open eyes

A/N: Hello all, I'm back from hiatus! I've spent the last few months writing two novels and am now working on this fic! This chapter was an intense one to write because of the situation the characters are in. I was so scared for them while writing this, so be prepared!

Content warning: gore, graphic violence, and implied threat of sexual violence (non-graphic).

The cold, barren ground holds many secrets. With each footstep his boots crush the snow a little more, and with each step, it almost feels like the land is whispering words that were never spoken. Vorstag feels the coolness of the trees as he leans his forehead against one of the trunks.

Beyond him, stretching out into the plains for miles is a killing field. Bodies, some fresh, some old and worn down into the earth, litter the ground. Soulless, black voids for eyes stare up to the heavens, as if asking for one last breath.

Vorstag's heart finally slows. He almost chokes on his breath but remains calm. The hilt of the bloody sword in his hand is a calming presence. Over a month he was kept in his cage in Molag Bal's home. And every day he was sent out to fight Molag Bal until he was impaled so badly, he couldn't raise his body. Those days he would lay panting and hurting on the ground only to see the shadows lit up from the glow of the Daedric Prince's eyes. He would hear the Prince's breath hissing through the air in anticipation for his Champion's demise. Vorstag couldn't move away from a blow that would kill a lesser being. Each time they had this spat, this squaring off of moral codes that were at odds with each other, Molag Bal would always have the final say. He would snarl down at Vorstag's bruised form and lick his sword, or talons, still dripping with Vorstag's blood.

"If you keep failing like this, I'm going to start picking at your entrails with my teeth. Maybe that would give you the courage and incentive to win." He'd taunt.

Vorstag never did. Not until the end. As his punishment for not killing the Companions, he went through that same torture day and night. The memory of Serana was beginning to fray around the edges. Her face never quite as clear as he remembered her before.

Until one night, alone in his cell with the ear grating screeches of the dammed surrounding him, he thought he saw her. His body was limp, broken, sore and aching all over and bleeding out, creating a dark puddle on the ground. He only opened his eyes for a second.

And she was there, leaning over him. Her vivid golden eyes, cut like fine jewels twinkling in the daylight, filled with sharp pain at the state he was in. Her angelic hands caressed his cheek, around his head and down his hair to smooth it out. "It's okay." She whispered, her lovely lips curling around those soft-spoken words.

Vorstag couldn't speak. It wasn't that he was unable to. He was speechless. It possibly meant death was near now that she was so close, so real. Or Talos had graced her. Something had changed.

He hoped for that. He hoped she was safe, she was cared for, and she could see him, just one last time. Before closing his eyes, he felt her lips mold to his. Felt her soft kiss breathing life and air into him.

When he awoke that day, he realized he was a changed man. No more the bleeding husk on the ground like a hunted and stuck pig, he was now standing strong as ever and ready for the fight before him.

It took longer for his demise. An hour instead of minutes. Molag Bal was furious, swinging his Mace while Vorstag dodged and moved in a macabre sort of dance. Molag Bal matched him. Always only a few inches away. Always a few breaths from that final swing that would crush Vorstag's neck.

The next day he got up and fought again. Only to return to his cell a broken husk.

The next day he fought again, tearing into Molag Bal's face and neck. He was kicked into the ground for such an assault.

The next day when he woke up, he thought of Serana's eyes. He thought of how clear they were. She was there with him in the dark cell that night. He knew it. He rose and took his sword, entering the arena with his head held high. Molag Bal stood at the other side, practically salivating for Vorstag's demise.

And he won. He always did. The following week was more of the same. Every morning Vorstag would wake with his lover's body and soul in his thoughts. He knew she was there, and she saved him. He just had to hold onto the flame that she gave him. The hope that he could break through the vicious cycle Molag Bal had dragged him down into.

Down into a deep, dark hole, indeed. The next day he dared to do something he never tried before. He held his hands to his side, his sword limp in his hand. Molag Bal walked right up to him, his nostrils flaring, his eyes blazing. Vorstag thought for a second he would accept the surrender. Maybe now, things would change.

That only earned him a blow to the face with the Mace.

"Pathetic." The Prince had kicked him and walked away.

Another week. More pain, more agony, only for the long day to end being dumped in his cell. Some blood was administered but never enough. This time Vorstag laid there all night, awake. Thinking of her. She was so close, close enough to touch but not close enough to pull him from this circle of Oblivion.

As it should be. He didn't want her anywhere near these lands. He would fight Molag Bal for eternity and lose every time to keep her away. These thoughts spiraled before Vorstag played the game with himself. In times past as a mercenary, when he was alone, and fearful of the enemies on the other side of the door, he performed this exercise.

It was him or a child. If he were too scared to fight the enemies who threatened a neighboring village, then how could a mere child? And there were many in those villages. Many women, many men who never even held a sword. If Vorstag couldn't fight these people then how could he expect them to?

And that night, he thought of Serana. If he couldn't fight Molag Bal, and win, then how could he expect her to fare in the fight? She'd be torn apart in minutes. Screaming his name, the whole time. If Vorstag didn't stand up to him now, then who's to say he wouldn't stop his rampage and leave his lover alone?

