What We Do For Love
When Isran coughed for air, he tasted iron on his tongue and stabbing within his chest. Each breath worsened it. Something was surely broken. The ceiling spun lazily around in his vision and the chaos he knew to be just behind the door was muffled behind the rush of blood in his ears.
Move, he ordered himself desperately. He needed to move. Isran twisted himself around and barely held back a shout. Huffing in agony, he dragged himself to the nearest wall, inch by inch, and used an emptied weapon rack to haul himself back to his feet. The strain of something so simple left his eyes watering and rivulets of sweat running down the length of his back.
The din outside continued to assault his ears, piercing all else. As it did, something new began to well inside of him, bubbling and frothing beneath the surface of his mind like an over-boiling pot. Slowly, the adrenaline began to flood his veins. He felt it, overtaking his mind and body, numbing the ache and forcing upon him a higher degree of clarity and focus. The world became louder, sharper and clearer than it had ever been before.
But with clarity came a new fog. Not the white-hot flash of terrible pain but something dull. Dull and red and burning. Behind it, Idessia's face filled his mind. Isran felt the vessels in his neck and temple pulsate with his thundering heartbeat. His throat was so tight, he could barely breathe, as if he were being strangled by his own rage.
He noticed a familiar shape out of the corner of his eye and without even turning to see what it was, he shoved himself off the rack and began to drag himself towards it. In their haste to arm themselves and meet their assailants, all had recognized his hammer and none had dared to grab it. Just standing before it was an ordeal and he knew that taking on a second heavy weight would only worsen his condition But the red fog took everything; his ability to care among them. Isran took his hammer by the neck and ripped it out so roughly, the rack teetered forward before clattering back into place.
His weapon now in a vice grip, Isran started towards the broken door and with a heave, shouldered one out of his way, the wood scraping noisily across the ground. The cool air was a slap in the face once he was outside. He didn't bother to take in the battlefield.
Without hesitation, Isran put a second hand to the weapon's end and swung it harder than his broken ribs would have allowed. The head connected with the unprotected spine of an attacking vampire. The only sound louder than the sickening crunch of shattered bones was the monster's shrill, almost pitiful shriek of pain.
Isran was not known for pity. He threw his knee into the back of the collapsed vampire's head. She fell forward, landing on her stomach and before she could even begin to think about how to move, Isran brought his hammer in a swinging arc overhead arc and down onto her skull, shutting her up.
Isran ripped the now bloody, sticky weapon from the hole it had created and charged forward with the roar of a bloodied animal. Sorine was closest to the fort's entrance. Bleeding and haggard and reloading, she was the first to notice him. A frost Atronach was advancing on her position. Isran threw out his hand, casting an arc of fire that had the Daedric monster exploding into melting shards that pelted the mage behind it. The mage put up his arms to protect his face. A bolt from Sorine found him between the eyes before his hands were halfway there.
Sorine began reloading again as Isran continued forward. Her eyes were wide and just below panicked. "Where have you been?!" she demanded, half-knowing she was unlikely to receive an answer.
Another group was already charging their position at the top of the hill. Isran found he could not tell if they were vampires or Daedra. They were dressed in filthy brown robes with parts of their limbs covered in ill-maintained bonemold. Strange, pale masks adorned their faces and covered them entirely, preventing him from seeing their eyes.
Three of them moved in, with magic and blades in hand. Another bolt from Sorine reduced the fight to two before it could even begin. Enraged, their advance became a hard charge. The largest of them took point and Isran rushed to meet him. He ducked underneath the masked warrior's greatsword while keeping his momentum. He lobbed a second blast of fire, catching the smaller one in the body, making him scream and reel. Isran then jabbed the head of his hammer into his stomach, sending him stumbling even further backwards. Immediately, Isran twisted around, just in time to put up the handle of his weapon and stop the blade descending upon his head. He twisted it sideways, forcing the sword to slide away. The masked warrior came swinging back on the return but still, his sword found no purchase, stopped by another parry. Before he could try a third time, Isran dropped the hammer's head onto his knee. When he staggered, Isran brought the pommel around to the right hand, the one holding the sword.
