The dark, neglected halls of Castle Volkihar weren't ideal for many purposes. It was ill-lit, a stench of death clung to the stone and there was dust built up on almost every surface. They did, however, carry sounds particularly well. As such, Garan's screams were easily echoing throughout the stone halls as Harkon toyed with him.
"My lord… please, I-Arrgh!" Garan's screams were hoarse, his voice whittled down by the repeated strain his tormented yelling had inflicted on his larynx. Harkon stood in front of him, arms folded across his chest as he stared down Garan, the vampire who was tied to the wall with shackles.
Two other vampires stood on either side of Garan, each holding various bloodied tools with looks of nervousness and worry on their faces. They didn't enjoy what they were doing, but they knew if they didn't obey, Garan could be replaced with either of them.
"I give you the simplest of tasks," Harkon said. "Find a mortal. A regular man. And bring him to me. Dead or alive, I didn't care." The look on Harkon's face grew disgusted as he regarded Garan's appearance, the vampire who had sustained enough injuries to kill a regular man.
"And yet, you can't even do something that simple." Looking to one of the vampires at Garan's side, Harkon's glare was enough to coax the man into action, a dirty hook being plunged into Garan's torso before it tore itself free, flesh being separated from tendons and bone as screams filled the halls once more.
"My Lord, I… I can explain." As soon as Garan spoke, Harkon sent lightning flying from his fingers to shock the man, the Vampire Lord aiming to let out his frustration through the use of his servant as a punching bag. The lightning gave off a sharp, bright light, rebounding off the walls as the dimly lit room became unbearably bright.
"Explain what, that you, a vampire from a noble, powerful house, was bested by cattle?" Harkon yelled. His voice almost carried through the halls as well as the screams did. Almost.
Garan's voice was barely audible now. His entire body had become limp, only suspended by the chains around his wrists. With a whisper he spoke, blood dripping from his body due to innumerable punctures. "It's not, the mortal… it's, your daughter."
At the mention of his daughter, Harkon stepped forward. He seized Garan's throat, shoving the man's head back against the stone wall with a sickening crunch before getting right in his face. "My daughter is but a girl, locked away for hundreds of years. Are you trying to say she bested you?"
As slowly as he could, Garan nodded. "I can't… compete, my Lord. She has your blood," he said while resting on the verge of unconsciousness.
A look of fury came to Harkon's eyes, yet it subsided. Then, that look was replaced by a sinister smile.
Arven stirred. A lazy, tired groan came from him as he fought the light coming through his eyelids, trying to will his body not to wake up as he slowly drifted out of a mostly restful sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw an empty room. It felt like a weight had lifted from his chest, that he felt lighter, but he couldn't understand why.
Arven looked down. He was fully clothed, obviously having decided while drunk that an extra minute of sleep was preferable to getting comfortable. His head was still a bit groggy, but thankfully no severe headache was present. He certainly drunk more than enough to get one, but he wasn't complaining. Sitting up, slowly, he ended up cross-legged with his head in his hands.
Just as he was letting out a soft groan, his door opened to reveal Serana standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said. Of course, she still seemed as perfect as ever. No sign of a hangover, or even looking the slightest bit dishevelled. On the other hand, Arven didn't want to know what he looked like currently.
He grunted in response, running his hands through his hair. He looked off to the side of the bed. He knew he should get up, but it just seemed so far away right now.
"You look like you pulled up well," Serana said with that coy smirk.
Arven just collapsed back on the bed. "I'm sure I'll look better after another hour of sleep."
"Don't you think you should be getting up?" Serana asked. Her voice just had a hint of playfulness in it.
"Maybe. Not a damn thing you can do to make me, though," Arven responded.
In response Serana stood up straight, sauntering over to Arven with her arms behind her back. "Is that so?" She asked, her voice smoother than silk.
Arven rolled over, showing his back to her. He raised an arm, lazily waving it as if to shoo the woman away. "I am immune to your tricks, woman," he breathed out lazily.
Serana let out a short chuckle, but she didn't argue. Instead, she turned around, walking out of the room. "I suppose I'll go drain the bath, then. All that hot water gone to waste."