The next morning, he rolled his shoulders, working out the kink in his neck and arms before circling the ring. Molag Bal laughed, and matched him, following him on the other side of the circle. They were two predators ready to show their might but too afraid to strike first. It took only two minutes to beat Molag Bal. All it took was a swift swing of his sword to the back of his head.

He thought he'd be punished. Oh, when Molag Bal turned, the hilt of Vorstag's sword impaled in the back of his skull and breaching the lower part of his jaw, he thought he would be killed. The Daedric Prince only started laughing. So long and hard that Vorstag began to worry. He knew he wouldn't be killed with mercy. It would be a long and painful death, over coals riddled with searing flames. Or, maybe he would be drawn and quartered for all to watch like some other poor souls here. Every time Vorstag saw that in passing, he wondered what it would be like for his limps to be torn so slowly from him. His heart froze up with the thought. He's a strong man, but every iron will has a breaking point.

Instead, Molag Bal cleaved the sword from his head, and he slowly licked his own blood from one smooth iron side and then the other, making sure to watch Vorstag with a piercing gaze. Gaping holes healed smoothly along his jaw as Molag Bal tested the sword, spinning it around in his hands. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I earn a prize?" Vorstag had asked. Nerves were prying at him, making him shake, but he kept his composure.

"If killing my enemies is the prize. You'll find they'll be far easier than me." Vorstag's sword clattered to the ground, no more than a toy losing its shine. Molag Bal stalked off.

Vorstag felt his heart racing, his palms sweating. He thought he would be sent back to Whiterun to finish the job in killing all the Companions. He thought Molag Bal would do something horrible. Like telling him to extract Mjoll's child and bring it back to him to raise. Only something the Prince of Enslavement would think of.

Instead, those fears were unfounded. Vorstag found himself in a field drenched with bandits who conspired to attack travelers and the frozen lands of Windhelm. Out here in the ruins, there wasn't much. Not even enough food to hunt in the harsh cold. As before, when Vorstag saw the first of many tents, he lost control to the bloodlust.

He remembered each heart he pierced, each scream and plea for mercy that fell on his ears, but he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't even say the words he so wished he could. He could only watch the life leave them and lay them to rest with the other soldiers that had come through here decades prior.

Whispers of power sound behind him. Vorstag turns, sweat still dripping down his brow, to see a Winged Twilight step out and survey the land with him.

"Good. Good Champion." The creature hisses, her crimson eyes scouring the red puddles staining the ground. Then, they find his.

Vorstag stills, his heart slows, every instinct in him tells him to run. Fast and far away from this creature. It was the same in Skyrim before he was taken to Coldharbour, and it seems, old habits die hard.

He flinches when her clawed wing rakes his cheek, just enough to poke at the skin but not tear at it. "Go speak to Molag Bal. He will be pleased, lovely Champion. You keep this up and you will be greatly rewarded." Her wings encircle him, pulling his tense body close. He feels her tongue lick the side of his cheek to his temple.

"So tense. So fearful. Are you sure you don't want a taste of my flesh? I hear whispers that you miss your lover." She hisses against his cheek before letting him out. Vorstag stumbles back a step or two, fearing the implications of what this creature was saying.

"He wouldn't want me to be used." He manages to find his voice.

"Used? Any prize we give you is well deserved." She hisses, surveying him slowly from head to toe. "Go, you fickle thing. I will retrieve the dead as proof of your great efforts today."

Vorstag sighs but squares his shoulders. He needs to be ready for whatever is on the other side of that portal. When he steps through and feels the cold seeping in worse than the blizzard that had just overtaken Windhelm the night before, he finds Molag Bal on his ornate throne. His eyes blaze with anticipation. His chin sits on his fist, as if he were bored. But the tension in his body betrays him.

"You have flesh all over you." Are his first words.

Vorstag glances down at his silver armor and feels a sickening pit in his stomach as he sees what the Daedric Prince was mentioning. Dark organic matter stains his armor. Most of it is blood, although there are other chunks. Tufts of hair. Pieces of clothing. His frenzy knew no restraint and it takes everything not to vomit right there in the throne room.

"I did as you asked." Vorstag says evenly.

Molag Bal's eyes flick up to Vorstag's face. "That will be determined soon."

A few seconds pause. It feels like hours as they tick by. Vorstag stares at a place right above Molag Bal's head. He tries to think of Serana as she was the night she came to him. Alive, safe, well fed, unharmed. She was divine. Angelic. Whatever fate she was entwined with, it was showing her the best hand.

Better than him, standing here in other men's blood and waiting to hear if he did his master well. Like a dog tied to a stake, Vorstag could never leave. He was always choked out. He could barely see the outside of his cell on good days. On the worse days he knew this room like the back of his hand. He knew how the cuts of Molag's Bal sword would feel. He knew how the fights would unfurl before them. The dance they would perform.

Studying Molag Bal's form now, Vorstag thinks he knew his weaknesses. That day he bested him, only one second of distraction, only a moment of arrogance and he had him. Now, as Molag Bal watches his Champion he knows he will not make the same mistake.

If he failed, he would have to pray for more strength. To see Serana's sweet face again. To remember who he was truly fighting for. It was his only hope of surviving.

