.

ROË

Boiling Point

Northern Skyrim

She couldn't go on anymore. The pain in her arm and shoulder was too intense, and even her vampiric strength couldn't take hours upon hours of slog through the snow and cold, with her arm and shoulder burning and weeping, the charred skin popping whenever she moved, exposing more of her flesh to the biting cold. It felt like the fire burned on under her skin.

Whatever came, came. Even the beast inside her was tired of fighting, and she just closed her eyes. Her legs refused to move and she fell forward, smacking hard and face-first into the snow.

"Roë," she heard Serana's weary voice. "Roë, get up."

She couldn't. Didn't want to. And couldn't.

"I don't have the patience for your theatrics."

It didn't matter what Serana did or did not have the patience for. She was done.

A grunting sigh, and Roë's body was hoisted into the air, ending up on Serana's shoulders. She couldn't move, or do anything that didn't involve just hanging limp, her arms and legs and head hanging down. All she saw was her own hair, the snow, and the side of Serana's leg as her erstwhile friend carried her the rest of the way.

Time proceeded as if in a haze. She didn't know how long Serana had walked with her on her shoulders, but eventually her shoulder flared with burning pain as she was roughly dumped into the rowing boat they used to go to Castle Volkihar.

"You'll get blood from as many prisoners as you want until your shoulder heals," Serana told her, grunting as she pulled the oars. "And then, well… you do whatever you want."

She managed to quietly say, "Serana, I'm…"

"I don't care, Roë," Serana sighed, not in anger or hatred, but in disappointment. "I'm sure you have all kinds of justifications, but I don't want to hear them."

She hadn't the energy to talk, nor anything to say, so she let Serana row them to the other shore, hoist her up again, and bring her into the Castle. Before she opened the door, however, she had the decency to let Roë down and let her go inside on her two feet, her arm over Serana's shoulder and her head drooping forward.

"Hestla," Serana addressed the first vampire she saw, the armourer who was just about to sit down to feed on a newly deceased slave. "Take her."

Not 'take Roë', 'take her'.

She was shifted from shoulder to shoulder, now supported by a bothered Hestla, probably extremely hungry after a night of work.

"Take her to the slave pen, let her feed all she wants to until her shoulder is healed."

"Mm," Hestla answered. "And then?"

"She does whatever she wants, I don't care."

Roë wasn't too exhausted to feel her former friend's disdain cut through her heart.

She was hauled through the atrium and down the stairs to the slave pen.

Namasur's voice welcomed her back. "Oh my, has ill fortune befallen the Lady Roë?"

The glee in his voice couldn't be more clear. As well as the hope that the damage was severe.

"That's right. Ser… Lady Serana said she could drink as much as she wanted to."

"Oh dear. Our Lord will have objections. After all, the blood is to be evenly distributed – "

"Stow it, Namasur. There's plenty for all, isn't that what you always say?"

"Well… yes, but – "

"Well then? Go on, put her in the pen and let her drink her fill."

"You know…" Namasur said in a low voice, thinking Roë couldn't hear, "we could always…"

"No. I have no interest in joining your bunch of conspirators. I forge armour, I don't care about the rest."

"Oh, no, I meant nothing – "

"Sure you did. Now are you going to open this damn pen or what?"

"Hmph. And when she's done, should I go get our Lord's wonderful daughter to retrieve her?"

"No. She said she didn't give a shit about what she did afterwards."

"Did she now?"

Roë was deposited on the straw while Hestla said, "You there. Hold your wrist to her mouth." And after a short silence, "Do it now or she can feed off your chunks."

Roë felt, trembling warm skin being pressed against her lips. Even beyond her control, her fangs snapped closed around it, the warm, living blood spurting into her mouth. She drank greedily, and while the blood was slop compared to Serana's, it still helped, giving her a bit more enregy and dulling the pain of her burns somewhat. She'd need oceans more to heal it all, it felt. But every ocean started with a drop, and on she drank, until the skin in her mouth tore, pulled away.

"Show some dignity, wretch!" it was Namasur's voice. "Displaying your weakness and your lack of restraint in front of these humans. Have you no shame?"

She sat on her hands and knees, her head hanging low. Abandoned by her only friend and despised by everyone else in the castle. How could she feel anything but shame? She took a breath and could only utter, "… More."

