Dragon from Ash

by Mortigaunt

"I may be Dunmer, but I am the Dragonborn, and I will defend your people whether they like it or not." Expands on Skyrim. Features fleshed out characters, content from earlier games and apocrypha, alternate choices and consequences for actions. WARNING: Contains mature content, including sexual themes, violence, and in-depth examinations of lore.

10. Chapter 10 - Stories

Chapter 10 – Stories

Hear the words of the Ancestors, and heed the Sermons of Grace, for they are named seven times and seven ways—

VALOR—Thank you for your valor, honored ancestors. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear.

DARING—Thank you for your daring, honored ancestors. I shall not shun risk, nor hide behind the mask of cautious counsel, for fortune favors the bold.

JUSTICE—Thank you for your justice, honored ancestors. I shall be neither cruel nor arbitrary, for fair dealing earns the love, trust and respect of our people.

COURTESY—Thank you for your courtesy, honored ancestors. I shall speak neither hurtful nor harsh word, but shall speak respectfully, even of my enemies, for temperate words may turn aside anger.

PRIDE—Thank you for your pride, honored ancestors. I shall not doubt myself, or my people, or my gods, and shall insist upon them, and my ancient rights.

GENEROSITY—Thank you for your generosity, honored ancestors. I shall neither hoard nor steal, nor encumber myself with profitless treasures, but shall share freely amongst house and hearth.

HUMILITY—Thank you for your humility, honored ancestors. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thank for my place in the greater world.

[This segment of the Hierographa (priestly writings) was first compiled by Archcanon Tholer Saryoni of the Tribunal Temple, and enjoyed massive success as the most popular of the Tribunal Temple's texts. Focused on seven individual graces exemplified by Lord Vivec, it was equal parts moralization and Tribunal propaganda. In 4E 14, during the Reconciliation, the seven graces were recognized to be seven aspects of a singular unifying Grace that drives and elevates the Dunmer people. Revisions were performed with the blessing of the Council of Reconciliation, and also replaced the mention of Lord Vivec with reference to our honored ancestors. These changes reflect the evolving shape of the Dunmer faith, and the new editions of the Sermons have strengthened the unity of the Dunmer community.]

Scrawled in the margins: "Saryoni was a pretentious hack who could had his tongue so far up Vivec's bunghole he could barely speak, but the bastard could turn a phrase!"

Saryoni's Sermons, Revised (published by New Temple as Sermons of Grace) [Annotated text from archived Temple manuscript, scribe unknown]

---

Velandryn reached down, and the vampire took his hand. With a single movement, he pulled back and upwards, and she rose gracefully to her feet once more. Once there, she turned and stomped off down the slope. He followed, taking longer strides than normal to pull himself even with her.

"You know, there is a story you might be interested in." In spite of what he had told Lydia, he was enjoying himself. She was still a vampire and a menace, of course, and he would likely have to cut her down at the end of this, but there was no reason he couldn't have some fun along the way.

Serana did not turn her head, but her pace slowed slightly. "Oh?" In her position, he would have been desperate for any scrap of folklore or history, no matter how garbled, to glean the shape of this new world.

"A certain…scholar was out for a walk along…the city's wall, late one night. He had seen the stars a thousand times, of course, but every time he witnessed their beauty he was overcome anew. He walked, head back, reveling in the dance of the Lady and marveling at the Atronach menacing the Apprentice. He was so intent on the stars, however, that he soon…erm…fell of the wall and broke his neck." Velandryn had realized, halfway through the story, that there was no way he could end it satisfactorily without first giving Serana a thorough briefing on Dunmer religious belief. As it was, he had to finish the story on a lame note, before the Ordinators and the guarherd got involved.

Serana did turn around then, once he had stopped speaking. "That was a terrible story."

"I know."

"Could you not tell it correctly because it would have revealed information about your people, and given me the answer as to what kind of elf you are?"

"Perhaps, but it would also have made no sense to you."

She stopped walking for a second. Behind them and off to the side, Lydia continued trudging through the snow. "However, you think I should take away from that that looking at the stars is folly?"

"Look all you like, but know where your feet are, whether planted or moving. Or is that not why I had to help you up just then?"

Serana pushed her way onward through the snow, though at least now her eyes were fixed on the path before them, such as it was. They had been picking their way down the hillside for the better part of the past hour, and in the predawn light it could be difficult to tell the difference between shadows and treacherous patches of icy rock or earth. While it was not as treacherous as it had been when they first left the cave, it still required a goodly amount of focus to keep one's feet. A vampire, though, should not have that issue, given that they supposedly had excellent night vision. Unless, of course, they had been a little too focused on the stars.

Velandryn sighed. I suppose I cannot truly blame her. If this was his first time out of doors since the First Era, he would doubtless be just as entranced by every little thing. And it was a beautiful sky, full of stars and slowly changing from the black of the Void to a pale grey. The great moon Masser hung low to the north while pale Secunda was half-hidden by the mountains to their west. No clouds marred the scene, and the wind was blowing crisp and clean. Ordinarily he would be concerned about the cold, or in some other way too preoccupied to enjoy this time. He woke early out of habit, but aside from the dawn itself, he had not, during his time so far in Skyrim, taken in the early hours of the day. Holy hours, of the in-between. Now though, with dozens of potions downed over the last several hours, he was simultaneously feeling so many effects, aftereffects and withdrawals that he wasn't sure he would feel the cold until something actually froze and fell off. So, he kept an eye on his surroundings and enjoyed the walk down the mountainside, a distant throbbing behind his eyes and a touch of lightheadedness the potions' lingering gifts to him.

He could hear Lydia a pace or so behind him, moving at a steady walk, seemingly unfazed by all of the weight she was carrying. The woman was a pack guar, to be sure, burdened by armor and weapons, both hers and not. When he had slipped and nearly lost his balance exiting the cave, unbalanced by the heavy ebony maul he had taken from the draugr commander, she had plucked it from his hands and tromped off, muttering something about being 'sworn to carry your burdens.' It felt strange having the fate of another put in his hands like this, but she seemed perfectly content with her role, and with following his orders. For all that she grumbled, he knew that if she truly had problems with him, she would make herself known.

Now, she nodded companionably when their eyes met, apparently thoroughly enjoying this moonlit stroll down a mountainside. She doesn't even look tired. He was coming to like the Nord woman more than he would ever have thought possible upon their first meeting, and was immensely glad that it was she that had ended up as his housecarl. Dutiful, dangerous, and willing to get hit so that I don't. The ideal Nord. There was no venom in the jab, however; it was more force of habit than anything now, at least when talking about his sworn sword. Or to her.

Ahead, he saw Serana on the lip of a ledge and was struck with an odd compulsion to join her. She was standing still, arms at her sides, staring out fixedly and chewing on her lip. As he approached, she flinched away. Puzzled, he moved closer. "Are you alright?" He felt a moment of genuine worry before he remembered who she was. What she is.

"I'm fine." Her tone was polite enough, but she was obviously upset. He recalled her face when he helped her up, the way her eyes would not meet his and the brusque movement with which she had brushed him off. It struck him suddenly how important this was for her, her first taste of freedom after so long beneath the earth. She had slipped and fallen, something no vampire should do. A small thing, but still…Could it be shame? He tried to imagine being in her was disturbingly easy, for he did not have to reach far to imagine being a stranger among uncomfortable allies.

As they stood there, side by side but far away, Velandryn pondered what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Were she man or mer, he would have tried to bridge the distance between them; were she a vampire under almost any other circumstances, they would doubtless be locked in a fight to the death. As it stood, he was at a loss. What did you say to someone who would be an enemy once your time together was done?

And when I slay her, will it do me harm if I was kind?

Courtesy was one of the Seven Virtues and an aspect of Grace. Even if he had to kill her on the morrow, there was no reason to be cruel today.

"My first morning out-of-doors in Skyrim, I woke up wrapped around a campfire." Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Serana turn slightly. "I was on the road with two soldiers, and we had to camp alongside a mountain path. All three of us were fairly certain the other two hated him, and we were all probably more than a little right. I got second watch, so I find myself sitting there in the dead of night, freezing alive, when I see some red berries poking through the snow, and remember half a lesson on alchemy I heard once upon a time."

"Oh no, you didn't." He had thought of the eyes of the Volkihar vampires as yellow, but in the half-light, hers seemed more akin to gold. "If they're the ones I'm thinking of, my mother called them…ah, how would it be… firebane."