A sickening splat sounds in front of him. Vorstag flinches as the head detaches from the body completely, flesh spilling on the ground as it rolls away. The Winged Twilight stands on top of the body, her grinning face splattered in blood.

"I hope you don't mind I tasted the morsel some. Too fresh to resist."

Molag Bal steps down from his throne, his muscled form tensing as he circles the prey. Vorstag studies the back of his head when he passes. Right between the horns. That was the place, that sweet spot, a promise for an escape.

Vorstag is practically salivating when the Prince passes him by. His palms itch to grip the leather hilt of his blade. To rip it free and impale him once again. How lovely he would look without a head.

"Boy, did you hear me?"

Vorstag snaps from his haze. His lazy daydream crumbling before his eyes. Once the Daedric Prince was injured, Vorstag would only have minutes to find a portal. One that he couldn't manifest for himself.

"Yes?"

Molag Bal grins. "You did good, boy. My enemies now quake in their boots. They will think again before crossing me."

Vorstag nods, slightly. His fear keeping him pinned. Even though the Prince praised him, he could still find something wrong. He could make any excuse to beat him into a pulp and leave him to rot in his cage.

"Don't just stand there like that." The Prince hisses. "Go clean that shit off you. We're eating tonight."

Vorstag blinks, as if he didn't hear him correctly. "Come again?"

"A feast. We are having a feast right here. Now go. I don't want you tainting it with that gore all over you."

"I could lick it off." The Winged Twilight picks at one of the pieces of flesh stuck in her teeth, her smile cruel as her eyes trace the length of Vorstag's body. He doesn't think twice, just scampers back to his cell to get ready. If there is any promise of good, nutritious food, blessing him, then he would be a fool not to take it.

The freshly cooked meat, still steaming from the heat they laid on sits in front of him. The vegetables gleaming and ripe. Colorful fruit lines the bowls and glasses at the feast. It was a long table, draped in a purple cloth. Vorstag in the center, next to Molag Bal. He shut down after the first bite. The grilled steak wasn't what it seemed. It turned coarse and chalky in his mouth. It went down to catch in his throat. Not even the blood in his goblet was good enough. It was stale, old, and bitter.

He didn't have such need for human food, but the craving was there. As if his older, human self, were clawing to get out and get any sustenance Vorstag needed. He just sips his blood as scantily clad dancers surround the table. Winged Twilights and other daedra line the rest of the table, their blunt teeth and fangs tearing at the flesh of the dead men laying on the table before them. The smell is putrid. Fresh. Just like the fields Vorstag was in.

"Don't like the food? I thought a mortal like you would enjoy such a sight." Molag Bal hisses. He tears at another tendon of the man before him. Vorstag tries not to stare too hard. A feminine hand traces his jaw, down his neck and begins to trail lower before Vorstag bats her away.

"You don't like the entertainment?" Molag Bal turns his head, flesh still pinned in his mouth.

"I have no desire for it. I just want the blood."

"Old blood, boy. Not the kind that will help you. Here." The Prince drags the man in front of him forwards. Vorstag isn't quick enough to avert his eyes from his face. The boy was no older than eighteen if that, stuck in the life of raiding villages for food and treasure. Yet, the person before him didn't deserve this fate. No one did.

"Drink. Unless you want to be weak and useless for your final task." Molag Bal commands.

Vorstag's eyes snap up, for once, filling with a light that he thought was long extinguished. "My final task? I am free after this?"

With dripping fangs, Molag Bal opens his mouth before laughing in his face. "Free? You're never free of me, boy. I made sure of that when I brought you back. No. You will retire to your cage for a long while before I need you again. This matter is too pressing. I need you to take care of it come morning." He holds out a still bleeding wrist of the dead man.

Vorstag shudders but he has no choice. To refrain would be to weaken himself further. To deny the Prince is asking for another fight he might not recover from. He lowers his head, his hair falling over the man before him as he takes in his lifeblood.

Cold. Still. Not what blood should be. Yet, it fuels him. With each pull, that burning in his throat subsides. That aching in his limbs lessen. Another soft hand strokes his hair. For a brief moment, Vorstag closes his eyes and imagines it's Serana. That she was pulling his head back and plants a consuming kiss on him.

Vorstag kisses back, feeling her lips and wishing so desperately it was her. If it were, he would pull her into his arms and they would consume each other. That desperate flame that awoke in him the night she was taken, it would flourish. It would blaze through all the hatred and despair that lingers like cobwebs in his shadowed mind.

When his eyes flutter open, he sees the Winged Twilight from before. And instead of a hand, her wing pulls away, picking at his hair and pulling it with her. She grins savagely. "Liked it, did you?"

"Get your fill tonight. Your pleasure and your rest. Tomorrow will be hard day." Molag Bal murmurs next to him. He bows his head again to tear at the dead man before him. Vorstag only keeps his head leaning back against the chair, his eyes gazing up when the Winged Twilight bows down for another kiss.

He's spent. He's tired. A fatigue that's so bone deep, not even a good night would save him. A soft whisper that has turned into a deafening roar in his mind. Give up. It echoes and rattles through the cage he put himself in. He gave up after so long fighting Molag Bal. He gave up when he realized just how far Serana is from him. Just how far he's gone away from himself.

