Several days earlier.
Arven ran. He ran as fast as his legs were able to carry him. He tried to run until he was completely tired, until he was so out of breath that every other thought vanished from his mind, where he could feel nothing but an overwhelming draining exhaustion, but it never came. No matter how fast he ran, how far he pushed himself, because of this new form that state of exhaustion never came. Because of the beast he had become, his body a ghastly, bony demonic apparition, he couldn't hide outrun his terror.
He screamed out into the night. That terrifying howl that came from his re-shaped throat echoed around him, bouncing off the mountains of lands which he couldn't quite recognise at the moment. He had this voice thrown back to him, a horrid thing that made him even more panicked. He wanted to escape. He wanted to forget what he had become but that was impossible. As he ran those distorted, grey claws remained in his vision. He didn't feel the need to gasp for breath, reminding him that he was no longer human. No longer alive.
Worse still, there was that devouring, all-consuming hunger that was rising up within him.
He tried his best to ignore it as he ran, but with every passing minute, with every passing second he felt that hunger growing stronger and stronger within him. He wasn't just hungry, nor was he starving. He felt like he'd die if he didn't satisfy his hunger soon. But food wasn't appetising to him. He didn't crave bread, or venison, or even ale.
He needed blood.
That thought made him so angry, so repulsed that in response he felt his dragon blood flaring up. It challenged what he had become, as if reminding Arven that even though he had become what he hated the most, he still couldn't escape the souls within his body. He remembered what it felt like when he gave into that anger as Serana was hurt and let the energy he'd consumed rear its head and take over for a second and that scared him. So he tried to push it back down, but that just left him feeling cold and lifeless, with nothing but the hunger remaining.
It became a battle of two evils, and Arven couldn't rightfully figure out which one he could tolerate more. Which one he could live with more.
He ran and ran, further and further. Past startled animals, past rivers and mountains until he stumbled from a shaded area and felt a searing, burning heat. It was so intense that he screamed on reflex before immediately recoiling, looking off with his arm shielding his face to realise that dawn was coming. It was peaking over the mountains far in the distance, and if Arven stepped into that slight glimmer of sunlight it felt as if someone had a hot iron right against his skin, branding him.
Turning back, he found an entrance into the mountains and ran for them. He entered a cave system, finding the darkest part of it before he finally collapsed. He pushed his back up against a damp wall and sat there, head in his misshapen hands as he tried to control his breathing. He wasn't breathing from exertion but from panic, a near constant state of panic that left him as a mental wreck.
That hunger just kept on gnawing at him. Building inside. He felt saliva dripping from his fangs, and Arven started to notice scents and sounds he never would've noticed before. Without his breath ringing in his ears Arven could hear everything. The sound of a drop of water nearby was as if a small explosion had gone off. The dank scent coming from deeper within the cave, from the fungi and moss lining the walls made him feel like he'd choke. Despite the darkness Arven could still make out the textures on the cave walls and floors. He could see everything, even though there was barely any light surrounding him.
The worst part though, was his sense for blood. As he sat there, head in his hands he got a whiff of the sweetest, most tantalising scent he had ever known. His pointed grey ears let him know exactly what it was. Outside the cave a deer was being hunted by a tiger, and blood had been spilt. That scent filled Arven's nose and made the hunger within him surge, making him desperate for a taste. And it just smelt so damn good.
No. No, no I can't- I can't drink any, I can't give into it!
He hated how good it smelt, and that let the dragon blood within him rise once more. Feeding off that anger, that hate that Arven currently felt. He went to push it down on instinct, reflex, but a small part of him decided that feeling anger was vastly preferable to focusing on the scent of that blood. So he let the anger rise within. He let the energy from the souls he had claimed previously surge within his body. He felt their strength, and along with it the panic that always followed.
His breaths got more and more panicked before Arven hunched over on all fours, head against the cold stone floor as he focused on that anxiety-inducing feeling. The anger, unrestricted, took over his body. That anger was so visceral, so real that Arven felt as if he could see the dragons that he had killed. He felt them nearby, and that gave way to more anxiety. Even with his eyes closed each one of them flashed before his eyes, making him relive every second he'd spent fighting them.
Arven felt as if he was being dragged away to another world. To another plane. Intrusive thoughts of the dragons he'd fought flashed through his head. He had their beliefs, their ideas merge with his own for the briefest of seconds before fading back. He felt each and every beast he had fought remind Arven of his victory over them.
Arven clenched his fists tighter. He wanted to escape these thoughts, to go back to being just a human, but as he opened his eyes he saw his hands once again. His vampiric claws. A different panic rose, and he went right back to focusing on the thoughts. On the fights he'd been though. At least he knew he could handle those, if he had to. It was such a foreign, unnatural feeling to acknowledge the things he'd pushed down inside of him ever since he became Dragonborn. But he had no other choice.
Each and every fight he'd been in flashed before his eyes. Some of the dragons inside forced their perspectives upon him. He saw a flash of a man with a crazed look in his eyes ramming a blade forward. A man battered and broken, blooded and bruised standing up to scream in defiance and strike a killing blow. He saw himself from their perspectives, and that man seemed as foreign to him as his current form did.