"I found out later they are called snowberries. However, when I ate them and felt what little heat I had suddenly denied me? I did not much care about the name. When my watch was done, the one who took over for me gave me his cloak out of pity, since I had…lost mine. Before setting up camp, of course, I was acting the perfect…mer…puffed up and self-assured so they would not figure out I had no clue what I was doing. I think they might have figured it out when I stuck my hands in the fire to get away from the cold. One of them later mentioned it was 'a fine evening.'"

As he glanced over to her, Serana worked her mouth, hiding what looked suspiciously like a smile. "Just so you know, you're a lousy storyteller."

"Am I? Was there something you didn't understand?"

"Other than the part where you almost told me what kind of elf you are? No, but you just…tell it. There's no flair, no joy in the tale. You need to draw me in, make me want to hear it be told. You had the advantage, that I know nothing of this period. You should have peppered it with tantalizing hints about the soldiers and who they serve. Make every description a sliver of hidden knowledge, and leave me hungry for the rest." She had leaned in towards him as she spoke, caught up in her reverie, but broke off suddenly and returned to studying the scenery. "I get what you were saying though, and I'm glad to know I'm not the only one."

"We rarely are." He was struck again by the oddity of sharing camaraderie with a vampire, but embraced it rather than shy away. It is a noble thing to show courtesy to one's enemies, for it is in fields tilled by strife that virtue thrives. He was fairly certain it was Prelate Gathran who had said it, in one of the meditations on Saryoni. The third? As he tried to remember which of the holy tracts had contained the passage he was thinking of, the sun finally showed itself to the east, peering over the mountains that framed the lightening sky. Light streamed over them, and just as quickly Serana had pulled a hood over her head and a scarf over her face.

He turned to regard in her new wrappings. "You said you could travel by day." He knew vampires shunned daylight, but if she could not have sunlight on her skin or some such nonsense, there would be conflict much sooner than he had anticipated.

"I can, it is just…unpleasant." She said no more, and Velandryn did not ask. Lydia had stopped a ways behind them, apparently giving them their privacy. But not out of crossbow range, I would wager. He had not missed the way that she kept a weapon close to hand at all times, and he was not about to fault her for it. While he doubted Serana would try to attack either one of them, she had been asleep for a very long time, and her hunger could well pose an issue. At the moment, though, there was nothing he could do short of making an ultimatum that could well turn her against him. So, he turned and watched the rising sun.

Azura's grace was encompassed in the rising and setting of the sun. Her power lay in the in-between, in the border between Things that were. Her homilies gloried in the uncertain future and ten thousand shades of grey, and her priests encouraged a healthy inquiry into all things. It had been Azura who had sent the Incarnate, Lord Nerevar reborn, to cleanse the lies of the False Tribunal and restore the Dunmer to the True Path. While some whispered that she had been greatly weakened by Vivec's treachery, all agreed that she was the guiding light of the Dunmer, and the most benevolent of the Triune gods. Boethiah might cherish the martial and uncompromising spirit of his people and Mephala surely took joy in the cunning and secret wisdom they displayed, but it was Azura alone who loved them for the beauty of their souls. While he acknowledged all three of the Triune equally in his meditations, at this moment more than any other, the instant of the broken dawn, he could feel the love of the Twilight Queen.

"You're Chimer, aren't you?" Her words caught him in the mid-thought, and he could only look at her dumbly, hoping his surprise was not too visible. She wasn't fully correct, of course; there had been no Chimer for four thousand years, but she was as close as one could reasonably expect given her knowledge. He had to admit, he was grudgingly impressed.

After a heartbeat, he found his voice. "What exactly gave you that impression?" Of course, there was no need to make this easy, or show any more cards than he was sure she knew that he was holding. Whatever this was, it was a long way from friendship.

"It was simple, once I realized I had been approaching the problem wrong. I was trying to figure out what you were based on appearance, and conforming my guesses to that framework. Once I stopped factoring in your look, it all started to fit. You clearly expected me to be able to figure out what you were, meaning that your people and the Nords had some contact thousands of years ago. If you were some sort of strange elf from abroad, you would have responded differently. More importantly, you acted like a Chimer, once I let myself see it. Proud, determined, insistent on your right to pursue your goals. You are skilled at magic, but show signs of martial aptitude, and, most importantly, are extremely well versed in Daedric summoning. That blade you used against the draugr was superbly realized, which either indicates a high degree of mastery or an exceptionally adept connection to Oblivion. The Changed Elves worship Daedra. That's why your people left Aldmeris, right?" She had turned away from the dawn, and was talking slower now, ticking off points on her fingers. "Given the way you use spells, you are at best a skilled amateur at battle magic, but you have experience with spellcraft, meaning a culture that focuses on use of magic as part of life. Again, though, that could be many elven cultures, especially since it's been four thousand years. Then, then you said one word, and that did it." He had only to see someone's eyes to know if they were laughing; inside she must have been roaring with mirth. "You said you were acting the perfect…and then you stopped. You said self-assured was the watchword, the thing that would have been typical of your people." She paused, and then continued. "I once saw a Chimer brought before my father. She had been captured in some battle during the conquest of Morrowind, and somehow had made her way to us. We fed on her, of course, but I'll never forget how she raged. Not for the capture, or the feeding, but for worshiping Molag Bal. She invoked 'The Three;' I still remember that. A face, contorted with rage, screaming that we would be brought low by Azura and our plans would collapse, that we worshipped the weakness and would burn in the face of strength. You reminded me of her, in some way I cannot quite identify. Also, you use fire more than normal, both in magic and in your speech. Chimer are attracted to fire, everyone knows that."

Let the soul of the faithful be borne to the Far Realms, she who died shouting truth to the face of the sharmat. "A weak case; no arbiter would convict based on such evidence, though you are not wrong. You should know, your nameless Chimer was right. Molag Bal is to be respected as a cunning foe, but he should not be worshipped."

She leaned in. "Okay, I'll argue with that later. But you are, you're Chimer? What, what happened to you? Were you cursed? Were you born like that?"

Velandryn smiled, a human one, letting his lips curl up. No teeth, no intimidation, just smug pleasure. "Now that is a good story. I hope you have something to offer in return." He had an idea about what that could be, as he was growing more and more curious about that bundle on her back. For now, though, he left their perch and continued trudging down the slope. "Lydia, how far to Heljarchen?"

"Maybe three hours, maybe more, my—"

"Good, I look forward to a hot meal." He slightly regretted interrupting her so rudely, but he would prefer that Serana not learn he was a thane just yet. Truth be told, he did not care overmuch that it be kept secret, but she had figured out the essentials of his race from a few dropped words, and that stung. He would be damned if he gave any more of himself up so easily.

---

It turned out that Lydia's estimate of 'maybe three hours' to Heljarchen was wildly optimistic, and 'maybe more' was putting it mildly; Serana saw the shapes of the structures from afar around midday, and it was early afternoon before they entered the town proper. Well, as much as Heljarchen could be said to have a 'town proper.' An Atmoran totem-stone stood tall and solitary in the middle of an open space; Serana could discern Bear, Fox, and Dragon upon its weather beaten face. It was surrounded by a dozen or so buildings, only one with a second story, and that seemingly a barn of some sort, given the hay visible through the open door. Everything was made of stone and wood, and the roofs looked to be nothing more than packed earth and thatching; efficient building materials, no doubt, but dreadfully boring. A part of her had been hoping for something exotic, given how long had passed and the oddities of her companions. This town, though, would not have been out of place in her father's lands before she had left. And the people looked little different than she remembered, wearing rough, sturdy clothing and carrying well-made but simple tools. If Heljarchen was anything like her father's towns, there would be a smith responsible for those tools, while other trades were worked part-time by villagers who had inherited the responsibility or shown a particular aptitude. Everyone worked the earth, with the fields and resources belonging to all. As they had passed through the fields surrounding the buildings, she made note of the people: Nords to the last, barely unchanged from her day. And so things change a little, but mostly stay the same.

Velandryn made his way towards a building built more solidly than most; a squat drum of heavy stone was pressed up against an exterior wall, tools and mechanisms scattered around it. This had to be the forge, and though she could not see any fire, she could feel it even through the walls. Vampires were sensitive to heat, and the amount it radiated made Serana a bit queasy even at this distance. A man in heavy leathers was working metal on an anvil, but he looked up as the three made their approach.

"You return." The smith's words were short, and Serana got the feeling he was the sort of man who preferred spending his days working rather than talking. She had grown into the habit of noticing the necks of those she encountered, and this man had enough thick muscle cording his that she would have a devil of a time working her way to the blood.

