[A/N]: Hello again and welcome back! A massive thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, favved and followed so far, every kind word means the world!

To Kurehasama: Yup, poor Farkas ;_; but sometimes you have to kill your darlin's. The Companions lead a dangerous life.

And on we go...

CHAPTER FIVE

~BE AS DAWN TO YOUR ALLY...~

Isran wore a thick padded lamellar with a belt of silver chain, a warhammer that actually resembled a hammer, and a scowl that could curdle milk from great distances. He also had a thick black beard and the most gravelly, colourless growl Solen had ever heard. He could tell immediately that Isran was a hmm-er, and wasn't proved wrong.

"Hmm." Isran's dark eyes looked Solen up and down, taking note of every scar engraved in Solen's Harbinger steel. The wolf visage that snarled across the cuirass, the continued wolf motif across the black-furred gauntlets and sabatons, the Atmoran knotwork that complimented Solen's teardrop helmet. "Well, you look like a Companion," Isran concluded, "and you look like someone who can prove he's a Companion."

"Surprising, I know," said Solen. "Wait 'till you hear about how I advise the Companions. I've been told I'm a great advisor."

"Did you ever advise them how to get them to still that tongue?"

"Not really. I'm honestly encouraged to talk more, not less. Or Shout more. Or... use my Words? The jargon gets blurred sometimes."

Rayya and Irileth were both well-accustomed to Solen's somewhat unconventional sense of humour. Isran was not. His scowl did the impossible, and deepened further.

"Hrrm. Dragonborn." He said the title almost reluctantly. "So, we meet. Thought you'd be taller."

"No, you really didn't," said Solen, who towered two heads above the stocky Redguard across from him. "You'd be Isran, leader of the Dawnguard. And this... is a nice place you got. Big place. Bit, uh... bit rustic, though." He gazed around the gigantic circular chamber that formed the entry hall of Fort Dawnguard – ringed with a balcony high above, with a natural oculus letting in a flood of spring sunlight. But the air stank of dust and must, supply boxes ringed the room in disorderly fashion, and the impressive stonework was draped in enormous cobwebs. "Don't suppose you've got a decorator on the way?"

"It suffices," said Isran, folding his arms. "We'll see if you and your companions can do the same for the Dawnguard."

"About that," said Solen, much more seriously. "Rayya and I, we're not here to join. Not officially. No charters. No pledges, no oaths, no whatever. We're here to collaborate and work with the Dawnguard as freelancers, but we're not your soldiers."

Isran quirked a brow. "Do I look like a sergeant to you, elf?"

"Uh... honestly? Yeah. Rayya and I are ex-Legion. We've served a lot of sergeants."

"Well, you can jump for joy knowing you won't be calling me 'sir'. This isn't the army. I'm not your general. There's no charter to sign. No pledge or oath to make. Except one." Isran stalked forward until he stood below Solen, his head tilted back to glare uncompromisingly into the Altmer's mismatched eyes. "You fight vampires, you kill vampires, you rid the world of vampires. A count of dead giants, trolls or Dragons does nothing to endear you to me; anything less than destroying those bloodsuckers either makes you a waste of my time or my enemy. Is there anything unclear about that, Dragonborn?"

Solen was past the point of wilting from intimidation tactics, but he definitely found himself leaning backwards from the vampire hunter's intensity. "Clear as a Midyear sun."

"Good," said Isran. "Then welcome to the Dawnguard. I trust you won't disappoint." He turned to Rayya and gave her the same look-over. "Hmm. Rayya, was it? You travel with the elf?"

"I do," said Rayya. "Keeping his neck intact is my job."

"You ever kill a neck-biter?"

"A few. Wouldn't mind making a trade of it for a while."

Isran gave a low laugh. "That's what I like to hear. Those swords of yours, how long have you swung them?"

"At foes or not? You'll get different answers."

"Hah. You're a sands girl, I can tell. Sentinel?"

"Bergama."

"Ahh. Crown town. Doesn't surprise me you were raised on the sword. You know how to take tough and fight quick."

"So does the lunk I married, believe it or not." Rayya chucked her chin at Solen.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Isran growled. "A vampire's fast as a zephyr and stronger than an avalanche. They'll dance circles round that heavy battle-blade."

"Says the man with a warhammer," Solen retorted.

"I have Stendarr's Aura," said Isran. "You don't. Now what about you?"

Irileth stepped forward. "Irileth. I'm no freelancer. I'm here to join."

"You are, are you? Hmm. You're different. You've got fire in your belly."

"A vampire had me fooled. Killed my Jarl." Irileth's eyes blazed. "That isn't going to happen a second time."