Arven screamed. He balled his hand into a fist and struck the floor, forcing the stone to crack and break due to the sheer force of the blow. But he didn't try and push the panic away. He knew that as soon as he did the hunger would be back, so he focused on that anger as best as he could and lashed out. He struck the floor beneath him. He struck the stone over and over again, yelling. Screaming.
"Why. Couldn't. She. Just. Let. Me. Die!"
As he struck the floor one last time the anger started to slowly dissipate, and his blood calmed. He still felt the presence of the souls he had claimed, but they had calmed slightly. They no longer raged within him, but merely rested within his body. They made themselves known, but now that they were present they seemed… content.
It was as if they were talking to Arven, reminding him.
Regardless of what you do. Regardless of who you become. We will always be a part of you. Before everything else, you have the soul of a Dovah.
Arven didn't want to accept that, but it wasn't much good denying it. It was the truth after all, wasn't it? Even if he didn't want it to be, he was faced with two horrible, terrifying truths. He was part dragon. And he was a vampire.
In this situation, with that hunger rumbling inside of his stomach, one option seemed to be a lesser evil than the other.
So as he collapsed on the floor, lying on his back, Arven shut his eyes tight and recalled a chant that the Greybeards had recited to him before.
"Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."
"Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."
"Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."
You are Ysmir now, Dragon of the North. Hearken to it.
Arven never fully understood the meaning of it. Arngeir hadn't elaborated any further on the translation and it wasn't something Arven wanted to fully accept at the time. He still didn't. But between Harkon and Ysmir, if he was to be compared to one, the choice was obvious.
As he recited the chant over and over, muttering the words under his breath, he felt the hunger giving way. He felt it sinking back inside of him slightly, and as he opened his eyes the grey colour of his skin was giving way. He felt his body starting to shrink slightly as the transformation he had been subject to was dimming, relenting. The more he focused on being a dragon, the more the vampiric side of him shrunk back before eventually he was lying in that cave, a man in rags that hung to his body, having been torn apart from the transformation he had gone through.
By the time he seemed human again Arven shut his eyes tight in that cave and silently wept. The hunger had abated, but it was still there. His senses were still heightened, just to a lesser degree. Even now that he had returned to his original body, he was still undead. He still felt that deathly chill running through him. He was still a vampire.
So, with no one else to witness it, he wept. And in his head, all he could think of was the woman who had done this to him. Not from anger, but from a longing for comfort.
As Arven remained in the cave he didn't quite know what he was waiting for. The first thing would be for the sun to set so he could step outside again, but even when it did, there wasn't anywhere he could go. What would he even do? He needed to figure out a way to control his hunger, for obvious reasons. That seemed like the top priority.
Besides that, there were only two other things he could think of. First, he needed to figure out a way to undo what Serana had done to him. No matter what, he couldn't stay like this. Every second he spent with this unnatural cold lingering in his body was a second too long. He had to find a way to reverse it, to become human once more. And he had to believe that such a thing was possible. Even if it wasn't, he'd do anything he had to do to make it possible.
Secondly, he needed to go find Serana. His feelings regarding her were a complete mess. He hadn't been able to process them at all, but there were two greatly conflicting emotions within him. A mixture of anger and hate, for what she did to him without his permission, alongside a deep and sincere longing. He wanted to hate her for what she'd done to him. She'd stolen his choice, and destined him to live as the thing he hated most and for that Arven didn't know if he could ever forgive her.
But at the same time, he missed her terribly. More than he ever would have expected.
As his thoughts lingered on Serana, her face, her smile – they were rudely interrupted.
He smelt something. Something different. Something fresh. Then he heard their voices.
Oh, please no.
"Would you stop that bitch from writhing around so much!" A voice shouted from the entrance to the cave.
"I'm tryin', but she won't stop- ah just stay still already!" A second voice called out.
Arven's ears caught two other voices. One too quiet to properly listen to, and another that sounded muffled. From what he heard it seemed obvious what was going on. He had a brief instinctual moment where he wanted to help, but no. He needed to run.
He immediately got to his feet, running barefoot deeper into the cave. As he did he realised something that he would've figured out a long time ago if he had explored the place. He passed traps, trip-ropes, and eventually found a bandit's hideout.
Where is the way out? There has to be another way out of here!
He eventually found it, but luck wasn't on his side this day. The sun was still out, and there was no shade to be had for quite a distance. Judging from his prior experience he'd be burnt to death if he stepped out. He could barely even see it was so damn bright.
"Well, ain't that an interesting sight," a voice came from behind him.
"Not sure if you'd call a half-naked fool interesting. Won't have anything valuable. But he might make a nice slave," a second voice came. It was the quiet voice from before, a feminine one, yet incredibly stern. "Or a punchin' bag."
Arven froze. He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to be faced with a dilemma like this. He wasn't ready. Then, he heard the sound of the muffled voice letting out a quiet yelp. The bandits had tossed their captured prey to the floor, and as they did so the hostage hit their head on the stones. The scent of blood dripping down the captive's forehead hit Arven's nose immediately. And it smelt so damn good. The animal blood was one thing, but this scent. It was incredible. Every other scent, every other sensation Arven had felt in his life paled in comparison to what he now smelt. For the briefest of seconds he worried that this would ruin joy for him in other things, it was simply that enticing.
