Of Men and Monsters

"Idessia?" Isran pulled himself up the last of the stairs. He had expected to see her looking down over the railing when he returned to the atrium but from the looks of it, she had gone off exploring on her own.

Isran began to undo some of the clasps on his armor as he made his way to his quarters. His eyes focused on his gauntlets as he walked, they flicked up once and then again, locking onto his door. It was open; unlocked and slightly ajar. He could hear someone moving inside.

Without thinking, Isran's steps slowed, softened. His eyes remained on the door as he began to refasten the arm piece. Breathing deep and quiet, he leaned against the door frame, pushing his door open slightly more with one hand while the other wrapped around the handle of his knife.

Idessia came out from around a corner. Isran relaxed and let the hand fall from his blade. He pushed the door open further, shoving it to catch her attention.

Idessia started and Isran could feel the buzzing that erupted into the air as she turned. She huffed when her eyes landed on him. The magic disappeared. "You scared me, old man," she laughed. She drew closer and squeezed his shoulder. The warmth coursed through him again and Isran was left with the nagging thought that there was something he should have asked her. He grits his teeth and tries to shake the exhaustion fogging his head.

"I apologize," Idessia pulled back, "I didn't realize until I entered. This is your room, isn't it?"

"It is," was all he said. Small and bare with a weapons rack, a desk and a drawer and mirror Sorine provided for him without his asking. Something about looking presentable for Jarls and other tiresome nobles. Sconces for torches on the wall and a bed that just barely fit him. Idessia knew him well enough to guess it was his. Moving away, Isran started again on his gauntlets, pulling them off all the way this time and tossing them into a corner of the room for him to consider picking up later. Behind him, he could hear Idessia snort.

Her eyes turned back to the room, to her exploring. Isran's eyes were still on his forearms. The straps of cloth he had tied around them had come loose, enough so that his skin was exposed to the air. As well as what marked his skin. Scars. Many of them long and thin, like those born of blades but two stand out. Circular. Deep.

Isran hears his name and his head swivels around, his right forearm kept close to his chest. His eyes land on Idessia. In her hands and held up to the dim light, dangled two Stendarr amulets. She says nothing. Neither does he. He only released a heavy sigh and began to focus on re-wrapping the straps around his arm.

"Who were they?" Her voice was tiny and quiet but he could hear the flame burning underneath.

"One was Tolan's." He doesn't bother turning around when he speaks. He releases the clasps on his chest armor and heaves it off. "I never found out who the other was."

He could hear her swallow before she spoke again. She asked, "Was it quick?"

"Tolan died fighting. He's in Sovngarde now," Isran replied. He tossed down the last of his armor, leaving him in only a thin pair of pants and sweat-damp shirt. He moved closer. "The other, I believe they tortured," he continued, "It was the Dragonborn who brought them back."

Idessia's eyes fluttered close. Isran could see her lips move slightly, likely in prayer. Then she placed them carefully, almost reverently, back down. Her eyes still on his drawer, they flicked over to a small piece of folded paper, yellowed with age.

Isran picked it up before she could think of doing it herself. She appeared to pay his actions, or its implications, little mind as she stepped away from the shelf to sit down on the edge of Isran's bed. Isran opened one of the drawers and dropped Delilah's letter inside, beneath some clothes before pushing it closed again. Then, he himself stepped away from the drawer. Slowly, he lowered himself down next to her, their breathing the only sounds to hear.

"I was an orphan," Idessia started, "Never knew my father and after my mother died…I became what most orphans did. Was a thief through my childhood and even some of my adult years."

"In that life, people didn't stay in it very long," she explained, "They wise-up and move on…" she shrugged, "Or maybe they just died."

Isran watched her and deep down, a part of his heart tugged as he saw the watery glitter in her eye. "The Vigilants, Keeper Carcette, they gave me the first family I had ever had. Trained me to defend myself against those who would hurt me, after so many years of scrapping in back allies. Turned my anger and frustration with the world towards those who would do wrong instead of just any who happened to cross my path."

A hand came up and wiped her eye. When it came back down, it went to Isran's knee. As if on instinct, Isran's own hand fell on top of it. "Taught me that I was loved. That I deserved to be loved. That I deserved to be here. Be alive."

The hand beneath Isran's hand began trembling. "That…" she swallowed, "I mean those monsters. They took that from me," she seethed, "All those years being unable to imagine how you felt, Isran. You and Gunmar as well." She looked at him, "Tell me, who did he lose again?"