Arven turned around, but she had already left the room. He paused, blinking, before scrambling out of the room as quickly as he could.
A few minutes later and he was resting in the water, sinking in up to his neck as he let himself relax. He had almost tripped down the stairs, and when he got to the base, he didn't find Serana emptying the bath – instead, she was sitting in a chair, waiting for him to come down. She gave him an insufferable smirk, one which Arven tried to ignore before he went to bathe himself.
It didn't sink in that the bath was prepared for him until he was sitting there, feeling the drowsiness escape his body. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. At one point Serana had filled the bath with water, then taken the time to heat it for him. He knew it wouldn't have taken her long, but the act was still something that stuck with him. Not to mention, it was the second time she had done it.
Of course, he could've asked Lydia to do the same thing. He could ask anyone in the town for almost anything and he'd get it without much issue. That wasn't the point, though. The point that stuck with him was that Serana had done so without being prompted, just because she wanted to. The cynical part of Arven's mind, the part he was trying more to ignore, told him that she was doing it only to get him to lower his guard. But if she wanted that, there was a plethora of other ways she could do that – all without being so kind to him.
He didn't believe she was doing it to gain anything. That just begged the question though, why was she doing it?
Arven ran his hands over his face, slicking his hair back with the water. He found that he had started to grow a decent amount of facial hair over his chin and cheeks, something that he normally shaved off after a few days. He didn't mind a little, but it was getting to the point where it'd be more accurate to call it a beard, rather than just some stubble.
He spent some more time relaxing, but as the water started to cool down, he stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed a small blade from his belongings that he'd unceremoniously piled in a heap. With his face still wet he approached a mirror mounted over a wooden table and, ever so slowly, started to shave.
A small pang of disappointment rose within him as he inspected his reflection and found that he still couldn't grow a full beard. It was decent, but his cheeks didn't fill in properly, and he felt that it highlighted his young age. Not to mention, living in a land of Nords, anything less than a full beard would be ridiculed.
It took him a few minutes and he didn't escape without drawing blood once or twice, but after finishing up and briefly healing any cuts, he was freshly shaved. It wasn't the cleanest of jobs, but now he felt more awake. Unfortunately, as he inspected the work he'd done, it didn't take much for his eyes to be drawn to the scars at the base of his neck.
Healing magic had done a lot to restore the flesh that had been torn from his neck when the town was attacked some nights ago, but it was still evident where he'd been bitten. Two deep puncture marks stood out and the skin where flesh was torn had become rough and coarse, in drastic contrast so the smoother skin on the rest of his neck and face.
It didn't bother him too much. A part of him wished he wasn't covered with more scars than he could count but lingering on that didn't accomplish anything. It was a permanent part of him, so it was in his best interests for him to simply accept it.
After he had dressed Arven walked back out into the main room of his house. He went over all the equipment he had put on, touching every pocket or small bag attached to his waist to confirm that he wasn't missing anything. As he was doing so, Serana walked up to him, arms folded across her chest as she stared him down. She was standing rather close while she did so.
"Personal space doesn't mean much to you, does it?" Arven asked.
"I'm sorry, do you dislike it when I stand close to you?" Serana responded, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Arven grunted in response, but as she kept staring, he had to say something. "What exactly are you doing?"
"Trying to decide if I like you better freshly shaven or not," Serana responded. The way she talked, it sounded as if what she was doing was a rather normal thing.
Arven decided that this was one of those times where it was better to not respond. Taking a step to the side, he walked over to a weapon rack where Dawnbreaker was resting in its sheath. It was dirty, and he really wanted to spend some time cleaning the blade, but it was still functional. The metal never chipped, so there wasn't really a need for proper maintenance. He didn't know what it was made from exactly, but it was certainly convenient.
"Could you stay still? It's hard for me to decide when you're moving about," Serana said.
"That's the idea, you know?" Arven replied as he strapped the blade to his waist, purposefully not making eye contact.