"Who were they?" He murmurs against the Winged Twilight's lips.

"The dead?" She croons. Her wing comes around to stroke his face. "Soldiers, sent out to fight the Imperials. They were awaiting orders for their next move."

There was no way that was a lie. Not based on how her cruel smirk eats at him. Not when the resounding chuckle Molag Bal gives pins him. "They were innocent?"

"Why tell the truth when you scamper to the shadows? I told you your morals would be your undoing." Molag Bal laughs and tears again.

Vorstag goes numb. The boy in front of him, with a soft youthful face wasn't a criminal. He was the son of someone who had such pride in him. Who raised him and allowed him to go fight for the cause he held so dear to his heart. And this was his fate.

Vorstag feels a dark sea opening up and swallowing him whole. The dark waves take him in their cold embrace and the world as he knows it slips away. It's not ideal. It's not a current that will wash him away from this cold, savage land but it will cocoon him. Help him survive.

Later in his cage, after the feast is over and the dancers finally leave him alone, he lets the sobs shake him. The tears stream out onto his moldy bed. The screams of the dammed were now fighting him, vying for the attention of anyone listening. Tonight, they seem to die away with everything else. Vorstag wishes a hand would reach out to him, so he could look up into Serana's sweet face and be blessed with the strength he needs for the day.

The image of her face frays further until he can't see her anymore. He can't remember the feel of her skin against him. Her eyes aren't as bright. Her lips not as defined. Her voice no more than a faded collection of words. The woman was losing her luster.

He cries again as her touch was erased tonight from the kiss of the Winged Twilight. A kiss of death. As it was confirmed, after tomorrow's final test, he was Molag Bal's to keep. Like a dog in a cage, only sent out when directed. With one mission in mind, only what his master wishes.

Maybe that's how he should be, Vorstag thinks. His thoughts cloud as the dark water washes in and takes him away.

They pried as skin with their nails as he passed them by. Dremora, Winged Twilights, all kinds of daedra. They all praised him as he parts the crowd. Vorstag now has gleaming black armor coating him, forged and built in the brightest of moonlight. It creaks and groans with each step, so cumbersome and bulky, he wonders how he will fight in it.

The new Daedric greatsword is at his back, a short sword at his hip. A dagger lower in his boot. An axe was given to him, but he declined. They're sharper, and adept when one knows what to do. But growing up with a hand for a sword, he'd rather keep the weapon that remains reliable. If he's to hack someone to pieces, he wants to make it quick.

A shadow looms. Molag Bal steps out of the glow of the portal, glaring down at Vorstag with determination. "Make it quick. I want this over as soon as possible."

"Who am I to kill?" Vorstag asks as he bows. Lowering to his knees before his master. His voice is hollow, but ready. His body tense. His fervent eyes stare up at his Prince.

"A pesky one. One of Mehrunes Dagon's creatures found a way into Nirn. He is not to linger or else there will be consequences." Molag Bal's voice is grim, his tone outlining what would happen if the creature were to stay. The divines would smite the Prince of Destruction and anyone close to him. The first being Molag Bal.

"He cannot stay. He has a living host, so don't get tripped up by it." Molag Bal bares his fangs. "No morals today, boy."

"How do I kill it?" Vorstag asks, hollowly.

"A swift swipe to the neck should suffice. The creature has a weak hold on the world. It won't be hard to sever it."

Vorstag nods, rising to his feet and with the roar of cheers from the daedra at his back. He steps through the portal only to be hit with the cold. A familiar place. It's balmy, with mist draping the fields. A place he hasn't been for some time. The air is fresh here. The spring just blossoming after a long winter. Vorstag finds the twinkling lights in the distance and moves slowly, softly, with the shadows keeping him safe all the way to his prey.

Vines and moss snake their way around the cottage. It's a quaint, humble abode. Just sitting on the cusp of the world, the cliff it lays on juts out to stare down at the world teeming below it with village lights in the distance. A dark presence lingers.

Vorstag can feel it. His heart races as he closes in on the house. The scent of fresh apple pie and soft burning candles fill the air. The windows don't hold a soul. The former inhabitants must be dead behind the house. It was where the potent stench of decay was coming from.

Vorstag pulls his greatsword. The thick metal sings when it loosens free. The heartbeat of the dammed beats slowly behind the oak wood door when he approaches. Vorstag uses one hand to knock, hoping the creature is dumb enough to answer.

He takes a deep breath, awaiting it. Whoever he had control of was strong. The broken bodies he can see, just hidden in the forest boundary that recedes down the cliff says so. It must be a strong man with strength honed over decades. A worthy adversary now that he has daedric power.

The creaky hinges sing and Vorstag's heart drops when the door swings open. On the other side, that dark heart beats and beady, black eyes of a boy no older than six stare up at Vorstag. He almost loses his grip on his sword. The Nord boy, so tiny and frail looking, smiles cruelly, sending a shiver down Vorstag's spine. No child should be this cunning or malicious.

"Hello, Champion. I was hoping you'd show up soon. And just in time for dessert."