"Sigfried. His twin brother."

"Now I see it. To have a monster come into your life and just take…everything from you." The water in her eyes quickly dried, replaced once again by burning pools of ice and hate. Never in his life has Isran seen her in so much fury or seen such anger so well controlled. The look on her face, it was one of someone so close to falling apart. Whose very being was only kept together by the ties of rage and hate. How well he knew it.

"The one who…" Idessia paused. Her eyes fell away from his, "You hunted them down, didn't you?" she asked, "You found them."

Isran's ears began to ring. He focused on the warmth of his friend's touch to keep himself grounded. "I did," he managed.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

He could never have what he wanted. Never again and killing his family's killer would not change that. "I enjoyed watching his pain. His terror," Isran's grave voice rumbled. "Seeing his eyes shine bright with panic before the light faded from them forever. But no, it didn't help. It didn't help because it wasn't enough." His eyes turned towards his closed door. "They're still out there. All of them. Every vampire is responsible and it will only be enough when every vampire has paid for it."

He thought of Riften. He thought of the girl he let traipse around his fort. He thought of what he owed and what he swore.

"My monster still lives," Idessia told him, "And soon, I'll see the light leave his eyes myself."

Isran's body turned slightly towards her. "He is here? In the Rift?"

At that, Idessia gave a small smile. "He will be. I'm making sure of it." In the low light, her eyes began to twinkle and shimmer like stars, in a way that just barely managed to unsettle him. But Idessia's thumb ran over the back of his hand and the simple motion filled him with comfort.

"How do you know?" he managed to ask. The lack of sleep must have been getting to him, his mind felt as if it were drifting.

"Because I've been tracking him for weeks," she explained, "He left Skyrim for a short while. But he's back now and I have a plan to lure him here."

Isran's mind was already beginning to run through the logistics, sluggish but surely. Where this vampire might go, where they could trail and trap him. Who he was specifically. Isran could recall no one in particular. None that seemed to have earned more of the Dawnguard's hatred and violence than any other. "If he had even the slightest thing to do with the attack on the Vigilants, we need to find him."

"I need to," Idessia corrected, "He's my problem."

"He killed Vigilants, Idessia. That makes him my problem. Celann's problem. Even Tolan's problem."

"I can handle one man, Isran," she argued.

"Then when we find him, you can be the one to open his throat yourself," Isran said back, "But that is when we find him and prepare."

Idessia's burning eyes turn and lock onto his in silent defiance. To his surprise and maybe even to her own, Idessia broke her gaze away first. "As you say," she murmured, "But also as you say, I'm the one who gets to end him. He took everything from me, Isran."

"He took much from a lot of us." Isran took her hand again. Just slightly, he felt her lean into him. "We'll deal with them as they deserve. It's only a matter of time."

"It is," she murmured, "It is. And you'll let me, Isran? When the time comes?"

"When the time comes, yes. His life is yours." He looks down at Idessia's warm hand over his and fights the urge to shiver. Her skin was sun-tanned but pale enough to stand stark against his own. It was neither as large nor as coarse as his. And it was the most he had let anyone touch him in years.

"Who were they?" asked Isran.

"The murderer?"

Isran shook his head. "No. The person they killed." Silence followed. "I know the Vigilants were important to you. But there's more. I can tell. A friend?" he pressed, "A lover?"

Again, her eyes meet his, sharp and cold and sad. Isran felt his vision blur and his mind began to swim. Through the sudden fog, he could hear the din of voices from outside, raucous but muffled. The rest of the Dawnguard coming in from the courtyard, likely for their meals.

Isran shook his head and when he tried to speak, to apologize for pressing matters he clearly shouldn't, his voice came as a croak, "Ides-"

Idessia leaned in and kissed him. A quiet, gentle thing; he could barely feel it through the mass of his beard. He hadn't even realized she had been so close and by the time he realized what happened, she had already pulled back.

"I apologize," she muttered, looking away. Shadows danced in the torchlight along the walls, along their faces, throwing what little part of her eyes she hadn't averted into a strange relief.

The hairs on Isran's neck were standing on end and his entire body buzzed like lightning in a storm. "It's fine," he lied, as if the single gesture hadn't just set him on fire.

"Seeing you again…with everything…after everything…" Her eyes finally returned to him. "I'm tired, Isran."