"No," Isran murmured, "no, I doubt that. I heard what happened in Whiterun. Disgusting thing. We'll make sure you get outfitted with all you need to avenge your dead Jarl a thousand times over."

"I want Orthjolf. That's the creature's name. And I'll gladly take down anyone standing between him and me."

"Him and the Dawnguard, Irileth. Your fight is ours." Isran frowned past Irileth's shoulder. "That kid with you?"

They turned around to where Agmaer, a recently-acquainted farmer's son, hovered nervously in their shadows, quite out of place with the three battle-hardened veterans. "We picked him up on the Canyon road," said Irileth.

"But he's got the same idea," said Solen. "Vampires bad, Dawnguard good."

"Well, stop skulking in the shadows and step up here," Isran growled. "What's your name?"

"I'm, uh... my name is Agmaer. Sir!"

"Didn't I just say this isn't the army?"

"Reminds me of when that new blood first met you in Jorrvaskr," Rayya whispered to Solen, as Isran continued grilling the farm boy. "What was his name – Harald? Hangvar?"

"Haeling. And the interview did not play out like this. I couldn't do an Isran-growl if I tried."

"No, but the kid still almost fainted when you drew Eldródr."

"I wasn't going to hit him! I just wanted to test his arm!"

"He didn't know that. He just thought he was about to fight the Dragonborn."

"And you wonder why I let Vilkas handle the whelps..."

"Right," growled Isran, pacing in front of them, "I think the lot of you are Dawnguard material. Celann!" A lanky Breton Dawnguard stepped out from one of the side passages. "Take the lad and get him set up with a crossbow. See how he handles it." After Agmaer had disappeared with his escort, Isran beckoned. "The rest of you, follow me. I'll show you round."

The Fort had been impressively large on the outside, and it didn't disappoint inside, either. The huge, airy corridors were carved straight into the mountains. Isran mentioned there were even more ancient catacombs, left behind by their predecessors, but so far he hadn't had time or care to properly investigate. "Predecessors?" Irileth echoed. "The Dawnguard isn't a new order?"

"Stendarr, no," Isran growled back. "The Order was founded in the Second Era, after the Riften Jarl's son contracted vampirism. He couldn't kill his whelp, so he had this place built and the Dawnguard established to keep him contained. They took their oath seriously, served honourably, even when they were forced to put the Jarl's son down. The Jarl banished them from the hold, but they stuck to their cause. Fought vampires wherever they found them. I aim to continue that mission."

He hadn't had long to get the Fort back up in working order, but so far the essentials were there – tables, food baskets, roaring hearths. The Fort had once been provisioned like a palace, but centuries of neglect had left it in a derelict state. "I've got shipments on the way from Riften," said Isran, "but not much. A lot of red tape. Mostly we fend for ourselves from the Dayspring Canyon. Food's fine, armoury's stocked, but right now we don't have much support but ourselves."

"That'll change," said Rayya. "It's been two weeks since Balgruuf's death. The Jarls will've heard what happened by now. They'll throw coin at a vampire order."

Isran snorted. "Or they'll throw coin at a more familiar solution. Mercenaries. Companions. Maybe once we make a bit more of a name for ourselves, we'll start having the resources to properly getting the Fort fixed up. At least word's finally starting to get around that the Dawnguard is back. But that means it won't be long before the vampires take notice as well."

They visited the dining area, which presently was just a longtable and a handful of stools, then the ground-floor sleeping quarters, one immense room stuffed with cots and rudimentary storage chests in front of a blazing hearth. Down the east end, the well-groomed fort walls opened into one of the Fort's natural cavern systems, where Isran declared his intention to get a breeder hired and some proper war-hounds trained – "The right dog can sniff out a vampire in a trick. Nothing surprises them." – and showed them one of the training areas, where they found Celann overseeing the newly-crossbow'd Agmaer and his shaky but steady assault on an archery butt. In the natural caverns of the west end lay a blacksmith's forge, and beside that, the Dawnguard armoury.

Presently it was little more than a heap of crates tucked in a corner with a bunch of armour and weapons neatly arrayed atop it; but everything was excellently crafted and clearly fresh-forged, with the Dawnguard's symbol, the blazing shield, etched skilfully into the metal. For a moment Solen's professional interest overtook him. He picked up one of the Dawnguard one-handed axes and gave it a few swings. "Good balance on this," he remarked, eyeing down the haft. "Don't recognize the smith-sign though, who made this?"

"You're looking at him," said Isran, then, "You look surprised."

"Yeah, that's generally what surprised people look like. What's this made of? Silver-steel compound?"

