[A/N]: Well and truly hurtled over the 3k view milestone and inching ever closer to that desirable 100 review count... will we reach it this chapter? We shall see... Thank you again to my wonderful readers, reviewers and lurkers! For now - time to get some questions thoroughly answered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

~TRAIN YOUR ENEMY TO MAKE THE WRONG RESPONSE~

A storm was bearing down. Both sailor and passenger could smell it in the air. The iron-black sea thrashed with rising temper, white horses cresting in frigid sprays. Sheets of sea ice crackled and splintered, gliding past the little skiff like sharks. The sky darkened with thunderheads, bruised indigo, and roared like Dragons in flight. But the island was an indisputable black smudge on the turbulent horizon, a bulwark and an anchor, and the skiff shot nimbly towards it as though pulled by a line.

"You sure you don't want to sit down for this?" the sailor roared above the wind. "If you go over, no guarantee I'll scoop you up again!"

The Khajiit's claws were sunken deep into the timber of the prow, heedless of the frigid spray that drenched her fur and leather raiment. "Do not worry for this one, Captain. Only see that we reach Kyne's Aegis intact."

"Hah! There ain't even lightning yet. We'll get there."

The sea hissed around the prow of an iceberg, torn loose of its fellows, bearing down on them with a rising groan. The Khajiit bristled in alarm, but the skiff seemed almost to leap from its path, nimble as a living thing. The sailor sprang up from his seat at the rudder and seized the rigging, manipulating the single sail as if it were a marionette. The skiff leapt again, dancing over the crested wave that raced to turn it over.

"Watch it there!" the sailor warned. Another rolling wave rolled a forest of splintered ice towards them like a volley of javelins. "This 'un will hurt!" he bellowed, and hung almost off the skiff's side. The mast boom swung, and the skiff spun to thrust her prow into the glittering wave. The timber creaked as it was peppered with ice. Razor fragments whirled up on the spray.

Then the skiff was over and through, knifing through clean dark waters. The sailor sat up from where he'd thrown himself flat against the hull and grinned toothily. "Phew. Sea of Ghosts, eh? Can see why, if it only cares for dead men sailing 'er, hah!"

The shores of Kyne's Aegis loomed in hopeful sight. The Khajiit flicked off an icicle that had impaled the mast. "You have really never sailed these seas before, Captain?"

"Nay, never so far north. But when you've sailed through the heart of an Abecean storm fightin' off Sea Elves, there's nothin' you can't sail." The sailor resumed his seat at the tiller, puffing on his frosted hands. "'Cept ice, o' course, when it sheets over, and the Sea'll put mind to that soon enough. What's sendin' you so far north anyway, a' this time of year, miss?"

"Something that could not wait until summer." The Khajiit's eyes glowed beneath her cowl, hard with anticipation, as the coastline reached out to them through the night.

The waters were quieter here, broken up around old rocks and the rotten vestiges of an old marina. The skiff bumped softly into port, past decrepit wharf posts and onto the pebbly shore. "Huh," said the sailor, squinting through the night. "Not much of a reception, hmm?"

"This bulwark has been abandoned for many a century, Captain." The harbour's skeleton had managed to linger, preserved by the northern rime, but the storehouse roofs had fallen in, the shipyards devoid, the sea walls long pulled apart by the relentless tide. The Khajiit gathered her sodden cloak around her and leapt lightly onto the shore, gladdened to have solid ground under her feet at last. It had been a long voyage from Solitude. "You are warm enough, Captain?"

"Huh! Hardly." The sailor's breath misted like dragon's smoke as he puffed into his numbed hands. "But I'll fire m'self up in no time. Tis a wonder how you ain't shiverin', miss. Y'won't even dry off a bit before you head off searchin'?"

"This one's task is with haste, Captain Nostibar. She is quite used to the cold. You will wait for her, yes?"

"Huh, as if we're goin' anywhere once the storm hits! I know what I signed, miss. Need to ensure this little beauty's still ship-shape after that ice beatin' anyhow." When the sailor next looked up, his passenger was gone. The Redguard chuckled to himself and swung onto shore with the mooring rope. "Good trick, that. Now, let's see about a bit of shelter."

She caught his parting murmur as she put the harbour behind her, and felt a twinkling of regret. She would have liked to inform the Captain – who alone of all the sailors at port had accepted her contract to ferry her north, despite him being a foreigner to Skyrim – if she didn't fear such information would imperil him. The less the mortals know of our activities, the better. At a run she flowed through the wind-bowed conifers that grew stubbornly against the cliffs, following the old road that curved to the north of the mountainous island, where the dragon shrine awaited.

In a much younger age, Kyne's Aegis had once been an extension of the Dragon Cult, like many of the islands that scattered the Sea of Ghosts. In later Eras it had served as a bulwark against northern invasions and the monstrous myths that prowled the Sea of Ghosts, but it had long since been cast adrift and forgotten by Haafingar's rulers. But still, lifetimes on, stories of the legendary encounters the ocean fort had known in its glory years circulated the Solitude harbour. Those whispers had drawn the Khajiit to pursue them to the island, galvanized by her previous uneasy discovery, suspecting the other's motives.

She'd given herself two hours to search; she reached the shrine in a quarter of that time. The northern half of the island was swathed in snow, but the ancient structure that towered at the northernmost point stood resolute as the mountain that had given Kyne's Aegis its name. The northern storm was bearing down quickly on the island; the air flurried with snow, and the scorching wind pinned the Khajiit's whiskers flat against her face. No chance to scent him like this. No tracks to mark his progress.