A room. He was supposed to find her a room. Outside had gotten louder. He didn't want to go outside. He wanted quiet, peace. Maybe even comfort. He wanted…

Idessia leaned into him again and Isran crossed the rest of the way. When they met, the heat that ran through him burst like a steaming Eastmarch spring. The hands that had remained clasped together part. His dropped to her lower back and hers went to his face, tangling into his beard, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

His senses were overwhelmed. His nerves, frying. Her smell filled his nose and the feel of her skin made him swear he was going mad. Downstairs, the noise was growing even louder and he knew, deep down and buried, that something wasn't right.

Idessia lay back onto the bed and pulled on him until he moved his heavy, sluggish frame over her. The sensation takes over again and pushes all thoughts save the basest ones from his mind. Her hands slip beneath his shirt, her fingers run against the bare skin of his stomach and chest. When was the last time he had let any woman…the thought halted there. Isran knew perfectly well the last time he had let a woman touch him like this.

Their lips part so he can breathe, though he does not hear her do the same. Instead, she pushes the thin clothing covering his torso upwards and without thinking about it, he begins to help her.

A loud bang and now, even more voices. Everything about it goes from not right to just plain wrong. The sounds were dim and muffled, as if he were listening to them through several layers of stone but he hears yelling. Maybe even screams. He…he has to…

Idessia gets his shirt off. Her arms go down to his neck and pull him back into her with surprising strength. He couldn't move. He could barely think. But still he tried. "Idessia…let…let me…" She ignored him, pressing her lips to the base of his throat and ripping a growl straight from his chest.

Another crash. Another loud yell and with that, Isran could brook her distractions no longer. With extraordinary effort, Isran reached up and pulled her arms away from his neck. He pushed off the bed, grabbing his shirt and slipping it back on. The room was spinning as he walked towards the exit, the door seemingly miles away. The sounds were getting ever louder and finally, the fog was clearing from his head. He knew that something was wrong before but now he was sure. Something was very wrong.

His hand touched the knob but at the same time, another grabbed his wrist. Isran's head spun to find Idessia, slightly disheveled and defiant. But then his eyes settle on her; truly settle on her. Even after what had just happened, her tan skin was still pale and her brown eyes glowed in the dim light of his quarters. The hand wrapped around his wrist wasn't gentle as before but a painful vice and unlike every other time when she touched him, her skin was corpse cold, stinging him like the deepest winter frosts.

"Idessia?" he asked softly as he stared more and more into her eyes.

Idessia only smiled, her teeth bared.

The grip around his wrist went from tight to crushing, making Isran yell out. With a speed that wasn't human and with a strength he could not believe, Idessia darted forward, ramming into Isran's torso. He was shoved against his closed door with a loud bang. Before he could regain the senses the blow had just knocked from him, the hand grabbed him again and this time, it launched him, a pulsewave of magic lifting him bodily off the floor.

Isran hit the door again, this time with his back and this time, he didn't stop. His wooden door exploded into a shower of broken wood when he crashed through it. His body hit something hard and cold but not even that stopped him. His body bent over the railing. Unable to stop himself, Isran felt his head tip over the edge and the rest of his body follow behind.

Then, he was falling; an eternity that lasted only a second. Isran's body is rocked from his ribs meeting the hard stone floor. The pain shocks him and stuns his mind, paralyzes his lungs and throat, leaving his body unable to pull in any sort of breath.

As quickly as the pain reached its height, it began to fade; from debilitating to agonizing. But then the adrenaline kicked in and though Isran knew he would later regret it, he let the rush take him. Isran's squeezed eyes burst open as he felt himself take in the world with what felt like staggering clarity. He took in his surroundings. The metal that had met his ribs the first time was the second-floor railing. The second thing to meet his ribs had been the stone of the first floor. He had been thrown. He had fallen.

He takes in himself. Like raw ice pressing against every inch of him within and without, Isran let out a guttural moan; coughing, spitting up blood on the cold floor. He was injured. He was in pain.

Finally, his eyes turn onto the rest of the world. The massive doors that were the entrance to the fort had been broken, split and hung off torn hinges. Through the opening, he could see a Dunmer man in Dawnguard armor bring down an axe on an opponent, a spray of black blood spattering his face and chest. The man barely had time to rip the axe free and clean his eyes before he was tackled from behind by a monster, rotting and black, sending them both tumbling off the rise that led into the castle proper and down to the valley floor below; a fall he'd only survive if he managed to land on his feet. The Dawnguard was under attack.

And Idessia was leading the charge.