"Yes. Our horses?" Clearly, Velandryn was not in the mood for conversation either. Or, she amended, he recognized his partner's desire to have this done with.

"Fed. Watered. Ready to ride. Only needs coin." He held out a huge hand expectantly.

Velandryn looked down at it. "I paid you, and well. We agreed upon payment for two days, and that comes this evening." He pulled out a handful of coins, and selected three. "This should be enough. I will come for them in the morning." He began to stride away

"Elf!" Velandryn turned at the Nord's shout, and Serana could see the blood pulsing in his neck. Clearly not his favorite way to be called. "You pay well, elf, but you talk too big. Have respect, or you might regret it." With that, the burly man returned to his work.

Serana drew even with Velandryn as he walked towards the one of the buildings around the totem-stone, a broad structure that might have been the common-house. He seemed all right, if not overjoyed at how the conversation had ended. "Not much changes, does it?" His voice was wry through its low tones and accent. "Would it have been the same in your time if an elf stood up for himself?"

"In my time?" She tried to imagine what would have happened to a free elf who had come through her father's lands and not shown the Nords deference. "You would not have gotten the warning."

The common-house was too warm, and the cold firepit in the center of the single room would doubtless fill the air with smoke when lit. However, there were a half-dozen beds arrayed around the edges, and everything seemed clean enough to spend the night. Clearly, that was what her companions had in mind, and she had no grounds to argue. By the sound of it, they had been travelling and fighting for the past two days, and even she would be fatigued after that. These mortals must be dead on their feet. She had no need for sleep, and would not spend her night indoors, but she would at least let the Nords of this place see her bed down before making her departure. There was no need to arouse suspicion.

With a groan, Velandryn eased himself onto one of the beds and stretched himself out. Lydia was unslinging her weapons and strange metal armor, arranging them by her bed with alarming speed and precision. The ebony warhammer stymied her for a moment, but she eventually propped it up behind Velandryn's bed, an action which caused the elf to blink and murmur tired acknowledgment. After that, the Nord woman, now clad only in a tunic, leggings, boots and a dagger in her belt, moved towards the door. After a moment's thought, Serana followed, pulling back on her hood and scarf before leaving the room.

She caught Lydia at the totem-stone. The Nord was looking up at the carvings, face still and thoughtful. "Your people still hold to the old gods of Atmora, I see."

Lydia shot her a look of pure surprise. "No, no, not our gods. Those there, they're," she gestured helplessly, "traditional. Hang a wreath on the stone at New Year's Turning and build a pyre beneath it on Ysgramor's Day, but worship? Maybe you ask Moth for her beauty or Dragon for his strength, but nobody really takes it seriously. Some might in the high hills, but Heljarchen isn't remote enough for that, I don't think." She looked around them with new suspicion. "At least, I don't think so. I hope not. Most Nords aren't like that. We hold to the Nord gods, or the Imperial ones, or maybe just Talos."

"Ah." In her day, the Nords had worshipped their own pantheon, though this Talos was unknown to her, as were these Imperial gods. She knew there was an Elven pantheon, but she could hardly imagine the Nords choosing to worship elven gods. The Empire again. She had to learn more. Perhaps Lydia would serve if Velandryn will not. By the look of things, she was not so guarded with her answers as he.

"So, Lydia, how do you feel about all of this?" If she was going to get the woman to open up to her, it was best to clear the air between them. "About helping me, even being what I am?" She could read body language very well, and Lydia's was very clear.

"I think it is dangerous. I think you are dangerous. If you wanted, you could do great harm, and I am not certain we can trust you." Well, at least she is honest.

"And you couldn't do the same? I've seen you swing that sword. If you took it into your head, you could kill half the village, maybe more, before they could stop you." Not the best way to gain her trust, Serana.

The other woman blushed. "I would not—such a thing is unthinkable!"

"And you think I would just murder innocents? Do you think so little of me that you are worried I will slaughter these people?" Part of it was an act to put Lydia on the defensive, but it still hurt that this woman, whom she had never wronged, sincerely thought she would kill these people for no reason After Velandryn's gesture when she had fallen, she had hoped for more from his…whatever Lydia was.

Lydia's eyes narrowed. "If you hungered, if you needed their blood, wouldn't you feed from one of them? I know what you vampires call us. Cattle, you say. We are beasts to you." Her voice was low, but Serana still hurriedly checked their surroundings; her being revealed as a vampire would make their time here far more eventful than she wanted.

"Keep your voice down!" Lydia had the grace to look the tiniest bit abashed. "And no, I wouldn't. I won't die from lack of blood, but I will lose some of my good humor." She smiled wryly, a gesture Lydia did not return. "I'm not going to go hunting here, though. Believe me or not, but even if nothing else, consider how foolish I would be to sabotage myself like that. I'm not—" Suddenly, she lost all desire to speak with this woman any further, no matter what information she could get from her. She stalked away, wanting to find someplace quiet, somewhere she wouldn't have to deal with Lydia, with mortals.

In the mountains dusk came early, and the light manifested in magnificent hues as the sun fell. She stood beneath an ancient mountain pine in the sparse forest beyond the town, just…experiencing… the changing light and shadows. She didn't want the sun directly on her skin, of course, but she had always loved the play of sunlight, especially through trees. She had heard stories of the great forests of the south, and one day she wanted to walk through a forest, with trees all around, huge and green and beautiful. She wanted to swim in Lake Ilinalta like the Lady Erendis had when she had been forced to choose between love and duty. Her father's lands had never been green, and while she could appreciate the beauty of Castle Volkihar and the lands it had ruled, she had always dreamed—

No. She was a child no longer, she had an obligation to her family. She had to find out what had happened, to return home and help her family heal. And if they haven't? If her father and mother were still at odds, what then? She had not been certain of her mother's plan, nor even why it was so important that she be sealed away. Valerica had whispered fiercely of it being for her own good, and that her mother would come for her when the danger had passed. And if it hasn't? But what was the alternative? No, she had to return to her family, to her people. A vampire alone in her time had been doomed, and she doubted it was any different in this age. Certainly not if Lydia had her say. Once more she gave thanks for Velandryn's willingness to help her, though she could not help but wonder at that as well. The Chimer had never loved vampires. Maybe he is simply kind. There was no way to know. For now, she simply had to travel with them, and keep her eyes open. She stayed that way for a while, letting the sun and shade paint pictures just for her.

She began to make her way back to the town as the shadows lengthened further, leaving the forest as the light changed to gold and then slowly took on tones of pink. For a moment, she wanted to feel the sunlight on her skin, wanted to grit her teeth and bear the pain, to pull down the hood, unwrap the scarf, and be a part of the colors around her. She considered it, for all of an instant, before hurrying on. It would not do to arouse suspicion. She pushed through the evening wrapped in armor, safe beneath clothing and hood from the temptation around her.

As she drew even with the outermost buildings of the town, she saws someone out of the corner of her eye, a figure in an ashen tunic with grey skin that looked almost blue in the waning light and deep red hair pulled back and tied with a cord. As she turned and stared full-on at his back, she realized that it must be Velandryn Savani. A second look eliminated her surprise at not having recognized him sooner. This was her first time seeing him out of his armor, after all, and with his back turned, no part of him that she knew save his skin was visible to her. He was facing slightly away from her, gazing up at the mountains. A sunset, this time, instead of a sunrise. If he was some type of Chimer, then it was not surprising. They had worshipped Azura, after all, and these were her holy hours. Half of him was cast in shadow, and the overall effect was oddly chilling. As she approached him, she saw his face, and the way the light cast his strong elven features into relief. A grim face, but strong. The dying light caught his eyes and they seemed to glow. His hair and skin combined with those eyes to give him the look of some Daedra sent from Oblivion, of something not entirely of this world. He looked, not angry, but as though he would command the world to kneel, and cut it down if it would not. He looks…

She shook away the words that came to her and called out to him instead. He turned, and the spell was broken. His hair and eyes were simply red, and his face just a dark-skinned elf's. If anything, he looked less alien than usual; clearly an afternoon of sleep had done him some good.

"Is this how the vampire behaves; to go out by day, and return by night?" From Lydia, those words would have been the prelude to an attack, or filled with suspicion, but Velandryn sounded genuinely curious. She recognized, though, a certain look about his eyes that made her think he might be laughing at her. At least he's quieter than Lydia when he calls me a vampire. His voice carried surprisingly well when he wished it, but right now anyone who could overhear would have to be within a few paces.