Serana frowned at him, a small pout coming to her lips. Arven did his best to ignore it by walking towards the door, yet within a blink of his eye she was standing right in front of him once more. She reached up, holding his chin between her thumb and index finger. She tilted his chin up, then moved his head to the side as if she were examining him. Then, after a moment the studious look turned into a smile.
"Made up your mind?" Arven asked.
Serana nodded to him. "I have. Do you want to know?"
Arven reached up, gently grasping her wrist and lowering it away from his face. "I think I'll survive without the knowledge. I'm more concerned with how I got to my bed last night."
"You mean after you drunk yourself into a stupor?" Serana asked, turning away as she did so.
"After someone forced beer on me, yes," Arven responded.
"If you're trying to blame me, you were the one repeatedly filling up your drink."
"Come on, I'm not quite that gullible," Arven said. "I might not remember everything, but I do remember you putting the mug in my hands quite a few times."
"Only because I knew you really wanted it," Serana quipped. Arven just groaned.
"Actually," Serana continued. "How much do you remember?"
"Not sure. I just don't remember anything after the inn. I was dancing, then I woke up," Arven said. "Why do you ask?"
"Idle curiosity," Serana responded. Internally she let out a sigh of relief. She was trying to make sense of what she felt, how she felt towards him, and the last thing she needed was trying to explain whatever it was she decided to do the night before.
She was still frustrated at herself for what she did. What she almost did.
"I do remember a dream though, funnily," Arven said. "I don't often remember those."
"Oh, what was it?" Serana asked?
"A dream," Arven responded, purposefully avoiding the question. "Nothing more." With a smile he looked to before motioning to the door with his head. "Ready to head off, then?" He asked.
"Well, I don't suppose I can tempt you into taking a day off?" Serana proposed.
"This again?" Arven asked. "We're far too busy for that."
"That's what makes it that much sweeter, Arven," Serana said. "Knowing you should be doing something but kicking your feet up instead."
Arven didn't respond verbally, instead he just looked at her with a disappointed frown.
"Oh, fine. Let's go, then," Serana conceded before walking out the front door, putting her hood on as she did so.
The pair managed to slip out of the city with ease after Serana had placed disguises on them once more. Within the hour, they had taken their horses and started the long journey back towards Volkihar. Shortly after they were out of sight of everyone Serana dropped both of their disguises and softly began to sing to herself.
Arven had gotten used to her idly humming along to a tune, but this was the first time he caught her singing. She was doing it too quietly for him to make out any of the words and the tune itself seemed foreign to him, yet it quickly got caught in his head and he found himself urging his horse closer to try and make out more of the lyrics. He managed to do so, yet as their horses got closer together, Arven's started to whinny, catching Serana's attention.
She looked at him, curious. "There's a lot of road, Arven. You're awful close."
Underneath his helmet Arven cursed, pulling his horse away as he mumbled a weak excuse about the animal doing as it pleases. Serana didn't buy it in the slightest, yet as Arven increased the distance between them once more she sang a little bit louder. Loud enough that Arven could clearly hear.
The tune was beautiful, and just listening it seemed to make the time pass by much quicker than before. While Arven enjoyed the moments of a peaceful journey, Serana found herself wishing they took a carriage again.
The horses were arguably faster, but in a carriage, she could spend her time studying Arven more. Riding side by side, that was noticeably harder for her to do.
The time passed by comfortably, yet before long Arven had a question pop into his mind.
"Serana," he started. "Are you on good terms with your mother?"
Serana turned to him. "I was about to say that's an unexpected question, yet with everything you've seen I suppose it isn't."
"Just, if we're going to her for help, I'm wondering if I should be prepared for her to be, well, hostile," Arven continued.
"No, she won't be hostile. We were always on good terms, close just like any mother and daughter would be. I'd hope that things would still be the same when I see her next," Serana said.
"Well, it's nice to hear you had a good relationship with one of your parents at least," Arven remarked.
Serana let a crooked smile come to her lips. "I suppose so. Before my father became obsessed with the prophecy, mother and I spent quite a bit of time together."
"Doing normal mother-daughter activities, I hope," Arven responded.