It clattered to the ground. The brute lashed out, catching Isran's shoulder and reminding him of his ribs. Heaving, Isran pushed past the pain. Reduced to nothing but his large fists, the masked warrior swung at Isran with his left. Isran dodged left. The arm tried to come back around but Isran swung his hammer the other way. The warrior's elbow met it in the middle and the joint bent inwards, ripping a strangled shout from the man's throat. Isran brought the hammer back and jabbed the pommel down into his other knee. The blow was hard enough to take him off that leg and when he finally dropped, Isran brought the hammer around with a shout, sweeping the head across the warrior's face.
The masked warrior's jaw shattered. His neck cracked like a branch under heel. Head rolling, he fell backwards and landed with a resounding thud. Isran could see the red eyes of a Dunmer beneath the cracks of his mask and hear his last wheezing breaths, loud in his sharpened ears. He heard another bolt go flying and the thud of another falling body; the smaller masked one Isran had set aflame.
Sorine, who had gotten around Isran and his opponent, began backing up to his position. "I need to restock," she said between hard breaths.
"Go."
She twisted on her heel and went running into the fort. Isran finally took the time to observe the battlefield that was once his courtyard.
He saw Gunmar, near the entrance of the outer perimeter. He watched as the Nord ripped away a shield from a vampire half his size and cracked her across the jaw with it. When she fell to the ground, he brought the edge of the shield down on her face, hard slams punctuated with savage, throaty roars. When he stumbled back, a seeping gash could be seen on his side. His red hair was sticky with blood and it was clear he was favoring one leg over the other. Another vampire came bolting at him, quicker than he could react. A shockwave sent the monster flying away. Florentius came striding up, tossing Gunmar an axe and taking a moment to press a shimmering hand to his side. The Nord's teeth bared in a silent shout as Florentius cauterized his wound, too distracted for tenderness. When Florentius pulled his hand away, it swung towards the vampire, a golden cone of sunfire flying out from the palm. The monster screamed and thrashed in agony until Gunmar's axe split his sternum in half.
Dawnguard littered the courtyard, in one state or another. Most fighting, others not; strewn across the ground either barely moving or not at all though most of the dead were vampires and masked fighters. He saw Agmaer just barely avoid a killing blow and bury his father's axe in his opponent's head. Behind him, Isran saw Durak rip a dagger out of a dead masked warrior's chest and punch him away, cracking the mask in two. Then, the Orc fell back against a tree, blood welling beneath the hand at his side, his breathing labored and his eyes were screwed shut with pain.
The red haze of his vision deepened. Deepened and filled until his mind could only hold one single face.
Sorine came running back out of the fort, crossbow in one hand, a bag of bolts in the other and a dagger at her hip. She jumped to the side just in time to move out of Isran's way as he stomped back towards the fort. "Clean up here," he ordered, "I'm going to find Idessia."
"What? Why? What's wrong with her? Isran? Isran!" He continued up the hill, not even bothering to look back. "Damn it," she spat but she returned to the fight all the same.
Isran trudged his way into the hall and continued along his path, the hand around his weapon squeezing tight to the point of trembling.
With the battle raging below, Idessia kept to her perch, a balcony on the roof of the castle. Blades clashed, spells were thrown and bodies fell to the ground, pools of blood growing out beneath them. She could smell it from here.
Part of her took a perverse joy in it all. Not in her impending victory but the opposite. The Dawnguard were handling themselves well. Her own soldiers were lambs to slaughter. That was the one upside to this whole ordeal, very few of those she commanded would survive, provided she did things right. It was the only reason she accepted the task without complaint. The only reason she'd ever agree to work with other vampires. Her master had known that well enough.
The fight reached out past the fort's inner courtyard, towards the lake and the waterfall that spilled into it. She noted the large Nordic man near the water's edge, neither masked nor a vampire but on her side. Watched him as he knocked over a Dawnguard soldier and brought his foot down on her neck. Idessia cursed her hearing. She could hear the snap from where she was and her lip curled at his obvious enjoyment. Then she took note of the Dawnguard's paling blue skin, her red eyes, her pointed ears and her lip curled even more at the true source of his enjoyment.
A creak from behind her brings her back to the balcony. Idessia turned slightly to find the door she had used to reach this spot opened. In it stood Isran. He was splattered with gore, his large shoulders raised with anger and breath, his hand tight around the handle of his bloodied hammer. He hadn't even bothered with his armor.
