"The Ideal Masters should really redecorate the place." he commented. "I mean even a different color other than purple or black would at least be something."

"I don't think the souls are supposed to like it here." Serana said with tinge of amusement as they walked along the dirt path to the hulking castle where her mother stayed.

They were in the Soul Cairn; their surroundings a desolate image of rocky terrain and storming violet skies. Crumbling buildings and pillars sprouted from the ground at ominous intervals and lightning cracked somewhere above them, sending creatures to roam about freely and cause chaos wherever they went. Souls wandered around, lost and despondent, bemoaning of their fate.

Whitland hated all of it.

Since he wasn't a vampire, the place constantly sapped at his strength and made him feel vulnerable. To top it off, Serana was still working magic with her abilities to confound him; making it a double threat. And he was in the male majority when it came to despising open emotions. Even now, he shuddered at the thought. There was a reason he stuck to humor and flirting. He was a fish out of water when it came to this stuff.

Serana was acting like nothing had happened at the tower, but there was a tension between them that wasn't there before. Not a good kind of tension either, but something that would snap if the right amount of pressure was applied. She seemed completely fine, which he knew enough about the opposite gender to know the sign actually meant, 'I'm pissed and unhappy.' While feelings of rejection and outright humiliation were hard to stomach, he had no idea how he was supposed go from here. The entire situation was aggravating.

It was now that he wished he had brought Elvyr along with them. He could use the male support and some advice on the matter. Then again, being a true Nord, Elvyr would probably tell him to ask her what was wrong or something equally ridiculous. Not much room for subtlety with a Nord. But he wasn't an idiot. He would muddle through the tension between them and figure out what the problem was, not caring if he made an ass of himself along the way. He frowned. Wait, that didn't sound right.

His thoughts were interrupted when the Boneyard materialized in the distance. From his vantage point, he could see the thick columns of the castle send a ray of purple light from the hovering crypts of stones and into the sky. And now, he only thought miserably, he would walk with Serana to his personal hate club, because Divines knew that Valerica would be displeased to see him. I mean, the woman had wanted her husband dead. Sure, Harkon was going to kill her daughter and take over the world, but that couldn't bode well for him when he was a vampire hunter and not even related. The woman barely held a sliver of trust towards him.

In front of them, a score of stone steps rested haphazardly in the dirt and the two carefully climbed the stairs to the entrance of the castle. Great big pillars rested on each side of the entry and he could spot Valerica's figure among the mass of stone. She was bent over at her alchemy table, grinding something into a powder that was to be later added into a potion. He knew from experience that particular skill of hers had been handed down to her daughter. In fact, it was probably one of the reasons he was still alive today. He could only imagine how pleased Valerica would be to know that piece of information.

There was a loud hiss of steam as Valerica started to brew her ingredients together. She didn't seem to have recognized their arrival. He watched as a handful of purple petals got thrown into the mixture and the horrifying thought of poison flittered through his mind. Images of dead husbands followed soon after. Like mother, like daughter- he started, but then stopped with a deep, calming breath.

That potion was in no way meant for him, he told himself, and no matter how upset Serana was with him, she would not poison him. Besides, what would she do? Taint his food? He had little desire to revisit the memory of her cooking skills. Sure, it had all been edible that time, but he knew he wouldn't let her touch a meal of his if he had something to do about it.

While he silently panicked over murder attempts, his companion fidgeted next to him. "Mother?" asked Serana somewhat hesitantly from where she stood. It was a cautious greeting and he found no comfort in the fact that Serana was just as unsure of her mother as he was.

Valerica didn't move from her spot and continued with whatever potion she was concocting. "I see you're both back." she stated in her harsh tone. "Have you realized your futile efforts are in vain?"

Her superior and arrogant words jabbed at him like a red hot poker from a hearth. He bristled, but kept his tone measured, "Harkon is dead."

Valerica paused and finally turned to face them. Her face was gaunt with the lines of age and her skin sickly pale, but those eyes and tongue were as sharp as the honed edge of a blade. "It seems," she said slowly like the words soured her mouth, "I underestimated you. I will return to Tamriel shortly and take over my study. It will surely need some work redone in my absence." Her eyes turned to Serana with a clear dismissal on his end. "I would speak with you daughter, alone." she added with a less than discreet glance in his direction.

Serana sighed. "If I have any idea of what this is about Mother, then he already knows."

