two vampires and decided to eliminate them.