Idessia held his gaze and met it with silence. It was like their moment back in his bedchamber except she wasn't forcing the feeling of warmth and security into his mind. The hypnotism would never have worked on a man like him if she hadn't wormed her way in, using his trust and relief at seeing her alive. Now, it would never work again and he could see her for what she truly was.
Still, here with him, the world seemed far away and dim. It was just the two of them here now and soon, the Nord would give their forces the order to retreat. Idessia stepped down from the balcony and gingerly picked up a longsword she had pulled from a rack on the way up.
As quiet as the world seemed now, a deeper version of it seemed to pass between them. Isran's eyes bulged from their sockets and across the distance, Idessia could see the veins pulsating along his shaved temple. Her lip curled slightly in amusement but she quickly sobered. "Very little of what I told you were lies," she said gently. "Monsters came into my life and took away what little good I had managed to gather for myself. The Volkihar were one such, Isran. But they weren't the only ones."
He wanted to run at her, to shut her up but for a short moment, it appeared that curiosity tethered his rage.
"Another good thing was taken from me. Taken from me by a monster of a different kind." Idessia's voice softened even more as the all too familiar pain welled in her chest. If her heart still had a beat, it would be thundering with rage and grief. "You want to know who he is, don't you?" she asked. "You want me to tell you. I don't have to, Isran. I don't have to because you already know who he is. You already know who he is very well."
Curiosity's tether snapped. With a roar, Isran charged at her, his steps slowed only slightly by his injuries. Idessia ran to meet him. Bringing her blade up, she managed to stop his hammer with the flat of it. He pushed in, pushed against her with a strength that would have overwhelmed her quickly if she were still who she used to be. She managed to hold him there.
Up close, Isran's suspicions were confirmed. "Vampires took what was important to you," he growled through clenched teeth.
"They did." Her voice didn't even waver with effort. "Make no mistake, Isran, the Vigilants were and still are my family. The only one I've ever known."
"They took you in. Make you the woman you are. And after they died at the hands of vampires, this is how you honor them? This is how you repay them? By becoming one of them?!" He was screaming in her face by the end of it. "Answer me, Idessia!"
Her pallor. Her shimmering, golden-brown eyes. Her cool skin sparking fire with every touch. The signs had all been right there. And he had brought her here…
Idessia shoved him away, hard enough to nearly make him lose his footing. But she didn't pursue. "I didn't become this for them. Someone else made me this. The other important thing. And after she was murdered, another person found me. In Cyrodiil, lost and wandering. Gave me a new purpose." Her lip curled. "Gave me the murderer. Gave me a target."
"Who, Idessia? Who is worth all of this?!"
"You already know who he is, Isran." She laughed slightly, "And I'll see him dead. If the Volkihar had to pay for the Vigilants then I owe him no less." She sighed. "You buried your own child. And her mother right beside her. You of all people should understand."
Isran ran at her again. Hammer and sword met in a clash of wood and steel, with Idessia effortlessly blocking or avoiding all of his angry, wide blows. She slipped beneath one and cracked him across the ribs with the flat of her blade, pulling a yell from his throat. He swung at her again. Again, she avoided it and hit him, this time with her fist.
The pulse of magic from her hand sent Isran hurtling back, his hammer tearing from his grip. Isran hit the fort's stone wall and slid to the ground. He struggled to breathe and his vision swam.
Idessia walked over. She lifted his hammer off the ground and threw it over the balcony. Then, she turned her gaze back to him, to his pitiful attempts at trying to stand up again and sighed. She tossed her stolen blade down and brought up both her hands. Isran could feel the magic in the air, the way the hairs on his neck began to stand. Two swirling Daedric gates opened between them.
What crawled out had Isran pushing back to his feet even faster. Monstrous creatures that floated over the ground, hunched over and covered in torn robes. Their needle-thin arms and hands were as long as their bodies and twitching tentacles hung from the tiny teeth-filled mouths.
Isran put his hand to his ribs and pushed healing magic into his injuries, more to numb the pain than anything else. He called upon his magic again, twisting his dwindling stores into a form he hadn't used in years and never bothered to master beyond this one spell. The spell was cast and when the two burning blue swords appeared in Isran's hands, the familiarity began to return.