"Yes," Serana retorted, sporting an unapproving look. "We actually spent a lot of time together tending her garden."
"Her… garden?"
Serana squinted at Arven. "Yes, a garden. Is that so hard to believe?"
"I…" Arven paused. "I don't know. It's just not what I expected, vampires tending to a garden."
"We do have normal hobbies, you know."
"What, like endlessly teasing poor men that're forced to travel with you?"
"Exactly. I'm glad you understand," Serana quipped. "But yes, gardening. With all the time on our hands, tending to a garden becomes a rather fruitful hobby."
"Huh, I suppose so," Arven replied. "Never thought of it that way."
"Mother was very fond of her alchemical garden in the castle courtyard. She taught me quite a bit about cultivating quality reagents."
"So, you're an alchemist?"
"Of sorts, I suppose," Serana said. "Not that I've practised for a while, I'd likely be very out of date given how long I was asleep for. But that was never the point, it was all just an excuse to spend with each other."
"Sounds like the two of you got along rather well," Arven commented.
"Like the best of friends," Serana replied. "She was the one person I would never hesitate to share anything with."
"You must miss her," Arven responded.
"I… suppose. I miss how we used to spend time together. The most recent memories I have of her, after my father lost himself in his prophecy, aren't as fond. I'd try to visit my mother and spend time with her, but she'd quickly shoo me away, saying she was much too busy."
Arven let out a short grunt in response. "You think she was planning something?"
"I do," Serana said. "That's why we're headed there."
"Back to the castle on the other side of the province," Arven said with a clear tone of disapproval.
"Oh, come now, that just means we get to spend more time travelling together. Just the two of us," Serana said, looking over to Arven with the smile he still wasn't able to resist.
Arven didn't respond, instead just placing his hand on his helmet, as if he was ensuring that it was still in place and Serana couldn't see his expressions.
"Could you take that off?" Serana asked, watching as he adjusted his helmet.
"Take what off?"
"Your helmet." Serana clarified. Arven looked to her, an eyebrow raised, trying to see if she was being serious.
"I… why?" Arven said.
"It's not as if you need it on right this second, do you?" Serana said, skirting around the point of his question.
"That's not the point," Arven said. "What do I gain from taking it off?"
"Well it only seems fair, doesn't it? You spend so much time shooting me idle, 'subtle' glances as we walk, so why shouldn't I be able to do the same? When you do it you get to look at me, but when I try, I'm just met with a filthy, battered piece of metal on your head," Serana argued, sounding as if she was making a point that was logical and rather obvious.
Arven's breath caught in his throat, forcing him to cough several times before he responded. "…You really can't help yourself, can you."
"What do you mean? What's wrong with wanting to see your smile on occasion?" Serana asked. To make her point, she smiled at Arven, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to resist admiring it for at least a moment.
Which he did, moments before he shook his head. "Quit teasing me, Serana."
"Who says I'm teasing? Despite your awful social skills and busted nose, you do have a rather charming smile." Serana's voice was dripping with a playful nature, yet there was a soft hint of sincerity underneath.
Arven mentally screamed to himself. Squeezing his horse with his calved and heels, he let the animal pull him away from Serana, refusing to answer her question as the woman trailed behind him.
"Gods, you're going to drive me insane by the time we get to the castle," Arven said to himself.
Serana overheard him, but kept her mouth shut. She caught up to him quickly, spurring on her own horse as she let out a small chuckle. Teasing Arven had obviously turned into one of the most enjoyable things for her to do, but it wasn't all teasing. There was some truth to it.
The conversation dropped off, and Arven was able to enjoy the peaceful serenity of their ride for a while. He did, however, take his helmet off a few minutes later, strapping it to his waist. Serana made no comment, but Arven did notice the occasional glance his way from there on out.
Contrary to his beliefs, Arven wasn't insane by the end of their journey. Riding on horses had made the trip considerably quicker, although the Imperial would never admit it, and they were able to pass Rorikstead with a significant amount of sunlight still available to them, allowing them to push on. Arven was thankful for that. He didn't feel up to receiving the fanfare welcome that he would've likely gotten if they stayed the night, considering how fresh the dragon attack would have been in the minds of the locals.