"My kind have to adapt. I can sleep at night and endure the day, if I must."

"Fascinating." She had the odd feeling that he wasn't just saying that, but that he had actually tucked that information away, to be used when needed. Against me? "You are a Volkihar vampire, though?"

She nodded, as he was correct in more ways than he knew. One of three, and all others sprang from us. She had never sired, leaving that to her father. He had selected the fiercest and hardest of those who had come to them in the aftermath of the ritual. "Was that in doubt?"

"I have seen several of your kind now, and an inconsistency bothers me." He gestured at her face, mostly hidden until the sun vanished fully. "Those we fought in Dimhollow had their faces deformed, easily marked as different. You, aside from the eyes, appear human. Why?"

She knew why, but had no desire to reveal the secrets of her clan. "And what can you offer me in exchange for such knowledge?"

He shifted. "The story of my skin, and eyes, though if you are offering secrets in exchange I also want to know what is in the bundle you keep on your back."

She didn't want to give that up, but neither did she want to deny him the knowledge. He was the closest thing she had to an ally in this place, after all. "How about, I tell you what is on my back, and then after you tell me your story, I will show it to you and answer your questions."

"A bad deal. For no more than a name, you would have my entire history?"

"I promise, once you know what it is, you will want to hear the rest. You are getting the better end of this deal."

He gave her a long look. "Done. Something has felt off around you for some time, though I did not notice until recently. I think the answer lies in that bundle. Whatever it is, it has power."

"More than you know."

He clapped. "Then we have a deal. But first, we will go back to the common-house. I have grown more used to Skyrim's…fine evenings, but I have no desire to spend time out-of-doors after sundown."

As they headed back, he gave her a quizzical look. "You might not know the answer to this, but where do the people in this town gather? There is no tavern or inn here, no gathering place."

She laughed. "You've spent all your time in cities, I'd wager? This place is so small, everyone knows each other, knows their business. You drink at your friend's house, and the next night you return the favor. These people mind their business, leave well enough alone, and like it that way. When their lord comes by, they'll put him up in the common-house and feast him, but other than that they've no need for visitors. We're an odd group to them, I'd wager, so they'll leave us be. At least, that's how it was in my time."

"Hmm. Some things never change, and Nords will hold to tradition. An odd arrangement. So who controls the town?"

"They argue it out when a decision must be made. For major issues, they obey their lord. Who rules this town?"

Velandryn shrugged. "Whiterun, maybe, or Pale—Dawn—Star? Dawnport perhaps? No, The Pale is the hold, but the city of the jarl is Dawnport, I think. Or Dawnstar. Either way, Heljarchen is trivial. And since it is both remote and on the edge of a contested area, I'd wager the tax collector is the only evidence of a jarl that they see."

Tax collector. She knew what it meant to collect, but she did not know the word tax. When she asked, he looked genuinely surprised. The trick was his eyes. He showed as much as any human, if you watched his eyes. "Taxes. Collection of money by the ruler or government, standard practice everywhere, as far as I am aware. How did lords collect from the people in your time?"

"Tribute, of course." She half-considered changing her demand to the Empire's story instead of his own. Only for a moment, as she could doubtless get that story from anyone, while Velandryn seemed to be a more special case. It had not escaped her notice, however, that the Nord smith clearly knew enough about Velandryn's race that he was not worth mentioning as more than an elf; he was not some anomaly then.

"Interesting. I would imagine that the word tax was not a necessary part of the slave language you learned. One of the empires likely introduced it as part of their financial reforms. Not my area of expertise, I am afraid." He paused for a moment. "I am impressed. That was the first word you have needed to ask for help on."

He was right, she realized, and it shouldn't have been that way. She was good at languages, always had been, but this was a degree beyond anything she had ever accomplished. She filled in context without thought, and had adapted to the patterns of what was a very different dialect with shocking speed. Why? She pushed the question away; she could afford to be distracted later.

They had reached the common-house, and Velandryn pushed open the door. Lydia was within, wiping down her weapons and armor with a scrap of cloth. She inclined her head slightly in their direction, and then returned to her work. One of the tables held a spread of food and three place settings; Velandryn slid onto one of the benches and motioned for Serana to do the same. He ripped off a chunk of bread and slathered it with butter. "Now, for our deal. What are you carrying?"

She took a deep breath. This was it. Her mother had given her the scroll for safekeeping, and warned her of its rarity and power. The moment these two learned of it, it would be out of her control. They could tell others, or try and take it for themselves. Trust. She needed to trust them. No, she needed to trust Velandryn, as he could likely keep Lydia in line. And his greed, his passion for knowledge, that she could rely upon. "It's—it's an Elder Scroll." No turning back now.

She had expected incredulity, but Lydia's sudden burst of laughter shocked her. "I'd wondered when she'd begin lying to keep your interest, my thane!" Thane? Velandryn is a thane? How did an elf— She spun to see Velandryn staring at her, the intensity in his eyes making her skin crawl. He remained motionless, and then his eyes flicked down, staring at a patch on the table. Or rather, staring through the table, to where the scroll had slipped, low-slung on her back.

"She speaks the truth, Lydia." His voice was perfectly measured, and in fact he appeared at first glance the very picture of serenity. However, his eyes were still boring through her, and the silence as Lydia's laughter died off left a void that felt terribly uncomfortable.

"I have told you, now you tell me. What are you, if you aren't Chimer? What is your story?" She had misjudged him, she realized. His passion meant he coveted secrets, but now she feared he might tear her apart to get at the scroll. If I can get him talking about himself, that's my advantage.

He nodded. "That was the deal." He spoke slowly, each words dragged from a mouth that barely moved. "I will tell you, though you must forgive me if I seem…distracted." He gave his subtle smile, an almost imperceptible twitch of the lips that did not change the look in his eyes. "So, where to begin?"

She wasn't sure if he was asking rhetorically or not. "At the beginning?"

Lydia groaned. "Now you've done it."

Velandryn smiled again, and she thought he might actually mean this one. "The beginning. It all began with Veloth, of course—"

"I know about Veloth. He led a group of renegade Aldmer. They practiced Daedra worship instead of traditional elven religion, and became the Chimer." She had learned that much in her studies, and wouldn't let him waste her time with the parts she already knew. This close to the secrets she had been wondering about all day, she wanted them now.

"Half true, but I will save the lecture on Padomaic deviations from Aldmeri doctrine for another time." He pushed the bench back, leaning his back against the wall of the common-house, and spoke in between swallows of meat, bread and water. "Veloth led his followers, who took to calling themselves the Chimer, Changed Elves in human tongue, east to Morrowind, where they encountered another group of dissidents from the Aldmer, the Dwemer. You are familiar with them, yes?"

"As much as any human." They had always been mysterious, but she had loved the idea of their hidden cities and knowledge, and longed to walk their halls and learn their secret crafts. Now, perhaps—

"The Dwemer were not well pleased to see the Chimer arrive. There were basic conflicts in worldview, and while the Chimer were not the most populous people, the Dwemer were even slower to reproduce. The Chimer spread into every corner of their new land, and within a thousand years had fractured into innumerable quarreling tribes and houses. Each chieftain was concerned only with his own prestige, each warlord with her own glory. They fought not only each other but the Dwemer as well, not to mention the numerous Nede and Orc war parties that came their way. We have some evidence of conflict with the Falmer of Skyrim, though their eventual extinction at the hands of your people put an end to that. We fought the Ayleids from time to time, the Akaviri and Atmorans when they bothered to land that far east, the Nords once you settled in Skyrim, and the Argonians when they left their swamps."

"Wait, Argonians?" She had never heard of these. She knew of all of the others, though she had never seen any of the legendary Akaviri, denizens of the mysterious continent to the east.

"The lizards of Black Marsh. You do not know them?"

"No, nor Black Marsh. Where—"

"South and east, the far corner of Tamriel. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; they are a reclusive people for the most part, and had no reason to come this far north." He looked thoughtful for a moment, but continued. "Anyways, the Chimer were fractured and leaderless, so when the Nords united under whatever High King—"

"It was Harald who united us, and Vrage who conquered you." She recalled that much, the High Kings who had ruled from Windhelm.

"Yes, well, it was simple for a unified people to subdue a fractured one. The Chimer lords were made to bow, the Dwemer abandoned the majority of their surface holdings and fortified the entrances to their strongholds, and Nords poured into the country, claiming the choicest bits of land for themselves and demanding tribute where they pleased. A thousand petty lords sprang up, and many Chimer as well were happy to exploit their own people for their new masters. At the end of the chain, holding the leash, were the warlords, the Tongues of Skyrim, warriors and jarls gifted with Thu'um."