His stance widened. One hand twisted the blade within to a backhanded grip while the other sword remained pointed at Idessia and her Daedra.
"How long has it been, Isran, since you handled blades like that? Years now?" Idessia began to back away. "My job was to sow discord and I've done enough." Her smiling face devolved into a gaunt, haunting scowl. "Ask him about the name 'Alva'," she told him, "Make him tell you what he did to her. Make sure he understands everything that has happened here today…" she pointed to the courtyard below, "It's because of him."
The Daedra advanced. Isran met the first before it could meet him. He raked his blade across its face, sending blood as black as pitch spraying into the air. Isran spun around the reeling monster and brought both swords down across its back, opening two more bloody gashes. Without stopping, he made for the second. The jab he sent forward caught on a barrier. A hasty one Isran knew would leave its sides unprotected. Isran's blade found purchase in its ribs and proved him right. He let the sword go, leaving it plunged nearly hilt-deep in the Daedra before running past it for Idessia.
He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye too late. A fast-moving wave of green light struck him full on. Any energy that Isran had managed to muster was ripped from his body before he realized what had happened. His knees buckled and gave out. Stumbling over his own dragging feet, Isran had to put his free hand out to stop himself from hitting the ground.
Idessia only watched a few paces away, unsmiling, her cold eyes boring into his own. That was enough to spur him on again. Grinding his teeth, Isran used his sword to try and push his weak trembling body off the ground. But the shadow that came over him told him that it was too late. The first Daedra he had struck down hadn't stayed down. Its magic, his injuries; Isran could only brace the coming blow.
A wave of cold suddenly showered his back. The way Idessia's eyes widened and snapped away from him was indication enough that this was not what she had expected.
Isran managed to twist his stiff neck until he was looking behind him. When he did, he found the Daedric monster stock still, locked in a sheet of frost. Its hand still outstretched, Isran could no longer feel the magic from it rearing up, ready to spear him through.
A fearsome cry sounded out. Suddenly, the sharp point of a blade sprouted through the Daedra's face with a gush of foul blood. Isran could hear the weak gurgle emanating from its throat before it faded back to Oblivion.
The sword was taken back and held up to Idessia. Its wielder…
Idessia smiled. "Serana, correct?" she asked, lifting a finger to her.
The girl remained silent, her golden eyes shining with anger, only adjusting the grip on her sword as a response.
Idessia let out a huff of laughter. She looked from Serana to Isran, still struggling to rise, and then back. She laughed again. "It's amazing, isn't it, old friend? The low places love and grief can bring us."
When Idessia moved, Serana's sword arm straightened. Around her other hand, silvery mist began to swirl.
Idessia kept moving, only she did so backwards. "It takes spine to ally against and murder everyone you've ever known, girl. I respect that," Idessia told her, "Out of that respect, I'm sparing your life. Even though he cares for you. Even though throwing your head at his feet would hurt him more than any blade or spell ever could. Even if you're just as much a monster as the family you betrayed."
Almost invisibly, Serana's lips tightened and raised. The point of her fangs could just barely be seen.
"You'd do well to be careful who you ally with. Getting those around them hurt and killed," Idessia said, "It's something this man…" she jerked her chin to Isran, "And that murderer have in common. Amongst other things, of course."
Idessia then took a long inhale through her nose. She let it out in a sigh. "Your blood even smells the same."
Isran finally shoved himself to his feet, legs still shaking, magical sunfire sparking wildly around his hand. He took his first step towards her.
A line of green fire ran across the ground between them, sending Isran staggering and throwing him down to one knee. The flames encircled Idessia and shot high into the air, so hot and bright, Isran had to shield his eyes and Serana retreated into the darkness of the fort's doorway.
They fell as quickly as they rose, leaving black scorch stains on the ground and nothing else. Idessia was gone.
Growling, Isran pushed himself again to his feet. Slowly, he practically crawled his way over to the balcony ledge and leaned on it to look over. Below, Idessia's soldiers were fleeing. His own were chasing and shooting down the stragglers, celebrating their victory.
Durak was still leaning against that tree. Agmaer was kneeling before him, forehead pressed to the other's, shoulders heaving violently. Gunmar had an arm wrapped around his chest and was pulling him away. The young Nord resisted, still reaching out to Durak and as he was being pulled, Isran could just barely make out a bright trail of red being left in his wake on the grass.