"Then reach for it yourself," Namasur spat at her. It seemed he already realized that Roë had lost her main protector. "I'm not your nanny. I don't feed you like your precious benefactor did." With that, he actually dared to stomp out of the dungeon.

He'd soon be sorry for considering her beneath his respect. They all would. Maybe even Serana… Maybe even her.

She clawed at the air, unable to lift her head to see, and snagged the leg of a prisoner who couldn't back away fast enough. Oddly, she did have the strength to pull him closer and let her fangs sink into his calf, and once they pierced the man's flesh, he no longer resisted. Again she drank greedily, taking her fill. The blood didn't come fast enough, and her other hand lashed out, grabbing her prey by the buttock and pulling him closer. She dragged him hand over hand until she could sink her fangs into his weak Elven throat. She felt his larynx crunch and his body twitch, but she didn't care.

"Stop! You're killing him!"

"Please, no! He's done nothing wrong!"

"Stop you murdering bitch!"

"Someone do something!"

She didn't hear the voices, not really. Didn't feel the hands trying to pull her off. She simply drank and drank, numbing the pain, until her victim was dead and his arteries were dry.

She could stand again. Feeling the charred skin on her shoulder break open, she snatched another victim, this one a nubile Breton girl, and drank more, feeling the young, potent blood invigorate her further.

"She's going to kill us all!"

"Help!"

"She's out of control, stop her!"

"If we all attack her together, we'll – "

Roë cast her dead victim away, the girl's dead head banging against the bars, and grabbed the man who suggested to attack her. He, too, met his end at her teeth. She no longer had any control of what she did, caught in the frenzy. She threw his body aside, blood running down her chin and throat, and reached out, taking hold of the first throat she could reach.

"Roë! Roë, stop! Stop!"

That voice broke her frenzy. Of course it did. Even now, that voice could reach her, no matter where she was. She let go of the hair on the back of the half-Orc's head. It was only now she realized that she was about to murder the same half-Orc girl she'd almost killed during her last feeding session. The halfblood's eyes were wide with fear.

"Roë, what have you done? Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm suffering, Serana! I'm in terrible pain, because of what you did!" Roë snarled back. "This is the only way I can – "

"You've… you've… I can't hide this from my father. If he finds out, he'll…"

"What?" she snapped. "Throw me in his damned sun pit?"

"No, Roë," Serana said quietly. "He'll destroy you."

"Good! Let him!"

"Roë, it will be painful. Excruciating. Vampires who can no longer control themselves are purged… by fire."

Now, the beast inside her began to protest. It wouldn't let her surrender, especially not to death by fire. But maybe… maybe there was another way for this to end. She could always confront him, lose, and meet her end as a pillar of flame, but who said she had to lose? Harkon was immensely powerful, but so was she. She couldn't do it alone, but she didn't have to, either.

"Then we deal with your father, Serana," she hissed.

Serana's mouth fell open. "Deal with my father? We? There is no 'we', Roë."

The words cut across her soul, but she said regardless, "Your father plans to wring you for every last drop of blood. You know this! If we confront him now, maybe we can – "

"Without the bow? You're mad, Roë. Weren't you listening when I said my father was thousands of years old? Without Auriel's Bow, there's no way!"

"What if there were four of us?" Roë asked. "Would there still be no way?"

Serana had to admit, "If… there were four of us, maybe. But you're overlooking one important thing."

Roë put her hands in her sides. "And what's that?"

"You just assume I'm willing to fight by your side. Against my own father. And that's an assumption you're making too lightly."

She couldn't be serious. "Serana. It's now or never. If your father comes down those stairs and hauls me off to be executed, you'll have no chance against him. Not without me. And you're going to doom yourself just because you're miffed at me? It has to be now!"

Serana sighed and looked at Roê, her blazing eyes dim with sadness. "Roë. This goes beyond our personal differences. I'm afraid of what my father will do when he has what he wants, but… I'm just as afraid of you."

Rage began boiling up inside of her. Serana was really testing her patience. First she'd burned her half to death, and now she had the nerve to be afraid of her? She had the gall to make her out to be the villain? "Fine, Serana. Listen here. I'm going to find that Bow. And I will find it. When I come back, you'll either enter the castle together with me, or defend it against me." With a growl, she added, "Either suits me fine." It didn't though, not really. Because even with the rage, the monstrous power turning her into more and more of a beast, even with the hate seething inside her, there was still that one feeling. The feeling of longing, of wanting only to wipe all the problems away and just be with her.

