Ancestral Voices

"I've never actually been to Solitude." Serana looked up at the wall surrounding the capitol from the rest of the world, watching it roll away as the carriage took them eastward. "It's... huge."

Desmond looked up at the walls too. "Yeah. Not my favorite place, all things considered," he said. "Just as well, Solitude's too rich for my blood."

Serana laughed. "You're so picky."

"You call that picky? More like I'm used to sleeping on furs in caves."

"That's one up on me, I'm used to stone coffins."

The carriage ride left them in Whiterun just after noon on a pleasant day, farmers and hunters all out at work outside the walls of Whiterun.

"Anything neat here?" Serana asked. "This looks like a nice, quiet place."

"You haven't been here yet, huh?" Desmond hopped out of the carriage, offering Serana a hand down. "It's not bad, come on."

The guards pulled open the doors for them, allowing them to enter the city proper. It was a brisk day, a faint breeze blowing through the streets behind them.

"This is home," Desmond said. "More home than... most places, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I'm a wanderer, I don't really have a home or anything."

"Then where do you keep your stuff? Fort Dawnguard?"

Desmond hitched his bag further up his shoulder, the Elder Scroll and his crossbow jostling against one another. "I haven't got much."

Serana frowned at him. "That's it? That's all your stuff?"

"What else do I need?"

"It's just..." Serana shook her head, following him down the streets. "I dunno, it's kinda sad. I can't imagine not having a home."

"Well, I haven't got a family either, so you're two up on me."

Serana punched his elbow. "Shut up. You've got all of Fort Dawnguard watching your back, that's better than family."

Desmond led Serana down the path to say hello to Adrianne at the forge. Warmaiden's was the same as ever, with the heat of the forge and the sounds of hammering metal right outside the shop.

"Got some good pieces out here," she said, working on a set of swords. "More inside."

"More for the Legion?" Desmond guessed, peeking over her shoulder.

Adrianne groaned. "I don't even know anymore. Once this war ends, I might be out of a job—but at least I'll sleep."

"How're things?" he asked, surveying the little assortment of helmets and shields Adrianne always hand on hand to sell to travelers.

"Tullius and Ulfric beating down the door, same as always," Adrianne told them. "I don't know how we've stood it for this long. The two of them should just battle it out and get it over with."

"War's never that simple," Desmond echoed.

Adrianne laughed. "Oh, house is still for sale. You ever wanna settle down, let my father know."

"House?" Serana asked, interested. "What house?"

Desmond nodded down the street at the empty house. "Little place. Cozy, I guess," he said. "Been for sale for... a few years?"

"Something like that," Adrianne confirmed. "Might be nice not to have to pay for a bed every night, and you could drop by the forge whenever you wanted."

"Five thousand gold for a bed? I'd rather not," Desmond said. "Not now, at least."

Adrianne pulled a face, holding a sword up to the light to check if both edges were even. "Desmond the homeless Thane. You make us look bad, you know?"

Desmond snickered. "Right, my fault. One of these days I'll find a reason to settle down."

"What're you doing here, now?"

"You seen Martin lately?" Desmond asked, leaning on Adrianne's workbench. "Been trying to track him down for a few weeks. Has he been by?"

Adrianne nodded immediately. "Yeah. Stable hand came through here about an hour ago and mentioned he'd come through."

"You sure it was Martin?"

"Old man yelling at a ghost?" Adrianne laughed. "Who else would it be?"

Desmond rapped his knuckles against the workbench. "Excellent, thanks. We should be able to catch him if we get moving," he told Serana. "Come on."

"Are you ever gonna stop going out into trouble?" Adrianne called over her shoulder as they left.

"How else would you sell armor?" Desmond shot back.

"Listen, I need you to do me a huge favor, all right?" Desmond said quickly to Serana.

"What?"

"If something happens and we end up under attack or something—"

"I thought he was your friend."

"No, he is, but—!" Desmond broke off, rewording his request. "Look, no matter what happens, promise you won't necromance anything."

Serana frowned at him, confused. "Why? Does he keep dead bodies around?"

"Not dead bodies, but—"

"That was specific."

"Just... don't. Please?" Desmond begged. "It's a touchy subject, just don't."

She shrugged. "All right, fine."

"Thanks." Desmond led the way up to the house, already hearing shouting from within it. The words were muffled by the walls, but the voices were unmistakable. Serana leaned to the side, looking in through one of the windows.

Martin and Amelie were locked in what could have passed as actual, vicious combat, shouting and arguing each other, weapons out. Amelie's staff sparked as she hollered at Martin, who had an arrow ready in his bow.

"Gods be... look, maybe we should come back later," she said nervously. "It seems like they're kind of in the middle of something."

Desmond frowned, discomfited. Martin and Amelie bickered, sure, but they never fought. "Yeah, well... so are we."

