Just Get Me Out Of Here

Desmond swore, blinking rapidly. The trek through the vampire-ridden crypt had left him unable to concentrate for long on the advanced spell, but it didn't matter: detecting life was clearly the wrong way to go about hunting vampires. At least there were no more spiders around.

"Magic is awesome, learn about alteration, you'll get treasure," he scoffed quietly. What use was treasure if the undead in the cave killed him because he couldn't see them? Maybe someone at the fort happened to know a good spell for detecting vampires in the dark. He gingerly stepped over the giant spider and the body of a master vampire that had tangled with it and pushed open a door to a massive cavern. At least Aleius's life detection spell had warned him about the spider.

"I'll never tell you anything, vampire!" More voices came from below, this one panicked and the other two calm. "My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me!"

"I believe you, Vigilant," said one of the calm voices. "And I don't think you even know what you've found here. So go and meet your beloved Stendarr."

Desmond's breath caught in his throat as he heard a slash of steel, then a body fall to the ground.

"Are you sure that was wise, Lokil?" came the second voice. "He still might have told us something! We still haven't gotten anywhere ourselves with—"

"He knew nothing."

Desmond crouched on the edge of a stone staircase, looking down on two vampires leaving behind the body of a Vigilant. Beyond was a massive round structure in stone, patrolled by skeletons and another vampire.

"He served his purpose by leading us to this place. Now it is up to us to bring Harkon the prize."

Desmond turned the corner to the staircase, suppressing a yell. Another stone gargoyle greeted him on the parapet, staring eerily at him. They were becoming more common the deeper he went into the crypt, unlike anything else he had ever encountered. At least dragons could blink.

Desmond crept down the stairs as the pair of vampires left the body of the Vigilant behind. "What is it with you Vigilants going alone to places?" Desmond whispered, not a moment later realizing that that was exactly what he was doing. He rifled through a journal left by the poor man's body, skimming it as he kept an ear out for the vampires in case they returned. Apparently, the place was interesting, but held no answers. Desmond tossed the journal aside and readied his crossbow. He was in no mood for solving deep dark vampire mysteries.

A few well-placed bolts later, Desmond was alone. A quick life detection sweep of the room seemed to support this, so long as there were no vampires lurking where he could not see or hear them. He stood in the center of the cavern, trying to think. There were braziers set on pedestals dotting the stone circles on the floor, skeletons lying in their paths. In the middle of the circles was a stone pillar. A stone switch was set into the pillar.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?" Desmond asked the empty room, impatient. He frowned down at the switch on the pedestal, and jabbed at it with his finger. Nothing happened, save for a small grinding sound of stone against stone. It was definitely some sort of switch for something. Was it stuck? He whacked it with a closed fist, also to no avail. Annoyed, Desmond slammed his hand down hard on the button.

Something clicked, and a sharp metal spike burst up from the pedestal. Desmond yelled, sinking to the floor and shaking with shock as the spike retracted and left him with a gaping hole in his hand.

"Son of the gods be damned straight to Oblivion—!" Desmond swore up and down as he rooted around in his bag for something to help. Which came first, spell or potion? It would have to be the potion, there was no way he could focus enough for a healing spell as long as he could see through his palm. His good hand shook as he poured it out, spilling smoking drops onto the stone below. Something in his hand started rearranging itself in an unsettling way as scars stretched over the wound, the flow of blood beginning to slow as the potion worked.

Desmond ripped a piece of fabric from his sleeve, knotting it around his hand and yanking it tight with his teeth. He could no longer feel his fingers, and something definitely felt broken or shattered. Hopefully, he could get out of here quick enough to be seen by a healer who actually knew a thing or two. He let his head fall back against the pedestal in the middle of the room, blue and violet fire erupting around him. The circles sunk into the floor flowed with the bright light, bringing to mind the evening auroras that danced in the skies of Skyrim.

He stood up, scowling at the pedestal and examining the fires around him. They followed some sort of pattern... if he were less angry with this whole place, perhaps he would care. Desmond kicked some of the braziers around at random, grumbling to himself. "Rotted crypt with its spiders and,and vampires and bloody spikes, like I didn't need my hand for anything, godssakes..."

Finally, the center pedestal erupted in a pillar of purple fire. Whatever he'd done had worked: the floor began to sink in. He swore again, hopping out of the circle to the edges as the circles sank lower and lower, revealing whatever was below the spiked and bloody pedestal.

Doors?

"Huh. Maybe there is such a thing as buried treasure," he said dismally, approaching them and giving them a solid kick.

The doors slid open. A woman with her hands crossed over her heart fell forward, catching herself before she could fall flat on her face. Desmond staggered back, baffled. How on earth could there have been a person in there?

"Ugh... what is..." The woman stood up, blinking rapidly. She was disoriented and seemed just as confused as he was. "Who sent you here?" she asked blearily.