Her eyes pinned on the old shrine door, frozen ajar on its hinges. But he is already here – or already gone? Var, var, var…

The ruins consisted of only a single chamber that stretched straight down, deep into the earth. The Khajiit only wondered what ghastly rituals the predeceasing Dragon Cult had ever conducted in such a peculiar chamber, to suffuse such old and vile blood-magics across the millennia in this shrine's roots – blood-magics that had drawn the ancient vampire lord Falgravn and a host of sea giants to besiege the island in the Second Era. Even now, almost a thousand years on, she sensed traces of that power still. Only because it has been disturbed, she realized, as silt fouls threshed waters.

She stepped through the doorway and plunged into darkness. The great battle that had seen Falgravn's defeat had shattered the levels to cinders, leaving only the final and deepest intact. Ten feet, twenty, forty, sixty… The Khajiit landed noiselessly upon the temple bedrock, light as mist, and hissed the instant her feet touched the floor. The suffering this hall has known. The anguish.

Yet they were only echoes; she had arrived too late again. The vampire lord's remains lay not only blackened, but ripped apart, bones broken, skin flayed, every vestige of ancient power wrung from the body. The same foul miasma lingered, pressing the Khajiit's tongue against the back of her throat. Beneath it lay the other's scent – fresher than in Castle Thorn, but still stale with the passage of time. She wrung her claws and paced to and fro.

"Not good, not good. He grows too quickly, too fiercely, forcing aged power behind his teeth. What do you seek, little one? Surely you are not so arrogant as to think –"

Then she stopped, and her fiery eyes lit with sudden understanding. "Ah, but you do. Ambitious. Harkon is very old. But if it succeeds, what do you gain? Ziss. Only more trouble, for all of us. You embolden the Volkihar with your bent dance, shaveskin… Bah!" She lashed her tail. "The House should have dealt with you all far sooner!"

Solen had been forewarned, almost as soon as he could sit a saddle again, that his next meeting with Isran was going to be an unpleasant one. And, sure enough, no sooner had he stepped through Fort Dawnguard's doors –

"And what," greeted Isran, in his most formidable growl, "have you to say for yourself this time, Dragonborn?"

The others hung back. Fiirnaraan must have delivered a post-battle report along with the Elder Scrolls, which had been safely housed in some secret compartment in the Fort. For now, Solen couldn't care less what happened next with the wretched things.

He felt Aela's eyes on him, and so he stood to attention and offered a tentative smile. "Sorry?"

Isran's temper deepened. His glare found Illia and Agmaer, dismissed them with the barest twist of his head; they scuttled off quickly. Sounds moved easily in the fort, Solen noticed. He listened to the operatives retreat long after they'd passed beyond his sight.

Then Isran's scent filled his nose (Fiirnaraan was right, he did smell smoky) and Solen jerked forward again; the Redguard had closed the distance between them until they were barely half an armlength apart. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't throw you back out those doors."

Aela's gaze sharpened on his back, half warning, half command. Keep it together. Solen drew a deep breath. "Because –"

"Because nothing!" Isran exploded. "No Moth Priest! No Ancestor Glade! You might've read the damn Scrolls before you destroyed the place!"

Solen flinched back, his ears ringing. He'd forgotten how tender the wolf was about such things. Irileth crossed to his side in two strides. "Isran, he only followed orders –"

"Whose?" Isran's anger rounded on her.

"Mine." The Dunmer stood unflinching, her eyes as hard as his. "We faced two vampire lords in there, not one. Gendolin was weakened after he read the Scrolls –"

"He did what?!" Isran stepped back, aghast, and then his voice deepened again with fury. "And you let him?"

"We gambled," said Solen flatly. "We lost."

"You lost," Isran echoed in deep disgust. "Gendolin read the Elder Scrolls. Gained whatever he needed from them to further this prophecy he's chasing. Defeated you, the Dragonborn, and escaped. And you think that a fitting end to your mission?"

Solen felt his heartbeat quicken. "Of course not. But it's better than being dead."

"Right," said Isran, unconvincingly. His glower shifted to Irileth. "And you – I expected better of you, Housecarl. I believed you, of all this rabble, would get results."

Though she stayed silent, Irileth's anger whipped from her like Thu'um; Solen's heart spiked into a furious tempo in his ears. He lunged forward – taking even himself by surprise – and almost at once found himself restrained by two pairs of strong arms that locked him in place. Vilkas's and Njada's scents plunged into his nose, and he glared between them in outrage.

Vilkas glared back, iron-grey eyes steady and knowing. "Don't. Save it for a better argument."

Solen had almost forgotten they'd been recuperating in Fort Dawnguard when he'd set out for Falkreath Hold – almost two months of the Dawnguard's care had restored them all their old strength. He looked front again; Isran had stepped back in alarm, a hand halfway to his hammer. Solen knew his reaction had shaken the sullen Redguard – he could smell it, hear it. It shook him too. He'd favoured arguments with words, not fists, but the beast blood had no patience for banter. It sought every opportunity to quicken his temper to unchain the beast within. He'd have to be more careful, if he still wanted to recognize himself at the end of it.