The lines of Valerica's face tightened and she spoke with sharp reproach. "Do you not put any value in your good judgment Serana? He is not one of us. He would kill you-" Serana cut her off before he could say anything, which was probably for the best because the words 'mistrustful swine' were lodged inside his throat and would hardly help his position.

"Don't." she snapped and he felt a faint flicker of hope rise in his chest. Maybe he hadn't ruined things irreparably between them.

Serana released her temper with a sigh that made her figure slump over. "I didn't come here to fight with you Mother." she said tiredly. "What do you know about the marking?" she asked, but Valerica ignored her to set her steely gaze on him.

Wonderful.

"It appears my daughter still foolishly instills her trust in you, mortal." she said bitingly. "I would be careful not to betray it." With that thinly veiled threat, she turned her attention back to her daughter. Whitland tried to stop envisioning her head on a pike like Harkon had so lovingly mentioned when he first met him. But he had to hand it to the dead husband; there was some justification behind the wish.

His thoughts went by unheard and so Valerica spoke without concern. "Does it start at your wrist?" With Serana's confirming nod, the vampire continued. "Then this is worse than I feared. I share the same mark. Do you know what was transpiring when you got it?"

Serana's brow furrowed. "I was unconscious," she began, but realization struck him hard in the chest and dread pooled in the bottom of his stomach. He remembered something strange that had happened that day, something odd that he would normally dismiss.

"She got it after Harkon died." he interrupted, his eyes far away. "The fountain of blood glowed then. I thought I might have imagined it with the loss of blood, but now I'm sure of it. The fountain flashed red before I blacked out."

Valerica looked alarmed. "You're certain?" she asked while staring at him like he was some crazed lunatic shouting murder conspiracies, which actually wasn't that far from the truth considering what he'd been thinking earlier.

"Quite." He nearly growled. After all, he desperately needed to stay on Serana's good side. Just because she wouldn't poison him, didn't mean Valerica would hold the same reservations. He had given up a long time ago to be on good terms with her mother.

Who, speaking of, had grown quiet -a first in the presence of the overly protective mother. She had not stopped threatening him or questioning his motives since day one. This silence was either a new way for her to berate him, or something was extremely unsettling her. He couldn't decide whether to be alarmed or offended. Oh, the choices…

Serana seemed to think the same. "What is it Mother?" she asked with a quick glance at him. He could see the concern welling up into her eyes and ached to comfort her. He didn't move out of fear if she would throw his support aside, or if her mother would kill him first. Both sounded just as disenchanting and he squashed the feeling down as best as he could.

Valerica's gaze lifted; her eyes were numb and unseeing. "Molag Bal." she whispered.

Serana's eyes widened and one of her hands came to cover her mouth. Their reactions startled him. He had thought Molag Bal was one of the princes they worshipped and had given them their powers. Why would the daedric prince do this to them now? It didn't make any sense.

He voiced his thoughts. "How can Molag Bal involved?" His question seemed to knock them out of their horrified stupor and they looked at him.

"The fountain you speak of is an altar to Molag Bal." answered Valerica, whose usual tone of contempt was strangely absent. She must have been really shaken by the turn of events. "If what you said is true, then it can only be his doing. For what reason, I do not claim to know, but it is a bad omen."

Her words sparked a memory of his, and Whitland realized her late husband had said something similar about the fountain. "What should we do?" he asked, finally feeling the same sense of distress falling heavily on his shoulders.

Valerica's eyes hardened. "You will do nothing. It is has no part in your mortal affairs and you will back off."

His spine straightened. "You need help." he said tersely. "Serana needs help, and I will give it. I am the only one here not troubled by this curse."

"And you would just lend your services freely?" stated Valerica disbelievingly.

He could feel his fury boiling inside him, but he pushed it aside and smiled forcibly. It was about as warm as broken glass. "Yes, and since I know how to find him, I think you'll accept my services quite appreciatively." He didn't mention the fact that it was him who had saved the world from eternal darkness and made sure her daughter was kept safe. Valerica would listen to value and worth, not past success.

Her eyes narrowed at him and he had to fight to keep off his smug expression. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak, Serana gently interceded. "Mother, I trust him." He expected Valerica to snap and start lecturing her daughter about where to place her trust, but she only stared at Serana for a moment longer before nodding. He caught Serana's gaze and saw something burning there with a fierce longing. Suddenly, he needed to know what that look meant, but Valerica's sigh drew his attention and the question fell forgotten from his lips.