She breathes easily now. No more will Mannimarco pace right outside her room while she clutches her blankets, wondering how she will fight him off or escape should he come into the room and try to hurt her. No more will she be chained to the manor she resides in with him. She's close to finding a way out.

It was brutal when she woke up first. When Mannimarco held her, and Serana finally opened her fresh eyes. Wide and searching like a newborn babe, awed by the world before her. Things were brighter, stronger, a haze that had been upon her mortal form for so long was lifted.

A god in every right. That's what he whispered to her. "A god in every right, Serana. You ascended! You did it." He laid a kiss on her forehead.

But she was tired of it. No more would the mortal weight of fear hold her down. She lashed out, sending power lining down her body. It was like touching the sun and embracing it. It seared out of her limbs and chest, making Mannimarco scream and melt right before her eyes.

His flesh peeled from his face, falling into a puddle at her feet. She stood, staring down at his burning corpse with a small smile tugging at her lips. What a fool to change her. He didn't know he was giving her the keys to her escape, and ultimately, her revenge.

The mirth was short lived. He rose up, the folds of his black cloak ascended from the ground and piece by piece, his skin stitched together. The blackened and red pieces slowly dragged themselves together. His eyes were last, and they were burning so bright, so heated that she feared, for a brief second what he might do to her.

What he could do to her. It was nothing. She would just fly away now. She squared her body up, staring him down and let fire burn down her arms to pool in her hands. She would burn him again and again until he couldn't get up. Then, she would rip a tear into the world and fall away to another realm. Until she could figure out how to wield her newfound power.

"You cannot, Serana. You weren't listening when I told you. You are bound to me." Mannimarco said, his words were still jumbled from the mess his lips were. They soon stitched up together though so he could speak fully. "Those bonds." He nodded.

She looked down to see the chain-like bangles circling her wrists. That was all he needed. Mannimarco flew at her, shoving his body into her and pulling her with them as they fell through the world. She thought they would hit the ground but instead, they fall through the tear, down, down into the void that had opened. Her eyes watered and her scream was torn from her as the wind whipped by and gravity from new worlds tugged at them.

Mannimarco hissed in her ear when they stopped. Her bed cupping them in it's comforting embrace. She panted when he moved away from her, rising to the foot of the bed as he glared down at her.

"You have forced me to show my hand. Pray no one saw that."

"What? What happened? What did you do?" She stands, quickly, and with a single thought the bed disappears. They were once again squaring off on an imaginary arena. Mannimarco only raised a single brow.

"Interesting. Serana, don't be foolish."

"What are you doing? I'm free. I earned that." She hissed. Her rage and fury at being a captive to this creep boiling through her. She was livid, her breath sawing in and out of her chest with each passing thought.

He cleaved Vorstag away from her. Sent him to some Oblivion she could never imagine. The edge of the thought was before her. If she tugged at it, she would know exactly where he was. She could pinpoint him with this new power.

"Stop it." Mannimarco snapped, sealing that door shut. She blanched as the bands circling her wrists tightened, those runes coating her skin were searing into her. She screamed at the pain. It was worse than the apotheosis. This was fiery and bone deep.

"Why are you doing this?"

The fire ceased. All that was left was Mannimarco in the dark room glaring down at her. As if he were her father and she should know better. "Don't give me that look." She hissed.

"What look? You're being foolish."

"You withhold information from me. You keep me caged. My father was monster, but he was never you."

She could swear she saw him flinch. Or was that a trick of the light? The man before her stands tall. "You are stressed. Ascending isn't for the faint of heart. I will forgive your outburst. Rest now."

"Rest?" She laughed, a little hysterically, feeling the simmering power below the surface. As if her skin were a flimsy barrier holding it back in. She only had to let it out, let the dam burst and this whole realm, this Amaranth, will cease to exist.

"Don't get cocky, remember I can hear that mind in your pretty head more clearly now." Mannimarco said softly, his face serene. "Serana, I keep those bonds on you to keep you from releasing your true power. The power that you did earn. But if you let it all free, the other divines might hear. The Daedric Princes might hear. I don't want any of them knocking at my door."

She paused, those words tangling in her thoughts. "You're a secret?"

He smiled, slightly. "Not a well kept one. They all know I'm here, and they know you've ascended. They certainly must have felt the shift in the stars. But to show our powers so carelessly invites trouble."

She only nodded, "I understand."

"Do you?" He raised a brow, his eyes mocking. She knew he saw through her. He could hear her thoughts, after all. But she didn't let on that she knew.

"Now what? We marry? I walk the aisle as your goddess of a bride?"

Mannimarco stroked his chin, "Lovely as the thought is, I need to give you time. It is not easy, this immortality. These gifts. I need to give you some space and time to acclimate. Rest. Sleep. We can speak more in the coming days of what we do. First, I want you to get settled into your powers."

She was shocked, but her hollowed chest shuddered in relief. He wasn't going to force her into anything. Not after what she already went through. Staring after him, like a wolf staking its territory, she bares her fangs. Mannimaro recedes with a slight nod to her. Once the door was firmly shut, she raced over and locked it. Her shaking fingers clutched the knob before the golden peice broke to pieces in her hands.