Serana looked up at the stairs and back to Roë.

"What's it going to be?"

"Promise me you'll – "

"No," Roë cut her off. "No promises, no guarantees, nothing. You come with me now or you'll stand against me when I come back. But I'll tell you this: you might think I'll turn against you, but you know your father will. It should be an obvious choice, and you better make it right now, or I'll make it for you."

"I… need to think – "

"No. like you said, your father will be here any minute, and he'll give me a horrible, fiery death. For the friendship we once had, think hard about whether or not this is what you want for me."

"Of course I don't want – "

"Then decide now." And please decide right. Please stay with me.

Serana ran a hand through her hair, looking around the dungeon, at the slaughtered prisoners, the bloody spatters, and the terrified survivors. Then she looked up the stairs. Meanwhile, Roë grabbed as many blood vials as she could carry, stuffing them in an empty satchel she found tossed between the desk and a wall.

"Fine," Serana said with a sigh. "But on one condition."

"I don't care what your conditions are," Roë muttered, buckling the front flap of the satchel. Of course she cared.

"That you put any thoughts of us becoming more than reluctant allies out of your head."

Rage flared up inside Roë. Part of her wanted to tear Serana in two for what she'd just said. Why would she say such a thing? To twist the knife further? To make sure Roë knew full well that she was still inferior to her? Unworthy of her?

"You've made it perfectly clear that I'm shit to you," Roë snarled. "You don't need to remind me."

Serana sighed. "You're not – "

"Enough!" She slung the satchel over her shoulders, the vials of blood clinking inside it. Feasting on the slaves had made the pain in her shoulder less to the point that it could be ignored to a degree. "I'm leaving, stay or come, I don't care."

Serana sighed again, biting her lower lip. "… Fine. I'll… I'll come with. I'm… trusting you on this, Roë."

"What are you trusting me on?" she snapped back. "That we can kill your father? Or that I won't stab you in the back?"

"Honestly? Both."

She felt her own eyes narrow, and she hissed at Serana, "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"I guess I will. So, what, we just walk out through the front gate?"

"Not yet," Roë said curtly. "Wait for me there, I'll be there in a bit. And don't even think about ratting me out to your father."

Serana's blazing eyes flashed. "I said I'm on your side, Roë. Don't push it."

She didn't even dignify that with an answer. She had allies to secure. Vampires who were powerful enough to provide at least a little bit of help, but not powerful enough to be a threat to her. She knew exactly who to approach.

"Who gave them to you?"

Roë stopped when she heard the voice from down the stairs, coming from the cell block. She recognized it. Oh, this was an unhoped-for opportunity. If she was going to sever her ties with this castle (at least until she was equipped to take it over), she might as well treat herself to this little act of satisfaction. Because this was going to be a pleasure. But, since she recognized the voice, she also knew there was no hurry anymore.

Namasur couldn't report what he'd never see.

"I know you got two vials from someone. Who?"

Silence. Roë stood at the top of the stairs, listening.

"No matter. I know who it was. And all I have to do is bring this before Lord Harkon and we'll all be rid of this arriviste parvenu who dares to call herself 'noble'."

She'd been called many things, but never an 'arriviste parvenu'. Namasur's vocabulary was larger than his heedfulness, it would seem. His vocabulary notwithstanding, however, he was given no answer by the two Vampires in the holding cell.

"Will you make me come in there and stab some pointy things in those deliciously vulnerable open patches of skin?"

And he'd just informed Roë that he had the key to these cells. Ah, such a thoughtful unintentional ally he was. She'd heard enough. It was time for Namasur to answer for his constant irreverence. It was about time they all learned some respect. She was a noble, and the next ruler of Castle Volkihar. Disrespect would not be tolerated.

What little colour remained, drained instantly out of Namasur's ugly face when he saw her. "L… Lady Roë!"

"Spare me the titles," Roë said in her calmest, most amiable voice as she carefully put the satchel on the ground. "You don't use them when you're talking behind my back either."

"I… I would never – "

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have misheard then, when you were calling me an 'arriviste parvenu'."

That told him enough. Roë saw the realization on his face, that he wouldn't get out of this one with lying and grovelling. His demeanour promptly changed. Gone was the toadying hand-wringer, replaced by a cornered animal, his mouth and ugly pig nose contorted in a snarl. "It doesn't matter. I'm going straight to Lord Harkon, and I'm telling him everything. What you did to the slaves, how you smuggled vials into these cells, everything."