"Right," Solen agreed, and relaxed his stance until the two Companions released him. "Sorry about that. Haven't slept well lately."

Isran didn't acknowledge that, but he didn't close the distance between them again. "I'm told you were bitten."

"Twice, actually. Aela bit harder." Solen hoped the ropy mess of scars her teeth had left on his neck would fade, lest Rayya get the wrong idea. He smiled grimly and half-opened his arms. "Good news is I'm a much harder man to infect. Bloodcurses don't play nice with each other."

Isran's expression didn't waver. "And the bad news?"

Solen's jaw tightened bitterly. The bad news – where to begin? It didn't matter how lightly he forced himself to perceive it, or what good he struggled to find in the situation. He harboured no ill will for Aela, or at least he tried not to – their backs had been to the wall, and between vampirism and lycanthropy Solen could safely say he'd have preferred the latter – but the consequences were all too real. The Glenmoril coven was long destroyed, and burning those witches' heads in the Harbinger's Flame was the only known cure. The beast blood was neither gift nor curse, but a compact between Prince and mortal. Hunt with His power in life, and you hunted in His power in death. When the fate of all mortals finally found Solen, he'd be called to the Huntsman's side as just another of His hounds, an animal that faced an eternity of enthrallment to the hunt. And while Solen liked hunting, he didn't like it that much.

He'd longed to return to Sovngarde ever since he'd entered Shor's hall, spoken with the heroes and Harbingers of old, recognized their valour and been recognized in turn. Such a longing had compelled him to banish the beast in the first place when he'd returned triumphant to Tamriel. Now the beast blood pounded again through his veins, the compact resumed, his damnation sealed. His soul was no longer his own; he would never return to that glorious realm. Gendolin had dragged him from the light.

At least Aela gave me the moons in the darkness. "The bad news," Solen said eventually, remembering Isran's question, "is I'll be asked if there's fur coming out of my ears again."

Njada muttered incredulously, "You got asked that?"

"All the time," Vilkas snorted, "and I don't miss it."

"There is," said Irileth, firmly, as Isran made to turn away, "one thing we learned, that we did not know before." She waited until he'd returned his darkened attention upon the party. "Gendolin is Dark Brotherhood. More than that – he was their Listener."

"And that means?" Isran grunted. The impact of the revelation was lost on him, just as it'd been on the others when they'd first learned.

Irileth glanced expectantly at Solen, who shook his head. "I was clueless too. You explain."

"Fine." She tightened her arms over her chest. "The Listener's something like a high priest to those scum, serves as the mouthpiece of their Night Mother matron. When a Black Sacrament's performed, it catches her attention and she informs the Listener, who then informs the Brotherhood and selects a Speaker to see the business arranged."

"What a bloody mouthy way to arrange a contract," Njada muttered, shaking her head. "Huh! Assassins and religion. What a time we live in."

"It's been this way for Eras," said Irileth curtly. "Hardly unusual."

"And you would know?"

"Careful, Companion. Curiosity is dangerous."

Isran's lip curled with distaste. "So, Gendolin used to lead that cult of cutthroats? No wonder he fits right in with those bloodsuckers. But I was under the impression that you destroyed the Brotherhood, Solenarren. Or did you blunder that one, too?"

Solen bit back on a sharper retort. "And how many assassins have you killed, Isran?" Not waiting for an answer, he started to pace, restless. "Between Rayya and I, we left nothing alive in that cave. Everything burned in there, even their Night Mother. At least I think it was their Night Mother… they guarded that corpse like their greatest treasure. Nearly lost an eye over it." That crazy little jester protecting the sarcophagus had been quick with those knives. Solen growled furiously and shook his head. "If Gendolin survived, it's because he wasn't there."

"Out on contract, perhaps," said Aela. "Returning to find your family dead would send anyone hunting for vengeance."

Solen laughed grimly. "Aye. They had strange ties about family, didn't they? Brother this and Mother that. A lunatic cult. To think the Thalmor turned to them to get rid of me…"

"All this tragedy puts a tear to my eye," said Isran dryly, "but I fail to see what this has to do with stopping the Volkihar."

"It may matter more than you realize," said Irileth. "Once a Black Sacrament has been accepted by the Brotherhood, it must be fulfilled. Gendolin, as Listener, would have known of the contract directly. Clearly it was accepted, else Solen would never have been tried in his bed –"

"Actually they caught me out of it. Nature called."

"– and as the last surviving member of the Brotherhood," Irileth forged on, "fulfilment of the contract falls to Gendolin. It's not just about being in the Volkihar's way, or even because Solen killed his Dark Family. Sithis has marked him to die."

"You know an awful lot about this business, Housecarl," said Vilkas warily.

"If you don't learn all you can of your rivals, you'll never get an edge on them."

"R-rivals?"

"If that's so," Isran interrupted, furrowing his brow, "then Gendolin had every chance to finish you off in Dimhollow, then again in Ancestor Glade. But he didn't."

"Aye." Solen grimaced and touched his nose. "That part I'm still not sure about. He seems insistent about a time and place for my death… I suppose that means he wants an audience. Maybe my burning his precious corpse-mother snapped him a little?"

"Take everything from a man and you only leave him with nothing to lose," said Irileth darkly. "And you have plenty more to lose than your dignity, your reputation and your soul, Solen. He doesn't just want you dead, he wants you broken."