"Adamantine-iron. There's a few adamantium veins in the deeper caverns."

"Ruptga, that's rare stuff. That's really hard to balance, adamantine is beastly heavy. That's why you threw the iron in, yeah? To make it lighter? Takes a steady hand not to spoil the bonding between such different-density alloys, though."

It was Isran's turn for surprise. "You smith?"

"Learning." Solen scrutinized the axe's gleaming silver edge. "Call it a hobby."

"He trains with Eorlund Gray-Mane in his spare time," Irileth put in, as she sized up a Dawnguard bastard sword. "He's in a blacksmith's apron when he isn't in that wolf-armour. Hasn't he made drinking buddies of all the cities' principal blacksmiths, Rayya?"

"Something like that," Rayya agreed, hefting a Dawnguard shield. "Hard to pull him away sometimes. Kid in a candy shop. The way he jaws with the smiths, you'd think they were speaking in ritual."

"Hm," said Isran, contemplatively. "So, you're not just a sword-swinging braggart after all."

"Overjoyed to hear it." Solen put the axe down. "I'll stick with slow old Eldródr, I think. I'd break the old blade's heart if I went off vampire-slaying without it."

"Suit yourself," said Isran, back to eye-rolling. "Take a crossbow, at least. You ever shoot?"

"A bow, plenty." Solen picked up one of the crossbows; heavier than it looked, but sturdy. He figured out the cranking mechanism easily enough, although the wide square sight and the horizontal positioning would take some getting used to. "You do realize a bow is five times faster than this?"

"Flimsier, too. A vampire doesn't bleed or bruise like us mortals do." Isran patted the hefty crossbow. "But they break. They're going nowhere with a broken spine or a shattered skull. Best thing to put down the bloodsuckers."

"They do work," Rayya murmured to Solen, as she picked up one herself. "You saw what was left of that vampire outside Ivarstead."

It took a few shots for Solen to accustom to it. It had a hard kicking recoil and a four-second reload time, but a devastating punch. Additionally, it launched so fast, with such power, that there was no need to calibrate distance or wind or any of the subtleties that an archer had to face, on the go, all the time. Solen could see how it would be useful against such a fleet opponent as a vampire. "Only thing with it is that you'd better not miss," Solen remarked, locking the crossbow's trigger to prevent it dryfiring. "Or you'd better have a melee weapon handy."

"We're Dawnguard," growled Isran. "We don't miss."

While Rayya and Irileth dismantled a barrel from long-range with their crossbows, Isran took Solen aside. "Since you're here, I'm reminded that there is a matter in your field you can address, Dragonborn."

"Oh?" Solen arched a brow. "I thought I was here to fight vampires and only vampires? Anything less meant I was a distraction?"

"You're already a distraction. But I have a bigger one. There's a Dragon lairing somewhere in the Canyon."

Solen frowned. "Has it attacked anyone?"

"No. But it's stolen food. Sheep. Robbed snares, made off with one of Durak's deer. It's a pest."

"Have you ever seen it?"

"Once. Celann saw it winging over the glaciers dragging off one of the rams. How long will it take you to get rid of it?"

Solen set his hands on his hips. "I'm not going after it."

"What?" Isran ground his teeth. "Are you Dragonborn or aren't you?"

"Beyond a doubt I am," said Solen, "and that's why I'm not going after it. Dragons suffer a fate worse than death when they cross me. I used to do a lot of the whole slaying thing, sure. Thrill, glory, necessity, whatever. That was when we were actually at war, during the Dragon Crisis, when Dragons went out of their way to find and attack me – before I became Thuri."

"Became what?"

"You know – the alpha Dragon. The strongest Voice."

"Alpha Dragon," Isran repeated slowly, as if it were the punchline of a bad joke. He scoffed. "I can't believe this. A Dragonborn that doesn't kill Dragons."

"Believe it," said Solen, much more coldly. "Dragons aren't just stupid beasts, they're sentient creatures who've spent most if not all of their lives living in tyranny of one supreme, all-commanding master. Coexistence is possible with them and I want to give them that chance. So unless this Dragon of yours has actually displayed harmful and malevolent intention directly on property or person, I'm not going to execute it for existing."

"Stealing food is pretty damn malevolent."

"More than likely, you're stealing its food. Dragons have been around in Skyrim far longer than the Dawnguard revival has. Dayspring Canyon's as ideal a habitat as anything. Water, prey-filled forest, mountains – I'll bet my bottom septim that it was here first."

"Well, Dragonborn, we're not relocating to suit a Dragon's fancies. And we're not going to tolerate any more theft of resources."