She laughed then, staring down at the mangled piece of metal. How foolish. A lock? That would do nothing against him. It doesn't do anything against her now. She went back to her bed and curled up, staring at the window, remembering the great heights she ascended to and those she had yet to conquer.

Serana could not sleep that night. She felt the tether of a chord pulled tight on her chest. A suffocating feeling like she couldn't breathe. Tossing and turning didn't help alleviate it. How she wished to go wander the library but the sound of Mannimarco pacing outside her door kept her firmly in place.

Sweat beading on her brow, she took in another strangled breath. It was like someone had impaled her straight through. She almost gasped in pain when she heard the scuff of footsteps pause right outside her door. His shadow loomed.

She clutched the blankets further, staring at the broken door, hoping it would not open while she hurt so. Seconds passed. The pain blossomed as he waited. Then, by the divine act of Talos, the man before the door regained his footing and began pacing again.

She sighed, but it was like a collection of daggers had settled into her. So painful and horrible she would do anything to make it go away. She was a god now. She should not feel this pain.

But slowly, the room melted. Her pain was his pain. And she opened her eyes anew to a tiny, cramped cell in a dark place. Mold and water lined the walls, horrible screams and echoing screeches filled the hallways. Even with the chaos erupting from Coldharbour, it could not draw her attention away from the broken man on the floor.

She almost screamed. Vorstag laid, halfway on his bed. His numerous cuts bleeding so bad she couldn't see the paleness of his skin anymore. And the worst of all, the gaping wound at his chest seemed to be the culprit. She ran over, laid down next to him and stroked his hair. His eyes opened, just barely, bruises covering them and forcing them shut. He didn't look as she remembered, gods, if this was how he was and not some horrible nightmare inflicted on her…

Rage simmered before it fell silent. She stroked Vorstag's hair away from his face, as if that would help. She felt around his neck, looking for a break since it was at an odd angle and found nothing. He would heal with time but who knows how much blood he was getting.

His eyes were slits but she could see him staring at her. In awe. In wonder. She wondered how she looked just then. Was she as graceful as Mara? As beautiful to behold as a divine being in the flesh? Or was she as faded as a statue kept in the temples, waiting for worshipers to pray to?

She would give anything to alleviate his pain. Anything, even her newfound gifts to bring him back together. But all she could do in this moment, as he stared at her with such wonder, was to talk to him.

"It's okay." She whispered.

And she awoke, her eyes snapping open with the memory of the broken man fueling her for the weeks to come.

"In here again, Serana? Why don't you wander the gardens? I've had them cultivated just for you." Mannimarco sneers.

She doesn't look up from the book she wasn't reading. She was, in fact, reading it with a smile on her face before he interrupted. But the lovely flow of words turns into a jumbled mess with his presence. Dawn moves away from them, her simmering form flickering orange flames into the air. As if she were even agitated by Mannimarco's presence.

"I like it here."

"You hide from me, from Amarath." Mannimarco says, she watches as his black robes swirl around him. He's positively shaking. She keeps her head down, that small smile tugging at her face.

"You keep me from it. You won't let me fly up into the sky. Like a bird."

"The apotheosis is over, there's no reason to go flying." He snaps.

She glares up at him, her eyes crinkling in disgust with the sight of his face. "You won't let me go flying or use any of my powers because you're scared I will escape."

He stands, large chest heaving and nostrils flaring. His white hair trails around him like a cloak and right behind him, she can see the statue of Vanus looming overhead. A beacon of hope. Days ago, when she was spent from reading all she could about other realms, she noticed something. A glow about the statue that wasn't there before. It was faint, just a glimmer of a white orb at his feet. But days later he is now wreathed in that glow. She knows there is something about this statue and something in her gut tells her it is useful.

As long as Mannimarco doesn't see.

The man sighs dramatically before he sinks to his knees, so he is eye to eye with her. "I am sorry. I know how challenging it is to change into this. To become something mortals only dream of. I wish to make things easier for you, Serana." His cold hands snake into hers, the book on her lap falls to the floor in a thump.

"I want to show you something near and dear to me. Will you follow me?"

His eyes are earnest, soft, yearning. A small tug to the heart, before she remembers all he has put her through. She nods though, swallowing her pride, and stands. There is nothing to do here at the moment. Mannimarco smiles, pleasant and appeased. He folds her arm in his and they waltz out of the library, the prying eyes of the Lich, Sorlod, following them the whole way out.

The tower steps would have been agonizing to climb, even as a vampire. With fresh limbs and new strength, Serana circles the pillar of the tower with ease. Fast on Mannimarco's heels she climbs the opulent white stone steps and brushes her hand along the stone wall. She almost runs into his back when he pauses at the door.

"Serana, what you are about to see I have never shown a soul, not even the Liches or dead around here. I hope you understand the faith I am putting in you today."

"Of course." She says softly, the harsh words they spoke before down in the library simmer in the air between them. The tension is so thick, she wonders if there will be another spat up here before the tower entrance.

"Very well. Follow along and don't touch anything without me telling you." Mannimarco opens the door, leading her in. His cloak flutters out behind him, obscuring Serana's view for a moment before she takes in the rest of the room.