She knew of them. She had never actually seen a Tongue, but their stories were legendary. She had known that they ruled Morrowind, though she had never really given thought to the lives of the Chimer under them. "It didn't last."

"No. The Nord Empire suffered a succession crisis. A second son, or a brother, or something. I don't actually recall."

"Neither, actually." Lydia sat herself down at the table, and helped herself to a portion of the food. "The prospective High King was controversial, and the jarls could not agree on a successor."

"Right. Well, this did not go unnoticed by the Chimer, and one in particular took advantage. He was a war leader of the unremarkable House Indoril, a general by the name of Nerevar Mora." Serana felt a shiver run down her spine at the tone in his voice. Reverence, bordering on worship.

"He freed the Chimer?" She knew her question was hardly insightful, but this clearly had great significance to Velandryn, so she would let him tell the story as he wished, and ask the right questions. For now.

Velandryn sat forward and leaned his elbows on the table, hands clasped before him. "Eventually. His genius lay in the forging of alliances. He knew Morrowind stood no chance against the Nords, even distracted by matters in Skyrim, unless the entire province stood together. He married the Lady Almalexia, leader of House Indoril and inheritor of a bloodline that could be traced back to the days of Veloth, securing legitimacy in the eyes of the nobility. His shield-companions were Alandro Sul and Voryn Dagoth; each brought prestige and weight to his cause. Alandro Sul was called the Son of Azura, and was a hero of the nomadic Ashlanders, Chimer who had never fully submitted to Nord rule. Voryn was of the ruling family of House Dagoth, never numerous but renowned for their ferocity in battle. With those two came their armies, and the love of the warlike and restless among the Chimer. His other advisors were Vivec, a clever mer of unknown history, and Sotha Sil, who is said to have tutored Nerevar in his childhood. Finally, and most improbably, he reached out to Dumac Dwarf-Orc, King of the Dwemer."

"The Dwemer have city-states. There is no 'King of the Dwemer,' I know that much." Serana might not know this new world's history, but if Velandryn wanted to make grand claims, she would keep him honest.

He shrugged. "In Skyrim, in your time, perhaps not. In Vvardenfell, Dumac had control of enough of the Dwemer that his alliance with Nerevar insured their participation in the uprising. Some doubtless refused, as did some among the Chimer, but they were a negligible part of the whole, and matter little to this story. Regardless, the Chimer and Dwemer rose, united for the first time, to free their homeland. Nerevar was named Hortator, supreme war leader of the Chimer, and threw the Nords into chaos, engaging the Tongues in a series of battles that ended at Red Mountain. The Nords were pushed back into Skyrim, and for a time Nerevar and Dumac ruled their peoples and kept the peace in their united nation of Resdayn. Until Kagrenac. Until the Heart of Lorkhan."

He spoke with solemn gravity, but his words were largely lost on her. "Very interesting, though I don't suppose any of this will actually explain why your skin is that color? Are you half-Dwemer?" She wondered how he would take that, but her interest in his people's history could not be sustained as he buried her under a slew of names that were completely unfamiliar to her. And the Heart of Lorkhan? Whatever relic he was referring to was surely unworthy of such an auspicious name. Lorkhan had created the universe; for good or ill, his was a legacy unrivaled.

"Very well. I will skip over the centuries of peace, and tell you of the Second Battle of Red Mountain. Are you familiar with Red Mountain?"

She was. It dominated the landscape of Morrowind, and rivaled the Throat of the World for height. When she said as much, Velandryn actually chuckled, a low laugh that might have been the friendliest sound he had yet made.

"A point of contention between our peoples, I think. Everybody wants to have the highest mountain. Well, once, at least…" he trailed off and she waited for him to continue. In spite of her earlier thoughts, she did not hate his story, and had learned much from it, about the fate of Skyrim as well as his people. "Kagrenac was Dwemer, and far cleverer than he had any right to be. He found something beneath Red Mountain, a massive heart without a body, beating with tonal resonance, and recognized it as the Heart of Lorkhan, the echoing beat of the Doom Drum that was torn from his chest after he tricked the gods and turned them into our world. Somehow Kagrenac had found it, and with it he devised the greatest heresy any mortal has ever conceived. I will speak no more of it here, save to say that his plan required tools, tools aligned to the tonal resonance of the heart. Do you understand the significance of Tonal Manipulation?"

"It is a Dwemer craft. They use Tonal Magic to shape their creations."

"Correct, or correct enough for our purposes." He looked as though he wanted to say more about it, but returned to his earlier point. "Kagrenac created three tools, a hammer, a sword, and a gauntlet. All were attuned to the heart, and with them he planned to create Numidium, the Walk-Brass God." He fell silent again, and Serana waited for him to continue. Finally, she decided to try and prompt him.

"And? What was it? What happened with it?"

He sighed, and closed his eyes. "We don't know, not fully." He opened them again. "Bits and pieces survive, and those are bad enough. We have accounts from four sides of the conflict, and half of them contradict the other half. More troubling is the substantial evidence that all of them are true. I am not going to go into details now, as it is irrelevant to my final conclusion, and, as importantly, touches on matters of divine metaphysics that I am uncomfortable discussing with a vampire."

He shook his head and took a sip from his mug before continuing. "We know the Nords invaded Morrowind at that time, and were driven back, and that the ghost of Wulfharth, the Ash-God-King, was scattered and destroyed. We know that prior to the battle, the Dwemer were a force to be reckoned with, but by its conclusion, every one of them had vanished from the Mundus, never to be seen again. And, we know that Nerevar Indoril did not survive to see his people victorious."

"This was the story told by the survivors. Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil returned from the battle at Red Mountain wielding power such as none among the Chimer had ever seen. They spoke with words that echoed in dimensions beyond comprehension, and moved in ways that mortals could not. They told the Chimer that Lord Nerevar had, with the blessing of Azura, utterly destroyed the Dwemer and the heretic traitors of House Dagoth, though he himself did not survive. The three survivors, the Tribunal, had become gods, chosen by the Triune of Good Daedra to lead the Chimer into the future, as a reward for their strength and determination. As they spoke these words, our skin turned to grey and our eyes to burning red. The Tribunal told us it was a blessing to mark their apotheosis. And the people believed them. When they went forth, they were heralded and worshiped, and ruled undisputed for three and a half thousand years. We took the name of Dunmer, the Dark Elves, victorious in a far corner of Tamriel who had chosen our destiny and resolved to face it full on. So the Tribunal told us, and so we believed."

He had fallen silent, but it was the pregnant silence of thought, not of completion, and Serana was quiet as well. This was too much information for her to process all at once, but it made sense. Well, in a way. The fact that Velandryn was Chimer—no, Dunmer, she reminded herself—was unsurprising. As she had told him that morning, he acted like one of them any way you looked at it. The Dwemer being gone was…well, to be honest she didn't know how to feel about that. She would like to have met some Dwemer, but their disappearance did not affect her much for the present. As for the rest, well, it clearly held great significance for Velandryn, but it meant little enough to her.

Suddenly, Velandryn slammed his fist down on the table and burst out angrily. "We were lied to!" immediately he regained his composure, and continued. "The Tribunal stole their power, and killed Nerevar so that they could rule. Our change wasn't a blessing, it was a promise from Azura, who loved Nerevar and would not forgive the traitorous actions of the Tribunal. She swore to have her vengeance upon them, and we, the Dunmer people, were the bearers of that truth. As gods, the Tribunal tried to erase their guilt, but Alandro Sul witnessed their treachery, and brought the truth to the Ashlanders. For three and a half thousand years my people served false gods, unknowingly bearing the curse of Azura upon our flesh and in our eyes. She changed us so that we could serve as eternal reprimand to the Tribunal, a reminder that she would not forgive and could not forget. And when she made good on her promise, my people were broken three times as punishment and trial, passing through each by changing our ways. We renounced the sins of the past, and resolved to face the future once again. And so we are here." That last was delivered with the cadence of memorization, and he closed his eyes and held his hands over the table. "Zaan it'lar sayn Nerevar valok aln Dunmer, dremes'bal et nur'wahan ke Almsivi. Desh verges Azura, aln fi velen'to!" Velandryn fell silent then, staring downwards, an expression Serana could not name upon his face. She had never learned Chimeris, and she recognized no more than the vaguest resemblance to Aldmeris, but it had the ring of a prayer. Or a curse. Lydia rose uncertainly, and looked at Serana with confusion writ plain on her face.