Solen's face fell. "You're kidding me. The Day of Black Sun, everything the Volkihar have done against Skyrim –"

"That's still another jar of scrib. Remember Harkon leads the Volkihar, not Gendolin. But if it aligns with destroying everything you spent the last six years building up, of course he'll champion it." Irileth scowled at Isran. "Don't forget who Gendolin's patron is. The more suffering a scheme inflicts, the more pleased the Lord of Brutality will be."

An uneasy stillness descended over the Fort antechamber. Isran sighed and even managed to look a little worried. When he eventually turned back to Irileth, he spoke with a modicum of grudging respect. "You seem to have all this figured out."

"It's what I do." If Solen's ears weren't mistaken, Irileth seemed slightly smug.

"But as fascinating as this all is," Isran growled, "we're still right back where we started. The Volkihar's plot continues, and we're still without the means to intercept or stop it. Meanwhile the Legion is mobilizing against these bloodsuckers –"

"They're what?!"

"Ah. I should have mentioned, Dragonborn – while you were gallivanting through the mountains, a message from General Tullius arrived. The Legion is prepared to sponsor the Dawnguard's needs if we help them go on the attack." Isran arched his brow as Solen abruptly started pacing again. "This isn't good news?"

If it had gotten bad enough for Tullius to voluntarily spare his attention for it – Solen felt Aela's eyes pressing a silent warning into his back again, and he forced himself to stop and breathe. His seething restlessness would only exacerbate the beast blood. "Let me put it in perspective, Isran. How many do the Dawnguard number now?"

"Some three to four hundred."

Solen laughed bleakly. "Barely a battalion. Four hundred Dawnguard across eighteen thousand Legionnaires, across all corners of Skyrim."

"I'm aware of their numbers, Dragonborn, and their inexperience. But stationing permanent operatives in every major Hold city is a start."

"Even Riften?"

Isran exchanged a dark look with Njada and Vilkas. "I've tried," he admitted, "without success. Don't say a word, Dragonborn. I already have Florentius and your Companions hanging on my ear about it."

That's right – Vilkas and Njada had been in Riften, Gendolin's prisoners! Solen whipped around, abashed that he'd forgotten; Vilkas had already thrown up a warning hand. "He's already grilled us, Harbinger, and we've told him what we know. We weren't in Riften long."

"Well, I was off gallivanting in the mountains before you'd recovered enough to weather an Isran grilling. Brief me."

"There's really not much to tell." Vilkas scratched at the stubble greying his jaw. "Most of the time we weren't even all here. They kept us in pain until we could hardly think straight. Didn't even know we were in Riften until we smelled the fish."

"They bagged us, the cowards," Njada continued, scoffing. "Too scared to meet our eyes even with us bound hand and foot. But listen to the bastards hiss in your ear long enough, you get good at telling which ones just want to use you and which ones want to rip your throats out."

Solen frowned. "There's a difference?"

"Course there was. The thieves were just following orders." Njada arched her brow. "You figured out already that the Guild's working with the Volkihar, aye?"

Solen nodded. "But not why they're –"

"Because Gendolin's their Guildmaster, horkwit. Why else?" Njada snorted at her audience's shock-slackened faces and shrugged. "It was obvious. Whatever he said went, and they were all too full of themselves to be thralled."

Irileth cursed sharply. "Azura's eyes. That one's a well-connected fetcher, isn't he?"

Solen started pacing again. "Assassin, thief, Volkihar champion. Zeht's tears, he's got almost as many titles as I do. No wonder he's been one step ahead of us all this time, if he's had a nest of ears right outside Fort Dawnguard's door." Or in them, he realized abruptly. Isran had made his recruitment drive no secret.

"Spies did occur to me, shortly after Irileth first informed me of the Guild's partnership with that scum," said Isran, catching on to Solen's turning thoughts. "But spies need someone to meet with to pass on information. All new members are watched until I'm assured of their loyalty, and the Dragon can smell anyone who's ever been to Riften."

"Ah, so that's why you were so reluctant to let him come with us to find the Ancestor Glade. I just thought he'd grown on you." Bitterness curdled Solen's humour, however. He shook his head. "We've lost Gendolin's trail. I've lost it. See, Isran, I can take responsibility, so stop glaring. Everything's pointing towards Riften as our best chance of finding it again."

"You think the Dawnguard's forgotten we have vampires and their allies right on our doorstep? Even Tullius knows it's a city of hostages, and every operative I've sent in to get the measure of the place has never reported in again."

Solen's skin itched with ever-growing frustration. Gods, but it was hard to think straight in these stone walls. "But Gendolin said his clan would withdraw…"

"And you trust Gendolin's word?"

"No, but he strikes me as too self-assured to lie outright." The itch was spreading into his teeth. Solen breathed deeply to calm himself down. Keep it together. "But I get it. We can't kick the door down. Just like we can't go kick down Castle Volkihar's, though Onsi knows we're running out of options."

"So send in a spy," said Njada impatiently. "Come on, Harbinger, even you can figure that one out."

"I was getting to that!"

"Get there faster. Surely in all your motely militia you've got someone who can infiltrate a city, Isran."

"Sure I do. If I could trust them to learn what we need to or get out alive."

"Don't you have a Dragon that can turn invisible?" asked Vilkas carefully, as if he still didn't quite believe it. "Can't you just send him?"