"We could always just—hey!"

Desmond yanked Serana away from the window, swearing. Lightning had gone off from Amelie's staff as Martin fired, the resulting crack of magical thunder catching them off-guard. "God's blood!"

"Are they always like this?" Serana demanded.

"No, never—!"

Desmond peeked in the window, seeing Martin draw and fire again into Amelie's chest. She stumbled backwards, and fell in a puff of blue smoke as all the ghosts did when they fell in battle. Desmond's mouth fell open, his eyes wide.

"Can we please wait?" Serana pleaded. "I really don't want to get in the middle of this."

Desmond shook his head, a hand over his mouth. This was not something he wanted to get in the middle of. The last time Martin had utterly lost his temper, it had not ended well. And yet...

"We can always come back," Serana reasoned. "Set up camp in Whiterun, tell the stables to tell us when he comes back around, and—"

"No, we need the Elder Scroll," he said, resolutely marching up to the door. "And he knows where it is."

An embattled Serana seized his wrist, trying to drag him back. "We, we could always—"

"Do you want the Scroll or what?" he asked, knocking. "You don't have to talk to him, you can just—"

An agitated Martin pulled open the door before Desmond could finish. Patches on his robes were frayed and singed, his collar still smoking, and he sported several more silvery-grey hairs than Desmond remembered him having.

"Desmond?"

"Heeey," Desmond said awkwardly, not sure whether he should smile. "Er, can I ask you—"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just..." Desmond made a nondescript gesture, pointing back in Whiterun's general direction. "Adrianne said you were... y'know, around, and I, there was something I wanted to ask."

Martin looked cautiously between Desmond and Serana, trying to process this. "What... er, sure. Come in," he said, pushing the door fully open and allowing them inside.

Serana caught Desmond's arm as they walked inside, yanking him back enough to whisper to him. "Desmond, are you—"

"It's fine," Desmond whispered to Serana. "Just let me talk."

"What's going on?" Martin asked, kicking a trunk shut.

"Do you remember what you did with the Elder Scroll you got for Paarthurnax?" Desmond asked.

Martin sat down in a chair with uneven legs, tipping back a few inches before scrambling to right himself, frazzled. "The Elder Scroll?"

"Yeah." Desmond shook his head at Serana, who was showing signs of wanting to sit as well.

Martin frowned, his elbows on the table. "Why?"

"I need it," Desmond said simply.

"By my count, there are two Elder Scrolls here already," Martin pointed out, again looking between the two of them. "What in the world could you possibly need three for?"

"Dawnguard stuff," Desmond said. "Long story."

"I have longer."

"No, you don't get to say that until you actually tell me the whole story," Desmond snapped.

Martin glared at him, and sighed. "Fine."

"We've got a Moth Priest," Desmond said anyway. "He's gonna read—"

"You have a Moth Priest?"

"Back at the fort. We need him to read the Scrolls and tell us how to kill a vampire," Desmond summed up. "More or less."

The room went quiet. Martin's eyes flicked away for a split-second before returning to frown at Desmond, confused, until Serana cleared her throat.

"It's not me," she said. "It's my father."

Martin nodded slowly, still frowning. "Please forgive me," he said, "I'm just very... confused right now."

"It's fine," Desmond cut in. "It's a long story. We just need the Scroll, do you have it?"

"No. No, I, er..." Martin rubbed his eyes, his features scrunched together as he thought. "I had Aleius donate it to the College Arcaneum, it should still be there."

"Great," Desmond said, biting back a groan. "We'd better go grab it."

"You do know that Elder Scrolls are extremely dangerous?" Martin asked, beginning to sound like his old concerned self.

"We've got a Moth Priest," Desmond reminded him. "Don't worry, we're not gonna read 'em."

"You swear?"

Desmond nodded, a little relieved to hear familiar notes of worry in Martin's voice. "Yeah. It'll be fine."

"Come on." Serana inched towards the door. "The sooner we get all three, the better."

"Right, just..." Desmond shot a meaningful look at Serana and then the door, staying where he was. Serana hesitated for a moment before leaving the room, waiting outside. Martin ran his hands through his hair as Desmond pulled up one of the wobbly chairs and sat across the table from him. "Are you all right?" Desmond asked, leaning into the table.

"I'm fine," Martin said.

"Are you really?" Desmond asked, unconvinced.

Martin waved his hand through the air, brushing away the question. "It's nothing. Desmond, whatever you're doing that needs three Elder Scrolls is bound to be trouble," he said.

Desmond laughed. "Yeah, I know. That's why we need three Elder Scrolls."

"This is serious!" Martin snapped. "I needed one to defeat Alduin and if Aleius hadn't been with me when we went for it, I probably would have died! I shudder to think what you through to get those two!"