But that thought gave way as the panic set in. Arven spun around, looking directly at the source of that blood, and as soon as he did the three bandits froze in response. To their eyes the half-naked man they were jeering at turned into a monster. Instead of a fool, they saw the eyes of a maddened beast. A bright, sanguine red, belonging to a vampire.
"Shit, vampire!" The lead bandit drew her sword, and the two men behind her followed. One of the men raised a crossbow and fired it, the bolt moving towards Arven in what seemed like slow motion. Being so stunned by that scent he didn't dodge. The bolt slammed into the right side of his chest, making him flinch and take half a step backward. The pain surged through Arven's body, and he felt his control slipping away.
He took several steps back, up against a wall before grabbing the bolt and yanking it free. He felt a primal instinct rising up within him, telling him to merely fight and have this farce be over with, but he struggled as best he could to push it further down. But it was a fool's hope. What was he to do next, reason with the bandits? Ask them to leave?
The lead bandit then charged; a sword drawn in one hand as she lunged towards Arven. He was trying too hard to distract himself from all the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that he wasn't paying much attention, and merely went to push the blade to the side as it came for him. It was moving slow enough, after all. As soon as his palm hit the flat of that blade Arven's skin felt like it was being burnt. It felt like it was boiling. Letting out a shriek of pain while looking down he understood why, the blade was silver.
Recoiling back, as he found himself with his back against the cold wall of the cave he had nowhere to go, and the blade sliced the side of his torso.
Pain and hunger. No matter who you were, if any man was in enough pain, if any man felt a hunger deep enough, they were almost certain to resort to the mind state of an animal. It seemed that Arven was no exception.
He screamed. A ghastly, horrible scream that made all 4 humans before him pale before they started to visibly shake, the three bandits taking steps back out of pure horror. That scream wasn't just one to express the searing heat he felt at his side. No, it was more than that. A challenge. Or a proclamation to the people standing before him.
Letting them know that they had nowhere to run. Normally Arven would summon a weapon and start fighting but he didn't need to do that. No, spell-casting was too proper for the mind-frame he was in right now. Too civilised.
Instead he lunged at the lead bandit. One hand around her neck, he crushed it with ease, his hand squeezing down tight. The action was grotesque, and the woman's eyes seemed to bulge out of her head momentarily before she spat up blood all over Arven's face. Arven, or the beast he had become licked his lips.
And that blood just tasted absolutely heavenly.
But there wasn't enough time to focus on it. One of the other bandits moved forward, swinging a two-handed axe to try and decapitate him. But the man was far, far too slow. Arven stepped to the side, dodging the attack and placing a hand on the man's chest. He caught hold of one of the bandit's arms before shoving him with all his might on the breastplate the unfortunate soul wore. The bandit was sent flying back, but his arm remained in Arven's hand, having been torn free from the socket due to the sheer strength of the vampire.
Blood splattered all over the floor and walls and Arven felt the sheer ecstasy of the moment overwhelm him. He started to smile. He laughed. He let his voice ring through the cave, rebounding off the walls, filling his own ears as he revelled in the pain and carnage he was so easily causing. A few steps forward and a heel to the dismembered man's face, and he died. Then it was time for the last bandit. Turning to him, the man was fumbling with his crossbow. But his hands were shaking too much to operate it properly.
Instead the terrified man drew a dagger from his belt and screamed, charging forward. Arven didn't dodge it. He let the dagger ram him in the stomach, feeling the metal sink into his body. It was different, being stabbed as a vampire. As a human you felt the cold metal radiating through your body. But now? It was the same temperature that he was. He felt the skin slicing, parting as it gave away and the pain radiating from it. But there was no cold. Only the heat of agony.
Arven grinned. Then he grabbed the man's wrist with one hand, crushing it. A second later and his rugged nails had torn the man's throat open, killing the unfortunate soul as he dropped to his knees, words gargling as blood seeped from his throat.
While the three attackers had been dealt with, there was still one more to go. After all, how could he stop now? How could he stop, when he was having so much fun? Arven turned to the last person, a young wood elf who seemed to barely be out of adolescence. It was a bit of a shock, seeing her type around here. But regardless of race, the same delicious blood ran through the veins of every Man or Mer.
As he stepped closer, he saw the tears streaking down the girl's face, staining the cloth around her mouth to muffle her as she tried to move away from Arven, even with her arms and ankles bound. She was terrified. The same as the bandits, but she was innocent. Did she really deserve death, then?
That didn't matter. A small hint of doubt rose within Arven but the beast he currently was didn't care. She was a Mer, and she was prey to him. There was no need to consider her feelings, or her guilt. But as he thought that he felt his blood boil. He felt somewhere, deep inside of him protest against the idea. It was faint, but it shouted against what he currently was.
Like all vampires Arven had a natural instinct to hunt. And being as hungry as it was, that instinct had simply overwhelmed him.
No! This is wrong! You can't become what you hate, you have to be better than this!
As the woman continued trying to scramble away from Arven, crying, trying to plead through her gagged mouth Arven felt other memories resurfacing. Memories of people he'd saved from vampires, screaming for help. Memories he had, of screaming out for anybody as his parents had been slaughtered.