"Very well," the old woman conceded, "Although I feel I should question where you got this information," she said pointedly, "I suppose I am not in the position to be picky when help is offered." Whitland allowed the insult to pass. "Be careful with Molag Bal. He is not to be trifled with. I will return and go to my study to see if I can find anymore information about this in my library. Perhaps history has our answer." Valerica's eyes settled on him and spiked dangerously. "I am once again placing my daughter's life in your hands, be sure not to disappoint me. Stay safe, Serana." she added.

As they walked away, Whitland released a pent up breath. Serana noticed. "What is it?" she asked with a note of concern.

Secretly, a little part of him was warmed to see that she cared, but he waved her off. "Nothing, only relief Valerica didn't kill me." he said with a hint of a smile. In actuality, he was being quite serious. Maybe he wasn't that far off base with the whole murder conspiracy problem. He was growing way too paranoid lately.

Serana gave a small smile. "Mother does have a hard time warming up to people." she admitted. He allowed the understatement to go by without comment. He could be civilized when he wanted to and the encounter with Valerica left him feeling strangely giddy. But now was the time to focus.

They needed to find Bal.

Two strangers slipped into the tavern, the dim candlelight flickering on the cowl of their hoods. It was late in the night and the tavern was reasonably filled with people who were seeking a drink and a bite to eat after a hard day's work. A minstrel stood in the center of the crowd, his clever fingers strumming a light tune on his lute, and playing any requests.

The strangers went their separate ways. One headed to the back corner of the room, the light there at its weakest, and where a person could still sit in relative seclusion but hear everything around them. The other slipped through the throng of people and leaned against the bar. Slapping a pair of coins on the table, the cloaked figure was given two tankards of alcohol. He shuffled back over to his companion and took a seat next to her while handing over her drink.

Serana's nose wrinkled from under her hood. "Ale?"

Whitland only grinned and took a hearty swig. He sighed in content. "Still has the same taste; watered down liquor and day-old piss." He finished off another swallow and clapped his mug down onto the table. Serana rolled her eyes and took a sip of ale. Her face soured and she gingerly set the tankard back down.

The opening notes to a song resonated within the tavern and he smiled around the rim of his cup. Someone had asked for 'The Dragonborn Comes.' Of course, no knew he was here as they had agreed to enter the city in secret. The less prying eyes and attention they drew to themselves the better.

He caught Serana wincing from the edge of his vision and fingering the sleeve of her arm. She noticed him looking and her expression cleared like she'd been splashed with cold water. Nonchalantly, she picked up her mug and gulped down a generous swallow of ale. She did a good job of hiding her disgust. His eyes narrowed despite the cheery atmosphere. It had been the other arm…

"What's wrong?" he asked, a growing sense of concern taking root in him.

Serana raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, just enjoying my liquor of piss." she lied.

Storm clouds gathered in his eyes and he opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but an echo of slurred voices would have drained out his words. Confused, he looked around the tavern to try and make out what people were saying.

The townsfolk were beating their mugs on the table, their drinks sloshing out of their cups and spilling onto the tables. They were a rowdy bunch and the barkeeper was pulling drinks off fast. "Dawn…! Dawn…! Dawn…!" they cried, appearing to be speaking to the bard, who smiled in anticipation while tuning the pegs of his lute. Whitland's brow crinkled, he had no idea what was going on and Serana looked just as lost.

The crowd fell silent as the bard gave a few experimental strums, then looking satisfied, cleared his throat. He fingered a few open bars and his voice rose above the music, light and sweet. He sang;

"Far south, blades clashed and shields bashed,

The Dawnguard were there, to save the sun from despair,

They fought strong against foe, whose smiles' had fangs and eyes that glowed."

Whitland and Serana swapped looks of surprise at the opening verse. The bard's fingers blurred across the strings and the music suddenly picked up. He sung louder now, and the drunkards joined in.

"At Dawn! Heroes cried.

Our foe shall die!

At Dawn! Foe cried

The sun shall die!"

"Blood was vast, and the fabled Dragonborn shout out a blast,

And from the skies, a scaled beast did come free;

Scorching the earth of enemies, never listening to their pleas!"

"Azura was woken and rose in the sky to see,

Foes screamed, while the Dawnguard crowed!"

As Dawn's sunbeams lit the road!"

"Far south, a battle was indeed won,

As the Dawnguard ended the threat with the aid of the sun!

Never before has such a thing occurred until yet,

And much better than the ole once upon,

That all shall remember it as the Battle of Dawn!"