Desmond fished for a reply that didn't sound dangerous. "Er, look—"

"Let me go with you. Maybe I can still help," Martin said.

"Wha—no, it's gonna be fine," Desmond insisted. "We've got the Moth Priest and everything, we've got a plan. We're in good shape, honest."

Martin crossed his arms, his elbows leaning heavily on the table. "When did you get so good at handling world-altering crises?" he asked. "You're still so young."

"Yeah, well. Saving the world is kind of our stock in trade, right?" Desmond pointed out. "Learn from the best, and all."

"You should not be this good at handling disasters, you're not even twenty," Martin grumbled. "I'm well past that and still struggling through."

"That's my master plan," Desmond said, clapping a hand on the table. "I'll get all the adventuring out of the way when I'm young, and then I'll settle down and get married or something. Kids, maybe, raise 'em right."

Martin's implacable expression gave way to the tiniest of smiles. "I have a hard time picturing you getting married, for some reason."

"Well, I'm not exactly itching to get to an altar right this second, am I?"

They laughed, one tired and the other earnest.

"All right. Fine, then," Martin said. "I'll go with you, Winterhold is on my way back to Solstheim anyway."

Desmond tried to figure out a route where that made sense, and came up empty. "Nah, we'll be fine," he said. "We're running low on time so we'll be heading out now. You should maybe..." Desmond lowered his gaze, trying to avoid upsetting Martin. "Look, take a rest. You look like you need one."

"I'm fine," Martin insisted. "I'll go with you, I need to make sure—"

"There's nothing to worry about—"

"I need you to be safe." Martin drew a shaky breath, studying Desmond's face. "I need make sure you'll be all right."

"I'm gonna be fine," Desmond said. "We're all gonna be fine, and once this is over with, the vampires'll be run out of Skyrim and then everyone's gonna be fine. We've got a Moth Priest and a plan and everything."

"A plan? That's a change."

Desmond grinned. "Yeah. See, we're gonna be fine, it's all safe."

Martin sighed, leaning forward to rest his head on his arms. "Fine."

"So. How's Solstheim?" Desmond asked tentatively.

Martin grumbled angrily into his sleeves, swearing up and down about Miraak. "...Miraak and his books... sooner or later, it'll come down to me and him."

"Right." Desmond stood up, awkwardly patting Martin on the head. "You get out there and bury him."

"It's not that simple!" Martin said abruptly, sitting up.

Desmond shrugged. "It's always that simple. It was that simple with Alduin, wasn't it?"

Martin opened his mouth to reply, only to close it again.

"Right," Desmond said. "Anyway, like I said, we're on a tight schedule, so..."

"Of course." Martin stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked Desmond to the door. "College of Winterhold. Tell Urag I sent you, otherwise he might not even admit to having it around."

"Yeah. Good luck with Miraak," Desmond said, turning around to flash one last smile Martin's way.

"Good luck with... yours."

Serana was sitting outside, her leg anxiously jiggling as she waited for Desmond. As soon as the door opened, she scrambled to her feet.

"See you later?" Desmond asked, waving.

Martin nodded, but did not smile. "I'll see you when I see you."

"Everything all right?" Serana asked, hurrying Desmond down the path.

"Yeah. To Winterhold," Desmond said, casting a glance back at the closing door. "Winterhold and then back to the fort."

"It's so cold here," Serana complained, rubbing her upper arms on the long walk across the bridge to the College. "I don't know how you stand it."

"Are you ever happy with the weather?" Desmond shot back.

"I'd rather be inside."

"Me too, let's get this over with."

Desmond shouldered open the heavy doors, guessing at which door would take them to the Arcaneum.

"So you never went here, right?" Serana asked.

"Right."

"How'd you make friends with the Archmage?"

"Twist of fate, I guess you'd call it," Desmond said. "It's a crazy story."

"Seems like everyone's got one of those."

Desmond walked up to the Orc behind the main counter of the Arcaneum, surreptitiously glancing around for anything that could contain the last Elder Scroll.

"You must be Urag?" he asked.

"Yeah," said the Orc, barely looking up from his reading. "I'm the Master of the Arcaneum, and this collection is going to stay pristine. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it. I heard you've got an Elder Scroll," Desmond said. "Er, Martin sent me."

Urag looked up, eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

"...We need it," Desmond said simply.

The Orc snorted. "Finally came to his senses, huh? Realized what he gave up? Can't say I'm surprised."

"Sure," Desmond said, not really willing to go through the trouble of correcting him and explaining. "Can I have it?"

"Tell you what. I'll sell it back for four thousand gold."

"Wha—that's not fair!" Desmond hissed, fighting to keep his voice at a reasonable level.

"You don't expect me to just hand over such a tremendous artifact, do you?" Urag snapped.