The hunger and lust for battle within him died away, and he regained some level of clarity once again. He looked around; at the carnage he'd caused. At the horror. And he realised how easily he'd slipped into becoming an abhorrent monster. He felt his cheeks becoming wet as tears ran down them. His attention was forced back on the woman as she had used a fallen knife to untie her hands and ankles, standing to her feet before removing the cloth that was gagging her and holding the dagger directly at Arven.
He was standing between her and the exit, and he could feel the horror she must've felt in this situation.
Arven swallowed the lump in his throat, stepping, or staggering to the side before he used the wall to support his body as his legs threatened to give way.
"Go," he said under a hushed breath. The woman either didn't hear him, or didn't trust him.
"GO!" Yelling at the top of his voice he begged her to leave. To get as far away as possible while he still regained some level of sanity and control over his actions.
The girl hesitated for a second, then dashed towards the exit. She ran right past Arven with her knuckles white from gripping the dagger so tightly. He heard her footsteps as they echoed throughout the cave until the sound was muted as she hit grass instead of stone. As soon as she was out of reach, Arven fell to his knees and screamed once more.
His throat was getting coarse. And that just made him thirst even more. He ran his hands through his hair, curling up with his forehead on the floor as he wailed. But even as he felt complete repulsion at what he had just done. Even as he felt like he could be sick from the actions he'd just taken, he still felt so hungry.
He looked up, seeing through watery vision at the carnage he'd caused. He saw the closest man, the one with the crossbow lying lifeless a metre or so away from him. A pool of blood had formed from the fresh blood still pouring out of the man's neck, with the liquid getting closer and closer to Arven with every passing second.
A few metres behind him was the body of the other male bandit. Sitting against the wall of the cave, missing one arm and with a face that had been caved in by Arven's heel. He'd done so much damage with that one kick that the man couldn't be recognised, his face a mishappen heap of gore and bones. It was a mess worse than that of the lead bandit's head, who merely had blood soaking her facial features with her eyes still bulging out, her neck crushed to the point where it almost seemed comical.
Arven had his arms across his chest, clutching each shoulder as he suffered alone in that cave. But that didn't last. No, he was so hungry that even with this absolute horror at his own actions he started to crawl towards the nearest body. He knelt over it, the scent of blood overwhelming his senses. Even as he continued to cry those tears mixed in with saliva that was drooling out of his mouth.
Staring down at the blood coming from the man's neck he moved in closer, unable to physically stop himself from doing so. He couldn't resist the urge. He couldn't fight back, and he realised now that no mortal had the strength to do so.
But he did have another pool of strength he could call on.
Even as he got closer, Arven shouted.
"Yol!"
In a desperate attempt to stop himself from feeding Arven shouted the word for fire, an inferno shooting from his mouth. It caused his body to jump back on instinct, the heat searing at him in a way it never did before as it incinerated the corpse lying in front of him. Arven maintained the shout, letting the flames wash over the cavernous room he was in, illuminating it to the point where it was blinding as it ate up and devoured anything it touched.
He forced all of his energy into that shout until he knew, for certain, that there'd be nothing left. By the time the flames died down the three corpses were barely even ashes. They had burnt away completely, entirely. Even the blood on the floor that was staining the stone had been utterly consumed by the flames. The flames that were so strong that Arven now felt burns on his skin.
That left Arven injured, hungry, and completely exhausted.
Irileth was loyal. Loyal to a fault, and stricter with herself than she was with her own guards. She frequently took up extra duties, needed or not. She felt as if there was always something to be done, and if she was ever idle then she'd be practically begging for something bad to happen. And that was unacceptable. After all, she had a Jarl and a city to protect.
It was because of this that she was patrolling the streets late at night. There was no real reason to, there were plenty of guards about, but she couldn't sleep. So why not be out on the streets, just in case? An extra set of eyes couldn't hurt, now could it? Of course everything was quiet, with nothing but the sounds of wildlife and the occasional drunkard to greet her ears.
That was until she had a half-naked, bloodied man drop down in front of her.
Standing near the outskirts of the city by a wall, Irileth immediately drew her sword.
"Identify yourself, now!" She demanded, holding the ebony blade at the ready. She didn't need the stranger to identify themself, though. As soon as she saw those eyes, she knew what was happening. Another vampire attack.
Moving with a speed that was only gained after decades of continuous drills and exercise Irileth struck out at the Vampire, hoping to run it through in one clean strike. But it didn't work. The beast stepped to the side and grabbed the pommel right where Irileth's hands were with frightening strength, locking her in place.
Irileth tried to pull her hands free, to grab the dagger at her waist, but she couldn't. Even digging her heels into the ground she simply couldn't bring her hands free.
"Irileth," a voice from the vampire came. "Calm down."
Irileth turned her head to the man, looking him in the eyes. Past the deep red colour, to see the man behind him.
"Gods…" a muttered voice came from her lips. "They got you." Looking over the man before her, she saw a familiar face. Yet that face was bloodied, stained with dirt, and had the expression of a man reminiscent of those who came back from war shocked and unable to speak.