It's littered with everything any good treasure hunter would want. Armor, artifacts, weapons, old and long forgotten line the walls. Detailed paintings from eras past rise from them, showing the room is more of a treasure trove than a luxurious office as she thought it was.

A bright glow grabs her attention. Green and white. Her eyes lock to it and she breathes slowly, as if any sudden movement will scare it.

In the center of the room stands a tall table with the Orb of Vaermina resting on top of it. "As you can see, I've collected many priceless artifacts and art over the years." Mannimarco's voice booms.

She still can't tear her gaze away. As if in a trance, she takes a step forward before Mannimarco grabs her hands. "See there? Daedric Armor, a hard set to find and complete. It was easy for me though, I just had to carve up the owner before tearing it off his body." His smug expression almost keeps her attention.

"Everything in this room can be yours once we wed. What is mine is yours Serana." He tells her.

He doesn't seem to see how entranced she is. She stares at the Orb as the smoke inside twirls and twines, beckoning her. "I thought there was no use to the bargain."

"Serana, even though we have our differences, I have still taken a liking to you. Eternity is a hard beast to tame alone. I wish, no," He corrects, "I yearn for someone to be at my side and I'm finding you're just the person." His voice is a hushed whisper, overtaken by the swirling colors of the Orb. "As a god, you are fit to be my bride. Even though your father made a bargain with me, he cannot use you as a weapon now. There is no need to keep you enslaved. I only ask that you wish to be with me. Not as an obligation but through your own desire."

She wishes to snap at him. To tear him into pieces again for keeping her locked up so. And after, to tear through this tower and find a way to her mother and Vorstag. Before she can make that mistake, a vision flickers to life in the Orb.

He's stronger than she last saw him. He's breathing heavily. His eyes are filled with terror. Serana pulls her hand away from Mannimarco and he lets her. A few paces to the Orb and she's now leaning over the table, her hands on either side of it.

"Vorstag." She whispers over the orb.

His eyes aren't fearful. They're pained. So pained and shadowed. But with her word they flicker up to stare at her. His amulet, the one they so carefully stole from Ancano at the College of Winterhold pulses with the same green light.

"Serana, I can hear you." He says, his eyes widening, searching for the sight of her.

Serana's heart leaps. She lunges forwards as if she can burst through the Orb and to where he is before strong hands tighten around her shoulders.

"I forgot to mention this Orb is very powerful. You can see whoever you wish, when you want. It is the only artifact I am thinking of selling. It would go for a high price, enough to buy a whole Province if I do so correctly." Mannimarco breathes in her ear.

A warning. A threat. Don't mention Vorstag anymore. Serana chides herself. She thinks of another person, anyone, and an image of her mother, alone and lost in the Soul Cairn flashes on the Orb. She's sitting at a desk, studiously scouring a book in her hands. Her dark brows furrowed.

"Why sell it?"

"I have no use for it now that you're here." His fingers tighten even more, digging into her skin.

He was watching her through the Orb this whole time. Ever since her father gave her away, which had to be…how long ago? Centuries, perhaps. Her heart freezes over.

"I think we should keep it. You can spy on your enemies."

Vorstag's face flashes on the Orb again as he sits at a long table. A child rests his tiny arms on the other side, a savage grin splitting his face. "A sweetheart I hear? Most men wouldn't have such a reaction to a passing fancy." His voice is small, like the child he should be, but his eyes betray him as anything but an innocent.

She has no idea what Vorstag has gotten himself into. She just knows, knows deep down in her gut that is had to do with her. He was with a daedra and that was not wise for him, not at all. Her heart flutters.

"Maybe I should keep it. To spy on my rival." Mannimarco hisses in her ear. "Although, I doubt he will be more than a faded memory soon. A pleasurable night long ago. He's with the Prince of Enslavement now."

Serana can't keep the gasp in. Her chest clenches. Vorstag feared this and he only told her in the dead of night, on those cold wind tossed nights in the College of Winterhold when none of them could get any sleep. It was because they were sharing the same space, too cramped, too close. She wishes she only enveloped herself in his embrace. Now, the memory of his broken body makes more sense, the way his cuts were dug deep into the skin…

"Molag Bal is thorough. He knows when to stop. I have no doubt your old flame was tousled up a bit, but now he's ripe and bright as a newborn vampire. You have no need to worry. He is in the past now." Mannimarco tells her. He tugs at her chin to drag her gaze back to him.

"I wish to marry tomorrow. In the afternoon, right at dusk when the stars are just peeking out, ready to shine brightly on our marriage."

She can't speak. Can't form a word around the solid weight around her tongue. Her mind is pure panic, pure rage.

"Serana." Mother called to her once. She stared down at her daughter while she scowled. Teenage years were hard, Serana would even admit, and she does regret the times she was horrible with her mother, but she doesn't regret this memory, not now.

"What?" She snapped, foot tapping, arms crossed. They were in the main banquet hall of their castle. Father and his friends were dining at the table. They ceased their conversation and consumption when they heard the mother and daughter argument starting.

"Serana didn't I teach you anything?"

She bit her tongue, hard. Of course, she did. She was foolish but to admit that to her mother right now would wound her ego.