"Then make peace with it. Coexist. Keep your stock well-guarded, but make an offering to it now and then, willingly. The Dragon will stop stealing from you if it isn't hungry. If the Legion can do it, pretty sure you can." Solen folded his arms, the picture of professional stubbornness. "As you said – I'm here to hunt vampires, kill vampires, and kill more vampires. I'm here to avenge my Jarl and nip this menace in the bud before Skyrim suffers another disaster."

Isran huffed an angry sigh, but to his credit he didn't push the point, unlike some of the Jarls and Guard captains Solen had made the same argument to over the years. "You don't want anything else out of here?"

"What, weapons-wise? Armour?" Solen shook his head. "Skyrim's freezing, and those uniforms have a suspicious lack of fur on them. Rayya? Irileth?"

Rayya had chosen to favour her plate-and-chainlink armour and her twin scimitars, but Irileth stepped out of the armoury transformed. Gone were her old leathers. She wore the lamellar raiment as if it'd been tailored to her. A new Dawnguard longsword bounced at her left hip, but she still had her broken sword, now sheathed on the right hip. She withdrew it and presented it to Isran. "Whatever metal you use to edge your weapons, I want it on this. I don't want it fixed. I want it potent."

Isran turned the ruined steel blade over in his grasp, tested his finger on the jagged edge, and nodded once. "I'll work something out."

The Dawnguard was piteously small – just over half a score. With Solen and Rayya working alongside them, and Irileth and Agmaer as their newest recruits, they now totalled some sixteen all, which was still a wretchedly small number to cover all of Skyrim against the growing vampire menace. Add the fact that half that number had never handled a proper weapon, and the Dawnguard was indeed in as early a situation as a militant Order could be.

Fortunately there were some seasoned warriors leading the way forward, and Solen and Rayya met them all over dinner that night in the dining hall. There was Durak, the former Orc chieftain whom they'd already met, nothing but pleased that Solen and Rayya were here, nothing but angry as what circumstance had forced them to be. Mogrul was Durak's son, and had joined the Dawnguard alongside his father; like most stronghold Orcs, he'd been taught to swing weapons the instant he could hold them. Celann, the Breton, was one of Isran's oldest comrades-in-arms, and one of the first to be invited to join the reformed Dawnguard. Vori, a Nord, they'd met in the Canyon on their way up to the Fort. She'd left a rough life in the wilds before Isran's opportunity, and had already somehow mastered the art of never sleeping. "Sleep is for the weak," she said. "That's what Isran always says. Be like Isran. I've never seen that man close his eyes."

"Never?" said Solen. "Not even to blink?"

Vori stared. "Just ignore him," Rayya advised. "He's chronically smartassed."

"And that's why you love me."

But talk did turn to Isran. It seemed he'd anticipated this vampire menace years ahead of the event. "We served together as Vigilants of Stendarr, years ago," Celann explained, as he helped himself to a second serving of turnip stew. "He was just as Isran back then as he's Isran now. Only he ended up being right, and the rest of them wrong."

"Right?" Irileth echoed. "About what?"

"About the vampires. He saw the signs everywhere. More dens, more covens, more dead villagers, more missing priests. He tried to warn the Vigilants to wake up and do something. They never listened. Too focused ratting out the next loudmouthed Daedric worshipper. Oh, their hearts were in the right place, of course, but Isran and I, we were never comfortable. Eventually we left together, but our partnership didn't last. You've already seen what he's like to talk with, let alone work with."

"So what got you working with him again?" asked Rayya.

"Two months ago, he contacted me out of the blue, asking for my help." Celann jerked his head towards the forge, where they heard the hammer ringing off metal in steady tempo. "That man does not ask for help. Ever. So I knew it must've been pretty bad."

They sat in subdued silence for a moment, eating their stew. Solen mentally turned over every military report he ever remembered reading during his Legion service. Surely the Legion would've noticed, during the reunification and rebuilding and re-establishing and re-other-things period if there was a rise in vampire activity? Surely he'd have noticed? There'd been some missing persons reported, sure, but there were a thousand and a half different ways for someone to disappear in Skyrim. Trolls, sabre cats, Dragons, wolves, brigands, Draugr... and yes, vampires, but surely they couldn't have all been vampiric abductions. Could they?

"Now I think the whole world's about to find out exactly how right Isran ever was," said Celann. "A murdered Jarl in the heart of one of Skyrim's biggest cities... if that isn't proof enough that no person is safe from these monsters, then I don't know what is."

Abruptly Irileth stood. "I'm going to patrol." She stalked off before anyone could say a word.