He wasn't going to anyone, wasn't going to tell anything. Roë let her mouth pull into a confident, devilish sneer, knowing it would make things clear enough.

And make things clear it did. Namasur backed away until he hit the wall, his hands against it as if he was going to push himself through. "You… you wouldn't dare. Everyone will know it was you. Lord Harkon will – "

"You don't get it, do you?" Roë grated low. "The next time Lord Harkon will see me is when I chase an arrow from Auriel's Bow into his heart."

"Y… you mean to…"

"It doesn't matter to you. Not anymore." Her hands hooked into claws at her side as she approached him. "It's time for you to die."

Namasur inhaled to cry for help, but Roë cut his breath short before it could exit his throat. Her claws slashed in a horizontal arc, tearing out his larynx and part of his windpipe, sending them splattering against the wall. Namasur immediately went down and showed his belly, holding his hands out in front of him, begging silently for mercy, a gurgling wheeze the only sound his ruined throat could still produce.

There would be no mercy and he was a fool to ask for it. Roë grabbed his ankle, and as if he was weightless, she swung his body over her head, sending it smacking hard into the stones behind her. Namasur clawed at the stones, blood spraying from his destroyed face, but Roë simply lifted him up again, swinging him overhead, back to the other side, and further breaking his body on the stones he'd stood on. The pain in her shoulder was insignificant compared to the satisfaction she felt.

His face was a mess of blood and teeth, his body a sack of broken bones. Roë had half a mind to prolong his suffering, but every moment she stayed was dangerous. She couldn't waste time, much as she wanted to. She stepped over to the shattered remains of the slave master, permitting herself a few precious seconds to watch his broken, bloodied jaw move, and then she brought her boot down on his cracked, partially collapsed skull, flattening it and sending his brain tissue, eyes and blood bursting out in a red, gruesome many-pointed star.

Strings of viscous goo stretched from the sole of her boot to the mass of head that lay flattened on the stones.

"W… well, he's… dead."

Garen Marethi stood at the bars, his face a burned and smouldering horror, the skin peeled off in blackened patches, smoke still curling up from the open wounds. He was less ashamed of it than Fura was, but his face was still tense with great pain.

"And it was about time," Roë grunted back, wiping her boot on the chest of the dead Vampire's tunic. "The world will not be poorer for it."

"I… heard the sound of glass when you… put the satchel down. Is there a-any chance of…?"

Right, that. Roë picked up the satchel, holding it by the strap, but didn't push it through the bars. They weren't getting it for free. She needed a pretty serious guarantee, or they could stay in their sun pit, he and Fura. "Not just like that. I need a promise from you both first."

Garen Marethi stood waiting, biting the pain but having no other expression on his face. He probably knew there'd be strings attached from the moment he noticed the satchel. Fura just sat huddled and shivering in the darkness, a heap of misery almost indistinguishable from the rest of the lightless cell.

"You heard what I said to Namasur," Roë said flatly. "Harkon's going down, but I can't do it alone. Serana's already with me, but we need all the allies we can get. Choose now. Either you stay right where you are and do your time in the sun pit, with still years and years to go, and get sent right back there when Harkon feels like it… or you can join me, take control of your own destiny, and become valued and justly-treated vassals under my reign."

Marethi was silent for a moment. "You mean, your and Lady S-Serana's reign?"

She could say no more than, "We'll see about that."

"Assuming this is not an underhanded ploy from Lord Harkon to test our loyalties…" He waited for a response from her.

"Yes. Because that's why I just stomped on Namasur's head. To test the loyalty of two Vampires who are powerless and imprisoned."

That made sense to Garethi. "I have… few moral reservations about deposing Lord Harkon," Garen said, choosing his words carefully. "Especially after spending a few days in this pit. But Lady Serana… she's never treated any of us unfairly."

This called for some quick thinking. "I mean that Serana might not be all that eager to rule," Roë half-lied. "She and I are still allies."

Garen took a moment to think, hunched over and shivering with pain. "I'll do anything to get out of this pit at… at the moment. And that includes… standing up to Lord Harkon, and even risking my head by trusting you when you say… you're not testing us."

"Good."

"But… only if we both… agree."

That wouldn't be a problem.

"Fura?" Roë made the bag of blood vials clink to make sure she was convincing enough.

Silently, a clawed, burned hand shot out of the darkness, palm upward.