"We've been over this, icebrain," said Njada impatiently. "Those cutpurses sure as Shor weren't doing all their business topside. How's a thrice-damned Dragon going to get underground?"

The heavy doors to Fort Dawnguard shuddered on their hinges. The tense party of warriors immediately turned around, hands moving automatically to weapons. After a moment the Dawnguard operative managed to get the door open and stagger through, cursing the stubborn hinges with the usual insults the Order reserved for them. "What in Oblivion are you doing back in here?" growled Isran, as the door banged shut after Mogrul. "Your patrol doesn't finish for another hour."

The Orc strode over, unabashed. "Two vampires in the valley – wanting words, not a fight."

"We're past discussion. Get rid of them."

"They insisted. Left Vori and Estridde guarding 'em in the sun."

Instinctively the council glanced at the oculus in the Fort ceiling. Sunlight still flowed merrily into the chamber; sunset was still hours away. It'd be some time yet before the vampires would be at their full strength, which the warrior collective supposed made their visit to the haven of the Dawnguard more notable than others. "It's not another of Gendolin's messages, is it?" Solen scowled, his hand lingering on Eldródr's hilt.

Mogrul shrugged. "Gendolin's name came up, yeah. And something about the prophecy. But they said he didn't send 'em."

At this perplexing news, Isran growled, "Then who did?"

"Themselves, apparently. One of 'em's a Wood Elf, but she ain't Gendolin. Said something about ravens. The other one called herself Serana."

The three-week journey back to Fort Dawnguard had given Solen time enough to reaccustom to the constant flood of new perceptions his heightened senses inflicted upon him. He still wondered how he'd managed to put up with such noise for over a year, let alone how he would for the rest of his life – with heartbeats hammering in his ears and a plethora of scents constantly scorching his tongue, it was a miracle how any werewolf could think straight in anything less than the wilderness, where there was room for their senses to breathe.

He felt much less cramped once he was running down the path after Mogrul with a crowd of Dawnguard in tow – the world came alive around him, the air crackling with the chill of Frostfall, breezy with the whisper of leaves and branches. The wind blew into his face, and Solen sniffed deeply, pulling one scent apart after another. Not that sweet woodrot and leaf mould could mask vampiric odour – it cut through it all like a knife, worse than cold. It was repulsively numbing, like a sodden sponge forced down the back of his throat, followed by the darker undertone of something so indescribably vile that it instinctively twisted his lips into a snarl. Movarth and his coven had stunk like this, curdling the blood in his veins until his bestial soul ached with astounding hatred. Solen half wondered if he'd even manage to restrain himself.

No. I have to, and I will. I am in control, not the beast. So long as the anger of the man wouldn't get the better of him. The sight of Serana quickened his heart in an ugly way, and Solen fought down the desirable urge to Shout the vampire lord to dust at once. She and her Bosmeri companion already stood surrounded, Vori's and Estridde's loaded crossbows aimed straight at their hearts, a pair of Gunmar's trained hounds rigid with attention. Not snarling, though, Solen noted. The dogs stood alert but unhostile, as did the two vampires dappled in the Frostfall sun.

Solen still drew Eldródr. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here, my lady."

"Ah, charming," said Serana dryly. "I was warned you were a man of a soldier's etiquette, Dragonborn."

"Can't blame him," said Aela, who stood with an arrow pinned to her cheek. "You've caught the Harbinger at a very bad time. I'd suggest you choose your next words carefully." Behind her, Vilkas and Njada drew their weapons with undisguised intention, Mogrul pulled out a mace headed of solid silver, and Irileth's adamantine longsword flourished from its scabbard.

Serana's eyes darted warily between them. "You have no cause to trust me, nor I you. I understand that. But if you want to stop Gendolin and my father, you need to hear us out."

"Stop him!" Solen exclaimed. "You looked awfully chummy with your boyfriend last I saw!"

"Ho, real mature. That was before I realized what Gendolin really intends with the prophecy of the Tyranny of the Sun – what you call the Day of Black Sun." Serana dared to step forward, and eight warriors poised at once to attack. "I learned what the Scrolls said of the prophecy right alongside Gendolin – and you'll hear it, all of it, if you and your vampire hunter friends can restrain yourselves long enough to talk."

To learn of the prophecy – to discover what the Dawnguard had been chasing for half a year – to have it offered up willingly, now, it seemed far too good to be true. Yet with time against them, they were in no position to refuse the chance. Still, vampires didn't sweat or have heartbeats, making them almost impossible for werewolves to read – which probably contributed to their instinctual dislike, Solen realized. He growled to himself, uncertain of his judgement while the beast was filling his thoughts with visions of ripping the vampire interlopers limb from limb. "Vilkas, Njada? Counsel?"

"Hear them out," said Njada immediately. "We can always kill 'em afterward."

"She wasn't in Riften," said Vilkas, sensing Solen's vague surprise, "or Winterhold, or anywhere between. I can wait to quarrel."

"Aela?"

The Huntress's eyes were flinty with disdain. "I don't often lose prey." She was silent a moment, then reflected grudgingly, "But even the Huntsman respects prey that can lose the hunter. I'll do the same. For now."

"How courteous of you," Serana sneered. Seemed that the contempt between vampire and werewolf was mutual.

"Housecarl?"

Irileth's lip was curled, but her sword remained still. "Isran can deal with this lot."

"Fiirnaraan?"