"None of your damn business, that's who," Desmond said immediately, keeping his distance. The woman's eyes shone an uncomfortable shade of red, and even from his safe distance he could see fangs.

She crossed her arms. "I think it is, actually. Why would someone who isn't... like me come all the way down here?"

"So you are a—"

"Vampire. Yes."

Desmond stared at her, at a loss. He certainly couldn't hit her or shoot her, not with his hand still lacking feeling in the fingers. Running also seemed like a bad idea—vampiers were much better suited to getting around in the dark than him. "I should kill you," he said quietly, not entirely sure how he intended to back up that ill-timed statement. "I'm Dawnguard, I should kill you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not fond of vampires, are you?"

"No."

The woman sighed. Was that pity in her eyes? "Well, look. Kill me, you've killed one vampire. But if people are after me, there's something bigger going on. I can help you find out what that is."

Desmond kept his eyes on her, still refusing to go near her. "So you must be the prize the vampires were after..."

"Sounds about right."

He shot her a glare that she immediately returned. On the one hand, the Dawnguard were vampire hunters. Why should he let even one live? On the other hand, he was injured and probably outnumbered, if not easily overpowered.

"Fine," he spat finally. "Just, just don't get in my way."

"I was going to say the same to you."

Desmond scowled at her. "Where you headed?"

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

"Right," said Desmond, looking her over. She certainly looked the part of a vampire, clad in dark colors over pale skin and red eyes. She had dark hair and something vaguely familiar on her back that reminded him of Martin for some reason. "What do you mean they used to live there?" he asked. "How long were you in there?"

Serana chewed on her tongue, looking off into space as she thought. "Good question... hard to say. I can't really tell," she concluded. "I feel like it was a long time."

"At least you're not speaking Ayleidoon or something," Desmond said darkly.

"Who is Skyrim's High King?" she asked.

Desmond paused. "That's... actually a matter of some serious debate right now."

Serana rolled her eyes. "Wonderful, a war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?"

"Well," Desmond said, launching into the speech he'd heard others around him give a few times. "You've got Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak rebellion who murdered High King Torygg a year or two back, so in theory it could be him, but the Empire supports Torygg's widow Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude, and the country's kinda split."

Serana stared at him blankly. "Empire?" she asked. "What... what Empire?"

"THE Empire. Of Cyrodiil?" Desmond asked.

"Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire?" Serana asked, aghast. "I must have been gone longer than I thought... definitely longer than I planned."

Desmond shrugged. At least he wouldn't have to discuss politics anymore. "Ok... so why in the world were you put in there for so long you don't know about the Cyrodiilic Empire?"

"I'd rather not get into that with you," Serana said, glaring at him distrustfully. "If that's all right."

"Fine by me."

"I'm sorry, it's not that..." She broke off. "It's just that I don't know who I can trust yet. Let's get to my home, and then we'll have a better sense of where we all stand."

"Fine," Desmond repeated impatiently. "So what is home?"

"Island near Solitude. Hopefully, we can find a boat to take us there." Serana looked around anxiously, as though trying to find a way out for herself. "It's my family home. Not the most welcoming place, but depending on who's around, I'll be safe there."

Desmond's scowl deepened, still studying her. "Someone you don't want to see?"

"My father and I don't really get along," Serana said. "Ugh. Saying it out loud makes it sound so... common. Little girl who doesn't get along with her father—read that story a hundred times."

Finally, it clicked. "Is that an Elder Scroll?" Desmond asked, realizing why it looked so familiar and so out of place.

Serana took a step back. "Yes it is, and it's mine."

"Why in the name of the gods do you have an Elder Scroll?" he demanded.

"It's... complicated," Serana said slowly. "I can't really talk about it. I'm sorry."

Desmond shook his head, moving slowly up the stone steps to the edges of the platform again, careful not to let Serana out of his line of sight. "You know what, whatever. Do you know how to get out of here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Serana told him. "This place looks pretty different from when I was locked away."

"Great."

"So how did you get here?" she asked.

"None of your damn business."

"Fine." Serana followed him up the steps, Desmond walking a bit faster to keep his distance. They fell into tense silence, walking out towards the farther end of the platform.

An explosion of stone greeted them from the walls beyond. The stone gargoyles had burst to life, sending Desmond scurrying back towards the pedestal, fumbling as he tried to work his crossbow. A bolt flew past the gargoyles, out of sight and woefully off-target. Serana laughed, blasting the gargoyles back with spells on her own.

"Some vampire hunter you are," she taunted.

"How'm I supposed to shoot properly when I can barely feel my hand?" Desmond shot back at her, brandishing his bandaged hand.

"What'd you do to it? Have a run-in with a rat?"