"Yeah, you could say that," Arven said as he released the grip on Irileth's hands. In response she lowered her weapon, but she didn't sheath it.
"I need your help," Arven continued. Irileth studied him, but she didn't respond. So Arven raised his hands, palms face up and together with closed fists. "Lock me up beneath Dragonsreach."
Irileth's eyes widened slightly. "You need to explain yourself, Dragonborn." As she studied his face more though, there was a pleading there. A look she hadn't seen on the man's face before.
"Please, I'm… I'm too dangerous like this," Arven said in a muttered voice. "Lock me up, and throw away the key."
Several hours later, Jarl Balgruuf was storming down the stairs to the prisons beneath Dragonsreach. He wasn't wearing his normal attire, just a shirt and trousers he'd thrown on. It was a bit of a shock to the guards he'd passed to see him in such a state, but it made sense as it was currently in the middle of the night.
"Out of my way, out of my way! Show me where he is," the Jarl demanded as his voice boomed throughout the prisons.
"My Jarl, you cannot see him! He's far too dangerous," Irileth started.
"Bah, he's saved my hide more times than I can count!" The Jarl responded as he turned a corner, stomping over to a cell that was clearly not like the others. He came to stand in front of a cell which had silver chains wrapped around each and every bar. The inside of the cell was the same as the others, and a lone man was sitting on the straw bed in the corner.
"Arven!" The Jarl called out, stepping up to the bars before he turned to a guard standing behind him. "Get rid of these damn chains, will you? And Irileth, you better not have had that damned wizard mess with this cell!"
Arven looked up from where he was sitting, shock on his face as he looked at the Jarl.
"Balgruuf… What are you doing here?" Arven asked.
"I need you ask you that first, you fool! Why have you gone and locked yourself up?" He demanded, as guards were working on the silver chains to the jail, albeit apprehensively.
In response Arven just looked at the Jarl, no doubt his red eyes shining through the dim light. He motioned to them, as if to explain himself.
"I don't care if they bit you, Dragonborn. You're still the same man as before. I care that you're in this prison that reeks of piss instead of out there getting revenge on whoever did that to you!" Balgruuf responded.
"You don't understand, I need to be in here. Stop taking the chains away!" Arven called out. The guard doing so hesitated, but a look from the Jarl made him resume his work straight away.
"I'm dangerous! If you let me out of here I can guarantee you I'm going to kill someone, I can't control myself like this," Arven pleaded.
"A man with the will to fight dragons doesn't have the self-control to not harm anyone?" Balgruuf asked. "Bah! Quit it with the excuses, Arven. You're in your head too much!"
"Balgruuf I just slaughtered three people!" Arven cried out.
The Jarl hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Who?"
"Bandits, I ran into them after they captured an elf girl," Arven said in a much quieter tone of voice.
"Good! You did us a favour then, damn bandits got what they deserved," Balgruuf said back in a manner that was exceedingly casual.
"No, that's not… I almost killed the girl as well! I'm so damn hungry, I could only stop myself from killing her and drinking all their blood by torching the corpses to ash!" Arven said. As he spoke he had his back against the wall, trying to keep as much distance between him and the Jarl as possible. Even though he couldn't smell blood, humans had a certain scent that, in his current state, was interfering with his ability to be rational.
"He recently turned, my Jarl," Irileth started. "From what I understand the hunger they feel as a newblood is enough to drive any man to insane lengths."
The Jarl hesitated for a moment, then spoke with the same confidence he always did. "Fine, so we'll feed you. Irileth, give me your knife," he said as he held out a hand to his protector.
Both Arven and Irileth shouted their disagreement at the same time, but moments later another sound caught their attention.
"Get out of my way! I don't care what you're telling me, if you've imprisoned a thane I'm going to get him the hell out of there!" A new voice called out. Arven knew that voice, of course.
Moments later and Lydia was standing in front of the cell, wearing the same armour she always had on as she seemed to totally disregard the presence of the Jarl and Irileth.
"My thane!" She called out. "Why have they-" She paused as soon as she set eyes on Arven, no doubt seeing what he had become. She swallowed, momentarily shocked as she saw the man she served reduced to a bloodied, scared beast. But she swallowed whatever fear or doubt she felt, and went to open the cell door.
Irileth immediately stopped her, grabbing Lydia by the wrist.
"What is wrong with you people! Can't you see he's dangerous as he is?" Irileth demanded.
"I don't care, he doesn't belong in a cell!" Lydia responded.
"He's said it himself, in his current state he's a danger to everyone. As a newblood it's just as likely that he'd tear your throat out as he would greet you if you stepped into that cell," Irileth explained.
Lydia turned to look at the Jarl, then back to Arven. "You haven't fed yet?" She asked. She knew about vampires, of course. Some of that knowledge from what she had picked up being a warrior, and some that she'd learned herself after studying. The housecarl had figured that it wasn't a bad idea to know these things, if Arven was out there fighting the beasts.
Arven shook his head, but he couldn't made eye contact.
"Alright then," Lydia said as she turned to the nearby guard and yanked the key he held from his hand. Unlocking the door before the guard could protest she then walked into the cell as casually as she'd enter her home.. Arven tried to scurry back, but he couldn't get any further away.