With a flourish, the last lines echoes out with a bright strain of notes and the crowd cheered. The bard smiled and bowed at his audience. It seemed the song was a particular favorite of theirs. Whitland realized that Isran had not been lying when he said the people would be singing about their deed for centuries. But the battle had only been a week ago and they were in Markarth, the farthest a person could get from Fort Dawnguard. News of their victory must have spread like wildfire. He shook his head in awe.

After a small chat with the owner and his squabbling wife, Whitland rented a room for them to spend the night. There had been only one room available and seeing the narrow mattress, he settled down for a restless night sleeping on the cold, stone floor. As a lady, Serana would take sole possession of the bed. His back ached already. But of course, Serana argued vehemently against his wishes of being chivalrous.

He should have put up a better fight, but chivalry be damned. It got him nothing but an ugly kink in the back and maybe a smidgen of gratitude in return. No, he had probably been a little too eager when he got into the bed with her. And he was not fighting a smile when she was forced to lie practically on top of him so she wouldn't fall off. He settled down for sleep, thinking maybe less than chivalrous thoughts with her body so close. Then he realized something, or maybe re-realized something.

Serana was freezing.

Her skin was like ice. Touching her usually felt like liquid fire pulsing through his veins, and goosebumps would break out across his flesh that weren't from the cold. But she was sucking the heat right out of him. As night drew on, he grew colder and colder. Shivers crept up his spine while his body went numb, but he gritted his teeth and took it. Around an hour must have passed when he felt Serana roll over. The cold air invaded his sense and he fought another tremor before looking down to see what she was doing.

Orange eyes stared at him, burning like a pair of coals. His throat dried. Suddenly, he could feel the curves of her body pressing against him and her quick, shallow breaths. The hands resting on his chest were now searing through his shirt, flooding him with warmth. With his eyes on her, her hand slid up higher until her fingers were lying above his thumping heart. Her touch burned. He let out a sharp breath. Even in the dark, he could make out her blood-red lips. They moved.

"Are you cold?" Her soft voice sent the question twirling through the darkness and to his ears. He could see the concern in her ember eyes and the hot look of desire that was mirrored in his gaze. He acted.

His hand moved to the back of her head and he pulled her closer, sitting up a bit as he did. She shifted her weight onto her hand to keep her balance, the same hand that was slowly burning him from the inside out. Her body was warm, scorching even, but if this was pain, he never wanted it to end. His hand cupped her face and his thumbed smoothed over her skin. Her eyes dropped close and he leaned forward, his lips crashing against hers. She collapsed into him and the heat was almost unbearable. He moved feverishly against her cool lips, the only thing able to sate the heat as the inferno inside him blazed and threatened to consume him.

And then she was kissing him back. Pressing herself closer to him and plunging her hands into his hair, trying to eliminate any space between them. And she moaned. A heady, breathless moan, that made his hairs stand on end and made him bridle with desire. Her fingers dug into his skin, and the fire ate him alive, his skin radiating a heat that had to be from a fever. He had never felt something so intense.

Suddenly, her lips tore free and she ripped herself apart from him, scooting away and resting most of her weight against the stone wall. His chest expanded and he took in a deep lungful of air. Their raggedy breathing filled the silence as the two stared at each other. It took a conscious effort to lift his eyes from her bruised lips, but her eyes were bright with fear when he managed to look at them. The distance she had put between them seemed achingly like reproach. As his body slowly cooled down, her eyes broke from his gaze to stare at the floor.

Her fiery eyes dull, she spoke. "We can't. I-" her voice died. He waited, but she said no more.

He did his best to push away the raw feeling of hurt. He didn't succeed. Numbly, he nodded and feeling impossibly cold, he rose out of bed. Serana looked like she was about to protest, but her mouth shut closed when she caught a glimpse of his face.

He kept silent as he laced up his pair of boots and threw his thick cloak over him. On his way to the door, he paused.

He was still recovering from the kiss and so his voice came out deeper than usual. "I'm going out to think." The words felt thick and heavy to form. "I would try to get some rest." With that said, he left, leaving the inn and welcoming the brisk air outside that helped clear his confused senses. Winter was approaching and when he sighed, his breath made a wispy trail of smoke.

They couldn't.

A/N So this chapter is done and incredibly long. Sorry it took so long, but the long awaited kiss has finally happened, but of course it would be too easy to bring the two together now. The song was of my own devising and mediocre (I know), but I thought it did the job. I was sort of thinking of Pirates of the Caribbean music when I wrote it. As always, please review! Review, review, review! I'm getting better at replying to them.