They even made it to Dragon Bridge before nightfall, with the sun starting to set towards the horizon.
"We'll need to figure out where to sleep, if we're going to at all tonight," Arven said.
A quip came to Serana's tongue, although she forced it down. She'd teased him enough for one day. "Is there a place we can rest closer to the castle?" She inquired.
Arven shook his head. "No towns, no. Unless you count Solitude, but that's a bit out of the way. I'd rather not go there," he said.
"Popular there, as well?" Serana asked.
"Not… quite," Arven responded.
"Aren't you a thane there, as well?"
"Sort of. I…. after the war, they wanted to make me a public figure. A war hero. I declined, and they didn't take that too well." Arven said.
"Why did you decline?" Serana asked. Her voice was gentler, as if suggesting Arven didn't have to respond if he didn't want to.
"I didn't fight for the empire. I fought against the Stormcloaks. I didn't have a part in the fight, until they attacked Whiterun. That made me an enemy of the Stormcloaks shortly after, for obvious reasons," Arven said. He let out a deep sigh, clearly not too fond of the memories that this brought up.
"Whiterun seemed to be the turning point for the war, after that the Stormcloaks didn't have much fight left. I tried to stay out of it after that, but a few times I was forced into things. At the end of it, the Empire wanted Skyrim to know I was on their side, but I'm not. There's still plenty of things they've done that I disagree with," Arven concluded.
"It feels strange, you know," Serana said. "Sleeping through so many events that have changed so much."
"It wasn't much fun to live through, if it makes you feel any better," Arven replied.
"That's only because I wasn't around," Serana said with a slight smirk.
Despite himself, Arven let a soft smile come to his lips.
"So, do you have an idea of where to look exactly, once we get there?" Arven asked, changing the topic. "I know you mentioned sections had been closed off, but if she's hiding I can't imagine we'll just stumble into her."
"I've got an idea of where to start, at least. Her garden. She used to say that my father couldn't stand the place. Too… peaceful," Serana said.
"He couldn't stand it because it was peaceful?" Arven asked.
Serana sighed, nodding. "I didn't check back when I was there, mainly because I didn't want the old memories to come back. But, it's in the area that's been closed off. It's as good a place as any to start."
"Fair enough. Do you have an idea on how to actually get there?"
"I do," Serana said. "There's an unused inlet on the northern side of the island that was used by the previous owners to bring supplies into the castle."
"Wait, previous owners?" Arven asked. For some reason, the idea of the castle being formerly inhabited had never crossed his mind.
"I don't know much about them, if that's what you're going to ask," Serana clarified. "Bretons, I think. I wasn't involved in, well, the moving in process."
"Lovely," Arven responded.
"Anyway. I used to run around an old tunnel that exits through that inlet. It should lead us right to the garden, if we go the right way."
"Please tell me you remember how to get through. I don't want to accidentally stumble into Harkon's living room."
"Not in the mood to roast some more Vampires?" Serana asked.
"I don't think I'm ever in the mood for that, exactly. But alright, we get to the garden, we find a lead. What happens when we find your mother?"
"What do you mean?" Serana asked, a slight look of confusion on her face.
"I'm sure she'll have some questions when you rock up with a human alongside you," Arven asked. He wrapped his hand around the pommel of Dawnbreaker, drawing it a few inches out of its sheath as if to make a point.
"She'll be fine, I'll vouch for you," Serana said. "Hopefully she'll have some knowledge about the scroll, and then she can help us."
Arven shuddered for a moment. It had taken him some time to get used to the idea of travelling with Serana, and the only reason he trusted her now was because she'd saved his life. That trust didn't extend to any of her family members though, and the thought of travelling with two vampire lords was less than pleasant.
"Serana, don't take this the wrong way, but…"
"You don't trust her? Or, you won't, rather?" Serana said, finishing his sentence before he could speak the words.
Arven let out a short sigh, nodding. "You know I trust you, but… I can't just trust your mother on your word alone."