Irileth went to call out but Balgruuf placed a hand on her shoulder to pull her back. "Enough, Irileth. This isn't a matter for you to interfere in now," he said.
"It's a matter of security for the city, so it damn well-" Irileth responded before being cut off.
"Enough," the Jarl said once more, and Irileth didn't speak another word.
"Lydia, please! You have to get out, I don't know how much longer I'll stay sane," Arven said.
"It's alright, my thane. I'm just here to help," Lydia said. Then, placing the dagger to her neck, she drew blood with a swift cut, her head to one side to expose her neck towards Arven.
Arven wanted to check to see if this was okay. He wanted to express his disbelief, his shock at the situation, but he couldn't. His body moved on his own, and with that all-consuming hunger driving him forward he leapt off the bed and closed the distance between himself and Lydia in a fraction of a second. He pulled her into an embrace, one hand on the back of her head as his lips formed a seal with the cut on her neck and he began to feast. The second the blood hit his tongue he felt that overwhelming sense of ecstasy, a taste so rich and full that he had never had it's equal before. A scent that simply couldn't be improved upon, and one that had such a commanding presence in Arven's mind that everything else faded into the background.
Immediately the guard, Balgruuf and Irileth turned away as each one felt slightly squeamish from the sound and the sight of the feeding. Arven had his eyes closed, feeling the warm blood rushing down his throat and filling him with a strange, different sort of satisfaction. His stomach wasn't filling up. He felt as if the energy, the magicka within the blood was sustaining him instead. Giving him strength. He still felt… hollow, but with each passing second his mind started to calm down, started to revert to a non-panicked, human state. It wasn't until he noticed that Lydia's grip on his shoulders started getting weaker that he had the presence of mind to pull away.
As he took a step back, wiping the blood from the back of his mouth, Arven felt human again. Well, as close to human as he could be. Being so freshly sated there was no hunger left within him. Even seeing the blood run down Lydia's neck, he didn't feel the urge any longer. It seemed appetising in a way, yes, but in the same way that a full man could appreciate the scent of a fresh meal cooking inside an inn. It was nice, but the effect it had on him was almost wholly negated.
With a clear mind, he was then able to see how pale Lydia had become.
"Lydia!" Taking a step forward he placed an arm on her back as she started to stagger.
Shit, how much blood did I just drink?
Raising a finger to the wound on her neck, Arven instinctively went to heal it, restoration magic pooling in his fingertips. As soon as it did he felt the magic causing a painful, burning sensation in his fingers. He immediately cancelled the magic, shaking his fingers in an attempt to rid himself of the pain. Healing magics and undead never really did mix well together.
Of course that happens, he thought to himself. But, pain was just pain. As long as it didn't kill him, he could handle it. Especially in an attempt to repay a favour like this. Summoning that magic once more he sealed the wound on Lydia's neck, then grimacing all the while, placed a hand on her forehead as he let the restoration magic flow into her body. Lydia's skin began to glow softly, and the colour returned to her as Arven let her stand on her two feet once more.
"My thane, ah – thank you," Lydia said as she held a hand to the side of her head. "Are you feeling better now?"
"I should be thanking you, Lydia. You didn't have to do that. But yes, I am. I… feel more like myself," Arven said to her before he turned to the Jarl and Irileth. The former of which had a smirk on his lips, while the latter had her hand on the pommel of her sword.
"I'm sorry, all of this must have been confusing at the least. And I'm sorry I ambushed you like that Irileth," he continued.
"Are you still a threat?" She asked.
"Nonsense! Look at him, he seems fine," Balgruuf said. It was shocking how calm he was about the whole ordeal, as if Arven just had a common cold rather than vampirism.
"No, not right now at least," Arven said. "I feel in control now. But I don't know how long that will last."
"Until you need to feed again?" Balgruuf asked.
Arven nodded in response, then Lydia spoke up. "Then we'll get some vials prepared. You can take them with you," the housecarl prompted.
Arven turned to her, mouth slightly agape at the suggestion. "You don't have to do that Lydia, it's-"
"Learn to take help when it's offered, lad," Balgruuf interrupted. "It's no weakness to rely on those you've helped in the past."
Arven closed his mouth, swallowing as he nodded to the Jarl. "You're… right. Thank you Lydia, that would be incredibly helpful."
"Good. Now, are we done in this dimly lit shithole?" Balgruuf asked, prompting a look of judgement from Irileth due to his flavourful language.
Arven scoffed to himself under his breath. "I suppose so, but I don't quite know what to do now," Arven said.
"Get you some damn clothes, you fool," Balgruuf said. "Then, I want to know how this happened."
Several hours later and Arven was sitting in the main dining hall of Dragonsreach. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating Whiterun rather well. Arven found that he felt comfortable in the moonlight, and it was vastly preferable to running about in the shade of trees during dusk, as he had done after fleeing the cave.
Additionally, he had finally gotten some clothes. No armour like he used to have, but there was some spare leather gear lying around that he 'loaned' from the barracks. That included a mask he saw, grabbing it just in case he needed to hide his identity. It seemed especially important for him to be able to do so now.