Only Aela and Irileth didn't flinch with fright as Fiirnaraan rippled neatly into view over Solen's shoulder. The commotion in the canyon had stirred him early from his nest, and the wind had carried the Dragon's earthy scent towards them. "Oh, yes, Dovahkiin," he said, eyeing the stunned vampires with apparent delight. "The Dimhollow woman will change the game."

"Which reminds me –" Solen levelled his sword at Serana. "– one, what in Oblivion were you doing stuffed in there with an Elder Scroll in the first place? And two –" He swung on the Bosmer vampire. "– who in Oblivion are you? You don't smell like a Volkihar. Or look like one." It'd taken him a while to decipher, but different bloodstrains had different scents.

"Because I'm not," said the Bosmer curtly. She was clad in Bretic fashion, dark studded leather without the least accent of bats in the design, and her shock of violently red hair contrasted sharply with her milk-white skin. "I'm Gwendis of House Ravenwatch, and I'm here for the same reason all of you are; to stop the Volkihar from using a Daughter of Coldharbour to put out the sun. Which, I believe, also answers the first question."

"Frankly I don't know what shocks me more," said Solen, once the ruckus had died down. "That Serana is the daughter of Lord Harkon himself, or that Isran knew about a vampire clan and left them alone."

The others murmured such vehement agreement that Isran was actually inclined to huff. "I said I'd heard of House Ravenwatch, and frankly I didn't think any were left."

"Think again," said Gwendis, sprawled against the battlements as if the conversation concerned nothing more exciting than a snowberry harvest. "We're not big on numbers. But we're stubborn."

Partly because no one wanted to conduct talks with strange vampires out of the sun, and partly because Fiirnaraan very much wanted to be a part of them, they had moved their council up to the Fort ramparts. "Oh?" said the Dragon, looking curiously among the gathered faces below. "It is not usual for there to be good sosvulonahhe, Dovahkiin?"

"If by that you mean vampire, it's perfectly usual if both parties are willing," said Gwendis. "It may surprise you all, but blood-drinking, flesh-eating bloodcursed can learn to live in harmony with unsullied mortals." This was followed by a most pointed glance at Aela and Solen, who had to concede a grumbling agreement. "Hence why House Ravenwatch has a long history."

"Doing what, exactly?" frowned Vilkas.

"Teaching control. Dismantling threats. Ensuring clans like the Volkihar don't fall out of balance with the rest of the world."

"Huh!" scoffed Florentius, who'd come along to listen in. "Balance – there is no place in the world for fiends as you, those born from the loins of the foulest progenitor, who make mockery of Arkay's sanctity with every un-breath –"

"Not now, Florentius," Isran growled. "We agreed to hear them out."

"Wonderful," Serana muttered, "they have a priest."

"Florentius, even your damn god should recognize the value of an enemy's enemy," said Irileth impatiently, "so swallow your pride with the rest of us or fetch off."

Florentius looked stiffly at Gwendis, who arched her brow, and at Serana, standing in the wing-shadow Fiirnaraan thoughtfully cast for her, then folded his arms sulkily. "Very well. Though Arkay and I wonder how the noble Dawnguard has degraded into such a company."

"We can't all be glistening paragons of holy pureness," said Solen, a bit irritably, although he sort of saw the Priest's point. Vampires, werewolves, a Housecarl, the Companions Circle, an Arkay priest, Isran and a Dragon hardly embodied the usual council of war (Mogrul had dutifully resumed his patrol).

"We done complaining over the obvious?" Gwendis asked, and at the resonant silence that answered her, continued without preamble. "My House has had our eyes on the Volkihar for a while. We make a point of keeping watch over the old clans, especially the quiet ones like Lord Harkon's. When the vampiric attacks spiked across the province, my sister and I crossed the border to investigate. We thought the Gray Host, at first, making another attempt –"

"I'm sorry, the what?" said Solen.

"The Gray Host!" exclaimed Florentius. "Only the most abominable alliance to ever defile the face of Tamriel! Arkay remembers well the sacrifice of brave Saint Pelin at the Bangkorai gates –"

"Well, at least someone here knows his history," said Gwendis, dryly, and Florentius seemed torn whether to be pleased or affronted by the vampire's compliment. "They were an old alliance of vampires, werewolves and abominations founded by the Verkarthi. Shocking, I know, we can barely stand each other's stench. But it's happened twice, with the most recent attempt being a thousand years ago –"

"Tu'whacca's lantern, you're a thousand years old?"

"Are you going to keep interrupting? Anyway, we quickly realized this was Volkihar activity, when we learned Dimhollow Crypt had been unsealed and Harkon's daughter freed." Gwendis frowned at Serana. "House Ravenwatch has known of this prophecy for Eras, though we didn't know the specifics of it until recently."

"Nor did I," said Serana quietly, as the conversation shifted at last to what had brought them to the Canyon at all. "My father is a prideful man, obsessed with power and rule. He couldn't tolerate being lesser to anything, not even to the sun. When he discovered this prophecy, this 'Tyranny of the Sun', it seemed like the answer. Suddenly everything became about its fulfilment. Not even his own family compared to its importance."

Unmistakable bitterness scorched the vampire's voice. "Not that my mother was much better. As fiercely as my father fought to fulfil the prophecy, my mother fought against him. They had… different ideas about what the prophecy meant for our kind. My father thought a world of eternal darkness would see us all flourish. My mother believed it would assure our extinction."