"Your damned coffin stabbed me!" he spat, glaring. "Suppose it was to feed you and wake you up, now that I think about it."

Serana's grin vanished. "Oh."

"Do not get any funny ideas about, about eating me or anything," Desmond said fiercely.

Serana scowled at him as he shouldered open a heavy wooden door. "I could just leave you here to die," she said. "Get eaten by spiders or whatever else is in here."

"Yeah? You think this place has changed since you've been down here?" Desmond fired back. "Get to Solitude on your own, then."

He stalked off down the path, leaving Serana behind.

"...Wait."

"S'what I thought," he scoffed.

They pressed onward, still tense and mostly quiet.

"So where are you from?" Serana asked.

"Windhelm. And Riften. Kind of."

"Oh." Silence. "I'm from Solitude."

"Yeah, I guessed."

More silence. Serana sped up a bit to keep up with him. "Are you always such a joy to be around?"

"No," Desmond said through gritted teeth. "Vampires bring out the worst in me. And so does getting stabbed through the goddamned hand."

The room ahead was oppressively warm and reeked of burnt flesh. Corpses lay strewn over the fire pit in the center of the room, skeletons and draugr rising to life from their thrones around the amphitheater.

"Think you can shoot?" Serana asked, firing off spells. A skeleton exploded apart, bones flying around the amphitheater.

"I think I still can't feel my fingers," Desmond snarled, taking refuge behind a stone wall inscribed with ancient letters. "...Huh."

"What are you doing?" Serana demanded.

"For a friend of mine," Desmond said, copying down the letters to the best of his ability with his left hand. "If he can read it, at least."

"Of all the rescuers I could have gotten—"

"You're welcome to wait," Desmond said, checking his work as another skeleton burst apart behind him. "See who else comes along."

"Just get me out of here," Serana sighed.

Desmond packed up his roll of paper and led the way. "The sooner we get out of here, the better I'll feel," he mumbled.

Evening had fallen by the time they reached snow. It was dark, and snow fell in heavy sheets from the cloudy skies above.

"Ah! It's so good to breathe again," Serana said, taking several deep breaths. "Even in this weather, it's better than the cave."

"Better snow than rain," Desmond said dismally. "Come on, I'm going to Morthal."

"I said I lived in Solitude."

"I don't trust a bunch of vampires to fix my hand," Desmond said pointedly. "I'm going to Morthal to get someone to fix it, and you're either coming with or going to Solitude by yourself. If I have to go someplace where everyone wants to eat me, I'm not going unarmed."

Serana scowled at him. "We don't eat people. We're vampires, not cannibals."

"That's supposed to be better?" Desmond checked his map, and set off down the mountain.

The tips of his fingers were still slightly numb, and Falion warned him that the center of his palm might never regain feeling. He bore a round, blackened scar over where the spike had done its damage. But, at least his hand still worked.

"How far from here?" Desmond asked. They had passed through Dragon Bridge hours ago, just before dawn after walking all night. He was exhausted, but not about to stop. Not in the company of a vampire.

"It's not too far, I think." Serana looked around. The mildly confused, lost expression on her face was still firmly in place. "Hopefully, at least. I thought you knew the way?"

"Why would I know the way? It's your home, not mine."

"Right. You're from the east."

"Windhelm and Riften," he said. "And wherever there's an inn, nowadays."

"You travel a lot?"

"Just around Skyrim," Desmond said. "Been all over. Lot of walking."

Serana shielded her eyes from the sun as it rose ever higher. "It's so bright out here... I don't know how you stand it."

"Maybe it's because I'm not an unholy creature of the night," Desmond said darkly.

"I'm not very fond of your tone," Serana snapped.

"I'm not very fond of you having tasted my blood, so I think we're about square," Desmond shot back.

They fell silent, approaching the Sea of Ghosts. Out on the horizon, the tips of towers poked through clouds over the sea.

"That must be it, huh?" Desmond asked, nodding to the far-off castle.

A small, run-down dock sat on the banks of the sea. Serana clambered inside, staring off at the castle. "Yeah."

"Let's get this over with, then."

"This is your home?"

The castle was enormous, even more so up close. A small house could have sat snugly on the bridge leading to the doors.

"This is it," Serana said, nodding. "Home sweet... castle. Castle Volkihar."

"Why didn't you tell me it's so huge?" Desmond asked, still staring up at the towers. "I thought Fort Dawnguard was big."

"I didn't want you to think I was one of those, you know... the women who just sit in their castle all day?" Serana shrugged. "I don't know. Coming from a place like this, well. It's not really me. I hope you can believe that."

The bridge was lined with stony gargoyles. Desmond swallowed hard, staring straight ahead. Their eyes still followed the pair of them. None of this sat right.

"Hey, so... before we go in there," Serana said.

Desmond sighed. "What now?"