"Sounds like you visited Oblivion, lad," Balgruuf said after Arven had finished his story.
"I think I did in a way," Arven responded. "At least I didn't run into any Daedra."
"Daedra might have been easier than what you ended up fighting," Lydia responded. The four of them were sitting around a table, each with a mug of ale in front of them. Lydia paused as she went to give it to Arven but he took it thankfully, taking a sip. He found that Serana was right. It didn't taste as 'full' as it did before. Far more bland.
"True. An undead dragon?" Irileth asked. "I don't believe we're equipped to fight those."
"I don't think they can exist here," Arven said. "It wasn't natural, and I can't imagine any necromancer in Skyrim with that kind of power. Plus, I killed the thing, so nothing to worry about there."
"And what about Serana, hmm?" Balgruuf asked, looking Arven straight in the eye. That caused Arven's gaze to shy away.
"I… don't know," Arven responded. "I don't know if I can handle seeing her at the moment."
"Why, because of what she did? Sounds to me like she saved your life, Arven," the Jarl continued.
Arven shot him a glare in response, his brow furrowed. "She cursed me. I'm not alive, Balgruuf. I'm an undead monster. There are two things I hate most in this world, dragons and vampires. I'm stuck with the soul of a dragon already, but she's forced me to exist as both of these things at the same damn time."
In response the Jarl leaned over the table, arms crossed with the mug of ale still in his hand as he looked back at Arven. "You're sitting here lad, right in front of me. You're breathing, you can hold a conversation. Vampire or not, sounds like you're alive to me."
Arven looked down at his mug, exhaling deeply. "And what if I don't want to be?" He asked as he looked back up. "I'm tired, Balgruuf. You know the things I've seen, the things I've fought. What if I was happy that it seemed to be all over?"
As he spoke Lydia moved forward in her chair, ready to object, but a raised hand from Irileth stopped her. She bit her tongue as the Jarl responded.
"You don't get to be tired lad," Balgruuf said. As he did Arven scowled at him, but the Jarl continued. "I know that sounds unfair, because it bloody well is. But it's true. You've been given something, call it a gift or a burden I don't care, but you've got it now. And that burden gives you a responsibility."
"I never asked for any of this," Arven responded, his voice much quieter than before.
"You think I did?" Balgruuf asked. "You think I want the stress of a damn city on my shoulders? You think when the Stormcloaks were trying to burn down my walls and pillage my city, that there weren't times when I wanted to hand it all off and disappear?"
As he said that all three of them looked to the Jarl. This wasn't something Arven had ever expected to hear from him. Balgruuf loved his city, and took a huge amount of pride in protecting it.
"I understand what you mean, Arven. Not to the same extent, I sure as hell haven't been to Oblivion and back, but I understand where you're coming from," the Jarl continued. "But men like us don't get to rest. Not until it's all done." After he spoke Balgruuf took a long, deep drink from his mug before almost slamming it back down, wiping ale from his facial hair.
"What if you died and the attacks kept coming. What if people in this city were dying, being slaughtered and you could've stopped it?" Balgruuf said, almost interrogating Arven.
"That's not fair, Balgruuf. You know damn well it isn't," Arven said.
"Aye, it isn't. But it's reality."
Arven cursed to himself, gripping the handle of his mug tighter. As he did the wood beneath his palm splintered, shattering as he gripped it a bit too tight, causing him to curse once more.
"So what, I just accept it and keep on going?" Arven asked.
"That's all you can do. And work on finding a cure for yourself while you're out there," the Jarl said.
Arven perked his head up. "I've never heard of one, Balgruuf. And I've spent a lot of time hunting these things."
"And dragons were extinct for generations before they suddenly came back from the dead. Nothing in this world is impossible, Arven."
Arven let out a long, deep sigh, his head tilting back as he looked at the ceiling.
"So, what do I do now?" he asked.
"Shouldn't you go and find Serana?" Lydia asked as she spoke up. "She's probably looking for you right now, my thane."
"Aye, that's a good place to start," Balgruuf said.
"I don't even know if I can face her right now," Arven said as he ran his hands through his hair, closing his eyes.
"What, because she 'cursed' you?" Balgruuf asked.
"It sounds like she saved you, more than anything. Well, from what you've said you saved each other," Lydia added.
"I know, but… she knows how much I hate vampires. More than anyone, she experienced it firsthand for weeks," Arven said.
"Her being a vampire certainly explains a lot," Irileth commented to no one in particular.
"Tell me something Arven," Balgruuf said. "Ask yourself. When she did what she did, do you think there was any hint of malice in her body? Do you think she did that to hurt you? Or just because she wanted to do whatever she could to save you?"
Arven opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He couldn't find the words.
Shit. He's right.
No matter how he thought of it, he knew that Serana wouldn't have done what she did to harm him. Thinking about it properly, remembering what tiny flashes of memory that he had from when they escaped the soul cairn, it would've been a last resort to keep him alive.
That didn't reduce the anger he felt at being a vampire, but it made it much, much harder to be angry at her. And he knew that Lydia was right as well. She'd be looking for him right now.
I need to go find her.