"Well, of course it would," Solen snorted. "A world without sunlight – did Harkon forget plants need it to grow or something? Or that his prey eats plants, and the animals that eat plants?"

"I'm pretty sure my mother reasoned that it'd draw too much attention to vampirekind, but that's… also a pretty good point."

Fiirnaraan made a strange keening noise in his throat and flattened his webbed frills in distress. "Oh, oh. A world without Bormahu, a world of silence? Oh, vokul su'um, vokul vol. It cannot be, it mustn't be, what wickedness to play!"

"Calm down, buddy." Solen patted a claw. "The sun's not going anywhere, don't worry."

"For now," said Serana, in anything but encouraging tones. "I thought the Scrolls were the key to my father achieving the prophecy. It was fragmented across them, in pieces. I thought that was why my mother hid me in that crypt at all, to guard one while she hid the other (So that's where the third one came from, Solen thought). But they're not. They were just a means to an end. Like me."

"Meaning?" growled Isran.

Serana drew a slow breath. "That there is a way to darken the sun. That the Blood of Coldharbour's Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon. That the weapon that will see it done… we've learned where it is."

Vilkas grunted. "Poetic ramble. Just what in Ysgramor's hairy breeches is a 'Coldharbour's Daughter'?"

"A pure-blooded vampire," said Gwendis, "who received the gift directly from the progenitor of vampirekind. Like Serana's mother, and Serana herself."

Isran reached for his weapon. "All I'm hearing is killing you is going to ensure Harkon can't make his prophecy come true."

Gwendis straightened off the rampart in one swift motion. "It's bad luck to attack a guest under your own roof, old man."

"But we are not under the roof, we are upon it," Fiirnaraan observed.

Solen drew Eldródr with a sweep. "Excellent point."

Serana bared her fangs. "Go ahead, then. If that's all the restraint you hunters have in you. I'm only one Daughter. Gendolin already knows where to find the other. All you'll do is delay him."

"Now I'm confused," said Njada, with her sword half-drawn. "Is Gendolin the one going after the eternal night, or Harkon?"

"Does it matter?" scowled Vilkas. "They'll perish all the same."

"No!" It was Florentius, amazingly, who interrupted them. Even he seemed surprised at his own daring. "Wait," he said, as astonished heads turned his way. "Arkay believes – we both believe – that this servant of evil has more to say. It's… it's as you said, isn't it, Irileth? The value of an enemy's enemy."

Irileth's hand, clasping the hilt of the broken sword, slowly relaxed. "For once you're talking sense, Florentius. Stand down, you sons of netches. We're not done here yet."

Most unwillingly, the riled Dawnguard and Companions returned to a tense neutrality. Fiirnaraan blinked curiously between them all. "I do not understand. It is still the time of talking, yes?"

"For now," Solen growled, trying to ignore the goading prickling in his neck. "Let me see if I'm understanding this right, Serana. Your mother lovingly stuffed you in a box underground to thwart a prophecy you didn't even have all the knowledge of. Then, after your dear saviour rescued you from Dimhollow, you both merrily decided that instead of leaving this crazy prophecy scattered to the mists of time, you'd put it back together and see what happened?"

"It wasn't like that!" Serana snapped. "When Gendolin brought me back to my father's castle, it sent my father into action and the Volkihar into a frenzy. The whole clan came awake as it hasn't in Eras, and I thought Gendolin…" She turned away with a soft hiss. "I thought better of him."

"Aw. Lover's spat?"

"Oh, go chase your tail."

"Let's not get distracted," said Irileth tartly, intervening between the glowering pair. "Start with how that larcenous cutthroat fell in with the Volkihar at all."

"It was my father's reward for my safe return," said Serana, "and Gendolin welcomed the gift like no other I've ever seen. He might have been the youngest at court, but seemingly in weeks he became one of the strongest."

"How?" interrupted Isran. "Gendolin's only been a bloodsucker for… what, six months? Should still be a fledgling."

"Redwater Den," Irileth realized sharply. "That artifact he found there –"

"He didn't find any artifact, he brought one," Serana corrected. "My father sent him to refill the Bloodstone Chalice, to prepare the clan for its… ascendancy. I don't know exactly what it does, but I know it ties to our power, our potential of power. Whatever our gifts, it multiplies them. Flesh alchemy. Magic. Infection."

"Gods' blood." Florentius drew a swift sign of prayer across his chest. "All those poor souls…"

"That can't be all," Solen muttered. "Gifted or not, my Thu'um should've popped Gendolin's head clean off, but he wasn't even cross-eyed."

"It's not," said Gwendis darkly. "Gendolin's sudden rise to power isn't natural, it's stolen, from other vampire lords – powerful, ancient, long-dead ones. My sister Adusa-daro has searched their resting places and found them husked."

"Husked?" Aela echoed.

"Drained dry of all their essence." Gwendis shuddered with distaste. "Right down to the marrow."

Fiirnaraan hissed softly. "It is like how you grow your Thu'um upon the souls of my kin, Dovahkiin?"

"I'd love to say no, but it'd explain a lot if it's true," said Solen grimly, wincing as his neck throbbed with memory. "Remind me what made you decide this clearly power-hungry maniac would make for a perfect travelling buddy?"