Desmond sighed, his hands flopping down at his sides. "What about three thousand?"

Urag rolled his eyes. "I suppose I could do that. Just for you, kid." Urag bent down to unlock a cabinet beneath his counter as Desmond portioned out gold. "Here you are."

"Thanks." Desmond grabbed it from the counter and turned heel, beckoning Serana along.

"That's it?"

"That's it. This is the last one," he confirmed.

"Finally. Let's get everything back to Dexion."

Fort Dawnguard was half-deserted when they arrived, most of the soldiers convened in the dining hall for dinner. Sorine and Gunmar were bickering with each other about trolls, with Isran heading up the table in his usual stoic silence. Dexion, however, appeared to have been waiting for them in the main hall for quite some time.

"Ah, my rescuers!" Dexion broke into a bright smile.

"How're you holding up?" Desmond asked, taken slightly aback by the crisp white cloth over Dexion's eyes.

"It's not exactly the hospitality I'm used to, but your man Isran has seen to my needs well enough," Dexion said. "I trust your journey was successful?"

"Yeah. Got the other two Scrolls," Desmond said, shifting his shoulders. The Elder Scrolls were heavy and unwieldy to carry around, the journey back had been uncomfortable at best.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I can no longer be of use in this matter."

Desmond heard Serana swear under her breath behind him. "What happened?" he asked.

"It's my fault," Dexion said quickly. "In my haste to read the first Scroll, I neglected the careful preparation required. I thought I'd be able to allay the after-effects, but I was wrong. Now I'm paying for it."

"Hence... oh, no," Desmond breathed, eyes wide. "Are you—"

"Blind? Yes. I'm afraid so."

"I'm sorry," Desmond said immediately. "How do we help?"

"It'll have to run its course, and there's always the chance I may never recover," Dexion told them.

Serana swore again. "We're finished, then."

"Well—I mean..." Desmond blew out the rest of his breath, at a loss. "Yeah, this looks pretty bad."

"There is another way," Dexion cut in. "The question is, how much are you willing to risk to find Auriel's Bow?"

Desmond kicked his bag off towards the wall, carefully leaning the Elder Scrolls against a dusty crate. "What do I have to do?"

"I can't guarantee you'd be free from harm," Dexion warned. "Becoming blind could be the least of your worries."

"Don't worry about that," Desmond said, pushing thoughts of worry to the back of his mind. "Just tell me."

"Scattered across Tamriel are secluded locations known only as Ancestor Glades. There's on in Skyrim, in the Pine Forest. Performing the ritual of the Ancestor Moth within the Glade should provide the answers you seek."

"Ritual?" Desmond asked. "I'm not a priest of anything, I don't have training or experience in any of that stuff."

"The ritual is simple, it involves carefully removing the bark from a Canticle Tree with an implement known as a draw knife, which will in turn attracted Ancestor Moths to you," Dexion said quickly. "Once enough of the moths are folowing, they'll provide you with the second sight needed to decipher the Scrolls."

"That... sounds shockingly easy," Serana said warily. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Every Moth Priest is taught this ritual, but few every get the chance to perform it," Dexion told them. "You should consider yourself fortunate if it works for you."

"Desmond—"

"So I'm reading the Scrolls with the moths?" Desmond asked, cutting Serana off. "What do moths have to do with Elder Scrolls?"

"As I'm sure you've figured out by now, it's no mere coincidence that we're named Moth Priests. The voice of the Ancestor Moth has always been an integral part of reading Elder Scrolls."

"How do you know that? Moths don't make any noise," Desmond pointed out.

"Oh, the moths don't literally read the Scrolls... but they maintain a connection to ancient magic that allows the Moth Priest to decipher them," Dexion went on, excitedly rattling on about the lore of the Moth Priests. "If you listen closely when you find the Glade, you should be able to hear their song: a soft, harmonious trilling. It's through this ancestral chorus that the moths tap into a form of primal augur and become a conduit for deciphering the Scrolls. By having the Ancestor Moths close to the Moth Priest, they can utilize the conduit and share the moths' augury. Only the most resilient of priests can do it this way, it takes years of practice to interpret the harmony."

Desmond stared in stunned silence. "Son of the gods be... why'd I tell Martin to stay behind? I don't know what any of that means, I don't stand a chance here."

Dexion reached blindly out for Desmond's shoulder. "You've come this far, and you've found several Elder Scrolls. Whether you believe it or not, the Scrolls have a mind of their own. If they did not want you to find them, they would not allow it. Because of this, I strongly believe you were meant to hear the ancestral chorus. Only one way to find out."

Desmond looked back at Serana, who shrugged. "It's not like we have another option."

"I guess not. You know where a Glade is?" Desmond asked, picking up his bag and rearranging the Elder Scrolls on his back.