Serana frowned. She felt a small pang of… disappointment? Betrayal? She understood where he was coming from, of course. He was being entirely reasonable. The fact that he was so agreeable with her, that he helped her to feed even, still shocked her slightly.
"She's a good woman, Arven," Serana said.
"I hope she is. And I hope she hasn't changed since you last saw her," Arven replied. "It has been a while, unless she's been locked away like you were."
"No, she said she wanted to stay awake in case the situation changed, or was resolved. If father came to his senses," Serana said. She scoffed at her own remark. "She's much stronger than I am, so it made sense."
Arven shuddered. "Stronger than your father?"
Serana paused for a moment. "I… don't know."
"If it's even, then surely between the two of you Harkon shouldn't be able to put up a fight," Arven reasoned.
"Easier said than done. If there's one thing I've noticed, vampires don't like risk. Especially when they get older," Serana said.
"But… That doesn't make sense, the older they get the stronger they get," Arven said.
Serana looked at him, offering a shrug. "Remember how my father tried to get the other vampires to kill you? How he still hasn't done the job himself?"
"I was hoping that was a character-specific trait of his," Arven said.
"Unfortunately not. Even though he could likely kill you easily, no offense, he doesn't."
Arven grunted in response. He didn't like what Serana said, but she was right. He stood no chance against Harkon.
"He doesn't understand your strength, so he won't fight you. Not unless he must," Serana continued. "My mother is the same. She wouldn't fight father, I think."
Arven cursed under his breath. "Well, there goes that idea." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, massaging it as he thought. Then, he turned to face Serana.
"So, what makes you different?" Arven asked.
Serana turned to him, head tilted slightly off to one side. "What makes me willing to fight?" She asked. Arven nodded in response.
"Well, I was bound to have some differences with my parents. And even then, it's not so much a willingness to fight, more a desire to protect," she said.
Arven looked over at her. "To protect what?"
Serana didn't respond, only offering her smile to him once more.
Arven wanted to pull away after that, but he realised that they were quickly entering more mountainous terrain, now that they were passing through Dragon Bridge. While the horses would manage, they'd have to leave them behind at one point, and he decided now was as good a time as any.
"We should leave the horses here. It's the last town we'll pass," Arven said as he directed his horse towards the stables. Serana nodded in agreement, and after a few minutes they'd started walking towards their destination with their horses waiting for their return in Dragon Bridge. Arven stretched out as they walked, far more comfortable on his own feet than in a saddle, while Serana seemed as energised as if she only woke up a little while ago.
"You really need to get used to riding, Arven," Serana said.
"No, I just need to not be in a position where I have to ride a horse day after day," the Imperial responded.
"Surely you must've spent a lot of time travelling around Skyrim before this?"
"Yes, but not to this extent. Whiterun to Riften or Whiterun to Solitude, those were generally the two longest trips I had to do. Not travelling from one extreme to the other. Your family chose a really inconvenient location," Arven remarked.
"Would you prefer they just set up town in the middle of the city?"
Arven frowned. "No, I suppose not," he resigned. "The castle though, it doesn't have any sort of… security? Any magic to detect intruders?"
Serana shook her head. "No. I suppose it's a part of father's arrogance. Plus, who would willingly go to such a place? Like you said, it's in a rather awkward location. Visitors aren't exactly common.
"You've got a point," Arven said. "Can't say it does much to quiet the nerves, though."
Serana stepped closer to him as they walked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be fine. There's no chance that we'd be spotted, and even if we are, we can just run. Father won't chase us," she said.
Arven nodded, looking straight ahead. Despite the reassurance, he still felt that familiar pang of worry in his stomach. Thinking of Harkon had that fear rise back up within him, filling a pit of anxiety that threatened to grow throughout his body. He hated that the man had such an effect on him, but that form he took. It terrified Arven.
"Hey, Serana," Arven said. "Can you use the same form he can?"
Serana had an almost disgusted look come to her face. "Ugh. I can, technically," she started before her words trailed off. "I… I don't use it. I can't remember the last time I used it."
"I'm assuming it's something specific to pure-blooded vampires?" Arven asked.