Serana felt as though she needed to say something to break the dark mood that had suddenly fallen on the elf. "Umm, I think I understand. We can discuss the Elder Scroll later, if you wish."

And, just like that, the spell was broken. He looked up, once more with an inscrutable face pierced by expressive red eyes. Then, he smiled. "Oh no, not on your life. I gave you a story, and now I want one in return." He extended, long arms reaching above his head and fingers interlocking as he straightened his elbows. He gave a languorous stretch and brought his hands down, pressing them briefly over his eyes before folding them on the table. She realized that she was staring at his almost liquid movement, and reached back to grab the bundle containing the scroll and place it on the table. Again, the elf's focus shifted to the bundle, and hunger flared to life in his eyes. Lydia drew in her breath and shifted nervously.

Slowly, deliberately, Serana unwrapped her treasure. She remembered the last time she had seen it, her mother slipping it into her hands as they departed the castle at the height of the day. A glint of light as the cloth came away, Velandryn's sharp intake of breath, and, finally, the intricate outer case of an Elder Scroll lay bare on the table, power and myth exposed before the world.

"There is a saying in the Empire, 'to write an Elder Scroll.'" Velandryn's voice was unsteady, but he could not tear his eyes away. "It is the highest significance that can be attached to an action. Completely inaccurate, of course, ludicrously wrong in every particular, but…powerful in meaning." No doubt he could feel it as well, the distortion that took place in its presence. Nobody knew what the Elder Scrolls truly were, her mother had said, but their power was self-evident.

"I don't know where it came from originally, and I'm not entirely sure why it was put into my hands, but this is it."

Velandryn laughed suddenly, an explosion of mirth that made Lydia and Serana flinch at its unexpectedness. "So that's why you could do it! Language picked up in minutes from context, completely accurate recreation of tone, a mind as sharp as anything after sitting in the core in a magical ritual for four thousand years. An Elder Scroll! They rewrite the universe around them, so I suppose nothing should shock me any longer." He rose, still chuckling.

"In my time, they were considered one of the great mysteries of the universe. What have you learned since then?" Clearly, Velandryn had some experience with them, or at least a fair bit of knowledge. She wondered if he could be correct, if the Elder Scroll had somehow eased her awakening and transition. She wondered, suddenly, if her mother had taken it into account when designing her resting place. Since waking up, she had been wondering more and more about her mother's plans. Lydia, judging by her slow retreat from the ornate container, wanted nothing to do with the artifact.

"Little and less. The Moth Cult studied them in the Empire, but I heard that their library vanished one day. Every Scroll in White-Gold Tower, gone all at once. If they have any insights, they've kept them to themselves. They're secretive, the Moth Cult—and the scrolls are too, for that matter. My people never much bothered with them—we prefer our prophecies served Daedric— though some of the Telvanni are rumored to have a few stashed away." He shrugged. "Of course, with Telvanni, you can never be sure. I once heard that the Moth priests tried to record the number of scrolls in their possession, but the count changed each time they made it. The Elder Scrolls are strange, in ways I don't fully understand. I was fascinated by them as a child, like so many other before me. Such mysteries invite discovery. Of course, once you exhaust the basic books, you quickly realize that there is a very good reason those mysteries exist." Velandryn showed his teeth in a mirthless grin. "The Scrolls do not merely exist passively. I've never heard a serious claim made that they have intelligence, but action without an actor…it makes you them is not…conducive…to a long and happy life, I don't think. So, I remain ignorant of much. Seek out a Moth Cultist if you want to know more, I would think. For me, I will stick with admiration. From a distance."

"Moth Priest." That was Lydia, apparently having overcome her aversion and once more approaching the table. "They're Moth Priests, at least assuming we're talking about the same people." Serana had heard of them, though she had never known them to be connected to the Elder Scrolls. Perhaps they had started after her time.

"I defer to you on matters of the Empire. My knowledge comes from two old books and a conversation I had nearly thirty years ago."

Serana sensed an opening. "About the Emp—"

Velandryn cut her off before she could even finish the word. "I gave you the story of my race, and was promised the story of an Elder Scroll. If you want more from me, I'm going to need something more in return." He smiled. "Now, about strains of vampirism and why you are distinct from the other Volkihar we encountered, that I would be interested in learning."

"No." She wouldn't give up the secrets of her family so easily. Not to mention, Velandryn had a mind like a honed blade. He would quickly see the implications of her 'purer' strain and could attempt to discern the source. Those were questions she did not need him asking, and she had the feeling that he was already having thoughts in that direction as it was. However, she had learned enough about him to play him for her purposes. For instance, that he was far stronger on the attack than on defense. Besides which, he liked talking. "It occurs to me that what I want to know is common knowledge, while you seek out my secrets and those of my kind. If I were so inclined, I could obtain the history of the Empire and the events that occurred in Skyrim from anyone. I am certain that someone in this village, for instance, could answer all of my questions."

The elf gave a small smile. "I think if you are seeking accurate and detailed information, Heljarchen is not the place to be. Some of these people can read, I would guess. Not all, but some. Most have probably seen a book at some point in their lives. So, by all means, break ties with us and strike out on your own." He gestured at the door. "Skyrim awaits!"

She rose, and turned for the door. Two could play this game, and if he wanted to be dramatic, she was more than willing to up the stakes. "Fare thee well, elf, and when you lie awake at night consumed with questions, I hope you find some solace." She began wrapping the scroll again. "I know so much that you would never even think to ask. I know of kings and heroes, and the lessons of their lives. I am fluent in four tongues, and have stories from across Tamriel, firsthand accounts of what you call the First Age. I can tell you of your people before the Tribunal, and of knowledge that your false gods doubtless suppressed." A gamble, but knowledge is always lost with time. "But, if you are too proud to tell me what any child of this age knows, then it was simply not meant to be." She smiled, making sure they got a good look at her elongated teeth. "A shame, truly. I have enjoyed our time together, but I will not stay where I am not wanted. A pity," she sighed theatrically, "that your stubbornness prevented this. If only you had been willing to tell me about the Empire—"

"Oh, for St. Delyn's sake get back here!" Serana was relieved that Velandryn's eyes were smiling as she turned around. "You know I won't let you walk out that door, and you know you're more likely to wind up the target of vampire hunters than find a Nord willing to help you like I am. We each have something the other wants, and so, ask your questions." The elf—the Dunmer—sighed and pulled a journal from a bag. "I don't promise secrets, but I'll tell you what you want about the Empire, as far as I know. In return, I'll let you keep the secrets of your family, or clan, or whatever it is, but I do want to know about your time period. You say you have stories, I want them. I want to hear the legends of your past, about Atmora, about the Dragon Cult and the great Alduin. Besides that, I want to know every lie, every rumor, every salacious detail about who my people used to be!" He sobered then, and steepled his fingers. "Do you trust me?"

The question took her aback, and she had to consider for a moment. "To a point. I think our goals are aligned for the present, at least. And you, do you trust me?"

He nodded. "I trust you to act in your own best interest, and for now that interest aligns with mine." He removed a mortar and pestle and a number of alchemical ingredients from the bag at his feet. "I am glad we have established that. I would rather have a state of mutual understanding than some hollow pretense of intimacy."

She could live with that, Serana decided. She sat down across from him as he placed some withered flower in the bowl and began to grind it into powder. "So, the Empire of Cyrodiil. Broad strokes, paint me a picture of its history."

"Empires, actually. We are on the third distinct empire, and the fifth ruling dynasty."

"Fourth." That was Lydia, doing some sort of examination of her strange weapon, which she called a 'crossbow.' "The Potentate doesn't count, my thane." That word again. How is he a thane, and to which jarl?

"The fact they were Akaviri does not erase the fact that they ruled the Second Empire for four hundred years."

"In that case you should include the Tharn Dynasty, as they held the throne during the Interregnum, and Chancellor Ocato, who never sat the throne but ruled in all but name after the end of the Septim line. If we include every despot and schemer who ruled from White-Gold, this list would be infinite. None of the Potentates wore the Amulet of Kings, none of them were…" She trailed off, and Velandryn gave her a look Lydia couldn't identify.

"Dragonborn? No, I suppose they were not. In that case, what of our current Emperor? What of the Medes?"

Lydia looked troubled. "They rule well enough, and the Amulet is no longer needed."