"I'm heading out," Arven said as he stood. It was a rather abrupt end to the conversation but he didn't see any point in dragging things out any longer. He'd already spent more time in Dragonsreach than he liked to. He placed a hand on his belt, palming over the few vials of blood that now rested there. Turning to Lydia, he thanked her once more. "Really Lydia, thank you. And uh, if I need more-"
"Whenever you need it, my thane," Lydia said with a smile.
Arven nodded his thanks once more before turning to Balgruuf and Irileth. "Thank you for talking through this with me. When I get back, and when I've cured myself, I promise I'll stay long enough for that dinner," he said with a half-slime.
The Jarl let out a bark of a laugh. "Hah! A feast lad, not a dinner! And I'm holding you do that," he said. Irileth didn't speak, but she nodded towards Arven.
As he left Dragonsreach the moon was still in the sky, with no sign of dawn. But Arven still didn't want to risk seeing anyone else. Not wanting to walk through the town, Arven instead approached a nearby wall and crouched down, jumping up with strength that he was still getting used to in order to vault the wall in a clean motion, landing on the other side with a roll before he broke out into an effortless jog.
Now, where would she be.
Arven didn't know exactly where she'd be looking, but he could think of a few places. All of them were on the route from Whiterun back to Castle Volkihar, so with any luck if he just kept running he'd find her eventually.
He was right, and it took just over an hour before the sound of lighting crashing reached his ears. Hearing the sounds of powerful destructive magic being thrown about it could only mean one thing. Serana, and some fool stupid enough to fight her. As Arven picked up his pace, running faster to close the distance he extended his hand and started summoning the ethereal magics he'd used so often.
He expected it to take longer, since his enchanted gloves were now lying on the floor of Serana's mother's laboratory, but it didn't. Within a second he had a solid ethereal bow resting in his palm, just as strong – if not stronger than the ones he could conjure before. Arven couldn't tell if he was happy with this development or not. Stronger magic was certainly a good thing, but the method by which he had the magic was still far from agreeable.
By the time he came upon the battle Arven felt that instinctive fear rising up in his gut as soon as he saw the grey figure attacking Serana. His immediate thought was Harkon, but no. That didn't make any sense. There was no way Harkon would be out, alone, hunting another Vampire Lord. There was only one answer Arven could think of, but it didn't really matter. The Vampire Lord had Serana cornered, advancing on her with a blade, and even from a distance Arven could tell Serana was hurt.
He felt his blood begin to boil.
Exhaling deeply, Arven whispered a shout.
"Tiid Klo Ul."
With time slowing down, he drew his bow and fired off a volley of arrows at the monster attacking the woman he'd been searching for, and the woman who saved his life. Then Arven fought the Vampire Lord.
Throughout his fight with Garan, Arven felt the anger within himself, but this time he didn't fight it back, nor did he let it overwhelm him like it did in the Soul Cairn. He just let that familiar presence exist within him. It wasn't comfortable, but he didn't want to risk losing himself to the more primal violence of his vampiric side. By acknowledging the souls within him, he could focus on that rather than being undead.
By doing this, Arven was shocked with how strong he had become. How quick he was. Not only from starting to accept his dragon blood slightly more, but that along with being a Vampire Lord? He had more power than he thought was possible.
Arven didn't know if he liked that or not. But, there was certainly a satisfaction to getting revenge for what Garan had done to him the last time they fought.
As the fight progressed, Garan getting more and more desperate, Arven didn't want to risk it. He didn't want to get absorbed in the battle, to lose himself to bloodlust. Either that of a dragon or of a vampire. So as soon as he had the chance, after knowing Garan's strength compared to his own he summoned a blade and decapitated the beast. With the threat gone, he immediately turned to Serana.
He wasn't sure what he'd feel when he saw her face again. Anger, frustration. But no, as soon as he looked into her eyes he just felt a wonderful calmness washing over him, along with a deep longing. There was no way he could be mad at her, not when she'd saved his life.
He also came to understand just how deeply and terribly he had missed her, even over the span of only a few days at most.
"Arven…?" Serana said, her voice weak as she knelt on the floor.
Arven knelt in front of her, removing his mask so she could see his face as he cupped her cheek with an open palm, his other hand going to her shoulder to support her. Her skin, still as cold as ever, somehow gave him a sense of warmth as he wiped the blood from her face.
"Yeah, it's me," he responded. "Sorry I'm late, Serana."
Then, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he buried his face into the crook of her neck and pulled her into a deep hug, one hand resting on the back of her head as his fingers ran through her wine-red hair.
Serana was stunned for a moment, understandably shocked. She had expected Arven to lash out at her the second he saw her again. But she wouldn't complain. So she returned the hug, ignoring the pain in her torso as she squeezed him as tightly as she could.
"I'm sorry, Serana. Gods, I missed you," Arven whispered out as quietly as he could.
"I missed you too, Arven. More than anything."
Hello again! Another chapter, at long last. I hope you've all been well and safe, and that you enjoyed this chapter. It took a bit longer writing out Arven's perspective on the whole ordeal, and I wasn't entirely certain where I wanted to take things in this chapter for a while but I'm happy with how it turned out.
Once again thank you to everyone for reading, and to those who follow/review. I promise that I read each review and comment, even if I don't get the time to get back to you.