"Your assumption is correct. It's very, very strong, but I hate it. Plus, I've never had the need to," Serana explained. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, it just occurred to me. You never used it, even when we fought those two dragons," Arven replied.
"I wouldn't have been able to then, even if I wanted to. I was far too weak," Serana stated. "I could now, but there's no point. It feels… disgusting. Wrong."
Arven felt slightly better after hearing Serana's distaste for the form. The idea of her turning into something similar to what Harkon did was something that he hated. He couldn't understand exactly why, the idea just seemed innately wrong.
"I guess that makes sense. With any luck, such a form won't be necessary anyway. If this bow is as good as it sounds, that might be enough to stop your father."
Serana chuckled softly to herself. "You know, now that I think about it, it's going to take some convincing to win over my mother."
Arven cocked an eyebrow, looking to her. "Why's that?"
Serana looked at him. "Oh, you know. 'Hello mother, so lovely to see you. Say, do you have an Elder Scroll I can borrow? You see this man here, with an undead-slaying daedric sword? Well, I want to help him get a mythical bow so he can kill even more of our kind.'"
Arven let out a mixture of a snort and a brief laugh. "Surely you could word that better," he said.
Serana shrugged, a smirk on her lips. "I could, but the point is still the same."
"I'm surprised you know about my sword. Well, your father certainly seemed to recognise it."
"There's good reason for that, Arven," Serana said, looking down at the sheathed blade on the warrior's waist. "How much do you know about it?"
"Well…" Arven trailed off. He thought back to how he got the weapon. He didn't like the idea of working with Meridia, but if he had to choose any Daedric Prince, she would be the one he'd work with. Not only that, but at the time they had a common goal.
"I know it was given to me by Meridia, and its purpose is to kill the undead. Beyond that, not much," Arven said.
"You're right, although there's a lot more to it. It's a sword given to Meridia's champion, and it was made to combat the undead. Specifically undead born of Molag Bal," Serana explained.
"Really? I had no idea. I suppose that explains why Harkon seemed so offended when I almost drew the blade then," Arven said.
"Exactly. Besides this bow, your sword might be the most effective tool when it comes to killing vampires," Serana replied.
Arven looked down to the blade at his waist. He drew it free, studying the dirty, yet otherwise still pristine metal. "Do you know why she made the blade, specifically?" Arven then asked.
"Most likely to spite Molag Bal. He and Meridia don't exactly get along. The denizens of Coldharbour affectionately refer to her as the Shining Bitch."
Arven let out a proper laugh at that. "You aren't a fan of her, then?" He asked as he sheathed his sword.
"Not quite, no. She's at odds with Molag Bal on almost everything. As Vampire Lords we are independent, free to do as we please with the power we have. Meridia has a habit of 'cleansing' her followers of free will. 'Purifying' them to do as she pleases."
"No such thing as a good Daedra, is there?" Arven remarked.
"I don't think so, no. They're entirely different to us, anyway. We can't even think to see things the way that they do," Serana said.
"It'd be nice if they just stuck to Oblivion. Left us alone, at least for a little while," Arven said.
"Coming from the champion of Meridia," Serana scoffed. "Don't you worry that she might have a claim on your soul? You seem very… nonchalant, when handling anything related to the Daedra."
Arven grunted in response, thinking back to a discussion he had with the Greybeards. "I… I think I might have some sort of immunity," he said. "My power comes from Akatosh, or so I've been told. While some Daedra might try to have a claim on me, I think Akatosh will always hold control over my soul, purely because of who I am. I didn't believe it at first, but it explained a few things. For example, telling Molag Bal to fuck off," Arven said.
"I… suppose that makes sense. Still, Arven. It can't hurt to be careful."
"Bit late for that, don't you think?" Arven asked.
Serana rolled her eyes at him. As they walked she stepped a little bit closer, but the pair mostly walked in silence for a while longer, until they reached the coastline. Serana lead the way back to the small pier with the rowboat that would take them over to the castle.