Serana scowled at him. "Fine. Don't worry about it. Once we get inside, you won't have to babysit me anymore."

"Fine by me," Desmond spat. "But if anyone in there tries to eat me, I will absolutely shoot."

"Just keep quiet," Serana said. "Let me do the talking."

"Lady Serana's back!" A voice came from within the castle gate. "Open the gate!"

"Come on." Serana led the way in. Desmond hung back, flexing his numbed fingers. "Come on," Serana prompted. "What, are you scared?"

"I'm outnumbered and overpowered, and I still can't feel half my fingers," Desmond said, glaring as he caught up with her in the entry to the castle. "So yeah, I don't feel too great about this."

"How dare you trespass here!"

A High Elf vampire ran forward, Desmond immediately reached for his crossbow. Serana stepped between them, staring the stranger down.

"Serana?" The vampire stopped dead in his tracks, shocked. "Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes!"

"It's me," Serana said with a small sigh.

The vampire turned heel, rushing to a balcony. "My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!"

"I guess I'm expected." Serana followed the vampire down a set of steps from the balcony, waving for Desmond to follow. He hung back, reluctantly inching down the stairs and trying his best not to make eye contact with anything.

There were tables laden with meat and goblets of blood and potion. Black hounds that gave off dark streams of smoke wandered freely around the dimly lit hall. Vampires sat around the tables, watching Serana and murmuring amongst themselves. A tall vampire with dark hair stood as Serana approached him.

"I cannot believe it. My long-lost daughter returns at last." He drank deeply from a goblet before smiling at her. Desmond saw fangs. What else should he have expected, though? "I trust you have my Elder Scroll?"

"After all these years, that's the first thing you ask me? Yes, I have the Scroll," Serana said dismally.

"Of course, I'm delighted to see you, my daughter," the vampire said, his voice faintly menacing behind its saccharine tone. "Must I really say the words aloud?"

Desmond leaned back against the wall, taking up as little space as possible and observing from the last few steps of the stairs. There were a lot of vampires here... if this turned bad, he was probably not getting out alive.

"Ah, if only your traitor mother were here. I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike," Serana's father said venomously. "Now, tell me. Who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?"

"This is my savior, the one who freed me."

Serana turned to him, nodding. Desmond shook his head a fraction of an inch. Serana glowered at him as her father frowned.

"Well? I'm waiting."

Desmond blew out a breath and set back his shoulders, walking up to the pair of vampires. If he was going to die here, he wasn't about to go down like a coward.

"For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude," said the vampire, inclining his head to Desmond. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"You first." Desmond clenched and unclenched his fist, more out of nerves than any desire to do damage with it.

"Very well." The vampire narrowed his eyes at Desmond. "I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are."

"Yeah. Vampires," Desmond said curtly.

"Not just vampires," Harkon corrected. "We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim."

Desmond's face remained unchanged. "Vampires."

"For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world," Harkon told him grandly. "All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most."

Desmond resisted the urge to glare at Harkon, supposing that Harkon did not place his value with his daughter. "So what now?" he asked, deciding not to give voice to his guess.

"You have done me a great service, and now you must be rewarded," Harkon told him. "There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter."

"And what's that?"

"I offer you my blood." Harkon was watching him carefully, looking for a reaction. "Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again."

Desmond bit his lip to avoid laughing. Fear death? He had it on good authority that what came after death wasn't so bad as long as he managed to stay out of Oblivion. But... "And if I refuse?" he asked, desperately hoping there wasn't a death sentence on the other hand.

"Then you will be prey, like all mortals." Harkon stared cruelly down at Desmond, smoldering anger in his eyes. "I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this hall."

"Fine."

"Perhaps you still need convincing. Behold the power!"

Desmond stumbled back as Harkon's body morphed and changed, sprouting wings and horns as the bestial form of the Vampire Lord took over. His skin turned a sickly, mottled blue color, fangs drawing attention away from the horns on his head. He hovered just above the ground, looking down at a horrified Desmond.

"This is the power that I offer!" Harkon announced. "Make your choice."

"No deal," Desmond said immediately. "I'll be on my way."

Harkon's frown gave way to the full glare that seemed to run in the family. "So be it. You are prey, like all mortals. I banish you."

Before Desmond could react, Harkon had shot a spell at him. The last thing he remember was his knees hitting the ground as the world faded into black around him.

Desmond came to in the snow outside the castle, bleary-eyed and confused. What had happened?

He scrambled to his feet and sprinted towards the boat docked below, his conversation with Harkon rushing back to him. Vampires, lots of vampires, a very large amount of vampires. He felt his neck for bites, checking over his arms and feeling his chest for a heartbeat. All still in order. Desmond yanked a hawk feather out of his bag and stuffed it into his mouth as he shoved off. Better safe than sorry.