"Because he had my father's trust," said Serana, sparing him an ugly look, "and the freedom to act without suspect. Well, no more than my father ever suspected the rest of his own court. But Gendolin believed if we discovered the means of the prophecy first, we could ensure my father never fulfilled it." Her eyes flashed bitterly and she shook her head. "Believe me, I thought we were working together against him, to take destiny into our own hands. Now I know I was just a pawn to him too. Gendolin has no intention of stopping my father, or the prophecy. I believe he wants to take Lord Harkon's place and ensure it happens."

"Wonderful," Njada snorted. "The circle of insanity continues."

"It's not a circle. It's a matter of time. I've bought you some by… 'disappearing', but not much. I daresay every Volkihar in Skyrim has noticed my absence by now."

"Have you?" Aela frowned. "You said there were two Daughters."

Serana grimaced. "My mother's not… exactly easy to get to. Not right now, at least. But that could change. You've seen how strong Gendolin's become, how bold my clan's grown. He's searching for Auriel's Bow even as we speak."

Isran scowled, ignoring Florentius's gasp of horror. "The weapon from the prophecy, I take it?"

"The one that'll end the Tyranny of the Sun, yes." Serana looked among them all. "I know I haven't exactly given any of you cause to trust me prior to this, but trust that right now we share enemies. Gwendis and I wouldn't have thrown ourselves upon your generosity for anything less."

Isran's beard bristled. "I don't trust. I certainly don't trust you."

"Then believe me when I say that if Gendolin gets his hands on Auriel's Bow, we all lose."

A flurry of dark and uneasy looks were exchanged. Gwendis set her hand on Serana's shoulder. Solen folded his arms and turned away.

"I think," Isran rumbled ominously, "you know what needs to be done, Dragonborn."

Solen didn't turn around. "Still trust me to screw up your day, do you?"

"Gendolin's your enemy more than he's mine. That's saying something."

Well, that wasn't a 'no'. Solen felt every eye on his back. "The Bow," he prompted Serana flatly. "Where is it?"

"The Scrolls showed it somewhere deep in the north Haafingar mountains."

"On the other side of the province." All fire had vanished from Solen's voice; the others looked among themselves, oddly perturbed. "It's already been three weeks. Gendolin might have already found it."

"Maybe," Serana allowed. "But the sun's still shining."

"And we don't know you're lying because…?"

"You don't." Her voice hardened. "But I didn't sleep through four Eras for no reason."

Another pause. They felt the last of the sun slip off their foreheads. The shadows on the ramparts had stretched long in the sunset.

"You're coming with me." It wasn't a question.

"Of course." She wasn't surprised. "If Gendolin isn't already looking for me, the rest of the clan will be. I'm done waiting around to be found again."

"And you'll stop that." Solen swung around, and all beheld the fury that had hardened him, stripping all the familiar from his voice. "Stop pretending that you weren't complicit in the suffering your kind have thrown on my country. That you don't assume our mortal lives are feeble and expendable. That every atrocity you and Gendolin committed together in the pursuit of victory was for a greater good."

"What?" Serana's voice hardened with outrage. "I didn't –"

"Shut up. It didn't matter how involved you were when Gendolin planned my torments and conspired to destroy everything I ever stood for. When he turned the Dragons feral with hunger and used his own mortal subordinates to sell out every city in Skyrim. When he attacked my wife and tortured my shield-siblings and held his fangs to a city's throat. Because that was all him, wasn't it? Not Harkon. I'm nothing to your father and everything to his champion, and if my downfall ties in with the world I saved, it'll only make for a better song. You were his companion for long enough. The signs were all there. If you didn't see them, you chose not to. You knew, Daughter of Coldharbour, and did nothing. So long as it got the results you needed, right?" Solen's eyes flashed. "Your parents taught you well."

Serana's mouth snapped shut. She looked away.

"Solen," said Aela, cautiously. She'd never seen him like this.

But for once, Solen was unapologetic. His glare remained on Serana. "When you prove you're prepared to sacrifice," he said, "as all of us have sacrificed, then I'll call you friend and ally. Until then, you're not. You're a resource. An asset. And if you make me regret my sudden outburst of tolerance and generosity, by Leki's blade I will make you pay for it."

Without waiting for an answer, or even a dismissal, Solen whirled around and stalked off back into the Fort, leaving a stunned audience behind him. Serana stood still. Florentius murmured a prayer. Fiirnaraan lowered the frills on his back.

"Well," said Gwendis finally, and looked among them all with both eyebrows raised. "Is he usually so pleasant?"

"That wasn't him," said Irileth at once, voicing all the Circle's thoughts aloud.

"Hmph," said Isran, folding his arms. "Maybe that man has the makings of a Dawnguard after all."

Which brought no one any pleasure to hear.

[A/N]: And so ends Act 2 - our sinister prophecy revealed, shifting allegiances, new revelations - and at last, the Ravenwatch make their formal entrance into the tale! And still there are twists and turns to make, even as we barrel towards the Dawnguard's final missions and, surely, inevitable confrontation...

For those of you unfamiliar, House Ravenwatch are a major faction during the Rivenspire, Western Skyrim and Markarth storylines in ESO, where they focus on using their gifts in a more beneficial way for Tamriel's mortality. They were much too cool not to include in a plot about a vampire menace, especially in Skyrim, where they've worked before.

Any thoughts for how this story's turned so far? Any highlights or surprises or suspicions proved correct? I'd love to hear them!