Celann arched his eyebrows, and Rayya immediately snapped, "Don't you dare say another word about it. Don't speculate. That goes for all of you. You all know what happened. End of story."

"But it's not," Durak rumbled. "We don't know why."

"Is there a why?" Solen asked.

"Yes." Durak leaned forward. "Vampires are not your typical beasts. They're smart. They plan. They think. The old ones, anyway, and I don't see anything less than an old one getting as far as he did. If he wanted a drink, he had thousands of necks to choose from, but he planned to get the hardest neck in the whole damn city. Why? 'Just because he could' seems a pretty flimsy reason, doesn't it?"

Solen stabbed his spoon into a stewed turnip with zeal. "Well, what bright theories do you have?"

"I think," said Durak, "this is bigger – far bigger than we're anticipating. I think with the War over, we've become harder prey to hunt. Safer roads, fortified towns, less skirmishes in the wild. The vampires got fat off the War, grew their covens. Now they're getting hungry and desperate. They want us confused, divided up and scattered again, like we were in the War. Weakened, easy prey."

It was the soundest theory Solen had yet heard about Balgruuf's murder, but it still didn't add up. "You'd think if they really were so desperate or grand-plan-scheming, they'd get a whole gang of vampire-assassins organized and go after all the Jarls at once," said Solen, "or even the High Queen – really pitch Skyrim into chaos. Instead, all they've done is put all the cities on high alert, blown every single visiting-advisor alias out of the water, and attracted the Dawnguard's attention. The Legion's as well." And mine.

"Maybe we can capture one," Mogrul suggested. "Get 'em squealing on the rack. Did Isran show you the torture room yet?"

"You have a torture room?" Rayya's face was the picture of revulsion.

"If we're going to survive this," said Mogrul seriously, "we're going to have to be as ruthless as our enemies."

"Have you ever seen," said Solen quietly, "what torture can do to a man?"

"They're not men. Or women." Mogrul bared his tusks. "They're nothing mortal. They're abominations beyond any hope of redemption or pity."

"You haven't, then." Solen put his spoon in his bowl and pushed the lot away, his appetite quite gone. "If you had, you'd realize that's not a suffering you'd wish on your worst enemy."

Mogrul shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Rayya saw the colour rising in Solen's cheeks. "Husband, don't."

"No, tell me," said Solen, in clipped tones, "tell me exactly why I wouldn't understand. Please. Enlighten me."

Durak sensed danger quicker than Mogrul, and grunted loudly when the younger Orc opened his mouth. Mogrul was smart enough to catch the hint and look away.

Solen stood up. "Take care when fighting monsters," he said to the silent gathering, "that you don't become them yourself." Then he turned and swept out – although the effect was spoiled somewhat when his cloak caught on the bench corner, turning his righteous stalk into a graceless stumble.

Once Rayya joined him in the massive circular entrance hall, Solen said, "I think this was a mistake. They're just gooks. Don't tell me they don't remind you of anyone."

"They're unseasoned and they're scared," Rayya reasoned. "Just let Irileth get at them. Three days. She'll straighten them out."

"The old Irileth, sure. This Irileth I'm pretty sure would be the most imaginative torturer at the rack. And Isran! The absolutes with him! He'll destroy every vampire in Skyrim given the chance, I don't doubt that, but what else will he destroy to get at them? Who else? The next thing we'll know it's 'Skyrim for the mortals!' and talks of purges and collaborators and traitors –"

"Solen, calm down. This isn't war."

"It will be. You heard them. It's what they expect, it's what they want. Rayya, I said no more wars, I said... Rayya, I can't do another war..."

In one swift, practiced movement, Rayya pulled his head down to hers. "Breathe with me. Just breathe."

Half a minute of slow, circular breathing together brought him back. Solen uncoiled to his full height and gripped her hand tightly. "Three days," said Rayya decisively. "Give them the chance. Then, if they're really still rabid, we go our own way. All right?"

"All right." Solen nodded. "Three days."

The creaking of the heavy Fort Dawnguard door squealed through the quiet Fort. It was enormously heavy and didn't open very well, and the hinges squeaked and complained every inch of the way. Getting past it seemed like a trial into the Dawnguard all of itself, and Solen and Rayya stood watching with interest until, heralded with a chorus of Dunmeri curses, Irileth got them open and in she came again. "That was a short patrol," Solen started, and then saw that Irileth had company.

"Go get Isran," Irileth told them, tugging the filthy, haggard, stumbling, barely-recognizable Vigilant of Stendarr along behind her. "He'll want to hear this."