"That vampire was very powerful and had the means and the desire to use your mind. I told you how to use your wards and keep them in place." Her mother snapped, "Why didn't you?"

Because she enjoyed it. Because Serana wanted to know what it was like for someone else to take control of her brain for a moment. It was turning to mush after all this time wandering the castle. After all this time hearing father's rants and watching mother's patience beginning to buckle from the weight of his intensity.

Her eyes found mother's, a bright sharpness in her golden gaze. "I know. I have the wards and could put them in place whenever I wanted to. I just chose not to."

Father stopped drinking then. Harkon's head almost swiveled but he had the good grace to dab at his lips with a handkerchief before rising from his meal. "Serana, I hope you understand the gravity of what you just said."

She stilled, straight as a rod as he paced towards her. Harkon's sure footsteps halted when he glared down at her from his imposing height. "Do you know what enemies would do with such a weakness?"

"They would tear my mind apart." She whispered, her eyes lowering. She didn't wish to see the rage boiling in his. On his face. Mother and Father together, fighting against her, were a thing of beauty and the very thing that could bring her down further.

"Not only that." Mother snapped. "They can search your weaknesses, find the very thing that would break you. They don't need to pry it from you to find out."

Serana shook her head hard, she wished to spend more moments in that dark corner with the tall, bearded vampire. She would have let him do anything, take anything he wanted, if only it also took her from this horrible reality for a few moments.

Years later, she didn't know how good she had it. But the parting words of Harkon haunted her then, and they remind her now.

"I'm safe. No one will mess with me." Serana tugged her cloak around her for any warmth.

Harkon was still. Afterall, that's mostly what she remembers of him. His stillness, the way he glares down at her like a hungry vulture awaiting the death of their prey. It was always about how she was weak. How she never fought for their cause enough. It was one of the reasons he had her locked away in the first place, to do her duty for the rest of the family and keep an Elder Scroll safe.

"Serana, you are too young to see but in your long life you are going to make enemies, whether you like it or not. I didn't raise a weak daughter. So get up and fight, keep those wards up, keep on your toes and don't let anyone push you around as they see fit."

She raised her head. He was right. In that moment with the Lord of Castle Volkihar staring down at her, tall and imposing, he was impossible to be calm around. He was terrifying, just one flick of his wrist would make any enemy lose their nerve. Just one glare from him would make someone have second thoughts. Serana was no different. That same fear held her in place then.

As it does now. But with Mannimarco holding her back, searching her mind with his power, she shuts him down. Like rocks breaking the surface of a stormy sea, she shoves up her wards as quickly as she can. He pulls her back against his hard chest.

Her hidden thoughts remain on Vorstag as he stares down at the little boy before him. She draws her gaze over the fresh scars riddling his face. He wasn't as safe as Mannimarco made it seem. And he heard her. All she needs is a little distraction to pull him her captor a way so she can plead to the Orb to bring Vorstag here, with her.

Mannimarco's breath is harsh in her ear as he leads her away. "You've shoved me out of your pretty head. I should have expected no less that you would figure it out eventually."

Serana steels her spine, she allows him to lead her down the towering steps to her room, but she will not buckle under the weight of his intentions. "I learned from the best."

Late at night, with the suffocating weight of the next day bearing down on her, Serana comes up with a plan. It's dangerous. Fickle. Weak. She's not sure if it will even work. But what she saw today in the library coupled with what she saw in the tower brings her peace. She has to try. Even if she is destroyed for it.

The thought of wearing the large, flowing, gown riddled with white trimmings and red roses that hangs behind her bedroom door makes her stomach ache. The thought of the tight corset cutting off her breathing is nothing compared to what saying her vows will do.

She'd be bound to Mannimarco. Here. For good. From what she read in those library books downstairs it told her that a bond between gods is unbreakable. It's for eternity and coming from the human world, changed over to a vampire, she never truly knew how long eternity was. She's only ever gotten a taste.

Her pale hands shake as she dresses, quickly and efficiently into her cloak and gown before slipping on her black shoes. The heavy footsteps that echo in the hallway recede, just down the left corridor. She must time this right. If he's right in front of her door she won't have any excuse. Just a single thought and her body is invisible. She marvels down at herself, thinking it wonderful that it only took a second. No incantation or elaborate pull of magic necessary.

But it's not as strong with the brands on her wrists. Even now, she can see the edges of her form fraying. It will work, but if he knows what he's looking for he will see her. She takes a deep breath, thinks back to Vorstag, thinks back to the glowing statue downstairs and wrenches open the door. The white and red ballgown flutters against it, the pearls so carefully sewn in rattle against the door. An oversight. She might pay for it. She just has to be faster.

When she breaks out into the hallway and quickly, but quietly, races down it. She hears a pause. Mannimarco's footsteps are still. Then she hears him turn, heavy footsteps bouncing off the stone floors. He's racing towards her. No more a pacing, paranoid man, she can feel him hunting her. Like a hunting dog scenting his prey, her instincts tell her to run.

All logic leaves her mind with that single word suspended in the air. Serana breaks into a full out sprint with Mannimarco fast on her heels.