"All right." Velandryn turned back to Serana. "Three distinct political entities and a number of dynasties have ruled from Cyrodiil, starting with the Slave Queen Alessia, who overthrew the Ayleids in the third century of the First Era…"

---

The smith was working early the next morning, when they visited him for the second time. He led them to their horses wordlessly, but when Velandryn slipped him an extra coin in thanks, he grunted and spoke.

"Dragons on the road last night. A dozen or more, heading south."

Velandryn's stomach dropped. A dozen dragons. One had been bad enough. Twelve could wipe out an army. Lydia's eyes opened wide in shock, while Serana just looked confused. Velandryn realized that the vampire was likely unaware of the reappearance of the mythical beasts. Were they even extinct in her time? He had mentioned the Dragon Cult to her, but given no thought to the possibility that she could also have insight into the dragons themselves. He wasted no time berating himself for not thinking of this sooner, but rather decided to interrogate her about whatever dragonlore she might possess at the earliest opportunity. If there were that many of the bastards around, they would have need of it.

Lydia stepped forward, looking on the edge between panic and fury. She confronted the smith, nearly seizing him by the front of his heavy apron. Velandryn noted with bleak amusement that they were roughly of a height; by the look on the smith's face he was not used to being accosted by women in armor. "A dozen dragons? You are certain?"

The big man nodded. "Hunting for bears, their leader said." He spat on the ground. "Not my business."

"Not…" Velandryn was at a loss for words. Dragons hunting bears?

Suddenly, Lydia started laughing, a full-throated guffaw that poured mirth and relief into the air around her. "Dragons and bears! You mean the Empire and the Stormcloaks!" She patted the man reassuringly, still laughing, and turned to Velandryn. "Names for some of the guards are their sigils. Empire has the dragon banner, Stormcloaks wear the Bear of Windhelm. Whiterun we got called 'horses' when patrolling."

Velandryn had never had fear desert him so quickly. He regarded the smith, feeling the indescribable lightness of not being condemned to death. "Are the Imperials likely to give us any trouble?"

"Dragons don't care so long as you don't make trouble. Bears don't like elves." He grinned. "Show respect and they might let you be." This was more words then Velandryn had heard from the smith yet, maybe more than all of their previous conversations put together.

Lydia had calmed herself, it seemed. "Who do you favor? What is the feeling in this town?"

The smith spat again. "Not my business, I said. Dragon and bear can kill each other over their stupid fight."

"You don't care about the Concordat, or the Empire?" Serana had only learned about the conflict last night, but by the question she was eager to find out more. Velandryn listened closely as well; Lydia had to explain the roots of the Stormcloaks to Serana last night, as his own knowledge was sadly lacking.

"Elves never stopped me praying, so why should I care? I got a forge and family, that's enough for me." He was only paying half a mind to the conversation, and did not seem to care about Serana's hidden face.

"So, then shouldn't you support the Stormcloaks, so everyone can worship like you?" Serana's question seemed like innocent curiosity, but Velandryn wondered what game she was playing.

The blacksmith frowned. "May be you're right." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, attention now fully on the vampire.

Serana was not done, however. "But Talos created the Empire, didn't he?" Suddenly, their chat about the Empire's history last night didn't seem quite so innocent. "Wouldn't you be opposing the very thing your god created?"

The smith's eyes narrowed. "I don't like this game, girl. If you want to say something, say it plain."

Serana bowed, looking somewhat odd given her hood and scarf. "I meant no offense. I know little of the war, and was curious."

The smith looked at her for a long moment. Then, he gestured at the shed attached to his house. "Your horses. Take them." Seemingly done with the conversation, he trudged back to his work.

Velandryn turned to Serana. "Is there anything else you would like to do before we depart? Stir up some ethnic tensions or tell an Ashlander that the Tribunal was correct? Please, don't let me stop you."

"It's an ancient technique; challenge a statement with questions to learn an individual's true viewpoint. I wanted to know more about this civil war."

"Yes, I'm familiar with Drellen's Principles of Rhetoric. I do take exception, however, when you make Nords wonder whether they should be joining the movement that thinks my people are enemies to be killed on sight."

"I don't know who Drellen is, but it sounds like he stole his principles from Gaenic of Daggerall. Also, I thought it was an Altmer faction that was responsible for the banning of Talos worship. You Dunmer don't care, you said."

"And the average Nord in Heljarchen is very unlikely to appreciate that distinction!" He lowered his voice and glared at her, though there was no real fire behind it. "Just…just don't bring up the Stormcloaks when I'm around. Please. Most likely, nothing happens. But, if it does, that's a lot more trouble than I want." It was impressive, in a way, how easily she got under his skin. Innocent little pinpricks, until you felt the barbs beneath the skin. Serana was smart, and used that knowledge to prod the world and watch it dance. And now she's prodding me, I'd wager.

"All right." She seemed perfectly willing to acquiesce, but he got the feeling it was more to shut him up than anything. Damn vampire. He wished that Heljarchen had a horse to spare, so he could refuse to buy it for her.

---

They were making good time, even afoot, Lydia was pleased to note. Three people and two horses made for an uncomfortable situation, as she could not be on a horse with both her armor and another person, and letting her thane be on a horse with the vampire was a risk she would not take. So, they walked. The road was little more than a suggestion, with occasional posts or stones demarcating a border; clearly Heljarchen had never warranted having stone laid to show the way. The winding road circumvented hills rather than scaling them, which restricted lines of sight somewhat, and the foliage was too sparse to offer much cover. Neither the Empire not the Stormcloaks should attack them, but Lydia had been on too many patrols gone suddenly wrong to relax just because they were probably safe.

However, all in all, she was fairly well pleased. The day was pleasant, she was well-rested, and they were finally moving again. From here on out, their immediate task was clear. Deliver Serana, learn all they could about Lord Harkon and his vampires, and then inform the Dawnguard and burn it all to the ground. She glanced over at Velandryn, who moved in closer, leading his horse. Serana, she noticed, was some ways off, peering down at a bush. 'A word, my thane?"

He made his way over to her, leading his horse. "Just so you know, she's asked about my title twice now. I've told her I am a thane of Whiterun, but have not elaborated on why." He gave her a significant look. "I do not want her learning why. That information is ours alone for now."

"Of course, and, I'm sorry, my thane." She should have been more careful, she knew, but it had simply slipped out.

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "It happens. I have been thinking, though, is there any other way that you would feel comfortable addressing me? As far as I know there are very few mer thanes in Skyrim." He paused. "Actually, I might be the only one." He gave her a questioning look.

"Elven thanes? I don't think there are very many at all. I can call you 'sir,' I suppose, though that sounds odd to my ears."

"Why not Velandryn? It is my name."

"The disrespect, my thane! I could not simply…" She trailed off, not quite able to put her feeling into words. Nords were not Imperials, to use titles for every office; nor were they Bretons, who gave themselves ridiculous airs and names to set themselves above their fellows. Nords respected deeds, and conferred titles of prestige only upon the deserving. As a result, those few titles that they did have were treated far more seriously. If Velandryn Savani was a thane of Whiterun, then he was due the honor of that distinction, no matter what he might think. For his housecarl to ignore that title and achievement was shameful.

"Lydia, if you truly don't want to, I will not force you to call me by name." His face was as still as ever, but his eyes were soft, and she knew that he was making an effort, for all that he did not understand.

She bowed her head. In spite of it all, he was trying, and she should try as well. "Thank you…Velandryn." She grimaced, the name feeling wrong when she said it. "I understand the need to travel quietly, and I will do my best." She gave him a sheepish smile. "I make no promises, though." She wouldn't forget again, but she needed to find a good replacement for those two words. She was about to ask what he would want, when she heard Serana call out.

"Soldiers ahead!" The vampire's voice was sharp with alarm.

Lydia pushed her thane behind her, drawing her sword the moment her arm was clear. Serana was standing still, head cocked.

"You heard them?" Her thane seemed calm enough, though she noticed he had released the horse's rein and eased his hands free.

Serana paused for a moment. "Boots, more than one pair, heavy tread. I know what soldiers sound—"

At that moment, they came into view. Eight of them, moving at a fast pace down the road, with diamond shields and various weapons. Upon seeing Lydia and her companions, the newcomers abandoned their loose march and spread across the road, giving them the advantage should the three try to fight or flee. One of them, who wore ornate plate armor with a crested helm and crimson cloak, seemed to be in command; to his left was a smaller figure, Breton or Nibenese Imperial most likely, wearing mage's robes over steel armor. The rest were in leather and light mail. On shields and armor was the same symbol, a dragon in the general shape of a diamond, black on red. An Imperial war party.