As they got near the boat Arven paused, looking out to the horizon to see the towering castle in the distance. He felt that horrid chill run up his spine. He knew that somewhere in that castle, Harkon was waiting. He'd only seen the man for a few minutes, but he found himself becoming more terrified of him with every passing day. Even thinking back to the encounter they had seemed to reinforce his fear.
Serana stepped down towards the boat, only turning back as she noticed he'd stopped in his tracks. "You alright, Arven?"
"You know, since I met you I feel like my brain has been screaming at me to do the opposite of what I've been doing for the past weeks," Arven replied.
"Now where's the fun in that?" Serana asked of him.
Arven smirked underneath the helmet he'd recently placed back on his head. He walked over to the boat, holding his hand out to Serana to help her climb on. She took his extended hand, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze that he barely noticed as her smile reached him once more. They both sat down, Arven taking the paddles as he started to take them over to castle Volkihar.
I hope this isn't a bad idea, Arven thought to himself. He couldn't escape that dread, yet he found the uncomfortable feeling seemed to subside whenever he looked over to Serana.
At that time, the pair were unknowingly thinking the exact same thing.
I must keep them safe.
Garan woke. His eyes were wide, looking around as found himself still restrained to the same wall he had been shackled to for a length of time he couldn't discern. He was right where he'd been brutally tortured, but he felt no pain. Looking up, he found Harkon standing only a few feet away from him. The man had his arms folded, studying Garan with a curious gaze as a small amount of blood ran down the edge of his mouth.
Garan looked down. Where he had ripped and torn flesh, cuts and gashes all along his body, parts of his torso that had been violently removed – that was all gone. His torso had healed itself, free of any scars or pain. He looked to the chains holding him, shackles around his wrists and ankles. Flexing his hands and forearms, he tested the chains.
With a loud yell of defiance, he pulled against the shackles and they tore from the wall with minimal effort. The same happened with the chains around his ankles as he kicked his feet forward, leaving him free. He felt good. He felt powerful.
To his sides stood the two vampires that were complicit in torturing him. They each had shock and terror written over their faces. He knew, deep down that they weren't responsible for what they did to him. They didn't have a choice. Yet, they served as the only outlet for his anger.
Raising a hand to one, Garan let electricity crackle around his hand before a violent, powerful burst of lightning flew from his open palm to strike one of the vampires squarely in the chest. The man looked down, mouth agape as his torso had a hole blown right through it. He dropped to the floor, dead, moments later.
Before, Garan had only been marginally stronger than these two men. He could fight them individually, but against two he would've been hurt or seriously killed. Now, they seemed to be mere playthings.
The other vampire let out a cry of fear, turning to run as fast as he could. Garan was upon him in a moment, running to catch the man by the back of the neck before throwing him face-first into one of the stone walls. The satisfying crunch of bones in the man's skull made Garan laugh.
He made the cowering vampire look at him, just as Garan let the new blood in his body surge. He grinned before a powerful, terrible roar came from him. Tattered wings burst free from his back as his claws grew long, his skin grew pale and his face took on a demonic, twisted visage. The cowering vampire, who now had a face that was almost unable to be recognised as it had been crushed leaving his nose, jaw and skull fractured and broken, tried his best to scream.
"Do not waste this," a voice from behind Garan said. "Should you squander this gift, I will not hesitate to make this past day seem like the most joyful part of your existence."
Garan turned to the source of the voice, looking over at Harkon. With the cowering vampire still in his hand, Garan bowed deeply to Harkon on one knee, just as he slammed his prey down against the floor beneath him, killing him with ease as he crushed his skull underneath an open palm.
"Of course, my lord," Garan said.
"Good. Now, bring me the Imperial, and my daughter with him. As long as Serana is still breathing, I don't care for what condition they might be in when they arrive. I will accept no more excuses."
Hello again! I'm back, admittedly after a long delay. I am still continuing this story, even though it's been a while. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe leading into the holidays! Once again, thank you to everyone who's read my story, I hope you've all found some level of enjoyment from it. And to answer a question I had received - yes this Serana is based off the Seranaholic mod, version 1.4.1 with the red hair.