The old Orsimer reacted to none of it. Not Agmaer's injuries leaving blood on his legs, not Agmaer shouting his name. Not the wind ruffling his hair. The hand that laid against the stone and held Isran up, squeezed and began to shake.
"Who was she? A friend of yours?" The girl's voice, always quiet, still rang out in the sharp silence. She had come out of the doorway.
Isran turned and found her eyes, glowing and unnatural beneath her hood. The Bound Sword was still in his hand. It was fading quickly but she was close enough. "Every vampire is responsible," he had said, "It will only be enough when every vampire has paid for it."
Isran let the sword disappear. Without a word, he stepped away from the balcony, hobbling on unsteady legs. Serana huffed and stumbled to get out of his path. Isran could feel her annoyed glare burning into his back.
He ignored it. And her, as he has since he met her. When he got to the doorway and the stairs, he took them downwards, one by one.
Idessia stepped from beyond the veil again and found herself greeted by the sounds of sharp winds and crunching snow. Her eyes needed little adjusting to the darkness of the cave before she took in its only inhabitant. A tall and bulky shadow, set down on a log, a fire at his front and his back towards her.
As if hearing her thoughts, Rolff Stone-Fist turned. In his hands was a stained cloth and a bloody blade. His hard eyes fixed upon her uncaring ones. Whether the disdain in them was due to her being a vampire or an Imperial, she no longer bothered to try and say.
"We've dealt the Dawnguard a blow," she said, her voice echoing, "But Isran lives."
Rolff turned back to the fire and continued cleaning, saying nothing. Then she said, "He looks like his son."
The cleaning stopped. Rolff's cold eyes bore into the flames. "They'll join forces now," he muttered, "We should have killed him. Him and the girl. Why didn't we?" He asked. He turned again, "Why don't we?"
"We do as we're told. Nothing less and nothing more." The stare she fixed him with dared him to speak further.
Immediately, he relaxed and shrugged. "Worth a shot." Rolff reached down in front of him and tossed something over his shoulder towards her. It landed in the snow at her feet then, rose into the air of its own accord, dropping into her hand. "Found this on some provincial after I put a blade in his throat," he said, "The grey-skin told me your little story. Figured you would want to start a collection." He returned to his blade, chuckling at his own shit attempt at humor.
Idessia barely heard him. Her eyes remained locked on the Amulet of Stendarr in her palm. The letter "C" was carved into its back. Just as the letter "I" was carved into her's. Just as the letters "KK" were carved into Isran's.
Isran would find his body. He would search for the amulet. A keepsake. A reminder.
He could keep searching. Idessia slipped the pendant into one of her pockets, contemplated bounding across the distance and draining the Nord of all his foul blood, contemplated it a second time and then turned, leaving the cave without another word.
With strength and through pain, Isran dragged himself up the stairs as he left the fort's atrium behind. Three broken ribs and a sprained ankle were the worst of it, among all the cuts and the sheer exhaustion of having pushed his body so far past its limits. He had been wrapped in so many bandages and assaulted with so many healing spells, his muscles struggled to even half-respond to any command he gave them.
Isran had only just pulled his broken door close and limped halfway into the room when he heard a knock.
Gunmar knew he wouldn't respond. He began to speak. "Agmaer's wounds are severe," he announced softly. "Florentius has done all he can but the boy's lost a lot of blood. It's up to him whether or not he survives the night."
Isran remained silent. Gunmar continued. "Seven's our count if Agmaer pulls through. Durak and…Celann among them. I am sorry. I searched his body when I found him. Whoever killed him took his amulet." A weary, shaky sigh. Then, with a voice that just barely rose past a croak, he said, "They're putting the bodies together. We'll wait on Agmaer so…so we don't have to do this twice. We'll let you know when it's time."
He listened as Gunmar departed, his heavy steps sluggish and uneven. Isran continued his hobbling, making it to the dresser and leaning against it.
He took a single look at his reflection. Then, he struck it, cracks and tiny slivers of glass exploding out from where his fist collided with the glass. He could already see the red beginning to well up beneath the bandages around his knuckles.
Isran then stumbled back and fell to his bed. Hunched over, he stared further at his reflection in the mirror, now as broken and ruined as he was.