"Travelers! Where are you headed?" The one in the crested helm seemed to be the leader, given that he was the one to call the challenge. Although his skin was dark enough that he was likely of Redguard blood, he spoke with the accent of central Cyrodiil.

"Solitude, via Mortal." Velandryn spoke quickly and easily, face animated with what Lydia knew to be practiced and what she suspected to be insincere good cheer. "Good to see some friendly faces on the road."

"Likewise, always good to encounter citizens, though you should be aware that there is a significant rebel presence in the area." The captain had removed his helm and was coming closer now, smiling broadly. Lydia could not help but notice that his party had not relaxed; every eye was on them and every weapon a hairsbreadth away from an attack. She counted four bows, and the mage besides. "Have you had any encounters with them?"

"None at all. We spent the night in Heljarchen, and heard that there were a few bands about. We're just travelers, though, and I don't think we have anything worth their time." Lydia knew that this could go bad very quickly, but Velandryn was doing everything right. The fact that he was a Dark Elf likely didn't hurt; the Imperials liked to imagine the Stormcloaks as terribly racist against elves. The reality was more complicated, of course, but hopefully this prejudice would work in their favor.

"I see." The commander seemed perfectly at ease, but Lydia would not be happy until this patrol was gone. "And where were you coming from?"

Velandryn paused for the merest second, and Lydia tensed, knowing the issue they faced. Almost all traffic from Whiterun to Solitude travelled along the Silver Road to Rorikstead and then up through Dragon Bridge. Even if they had some reason to be going via Morthal, the Labyrinthian Way would have taken them over the mountains and into the marsh in three days rather than the two weeks it took to cross through the Pale. It was far safer besides, despite passing along the ruined city. No bandit was foolish enough to set up camp in Labyrinthian. Unless Velandryn planned to announce that they had come from Stormcloak lands, their presence here was not easily explained. One did not simply wander in the wilds of Skyrim in these troubled times.

"From Whiterun, though I confess we did not take the most direct route, and that's my fault. I had read about a species of ground moss endemic to the Stonehills region, and was eager to take samples." He grinned disarmingly. "Alas, I was unable to find any. Fortunately, I budgeted well enough that Lydia here is being well compensated for this wild guar chase!"

Lydia grunted, not wanting to trip over herself if she tried to lie. The Redguard nodded, and turned to Serana. "And you, erm, miss?" Clearly, he wasn't sure what to make of Serana, wrapped as she was against the sun.

Velandryn smiled. "My assistant. Brilliant mind, but very shy."

The captain leaned in close, examining her. "Miss, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, sir, and thank you." Serana's voice was prefect, with a hint of diffidence but conveying absolute sincerity. Not for the first time, Lydia was struck by this ability that her thane and this woman had, to conceal themselves and become who they needed to be. "Is there someplace nearby I could find another horse, by chance? I fell when mine broke a leg some days ago, and they had none to spare in Heljarchen. It is dreadfully cold up here, isn't it?"

"That it is miss, though we don't mind, so long as our duty is here. You should keep warm, though. I'm afraid there's nowhere to find a horse before Morthal." The commander grinned and turned away, seemingly satisfied. "Very well, then, let's be off!" He gestured, and his men relaxed. The two groups began moving then, some of the soldiers nodding in greeting as they approached.

Velandryn walked his horse to one side of the road, and Lydia did the same on the other. It was a maxim universally observed that when two groups passed on the road, the one who could more easily slaughter the other got the center. It only made sense that Velandryn wanted to concede that honor to the Imperials, as there was no benefit from doing otherwise. She looked at him, standing there with his horse, unarmed but for a dagger or two and the bow on his horse. Standing there, breathing easily, and possessing a voice that could shatter the earth beneath their feet. Serana stood beside him, her slim arms and slight frame belying a strength and speed that had helped lay waste to an army of the dead. Both were deadly spellcasters, and her thane especially seemed to have a knack for magical improvisation that gave him an unexpected edge. He was deadlier than he thought, she had learned, and for all that he protested that he was unskilled at combat he had shown marked improvement since she had gotten her hands on him.

She observed two of the soldiers as they passed by. The male was a Nord, wearing a chainmail hauberk and well-cut leathers. The female was Imperial Nibenese, small and dark with olive skin, armored in lighter fare. She watched how they moved, and considered the small arsenal she had available. I could take two, maybe three of them, if it came down to it.

She watched the commander as he moved off, secure in the superiority of his forces. With that battlemage backing them up, he might even be right. Might. She regarded her two companions again. Might not. Once they had passed, the three continued on down the road, towards Morthal and Solitude, and Lydia continued to wonder.

---

A/N: A character-based chapter, which I enjoy writing but doesn't progress things much. After this things will pick up, rest assured.

Note that when people in this story are talking about history, they are providing only their own interpretation. Velandryn is knowledgeable about New Temple doctrine, and knows the history of his people as he has been taught, the good and the bad. That does not give him omniscient insight into matters beyond his experience. Everyone has a bias, and everyone wants to look good.

Also, I am definitely not categorically stating that an Elder Scroll teaches you languages. What I am saying is that if you spend four millennia spooning a fragment of creation while in the center of a magical array designed to preserve and contain, you might wind up with some side effects. Or their speculation is wrong, and Serana is just that good at languages.

The excerpt from the beginning is taken largely from Saryoni's Sermons, an in-game book in Morrowind. I have updated it but the original text is not mine.

"Zaan it'lar sayn Nerevar valok aln Dunmer, dremes'bal et nur'wahan ke Almsivi. Desh verges Azura, aln fi velen'to!" – Nerevar set the Dunmer free two times, breaking the chains of outlanders and Almsivi. By the grace of Azura, we have been remade!

A Dunmer prayer of the New Temple, praising Azura for sending the Nerevarine to save the Dunmer from the false forces that ruled over them. Generally associated with the Cult of Nerevar, and popular among Redoran and Sadras members of the Temple. Indoril factions discourage its use.

Mangahero18 Thanks! They have a lot of ground to cover, though.

6thfloormadness A part of me was just really tempted to make it all Valerica's fault for being THE WORST at planning, but I will make some attempt to justify things from her angle. I am trying to write them as having chemistry despite themselves. They can both give a long list of reasons why they shouldn't, but each has a visceral positivity towards the other.

Firelordzuko Thank You! They learn to work together, and Lydia is getting better (sort of) at not antagonizing her, but those two aren't going to be bosom buddies in the immediate future. Both need their worldviews shaken up a bit. Velandryn is willing to be very friendly, and as long as he can keep telling himself it is all part of his plan he feels he is justified.

Naruto Loves FemKyuubi A very good point about Serana and Nedic ancestry; her family is not the same kind of Nord that the modern Nords think of. Mention of her slight stature is not an accident, they have less Atmoran in them than most modern Nords, living as they did in close proximity to Nedic lands in Heiroc. Will Velandryn accept the gift? He wants power, but to him it is a means to an end, and he also has a very strong sense of self. Molag Bal is a corner of the House of Troubles; and Dunmer have been resisting him for a long time.

Higekimaru Appreciate the review anyways! If you see an issue, do call me on it. My fear is flaws passing unacknowledged.

Tylerbamafan34 Lydia is not nearly equipped for this. She's a simple woman, and these two like to make things complicated. And yeah, the Dunmer don't have a great relationship with Bal in the first place, and this isn't likely to improve things. I have plans for Solitude, though I have an obstacle or two first. Things never progress quite as quickly as I planned…I want to keep his actual traveling companions fairly light, simply so he isn't running around with an army at all times, but he absolutely will be teaming up with people and making connections as needed. I have avoided working mod characters into my story, but if I feel that one is perfect, I would have to make contact with the author. Inigo and Vilja would be fun to write in though, and maybe some people from the 3DNPC mod.

Hfs I might get delayed, but I'm going to keep writing until it's done or I'm unable to continue due to illness or WW3. Delays may coincide with Fallout 4 and XCOM 2.

Fusion721 Thanks, that means a lot.

Pietersielie Thank you. I'm trying to make this as in-depth as possible while keeping the story chugging along. It's a delicate balance, and sometimes I need a chapter like this one that is basically all character. And it's going to end up crazy. There is no way this thing ends small-scale.

Grounded Forever Thanks! Lydia is a three-dimensional character, and she's getting her own character arcs as well. Velandryn, however, does appreciate how much of his stuff she can carry.